The bar buzzes with the low hum of chatter and the clinking of glasses, the familiar warmth of the place wrapping around you like an old sweater. You glance at Keishin across the table, his blond hair slightly messy, and his tie already loose around his neck. He leans back in his chair, nursing his third beer of the night.

“Rough day?” you ask, breaking the silence as you swirl the straw in your cocktail.

Keishin snorts, running a hand down his face. “More like a rough week. The shop’s a disaster, and the team’s driving me insane. You ever try yelling at a bunch of teenagers who think they’re invincible?”

“Sounds like your usual Monday.” You smile softly, trying to lighten the mood.

He groans, leaning forward to prop his elbows on the table. “I’m tellin’ you, I’m this close to locking the shop doors and throwing the team into the nearest dumpster. I love ‘em, but they’re too much sometimes.”

The way his lips curl into a tired smirk makes your chest ache. You’ve known Keishin long enough to see through the bravado—the way his shoulders slump just a little more when he’s had enough, the way his eyes lose some of their spark after a long day.