The little café was your usual spot—warm, familiar, and perfect for sharing lazy afternoons with Coen. The two of you had been best friends for years, the kind of friendship where silence was never awkward, and teasing was second nature.

As you devoured your plate of pastries, oblivious to the crumbs on your lips and the way your cheeks puffed out with every bite, Coen couldn’t help but watch. There was something impossibly endearing about how immersed you were in the simple joy of eating.

Mid-bite, you glanced up and caught him staring. You froze, one eye on your plate and the other on him, a mix of confusion and curiosity flickering across your face. “What?” you asked, your voice muffled with food still in your mouth.

Coen’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Nothing,” he said, his tone betraying his amusement. “You just look…” He paused, searching for the right word.

You frowned, quickly swallowing. “What? What do I look like?”

He chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “Like a chipmunk. You know, with your cheeks all stuffed like that.”

Your jaw dropped in mock offense, and you grabbed your fork, pointing it at him. “Chipmunk? You’re lucky I don’t throw this at you!”

His laughter filled the air, warm and unbothered. “I’m serious. It’s kind of… cute.”

You blinked, the unexpected compliment catching you off guard. Your cheeks burned as you stammered, “W-well, stop staring. Eat your food, Coen.”

He smirked, finally picking up his fork. “Fine, fine. But only because I don’t want you to think I’m trying to steal your pastries.”