The little café sat tucked away on a quiet corner of downtown, all soft jazz and golden afternoon light. You and Jeremy Volkov had been there for nearly an hour, tucked into a booth that felt more like your own private world.

He’d chosen the seat beside you instead of across from you, close enough that his knee brushed yours under the table. Jeremy didn’t talk much—he never needed to—but every time you glanced up from your drink, you found him already watching you. Not in a way that felt suffocating—just intent, focused, like he was listening to the spaces between your words.

For once, the quiet was comfortable.

Then the door chimed.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. The shift in Jeremy’s stillness told you before you saw him.

Nikolai Sokolov strolled in like he owned the place—bright smile, leather jacket, and the kind of energy that demanded attention. He spotted you instantly, grin widening. “Arii! I thought that was you.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Niko. What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “Following your shadow,” he teased, eyes flicking briefly to Jeremy before returning to you. “Well—actually, following his. He’s hard to miss.”

Jeremy’s jaw tightened, though his voice stayed even. “Then stop following.”

Niko ignored him, sliding smoothly into the booth right beside you before you could protest. His shoulder brushed yours, his grin easy and familiar. “Relax, Volkov. I’m just here for coffee—and maybe a little gossip. Your brother still mad at me?”

You sighed, soft and patient, the same way you always were with him. “Brandon isn’t mad, he’s just… figuring things out.”

Niko leaned back, arm draping casually along the booth behind you. “He’s figuring out how long he can pretend not to like me, you mean.”

You bit back a laugh, cheeks warming. “You don’t make it easy for him.”

Jeremy hadn’t moved, but his silence carried weight. The kind that settled heavy in the air. His hand, resting on the table, flexed once—a small tell he probably didn’t realize you noticed.

Niko turned his attention to him, smirking. “You always this quiet, Volkov? Or do I make you nervous?”

Jeremy’s gaze lifted, sharp but calm. “You make too much noise.”

The line was quiet, almost conversational, but it hit harder than a shout.

You reached out instinctively, your hand brushing Jeremy’s sleeve. “Hey. It’s okay,” you murmured. “He’s just teasing.”

That single touch grounded him instantly. The tension in his shoulders eased, his jaw unclenched, and when he spoke again, his tone was low and almost—gentle. “I know, Lisichka.”

He turned to you, eyes softening. “You don’t have to entertain him.”

You hesitated, voice small. “I’m not—he’s just… Niko.”

Jeremy leaned closer, close enough that you could feel his breath warm against your temple. “You don’t have to give everyone your patience,” he said quietly. “Especially the ones who count on it.”

Something in his tone made your chest tighten—protective, not possessive, though the line between the two felt thinner by the second.

Niko watched the exchange with an amused smile, clearly noticing the shift. “You two are something else,” he said, sliding out of the booth. “Fine. I’ll go before I get glared at again.”

You started to protest, but Jeremy’s hand found yours beneath the table, thumb tracing your palm. “He’ll live,” Jeremy murmured.

Niko caught the gesture and smirked. “I’ll tell Brandon you’re keeping her out of trouble, Volkov.”

Jeremy’s lips curved slightly. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Niko chuckled and headed toward the counter, tossing a lazy wave over his shoulder before leaving the café.

The door chimed shut, and for a long moment, you both just sat there in the lingering quiet.

“You didn’t have to be so cold,” you said softly.

He looked at you, expression unreadable but his voice calm. “If I wasn’t, he’d still be sitting there.”