Chapter Text
The air smelled like roasted beans and a variety of syrups, the kind of warmth that clung to your clothes.
The shop wasn’t huge, but it had a steady rhythm, grinders humming, milk steaming, the low murmur of early customers easing into their routines.
Leander Reyes stood behind the counter in a brown apron, posture perfect, platinum blonde dyed hair tucked neatly beneath his stiff uniform hat.
His deep brown eyes, alert but measured, sat behind thin, circle-rimmed glasses that always looked a bit too delicate for how steady he kept them.
His brows were dark and clean, never betraying his mood, always resting in a neutral line that made it hard to tell what he was really thinking.
He was doing his best not to fidget, not to look too new, even though today was his first day. He kept his expression blank on purpose.
Neutral, attentive, professional. Like he could will himself into invisibility through sheer effort.
Regina--his trainer for the shift and a girl he half-recognized from one of his classes-- moved with practiced efficiency.
She wasn’t especially warm, but she wasn’t particularly cold either.
Just brisk, like someone with too much to do and a schedule she’d memorized.
“Keep your station clean, don’t block the register, and when in doubt, just ask,” she said, sliding a coffee across the counter with barely a glance. “You’ll get used to it faster than you think.”
Lee gave a small nod. “Got it.”
They hadn’t really spoken much before today, a few polite greetings on campus, maybe a shared complaint about a quiz.
Still, she’d put in a good word for him.
Or maybe she had just passed along his name when her manager said they needed the help.
Either way, he was here now, and he was determined not to screw it up.
“Start by restocking the pastry case,” Regina added, already turning to address the next customer.
Lee moved quietly, careful not to get in anyone’s way, taking in the layout of the shop, the soft indie music, the constant hiss of the espresso machine, the tight dance he had to do behind the counter to dodge coworkers.
He didn’t know how long he’d be here, but for now, it was something to do.
Something simple.
Something he could manage.
Lee kept his head down, rag moving in practiced circles along the counter.
The smell of the lemon cleaner mixed with coffee beans was oddly comforting.
Regina was beside him, explaining the menu to a customer when the bell over the door jingled.
Lee looked up without thinking.
The man who came in didn’t match with the rest of the morning crowd— no laptop, no gym bag, not even a book in hand.
Ratty hoodie, safety vest, and eyes that didn’t wander so much as cut. Rings glinted from nearly every finger, mismatched and heavy looking.
He walked like someone who didn’t have time for lines, or rules, or… People, really.
“Black coffee,” Lee heard the guy say. It wasn’t a question, more like a flat out demand.
Regina tapped it in without missing a beat, sliding a cup under the drip like she’d served this man a hundred times before.
Maybe she had.
Lee didn’t mean to stare.
It just happened. Something about the guy’s face.
Not familiar, really, just… sharp.
The kind of face that made it easy to imagine him throwing a punch.
Or catching one and grinning through it.
The man turned, and their eyes met for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Lee to realize he’d been caught looking.
He dropped his gaze fast, suddenly very interested in a smudge near the milk frother.
He didn’t hear the guy leave, but when he finally glanced back up, the cup was gone from the counter, and so was he.
Lee exhaled slowly, turning to grab another rag from beneath the sink.
Definitely not the type he wanted anything to do with.
Lee’s first day ended without any grand finale.
No congratulations, no disaster, no pats on the back.
Just a quiet nod from Regina and a clipped, “You did fine,” before she disappeared into a backroom with a clipboard.
He clocked out, untied the stiff brown apron, and slipped his earbuds in, even though he didn’t play anything.
Just a barrier between himself and the rest of the world.
The subway ride home was crowded enough to be annoying, but not packed enough to force him to stand.
He slid into a seat and let himself sink back into it, eyes closed, rocking gently with the motion of the train.
But his mind kept drifting.
That guy from earlier.
Tan skin.
Sharp features.
A face that looked like it had been in a few fights and probably started most of them. Finger tattoos.
Rings that didn’t look like decoration, more like they were meant to hurt if swung just right.
Lee scowled at himself, dragging a hand over his mouth.
What the hell was a guy like that doing in a place with lavender cold foam and recycled paper straws?
He didn’t seem like the coffee shop type.
Not the kind who lingered over a paperback or took pictures of latte art.
Lee exhaled slowly and leaned his head against the window, watching his own reflection rattle past in the dark glass.
Told himself it didn’t matter. Just a customer. Just another face in the crowd.
Still, the image stuck with him.
The way those eyes looked right through him.
The train rocked him all the way uptown, the harsh screech of metal on track filling the silences where his mind tried to settle.
By the time he pushed through the turnstiles and climbed the steps back to the street, the city had softened.
Fewer cars, quieter sidewalks, the cool damp pressing against his skin.
Home was a third-floor walkup tucked into a neat, brick-faced building.
The apartment was bigger than most of his friends could dream of affording.
Two bedrooms, tall windows, crown molding that still showed a little of its age.
His parents paid for it without blinking, calling it a “sensible investment.”
Carmen— Lee’s older sister, had joked it was more like a bribe to keep them both out of trouble, but she’d accepted the keys all the same.
When Lee finally got inside, Carmen was sprawled out on the couch, laptop balanced on her knees.
She glanced up, pushing long, dark hair back with one hand.
“Hey. How was the glamorous life of coffee-making?”
Lee toed off his shoes and hung up his bag.
“Fine,” he said, heading for the kitchen. “Nothing worth writing home about."
