Mackiah had become a regular until...he stopped visiting at all. Kyrell's icy blue eyes hid the concern but secretly awaited Mackiah's return.
A week quietly drifted by.
Mackiah didn't step into the café again—but he lingered.
Sometimes, he walked by during his lunch breaks.
Other times, after dusk, he paused across the street, watching the golden glow of the café lights from afar. But little did he know that those eyes in which he found solace were watching him all along.
Always from the corner of his eye.
Always without a word.
But he saw him.
And despite saying nothing, he remembered.
Inside the café, Alric gradually found his rhythm. Though shy, soft-spoken, and awkward at times, he proved to be a fast learner. Ivan, assigned by Kyrell to train him, took his job to heart—showing Alric how to prepare drinks, clean tables, handle orders, and even charm the regulars. The customers quickly grew fond of the honey-eyed boy who bowed deeply with every "Thank you."
Alric tried hard. Not just with work—but with Ivan.
He stayed a little longer after closing hours.
He asked questions about Ivan's favorite snacks.
He followed his every instruction like a diligent student.
And every time Ivan ruffled his hair or called him by that nickname—"Honeydrop"—Alric blushed so fiercely, he had to turn away.
A Stormy Night
That night, the sky cracked open with thunder.
Rain pelted down on Sylvenia's streets like silver arrows. The roads were nearly empty—except for a lone figure stumbling near the café's alley.
It was Mackiah.
He was bruised. Blood seeped through the side of his shirt. His legs shook with exhaustion, his coat soaked through.
He didn't approach the café entrance—he just stood there across the street, staring at the warm glow.
He whispered to himself, broken and cold,
"I shouldn't… I'd just be a burden."
He turned to leave.
"Are you always going to run away?"
A soft voice stopped him.
Mackiah froze.
Standing just behind him in the rain was Kyrell, holding a single umbrella.
Their eyes locked.
Mackiah's lips trembled. He tried to form a word—but he couldn't. Instead, without warning, tears fell down his cheeks—silent, desperate, heavy.
Kyrell's heart twisted in a way he didn't quite understand. Kyrell couldn't watch him in such state... Kyrell's face burned with anger, tears from Mackiah's sweet golden eyeswere enough to make him bury anyone who'd hurt him.
No words—just movement.
He stepped forward, gently covered Mackiah with the umbrella, and placed his other hand firmly on Mackiah's shoulder.
"You don't have to say anything," Kyrell said quietly. "It's okay."
Kyrellgently pushed open the door, one hand lightly holding Mackiah's arm as he helped him inside. The lights were dim, casting a warm golden hue over the cozy café space. The world outside was wet and cold—but in here, it was warm and calm.
He gestureed to the same table Mackiah always sat at during his visits.
Mackiah lowered himself into the chair with a faint wince. His wounds were worse than before—fresh bruises bloomed along his cheek and ribs, blood peeking from his shirt sleeve.
Kyrell walked silently to the kitchen, his fingers clenched. His jaw was tight.
Mackiah (muttering):
"…Sorry. For showing up like this. I didn't mean to bother you."
Kyrell paused mid-step and looked over his shoulder.
Kyrell (flat but sincere):
"You didn't."
Mackiah watched as Kyrell heated milk and started mixing hot chocolate. There was a rhythm in the way he worked—sharp, efficient, but oddly gentle.
Kyrell placed the steaming mug in front of him, then sat opposite, resting his chin in his hand.
Kyrell (without looking directly):
"You've been showing up outside the café all week. I noticed."
Mackiah stiffened, caught.
Mackiah (quietly):
"…I didn't want to come in. I wasn't sure I'd be welcome."
Kyrell:
"Why? Because of your job?"
Mackiah nodded slowly, gripping the mug like it was the only warmth he knew.
Mackiah:
"And because I'm a mess. A burden."
Kyrell sighed, gaze sharp now.
Kyrell:
"Don't say that."
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly as they flickered over Mackiah's visible bruises.
Kyrell:
"Was it your Head Officer again?"
Mackiah (lips tightened at the direct question). He trembled as he replied, "No. I got them while chasing a suspect...you know how a cop's life is."
