It's 12:23 in the morning and the cafe is closed. Fred, the owner, is in the back kitchen, putting things up. Across from the table, crystal eyes twinkling, Bob sips from his coffee mug and stares.

"Lela," he says, setting his cup down with a light clink, "you have to sing with me again tomorrow. It's a requirement."

You roll your eyes and smirk. "Bob," you say, "I agree that it went well today, but - "

"Went well?" he crinkles his crooked nose. "You were amazing - perfect, even. C'mon," he leans on his crossed arms, getting closer to you, "Fred's never gonna give me my own set. And if I have to play with Tiny Tim one more time, I'm finished."

You try to ignore the fact his hooded blue eyes are close to distracting you from everything. You've gotta stand your ground. "I appreciate what you've said, but you know how bad my stage fright is. I barely handled today."

"I'll be with you the whole time. You won't be alone up there."

"But, Bob - ,"

"Lela, you have a gift," he interrupts softly. "I can't let it go to waste."

Fred calls him to the back and his eyes don't release you until he's in the kitchen, probably putting away some last-minute dishes or something. You've only performed once and are therefore not required to help out, and although you normally would've volunteered anyway just to be kind, you've got too much to think about to even realize the possibility.

You'd met Bob only a few weeks before. You'd grown up just outside of New York and were visiting spots you'd never been to, including this cafe, and there he was up on the stage with Tiny Tim, a falsetto ukulele player with an odd style. But Bob was what moved you, and likewise, you seemed to move him. He sat down at your table after his show and you talked for hours - about life, about philosophy, about music. You seemed to agree on most everything, and his mind was beautiful. That's when he found out you liked to sing, as well, and he asked you to perform with him. "Just once," he had promised.

Well. He lied.

Suddenly, Bob reemerges from the kitchen, Fred trailing behind him. "Closing time," announces Fred, and you stand up. The three of you exit the cafe, turning out lights as you go. Fred's locking up when Bob asks you something different.

"It's pretty dark out here," he says, tilting his head slightly. "You shouldn't be out here alone in the city this late."

"You know I can take care of myself," you say slightly defensively.

"I know you can," he shrugs. "You just shouldn't have to."

"What are you asking me, Bob?"

"I'm asking you to spend the night with me."

Your eyes widen and he blushes. "No, no - not like that! I mean, I've got a couch. I'll sleep on it - you can have the bed. It's not the biggest place, but it's close by and it's warm and I've got some records we could listen to."

You think for a minute. "...Okay." He grins and takes your hand, making your stomach flop.

Bob wasn't kidding - his apartment really is close by. He opens the door and shuts it quickly behind you two, before running up a few flights of stairs to another door. "Home sweet home," he mutters, opening the creaky thing to reveal a very tiny apartment. He locks the door behind you and immediately starts rummaging through the stuff on the couch, putting it in stacks beside it. The bed is clear and you sit down timidly.

"I'd love to stay up and talk music some more, but I'm bushed," you yawn.

"That's alright," he nods. "You want a t-shirt to sleep in or something?"

"Sure," you say, and he walks over to an old dresser, the knobs rickety and peeling. He tosses you a large navy blue shirt and gestures towards a door.

"You can change in the bathroom."

"Thanks."

The shirt goes down to your knees and you chuckle at the fact. Bob looks up as you come back into the room and grins.

"What?" you laugh.

"You're adorable," he quips.

You return to the bed and pull the covers up awkwardly, feeling like you should be on the couch instead of here. The pillow is soft, though, and your eyes are heavy. "You ready?" he whispers, hand on the light switch, and your skin tingles just a little bit for some reason.

"Yeah."

He clicks it and it's pitch black. You can't see a thing. Your eyes widen in the darkness as you hear slow footsteps shuffling back to the couch - or at least, you think it's the couch until he turns towards you.

Your heartbeat rises in your chest. What is he up to?

Suddenly, soft lips press against your forehead. You feel like all the air has gone from the room.  "Goodnight, Lela," Bob whispers, retreating to the couch.

"Goodnight, Bobby," you whisper, face red - now very grateful for the lack of lighting.

***

Okay, kinda cheesy & mushy, but there's the first one shot! ^-^ I'd love to take requests if you've got them. Just leave them in the comments. :) Cheers!