Nova stands at the host stand, staring at the laminated menus in her hands, but her thoughts aren't on tonight's dinner specials. The overhead lights feel harsher than usual, glaring off the polished wooden floors, making her head throb. The restaurant hums around her—soft clinks of glassware, the muted thrum of chatter from a few early customers, Felicia's perky laugh drifting in from the bar area—but none of it penetrates the fog in her brain. All she can seem to focus on is him.

She glances over the hostess podium under the pretense of checking the reservation list, but her eyes keep sliding to the side, back toward the aisle leading into the kitchen. She knows Adrian is there. She can practically sense his presence like a current in the air. She pictures him balancing a tray of water glasses or stacking plates by the sink, his brow creased in that small, focused frown he gets when he's doing even the simplest tasks. The mere thought of him sends a flutter through her stomach, a distracting mix of anticipation and anxious excitement.

Her heart gives a small jump when he actually appears, stepping out of the kitchen door with a handful of silverware cradled in both arms. His glasses are slightly fogged from the steam inside, and he blinks a few times, adjusting to the cooler air of the dining room. Even from across the restaurant, Nova notices how intently he's counting forks and knives, eyes darting with methodical precision. There's something about that concentration—fierce, a little obsessive—that makes her pulse race. It's ridiculous. She can't even focus on seating customers because she's mesmerized by the way his fingers move over metal utensils.

Felicia flounces by, arms laden with plates, distracting Nova just enough to snap her out of her daze. She quickly looks back at the podium, trying to remember if she's supposed to seat a party of two or if they're already waiting. Focus, she commands herself. Her skin feels too warm under the starched collar of her blouse. She can't let herself get this flustered, not in the middle of a shift. She's supposed to be the calm, neutral hostess, the polite face that greets diners.

But how can she be calm when, every time she lifts her gaze, Adrian is there, drifting through the dining area like an awkward ghost, wearing his usual busboy uniform with that worn blue apron that doesn't quite fit? She tells herself to breathe, to tuck away the maddening thoughts. Yet images cascade: the memory of him walking her home last night, that subtle brushing of elbows that made her nerves ignite. The hush of the streets. His offhand remarks about Vigilante. Her own traitorous desire to lean in, pull him by the collar, and press her lips to his just to feel what it's like to kiss someone so oddly mesmerizing.

She's snapped out of her reverie again when the front door opens with a rush of cool air, letting in a couple who look around uncertainly. Nova musters a bright, practiced smile, greeting them as she leads them to a table, murmuring about the specials of the day. Her voice wavers only a little. Once the couple is settled, she heads back to the stand, rummaging for new menus. She dares a sidelong glance and notices Adrian at the beverage station, meticulously sorting straws by color. Why does he do that? she wonders, half amused, half entranced. It's such an odd quirk—his need to impose order on everything—but she finds it endearing.

When he catches her looking, he lifts his head, meeting her eyes for a second too long. He doesn't exactly smile, but his lips part, and there's this flicker behind his glasses—something that tells her he's just as aware of her as she is of him. Her stomach jolts. She quickly looks away, her cheeks burning. I'm acting like a high schooler, she berates herself, pretending to fuss with the seating chart. But the damage is done; her heart hammers so loudly she's certain the entire dining room can hear it.

A few minutes later, she's flipping through the reservation book when she senses movement behind her. She turns to find Adrian standing there, arms at his sides, an anxious set to his shoulders. He's close enough that she can smell the faint detergent from his shirt. Her breath catches.

"Hey," He says quietly. He shifts from one foot to the other in a jittery shuffle, eyes roving over her face, "You look kinda... sweaty."

His bluntness is typical, yet the concern in his tone is real.

Nova forces out a small laugh, hoping she doesn't sound breathless, "Just... busy shift, that's all."

She wonders if he can feel the tension vibrating in the tiny space between them. Part of her wants to edge closer, just to see if he'll mirror her movement. Instead, she stands rooted to the spot.

Adrian nods, then glances around conspiratorially before leaning in. He smells like coffee and soap.

"Well, if you need a break or something, I can cover the podium. You know, just stand here and pretend I'm the host."

He lifts a hand in a little wave, as though greeting an imaginary customer, "Welcome to Fennel Fields. I promise I won't spit in your food."

It's so absurd that Nova snorts aloud, covering her mouth quickly. The tension in her belly uncoils a fraction.

