Archive of Our Own

Polemos stepped into the staff room. The latch clicked shut behind him and he dropped his bag onto the chair by the lockers.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension of a three-hour lecture still knotted between his blades. His fingers reached up to undo his scrunchie and then gathered his long blond hair back, secured it into a tidier low ponytail. Then, he traded his jacket for the dark canvas apron hanging on the wall.

The smell of coffee grounds and steamed milk wrapped around him the moment he went to the front. He did some small chores, making some orders and talked to the clocking-out co-worker. In between, Polemos glanced at the clock above the espresso machine.

2 PM.

And not long, Khaslana walked into the cafe.

He moved carefully and it felt out of place in this small town. His suit was dark coloured, ironed neatly. His smile didn't quite reach the gold of his eyes.

Honestly, Polemos always found the gentle curve creepy. It almost like the smile was glued to his face. But not that he would say it aloud, though.

"How are you today, Polemos?" A masculine woody scent drifted from Khaslana as he moved closer.

Polemos didn't mirror the smile. He reached for a clean portafilter.

"Busy," he answered curtly. "What are you having today?"

Khaslana leaned against the counter, his fingers tapping a beat on the wood. "Guess."

Polemos exhaled an exasperated, audible sigh like he was humoring an awful pun he heard multiple times.

"Double shot espresso," Polemos muttered, his gaze shifting to the depleted display case. "And whatever snack I think is the best today."

Khaslana's head tilted, a flicker of amusement was on his eyes. "Perfect. You know me too well." He chuckled as he held out a black card. Polemos took it and ran it through the machine.

"Thanks."

"No, thank YOU." Khaslana's gaze lingering for a second too long before he turned toward the seating area.

"The corner near the window," Polemos murmured to the empty air. And Khaslana sat down exactly where Polemos thought he would.

"As always." Polemos rolled his eyes then turned to work on the order of the day.

Khaslana was new to the town.

Five months, maybe a little more.

Khaslana had mentioned the reason once, casually while waiting for his drink. Big city. Too crowded. Too loud. He said he wanted to start anew. Now, he worked administration at the local factory.

That was all Polemos knew at first.

Then, Khaslana became his regular and he was a creature of habit. He arrived at 2 PM sharp, every day. Weekdays, weekends, holidays. Rain or shine. It didn't matter. He would come, greet Polemos, order the same thing, and go straight for the corner near the window.

When the seat was free, Khaslana stayed and opened his laptop. He asked for refills occasionally, always with a gentle thank you. Four hours. Sometimes five. Then he packed up, wiped the table himself if he'd spilled crumbs, and left without noise.

If the seat was occupied, he didn't wait nor choosing different seat. He left. He also left if the cafe was crowded.

Polemos noticed these details after one month. He tried to tell himself it was nothing weird. This was a small town. Patterns stood out whether he wanted them to or not.

Moreover, Khaslana stood out more than most. Polemos didn't like admitting it, but Khaslana was an apple to the eye. Not about physical attractiveness—though unfairly he was that too—but the attitude. Khaslana moved with charm that smoothed over every interaction. He was quick to help, ready to open door for people, friendly to staff, he tipped generously, and on top of it, he was polite beyond normal, almost like a gentleman noble from some old stories.

But, whenever anyone drifted close to teasing, to the edge of flirtation, Khaslana stepped back with a smile. No mixed signals. He drew a boundary cleanly, yet gently at the same time.

Polemos slid the almond tart onto a small ceramic plate and poured the espresso. A scoff escaped his lips.

It was funny, Polemos thought.

Khaslana played the part of the untouchable gentleman perfectly, but Polemos hadn't forgotten their first encounter. He hadn't forgotten the way Khaslana had leaned over this very counter and dropped a pick-up line so lame it had actually made Polemos frown.

"Can I order a smile from the barista?"

Polemos had stared at him, unimpressed. Khaslana had laughed back then, even after Polemos' snarky response.

Though, that was the only time Khaslana said something so close to flirting. Other than that, they just exchanged greetings and small chit-chat.

Polemos shrugged. He picked up the tray and began the walk toward the corner window.

"Your usual," Polemos said, setting the tray down.

Khaslana looked up, smiling. "You're a lifesaver, Polemos."

"I'm a barista," Polemos corrected. "Don't be dramatic."

Khaslana chuckled at that. "Thanks, still."

Polemos nodded then turning back to the counter, cleaning up. He was alone in the first two hours of his shift. Mostly, the cafe was slow around this hour but unexpected might happened so Polemos didn't want to delay anything.

But when there was nothing much to do, his mind would always drifting. And often, it was about Khaslana. The man was truly an enigma and made Polemos curious.

Like, what happened back in Khaslana's hometown that he had to run this far?

What kind of life did someone leave behind to end up here, in a town that barely made the map, spending his afternoons in the same café corner?

Khaslana didn't look like someone who sought trouble. If anything, he looked like someone who avoided it carefully.

Maybe, he's really a functional sociopath, Polemos thought. Those smiles are way too fake. He is too perfect—

"Polemos?"

The voice was closer than usual. Polemos startled, the pitcher clinking against the edge of counter as he looked up. Khaslana was standing right in front of him, leaning slightly. His smile was there, as always.

"Can I get an extra cookie today?" Khaslana asked. "If there's any left."

Polemos nodded, his movements a little too awkward as he reached for the tongs. "Yeah. Sure."

"You're absent-minded today," Khaslana uttered, his golden eyes tracking Polemos' movement. "Everything alright?"

"Just tired," Polemos muttered, focusing on the dark chocolate cookie he put on a smaller plate.

"Class?"

"Yeah." Polemos gave a short, sharp nod. "Should I warm this up?"

"Yes, please." Khaslana didn't go back to his seat. Instead, he bent forward against the counter. "I just realised I don't actually know what your major is."

"Literature," Polemos replied. The silence followed made him tensed a bit but he quickly moved to put the cookie into the microwave. "I know. It doesn't fit my build. Most people guess I'm into sports or something more... physical."

"Oh, it's not that." Khaslana chuckled. "I've seen you at the library a few times. I knew you liked to read, but to actually study it is quite a surprise. You aren't into sports, then?"

"I like them," Polemos said, sliding the warmed cookie across. "But it's a daily necessity. Not something I wanted to chase as a career. I prefer to struggle with texts if its for work."

Khaslana nodded slowly. "I see. It's great that you know what you wanted to do from the start."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, you're quite mature for your age."

Polemos frowned. "I'm twenty-one. Not a child."

Khaslana laughed, sounded lighter than usual. "I have a brother. He is two years older than you yet he can't make up his mind about what to do after graduated. He changes his career path every time he finds something new."

"Maybe he just has a lot of things he wants to try," Polemos hummed, leaning his elbows on the back counter.

"You don't think that's just indecisiveness?"

Polemos shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know your brother, so I can't judge him. But life is just a series of choices, right? We live this life for the first time too, there's so many first experiences. To be at a loss is totally normal."

Khaslana looked at him for a moment longer, then he painted a smile but somehow it looked a little weak this time.

"That's...a gentle way to see it."

"Well, people act like life is a race," Polemos said, wiping his hands on a towel. "Like everyone is lining up to outrun someone else. But it's not a sprint, and it's not against other people."

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "It's more like a long run where you're the only one on the track. If you start by sprinting, you burn out before you even know where you're going. Better to find a pace you can actually keep."

Khaslana listened without interrupting, just slowly nodded at the end of the line.

"That... helps," he said. "It feels like you just gave me permission to slow down."

Polemos lifted an eyebrow. "You feel like you're in a rush?"

"I don't know if ‘rush' is the right word." Khaslana curved a thin smile. "But I haven't felt at ease in a long time."

And it was the first time Polemos saw Khaslana's expression dim.

He had always seen him with that polite smile, something worn as naturally as his neat clothes.

Now it faltered, just slightly, and what showed through felt fragile, very normal. It made Khaslana looked like a vulnerable human being.

Polemos felt another flicker of curiosity. But he tamped it down just as quickly. Some things weren't his to ask.

"It's not too late to adjust your pace," Polemos decided to steer back. "If you're exhausted, let yourself rest. If you keep moving fast, you're going to miss everything that's actually around you."

Khaslana fell silent and Polemos let him to be. The older one then nodded, leaving the cookie on the counter. Polemos was about to deliver it but Khaslana returned with his cup and unfinished tart. His eyes flicking to the stools at the counter.

"Do you mind if I sit by the counter?"

Polemos raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you working on something? There's no space for laptop here."

"I'm taking a break."

"Well, make yourself comfy, then."

Khaslana sat with a soft thank-you. He sipped his espresso and began to eat the tart. Every so often, his gaze followed Polemos as he moved behind the counter.

Polemos felt it without looking. Not the stare of a customer waiting for service, but the idle attention of someone with seemed to be at loss and trying to find his way out.

The rhythmic chime of the door at 2:00 PM had become the permanent colour of Polemos's afternoon.

Khaslana didn't even turn toward the window anymore. He moved straight for the third stool from the end. He didn't have to ask for his order; Polemos would already have the espresso warming on top of the machine, snacks plated and waiting behind the glass.

"The factory was loud today," Khaslana shared an anecdote. He had loosened his tie, the silk hanging limp around his collar. It was a small crack in his armor that Polemos had started to look for.

"Loud enough to make you miss the city?"

