The rain was a relentless percussion against the windows of "The Raven's Quill," a coffee shop Ethan frequented not for the lukewarm latte, but for its relative anonymity. He’d chosen a corner booth, shielded by towering bookshelves filled with dusty first editions, hoping to find some solace in the scent of old paper and ink. He hadn't expected to see Liam.

Liam spotted him instantly, his usually bright eyes shadowed with a vulnerability Ethan hadn't seen before. He hesitated for a moment, hovering near the entrance like a lost puppy, before finally steeling his resolve and making his way towards Ethan's booth.

"Ethan," Liam said, his voice a low rumble that barely carried over the din of the cafe. He ran a hand through his perpetually tousled hair, a nervous habit Ethan remembered well. "Can I… can I sit down?"

Ethan raised an eyebrow, his expression deliberately neutral. "Suit yourself," he said, without warmth. He didn't offer an invitation, and Liam didn't need one. He slid into the booth opposite Ethan, the worn leather creaking under his weight.

An awkward silence settled between them, thick and suffocating, broken only by the hiss of the espresso machine and the murmur of other patrons. Ethan didn't break the silence, content to let Liam stew in his own discomfort. Let him sweat. He deserved it.