Kevin didn't think twice about the man with the attitude and the expensive coat—until two days later, when he saw him again.
This time, Elian was sitting at a corner table, looking more polished and less scorched. His coat was different—black wool, impeccable—and he wore sunglasses indoors. Kevin had clocked more than a few vain types since starting his job, but this one stood out. Maybe it was the way he sat, like the world was beneath him but he still wanted to watch it squirm.
Kevin kept his distance, busying himself behind the counter until his shift ended. But Elian caught his eye with a curl of his fingers. A slow, deliberate beckon.
"I'm not your waiter," Kevin said when he came over, arms crossed.
"No. But you owe me a drink." Elian's lips curled. "For the trauma."
Kevin raised a brow. "You seriously came back here for free coffee?"
"No," Elian said, voice low. "I came to see what kind of idiot spills boiling coffee on strangers and still gets hired."
Kevin blinked, then laughed. "And you're the kind of guy who sues for emotional damage, aren't you?"
"Only if I'm bored."
They stared at each other a moment. Tension hung in the air—too awkward to be flirtation, too sharp to be innocent.
Kevin turned to go. "Enjoy your drink, Drama King."
"Kevin," Elian called after him. "You said your name was Kevin."
Kevin paused. "Yeah?"
Elian leaned forward. "I'm Elian. You should remember that."
Kevin left without answering.
Later that night, Elian searched for the café's ownership. Just curiosity, he told himself. Not obsession. Just information. It didn't take long to find Kevin's full name.
Kevin Reyes. Son of Jonathan Reyes.
Leonhart's father's oldest friend.
Elian stared at the screen.
The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
This wasn't a mistake anymore.
It was an opportunity.