He spotted you through the glass door before you noticed him.

Back turned, hunched slightly, squinting at the instant ramen section like you were deciding between spicy or extra spicy. You looked tired. Hoodie too big. Bag slipping off one shoulder. Hair a little messy from the wind.

And yet—his heart stuttered like you’d just served straight into his chest.

He hadn’t meant to come in. He really was just passing by. But the second he saw you, his feet moved on their own.

The bell above the door jingled. You glanced up.

“Oh— Iwazumi?”

God, the way you said his name.

“You look like you’re about to fight the noodles,” he muttered, stepping beside you.

You held up two cups. “I can’t decide.”

“Get both,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “You paying?”

“… No.”

But he still took one from your hands and walked it to the counter without waiting. You blinked, a smile tugging at your lips as you followed behind.

He didn’t say much while you stood outside together after. Just leaned against the wall, sipping canned coffee like it was enough to calm the mess in his chest.

You looked over at him after a while.

“You’re not gonna ask why I’m out this late?”

“No,” he replied, eyes on the street. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

A beat passed. Then:

“But if you ever want someone to wait for you, or walk with you, or… just sit here and eat noodles— I’m around.”

Your expression softened.

And he didn’t need to look at you to know it.