“What if the rain never stopped, and you had to take shelter in a café?”
This is an alternate version of Welcome to Café Noir et Lune – Eric’s Night.

Special thanks to Gen-san for kindly giving me permission to write this story. I had a wonderful time working on it—Eric, you’re truly one of my favorites! 🥰

Since I used a translation tool, the English might be a bit weird here and there (or maybe a lot 🤭). I hope you enjoy it—thank you so much for reading!

*(Translation keeps Lee’s gentle and warm speech tone.)*

After closing time, the bookstore felt hollowed out, the bustle of the day receding into a distant hush. I switched off the last light and pulled the door shut; night air heavy with the scent of rain brushed my cheek. An instant later, a punishing downpour hammered my whole body.

I regretted stepping out without an umbrella the very first moment. It had been so clear this morning. Rushing out the door to avoid being late, I’d had no time to check the forecast.

Streetlights fractured across the slanting sheets of rain, glowing white and blurred. Rings spread over the asphalt in overlapping circles until the ground seemed to ripple like a shallow river. Edges of the world dissolved—distant buildings smudged into smoke-grey shapes, their lights the only things left.

I stood there, unable to move, when—out of the dark—one warm light bled softly into view.

Café “Noir et Lune.” Closing hours had passed long ago, and yet a gentle glow seeped from deep within. As if it had spotted me, stranded with nowhere to go.

Before I knew it, I was at the door. Peering in, I saw a young man working in the low light.

“…Lee.”

The name slipped out of me—so quietly the rain could have carried it away.

And yet.

Lee paused and slowly lifted his head. Through the glass he looked straight at me, eyes widening. The moment our gazes met, something in my chest gave a small jump. He walked to the entrance without hesitation and eased the door open.

“…Commandant?”

For a heartbeat, the strange address stirred the air inside my chest. But somehow the word felt faintly familiar.

“…Eric, are you all right? Please, come in.”

He corrected himself at once. Guided by his voice, I nodded and placed my hand in his.

He drew me into the café’s lingering pocket of warmth. I shook rain from my hair and hunched my shoulders. Drops pattered off my clothes, pooling at my feet. White porcelain cups were lined up with quiet precision behind the counter; on the wall, a wooden rack held interior magazines and bundles of dried flowers. The faint after-scent of roasted beans softened the chill that had followed me in from the storm.

“You must be cold… Please allow me to bring you something to dry off with. Just a moment.”

He slipped into the back and returned at once with a large towel and a blanket. The way he draped and dabbed—careful, almost ceremonious—made me want to laugh; it tickled in a tender way.

He handed me the towel and, with quick, economical motions, worked his phone. The rain at the windows had grown heavier and faster.

“…Eric.”

He drew a small breath as he said my name; there was a thread of tension in his voice.

“A weather alert has been issued… They are advising caution, as some streets may begin to flood.”

“R—really!?”

I leaned in. Notifications were rolling across the transit app: “Partial rail service suspended.” “Flooding in several areas.” “Rideshare requests paused due to high demand.” The lines from the nearest station were affected as well.

“This is quite concerning… It appears taxis are unavailable as well. You may have no choice but to walk…”

Even as I said it, the violence of the rain outside made the words feel absurd.

“Maybe there’s a hotel nearby…”

I mapped the area in my mind, but at this hour, vacancies would be scarce.

Lee glanced at me—just once—but his blue eyes wavered slightly, searching my expression, weighing something. A sliver of hesitation flickered…and then he folded it away and spoke.

“My home is very nearby… If you don’t mind, you would be welcome to stay.”

For a second the meaning didn’t land. The words gathered shape quietly inside my chest—and when they finally clicked:

“—What?”

My voice nearly cracked. I hadn’t expected that, and I lost my words.

“If this continues, I’m afraid you may not be able to return home safely.”

His tone held a steady resolve, and a gentle concern for my soaked shoulders. There was nothing forceful in it—only a clear, simple kindness. I knew it would be reckless to head for the station. Even so, going to the home of someone I’d only just met… Carrying my hesitation, I opened my mouth.

