Lunch break was loud.

The cafeteria buzzed with laughter, gossip, and the clatter of trays. You were at your usual table—center of the room, surrounded by friends, the kind of place where everyone looked when you laughed.

But your eyes kept drifting.

To the corner table. Where Armin sat alone.

He was reading again. Something thick and historical, probably about ancient civilizations or climate theory. His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them back up without looking away from the page.

Someone nudged you. “Isn’t that your boyfriend?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

They blinked. “He’s… different.”

You didn’t answer.

Because they didn’t know.

They didn’t know how he walked you home every day, even when it rained. How he remembered your favorite tea, your least favorite subject, the way you hummed when you were nervous. How he once stayed up all night helping you study for a math test, even though he’d already aced it.

They didn’t know how he looked at you—like you were a question he wanted to spend his life answering.

So you stood.

Crossed the cafeteria.

And sat beside him.

He blinked, startled. “You left your table.”

You shrugged. “I like this one better.”

He flushed, glancing around. “Everyone’s staring.”

You leaned in. “Let them.”

He smiled—soft, crooked, the kind of smile he only gave you.

“I saved you a seat,” he said quietly.

You looked down.

There was a second tray beside his. Your favorite sandwich. Your favorite drink.

He hadn’t asked. He’d just known. You reached for his hand under the table.

He let you.

And in that moment, the cafeteria didn’t matter. The stares didn’t matter. The difference between your worlds didn’t matter.

Because Armin Arlert had waited for you.

And you’d come.