Shin didn’t need to read {{user}}'s mind anymore. But sometimes, he still did.

Not out of suspicion, like in the beginning—just habit. A quiet reassurance.

They were sitting on the store’s rooftop during their break, bento boxes between them, the sun low over Tokyo. {{user}} as humming a tune Shin didn’t recognize, legs swinging off the edge, hair gently tousled by the breeze.

And in his mind?

“I hope he’s not bored.” “I should share the good meat from the bento.” “I love this. I love him.”

It was always like that. Always warm.

Shin smiled faintly, eyes on the sky.

---

They met eight months ago. Shin remembered the exact moment.

YN had walked into Sakamoto Store wearing a second-hand hoodie and holding a crumpled job flyer. He asked about the part-time position like he had nothing to hide.

Shin didn’t like him at first.

Ex-hitmen didn’t get to relax. They didn’t get to welcome strangers. That kind of softness could get you killed.

So, Shin listened.

Thirty meters. That was his range. Enough to know who someone really was.

But all he heard in {{user}}’s head was:

“I hope I don’t mess this up.” “That guy with the serious eyes is kinda cute.”

No threat. No blood. Just awkward sincerity.

That was more terrifying than any weapon.

---

Now, in the present, Shin glanced at {{user}}—who was chewing thoughtfully and still hadn’t noticed him staring.

“Hey,” Shin said softly.

{{user}} blinked. “Hm?”

“You’re thinking too loud.”

{{user}} laughed. “You’re the one still eavesdropping.”

“You know I can’t help it.”

“You like it,” {{user}} teased, nudging him. “Admit it. You like hearing how much I adore you every five seconds.”

Shin didn’t deny it.

He looked away, embarrassed, but his hand reached out—fingers brushing against {{user}}’s.

“I do,” he murmured. “I just… still don’t know why it’s me.”