The bell above the café door jingled one last time as the final customer exited. The golden dusk outside bled into the walls of the quieting shop, and the scent of espresso and sugar hung in the air like a warm blanket. Elias, still riding the wave of surrealism, dusted his flour-streaked apron with a deep sigh.
He was exhausted, mentally and physically, partially from trying not to have a meltdown in front of strangers, and partially from whatever fever dream had landed him here in the first place. "Is this… the end of the shift?" he asked hesitantly, eyeing Buttercream Girl, who was apparently named Kenzie as she wiped down the countertop with practiced ease.
She shot him a sidelong glance. "What else would it be? We close at seven, Quinn. You forgetting your own schedule again?"
Right. Quinn. That was him. Elias Quinn.
"Uh," he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to appear nonchalant. "Where do I live again?"
She froze mid-wipe, slowly straightening to give him the full weight of her stare. "You serious right now?"
"Yep. Just checking if y'know maybe I hit my head or something earlier. I'm having memory gaps."
Buttercream Girl snorted. "You live next door to me, genius. You've lived there since winter."
Elias blinked. "Next door? To you? I mean…" He forced a laugh. "Just humor me. Can't remember if I'm a left-turn-or-right-turn kind of guy."
She stared at him, deadpan. "You live in the building next to mine. We're floor-mates."
"Oh." That gave him more questions than answers.
"We live in the same apartment complex?" Buttercream Girl folded the dish towel and tossed it behind the counter. "Same floor. Your door's the one that creaks every time you open it. You've been there since winter."
Elias nodded slowly, processing. "I see."
"You're also the reason the hallway plants died last month."
"I—what?" Kenzie shrugged. "Don't water your fern, fine. But at least don't use the community watering can to fill your kettle with hot water. Just saying."
Before he could respond, a voice barked from the back, "Kenzie! Don't forget to restock the oat milk tomorrow morning!"
"Got it!" she yelled back, then gave Elias a look. "You really okay, Quinn? You seem… off."
"Yeah," he muttered. "Just tired. Might need a nap. Or twelve."
Kenzie tossed her rag into the cleaning bucket. "Come on, we're locking up. Try not to wander into traffic on the way home."
As she flipped the café's lights off, Elias followed behind her, head spinning. Kenzie. Next-door neighbor. And, more importantly, someone who might know what was going on—because he sure as hell didn't.
The night air was cooler than expected. Streetlights buzzed softly, illuminating the quiet walk to the apartment complex tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore that smelled like mildew. Kenzie walked ahead with the ease of routine, keys jingling in her hand. Elias followed still, heart thudding with every step. The building was… familiar. Not in the way of memories, but in the way of déjà vu—the peeling green trim, the cracked tile in the entryway, the faint scent of someone's overcooked dinner wafting through the halls. It didn't feel like home, but it didn't feel wrong either. They stopped on the third floor. Kenzie jabbed her key into the door beside his and shot him a look.
"Just don't burn the place down," she said. "Again."
"Wait—again?" She smirked and shut the door behind her.
Elias turned to the door labeled 3C, the number slightly askew. A potted plant wilted sadly on the floor beside it, possibly his. He unlocked it with the key he found in his pocket earlier and stepped inside. It was… quaint. Small, but warm. A half-unpacked bookshelf leaned against the far wall, its contents a bizarre mix of battered paperbacks, art magazines, and one very large, slightly threatening binder labeled "BILLS: DO NOT IGNORE."
The living room functioned as a bedroom where an unmade but clean bed took up a lot of space. A hoodie he didn't recognize was thrown across the footboard. The window was cracked open, letting in the scent of night air and city noise. The kitchen was a whisper of space tucked into the corner with mismatched mugs and exactly one fork. But what caught Elias' attention was the wall above the desk near the bed. Clipped postcards, receipts, and notes were pinned there haphazardly, like a mind spilled onto corkboard.
He stepped closer. One note caught his eye. "Do not forget: Thursday = shift swap with Kenzie." Another was scrawled in quick, messy handwriting: "Call Mom (or don't. Not your problem anymore?)" His chest tightened, thinking of his parents.
This place was all his. Elias Quinn's life wasn't anything flashy but it existed. It had textures, patterns, smells, and loose ends. He sat on the edge of the bed, stared at the room for a long time, and whispered to himself, "Okay, Café worker Elias Quinn. Let's figure out who you are."
...
Elias slept.
