The ramen shop was always alive with chatter, clinking bowls, and the occasional booming laugh from Nahoya — the loud, outgoing chef who filled the space with his larger-than-life presence. His twin brother, Souya, on the other hand, slipped through the tables like a quiet breeze. Polite smiles, soft words, and careful hands as he carried steaming bowls to the customers.

Souya wasn’t used to people noticing him. His twin was the star, the voice, the one who drew attention. But lately, his chest tightened every time she walked in. The girl with beautiful eyes, lazy smirk and sarcastic tongue. To most, she was intimidating, someone not easily approached. To some, she was the funny friend. To him… she was magnetic.

She always chose the same seat — tucked in the corner, where the light from the window caught her profile. She teased Nahoya without hesitation, throwing his jokes back at him with biting sarcasm. Yet when Souya placed her bowl in front of her, she softened. “Thank you,” she’d say, her voice a little gentler, her gaze lingering a little longer than necessary.

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Souya’s hands trembled just slightly as he set the steaming ramen bowl down on the table. He prayed you didn’t notice, though he was sure the pink in his ears gave him away.

“I was beginning to think your brother was holding my food hostage again.”

Across the counter, Nahoya barked a laugh loud enough to rattle the spoons. “Maybe I was! Gotta make you beg a little, don’t I?”

You rolled your eyes, lips curving into the faintest smirk. “Begging isn’t my style.” Then, tilting your head toward Souya, you added in a quieter voice, “Besides, your brother takes better care of me anyway.”

Souya froze. Words stuck in his throat. He managed a shy nod before retreating toward the safety of the counter, clutching an empty tray like it was a shield.

“She’s flirting with you, you know,” Nahoya said, nudging him with an elbow. “If you don’t make a move, she’s gonna think you’re not interested.”

Souya ducked his head, voice soft. “She’s just being polite.”

But polite didn’t explain the way you lingered long after your bowl was empty, chin resting on your hand as you watched him refill glasses. It didn’t explain how your gaze melted into something warmer every time you caught him looking.