Author's Note: I think one of the things people talk about most when Morpheus is mentioned is his iconic black coat. It suits him so well that I couldn't get it out of my mind... and eventually, this little story came to me. So, as you read, imagine yourself wearing his coat, wrapped in its warmth, surrounded by the scent of rain, old books, and dreams. I hope this story brings you the same comfort it gave me while I was writing it :)
A story about a borrowed warmth, a quiet devotion, and the coat of the King of Dreams—which always finds its way to you.
The Land of Dreams was silent.
It wasn't empty—never empty—but it was enveloped in a silence only dreams could comprehend. The library slept beneath its endless shelves, ravens glided across the silver sky, and distant stars twinkled above the palace.
You were asleep.
Curled up on a velvet sofa in the throne room, half-hidden under a cloak that was far too big for you.
Morpheus's coat.
The first time, everyone had assumed it was an accident.
You had fallen asleep while waiting for him to return from looking at a dream. His cloak hung on the armrest of the throne, and you had wrapped it around yourself without thinking.
When Morpheus returned, Lucienne expected him to retrieve it.
He didn't.
He simply looked at you for a long time before turning away.
After that…
It became a habit.
Whenever Morpheus vanished into another realm, his cloak somehow remained behind.
And somehow…
It always appeared on your shoulders.
Matthew was the first to notice.
"You know," murmured the crow one afternoon, "I don't think it's a coincidence."
Lucienne smiled without lifting her head from the book in her hand.
"I don't think so."
The cloak smelled faintly of rain, old paper, and the cold night air.
It carried the silent magic of dreams.
You never admitted it aloud, but you slept better when you wrapped yourself in it.
Nightmares didn't reach you.
It was easy to rest.
Perhaps the Dream King's magic remained in every thread.
Or perhaps…
It was simply because it belonged to him.
One evening, Morpheus returned earlier than expected.
You hadn't heard him. He stood in the doorway. There you were again.
Curled in the enormous black cloak, one hand clutching the fabric tightly, you were in a deep sleep, as if someone were about to take you away.
Matthew landed beside you.
"…Are you going to wake him up, boss?"
"No."
"You've been saying 'no' for three weeks."
Morpheus remained silent. The crow tilted its head to the side.
"You know… you can tell her."
"I told her."
Matthew winked.
"…When?"
Morpheus's gaze never left you.
"I'm leaving the coat."
A gentle breeze swept through the palace.
The edge of your coat slipped from your shoulder.
Morpheus approached without saying a word.
He knelt beside the sofa and gently pulled your coat back over you.
His fingers paused for just a moment.
Long enough to push a strand of hair away from your face.
You stirred slightly.
Your eyes were only half-open.
"…You're back…"
"I am."
A sleepy smile flickered before you closed your eyes again.
"…Good."
Within seconds you drifted off to sleep again. You were still holding the edge of your cloak.
Matthew whispered softly after watching the scene unfold,
"…You'll never get that coat back, will you?"
For the first time that evening, the corners of Morpheus's lips curved upwards in the smallest, almost invisible smile.
"I don't think I want to. My coat suits her very well."
"Did she tell you why?"
Morpheus turned his head toward you.
"No. But I'll find out."
The corners of his lips curved into a half-smile. He fixed his gaze on you again. Matthew flapped his wings and flew to the other side of the library, leaving you alone.
The coat was too big for you. Yet you wore it, and strangely, Morpheus liked it.
Seeing you wear something that belonged to him made him happy.
The following morning, the palace stirred before you did.
Lucienne was already in the library, arranging newly collected dreams upon their shelves. Matthew perched on a nearby ladder, occasionally offering commentary that no one had asked for.
Neither of them disturbed you.
You were still asleep on the velvet sofa, wrapped from shoulders to ankles in Morpheus's black coat.
Only your face remained visible.
Matthew glanced toward the throne.
"So… are you finally going to ask for it back?"
Morpheus did not raise his eyes from the book resting in his hands.
"No."
"You own exactly one coat."
"I am aware."
"You've been wearing the same clothes for a century because someone stole your favorite one."
"It has not been stolen."
Matthew let out an exaggerated sigh.
"It practically lives with her now."
Silence answered him.
Morpheus finally looked up.
His gaze is settled on you.
The cloak was several sizes too large. It pooled around you like liquid midnight, swallowing your hands, your feet, nearly your entire figure.
I swear…
It belonged there.
He couldn't explain why.
Perhaps because every time he found you sleeping beneath it, you looked peaceful.
Safe.
The kind of peace he rarely witnessed within himself.
A soft movement caught his attention.
You shifted in your sleep, unconsciously pulling the cloak closer around your body.
As if searching for warmth.
Or familiarity.
Morpheus rose from his throne.
Without a sound, he crossed the hall.
Matthew watched him from above.
"There he goes again."
Lucienne smiled faintly.
"He believes we do not notice."
"We absolutely notice."
Morpheus ignored them both.
He stopped beside the sofa.
For several quiet moments, he simply stood there.
Watching you breathe.
Watching the slow rise and fall of your chest beneath the folds of his cloak.
You looked…
Comfortable.
Content.
Dreaming happily.
It was a sight he found himself returning to more often than he cared to admit.
His hand hovered above the fabric.
Not to take it back.
Never take it back.
