The grand opening had gone better than Kevin ever expected.
Cupcakes sold out by 3 p.m.
Someone asked to reserve the space for a poetry night.
And three different older ladies insisted on hugging him for "bringing warmth back into the neighborhood."
But by evening, exhaustion clung to his bones.
Kevin was wiping down the last table when Leonhart appeared behind him, sleeves rolled up, tie undone.
"You don't have to stay," Kevin said, trying to hide a yawn.
Leonhart plucked the cloth from Kevin's hand. "I know."
Kevin blinked. "Wait—are you actually going to clean?"
"I've seen you do it wrong too many times."
They worked in comfortable silence. Leonhart swept. Kevin washed mugs. Now and then, their shoulders brushed. Each touch lingered a little longer than necessary, though neither said anything.
By the time the café was dark and locked, Kevin stretched on the sidewalk outside and sighed. "I can't feel my legs."
Leonhart, unusually quiet, sat beside him.
"Back there," he said, "you looked… proud."
Kevin tilted his head. "I was. I am."
Leonhart looked at his hands. "You did it without anyone's help. You didn't need to play games. You just built something."
Kevin glanced sideways. "You're comparing me to him again."
Leonhart didn't deny it.
"Elian knew how to read me," Leonhart murmured. "He knew what I liked, what I wanted to hear. But I realize now he only reflected what I projected."
Kevin was silent.
"I don't think he ever saw me. Not really. And I didn't care—as long as I got what I paid for."
Kevin gave a small nod. "You didn't need honesty then."
"I didn't think I deserved it."
That stung more than Leonhart expected to admit.
"You're different," he added.
Kevin smiled faintly. "Because I make decent coffee?"
Leonhart turned to him fully. "Because you see me. Not the money. Not the reputation. Just… me."
Kevin's throat tightened, but he covered it with a grin. "You're kinda dense, you know. Took you fifteen episodes to figure that out."
Leonhart laughed—and it wasn't sharp or guarded like usual. It was real.
The kind of laugh he hadn't had in years.
Then Kevin leaned back against the wall, head tilted to the sky. "I'm not asking for a fairy tale. I'm not even asking for 'us.' I just want to know that this," he gestured between them, "isn't just a rebound."
Leonhart looked at him for a long time.
"It's not," he said. "It's the first thing that feels like it's actually mine."
Kevin didn't respond right away.
But then he stood up, stretched his arms, and offered a hand.
"Come on. I'll walk you home."
Leonhart hesitated, then took it.
Not because he needed to.
But because he wanted to.
And this time, no money changed hands.
Just warmth.
And maybe, quietly, a beginning.
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