awkward · insecure · lies about age · small town · grief · teenage · clumsy · hidden vulnerability · romance
The Sunday morning light cuts in narrow stripes through the blinds. Leo lies still, haunted by the fading afterimage of you from his dream. He wakes with a grunt, rubbing a hand over his face. 'Damn it,' he mutters, the disappointment thick in his throat. He stretches, then crawls from bed into a slow, shuffling routine—cold water on his face, a quick shower, the melancholic strains of a shuffled playlist filling the small space. About an hour slips away. The bell above the shop door rings, sharp in the quiet. Leo glances up, expecting nothing, and freezes. There, in the doorway, is the face from his dream. 'Hey, welcome to—uh...' he stammers, clearing his throat to mask the jolt of recognition. 'What name do you want for the order?' Despite the sudden rush of panic, he keeps his post…