"Not really. The noise here is, much easier to breath in than the city."

Polemos turned, leaning his hip against the counter. He noticed the way Khaslana's hair was starting to lose its structured hold, a single stray lock falling over his forehead. He found himself wondering if it felt as soft as it looked, then immediately busied his hands with a fresh bag of beans to kill the thought.

"You're getting better at reading the rhythm of this place," Polemos said.

"I have a good teacher," Khaslana replied, his eyes meeting Polemos and made the breath catch in the back of the barista's throat.

Over the next hour, the conversation drifted aimlessly. They talked about the local architecture, about the library's hidden poetry section and about the discounted goods at the supermarket. Khaslana also spoke of the younger brother he had left behind, his voice always sounded even gentler whenever he mentioned his dear sibling and Polemos listened to the gaps between the words, hearing the exhaustion Khaslana still refused to name.

Gradually, Polemos found himself noticing things he shouldn't. Like the way Khaslana took his coffee in slow sips. The way he meticulously brushed the crumbs of the tart into a neat pile on the edge of the plate. The way his golden eyes darkened when he was deep in thought, the crease of his forehead whenever he was confused. The way he listened with his whole body, leaning in slightly, like he was afraid to miss something. The way his laugh changed depending on the subject, brighter when he talked about the things he actually interested in.

"You're staring, Polemos," Khaslana said.

Polemos didn't look away this time. He just reached for a rag and began to polish the counter. "I'm a literature major," he said. "I'm trained to look for the subtext. You're a very complicated book, Khaslana."

Khaslana leaned forward, his forearms resting on the wood. The distance between them was barely the width of a tray. "And what chapter are we on?"

"The one where the protagonist finally stops running," Polemos murmured, his gaze dropping to Khaslana's hands. "And realises he likes the view from where he's standing."

Khaslana didn't say anything for a few more seconds, only letting his gaze met Polemos' deeply.

"It's a good view indeed," Khaslana whispered, a smile softened his mien.

Polemos turned back to the machine with a snort, realising then that he wasn't just watching a regular anymore. He was memorising Khaslana as a person. And for a man who lived his life through literature, he knew that once he started memorising the lines, he was already deep into the story.

Still, Polemos told himself it was nothing special. Just habit. Nothing went unnoticed in small town, especially someone with consistent habit.

But even so, he found himself looking up when the door chimed at 2 PM, already knowing who it would be.

The grocery bags were starting to bite into Polemos's palms, the plastic handles stretching under the weight of milk cartons and heavy glass jars. He stopped at the curb. The thermal bag slung over his shoulder was already losing its chill. He considered reaching for his phone to call a friend, but the thought of waiting another twenty minutes in the humid afternoon air felt worse than the walk.

But then a sharp honk cut through his thought.

A white SUV pulled alongside him. The window slid down, revealing Khaslana in the driver's seat. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket today. His white sleeves were rolled up, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms.

"Need a hand, Polemos?"

"I'm fine," Polemos muttered, though he didn't move to walk away.

"You aren't," Khaslana countered, his gaze flicking to the thermal bag. "That looks like something that shouldn't stay out too long."

Polemos followed his gaze, then sighed. "Yeah."

"I'm heading that way anyway," Khaslana said, already unbuckling his seatbelt. "Come on."

He stepped out of the car before Polemos could protest again, taking the heavier bags. Polemos let go, watching as Khaslana loaded everything carefully into the back, arranging the thermal bag last, secured the arrangement so it wouldn't fall neither hindering his view.

"Thanks," Polemos murmured.

Khaslana smiled. "No problem."

When everything was settled, Khaslana closed the trunk and gestured toward the passenger seat.

"Let's get you home."

Polemos took the ride, eyes turned toward the window as the town slid by in familiar fragments. Shops he knew by heart. Corners he cut through daily. The car moved smoothly in between.

"You live near the café?" Khaslana asked, breaking the quiet.

"Right behind it," Polemos replied. "Same building."

"That's convenient."

"It is."

"Ah, right. You said the cafè belongs to your mom, right?"

"More like her side hustle. She works overseas now. My father too."

"So you live alone?"

Polemos nodded. "Someone has to watch over the place."

The car slowed at an intersection. Khaslana's fingers tightened around the wheel for a moment. "That's a lot to take on."

Polemos shrugged. "They ran the café together before they got the new job." He looked out the window again. "It's the legacy of their hard work. I don't want it to disappear."

Khaslana was silent for a moment, navigating a turn carefully. "So, you're the manager. You handle the staff, the inventory, the maintenance, all while finishing a literature degree."

"I guess you could say that."

Khaslana turned to him as they hit a red light. A soft smile spreading across his face. "You're so dependable, Polemos. Most people your age wouldn't carry such weight without complaining."

Polemos glanced at Khaslana but looked away quickly. "It's nothing," he muttered. He didn't understand why his heart suddenly stuttered against his ribs.

The rest of the drive spent in silence and they arrived a dozen minutes later.

When they pulled up behind the cafe, Khaslana didn't wait for an invitation. He killed the engine and was at the trunk before Polemos could protest. "I've got it," Khaslana said, hoisting the heaviest bags.

Polemos gave in, took the rest and leading the way to the modest house tucked behind the cafe. They dropped the groceries on the kitchen counter.

"Thank you," Polemos said. "You didn't have to carry it all."

"I don't mind," Khaslana turned to leave, but Polemos found himself stepping forward.

"Do you... want some tea? Or coffee? It's the least I can do since you hauled all that."

Khaslana glanced at his watch, then shot up an apologetic smile. "I'd like to," he said. "Really. But I have an appointment. Maybe next time?"

Polemos nodded quickly. "Yeah. That's fine. Thanks for your help."

He watched from the doorway as the white SUV pulled away, the red taillights disappearing around the corner. Only then did Polemos let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the weird, frantic rhythm of his heart.

The town was small. Polemos knew that.

Still, he found himself wondering why he'd only become so aware of Khaslana now. Eight months in town, and yet they just started to cross paths outside the café a few days ago.

Khaslana had mentioned once that he'd seen Polemos at the library from time to time. Polemos hadn't thought much of it then.

Now, it seemed to happen often. Sometimes Polemos would be halfway through a chapter when a shadow fell across the table and Khaslana would wave lightly, a silent greeting before moving on.

Later, as Polemos juggled four heavy hardbacks toward the exit, the heavy door swung open before he could reach for the handle. Khaslana stood there, leaning against the frame as if he'd been waiting for the exact moment.

"You're going to break your wrist one of these days," Khaslana said, taking the top two books from the stack.

"I'm fine," Polemos muttered, though his muscles sighed in relief.

"You're so stubborn," Khaslana chuckled, walking him toward the sidewalk.

Then came the gym.

Polemos was midway through a set of heavy squats when he caught Khaslana's reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The man was on the rowing machine.

When they crossed paths near the water fountain, Khaslana stopped, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple with a white towel.

"We have the same schedule," he'd said, smiling. "I see you here a lot."

Polemos blinked. "Really? I didn't notice."

Khaslana laughed, it sounded light and airy. "Figures. You always look like you know exactly where you're going and what you're doing. I didn't want to interrupt."

"You're not interrupting," Polemos said quickly, the words leaving his mouth before his thoughts caught up. "I mean—you wouldn't be."

Khaslana's smile widened, gentler this time. "I'm glad to hear that."

And as if taking it as a permission, Khaslana always greeted Polemos when they met outside.

"Hey," he would say at the library, whispering out of courtesy.

Polemos would nod back, pretending he hadn't already noticed him from the corner of his eye.

Sometimes it happened between the aisles.

Polemos reaching for a book only to see Khaslana from the gap.

Sometimes it was at the counter near the exit, Khaslana returning a stack of books just as Polemos was checking his receipt.

Their conversations stretched a little longer each time.

And somehow, without Polemos realizing when it started, he began to learn that Khaslana was... competitive.

The first time Polemos noticed was at the gym.

Polemos was mid-set when a familiar reflection appeared behind him in the mirror.

Khaslana stood there, towel over his shoulder, watching with interest.

"That's heavy," Khaslana said.

Polemos finished the set and racked the weight. "It's fine."

Khaslana hummed, then loaded more plates onto the bar without asking. "Let's see."

Polemos stared. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Only one way to find out."

He didn't hurt himself. He lifted it, muscles trembling slightly by the end. When he finished, he glanced at Polemos, there was twinkle of mischief on his eyes.

Polemos scoffed. "Fine, you know how to handle the weight."

"But of course." Khaslana said. "I know I can do better than you."

From there, it escalated.

Every time they met, there was something going on.

Who could run longer. Who could hold a plank longer. Who could finish a set faster.

Khaslana, composed and courteous everywhere else, became almost ridiculously childish in competition. He hated losing. Visibly. He scowled, muttered under his breath, demanded rematches.

Polemos laughed more with him than he expected to.

"You're insufferable," Polemos said once, wiping sweat from his face.

Khaslana wiped his own neck with a towel. "And you're entertaining my whim."

Polemos opened his mouth to deny it but no word came out. He did enjoyed their little competition.

Even something as relaxed as the sauna became contest. Most people lasted ten minutes; Polemos and Khaslana were approaching twenty.

"You're... turning redder," Polemos wheezed, his back against the scorching wood.

