Archive of Our Own ^beta

            The small cafe was nestled snug between a music store and a printing press on a side street from the main stretch of town, surrounded by buildings worn by time through chipped paint and curious ivy. Despite this, people knew of the cafe well, if only for its unique inhabitants. Cats roamed through tunnels and across (aptly named) catwalks, snoozing in the tall windows that were never covered, playing with strings dangling from carpet-covered posts, and purring happily into customers’ hands. The coffee could only be described as “alright”--you could find better brews down the street at the local cafe that roasted their own beans. The cakes and pastries weren’t any better than those you could buy at the bakery in a chain grocery store. Despite this, the cafe had never wanted for customers, as lonely college kids and overworked adults and elderly couples armed with walkers would always be there to play with the cats.

            Wyll was there for the TV spot the local news station did for the cafe’s opening. It was the only cat cafe for miles, so lots of folk were interested--and besides, it certainly made for an interesting 6 o’clock filler for the news. The owner had painted a big calico face on one of the windows, but rain came before the cameras did and caused black and orange streaks down the glass. Luckily, no one seemed to mind. They were too fixated on the friendly faces in the windows.

            The hourly rate is pretty reasonable--$15 dollars with a complimentary first cup of coffee. Extra cups or pastries are separate charges, but you can also buy treats or cans of food for individual cats. Part of the proceeds of the cafe goes to the local humane society, and all the cats are available for adoption. Their dedication to the animals was what interested Wyll so when he’d first heard of their opening. He’d been jobless for months, sleeping on his older sibling’s couch at night and volunteering for various charities to keep himself motivated during the day. Even though he knew next to nothing about making coffee, the owner saw something in Wyll. It helped that he had previous experience with animals, including emergency first-aid. At first, he mostly helped with the welfare of the residents, but Leliana had been pestering him to let her teach him how to at least steam milk since they’d opened, and Wyll was the kind of person who needed to indulge others.

            And that’s how Wyll ended up serving coffee at a cat cafe.

            To be fair, it was the happiest he’d been in a long time. He certainly hadn’t expected it, but it got him off his sibling’s couch and back to socializing with people and not just animals daily. He wasn’t great at the barista part, but that wasn’t most people’s focus when it came to the cafe. Most people only ordered the house blend with milk, or some iced tea, simple things while they enjoyed the company of the animals. Wyll had seen single people, dates, birthday parties, final wishes, christenings… All these tiny life events through the scarce year the cafe had been open, and Wyll felt like a voyeur to all of them.

            Wyll was sweeping the kitchen late one morning when business had lulled. The smell of baking cookies was overwhelming his sense as he tried to concentrate on the simple task at hand. A few of the cats were pawing at the gate to the kitchen, meowing for Wyll’s attention despite the few people out in the playroom. Wyll smiled and shushed them, telling them to go play with the customers.

            The front door of the cafe clanged as the bell above it announced a customer’s arrival. “Welcome!” Wyll called from the kitchen, walking toward the doorway.

            A young man stood at the door, shifting a heavy bag on his shoulder and glancing around. He cocked an eyebrow at the odd decor tailored toward the cats. Seeing Wyll across the cafe, he asked, “Do you serve coffee here?”

            “Well, technically, yes, but there’s an hour cover charge.” Wyll crossed his arms and continued, unsure. “This… isn’t a normal cafe. Most people come here for the cats, you know?”

            The man shrugged. “So long as there’s caffeine, I don’t mind.” He extended an arm toward Wyll. “Do you…?”

            Wyll blushed lightly at the man. “I’m sorry?”

            “Sorry,” the man laughed. “I meant, do I pay you? Or…?”

            Wyll smiled in response--the man’s laughter sent butterflies through his stomach. “N-No, Leliana in the other room can set you up. If you wash your hands here, I’ll, ah, I can get your coffee?” Wyll turned around, paused, and then faced the man at the door again. “Er, what did you want?”

            The man smirked. “Whatever your darkest blend is, two sugars. Thanks,” and he proceeded to the adjacent room.

            Wyll retreated to the kitchen and slapped his face to try to stop it burning. Wyll took a breath and reached for a white mug and saucer, trying to work on muscle memory to stop his brain from messing anything up. Luckily, it was a simple order, so his fluster didn’t interfere with spooning sugar into coffee.

            The man had claimed one of the window seats when Wyll finally composed himself. He was rubbing a cat’s head tentatively while examining the interior. There were small tables next to long banquettes that lined the wall from the front to the back of the cafe. The cafe’s owner, Leliana, was sitting behind a short counter equipped with a tablet and cash box for payments. She was trying to read, but kept getting distracted by cats jumping onto her workspace and her needing to waggle a feather at them. Another waiter, named Cole, sat cross-legged beside an old woman, who was speaking quietly to him while she rolled a ball at a cat who batted it back at her. He listened quietly, his large blue eyes seeming to speak enough for himself.

            Wyll set the cup of coffee on a table at the man’s side. The man looked up from the black cat in his lap, almost surprised to see the waiter. “This is such a novel idea,” he remarked. “Combine some of man’s favourite things: cats, coffee, and consumerism.” He laughed to himself, scratching the cat under the chin and earning a loud purr.

            Wyll laughed awkwardly. “Well, it may still be a new idea to Americans, but it’s quite popular in some Asian countries.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Do you--”

            “Odd that the woman who started it should have a French accent then,” the man interrupted. He reached for the coffee and took a sip, almost immediately frowning. “Ah.”

            “Is something…” Wyll gave him an odd look, unsure what to do with this man.

            “No, no, I suppose you did say most people come here for the cats, after all.”

            Wyll grimaced. “I can get you a new cup of coffee if that one’s no good--”

            “No, no, it’s fine,” the man replied. His accent made everything he said sound overly pretentious.

            “Well, we also have some baked goods, like scones and cookies…”

            The man looked up at Wyll, a tight smile hidden beneath a neat moustache. “I’m fine, thank you.”

            Wyll thought his heart had stopped for a moment. He could feel himself blushing again, and politely excused himself, perhaps too quickly.

            As Wyll tried passing through to the kitchen again, Leliana caught him. “Have you checked on the cookies lately?” she asked. Wyll said no, but was thankful for a distraction that didn’t involve customers. He took a breath when he had reached the quiet solace, gripping the edge of the counter tight enough to whiten his knuckles. He was unsure why he was so light-headed. There had been plenty of attractive men through the cafe before, but they’d never been able to completely distract Wyll. There was just something about this man… The crook of his nose, maybe, or the beauty mark kissing the corner of his eye, or perhaps his deep, husky accent…

            Wyll shook his head. It was all punctuated by the man’s casual displeasure with Wyll’s work. He glanced around, looking at the tall coffee pots next to the milk steamer. Maybe it was just that the coffee they served was mediocre, but there was a tinge of offense at the back of Wyll’s mind that couldn’t not take it personally. Wyll grabbed a fresh mug and filled it partially with the dark roast. He paused, trying to call up all the YouTube videos he’s watched of latte art in his mind. While the milk heated, he doodled on a post-it pad little cat heads, some with hearts for noses, some with big round spots on their cheeks. He poured the heated cream into the mug, making the cream on top too large. He poked dots and dragged lines through the cream with a stir stick, making what… vaguely looked like a cat, with tiny ears and uneven eyes.

            Wyll stepped back and looked at his coffee with a dissatisfied face. He pursed his lips and stepped out from the kitchen, to Leliana’s inquisitive expression. Wyll gave her a sheepish look and said, “I’ll pay for it,” quietly. He stepped over to the man in the window seat, a cat sleeping on his lap, his first cup of coffee half-drunk and lukewarm. He glanced over, one eyebrow cocked, as Wyll approached. He set the coffee next to the old one, and said, “This is… on the house. Since the first one was…”

            The man glanced over at the latte. “It’s… cute?” he said, smirking slightly. “That is, if it’s supposed to be…”

            Wyll looked down at the seated man, his lips pressed together tightly. He was blushing lightly again, his eyes cast at his feet. The man’s eyes crinkled with a smile, and he said, “Thank you, but you didn’t have to.”

            Wyll nodded, his blush growing. “If you need anything else, I’ll--”

            The man smiled and held out a hand. “I’m Dorian, and don’t worry, this happens to me often.”

            Wyll looked up at Dorian’s hand. He took is weakly, and stuttered, “I’m Wyll, if… if you need anything, I’ll…”

            Cole’s voiced piped up then. “There’s a smell of burning chocolate.”

            Wyll squeezed Dorian’s hand in panic. He tore away to the kitchen, Leliana’s voice following him, chastising, the old woman next to Cole chuckling lightly, followed by coughing.

            Dorian sat, his hand tingling, his heart warm from the waiter’s shy gestures. He looked at the pitiable attempt at the latte art, the cat’s face turning lopsided from Wyll’s jostling. Still, it was adorable, Dorian admitted, and it felt so pure from Wyll’s bashful advances. He took a sip, and despite the coffee not being his normal order, it tasted better than the first cup.

            Wyll was putting out food the next day for the cats at noon when he heard the door’s bell clang. He looked over his shoulder to Cole greeting a man in a long grey peacoat, and his heart skipped a beat. Dorian came back to the cafe. He smiled at Cole, probably quipping about the quality of the coffee again. As Cole walked into the kitchen, Dorian caught Wyll’s eye and winked. Wyll froze, only freed when Dorian turned away. Wyll spooned food haphazardly into bowls so he could run to the back and hide for the duration of the next hour. Before he got that far, however, Leliana caught him by the arm.