Only to smooth a wrinkle near your shoulder.
His fingertips barely brushed the heavy black cloth before you stirred.
Your fingers instinctively searched for the edge of the cloak.
Finding it.
Holding it tighter.
A sleepy murmur escaped your lips.
"…Please don't take it…"
The words were little more than a whisper.
You weren't even awake.
Yet they made Morpheus pause.
His expression softened almost imperceptibly.
"I won't," he answered quietly.
"You may keep it for as long as you wish."
You never heard him.
Already, sleep had claimed you once more.
But somewhere within your dream…
The cold night no longer felt quite so cold.
No one knew how you had arrived in the Dreaming.
Not Lucienne.
Not Matthew.
Not even Morpheus himself.
One night, you simply appeared at the palace gates.
There had been no disturbance in the dreaming, no broken barrier between realms, no forgotten spell. You stood beneath the pale moonlight with no memory of how you had found the kingdom, only the certainty that you were meant to be there.
Morpheus had searched every corner of the Dreaming and beyond for an explanation.
He found none.
So you stayed.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks quietly slipped into months. The Dreaming slowly became familiar to you. You learned the endless corridors by heart, spent quiet afternoons in the library with Lucienne, listened to Matthew's endless chatter, and found comfort in the peaceful silence that surrounded the palace.
But there was one thing you could never quite understand.
Its king.
Morpheus rarely smiled. His words were measured, his expressions unreadable, and yet… beneath all that endless darkness, you noticed countless small acts of kindness that no one else seemed to acknowledge. The way he slowed his pace whenever you walked beside him, how he always made sure the palace remained warm on nights you couldn't sleep, or how his coat was somehow always within reach whenever exhaustion overtook you.
You never asked why.
You simply wrapped yourself in the heavy black coat, closed your eyes, and fell asleep.
Somewhere along the way, your admiration for the King of Dreams became something gentler… and far more dangerous.
You found yourself searching for him without meaning to. Every room felt quieter when he wasn't there, and every time his voice broke the silence, your heart responded before your mind could.
You liked him.
Far more than you ever intended to.
What you didn't know was that Morpheus had never expected to feel the same.
Love had brought him grief before.
He believed himself beyond such feelings.
Yet every time he saw you asleep in his coat, every time your eyes searched for him the moment he entered a room, or every time your laughter echoed through the palace, something within the Dream King softened.
It frightened him more than any nightmare ever could.
It started so quietly that neither of you noticed.
On a particularly cold evening, you had been reading in the library while Morpheus attended to matters elsewhere in the Dreaming. Hours passed, the fire burned low, and exhaustion eventually pulled at your eyes. Looking around for a blanket, you found none.
Only his coat.
It had been resting neatly over the back of a chair.
You hesitated.
You knew it belonged to the King of Dreams. Touching it almost felt… improper.
Still, the room had grown colder.
"Just for a little while," you whispered to yourself.
The heavy black coat settled over your shoulders with surprising ease. It was far too large, the sleeves covering your hands entirely, the hem pooling around your feet. Yet it carried a comforting warmth that had nothing to do with the fire.
You were asleep within minutes.
When Morpheus returned, he found you curled up in one of the library's armchairs, his book resting forgotten on your lap and his coat wrapped securely around you.
He should have taken it back.
Instead, he stood there in silence.
His gaze lingered on the way you instinctively buried yourself deeper into the fabric, as though it made you feel safe.
For reasons he could not explain…
He liked seeing you wear it.
From that night on, it happened again.
And again.
Whenever sleep found you, his coat was never far away.
Sometimes you discovered it folded over the arm of the sofa before you even realized you were tired. Other times it appeared across the back of your chair, waiting as though someone had placed it there only moments before.
You never questioned it.
You simply smiled to yourself, wrapped it around your shoulders, and let sleep claim you.
Eventually, it became a familiar sight throughout the palace.
If someone couldn't find you, they only had to look for Morpheus's coat.
Because wherever it was…
You were never far away.
You stood on the high balcony overlooking the land of dreams, taking a sip of perfume, when you heard footsteps behind you. You didn't turn your gaze because you knew who it was.
Morpheus.
Your eyes closed involuntarily as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You surrendered yourself, like an angel. You were in safe hands.
His eyelids closed too. You felt it.
His coat brushed against your sleeves, its fabric cool beneath your fingertips, while the steady rise and fall of his breathing was the only sound between you.
Your eyes fluttered shut.
For the first time that day, the endless thoughts in your mind became still.
Morpheus lowered his head slightly until his forehead rested against your temple. His eyes closed as well, and for a long moment neither of you moved. The wind carried strands of your hair across his shoulder, and his fingers instinctively tightened ever so slightly around your waist, as if afraid the breeze itself might steal you away.
A faint smile tugged at your lips.
You covered one of his hands with your own, your thumb absentmindedly tracing over his gloved knuckles. He answered by intertwining his fingers with yours, holding your hand with a quiet certainty that needed no explanation.
The stars above continued to drift across the endless sky.
Neither of you watched them.
Instead, you found yourself absentmindedly smoothing the sleeve of his black coat before resting your cheek against his shoulder. The familiar scent of rain, old books, and midnight surrounded you once again, and you couldn't help smiling a little wider.
Morpheus noticed.
