It was raining when Lacy walked into the café.
The kind of quiet drizzle that blurred the world and made you feel like you were underwater, thinking slower than usual.
He wasn't even supposed to be in that part of the city. But life had a strange way of taking you places when you weren't paying attention.
He wiped the rain from his hair, ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, and scanned the small room for a place to sit.
And then he saw him.
Cal.
Three tables away. Curled up with a book. Headphones in. A little older now—sharper jawline, more tired in the eyes—but unmistakably him.
Lacy froze.
It was like seeing a ghost. Like time reached up and slapped him across the face.
He could've left. Could've turned around and let the moment die in the foggy glass of the café windows.
But he didn't.
Everything came rushing back.
[FLASHBACK - THREE YEARS AGO]
The night Cal confessed was like a car crash Lacy couldn't look away from.
One second they were lying under the stars.
The next, Cal's words tore through the quiet.
"I need to step away. I can't be this close anymore. It hurts."
Then he was gone.
Lacy tried to move on. But it wasn't like losing a friend—it was like losing a limb.
He walked around feeling off-balance. He'd laugh in class and stop halfway, thinking how Cal would've made it funnier. He'd look up at the sky, instinctively wanting to text him—until remembering there was no one on the other end anymore.
For months, he was angry. Confused.
Why did Cal have to leave?
But somewhere in that storm of loneliness, he started journaling. Quiet, angry words. At first, it was just noise. But slowly, things started to surface.
Regret.
Questions.
And then—understanding.
He realized he never really saw how much Cal was hurting being close to someone who couldn't love him the same way. He hadn't meant to hurt him. But he did. Without knowing. Without meaning to.
That guilt carved something into him.
He grew. Slower than he wanted, but steadier than he expected.
By the time he found the letter in The Little Prince, he was no longer angry.
Just… heart-heavy. Quiet.
"I hope you've found someone who makes the world quieter," Cal had written.
He hadn't. Not yet.
But he wanted to try.
And maybe… trying started here.
Lacy took a shaky breath and walked toward the table. Each step felt like trespassing into a memory he wasn't sure he was allowed back in. The air between them was thinner, like the room itself knew something heavy was about to happen.
He stopped a few feet away.
"Cal?"
The boy looked up slowly.
His eyes landed on Lacy. And they widened—not in surprise, but in recognition. Like he'd always known this moment would find them again, even if he didn't want it to.
He pulled out his headphones.
There was silence.
A pause too long to be casual. Too short to be comfortable.
"…Hey," Cal said at last. His voice was calm, but Lacy heard it—the small tremble underneath, like something had cracked.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," Lacy said, unsure what else he could offer.
Cal blinked. "Neither did I."
Another silence. The kind that carries history inside it.
"Can I sit?" Lacy asked, a little too softly.
Cal stared for a beat longer, then gave a slow nod. "Yeah. Sure."
Lacy sat across from him. The rain outside had picked up, tapping lightly against the windows like a metronome for their breath.
For a while, they didn't talk. The space between them was filled with the sound of cups clinking, chairs sliding, and the occasional steam from the espresso machine. But none of it felt real.
Finally, Cal broke the silence. "You look older."
Lacy huffed a quiet laugh. "You don't. Still look like you read poetry and feel everything too much."
Cal smirked. "And you still talk like you're trying not to."
That made them both smile—small, sad, real.
"I read your letter," Lacy said eventually.
Cal's expression didn't change. "I figured."
"I carry it with me."
That did surprise him.
Lacy pulled out his wallet and opened a hidden flap. There it was, folded up, slightly creased, edges worn.
Cal stared at it like it was a ghost.
"I didn't know what to say when I found it," Lacy continued. "But I think… I'm ready now."
Cal leaned back. "You don't have to say anything. That part of my life—us—it's over."
"Is it?" Lacy replied.
Cal's face hardened. "You're still straight, Lacy."
"I know," Lacy whispered. "And I'm not here to take anything from you. I'm not trying to rewrite what happened. I just…"
He took a breath.
"…I never said sorry."
Cal looked at him then—really looked.
"For what?"
"For not noticing. For not understanding. For being the person who made you feel like love had to come with distance and pain."
"You didn't mean to."
"I know. But it still happened."
They were quiet again. The rain outside had softened, the café now dim with golden light.
"I missed you," Lacy said. "As a friend. As someone who made me feel like I could be honest about everything."
Cal swallowed. "I missed you too. But missing you didn't make it hurt less."
"I'm not asking you to come back," Lacy said. "I just wanted you to know… you weren't wrong for feeling what you did. You loved me. I didn't understand that back then. But I do now. And I'm honored."
Cal's eyes shimmered—just a little. But he blinked it away.
"Thank you," he said quietly. And for the first time, his voice didn't shake.
Then Lacy smiled faintly. "Remember the saying? Everything happens for a reason… and destiny takes us to places at the right moment and the right time."
Cal's eyes softened too. "I used to believe that."
"I think I still do," Lacy said. "Because somehow, after everything… here we are."
They sat like that for a while. No expectations. No need for a perfect ending.
Just two people.
In the aftermath of something that once almost destroyed them both.
And when Lacy finally stood to leave, he looked back once.
"If you ever want to talk again… I'm around."
Cal nodded.
And for the first time in three years, he let himself believe that maybe some broken things didn't need fixing—
They just needed space to be remembered without pain.