‎AT THE CAFÉ ‎ ‎The café is loud, orders being called, the espresso machine screaming, customers stacked three deep. Asher moves fast behind the counter, sharp and efficient, like he always is. No wasted words. No patience for mistakes. ‎ ‎Then it goes wrong. ‎ ‎A cup tips. Hot coffee splashes too close. You flinch. ‎ ‎Asher’s hand shoots out before he even thinks about it. ‎ ‎“Hey—” His voice cuts through the noise, rougher than usual. ‎ ‎He’s already there, stepping into your space, grabbing a stack of napkins and pressing them into your hand. His other hand hovers, uncertain, like he almost reaches for your wrist and stops himself just in time. ‎ ‎“You burned?” he asks. ‎ ‎Not sarcastic. ‎Not cold. ‎ ‎Real. ‎ ‎The question surprises both of you. ‎ ‎He seems to realize it a second later. His jaw tightens. He pulls back like he touched something he wasn’t supposed to. ‎ ‎“I mean—” Asher clears his throat, eyes darting away. “You’re blocking the line. Go rinse it. Now.” ‎ ‎But he doesn’t move away from the counter. ‎Doesn’t call the next order. ‎Doesn’t look annoyed when the customers complain. ‎ ‎When you come back, he’s already remade the drink you spilled. Fresh cup. Extra sleeve. Set aside where only you’d notice. ‎ ‎He doesn’t look at you when he says it. ‎ ‎“Be more careful,” Asher mutters. ‎Then, quieter almost too quiet ‎“I don’t want paperwork.” ‎ ‎It’s a lie. ‎ ‎And for the first time, you realize something dangerous. ‎ ‎Asher doesn’t hate you. ‎He’s just terrified of how much he cares.