“Fine?” Her voice had that teasing tilt, as if she could wring more out of him if she tried. “That’s all you’ve got?”
He slid past her without answering, straight to the kitchen where the faint smell of takeout lingered.
He poured a glass of water, the coolness of it grounding against his palm.
The truth was, he didn’t need the job.
Between Carmen’s half-hearted consulting gigs and his parents’ quiet but steady transfers, their rent was covered.
Groceries, bills, even the little extras, none of it fell squarely on his shoulders.
He could’ve spent his time on classes, or nothing at all.
But something about the café felt…necessary.
Not noble, not desperate.
Just right.
Like work no matter how small, was a muscle he should be flexing, even if only a few hours a week.
The rag in his hand, the register’s beep, the ache in his legs at the end of the shift.
He needed it.
He leaned against the counter, moles catching the kitchen light as he adjusted his glasses.
Carmen had gone back to typing, the sound of her keys filling the room.
Lee padded barefoot across the apartment, the floorboards creaking in a familiar way under his weight.
The television was glowing bright in the dim room.
A group of women sat around an over decorated brunch table onscreen, their manicured hands gesturing wildly as one of them threw out a barbed comment that had the others gasping in unison.
Lee sank into the armchair.
He watched for a moment, expression flat, before finally asking, “Carmen, why do these women even hang out?”
His sister laughed, dropping her head back against the couch cushion. “Because if they didn’t, the show wouldn’t exist.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one that matters,” she said, sipping from the glass of wine she’d been nursing. “But if you want my psychoanalysis? They’re addicted to the performance. They can’t stand each other, but they can’t stand being irrelevant more.”
Onscreen, one of the women tossed her napkin dramatically, standing up from the table with a face twisted in rage. The rest leaned in, feeding off the scene like it was blood in the water.
Lee blinked slowly. “So it’s like… mutually assured destruction.”
“Exactly.” Carmen grinned at him. “See? You get it.”
His gaze drifting back to the TV.
He didn’t, not really. But he kept watching, caught in the strange loop of it, these women tearing each other apart in pastel dresses, the crowd of cameras that must’ve been just out of frame.
It felt fake, but also… too close to something real.
Carmen’s eyes slid from the television to him, that mischievous tilt in her smile betraying she’d been waiting for the right moment.
She leaned forward, elbow on her knee, chin balanced in her palm as her gaze traced over his platinum hair with something bordering on smugness.
“So,” she started, her tone half-prying, half-proud, “did anybody say anything about your hair today? Is anyone in love with you yet?”
She didn’t wait for his answer before her grin sharpened.
“Oh! Are you in love with anyone yet?”
Lee shifted in the armchair, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one knuckle.
“It’s a coffee shop, Carmen. People order. I hand them coffee.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, stretching out the syllables. “And sometimes they flirt.”
“They didn’t.”
She tilted her head.
“But you noticed that possibility enough to deny it fast.”
Lee’s silence stretched, his face giving away nothing.
He watched the TV instead, the women on screen shrieking at each other over a plate of untouched eggs benedict.
Carmen sat back, satisfied. “Mhm. I knew it. I bet there’s someone already. Don’t even try lying to me.”
Her smirk softened into something more genuine as she added, “And by the way? Your hair looks perfect. Of course it does. You’ve got me.”
Lee let out a faint breath that might have been a laugh or maybe just an exhale at her persistence.
The TV kept playing.
Lee sipped his water in silence. Every now and then, Lee’s eyes flicked to the TV, pulled in against his better judgment.
“She did not just call her ‘repetitive,’” Carmen muttered, totally locked in.
On screen, someone knocked over a champagne flute and launched into a teary monologue about loyalty.
Lee watched for a beat too long before shaking his head and looking away.
“Unreal,” he said.
Carmen grinned. “You’re gonna be invested in, like, three episodes.”
“Oh, I seriously doubt it.”
Still, during a lull in conversation, or when his mind brushed too close to thoughts of the guy from earlier, he found himself glancing back at the screen.
Something about the chaos was oddly soothing.
Predictable.
Safely dramatic in a way real life rarely was.
~~~
Lee stifled another yawn behind his wrist as he pushed through the shop doors, the bell above his head chiming his arrival.
The place already smelled like burnt espresso and warm pastries, which he was starting to realize was less inviting when you smelled it first thing every morning.
He clocked in, tucked his hat over his hair, and joined Regina behind the counter.
She gave him a quick nod, already deep in latte-making mode.
Lee didn’t mind. He liked that about her. No small talk, no hand-holding.
Just the routine.
It wasn’t a long shift today, just a few hours, enough to stay busy without feeling like he’d aged ten years by the end of it.
He fell into the rhythm quickly.
Restocking lids.
Wiping down the counter.
Calling out drinks.
Then it happened— just like yesterday.
The bell jingled.
Lee turned without meaning to.
Same hoodie. Same vest. Same heavy rings catching the light as the man stepped up to the counter.
His expression was unreadable, maybe bored, maybe annoyed, like the act of ordering coffee was beneath him.
Lee’s mouth worked faster than his brain.
“Hey. Welcome in. What can I get started for you?”
The man’s eyes locked onto him.
“Black coffee.”
Exactly the same.
Lee nodded, tapped the order in with slightly more care than necessary, and moved to fill the cup himself.
He could feel the guy’s gaze on him, steady but unreadable.
Lee handed the coffee over.
Their fingers didn’t touch, but they were close.
Close enough that Lee caught the faint smell of cigarette smoke clinging to his hoodie.
