Paris on Valentine's night glows warm against the February cold.
Steamy windows, red ribbons on doors.
Every small restaurant overflowing with couples except
one table. ENFJ warmth moves through the
city with quiet intention. ISFJ steadiness with soft,
familiar calm. Two men who didn't plan to find
anyone tonight. One booked a table for one
without realizing the date. The other walked in like he
always does, a regular who forgot what day it was.
This is where their night begins.
This is men being 2 intimate season 2, a table for one
February Rain came down in a thin, misty curtain over Paris,
the kind that blurred lights into soft Halos and made
strangers walk a little closer to one another.
Adrian stepped off the curb in front of Bistroat Lob, a tucked
away neighborhood restaurant he'd bookmarked weeks ago.
He'd wanted warmth tonight, a quiet meal, a soft atmosphere,
something comforting after a long week at the museum.
He pulled out his phone. His reservation blinked up at
him. Table for one. 7:30 PM.
The words felt suddenly loud. He hadn't realized when he
booked, he just clicked the first open slot.
But now, standing in front of a restaurant with heart-shaped
window decals and couples lined up under shared umbrellas, he
exhaled, almost amused. Valentine's Day.
The one day he never paid attention to because it always
belonged to other people. He pushed the door open.
Warmth washed over him instantly.
Candle glow, the smell of butter and garlic.
Steam against fogged windows, glasses clinking softly.
His coat dampened on his shoulders as he stepped in.
The head waiter looked up. Someone calm, sharp eyed.
Someone who managed Valentine's chaos with a practiced grace.
He scanned his list, then met Audrian's gaze with a small,
knowing smile. Adrian felt his chest tighten
with a shy heat. The waiter led him through
crowded rows of tables, every seat full, every pair leaning
close over dessert plates. Adrian wove between murmured
conversations, soft laughter, hands gently meeting in the
middle of tables, then a corner. Small, warm, one plate 1, napkin
1, candle burning steadily, like it was trying its very best.
Adrian sat down, coat draped over the chair back.
He let out a slow breath. The candle flickered.
Paris murmured outside the window.
He could almost pretend the night wasn't meant for lovers,
that a table for one wasn't a spotlight on his quiet
loneliness. He smoothed the edge of the
menu. A table for one.
Just enough. At least, that's what he
thought. Julian pushed open the door with
a hand braced against the small wooden frame, cold rain clinging
to his coat. He stepped inside, expecting the
usual sight. Quiet tables, slow
conversations, the comfort of routine.
Instead, the room was glowing. Every table carried a small
candle he didn't recognize, the kind wrapped in a tiny red
sleeve. The windows were fogged from too
many warm bodies. Soft laughter and close whispers
drifted through the room. He stopped just inside the
doorway. He absolutely knew what tonight
was. He passed florists overflowing
with roses. He'd seen couples bundled
together on the metro, but he hadn't expected this little
neighborhood restaurant, his quiet, tucked away refuge, to be
swept up in the Valentine's rush.
He took in the sight slowly, registering each detail he'd
never seen here before. The waiter dressed just slightly
nicer than usual. Julian let out the softest
breath through his nose. For a second, he considered
turning around. Not because he felt out of
place. He was used to being alone, but
because it felt wrong to take up space in a room made for
tenderness. But before he could step back
into the rain, the head waiter noticed him.
His face brightened instantly. Julian, bong soire.
Julian relaxed a little. He wasn't special here, but he
was familiar. I didn't realize you'd be this
full tonight. The waiter's laugh was warm.
Valentine's my friend. Lovers need food too.
Julian nodded, eyes sweeping the packed room again.
He spotted couples everywhere, hands brushing, shoulders
touching. Normally he didn't mind it.
Normally he even found it beautiful.
Tonight, he just felt surprised. I don't think you have space for
one more. He murmured.
I'll come back tomorrow. But the waiter shook his head
immediately. I'll find a way.
Julian blinked, caught somewhere between touched and embarrassed.
The waiter lowered his voice. We do have one seat for one.
Julian followed his subtle glance toward the back corner,
where a man sat alone, elegant posture, soft eyes studying the
menu. Someone who didn't quite fit.
