Malphas had been watching Arthur and Diana for the better part of two weeks now, initially out of simple curiosity, then with a steadily growing, uncomfortable self-awareness that had finally crystallized into something he could no longer avoid examining directly.

He noticed it most clearly on Monday morning, catching sight of Arthur checking his phone with a small, private smile before a meeting, the same expression Malphas himself had spent months carefully avoiding whenever certain thoughts about a certain lobby receptionist crossed his mind. He'd watched Arthur transform, over the past several weeks, from the cold, guarded man he'd first cautiously approached into someone visibly, undeniably happier — and the transformation, Malphas had to admit, had happened specifically because Arthur had stopped waiting for fear to disappear before acting anyway.

He thought about his own situation, considerably smaller in stakes than anything Arthur or Diana had navigated, yet somehow feeling equally paralyzing whenever he actually tried to act on it. Yuki had worked at the lobby desk since before he'd even started, always cheerful, always patient with his increasingly elaborate excuses to linger near her workspace, and he'd spent two entire months constructing an ever more baroque architecture of invoice questions and printer complaints specifically to justify the time he spent talking to her, never once simply admitting that he enjoyed her company for its own sake.

He wondered, watching Arthur type another message with that same small, private smile, whether he'd been overcomplicating an equally simple thing entirely out of the same fear both Arthur and Diana had apparently spent weeks wrestling with — the fear that naming a desire directly somehow made rejection considerably more devastating than leaving it comfortably, safely unspoken. He'd survived actual warfare, political betrayal, exile to an entirely different plane of existence. Asking a woman to dinner should not, by any reasonable measure, feel more daunting than any of that. And yet, somehow, standing at the edge of his own desk considering the question, it very much did.

"You're staring at me," Arthur observed, not looking up from his monitor. "It's becoming quite a noticeable pattern lately, if I'm honest about it."

"I'm reflecting, genuinely. There's a meaningful difference between the two, you understand."

"Reflecting on what exactly, specifically?"

Malphas hesitated, then decided, in the spirit of the courage he'd only recently discovered he possessed, to simply say it. "I think I've been avoiding something considerably smaller and less consequential than what I confessed to you in the parking garage, purely out of the same cowardice, and watching you and Diana has made that avoidance increasingly difficult to justify to myself."

Arthur finally looked up, genuinely curious now. "Yuki."

"How did you—"

"You've mentioned her approximately four times a week for the past two months, always with a specific tone that has nothing to do with the actual content of whatever story you're telling. It wasn't subtle, Malphas. Nothing about you is ever particularly subtle."

"That's fair. Painfully fair, but fair." Malphas sighed, dropping into the chair beside Arthur's desk. "I don't know how to simply ask someone something as small as whether they'd like to get dinner sometime. I once negotiated an entire trade agreement between three warring provinces with less internal panic than I currently experience thinking about asking Yuki to lunch."

"Trade agreements have clearer stakes. Rejection in that context simply means renegotiation. This context has considerably more personal exposure."

"Exactly. Precisely that. You understand the problem perfectly."

Arthur considered him for a long moment, something genuinely sympathetic in his expression despite the situation's inherent absurdity. "For what it's worth, the actual asking is considerably less catastrophic than the anticipation of asking. I have recent, direct experience to support that claim."

"I've heard that theory before, actually. From a barista, apparently, according to something Diana mentioned."

"Word travels fast in this particular ecosystem of anxious, exiled men."

"Apparently so. Though I notice you managed to apply the theory considerably faster than I've managed to, despite having presumably heard it around the same time I did."

"I had additional motivation. Specifically, watching several near-misses accumulate until the accumulated tension became more exhausting than the fear of acting."

"That's oddly poetic for someone who once threatened entire villages with the specific, clinical language of a legal contract."

"I contain multitudes. We've established this."

"You have. Repeatedly. I'm beginning to suspect it's your primary personality trait at this point."