The man took the cup, gave a curt nod, and turned to go.
Lee watched him leave again, the same way he had yesterday.
Same walk. Same exit. Like he knew exactly where he was going.
And now Lee was left standing behind the register, blinking down at the touchscreen, wondering what kind of person bought black coffee from a place that charged eight bucks for matcha with oat milk.
But then the door hadn’t shut yet. The guy was still right there, pushing it open with his shoulder. About to leave.
Lee didn’t think. He just spoke.
“Hey!”
It came out louder than he intended. Immediate regret hit him like hot coffee to the chest.
The man stopped. Slowly turned. One brow slightly raised, expression flat but not unreadable-more like…waiting.
Lee’s brain scrambled for a reason. For a line. For an exit.
“Uh…” he cleared his throat. “Are you on social media?”
The man blinked once. A pause followed, just long enough to feel stupid.
Lee wanted to melt through the tile floor.
What had possessed him? What part of him looked at a guy with knuckle tattoos and thought, Let’s ask for his @.
“I mean—” he gestured vaguely, half-hearted. “You look kind of familiar. Thought maybe… I’d seen you online.”
It was the worst cover.
The kind only got worse the more you explained it.
The man didn’t move. Didn’t answer. Just looked at him for a long, quiet second.
Lee tried not to shift under it. Tried to hold still.
Then, finally, the man gave a half huff of a breath.
“Nah,” he said, and pushed the door open the rest of the way.
Gone.
Lee stood frozen behind the register, ears burning.
Regina slid by with a tray of drinks, not even glancing up. “Smooth,” she said dryly.
Lee groaned under his breath and buried his face in his hands.
He wasn’t even sure what answer he’d been hoping for.
All he knew was that guy was going to live rent-free in his brain for the rest of the shift.
~~~~
A week passed now and Lee was done getting his hopes up.
Lee stopped glancing at the door. Mostly. He told himself it was just a blip, a passing fixation.
People came and went.
That was life.
That was customer service.
Still, the guy had taken up more mental real estate than Lee was proud of.
It was embarrassing how often he caught himself wondering where the hell a person like that even went.
By the end of the second week, Lee had resigned himself to never knowing.
Until the bell rang.
He didn’t look up right away, didn’t want to jinx it, but something in the shift of air told him before he even glanced.
There he was, Same hoodie. Same rings. Same eyes.
Lee froze for half a second behind the register before stepping forward, pulling himself together with the ease of repetition.
“Black coffee?” he asked, already punching it in.
The man gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
Lee moved to the machine, but before he could walk away, the man added, “You still wanna know if I got social media?”
Lee blinked, cup in hand.
He turned back.
The guy wasn’t smiling, not really, but his mouth had a slight curl to it. Like the ghost of amusement.
Like maybe he remembered, too.
Lee cleared his throat. “I mean… I wouldn’t mind knowing.”
The man shrugged, casual. “I got one. Don’t use it much.”
Lee handed over the cup, fingers brushing this time.
“Well,” he said, trying not to sound like his heart was picking up speed, “maybe you should start.”
The man huffed out a small laugh, barely a breath, and walked off with his coffee, same as usual.
Except not.
Not quite.
The door hadn’t even swung shut yet when Lee spoke up again.
“So,” he called, voice steadier this time, a little sharper, “are you gonna give me your handle or are you just gonna mention it and walk off?”
The man stopped mid-step, shoulders rising slightly like maybe he was deciding if it was worth turning around.
Then he did.
He faced Lee with that same unreadable expression, but now there was something just under the surface.
Bemusement, maybe. Or curiosity.
“You always this persistent?” he asked.
Lee shrugged, resting his hand on the counter. “Not usually.”
The man studied him for a second.
Then reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a phone that looked like it had been through hell, cracked screen, dented case, duct tape on one corner.
He tapped for a few seconds, then held it up.
@stomachbug99
Lee stared.
The man didn’t flinch. “Don’t judge.”
The guy gave a small nod, almost like a salute, and turned for the door.
“See you tomorrow?” Lee said before he could stop himself.
The man paused, just long enough to glance over his shoulder.
“Guess we’ll see,” he said, and walked out.
Stomachbug99.
Lee rolled the name around in his head as he refilled the syrup pumps, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Cute, in that weird, offbeat way that caught you off guard. Like a sharp looking dog wearing baby socks.
He didn’t have his phone on him —store policy— but he kept the handle lodged firmly in his brain, filed away until he could grab his phone from the locker in the back.
No way he was forgetting that one.
As he worked, he replayed the guy’s voice in his head.
Low. A little rough around the edges.
And just the faintest twang. Southern, but not syrupy. Dry. Clipped. Something in the vowels gave it away.
Of course he had an accent. Of course he did.
The guy was an enigma.
Looked like trouble. Talked like a man who didn’t waste syllables.
Walked into overpriced coffee shops like he had a reason to be there, but never said what it was.
Lee rinsed out a milk pitcher, half-distracted.
He didn’t know what he was hoping for, if anything.
But something about this guy was sticking with him.
Not just in the crush on a regular customer kind of way.
Deeper than that. Stranger.
He’d figure it out eventually. Or he’d try. One weird username and one black coffee at a time.
The subway platform rumbled faintly under Lee’s boots, wind pushing through the tunnel like something impatient.
His train was late. Of course.
He leaned against a support beam, finally digging his phone from his coat pocket.
The screen lit up with a few missed texts, nothing urgent, and then he tapped into the app.
Stomachbug99.
