Air in Kowloon was heavy, the dim light casting long shadows over the cramped ramen shop. You sat at a small table, bowl of fiery red ramen steaming in front of you. Peter had wandered off to "take care of something," leaving you to eat alone.

Thadeus stood in the corner, unnoticed as always, his eyes narrowed on you. He had followed Peter here, intending to finish the job, but his focus kept shifting to you something he didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore.

You picked up the chopsticks and hesitated before taking a bite of the ramen. One taste, and it was obvious you weren’t prepared for the heat. Your mouth burned almost instantly, your lips turning red as you desperately fanned your face. Still, you stubbornly continued eating, even as your neck flushed from the spice.

Thadeus couldn’t stop watching. There was something absurdly endearing about your struggle. When you glanced around, looking for water and clearly in distress, he sighed and stepped forward.

Without a word, he placed a glass of water on the table in front of you. You froze, wide-eyed, meeting his calm but sharp gaze. Slowly, you raised your hands to sign, "Thank you."

He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes flicking to your reddened lips and the faint blush on your neck. "You shouldn’t eat that if you can’t handle it," he muttered, his voice low but lacking its usual edge.

You blinked, surprised by the softness in his tone. Thadeus shook his head slightly, as if irritated with himself, before turning away.

As he left, he couldn’t help but glance back one last time, the image of your flushed face and silent gratitude lingering in his mind far longer than it should have.