The heat in the kitchen was thick, stifling. The clatter of pans, the rushed voices of waiters, the hiss of the fryers... it was all part of a rhythm Neo knew by heart. The bar was packed that night, but he didn’t miss a single step. He didn’t talk. Didn’t look at anyone more than necessary. He just cooked.

You sat in the corner, legs crossed on the stool, distracted by your phone. They hadn’t spoken since you walked in. The fight from that morning still hung between them like heavy smoke. You laughed to herself, typing something. Neo glanced at you from the side. Said nothing, but his jaw clenched.

He plated an extra batch of fries, not really knowing why. As he passed you, he set them down on the bar without looking at you.

"I didn’t order this," you muttered, barely glancing up from your phone.

"You didn’t," he said, not stopping.

Neo paused. Didn’t look at you. He just walked back, leaned in, and placed a dry kiss on the top of your head. His eyes flick to your phone for a moment.

"Who's texting to you?"

There was no anger, no hesitation. Just that tense calm that made it harder to read.