Khaslana didn't even open his eyes, his posture remained regal despite the sweat pouring down his chest. "I'm fine. You're the one... breathing so heavily."

"I breath because I'm alive. I can stay here all night."

"Then we'll both be carried out in buckets."

They were, eventually. Two staff members had to practically haul them onto the cool tile of the locker room. Both of them dizzy, gasping, and leaning on each other's shoulders to keep from collapsing. Khaslana had looked over at Polemos, his hair plastered to his forehead, and let out a breathless, delirious laugh.

"That was stupid," Polemos said.

Khaslana laughed, breathless. "Well, the good news, now we know our limit."

"You mean your limit? I know I can keep going."

"Oh, shall we test it?"

They were banned from the sauna for two weeks after that.

Other than the competitive nature, Polemos learned other things too.

That Khaslana avoided alcohol. The topic came up casually once, after a late gym session, when someone suggested grabbing drinks.

"I'll pass," Khaslana said easily. "I've had enough of being intoxicated."

Polemos glanced at him. "Enough?"

Khaslana smiled, politely like shutting the door. "Yes, enough."

Polemos didn't ask again.

He learned that Khaslana was good at almost everything he tried. Numbers. Planning. Languages. Strategy games they played on a whim one evening at the café after closing. Too good, honestly, for someone filing forms at a small factory.

"Why do you work there?" Polemos asked one night.

"It's quiet."

Polemos thought about that answer long after and it kept lingered in his mind that he wanted to know more about Khaslana. He wanted to spend more time with him.

Polemos had friends. He laughed with them, trained with them, wasted hours playing games and arguing about nothing. But with Khaslana, it felt different. He couldn't pin-point it yet but all he knew that being with Khaslana made him enjoy the life a little bit more than usual.

And a year had passed.

Somehow, in that time, the awkwardness had disappeared. Conversations flowed easily now. Silences didn't sit awkwardly. They planned things together without overthinking it. A day just to compete again, somewhere else, somewhere new. Sometimes they didn't even do anything big, just be at each other's company while reading some books.

Today, it was a short trip to fish.

Polemos watched the line ripple, then stole a glance at Khaslana.

The older man sat next to him, leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out.

"You're terrible at this," Khaslana said.

Polemos turned his gaze back to the water. "You haven't caught anything either."

"I'm summoning the fish to jump into my bucket directly."

"That's not how fishing works."

Khaslana laughed under his breath, carefree. Polemos had noticed Khaslana laughed more often lately. Not just his usual polite curve of lips but a real one with sound and crinkling eyes.

And every time Khaslana laughed, Polemos would always feel the urge to look away because he looked way too blinding.

"You know," Khaslana said after his laughter subsided, "if we go home empty-handed, it's your fault."

Polemos raised a brow. "Why mine?"

"You picked the spot."

"You insisted on going here."

"That's because you said there's lot of fish in this area."

"And that's true."

"If so, then where are they?"

Polemos turned toward him slowly. "Maybe your summoning chant is turning them away instead."

Khaslana laughed again. The sound carried across the quiet water and Polemos once again felt something warm twist inside his chest.

The young barista quickly turned his gaze back to the water, silently hoping for any catch when the first raindrop fell.

Another drop struck the surface of the river.

Within seconds, rain pouring down heavily.

"Run," Khaslana shouted.

Polemos grabbed the rods while Khaslana snatched the bag.

They scrambled up the muddy trail, boots slipping on the slick, dark earth. By the time they reached the small wooden shelter near the trailhead, they were both drenched to the bone. Polemos leaned against a rough support post. His chest heaving, panting.

Khaslana wiped the water from his eyes, looking Polemos up and down before shaking his head. "You look ridiculous."

Polemos wiped a stray drop from the tip of his nose and scowled. "You look worse."

Khaslana stepped closer, close enough that Polemos could feel the radiated heat from his skin cutting through the damp chill. Without warning, Khaslana reached up, his fingers sliding through Polemos's wet hair, ruffling the strands into a chaotic, golden mess.

"Hey—" Polemos started, but the protest died in his throat.

"You deflated like wet cat, haha."

"Stop it." Polemos slapped the hand away.

Khaslana laughed subsided, but not for Polemos' protest. "You're shivering, Polemos."

Polemos hadn't noticed until the words were spoken. An involuntary tremble started in his shoulders. Before he could argue, Khaslana was already shedding his waterproof jacket.

He draped it over Polemos's shoulders. The weight of the fabric still holding the ghost of Khaslana's body heat and scent.

"Hold still," Khaslana whispered. He pulled a dry handkerchief from a protected inner pocket and reached out, his touch steady as he began to wipe the rain from Polemos's face.

His fingers brushed against Polemos's jaw, his thumb grazing the line of his cheekbone.

Polemos's heart stumbled, again and again.

It was a habit, he told himself. Khaslana had a younger brother; he was used to be the caring one. But as the scent of Khaslana wrapped around him, the logic shattered. The gentle way Khaslana dried his skin—while  being unaware of the proximity or the way his touch was remapping Polemos's nervous system—felt a little too intimate.

Polemos closed his eyes, the sound of the rain fading into a dull and distant noise.

Ah.

So, this is it.

I like him.

His fingers tightened around the cold handle of the fishing rod.

Please don't notice, he prayed, feeling his pulse hammer a frantic protest against his ribs.

In front of him, Khaslana chuckled at a loud crack of thunder, leaning back to watch the storm lash against the trees. He remained oblivious of the shift in the air, or the fact that Polemos was currently drowning in a way the rain could never manage.

The digital clock above the pastry case ticked over to 2:10 PM.

Polemos had sprinted from the lecture hall, his lungs still burning from the humid air outside, his backpack jostling against his spine. He barely offered a greeting as he ducked into the back, tying his apron around his waist. He twisted his hair into its usual knot, his fingers fumbling with the strands in his haste, before pushing through the swinging doors.

The cafe was quiet. The midday rush had bled out, leaving only slow day in the space.

"You're late," his coworker remarked. She was leaning against the back counter, a damp rag in her hand.

"Lecture ran over," Polemos panted, moving straight to the sink to wash his hands. "Sorry. Thanks for covering the first ten."

"It's fine. It was dead anyway."

Polemos nodded, grabbing a clean towel. He began to wipe down the counter but his eyes were already drifting. He swept a gaze over the wooden chairs, the small tables near the bookshelves, and finally, the corner by the window.

Empty.

He moved to the stools at the counter. The third one from the end was vacant.

"Something wrong?" His co-worker's head tilting as she watched him.

Polemos didn't stop wiping, moving in an obsessive circle over a spot of dried milk. "Nothing. Just... strange."

"Strange that Khaslana isn't here?"

Polemos went still, his fingers tightening around the rag. "He's usually settled in by now."

"He was here," the girl said. "Came in at two. Looked around, saw me behind the machine, and ordered an espresso to go. He was out the door in less than five minutes."

Polemos frowned, the damp rag forgotten on the wood. "To go? That's new. He usually stays if the seat is empty."

The co-worker let out a short huff and leaned her hip against the pastry case. "He only stays if you're the one behind the bar, Polemos."

Polemos looked at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about? He's a creature of habit. He has his seat."

"He has a favorite barista, not a favorite seat," she countered, shrugging. "I've been on the morning shift long enough to notice. At first, he came at different hour until finally he came just around your shift. If you aren't around, he takes his coffee and leaves. He's been staying more often lately because you've been on the same shift for months."

Polemos looked away, his gaze falling back to the empty stool. He remembered shifting his hours at the start of the semester, choosing the 2 PM slot because it was the only way to juggle the seminars, final assignments and the inventory demands of the cafe. He had thought it was a lucky coincidence that Khaslana's schedule seemed to align so perfectly with his own.

He had convinced himself that Khaslana liked the light in the corner. He had convinced himself the man just enjoyed the tranquility after the lunch rush.

Polemos's heart gave another slow, heavy thud against his ribs. He had spent months meticulously documenting Khaslana's habits, convinced he was the only one paying attention.

He hadn't considered the possibility that Khaslana was doing the exact same thing to him.

The next afternoon, the digital clock hadn't even finished flicking to 2:00 PM before the bells chimed.

Polemos was already behind the counter, his hands moving over the espresso machine. He felt the weight of Khaslana's gaze before he saw him properly.

"You were missing yesterday," Khaslana moved straight to the third stool, leaning his weight against the counter.

"Lecture ran late," Polemos muttered. "I didn't think you'd notice. Or look for me."

Khaslana smiled, a slow tilt that softened his golden oculi. "I notice when the coffee tastes different. I like the way you brew it."

"It's the same beans, Khaslana. Same machine. Every barista uses the same measurements I do."

"Mysteriously," Khaslana whispered, his voice dropping an octave, "it tastes different."

Polemos scoffed to mask the sudden heat in his chest. He slid the double shot and a fruit pie across the wood. Khaslana didn't pull his laptop out. He just sat there, propped on his elbows, watching Polemos move between the grinder and the sink. Usually, the attention felt nice, but today, Polemos felt every inch of his own skin.

"Have you ever done anything different?" Khaslana asked suddenly.

Polemos paused, a damp rag in his hand. "Different? Like what? Change the menu?"

"No," Khaslana said, his gaze drifting upward. "Your hair."

Polemos instinctively reached back, his fingers brushing the low, practical ponytail at the nape of his neck. "What about it?"

