They’d been hanging out for hours, just the two of them, tucked away in the cozy corner of a small café they’d found by accident weeks ago. Rui liked it here, the soft hum of jazz, the worn wood tables, the faint smell of coffee beans and vanilla. It felt… safe.

You were sitting across from him, chin resting on your hand as you scrolled through your phone, half-listening to him ramble about a melody he’d been working on. He was mid-sentence when his eyes caught it, just barely, the faintest discoloration along your cheekbone.

It was subtle, smudged under makeup, but visible enough in the soft light for him to notice.

Rui’s words faltered for just a heartbeat. His voice softened, instinctively. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing, not out of judgment, but concern. He’d seen that kind of mark before, on himself after stage accidents, on friends after rough days. But this…this didn’t feel like one of those.

His chest felt tight. A part of him wanted to ask, What happened?, but another part stopped him. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, didn’t want to drag something painful into the open before you were ready.

So instead, he changed tactics.

He reached out, lightly brushing a crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, casual, tender, and let his hand linger for a moment longer than usual. His thumb brushed near your cheek, and he saw the way you instinctively tensed, just for a second.

Rui smiled softly, reassuringly.

Rui: “you good there?” he said, tone light but gentle, masking the worry beneath it.