            “Is that man bothering you?” she asked, concern tinting her words. “I can throw him out if that’s the problem.”

            “N-No, he’s fine, he’s very…” Wyll’s words trailed off, and he tried pulling away from Leliana.

            Her grip persisted, but a sly smile curled at the edge of her mouth. “Oh, so he is bothering you,” she said, then pried her grip from his arm, one finger at a time.

            Wyll frowned at his boss, feeling his face burning down to his neck. He almost tripped over a cat while fleeing to the kitchen, and stumbled clumsily over the gate and through the door. Cole looked up at him, confusion colouring his face, as his hand was poised over the coffee dispenser. Wyll’s eyes flickered from his face, to his hand, to various other points in the kitchen, before saying, “I can take care of that if you like.”

            Cole smiled and set the mug down, backing away but waiting next to the counter. Wyll gripped the mug too tightly, shaking as he filled it halfway with coffee, before Cole put a hand on his shoulder. Wyll raised his eyebrows, then took a deep breath. He carefully poured the cream into the cup, not mucking it up as much as he did yesterday. Cole watched him silently, holding his hands in front of him, almost as still as a statue.

            When Wyll finished the cat face with a little heart for a nose, he stepped back and Cole examined it. He said, “It’s very good,” and Wyll didn’t detect even a hint of sarcasm in the other’s voice. He smiled.

            Cole put it on a saucer and left the kitchen while Wyll peered around the doorway. Dorian laughed incredulously when Cole put the coffee down next to him, seated at that same window seat. He glanced around the cafe, his eyes locking on Wyll who quickly ducked back around the corner in a panic.

            And much to Wyll’s further panic, Cole popped up next to him in a manner of seconds, nearly giving him a heart attack. “That man wanted to speak to you,” Cole said, then disappeared as quickly as he came.

            Wyll steeled himself as much as was possible for him, straightened his apron, made sure his hair was tied back, and stepped over the gate to the main cafe. When he stepped up to Dorian, the man was smiling with his phone hovering over the coffee cup. He glanced up as the camera clicked and said, “My friends are going to get a kick out of this.”

            Wyll held his hands stiffly behind his back and asked, a bit too curtly, “Did you need something?”

            Dorian cocked an eyebrow at the waiter, expecting a different response. “I just figured, since you made this again… You mean you weren’t courting my attention?”

            Wyll blushed and blubbered. Dorian chuckled and said, “You are so adorable when you’re blushing like that, your freckles just light up.” This only caused Wyll to blush deeper and need to hide his face.

            Leliana called out above the casual din of the cafe: “Are you flirting with my employee over there?”

            Dorian held up his hands defensively. “I can leave, if you’re forcing me to. This isn’t the first time I’ll have been kicked out of an eatery at 12:30 in the afternoon.”

            Wyll shouted, “No!” startling the cat lounging in the sun next to Dorian, sending it flying underneath a chair. More quietly, and directed at Leliana, “No, he’s… not bothering me. It’s my fault.”

            Dorian gave Wyll a pitiful look. “It isn’t your fault. Look, to make up for it, I’ll buy some food for the cats.” He pulled out a $50 bill and handed it to Wyll. “Anything that’s left over, keep it as change.” He stood up, pulling his peacoat on and heading back to the foyer.

            Wyll grabbed his arm to stop him, but let go as quickly when he realized what he was doing. “You already paid for the hour, but you’re leaving?”

            Dorian shrugged. “I’m being disruptive. Plus, I’m a bit scared of your boss,” wrinkling his nose at Leliana in the back.

            “You don’t want to drink your coffee?”

            Again, Dorian shrugged, and began to push open the exit. “It doesn’t matter, the only reason I came here was to see you.” He winked and left before he could even see Wyll’s response.

            A subtle chorus of “Oooh!” rang out from the lunch crowd in the cafe. Wyll almost felt the cats snickering at him as well. He slammed the $50 on Leliana’s desk and declared, “I’m doing inventory!” before running for the kitchen in a wild rush.

            Dorian avoided the cafe for a short while after that, but his curiosity kept getting the better of him. His personality naturally pushed people away, though usually he used this as a defense mechanism. A few days later, Dorian pushed open the door to the cat cafe, smiling as he looked around. However, only Leliana and Cole he recognized, and in Wyll’s place was a tall, blonde girl with sparse freckles and terrible fashion sense.

            “Can I help ya, bud?” she said from the playroom, wrestling a whole group of cats while protecting a bag of treats.

            Dorian looked at her, confused. “I was… just expecting a young man. Not the blonde one, there, a… Never mind.” Dorian began to walk out when Leliana called after him.

            “If you’re looking for Wyll, he’s off work today.”

            Dorian blinked. He hadn’t really registered yet that Wyll had a life outside herding cats and serving coffee with animal faces in. Dorian thanked Leliana and began to wander down the street, feeling a bit lost. He supposed he should take his heavy bag and finish the lab reports he’d soon be overdue for, although he genuinely would have liked some caffeine before starting on that. Rather than wander aimlessly, Dorian headed for the university library a few blocks away, and hoped to rally his thoughts there.

            The library was filled with students of all ages and sizes, including children with parents hoping to find new stories, college students who were somehow still awake after 48 hours, and older people who were gathered with friends gushing over the latest novel from John Smith so-and-so. Dorian asked the front desk for a private room, given his status as a doctoral student, but was asked to wait until one freed up. He pouted, but took a seat between a woman reading to a toddler and a kid asleep with a book on his face near the entrance.

            He flicked through his e-mail on his phone, nestled into a pile of his coat and messenger bag. Idly he listened in on conversations, laughing internally at the tiny worries of the others around him. He ended up lost in thought, staring blankly at his phone, thinking of his thesis, his job, his empty apartment, the cafe, that cute barista, his earnestness…

            Dorian almost jumped when a voice suddenly addressed him. “Are you… Dorian?”

            He turned around to see the very person he’d been thinking of giving him a puzzled look. If Dorian believed himself capable of things like good luck, he’d be thanking whichever deity had bestowed it upon him. As it was, he smiled and stood up, straightening his clothes and bag in one swift movement. “It is,” he replied. “And you’re Wyll, correct?” Dorian then took notice of Wyll’s current circumstance. “Are you allowed to have dogs in here?”

            Wyll looked down at the two harnessed hounds by his side and laughed lightly. “Not usually, no. They’re therapy dogs. I help that group,” he pointed over his shoulder at another two dogs and their respective handlers, “train the pups.” Wyll looked lovingly at the larger dog at his side, a shepherd with thick fur and a dopey smile. “This one’s mine, though.”

            Dorian tilted his head. “You need a therapy dog?” When Wyll hesitated, Dorian clamoured, “No, I’m sorry, that was rude. You don’t need to say anything.”

            Wyll shook his head, smiling tightly to reassure Dorian. “No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t be ashamed. I have PTSD, and Lycan here helps me out with it.” He coughed awkwardly, staring at his dog and not Dorian, but continued, “I used to serve in the army.”

            Dorian suddenly felt very out of place. Knowing Wyll’s situation made him regret his teasing and his pursuit of this man he hardly knew. A stiff silence grew between the two of them while Dorian contemplated what to say. Honestly, all he wanted to do was comfort him physically somehow, whether an assuaging squeeze of his hand or a warm, tight hug. As it was, the only thing he could say was, “I’m sorry.”

            Wyll looked up at Dorian quizzically. “You’re fine,” he said, but immediately changed the topic. “So… what are you doing here? Don’t you normally get coffee around this time…?”

            Dorian laughed, almost pitying how thick Wyll seemed to be. “I was going to, but a certain barista wasn’t there.” Wyll blushed and glanced around to Dorian again, though a shy smile covered his face his time. Dorian continued, “I’m a student here, actually, in Professor Alexius’ lab. I’m working on my doctoral thesis,” and he patted his heavy messenger bag.

            Wyll raised his eyebrows. “You must be very smart,” he said, impressed.

            Dorian laughed again, throwing back his head and grabbing his chest with one hand. “What, did you think me just a pretty face? Yes, I have a master’s degree in astronomy, and I’m pursuing a doctorate degree in the same field.” He placed his hands on his hips and tilted his chin upward. “Soon, everyone will call me Dr. Pavus.”

            Wyll only smiled up at him, a certain light twinkling in his eyes. Dorian couldn’t help but stare at him, at the quiet passion behind his look, the genuine interest in him. Their mutual staring was interrupted by a whine and a tugging from the younger service dog at Wyll’s side.

            Wyll looked down, remembering that there were two creatures sitting beside him. “Oh, I’m sorry, Delilah. I should probably take her back to the handlers,” he said to Dorian. When he turned, he paused, and said, over his shoulder, “Though, I am going home after this. Would you… like to take a walk with me? To the park maybe?”

            “I have a room reservation,” Dorian replied sadly, and felt very guilty for the frown it gave Wyll. He quickly added, “Though, I’d much rather have company than sit alone and fill out boring data tables. Let me cancel it quickly.”

            The two regrouped not much later outside the library’s front doors. Dorian had taken off his peacoat as the spring afternoon toiled on and the temperature grew more balmy. Wyll was taken aback to see Dorian in a low-cut V-neck, sparse chest hair peeking above the collar. He couldn’t help but stare at his physique. When he realized Dorian had noticed him staring, his eyes snapped away and he felt a gentle blush on his cheeks.

            “I see Lycan got a wardrobe change,” Dorian remarked, gesturing to the panting dog.

