Two weeks passed.
Leonhart started showing up at Kevin's café earlier than usual—sometimes before the sun had fully risen. He claimed it was for the coffee. Kevin didn't argue, even though Leonhart still preferred his bitter and black, and Kevin's morning brew was too sweet for his taste.
They started eating breakfast together at the back table. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they didn't. But every morning felt less like routine and more like...something shared. Something new.
Kevin noticed the subtle shifts.
Leonhart no longer checked his phone every ten minutes.
He stayed longer than he needed to.
Sometimes, he even rolled up his sleeves and helped Kevin restock the fridge or refill sugar jars—grumbling the whole time, but doing it anyway.
There were no grand declarations. No kisses. Just quiet moments. Thoughtful ones. The kind that stitched two people together without fanfare.
But outside, the world wasn't as still.
Elian watched.
He stood across the street some mornings, half-hidden in alleyways or behind parked cars, eyes locked on the glass front of the café.
He saw the way Leonhart smiled when Kevin accidentally spilled milk on his apron.
He saw the way Leonhart leaned closer when Kevin laughed.
He saw it all—and it burned.
Elian had believed he could claw his way back in. That his absence had left a void no one else could fill. But now, standing in the cold with his hoodie pulled tight and his pride unraveling, he realized something terrifying:
He wasn't being replaced.
He already had been.
---
Inside the café, Kevin looked up just as Leonhart wiped flour off his cheek.
"You're not used to getting messy, are you?" Kevin teased.
Leonhart huffed. "Messy is for people who don't own suits worth more than their ovens."
Kevin grinned. "Then why are you still here?"
Leonhart paused, hand still halfway to the counter.
Then, without looking at him, he said softly, "Because I like the way this place smells. Like something new. Like something I didn't know I wanted."
Kevin blinked, surprised by the honesty.
And just as he was about to respond, he caught a flash of movement outside the window—a figure slipping away into the alley.
He didn't mention it.
Didn't need to.
Elian's shadow no longer loomed over the café.
Not really.
Because Leonhart no longer belonged to that story.
---