He tilted his head just enough to look at you, his expression softer than anyone else in the Dreaming would have believed possible. One corner of his lips lifted into the faintest smile before he pressed a gentle kiss against your hair.
Neither of you spoke.
There was nothing that needed to be said.
In the quiet heart of the Dreaming, his arms around you felt more like home than any place ever could.
"Don't you have anything to do?" you murmured.
He pulled you tightly to his chest. He closed his eyes once more.
"Don't you enjoy being in my arms?"
You rolled your eyes. You sighed.
"You know I do."
"There is always something that requires my attention," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "It can wait."
You let out a soft laugh.
"The Lord of Dreams… postponing his duties for me?"
"I did not say I was postponing them."
"You just did."
"I didn't."
A smile tugged at your lips as you shook your head. There was no point arguing with him when he chose to be impossibly stubborn.
Your fingers wandered to the front of his coat, absentmindedly smoothing a crease near one of the buttons. The familiar fabric slipped beneath your fingertips, earning a curious glance from him.
"You really like this coat, don't you?" he asked.
You looked down for a moment before smiling to yourself.
"I think…"
Your fingers curled lightly around the lapel.
"…it reminds me of you and your scent is on your coat."
Morpheus remained silent.
"It smells like rain," you continued. "And old books. Whenever I wear it…" You searched for the right words before looking up at him. "…everything feels quieter."
His gaze softened almost imperceptibly.
"So that's why you keep stealing it."
"I don't steal it."
"No?"
You raised an eyebrow.
"It somehow appears wherever I fall asleep."
For the first time in a long while, Morpheus looked almost… caught.
You watched the smallest flicker cross his face before his eyes drifted away.
"…It does."
A knowing smile spread across your lips.
"You leave it there."
Silence.
"You do."
Another pause.
Finally, without meeting your eyes, he answered,
"…Perhaps."
A quiet laugh escaped you.
"So it wasn't Lucienne."
"No."
"Oh Matthew."
"No."
You turned in his arms until you were facing him completely.
"So every time I've fallen asleep…"
"…It was I."
The words were spoken so simply, as though there had never been any reason to hide them.
You searched his face for a long moment before your smile softened into something gentler.
"I always wondered why I slept so peacefully whenever I had your coat."
Without thinking, you reached up and adjusted the collar of his coat, your fingertips lingering there for a heartbeat.
"I guess…"
Your eyes met his.
"…it always felt like you were there with me."
For a moment, the King of Dreams forgot every duty waiting beyond the palace walls.
All he could think about was the warmth of your hands against his coat—and the quiet certainty that, somehow, they had found their way home.
You smiled to yourself before looking up at him.
"I don't think you're complaining either."
A quiet silence settled between you.
Morpheus tilted his head ever so slightly.
"No?"
You shook your head.
"If it truly bothered you…" Your fingers brushed absentmindedly over the lapel of his coat. "…you would've taken it back the very first time."
His gaze followed the movement of your hand.
"But you never did."
You looked into his blue eyes, a teasing smile playing on your lips.
"You leave it wherever I am."
Another pause.
"You drape it over me when I fall asleep."
Your smile softened.
"And every morning…"
"…you pretend it simply found its way back to me."
For perhaps the first time in centuries, the King of Dreams found himself without an immediate answer.
Instead, his thumb slowly traced circles against your waist.
His expression remained composed, but there was something undeniably gentle in his eyes.
"…You are observant."
"I learned from watching you."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"It appears I have been less subtle than I believed."
"Oh, you were subtle."
You stepped a little closer until there was barely any space between you.
"I just know you too well."
His eyes lingered on yours for a long moment before he lowered his forehead to yours once again.
"…I do not mind that."
"Good," you whispered with a smile.
"Because I have no intention of giving your coat back."
A small smile spread across your lips.
"You know…"
You gently brushed a speck of dust from the lapel of his coat before looking up at him.
"…I think I love your coat a little too much."
Morpheus watched you in silence.
One of his brows lifted almost imperceptibly.
"So…"
His hand slid a little higher around your waist.
"You are rather fond of my coat."
You nodded.
"I am."
A faint hum escaped him.
"Hm."
His blue eyes searched yours for a long moment before the smallest hint of amusement appeared in them.
"And do you love it…"
He leaned down slightly, his forehead almost touching yours.
"…as much as you love its owner?"
For a heartbeat, you simply stared at him.
Then you laughed softly.
"Are you jealous…"
Your fingers curled around the front of his coat.
"…of your own coat?"
His expression remained perfectly composed.
"I merely wish to know where I stand."
You smiled, reaching up to cradle his face.
"The coat comes with you, doesn't it?"
"It does."
"Then my answer is obvious."
His gaze softened.
"So…"
You rose onto your toes and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips.
"I choose you."
A rare, genuine smile touched Morpheus's face.
"I find that answer… acceptable."
For a moment, you simply stared at him.
Then a laugh escaped your lips.
It started as a quiet chuckle before growing into warm, genuine laughter that echoed across the balcony.
Morpheus watched you without interrupting.
His expression remained as calm as ever, though the faintest curve touched the corner of his mouth.
You shook your head, still laughing.
"You are unbelievable."
"I am?"
"You are jealous of your own coat."
"I asked a reasonable question."
"Oh, did you?"