            Wyll held up the vest that Lycan had been wearing. “Technically, she’s off-duty now. You can give her a pet, if you like.”

            Dorian wrinkled his nose. “I’m more of a cat person, to be honest.”

            Wyll shrugged. “Okay, but you’re missing out.”

            They walked down the stairs in silence, not sure how to start any conversation. They really didn’t know anything about each other beyond the circumstances they had found the other in. Lycan tugged at her leash, looking back with a goofy grin while her tongue lolled out of her mouth. Dorian couldn’t help but smirk at how silly the dog seemed compared to how serious she was in the harness earlier.

            “How long have you had her?” Dorian asked, finally breaking the silence.

            Wyll tapped a finger on his chin. “Since not long after I got back from Afghanistan. I was still living with my older sibling, so… five years? Give or take?”

            Dorian raised his eyebrows. “How long were you deployed? Unless… that’s personal, you don’t have to--”

            “Two tours,” Wyll said neutrally. He coughed and switched subjects with, “What are you doing for your thesis?”

            Dorian scratched his neck awkwardly. “It’s pretty complicated and probably… boring to you. When people hear that I study astronomy they think it’s romantic pictures of nebulas and all Neil DeGrasse Tyson.” Dorian chuckled, shaking his head. “What I’m studying is a lot of infrared radiation fluctuations and misplaced radio waves. Not to mention highly convoluted to someone who hasn’t spent 8 years with their head in this data.”

            “Well, try me,” Wyll offered.

            Dorian looked at him skeptically. “I’m helping Dr. Alexius study the enthalpy of all the universe. That’s… the tendency toward an increase in disordered energy? You may have heard the phrase ‘inevitable heat death of the universe’, well, that’s the gist of it. We’re looking at the macroscopic effects of quantum particles which may be contributing to the self-contradicting data other astrophysicists have gotten in the past, which, as you might figure, is hard, since ‘macroscopic’ and ‘quantum’ tend to be oxymorons.”

            Wyll blinked at Dorian, his brow furrowed in concentration. “It… does sound hard? I remember learning about entropy in high school physics, is that… at all the same?”

            Dorian smiled gently. At least Wyll was trying. Most people who got as far as ‘What do you do for a living?’ left him at ‘thermodynamics’. He replied, “Sort of. They work in tandem with each other. They just… have different units, like meters versus litres. Sort of. Actually, that’s an oversimplification, so never mind.”

            They continued down the sidewalk, making way for wheelchairs and strollers, occasionally pausing to sniff at bakery windows or admire thrift shop displays. Dorian told Wyll about his nightly job at the library, cataloguing and preserving old volumes in the archives. Wyll told Dorian about the places he volunteered on his days off, training dogs and serving food to veterans. The conversation naturally turned back to the neutral territory of the cafe, the no-man’s-land where they could mutually complain about coffee and the service industry. Wyll insisted that Dorian should try the sugar scones the next time he dropped by. They were a secret family recipe of Leliana’s and was the only food there worth getting.

            They stood in silence under an oak tree in the park, watching Lycan chew on a stick and roll around in the grass. Dorian smiled, one thumb hooked on his belt. Light bled through the budding tree branches, painting him in varying shades of green and yellow, the light dancing playfully across his brown skin.

            Wyll looked over at his companion, noticing Dorian watching him with a sideways glance. He nervously brushed his hair over his shoulder, scratching the base of his skull, trying to huddle down into his own neck. He knew he must look ridiculous but he couldn’t stand the idea of such an attractive man staring at him so much.

            Dorian took a deep breath in and stretched his arms upward. “This is much preferable to what I’d be doing otherwise. Alas, the life of a scholar is so lonesome!”

            Wyll watched Lycan as Dorian tried to make conversation. “What brought you to this university?”

            Dorian crossed his arms. “What do you mean, brought me here?”

            “Well, your accent, for one…”

            Dorian scratched his chin. “Ah, that is the giveaway. Well, my father is Turkish and my mother Italian. They hated each other,” he said with a pointed glance. “But they moved to England when I was very young so I might have the best education they could afford me--and they could afford it. Alas, I became too much for them and they kicked me out of the house when I was 18. Luckily, this university was glad to have me and gave me so many scholarships that I’ve been here since my undergrad.” Dorian suddenly stopped scratching his chin, his eyes gazing off into the distance. “Is my green card still current? I should check that.”

            Wyll chuckled at Dorian, still watching Lycan playing. “What interested you in astrophysics?”

            Dorian raised an eyebrow at Wyll’s choice of conversation topic. “You’re not going to ask me why I got kicked out?”

            “N-No, I mean, we don’t know each other that well, so… I figured that was private.”

            “Hmm, seems I normally keep nosier company.” Dorian crossed his arms and closed his eyes. “Very well, astrophysics. I’ve been an amateur astronomer my whole life, since I got a telescope as a present when I was about 6 years old. It began as me being able to recognize constellations, but I quickly outgrew those and began to pick out planets among the stars. Of course, that led me to the age-old question of why--why are there planets and stars? Why is ours the only planet we know to host organic life? Most importantly, what’s the beginning and end of it all?” Dorian smiled at Wyll, who had a puzzled look brewing on his face. “Of course, not all those questions came at once, and certainly not until I was older. I excelled at maths and the physical sciences, though I also enjoyed literary criticism and art history. One might say I’m a bit of a renaissance man.”

            “You just…” Wyll crossed his arms and chewed on his lip. He didn’t seem able to find the right words to speak.

            “I what?” Dorian prodded. He was afraid he’s earned some disapproval on the other man’s part.

            “You… seem like you’re too good for this place, that’s all.” Wyll shrugged. Dorian was glad the man was too shy to look at him, because he couldn’t shake the stunned look from his face. “The only people who end up here seem to be washed up from the tide, or dragged in by the cat, whatever idiom you want to use. As happy as I am here, you… you seem like you have too much potential to have lived here so long.”

            Dorian had no words. He only looked at the man beside him with such unabashed affection that he wished to grab him, to shake him, to set him right, but to thank him, to hug him, to treat him to the finest the world had to offer. It was unfair for Wyll to call him a good man when he so obviously did not see--or perhaps, refused--the goodness in himself.

            Dorian began to tentatively reach a hand toward Wyll’s shoulder when a booming voice called across the park. “Heeeeey ohhhh! Doriaaaaan!”

            Dorian flinched, knowing that voice from anywhere. A huge man with barrels for arms, and legs, and a torso, and his head, jogged over to where the two men and a dog were hiding from the sun. The pallid man breathed heavily, one hand on his back, as if he’d been jogging before his arrival. Based on his outfit, Dorian posited, he had, indeed.

            “Hello there, Bull,” Dorian said, forcing a toothy smile.

            “I didn’t think you were the type to enjoy the great outdoors,” Bull said. He eyed Wyll and a wily smile spread across his lips. “Who’s this, then?”

            Dorian stiffened and answered, “A friend. No one. No one you need to worry about.”

            Wyll looked at Dorian with confusion. Was this one of Dorian’s friends he’d fleetingly mentioned? More than that, was he… a boyfriend? Wyll feared the answer to the latter question, and felt suddenly embarrassed for no fault that was his own.

            Taken together, both Dorian and Wyll looked incredibly sheepish. Bull looked at both of them, then down at Lycan who was happily panting up at the large man. “Did I interru--”

            “Maybe I should leave,” Wyll said suddenly, tugging lightly on Lycan’s leash and turning.

            “No, I should leave,” Dorian said. He feigned a look at a watch that didn’t exist and continued, “I have work in just a short time, and I still need to go back to my apartment.” He tugged his bag tighter across his chest and threw a pointed look at Bull. “You should leave too, friend.”

            Bull only scratched the back of his head, where sparse hairs were growing. “This is what I get for doing aerobics,” he muttered. When Dorian was finally out of earshot, he turned on Wyll, his manner completely changing. “So you must be that cat cafe barista that he’d been mooning over for weeks.”

            Wyll nearly tripped over Bull’s words. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

            “Lord, how did you never notice?” Bull laughed. “First time we walked past that cafe, it was out of curiosity. I love cats, Dorian loves cats, and he practically takes IVs of coffee. He saw you through the window, though, and I’d never seen him get so flustered. That guy is usually smooth as fine vodka, but when he saw you he suddenly made us change plans. Next thing I hear, he’d changed his route to start walking past your cafe from his apartment to the university. I figured he’d never work up the confidence to go inside since it was the first time ever he’d had no confidence.” Bull scratched his uneven beard. “I guess he did it, though. He treating you alright?”

            Wyll blushed which amused Bull. “Yeah, I can definitely see how you’re his type.” This only made Wyll blush more.

            “He… didn’t seem interested,” Wyll whispered, still trying to process the revelation. “I mean, I guess, he didn’t seem put off, but I figured, does he flirt with everyone?”

            Bull nodded. “Yeah, but, like I said, you’re the first guy he’s fallen apart over.” Bull raised his eyebrows and gave Wyll a meaningful look. “He fell hard, man.”

            Wyll felt a warmth spreading through the pit of his stomach. A slow smile grew on his face. Just when he began to think Dorian was leading him on, hanging around him for an easy tease, he felt utterly reassured. He looked up at Bull, the strange friend of Dorian’s, and thanked him quietly.

            “I didn’t do anything,” Bull replied. “But listen, I’ll have a talk with Dorian for you. He doesn’t even work for another 3 hours so that’s already bullshit.” Bull started jogging in place and waved at Wyll. “I’ll catch you around, probably. Also, cute dog!”

