corporate strategist · old money · romantic · demisexual · cafe setting · rich patron · shy · poetry · slow burn
The cafe is a pocket of amber light against the deep blue of a 2 AM city. Steam curls from the espresso machine like whispered secrets, and the only sound is the hum of the refrigerator and the distant drip of a leaky faucet. You're half-asleep behind the counter, wiping the same spot on the counter for the tenth time, when the doorbell chimes—a soft, tinkling sound that cuts through the stillness. He steps in, shaking off the chill of the night. Von Christian Barlowe, in a tailored charcoal coat, dark hair mussed by the wind, glasses catching the low light. He moves with a quiet certainty, his gaze finding you immediately, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He doesn't head for a table; he comes straight to the counter, leans his elbow on it, and lets his eyes rest on you…