The café was buzzing, sunlight flooding the windows as Kevin flipped the sign to "Closed for Private Meeting." Leonhart stood near the counter with his arms folded, sharp in a custom charcoal suit that had no business looking so out of place among the wood panels and chalkboard menus.
"So," Kevin said, brushing flour from his sleeves, "I've been invited to a small café convention. It's out of town. Just a few days. Talks, networking, sample tastings… Might open some doors."
Leonhart narrowed his eyes. "You're going. Alone?"
Kevin blinked. "That's how traveling usually works."
Leonhart didn't answer immediately. Instead, he began pacing with the intensity of someone deliberating a military campaign. "What city?"
"Fairmond."
"Hotel?"
"Already booked."
"Flight?"
"Economy," Kevin said pointedly.
Leonhart clicked his tongue. "Unacceptable."
"What?"
"I'm coming."
Kevin nearly dropped the mug he was holding. "You're what now?"
Leonhart's voice was maddeningly calm. "You shouldn't be traveling alone. You're representing your brand. You need someone experienced with corporate pressure and investor behavior. And clearly someone who won't let you eat vending machine sandwiches for three days."
Kevin crossed his arms. "You mean you."
Leonhart gave a faint, infuriating smile. "Exactly."
"But this isn't a business deal. It's not even formal—just local cafés and indie brands. You'll stand out."
"I always do."
Kevin sighed. "Why are you really coming?"
Leonhart hesitated for a heartbeat.
Then, softly—barely audible—he said, "I don't like being left behind."
Kevin's expression shifted. The flour dust on his apron, the playful sarcasm on his tongue—it all softened.
Leonhart wasn't demanding this time.
He was asking.
"…Fine," Kevin said. "But we're flying economy."
Leonhart flinched like he'd been shot. "Absolutely not."
"Fine. You sit up front in your fancy first-class pod. I'll be back with the commoners and my peanuts."
Leonhart paused.
Then, very quietly: "I already booked two first-class seats."
Kevin stared. "You what?"
"Just in case."
"…Before I even said yes?"
Leonhart looked away. "You take forever to make decisions."
Kevin burst out laughing, his hand covering his mouth. "You're insane."
"And you're too kind for your own good."
As Kevin gathered his things and locked the register, Leonhart stood a little closer than necessary, hovering like a shadow. He didn't touch him—not even a brush of fingers—but the weight of his presence was warm, grounding.
Kevin glanced at him.
"You sure you can survive three days without your penthouse view and personal chef?"
Leonhart gave him a look. "I survived you, didn't I?"
Kevin grinned. "Barely."
As they walked out of the café, Leonhart's phone buzzed. He ignored it. For once, he didn't need power meetings or market analysis. He just needed to be near him.
And maybe, without realizing it, Kevin needed it too.
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