The small bookstore smelled faintly of paper, dust, and the quiet comfort of old pages. Blake stood in one of the back corners, half hidden between two shelves, a book resting loosely in his hand. His thumb traced the edge of the cover while his eyes moved slowly over the blurb on the back. Dark romance. If anyone asked, he already had an answer ready. Lily had wanted it. His little sister had always liked books like this. He might even lend it to her when he was done. Might. His jaw shifted slightly as his gaze lingered on the last few lines. The truth was simpler and a little more embarrassing.. the book wasn’t really for her. Back in prison, Lily had brought him books whenever she could. Small stacks of stories to break the endless rhythm of days that all felt the same. At first he’d read them because there had been nothing else to do. Somewhere along the way, without him really noticing when, the habit stuck. And these kinds of books - dark, messy, dramatic- had always been the ones she liked most. Somewhere along the line, he’d started liking them too. His quiet, ridiculous little guilty pleasure. Blake had just reached the final sentence when the soft chime of the bell above the door cut through the quiet store. The sound was simple, almost forgettable. Still, his head lifted. He didn’t know why. But the moment his gaze drifted toward the entrance, it stayed there. For a second it felt like the air had shifted. Like someone had opened a door not just to the street outside, but to a piece of his past. A strange, quiet melancholy followed it in. She was older. That was the first thing he noticed. Of course she was. Years had passed. Still… there was no mistaking her. Olivia. Liv. The name settled in his mind before he even realized he’d recognized her. Without thinking, Blake set the book down on a nearby stack, his fingers lingering on the cover for a moment before he let it go. He didn’t move from his spot right away. Instead, he just watched. And with the watching came the memories. Letters. A few of them, scattered through the years. Envelopes that had arrived in the dull routine of prison life, breaking the monotony for a brief moment. He could still remember the faint rustle of the paper, the cold metallic smell of his cell whenever he opened one. And the other letters. The ones he had written himself. The ones he had never sent. They were probably still somewhere in a box now, tucked away with the rest of the things from a life that sometimes didn’t feel like it had belonged to him anymore. Blake exhaled quietly through his nose. He didn’t want her to see him. Definitely not. He didn’t want questions about prison. About the letters. About the things he was only just starting to push aside. To forget... and yet his feet moved. Slowly at first. Then with more purpose than he liked. By the time he realized he was actually walking toward her, it was already too late. Almost automatically, Blake pulled out his new phone, lowering his gaze to the screen as if he were deeply focused on whatever was there. A thin, absent crease appeared between his brows. A stupid excuse. A really stupid one. And right as he looked up again, he walked straight into her...

Blake had braced himself for the dull thud of bumping into a stranger. Instead, time seemed to stutter. The book slipped from her hands the moment they collided, hitting the floor with a soft, flat sound that somehow echoed louder than it should have in the quiet store. Blake’s hand instinctively lifted a little, as if he might catch it - too late, of course. His phone hung uselessly in his other hand, the screen still glowing with nothing on it. His eyes had already found her face. And stayed there. For a second - maybe longer - he just looked at her. Really looked. The years rearranged themselves slowly in his mind, fitting the person standing in front of him into the memory he carried. The same eyes. The same way her brows pulled together slightly when she was surprised. Her voice saying his name felt strange. Familiar and distant at the same time, like hearing a song you hadn’t realized you still remembered. “Blake?" He blinked once, like the moment had finally caught up with him. Up close she looked different. Older, sure. More polished in a way he couldn’t quite place yet. But the core of her - whatever it was that made her unmistakably Liv - was still there. The headphones sliding down from her ears released a burst of music loud enough that he caught a few sharp guitar notes before the sound faded again. The name of the song tugged faintly at his memory, but his attention never really left her face. Her joke about ghosts earned the faintest shift at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. But close. “Pretty sure you’re not hallucinating.”, he said after a moment, his voice low and a little rough from disuse. There was a beat of silence before he added, glancing briefly down at the fallen book between them. “If you are… that would make this a really weird coincidence.” He bent down then, picking the book up from the floor. His fingers brushed over the cover briefly before he held it out to her. For a moment he didn’t let go right away. His eyes flicked back up to hers, studying her like he was still confirming what he already knew. “Still Liv, right?” A faint breath left him through his nose, something between disbelief and reluctant amusement. “Because if I just ran into a stranger and she somehow knows my name.”, he added, finally releasing the book back into her hands. “That would be extremely awkward.”

