The pavement shone wet in the streetlights and the air still smelled of rain when Gilbert departed from the train station. With his huge backpack hiked up his shoulders, he took a cab to the address he gave to the driver. He watched the streetlights pass through the window, little droplets clinging to the glass.

The driver let him out in front of a corner café, lights inside dim. It was nearly closing time.

Suddenly Gilbert got butterflies. It had been so long…

First there was a door to a little foyer. To the left was the café's entrance. Straight ahead was a dark staircase. He pushed the door open to soft indie rock, and two women cleaning the machines behind the counter. Gilbert dropped his pack on a table.

One of the women spun around. A grin stretched across her face and she ran around the counter. "Gilbert Beilschmidt!" she said as she threw her arms around him.

He laughed and squeezed her back. "Hi Liz."

She pulled back, her hands on his shoulders. "You didn't call or text."

He shrugged. "You gave me your shop hours."

She rolled her eyes. "It's still nice to call first." Now she looked him up and down. "You got taller."

"Only a little," he replied. "Your hair is longer," he said, smoothing a lock of her waist-length tawny brown hair through his fingers.

"I've been growing it out. Did you find the place okay?"

"Yeah, I took a cab."

She clicked her tongue. "You paid all that money?"

He laughed again. "I only just got off the train before coming here, Liz."

Now she gaped. "You just don't know how to take it easy, do you? Anyway," she said, dragging him further inside. "Lili, this is a friend of mine, Gilbert. Gilbert, Lili, one of my employees."

The young woman nodded and smiled politely. "Nice to meet you."

Gilbert returned the pleasantry. She seemed to be a timid girl, completely unlike Elizabeta.

"Do you still have things to do? I can step out for a bit," Gilbert said.

Elizabeta waved it off. "No, we're just about done, right, Lili?"

"All finished back here," came her light voice. "We just have to clean the tables, flip the chairs, and sweep."

"Let me help," Gilbert said.

"You don't have to, we work fast."

"And it'll be faster with my help."

Liz made a face, but conceded, throwing a cloth at him.

They made quick work of the closing duties with Gilbert's help. Conversation was kept light and innocuous, mostly Gilbert asking how Vienna had been treating Liz, and details about the café.

When Lili put her coat on and called out a goodnight to them, leaving through the foyer, Liz did the same and asked Gilbert, "Ready?"

Gilbert grabbed his big pack, and followed Liz out the door. She stopped him inside the foyer and told him to wait there a minute. She was holding what looked like a thermos. He hadn't noticed. She went upstairs, and came back down only seconds later. The thermos was gone. Gilbert was about to ask, but she was already asking him questions.

They caught the bus at a stop one block away from the café. There weren't many riding, and they sat together toward the back.

"You'll stay with me tonight, obviously," she told him.

Gilbert smiled. She really hadn't changed much. "Thanks, Liz."

She cocked her head to the side, watching him. "Is there something the matter?"

"No. Just tired from travelling."

"Of course. Where did you come from?"

"I was in Paris. Francis had me stay with him, I wouldn't have been able to afford it otherwise."

"Tell me about it. What did you do?"

"His friend owned a little bookstore. One of his employees had recently ditched so my arrival was pretty convenient."

"You in a bookstore?"

Gilbert chuckled. "It got boring sometimes, but it was money."

"Well you seem to be good at showing up when convenient. I need another person at the café. The job is yours, if you'll take it."

Gilbert usually liked to settle in, take stock of his options first. But he didn't feel like lazing about this time. And the job was with Liz after all. "That'd be great."

Liz sighed back in her seat. "Thank you so much, Gil. Hiring processes are so tedious. At least I can put that off now. How long will you be here?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

They reached their stop, and Gilbert walked with Liz another two blocks to her apartment. Inside, he dropped his pack next to the couch and himself in the middle of it. Liz rummaged through the fridge.

"You want a beer?"

"Sure," he said, and Liz came around to sit next to him, a beer for him, and one for her.

"Now," she said. "I know I haven't seen you in years, but you don't seem like your normal self. And it's not just the travel fatigue."