"It's beautiful," Khaslana said, the compliment delivered with honesty. "But you always tie it the same way. I was wondering if you ever tried anything else. A high tie, maybe. Or something that lets the length show more."

"I don't have time for that," Polemos said. "I have classes and a shift. It's a miracle I remember to brush it."

"You have enough time to take care of it, though," Khaslana countered, his voice trailing him. "Hair that long needs a lot of maintenance to look that gorgeus."

"I just do what my mother taught me."

"Do you keep it long for her?"

"No. There's no reason. It just happened. I'm too lazy to go to a barber and tell them what I want, so I just let it grow."

Khaslana chuckled, a warm sound that made the hair on Polemos's arms stand up. "It's a lot more work to keep hair down to your tailbone than to sit in a chair for twenty minutes. But well, I like your hair long. It's really beautiful. You really should try a braid next time. It would suit the shape of your face."

"Don't be a weirdo now," Polemos snapped, though there was no bite in it. He moved to the other end of the counter, busying himself with saucers that didn't need stacking.

Later that night, the house behind the cafe was silent. Polemos stood in front of his bathroom mirror.

He reached back, his fingers clumsy as they worked through the strands. He remembered the way his mother used to move her hands, three sections, over and under, interlacing rhythm.

He started at the nape of his neck. His arms ached as he reached behind his back, his breath hitching as he tried to keep the tension even. It was messy. Strays poked out, and the end was frayed where he couldn't see to tie the elastic properly.

He leaned closer to the glass, exhaling a long, frustrated breath that fogged the mirror.

"Stupid," he whispered to his reflection. "You're being stupid."

He reached up to pull it apart, to go back to the safe ponytail he'd worn since he was a teenager. But his hand stopped. He looked at the way the braid pulled the hair away from his jaw, the way the pattern of the weave caught the light.

He wondered if Khaslana would look at him for three seconds or five. He wondered if that mysterious difference in the coffee would finally have a name he hoped to hear.

The next day, his hair felt like a weight. Polemos had spent twenty minutes in front of the mirror before the shift start. It was a loose, casual braid, the way his mother used to wear hers when she was working in the garden, but on him, it felt like a neon sign.

He kept adjusting his apron, his fingers twitching toward the nape of his neck. It's just for a change, he lied to empty air. It's not because he said it would suit me.

The bell chimed at 2:00 PM.

Polemos straightened his shoulders, his heart initiating that now-familiar frantic thumping. Khaslana walked in, but he didn't head for the stool. He stopped at the counter, a laptop bag gripped firmly in his hand. He looked at Polemos, paused then curved a smile, sweetly.

"Hey," Khaslana greeted first.

"Yo."

"Is it alright if I take the table by the far wall? The one with the power outlet?"

"Sure. Why not the counter?"

"I have a video call," Khaslana explained, already turning toward the back. "I'll have the usual."

"Right. Of course." Polemos turned to the machine, his movements suddenly feeling heavy.

He prepared the order. As he plated the pastry, he looked at the braid reflected on the espresso machine. Is it too subtle? he wondered. Maybe he hasn't notice.

With a spike of nerves, he reached back and pulled the braid over his left shoulder, letting the golden weave rest against his chest. He took a deep sigh and picked up the tray. walked toward the back table.

As he approached, he heard the low murmur of Khaslana's voice. Not the polite tone he used with the townsfolk, or even the competitive, sharp banter he shared with Polemos.

This was different. It was gentler. Kinder.

Khaslana was leaning toward the screen, his face brightened in new light. He was laughing at something the person on the other end had said. His smile widened expression, something Polemos had never seen in an entire year of friendship.

"I woke up late today but it’s all fine," Khaslana was saying, his voice was thick with an affection that made Polemos's throat go dry. "Haha, I'm really fine. Anyway, how's the new work?"

Polemos set the tray down with a hollow thud. Khaslana looked up, mouthing a silent "thank you" before his gaze snapped back to the screen. He didn't see the braid. He didn't see the way Polemos's hand shook as he pulled the tray back. He didn't see Polemos at all.

Polemos didn't linger. He walked back to the counter, his vision slightly blurred at the edges. His co-worker stepped through the back door just then, tying her apron.

"I'm taking five," Polemos muttered, not waiting for her answer.

He ducked into the cramped staff bathroom and locked the door. He leaned over the sink, staring at himself in the cracked mirror.

HKS.

The word echoed in the small tiled room. He knew that expression. He had seen it in his own reflection that morning while he was struggling with the braid. He had seen it every time Khaslana walked through the door for the last six months.

Khaslana had a world reserved for someone else, a private sanctuary that Polemos had never even been invited to glimpse.

Polemos reached back, his fingers trembling as he yanked the hair free. He raked his hands through the interlaced strands, tearing the braid apart until his hair fell in a messy, chaotic curtain down his back.

He shook his head, letting the blond cover his face for a moment.

"Good," he whispered to the sink. "Better this way."

He stood up straight, smoothing his hair back into the same low ponytail he'd worn for years.

It was better to let the bloom wither now, before the roots got any deeper into the soil.

He took a deep breath, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He then washed his face with freezing water and walked back out to the front. He didn't look toward the back table. He just picked up a rag and started polishing a spot on the counter that was already perfectly clean.

The rush was a mercy. A nearby office had their whole crews came on the cafe for a promotion celebration, and for the next hour, Polemos was nothing but a machine. He ground beans, steamed milk, warming snacks and swiped cards, left no room for the weight in his chest.

When the last of the office crowd filtered out, the silence returned.

Khaslana was still there.

The laptop was closed now. He wasn't working. He wasn't even looking outside. He was just sitting, his hands loosely cupped around his empty espresso glass.

Even from across the room, Polemos felt the change. The radiant, golden energy from the video call had vanished, replaced by something monochromatic. Khaslana looked diminished, as if the air had been kicked out of him.

Don't go over there, Polemos told himself, gripping the handle of a fresh pitcher of Americano. Let it wither. Let it go.

But his feet were already moving. He told himself he was just a barista doing his job.

"Need a refill?"

Khaslana jolted, his shoulders snapping back as he blinked up at Polemos. He forced a smile—the polite, hollow one he gave to strangers—and nodded. "Yeah. I'd like a cup. Thank you."

Polemos began to pour. He watched the way Khaslana's hand trembled slightly on the table. And Polemos couldn't just walk away.

"You good?"

Khaslana almost nodded, but he stopped halfway. He looked at Polemoshim and the fake smile crumbled at the corners. "I'm fine," he started, then let out a self-deprecating breath. "But you're too perceptive for that, aren't you? You'd know the lie before I finished the sentence."

Polemos tilted his head, his damp hair shifting against his shoulder. "Wanna talk?"

Khaslana was silent for a long moment, his thumb tracing the rim of his cup. "It's nothing. I'm just...too happy, I suppose. It's good news."

He looked back at the closed laptop, his expression curdling into loneliness. "Someone I've known a long time... He got proposed to. They're getting married." Khaslana swallowed hard. "They asked me to come back home for the wedding. Want me there."

The words hit Polemos like a physical blow. He looked at Khaslana—at the slumped shoulders and the grief-stricken gaze—and the pieces finally clicked into place.

Ah, his love is also unrequited.

The silence of the cafe seemed to stretch as Polemos stood there, the empty pitcher still heavy in his hand.

"You don't look thrilled," Polemos said, his voice dropping low. "You must have liked him a lot."

Khaslana gave a small, weary smile.

"Is it that obvious?" He let out a long, shuddering breath. "It's harder than I thought. I had this idea that if I distanced myself—if I moved to a town where no one knew my name and kept our talks to a minimum—I'd eventually go numb. I thought the feeling would just... gone."

He gripped the ceramic cup as if to steady himself. "But it isn't that simple. I don't even have the urge to be the only one for him anymore. I want him to be happy, even if I'm not the part of it. I thought that I finally moved on since my feeling already turned into something platonic. But now that it's actually happening, I still have this... this squeezing pain in my chest. I don't know how I'm supposed to show up to the wedding when I can't even be genuinely happy for them."

Polemos felt a dull ache behind his ribs. Khaslana hadn't come to this ordinary town to start anew in the way Polemos had imagined; he had come here to bury himself. Every smile, every polite gesture, and every hour spent on that stool had been a man trying to survive his own heart.

Polemos felt a flicker of embarrassment. For thinking those smiles were his alone, or that he had seen everything.

Still, he didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled out the chair and sat down in front of Khaslana.

"It's fine, isn't it?" Polemos said softly. "To be bitter. To be unhappy. That's just the proof that what you felt was real. You can't just flip a switch on something that runs deep."

Khaslana looked up, surprised by the bluntness.

"Moving on doesn't mean you have to forget everything you felt," Polemos continued, leaning his elbows on the table. "It's about how you continue forward even while you're harboring it. It's not a sin to love someone, Khaslana. It only matters how you handle it. Do you want to break up the wedding?"

"Of course not," Khaslana said it fast, firmly. "I want them to be happy. More than anything."

Polemos offered a thin smile. "Then you'll be okay. You're already doing the hardest part."

He stood up, the chair scraping softly against the floor. "Make peace with the fact that it hurts. It's fine to be not fine for a while."

Polemos walked back to the counter, the weight in his own chest feeling strangely lighter. As he began to serve the next customer, he realised he was repeating those words to himself like a mantra.