“I couldn’t—really, I’d be imposing.”

“Truly, I do not mind. Please don’t hesitate.”

He met my eyes as he said it. In that blue gaze, I saw straightforward sincerity—meant for someone in trouble. That should have been all. And yet—somewhere deep inside, something ached softly. I felt as if I’d been looked at like this before, as if a hand had once led me on. The remnants of that memory were misted over, refusing to take shape.

Even so, standing at his side felt, inexplicably, like the most natural choice.

“Thank you. Truly… Then, if you insist, I’ll accept.”

He nodded lightly and moved behind the counter.

“If you could wait here for just a moment, I’ll make sure everything is locked up properly.”

Lights clicked off in sequence; equipment was checked; drawers shut with muted taps; the last lock turned. Outside, wind-bellied rain drummed the glass in a low, steady roar. The café’s light settled into calmer shadows, the air growing still and grounded.

He returned when he’d finished, glanced out to gauge the downpour, and gave a quiet nod.

“I will lock the door, just in case… but depending on the circumstances, we may need to return.”

He took up an umbrella from nearby.

“I’m not sure how much this umbrella will help… but I’ll bring it with us, just in case.”

The faint curve at his mouth pulled a small laugh out of me despite the weather.

The moment he pulled the handle, a blade of cold air and the smell of rain slid through the narrow gap. Outside, the street was white with rain. I stepped out—and the crosswind drove the downpour straight into us. Lee snapped the umbrella shut without a word and took my arm.

“Shall we?”

There was no doubt in his voice. I only nodded and ran where his hand guided me—out into the storm. In moments I was drenched, water seeping into my shoes. Even so, the warmth of his grasp was the one thing the rain could not take.

☾

We passed through a small auto-lock entrance and climbed a short set of stairs.
Lee inserted the key, and with a soft click, the door opened.

“This way. Be careful—it might be slippery.”

He gently ushered me inside. I took off my shoes at the door.
The sound of the rain faded instantly, now separated by just a single wall, and a quiet stillness settled over the room, wrapped in the glow of gentle, warm light.

The building exterior was a little aged, but inside, the space was warm and refined—wood textures and iron fittings in quiet harmony.
The concrete walls were bare, but the floor was a rich, deep color.
Amid the urban minimalism, soft rugs and green plants lent the room a lived-in, peaceful feel.
The kitchen in the back had a stainless-steel counter and white tiled backsplash; cooking utensils were neatly hung on the wall like a miniature studio.

When I glanced back, I saw Lee brushing his wet bangs back with his fingers.
A single drop of rain slid down from his now-revealed forehead.
Droplets clung to his long lashes, scattering light each time they trembled.
One traced his cheek, slipping gently into the hollow of his collarbone.
His wet shirt clung to his skin, outlining the slope of his shoulders, his chest, and the smooth rise and fall of his toned abdomen.

It lasted only a moment, and yet it was more than enough to steal my gaze.
I knew I shouldn’t stare. And still, I couldn’t look away.
Something tightened softly in my chest. I swallowed a breath and turned my eyes away, silently willing my pulse to calm.

Lee walked over, having taken a towel from a shelf.

“Here, this is for you. You can use it to dry off.”

As I reached out to take it, our fingertips brushed—just briefly, and yet it lingered far too long.
My heart gave a quiet jolt.
Even the faint warmth traveling through the towel’s edge stayed with me.
He gently nudged it once more into my hands, as if to make sure I’d accepted it.
That subtle gesture sent a quiet heat blooming in my chest.

I lowered my gaze to hide it.
Lee, too, seemed to soften slightly in response.

“Please, go ahead and use the shower first.”

His voice was calm, but there was a note of concern gently woven through it.

“It’ll help you warm up. And… I hope it’s okay if you wear mine?”

Those words brought a ticklish warmth to my chest.
We had only just met, and yet being welcomed like this—so naturally—made me quietly happy.
From a neatly arranged shelf, Lee took out a full change of clothes, along with a new, unopened set of undergarments.