Kyrell didn't say anything though he knew the truth behind those bruises.
After a beat, Kyrell reached into a drawer behind the counter and brough out a clean towel, a small first-aid box, and quietly set them beside the mug.
Kyrell (softly):
"Let me take care of those."
Mackiah:
"You don't have to—"
Kyrell (interrupting, firm):
"I want to."
Mackiah searched his face—expecting indifference, mockery, maybe pity. But what he foumd was something else entirely.
Gentle defiance. Compassion buried under thorns.
As Kyrell dabbed a cut on Mackiah's temple, their eyes locked.
Kyrell:
"I'm not letting you stand alone anymore."
Mackiah:
"Why are you… being so kind to me?"
Kyrell (still avoiding direct eye contact):
"I don't know. Maybe because… no one was kind to me when I needed it."
Mackiah's vision blurred—not from the sting of antiseptic, but from the warmth creeping into his chest. For the first time in what felt like years, someone saw him.
Mackiah (softly):
"Thank you… Kyrell."
Kyrell's hand stayed still for a moment.
His name in Mackiah's voice felt heavier than he expected.
Then he stood, just as the door swung open—and Ivan and Alric entered, holding grocery bags and umbrellas, both soaked but laughing at something.
Ivan's eyes fell on Mackiah, then the first-aid kit.
Ivan:
"Woah. Did we walk in on a soap opera or is this a date?"
Kyrell (coolly, standing):
"Keep talking and you're washing dishes for a month."
Ivan snickered and set the bags down.
Alric (smiling shyly at Mackiah):
"Hi… again."
Mackiah nodded back. His bruises still stung, but the ache inside was less… heavy now.
Ivan:
"Hey, if you two aren't busy… why don't we eat together?"
Kyrell:
"We've got enough."
For a moment, four strangers sat at one table, sharing food and silence and a kind of warmth that tasted like something they'd all forgotten.
It tasted like home.
At The EIRWEN ESTATE-
Evelyn lounged on a velvet settee, swirling red wine in her glass. Lucien paced the marble floor, his jaw tight, phone clutched in hand.
Lucien (gritted teeth):
"He couldn't have pulled this off alone."
Evelyn (bored):
"Of course not. That boy can barely take a breath without trembling."
Lucien tossed the phone onto the table, frustrated.
Lucien:
"Someone's helping him. Someone smart. He disappeared too cleanly. No witnesses. No cards used. No trail."
Evelyn (smirking):
"Well, then... find that someone. Break them if you have to. But bring my son back."
She sipped her wine.
"…Preferably broken."
Lucien glared at her, but chuckled darkly.
Lucien:
"Don't worry. If someone thinks they can hide him… they've got no idea who they're dealing with."
Around the Café Table
Warm lights. Hot soup. The rain pattering softly outside.
They ate together. Quietly at first.
Mackiah was still stiff, but the food warmed his hands. Alric sneaked glances at everyone, especially Ivan, his cheeks pink from the heat or maybe something else.
Kyrell, as usual, ate in silence, but he didn't look away when Mackiah looked up.
Ivan cracked jokes between mouthfuls, trying to get a laugh out of Mackiah—and maybe even Kyrell. Alric smiled shyly.
And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Alric said it:
"Thank you… I almost forgot what eating together felt like."
A silence followed—not awkward, but full.
Full of something unspoken.
For the first time in a long time,
four strangers sat at the same table—
and felt like they weren't so alone.
They weren't just broken people anymore.
They were… maybe… the beginning of something whole.
After Dinner — Warmth Lingered, But Shadows Crawled Back
The dinner plates sat empty, quiet laughter from earlier now fading into a peaceful silence.
Kyrell got up from the table, gathering the used dishes and heading toward the back door with a bag of waste in hand.
Kyrell (casual):
"I'll be back in a bit. We're out of vanilla snacks."
Ivan:
"Again? You eat more sweets than we sell."
Kyrell (smirks faintly):
"And I'll keep eating them unless you stop baking like a demon-possessed pastry god."
He disappeared out the back with the trash.