The profile loaded with a grainy raccoon in a hoodie glaring out from the little circle at the top. He scrolled.
Wolves. Everywhere.
Lee blinked, thumb pausing over a blurry photo of one trotting through a snowy stretch of woods.
Then another, this one clearer, a big gray one with yellow eyes, posted with no caption. Just the wolf. Staring at the camera.
The man himself popped up in a few shots.
Sometimes with an arm slung around someone, sometimes flipping off the camera, always with that same blank expression like he couldn’t be bothered to smile unless someone made him.
The people in the pictures didn’t look like Lee’s usual crowd, rough around the edges, mostly guys with buzz cuts, bruises, bad tattoos.
One guy in the background had a cigarette tucked behind each ear.
Another wore a wife beater in the snow.
Lee raised an eyebrow.
He looked like a plain ol’ thug. Just one with an oddly specific wolf obsession.
Lee snorted to himself, pocketing the phone as the train screeched into the station.
He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. A poetry account? Latte art?
Still. he didn’t unfollow. Lee tried. He really did.
It would’ve been easier to write the guy off, to shrug and say, He’s just another thug, the kind Lee had spent most of his life learning how to steer clear of.
Too many rings, too many silent stares, too many pictures with people who looked like they treated “trespassing” as a polite suggestion.
But there was something about him.
Something that wouldn’t leave Lee alone.
Maybe it was the quiet.
The kind that didn’t feel hollow.
Like there was more sitting under the surface, just out of reach.
Maybe it was the wolves.
Or the fact that he’d remembered that awkward social media comment and brought it up a week later like it had actually meant something.
Lee lay in bed that night, the glow of the streetlight painting soft shadows across his ceiling.
Phone on his chest, screen dark now. He’d looked through that account three times already.
Twice for the wolves, once for the guy.
He wanted to know why a guy like that came into a place like his coffee shop every day like clockwork.
He wanted to know what made someone post photos of wolves without a single caption.
He wanted to know if there was a reason he never smiled in photos, or if that was just how his face looked when he wasn’t trying to impress anybody.
Lee exhaled slowly, flipping onto his side.
There were edges here. Rough ones.
And something in him wanted to start peeling them back.
The phone screen lit up again with a soft glow, illuminating Lee’s face in the dark.
He’d told himself he was done looking. That he was just checking the time.
But his thumb was already pulling up the profile. Again.
He scrolled, slower this time.
Less like he was browsing and more like he was studying.
A new detail stood out each time.
A dog tag.
A bandage on one hand.
A wolf paw print tattoo half-visible under the sleeve of his hoodie.
Then he tapped one of the photos.
It was the man, crouched down in the snow beside an actual wolf— huge, thick-furred, yellow-eyed.
The guy had one arm draped over it like they were old friends. His other hand was flashing a peace sign. Still no smile. The wolf looked friendlier than he did.
Lee squinted at it, trying to figure out if the photo was real or staged, when—
His thumb slipped.
The little red heart filled in.
He stared at it.
His brain screamed.
Shit.
His thumb hovered in the air.
Should he unlike it? Was it too late? Would the app still send a notification if he took it back fast enough? Did the guy even check his notifications?
Lee sat upright, phone clutched in both hands like it might explode.
The heart sat there. Bold. Red. Glaring at him.
It was probably fine. People liked things all the time. Maybe he’d think it was an accident.
Which it was. Mostly.
But still.
Lee dropped the phone and groaned, dragging a mortified hand over his face.
The phone lay there like a ticking bomb, face down in the blankets. Lee stared at it from across the bed like it had grown teeth.
He didn’t move.
His face burned with secondhand embarrassment from himself.
That one stupid, accidental like was enough to derail whatever calm he had left for the evening.
He sat at the edge of the bed, legs bouncing, palms pressed to his thighs, heart thudding way too fast for someone who hadn’t technically done anything.
Then— Ping.
Lee jumped.
The screen lit up.
One notification.
Message request from: stomachbug99
His heart dropped clean into his stomach.
He stared at the name, every possible reaction cycling through his head at once, ignore it, open it, throw his phone out the window.
Instead, with hands that suddenly didn’t feel like his, Lee reached out and flipped the phone over.
The message was simple.
“You like wolves or just me?”
Lee stared at the screen.
His thumb hovered above the keyboard, mind whirring a thousand miles a minute.
There was no emoji for the kind of spiraling he was doing right now.
But eventually, after a few deep breaths and a silent fuck it, he typed:
“Wolves are cool. I think I’m just trying to figure you out though.”
He read it over once. Then again. Honest. A little bold, maybe.
But not thirsty. Not weird. Hopefully. He hit send. Immediately, he wanted to throw the phone across the room.
Instead, he set it gently beside him on the bed like it might still detonate and sat there, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, staring down at his hands.
The guy had always felt like a mystery, a closed book with a rough cover and no title.
And now here Lee was, cracking it open on purpose.
His nerves came crawling in, slow and tight in his chest.
This was happening.
Actual contact.
Actual conversation.
Not just glances over a counter or imagined monologues on subway platforms.
The screen lit up again. A reply.
“Not sure there’s much to figure out.”
Lee exhaled through his nose, something between a laugh and a sigh.
He could practically hear it in that low, flat voice, like the guy genuinely believed it.
Like he didn’t see anything interesting about himself worth digging into.
That just made Lee more curious.
He tapped out a response before he could overthink it:
“Yeah, right.”
Then paused. Was that too blunt? Too sarcastic? Would it read like a challenge?
