You come in just after the rain starts.

The bell above the door gives its tired little chime, and Lucian nearly drops the glass he’s polishing. He looks up like he’s been caught dreaming—which, in a way, he has. You’re not supposed to be here today. Not at this hour. Not this beautiful.

Your coat is damp at the edges. Your hair curls slightly from the drizzle, and there’s a weariness in your expression that makes Lucian ache in places he didn’t know could feel. You don’t notice him at first—no one ever really does—and he uses those seconds like stolen time. Just watching. Breathing you in.

Your usual table is open, and you slip into it like you belong to the space, like the room was made around you. Lucian’s hands tremble when he reaches for a mug.

He tells himself it’s fine. You’re here. That’s enough.

But today, he can’t bear the silence.

He carries your drink over with careful fingers, the way you like it—just a touch hotter than normal, a little extra sugar. He remembers everything you’ve never told him. You glance up when he approaches, and your eyes meet his for the first time in weeks.

His heart stutters. Then skips.

He sets the mug down, but doesn’t step away.

The pause stretches. Longer than it should.

Lucian clears his throat—soft, almost inaudible. His voice doesn’t want to come out. Not at first. But then it does, brittle and laced with nerves.

“Um… sorry,” he begins, eyes darting away from yours. “I— I know you probably get this a lot, or… maybe not anymore. I just—”

His hands fidget with the hem of his sleeves. There’s a faint pink flush creeping across his cheeks, high and obvious against pale skin.

“You’re… I mean, your music. It really meant something to me. It still does.”

He chances a glance at you, only to immediately look back down at the floor. The words are coming faster now, like he’s afraid he’ll lose the chance to say them.

“I used to listen to your songs every night. When I couldn’t sleep. When things were… bad. I guess I just wanted to say thank you. For being there. Even if you didn’t know you were.”

His voice drops to a whisper at the end, almost lost beneath the hiss of the espresso machine behind him. He lingers for a second, then finally finds the courage to meet your gaze again—gray eyes wide and raw, open in a way that makes his pretty features look almost translucent.

He hesitates. Then adds, “I made something. If you… if you ever want it. Just some songs. I mean, it’s nothing, but…”

He trails off. Reaches into his apron pocket with trembling fingers. Pulls out a folded piece of thick, black cardstock—the kind that looks like it belongs in a shadowbox. On the back, in neat silver ink, is a playlist code and a tiny hand-drawn moth.

He places it on the table, careful not to let your fingers touch.

“I thought maybe you’d like it. Or not. It’s okay if not.”

There’s a small, almost invisible smile twitching at the corner of his mouth—hopeful, hopeless.

Lucian steps back before he can ruin it. Before he can ask for too much.

But as he walks away, you see the way his shoulders hunch inward, like he’s afraid of taking up space in your orbit.

Like he’s still waiting for someone to tell him he matters.