A/N: I had originally posted this on one of my side blogs.
You lift your gaze from your novel at the sound of the door chimes, a gentle hitch in your chest as he enters the café where you work, by himself. It’s ten o’clock on a Monday night. The usual mix of writers and university students have already cleared out for the night, leaving just you and him. You straighten your posture as he approaches the counter, the squeak of his shoes alerting you to the fact that it’s raining outside.