After work, Mackiah found himself in front of the café. His mind, numb. But this place—this quiet little space with its warm smell of coffee and soft lighting—felt...safe. It's dim, the air filled with the faint scent of pastries and rain-drenched earth. The world here feels far removed from the harshness he just faced.
But something was missing...Kyrell. He couldn't find him inside the café.
A part-timer told him that Kyrell had stepped out back.
Mackiah followed the part-timer's directions and stepped into the narrow backstreet behind the café.
He halted when he saw Kyrell, crouched down, feeding stray cats clustered around him. A group of young schoolchildren giggled nearby, huddled around a small bag of treats Kyrell handed out. He says little, but his actions speak louder than any words could. A small girl with missing front teeth handed Kyrell a crumpled paper.
"It's you," she chirped, "with the kitties!"
Kyrell studied the child's drawing — a clumsy but heartwarming sketch of him sitting with the cats, smiling. For a moment, a real, soft smile touched Kyrell's lips — something warm, unguarded. Mackiah, watching from behind, felt a lump rise in his throat.
Mackiah (softly, to himself):He can smile like that…?
He hadn't realized how much he needed to see something pure. After everything, the betrayal and blame, that single smile cracked something in him.
He took a breath, approached slowly.
Mackiah: "I didn't know you offered room service to cats and schoolkids," he teased lightly.
"They're good customers," he said, tone dry but not unkind. "Never complain. Always purr or smile." Kyrell replied without even looking at him.
Mackiah: (Slight smile) "That's fair…"
There's was a pause between them, filled by the distant clatter of café dishes and schoolchildren's laughter.
Mackiah: "I— I didn't come here for coffee this time."
Kyrell: "I figured."
Kyrell still hasn't looked directly at him. Mackiah shifted, uncomfortable but persistent.
Mackiah: "You… don't talk much, huh?"
Kyrell: "I talk when I have something worth saying."
Mackiah: "And do you think I'm not worth talking to?"
That got Kyrell to glance at him — sharp, gold eyes assessing, unreadable.
Kyrell(noticing Mackiah's swollen cheek): "You're… confusing."
Mackiah (laughs bitterly):"Yeah, I get that a lot."
Another silence. Mackiah's sleeves shifted, and Kyrell caught the edge of a bruise peeking from beneath the fabric. His eyes narrowed slightly.
Kyrell: "…Who did that to you?"
Mackiah stiffened. He looked away, pretending not to have heard.
His heart pounded. Kyrell stepped right into the truth without hesitation.
Mackiah: "Why does it matter?"
Kyrell: "It does. Especially if you're walking around bleeding and pretending everything's fine."
Mackiah: "You don't know me."
Kyrell: "Yes, but I've seen enough people pretend they're okay until they collapse."
Mackiah looked at Kyrell again — not just curious now, but searching. There's something deep in those words. A history maybe.
Mackiah: "Why are you saying this?"
Kyrell didn't respond at first. Then quietly:
Kyrell: "Because you came here."
Mackiah swallows, voice lowering:"I couldn't think of anywhere else to go."
A pause. The truth echoed too loudly in the quiet alley. For a moment, neither said anything.
Kyrell finally let out a soft breath, voice gentler this time
Kyrell:"…You're bleeding."
Mackiah looked down. The cut on his hand must have reopened. He hadn't even noticed.
Mackiah: "Huh. Guess I am."
Without asking, Kyrell moved towards him. Mackiah instinctively flinched, but didn't pull away. Kyrell reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out a small travel-sized antiseptic and a bandage.
Mackiah: "You always carry that around?"
Kyrell: "You'd be surprised how often Ivan gets paper cuts."
Mackiah chuckled softly.
Kyrell gently cleaned the wound. His hands were precise, careful — not detached, but focused. Mackiah watched the way his brows pinched slightly, like he's angry at the wound more than anything.
Kyrell: "There. It'll scar if you don't keep it clean."
Mackiah: "It's not my first."
Kyrell: "I know."
He finally meets Mackiah's eyes again.
Kyrell: "But maybe it should be your last."
For a second, Mackiah forgot how to breathe. The sincerity in those few words—stripped of any defense—hit him harder than anything else today.
Kyrell opened the door and gestured inside.
Kyrell: "Come in. Before Ivan sees you bleeding on the bricks and thinks I bit you."
Mackiah smiled, then winced. But something in his chest felt a little less heavy. As he stepped in, brushing past Kyrell, he muttered:
Mackiah: "Thanks… for not turning me away."
Kyrell (quietly, almost like a whisper): "…I wouldn't."
INSIDE DUSKHAVEN CAFÉ – EVENING
A soft warmth filled the café. The golden lights flickered against the windows as Kyrell led Mackiah inside from the back alley. Kyrell moved ahead wordlessly, placing a steaming mug of hot cocoa on the counter.
Mackiah: "Mackiah."
Kyrell looked at him.
Mackiah (a little more clearly): "My name. Mackiah Carwyn."
Kyrell's eyes didn't widen. He didn't look shocked. He just nodded — slowly, like he already knew that, and was waiting for Mackiah to offer it.
Mackiah (hesitant): "I… I should tell you...since there's no point in hiding it anymore. I'm not just anyone. I work—"
Kyrell cut him off gently, but not unkindly.
Kyrell: "You're a cop."
Mackiah froze.
Kyrell (quietly, still calm): "Criminal Intelligence-Special investigations unit. You're too young to get into the most confidential unit of Sylvenia. They didn't want you there. Especially your Head Officer... he's the one who hit you, didn't he?"
Mackiah just stared at him — wide-eyed, stunned, breath caught in his throat.
Mackiah: "How—? I never told—how do you even know that?"
Kyrell walked over to the counter near the small sink, rinsing a cloth silently before wringing it dry.
Kyrell (over his shoulder): "Some people talk with their mouths. Others… talk with the way they stand. The way they flinch when someone raises a hand. The way they look when they're used to being left out."
He brought the cloth over and gently pressed it to Mackiah's temple, wiping a small scratch with practiced ease.
Kyrell: "And when you walked in with that storm in your eyes, but asked for me instead of someone else... I figured it out."
Mackiah (still stunned, whispering): "You read me like a damn book."
Kyrell (with a small shrug): "Only the parts you didn't hide."
There was a moment of heavy silence again. Mackiah lowered his gaze, shame flickering across his face.
Mackiah: "I didn't mean to bring my mess here."
Kyrell: "You didn't. Mess is welcome here. We just serve it hot with sugar on top."
Mackiah looked up — a faint, genuine smile cracks across his tired features.
Mackiah (softly): "You're… not what I expected."
Kyrell (deadpan): "Few people are. Especially the good ones."
Their eyes met — and for a heartbeat, the space between them felt weighted. Like something new and uncertain was threading into existence.
Kyrell(quieter, almost softer): "…You're safe here, Mackiah. You can rest."
Mackiah stared at him, heart still racing but hands finally still.
Mackiah(whispered): "Thank you… Kyrell."
And though Kyrell didn't smile outwardly, there was something gentler in his gaze. Like he was letting Mackiah see a piece of him he kept locked behind all those walls.