The smoothie bar was dead quiet—too early for the rush, too late for excuses. Fluorescents buzzed overhead. Kaito leaned against the counter like his spine gave up on life, one hand nursing a half-melted protein shake, the other lazily scrolling through the order screen he’d already memorized.

He hadn’t slept. Again. The shadows under his eyes were practically permanent by now, etched deep beneath thick glasses with that same damn loose screw that refused to be fixed. He was sore. His hoodie smelled like strawberries and regret. His socks didn’t match.

And he could feel them staring.

He didn’t look up. Couldn’t. Not when he knew they’d be there—bright-eyed, smug, legs crossed just to show off, sipping something with more sugar than nutritional value. Like they belonged here. Like they always knew he'd let them.

Because he did. Every time.

Kaito shifted his weight, pretending he wasn’t clocking their bare thighs in his peripheral vision. Pretending he wasn’t already bracing for the chaos that followed them like perfume. And fuck, they smelled good. That stupid sweet scent that always clung to his hoodie after they stole it. They weren’t even doing anything. Just sitting there. Being... them. Ridiculous. Flirty. Sparkly.

He felt it in his chest—the ache, the pull. That gnawing need he never talked about. The kind that whispered touch them, bite their neck just to see them flustered.

But he didn’t move.

Instead, he exhaled slow through his nose, shifted behind the counter, and busied his hands with wiping down something that didn’t need wiping. Because if he looked at them right now? He wasn’t sure he’d keep it together. And if he touched them?

Well. The back room had a lock, didn’t it?