They’d asked what they talked about. Rick made it sound normal. A little awkward. Maybe a little sad.
They’d asked if Rick and Graham had fought. Rick laughed once and shook his head, as if the idea was ridiculous. “No. We talked. It wasn’t… great, but it wasn’t a fight.”
They’d asked if Rick had been angry with him. Rick had shrugged. “I mean. He was my manager. There were frustrations, but nothing like that.”
They’d asked if he owned any weapons. Rick said no.
They’d asked if he’d ever been violent. Rick smiled slightly, as if he was embarrassed for them. “No. I’m not that guy.”
They’d asked if he’d touched anything in the house. Rick had spread his hands. “I ate, so I sat at the table. I opened the door. I probably touched a glass. A chair. Normal stuff.”
They’d shown him photos of the house. A door left unlocked. Drawers dumped. A room ransacked. A phone smashed. A missing watch case.
Rick had kept his face neutral as he’d looked at each photo. He’d breathed slow and evenly and let silence sit for a second too long, as if he was trying to process what he was seeing.
“I didn’t see any of that when I left,” he said, and they believed him.
Maybe not fully, but enough that they didn’t make him repeat everything. To Rick, it appeared as if they were looking for someone else, someone who had entered after he had left, which is what he’d intended.
When the interview ended, Rick walked out with his stomach churning. He got in his car and drove three streets away before he pulled over and sat still, breathing deeply.
Then he’d smiled. It had been quick at first, then it stretched until his face hurt. He’d done it. He’d killed Graham and built a story, and the police were following it. That should have made him sick. Instead, it made him feel alive.
That was why he’d ended up at the café. He’d wanted noise. Needed to be around people. He’d wanted to sit somewhere warm and watch strangers and not be alone. He’d wanted to remind himself he could do that. He could move through the world, and no one would see what he’d done. No one would know.
The café had been packed when he walked in. It always was at that time of day. He’d paused near the entrance, eyes scanning the room, irritation pulling tight in his chest when he saw every table full.
Then he saw Allen.
Rick hadn’t meant to look at anyone too long, but he’d noticed Allen. He’d been standing near the counter holding a chai with both hands, his shoulders tense, as if he didn’t want to be noticed. Blond hair and blue eyes with a slim build. Maybe five feet ten to Rick’s six feet one. Young, too. He looked like he’d come here for someone else and been left behind.
Rick watched him for a second and felt something settle in his chest. Warmth, maybe. He didn’t like how fast it hit him, but he didn’t stop himself from walking over and asking if Allen waswaiting for someone or on his own, then asked to share because there were no empty tables.
Allen had hesitated and lied about friends, but had let Rick sit with him. Rick sat down across from him and felt his shoulders drop. It annoyed him how much he’d needed that.
Allen didn’t react the way Rick expected. There was recognition, yes. Rick saw it in the flicker of Allen’s expression and the way his grip tightened around the cup, but he didn’t gush. He didn’t ask for a photo. He didn’t say the song had changed his life. He just said he remembered it.
Rick hadn’t realized how badly he wanted that. They’d talked about normal things. Work, the café, and about Allen’s friends. The way people got angry on the phone. The way life filled up with routines that didn’t feel important.
Then Allen’s friends had bailed, and Allen still didn’t leave. He’d stayed with Rick.
Rick watched him fight it at first, watched him try to act like it didn’t matter. Rick watched his hands, the way they tightened around the cup. He watched the way Allen looked down as if he didn’t want Rick to see too much on his face.
Rick didn’t push. He didn’t need to because Allen was there, and that was enough.
When Rick bought him cake, Allen complained, but ate it anyway. When Allen asked if Rick wanted his number, Rick didn’t hesitate. He typed his contact in and watched Allen stare at the screen afterward.
When Rick finally left the café, he walked out calm. Once outside, the cold air hit him hard. Rick headed for his car, got in, and started it. He pulled away from the curb and drove a few streets over before he parked again.
Allen’s face kept coming up in his mind. Allen’s smile. The way he stayed when he could have left. The way he looked relievedand annoyed at the same time when Rick didn’t move away after his friends canceled.
Rick pulled his phone out, seeing a single message from Allen.Hi.
He stared at it for a few seconds, then responded.Hey.
He waited, eyes on the screen, and when Allen didn’t respond, he put his phone down and drove home.
The apartment felt too quiet the second he stepped inside. He turned on a lamp, then went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, drinking half of it as he stared out of the window.
