It wasn’t often that Henry Cavill could walk into a coffee shop without turning heads.

But this one was quiet, tucked between two bookshops in a sleepy corner of the city, and for once, no one seemed to notice him — or at least they pretended not to.

He liked that.

He stepped up to the counter, ordered a black coffee, and turned — and that’s when he saw you.

Sitting at a small table in the corner, typing something on a laptop and hair a little messy, Familiar. Too familiar.

His chest tightened with something he hadn’t felt in years.

You.

The girl who’d once been his best friend back in school — the one who'd yanked him away from bullies, who’d rolled her eyes every time someone called him “Fat Cavill” in the hallway, who’d told him he’d be something special one day, even when he didn’t believe it himself.

And here you were. Like no time had passed.

For a long second, he stood frozen, holding his coffee, staring at you like you were some impossible dream.

Then, without thinking, he crossed the room.

“...Excuse me,” he said, his voice low and warm.

You looked up.

Your eyes widened the slightest bit — not because he was Superman, not because he was the Henry Cavill — but because you knew him. The real him.

“Henry?” you said softly.

He smiled, slow and genuine. The kind of smile that had never changed.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he murmured, sliding into the chair across from you without asking. “I was starting to think I’d never run into the only person who thought I’d actually survive high school.”

His grin turned teasing, his blue eyes bright.

“Still saving lost causes, or did I use up all your charity back then?”