Arthur allowed himself a small, dry smile. "Perhaps. Regardless — my advice, for what it's worth, is simply to ask. Directly. Without the elaborate buildup you're clearly already constructing in your head."

"I don't have an elaborate buildup constructed."

"You've been standing at my desk for six minutes discussing this instead of returning to your own work. That qualifies as buildup, Malphas."

"...Fair point."

---

Malphas spent the remainder of the week building toward the moment with the same meticulous, overly cautious planning he brought to everything requiring genuine vulnerability, drafting and discarding no fewer than eleven different approaches before Friday afternoon arrived and found him standing at the lobby desk, ostensibly signing out a delivery, actually working up the nerve to say something he'd rehearsed considerably more than the situation technically warranted.

He'd spent the entire elevator ride down rehearsing his opening line, discarding three separate versions before settling on something he hoped struck the right balance between casual and sincere, though by the time the elevator doors opened, he'd already forgotten the careful wording entirely, left with nothing but raw, unfiltered nervousness and a vague sense that whatever came out of his mouth would likely bear little resemblance to anything he'd actually planned, a realization that did nothing whatsoever to calm the specific, frantic energy currently propelling him toward the lobby desk.

"Yuki," he said, and then immediately lost track of the rest of his rehearsed opening entirely.

"Malphas." She looked up from her monitor with the patient, faintly amused expression she'd developed specifically for interactions with him over the past two months, having grown accustomed to his particular blend of chaos and unexpected charm. "You're hovering. You only hover when you're building up to something."

"I am building up to something. Give me a moment. I've rehearsed this and I've somehow already lost the thread of it."

"Take your time, honestly. I have nowhere pressing to be, except everywhere, technically, since it's literally my job to remain available at this exact desk during business hours."

"Right. Yes. Okay." He took a breath, steadying himself with visible effort. "Would you like to have dinner with me sometime? Not work-related. Not about the roadmap, or invoice discrepancies, or any of the other topics I typically use as an excuse to talk to you longer than necessary."

Yuki blinked, genuinely surprised, though not, Malphas noted with cautious relief, in a way that suggested horror. "You've been using invoice discrepancies as an excuse to talk to me?"

"Extensively. For weeks. I'm not proud of the pattern, in retrospect."

She laughed, an actual, warm laugh that eased something tight in his chest considerably. "I wondered why you always seemed to have so many urgent invoice questions specifically at the end of my shift."

"The timing was deliberate. I'm not sorry about it, exactly, though I recognize it was somewhat transparent."

"Extremely transparent, honestly. I've been waiting for you to just ask directly for at least three weeks now, maybe longer, if I'm being fully truthful about the timeline."

Malphas stared at her, several rehearsed contingency responses evaporating entirely in the face of this unexpected revelation. "You— you knew?"

"Malphas, you once spent twenty minutes discussing a printer malfunction that didn't actually exist, purely, I suspect now, to remain standing at this desk longer. It wasn't subtle."

"That seems to be a recurring theme in my life currently. Apparently nothing about me has ever been subtle."

"Apparently not. Dinner sounds nice, for the record. I'd like that."

Relief flooded through him with such force he nearly missed her actual answer amid the sheer disbelief that the ordeal had concluded so painlessly. "You would? Genuinely?"

"Genuinely. Though I do want it on record that you made this considerably more complicated than it needed to be, for both of us."

"Duly, absolutely noted. I'll aim for less complication going forward, though I make no promises whatsoever given my established track record so far."

"I wouldn't expect anything less complicated from you at this point, honestly. I think I'd find it slightly suspicious if you suddenly became straightforward about everything."

"I'll try to maintain a healthy balance of chaos and genuine effort, then, for consistency's sake."

"That sounds reasonable. What night works for you?"