You stepped closer, slipping your hands beneath the lapels of his coat.
"…You're like a child."
Morpheus blinked once.
"A child."
"Mhm."
"You wanted to know whether I loved you more than your coat."
Another laugh escaped you.
"Only you would ask something like that."
He considered your words for a brief moment before replying in his usual composed tone.
"I wished to know the answer."
"You already knew the answer."
"I preferred hearing it from you."
Your smile softened instantly.
You reached up, gently smoothing a strand of dark hair away from his forehead before cupping his cheek.
"You really are impossible."
"And yet…"
His hand found yours, intertwining his fingers with yours.
"…you remain."
"I always will."
At that, the smallest, almost imperceptible smile appeared on the Dream King's face.
It was all the answer either of you needed.
Morpheus regarded you for a long moment.
"…No one has ever called me a child before."
His voice was calm as always, yet there was unmistakable curiosity beneath it.
You couldn't help laughing again.
"Well…"
You reached up and gently cupped his face between your hands.
"…have you seen the way you look at people?"
One of his brows rose.
"I have."
"That look alone could make anyone forget their own name."
A quiet laugh escaped you as you traced your thumb across his cheek.
"You always stand so tall, dressed in black, with that serious expression."
You tried your best to imitate him, lowering your voice dramatically.
"'I am Dream of the Endless.'"
Morpheus blinked.
"…Is that truly how you see me?"
"That's how everyone sees you."
You smiled warmly.
"They're terrified of you."
He fell silent.
Your grin only widened.
"But I know better."
You leaned in until your foreheads touched.
"I know the Morpheus who quietly leaves his coat beside me whenever I fall asleep."
"The one who pretends it happens by accident."
"The one who asks if I love his coat more than I love him."
Another soft laugh escaped you.
"So yes…"
You gently pinched his cheek.
"…you're a little childish sometimes."
For a heartbeat, Morpheus simply looked at you.
Then, to your quiet satisfaction, the faintest smile appeared on his lips.
"…I shall choose to take that as a compliment."
"It was one."
"I suspected as much."
You smiled and slipped your arms around his neck.
"I like this version of you much more than the terrifying King of Dreams."
"And which version is that?"
"The one who gets jealous of his own coat."
This time, even Morpheus couldn't entirely hide his smile.
A few days later, Morpheus returned to the throne room after tending to the Dreaming.
The room was unusually quiet.
He glanced toward the chair where he had left his coat.
It was gone.
His gaze swept across the hall before settling on the library.
There you were.
Curled up in one of the oversized armchairs with a book resting open on your lap, his black coat wrapped around your shoulders as though it had always belonged there.
He walked over without making a sound.
You didn't notice him until his shadow fell across the page.
Looking up, you smiled innocently.
"...Hello."
Morpheus looked from your face to his coat.
"You are wearing my coat."
"I noticed."
"You took it."
"I borrowed it."
"You did not ask."
You closed your book and looked at him with an amused smile.
"Would you have said yes?"
For a brief moment, he considered the question.
"...Yes."
You blinked.
"...Really?"
"I have yet to refuse you anything."
Your smile faltered for just a second.
"You could've at least pretended to think about it."
"I did."
"For two seconds."
"I deemed them sufficient."
A laugh escaped your lips.
"You know..."
You rose from the chair and walked toward him, the oversized sleeves slipping over your hands.
Silence settled between you.
The teasing smile on Morpheus's face softened into something quieter.
You reached for the collar, intending to take the coat off.
"I should probably give it back."
Before you could slip it from your shoulders, his hand gently closed around your wrist.
"There is no need."
You looked up.
"If it brings you comfort..."
His thumb brushed lightly against the sleeve.
"...keep wearing it."
A warm smile spread across your face.
"So..."
"You've officially accepted that it's my coat now?"
"It remains mine."
You tilted your head.
"But I'm wearing it."
"You are."
"And I sleep in it."
"You do."
"And everyone thinks it's mine."
Morpheus held your gaze for a long moment before the faintest smile touched his lips.
"...Then I suppose they will simply have to remember whose shoulders it belonged to first."
You laughed, unable to hide the happiness in your eyes.
"You're impossible."
"And yet..."
His hand found yours beneath the oversized sleeve.
"...you continue to steal my coat."
"I'll never stop."
"I know."
For reasons neither of you cared to question anymore...
He no longer wanted you to.
The coat never truly left your shoulders.
Sometimes you wore it while reading in the library, sometimes while wandering the endless gardens, and almost every evening you fell asleep wrapped inside it before Morpheus had the chance to tell you to get some rest.
One afternoon, however, something was different.
You found a neatly folded box waiting on the table in your room.
A small note rested on top.
For you.
There was no signature.
There didn't need to be.
You smiled to yourself as you lifted the lid.
Inside lay a beautiful black coat.
Its tailoring was exquisite, the fabric impossibly soft, embroidered with delicate silver patterns that caught the light like distant stars.
Your smile lingered…
…before slowly fading.
That evening, you found Morpheus standing on the palace balcony, watching the endless sky.
He turned as you approached.
"I received your gift."
His eyes fell to the coat folded carefully in your arms.
"Do you dislike it?"
"No."
You shook your head gently.
"It's beautiful."
Silence settled between you.
"…But?"
You looked down at the coat in your hands before letting out a quiet breath.
