The scent of espresso and burnt caramel lingers in the air, weaving into the low hum of conversation and the occasional hiss of steaming milk. The coffee shop isn't too crowded today--just the usual mix of freelancers glued to laptops and couples murmuring over their cups. Nathan recognizes the indie music playing overhead, he isn't paying attention to it.
He's watching Elena.
She's sitting across from him, legs crossed, one hand wrapped around a honey-lavender latte, the other draped over her thigh. She looks unbothered. At ease. Like she's just waiting for a friend and not the man they've invited into this moment, this plan.
Nathan, on the other hand, is wound tight beneath his sweater.
His fingers drum lightly against the ceramic cup in front of him, but he's not really drinking. His stomach isn't sure what to do with itself--knotted with nerves, excitement, something he doesn't have a name for yet. It's not jealousy. Not quite.
"Relax," Elena murmurs, her eyes flicking up to him, knowing.
He exhales through his nose, managing a small smirk. "I am relaxed."
She hums, unconvinced, taking a slow sip from her cup. "If you say so."
Then the bell above the door jingles.
Nathan looks up--and his breath stops.
He's flawless. And his body--fuck.
Elena feels it before she sees it. Tall, broad, so unfairly good-looking it's almost insulting. He doesn't just enter. He arrives.
He's wearing a muscle shirt, the kind that barely qualifies as clothing, the armholes cutc low enough to show the full taper of his torso, the deep, clean cut of his obliques leading down into his fitted athletic shorts. His shoulders are broad and muscular.
Coming closer, it's clear he has a kind of youthful perfection that makes him almost unreal. His skin is golden in the desert sunlight streaming in the windows, smooth and unmarked--no scars, no lines, no imperfections. Just pure, smooth, untouched symmetry. A living embodiment of strength in its prime.
Late winter in Tucson -- warm enough for the sun to bake the pavement but cool enough in the shade most people still wear light layers. Not him. He looks like he just left the gym--or maybe never left it at all.
Nathan shifts in his seat, adjusting the tension in his body.
Then their eyes meet. A flicker of recognition, faintest smirk--then Ryan moves toward them, effortless. Something hot and uneasy coils in Nathan's gut.
When he reaches the table, he smiles--bright, effortless, devastating.
"Hey," he says smoothly, extending a hand to Elena first. "You must be Elena."
His voice is exactly what Nathan expected--deep, confident, the kind that belongs to someone who's never had to second-guess himself.
Elena takes his hand, her touch lingering longer than necessary.
"And you must be..." she tilts her head, teasing.
He grins. "Ryan."
Her lips curve.
"Ryan." She says his name like she's tasting it. Like she's rolling it over in her mouth, testing its shape.
Then Ryan turns to him, offering the same handshake. "Nathan, right?"
Nathan grips his hand, firm. "Yeah."
Ryan's grip is just as strong. Nathan lets go first.
"Grab a seat," Elena gestures, her voice easy, welcoming.
Ryan pulls out a chair without hesitation, almost brushing against Elena's as he sits down. Nathan feels the shift in presence instantly, expecting him to lean toward her--but instead, Ryan stretches his arm lazily over the back of his own chair, the movement broad, expansive, subtly pushing into Nathan's space instead. It's not just that Ryan is close--it's that Nathan is making room without meaning to. Ryan notices. Smirks. But says nothing.
Settling in, his broad shoulders rolling back as he stretches his arms slightly before resting them on the table. Up close, his handsomeness is even more apparent--flawless skin, lean muscle shifting. He smells clean, sun-warmed, like fresh soap and sandalwood.
"So," he says, flashing that easy grin, "this place any good?"
Elena hums, tilting her head. "Depends on what you get. The lavender honey latte is my favorite."
Ryan lifts an eyebrow. "Sounds fancy."
She smirks. "It is."
He glances at Nathan. "What about you?"
Nathan shifts slightly, fingers curling around his cup. "Just black coffee."
Ryan nods, amused. "Classic."
A brief pause, then Ryan leans back slightly. He's comfortable, settled in, but Nathan is slightly unsettled as his presence shifts the energy of the whole table.
"You from Tucson?" Elena asks, sipping her drink.
Ryan shakes his head. "Phoenix. But I've been here a while now. Moved for school, stuck around after."
Elena gestures vaguely with her cup. "What do you do?"
Ryan grins, tapping a knuckle against the table. "Depends on who you ask. If you ask my dad, I 'do nothing.'"
Elena raises an eyebrow, intrigued.
Ryan chuckles. "I work as a personal trainer--mainly private clients, guys looking to bulk, some endurance training. And I do some work at a sports camp a few days a week, helping with strength training for the kids."
"That's cool," Elena says, genuinely interested.
Ryan shrugs. "It's fun. Pays like shit, but I don't really need it." He smirks. "Trust fund baby."
Nathan hadn't expected that. He doesn't know why, but it throws him for just half a second.
Elena, unfazed, tilts her head. "So why work at all?"
Ryan grins, rolling a broad shoulder. "Gotta keep busy. And I like the gym. Might as well get paid to be there."
Ryan isn't bragging--he's just stating facts. The kind of facts that only belong to people who've never had to worry about money, never had to think about whether they could afford to just "stick around" after college. People who wake up looking like this and know they always will.
Ryan sips his drink, looking between them. "What about you?"
Elena nods, setting her cup down. "Same, kind of. I'm from Nogales--moved here for school and never left."
Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Nogales, like right on the border?"
Elena smirks. "Yep. Parents still live there--they run a restaurant. I go back when I can, but Tucson's home now."
Ryan leans forward slightly, intrigued. "What do you do?"
"I'm a social worker at a nonprofit," she says. "Mostly working with immigrant families."
Ryan whistles low, nodding. "That's real work. Bet it gets intense."
Elena hums, swirling what's left of her latte. "Some days."
Ryan glances at Nathan. "And you?"
Nathan shifts in his seat, adjusting his grip on his coffee. "I'm a packaging engineer."
Ryan smirks. "A what now?"