Loneliness, even if tonight placed him there.
If he doesn't mind sharing, the waiter said.
Julian hesitated for a polite beat, the kind of courtesy that
lived deep in him. But the truth was, he didn't
want to step back out into the cold.
And something about that man in the corner, the quiet warmth in
his expression, felt safe. Julian swallowed.
OK, he whispered, if he's willing.
The waiter smiled, half fond, half triumphant, and moved
toward the corner table. Julian watched as he approached
the man, watch the man look up startled, watch the waiter
gesture gently in Julian's direction, and for a moment,
Julian felt the strangest mix of nerves and curiosity.
A table for one, he thought. Maybe not tonight.
Adrian had just decided what to order when the soft shuffle of
footsteps stopped beside his table.
He looked up. The head waiter was there, hands
folded politely, expression gentle but carrying something
tentative. Adrian straightened a little.
Monsieur Morrell, may I ask you something?
A Dream blinked a question. At a restaurant on Valentine's
Day, this already felt unusual. The waiter stepped slightly
aside, angling his body so a dream could see past him toward
the entrance. A man stood there, a quiet
presence. His eyes were warm, even from a
distance. A dream felt something shift in
his chest. The waiter lowered his voice.
Would you mind sharing your table?
A Dream glanced at the empty seat across from him.
The candle between them flickered, almost expectant.
A table for one. A quiet night, and suddenly, an
unexpected possibility. His first instinct was kindness.
His second was curiosity. Adrian looked again at the man
by the door. Julian, though he didn't know
his name yet, wasn't pushing forward, wasn't assuming
anything, just waiting for permission he wasn't sure he
deserved. Adrian felt something soften.
I don't mind, he said. If he's comfortable, I'd be
happy to share. The waiter's smile deepened with
relief and a hint of mischief. Merci, Monsieur.
He returned to the entrance, a dream watched, not openly, but
enough to catch the moment. Julian's shoulders loosened when
he heard the answer. Then the waiter gestured him in.
Julian approached slowly through the narrow aisle, careful not to
disturb couples leaning into each other.
He kept his gaze low until the last moment.
Then he looked up, and Adrian met those gentle, steady eyes
for the first time. A quiet recognition pulsed
between them. Julian offered a small, shy
smile. Adrian returned it with
something soft and inviting. So much for a table.
For one, Adrian thought. Maybe the seat had never been
meant to stay empty. Julian settled into the seat
slowly, placing his gloves on his lap.
Menu lifted like a shield. Adrian lifted his own, offering
a small, polite smile before letting both of them slip into a
quiet moment of reading. Except only one of them was
actually reading. Julian already knew this menu by
heart. He knew the soups, the stews,
even. Which dessert sold out first on
rainy nights. He kept his eyes down anyway,
trying not to look directly at the man sitting across from him,
this elegant stranger with soft eyes and the kind of presence
that felt warm. Audrin, meanwhile, studied the
menu with careful attention. He browsed slowly, thoughtfully,
genuinely. Julian lowered his menu a
little, then set it down. His fingers instinctively
reached for the small candle between them, gently brushing
the warm glass as if grounding himself in the soft glow.
He turned it slightly, watching the flame bend and straighten.
He didn't mean to look nervous, but he was.
He kept his gaze anywhere but forward, but eventually,
inevitably, he looked up. Adrian's eyes were already on
him. Julian froze for half a second.
The candle flickered between them, catching the moment in
warm gold. Adrian offered the softest
smile, the kind that didn't push but welcomed.
Julian's breath hitched, almost imperceptible.
He nodded back, polite but slightly flustered, as if
acknowledging something real without naming it.
Around them, the restaurant moved with Valentine's noise,
but the little table felt suspended in its own quiet.
Adrian lifted his menu again, but his eyes lingered a moment
longer on the man across from him.
Julian lowered his fingers, brushing the candle holder once
more as if steading himself. Neither said anything, not yet.
Julian inhaled softly. Have you decided?
Adrian smile, tug gently at the corner.
Not yet, he admitted. Everything looks good, and you
seem to know this place better than I do.
