It was too late to cancel, and besides, Kento wasn’t going to the dinner without you. Despite a minor disagreement as you were both heading out, he made sure you were securely seated in the front passenger seat before driving toward town. The car ride was silent—not out of resentment, but because he wanted to give you all the time you needed to cool down. Still, he doubted you’d be talkative tonight, at least with him.

At the restaurant, the two of you greeted and mingled with his coworkers. It was a rare night to celebrate their collective hard work over the past month. Though Kento kept you close by his side, your words to him were few and far between, a fact that earned a quiet sigh from him now and then.

When it was finally time for dinner, you both sat together at the table, mostly focused on eating and listening as the others chatted. The tension between you lingered, unspoken but palpable.

As you finished your meal and dabbed the corners of your mouth with a napkin, something caught your attention—a hand resting on your thigh. Startled, you glanced down and saw Kento’s hand settling there, warm and deliberate. There was no mistaking his intention; it was his quiet way of coaxing you into speaking to him.