She was right. He had sort of been in a… slump lately. Gilbert looked at her, seeing the face that had changed in few ways, but big ways. The last they'd seen each other was high school. They'd stayed in touch, sure, through email, occasional phone calls, and social media, but a picture didn't have the full effect sitting in front of her did. She'd certainly matured; her face had come into her cheekbones and jawline. Her green eyes, still long-lashed and big, were keener with life experience. Her hair was longer than he remembered it, but she still had a habit of wearing decorative clips.

It was also apparent that she'd grown into her body, but then again, so had he. Eighteen was nearly ten years ago.

It was then, in high school, that they'd dated for a few months. But they had come to a mutual agreement that being friends suited them better. He considered himself lucky to have kept a friend like her through university. Her time at university. Gilbert hadn't gone.

After high school, Gilbert had started travelling. He was a self-proclaimed drifter, never staying in one place for more than a year. His time in Paris, with Francis, had only been two months – enough time for his bookstore friend to find a replacement. The man was finicky with who he hired.

A new person, a long-term person, was hired, and Gilbert spent another week with Franny before deciding on Vienna.

And as far as he knew, Elizabeta lived in Vienna. He sent her a message, and here they were.

"I might be a little off, yeah," he answered. "But don't worry about me. I'll be fine." He smiled. "I want to know what's been going on with you."

She gave him a brief look that said the previous topic wasn't finished yet, but she leant against the couch and said, "I've owned the café for two years. That's where nearly all my time is spent."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really. How did that happen?"

"It's something I've always liked the idea of. The opportunity presented itself, and here I am. I really do enjoy it though, as much work as it is."

"I read reviews. You're pretty popular."

She laughed. "Let me be humble."

"So," he continued. "Are you dating anyone?"

She wrinkled her nose. "There were a few guys in the past. I'm not seeing anyone now. What about you?"

"Just… flings," he said, the number of flings flashing through his head like a reel. "Nothing remotely steady."

"No, you move around too much for that, huh."

"You could say that." Feeling exhaustion come down on him, Gilbert let his head fall back. He sighed.

It seemed the late hour had affected them both. Liz's head came to rest against his shoulder. He glanced at her, rest his on top of hers.

"It's good to see you again, Gil," she said softly. "I did miss you."

"I missed you too." And he did. She'd been his best friend – still was, he supposed. "It's nice to come back and speak German again."

She laughed, lifted her head to shoot him a questioning glance.

"Francis kept trying to help me learn more French. I'm still not exactly proficient, and I used more English to compensate. Much to the Parisiens' dismay. Now I don't have to think so hard."

"You poor thing," she snickered. "Well, go clean up. I'll make up your bed. You've got a full day of work ahead of you."

He took his toiletries to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, washed his face, squinted at how dull his already pale skin looked, and dragged a hand through short white-blond hair. It was just the fatigue, he told himself.

Liz had made him a little bed on the couch: sheet, blanket, pillow. She said goodnight and left for her bedroom.

Once it was only him in the room, he flicked the lamp off and collapsed on the couch. The city sounds outside the window lulled him to sleep quickly.

.

When morning did come, Liz had let him sleep in. She made him a late breakfast, told him where he could find certain stores around town, and together they left for the café. A full night's rest had benefitted Gilbert greatly. He was more chipper, joking and teasing as per usual. It was easier to push aside what was really bothering him, there in the back of his mind, and enjoy a new adventure with a good friend.

Gilbert held the foyer door open for her and she thanked him, continuing up the staircase next to the café.

"Go ahead in," she said. "I just need to grab something."

He cocked an eyebrow. "What is that?"

"Don't worry about it, just go inside."

Gilbert watched her suspiciously as she quickly climbed the stairs. He sat at a table and looked out the windows, through the royal blue letters of the café's name, Nocturne, to the noontime street bustle. He watched through the windows as she came back down, a thermos in her hand. It looked like the one from last night.

She handed it off to the barista behind the counter before sitting in front of Gilbert.

"What was that?" he asked.

"It was nothing. Not important," she said. She pulled the new-hire paperwork out of her bag, and a pen, and pushed them across the table. "Fill these out and I'll get you behind the counter in a bit."

He cast her one more questioning glance before clicking the pen and not thinking anymore of Liz's eccentricities.

