HOURS EARLIER.

HE was proven to be a mystery once he set the tone for a routine.

It was always the same thing every time for the past three months. A lemon sorbet, a hand with the precise sum, and a quick, fleeting smile. Smiles were normally unnoticeable in my line of work as most customers I've served were quite nice- his enigmatic status forced me to pick and choose the ones I can separate him from, and his smile was different in itself. Small and sort of square, but pleasant. Sometimes hidden under tiny square-shaped glasses.

He sometimes wore a coat or a beret, sometimes both with a hint of those chunky, expensive wristwatches, and a ring or so. Nothing permanent. Fleeting miniscule things that become the clearest when a routine surfaces.

He pays, he walks, he sits at the middle stool on the left flank of the ice cream shop for an entire hour until he stands up and walks away, disappearing on the right side without as much as a backward glance.

When I appear to wipe nonexistent mess on the counter top he held court in, there would only be a small square of paper- the paper from the cone with the shop's name, folded into a perfect tiny square with the unused tissue folded inside it.

I don't exactly remember the date he first paid a visit, but I will always remember the last.

If I had known that I would actually come a point where I would be basically hugging a dead body, I wouldn't have been so easily swept away by the charm and smile. But mama always did say that there's a reason boys with the particular charms and smiles attract you were the most unavoidable ones. They were the type of poisons made for you. They were made to strengthen... or destroy you.

It's all just a matter of head over heart.

"He's here again," Quinn murmured as she slid next to me, wet cloth touching my arm, smile wide and impish. "Your main character."

I grimaced at the feeling, looked up and with panic at the familiar approaching silhouette - pushed her off.

She laughed.

"Go away," I hissed, fighting back a smile. It was bad enough that we talk about our customers behind their backs, wouldn't it just be beautiful if he hears us?

I plastered a pleasant if not a little shaky smile once he reached the counter with the usual ease. He himself was smiling and it cracked through my unease like melted butter.

"Good afternoon, how can I -"

"The weather is nice, no?"

I blinked.

Beetle brown eyes stared at me kindly, a half smile to his lips. It was the type of risky expression that made you unsure if he really did speak at all, and not just your mind playing tricks. And with that voice...

"Uh... sorry?"

I was afraid I heard him wrong. Or didn't hear him at all and my mind used a startlingly deep voice, too deep and too out of the usual pleasantries past 'please', 'thank you', and 'lemon sorbet in a cone' to rid me inept.

The second realisation came at once. He always mumbled before, a distinguishable voice that the mind can forget easily. Now, I realised with a curious clarity, he was speaking aloud.

And about pleasantry.

"The weather." Yep, that's definitely his voice. He is definitely, assuredly, terrifyingly speaking. I watched, as if in a trance, the way his lips moved. To me. He is speaking to me. "Beautiful for spring. Cool and sunny. Not the usual drear- or last summer when you'd think the world flipped us to the bottom of the equator."

He twisted his body and I followed where his gaze pointed; pass the tables and the lack of people inside the shop, but at the street, at the lights and shadows casting over the life that continued on outside. Its people and structure.

It's a view I see all the time, and my gaze already moved back to him. Broad shoulders with a beige coat that hung on him perfectly. The hair the colour of paling leaves; that silver of skin in between.

Without warning, he turned back, smile still preened. I blinked. He really had a beautiful smile.

... And then I realised a beat too late that he was waiting for my reply.

"Uh, well, it is. I guess." I bit the inside of my cheek. "I don't really notice the weather much. Not at his hour at least. Though I do, I mean, lack of customers and all, but... do you?" A string compelled me- damn the consequences and the blossoming read against my cheek - call it the storyteller who has watched the same enigma wlak in and out of the shop, bringing a whiff of mystery and adventure with him. It compelled me to keep him here, talking, by pouring out gibberish.

I guess Quinn was right. He was my main character. For weeks, I've watched and served him. The ten year old puzzle enthusiast and the fourteen year old Hercule Poirot fan inside tried to piece him together, give him a backstory. Breathe more life into a hollow interaction. From Secret Service agent to an ice-cream loving librarian - I've mused it all and more, never really coming to a conclusion I was satisfied with.