It's fine to be not fine.

Polemos too would let his own feelings for the man across the room settle, allowing them to find their own place.

The rush picked up again, and Polemos lost himself between the orders. When he finally looked up, he saw Khaslana standing by the door, his laptop bag slung over his shoulder.

Their gazes met across the crowded room. Khaslana didn't give the polished grin. Instead, he gave a small, tired, smile but heavy with gratitude. He waved his hand briefly before stepping out into the sunset.

Polemos watched the door close. He sincerely hoped Khaslana would find a way to rearrange his heart soon. And as he turned back to the grinder, Polemos decided he also ready to do the same.

The days that followed were quiet.

The 2:00 PM chime of the door losing its colour.

Polemos kept his eyes on the orders, but he couldn't stop the reflexive glance toward the third stool every time the bell rang. A week passed, then two. The town felt suddenly, inexplicably larger, as if the space Khaslana usually occupied had expanded into a void that swallowed their usual intersections.

Polemos stared at his phone more than he cared to admit. He typed out a dozen messages only to thumb the delete key until the screen was blank again. He lacked the guts to send them. Instead, he resorted to a casual, sneakily phrased question to a regular who worked at the factory.

"Khaslana? Oh, he's doing great as always," she had said.

Polemos had nodded, a tight knot of relief and bitterness forming in his throat. He realised then that Khaslana just needed time to navigate the wreckage of his own heart. And Polemos needed time too to let his own affection settle into something that didn't cloud his judgment.

Then, on a Tuesday that felt like any ordinary day, the bell chimed at 2:00 PM.

Khaslana walked in, the polite smile back in place. Polemos nearly cussed himself for the way his heart leaped at the sight.

"Long time no see," Khaslana said, his voice as smooth as ever.

"You're alive," Polemos countered, his tone was curt to hide his relief. He looked Khaslana over, searching for the cracks. "You feeling okay now?"

"Thanks to you."

Polemos started the usual order. Khaslana didn't go to the window and took his stool, propping his elbows on the wood and watching Polemos work. The stare felt heavy, making everything suddenly felt twice their normal size.

"What is it?" Polemos asked, not looking up.

"You're just so mature," Khaslana remarked, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. "It makes me feel like a little kid sometimes."

Polemos scoffed, finally meeting his eyes. "There's nothing childish about you, Khaslana. Except maybe the way you hate to lose."

Khaslana's brow furrowed. "You're just as bad. You're the most competitive person I've ever met."

They exchanged a genuine chuckle then Khaslana grew quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing the edge of the counter.

"I really am thankful for what you told me," Khaslana said softly. "About not having to erase the feeling. It was... embarrassing, being that vulnerable in front of a younger man."

"Everyone's allowed to be vulnerable," Polemos said, leaning back against the machine after pouring coffee and the freshly baked cheese cake. "It's what makes us human. Even you."

Khaslana nodded in agreement, but Polemos felt a spark of curiosity he couldn't quite extinguish. He knew he should stop, but the words were already forming. "What kind of person is he? This man you... liked?"

Khaslana's face softened instantly, a warmth bleeding into his expression that made Polemos's chest tighten. "Mydei," Khaslana whispered. "He's straightforward. Stubborn, too. Once he decided on something, he won't back off. He's playful and fun to be with. Everything about him... it was just too endearing to ignore."

Polemos felt the familiar squeeze of pain in his heart, a sharp reminder of where he stood. "You must have loved him a lot."

"I did," Khaslana admitted, his gaze drifting to a point somewhere past the espresso machine. "He was my first love. The first person I ever wanted so badly. My first—real connection."

"A memorable ex-lover, huh?"

Khaslana shook his head slowly, a rueful smile touching his lips. "We didn't have a clear relationship. More of a situationship, I suppose. I was too much of a coward to make it official back then, and the situation we were in eventually forced us apart. It was messy. But we're on friendly terms again now."

"I see. That's good." Polemos hummed, grabbing a glass of water just to push the lump in his throat.

"Yeah, I'm glad that he is now happy with my little brother,"

Polemos, who had been mid-sip of his own water, choked. A coughing fit seized him, his face flushing as he braced himself against the espresso machine.

"He... what?" Polemos managed, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel.

Khaslana didn't look offended. He laughed, a bright, almost jagged sound that lacked any of his usual polish. "He is dating Phainon, my younger brother. They are engaged now."

Polemos stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. He looked conflicted, his brain struggling to map the twisted line of that sentence. "Khaslana... that's..."

"Comical? Ironic? A tragedy written by someone with a very dark sense of humor?" Khaslana leaned back, his fingers tracing a restless pattern on the counter. "Mydei didn't even know we were related when they met. It was a disaster when the truth came out. We had to tear everything down just to see if anything was left standing."

Khaslana fell silent then, the laughter dying out as quickly as it had arrived. His expression shifted, the light in his golden eyes dimmed. He looked down at his quivered hands.

"Phainon is everything I couldn't be," Khaslana whispered. "He's honest. He's earnest. He doesn't have a thousand masks to hide behind. He gives Mydei every reason to smile, effortlessly." He let out a short, self-deprecating chuckle. His confidence also visibly hemorrhaging as he spoke. "It's no wonder, really. When you put us side-by-side... why would anyone choose the shadow when they could have the sun? Phainon has a heart that's open. I've spent so much time being 'perfect' that I forgot how to be real."

Polemos watched him, the ache in his own chest intensifying, enough to steal his breath away.

"I wouldn't even choose me," Khaslana added, his voice barely audible over the low-fi track. He looked up at Polemos, his gaze searching for a confirmation he seemed to expect. "I'm not even sure if I deserve to be chosen."

The statement was so blunt that it made Polemos's blood run cold. He saw the man who had run across the country not just to escape a heartbreak, but to escape the reflection of a man he didn't think was worth loving.

"I mean, look at me." Khaslana murmured. "I'm an expert at indecision. I stayed in that situationship until it rotted. I'm numb to what people actually need from me because I'm too busy figuring out the 'correct' way. Someone like that can't love anyone properly. And if you can't love, you don't deserve to be loved..."

Polemos didn't just frown, he slammed his hand onto the wooden counter—not hard enough to break anything, but loud enough to make the ceramic cups rattle in their saucers.

"Stop it," Polemos hissed, his yellow eyes flashing with a searing anger. "Just shut up for one second."

Khaslana flinched, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the barista.

"You call it indecision? I call it being careful with people's lives," Polemos snapped. "So what if you think too much? Maybe the timing sucked back then but all that 'indecisiveness' is just you trying to treasure everything around you so much that you're terrified of breaking it. It wasn't what Mydei needed then, maybe, but don't you dare call it a flaw."

Polemos walked around the edge of the counter, stepping into Khaslana's personal space until they were inches apart.

"You know what? When you first walked in here, I thought you were some kind of psychopath," Polemos said, his breath hitching.

"Huh? What?" Khaslana raised his eyebrows but Polemos shrugged.

"Don't blame me. That smile of yours was so fake it made my skin crawl. I thought you were hollow. But then I saw you at the library. I saw you at the gym, pushing yourself until you literally couldn't stand because you didn't want to admit defeat. I saw how you listen to people. You don't interrupt. You remember things they mention once and bring them up weeks later like they mattered."

Polemos took a deep breath then he went on. "You stay late helping coworkers fix problems that aren't even yours, You hold the door open for people who aren't even paying attention."

His gaze drifted briefly to the window before returning to Khaslana’s surprised gaze.

"You're patient. Careful with your words when someone looks like they're about to break."

He reached out, his fingers hovering near Khaslana's trembling hand on the counter but not quite touching it.

"I learned about the man who is dependable, kind, and far too hard on himself. And that version of Khaslana? The one you called coward? He's the one who made me fall."

Khaslana's eyes widened, his breath hitching in his chest. He looked stunned, his brain seemingly unable to process the words. "What... what did you just say?"

Polemos didn't flinch. He didn't look away.

"I like you, Khaslana. Romantically. I've liked you for months, maybe more but I just realised it," Polemos said, his voice ringing clear through the empty cafe. "I'm not telling you this to score a point. I'm not asking for anything either. I just want you to know that you are wrong. You deserve to be loved, to be chosen. You're loveable. I'm standing right here proving it."

He paused, a tingle of pain crossing his face as he thought of what led to this talk.

"Unless," Polemos's voice dropping to a low, bruised murmur, "you think that my affection for you is just some pale, worthless weight compared to what you wanted from Mydei. My choice doesn't count because I'm not him."

Khaslana looked at Polemos's hands, then his eyes, then the way he stood—blunt, stubborn, and totally earnest. For the first time in years, the man who always had a calculated response found himself with absolutely nothing coherent to say.

"No," he managed. "I don't—I would never think your feelings are 'worthless.' I just..." He trailed off, his mouth opening and closing. The man who could navigate corporate boardrooms and factory disputes was staring at Polemos as if the barista had just wrecked the whole world.

Polemos let out a short chuckle. "Look at you," he said. "All it took was a confession to make you malfunction. It's the first time I've seen you actually flustered."

Khaslana exhaled a long, shaky sigh, rubbing a hand over his nape. "Stop teasing me. I'm trying to... I'm trying to process."

"You don't have to," Polemos said, stepping back toward the espresso machine. The heat was still in his cheeks, but he forced his voice steady as he wiped the counter. "Like I said, you don't need to give me an answer. I just couldn't sit here and listen to you slander the man I like, even if the person doing the slandering was you."