"It isn't yours."
For the first time, Morpheus said nothing.
You smiled sheepishly.
"I know it probably sounds ridiculous."
"It does not."
"I tried wearing it."
You laughed softly.
"It was warm."
Your fingers absentmindedly traced the silver embroidery.
"It fit perfectly."
Another pause.
"But…"
You lifted your eyes to meet his.
"…it doesn't smell like rain."
"It doesn't smell like old books."
"And…"
A shy smile appeared on your lips.
"…it doesn't smell like you."
The breeze carried your words away.
Morpheus looked at you for a long moment.
Then, without a word, he reached up.
The black coat resting over his shoulders slipped free.
He stepped closer.
Slowly…
Carefully…
He draped it over your shoulders once again.
The familiar weight settled around you instantly.
You closed your eyes for a brief moment.
"There."
His voice was quiet.
"As it should be."
You looked down at the sleeves that once again covered your hands.
"What about you?"
Morpheus's gaze never left yours.
"I shall acquire another."
Your eyebrows lifted.
"So easily?"
"The Dreaming can create another coat."
He gently adjusted the collar around your shoulders.
"…But it cannot create another reason for me to leave this one behind."
Your heart skipped.
"So…"
You looked up at him, your eyes shining.
"…you're giving it to me?"
A rare smile softened his features.
"No."
He brushed an invisible speck of dust from your shoulder.
"I am leaving it exactly where it belongs."
For a moment, you could only stare at him.
Then you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you could despite the oversized coat.
He returned the embrace immediately.
The new coat remained forgotten inside its box.
Neither of you mentioned it again.
From that day forward, whenever anyone in the Dreaming saw the familiar black coat drifting through the endless halls…
They no longer wondered where the Lord of Dreams had left it.
They simply knew you were nearby.
The King of Dreams never said, "I love you." He didn't need to. Because every night, he draped his coat over you.
A story about late nights, impossible kitchens, and the person who makes the chaos feel a little quieter.
The first thing you learn about the restaurant is that nobody really belongs there.
Not at first.
Everyone walks in pretending they know what they’re doing. They tie their aprons, memorize the menu, smile at customers, and act like the pressure doesn’t get under their skin.
But it does.
The restaurant has a way of exposing people.
It shows who breaks under pressure, who learns to survive, and who becomes someone completely different by the end of the night.
You found that out on your first shift.
New York was supposed to be exciting. A fresh start. A place where you could disappear into the crowd and become someone new.
You didn’t expect a restaurant to feel like a battlefield.
The place was noisy; the sound of plates clanging on tables, orders being shouted, glasses clinking, footsteps rushing by... Everyone moved as if they were part of a machine.
"You're new."
Ses barın arkasından geliyordu.
You turned.
That was the first time you saw Jake.
He wasn't trying to get your attention. He wasn't trying to impress anyone. He just stood there, calmly polishing a glass while the rest of the restaurant moved around him like chaos was something he had already learned to ignore.
"Is it that obvious?" you asked.
His eyes moved over you for a second — the nervous expression, the way you were holding the tray too tightly, the fact that you were clearly trying not to look lost.
"Yeah."
You raised an eyebrow.
Jake placed the glass down.
"But that's not always a bad thing."
Before you could answer, someone called his name from across the room. Jake looked away, already returning to the rush.
And for some reason, you couldn't stop watching him.
Maybe because everyone else looked like they were trying to survive the restaurant.
Jake looked like he already had.
You didn't know much about Jake.
Only the things people said.
That he was charming when he wanted to be. That he knew exactly what to say. That he had a reputation for leaving before anyone had the chance to ask him to stay.
The kind of person warned everyone about you.
"Don't get too comfortable around him."
You heard it during your second week, whispered between shifts like it was some kind of rule everyone already understood.
Jake was the bartender everyone noticed.
The one people looked for when they walked into the room. The one who could make someone feel special without actually promising them anything.
You told yourself you weren't interested.
You had enough problems trying to survive the restaurant.
You didn't need another one.
But the problem with Jake was that he was never as simple as the stories made him sound.
Because the same person who supposedly didn't care about anyone was the one who noticed when you were struggling. The same person who avoided conversations about himself somehow remembered every small thing about you.
Your coffee order.
The way you hated carrying too many plates at once.
The fact that you always stayed a few minutes longer after your shift ended because you didn't want to go home yet.
Jake noticed everything.
He just pretended he didn't.
The restaurant was different when it was busy.
It was loud enough to hide mistakes.
At least, that's what you thought.
Until tonight.
One wrong order turned into three. Three became five. Suddenly, every table seemed to need something at the exact same moment, and you felt like the entire room was moving faster than you could keep up with.
"Table twelve is waiting."
"Kitchen needs that order."
"Someone fix the drinks."
The voices blended together.
Your hands tightened around the tray.
And then you heard him.
"Give it to me."
Jake.
You looked over.
"I can handle it."
He raised an eyebrow.
"I know."
A pause.
"That's why I'm telling you to give it to me."
For a second, you forgot about the noise around you.
Because Jake wasn't looking at you like you were the new person who might not last.
He was looking at you like he knew exactly how close you were to breaking.
You sighed and gave him what you were holding. He looked at you for a while longer and then walked away. Small favors weren't his thing.