Blake’s gaze lingered on the book in her hands a moment longer than necessary. He traced the faint creases in the spine, the black-and-pink cover. Not bad… he thought, forcing the comment down before it could escape. He didn’t want to ruin the fragile rhythm of the moment with a remark that would make it too obvious he secretly enjoyed this kind of story - the same one his sister had always loved. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if Lily had chosen it for her own reasons, maybe even hoping he would find himself enjoying it... His fingers tightened slightly around his phone. For a beat, he just stared at the screen, the glow reflecting faintly in his eyes. It was strange, how something so simple could feel weighted with possibility. Should he hand it over? Hesitate? He could almost hear her curiosity hovering in the air, a quiet predator ready to poke and prod at every unspoken memory, every unread letter, every fragment of the past he hadn’t wanted to touch. He wasn’t sure he wanted to answer. And yet… a small, stubborn part of him wanted to know. How had she been? What had these years done to her? What had changed her, shaped her, left its mark in ways he couldn’t even begin to guess? Blake let his hand hover over the phone a moment longer, pretending to check something on the screen while he measured his words, his tone, his very presence. Then, slowly, deliberately, he extended the phone toward her, fingers just tense enough to betray him. “I… uh.”, he started, clearing his throat, forcing the words out like he was coaxing something delicate into existence. “I’ve got some free time right now… you, uh… interested in grabbing a coffee? Now, I mean.” He let the words hang in the small space between them, half invitation, half test, gauging her reaction like a careful bet. His jaw shifted slightly, uncertainty flickering across his features. Don’t get grilled. But… do want to know. A part of him braced for questions, for the kind of conversation he wasn’t sure he was ready for. Another part, the quieter, curious part, leaned forward imperceptibly, drawn by the promise of connection, eager, quietly thrilled at the thought she might say yes. That part wanted to hear everything, to fill the gaps, to trace the invisible line that had stretched so many years across their lives. But the larger, cautious part kept his distance, reminding him to tread lightly. Not too fast. Not too much. He exhaled softly, a low, almost unnoticed sound, and added, almost as an afterthought. “No pressure.” The words were soft, meant to soothe, to lower the stakes, but the faint glimmer in his eyes betrayed him. He already hoped she would say yes, even if he tried not to. His fingers still lingered on the edge of the phone, a small anchor to reality, a bridge to the moment he had been waiting for without realizing it. The book, the store, the quiet hum of life around them, all of it felt suddenly suspended, waiting for her answer.

Blake watched the small shift in her expression the moment the offer left his mouth. It was subtle, so quick most people probably wouldn’t have noticed, but he did. The flicker of surprise, the brief spark of excitement in her eyes before it tried to hide behind something calmer. Maybe this hadn’t been such a strange idea after all. He let the phone slip into her hand without protest, though his fingers lingered for the briefest second before letting go. His gaze dropped to the screen while she typed, watching the reflection of her movements in the glass rather than looking directly at her. Liv (not a stalker). The corner of his mouth shifted faintly upward. “Good clarification.”, he murmured quietly. “That would’ve been an awkward misunderstanding.” When she handed the phone back, he glanced at the contact name once more before locking the screen and sliding it into his pocket. The small gesture felt oddly permanent, like placing a bookmark somewhere he hadn’t expected to return to. His eyes drifted back to her just in time to see her already pulling out her own phone. He didn’t ask who she was messaging. Didn’t pry. Instead he leaned lightly against the nearby shelf, arms crossing loosely while he waited. The bookstore hummed softly around them, pages turning somewhere, the quiet creak of wood under someone’s footsteps near the front. It felt strangely suspended, like the world had slowed down just enough for the moment to breathe. When she mentioned the café, Blake gave a small nod. “Cute café, huh?” His brow lifted slightly. “Sounds suspicious. I feel like I’m walking into an ambush.” But there was no real resistance in his voice. Just the faintest hint of amusement. Her warning not to run off earned a quiet huff of a laugh. “I’ll try to control the urge.” he said dryly. he young Mitchell watched her walk toward the register, his gaze drifting briefly to the book tucked under her arm before moving away again. The black-and-pink cover caught the light for a second before disappearing behind the counter. For a moment he stayed where he was, fingers loosely brushing the edge of the shelf beside him. Part of him still half expected the moment to dissolve somehow, like she’d disappear out the door and this would fold neatly back into the quiet routine of his afternoon. But two minutes later she turned back toward him. Still there. Blake pushed himself away from the shelf and took a few easy steps toward her, stopping just close enough that the distance between them felt comfortable. “Alright.” he said, tilting his head slightly toward the door. “Lead the way.” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Before I change my mind and hide in the crime fiction section.”

