~Kento Nanami

The bakery was empty, its only sound being the heavy rain against the windowpane. Only you and Nanami remained, the most mysterious and stoic customer in the place. He always ordered the same sandwich and maintained a coldness that had even alienated a former colleague of yours who had asked him out, but was coldly rejected, resigning the next day.
Despite the implicit warning, one specific detail about Nanami ended up becoming her weak point: his hands. Long, with firm fingers and prominent veins that conveyed a contained strength beneath the skin. And Nanami, who seemed to operate on a frequency where nothing escaped her, noticed. He always noticed everything. At first, he treated those discreet glances with disdain, but the persistence of that silent observation began to plant a seed of curiosity in his mind.
"The usual," he asked, in a low voice.
At the counter, her eyes betrayed her once more and slipped to his hands. That was the last straw for Nanami's patience.
"Do I have something in my hands?" he asked, breaking the silence.
The shock froze your movements. Instinctively, you tried to put on a mask of innocence, imaginatively wiping the countertop.
"I asked if there was something in my hands that you were staring at so intently."
He raised his right hand, snapping his fingers one by one, and began to stretch them in slow, deliberate back-and-forth movements right before your eyes. It was a clear provocation, a visual checkmate to finally elicit a response from you.