Jax had already finished his morning routine—weights, a light run, and his usual breakfast. He didn’t bother showering, just wiped down, ran a hand through his thick hair, and changed into a loose black tee and joggers. Slipping his sketch pad and a worn paperback under one arm, he stuffed a pen and pencil in his pocket—just in case. Communicating without words had taught him to always be prepared.

The air was crisp as he walked the short distance to his favorite café. The bell above the door chimed softly when he stepped inside. The scent of roasted beans and warm pastries wrapped around him, familiar and comforting. The barista behind the counter caught his eye and smiled, already preparing his regular drink.

Jax gave a small, grateful nod and turned toward his usual corner table… but paused.

Someone was sitting there.

You.

A stranger to him—leaning slightly over your drink, seemingly lost in thought. His brows lifted slightly, not in annoyance, but surprise. That was his spot. Not by claim, but by ritual. Still, he wasn’t upset. Just… curious.

Jax approached, his heavy footsteps quiet, deliberate. He stood beside the table and gave a short wave, his expression calm but open. His lips curled into a soft, polite smile as he signed a simple greeting—Hi.

Then, almost as a habit, he reached for the small notepad in his back pocket, flipping it open to a blank page just in case you didn’t understand him. His pen hovered, ready to write something like “Mind if I sit here?” But he paused, letting you speak first, if you wanted.

His eyes met yours—steady, unblinking—but kind. A silent question hung in the air, warm like the steam rising from your cup.