It was clear he hadn’t prepared to have anyone over.
And yet, he offered them without hesitation.

“…Thank you, truly.”

I gave a small bow of gratitude.
Lee nodded slightly and averted his eyes, gesturing politely toward the bathroom.

The heat of the shower slowly thawed the cold that had clung to me.
After toweling off my hair, I slipped into the white shirt Lee had lent me.
The moment the soft fabric touched my skin, an inexplicable sense of comfort washed over me.

When I stepped out of the changing area, I saw Lee returning from the end of the hallway, a laundry basket in hand.
He had changed clothes, but small beads of water still clung to his hair in places.

It seemed he was planning to wash my soaked clothing.
His eyes drifted toward me, and for the briefest second, those clear blue irises widened.

“I’ve finished. Thank you again—for letting me use the shower.”

I offered him a small smile, pressing my palm lightly over the front of the borrowed shirt.
The air between us seemed to shift just slightly.

Lee’s throat moved faintly as he swallowed. Then, just as quickly, he returned to his usual calm.
But I had seen that flicker of change—small as it was.

“I’m glad it helped you warm up, even a little.”

He looked away as he spoke, adjusting the laundry basket in his arms.
Was it just my imagination… or were his ears a little red?

“I’ll take a quick shower too, so… please make yourself at home.”

The words came out all at once, and without waiting for my reply, he turned swiftly and disappeared into the bathroom.
I watched his retreating figure and couldn’t help but smile.

It was the first time I’d seen him flustered like that.

From the sleeve of the borrowed shirt came a faint scent—laundry detergent mixed with the unique quietness of his home.
A ticklish feeling bloomed in my chest.
Without thinking, I ran my fingers lightly along the cuff.
It must still have been raining outside—
—but the air in this room felt unusually warm.

☾

From the bathroom came the steady rhythm of running water.
Standing idly in the hallway felt pointless, so I let my gaze drift into the living room. The wooden floor gave way to the gentle sink of a soft rug beneath my slippers. Along the wall, shelves held geometric ornaments and small monochrome photographs in neat frames. Each captured a quiet scene—seashores, street corners, the corner of an old factory—devoid of people, steeped in stillness.

On the kitchen counter sat a dried cup and a well-worn steel coffee mill. A row of jars held beans, each labeled by hand with the roast date and origin in clean, careful writing.
One section of the shelf was lined with books and magazines on coffee origins and brewing methods, with a slim notebook tucked between them. A glance revealed page after page of tidy notes—supply records and trial blends scribbled in fine script.

We had only just met, and yet… this kind of detail already felt so very him. My fingertips brushed over the spine of a book. With the rain’s endless surf-like murmur beyond the steady patter from the bathroom, I stood listening.

Something in my chest tightened without warning.
I didn’t know why.
But being here felt strangely right.
His precise movements, his neat handwriting, his quiet voice—these should all be unfamiliar, and yet they echoed with a faint sense of something remembered.
I almost whispered nostalgic, but held it back.
If I said it aloud, something might spill over.

Curling my toes into the rug, I took a slow breath.
The lingering scent of coffee grounds from the mill mixed with the clean smell of fresh linen, calming the stir in my chest just a little.

The bathroom door opened quietly, and Lee returned, pressing a towel to the back of his neck.
The shirt he’d just changed into still carried the warmth of steam in the air, and as he passed by, the faint scent of soap and citrus brushed past me.

“Are you feeling warm enough?”

His voice came gently over his shoulder, and I answered instinctively. “Yes, I’m fine.”

He gave a small nod, glanced at me briefly, then walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“I was planning to try out a new menu item. I brought a little of the soup I made at the café, if you’d like to have some.”

He poured amber-colored chicken broth into a small stainless pot.
As it warmed over the flame, a gentle aroma began to rise, threading itself into the quiet of the room, soft as the rain beyond the windows.
His hands moved with practiced calm—the sound of rice noodles dipping into water, the clean rhythm of a knife through herbs, and the green lift of fresh leaves as they opened to the heat.