Gilbert had been a barista before. He knew how it worked. It took him a couple hours to really familiarize himself with Liz's equipment before he assured her he could handle himself. Lili came in not long after Gilbert really got going, replacing the openers.

Liz still worked alongside them, and with three the work went smoothly. Gilbert was able to put himself in the zone all through the afternoon. Oddly enough, it felt nice to do such fast-paced work again. He loved Francis and thanked him for getting him that job, but Gilbert had too much energy to work in a bookstore. Perhaps that was what made him feel so down lately – all that poetic prose and written passion had put him in a mood.

All in all, Gilbert had a relatively successful first day, and as they were winding down and starting cleanup he'd managed to get some laughs out of Lili. He'd barely noticed that Liz was making another pot of coffee, even though they'd officially closed, before she was pouring it into a thermos. And it was the same thermos from the previous night, and this morning. It was purple, with a screw top, and it looked like it held three or four cups of coffee.

Wordlessly, without even a glance at him, she screwed the top back on and walked out the door with it, climbing the stairs to whatever lay up there.

"What is she doing with that coffee?" he asked Lili.

Lili's gaze flicked between the door and Gilbert. She finally cast her eyes down to the register – she was counting the drawer – and said, "It's just something she does. I don't know what."

"Are you sure?"

Her eyes flicked back to him for a second. She appeared a little nervous to him, but he wouldn't pry, at least not with Lili.

When Liz came back, resumed cleaning like nothing had happened, Gilbert asked, "What is up with that thermos?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," she said decisively. "Are the steamers cleaned?"

He narrowed his eyes, but played along. "Yeah. They're done."

"Good. Could you start sweeping? I'll be behind you with the mop."

And just like that, not another word about the purple thermos was mentioned.

.

Gilbert may have stopped asking about it, but he never stopped noticing. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her fill the thermos during closing, didn't look her way when she quietly left to deliver it upstairs. When he was put on the opening shift, he watched as one of the employees came downstairs with it, empty and clean. They stuck it inside a cabinet and continued on with the day.

This habit happened every day without fail, and Gilbert was growing more and more curious. At first, it didn't even occur to him that there was an apartment above the shop. The lights were always off during the day, he never saw anyone come down. And he wasn't getting any answers out of Liz.

Whenever they went out, touring the city, running errands, he found himself wondering who the hell was up there, and why Liz wouldn't tell him.

It was starting to get on his nerve.

But what could he do?

.

"Liz are you okay?"

She was racing around the apartment with a panicked look in her eye, just as they were about to leave.

"Change of plan," she said, snatching a shirt out of the clean laundry. "I need to go to Budapest for a couple weeks. My mom–"

Gilbert stopped. "What happened?"

Her eyes were brimming with tears but they weren't spilling over. "My mom is sick. In the hospital. I'm practically all she's got and–" she cut off when her voice cracked.

"Go, then," Gilbert ushered. "Do you need any help packing? I can take you to the station."

She laughed a watery laugh. "Thanks Gil, but I could use some alone time to clear my head. Lili will be waiting for you anyway. You better go ahead."

"Liz–"

"Honest, I'll be fine. I'll check in once I'm on the train." She smiled, came over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Gil. Now go."

He pouted, but complied, telling her to text him when she could before exiting her apartment. When he got to Nocturne he gave Lili the update and they worked together, business as usual. Until night fell and Gilbert received a hasty call from Liz.

"Is Lili still there?" she asked right away once he picked up.

"Hi Liz," he said. "No, I told her she could go early. I'm almost done here."

He heard a hushed curse and then, "Gilbert I need you to do something for me, exactly as I tell you, okay?"

Gilbert looked around, wondering if there was something he missed. His gaze passed over the staircase on the side of the windowed foyer. He had a feeling he knew what Liz would say.

"Alright," he said warily.

"The purple thermos should be in the cabinet to the left of the register. I need you to make a fresh pot of the dark roast, fill the thermos, and bring it upstairs. There's a small table to the right of the first door. Put it on the table. Don't knock, don't go in. Just put it there and leave."

Such strict instructions were already teasing his curiosity. But he simply told her, "Got it. Leave it and go."

"Thanks, Gil. I'll be in touch soon."

They hung up, and Gilbert went about making the coffee with a scowl on his face. Why on Earth was she being so secretive about this? It made no sense to him.

