Espresso in The Rain

Noah woke up to the soft glow of morning filtering through Elias' bedroom window. The warmth of Elias' body pressed against his back, a steady arm draped over his waist, kept him anchored in place.

For a moment, he allowed himself to revel in the quiet intimacy—the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Elias' breathing, the scent of coffee lingering faintly in the sheets.

But then reality crept in.

What the hell was he doing?

Noah swallowed hard, staring at the ceiling. This wasn't just sex. If it were, leaving would have been easy. But last night, the way Elias had held him afterward—the way he whispered Noah's name like it meant something—had changed everything.

He wasn't supposed to let this happen.

Carefully, he shifted, trying to untangle himself from Elias without waking him. But as soon as he moved, Elias' grip tightened.

"Where do you think you're going?" Elias' voice was thick with sleep, low and rough, sending a shiver down Noah's spine.

Noah hesitated, then sighed. "It's morning."

Elias cracked one eye open, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Brilliant observation."

Noah rolled his eyes, pushing lightly at Elias' chest. "I have class."

Elias hummed, but didn't let go. "You could skip."

Noah shot him a look. "I'm not skipping."

Elias chuckled but finally loosened his grip. "Fine, fine. But let me make you coffee first."

Noah hesitated. That felt… domestic. Dangerous.

But before he could refuse, Elias was already rolling out of bed, stretching in a way that was entirely too distracting.

"Come on," Elias said, tossing Noah one of his shirts before pulling on a pair of sweatpants. "Unless you're in a rush to leave me alone and miserable."

Noah sighed, tugging the oversized shirt over his head. "Dramatic."

Elias smirked. "You love it."

And the worst part?

Maybe he did.

—

Downstairs, The Roasted Heaven was quiet. It was still early, the city just beginning to wake. The scent of fresh coffee filled the air as Elias moved behind the counter, preparing their drinks.

Noah sat at a stool, watching him. There was something calming about seeing Elias in his element—the way his hands moved effortlessly, the way his expression softened when he worked.

It was… nice.

Too nice.

"So," Elias said, breaking the silence, "are we going to talk about last night?"

Noah stiffened. "What's there to talk about?"

Elias arched an eyebrow, sliding a cup of coffee in front of Noah before leaning on the counter. "You tell me."

Noah stared into his cup. He should say something—draw a line, set boundaries. But the words refused to come.

Because the truth was, he didn't want boundaries.

He wanted this.

He wanted Elias.

Elias exhaled, studying him for a moment before straightening. "Alright. I won't push." He took a sip of his own coffee. "But just so you know, I'm not going anywhere."

Noah's breath caught.

Because deep down, that was exactly what terrified him the most.