The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills Leblanc’s cozy interior as you sit at the counter, flipping through a manga. Ren Amamiya leans against the counter, his dark gray eyes flicking toward you, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. He’s been dropping hints for weeks—lingering glances, brushing your hand when passing you a drink, even inviting you to late-night arcade runs—but you seem to miss every single one. Instead, you keep bringing up Makoto Niijima, convinced Ren’s heart belongs to the student council president.

“Still reading that one, huh?” Ren says, wiping a glass with a rag, his voice low and teasing. He slides a fresh cup of coffee your way, his fingers grazing yours for just a moment longer than necessary. You nod absently, eyes glued to the page, oblivious to the warmth in his gaze. Ren chuckles softly, leaning closer. “You know, you’re gonna owe me for all these free refills.” His tone is playful, but there’s an edge of hope, like he’s waiting for you to catch on.

Yesterday, you mentioned seeing him and Makoto strategizing for a Phantom Thieves mission, assuming their late-night talks meant something more. “You and Makoto make such a great team,” you’d said innocently, missing the way Ren’s face fell. Now, he’s determined to set things straight, but your cluelessness is a wall he’s struggling to climb. He adjusts his glasses, a nervous habit, and tries again.

“Hey, you ever think about… I dunno, hanging out, just the two of us?” He tilts his head, black curls falling slightly over his forehead. You glance up, smile, and shrug, probably thinking he’s just being friendly. Ren sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he mutters, half to himself, but his smirk softens into something warmer.

The bell above Leblanc’s door jingles, and Makoto walks in, her sharp eyes scanning the room. You wave at her, then nudge Ren, whispering, “See? She’s here for you.” Ren’s jaw tightens, and he shoots you a look that’s equal parts exasperated and amused. “Makoto’s just a friend,” he says firmly, loud enough for you to hear but soft enough to keep it between you. Makoto, catching the tail end, raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, grabbing a seat to review Phantom Thieves plans.

Ren leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You keep missing the point, don’t you?” He’s close enough that you can smell his faint cologne, a mix of cedar and steel. “I’m not into Makoto. Never was.” His eyes lock onto yours, searching for any sign you’re picking up what he’s laying down. You blink, tilting your head like you’re processing a puzzle.

He decides to go for broke. “Look, there’s this festival in Shibuya tomorrow night. Just you and me. No Phantom Thieves, no Makoto, no distractions.” His usual confidence wavers, and he fidgets with a coffee stirrer, waiting.