Love? Puzzle?

Noah stared at the door, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and hesitation. "I don't know why you like me," he mumbled, almost to himself, as he replayed Ethan's words in his head. "But what you have done for me may never be rewarded in this life." The weight of his past hung heavily on him, and he felt a mix of gratitude and guilt.

Ethan's gaze bore into him, earnest and unwavering. "Love is not like doing business," he replied, his voice steady. "There are thousands of people in the world who will choose to make unreturned investments without asking for returns. I am also a person, one of the thousands." There was a determination in Ethan's eyes that felt both comforting and intimidating.

Noah shifted his weight, rubbing his toes against the soft carpet beneath him, avoiding the intensity of Ethan's gaze. "You have to go to work tomorrow morning," he said, trying to redirect the conversation, hoping to shield himself from the raw emotions swirling between them.

"Right," Ethan conceded, but he lingered for a moment longer. "Well, then I'll leave first. If you have a chance, you can try my cooking skills." He offered a small, hopeful smile, sensing that staying longer might only complicate things further.

After Ethan departed, Noah began to clean up, meticulously scrubbing the dishes and pots until they gleamed. The rhythmic sound of water against porcelain was soothing, allowing him to clear his mind. He gazed down at his wrinkled fingers, feeling as though he was seeing them for the first time—fragile yet resilient.

Meanwhile, Ethan returned home, frustration bubbling within him. Had he been too eager? His pursuit felt daunting, even at this early stage. He was no longer a teenager, and though he had matured, his reluctance to confess his feelings seemed to create an emotional distance. He could seek answers to many questions through books and the internet, relying on his family's resources for work-related issues. But the intricacies of human attraction eluded him entirely.

Ethan sank into the sofa, letting the day's stresses fade away as he surrendered to the comfort of the cushions. Yet, even in this moment of rest, his thoughts spiraled back to Noah. He could empathize with Noah's reluctance, but his own desires felt selfish. The idea of entering Noah's heart while it was still healing felt like both an opportunity and a potential mistake.

"I'll never regret it," he thought, resolute despite the turmoil in his chest. He seldom suffered from insomnia, but that night was different. He lay awake, the dark hours stretching into dawn, the glow of his alarm clock signaling the start of another day.

Meanwhile, Noah awoke to the soft morning light, feeling surprisingly refreshed. After a quick shower, he headed to the coffee shop he had opened, excited to prepare breakfast. The scent of brewing coffee mingled with the aroma of freshly baked scones, toasts, and bagels as he worked swiftly, arranging everything in the glass counter.

As he wiped the sweat from his brow, he was greeted by Shawn, who entered in a sleek black windbreaker. "Noah, you came so early!" Shawn exclaimed, exuding his usual enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I figured I'd get a head start," Noah replied, feeling the warmth of camaraderie.

In a fleeting moment, Shawn reached over to brush away some tissue scraps from Noah's face. Noah's heart skipped; it was a small, innocent gesture, yet it sent a ripple of warmth through him. "Thanks," he said, surprised by his own flustered reaction.

The morning rush began, and the coffee shop buzzed with energy. As customers flowed in and out, Noah felt a sense of pride at the turnout. His efforts to promote the shop had paid off, drawing in familiar faces and new patrons alike.

After the breakfast peak, Shawn, now donning an apron, leaned lazily against the counter. "Want a cup for yourself?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

Noah considered it, his stomach grumbling. "Sure, why not? I'll take whatever you're best at. I don't drink coffee that often."

"Hot or iced?" Shawn inquired, his fingers deftly moving to prepare the drink.

"Iced," Noah said without hesitation, a habit he'd developed over the years.

With fluid movements, Shawn crafted the coffee, his focus making him particularly charming. When he presented the cup, Noah took a sip, savoring the rich flavors. "This is amazing! I feel lucky to have you around," he said, genuinely appreciative.

"It's just basic skills," Shawn replied, brushing off the compliment as he began cleaning up.

Once Noah finished his coffee, he felt the urge to reciprocate Shawn's kindness. "Have you eaten breakfast yet?" he asked, noticing Shawn busy at work.

"No, I'll just grab takeout later," Shawn replied.

