The rain was pouring heavily against the coffee shop window, matching the chaotic rhythm of Leo’s heart. He stared down at his sketchpad, his pen hovering over the paper, but his mind was miles away. Specifically, it was fixed on the man sitting three tables over ucrm.
Ethan.
Ethan was the bookstore owner from next door, a man who seemed to move through the world with an effortless, quiet grace. He was currently buried in a thick hardcover book, a soft scowl of concentration on his face that Leo had secretly memorized over the past three months. Every tuck of Ethan’s hair behind his ear, every slow sip of his coffee, had found its way into the hidden pages of Leo’s notebook.
Leo took a deep breath, forcing himself to look away before he got caught staring. He tried to focus on his drawing, but the bell above the door chimed, and a sudden gust of cold wind swept into the cozy shop.
“Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is packed,” a deep, familiar voice asked.
Leo looked up, his breath catching in his throat. Ethan was standing right in front of his table, holding a steaming mug of black coffee, a rare, gentle smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Uh, yeah—I mean, no! No, I don’t mind at all. Please, sit,” Leo stammered, his cheeks instantly burning a bright crimson. He quickly scrambled to clear his messy pile of charcoal pencils and reference sheets to make room.
Ethan chuckled softly, a low, warm sound that made Leo’s stomach do backflips. “Thanks. I usually love the rain, but today it’s a bit too fierce.” He set his mug down and slid into the chair opposite Leo, bringing with him the faint, comforting scent of old pages, rain, and cedarwood.
For a few minutes, there was only the sound of the rain outside and the low murmur of jazz playing from the shop’s speakers.
Leo tried his best to look busy, staring intensely at his sketchpad, but his hands were trembling slightly. He felt completely exposed.
“You’re an artist,” Ethan remarked quietly, breaking the silence.
He was looking at Leo’s hands, which were stained with dark smudges of graphite.
“Just a hobbyist,” Leo replied, looking up shyly.
“I just… like capturing moments. Things that catch my eye.”
Ethan leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand.
His dark eyes locked onto Leo’s with a sudden, intense curiosity. “Can I see?”
Leo’s heart stopped. His current sketch was an unfinished drawing of Ethan’s profile—the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheekbones. If Ethan saw it, there would be no hiding his feelings anymore.
