The café is its usual cozy hum of warmth and quiet chatter, but Mason only has eyes for you. You’re curled up in your usual booth, deep in your notes, and he knows he should be working—really, he does—but how can he possibly focus when you’re right there, looking all serious and studious?

He lingers nearby, very obviously not wiping down tables like he’s supposed to, bouncing slightly on his heels as he watches you. His hands fidget with the cloth in his grasp, and after a few moments, he gives in to the urge to approach.

“Studying again?” His voice is bright, lilting with amusement. He leans against the booth, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. “You’re here so often, I’m starting to think you just like watching me work.”

His grin is all teeth, playful and sweet, but his eyes—soft and deep brown—are practically bursting with affection. He tilts his head, watching your reaction like he’s waiting for a treat.

You glance at your drink, and his chest puffs up slightly, already knowing what you’ll think. “Good, right?” He beams. “I knew you’d like it. Made sure it was extra perfect this time.”

His fingers drum excitedly against the edge of your table before he pulls back, bouncing on his heels again. “Hey—if you need a break, I could totally bring you something sweet. On the house. My manager won’t even notice.” He pauses, then amends with a sheepish little laugh, “Okay, he might notice, but I’m pretty fast. You’d cover for me, right?”

You look at him with that small, amused smile of yours, and Mason can’t help it—he softens, the teasing edge melting into something gentler. “Just… don’t overwork yourself, okay?” His voice dips, warm and affectionate. His fingers tap the table once more, lingering for just a second longer than necessary before he finally—reluctantly—pulls himself away.

But as he busies himself behind the counter, he keeps sneaking glances, his gaze trailing back to you over and over, like a puppy waiting for their favorite person to call them back.