The cafe was nearly empty when Emmie walked in, her coat clinging to the dampness of the early evening. Rain had just stopped, leaving the cobblestones slick and gleaming beneath the soft glow of streetlamps. She spotted James near the window, a book open in front of him but clearly untouched. He looked up as the bell above the door chimed.
"You're late," he said, but there was no accusation in it — just observation, the kind he was so good at delivering with a crooked half-smile.
"I got caught in a downpour," Emmie said, slipping into the seat across from him. "Also, I tripped over a dog, and then I had to explain to its very angry owner that it was not, in fact, a personal attack."
James chuckled, his fingers tapping idly on the ceramic cup in front of him. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I've only spilled coffee on myself once in the last ten minutes."
"Progress."
They ordered another round — black coffee for James, a lavender latte for Emmie — and for a moment, neither spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it had started to feel like a language of its own between them. The kind where presence was louder than words.
"So," James finally said, turning the cup between his hands, "are you ever going to tell me what's actually been bothering you, or are we just going to keep pretending everything's fine?"
Emmie blinked, caught off guard. Her first instinct was to deflect — make a joke, change the subject, anything. But James didn't look away, and something in his gaze made the words feel too heavy to carry alone.
"I guess," she began slowly, "I'm just... tired. Not physically, exactly. More like... I've been carrying this invisible weight for a long time, and I'm not sure how to put it down."
James didn't rush to fill the space. He just nodded once, slowly. "I get that. More than you think."
Emmie looked down at her hands. "It's not that I don't want to talk. It's just hard. Trust is hard."
He leaned forward, arms resting on the table. "I don't need everything. Not right now. Just… give me something real. Even if it's small."
She exhaled, a shaky breath. "Okay. Here's something real: I feel safest when I'm around you. And that scares me."
James didn't say anything for a long second. Then he gave her that rare, full smile — the one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "That's probably the most honest thing anyone's said to me in a long time."
The rain started again, tapping lightly against the window, but neither of them noticed. Emmie didn't look away when his hand slid across the table, fingers brushing lightly against hers. She didn't pull away.
And in the stillness that followed, something shifted — soft and fragile, but real.
A beginning.
**************************************************
The rain had softened into a mist by the time they stepped outside. James pulled his hood up, but Emmie didn't bother. The air was cool and damp, but something about it made her feel wide awake.
They walked side by side without needing to say much, the silence still stitched together with the comfort of earlier. Every few steps, their shoulders brushed.
"I can't believe you didn't try to dodge the rain," James said, glancing at her sideways.
"I like the way it feels," she replied, lifting her face to the sky. "It makes everything smell like new beginnings."
James gave her a look. "You're ridiculous."
"And yet," she teased, nudging him with her elbow, "you still walk me back to my hostel."
A soft laugh. "What can I say? I'm a creature of habit."
Emmie bit back a smile, her heart light in a way it hadn't been in weeks. She tucked her hands into her coat pockets and glanced sideways at him. "So… any special plans for tomorrow?"
James furrowed his brow. "Tomorrow?"
"Don't even try it." She gave him a mock glare. "Your birthday. I haven't forgotten."
He gave a low chuckle, amused and maybe a little touched. "Most people make a big deal out of it. It's weird."
"Well, I'm different ."
"No," he said quietly, "you're not."
They paused at the corner of her street, under the warm glow of an old-fashioned lamp. The rain glistened in her hair. James was watching her again — that same unspoken question in his eyes.
She smiled, a bit mischievous. "You'll see tomorrow. Just don't make any plans."
James raised a brow. "Should I be worried?"
"That depends on how you feel about cake and questionable singing voices."
"I'll brace myself."
She started backing away toward her door, step by step. "Goodnight, James."
He stood there for a beat, his hands in his pockets, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. "Night, Emmie."
As she slipped inside and closed the door behind her, Emmie pressed her back to the wood, her cheeks flushed and her heart racing. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
And for the first time in a long while, she was looking forward to something.
Really looking forward to it.
**************************************************
The cake sat neatly in the box on the passenger seat, its white frosting smoothed to perfection and topped with deep blue lettering that read: Happy Birthday, James. Emmie had made it herself—twice, actually. The first one hadn't risen properly, and she wanted it to be perfect. Everything had to be perfect.
She glanced at the passenger mirror, heart fluttering. Balloons, check. His favorite coffee blend wrapped in brown paper, check. The worn-out copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray she found in a secondhand shop—his favorite book, check.
Today was going to be a good day.
She'd even called Micha that morning to help with the plans, however she decided to show up earlier than planned to spend more time with. James, so that he'd think she forgot about the birthday surprise.
Emmie pulled up outside James's apartment building, greeted Alison with a grin, and popped the trunk. Alison was not hostile today. It was surprising but she thought that Alison put their differences aside, because it was James' big day.
"I hope he's not still asleep, he better be with Kyro and Zade." Emmie said, lifting the cake carefully.
Alison grabbed the bag of gifts. "If he is, he better act surprised. You've gone full Martha Stewart."
"Only the emotionally repressed version," Emmie joked, but her hands were trembling slightly. Maybe from nerves. Or maybe from something she hadn't yet let herself name.
The stairwell echoed with their laughter as they climbed. Emmie rehearsed the plan in her head—light the candles, knock twice, sing off-key, make him laugh, maybe even kiss him if the moment felt right.
She was practically vibrating with anticipation when they reached his door.
"I think he's home," Alison whispered, pointing at the light under the door.
Emmie smiled. "Okay, ready?"
But as she raised her hand to knock, a low sound—faint, but unmistakable—froze her mid-motion.
It was a voice. A woman's voice.
Then another sound. A gasp.
Emmie's fingers curled against the wood.
Alison's expression faltered. "Wait…"
Emmie didn't wait. Her hand turned the knob—unlocked. She pushed the door open, heart hammering, mouth already forming his name.
What she saw stopped her cold.
James's shirt was on the floor. Micha—tangled in sheets that didn't belong to her—looked up first, eyes wide.
James didn't even reach for the blanket right away. He just sat there, frozen in place, one hand still on Micha's waist. The kind of intimacy you couldn't explain away.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Behind her, Alison took a step back.
"Em—" James started, voice raw.
But Emmie couldn't breathe. The cake in her hands suddenly felt impossibly heavy.
Her arms trembled.
"I should've known," she said, quietly, almost to herself.
And then she turned.
The balloons bobbed mockingly behind her as she ran away.