A Gentle Distance
Over the next few days, things between Gemini and Fourth remained the same—yet different.
Gemini still came to the café every morning, sometimes ordering coffee, sometimes tea, but mostly just looking for an excuse to stay. Fourth still responded in his usual quiet way, still moved through his routine with calm precision, never one to waste words.
And yet… something had changed.
The silences between them no longer felt heavy, no longer held the hesitation of two strangers figuring out how to exist in the same space. They had settled into something lighter, something unspoken yet understood.
And Fourth—who once barely acknowledged Gemini beyond taking his order—now let his smiles linger just a little longer.
It was subtle.
Most people wouldn't notice.
But Gemini did.
One afternoon, the café was unusually quiet.
The few customers who had been there earlier had left, leaving behind only the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the faint clinking of dishes as Fourth wiped down the counter. Outside, the ocean breeze carried the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore, rhythmic and steady.
Gemini lounged at his usual spot near the window, one arm draped over the back of his chair, his fingers lazily scrolling through his phone. The golden afternoon light streamed through the glass, casting warm patterns across the wooden floor.
He wasn't paying much attention to anything in particular—just letting the peacefulness settle over him—when a cold drink was placed in front of him.
The quiet sound of glass meeting wood made him blink.
He looked up.
Fourth stood there, drying his hands on a towel, his expression unreadable as always.
Gemini frowned, glancing at the drink. "I didn't order yet."
Fourth shrugged. "I know."
Gemini's gaze dropped to the glass.
The condensation slid in slow droplets down its surface, the dark coffee swirled with the creamy, off-white shade of coconut milk. A drink he had never ordered before.
Curious, he lifted it to his lips and took a sip.
The taste was unexpected—rich bitterness of coffee mellowed by the smooth sweetness of coconut, the flavors blending in a way that was both bold and strangely comforting.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Whoa. This is good."
Fourth leaned against the counter, resting his chin on his palm. His tone was casual, but there was something thoughtful beneath it. "I thought you might like it."
Something about the way he said it made Gemini pause.
It wasn't a casual comment.
It was certainty.
Like Fourth had actually thought about what he might like.
Gemini smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Are you memorizing all my favorite drinks now?"
Fourth rolled his eyes but didn't deny it. A ghost of a smile played on his lips, subtle but undeniably there.
Gemini took another sip, letting the coolness of the drink linger on his tongue as he studied Fourth.
He was starting to learn Fourth's expressions—the barely-there shifts in his face, the quiet language of his body.
The way his fingers tapped lightly against the counter when he was lost in thought.
The way his lips barely twitched when he found something amusing.
The way his eyes softened—just a fraction—when he was comfortable.
Fourth was quiet, but he wasn't distant.
Not anymore.
Gemini set his drink down, watching as Fourth busied himself with wiping an already spotless corner of the counter. He wasn't avoiding eye contact, but there was something in the air between them—an awareness neither of them acknowledged out loud.
And yet, the silence that followed wasn't awkward.
It was easy.
Like waves against the shore, constant yet never exactly the same.
A quiet kind of connection.
The kind that didn't need words to be understood.
And as the golden light of the afternoon stretched longer across the café, Gemini realized something.
This—whatever it was between them—wasn't something he wanted to let go of.
Not now.
Not ever.
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