Julian gave a tiny, nervous laugh.
He folded his hands, thumb brushing his knuckles.
I live nearby. I come here often.
It's small, but the food is honest.
Adrian liked that answer. Like the way Julian said honest.
Then I'll take your recommendation seriously.
Adrian said, leaning in. What should I try?
Julian hesitated, then pointed subtly at the menu.
Adrian listened with a kind of attention that felt rare.
He tilted his head, considering the options with a small smile.
Then he looked up, eyes warmer than before.
And what about you? Julian blinked, caught off guard
by the question. He tucked a strand of hair
behind his ear and answered honestly.
I'm thinking Maine only. Adrian nodded thoughtfully, and
Julian felt the faintest heat spread up his neck.
Not from embarrassment, but from being listened to so carefully.
The candle flickered, silence stretched, and then the waiter
appeared. He moved like someone who had
seen too many Valentine's Days to take any of them too
seriously. He clasped his hands behind his
back, glancing between Adrian and Julian with a knowing spark.
Have we decided? Adrian opened his mouth, but the
waiter lifted a hand lightly. Ah, but before you choose, let
me explain tonight's special menu.
Julian closed his eyes for one brief, doomed second.
The waiter cleared his throat theatrically, drawing in a few
amused looks from surrounding tables.
Tonight, our menu, St. Valentine, is designed for two
roasted figs with honey, 2 mains of your choice, and a dessert
meant to be appreciated together.
But I can bring 2 plates. A dream lifted A brow,
intrigued. Julian went perfectly still.
The waiter leaned closer, lowering his voice.
It is cheaper and frankly, much better shared.
Julian immediately shook his head.
The full set would be too much. The waiter turned to Adrian.
And you, Monsieur, would you like the full Valentine's
experience or something lighter? Adrian didn't answer right away.
He looked across the table instead.
Julian met his eyes. A brief pause, then the smallest
nod. Adrian turned back to the
waiter, the choice already made between them.
The waiter beamed. He winked and took the main
order for two and vanished into the kitchen.
Julian let out a breath he'd been holding.
He's always like this. He murmured, voice barely above
a whisper. A Dream folded his menu, resting
his elbows lightly on the table. The dinner had just begun, but
already the night felt different.
The appetizers arrived with a soft clatter, steam curling
upward in thin, fragrant ribbons, Two plates not matching
perfectly but clearly dressed for Valentine's Day.
A tiny beetroot heart on Adrian's.
A sliver of carrot cut into a heart on Julian's, bright,
savory color against warm roasted figs.
Julian blinked at the garnish just once.
Adrian's mouth tugged into a quiet, hidden smile.
The restaurant buzzed softly around them, the rustle of
napkins, the sleight of plates across tables, murmured
conversations tucked into pockets of candlelight.
But here, at this little corner table, the world slowed itself
down. Julian lifted his fork, cutting
into the fig with steady hands, the kind of quiet movement that
said he was still adjusting to the idea of not dining alone.
Adrian followed suit, his posture warm open, the
candlelight catching the edges of his expression.
The food was good, savory, warm, the kind that soften the cold
from outside. Julian's shoulders gradually
lowered with each bite, comfort finding him piece by piece, like
warmth returning to chilled fingers.
He glanced up once, briefly, long enough to catch a dream,
tasting the fig with the thoughtful seriousness of
someone who valued food. Their eyes met for 1/2 second.
A dream gave a tiny nod. Julian brushed his thumb along
the edge of his plate, a small habit, an Adrian watch with
quiet interest. Julian felt it without looking
up. The appetizers disappeared
gently, bite by bite, as the night pulled them into a soft,
unspoken rhythm that neither had expected.
The mains arrived with quiet grace.
Adrian cut into his first bite. Crisp skin, tender meat, the
kind of warmth that spreads instantly.
He paused, chewed once, then looked up, surprised by how good
it was. Julian's eyes lifted, cautious
at first. This is incredible, thank you
for recommending it. Julian's shoulders eased just a
little. You're welcome.
A dream tasted another bite, slower this time.