You'd learned that from Simone. Someone who knew Jake well. You didn't know exactly what was between them. You didn't want to know. Lately, nobody mattered to you. You'd made time for yourself.
You were happy about that.
For once, your life wasn't revolving around someone else.
You weren't waiting for a message. You weren't trying to figure out what someone's silence meant. You weren't searching for hidden meanings in every little thing.
The restaurant already gave you enough things to overthink.
Every night was the same kind of chaos. The endless orders, the impossible expectations, the exhaustion that followed you home even after you took off your apron.
But somehow, you were getting used to it.
You were learning.
And maybe that was enough.
"You're staring."
The voice pulled you out of your thoughts.
You looked up.
Jake was standing behind the bar again, one hand resting on the counter. His expression was unreadable, like always.
"I'm not."
A small smirk appeared on his face.
"Sure."
You rolled your eyes and went back to organizing the glasses.
"I was just thinking."
"That's dangerous."
You glanced at him.
"Is that supposed to be funny?"
"No."
He said it so seriously that you almost laughed.
Almost.
Jake wasn't the type of person who tried too hard. He didn't chase attention. He didn't need to. People naturally looked his way.
But lately, you noticed something.
He looked your way too.
Not in the way everyone expected.
Not like a bartender looking for another easy conversation.
Something else.
Something you couldn't quite understand.
"You're different lately," Jake said suddenly.
Your hands stopped moving.
"What does that mean?"
He shrugged, looking away.
"Nothing."
But it didn't sound like nothing.
Jake picked up a glass and started cleaning it, avoiding your eyes.
And for the first time, you wondered if maybe you weren't the only one paying attention.
The following night, Simone found you during a rare moment of silence.
Silence in the restaurant was strange.
It never lasted long.
You were standing near the back hallway, checking the reservation list, when she leaned against the wall beside you.
"You like him."
You immediately looked up.
"What?"
Simone gave you a meaningful look.
"Jake."
You chuckled softly.
"That's a bit random."
"No, it's not."
She glanced toward the bar where Jake was talking to a customer, completely unaware of the conversation about him.
"Everyone thinks they know Jake."
You were silent.
"Some think he's indifferent. Some think he's just looking for the next person to amuse himself with."
She paused.
"But that's the easy version."
You looked back at her.
"What about the hard version?"
Simone smiled slightly.
"Actually, he's one of the most complicated people here."
You didn't answer.
Because somehow you already knew.
"Jake doesn't let people get close," she continued. "Not because he doesn't like them."
She looked at you.
"Because he does."
Those words lingered in your mind longer than you expected.
Before you could ask anything else, someone called Simone's name from the dining room.
She leaned against the wall.
"Just be careful."
You raised an eyebrow.
"Because will he hurt me?"
Simone shook her head.
"No."
A brief pause.
"Because you can actually see him."
And then she walked away, leaving you with a sentence you couldn't stop thinking about.
Simone strangely kept trying to keep people away from Jake.
As if there was some kind of mystery between them.
She turned away from the conversation and went back to her work or controlling people. Simone was always like that. You'd noticed. You weren't stupid.
Not exactly protective. Not exactly jealous either.
Just… being careful.
The change in her expression when someone mentioned Jake. The way she seemed to know what they were thinking before they even spoke. The way she warned people without explaining why.
It was like there was a story between them. A story no one wanted to tell. And you didn't want to get involved.
At least, that's what you told yourself.
Jake was Jake.
Captivating, unpredictable, and probably the last person who would complicate your already exhausting life even more.
But curiosity was a dangerous thing.
Especially in a place like this.
The restaurant was built on secrets. Everyone had a secret. Everyone carried something they didn't want anyone else to see.
Maybe Jake's secret was harder to find.
"You're thinking out loud."
You turned around. Jake was standing there, holding two empty glasses. It was as if he was following you.
You frowned.
"That's impossible."
He shrugged.
"It is possible with you."
You smiled slightly involuntarily.
"Do you always listen to conversations that aren't about you?"
"No."
He put the glasses down on the counter.
"Only conversations where people mention my name."
You froze for a moment.
"Did you hear that?"
"Enough."
Jake didn't look angry. That was somehow worse. He just looked curious.
"Did Simone tell you something interesting?"
You studied his face, trying to understand what he was hiding.
"Should she have?"
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
The restaurant noise continued around you, but it seemed to be coming from a distance.
Jake looked away first.
"Simone likes to think people understand."
"But does she really understand?"
A slight smile appeared on his face.
"Sometimes."
He picked up the glasses again.
"Sometimes he understands them better than they understand themselves."
Then he walked away.
Leaving you with even more questions. Jake strangely always came and bothered you, leaving you alone with questions.
You started to hate it.
Not because you wanted him to stay.
At least, that was what you told yourself.
You hated that Jake had this strange ability to appear for a few minutes, say something that made no sense, and leave you with a hundred questions.
It was irritating.
You had enough things to deal with.
The restaurant was exhausting enough without adding Jake to the list.
But somehow, he had already become part of your routine.
You noticed when he wasn't behind the bar.
You noticed when he was quieter than usual.
You noticed the small things you didn't want to notice.
And that bothered you more than anything.
Because Jake wasn't supposed to matter.
He was just another person in a restaurant full of complicated people.
A person with a reputation.
