Letter To You

A Secret Left Unsaid

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, curling around Julian like a reminder of everything he was trying not to think about.

He focused on the motions—grinding the beans, pressing them down, watching as the espresso machine hissed softly, dark liquid dripping into the cup.

It was normal. Routine.

Except nothing felt normal right now.

Because Elias was standing just a few feet away, waiting in his usual quiet way, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, gaze unreadable.

Had he read the letter?

Had he even seen it?

Julian shouldn’t care. But he did. And that made this whole thing worse.

"Long line today?" Elias’s voice broke through the hum of the espresso machine, low and even.

Julian startled slightly before realizing Elias was looking at him—waiting for an answer.

He cleared his throat. "What?"

Elias nodded toward the counter. "You’re taking longer than usual."

Julian’s fingers almost fumbled the cup. He quickly grabbed it, keeping his expression neutral. "I—uh. Just making sure it’s right."

Elias hummed, but didn’t say anything else.

Julian handed over the coffee, their fingers brushing for just a second before Elias pulled away.

"Thanks," Elias murmured, wrapping his hands around the cup.

Julian watched him carefully, waiting for any sign. Some flicker of recognition. A hesitation. Anything that meant he knew.

But Elias’s face remained unreadable.

He took a slow sip of his coffee, then met Julian’s gaze.

"Did you—" Elias started, but then stopped himself, glancing toward his usual seat.

Julian’s heart lurched.

Did I what? Did I write the letter? Did I mean it? Do you know?

But Elias didn’t finish the question. Instead, he exhaled quietly and shook his head.

"Never mind," he said.

Julian barely resisted the urge to press him.

Instead, he forced a breath into his lungs and turned toward the pastry display. "You want anything else today?"

Elias hesitated for half a second longer than usual.

Then—"What do you recommend?"

Julian blinked.

That was… new.

Elias had never once asked him for a recommendation. He always knew exactly what he wanted, always ordered it without a second thought.

Julian felt something stir in his chest—something light and uneasy all at once.

"Uh—" He glanced at the pastries, suddenly blanking. What was good today? "The croissants are fresh. Or—uh, the Almond Danish.

Those are—"

"The Danish," Elias said, cutting off Julian’s rambling.

Julian swallowed, nodding quickly. "Got it."

He turned away, grabbed a small plate, and carefully placed one of the perfectly golden pastries onto it.

When he set it in front of Elias, the older man eyed it for a moment before giving a small nod. "Thanks."

Julian exhaled. "Yeah. No problem."

He watched as Elias turned toward his usual table, something unspoken lingering in the air between them.

Julian wanted to say something. But his throat felt tight, his mind too full of what-ifs.

Instead, he let Elias go.

And hated how his hands trembled as he wiped the counter.

....

The bakery was steady with soft conversation, the murmur of voices mixing with the quiet clinking of cups and plates.

But Julian’s focus was elsewhere.

He could feel Elias’s presence.

It wasn’t like Elias did anything different. He still sat at his usual table by the window, still drank his coffee slowly, still had a book

open in front of him.

And yet…

Something was different.

Elias wasn’t reading. Not really. His fingers rested lightly on the page, but his eyes weren’t moving over the words.

Julian found himself watching, trying to decode the silence.

Did he read it?

Does he suspect me?

A plate clattered in the kitchen, shaking Julian out of his thoughts. He turned back toward the counter, busying himself with

rearranging napkins—even though they were already perfectly neat.

"You’re ridiculous," a voice muttered beside him.

Julian jumped slightly, turning to see Oliver standing there, arms crossed, watching him closely.

Julian narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Oliver tilted his head toward Elias. "You’re acting like you committed a crime and are waiting to be caught."

Julian went rigid. "I—" He glanced around quickly before lowering his voice. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Oliver gave him a flat look. "Uh-huh." So, you’re saying you’re just normally this fidgety?"

Julian scowled. "Maybe I’m just having an off day."

Oliver hummed, unconvinced. "Sure. And maybe I actually like waking up early."

Julian ignored him, grabbing a clean rag to wipe the counter.

Oliver did not ignore him. He leaned in slightly, studying Julian’s face. "Something happened."

Julian tensed. "Nothing happened."

Oliver raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Julian said quickly. Too quickly.

Oliver smirked. "Oh, now I’m really curious."

Julian exhaled sharply. "Can you drop it?"

Oliver pretended to think. "Hmm. Tempting. But no."

Again, Julian ignored him and pretended to be busy.

"You get into an argument with someone?" Oliver guessed.

“No.”

"Spill something on a customer? Have a near-death experience?

"No."

"Then?"

"Nothing."

"You’re terrible at lying," Oliver mused. "That’s honestly kind of adorable."

Julian groaned. "Why do I even talk to you?"

Oliver grinned. "Because I’m charming and insightful. Also, because you’re dying to tell someone whatever it is you’re stressing

over."

Julian hesitated.

And that was all Oliver needed.

"You know I won’t judge, right?"

Julian exhaled slowly.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Julian muttered, "I… might have written something. To him."

Oliver blinked. "What?"

Julian groaned, lowering his voice. "I might have written something. To him."

Oliver’s smirk returned in full force.

"You. Wrote. To him. Like a letter." He let the words settle before leaning in. "Like the one I suggested?"

"Oh my god."

Julian immediately hushed him. "Keep your voice down!"

Oliver looked like he was physically restraining himself from bursting into laughter. "You—hold on. You wrote something? What do you mean you wrote something?"

Julian glared. "It wasn’t a confession. It wasn’t even personal. It was just…" He rubbed his temple. "I don’t know. Words."

Oliver just grinned. "This is amazing."

"It’s a nightmare."

Oliver hummed, tilting his head toward Elias. "Does he know?"

Julian hesitated. "I… don’t think so."

Oliver gave him a long, slow look.

Then he grinned. "You are so in trouble."

Julian groaned.

___

That Night

Elias sat at his desk, hands resting lightly on the book where he had tucked the letter.

He hadn’t planned to read it again.

But now, in the quiet of his cottage, he found himself slipping the paper from between the pages.

The handwriting was careful. Deliberate.

Someone had taken their time with this.

His fingers hovered over the ink as his mind wandered—drifting back to the bakery, to the counter, to the moment when Julian’s

hands had trembled ever so slightly as he set down the coffee.

Elias exhaled, leaning back in his chair.

There was something there.

A thought he couldn’t quite grasp.

He didn’t know why his mind kept circling back to Julian—why, out of everything, it was him that lingered.

But he would.

Eventually.