Resignedly, he poured the coffee into the thermos and finished up the last few tasks. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, locked up behind him, and climbed the stairs, thermos in hand.

He hadn't gone up to the second floor yet. He didn't know what he was expecting, but all he saw was a dimly lit hallway, the first door to his left, and two more doors down the hall on the right.

The table stood next to the door. A scripted number "1" centered on the door. Completely nondescript. It frustrated Gilbert even more.

He put the thermos down perhaps harder than he needed to. Stood in front of the door, as if its resident would immediately appear.

When it was evident that they weren't going to, Gilbert gave the thermos one last glare and resolved himself to worry no more about it. He tromped back down the stairs, out the foyer, and toward Liz's apartment.

.

The next day, when Gilbert skirted the counter, the first thing he did was check the cabinet.

The purple thermos sat right on the shelf. He stared at it, shifted his gaze to Lili next to him.

"What is it, Gilbert?"

"Nothing," he mumbled. He straightened up, put on a bright smile. "How are you today, Lili?"

She smiled and laughed. "Not bad."

He was able to keep up his enthusiastic work ethic through the day. As the sky grew darker, his acceptance of the purple thermos became more settled in his mind.

And wouldn't he know it, while closing with Lili, Liz texted him.

Don't forget. Thermos. Dark roast. Thanks.

Lili watched him out of the corner of her eye as he went about making the coffee and pouring it. She said nothing still when he took it upstairs.

Gilbert faced his enemy – The Door. He could hear nothing from inside. He saw no light peeking underneath. Did anyone even live there? Was Liz deluding herself?

Gilbert put the coffee on the table once more. Paused. And left.

.

Day 3: Events occurred in much the same way as the previous couple days.

Gilbert made the coffee. Took it upstairs. Set it down.

This time, he raised a hand, as if to knock. But he didn't. It didn't feel right.

Gilbert left.

.

Day 4: Gilbert told Lili he'd stay behind and finish up. She said goodbye and went home.

Gilbert took the thermos upstairs, put it on the table as usual, and retreated to the foyer. There, he sat on the bottom step. He decided he would wait until he heard someone open the door, then he would investigate.

He hadn't considered how tired he was, and promptly fell asleep against the wall.

He jolted awake a half-hour later, scrambled up the steps, but the thermos was no longer on the table.

Gilbert swore under his breath and went home, collapsing onto his bed with a frustrated huff.

.

Day 5: This day was going to be different. Gilbert promised.

He went about his duties as usual. Smiled at customers, chatted with Lili. He performed his closing duties all while humming. Ran the coffeemaker for the purple thermos as normal.

Lili waved goodnight, and Gilbert waved back.

Showtime.

Gilbert finished his duties, locking the café and slinging on his pack. He took the thermos upstairs and stopped in front of the door.

He started with a single, soft knock.

Another, a little harder this time.

Nothing.

Biting his lip, he tried the doorknob. His heart thudded when it gave and the door swung slowly open.

Gilbert stared wide-eyed into the black abyss. Some overactive part of his imagination told him this was classic horror movie setup, and he should leave. But logic gave him a courageous mental slap and Gilbert entered the apartment.

He felt along the wall until he found a light switch. He blinked at the room before him.

White walls, and old, original wood flooring. It looked like the inside of an antiques shop.

The decor was – to Gilbert's taste – superfluous and ornate. Little end tables with intricately carved legs and polished surfaces. Deep, rich Persian rugs. A couch and armchair set that looked like it belonged in a 19th century drawing room. The coffee table decorated with a small bouquet of flowers in a slim, elegant vase.

In contrast, the kitchen boasted very much modern-looking stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. There were no dishes in the sink, and the kitchen – even the whole apartment – looked unused for the most part.

But what perhaps intrigued Gilbert the most was the presence of a gleaming black baby grand piano. Set into the semicircular space by the windows overlooking the street, it commanded attention. Gilbert realized this was the curved face of the building corner, above Liz's café.

Gilbert absently put the thermos down on the coffee table and wandered over to the piano. This, out of everything in the apartment, denoted the sure presence of a resident.

The top board was propped up and Gilbert looked inside. The rack was littered with staff paper, and music notes were penciled in.