A person everyone seemed to know something about.
A person you had promised yourself you wouldn't get curious about.
But curiosity was exactly what he created.
You looked toward the bar.
Jake was laughing with someone, completely unaware of the thoughts running through your mind.
Or maybe he wasn't.
With Jake, you were never completely sure.
And somehow, that was the most frustrating part.
You tried to focus on your work.
You brought food to the tables.
You washed the dishes.
The same things everyone else does.
You tried not to think about Jake. Or Simone.
Just work.
You moved through the restaurant like you had done it for months instead of weeks.
You learned when to speak. When to stay quiet. When to disappear into the chaos.
Because the restaurant was easier to understand than people.
People were complicated.
People came with expectations, rumors, and unfinished stories.
The restaurant only asked one thing from you.
Keep up.
So you focused on that.
Just work.
No Jake.
No Simone.
No unnecessary questions.
At least, that was the plan.
Until you noticed the drink sitting beside your station.
You looked around.
Nobody was there.
A glass of water.
Exactly the way you liked it.
No ice.
You stared at it for a moment.
It was such a small thing that it shouldn't have mattered.
But somehow, it did.
"Don't overthink it."
You toured.
Jake was already walking back towards the bar.
You frowned.
"Was that you?"
He didn't turn around.
"Was what me?"
You looked at the glass.
"Nothing."
A small smile appeared on his face, but he kept walking.
The next few days were easier.
Not easy.
Never easy.
But easier.
You stopped feeling like the restaurant was waiting for you to fail.
You learned the rhythm.
The timing.
The silent conversations that happened between the staff without words.
You learned that everyone had their own way of surviving.
Some people talked too much. Some people disappeared. Some people acted like nothing could hurt them. And some people, like Jake, watched everything.
You noticed that about him.
He was always watching.
Not in a strange way.
More like he was collecting pieces of the world around him.
The way someone held their glass. The way a person avoided eye contact.
The moment someone needed help before they asked for it.
You wondered if he ever got tired of noticing everything.
"Table six needs you."
The voice pulled you back.
Another busy night.
Another rush.
You grabbed the plates and moved.
This time, you didn't hesitate.
You didn't panic.
You handled it.
And when the night finally slowed down, you caught Jake looking at you from behind the bar.
Not the usual quick glance.
Not the look of someone simply passing time.
Something different.
"You got better," he said.
You looked at him.
"Was that a compliment?"
He shrugged.
"Don't get used to it."
You smiled.
"Too late."
For a second, Jake looked like he wanted to say something else.
But he didn't.
He just looked away.
"You want something?"
You looked up.
Jake wasn't looking at you.
He was cutting a piece of fruit, completely focused on what he was doing.
"What?"
"A drink."
You laughed softly.
"Are you offering me a drink while I'm working?"
He finally looked at you.
"You're off in ten minutes."
You raised an eyebrow.
"You know my schedule?"
A small smile appeared on his face.
"I work here."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"It does."
You shook your head, amused.
Jake continued preparing the cocktail.
The sound of ice moving inside the shaker filled the silence between you.
"You always this curious?" he asked.
"About what?"
"Everything."
You thought about it for a second.
"Maybe."
Jake poured the drink into a glass and placed it in front of you.
"That's dangerous."
"So you've said."
This time, he smiled.
A real one.
Small, but real.
You looked at the drink.
"What is it?"
"Something I made."
"That's not an explanation."
"It doesn't need one."
You looked at him.
"You always answer questions with more questions?"
"Only when people ask too many."
You laughed quietly.
And for a moment, it didn't feel like the restaurant.
No rumors.
No Simone.
No stories people told about Jake.
Just two people standing behind a bar after a long night, talking about nothing important.
And somehow, that felt more important than anything else.
For a while, neither of you said anything.
The restaurant slowly emptied around you.
Chairs were pushed back into place. The last customers left. The voices that had filled the room all night became distant until there was only the quiet sound of cleaning.
You took another sip of the drink.
It was good.
Annoyingly good.
"You like it?"
Jake's voice pulled you back.
You looked at him.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
You smiled slightly.
"You're very confident."
"No."
He wiped the counter in front of him.
"Just observant."
You looked at him for a moment.
That was probably true.
Jake noticed things people didn't want him to notice.
"You do that a lot, don't you?"
"Do what?"
"Watch people."
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked around the empty restaurant.
"Someone has to."
You tilted your head.
"Why?"
A small shrug.
"Because most people don't pay attention."
The answer surprised you.
It wasn't what you expected.
You thought he would make a joke.
Avoid the question.
Change the subject.
But he didn't.
"You always wanted to work here?" he asked.
You looked down at the glass in your hand.
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
The question was simple.
But somehow, it felt harder to answer than it should have been.
You looked toward the empty tables.
"Maybe I wanted to prove I could do something difficult."
Jake nodded slowly.
Like he understood.
"That's usually why people come here."
"Why did you?"
The question came out before you could stop it.
Jake looked at you.
For a second, you thought you had asked too much.
Then he looked away.
"Good question."
You waited.
But he didn't answer.
Of course he didn't.
Because Jake always gave people just enough to make them curious.
Never enough to know the whole story.
Still…
For the first time, you didn't feel frustrated by it.
You just wanted to know more.
You waited.
This time, you didn't push.