            Wyll knelt next to Lycan and gave her a hug. The dog licked his ear and then his nose when Wyll pulled back. Wyll could only beam happily at the dog who panted happily back at the elevated mood of her owner.

            The next day, Dorian didn’t arrive at the cafe in his normal grandstanding manner. Wyll had been busy with a large party and trying to hand out coffees and iced teas to each of the women. Dorian sat alone at the window seat that was becoming his regular haunt. Cole brought him a coffee with sugar and a plain scone. He munched on it quietly while a cat played with his boot and he watched Wyll zoom back and forth from customer to customer, not having noticed him yet.

            When he finally managed to catch Wyll’s eye, they both smiled faintly at each other from across the room. He excused himself from an old man’s babbling conversation and strolled to the front of the cafe coolly.

            Dorian swirled the bottom of his coffee around his mug. “This isn’t the order I necessarily wanted, but I only know one barista that makes it the way I like.”

            Wyll pressed his lips together to cage his smile. “I see you tried the scone I recommended.”

            Dorian nodded, dusting crumbs off his trousers. “It was indeed delicious! Give my compliments to the recipe holder!” he called over Wyll’s shoulder. Leliana blinked at him, unimpressed.

            Wyll’s face suddenly grew serious. “Until yesterday, I wasn’t sure you--”

            “Would you like to go on a date?”

            Wyll recoiled, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry?”

            Leliana yelled from the back of the cafe, “Are you flirting with my employee again?”

            Dorian apologized, laughing. “Technically, yes, but I can’t help myself.” Lowering his voice, he turned his eyes back to Wyll. “Well, will you take me up on my offer?”

            Wyll balked. He should have seen this coming, but he expected there would be more time in which he could gird himself. Wyll nervously brushed his hair over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact with Dorian. “I, I mean, I’d like to--”

            “So?”

            Wyll looked back at Dorian. He wasn’t wearing that normal, cocky smirk of his, always so sure of himself. He genuinely looked afraid of Wyll’s rejection. Wyll could only compare his face to a chastened puppy, which made him laugh internally. Wyll’s heart thumped in his chest as he replied, “You’ll have to ask me after work.”

            Dorian frowned. Wyll quickly decided a sad expression didn’t belong on the man’s face. He reached over to pick up the empty scone bag and when he was closer, he whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll say yes.”

            Dorian gave Wyll a bewildered, bemused look. “Then you’ve ruined the surprise?”

            “You seem like the type of person who likes spoilers.”

            Dorian squinted. “And he’s witty. I would have never suspected.”

            Wyll smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so playful. His normal playfulness ended with ‘go fetch’. As he backed away, he said, “By the way, that cat sunning itself next to you is Kostya. Don’t tell the others, but he’s my favourite.”

            When Wyll hung up his apron in the back and walked out of the cafe with his backpack on his shoulders, he found Dorian leaning against a tree with a suave look on his face.

            Wyll tilted his head to the side and asked, “How long have you been standing there?”

            Dorian opened his mouth as if he were going to make some clever comment, but answered instead with, “About an hour. Prior to that I was at the library.”

            Wyll smiled and rocked back on his heels, waiting.

            “Oh! Right, I was meant to do something, wasn’t I?” Dorian cleared his throat. “Well, there is a fireworks show after the upcoming spring festival, although, that is roughly a week from now. I would hate to keep myself from you for so lon--”

            “That sounds great!”

            Dorian looked at Wyll, confused. Wyll looked at Dorian with just as confused an expression.

            “I expected you to say something else,” Wyll admitted quietly.

            Dorian laughed loudly. “Well, there‘s a phở shop near my apartment. I do hope you enjoy Vietnamese cuisine.”

            “That sounds great, although I shouldn’t stay too long. Lycan’s waiting at my sibling’s apartment.”

            Dorian looked at Wyll weakly. “We can just get take-away if you need to leave.”

            Wyll held up his hands defensively. “No! I wasn’t using it as an excuse. I’d like the time to be able to talk.”

            Dorian smiled pleasantly at this. He turned and held an elbow out to Wyll, which went completely unnoticed by the latter. As it was, Dorian and Wyll held a conservative distance between them, Wyll’s hands hooked on his backpack straps, Dorian’s crossed in front of him.

            “So… Bull.” Wyll ventured.

            “Ah,” Dorian chuckled. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone with him the yesterday but I suppose it all turned out for the better.”

            “He’s quite the odd man. I can’t see how… well, no offense intended, but how you two have anything in common.”

            Dorian gave Wyll a wary glance. “We, ah, used to have a bit of a fling.” He coughed awkwardly but continued. “It was fun for a while, but, like most of my relationships, I forced its premature end. We aren’t on bad terms but there is something...“ Dorian trailed off, unsure of his words.

            “He seemed pleased that you were happier,” Wyll said.

            Dorian smiled. “He’s like that. Always eager to make everyone else happy.”

            They rounded the corner of the block, walking away from the university library and the park. The approaching twilight cast long, orange shadows down the street like spindly fingers extending from power lines and street lamps. A bicyclist huffed painfully as she passed them, her calves shivering with effort. The fading sun called to the moon and its stars, taking over the sky’s domain while life on earth quieted and settled in. Cars with blinding headlights rushed past Wyll and Dorian, occasionally drowning out their conversation with rude horns and squealing tires.

             “And what of your… strange co-workers?” Dorian asked.

            Wyll cocked his head. “What about them?”

            “Well, it seems like the cat cafe attracts people who have cats for wits,” Dorian jabbed.

            Wyll crossed his arms and frowned. “Well, I suppose that’s just how it is. When Leliana started it, she wanted a new chance at… something, she said. I think she killed someone and needed to make up for it.” Wyll paled for a moment, and muttered, “Don’t we all, though?” With a brief sideways glance at Dorian, he continued, “Cole, though, I’m not entirely sure about. He’s mentioned some friends he used to have, but how they were better off without him, but… He’s such a good kid, I can’t imagine him needing to start over. All our patrons love him.” Wyll tapped his chin. “And Sera? I think she just really likes cats. She hates the baked goods, though.”

            Dorian held open the door to the phở shop for Wyll. They both sniffed the air greedily, practically salivating over the bowls of noodles in other customers’ hands. They watched a man toss ginger in a pan of frying beef strips, who then asked for their order and told them to sit down in the corner. Wyll, taken aback by the man’s curtness, was directed to said corner by Dorian.

            “He is always like that, but he and his wife make the best phở I’ve ever tasted.”

            Wyll glanced around the small shop, packed to the brim with hungry customers of every make and model. The heat of the kitchen hung heavy in the air, accented with the savoury odors of beef broth and basil and cilantro. Old, faded pictures hung in cheap frames on every wall, featuring children and adults with smiling faces and silly hand gestures. Most of the photos featured the shop’s owner and his wife in various locations around the world. It seemed to Wyll that this was where they finally settled down in their twilight, serving no-nonsense doctrine with unreasonably delicious soup.

            Wyll felt his phone buzz just as Dorian began to ask him a question. He apologized while checking the message on his homescreen.

            “It’s just my sibling. They’re wondering where I am. Look, they sent a picture of Lycan!”

            Wyll smiled proudly as he turned the screen toward Dorian. “Nicki, huh?” Dorian scrutinized.

            Wyll blushed lightly and took his phone back. “I should probably tell them it’ll be a bit longer.”

            “And what will you tell her that’s keeping you?”

            “Them, actually.”

            “Oh, sorry. What will you tell them that’s keeping you?”

            Wyll looked at Dorian with a timid smile. “That… I’m getting dinner?”

            “Oh? Not that you’re out on a lovely date with a handsome fellow?”

            “Is this a date?”

            It was Dorian’s turn to look timid. “It… doesn’t have to be, I suppose.”

            “I’d like it to be.”

            They shared a comfortable silence, simply watching each other, Wyll’s thumbs hovering over his phone in a half-completed text. This was quickly interrupted by bowls slid in front of each of them and a woman bowing and wishing them a good meal. Wyll set his phone aside and probed a noodle with a chopstick. Dorian, already drinking the broth straight from the bowl, asked cautiously, “Have you ever had phở?”

            “No, but I really like food.”

            Dorian, noodles stuffed into his mouth, nearly choked on his laughter. Wyll held back a laugh at a bean sprout that was hanging from Dorian’s moustache. Wyll pulled his own hair back over his shoulder, holding his twists back with a simple cotton tie. He tasted a strip of beef, took a sip of the broth, munched on the edge of a basil leaf… then put aside all inhibitions and began to devour the bowl voraciously.

            Dorian was slightly frightened at Wyll’s appetite.

            Wyll checked his phone one last time as they stepped outside the shop. “Nicki texted me 3 more pictures of Lycan with increasing numbers of socks piled on her,” Wyll remarked. “I’m not even upset, I’m impressed.”

            Dorian smiled. “I suppose I should finally let you go, then.” He pointed behind him. “That’s my apartment complex, that corner building.”

            It was a short brownstone building which looked far newer than the surrounding edifices. “It looks charming,” Wyll said.

            “A charming abode for a charming man.”

            Wyll looked tentatively at Dorian, who was staring serenely back at him. “I… suppose this is goodnight,” Wyll said, and began turning away slowly.

            “Wait a moment, you’re got something…” Dorian cautioned a hand upward, his thumb grazing Wyll’s chin.