He sat at the bench, and took one of the sheets in his hands. The musical notes were like gibberish, and it didn't help that whole lines were crossed out and unintelligible words were crammed in the margins.

Gilbert suddenly heard the floorboards creak behind him, and he whipped around, thinking his heart might bust out his chest.

A man stood behind him, wielding a metal bat and ready to strike. Gilbert shrieked and fell off the bench, throwing his hands up, a cold sweat bursting from his skin.

"Fuck! Whoa! Whoa!" he shouted as the man prepared to swing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm not a robber, I promise! I'm from downstairs, Liz's café!"

The man halted his swing, tilting his head to the side in bleary-eyed confusion. "Elizabeta?" he said, his voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah," he said, adrenaline making his voice jitter. "Nocturne. I'm a friend of hers, I work there."

"You work at Nocturne."

He swallowed. "Yeah."

The man stood still. He blinked at Gilbert, narrowing his eyes as if to focus. Then he rubbed his eyes and groaned out, "Coffee." He glanced around his apartment. "Did you bring coffee?"

Gilbert wasn't sure his heart would stop thundering in his chest, and he could only stare, dumbfounded, and point to the thermos on the table.

The man took it and shuffled to the kitchen. He was wearing a wrinkled, white button up shirt and silk pajama pants. It was evident that Gilbert had woken him from sleep.

He watched as the man poured the coffee into a mug and dropped two sugar cubes in it. He stirred it, placed the spoon on a saucer, and brought it back to the living room where he dropped himself onto the couch.

Gilbert watched in amazement as he calmly blew over the top, cooling it, taking little sips. All this he did as if in a trance – an elegant trance. He might have belonged in a period film. Aside from the pajama pants and button-up shirt.

Gilbert gaped. This was the person he'd been bringing coffee to. Who–?

"What is your name?"

He almost hadn't heard him. His voice was clearer now, carrying a tinge of pomposity.

"Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt."

He squinted in Gilbert's direction. "One moment. I need my glasses."

He set his mug down and shuffled down the small hall off to the side that Gilbert had missed when he came in. He returned with a pair of rectangular glasses perched on his nose – a long, slim nose, now that Gilbert was taking in his face. He returned to his place on the couch, and resumed sipping coffee.

"Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "It must be uncomfortable on the floor."

Gilbert scrambled off the floor and sat himself in the chair, watching the man warily.

He had dark, cocoa brown hair; sleep-mussed, but parted on the side and falling in front of his eyes as he drank. Behind his glasses, dark eyelashes fluttered over steel blue eyes that Gilbert could have sworn were tinged the lightest of violets earlier. Maybe it was a trick of the light. His lips, resting in a line, neither up nor downturned, featured a deep cupid's bow.

Gilbert cleared his throat. "So…"

The man simply glanced up over his coffee.

"What's your name?"

He took a sip. Then, "Roderich."

Gilbert scratched the back of his head. "Um, hi."

"Have you been making this coffee for the past few days?"

"Yeah, I have."

He neither smirked, smiled, nor frowned. "I can tell."

"What does that mean?"

"You brew it differently than Elizabeta does. A little stronger."

Gilbert curled his lip. "If it's such a big deal, then brew it yourself."

He held his gaze in a semi-glare. "I never said it was a big deal."

Gilbert's brow furrowed. "Alright, well excuse the fuck out of me, but who are you?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Liz has had me making coffee for you every night this week, and baffled as to what the hell is going on, and no one will say a word about you. I was beginning to think there was some Phantom of the Opera-type shit going on around here."

"Why is Elizabeta not making the coffee?"

Gilbert stared, his jaw slack. "You don't even talk to her?"

He shrugged.

The man, Roderich, apparently, looked entirely indifferent to have Gilbert, a stranger, in his apartment. Gilbert couldn't believe that this was who Liz had been so secretive about.

Gilbert surged to his feet, muttering, "Jackass," as he grabbed his backpack and left. Perhaps he slammed the door behind him harder than necessary, but he was all about making points.

And his point was that he had no time to deal with some pretentious prick.

At least, that's what he told himself to believe.

New story! This is another one in which I got the idea but don't exactly know where it's going so this will be an adventure for all of us.

Thanks for reading/supporting!
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