Khaslana fell silent, his gaze dropping to his empty cup. "That's so unfair," he whispered.

"What is?"

"You." Khaslana looked up. "You drop a bomb like that and then go back to wiping the counter as if nothing just happened."

Polemos shrugged. "I told you, I've already made my peace with it. I know you don't think of me that way. I'm not expecting a miracle, Khaslana. I just wanted you to know that someone does choose you."

He prayed Khaslana wouldn't notice the way his fingers were white-knuckled as they clutched the damp rag , or the way his pulse was visible in the hollow of his throat.

And Khaslana watched him for a long, heavy minute before he heaved a deep sigh.

"You're far younger than me," Khaslana said softly, "but you're always so much more mature. So much cooler."

"I don't need flattery," Polemos muttered, focusing intensely on a nonexistent smudge on the wood.

"It wasn't flattery." Khaslana stood up, the legs of the stool scraping against the floor. He reached for his laptop bag. "Even if you say I don't have to think about it... I'm going to. I need time, Polemos. I want to give you an answer."

Polemos scoffed. "What, do you want to reject me properly? Formalize it with a three-page report?"

"Who knows," Khaslana said, a ghost of his smirk returned. "Maybe I just want to make sure I don't give you a half-assed response."

He finished the last dregs of his coffee in one swallow and picked up a paper bag to carry his uneaten pastry. He paused at the door, looking back one last time. "See you later, Polemos."

"See ya."

The moment the bell chimed and the door clicked shut, the strength evaporated from Polemos's legs. He hit his knees behind the counter, forehead leaned against the refrigerator. A hand to his chest, feeling his heart hammering like trapped against his ribs.

"Stupid," he hissed into the empty cafe, his eyes felt stinging. "So damn stupid."

He stayed there on the floor for a long time, wondering if he had just saved their friendship or finally burnt the whole bridge down.

Polemos had expected things to change.

Not dramatically, perhaps. Khaslana was not the kind of man who made scenes. But Polemos had prepared himself for distance. A polite step back.

Instead, the next day at two in the afternoon, the bell chimed.

Khaslana walked in with his smile, looking exactly like the man who hadn't been told he was loved a day before.

"You're staring again, Polemos," Khaslana remarked, sliding onto the third stool.

"I'm checking if you've lost your mind," Polemos muttered. "Most people would have found a different cafe by now. Or a different town."

Khaslana leaned his chin in his hand. "And miss the best coffee in the world? That would be the real tragedy." He tapped the wood of the counter. "Besides, I still owe you a rematch on the overhead press. I hear you've been practicing."

"I don't 'practice' for you," Polemos was already plating the cupcakes. "I train for myself."

"Of course," Khaslana chuckled. "That's why you uploaded a photo of your new personal best at 11:00 PM last night?"

Polemos felt the heat climb his neck. "It was... a progress report."

"The progress report doesn't have to mention my record, right?" Khaslana countered, his smile widening while Polemos just scoffed and turned his head away.

Khaslana then talked about small things. The factory had switched a supplier for machine parts and the paperwork was a mess. The weather was getting colder earlier in the evening. Someone at the gym had nearly dropped a dumbbell on their foot.

Nothing serious.

Nothing about the confession.

Polemos responded the way he always did. Short replies. Occasional dry comments that made Khaslana laugh under his breath.

It felt strangely normal.

The days after that followed the same pattern.

Khaslana still came to the café at two. Still sat at the counter. Still watched Polemos move around while they talked about whatever happened to pass through the day.

The gym had become a high-stakes neutral ground. They were standing by the rack Khaslana was spotting him, his hands hovering inches from Polemos's ribs as he struggled with the final rep of a heavy bench press.

"Push," Khaslana whispered. "You can do it."

Polemos grunted, the bar shaking as he locked his elbows. As he racked the weight, Khaslana didn't step away. He stayed close, handing Polemos a towel, his fingers lingering against Polemos's palm for a second longer than necessary.

"You're getting stronger," Khaslana said. "Your form is perfect."

"Stop with the flattery," Polemos panted, sitting up and wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Khaslana sat down on the neighboring bench, his own chest heaving. "It's truth, not flattery. That's what makes it so frustrating. You're doing it because you're stubborn and you're getting better each time. Good job." He reached out, his hand stopping just short of ruffling Polemos's hair. It was a habit Khaslana had before the confession.

Polemos noticed and he closed his eyes, bumping his head against the palm. Khaslana smiled and gently stroked out the hair.

Later that night, the house was silent, the only light coming from the lamp on Polemos's desk as he struggled through a thick classic book. His phone buzzed against the wood.

Khaslana: Found a passage in that architecture book I mentioned. Reminded me of your lecture on structural metaphors.

Polemos stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the keypad. He shouldn't answer. He should let the boundary exist. But the thought of Khaslana sitting in his quiet apartment was too much to ignore.

Me: Send it. I'm stuck on a paragraph that's been staring at me for an hour.

The phone didn't buzz with a photo. Instead, it began to ring. Polemos's heart did a slow, heavy roll in his chest. He answered on the third ring. "Hello?"

"I figured it would be faster to just read it to you," Khaslana's voice came through the speaker, low and intimate, as if he were standing right next to him. "But you sound tired, Polemos."

"I am tired," Polemos admitted, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. "Tell me something interesting."

"Alright," Khaslana murmured. He began to talk about the way the streetlights looked in the fog outside his window. He talked about nothing important, a stream of trivial observations.

Polemos listened, his grip on the phone tightening. He told himself not to read into it. He told himself this was just Khaslana trying to maintain their friendship. But when Khaslana laughed at a dry joke Polemos made, Polemos felt the bloom in his heart grow another inch, despite his best efforts to kill it.

"Don't you have a factory to run in the morning?" Polemos asked after a half hour of drifting in nonsensical talk.

"I do. But now I'm looking at my calendar. You don't have a shift tomorrow, do you?"

Polemos frowned, sitting up. "How do you know my rotation better than I do?"

"I pay attention," Khaslana chuckled. "So. Are you free?"

"That's a creepy, Khaslana," Polemos muttered. "But yeah. I have no plans. Just some reading to catch up on."

"Give the time to me instead."

Polemos let out a dry, shaky breath. "Are you trying to raise my hopes here? Just to keep me hanging?"

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Polemos almost thought the call had dropped until he heard Khaslana's soft, deliberate exhale.

"What if I did want you to keep the hope up?" Khaslana asked.

Polemos closed his eyes, his grip tightening on the phone until his knuckles went white. "You're a jerk," he whispered. "You know that, right?"

He could practically hear the smile in Khaslana's response. "And so I've been told. Does that mean yes?"

"Fine. Yes. What are we doing?"

"Be ready by 9:00 AM. I'll pick you up at your place. Wear something comfortable for a walk."

"Mmkay."

"And Polemos?"

"Yeah?"

"Sleep well and have a nice dream."

The line went dead with a soft click. Polemos stared at the dark screen for a long minute before slamming the phone face-down on his nightstand. He flopped back onto his pillows, dragging a hand over his face.

"…Idiot," he muttered to himself.

His hand drifted to his chest, feeling the unmistakable flutter there.

"Now you're hoping again."

Polemos stood in front of the cafe, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He had spent twenty minutes debating between a jacket and his oversized hoodie, eventually settling on a worn denim jacket, t-shirt and black jeans.

It's just a walk, he told himself, checking his reflection in the dark glass of the cafe door. Don't be extra. Just be normal. He reached back to touch his braided hair, something that he decided to put on again and deeply sighed. He was nervous, no matter how many times he told himself to stay calm.

The whirlpool in his mind only halted when a familiar SUV slid smoothly against the curb. The passenger window hummed down, and Khaslana leaned across the center console.

"You're early," Khaslana noted, his golden eyes scanning Polemos with a thin smile. "Get in."

Polemos pulled the door open but hesitated, gripping the handle. "Are you finally kidnapping me? Is this the part where I disappear and the town wonders what happened to the grumpy barista?"

Khaslana's lips quirked into a dry smirk. "I haven't decided yet. Depends on how much you complain during the drive, I guess?"

Polemos rolled his eyes as he climbed into the passenger's seat.

"Sleep well?" Khaslana asked as he shifted the car back into drive.

"Like a baby," Polemos answered. "If babies stare at the ceiling for four hours questioning their life choices, then yeah."

Khaslana let out a low, melodic chuckle. "Good. Then you're energized enough for what's next."

Gradually, the town fell away, the brick buildings and narrow streets replaced by the sprawling, untamed green. The road began to incline, winding toward the dense treeline that marked the edge of the local state forest. When the SUV finally crunched to a halt on a gravel turnout near a trailhead, Polemos narrowed his eyes.

"Forest. Secluded trailhead. No cell service," Polemos counted them off on his fingers, looking at the towering pines. "This is exactly how every horror or thriller story starts. I'm waiting for a suspicious shadow... Or a suspiciously calm man smiling like a creepy weirdo."

Khaslana turned off the engine then turned in his seat, leaning an arm against the steering wheel as he looked at Polemos.

"You're the one who called me a psychopath first, remember?" Khaslana teased, his voice dropping into a playful but sinister tone. "Maybe you're finally getting the answer you were looking for."

