The bell above the café door chimed softly as Leonhart stepped inside, rain clinging to his coat and hair. Kevin looked up from the back counter where he'd been stacking mismatched mugs—his newest thrift store obsession.
"Hey," Kevin said gently. "You look like you fought the weather and lost."
Leonhart managed a tired smile. "I'm not sure I won anything today."
Kevin walked over and wordlessly took Leonhart's coat, hanging it on the hook by the door. The café was closed for the night, warm and quiet, lit only by the soft yellow pendant lights and the glow of the little lamp in the corner. Outside, the storm tapped gently against the windows.
"Tea?" Kevin asked.
Leonhart nodded.
A few minutes later, they were seated at the back table—Leonhart's usual spot—steaming cups between them.
"I don't know why I came here," Leonhart admitted. "I just… did."
Kevin sipped his tea, eyes watching him quietly. "You don't need a reason to show up. I'm glad you did."
For a while, there was only the sound of rain and soft jazz humming from the old speaker Kevin insisted on keeping, even though it crackled half the time.
Then, finally, Leonhart spoke.
"Elian came to my home tonight. Broke in. Wore my robe. Drank my scotch. Acted like nothing had changed."
Kevin's brows furrowed. "Are you okay?"
"I kicked him out. Told him the contract was over, and so was everything else. I didn't let him touch me. I didn't hesitate."
Kevin was quiet.
Leonhart took a deep breath, the kind that seemed to hurt on the way out. "When I was with Elian, everything was simple. I paid for what I needed. He gave it. We didn't talk about feelings or honesty. It was an act. One I paid for, and I let myself believe in it because it was easier than admitting I wanted something real."
Kevin's fingers tightened slightly around his mug.
"But then you came," Leonhart continued. "And I don't know how to act with you. You're not pretending. You ask questions. You smile like it's your default. You burn cupcakes and still laugh."
A small smile ghosted across Kevin's lips.
Leonhart looked at him, and for the first time, something raw flickered in his expression—like all the armor had finally cracked.
"I'm terrified of hurting you," he said. "But I'm more terrified of being the kind of man who lets someone like you go because he doesn't know how to change."
Kevin didn't say anything right away.
Instead, he reached across the table and took Leonhart's hand.
It was simple. Warm. Real.
"I'm not asking you to change overnight," Kevin said softly. "I'm just asking you to let me be here while you figure it out."
Leonhart stared down at their hands—one rough and cold, the other soft and callused from hot trays and sugar tongs.
And for once, he let himself breathe.
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