Noah, feeling a wave of motivation, decided to take action. He moved to the kitchen, grabbing a bowl. "I made you a bowl of noodles. I made one for myself too," he called out.

Shawn turned, surprised. "Noah? You didn't have to do that!"

"No worries! It's quick and easy," Noah assured him, placing the steaming bowl on the table. He felt a sense of satisfaction in sharing a meal.

Shawn's eyes widened at the sight of the beautifully arranged bowl, complete with two perfectly fried eggs. "Thank you! This looks delicious." He took a bite, and the runny yolk spilled out, enhancing the flavor. "You really didn't have to, though."

Noah shrugged, feeling a sense of ease as they chatted over their meal. "Have you ever thought about opening your own coffee shop?" he asked, curious about Shawn's aspirations.

Shawn paused mid-bite. "I'd love to, but I'm just here to learn for now. I don't have the funds to start my own place."

Noah nodded, understanding the struggle. "What about going back home?" he inquired.

Shawn looked thoughtful. "My family wants me to pursue something more conventional, but my passion lies in coffee. I can't give that up."

"It takes a lot of courage to follow your dreams," Noah said, genuinely admiring Shawn's resolve.

After finishing their meal, Shawn helped wash the dishes, a small gesture of camaraderie that Noah appreciated. Later in the afternoon, Emma stopped by, sitting down to chat.

"Didn't you have plans with Elijah today?" Noah asked, noting the lack of enthusiasm in her voice.

"We've just been busy, you know? No need to cling," Emma replied, her tone lightening a bit.

Noah could see the affection between them, even if unspoken. "How's your new store doing?" Emma inquired, curious about Noah's progress.

"It's doing okay. At least I'm not losing money," Noah replied, feeling a sense of accomplishment despite the challenges.

Emma scrolled through her phone, showing him a welfare home in need. "What do you think?"

Noah frowned, shaking his head. "Sending bread isn't enough; kids need nutrition. If I send bread every day, they'll grow to dislike it."

Shawn, overhearing the conversation, chimed in. "I can help. There's construction nearby. We could leave the bread out for the workers—self-service."

Noah's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "That's a brilliant idea! Just make sure to put up a sign."

After Shawn left, Noah felt a renewed sense of purpose. Emma helped him clean up, and as they worked side by side, she noticed a change in him.

"You seem happier than when you were at your old job," she observed.

Noah smiled. "I studied finance to make money, but now that I'm doing something I love, money feels less important."

Their conversation was interrupted by a rhythmic knock on the glass door. Noah turned, surprised to see Elijah, whom he hadn't seen in half a year.

"Stop wiping, your man's here," Noah said, snatching the rag from Emma's hand.

Emma's expression shifted to excitement as he opened the door. "You made it! Do you know how hard it is to get a reservation at that restaurant?"

Elijah started to explain, "I had to work late, but I promise it wasn't my fault!" His voice was a mix of annoyance and affection, and as they bantered, Noah felt a pang of nostalgia for the connection they shared.

After Emma left with Elijah, Noah returned home, feeling both content and a bit lonely. To celebrate the successful opening of his shop, he decided to have a drink. He rarely drank, opting instead for dessert when he needed to unwind.

After downing a bottle of beer, Noah's cheeks flushed, rosy like a ripe apple. As he prepared a hangover soup, he felt the effects of the alcohol wash over him. He preferred cocktails—sweet and bubbly—over the bitterness of beer.

As he sipped his drink and hummed a tune, the sound of his own voice echoed through the apartment. Suddenly, a knock interrupted his reverie. He hesitated, pressing the button under the monitor to see who was at the door.

Ethan's face appeared on the screen, and Noah felt a mix of thrill and apprehension. Should he open the door? Instead, he turned back to the kitchen, grabbing the hangover soup and drinking it in one go. The warmth settled in his stomach, easing some of his tension.

Noah heard his phone ring, but in his tipsy state, he struggled to locate it. The flashing light on the coffee table caught his eye, and he reached for it, managing to answer the call. "Hello? What's up?" he slurred slightly.

Ethan sighed on the other end, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and warmth. "Open the door, Noah."