---

Across the city that same evening, Zafir found himself watching a similar dynamic unfold from an uncomfortably familiar angle, listening to Diana recount, in an offhand aside during her usual Saturday visit, the story of Malphas's dinner invitation to Yuki, delivered secondhand through Arthur, who'd apparently heard the whole saga in exhaustive detail at work.

"That's a nice story," Zafir said, wiping down the counter with more focus than the task required. "Good for them."

"You seem distracted."

"I'm always distracted. Occupational hazard of running a milk steamer for eight hours a day." He glanced toward the back room, where Mira was currently restocking napkins, her laugh occasionally drifting out during some conversation with another employee, and felt the same familiar, persistent ache he'd been carefully filing under "unrelated topic" for weeks now.

Diana followed his gaze, understanding dawning slowly. "Oh."

"Don't."

"I'm not saying anything."

"Your face is saying several things."

"My face is simply existing. Any conclusions you're drawing are entirely your own projection." Diana studied him for a long moment, something knowing in her expression. "You gave me advice a few weeks ago. About waiting for fear to disappear before acting."

"I remember the advice. I stand by it. It worked for you, apparently, from what Arthur's been telling everyone at his office, apparently, according to secondhand reports."

"It did work. Which makes it somewhat ironic that you haven't applied it yourself."

Zafir set down his cloth, exhaling slowly. "It's different advice to give than to take. I'm aware of the hypocrisy. I've been aware of it for some time, actually."

"Then do something about it."

"It's not that simple."

"It's exactly that simple. You just told me it was."

He glared at her, though without much real irritation behind it, mostly just the specific frustration of being correctly called out by someone using his own words against him. "I hate that you're right."

"Get used to it. I'm right frequently."

"I'm beginning to notice a pattern of that, yes." Zafir sighed, glancing again toward the back room. "What if it ruins the friendship entirely? What if she says no, and then every single shift for the foreseeable future becomes unbearably, permanently awkward between us?"

"What if she says yes, and every shift becomes considerably better instead?"

"I hadn't considered that outcome with equal weight, honestly, now that you mention it."

"Most people don't, when they're scared. The fear only shows you the bad possibilities, in vivid, exhausting detail. It conveniently forgets to mention the good ones exist too, right alongside them, waiting just as patiently to be considered."

Zafir studied her for a long moment, something in her observation landing with more weight than her casual delivery let on. "When did you get so wise about this particular subject, exactly?"

"Recently. Very recently, actually. I had excellent motivation and a somewhat pushy barista giving me unsolicited advice at exactly the right moment." She smiled, softening the jab considerably. "Just talk to her, Zafir. Tonight, if you can manage it. Don't give yourself another week to think of reasons not to."

---

Later that evening, after the café had closed and Mira was gathering her things to leave, Zafir found himself standing near the door, heart considerably louder in his own ears than the situation strictly warranted for what he intended to be a simple, low-stakes conversation.

He'd spent the closing routine unable to focus properly, restocking the same shelf twice and nearly forgetting to lock the register, Diana's words from earlier still echoing insistently in his head — *don't give yourself another week to think of reasons not to.* He watched Mira gather her bag, pull on her jacket, humming something under her breath the way she always did during the quiet, unhurried moments after closing, and forced himself, before he could talk himself out of it yet again, to actually speak.

"Can I walk you home?" he asked, the question arriving considerably more directly than his usual careful, joking deflections typically allowed.

Mira glanced up, something curious crossing her expression at the shift in his tone. "You always walk me the first block anyway. This is new information exactly how?"

"I mean the whole way. And I mean I'd like to. Not just because our routes happen to overlap for one block before diverging."

Understanding dawned slowly across her face, followed by a small, pleased smile she didn't bother hiding. "Oh. That kind of walk."

"That kind of walk, yes. If you're amenable."

"I'm amenable." She grabbed her jacket, falling into step beside him as they headed out into the cool evening air, the brass bell chiming softly behind them. "For the record, I've been wondering when you'd get around to asking."

"Was it that obvious?"