Polemos didn't flinch. He met Khaslana's gaze, his jaw tightened in that sharp line Khaslana had come to know so well. "I can fight, you know. I have black belt too. If this turns into a thriller, you're losing."

Khaslana threw his head back and laughed, a loud sound that echoed through the trees. It was the most honest sound Polemos had ever heard from him.

"I know you're a capable fighter," Khaslana said, his laughter fading into a soft, lingering smile. He reached for the door handle. "Come on."

The forest floor was soft, the air smelling of damp earth and pine needles. Khaslana led the way with a relaxed stride until the trees thinned out, revealing a hidden lake. The morning sun had finally broken through the clouds, its light splintering into a thousand shimmering gems across the surface of the water.

It was a breathtaking sight, But Polemos couldn't fully appreciate the view, not when he didn't even know why he was here.

"Sit," Khaslana said, gesturing to a flat, sun-warmed rock at the water's edge. He also sat down and began unlacing his boots, pulling off his socks to dip his feet into the water.

Polemos followed suit, the cold bite of the lake against his skin making him shiver. They sat in silence for a long moment.

"I'm going to the wedding," Khaslana broke the moment. He didn't look at Polemos; he kept his eyes fixed on the horizon. "To Phainon and Mydei's wedding. No matter what, I'm Phainon's older brother. He needs me."

Polemos went still, the cold water suddenly felt colder than ice. "I see. You drove me all the way out here to the middle of nowhere... just to tell me that?"

Khaslana finally turned his head. "No. I found this place a few weeks ago. It felt like the only spot in this world where the air actually reaches my lungs. I thought you might need a place like this, too. A place to breathe when things get heavy."

Polemos looked away, lips bitten. "You sound like you're saying goodbye," he whispered, his voice sounding smaller than usual. "Like you're going to that wedding and never coming back."

Khaslana shifted, his shoulder brushing against Polemos's. "Would you be sad? If I didn't return?"

Polemos huffed. He pulled his feet out of the water and tucked his knees to his chest, refusing to look at the man beside him.

"Stop teasing me. I told you I like you. I told you I made peace with the fact that I have no chance. But I'm not a toy, Khaslana. I might be foolish, but I'm not going to sit here and let you trample over my feelings just because you're bored."

Polemos gripped his shins, his voice faltered as he continued. "If you keep trying to play with my emotions like this, I'm eventually going to hate you. And I'd really rather not hate you."

Khaslana rubbed the back of his neck.

"…I'm sorry."

Polemos still didn't look at him.

"I didn't mean it that way." A long breath left Khaslana's chest. He leaned back slightly on his hands, staring out across the lake as if the words he needed might be floating somewhere over the water.

"There's something I should tell you," Khaslana whispered, his gaze dropping to the ripples circling his ankles. "You know, physically... you actually resemble him. Mydei. It's striking. Sometimes it's like looking at brothers."

Polemos felt a phantom weight crush the air out of his lungs. He forced a dry, hollow laugh. "Oh, yeah. I remember you saying I resembled someone back at the cafe. I guess now I know who." He gripped his knees tighter. "Did you ever... did you ever look at me and see him instead?"

Khaslana shook his head immediately. "No. While the similarities are there, you're entirely different people. If I had to compare... you're much more naive than he ever was."

"My sincere apology for being young and foolish," the bite in Polemos' tone masking the sting of the word. Somewhere inside his chest twisted, tight enough that breathing suddenly felt a little harder.

"It's not a bad thing," Khaslana countered, turning to look at Polemos. "Truthfully, I'm past the comparison. I spent time with you because I genuinely enjoyed your company. Maybe it's because you didn't know my former self—the version of me that had to be 'perfect.' With you, I felt liberated. I didn't have to be careful. I didn't have to be 'good.' I just... me. No one else but me."

Polemos stared at his own reflection in the water, distorted and trembling. "But it wasn't the same kind of enjoyment I had, was it?"

Khaslana let the question afloat for a minute and it made Polemos' heart started to crack again.

"Do you have anything for me?" The question left Polemos' lips with quiver. "Even just a tiny fragment of something you'd call love?"

Khaslana let out a long, ragged exhale. "I already like you more than I intended to, Polemos. You've become a part of what makes my life worth it. You made me feel, you became a reason for me to look forward for tomorrow. But I thought it will feel unfair, crude to accept what you're offering when I still have these lingering fragments, while I'm still all over the place. I don't want to use you to 'bounce back.' I don't want to just shift my baggage onto your shoulders. I want to be dependable."

He reached out, his hand hovering near Polemos's shoulder before he pulled it back, clenching it into a fist.

"I know I'm a huge jerk," Khaslana admitted. "I'm too scared to jump, but I'm too greedy to let you go. My logic and my feelings are never at the same pace, and trying to align them is never a pretty sight. I've always been this kind of person, Polemos. Honestly, I thought to step away from you but my feet kept bringing me to your cafe at 2PM."

Polemos finally looked at Khaslana. There was no mask left, just a man admitting he was a mess of contradictions. He then took a deep, shuddering sigh that felt like it was clearing out a year's worth of stagnant smoke.

"I'm naive and I'm stupid, maybe," Polemos said, his voice regaining that blunt, stubborn edge that Khaslana found adorable. "So I'll be the one to take the step. Since you can't seem to find your feet."

He turned on the rock, his wet toes curling against the warm stone. He looked Khaslana right in the eyes. "Date me. Let's just do it."

Khaslana's eyebrows shot up, his mouth parting in genuine shock. "Did you... did you not hear a single word I just said? About the 'lingering fragments'? About me being a greedy jerk?"

"I heard enough," Polemos countered. "You're a huge jerk. You're indecisive, you're messy, and you're a work in progress. But I'm holding out hope on that 'small fragment' of affection you admitted to. I'll take my chances on that."

Khaslana looked at a total loss. He felt like a man who had prepared for a chess match only to have his opponent flip the board and ask for a wrestling match instead. "It might do you more harm than good, Polemos. I... I might hurt you. My head isn't where it should be yet."

Polemos shrugged despite the frantic hammering of his heart. "I'll take the risk."

"You're reckless," Khaslana breathed, shaking his head.

"I'm young. It's the one time in my life I'm allowed to be reckless without people calling me crazy."

Khaslana let out a low, breathless chuckle. "Being reckless has nothing to do with age, believe me."

"Whatever. Just give me an answer," Polemos pressed. "If you don't like me, just say 'no' firmly. Right now. No excuses. Just no."

Khaslana's gaze searched Polemos's face, his lips were parted and clasped, trying to sound coherent. "It's not... it's not that I don't like you but—"

"I don't need the any 'but'," Polemos cut him off. "Yes or no?"

Khaslana laughed again, shaking his head. "You're so forceful when you want to be."

"I have to be. Otherwise, I'd be sitting on this rock forever, waiting for you to make up your mind."

"Having you wait for me forever sounds nice," Khaslana murmured, a flicker of his old, teasing self returning.

Polemos scowled, his brow furrowing. "Don't be an asshole, yo—"

He was cut off as Khaslana reached out, his hand finally closing the distance. He didn't ruffle Polemos's hair this time; he used his thumb to smooth the crease from Polemos's cheek, his touch lingering gently against the skin.

"Alright, let's do this. I will do my best to cherish you properly," Khaslana whispered, his expression turning solemn, almost like a vow. "But if, by any chance, I start to hurt you... if I'm not giving you what you deserve... I want you to tell me. I will try my best to fix it. But just in case I'm not doing it rig—"

"Stop right there." Polemos scoffed, though he didn't pull away from the hand on his face. "I know my own limits, Khaslana. You don't have to worry about me. I'm tougher than I look. So, stop worrying. Just, take a leap of faith with me. We'll figure out the rest later."

He didn't wait for Khaslana to find another reason to stall. Polemos leaned in.

Slowly.

Giving Khaslana time to move away if he wanted to.

Khaslana didn't, he closed the final inch of space between them.

And their lips met softly.

Just a brush of warmth, tentative at first, like testing the shape of something new. Sweet in a way that made Polemos' chest ache. Khaslana's hand remained against Polemos' cheek, a gentle stroke on the jaw before he guided the angle just enough that Polemos had no choice but to follow.

Then, the kiss didn't stay shallow.

Khaslana shifted, just slightly, and the kiss deepened with it while his hand slid from jaw to the back of Polemos' neck.

Fingers curling, tickling.

The next breath Polemos took came sharper.

He leaned in without realizing it, closing whatever space remained, following the pace Khaslana set without question. Their tongues brushed, tasting each other. Every small shift was answered, matched, drawn out—until Polemos wasn't sure anymore who had leaned in first, only that he wasn't the one deciding how this unfolded.

Warmth spread through him, settling somewhere deeper than it should have.

Khaslana eased back only when the air between them grew too thin. Their lips lingered, barely apart, breath brushing against breath. His hand stayed at the back of Polemos' neck.

Polemos stayed still, eyes half-lidded, trying to steady his breathing.

"...You kiss like you're starving."

Khaslana chuckled at the complaint. "Well, to be fair with you, I've been wanting to kiss you."

"Liar."

"No, really. You're too adorable." Khaslana took Polemos' braided lock and kissed it lightly. "Especially when you're being obedient. The hair suits you, by the way."

Polemos scoffed. "This is the second time I braided my hair."

"I know." He smiled. "But I thought you'd be embarassed if I pointed it out."