"That's not quite how hosting works," She murmurs, feeling a tiny thrill at how near he is, "But thanks for the offer. I'll keep it in mind."

"Sure."

He nods, his mouth twitching into a half-smile. He lingers for a moment, like he's debating whether to say something else, but the distant clatter of a dropped tray in the kitchen makes him blink. With a quick shuffle of his feet, he departs, heading back to his duties. Nova exhales slowly, watching him go, the shape of his shoulders shifting as he disappears into the back. Even her fingertips tingle.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of small talk with customers and random bursts of chaotic orders. They run out of a particular appetizer; Felicia complains about tips; Jerry storms through at one point, stressed about inventory. Nova manages to keep up her polite mask, though her focus drifts constantly. She wonders if Adrian is looking at her from across the room. She wonders if he's thinking about their routine walk home later, the same way she is. Every time she sees him pass by, her pulse quickens with anticipation.

Finally, closing time arrives. The last table leaves, and Nova helps wipe down the remaining surfaces. The overhead lights flip from cozy dimness to a harsh glare, making everything look flat and colorless. Felicia and Jerry exchange tired goodnights, leaving the keys with Nova to lock up. Adrian hovers nearby, rolling his shoulders as though stiff from a long shift.

"You ready?" He asks, voice subdued in the hush of the empty restaurant.

She can see the way his gaze flicks to the door, back to her, then down to his hands. Awkward, but undeniably sweet.

"Yeah," Nova breathes, hooking her bag over her shoulder.

She locks the front door behind them as they step onto the sidewalk. The temperature has dropped sharply, and a thin mist curls through the streetlights. Adrian holds his arms tight at his sides, maybe from the cold, or maybe from nerves. Nova rubs her palms together, letting her breath fog the air.

They set off toward her duplex, the routine they've fallen into these past few nights. Only now, the tension feels doubled, the awareness of each other sharper. Streetlights reflect in the puddles by the curb, and the distant drone of a passing car creates white noise for their conversation. They start talking about work—customer complaints, how the shift went—just small talk, but each word crackles with an undertone of possibility.

At one point, Adrian remarks, "I like walking you home."

He says it casually, but his jaw twitches like he's carefully chosen each word, "It's... relaxing. Safer, too."

Nova's heart gives a flutter. She dares a sidelong glance, taking in how the gold glow of the nearest streetlamp catches his glasses, reflecting little circles of light.

"I like it too," She replies softly, feeling an embarrassed warmth flush her cheeks. Her voice catches on the last word, so she clears her throat, "Besides, you know a lot about how to handle... trouble."

A tiny, confident smirk appears at the edge of Adrian's lips.

"True. I'm basically unstoppable in a fight."

He says it with the same odd mix of pride and matter-of-factness she's come to expect from him. Usually, such a statement might unnerve her, but at this moment, it ignites a spark of reassurance.

"Good to know," She murmurs, stepping around a puddle.

Another block or two, and they'll reach her duplex. Nova's chest constricts with the desire to close the space between them, to just loop her arm through his or maybe brush her fingers against his. That would be normal, right? she thinks, heart pounding. Just a small, affectionate gesture. But she can't quite muster the courage. Adrian is so strange and blunt; she can't predict how he'd respond.

She fantasizes, for a dizzying second, about grabbing his collar and pulling him in for a kiss, feeling his breath mingle with hers in a desperate rush. The thought sends a potent jolt of heat through her. She's not used to wanting someone this fiercely—and she's definitely not used to feeling so uncertain about how to proceed. The memory of her mania, of blood under her fingernails, tries to surface. She quashes it down, focusing on the present: just the two of them, the quiet sidewalk, and a tension so thick she can almost taste it.

Adrian glances at her, eyebrows drawn slightly, "You good? You seem... I dunno, kind of tense."

She forces a laugh, "I'm fine. Really. Long day."

She can't decide if she wants to confide in him, to tell him she's not fine at all—that every step of the walk home, she's resisting the urge to break down or do something rash. Instead, she maintains her mask. She's gotten good at that.

They turn the final corner, and her duplex comes into view under a flickering porch light. She slows her pace, not wanting this moment to end. Adrian notices and slows too, his posture stiffening. He draws in a breath, eyes flicking from her face to the small yard and back again.

Nova's heart thrums like a hummingbird's wings. She wants to invite him in, wants to see if he'd say yes, wants to do a thousand things. But that same fear grips her—What if he sees the box with the suit in my closet? What if he guesses who I really am? The terror of being known, fully, claws at her.