A different character every week. With each surprising tale until the next visit.

And here was now, after weeks, finally talking to me. About the bloody weather.

And it helps that he has a nice voice.

He laughed.

I smiled. And a really, really nice laugh.

"I guess. But you can also say that I am a little biased as the weather- whether she is sun smiling or pouring rain, whatever England wants to grace us with - always seem so oddly beautiful." My heart clenched; his smile took up the word and crushed it. He shifted, a little movement but his eyes stayed rooted against my own. "Anyway, I apologise for taking up too much of your time. I'm told I talk too much unless stopped."

"Oh, she doesn't mind," Quinn chirped, smiling slyly from the corner of my eye. His gaze swept to her, smile positively oblivious.

Blushing after a quick glare at the too obvious lingering person behind me, I couldn't look him in the eye anymore and instead, cleared my throat. This was proving to be too much and too out of the blue for my poor heart. This was definitely not one of my daydreamed scenarios of how we'd officially converse, and I was too unprepared for this one. So instead of facing this with a more charming conversation I had no way of steering towards, nor starting for the matter, I hopped back on my professional hat.

"So- what will you have?"

"Lemon sorbet in a- "

" - cone," I finished off without thinking, already working on the register. "The usual then."

"The usual?"

When I looked up, I met an amused smile distinctive with an arched eyebrow; a quiet question. A simple change, a new expression- and yet again, I stumbled.

"I- you, it's just- you know, like, daily order, eh- ordering daily - "

"Ahh. A natural observation and conclusion. You have a mind of a natural born detective."

"Hardly." I snorted. Though my heart still raced- treacherous and unforgiving. Oh my god I'm about to die. "I highly doubt remembering a repeated, easily conclused daily order from a daily customer qualifies as sleuth like qualities."

"I see."

"... Alright, so. Just give me a second."

Thanking the excuse of frozen dairy, I scrambled to the pans and tubs, holding onto a scooper with shaky fingers as if I was going to fight to the death with someone or end my messy existence. I had just opened the tub of creamy, yellow lemon sorbet when Quinn, once again, slid beside me more natural and graceful that it should've been, hiding from his view behind our joined backs- and squealed as loud as it was proper.

"Oh my god," she whispered, eyes wide and smile bursting.

"Shut up," I hissed, though my grin was equally as hurting.

"Ohmygoodnesshejustcalledyouadetective!"

I laughed at that, then immediately coughing. "When I said shut up, I didn't mean burst a full sentence into one breath. Now if you'll excuse me." I shut the lid with an audible, flat thud, and walked back to the counter with a practiced calm demeanor.

Tucked in a paper cone and wrapped in a tissue, I offered the finished product with a winning smile and the no doubt embarrassing red cheeks. "Sorry if it took a while. I'm usually faster than this."

His grin was so present, so alive. It felt like a permanent fixture to his usual expression. But his eyes... they felt different. "If I remember correctly, I was the one who initiated conversation, so the fault would be on my end. My apologies."

"Oh, please don't! God knows it needs some disturbing!" Eyes wide, I backtracked. "I didn't! I meant like, you know, long hours and- and lack of customers! So!" I shrugged helplessly. Eloquent. You are the epitome of eloquence, Wendy Cain.

He laughed again, the sound very much like a musical trapped in a box and it could very well vanish the embarrassment that curled around me like a mist.

"You know-" His eyes swiveled over my name tag- and they lit up like a firework. "Wendy. What a wonderful name! From J.M. Barrie's 1904 play, 'Peter Pan'. Did you know it was created from the nickname fwendy- translated out of a child's gibberish talk, given to Mr. Barrie by a young friend? Of course it was used before, but the amount was few that it was practically a rarity, related to the Welsh name Gwendolen. Because of the 'gwen' meaning 'white, fair, and blessed'. It's a charming name, no doubt, though only after Barrie's play did it become the fairly hit we know it today." He made a small bow, an incline of head. "Case in point."