            “What? Is it food?”

            “No, I’m not sure…” Dorian peered closer at Wyll’s face. Wyll felt his face redden, his chin now held tightly between Dorian’s thumb and forefinger. “It… seems to be…” He brought his face closer, his eyes barely glinting in the dim lamplight. His breath was hot against Wyll’s already sensitive skin.

            “Ah, just a bit of pepper.” Dorian brushed off the offending object with his thumb and took back his hand. “Goodnight then.”

            Wyll felt totally discomfited as Dorian turned on his heel and began walking away.

            But suddenly the man paused, rolled his shoulders, and uttered, “Oh, that it should be so easy.”

            He pivoted and drew Wyll into a rough kiss, his lips pressing too tight against Wyll’s; his hands straining, wanting to touch but afraid to intrude. Wyll suddenly thought himself a ship at the whims of the ocean’s current, the way the other man pulled him closer with one hand cradling his jaw, the other hovering above his chest. Wyll stood dumbly, a statue against Dorian’s affections.

            Dorian pulled away, his expression frightened. “That… was goodnight.” He took a step back, but Wyll grabbed his arm and pulled it to his side, this time he the one pressing rough kisses against a confused mouth. Dorian’s lips replied quickly, however, meshing against Wyll’s unsure, unconfident kisses, his eyes pressed closed but his one hand holding Dorian close, guiding his hand over his hip, his other hand shyly curling against the base of his neck.

            Wyll didn’t want to pull away. The release of emotion in that moment was euphoric, a well-needed action to solidify so many unsaid words between the two men. Even when their lips stopped moving, Wyll held his cheek against Dorian’s, his eyes still shut. He could feel Dorian’s eyelashes fluttering against skin while his voice crooned softly, “That was goodnight.”

            Wyll reluctantly separated himself from Dorian. Dorian ran his thumb over Wyll’s, their hands still clasped between them. Wyll’s heart felt so full to bursting. He smiled sweetly and pressed a final kiss to Dorian’s forehead, pausing a heartbeat longer than he needed to. As he finally began to back away, he told Dorian, “Call me when you wake up.”

            Dorian stared lovingly at the man’s back. He was so caught up in the aftershocks of their first kiss that Wyll was halfway down the block before he thought to yell, “I don’t actually have your number!” and chase him down again.

            The next week passed quickly, with Wyll performing his normal duties at the cafe and Dorian throwing himself headlong back into his work. Dorian came into the cafe once on the Friday before the spring festival, spending an hour drinking his latte and twirling feathers at cats. Wyll watched him from a distance, trying to hide his smile behind papers pastry bags and unruly cats. Leliana and Cole immediately picked up on the subtle change between the two. They were both relaxed, more at peace; Cole noted Wyll’s nerves had completely left him; Leliana was grateful Dorian wasn’t bothering her employee anymore.

            As the end of Dorian’s hour approached, he motioned for Wyll. Wyll brought him a bag with a sugar scone in and handed it to the man with a peck on the cheek.

            “Are we still going to the festival tomorrow?” Dorian asked.

            “I wouldn’t miss it,” Wyll replied, his eyes crinkling.

            “We could all go together,” Leliana commented, her face creased with impish pleasure. “I would only be able to make the fireworks show, but it would be more fun with friends, no?”

            Dorian gave her a defeated look and said, “I suppose it would be.” He looked up at Wyll and widened his eyes frightfully.

            Cole, kneeling beside a shy woman whose hands were shaking while holding tea, said, “I think I’d like to see the fireworks too. I never have.”

            “Oh, and I can invite Sera and Josie too! They’ll have a ball!” Leliana giggled with a pointed look at Dorian.

            Dorian sheepishly set down the cat toy he had gripped tightly and gave the russian grey sitting next to him a final scratch on the chin. “I need to get back to the lab, but I’ll see you tomorrow.” He rubbed Wyll’s hand gently and gave him a soft, doting smile, then exited the cafe.

            Wyll walked to the back of the cafe, carrying Dorian’s dirty mug and saucer, and was caught by Leliana. “As much as I tease you, I do like seeing you so happy,” she admitted quietly. “Just know I do mean it, I will protect you if he does anything unsavoury.”

            “I know, Leliana,” Wyll said. He quietly examined the odd feeling in his chest, and realized it was a mixture of relief and appreciation. “Thank you.”

            “You’re going out?” Nicki asked as Wyll hooked a leash onto Lycan’s harness.

            “I am,” he admitted. “Are you going to the festival?”

            “I was, but I’m surprised you’re not gonna sit at home and sulk.”

            Wyll frowned at his sibling. “I don’t… always stay home alone on Saturdays.”

            “Yeah, sometimes you work. Or sometimes you take Lycan on a walk and feel sorry for yourself,” Nicki teased. They elbowed Wyll playfully. “I’m glad to see you getting a social life, li’l bro! Who are you going with? Oh! Is it that guy you were out with the other night?”

            Wyll blushed and pushed Nicki’s elbow out of his ribcage. “Would it matter if I said yes?”

            “Yes, it would! Please wait I’m definitely coming with you.” Nicki ran around their apartment, picking up scarves and socks. They opened their phone and ran their thumb over their contact list. “I’m calling Charis, too. He can meet us there. Ooh, I bet I can get Aata to come too, and maybe Helena…” They lifted their eyes and gave Wyll a concerned glance. “Are you sure you want to go?” Wyll nodded curtly and Nicki smiled back.

            Wyll scratched his neck awkwardly as Nicki walked back to their bedroom. Lycan whined up at him. “I know, I know,” Wyll whispered to her. He suddenly regretted saying anything at all.

            Wyll waved at Dorian from across the street as he and his entourage reached the park. Dorian waves back furiously, smiling widely, unfazed by Wyll’s guests. He grabbed Wyll’s hand and gave him a peck when he approached, earning a blush from Wyll. Lycan barked up at the public affection.

            “So this is him, hmm?” Nicki said, taking pleasure in horrifying their younger sibling. They sized up Dorian scrupulously, grasping their chin and peering up and down. “I suppose he seems alright. Not got any deep, dark secrets you’re running from are you? Wyll doesn’t need any more trouble than he has.”

            Dorian gave Nicki an exasperated smile. “I promise you, I’m not here to make life any harder on Wyll.”

            Nicki nodded thoughtfully. “Just performing my duties as a guardian.” They walked past Dorian, followed by Charis and Aata, and gave Dorian a firm pat on the shoulder. “We’ll talk later.”

            Dorian looked at Wyll, concern colouring his face. “Are they always like that?”

            Wyll awkwardly rubbed his neck. “Sort of, yeah, they act more like my dad than my older sibling. And Aata, the big guy with the terrible beard, he’s sort of like my mom, and…” Wyll trailed off, realizing his explanation wasn’t making it sound any better. “We’re a weird family.”

            Dorian laughed. “I’m not sure any of us have normal families.” He held out an elbow to Wyll, gesturing forward into the park with his other hand. Wyll laced his fingers through Dorian’s and tugged him forward. Dorian smirked at the action.

            The walked past booths advertising local shops, selling everything from knickknacks to hand-knit cozies to home-jarred preserves. Some booths had facepainting, some sold sparklers (which Dorian happily bought), some sold fresh-pressed lemonade, and some had carnival games where people could win cheap stuffed animals.

            Wyll and Dorian claimed a picnic table, relatively shaded by a copse of trees. Wyll pinched the end off a corndog and tossed it at Lycan, who deftly snatched it out of the air. She continued sniffing at the air, tugging loosely at her leash as strangers passed and cooed at the dog. Eventually she settled down, laying her head on Wyll’s feet. Wyll scratched her between the ears and she closed her eyes happily.

            With his short sleeves, Dorian could see geometric tattoos snaking up and down Wyll’s arms. He lifted the hand his fingers were still wrapped around and looked closer, running a thumb over a black line that ended at his fingertip. “How many tattoos do you have?” he asked casually.

            Wyll looked over at Dorian then down at his own arm. Two thin lines, straight as arrows, ending at his index and middle fingertips, raced down from two thick lines that circumvolved his elbow. “Just this one, though I guess it is sort of large, and this other one, on my other arm.” He twisted so Dorian could see the black band that wrapped around his bicep beneath a band that seemed to be made up of lopsided, yellow stars. “This is for my heritage,” he pointed, “My mother was Shawnee.”

            Dorian felt an empty ache in his heart. He was curious, of course, to know more of Wyll’s past--why his parents were replaced by an older sibling and a strange, hairy man, and why they were absent from his life, perhaps dead--but he was overly conscious of the stigma on pressing such topics. He wanted to care for Wyll, but he was similarly frightened of moving too fast and emotionally locking him down.

            As it was, Dorian rolled up the sleeve on his left arm, revealing a large, swirling, red shape that spanned his whole forearm. “Mine isn’t as, ah, personal as yours,” he said, “But it’s a combination of a couple of alchemical symbols. Like here, that’s spirit. Cinnabar, distillation, aqua fortis…” Dorian paused, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He pulled his sleeve back over the tattoo and said, “I know it’s silly, being a man of science. But modern chemistry did have its roots in alchemy, and, well, there’s something sort of… enchanting about tales of magic. Quaint. Something… romantic.” He laced his fingers back through Wyll’s and smiled softly, drawing strength from that simple gesture. “Anyway, it was a spur-of-the-moment gift to myself to celebrate my starting graduate school. It doesn’t help that I was egged on by Bull.”

            “Whose egg did I crack?”

