The late afternoon sun slipped behind the high rise windows of Luna's Cafe, casting long copper shadows across its checkerboard floor. Oliver Grey sat on a velvet banquette, fingers wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug of chamomile tea. Across the table, Clive Durham tapped his spoon against the cappuccino saucer, his brow drawn in easy attention. This was their third meeting in as many days and while the novelty had faded, their closeness had only deepened, like two travellers learning the contours of a hidden map.
Clive leaned forward and asked with gentle warmth, "When does your shift at the college library start?"
Oliver's lips parted, then closed. His gaze found the neon sign outside that spelled Luna's in pastel glow, the L and A flickering softly. He inhaled the mingled scent of chamomile and old books swirling in the air.
He set his mug back on the table and ran his thumb along the rim. "It starts next Monday," he said at last. "But I'm not sure how I'll manage. I'm not good at talking to people. The idea of shelving books with students asking how to find things makes my stomach flip."
Clive nodded and took a slow sip of his cappuccino. "Tell me more about the bookstore," he said. "What's been the hardest part of your shifts?"
Oliver hesitated, staring into his tea as if it held the answer. "It's not just shelving books," he admitted. "Customers expect me to know everything, like where to find obscure titles, to recommend the perfect read. When I can't answer, some of them get impatient." He forced a small laugh. "Last week, a woman snapped at me because I couldn't track down her favourite poet. She said I was useless."
Before Oliver could sink back into silence, a voice cut across the café. "Except you, Clive, clearly think he's anything but."
Clive looked up to see Marissa Hayward, a classmate from their economics seminar, folding her arms. She raised an eyebrow. "Oliver, right? Heard you were working there. Good luck with that." Her tone dripped with mock sympathy.
Oliver tensed, shoulders hunching. Clive set down his spoon and glanced at Marissa with cool calm. "Actually, Oliver's been doing a fantastic job. He helped me find a rare edition of Schumpeter just yesterday." Clive's gaze was steady, voice even. "You might learn something if you asked instead of sneering."
Marissa's lips pressed into a thin line before she turned on her heel and stalked away, leaving a hush in her wake.
Oliver exhaled, relief flooding him. "Thanks," he whispered.
Clive reached out and gave Oliver's hand a reassuring squeeze. As he did, his thoughts drifted to his own years of isolation; to all those nights spent teaching himself to stand on his own, the long climb from loneliness to confidence. He would not let Oliver face that climb alone.
After a moment, Clive let go of Oliver's hand and offered a playful grin. "Even bookstore bullies can't dim your light. You've got more grit than you know."
Oliver managed a genuine smile, the tension easing. "I'll try to remember that."
They spent the next hour drifting between lighter talk about favorite anime soundtracks and economic podcasts, and deeper reflections on hope and resilience. Clive's questions never felt intrusive, and Oliver answered them openly, buoyed by the knowledge that every truth he shared only drew Clive closer.
When the sun finally slipped behind the skyline, they stood and walked out into the cooling evening. City lights blinked into life like distant stars. Clive offered his hand, and Oliver took it gratefully.
At the edge of the quad by the old oak tree, Clive turned to Oliver and said, "There's an open mic night at that downtown bookstore you mentioned. They'll have poetry, music and all sorts of performances. Want to go together?"
Oliver's heart fluttered as he looked at Clive's hopeful face. "I'd like that," he said softly.
Clive felt a surge of relief as his warm smile lit the dusk around them. He had hoped Oliver would say yes.
After they shared a gentle and brief embrace that had come about naturally, Clive hailed a cab. Oliver climbed inside and turned back to wave. As the cab pulled away, he pressed his forehead to the cool window, his heart racing with both anxiety and excitement. Tomorrow night under those open mic lights, he might finally find the courage to let his voice be heard.