The café wasn't busy yet — just a few tables occupied by sleepy students and the soft clink of ceramic cups.
The air smelled like roasted beans, melted cinnamon, and freshly baked pastries.
Jazz hummed low in the background, like the place knew it was Sunday and refused to raise its voice.
Noel held the door open, the sleeves of his oversized gray hoodie hanging past his knuckles.
Luca strolled in behind him in a worn black tee, hair still slightly damp from the quick shower, silver strands catching the sunlight like moonlight trapped in morning.
They didn't have to say a word — the barista glanced up and gave them a knowing smile.
"Your usual?" she asked Noel.
He nodded, then hesitated. "And… he'll have the same."
Luca leaned on the counter, amused. "Matching orders now?"
Noel glanced at him. "I wasn't sure what you wanted."
"So you assumed I'd copy you?" Luca said, teasing.
"You usually do," Noel said dryly, pulling his sleeve down to cover his faint blush.
