The Cove, with its baby-blue awnings and abundance of flowers nearly blocking out the door, looks like it was plucked right from Wonderland and deposited most conveniently at the city centre. Leon, standing in front of the cafe in a T-shirt featuring some obscure book Halle's never heard of and ripped jeans, can't appear more out of place. He puts his phone in his pocket and grins as they approach. "Hey."

"Hi." Halle ducks a little too late, earning themself a rather brutal slap from a hyacinth. "Ow."

He snorts. "How was your day?"

"It was very nice until I got attacked by these flowers." They peel a pink petal off their face and toss it onto the floor. "I'm making good progress on a new piece of writing, too." Never mind that that piece is a review of your brother's restaurant, they silently add afterwards. "Yours?"

"Nothing interesting." Without warning, Leon's hand reaches out and brushes their cheekbone. "You got a bit of pollen on your face."

They squeak — literally squeak, like some sort of mouse, and it escapes them without them even knowing, oh gosh what the Hell was that — and rub their cheek. "Hope you got the rest of it. I don't want to be walking around with flower extract on my face for the rest of the day."

"You look fine. Great, even." He takes hold of the curly door handle and pushes it open.

A fanfare of wartime music greets Halle the moment they enter. They look around, taking in the little shelves of books scattered about the walls, vintage furniture and the very real gramophone at the corner. Peering closely at a thick book and the maple leaves painted on its spine, they nearly miss the man striding towards the two of them.

"Good afternoon, Leon," he greets. The man's old-fashioned getup (seriously, he could be a time traveller from the fifties and nobody would know) is covered by a mint-green apron, which he wipes his hands on as he continues, "oh, you've brought a friend."

"Uh-huh. This is Halle," Leon responds. "Halle, this is Arthur. He does pretty much everything here."

"Nice to meet you, Halle." Arthur half-smiles, occasionally glancing behind his back to where the kitchen presumably is.

"Hi."

He glances towards the kitchen again, shifting from foot to foot. "I would love to talk more, but I have a batch of tea-cakes in the oven right now and there's no way I'm letting them burn again. Just go to your regular table and wave me over when you've decided what you want."

"Sure." Leon waves as Arthur runs off, then reaches out to hover his hand just a hair away from theirs. "Come on, let's sit down."

They sink down into the cushioned chair, carefully picking up the hardback menu and opening it up. It's pretty cute how the pages are bordered with vines and flowers, though the cursive font makes it a little tough to read.

"I'm gonna get a mug of hot chocolate," Leon says. "No other cafe in the city makes it better than this one. And if you want, we can share a plate of shortbread or something."

"That sounds good." Halle flips through the menu again, eyeing the many types of tea. "And, uh, I'll have hot chocolate, too."

Arthur comes over to their table soon after, his apron smudged with a few more crumbs. "I assume you're having the usual?" He asks Leon.

He nods. "And Halle's having the same as me." Leon turns to the final page of the menu and points to a flowery phrase. "Plus some of your plain shortbread."

Once Arthur has walked away, he turns his attention back to them. "Art has books here that I don't think you can find anywhere else." Leon points at the shelf directly above them. "If I remember correctly, this one has an interesting cookbook that you might like."

"Oh?"

"It's the kind that has a story with every recipe, I think." He stands up to take the book, which has the words Feasting Through History printed on the cover in faded block letters. "If not stories, then little passages of historical events. I never read it, but I just thought of you the last time I saw it. It seems like your thing."

Halle takes the book, accidentally brushing hands with Leon, and opens up to the table of contents. The book has recipes dating back to the Crusades, offering directions on how to cook everything from grilled meats eaten during the medieval age to Victorian puddings. They turn the page once, twice, tempted to start reading on the spot before remembering they're not at the cafe alone. "Do you know if Arthur lets people borrow his books?"

Leon starts, as though he was daydreaming, and answers, "I don't know, I never asked. But I'm sure he'll say yes if you do."

Closing the book, careful not to fold the yellowed pages, they place it on the table. "I should really start reading stuff other than cookbooks. There's no way I can be a good writer without expanding my horizons."

"I'm sure your writing is amazing." Leon rests his head on his hand, and the other goes to splay itself on the table. "I haven't read any of it, but something tells me you'd hit it big if you ever published them as, like, a book or something." He taps the table softly. "Speaking of which, where do you post your works? Do you have a Tumblr too?"

Shoot. "Well, I do," Halle admits, "but I personally think — I mean I don't want — "

"You're not cool with sharing it with me yet?" Leon finishes.

They nearly melt in relief and nod.

"That's fine." His smile is softer now, gentle and soothing like a warm breeze. "I'd love to read them one day, but you don't have to share it with me."

"Yeah." They clear their throat. "Um, anyways. Do you have any book recommendations? I need to get back to reading actual books."