He hovered over the message, debating whether to add a smiley face or an “lol” to soften it, then decided against it.
It didn’t feel right. Didn’t feel him. He sent it as is. Now all he could do was wait. Again.
He leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, phone resting on his chest like a weight.
Hopefully, the guy got the tone.
Hopefully it came off the way Lee meant it— teasing, not confrontational.
Not: You’re lying.
More like: You don’t see it, but I do.
Lee stared at the quiet reply sitting in his inbox, fingers itching.
He could’ve left it there, neatly folded away. A small, closed loop. But that wasn’t how this felt.
This wasn’t polite interest. It wasn’t curiosity for curiosity’s sake.
This guy had gotten under his skin. Slipped past his usual filters without even trying.
And Lee wasn’t used to that.
He didn’t approach guys like this.
Didn’t flirt with people who looked like they’d been kicked out of places on purpose.
Didn’t double text.
But here he was, phone in hand, chest tight with something halfway between anxiety and adrenaline.
He typed:
“There’s something about you that I can’t get out of my head. I don’t work tomorrow if you’re free.”
His thumb hovered over “Send” for a moment, but only a moment.
Click.
There. Out in the world. No going back now.
Lee’s heart pounded like he’d just stepped out onto a ledge.
He dropped the phone beside him and rubbed his hands over his face.
Not a coward. Not usually brave either.
But something about this guy brought it out of him in sharp, quiet bursts. Like a flicker of static, electric and risky.
He let out a slow breath and waited.
Lee’s phone buzzed. One word.
“Sure.”
Cool. Casual. Effortless.
Lee stared at it, pulse still thudding from the risk he’d just thrown into the universe, and all he got back was a sure.
He almost laughed.
It was exactly what he expected.
And somehow it still left his stomach in knots. No emoji. No question. No follow-up.
Just a quiet agreement like they were already on the same page.
He leaned back into the pillows, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth.
Sure.
Well, shit.
Now he had to figure out what to wear.
~~~
Lee stood on the corner just to the right of the coffee shop, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, pretending not to check the time on his phone every thirty seconds.
He wore a pale cardigan, the sleeves pushed up neatly to his forearms, buttoned over a crisp white shirt.
His glasses sat comfortably on the bridge of his nose, round and clean, and the satchel slung across his chest made him look like he was about to pitch a new wellness app to some out of touch tech investors.
He looked like exactly what he was: someone who didn’t do this kind of thing.
His reflection in the dark coffee shop window confirmed it.
Too tidy.
Too composed.
Too 'not the kind of guy who usually hit up tattooed strangers in safety vests with usernames like stomachbug99.'
He adjusted the strap of his bag. Swallowed.
Wait. Was this a date?
He hadn’t said it.
The guy hadn’t said it.
But he hadn’t said no, either. And Lee hadn’t asked him to hang out in a group, or to study, or to talk about wolves.
He’d said, “There’s something about you I can’t get out of my head.”
And the man had said sure.
Lee exhaled, heart doing an uneven little skip. God. What the hell was this? Then he saw him.
Walking up with the same slow, steady gait Lee had memorized without meaning to.
Black T-shirt, soft with wear, the sleeves snug against arms that were all lean muscle and ink.
Tattoos crawling down to his wrists like they had stories Lee would never be told.
His skin caught the sunlight just enough to show off the warm tone of it, the way his muscles flexed casually.
Lee’s eyes followed the silver chain around his neck, catching the light with every step, the glint drawing attention right to the hollow of his collarbone.
His curly hair had grown out a little since that first day, thick and dark, tapered sharp on the sides, edges clean.
And then their eyes met.
Sharp, amber-colored— no, lighter than amber, more like gold dust in dirty water.
They locked onto Lee like they’d been waiting for him, studying him just as openly.
Lee could feel the weight of it. The once-over.
The quiet judgment. The curiosity.
It was intense.
Lee stood a little straighter without meaning to, clutching the strap of his satchel tighter.
This guy—the mystery man with the black coffee, the wolves, the terrible username—looked like trouble carved into someone’s favorite shape.
And now he was here. Looking at him.
Lee’s mouth went dry.
“Hey,” the man said, voice low and unhurried. A little rough. A little Southern.
And somehow even that made Lee’s stomach flip.
Lee cleared his throat, already feeling the heat crawling up the back of his neck.
He extended a hand, steady enough despite the nerves prickling beneath his skin.
“Leander,” he said, giving the name a little weight. “You can call me Lee.”
The man looked at the hand, then took it. His grip was firm, his palm calloused and warm.
“Lee,” he echoed, like he was trying it on.
Lee continued, stumbling slightly as the words tumbled out.
“I, uh— figured you might be Omar. Based on the name from your order.”
Omar didn’t flinch at the mention of it. Just gave a small shrug and the hint of a smirk.
“Yeah. That’s me.”
He let go of Lee’s hand, tucking his own into his pocket as his eyes dragged across him again, over the cardigan, the glasses, the satchel.
Not unkind. Not mocking. Just… measuring.
“You always dress like you’re about to give a TED Talk, or is this just for me?” he asked, head tilting slightly.
Lee blinked, caught off guard.
Then he smiled. Small, but genuine.
“I figured I’d class things up. Balance the energy,” he said.
Omar huffed out something like a laugh. Real, but lowkey. He nodded, just once.
“Fair enough.”
Lee felt something inside him unknot, just a little.
Lee cleared his throat again, the sound softer this time, more out of habit than nerves.
