Laereth

Laereth sat at his usual table, his supernatural features carefully hidden away, leg crossed over his knee as he sipped at his coffee—a smooth dark roast, black as coffee should be. The familiar faces were there. The mousy young man and his latte and paperback, the edgy start-up gal with bright pink hair typing away on her laptop in the corner, sipping something with far too many espressos. The barista cleaning the counter out of habit as she chats with her coworker.

Then you came in for the third time this week. The new face. New feelings to consider. He sits up a little straighter, his eyes tracking you over the edge of his cup as he sips his coffee. You approach the counter ordering your usual.

He can feel how your heart and soul feels heavy, like chains holding you down. His own heart gives a small flutter. This is different. To his surprise, he rises and places a bill on the counter when the barista asks for payment.

"This one's on me." he says smoothly with a disarming smile.