            “Speak of the devil,” Dorian muttered, rolling his eyes. He turned around to see Bull, bookended by two shorter men, one whom Wyll recognized.

            “Hello there, Cole,” Wyll said. “You enjoying the festival?”

            “Oh, yes,” Cole said, taking a seat next to Wyll at the picnic table. “There’s so many people, they’re all fascinating.”

            “I found him surrounded by people wanting their palms read,” Bull remarked, giving him a wide-eyed and almost fearful look.

            “May I pet Lycan?”

            “Of course, Cole.”

            The other man accompanying Bull set a hefty cooler onto the table with a noticeable thump. He wiped his brow and leaned on the cooler, gazing over Wyll and Dorian.

            “Italy,” he greeted Dorian. “Who’s your friend?”

            “Montenegro,” Dorian greeted back. “You might ask him yourself.”

            Wyll smiled shyly. “I’m Wyll, I just work down at the cat cafe.”

            “Ohh, that’s where I’ve seen you, then.” The man thrust a hand across Dorian’s face to Wyll. “I’m Krem.” Wyll politely shook his hand, and was surprised by the sheer muscle behind his grip.

            “I’m surprised to see you enjoying nature multiple times in one month,” Bull chided. “Aren’t you allergic to--Whoa, what’s that hole in your face?”

            Dorian squinted and smiled sourly at Bull. “It’s a nose ring. I’d think you’d be acquainted with jewelry with that embellished gem hanging from your shoulder.”

            Wyll finally noticed the silver, filigreed artificial limb connected at Bull’s elbow. “I didn’t even see you had a prosthesis when we met the other night,” Wyll commented. He suddenly realized what he said, and followed with, “I’m sorry, that must be rude.”

            “No way, man. My arm is a work of art. And I’ve used it to break a few jaws, at that.” Bull proudly displayed the prosthetic arm for Wyll, the silver cover glinting like snow in the sunlight. He seemed a man nearly unfazed by everything around him.

            Krem, however, looked unimpressed. “Please don’t get him started,” he said pointedly. “He will talk for hours about ‘baby this’ and ‘mechanics that’. He’s a total nerd for it.”

            Bull frowned at Krem. “You wound me.”

            “That’s because I try.”

            The table grew more crowded and the people more diverse as the afternoon faded into twilight, with Nicki returning with their friends, Sera showing up with a short woman named Harding (to whom Wyll immediately took a liking), and Leliana rushing to the group dragging a stressed-looking woman with an exquisite updo behind her.

            “Hello, mon ami-- Oh, this is a larger group than I expected,” Leliana said while the woman beside her attempted to catch her breath. “Wyll! This is Josie, you must have heard me talk about her. She works at city hall so she hardly has any time to do anything fun.” She nudged Josephine with her hip. “She did help plan this festival, though, so I guess she isn’t totally old and crotchety.”

            “Is it my fault if I want everything to go perfectly? I mean, I should be overseeing the firework handlers…” She held a hand to her lips, nervously chewing on a nail while looking everywhere but the people in front of her.

            Leliana frowned. “Josie…”

            Josephine sighed. “Okay, alright. Are you all enjoying the festival?” she asked with a strained smile.

            The party answered with cheers and a few lifted bottles, which seemed to settle at least a few of Josephine’s fried nerves. Leliana and Josephine sat next to Sera at the overcrowded table, easing organically into the ongoing conversation flitting through the ranks. Wyll poured part of his bottled water into a bowl for Lycan, who slurped it up greedily, begging for more when it was empty. Wyll laughed, pouring more for her and flicking water at her face.

            Dorian observed quietly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d socialized with so many people at once, especially so many strangers. He didn’t consider himself socially inept by any stretch of the word, but he tried to keep himself sufficiently busy so loneliness didn’t eat away at his sanity. He thought the young lab assistants and few people who wandered through the library’s archives had been enough to sate his social needs. These past couple weeks were surprising him, however, in how much he missed idle but genuine conversation, simple but meaningful physical affection, a person to fall asleep texting and wake up in the early morning to a flashing notification light.

            A low hum descended on the park as the first stars began twinkling in the sky. The local party chatted excitedly as the hour ticked over; the fireworks were starting any moment now.

            Dorian noticed Wyll stiffen slightly. He gave him an inquisitive glance, but Wyll had his eyes locked on Lycan in front of him, unwavering. Dorian instinctually pressed closer to Wyll, his arm wrapping around his, and he asked, low, “Is everything alright?”

            Wyll didn’t look up, but nodded tightly. “I… hope so. It’s just… I haven’t seen any fireworks in a while, not since…”

            His voice trailed off, leaving Dorian alert. A distant rocket whistled into the sky, a stark white trail following it. Wyll’s eyes traced it through the air, his jaw set. Lycan lay her head on Wyll’s knee.

            When the firework popped, Wyll startled, pressing his eyes shut. He seemed to shake with each crackle, his fingernails digging into Dorian’s palm. Lycan licked his other hand gently, whining against his skin. Cole took notice of Wyll, too, and sat on his other side, placing a light hand on his shoulder, his eyebrows knotted with concern. No one else seemed to take notice; they cheered and whooped, in awe of the massive colours that dotted the night sky.

            When the next firework went off, Dorian looked across the picnic table. Nicki was sitting, staring at the back of Wyll’s head, their eyes flickering to Dorian and back. They were a silent, still island amidst an ocean of noise, begging for Dorian to help their brother.

            Wyll gripped Dorian’s hand and pulled him closer, if that was at all possible. “Dorian, I need you… to talk to me. About something. Anything. Please, just talk. Don’t stop talking.”

            Dorian wrapped his arm around Wyll’s back, stroking gentle circles and figure-eights. He pressed his forehead to Wyll’s temple, talking softly into his ear. About his thesis, about his colleagues, their names, his mentor, his mentor’s son, their easy friendship, the archives, the dry, earthy smell thereof, the Dewey decimal system, the ancient books found there, the ancient alchemy tomes he’s read, the recent Asimov novella he read, the terrible cooking show he watched last night when he couldn’t sleep, how he loved sending Wyll nonsense emojis in lieu of text messages, how he hated coffee with cream but loved the way Wyll made it, how he missed Mediterranean summers and found Florida a poor substitute, how he didn’t feel like he belonged until just this very moment, his body pressed tight to Wyll’s, his body a lifeline for Wyll’s drowning mind.

            The fireworks slowly drew to a close almost ten minutes later, after a barrage of booms and flashing lights for the finale. Wyll was deathly still, his one arm locked around Dorian’s, his other hand cutting off circulation to Cole’s. Lycan sat with her paws in Wyll’s lap, looking up with sad dog eyes, nudging Wyll in the stomach with her nose. As the others began to move and collect their things, Nicki rushed over, grabbing their brother on the shoulders and the neck, placing a hand lightly on his chin, his heart.

            “I should have known better, I should have made you rethink this,” Nicki said, panic undertoning their voice. “Let’s get you home, Wyll.”

            Dorian’s eyebrows could not unfreeze from their elevated position. His whole body felt locked up, every muscle fibre aching to help Wyll in ways they were incapable. Cole looked across at Dorian, his face equally concerned. He put a hand on Wyll’s shoulder, speaking softly, “It’s okay, this is a safe place. You’re fine here, and you’re not any less you. It’s ok to relapse, it’s ok to feel unsure and frightened…”

            Wyll nodded slowly, his first movement since the fireworks started. Nicki picked up the trash around Wyll, handing it to Aata who had appeared beside them, and handed his backpack to Charis. Leliana appeared then, asking about Wyll’s state, reassuring him that he could take tomorrow off from the cafe; Sera offered to take his place, told him to take his time to get better. The others stood around awkwardly, their cheerfulness suddenly feeling out of place.

            Bull tapped Dorian on the shoulder, asking, “We’re gonna head out, but is Wyll gonna be okay? Do you want to walk back with us, or…”

            Dorian shook his head. “I’m going to help Wyll back to his apartment. I’ll text you later.”

            Nicki pried Lycan’s leash out of Wyll’s deathgrip and Dorian and Cole helped him stand up. His eyelids flickered, his face still pale, his lips white, his whole body trembling. He leaned heavily on Dorian, who kept a strong arm around his back while Wyll curled his fingers into the back of his shirt. Cole unfolded his hand from Wyll’s and let Nicki take him, reassuring, “He’ll be okay.” He stood back with Leliana and the others, watching and waiting.

            They began to walk out of the park and down the street, navigating through other crowds of people leaving the festival, still high on the noise and excitement. Wyll rested his face on Dorian’s shoulder, his head throbbing painfully, his entire body aching. He called for Lycan, weakly, wanting to be sure she was safe. Nicki reassured him by pressing the end of her leash against his hand. Aata and Charis followed stoically behind.

            Nicki pointed to a tall brick building for Dorian. “Wyll lives on the fifth floor, below me,” they said. Dorian resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose. The building was in a dismal state, painted in mud and muck, the brick corners chipping off and the foundation cracked here and there. The five people and their dog loaded into the tiny, creaking elevator and Aata pulled the gate closed. The elevator whirred, providing much-needed white noise to fill the silence that plagued the group since they left the park.

            Halfway down the 5th floor hall, Nicki rooted around in Wyll’s backpack. They pulled out a worn key on a leather lanyard, unlocked and pushed open the door. They flicked on a lamp and threw Wyll’s backpack on the couch in order to undo Lycan’s harness. The low light allowed Dorian to examine the small apartment.