The moment he was gone, Mackiah stared down at his own hands, fingers curled, still bearing the small cuts from the night's earlier attack.
Ivan (leaning on the table):
"You okay?"
Mackiah:
"…Yeah."
Ivan (narrowing his eyes):
"You're lying."
Mackiah winced.
Ivan:
"He asked you earlier, didn't he? About who hurt you."
Mackiah (murmurs):
"I told him I got injured while catching a suspect. It's part of the job sometimes...
Actually my-my teammates did it...obviously they were ordered to do so."
Ivan let out a long sigh, his tone suddenly flat and sharp.
Ivan:
"You honestly think someone like Kyrell bought that?"
Mackiah looked up, startled.
Ivan:
"He doesn't ask questions unless he already knows the answer."
There was a beat of silence. Mackiah's jaw tightened.
Ivan (softly, with a small smile):
"Kyrell doesn't save people… unless he wants to. And if he does—then gods help the ones who hurt them."
Mackiah:
"…He scares me sometimes."
Ivan:
"He's supposed to. But only if you're the kind of person who deserves it."
Mackiah looked down at the mug Kyrell left him earlier. Still warm.
Mackiah (quietly):
"…But he's also the only person who makes me feel safe."
Ivan smiled knowingly.
Ivan:
"Then you're exactly where you're meant to be."
Criminal Intelligence-Special Unit HQ
The headquarters was nearly empty—only the hum of old vending machines and the drip of rain against the glass windows broke the silence.
Officer Garron grumbled under his breath as he locked up his office, a rolled-up dossier under his arm. He paused near the hallway, cracking his knuckles.
Garron (mutters):
"Damn brat still thinks he belongs in the special unit…"
The lights above flickered.
A shadow stepped out from the corridor's end.
Kyrell, soaked from the rain, stood motionless, black hoodie drawn, dripping water onto the polished floor.
Garron (startled):
"Who the hell are you—"
He didn't finish.
Kyrell moved like a phantom, crossing the hallway in a blink, slamming Garron against the lockers.
The officer grunted, the dossier scattering across the floor.
Kyrell (coldly):
"So you're Officer Garron. The shitty bastard who hurt my puppy"
Garron:
"What? What do you mean? Listen! You've got five seconds to back the f—"
CRACK.
Kyrell's fist connected with Garron's jaw. He stumbled sideways, spitting blood.
Kyrell (voice flat, deadly):
"You hit Mackiah. Humiliated him. Had your lapdogs beat him till he bled."
He grabbed Garron's collar, dragged him across the corridor before slamming him face-first into the cold tile wall.
Kyrell:
"And I'm going to return the favor."
Garron:
"W-Wait, let's talk—"
Kyrell's knee crashed into his ribs.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Kyrell (calm, eerily clinical):
"You bruised his chest. Shattered his pride. Let's start there."
He yanked Garron by the collar, whispering into his ear.
Kyrell:
"This pain… is borrowed. From him."
SNAP.
Kyrell twisted Garron's arm with brutal precision—bones breaking clean.
Garron screamed—a sharp, raw sound that echoes through the empty hall.
Kyrell (low, venomous):
"You'll remember this every time it rains. Every time you try to use that arm. Every time your ego itches."
He shoved Garron to the ground, crouching to meet his teary, furious eyes.
Kyrell:
"You touch him again…"
His smile was slight—chilling.
"…and I won't stop at your arm. Make him cry and I'll make sure to break every bone in that bloody body of yours while you're still alive"
Garron, writhing on the floor, clutched his shattered limb—too broken to move.
Kyrell stood, not sparing him another glance.
As he walked away, his boots echo in the hallway like the demon itself.
Back At The Café
Kyrell returnd around 1 AM, soaked in rain but eerily calm.
He placed a pack of vanilla wafers on the counter.
Ivan eyed him.
Ivan:
"You took your time."
Kyrell (dryly):
"Long line."
Ivan (not buying it):
"You made sure he remembers, huh?"
Kyrell shrugged and glanced at the backroom door where Mackiah was resting.
Kyrell (softly):
"He will never dare to lay a finger on him again."