It was the same graceful precision I’d seen when he made coffee—no wasted motion, no rush.
But now, all of it was just for me.
And that made it harder to look away.

Maybe he noticed.
His movements softened, just a little.
He didn’t look up, but something warm seemed to pass through his fingertips.

He placed the noodles into a warmed bowl, ladled in the broth, then added shredded chicken, herbs, and a wedge of lime.

“There’s chili sauce too, if you’d like to add a little heat.”

“No, I’m good.”

I thought I saw the corner of his mouth tug upward—like he’d expected that answer.

“All right. Here you go.”

He set the bowl on the counter.
Steam rose with a fragrance that made me breathe in deeply—gentle, rich, the kind that warms you from the inside just by scent alone.

“You’re the first to try this version,” he said, voice soft through the mist.
“I hope it’s to your taste.”

I nodded, blew over the surface, and took a small sip.
A mild salt opened the way for a deep chicken flavor, chased by the bright notes of herbs.
By the time it slid down my throat, the warmth had already reached my core.

“…It’s wonderful.”

His lashes trembled once, but he didn’t answer.
Just let his blue eyes narrow slightly, as if quietly content.

He took a bowl and chopsticks of his own, sat down across from me, and after a brief glance and a small smile, stirred the herbs gently into his soup.

“…Let’s eat.”

The words were simple, his tone as calm as always—but softer somehow.
Warmth bloomed quietly in my chest.
It would have been enough that he cooked for me—but sitting beside me, sharing the same meal, felt quietly precious.

Before I knew it, my spoon was scraping the bottom of the bowl.
I drank the last of the broth and let out a breath.

“Did it taste all right?”

I looked up. He was already watching me, his chopsticks set aside.

“Yes. The herbs were so fragrant, and the chicken had such a gentle depth… The noodles were smooth—I didn’t tire of it for a second.”

I said what I felt, plainly and honestly.

He gave a soft reply.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

The words were quiet, but his mouth curved gently.
Like a warmth floating up between us—light as steam from the bowl.

“That was really good. Let me do the dishes, at least.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“You don’t have to—you’re the guest.”

“I kind of owe you for dinner and shelter.”

I smiled as I stood, and after a moment of hesitation, he nodded.

“…All right. Thanks.”

Standing at the sink, I washed the bowls one by one, sponge in hand.
Outside, the rain continued—a steady whisper against the glass.
Behind me, I could hear the soft sound of water beginning to boil, the gentle movement of someone tidying up.
When the last dish was rinsed and carefully dried, I returned it to its place—just as Lee called out.

“All done? Please, come have a seat.”

Drawn by his voice, I stepped back into the living room.
On the low table sat a glass teapot, where pale dried leaves floated in hot water, slowly deepening into gold.

“It’s a blend of chamomile and lemon balm,” he said. “I thought something warm would be nice tonight.”

The steam carried a soft, calming fragrance that seemed to ease something inside me.
Lee gave the pot a gentle swirl to check how the leaves had opened, then poured the tea slowly into two pre-warmed cups.

“Just a little something special,” he added with a faint smile.

He reached for a small glass jar, letting a spoonful of amber honey melt gently into the tea.
The added sweetness wove through the herbal aroma, wrapping the room in gentle warmth.
Behind the rising steam, chamomile blossoms swayed; soft light flickered in the reflection on the surface of the tea.

I accepted the cup and took a careful sip.

“…It’s really lovely.”

A faint sweetness touched my tongue first, followed by a quiet bloom of fragrance through my nose.
I rarely drank herbal tea—but somehow, this slipped into me like it had always belonged.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said gently.

“This isn’t on the café menu, right?”

“No, it’s not,” he replied. “We decided to keep the focus on coffee.”

“But you serve food too. Have you never considered offering herbal teas?”

He gave a soft chuckle.

“I have. But if I’m going to serve it, I want to be confident in what I’m offering.
And teas, honestly… are a bit outside my comfort zone.”

