(Adrian’s POV)

The break room smells like burnt coffee and cleaning wipes.

I lean against the counter, gripping the edge so hard my knuckles hurt worse than my face. The fluorescent light overhead flickers every few seconds, making the tiny room feel even more irritating.

I grab a water bottle from the fridge and press it against my cheek.

“Shit,” I mumble under my breath.

The sting finally settles into a dull throb. Not enough to make me cry or anything dramatic, but enough that I know it’s probably going to bruise later.

Perfect.

Just perfect.

Outside the break room door, the café noise starts up again. Muffled voices. Espresso machine screaming. Chairs moving across the floor.

Life keeps going.

I unscrew the water bottle and take a long drink, trying to steady myself.

Then the door opens.

Of course it’s Blake.

He shuts the door behind him quietly this time, which honestly feels weirder than if he’d slammed it open.

“You okay?” he asks.

I laugh once.

Not because it’s funny. Mostly because it’s a stupid question.

“Do I look okay?”

Blake’s jaw tightens immediately.

The anger’s still there. I can see it sitting under his skin.

“You shouldn’t have come out there,” I mutter.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Adrian, he hit you.”

“And you were about to fight him in the middle of the café.”

“He deserved it.”

I look away before answering.

“That’s not the point.”

Silence hangs there for a second.

Blake walks closer, slower this time, like he’s trying not to scare me off even though that’s ridiculous.

He reaches toward my face carefully. “Lemme see.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re literally holding ice to your cheek.”

“It’s water.”

“Adrian.”

I sigh and finally let him look.

His fingers tilt my chin slightly toward the light, and the second he sees the redness forming, something in his expression darkens again.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I’ve had worse.”

That comes out too automatically.

Blake notices.

His eyes flick up to mine. “That’s not a normal sentence.”

I immediately regret saying it.

“So are we just pretending you didn’t almost punch that guy?” I shoot back.

“Probably.”

Despite myself, I almost smile.

Almost.

Blake notices that too, because of course he does.

“There it is,” he says quietly.

“Don’t.”

“What? Your scary customer service face disappeared for like two seconds.”

I roll my eyes and move away from him.

“You’re annoying.”

“And you like me anyway.”

“That confidence is insane.”

“It’s because I’m right.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the door swings open again before I can.

Jay walks in carrying a bag of ice wrapped in a towel.

“Oh good,” he says immediately. “No murder yet.”

Blake flips him off without even turning around.

Jay ignores it and tosses me the ice pack. “Here. Lia said if your face bruises, she’s posting it online for sympathy tips.”

“She wouldn’t.”

“She absolutely would.”

I hold the towel against my cheek with a groan.

Jay leans against the counter beside me. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“That sounded fake.”

“I’m alive.”

“Still fake, but better.”

The room goes quiet again.

Then Jay looks at Blake.

“You almost got fired today, by the way.”

Blake shrugs. “Worth it.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I say immediately.

He looks at me like I just said something insane.

“You got hit.”

“And you getting arrested would’ve helped how?”

“I wouldn’t have gotten arrested.”

“You literally looked two seconds away from tackling him through the window.”

Jay snorts. “That’s actually true.”

Blake points at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m on the side that pays me.”

The door opens again.

Lia steps inside holding two pastries.

“One for Adrian,” she says, handing me one carefully. “And one for emotional support.”

“Which one’s emotional support?”

“The chocolate croissant.”

“That’s fair.”

She finally notices the bruise forming under my cheekbone and winces.

“Ouch.”

“Thanks,” I deadpan.

“No, seriously, that looks bad.”

Blake’s expression darkens all over again.

Lia immediately notices.

“Oh my god,” she says. “You’re still angry.”

“He hit Adrian.”

“Yes, we established that.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” she replies. “But you look like you’re planning a felony.”

Jay points at her dramatically. “THAT’S what I said.”

Blake glares at both of them.

I sit down at the tiny break room table before my head starts pounding harder.

The adrenaline’s wearing off now.

Which honestly sucks more.

Because now I can actually feel how overwhelmed I am.

The noise. The customers. The yelling.

The hit.

Blake notices me getting quieter almost immediately.

His voice softens. “Hey.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Where you say you’re okay right before you stop talking entirely.”

I hate that he knows that.

Lia and Jay exchange a quick look like they noticed it too.

“I just need five minutes,” I mutter.

“Take ten,” Lia says immediately.

“We can cover front.”

“You sure?”

Jay looks offended. “Adrian, I survived Valentine’s Day rush with three broken espresso machines. I think I can survive Karen apocalypse guy.”

I laugh a little at that.

Blake smiles the second he hears it.

Which is annoying.

“Don’t look so proud of yourself,” I tell him.

“Too late.”

The café bell rings loudly outside again.

Another wave of customers.

Jay groans dramatically. “And there goes my will to live.”

Lia grabs his sleeve and starts dragging him toward the door. “Come on, pastry boy.”

“I hate when you call me that.”

“You love when I call you that.”

“Different issue.”

The two of them disappear back onto the floor, leaving me alone with Blake again.

Silence settles between us.

Not awkward.

Just heavy.

Blake leans against the counter across from me, arms folded.

“You scared me,” he says finally.

The words hit harder than they should.

I stare down at the melting ice pack in my hands.

“I’m fine.”

“I know you are now.”

I don’t answer.

Because honestly?

Part of me isn’t.

And the worst part is that he noticed before I did.

Blake exhales quietly and walks closer again.

This time when he reaches for my hand, I don’t pull away.

His thumb brushes against my knuckles once.

Soft.

Careful.

Like he’s making sure I’m still here.

“Next time somebody touches you,” he says quietly, “I’m actually punching them.”

I snort tiredly. “That’s not reassuring.”

“It should be.”

“It really shouldn’t.”

He grins a little.

Then the grin fades.

“Still mean it though.”

I shake my head.

“Idiot.”

“Your idiot.”

The words come out so naturally that neither of us reacts immediately.

And then we both do.

My stomach flips.

Blake freezes for half a second.

The break room suddenly feels way too small.

His eyes stay on mine.

Neither of us says anything.

And right before I can figure out what to do with that   

The café alarm starts blaring outside.