Blake fell into step beside her without hesitation, the faint creak of the bookstore door fading behind them as the noise of the street settled in. It wasn’t loud,just the usual hum of a city moving through its day, but after the quiet inside, it felt sharper somehow. More real. For a moment, he said nothing. Just walked. His hands slipped into his jacket pockets, shoulders relaxed, gaze drifting ahead before it flicked briefly toward her. There was something… different about this. Not uncomfortable. Not exactly easy either. Just unfamiliar in a way that didn’t push him away. Her comment about crime fiction pulled the faintest smirk from him. “Hm.”, he muttered, glancing sideways at her. “They always make it look easier than it actually is. I guess that’s the point.”
When she asked if he lived around here, his gaze shifted forward again, jaw tightening just slightly, not enough to be obvious, but enough that the question landed somewhere deeper than it should’ve. “Close enough.”, he answered after a second. Casual. “Not far from here.” Not a lie. Just… not the full picture. His eyes drifted over the street, the buildings, people passing by without a second glance. Normal. That word still felt strange sometimes. Then his attention returned to her. “What about you?”, he asked. “You always hang around hidden cafés, or is that a new habit?” There was a faint hint of teasing in his voice, but it didn’t quite hide the curiosity underneath. They reached the café and Blake slowed slightly, his gaze sweeping over the place. From the outside, it looked easy to miss. The kind of spot you wouldn’t notice unless you were actually looking for it - or needed it. Inside, it was different. Warmer. The scent of coffee hit him first, rich and familiar, followed by the low murmur of voices and the soft background music. His shoulders eased a fraction without him realizing it. “Alright.”, he murmured under his breath. “I’ll admit… this is not what I expected.” His eyes flicked toward her briefly. “You might actually know what you’re doing.” There it was again, that dry edge, but softer now. He noticed the way she closed her eyes for just a second, like the place itself grounded her. Filed that away without commenting on it. Then.. her hand. Or almost. The brief brush against his skin was so light he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t already been paying attention. His gaze dropped instinctively, catching the movement, the hesitation right before contact. He didn’t call it out. Didn’t react. But something about it lingered. “Yeah.”, he said quietly, following her toward the booth. “Coming.” He slid into the seat across from her, one arm resting loosely against the table as he leaned back slightly, taking in the space again before his attention settled on her. For a moment, he just looked at her. Not intensely... just… present. “So.”, he said after a second, one brow lifting faintly. “Best coffee in the area, hidden location, personal recommendation…” A small pause. “High expectations, Liv.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “You better not disappoint.”

When she settled into the booth, something about her posture changed. Not dramatically, but enough. The tension she carried outside - the slight awareness of everything around her - seemed to ease once she was seated, like the place itself gave her permission to exhale. Blake leaned back slightly in his seat, one arm resting along the back of the booth, the other loosely near the table. His gaze stayed on her as she spoke, not intense, just present in that steady way that didn’t rush people. For the record, I mostly know what I am doing. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Mostly?”, he echoed, one brow lifting faintly. “That’s a dangerous level of confidence to advertise.” There was a quiet dryness to it, but it didn’t carry any real challenge, just something to meet her halfway. His gaze followed hers briefly toward the coffee bar before returning, watching the way she seemed to settle more with each passing second. It was subtle, but it was there. The shift from guarded to something easier.
When she answered his earlier question, he gave a small nod. “Student, hidden café, mysterious work habits…” he murmured, tapping his fingers lightly once against the table before stilling them again. “Yeah, that tracks...Sounds like you’ve got your system figured out.” His gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary before drifting briefly around the café again. The place had a rhythm to it. Low voices, soft music, the occasional clink of cups. He could see why she came here.
When she mentioned working, his attention shifted back to her, curiosity slipping through a little more openly now. “What kind of work?”, he asked, tone casual, but not careless. “Or is that classified too?” The faintest smirk tugged at his mouth again... until she started “So..” and something in him reacted before she even finished the thought. It was subtle. A slight tightening in his shoulders. The smallest shift in his posture, like his body had already anticipated where this was going. Questions. Not harmless ones or small talk. The kind that dug a little deeper, that circled back to things he hadn’t decided how to talk about yet. Where he’d been. Why he was here. Why things had gone quiet between them. He knew the tone. Knew the pause before it. And for a fraction of a second, he braced for it. Not visibly, but it was there. So when the waitress stepped up to the table in that exact moment, the interruption landing right between her unfinished sentence and whatever would’ve followed.. Blake felt it. That quiet, unexpected sense of relief. It didn’t show much beyond a brief flicker in his expression, gone almost as quickly as it appeared. Enough that his shoulders eased again just slightly as his attention shifted to the waitress instead. Perfect timing. “I’ll take a black coffee.”, he said simply after Liv ordered, voice steady, giving himself that extra second to reset, to tuck whatever instinctive reaction had surfaced back where it belonged. By the time the waitress stepped away, he was composed again. Back to that same calm, easy presence. When Liv mentioned the coffee was on her, a soft huff of amusement left him as he leaned back slightly. “Dangerous move.” he said, glancing at her. “Now I’m definitely going to judge it properly.” The corner of his mouth lifted just a little more. “But I’ll allow it.” His fingers brushed lightly against the edge of the table, an absent motion, before stilling again. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at her, taking in the easier smile now, the way she seemed more grounded here. “You come here to work, or to hide?” he asked curious. His head tilted slightly, watching her reaction rather than forcing the question itself. “Because those aren’t always the same thing.” There was no judgment in it. If anything, it sounded like he already knew that line all too well. A brief pause followed before he added, a touch lighter again: “Either way… I get why you picked it.” His gaze flicked once more around the café, then back to her. “Not a bad place to disappear for a while."