            Small it was, a studio apartment with two bare windows looking down on an alleyway and adjacent rooftop. Dorian imagined the provided a decent view of the sunrise when it happened. A bedroom area was cordoned off by partitions, the panels made up of patterned cotton that seemed hand-screenprinted. Overall, the apartment was minimalistic, with a single, worn couch across from a tiny TV, the TV stand littered with old magazines and small books. Dorian noted there was little in the way of decoration, but what was there seemed highly personal, either gifts made by others or photos of friends and family.

            He suddenly felt very embarrassed by his presence.

            Nicki returned from behind the bedroom partition and took Wyll from Dorian’s shoulder. As they helped him slowly stumble toward his bed, they said, “You don’t have to stay, you know. I’m just upstairs so I don’t mind staying the night here.”

            Dorian rolled a ring around his thumb nervously. He certainly didn’t want to intrude, but he felt partially responsible for Wyll’s current state. Moreover, he wanted to be there for Wyll, if only to prove that he was interested in more than casual fun and immodest teasing.

            “If it’s alright with you, I can stay with him. I’ll just… crash on his couch, I suppose.”

            Nicki let Wyll down on the edge of his bed and looked Dorian up and down. After their once-over, Nicki seemed willing to put their trust in him. “Okay,” they said. “Since you mean it. Let me just help put Wyll in bed.” They tossed a key at Aata and told him and Charis, “Go on upstairs, I’ll be there in a few.”

            The room emptied and Dorian sat silently on the old, threadbare couch. Lycan was pacing between him and Wyll’s modest bedroom, curious but concerned for the welfare of her master. Nicki approached the apartment door, put a hand on Dorian shoulder before leaving, and said, “I’m directly above this apartment if you need anything. And… he really does like you. So thanks.”

            Dorian was left in total silence with Nicki’s departure. A few ambient sounds remained, like car horns on the street below, the clicking of Lycan’s nails on the wood floor, and Wyll’s steady, shallow breathing. He shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to do now that he was here. He didn’t want to sleep in case Wyll needed anything, but the night had been exhausting. He pushed off his shoes and leaned back, sighing as he took his phone out of his pocket. He cursed in his mind as he recognized the flashing red light of a low battery. He got up quietly and shuffled around, hoping Wyll had a phone charger compatible with his own.

            His faint noise seemed to rouse Wyll. “Dorian?” he whispered.

            Dorian froze and answered, “I’m here.”

            “You don’t have to sit over there and be quiet, you know. I probably won’t get much sleep tonight anyway.”

            Dorian rocked from foot to foot, deciding. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and walked around the partition, seeing Wyll curled under a fluffy white comforter, looking up at him in the relative darkness. The lone light from the opposite corner of the apartment softly illuminated his face, with his wide pupils and the colour beginning to return to his skin. Dorian felt slightly relieved at Wyll’s improved countenance. He could faintly see the freckles dotting his face against his ruddy skin, his thick eyebrows high on his forehead as he watched Dorian.

            Wyll patted the edge of his bed. Dorian sat down, almost needing to squat the bed was so low. Lycan climbed onto the bed behind Wyll, curling up against his back and huffing. Wyll smiled, reaching over the pat her thick fur.

            Dorian still wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to apologize to Wyll, but didn’t want to bring up the topic anew. He wanted to comfort him, but he was unsure if the silence was more comforting. Wyll looked up at him with tired eyes and asked, “What are you thinking?”

            Dorian didn’t know how to be honest. He reached his hand across, cradling the wide angle of Wyll’s jaw, and rubbed a thumb across a faint, pink scar that jutted up from his lip. Slowly, purposefully, he whispered, “You’re so beautiful.”

            Wyll blushed and Dorian could feel the heat of it beneath his palm. But Wyll smiled, too, and brought a hand up to rest on Dorian’s, his fingers lightly weaving between the other’s. “That’s not exactly fair,” he whispered back, playfully, “coming from as handsome a man as you.”

            Dorian tried to smile, appreciating Wyll’s mood compared to how unresponsive he was just 15 minutes prior. But his facial muscles felt strained, forced, and the slow thump in his chest overshadowed any happier emotions he might have felt. “I’m sorry,” he uttered, his voice gravelly. “I shouldn’t have made you go out. You told me you had PTSD, and I didn’t think…”

            Wyll frowned. “You didn’t force me to do anything. If I felt uncomfortable you’d have known. I just… thought I’d be okay, since it’s been so long, but…”

            “I still should have known,” Dorian insisted.

            “And it’s still not your fault.”

            “Why won’t you let me apologize?” Dorian said, too sternly.    Wyll looked ashamed, wide-eyed, which sent a pang of guilt through Dorian. “That was… improper, I’m sorry.”

            “Sometimes, things just happen, Dorian,” Wyll said, squeezing his hand. “Sometimes, people hurt, and there’s nothing you can do for it.” Wyll cast his eyes down, worrying his bottom lip. “You have to unlearn some really self-deprecating shit, that you can’t blame yourself for everything. People get shot, people die, and you’re left picking up the pieces after.”

            Dorian felt like a voyeur in his own conversation. He stroked the shaved side of Wyll’s head with the back of his hand and uttered, “You don’t deserve this, though.”

            Wyll smiled sadly at Dorian’s words, his expression looking a thousand years old. “You don’t deserve your family either, but here we are.”

            Dorian was at a loss for words. He felt unworthy to even look at Wyll, who refused to acknowledge his flaws and shortcomings. The man would only see the good in him even when he constantly displayed the bad. He felt like crying, like screaming to the heavens, like runing away and hiding in the dry, familiar archives of the library basement. People were so complicated, but data and stars and hundred-year old light were predictable, stable. Even quantum theory had replicable equations that just had yet to be proven. But here, Dorian could not even let himself be when Wyll was so readily open and receptive.

            He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but his eyelids fluttered open to the soft sunlight of early dawn. The white comforter had been tucked around him, though he was alone in the bed. He stiffly moved his legs, feeling grimy for sleeping in his jeans. He pushed himself up, stretching his arms and yawning. There was a weak smell of coffee coming from the kitchen, and he could hear the low din of a radio in some other corner, probably droning about weather and traffic.

            He pushed himself up and wandered around the partition. Wyll was staring out the window, a heavy brown blanket drawn around his shoulders, a steaming mug clutched between his hands. He looked up at Dorian and smiled gently. “Lycan needed to go pee, and when we came back I couldn’t go back to sleep. So I made coffee. Help yourself.”

            Dorian looked at the kitchen but walked toward Wyll instead. He felt the need to say so many things after last night. He felt silly, contrite, belittled, thick, unsatisfied, but incapable of burdening Wyll with his feelings. He drew Wyll into a sleepy hug, his arms sliding easily under Wyll’s, his face resting against the crook of his neck. Wyll rubbed his free hand over Dorian’s back, sighing softly into his ear.

            “You know, you look a lot more approachable when you have bedhead,” Wyll teased.

            Dorian laughed, a puffing noise against Wyll’s skin. “Yes, I’ll look quite ridiculous when I walk back to my apartment.” Then he was silent, the press of his skin on Wyll’s making him feel numb. He felt out-of-place, intruding, wishing it weren’t so easy for him to collapse against Wyll. “Cazzato,” he muttered, looking for an out.

            “What was that?” Wyll said.

            “I forgot I told Bull I was going to text him last night. He’s probably worried about you too.” Dorian retrieved his phone, still flashing from low battery. “Of course.” He looked at Wyll with an expression of exasperation and regret, and said, “I should… probably go. I’ve also got backlog of work I need to do, including signing off on grad students’ lab participation, abstracts to write, ah, chapstick…”

            Wyll had pressed a hand to Dorian’s lips, quieting him. “You don’t have to kick yourself out.”

            He gave him a sorry look. “I do need to get back to work. I’ve been distracting you as well as myself lately.”

           “We’ve only known each other a few weeks, Dorian. You can’t have messed up your work schedule that quickly.”

            “Wyll, I know how these relationships go,” he replied, taking Wyll’s hand between his own. “It’s fun while they last, but eventually we all must return to the real world. Eventually we’re alone again.”

            “I’m sorry?” Wyll asked. Dorian could not look at his face.

            “I want…” Dorian wanted a lot of things, most of which conflicted with each other. He wanted to say sana ihtiyacım istiyorum, seni sevmek istiyorum, where English would not suffice but the language of his father tasted ashen on his tongue. “I don’t know, but I need to think about it,” he said finally. He slipped his feet into his shoes and tried flattening his hair and moustache as much as possible without a mirror.

            Wyll watched him sadly, his coffee still steaming up from his hand. “You can’t push away everyone in your life as if that will make things easier,” Wyll said, perhaps more matter-of-factly than he expected.

            Dorian glanced up sharply. He squeezed Wyll’s hand tightly before dropping it and saying, “It’s relationships like this that got me kicked out of my parents’ home. It’s my own life choices that have screwed me over since I was young. I want to accept that, to purge the brainwashing my parents forced on me, but I don’t want to do it at the expense of your mental sanity.” He began backing away from Wyll. “You deserve someone who… won’t hurt you. Who can relate to you on a basic level.”

            “Dorian,” Wyll said weakly. “Talking to me doesn’t hurt. Being with me doesn’t hurt. I can’t promise I know what the future has in store but… you need to at least give it a chance.”

            Dorian placed a hand on the door handle. “Is that what you want?”

            “I’d like to be able to try.” Wyll took a step toward Dorian, who was looking slightly like a caged animal, desperate for reassurance but ready to snap.