Julian lowered his gaze, but he didn't hide the faint curve of
his mouth. A comfortable pause settled.
A dream reached for the wine list left beside the candle.
He hesitated just a moment, then asked lightly.
Would you like to share a bottle?
It feels like a good night for one.
Julian blinked, surprised by the gentle invitation read.
Adrian agreed. The waiter returned, set a
Bordeaux between them, poured 2 glasses and left them in their
small pool of warm light. They clinked softly.
The wine loosened something in the air.
Adrian leaned back, a little more relaxed now, more open.
Julian took a sip, fingers brushing the stem of the glass,
shoulders unwinding with each taste.
So. Adrian said, a lazy warmth
entering his tone. What else do they do well here
besides chicken? Julian thought for a second,
eyes flicking to the kitchen door.
A dream listened with interest, elbow lightly against the table.
Julian looked up, a small, shy glance that held longer than
before. The candle between them
flickered, catching the rim of their glasses, coloring the
moment with something warm and unspoken and just beginning.
The wine softened the edges, the food warmed the center, and the
two of them quietly, slowly started to lean into the night
together. The mains were cleared away with
the slow, gentle rhythm of a restaurant that never rushed its
regulars. Julian sat back slightly, still
savoring the last warmth of time and roasted chicken.
That was when the chef emerged, older, warm eyed, apron dusted
with flour, the kind of owner who treated his Bistro like an
extension of home. He made quiet rounds from table
to table, nodding, checking in, offering short greetings to
couples, leaning close. When he reached Julian and
Adrian's table, he slowed Julian straight and subtly, the way
someone does when they recognize an old neighbor.
The chef's eyes warmed, as if seeing a familiar face with
company was all the answer he needed.
He gave a small approving nod to Julian, a silent thanks for
coming, before moving on to the next table.
Adrian watched the exchange with a quiet smile.
He didn't comment on it. Moments later, the waiter
arrived with their dessert. Valentine's Day special. 2
plates set down with the tiniest flourish.
Not overly sweet, not flashy, just a soft chocolate cake with
a swirl of Raspberry. Coolest, curved like a pedal,
but then another item, a small heart-shaped box, bright red,
glossy, placed gently between their plates.
From the chef. The waiter announced with a
cheerful tilt of his voice. Julian turned automatically
toward the kitchen. The chef was watching out of the
corner of his eye, and when Julian met his gaze, the chef
raised a discreet thumbs up. Julian's ears turned pink
immediately. Adrian tried, truly tried, not
to smile too broadly, but the combination of Julian's blush
and the chef's earnest approval made it impossible.
Julian opened the little box with careful fingers.
Inside, four small chocolates, each one different.
Adrian leaned closer, voice warm with genuine delight.
That's very sweet of him. Julian swallowed, embarrassed
but amused. He probably thinks I brought
someone for Valentine's. Adrian glanced at him, soft,
sincere. Well, you did.
Julian's breath caught, not dramatically, just a quiet
moment of realizing how much warmer the room felt.
He looked back into the chocolate box, trying to hide
the tiny smile that curved his lips.
The candle flickered. The chef turned back to his
kitchen, and between them, the chocolates gleamed softly.
A small, unexpected gift. The last of the Bordeaux clung
to the bottom of the bottle, dark and warm under the low
candle. Adrian lifted it gently, tipping
the final splash equally between their glasses.
A soft, unspoken one more moment together.
Julian watched the wine settle, it's deep red catching the
candle flame like a small ember floating in glass.
Neither hurried to drink. The restaurant had softened into
its late night quiet, the post in her hum settling into a
gentle murmur, chairs scraping softly from tables across the
room, couples drifting toward the coat rack, hand in hand.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, hands loose around the stem of
his glass, posture relaxed in a way that only comes after good
food, good conversation, and a kind of unexpected comfort.
Julian sipped his last mouthful of wine slowly, letting the
warmth spread from tongue to chest.
He set the glass down with a quiet breath, content, almost
serene. A dream mirrored him.
Their glasses now empty, the candle between them burning low,
the waiter approached with soft footsteps, placing 2 receipts on
the table. They each took a receipt.
