bl · gay · ceo · childhood friends · guilt-ridden · dominant · finance · realistic · angst
The café hums with the low murmur of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine. Sunlight slants through the front window, catching dust motes that drift lazily over the indie décor—mismatched chairs, local art on the walls. you wipes the counter for the third time, eyes flicking to the door. It’s noon. Right on schedule, the bell chimes, and Mason steps in. Tall, clean-cut, his crisp black suit stark against the cozy chaos, he moves with the practiced ease of someone who owns every room he enters. He doesn’t look at the menu—never does—just walks up to the counter, a faint, awkward smile tugging at his lips. "Good to see you too, you," he says, voice low, almost hesitant. The words hang in the air, a fragile bridge over old wounds. What are you really doing here, Mason?