I pursed my lips, absorbing that sudden pronounced fun fact. "So in conclusion, I owe my name mostly to Mr. Barrie, by a play made in 1904, a film I fairly liked though not loved, and it was mostly because a kid called Mr. Barrie 'fwendy'?"

"Don't forget the Welsh connection."

"Oh no, of course not. I would never." I unfurled my teasing smile. "It is a shame that Gwendolen's not my actual full name. I've always just been Wendy and I don't know if my parents got it from the play or from Gwendolen. Neither am I Welsh, unfortunately."

"Me neither. Though my name is not Gwendolen."

I laughed, shaking my head. "I'm sorry. I'm taking up more of your time. Please. Sit down. Or, you know, take a stroll out?"

"And why must I?"

"You said the weather was nice?"

He laughed. An out of the blue laugh that I caused and certainly deserved an award for, as his laugh sounded nothing short of a prize. "I did, didn't I? But I've gotten so used to our routine that I feel like I must. If only for our daily routine. See, I don't think I'll be coming around for a while. I have an unfortunate little problem that needed me to cut back on leisure time."

"Oh." I contained my disappointment quickly, but something still must've told in my expression, because his own changed, softening.

"Oh, don't be too sad, Miss Wendy. I said I won't be coming around here for a while. I never said we could never meet again."

This time, it was my turn to laugh. "That sounded something straight out of a Peter Pan play itself."

A corner of his mouth twitched. "It does, doesn't it?" 'To die will be an awfully big adventure.' 'The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it'. And my personal favourite- 'All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.'"

I stared at him in open fascination. "Do you always get this distracted? And this knowledgeable? You got distracted by my name and gave me an entire history for it, and now you're distracted by an onslaught of film quotes."

"Ahh, but these are literature quotes. I'm quoting the book."

I sighed after staring at him again. He smiled wider.

"Whatever was that puzzling smile and mysterious sigh for?"

"I don't know your name," I blurted out. My real thoughts could not be made into words, for they were far too many and far too crazy. Mostly they were emotion anyway. A warmth of happiness. An explosion of pleasure and mirth. A delighted disbelief. The I'm talking to the most wonderful guy in the planet and I still find him wonderful and oh god he's still talking to me feeling.

"Oh. Well." He straightened, as if preparing for it. Then he smiled and offered his hand. "Leon. My name is Leon."

"Odd. And here I thought it'd be Peter Pan."

His smile brightened. My heart further unfurled and puddled at my feet. "That would be an awful lot of coincidence now, wouldn't it, Miss Wendy?"

"You should eat your ice cream now... Leon." I nodded at his cone, smiling sadly. "The sorbet is already sat and crying."

"We mustn't have that." With a quick look, he licked off the stray melting portions without care nor thought.

"We really... mustn't. It was nice talking to you. Finally."

He tilted his head. "Were you working up at the courage to?"

"Well-"

"- I was too. Working up some courage." He took another lick and smiled again. Then pushed his coat's sleeve and checked his watch, comitting a frown after digesting the numbers. "Oh, no. I can't stay. I must eat this sobbing sorbet while walking, but I'll have a minute to spare to sit down, then I'll go. It was so nice meeting you, Wendy."

"Same, Leon. Bye. Well, bye after you've sat down for a minute."

Quinn, not at all far, made herself known again by snorting... followed by a sharp cough and pretended to mangle with the tubs.

Leon smiled at this, then turned back, eyes as serious as his words as if remarking a promise. "'Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting'."

"Even I know that's a Peter Pan quote. Book, not film."

"Get a clear sniff on those 'observation skills', won't you Wendy? For me?"

"Why?"

"I have somewhat of a... hunch, let's call it. For something I'm in desperate need for, and I think you're just the very person. I'll only take a minute... on my spot. Then I'll leave. I expect your gracious detective skills."

My heart pounded painfully. Almost breathless, I asked, "What?"

He winked. "The key is Peter Pan. Do give me a minute."