            Dorian sighed and opened the door. “Then… Let’s give it time. I… have no idea how … I don’t know how to…” Dorian closed his eyes. “Seni seviyorum nasıl bilmiyorum… and I do need to get back to my studies. I’m sorry, Wyll.”

            The door shut and Wyll sat down heavily on the couch, the blanket falling off his shoulders. He felt slightly offended that Dorian refused to see his viewpoint, but also sorry that Dorian had been so burned in the past that he wasn’t capable of trusting others. Wyll had begun feeling the happiest he had in years, even given his recall the night before. Dorian was bringing him out of his introverted shell--he enjoyed meeting new people and experiencing new things with him, if only to be rewarded by Dorian’s surprise or his joyful laugh. He thought he could get better with him, begin the healing process he’d been putting off since he reached American soil again.

            Lycan licked Wyll’s face, rousing him from his thoughts. He smiled and patted her on the neck, saying, “It’s alright, I’m alright.” But the pain of rejection in his heart still stung sourly.

            Dorian practically lived in the university’s astronomy building after that point. His days became routine, like they had been when he started his doctorate--lab, library, home, wash, rinse, repeat. His lab notebooks became filled with horizontal black lines where he never felt confident in his conclusions, where he thought he could just get more accurate data from their telescope the next night. At home, he sat at his desk, staring at a blank word document or tapping his pen impatiently while staring at a wall. He felt restless, ashamed of himself so that he would flip paintings around or shove movies into boxes just so he wouldn’t have them staring at him. Moreover, he totally recognized that he’d made a mistake. Bull, too, told him as much in not-so-elegant language. Dorian hadn’t even needed to tell Bull what transpired; the man was so perceptive that he picked up on it through text messages. He told Dorian he needed to stop screwing up his social life, to stop being so stuck-up, to just let people into his life in more than a physical way.

            Dorian almost tossed his phone in the bin every time Bull texted him.

            Leliana, somehow, had gotten his number and sent him frightening but vague threats over text. Dorian did throw his phone in the bin after the first one (only to quickly retrieve it when logic regained control).

            He’d abandoned coffee and started drinking tea, missing the bitter but smooth taste of his preferred source of caffeine. He’d been careful to lock away his liquor so that he didn’t tumble down that path, but his restless nights made that decision tougher with each passing day.

            He was too prideful, he knew. Dorian had said every negative thing to himself that he could think of, and yet, ‘You’re too prideful’ was the more painful. One day, sitting alone at the instrument desk in the lab, he dropped his face into his hands and realized he was acting just like his father. He had internalized him so fiercely that he had made himself believe he was unworthy of his own happiness, of his own choices. He, too, had forced that on Wyll, by robbing him of his agency in their relationship. He reminded himself every day how difficult Wyll’s life was before he waltzed into it, and rather than being a source of healing for him, he just became one more regret on his ledger. And the reason he hadn’t yet apologized to Wyll was because he was too prideful, he was a coward, and he was a weak man who was incapable of fixing his own damn life.

            “Dorian?” He looked up to see Felix standing before him. “You, ah, have a guest. He said it was urgent.”

            Fear coiled in the pit of Dorian’s stomach. He calculated his ability to run away from the situation, but knowing Felix, he wouldn’t let him get away with it. Instead, Dorian nodded, swallowing dryly.

            Dorian followed Felix into the hall where a hunched figure was squatting next to a hound in a harness. “Wyll…” Dorian murmured.

            Wyll stood up quickly, stiffly, looking across at Dorian. Somehow, Dorian looked worse than him, with bags under his eyes and his hair displaced. Wyll pulled his hair over his shoulder, and cleared his throat, his eyes shifting from Dorian to Felix. “Can I talk to you, Dorian?”

            “You… came here while I was working.” Felix subtly elbowed Dorian in the ribs. Dorian winced, more at himself than the pain, and said, “Sure, we can talk. There’s a conference room down the hall.”

            When they were alone, Wyll took a deep breath and looked Dorian in the eyes. “When I was walking over here, I had a lot more I wanted to say, but, for some reason, I can’t remember any of it.” He smirked slightly, and Dorian felt a flutter in his heart.

            “How did you know which building I was in?” Dorian asked.

            “There’s only one building connected to an observatory.”

            “Oh.”

            Wyll and Dorian smiled at each other. Then Dorian’s lips slackened, and he muttered, miserably, “I’m so sorry.”

            “If I tell you you don’t need to apologize, will you accept it this time?”

            Dorian sighed in response, words lumping in his throat. He, too, had miles of words he wanted to say, but none of them seemed appropriate anymore.

            Wyll frowned. “Not everything has to be complicated. Even nature can be a series of numbers in an equation. You should recognize that, Dorian.”

            Dorian felt humbled. “I know,” he admitted. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about lately.”

            “Will you trust me with it?”

            Dorian looked up at Wyll. His expression was genuine, loving. He felt so stupid, so childlike, for almost wrecking his connection to him. He reached out for Wyll’s hand, running his thumbs over his calluses, the paper cuts, the years of wear and tear utterly unknown to him. He realized, in some way, Wyll was seeing the years of wear and tear on Dorian, and all he wanted was to help soothe it.

            “I’ve been a fool.”

            “It happens to the best of us.”

            Wyll wrapped his hand around Dorian’s neck, hesitating slightly. Dorian continued speaking in this lull, “I’m afraid of you, truth be told. I’m afraid of your opinion of me, of you falling out of love with me, and me being left alone because I dared to… to…”

            Wyll stepped back, much to Dorian’s horror. In his place, he extended a hand, offering for Dorian to shake it. “Then maybe we need a clean start. My name is Wyll Lalawethika.”

            Dorian smirked and shook Wyll’s hand. “I’m Dorian Pavus, a pleasure.”

            “Tell me, Dr. Pavus, why are you standing in a conference room with a stranger and his dog, wearing a lab coat with someone else’s name on it?”

            Dorian laughed. “I’m not a doctor yet, first of all. And second, you led me here, and third of all, this is--” Dorian looked down at his coat. “Oh, that isn’t my name, is it?” Even upside down, he could see he was accidentally wearing Dr. Alexius’ coat.

            Wyll took a deep breath. “Now then, I’m 26 years old and work at a cat cafe. I was out of work for nearly four years because I was struggling with depression and PTSD that I suffered while fighting in Afghanistan, much of which I’ve subconsciously blocked out. I enjoy working with animals, and when I was little, I wanted to become a vet.” He paused, recognizing the opportunity for a pun. “Though not the vet I’ve become. My father, a black man, was shot dead when I was about seven, and my mother, a Shawnee woman, died of cancer when I was a teenager. I have two siblings, one of whom has been absent since before I was deployed. Ah, my favourite colour is green, I’m hopelessly attracted to men out of my league, I love playing Tetris… What else?”

            Dorian was overwhelmed by so much of Wyll’s personal information, but he smiled warmly. “Is that all? Is that your introduction?”

            “I wanted to get things off my chest early this time.”

            Dorian snorted. “Then I suppose it’s my turn?”

            Wyll stared at Dorian, his eyes honest. “Only if you want to.”

            But Dorian did. He was ridiculously attracted to this man, from his habit of blushing constantly, to the smooth curve of his cheekbones down to his jaw, to his genuine, caring personality, to the interest he took in everyone else’s life above his own. He wanted to do right by Wyll, and he was glad for the opportunity the other gave him to start over.

            “Okay then, I’m Dorian Pavus, I’m 28 years old, I’m working on a doctorate that I can use to lord over others by virtue of a title. Ah, when I was 12 I told one of my teachers that I wanted to become an alchemist and they laughed incessantly at me. I work in the library’s archives, and I happen to enjoy the arid climate. It does wonders for my hair. Let’s see… I’m not on speaking terms with my parents, though I still get a birthday card from my mother each year. I haven’t had a normal relationship with anyone since puberty, and I’m afraid I’ve subconsciously screwed myself up so that I sabotage all my relationships before they begin. I love the feeling of silk, I sleep in the nude, and I would love to get Phở again with a certain very handsome man who is looking embarrassed by my previous confession.

            “And, if I might make a final confession? I have no idea what to do for you and I’m far too prideful to ask. It’s easier for me to do nothing and rob myself of you than to admit I’m without knowledge and without power. So…” Dorian paused, feeling himself ramble at this point. He looked up at Wyll, an eyebrow cocked, and drew out his words slowly, “So… help?”

            Wyll chuckled and closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Dorian’s. Dorian felt mollified. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the warmth of Wyll’s skin, his chapped lips exploring his own only once before. He wrapped his arms around Wyll’s neck, kissing him deeper, hungering for this relationship anew. He ran his tongue between Wyll’s lips, feeling the other man smile and he pictured, beneath closed eyes, that his cheeks were colouring that adorable red again.

            Wyll pulled apart from Dorian, kissing him lightly one last time like punctuation. “I should probably let you get back to your work,” he said. But Dorian refused to let go.

            “Sod it,” Dorian said greedily, drawing Wyll back into his grasp, weaving his fingers up through his twists. He kissed him, whispering against Wyll’s lips, smiling, laughing, missing how full Wyll made his heart feel. Wyll laughed back, trying to remind Dorian that the conference room was filled with windows, but Dorian wouldn’t let himself be deterred. He wanted this, he wanted to let himself have this, without fear, with the once-distant barista of the infamous cat cafe.

            Wyll was more than happy to indulge him.