"Extremely. You walk slower every single week specifically during that first block. I've been counting."

"I had no idea I was so transparent. This seems to be a running theme lately, apparently, among several people I know."

"Apparently so. I'm glad you finally asked anyway, regardless of the transparency."

They walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the streets quieter now that most of the city's evening rush had settled into the ordinary hum of a Saturday night, neon signs flickering on overhead in their familiar patterns.

"Can I ask what finally prompted it?" Mira said eventually, glancing sideways at him with open curiosity. "You've had ample opportunity before tonight, and I'm genuinely curious what tipped the balance after all this time."

"A friend gave me some rather insistent advice earlier today. About not waiting for fear to disappear before doing the thing you actually want to do, and about how the waiting itself rarely protects anything worth protecting."

"Smart friend."

"Increasingly so, lately. She's had something of a transformation recently herself, apparently, though I don't know the full details."

"Sounds like there's a lot of that going around this city lately."

"Apparently so. Seems to be contagious." Zafir glanced at her, something warm and uncomplicated settling in his chest at the easy rhythm of the conversation, considerably lighter now that the initial, terrifying ask had passed without catastrophe. "For what it's worth, I've wanted to ask you this for considerably longer than tonight suggests."

"I gathered that, eventually. You're not quite as subtle as you think you are, either."

"That also seems to be a running theme."

They walked the full route together that night, well past the point where their paths had ever diverged before, and across the city, in apartment 404, Arthur relayed the entire cascading saga to Diana over dinner — Malphas and Yuki, Zafir and Mira, two small, hesitant love stories finally, tentatively beginning — and found themselves, both of them, laughing softly at the sheer, improbable domino effect their own courage had apparently set into motion throughout the lives of nearly everyone around them.

"We should take some credit for this, honestly," Diana said, setting down her fork, clearly delighted by the entire unfolding chain of events. "Two separate relationships, both indirectly inspired by our own extremely messy, extremely delayed emotional breakthrough. That's practically a public service, if you think about it generously enough."

"I'm not sure inspiration is the correct term. Contagion might be more accurate, given how much anxious hesitation was apparently involved on all sides."

"Contagion sounds less romantic. I prefer inspiration."

"Duly noted. I'll revise my terminology accordingly." Arthur leaned back in his chair, studying her with the same warm, unguarded expression that had become increasingly natural over the past several days. "It's strange, isn't it. How much everything's shifted, not just for us."

"It is strange. Good strange, though. I like this version of things considerably better than four weeks of anxious silence and careful hypotheticals, and I suspect Malphas and Zafir will feel similarly, once they're far enough removed from the terror of actually asking to appreciate the outcome properly."

"As do I. Though I maintain a certain nostalgic fondness for the hypotheticals. They served their purpose."

"They did. Slowly. In increments."

"Exactly that." He reached across the table, taking her hand, the same easy, familiar gesture that had become one of his favorite small habits of the past week. "For what it's worth, I'm glad Malphas finally found his courage. And Zafir. Watching them stumble through the exact same fear we did makes our own particular brand of chaos feel considerably less unique, somehow."

"Misery shared is misery halved. Or courage shared is courage multiplied. Something like that."

"I believe that's the correct sentiment, yes, however inelegantly phrased."

"I'll work on the phrasing. Give me time." She smiled at him, warm and easy, and they finished the rest of dinner trading updates on the day's small, cascading romantic victories, both of them feeling, in some small but genuine way, like they'd played an unwitting part in setting an entire chain of quiet courage into motion throughout the ordinary, unremarkable corners of a city that had never once expected to host so many careful, hesitant hearts finally choosing, one after another, to simply ask, to simply try, to simply risk the small, survivable discomfort of finding out what came next instead of standing perfectly still and calling it patience, exactly as Zafir had once put it, weeks ago now, to a woman who'd needed to hear it more than she'd initially wanted to admit.