-Language barrier-

Chapter Eleven

The coffee shop was quiet, the kind of place where people came to escape, to get lost in the warmth of their cups and the soft hum of background music. I sat at a small table near the window, watching the world go by outside while I waited for Martin. My stomach was tight with nerves, but it wasn't the bad kind. It was that anticipation, the kind you get when something new is just beginning.

It wasn't long before I spotted him. Martin walked in, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his brown leather jacket, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. His blond hair was messy as usual, but it suited him—like he'd just rolled out of bed and still looked effortlessly perfect. He spotted me right away, his doe eyes locking on mine, and I swear my heart did this weird flip in my chest.

I stood up to greet him, trying to ignore how my palms were suddenly sweating. He smiled, that shy, soft smile that made everything in me go quiet for a second. I gave him a small wave, and he waved back, walking over to the table.

"Hey," I mouthed, exaggerating the word so he could read my lips. He glanced at my mouth, understanding me immediately, and gave me a nod in return.

We sat down, and for a moment, there was that quiet between us. But it wasn't awkward. It was just... calm. That's how it always felt with Martin. I didn't have to fill the silence or force conversation. He was just there, and somehow that was enough.

A waiter came by, and I ordered for both of us, pointing to the menu so Martin could see what I was getting. He nodded his approval, and the waiter disappeared.

As we sat there, sipping on our coffees, I watched him. The way his hands moved, tapping his fingers lightly against his cup, the way his eyes flickered around the room before landing on me again. I felt this overwhelming need to connect with him more deeply, to understand him in a way that wasn't limited by words or the occasional exchange of notes.

"Martin," I said, leaning forward a bit so he could see my mouth clearly. "Can you teach me sign language?"

His brows shot up in surprise, and for a moment, he didn't move, just staring at me like he was trying to figure out if I was serious. When he saw that I was, a slow, soft smile spread across his face. He didn't say anything—didn't have to. Instead, he grabbed a napkin from the table and a pen from his jacket pocket, scribbling something quickly.

He pushed the napkin across the table, and I leaned forward to read it.

You really want to learn?

I looked up, meeting his eyes, and nodded. "Yeah. I want to understand you better."

His smile widened, something warm and almost shy behind his eyes. He grabbed the pen again and wrote something else.

I'd like that.

We didn't need to say much else. He started showing me a few basic signs, simple things like "hello" and "thank you," and I did my best to copy him. I probably looked ridiculous, my hands fumbling over the movements, but he was patient, his eyes lighting up every time I got it right.

After a while, the conversation drifted away from signing, and we settled into a comfortable rhythm, just being there together. The coffee shop around us faded into the background, the sounds of clinking cups and quiet conversations becoming white noise. It was just me and him.

As the evening went on, Martin's shyness seemed to kinda melt away. At one point, he shifted in his seat, hesitating for a second before he scooted closer to me, his body brushing against mine. He tucked himself into my side, resting his head gently on my shoulder. The contact was soft, careful, like he was testing the waters.

I didn't hesitate. I wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of his body pressed against mine. He fit perfectly there, like he belonged. My heart was racing, but I wasn't nervous anymore. It felt... right.

He tilted his head slightly to look up at me, and when our eyes met, I couldn't help but smile down at him. He smiled back, that soft, sweet smile that always made my chest ache in the best way. Then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek.

My breath caught in my throat, and for a second, I just sat there, frozen by the feeling of his lips against my skin. It was a simple gesture, but it was enough to send a wave of warmth crashing through me.

Without thinking, my hand moved lower, resting on his waist. I could feel the curve of his body beneath my fingers, soft and warm. My thumb gently caressed the spot, tracing slow, light circles, feeling the way he relaxed even more against me.

Martin closed his eyes, his breath soft and even against my neck. He didn't say anything—couldn't—but the way he snuggled into me, the way he melted against my side, said more than words ever could.

I let my hand rest there, my thumb still tracing gentle patterns on his waist, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. It wasn't sexual, not really—it was just... intimate. Close. Like we were sharing something private, something only we could understand.

For a while, we just sat like that, wrapped up in each other, neither of us feeling the need to break the moment. The world outside kept moving—people coming and going, conversations rising and falling—but inside this little bubble we'd created, it was just us.

When I glanced down at him, his eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at me, those gray doe eyes wide and soft. He reached up, his hand finding mine, and gave it a small squeeze.

I leaned down, pressing my forehead gently against his, and in that moment, everything else faded away. All the worries, the questions, the confusion—they didn't matter. Not right now.

Right now, all that mattered was this. Him. Us.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.