They reach the foot of her driveway, and both linger under the glow of the porch light. The silence is electric. Adrian raises a hand, half-reaching toward her, then drops it, clearing his throat.

"So," He says, voice low, "We're here."

"Yeah," Nova whispers, swallowing hard.

For a heartbeat, they just stare at each other. She can see something flickering behind his glasses—desire, maybe, or curiosity, or something more complicated. The breeze ruffles her hair, carrying the faint scent of his aftershave. Her chest feels so tight she can barely draw a breath.

She thinks, Maybe this is it. Maybe I'll just do it— She edges closer, the tips of her shoes grazing his. His breath catches. But at the last second, she can't follow through. The fear is too big. Instead, she forces a tiny smile, adrenaline screaming in her veins.

"Thanks for walking me home again," She blurts, voice shaking.

"No problemo," Adrian replies, stepping back slightly.

There's a flash of disappointment in his eyes—she sees it, even if no one else would. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further, "Anytime, you know?"

She nods, swallowing against the dryness in her throat, "Yeah. I know."

Her stomach churns with a heady mix of regret and relief. She can't tell which is stronger.

For a moment, neither of them moves. Then Adrian forces a casual wave, a weak imitation of his usual confident gestures.

"Night, Nova," He says softly. His voice catches on her name in a way that sends a rush of warmth through her one more time.

"Night," She echoes, pressing her lips together.

She doesn't dare watch him walk away—she can't handle the pang in her gut—so she turns and heads up the short path to her door. Her keys jingle in her shaking hand as she fumbles with the lock. Behind her, she hears Adrian's footsteps retreating, each step sounding heavier than normal. It's only after she steps inside, shutting the door behind her, that she releases the breath she's been holding.

Her body feels on fire, every nerve thrumming from the closeness she didn't seize. She leans against the closed door, heart pounding, wishing she could go back out and do something impulsive, break through the damn tension. But her mind wars with itself—fear of discovery clashing with the ache of wanting. The frustration is overwhelming.

Outside, she imagines Adrian heading off into the night, posture tense, expression locked in that strange mixture of curiosity and desire he always seems to wear around her. She closes her eyes, recounting each moment of that walk, the fleeting chance she could have taken, the look on his face when she didn't. A faint sense of dread seeps in alongside her longing. It's too dangerous to let him in. Yet, she knows deep down, some part of her is desperate to risk it all for just one taste of that connection.

It's a Thursday, and the relentless drizzle outside has turned Fennel Fields into a ghost town. By midafternoon, only a handful of customers have meandered in—regulars who park themselves at their usual tables and stay for hours, sipping coffee and occasionally ordering a light meal. A hush hangs over the dining room, amplifying every clink of silverware and every scrape of a chair on the polished floor.

Nova stands at the hostess stand, arms crossed lightly over her chest. She glances out the broad front windows, watching sheets of rain create snaking trails down the glass. It's the kind of weather that makes people want to stay home, curled up with a blanket. She tries to quell a small yawn. There's not much for her to do—no big lunch rush, no lines of waiting patrons. But Jerry has insisted she remain on duty just in case. So, she lingers near the podium, eyes occasionally drifting to the mostly empty tables.

Then there's Adrian. He's been shuffling through his tasks—wiping silverware, double-checking stock, methodically counting condiments. More than once, Nova's caught him watching her from across the room, his gaze sharp behind his glasses. He never stares for long; as soon as she turns, he busies himself with some menial chore. But each time their eyes meet, a bolt of electricity surges through her chest.

Their mutual awareness crackles in the quiet. Every so often, Adrian ambles over to the beverage station near the host stand, grabbing cups of water for nonexistent customers. He'll glance at her, maybe flash a quick grin, then dart back to the kitchen, leaving her heart pounding. Nova can't help the flush that creeps up her neck each time. She can barely recall a day when she's been this hyperaware of another person's presence—how each second that passes without talking to him feels like a missed opportunity, yet she can't figure out what to say.

Even Felicia, perched at a corner booth bored out of her mind, rolls her eyes at the tension. She's pointedly mentioned "Shouldn't you two just talk it out or something?" more than once, but neither Nova nor Adrian has responded. It's like a game of cat and mouse, except neither knows exactly who is chasing whom.

