Lucien stood on the other side in dark lounge clothes, no mask this time, his hair slightly damp as if he had showered recently. Seeing his full face should not have felt like a revelation, but it did.

The café and elevator had given her fragments.

Now there was nowhere for beauty to hide.

He was almost unfairly handsome in the soft hallway light, all sharp cheekbones, pale skin, and gray-blue eyes that settled on her with immediate focus. Without the mask, the resemblance to the Lucien inside the game became more difficult to dismiss.

Elowen forgot, briefly, why she was there.

Lucien's gaze moved over her face, her coat, the sweater beneath it, the loose strand of hair falling near her cheek.

Then he looked away slightly, as though deliberately giving her room to breathe.

"The books," he said.

"Yes." Elowen straightened, mortified by her own staring. "Right. Books. That is the reason I came here. Extremely normal book reasons."

A faint smile touched his mouth.

She wished he wouldn't do that.

It made her stupid.

Lucien stepped aside and reached toward the console table behind him, where a black paper bag waited with the complete set already wrapped in protective plastic.

Not thrown into a bag.

Wrapped.

Carefully.

Elowen took it from him with both hands.

The weight of it was perfect.

"Oh my god," she said softly. "You actually have the full set."

"I do."

"I've been searching for hours."

"I saw your post."

That made sense.

Mostly.

She looked up. "You're on vintage manga forums?"

"Occasionally."

The answer was smooth enough that she should have believed it.

She almost did.

Behind him, his apartment stretched open in cool, immaculate lines: dark wood, cream walls, carefully chosen furniture, not a single object out of place. It looked like a magazine spread about emotionally unavailable men with excellent taste.

Then the smell reached her.

Something warm.

Savory.

Comforting in a way his apartment otherwise wasn't.

Elowen glanced past him before she could stop herself.

"Were you cooking?"

Lucien's hand tightened subtly around the edge of the door.

"Yes."

"At one in the morning?"

"I work late."

"That doesn't explain the cooking."

"I was hungry."

The answer came a touch too quickly.

Elowen smiled faintly. "You cook?"

"When necessary."

"That is such a suspicious rich-person answer."

This time, his smile was easier to see.

It changed his face quietly, taking the intimidating edge off him for half a second. Elowen felt the effect of it embarrassingly low in her chest.

Lucien glanced back toward the apartment.

"I made too much."

There it was.

An invitation, carefully folded into a statement.

Elowen heard it.

She also heard her own heartbeat react to it.

For a moment, she imagined stepping inside: the quiet apartment, the food still warm, Lucien across from her without the safety of a hallway between them. It would be intimate in a way she wasn't prepared to explain to herself, especially after the night market and the prayer ribbons and the way his hand had felt around her wrist.

So she smiled regretfully and hugged the bag of manga closer.

"That's really kind, but I should go finish my draft."

Lucien's expression did not change.

The lack of change somehow made her feel worse.

"Of course."

"I really do appreciate this," she added quickly. "You have no idea. This set is basically saving my life tonight."

"I'm glad."

"Let me pay you."

"No."

"Lucien."

"No," he repeated, softer this time. "Consider it a neighborly favor."

"That's an expensive neighborly favor."

"Then you can owe me coffee."

Elowen paused.

The suggestion was simple.

Reasonable.

Dangerously easy to accept.

"Coffee," she agreed. "Tomorrow. Or whenever you're free."

"I'm free tomorrow."

Of course he was.

She laughed quietly. "Okay. Tomorrow."

His gaze softened at that.

She should have left then.

Instead, she lingered another second, fingers curled around the handles of the bag.

"Thank you," she said again, more quietly this time.

Lucien looked at her as if the words mattered.

"You're welcome, Lowen."

Her breath caught.

Not obviously enough to embarrass herself.

But enough for him to notice.

Of course he noticed.

Elowen stepped back quickly. "Goodnight, Lucien."

"Goodnight."

She crossed the hall and unlocked her door, aware of his gaze on her the entire time. It did not feel predatory exactly. It felt too focused, too complete, as if he were memorizing the exact distance between them.

Once inside, she shut the door and leaned against it with the manga pressed to her chest.

Sunny trotted over, sniffed the bag, and wagged.

"I know," she whispered. "I'm in trouble."

Across the hall, Lucien closed his door slowly.

The warmth in his apartment remained untouched.

The dining table had been set for two hours.

A simple dinner, carefully prepared: braised short ribs, roasted potatoes, soup kept warm, a small dessert chilled in the refrigerator because Elowen had once mentioned liking custard textures more than cake. Nothing elaborate enough to frighten her. Nothing too casual to look careless.

He had practiced the invitation twice.

If you haven't eaten, you're welcome to stay.

I made too much.

It would be a waste.

All of them had sounded reasonable.

All of them had failed the moment she stood in his doorway with sleepy eyes and messy hair and gratitude softening her voice.

Lucien walked to the table and looked at the untouched place setting across from his.

For a while, he simply stood there.

On the console by the door, five more copies of When the Stars Fell waited in sealed protective sleeves, sourced overnight through private collectors in three countries. Only one set had been necessary, but necessity had never been the point.

She had needed something.

He had provided it.

That should have been enough.

It was not enough.

Lucien sat at the table and picked up his fork.

The food was prepared perfectly, every texture and temperature exactly as intended.

He ate without tasting any of it.

Through the wall, Elowen moved around her apartment, humming softly as she unpacked the manga. Sunny barked once. A chair scraped faintly against the floor. Her life continued only a few feet away from him, warm and close and still not his to enter.

Lucien set the fork down.

Then he reached for his phone and opened their message thread.

Her last text glowed softly on the screen.

Coffee tomorrow :)

He stared at it until the quiet pressure in his chest eased enough to let him breathe.

Tomorrow, then.

He could wait until tomorrow.