He adjusted his glasses with a careful flick of his fingers, steadying himself beneath Omar’s gaze.
“I figured we walk through the park,” he said, gesturing down the block with a slight tilt of his head. “Walk. Talk.”
Simple. Low stakes. No pressure.
Omar didn’t say anything right away, but his gaze followed where Lee had motioned.
Then he nodded once, a quiet sort of agreement. No resistance. No attitude.
“Cool,” he said.
And just like that, they fell into step beside each other.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, just thick with the weight of unfamiliar ground.
Lee glanced at Omar from the corner of his eye, how his arms swung at his sides, how the chain on his chest glinted when he passed through sunlight.
He still didn’t know what this was.
A date?
A mistake?
A story to tell Carmen later with a dramatic sigh?
But he kept walking.
Because something about Omar still tugged at him.
And Lee was finally starting to follow.
Lee walked a few steps in silence before the thought crept in, slow and ridiculous, but impossible to ignore.
They probably looked insane together.
He risked a glance at the reflection in a passing window.
Him in his cardigan, glasses catching the sun, neat shoes tapping quietly on the pavement.
And then Omar— arms out, ink on full display, rings glinting with every casual swing of his hand, that black T-shirt stretched over muscle like it had been painted on.
Lee swallowed back a laugh.
Someone could mistake them for a parole officer and a reformed criminal on a court-mandated reintroduction walk.
Let’s learn how to reintegrate into society together, one lavender scone at a time.
He pressed his lips together to hide the smirk tugging at the edge.
Omar glanced sideways. “What?”
Lee shook his head quickly.
“Nothing. Just—thinking.”
Omar didn’t push.
Just nodded like he already knew Lee’s brain was going places.
Probably didn’t care where. He kept walking, relaxed, like he belonged here even if every part of him screamed I don’t.
And somehow, that made Lee want to laugh even more.
Not at him. Just… at how absurd this whole thing was.
How strange and surreal it felt to be walking next to this guy like it was normal.
Like this was something he did.
And yet, it felt kinda nice.
“So,” Lee started, feigning a casual tone as he adjusted the strap of his satchel, “you do construction?”
Omar’s head tilted slightly, not stopping, just glancing over with the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.
“You always come in with that hi-vis vest,”
Lee went on, trying not to look too obviously at Omar’s arms— though, how could he not?
Every muscle, every tattooed line, every vein made it pretty clear this was someone who lifted more than just overpriced coffee beans.
“So I just figured it was something along those lines.”
Omar gave a small grunt of acknowledgment, almost a laugh.
“Yeah. Kind of. Demo and cleanup mostly.”
“Demolition?”
“Sometimes. Depends on who’s paying and what needs tearing down.”
Lee blinked.
He wasn’t sure what answer he’d expected, but something about demolition felt a little too on the nose.
“Right,” Lee said. “That… makes sense.”
Omar looked at him again, amused now.
“What, you surprised I work with my hands?”
Lee gave him a dry look, the words slipping out before he could catch them.
“No. Your arms kind of give that away.”
The second it left his mouth, he winced internally.
That wasn’t supposed to come out.
Not like that.
He wasn’t trying to flirt.
Not blatantly, anyway.
He braced for awkward silence. Maybe a smirk. Maybe a look.
But Omar laughed.
A real one this time, not a scoff, not a grunt.
A short, rough, actual laugh, low in his chest like it surprised even him.
Lee felt it bloom in his chest, warm and involuntary.
Omar glanced sideways again, that little grin still clinging to the corner of his mouth.
“You been thinking about my arms that much, huh?”
Lee kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to let that smug little smile on Omar’s face get to him.
He adjusted his glasses with a practiced flick of his fingers, shoulders straight, tone even.
“I’m observant. That’s all.”
It was the best he could do to preserve some dignity, to act like he hadn’t just let slip how much he’d been cataloging Omar’s forearms like a mental art exhibit.
Omar didn’t push, didn’t tease further, but Lee could feel his eyes lingering, amused.
Like he knew he’d hit a nerve and was just letting Lee squirm in it a little.
The silence between them stretched comfortably, the park opening up around them in green and gold, filtered through early afternoon sun.
Omar let out a quiet exhale.
“You always this careful with your words?”
Lee’s mouth twitched.
“Only when I’m around guys with demolition jobs and wolf obsessions.”
That earned another short laugh. Less surprised this time.
More like he was enjoying himself now.
And maybe… Lee was, too.
Something about being out here with Omar just… felt right.
Lee had only really started talking to him today, but the silence that stretched between them wasn’t awkward.
It didn’t beg to be filled. It settled, warm and natural, like an old hoodie or a favorite chair.
Omar walked with that same steady ease he always had, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the park without urgency.
And Lee—normally so conscious of awkward pauses, of when to speak and what to say— found himself completely fine with saying nothing.
He didn’t need to talk.
But he wanted to hear more.
Omar’s voice had that dry Southern edge, the kind that rolled low and steady.
Every time he said something, it lingered for a beat in Lee’s mind, like it was trying to stick around longer than it had any right to.
Lee glanced sideways at him, subtle.
He was quiet now, jaw working like he was thinking, not brooding exactly, but definitely deep in whatever passed for thought behind those sharp gold-ringed eyes.
Lee hesitated, then nudged a little.
“You don’t talk much,” he said, voice soft, not accusing, just observing.
Omar glanced at him, that half-smirk still ghosting on his mouth.
“Don’t need to.”
Lee smiled faintly. “You could. I wouldn’t mind hearing more of that accent.”
