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Seible sighed contentedly as he slipped into the booth across from Claude, shaking off his hoodie. The ramen shop was warm, its paper lanterns casting a golden light over every table, and the faint scent of broth hung in the air like a hug.
Claude already sat with his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, silver lashes catching the light as he looked up and smirked. “Finally,” he said. “I was starting to think you bailed.”
“I’ve been craving miso ramen since last night,” Seible said, fluffing up his dyed bangs with a sheepish grin. “Also, I spent like fifteen minutes picking an outfit. I had to look better than the guy who destroyed me on Rainbow Road.”
Claude chuckled, resting his chin on his palm. “You mean ever since I beat you at Mario Kart?”
“You shoved me off Rainbow Road!” Seible gasped, nudging Claude’s foot under the table. “That was sabotage. You elbowed me.”
“You should’ve held your ground.” Claude raised a brow, sipping his tea like an innocent bystander.
Seible rolled his eyes, grinning. “Remind me again why I keep saying yes to these dates, you don't even pick me up at my place.”
Claude hesitated, a half-smile curling his lips. “Did you just call it a date?”
Seible blinked, heart thudding a little faster. “…Did I?”
Claude didn’t answer, but the warmth in his eyes said enough.
It was their sixth evening in a row together—not that they were keeping count. First it was that impromptu coffee at the indie bookstore where Seible got distracted flipping through old travel magazines. Then came a retro arcade, a long walk by the river, a vinyl shop where Claude argued passionately about Radiohead. Somehow, their plans kept “accidentally” overlapping. Claude never said the word “date” aloud, but his actions spoke in volumes: the way he always walked on the outside of the sidewalk, the way he waited for Seible to take the first bite, the way his hand would instinctively find Seible’s wrist when crossing busy streets.
Their ramen arrived, steaming bowls of umami heaven. They slurped, traded bites, argued briefly about whose noodles were better. Claude tried to sneak more narutomaki from Seible’s bowl; Seible retaliated by dumping extra chili oil into Claude’s. It was messy, chaotic, but easy—like they’d been doing this for years.
When the server dropped the bill, Seible smoothly reached for his wallet, already sliding out his sleek black card.
“Sei—No, no, don’t you dare—” Claude hissed, reaching for his phone.
Beep!
The register chimed before he even unlocked it.
Claude narrowed his eyes as the server scurried away. “Damn it.”
Seible leaned back, smug. “Faster reflexes, Claude.”
“You’re cheating,” Claude accused. “You always go for it before I even open my phone.”
Claude stood, brushing off his jacket. “Tomorrow. I’m paying. Just watch.”
The next evening, they met at a cozy little Italian place Claude had mentioned loving as a kid. The interior was strung with fairy lights and smelled like tomato basil heaven. Seible ordered gnocchi; Claude got mushroom risotto.
The moment the plates were cleared, Seible reached for the ask for the bill.
But this time, the server beat him to it.
“Oh, all is good sir” she said brightly. “Mr. Clawmark already took care of it. He called ahead this morning.”
Seible froze. “You, what?”
Claude shrugged, sipping his wine like this was totally normal. “Checkmate.”
“You called?”
“I did.”
“You’re crazy.”
“For you? Absolutely.”
That started what would later become known as the Billing War of the Century.
Seible began showing up to restaurants early, bribing the hosts with coffee or baked goods just to let him prepay.
Claude retaliated by carrying not one, not two, but three cards—and calling ahead days in advance.
Seible once left a 200% tip just to one-up Claude’s generous bill payment.
Claude responded by sending Seible in Paypal secretly and labeling the transfer “For Stealing My Financial Dignity 💸.”
At a Korean BBQ place, they ended up paying twice because both had sneakily arranged with separate servers to foot the bill.
“You’re both ridiculous,” the manager sighed, handing them lollipops like they were toddlers. “Just split it next time,”
“I’m not splitting anything with a cheater,” Claude muttered as they walked out.
“Says the man who weaponized phone calls,” Seible snapped.
They were both grinning.
One night, after wandering through the softly lit city, hands brushing but not quite holding, they found themselves near the live house they always passed but never entered. A street performer was playing guitar nearby, singing something soft and nostalgic.
They sat on the bench, silence stretching in that comfortable way only they could manage.
Claude exhaled. “You really don’t have to keep paying for everything. Let me pay at least I'm losing points here”
“Alright We'll take turns,” Seible said quietly. He stared down at the little crack between the tiles, picking at it with his sneaker. “I just… like giving things to people I care about. And being with you feels like…” He paused. “Like a gift I didn’t expect. Paying for things—it’s just how I say thank you, I guess.”
Claude was quiet for a moment. Then his voice dropped, warm and low. “Me too.”
Their eyes met—not teasing, not playful, just soft and wide open. Six "dates", and yet it felt like something was still unfolding between them, something delicate but certain.
Claude reached into his coat and pulled out a card—his card.
“Truce,” he said, holding it out. “Let’s take turns. You can pay next time.”
Seible blinked, touched. He reached out, fingers brushing Claude’s as he gently pushed the card back into Claude’s pocket.
“Only if we get a next time.”
Claude leaned in, close enough for the streetlight to catch the faintest tremble in his lashes.
“There’ll always be a next time,” Claude whispered.
They sat there a little longer, watching the city move around them—horns in the distance, a dog barking, someone laughing down the street. And in the middle of it all, two boys who had found each other in the spaces between games, meals, and late-night walks.
And maybe, just maybe, in all the little wars about receipts… they’d accidentally found love.
End.