He looked down, slightly sheepish.

“Instead, I’ve made sure we have options for people who avoid caffeine—decaf, or drinks with milk and spice.”

“In that case, I’ll probably end up a regular.”

“That would mean a lot.”

His voice grew slightly softer, and it made me smile.

As I set my cup down, Lee glanced toward the window.

“…It looks like the rain’s letting up a little.”

He stood and walked over, pulling his phone from his pocket.
After checking something on the screen, he let out a quiet breath.

“The warning’s been lifted. It seems the café will be fine tonight.”

He glanced at the clock, then turned back to me.

“It’s getting quite late… Rather than heading out now, I think it’d be best if you stayed here tonight.”

“But… I don’t want to get in the way. I’m off tomorrow, but you—”

He shook his head gently.

“No need to worry. I’m working the late shift, so I don’t need to be in early.
And besides…”

He turned his gaze back toward the window.
Under the streetlight, the rain still glittered in thin silver threads.

“…It’s still cold out. Better to rest somewhere warm.”

“…In that case, I’ll take the sofa, then.”

“Please—feel free to use the bed.”

“I couldn’t possibly…”

“The sofa has a low back. You won’t be able to turn comfortably. It might leave you sore in the morning.”

“But—”

“Then how about this: let’s take turns using the washroom.
Whoever finishes first can take the bed. Fair?”

His voice was kind—never forceful, but it left no room to argue.

“I’ll take care of the tea things. Please, go ahead.”

I let out a soft laugh and gave a small nod, heading to the washroom.
After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I returned to the living room, towel in hand.

I moved toward the sofa, still thinking—somewhere in the back of my mind—that I’d sleep there after all.
Settling into the cushions, I pulled the blanket over my knees and leaned back.
Warmth spread gently through my shoulders.
It was only supposed to be for a moment…

But with the rhythm of the rain in my ears, my eyelids slowly grew heavier—
—until the room, and everything in it, melted into quiet darkness.


☾


When Lee returned, he found Eric fast asleep on the couch in the quiet living room. A faint smile softened his features.

“…The sofa can’t be very comfortable.”

There was no response. Lee gently lifted Eric into his arms.

As if sensing the shift in gravity, Eric’s brow twitched slightly.

“…Still awake…”

The sleepy words came with a weak murmur, his fingers clinging tightly to Lee’s shirt. Despite the protest, his eyelids remained closed and his breathing was calm and even.

“You don’t sound very awake to me,”
Lee said with a soft chuckle, casting a glance over his shoulder.

Outside the window, the once-torrential rain had quieted. Raindrops now scattered gently under the glow of the streetlamp, smudging softly against the wet pavement.

Lee carried Eric to the bed and laid him down carefully, pulling a blanket over him. When Eric’s hand didn’t release its grip, Lee gave in with a quiet breath and sat down at his side.

The hush of rain tapping the glass filled the silence.
Adjusting the blanket, Lee looked down at Eric’s face. He brushed the hair from his forehead with careful fingers, pausing as a subtle difference caught his touch.
Had he grown thinner than he remembered? The thought made his gaze soften again.

“…My Commandant… I finally found you again.”

His voice barely carried, unsure if it would reach the sleeping figure at all. He took the hand still clinging to him, and pressed a light kiss to its back.

“Goodnight. I hope you dream well.”

The words faded into the hush of the rain, swallowed gently by the quiet of the night.


☾


I awoke to the faint stir of someone shifting in their sleep.

Through the curtain, the amber light of the streetlamps spilled softly across his face, casting a gentle glow that drew every detail into sharper relief.
There lay Lee, breathing with a calm, steady rhythm—neither too deep nor too shallow. His long lashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, and the soft light brushed his features with tenderness. His golden hair shimmered faintly in the darkness, gently swaying with each quiet breath.

It felt as though a small pocket of sunlight had found its way into the hush of night.
A peace so profound it seemed to seep even into the depths behind my closed eyes slowly filled my chest.
I couldn’t look away from his form—so delicate it felt as though the slightest touch might make it unravel.