Omar’s eyes flicked toward him, something almost curious behind the quiet.
“You flirtin’ with me, Lee?”
Lee didn’t look away.
Didn’t flinch. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t answer.
He kept his expression neutral, eyes straight ahead again, hands calmly adjusting the strap of his bag like he hadn’t just invited Omar to keep talking just so he could hear more of his accent.
Because damn it, was he flirting?
He didn’t mean to be.
Not consciously. Not deliberately. But now that Omar had said it out loud, the thought sunk in like a slow bruise.
Was he?
Lee replayed the conversation in his head,;how casual he’d tried to sound, how pointed that last comment had been.
How Omar had laughed like he’d seen straight through it.
Lee exhaled quietly through his nose.
Okay. Maybe he was. A little.
But Omar didn’t seem put off. If anything, that low chuckle had sounded… pleased.
The thought made Lee’s stomach twist in a way that wasn’t unpleasant.
So he stayed quiet. Cool. Neutral. Pretending like nothing had happened.
But he could feel Omar watching him out of the corner of his eye, like he knew. Like he was waiting to see if Lee would do it again.
Lee let the silence hang for a moment longer before casting a sidelong glance at Omar, one brow raised.
“So, what’s up with the whole—” he paused, gesturing vaguely at all of Omar, “—delinquent look?”
Omar didn’t respond right away, but there was a slow smirk forming, like he’d been waiting for that one to drop.
“And then,” Lee went on, lips quirking just slightly, “what’s a guy like you doing buying coffee in a place that plays indie folk and spells ‘coffee’ with a K on the specials board?”
Omar huffed out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
“Damn. You really have been watching me.”
Lee didn’t deny it.
Omar looked forward again, the sunlight catching the silver chain across his chest as he walked.
“Didn’t know I had a look,” he said, tone dry.
Lee gave him a pointed once-over. “Come on. Rings on every finger? The hoodie? Tattoos? You look like you’ve got at least three unpaid parking tickets and an ex who keyed your car.”
Omar chuckled at that, his smile curling wider now. “Only two tickets.”
Lee made a soft hm sound. “Still waiting on the coffee part.”
Omar shrugged one shoulder. “Coffee’s hot. And that shop don’t ask questions.”
Lee looked at him, curious. “Is that important to you?”
Omar didn’t answer right away.
His gaze stayed on the path ahead, his features unreadable again for a moment.
Then: “Sometimes.”
Lee didn’t push. But that made him want to know more.
He let out a small hum, not quite judgmental, but definitely thoughtful.
His hands tucked into his cardigan pockets, eyes flicking over to Omar again.
“So you’re a guy that doesn’t like too many questions,” he said, the words easy, but deliberate. “That’s fine.”
He paused a beat, lips twitching at the corners.
“Might make it hard to get to know you, though. I’ve been known to be a bit inquisitive.”
Omar glanced at him, the smirk pulling at his mouth again, subtle but sharp. “Yeah, I caught that.”
Lee shrugged, tone light. “I like context. Background. The stuff people don’t usually say out loud.”
“Sounds nosy.” Omar gave a soft snort, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite tell if he was being teased or interrogated.
Probably both. His eyes lingered on Lee for a second longer than necessary.
“You ever consider that maybe some people are better without context?”
Lee didn’t blink. “I think everyone’s got context. You’re just not used to people wanting yours.”
Omar didn’t respond right away.
Just gave a low, thoughtful huh as they continued walking side by side, a long stretch of silence settling between them again.
But this time, it felt charged, like something unsaid was threading just beneath the surface.
Lee didn’t mind. He could be patient.
They walked a few more paces, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound between them for a moment.
The sun filtered through the trees above, casting scattered shadows that danced over Omar’s inked arms, the silver of his chain catching flashes of light.
Lee didn’t look at him when he spoke next, didn’t need to.
“You know,” he said quietly, almost like it was just an observation, “you’ve got a mean face.”
Omar glanced at him, one brow lifted. “Yeah?”
Lee nodded, still forward-facing, still casual.
“Like… if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were pissed off all the time.”
Omar huffed, not quite a laugh, but something close.
“You don’t know better.”
That made Lee smile.
“Maybe not,” he said. “But if you were really pissed off, I don’t think you’d be out here humoring me.”
Omar didn’t say anything right away.
Just walked a little slower, like he was thinking something through.
Then: “You think I’m humorin’ you?”
Lee finally turned to look at him. “No,” he said. “I think you’re curious.”
Omar met his gaze.
That sharp, unreadable expression was still there, but underneath it, something softer. Something that flickered and passed before Lee could name it.
“Maybe,” Omar said. “Maybe I just like mean-muggin, coffee shop boys in sweaters.”
Lee grinned, a spark of playfulness tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“That’s an incredibly specific hobby,” he said, tone light. “But I wouldn’t put it past you.”
Omar gave a soft, amused scoff, eyes narrowing just slightly as he looked over at him.
“Better than collecting pressed flowers or whatever the hell you do in your free time.”
Lee scoffed, mock offended. “I’ll have you know I’m far too uncoordinated to press flowers.”
Omar smiled, just a small, crooked thing, but it was real.
Lee felt something settle in his chest again, that same quiet rightness from earlier.
For someone who didn’t talk much, Omar said a lot without needing to.
And for someone who usually kept people at arm’s length, Lee was surprised at how easily he was letting this happen.
Whatever this was.
They kept walking.
Lee didn’t know if it was a date.
But it felt like the start of something.
