The Cozy Noir hummed with its usual tranquility as Zeke sat at his usual corner booth, nursing a strawberry smoothie and lost in thought. The events of the past days had left him reeling, the mysteries of the town and his growing connection with Amun weighing heavily on his mind.

Amun, ever the attentive barista, approached Zeke's table with a friendly smile. "Another smoothie, Zeke?" he asked, his voice warm and inviting. Zeke glanced up, grateful for the distraction. "Yes, please," he replied, offering a small smile in return. "And maybe a blueberry muffin this time."

As Amun turned to fulfill Zeke's order, a shadow fell over the table, accompanied by the unmistakable stench of alcohol. Zeke's heart sank as he looked up to see his father, Adam, standing before him, his eyes bloodshot and his demeanor volatile. "What the hell are you doing here, Zeke?" Adam slurred, his words dripping with contempt. "Shouldn't you be at home, doing something useful for once?"

Zeke's stomach churned with dread as he braced himself for the inevitable confrontation. "I-I'm just here studying, Dad," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. Adam's gaze turned to Amun, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "And who's this?" he sneered, his tone laced with hostility.

Before Zeke could respond, Amun stepped forward, his expression guarded yet composed. "I'm Amun, sir. I work here at the café," he said calmly, extending a hand in greeting.

Adam's lip curled into a disdainful sneer as he ignored Amun's outstretched hand. "Well, Amun, you better watch yourself around my son. He's nothing but trouble," he spat, his words slurred and venomous.

Zeke felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment as he lowered his gaze, unable to meet Amun's eyes. He knew what was coming next—the accusations, the insults, the violence.

Sure enough, without warning, Adam lunged forward, grabbing Zeke by the collar of his shirt and pulling him to his feet. "You think you can hide from me, you little shit?" he growled, his breath reeking of alcohol.

Zeke winced as Adam's grip tightened, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he had to diffuse the situation before it escalated any further, but he felt paralyzed, trapped in a nightmare of his father's making.

Amun moved to intervene, but Zeke shook his head, his eyes pleading for him to stay back. "N-no, Amun, it's fine," he insisted, his voice trembling with fear. "I-I don't want you getting hurt. Don't worry about me."

Amun hesitated, his gaze flickering between Zeke and Adam, torn between his instinct to protect and Zeke's desperate plea for him to stay out of harm's way.

But before he could make a decision, Adam's rage erupted like a volcano, his fist colliding with Zeke's jaw with a sickening thud. Zeke staggered backward, pain shooting through his skull as he fought to stay on his feet.

Amun's eyes blazed with fury as he stepped forward, his voice cold and resolute. "That's enough," he declared, his tone cutting through the tension like a knife. "You need to leave—now."

Adam scoffed, his laughter bitter and scornful. "Or what? You gonna call the cops on me, pretty boy?" he taunted, his fists clenched at his sides.

But Amun stood his ground, his gaze unwavering. "If that's what it takes to protect Zeke, then yes," he replied, his voice steely with determination.

For a moment, the air crackled with tension, the three of them locked in a silent standoff. But then, as if realizing the futility of his actions, Adam released his grip on Zeke and took a step back, his expression contorted with rage and defeat.

"You're not worth it, Zeke," he spat, his words dripping with venom. "I'll deal with you later." And with that, Adam turned on his heel and stormed out of the café, leaving Zeke and Amun standing in his wake, shaken but alive.

As the adrenaline began to fade, Zeke sank back into his seat, his body trembling with a mixture of fear and relief. He couldn't believe what had just happened—the humiliation, the violence, the sheer terror of facing his father's wrath in public.

But as he looked up at Amun, who stood beside him with a mixture of concern and compassion, Zeke felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as alone as he thought. And maybe, with Amun by his side, he could find the strength to confront the shadows that haunted his past and forge a brighter future for himself.

However, as Zeke shifted in his seat, Amun reached out to offer a comforting touch on his shoulder, a gesture of silent support. But before his fingers could make contact, Zeke flinched away instinctively, his body tensing at the thought of further contact.

Amun's heart sank at Zeke's reaction, a pang of sadness washing over him as he realized the depth of Zeke's trauma. With a heavy sigh, he withdrew his hand, his gaze filled with regret and understanding. "Zeke, I'm so sorry," Amun murmured, his voice laced with genuine concern. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to offer you some support."

Zeke shook his head, his eyes brimming with tears as he struggled to find the words. "It's not you, Amun," he whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "It's... it's just... everything."

Amun nodded in understanding, his heart aching for Zeke and the pain he carried. "I understand," he replied softly, his voice gentle and reassuring. "But please know that you're not alone, Zeke. I'm here for you, whatever you need."

With a shaky breath, Zeke nodded, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his emotions. "Thank you, Amun," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the din of the café. "I-I appreciate it more than you know."

As the reality of what had transpired began to sink in, Amun made a decision. With a sense of determination, he addressed the remaining patrons, his voice firm yet compassionate.

"I'm sorry for the disturbance, everyone," he announced, his words carrying across the café. "If anyone has recorded anything, I ask that you please delete it. This is a private matter, and Zeke deserves his privacy."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the somber faces before him. "Your food and drinks are on the house tonight," he continued, his tone filled with sincerity. "And I'm afraid we'll be closing early for the evening. Thank you for your understanding."