Blake listened with that quiet attentiveness he had perfected over the years. He rested back against the booth, one arm draped along its edge, the other loosely near the table, posture casual but alert. There was a rhythm to him, a stillness that suggested he was present but also holding himself in check, letting her speak at her own pace. Social media manager for the Seattle Kraken. His brow lifted almost imperceptibly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Not bad.”, he murmured, voice low, a shade warmer than usual, a trace of approval slipping through. “Pretty solid cover.” The humor in it was faint, teasing without pressure - acknowledgment, not challenge. Blake knew enough about people to recognize when they guarded the full truth, and he understood the dance she was performing, the careful selection of words to reveal and conceal at once. He let his gaze linger on her a moment longer, the way one might examine a photograph before moving it back onto a shelf, letting it rest in memory. Then he allowed his eyes to drift to the table, brushing the smooth surface with the tips of his fingers before returning to her.
When she admitted both work and hiding, his expression shifted almost imperceptibly. Recognition flickered behind his steady gaze. “Yeah.”, he said quietly. “That sounds about right.” His fingers brushed against the table again, a small absent motion, and stilled. “Sometimes it’s easier to just… exist somewhere without being part of it.” The words slipped out as though they were idle thought, a fragment of observation rather than a comment on her directly.. The dark-haired watched as she leaned forward, her posture subtly intent, her green eyes searching. The tone in her voice softened, carrying reassurance. You don’t need to worry. His attention didn’t shift immediately. He just looked at her, measured, aware. Not guarded - he had done that enough for years - but alert. He had felt it before she had spoken, that subtle bracing, the shift in his shoulders, the fraction of a second where questions hovered just beyond what he was ready to answer. Most people would have missed it. She hadn’t. His jaw shifted faintly, and he gave her a slow, quiet acknowledgment. “I know.,” he said evenly. He meant it. She wasn’t going to push him, he reminded himself. That was something. But the readiness to receive it, to accept what was offered without flinching, well, that was a different calculation altogether. His gaze drifted to her hand, fingers brushing briefly against his, a light, tentative contact that might have gone unnoticed in a noisier world. Blake didn’t move, he lingered there just a fraction longer than necessary, letting the moment register, letting himself notice. Then she said it. I genuinely just want to talk to you. I have… missed it. For a beat, Blake didn’t answer. Not because he hadn’t heard her, but because her words carried weight he hadn’t expected to feel in a room with coffee and low hums of conversation. His gaze stayed locked on her, but his mind drifted elsewhere again. Letters. Some neatly folded, some hurried scrawls, ink pressed into paper with urgency. Each envelope a small lifeline, a fragile bridge across distance and confinement. He had read every single one. More than once, letting their words sink into the dull rhythm of days that otherwise had no color, no movement, no sound beyond the occasional clang of a distant gate or the shuffle of guards’ boots. He could still hear the rustle as he unfolded them, still smell the faint metallic tang of his cell, still feel the thin paper between his fingers. Each one made the monotony bearable. Not better. Not good. Just survivable. And his own letters - carefully written, carefully folded, stored, never sent. Honest words he hadn’t dared to speak aloud, thoughts he hadn’t known how to explain even to himself. They remained where they were, unsent, unanswered. Not forgotten. A quiet exhale escaped him, returning him to the present. Her voice, the soft light in her eyes, the subtle warmth in her gesture, it all grounded him back into this moment. She was real, not a ghost on paper. Not a letter. And yet… humor, as always, became his shield. “You missed talking to me, huh?” His tone was dry, familiar, but softer than usual. One brow lifted faintly, the corner of his mouth tugged in that way that said more than words. “How long’s it been?” He tilted his head, calculating. “High school?” A pause, just long enough to draw the weight of time between them. “Yeah… that’s what.. eight years?” The smirk remained, dry but genuine, though beneath it lay the unspoken recognition of what she had really meant. He leaned back slightly, fingertips brushing the table in a casual gesture that disguised the small swell of memory rising inside him. “Guess I made a lasting impression.”, he added lightly, letting the humor carry the weight that he wasn’t ready to place elsewhere. It was enough to deflect, to anchor himself back in the ease of now, to remind himself that even though those letters had sustained him, the person across from him was present, and that reality could be handled, one measured breath at a time.

@Olivia Haley Preston