The rain has softened into a whisper, tapping gently on the windows. A quiet hum filled the café—almost sacred in its warmth.
Mackiah had curled up on the couch in the backroom, a blanket over him. His breathing was slow, but his brows still creased faintly—remnants of pain etched in his skin.
The door creaked softly.
Kyrell stepped in, towel draped around his shoulders, the faint scent of petrichor clinging to him.
Ivan looked up from wiping a glass and walked towards the room.
Ivan (quietly):
"He's asleep… like a wounded puppy."
Kyrell just gave a soft hum and walked over.
He crouched beside Mackiah,
Kyrell (soft murmur):
"…Idiot. Why don't you fight back.." he said as he brushed his hands throug Mackiah's golden blonde hair.
Then he rised to leave.
But behind him, Mackiah's eyes fluttered open—he's been awake.
His face flushed, eyes wide.
Mackiah (quietly, to himself):
"…You came back…"
He buried his face deeper into the blanket, heart racing in his chest—not from pain, but from the warmth swelling inside him.
Upstairs – Alric's Room
Ivan peeked in, carrying a fresh blanket. He paused, hearing faint noises—a whimper, a stifled breath.
Ivan:
"…Alric?"
He walked in and saw Alric, curled in bed, body trembling, trapped in the grip of a nightmare. Sweat coating his brow.
Ivan immediately moved beside him and gently shook him.
Ivan:
"Hey. Wake up. Honey drop are you okay?—Alric, wake up."
Suddenly, Alric bolted upright, gasping—and shoved Ivan away instinctively.
Alric (panicked):
"D-Don't touch me—!"
But Ivan didn't flinch. He steadied himself… and then softly wrapped his arms around Alric again—tighter this time.
Ivan (whispering):
"I'm not going to hurt you. You're okay. It's just me."
Alric squirmed for a second, then slowly stopped trembling. His fists unclench. The warmth of Ivan's chest, the calm beat of his heart, the scent of coffee beans and rain…
…it all began to drown the fear.
Alric (whispers):
"…Why… are you still here?"
Ivan (smiling softly):
"Checking on you. You've been whimpering like a kitten every night."
Alric:
"You've… been checking on me every night?"
Ivan (nods):
"Mm. It's not that big of a deal."
Alric:
"…Why did you save me that night?"
Ivan looked into Alric's honey-gold eyes for a long moment.
Ivan (lightly teasing):
"Well, I have this thing for rescuing pretty boys in distress. Especially the ones with big puppy eyes and a talent for knocking over flour sacks."
Alric (pouting slightly):
"I'm being serious."
Ivan's grin faded, replaced by something softer. He sighed quietly, his thumb unconsciously brushing along Alric's shoulder.
Ivan (quietly):
"You reminded me of someone."
Alric tilted his head, curious.
Ivan:
"Myself. A long time ago. I used to try so damn hard to be… perfect. To prove myself, to be what others needed me to be. Always smiling, always okay. And deep down, I was just… drowning."
Alric's lips parted slightly. His eyes shimmered—not with tears, but with something gentler, more fragile.
Ivan:
"You looked like that… the night I found you. Like someone who had forgotten what it felt like to breathe."
A long silence hanged between them—thick with emotion.
Then, slowly, Alric leaned forward, resting his head on Ivan's chest again. His hands fist into the fabric of Ivan's hoodie, holding onto him like a tether to the world.
Alric (whispers):
"…Thank you, Ivan."
Ivan blinked, surprised by the raw sincerity.
Ivan (softly):
"…What for?"
Alric shifted, nestling closer.
Alric (muffled, gently):
"…Everything."
Ivan's chest rised and fell with a shaky exhale. A slow warmth built in his eyes as he wrapped his arms tighter around Alric.
He lowered his hand, gently caressing Alric's head, fingers threading through his hair with a care that said more than words ever could.
Ivan (quietly):
"…Sleep, honey-eyes. I've got you."
And for the first time in a long, long time—Alric let go, wrapped safely in someone's arms, with the steady beat of Ivan's heart anchoring him back to life.