"Hey, cookbooks are actual books." The tapping grows faster. "But if you're just getting back into fiction, maybe reading some classics will get you in the mood." Leon's eyes flick to the ceiling for a second, then back to them. "My absolute favourite classic is The Picture of Dorian Grey."

They blink. Dorian Grey is the sort of book that'd be more popular in their brother's friend groups, with its near-lyrical prose, endless metaphors and, of course, the very homoromantic subtext that most queer readers can pick up in mere pages. If somebody tries to discuss Oscar Wilde with you, Halle remembers Stellan signing once, there's a chance they're trying to tell you they're not straight. Either that, or they're trying to ask you out.

Oh, shut up, they tell themself. Since when did you take relationship advice from Stell, the guy who asked his boyfriend out at a bus station? "I'll check it out," they promise.

Arthur returns with their hot chocolate, as well as a plate of shortbread. Halle takes one of the mugs, then asks, "are we allowed to borrow any of the books here?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

They pick up Feasting Through History and show it to him. "I was just wondering if I could take it home and read for a bit."

"Sure. You can return it whenever you're finished."

"Really?" They blurt.

"Yes, of course," he says. "Just don't dog-ear the pages. I absolutely hate when people do that."

Before Arthur can leave the table, Leon pipes up, "how's the toaster, by the way?"

He sighs, long and weary. "It is fine. Now, if you'll excuse me…" He sweeps away.

Halle stares at him. "The toaster?"

"Inside joke." Leon takes a piece of shortbread and breaks it in half. "He set a toaster on fire once trying to make cake in it."

"And he operates a cafe?"

"Shortbread's the only thing he can bake without creating a health hazard. And tea is mostly pouring hot water over leaves, so he can't mess that up. I hope."

They take a piece of shortbread, too, and nibble at the corner. It's crumbly, filling their entire mouth with the scent of butter. Then they sip from the hot chocolate, surprised at its bittersweet creaminess. The few times they tried making hot chocolate themself, it ended up a watery, sugary mess that didn't taste of chocolate at all. They drink again, letting the flavour of dark chocolate mix with that of rich butter. "This is great."

"I told you." Leon's eyes gleam in the dim light, catlike. "Do you want another recommendation?"

"Okay."

"Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited. I love the way Waugh describes everything, he's amazing at using imagery." He lifts his mug to his lips to drink before adding, "just like you."

Another voice in their head, this time Ella's, and it whispers, Brideshead is the piece of queer literature nobody told you about. Not that her literature-based gaydar is more reliable than Stellan's by any means, but Brideshead Revisited is definitely not as popular a book compared to The Picture of Dorian Grey. Deciding to trust their friend, Halle questions, "what do you like about the book, apart from the imagery?"

"I'd have to say the relationship between the characters, that's for sure." Leon drinks from his hot chocolate again. "It's a sort of tragic romantic comedy, if that's even a genre, and the main cast is so entwined that a relationship web would be impossible to draw. The main character has the most massive bisexual energy I've ever seen in a classic."

They nearly choke on their shortbread. "I see." WHAT does that mean. Has he realised I'm bi, or is he trying to tell me he's bi, or am I just analysing his sentence more than I do my English literature papers? Halle swiftly gulps down some chocolate, unfazed by how hot it is. "I'll give it a read, too. For the bi energy," they tack on at the end.

His lips twitch. "For the bi energy," he agrees laughingly.

Well, clearly this means something, but what? They should really hold lessons on how to dissect stuff like this… One more scalding sip of hot chocolate. "It'll be fun to go through some new books again."

Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon passes by with no more confusing messages. Halle pays before Leon can, insisting, "you can just pay the next time we go out to eat."

"Hey, speaking of which, where should we meet up next?" Leon holds the door for them, then keeps them from walking face-first into yet another plant.

They zip up their purse and put it back in their pocket. "I don't know. Is there anything you want to do?"

"Just sitting around in the library all day would be boring," he ponders, "but playing some sort of sport would be tiring."

"We could do both," Halle offers. "Move around a bit, then go to the library afterwards. Do you play tennis?"

"Don't think I've held a racquet in two years."

"I could teach you." The thought makes them oddly excited. "I'll book the tennis court at the university for us."

"That'd be fun." A gust of wind breezes past and sends his hair fluttering. "How about we wait for each other at the bus station nearest the university, at one o'clock? Then we can spend more time together."

They nod, smiling. Farther up the road, the bus is approaching.

"Vic told me to wait for him at Boulangerie Bonnefoy, so I better get going." Leon hooks a thumb down the pavement, from where the bakery is not far. "I'll see you at Wang's soon, right?"

"Yeah."

"And, er, thanks for all this, I guess." He bites his lip. "I don't really have many friends, even though I came here last summer. I mean, we're friends, right?"

"Definitely." The excitement at the thought of playing tennis with Leon really shouldn't be lasting this long. Halle waves him goodbye as he starts walking away. See? Friends. No queer subtext whatsoever.