Somewhere in the haze of my drowsy gaze, a thought flickered.
I must have known him once.
Not just the warmth of familiarity or comfort—something deeper pressed against my chest.
A trace of feelings that had never reached their mark. A fleeting fragment carried over from a time lost, brushing ever so gently against my heart.

“…Lee… who are you, really?”

The words slipped from my lips in a whisper.

And then, lulled by the quiet murmur of the rain, I sank slowly back into sleep.


☾


A faint light filtered through my eyelids, and I slowly opened my eyes.
The sound of rain had nearly vanished, replaced by the distant hush of passing cars.
The warmth that had once been beside me was no longer there.

“…Was it a dream?”

I turned over, but Lee was nowhere in sight.
Still, this was clearly not my own room—an unfamiliar ceiling above, neatly arranged furniture surrounding me, soft morning light swaying beyond sheer white curtains.

As wakefulness returned, fragments of the night before slipped quietly back into my mind.
Falling asleep on the sofa.
The sensation of being lifted.
The feel of fabric clenched in my half-conscious fingers—
And with it, a quiet, lingering heat that still rested deep in my chest, impossible to explain.

I slipped out of bed and made my way down the hall, following the gentle sounds ahead.
A warm, savory aroma drifted from the kitchen, loosening something in me.
And there, I found a familiar figure standing by the stove.

Noticing the sound of my footsteps, Lee turned.

“…Good morning. Were you able to sleep well?”

I gave a small nod, still half-drowsy.

On the table were a colorful salad, a bowl of yogurt, and a steaming bowl of minestrone.
At the stove, a soft yellow omelet was just beginning to take shape in the pan.

“…Wow. This feels like a feast.”

“They’re all quite simple, I assure you. Please, go ahead and wash up.”

The gentle smile on his face caught me off guard for a moment, and I quickly turned toward the bathroom.
When I returned, Lee carefully slid the finished omelet onto a plate and set it before me.

“While it’s still warm.”

As I brought the fork down, a soft cloud of steam rose up.
The first bite filled my mouth with a gentle balance of salt and the natural sweetness of the ingredients.

“…It’s really delicious.”

The words were plain and embarrassingly simple, as always.
Lee’s mouth curved just slightly.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

We ate in quiet peace for a while.
The occasional clink of cutlery, the rising steam from our cups—
All of it melted into the calm morning air.

“I had planned to leave early this morning… and yet, here I am, even having breakfast.”

“Not at all. I always make a proper breakfast, so it was no trouble.”

The light sound of ceramic touching ceramic passed between us.
A brief silence followed, warm and unhurried.
As we neared the end of the meal, Lee’s gaze drifted toward the window.
The morning light, filtered through the curtains, gently lit the rain-washed ground outside.

“It’s hard to believe there was a storm last night.
…I still have some time before I need to leave. If you’d like, would you care for a short walk? There’s a bakery nearby I rather like.”

His quiet invitation made me nod without a second thought.

“That sounds lovely.
…Though, if I keep indulging like this, I might really start gaining weight.”

“If we walk enough, I’m sure it will balance out.”

His straight-faced reply made me laugh softly.

“In that case, let’s walk a lot.”

Setting my cup down with a smile, I added,

“I’ll leave the route to you.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to show you.”

☾

—At the time, I had no way of knowing.
That this “guidance” would not necessarily lead me straight to my destination.
And yet, I felt no unease.
There was something about this young man named Lee—something that made even a detour feel like a journey worth taking.

Outside the window, the street trees, still adorned with raindrops, swayed gently.
Light pierced through the clouds, casting a pale, iridescent shimmer on the pavement.
Yesterday’s storm felt like a distant memory.

I offered a quiet thanks to this new day.
Rising from my seat with my cup in hand, I looked toward his back.
There he stood, by the window—his profile bathed in the soft glow of morning light.
And beyond him stretched a sky of clear, tranquil blue.

—Beneath this sky, I wanted to walk beside him.
That thought took root deep within my heart.

Fin.