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          Noise. There was always noise in this city. Cars honking, people yelling, people talking loudly on their phones, the sound of women’s heels on the pavement, couples arguing, children’s screaming in joy, children throwing tantrums. So much noise. Nate wasn’t used to it anymore, he didn’t like it. He liked his peace and quiet, he liked being able to hear himself think without someone else’s conversation wafting into his own as they passed him by. Even his apartment wasn’t a quiet escape. Windows closed and he could still hear the cars on the streets and the yells of drunken people late at night. 

           It’s why he always travelled. He was rarely at his New York apartment unless he had to be there for games and practice. Even a weekend getaway was good enough for him. He didn’t want to go back to Lanford, he just never seemed to do any good while he was there, hurting people and especially the one person, he cared about most. 

           So there he was walking the busy streets of New York, exhausted, tired and with a killer headache in need of a desperate quiet escape, There was only one place that could do that, a small little cafe tucked away in an alleyway in Manhattan. He’d found it with her a long time ago when they had decided to get lost in New York and explore as many back streets and alleyways and places you wouldn’t normally see when you go to New York. They’d stumbled inside all those years ago, laughing in between themselves, lost in their own world. It was his escape haven anytime he needed one. It was quiet and the coffee was good. 

           He rounded the corner and marched his way up to the cafe, opening the door and taking in a deep breath, letting the smells and the quiet fill his senses. He let the door close behind him and somehow it felt like the outside world was completely separate. He ordered himself a coffee and sat down in a comfy chair, opening up a travel brochure and wondering where he would go to next. 

           The door to the cafe opened and the bell chimed, he looked up and was instantly at a loss of words. He stood up abruptly and stepped in her path, eyes wide and chest heaving, wondering what the chances were of her coming to the cafe the same day as him. “Soph.” 

NATE_FLETCH🔒 JUST POSTED TO INSTAGRAM !

His feet carry him in before he can think it through. He knows her schedule, but he should've double checked, should've messaged Danny to make sure he'd be the one behind the counter. In hindsight, he should've gone to Harvey's instead. He hasn't bought groceries all week, fridge empty save for old, spoiled milk he hasn't thrown away yet. Now he's in the queue, overthinking how much worse it'll be if she sees him turn and leave. This is fine. He's just going to order something to eat, first time today at an unhealthy 4pm, and be on his way. No chitchat, no pressure — just a normal, well-adjusted customer and the most beautiful cashier in the world. No big deal. "Hey." Shit, he doesn't even know what he wants. "Can I get a coffee, please?" Not that he needs help staying awake at night, but he's desperate to fill the silence.

He knows she knows. He can't say whether she knows he knows she knows— God. Or how much she knows, or how it's changed her perception of him at all. Nate's never been very good at not knowing. "So..." He couldn't make it more obvious there's something on his mind if he'd tried. Frankie hadn't given him a reason to doubt himself yet, but she's only just arrived — still, plenty of time for him to overthink every slight movement, every quirk of her brows. He pushes aside a familiar pink floral mug to drag out one of his plain spares for guests, doesn't think twice about his new faithful as he places them both down, readies sugar and milk, adjusts the growing clutter of notes and magnets on the front of his fridge just to give his hands something to do. "Been busy lately?"

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He's working on it, really, he is, but as he holds the cheap biro he leaves in the kitchen drawer, it just doesn't feel right in his hand; too light, too flimsy. Between that and Theodora's perfume, he can't keep his thoughts straight, and he has no intentions of asking Theodora to do anything but come closer. "Baby, can you fetch me the pen I like while you're in the bedroom? I'll keep an eye on lunch." He asks after her retreating form, likely off to dig another layer out of his wardrobe. Why is it so cold in here? "I'm guessing it's on the side— And she's gone." Lips pursed, he glances at the oven, reaches over to turn the heat down a little, then shifts his attention back to his crossword while he waits.

cider point, ma. march 16th, 2026 — 12:29pm london, england. mother's day, 2026 — 4:29pm