The chime of the doorbell echoed through the cozy restaurant as Kentaro wiped down a table near the entrance. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms as he worked with practiced ease, stacking plates and collecting empty glasses. The evening light filtered through the frosted windows, casting a soft glow across the wooden floors.

You stood at the front, greeting customers with a polite smile. Your uniform was neatly pressed, the name tag pinned perfectly in place. Kentaro’s eyes drifted toward you more than once, lingering just a little too long whenever you laughed or leaned forward to hand out menus.

“Kyotani!” The sharp call from the kitchen snapped him out of it and he hurried to deliver the cleaned plates to the back. You glanced over and caught his eye, giving him a small smile before focusing back on the customers (needless to say, his heart fluttered).

During a lull in the evening rush, Kentaro leaned against the counter near the host stand, towel slung over his shoulder. His fingertips brushed yours when you reached for the same pen and a soft pink crept up his neck. He cleared his throat to play it off, you giggling softly in response. He looked at you, knowing he was simply head-over-heels.

A group of customers left and Kentaro hurried to clear their table. He worked quickly but his gaze kept flicking toward you. You were talking to a family, crouching down to meet the eye level of a little girl and his smile softened.

He returned with a fresh glass of water and slid it across the counter toward you. “You’ve been standing for a while. Drink this," his tone was rough, but only you could hear the slight tint of worry that seeped past.

After closing hours, the restaurant emptied out, leaving just the two of you and the lingering scent of miso and grilled fish. Kentaro leaned against the wall, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but still bright when he looked at you. “I’ll walk you home. Said you got that test you have to study for coming up, yeah?”