The bell above the café door jingled — a bit too violently — as someone all but burst inside.

Fuma looked up from wiping down the counter, brows furrowing. It was the end of a slow Tuesday, the kind where the only customers were people scrolling on their phones while nursing the same latte for two hours.

The man who entered was definitely not a regular. Hoodie up, mask on, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and the kind of energy that screamed I'm hiding from something.

Fuma glanced outside. Sure enough, a small cluster of people was gathered at the corner, peering around like detectives who had just lost their suspect.

The stranger leaned against the counter, breathing a little too quickly. "I, uh... can I just... sit here? For a bit?"

Fuma eyed him. "You're not going to rob the place, are you?"

That got a huff of laughter. "No. I'm... I'm K."

"K?"

"K. The singer?" The man hesitated, then tugged down his mask just enough for Fuma to see his face.

Fuma blinked. Oh. K. The K. The one whose face was plastered on billboards three blocks away, the one whose music was blasting from a customer's phone last week.

"...Right," Fuma said slowly. "Okay. I won't scream."

K smiled faintly. "Thanks. I had to do some errands, but I didn't expect—" He gestured vaguely toward the street. "—that."

"Fan swarm?"

"Fan swarm," K confirmed.

It was usually Aria who handled situations like this — talking to strangers, being effortlessly charming, and probably making them a latte on the house. Unfortunately, Aria had vanished an hour earlier after mumbling something about urgent creative business. ("Forgot to update my Wattpad book," she'd said, grabbing her bag like she was late for a meeting with destiny.)

So now it was just Fuma and a famous idol sitting in the corner booth, nursing a cappuccino he'd made without asking.

The café slowly emptied until it was just them. Fuma flipped the Open sign to Closed and locked the door. "You can stay until they clear out," he told K. "But if you break anything, you're paying for it."

K smirked. "I've broken arena stages before. This table should be safe."

They sat in companionable silence for a while. K pulled out his phone, scrolling like he wasn't one of the most recognizable faces in the city. Fuma finished wiping down the espresso machine. The low hum of the fridge and the faint sound of rain outside filled the space.

Eventually, K spoke again. "Do you ever get people camping out here just to avoid the world?"

"All the time," Fuma said. "But usually they're just dodging their ex."

K chuckled, leaning back. "Guess I'm dodging about two hundred strangers and three paparazzi. Same difference."

By the time the street outside had quieted, it was late. Fuma was stacking chairs when K finally stood, stretching.

"Thanks for letting me hide," K said.

"Thanks for not causing a tabloid headline in my café," Fuma replied.

K grinned. "Next time I'll bring a disguise."

"What's next time?"

K's grin turned a little softer. "The next time I need somewhere to disappear to."

When K left, the bell above the door jingled again, softer this time. Fuma went back to stacking chairs, but there was a small, folded napkin left behind on the counter.

Two words were scrawled across it in quick, slanted handwriting:

Good coffee.

And below it, a phone number.

A WEEK LATER 

Fuma had just finished replacing the pastry display when the bell above the door jingled.

He didn't even need to look up — the faint rustle of an oversized hoodie and the slight shift in the air said everything.

"You again," Fuma said flatly.

"Me again," K replied cheerfully, tugging down his mask. "Coincidence."

"Uh-huh."

Behind him trailed three other people. One of them — tall, blond, and dressed like every magazine spread in the city was his personal closet — was already deep in a conversation with a dark-haired guy who kept leaning too far across the table.

Nicholas and EJ, apparently.

They didn't even bother ordering before sliding into a booth, the air between them so charged it was like the café lights might flicker.

Trailing last was Taki, who was pretending to examine the drink menu like it was a priceless artifact. Aria's eyes lit up immediately.

"Ohhh," she whispered to Fuma as she passed him. "It's happening."

"What is happening?" Fuma asked suspiciously.

Aria just grinned. "Operation 'Get You a Boyfriend.'"

It became very clear that this was not a coincidence.

K ordered a cappuccino — again — but instead of disappearing into a corner booth, he chose the counter stool directly across from where Fuma was working.

"This is prime coffee-viewing real estate," K said, chin propped in his hand.

"You can see the coffee from anywhere," Fuma replied, tamping espresso with more force than necessary.

"Not like this," K said with a faint smile, like the sentence was a secret only he knew.

In the corner, EJ and Nicholas were clearly in their own universe. Nicholas was teasing EJ about the way he stirred his drink ("Do you need to make it a whirlpool?"), EJ was rolling his eyes but smiling in a way that gave him away completely.

Taki sat near them, but every so often, his gaze flicked to the counter. He was pretending to doodle in a notebook, but the page just had Fuma x K scribbled in increasingly elaborate fonts.

Aria leaned over Taki's shoulder. "Nice work. You're a natural."

"Subtlety is for amateurs," Taki whispered back.

K stayed longer than necessary. The cappuccino had been finished an hour ago, but he was still there, idly tapping his fingers on the countertop, asking Fuma questions like, "What's your favorite song right now?" and "Do you always glare at people making lattes, or is it just me?"

Fuma didn't glare. Not really. He just... focused. But K seemed to find that funny.

When the group finally left — EJ and Nicholas still mid-argument about who was paying — K lingered by the door.

"See you around," K said, voice light.

Fuma raised an eyebrow. "You mean tomorrow?"

K grinned like he'd been caught. "Maybe."

As soon as the door closed, Aria sidled up next to Fuma.

"You know," she said, "most people would kill for the kind of attention you're pretending not to notice."

"I notice," Fuma muttered.

Aria smirked. "Good. Because I'm giving him a frequent customer punch card."