Maybe that was the difference.
Most people wanted answers from Jake because they wanted to figure him out.
You just wanted to understand.
After a few seconds, he finally spoke.
"I started bartending when I was young."
You looked at him.
"Young?"
He nodded.
"Yeah."
Jake placed the towel down on the counter.
"Before I really knew what I wanted to do."
There was something different in his voice.
Less teasing.
Less guarded.
"You liked it?"
He thought about it.
"I liked that people told me things."
You smiled slightly.
"That's why you listen?"
"Maybe."
He looked at the empty glasses in front of him.
"When you're behind a bar, people forget you're there."
You stayed quiet.
"They talk. They tell you things they wouldn't tell anyone else."
His fingers tapped lightly against the counter.
"And you learn a lot about people."
You looked at him.
"Is that why you watch everyone?"
A small smile appeared.
"Maybe."
There it was again.
That answer.
The one that somehow said everything and nothing at the same time.
"So you just always wanted to be a bartender?"
Jake shook his head.
"No."
A pause.
"But it made sense."
"Why?"
He looked around the restaurant.
At the empty tables.
The lights that were slowly being turned off.
"The restaurant is honest."
You raised an eyebrow.
"Honest?"
"Yeah."
He looked back at you.
"Everyone comes here pretending they have everything figured out."
A small smile crossed his face.
"But after a long enough shift, nobody can pretend anymore."
You didn't know why, but that answer stayed with you.
Maybe because Jake wasn't talking about the restaurant.
Maybe he was talking about himself.
You looked at him for a moment.
"What do you mean?"
Jake's eyes met yours.
For once, he didn't look away immediately.
"The restaurant."
He glanced around the empty room.
"People walk in here pretending they're something they're not."
You listened quietly.
"They want to look successful. Confident. Like they know exactly what they're doing."
He gave a small laugh.
"But everyone cracks eventually."
You looked down at your drink.
"And you?"
The question came out softer than you intended.
Jake was quiet.
"What about me?"
"You've been here for years. You watch everyone else, but..."
You paused.
"You never really let anyone watch you."
For a second, something changed in his expression.
Not much.
Just enough for you to notice.
Jake picked up a clean glass and started polishing it again.
"Maybe I'm not that interesting."
You almost laughed.
"That's probably the least believable thing you've said all night."
A small smile appeared on his face.
"Careful."
"Why?"
"Because curiosity gets people in trouble."
You held his gaze.
"Maybe I don't mind."
The smile faded slightly.
Not because he was upset.
Because, for the first time, Jake looked like he didn't know what to say.
You picked up your bag and walked toward the exit.
The night air hit you the moment you stepped outside.
New York felt different after midnight.
The streets were quieter, the lights softer, and for a few minutes, the city stopped feeling like it was trying to compete with everyone.
You adjusted your jacket and started walking.
"You're going this way?"
You turned.
Jake was locking the restaurant door behind him.
You blinked.
"Yeah."
He nodded toward the street.
"Me too."
You looked at him suspiciously.
"You live in my direction?"
"No."
A small smile appeared on his face.
"Close enough."
You almost laughed.
"That doesn't make sense."
"Most things don't."
You shook your head, but you couldn't stop the small smile on your face.
For a while, you walked in silence.
It wasn't the awkward kind.
It was the kind of silence that didn't need to be filled.
Jake kept his hands in his pockets, looking around the streets like he had memorized every corner of the city.
"You really like New York?"
The question surprised you.
You looked at him.
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
You shrugged.
"Some days it feels like the best place in the world."
You looked ahead.
"Other days it feels like it doesn't care if you're there or not."
Jake nodded.
"That's New York."
You glanced at him.
"You say that like you know."
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"I do."
There was something in his voice.
Something that told you he wasn't just talking about the city.
"You've been here a long time?"
"Long enough."
You smiled.
"That's not an answer."
Jake looked at you.
"You really hate those, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Good."
You frowned.
"Good?"
He looked away.
"Means you're paying attention."
You didn't know why that made you smile.
Maybe because with Jake, every small thing felt like it had another meaning.
Sonunda sokağınıza vardığınızda durdunuz.
"This is me."
Jake nodded.
"Okay."
Onun hemen gideceğini bekliyordunuz.
That's what Jake did.
He emerged.
He stayed just long enough.
A slight smile appeared on his face.
You were leaving. He stopped you.
Without saying a word, he pressed his lips against yours
He's so good in Sandman, omg. I watched part of Sweetbitter, but haven't quite made it to the end--he's so good with whatsherbutt from Fallout though! I keep meaning to watch some of his other stuff. My partner is like "leave that man alone" lol
He's so good in Sandman, omg. I watched part of Sweetbitter, but haven't quite made it to the end--he's so good with whatsherbutt from Fallout though! I keep meaning to watch some of his other stuff. My partner is like "leave that man alone" lol
He's so good in Sandman, omg. I watched part of Sweetbitter, but haven't quite made it to the end--he's so good with whatsherbutt from Fallout though! I keep meaning to watch some of his other stuff. My partner is like "leave that man alone" lol
He's so good in Sandman, omg. I watched part of Sweetbitter, but haven't quite made it to the end--he's so good with whatsherbutt from Fallout though! I keep meaning to watch some of his other stuff. My partner is like "leave that man alone" lol
