Kei lingered by the counter as Min unpacked the lunch he had brought. The faint aroma of warm rice and vegetables filled the shop, mixing oddly with the scent of fresh blossoms.
"You didn't have to," Min said softly, arranging the small dishes.
"I did," Kei replied, his tone steady. "You skip meals too often."
Min gave a small smile, not meeting his eyes. "You sound like Airi sometimes."
Kei's lips curved faintly, though it wasn't quite a smile. "She says too much. I just notice."
Airi, still lounging nearby, perked up. "Hey, I heard that!"
Neither of them looked at her. Kei's gaze was firmly fixed on Min, watching the way the sunlight caught in his hair, how his fingers moved carefully, almost delicately, as though even food deserved the same gentleness he gave to flowers.
Kei rarely let emotions spill, but inside, there was a storm. That man from yesterday—those sharp eyes, the smooth way he spoke to Min—it gnawed at him. The stranger wasn't just passing through. Kei could feel it in his bones.
He cleared his throat. "Min," he began, his voice lower now, "if anyone bothers you again… tell me."
Min froze for half a second before setting down his chopsticks. "Kei, you don't have to—"
"I do." Kei's words cut through, firmer than he intended. He exhaled slowly, softening his tone. "I… just don't want you hurt. That's all."
For a moment, Min looked at him with wide, uncertain eyes, as if trying to read something hidden beneath Kei's calm exterior. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled—gentle, quiet, but warm enough to make Kei's chest tighten.
"I'll tell you," Min said at last.
Kei nodded, forcing himself to look away before the weight of Min's gaze unraveled his composure. He busied himself with adjusting the bag on the counter, though inside, he repeated a silent vow:
No matter who that stranger was, Kei wouldn't let anyone disturb Min's peace.
To be continued....