Time slips by at a snail's pace, the outside gloom casting a dull light over the dining area. By late afternoon, Jerry decides they might as well close early—no one's going to brave the downpour for dinner if they haven't already come in. Felicia makes a big show of cheering, then disappears before anyone can give her extra tasks. The few remaining customers pay their bills and shuffle out, leaving puddles of rainwater in their wake.

Nova lets out a long sigh, thankful to shut off the front lights. She expects Jerry to close up, but he thrusts the keys into her hand at the last minute.

"I need to finish some paperwork in the back," He says, tapping a file folder against his palm, "Lock up when you're done cleaning. But, uh, wait for Adrian to get the floors."

She nods, sliding the keys into her pocket. That's fine by me, she thinks, her pulse flipping. Being alone with Adrian again. She can't help but feel both excited and nervous, remembering the nights he's walked her home, the tension that always coils between them like a live wire.

She busies herself with a rag, going from table to table, wiping each surface until the mild scent of disinfectant lingers in the air. She works methodically, wanting the repetitive motion to calm her racing mind. It's just Adrian, she tells herself. We've spent time alone before. Yet today feels different—maybe it's the emptiness of the restaurant, or the hush of the rain outside that amplifies every small sound.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him finishing up near the beverage station, carefully putting away the last of the cups. He looks over, and their eyes catch again. Her stomach does a small somersault. She tries to focus on the table in front of her, scrubbing away an imaginary smudge.

Eventually, the overhead lights dim further; Jerry must be shutting everything else down in the back. The entire front area glows with that soft, end-of-day warmth from the scattered wall sconces. Nova bends over a freshly wiped table near the window, leaning across it to reach the far edge with her cloth. A droplet of water plinks against the glass outside. The world feels surreal, blanketed in the subdued hush of rain.

That's when she hears soft footsteps behind her—and a voice at her ear, "Hey."

She jumps, almost dropping the rag. Her heart lodges in her throat as she whirls around. Adrian stands close, hands hanging at his sides, posture a little rigid. She's so startled that she nearly collides with him, her breath catching at the proximity. The corners of his lips twitch, like he's suppressing a laugh.

She quickly composes herself, though her pulse thumps, "Jeez, Adrian, you scared me."

"Sorry."

His voice is low, barely above a whisper. In the dimness, the reflection of the overhead light shimmers on his glasses. He hesitates, then says, "I finished with the floors. Jerry's leaving, so it's... just us."

Her mouth goes dry.

"Oh... right," She manages, feeling the heat in her cheeks.

She wonders if he can see the flush under the warm hue of the lights.

He nods, shuffling in place. Then he attempts a casual shrug, failing to hide the tension in his shoulders.

"So, Nova-bear," He says—almost too abruptly, like he's blurted it without thinking.

Nova's eyebrows jump in surprise. A sudden flush surges through her, turning her cheeks a deeper pink. Nova-bear? It sounds silly, but the genuine—if awkward—affection behind it ignites a spark in her chest.

"Nova-bear?" She echoes, a slight tremor in her voice.

Adrian's expression wavers between embarrassment and an odd sort of pride, "Yeah... I, um, I read somewhere that nicknames can foster closeness. I was trying out a few in my head. That one sounded the least weird."

He rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat, "I can stop if you hate it."

Her lips twitch, forming a small smile.

"I— no. It's... it's cute," she admits, swallowing hard.

The tension between them feels like a physical thing, pressing in on all sides.

"Cool," He murmurs, shifting a half-step closer, until the table's edge nearly bumps against his thighs.

Nova's stuck between the table and him, her pulse racing wildly as she looks up into his face. She notices the slight dilation of his pupils, the subtle trembling in his hands. She wonders if she's imagining it, or if he's as charged by this moment as she is.

For a moment, neither speaks. The hush of the restaurant feels magnified, the rain outside intensifying the sense that they're in a private bubble. Her gaze drifts to his mouth, noticing the faint dryness on his lower lip—almost wanting to reach up and brush it with her thumb. She can't believe how strong the urge is to close the distance, to taste that slight quirk of a smile he wears.

Adrian exhales, his breath mingling with hers, and she can smell a trace of coffee. He lifts a hand, hesitating in midair, as if deciding where to put it. Slowly, carefully, he settles it at her waist, fingertips pressing just enough to draw her closer. The feel of his touch sends a hot spike of anticipation through her veins.

Nova's heart hammers against her ribs. She grips the edge of the table behind her for balance, hyper-aware of every point of contact. She can't pretend they're just coworkers in this moment. She doesn't want to. For once, the risk of letting someone in feels overshadowed by how alive she feels next to him.

