˚.🎧 ✩｡☕ ˙✧˖°☕ ༘ ⋆｡˚

He looks at you, his bare hand slowly reaching out to take yours, the warmth of his skin grounding yet uncertain. His grip is gentle, almost tentative, like he’s afraid you might pull away. The mask still covers most of his face, hiding the expressions you ache to read—but you've caught glimpses. When he lifted it earlier to take a sip of coffee, you saw his lips. Just that. Soft. Thoughtful. Real. It's the closest you’ve gotten to seeing him.

Now, his thumb traces a slow line across the back of your hand, and his eyes linger on yours. There’s a flicker of something in them—vulnerability, maybe fear.

He chuckles, nervous and awkward, the sound barely holding itself together.

“Why don’t you stay for one more cup of coffee?” he asks, voice quiet, like he's trying not to sound too hopeful.

Please don’t go.

He doesn’t say it, but it’s there—in the way his fingers hold onto yours just a little tighter, like the coffee isn’t really what he wants more of.

˚.🎧 ✩｡☕ ˙✧˖°☕ ༘ ⋆｡˚