The sun was coming down now, low and lazy across the lake, bleeding gold into the water like someone had cracked open the sky just enough to let it spill.
Lee hadn’t even realized how much time had passed, how the quiet walk had turned into soft conversation, which turned into hunger, which led to a greasy food truck parked just outside the park gates.
Now they sat side by side on a worn wooden bench overlooking the lake, their legs just barely brushing as they balanced foil takeout containers on their knees.
Steam rose from the boxes, fragrant and warm, mixing with the scent of summer grass and lake water.
Omar had paid without saying a word about it, just handed over the cash like it wasn’t a big deal.
When Lee opened his mouth to object, Omar gave him a look.
Not mean. Not stern. Just final.
Like: Don’t ruin it.
Lee didn’t argue.
He popped a piece of something spicy and crispy into his mouth and glanced sideways.
“Didn’t expect you to be the gentleman type,” he said between bites.
Omar snorted. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, I won’t. I’m sure you’ll push me into traffic on our next outing.”
Omar took a bite of his own, chewing like he wasn’t going to dignify that with a response, but the side of his mouth curled upward just enough to give him away.
Lee leaned back on the bench, legs stretched out, container balanced with practiced ease.
The water shimmered. The sky darkened. The moment held.
And sitting there with a greasy meal and a guy who never smiled in photos, Lee felt more at ease than he had in weeks.
They ended their evening right where it started in front of the coffee shop, now dark and closed for the night.
The glow from the streetlamp cast a soft halo around them, their shadows long on the sidewalk.
Lee stood with his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, but something in his chest fluttered with quiet anticipation.
Omar looked the same, stoic, unreadable, but somehow more real now.
Like the day had chipped away at the edges just enough to let something else show through.
Lee glanced at him, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a small, honest smile.
“I had a good time with you,” he said, voice steady despite the nerves bubbling under the surface.
“Maybe… we could do this again?”
It was soft. Casual.
But hopeful.
Unmistakably hopeful.
Omar looked at him for a beat.
Like he was weighing it, feeling it out. Then he gave a small nod, slow and deliberate.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”
And just like that, something loosened in Lee’s chest.
Not completely, but enough.
Enough to walk away smiling.
Enough to want tomorrow.
~~~
Back at the apartment, the air was thick with the scent of acetone and cheap takeout leftovers.
Carmen was perched on the couch in her usual kingdom of half-folded blankets and scattered nail polish bottles, one foot propped on the coffee table as she carefully painted her toes a glossy, borderline offensive shade of pink.
The TV was on, some new reality show with a fresh rotation of surgically perfected rich women accusing each other of betrayal over brunch.
The drama was identical to the last show, only the names had changed.
Carmen didn’t even look up as Lee stepped inside, slipping off his shoes with a little more care than usual.
“So how was the date, lover boy?” she asked, cool as ever, brush poised mid-stroke.
Lee blinked, caught off guard by how fast she got to the point.
He opened his mouth, closed it again.
Hung up his bag like that would buy him time.
“It wasn’t—” he started, then stopped. “Okay, maybe it was.”
Carmen hummed, pleased, like she already knew that. “Did he talk, or did you just sit there and admire his arms the whole time?”
Lee gave her a flat look, heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll have you know I was incredibly well-behaved.”
“Tragic,” she called after him. “I liked it better when he was just your grumpy little coffee stalker.”
Lee scoffed as he opened the fridge, the light flickering to life and bathing him in a soft, refrigerator glow.
“You don’t even know him,” he called over his shoulder, pulling out the last decent bottle of iced tea.
Carmen didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve seen enough to know he’s probably got a criminal record and at least one ex who regrets surviving.”
She blew on her toes, then sat back to admire her handiwork.
“Men who wear that many rings have either done time or want people to think they have.”
Lee stood in the doorway, sipping his tea. “He’s not like that.”
“Mm. Says the boy who was googling wolves in the middle of the night last week.”
“That was research.”
“That was yearning,” Carmen said, pointing the brush at him like a weapon.
“Face it. You’ve got it bad for the delinquent.”
Lee shook his head, “You’re exhausting, Carm.”
“And you’re glowing,” she said, finally looking up at him. “Admit it. You like him.”
Lee hesitated just a beat too long.
“Yeah,” he said softly, more to himself than to her. “I think I do.”
With that, Lee turned on his heel and made for the hallway, iced tea in hand.
“Goodnight.” he called, before Carmen could gear up to crack him open like a walnut and extract every last romantic detail as she was known to do.
“Coward,” she called back, all too fond.
He closed the door to his room behind him with a soft click, letting the quiet settle in.
His desk was exactly how he’d left it: a mess of textbooks, highlighters, flashcards he hadn’t touched in a week. The lamp glowed in the corner, casting long shadows across his notebook pages, reminders of everything he needed to catch up on.
He sat down, pulled the chair in with a scrape, and tried to focus.
Really tried.
But it was useless.
His mind wandered back to the park bench, to greasy food truck trays, to Omar’s laugh. Rare, but real.
The glint of silver against his chest, the weight of those quiet, deliberate stares.
And that walk. That damn walk.
He tapped his pen against the desk, a slow rhythm, not even aware of the soft smile tugging at his mouth.
This wasn’t like him.
He didn’t get distracted.
Not by guys with sharp eyes and a reputation he couldn’t prove.
Not by one word replies and Southern accents that lingered like honey in the back of his mind.
But here he was.
Textbooks open. Head full of Omar.
So much for studying.