She tilts her face up.

"Adrian," She whispers, unsure what she's even asking for, but longing drips from her tone.

He swallows, his voice low and a bit shaky.

"Yeah...?"

It's a question laced with possibility.

She answers by letting her eyes flutter shut and leaning forward, eliminating the millimeters between them. Her lips graze his softly at first—a gentle, testing brush. Her heart leaps, and a wave of relief and excitement floods her all at once. She's wanted this for days, maybe weeks. She can't deny it anymore.

Adrian makes a faint sound in the back of his throat, almost like surprise, but then his hand slides to the small of her back, drawing her closer. The kiss deepens, their mouths moving in an unhurried yet hungry rhythm. Nova tastes the faint bitterness of coffee on his tongue, breathes in the scent of dish soap clinging to his apron. Everything about him is both comforting and electric, an addictive collision that makes her knees tremble.

She wraps an arm around his shoulders for support, her fingertips grazing the soft hair at the nape of his neck. The table behind her squeaks slightly under their shifting weight, newly wiped surfaces squealing against her lower back. She can't help but smile into the kiss, a rush of warmth filling her as Adrian's hand tightens at her waist.

They break for air, panting quietly. Adrian's eyes flick up to meet hers behind his fogged glasses, and a flush colors his cheeks. He breathes, blinking like he can't quite process what's happening. His gaze roams her face, lingering on her parted lips before returning to her eyes, uncertain if he should speak or continue.

She answers by pulling him down again, hooking her fingers into his apron to tug him closer. The second kiss is more assured, fueled by the pent-up tension that's been brewing between them. His free hand comes up to cradle her jaw, thumbs brushing gently across her cheek. The table behind her rattles as she shifts, pressing up on her tiptoes, craving more contact.

Each heartbeat thuds in her ears, drowning out everything else. She can't recall the last time she felt so caught up in a moment—no blackouts, no lurking dread, just the heady thrill of wanting someone who's right here, wanting her back. Her mind spins: I'm kissing Adrian. Adrian is kissing me. She almost laughs, but it catches in her throat, manifesting instead as a shaky breath against his mouth.

When they finally ease apart, it's with a reluctance that leaves Nova tingling. Adrian's hand remains at her side, and hers stays curled into his apron. They stand like that, breathing heavily, gazing at each other with wide-eyed astonishment. Her lips feel warm and swollen, her cheeks flushed. She searches Adrian's face for doubt, regret—anything that might ruin this fragile moment. But instead, she finds only that earnest spark in his eyes.

He says nothing at first, simply touching his forehead to hers, letting a small, somewhat bashful grin spread across his face.

"Nova-bear," He repeats quietly, this time with a hint of confidence that sends a shiver through her. She can't believe how much that silly nickname can make her heart flutter.

She inhales, forcing herself to steady her voice.

"You—you really got that from the internet?" She asks, half-laughing, still trying to catch her breath.

He nods, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smirk.

"Yeah, I googled, um... 'cute nicknames for girls.'" He shrugs, "Seemed better than Sugarplum or Honey-butt."

Nova snickers, burying her face briefly against his shoulder to hide her grin, "Oh god, definitely better than that."

Adrian's arms tighten around her, and she looks up again, noting the unguarded expression on his face—somewhere between exhilaration and wonder. Then he slips into that childlike matter-of-fact tone she knows so well, blurting out, "We should do this more often."

She catches his chin, pulling him in for one last, soft press of lips.

"I wouldn't mind," She murmurs, feeling a pleasant thrill radiating through her, "But, uh, maybe not at work. There are health codes or something."

He chuckles, stepping back just enough to let her straighten up. Their eyes stay locked, and for a minute, it's like the world has shrunk to just the two of them and the overhead hum of the restaurant lights.

Eventually, footsteps echo from the hallway—Jerry must be wrapping up in the back. Nova and Adrian instinctively step apart, though the shared warmth lingers in the narrow space between them. She smooths her shirt, feeling the wet spot where her torso pressed against the still-damp table, and he fumbles with his apron, cheeks flaming.

Nova bites her lip to stifle a grin. She knows that, in seconds, they'll have to act composed—professional, even. But the rush of heat still courses through her veins, and the imprint of his lips remains on hers. Their eyes meet one final time, a silent acknowledgment that everything has changed.

And for once, she's more excited than afraid.

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