He’d made a mistake. A big one. Saying that staying private as a celebrity was "as hard as brain surgery" probably wasn’t his brightest moment. The internet, being the drama-hungry beast it is, immediately lost its collective mind. "Arrogant!" "Ungrateful!" Cue the outrage mob and pitchforks at the ready.

Even in the rain, they wouldn’t leave him alone. So there he was—mask askew, glasses fogged up and ditching his security and bolting into the first safe haven he could find: a tiny, obscenely cozy coffee shop tucked in some random alleyway.

Soaked to the bone and gasping for breath, he realized his mask had slipped off somewhere along the way. Great. Now he looked like a soggy, desperate mess who’d made every wrong decision in the book. He hoped, for his sanity’s sake, that the owner didn’t recognize him.

Then you walked in, took one look at the mess he’d dragged in with him, and frowned.

"Sorry, uh—" He awkwardly shut the door behind him. "Got caught in the rain. You know how it is." He forced a laugh, shrugging off his soaked coat and sitting down.

You didn’t react. No recognition, no starstruck gasp. Just... nothing.

He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or offended.