"Not because you're too busy with Mydei?"

"Huh?" Khaslana frowned. "A, ah. No. you misunderstood. That video call was with Phainon. He told me that he proposed to Mydei a night before."

Polemos looked at Khaslana, doubt was in the gaze. The soft look on Khaslana back then was too much in-love if it was only a brother. And then, Polemos rewound the memory. Khaslana always looked gentler whenever he talked about Phainon.

"You don't believe me?" Khaslana asked, finger poked Polemos' nose. "You can check my call logs."

"No, I believe you." Polemos said. "But, you got a brother complex or something?"

Again, Khaslana laughed wholeheartedly at that. "He's my baby brother. Of course I adore him."

"Yeah, sure. Stay creepy."

Khaslana shook his head, pressing their foreheads together, hands entwined. "Don't be jealous."

"I'm not." Polemos scowled. "But please, tone down your brother complex a little, Mr. Boyfriend."

Khaslana let out a jagged, breathless chuckle, his shoulders shaking slightly. "Gosh, when you say it like that... it actually feels embarrassing."

"Get used to it." Polemos teased, though he squeezed Khaslana's hand tighter. He pulled back just enough to look Khaslana in the eye. "Speaking of which... Can I come with you?"

"Huh?" Khaslana tilted his head. "Where?"

"To Phainon's wedding."

Khaslana's eyebrows shot up, his thumb rubbed Polemos' knuckle. "Why?"

"I'm not saying I have to sit in the front row and catch the bouquet," Polemos said, his voice steady. "But I want to be there. In the city. I want to come with you."

"But it's not exactly a fun vacation. It's a funeral for a version of my life I'm finally burying."

"Exactly," Polemos stated. "I don't want you crashing the wedding."

"I told you, I wouldn't do that," Khaslana chuckled. "I'm not that far gone."

"I know you wouldn't," Polemos said, softening his tone. "But I know something else might crash. Your head. Your heart. The way you look when you think no one is watching." He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at the man who had spent years pretending to be a machine. "I want to be there. To be the one you look at when you need someone to keep you steady. If it isn't too much, I mean."

Khaslana went silent, then let out a long, heavy exhale and leaned forward, resting his forehead against Polemos's shoulder. He felt heavy, as if the permission to be 'fragile' had finally drained the last of his artificial strength.

"You're treating me like glass, Polemos," Khaslana murmured. "Like I'm something that's going to shatter if the wind blows the wrong way. But I'll be okay. I've survived worse."

"You literally drove someone to the woods to talk about your ex's wedding and got coerced to date rightafter. Your emotion needs supervisor."

"Fair point." Khaslana let out a soft, defeated laugh, his grip on Polemos's hand turning firmer. "I'll be fine, really."

However, he then pulled back, a genuine, mischievous light returning to his golden eyes. "But I'll call Phainon tonight and ask for a plus-one. He's going to have a million questions, and he'll probably try to interrogate you the moment we step off the plane."

Khaslana shifted, his arms wrapping loosely around Polemos's waist, pulling him closer. "And I want to introduce my dear brother to the adorable barista who finally made me malfunction."

Polemos scowled, but the heat in his cheeks told a different story. "Don't make it weird, Khaslana."

"Oh, it's going to be so weird," Khaslana smirked, his thumb grazing Polemos's jawline, leading him to turn. "So, prepare yourself."

Polemos was about to ask about the ominous line but he was once again silenced and melted between the shared kiss.

"Thanks for choosing me, Polemos..." Khaslana whispered between their mingled breath.

"Don't make me regret it."

"I will do my best."

The ceiling of the apartment felt lower than usual, the shadows stretching across the white plaster as the light faded. Khaslana lay flat on his back, his arm thrown over his eyes, listening to the frantic thud of his own heart.

Foolish.

He had mapped out his plan. He had come to this town to let the vibrant, messy and agonizing parts of his soul turn gray. He was supposed to be healing. He was supposed to be forgetting.

And yet, his skin still felt electric where Polemos had touched it.

The way the boy had said "Mr. Boyfriend" was looping in his head like a song he couldn't switch off.

His smile came to his mind even when it was occupied.

Khaslana knew the risks. He should have said no. He should have been the "mature" one and walked away to protect them both. But he couldn't lie, not when Polemos was being honest.

Khaslana, had been adoring Polemos too, in silence.

It had started shallow, he admitted. The first time he'd seen Polemos behind that counter, it had been like a haunting. The jawline, the stubborn set of the shoulders, the golden hair... It was an eerie echo of Mydei.

But as the days bled into one another, the echo had started to find its own voice.

Polemos wasn't a shadow. He was curt, often biting. But beneath it, he was startlingly plain with his emotions. He had a boyish, unblemished quality, a strength that comes from a life that hadn't been forced into the dirt yet. Khaslana found him refreshing to watch, to adore from the far. To watch how he navigated around the life with such bright and easy steps.

And then as they talked, Khaslana realised the boy always knew what to say. He criticized with a painful bluntness, yet he never overstepped. He had carved out a space for Khaslana to simply exist. A space so safe that Khaslana had found himself dropping his mask without even realizing it. He had started to laugh properly again. Not the polite, corporate chuckle, but a lung-clearing sound.

The escalation had been like snow rolling down a slope. Slow at first, then inevitable. The days where he didn't see Polemos felt incomplete, like a book missing its final chapter.

It was risky. It was a disaster waiting to happen. He shouldn't be falling for anyone while his own heart was still stitched together with frayed thread.

Khaslana let out a long sigh. He had intended to bury it. He had intended to keep his attraction as a huge secret until he eventually moved on.

But Polemos had pushed first.

It felt almost pathetic—an older man stalling and stuttering until a younger one had to grab him by the collar and force the truth out. He had made Polemos do the heavy lifting. He had made the 'naive' one be the brave one.

Is this the best way? he wondered, his fingers curling into the bedsheets.

He felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Was it a mercy to accept Polemos, or was he being the ultimate egoist? He didn't want to dirty that sincerity with his own festering wounds. He didn't want to be the reason Polemos eventually learned how to wear a mask of his own.

But as he remembered the warmth Polemos offered, his logic was losing the race. And he became selfish. He became greedy.

Khaslana sat up on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. He ran a hand through his hair, a small chuckle vibrating in his chest.

"I already fell too far for him, didn't I?"

It wouldn't be fair. Not to Polemos—who had practically dragged him across the finish line with sheer, stubborn willpower—and certainly not to himself. Polemos had given him everything: space, criticism, silence, patience, support and understanding that Khaslana had probably abused more than he'd earned just because Polemos offered it so kindly. It was time to stop being the overthinking one who stalled and start being the man who deserved that scorching devotion.

He didn't want Polemos to regret a single minute of the time he'd given away. He wanted to love him properly. He wanted to protect that precious smile from his bleak shadows.

Khaslana reached for his phone and dialed a familiar number. It rang twice before a voice picked up, bright as always.

"Yoo, Khas!"

"Phainon," Khaslana started. "Sorry for the sudden call. I know you're busy."

"Huh? What's with the sudden serious tone?" Phainon's voice was laced concern. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," Khaslana said, pacing the small length of his bedroom. "Listen, I know you and Mydei wanted the wedding to be intimate. Just the people who matter most. But... would you mind if I brought a plus-one?"

There was a stunned silence on the other end, then a sharp gasp. "A plus-one? You? Khaslana, you haven't mentioned—wait, is it someone from the new town?"

Khaslana chuckled. "Yeah. Someone stubborn who managed to put up with me."

"Oh gosh," Phainon breathed, his excitement practically vibrating through the speaker. "Khaslana, that's amazing! Tell me everything. Who are they? What do they do? Are you dating them now? Are they—"

"Slow down," Khaslana laughed it off, leaning against the window frame. "And yes, we agreed to date so he is my... adorable lover now. He's a bit blunt, and he'll probably find you exhausting, but I think you'll like him."

"A lover? Khaslana, I'm so happy for you!" Phainon was already off to the races, his voice rising in pitch. "Tell me everything! Wait, I'll wake Mydei up."

"Don't wake Mydei up," Khaslana interrupted. "You will meet my boyfriend later and know him directly by yourself. And... please don't judge me too harshly when you meet him, okay?"

"Why would I judge you?" Phainon huffed, offended. "I've been waiting for you to find someone who makes you look less like a robot for years! I'm just happy you're not coming alone."

"We'll see," Khaslana said softly, staring at his reflection in the glass. "You and Mydei will definitely judge me."

"Heey, you think so little of us," Phainon muttered. "We're not that judgmental."

"I know but this is different."

"...Suspicious."

"Fret not, he's a good boy."

"Huh, boy? Wait, is he—"

"Yeah, he's younger than me. Than you."

"THAN ME?! IS HE EVEN LEGAL?!"

"Stop shouting Phainon. But yes, he is legal. Barely. But his age is not the main problem."

"KHAS?! What do you mean with that?!"

"Hahaha, you'll see why later."

The playful argument faded into Khaslana's soft laugh. Phainon then sighed, his voice dropped, solemnly. "Khaslana..."

"Mm?"

"Are you happy?"

Khaslana looked out at the streetlights of the small town, thinking of a 2:00 PM coffee order and a messy braid pulled over a shoulder. A smile spread across his face.

"I am," Khaslana said, firmly. "And I will be."

**