They both began gathering their things, Scarves, coats, phones,
little motions done in comfortable silence.
It looked like the natural end of a night.
The part where you stand, smile politely, say goodnight, walk
separate ways outside the door. The February air rolled in, cool
and crisp. The night had settled into a
quiet glow, pavements still damp, St. lamps scattering light
like golden petals across the ground.
Julian tugged his scarf closer. Adrian zipped his jacket a
little higher. They stepped away from the
restaurant entrance, where warmth bled onto the sidewalk,
toward the chilly air and the faint sound of distant traffic.
For a few seconds, they stood together under the street lamp.
2 coats, 2 breaths, blooming white, 2 hearts not ready to
separate. Adrian looked over, the kind of
look that tests the boundary without crossing it.
Would you? A pause, Gentle.
Like to walk a bit if you're not in a hurry.
Julian blinked in that small, startled way he had, the kind
you tried to hide but never succeeded.
He wasn't in a hurry, not even close.
Yeah. He said quietly, his voice warm
despite the cold. I'd like that.
Adrian exhaled relief mixed with something quietly hopeful, and
together, side by side, they stepped into the Paris night,
their breaths puffed white into the cold air, each exhale
briefly visible before fading, a quiet harmony.
Adrian walked with his hands in his pockets, shoulders loose,
coat swaying lightly with each step.
Julian walked with the quiet composure he carried everywhere,
but tonight there was something gentler in his posture,
something open. Every so often their arms
brushed, not deliberately, not avoided either.
A block later, the street widened into a charming little
corner, a florist stand still open despite the hour.
Adrian slowed. Julian followed his gaze before
he realized what was happening. Adrian approached the stand,
exchanging a warm smile with the vendor and selecting a small
bundle of roses, 5 wrapped simply in brown paper.
Adrian turned back to Julian, smiling softly with the roses.
Julian thanked and held the roses, the petals catching the
soft glow of passing lights. After a minute, Adrian tilted
his head. Which way is home for you?
Julian hesitated, just a small beat, then let out a shy breath.
We actually passed it. Julian's ears warmed pink as he
looked down at the roses in his hand.
I didn't want to stop walking yet.
Adrian stared for a second, then smiled, something blooming in
his chest. Julian's eyes softened.
Adrian shifted, turning to him. His breath pooled, warm in the
cold air. I had a really good time, he
said. Would you like to see each other
again? Julian didn't blink.
They exchanged phones. Their fingers brushed briefly,
Numbers saved, names typed, a tiny vibration confirming it.
Adrian stepped back, half a pace, giving space.
I should let you go home. He said with a soft smile.
But next weekend, let's plan something.
Julian nodded, a shy, warm glow rising in his expression.
I'd like that. He tucked the roses closer to
his chest, turned toward his real St. this time, walked with
a little more lightness. Halfway to his door, his phone
buzzed softly in his pocket. He stopped under a street lamp
to check it. A dream.
Thank you again, it was genuinely lovely meeting you
today, he typed back, thumb steady.
The night wrapped around him, and for the first time in a long
time, he smiled his way up the steps of his home.
Some evenings don't happen the way we expect.
Some moments begin with a crowded restaurant, a table
meant for one, a polite nod to a stranger, and end with a shared
walk through quiet streets. A dream didn't fall in love, not
yet. He simply found warmth in
someone's steadiness, by someone who made the night feel less
like Valentine's Day and more like possibility.
And maybe that was always enough, Because not every
connection is a confession. Not every closeness turns into a
promise. Sometimes the best part of two
people's night is the quiet decision to keep walking a
little longer. The ENFJ and the ISFJ, One
offering intention, one offering steadiness.
A pairing that doesn't rush, doesn't ask for more than the
moment and still leave something soft behind.
This was men being too intimate a table for one.
If this moment stayed with you, listen to more from gay
audiobooks where personality meets chemistry and quiet
becomes everything. Subscribe, like and follow for
the next story. Also my short novel Men being
too intimate series. I saw you first One night Only
when the Car Door closed. And more are now available on
Kindle Unlimited. You'll find the link in the
descripcion. Please do have a read Being too
intimate.