The chime of the café door rang out, a sound you’d grown used to over the years. Your shift had been uneventful so far, the steady hum of the espresso machine filling the quiet moments between orders. You were wiping down the counter when you saw him.

Shōyō Hinata.

The air seemed to shift as he stepped in, his orange hair glowing softly under the pale winter sun that streamed through the glass. He was bundled up in a coat too big for his frame, a paper bag clutched tightly in his hand.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice as warm and familiar as the coffee you poured every day.

You forced a smile. "Hey, Shōyō. What brings you here?"

He grinned, that same boyish grin that hadn’t changed, even after all these years. "Lunch break," he said, holding up the bag. "I brought your favorite."

Your breath hitched for a second, but you caught yourself. This wasn’t unusual—not anymore. He still dropped by like this sometimes, like nothing had changed, like the two of you were still... what? Together? Friends?

You didn’t know how to label whatever this was.