Knocked out tired before he could find any clue to who and where he was. Kenzie next door did not help matters, knocking on his door at God knows what in the morning. Rather hurriedly and half-zombielike, he freshened up and dressed in whatever caught his eye. Much like the day before, Elias Quinn didn't need a personality quiz to tell him he was spiraling. He had burned the first three cups of coffee, burned them, and he never ever drank coffee. Which, by the way, he hadn't known was a thing you could do. But apparently, if you press buttons randomly on an industrial-sized machine in front of two increasingly irate customers, a manager who likes to glower and dance on crushed expectations, and a girl who looks like she's five seconds away from quitting her job and maybe her life, you can absolutely burn coffee.
Kenzie shot him a sideways look, her lip curled in mild amusement and disbelief. She hadn't said anything after dragging him to work. Just threw an apron at him and said, "You're on counter today. No excuses." Elias, barely functioning and definitely still dreaming (or high, or dead—jury's still out on that one), offered a tight smile and tried not to ask, "What the actual hell is going on?" again.
"You gonna steam that milk or just watch it bubble over?" Kenzie asked, without looking at him.
"Steaming," he lied.
It hissed angrily, like it could smell the deception. He pressed what looked like a safer button and stared at the drink list on the counter screen, heart racing. Cappuccino, latte, mocha… it all sounded like poetry he'd never read.
A guy named Drew or Drake or something had asked for a triple-shot vanilla oatmilk latte, and Elias had nodded confidently like he was born for this moment. Then immediately panicked and grabbed the almond milk instead. He was seconds away from exploding into flames, either metaphorically or literally depending on the steam wand's mood, when the bell over the door rang.
A hush fell over the room. Even the espresso machine paused its screeching protest. Elias didn't look up at first, because, well, he was busy trying to murder a plastic cup lid that wouldn't snap on. But then he felt it. That tingling heat at the back of his neck, the sudden press of… something. Awareness. Like his entire body had leaned forward before his brain caught up.
Then he looked up. And he saw him. The man who stepped in looked like he was summoned, not just walking in from a midmorning jog or whatever normal people did on a Thursday. He was all sharp edges and long legs, wearing a black suit that had no business being that well-fitted. His hair was dark, slightly windswept, and his expression was a full-time job in indifference. God, that face.
Cassian.
The name just dropped into his head like a stone into water, rippling outward.
That is the growl junkie from Ashley's porn book, Guns and Roses. Wait, he is real and in Elias' weird ass dream?
Cassian's gaze barely lingered on anyone. Until it did. On Elias. Their eyes met. A second. Two. And then Cassian's brows lifted, only slightly, as if he'd found out what Elias was feeling and wasn't sure what to make of it.
Elias swallowed and realized he hadn't moved. Not blinking. Not breathing. A customer cleared their throat beside him and Elias jumped, nearly throwing whipped cream across the counter.
"Everything okay?" Kenzie asked without looking, like she'd already decided it wasn't.
"Yeah," Elias muttered, wiping his hand on his apron and completely missing the whipped cream stuck to his cheek. "Fine. Great. I am thriving." What the fuck? What the fuckity fucking fuck?
Cassian had moved on, taking a seat near the window, tapping his fingers once on the wooden table before leaning back and closing his eyes like he owned time. His scent reached Elias now, which Elias found odd because how could he smell someone literally far away and recognize that it's that scent, clean, sharp, like pine and something smokier underneath. Elias didn't know how to feel about it.
Kenzie shoved a paper cup into Elias's hand. "That's for the guy with the laptop."
"What guy with the laptop?"
She didn't answer. She was already yelling at someone else for mislabeling oatmilk. Elias turned to make his way to the tables, hoping against hope he didn't have to interact with the terrifyingly magnetic tattooed man by the window. Naturally, that's exactly where his clumsy feet led him.
Cassian opened his eyes the moment Elias got close. Their eyes locked again.
"Coffee?" Elias asked, holding out the cup like it was a sacrificial gift.
Cassian tilted his head, just slightly. Then reached out and took the cup, his fingers brushed Elias's. It wasn't electric, like in the books. No sparks. No slow-motion violin swell. But Elias's brain went completely silent for a beat. Then restarted at double speed.
Cassian said, voice low, rough velvet. "You reek"
"Excuse me?"
Cassian looked him over, an annoyed glint in his eye. "I said, you reek."
Elias took a whiff of himself, finding nothing out of the ordinary. "I think you're the one with the nose problem, dude."
Why the hell is he saying Elias reeks? Elias stormed away, boiling with anger and confusion. Behind the counter, Kenzie stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
"What?" he snapped. She smiled slowly. "Nothing. You're just red as a tomato and your phermones are everywhere."
"My what?" "Your phermones. Your heat isn't due anytime soon, is it?"
"The fuck? What do you mean?"
A customer yelled, "Ugh, get the omega under control. He's scenting the whole place."
"I'm not an omega," Elias said automatically.
Now, Kenzie looked really concerned. "Yes, you are."