Last time, in the fading reign of Heavily Covey's ADI 2,
strangers stopped pretending they were just walking their
dogs. Evan Neutoprog, still unpacking
both boxes and pieces of himself, found comfort in
routine. Daniel Steady, familiar with
every corner of the city, found a rhythm he didn't realize he'd
been missing. A yellow bowl was returned.
An umbrella was shared. And somewhere between those
small gestures, something shifted, quiet but undeniable.
Now the week has carried them to Saturday, to a cafe that smells
like roasted beans and wet fur, where two dogs curl under one
table and two men begin to see what's been quietly growing
between them. This is Autumn Tales chapter 3,
brunch and Spark. In this episode, a missing dog,
a Silberin, and a truth that feels too gentle to be called a
confession. The apartment above the shop
still smelled faintly of machine oil and coffee.
It was always the same mix, the scent of work and mourning.
Downstairs, the bell over the repair shop door chimed each
time the wind slipped through the street, a reminder that the
world was already awake. Daniel moved through routine
without thought. Coffee, keys, phone, leash.
His mornings had been the same for years, a list followed more
from muscle than memory, but lately there was a pause between
each motion, a quiet second where his hands stop, as if
expecting something to interrupt.
Sonny waited by the door, tail sweeping the floor, ball in his
mouth. Then Neil smiled, setting the
coffee down to scratch behind his ears.
Yeah, no, he murmured, We're going.
He glanced at the clock, then at the reflection in the small
kitchen window. Stubble.
He hadn't shaved yet, the silver ring on his hand catching the
light. He turned it once with his
thumb, a habit more than a thought, and left it where it
was. Outside, Verzavis was damp and
half awake, shop shutter still closed, tram cables humming
overhead. The leash slackened easily.
Sunny always knew the route down through the narrow St. past the
flower stand, toward the park that stretched uphill into
light. The air smelled of rain and
soil. His footsteps fell into rhythm
with Sunny's, and for a few minutes, that was enough.
The city moved around them, voices in check, a bicycle bell,
the rattle of a passing tram, and Daniel felt that odd,
pleasant wait in his chest again, The kind that doesn't
hurt but remind you you're feeling something.
By the time they reach the path near the vineyard, the clouds
had broken into soft, Gray layers.
He checked his phone once, a message he hadn't answered from
Lucy, then slipped it back into his pocket.
Not today. He whistled low.
Sunny bounded ahead, gold against the dull leaves.
Daniel followed slower, smiling without meaning to.
There was someone he expected to see today, someone whose laugh
had started to sound familiar in his head.
And that thought, simple quiet, was enough to make the morning
feel new. The bell above the cafe door
gave a soft chime when Evan stepped inside.
Cafeu Mustu was smaller than he'd imagined, narrow tables
tucked against brick walls, candles in glass jars flickering
even in daylight. A window faced the street where
the last of the rain still slid down the glass, cutting the city
into slow moving reflections. He stood there for a moment,
uncertain whether to wait or sit.
Cucumber made the decision for him, trotting straight toward an
empty corner table and curling neatly beneath it as if he
already belonged. Evan smiled, lowering the leash.
So that's your spot. The little spaniel's tail
brushed against the leg of his boot, slow and content.
The sound of low conversation filled the room, Czech, English,
a blend of both, and the soft hiss of milk steaming behind the
counter. He slipped off his coat,
smoothing the collar, then sat. The seat was warm from whoever
had been there before. His reflection met his eyes
faintly in the window. The soft kind of tired that
travel never quite erases, hair slightly unruly from the wind.
He reached for the menu, tracing the check words with his finger,
whispering them under his breath to practice.
The waiter smiled as he passed, and Evan returned it
automatically. Across from him, Cucumber had
already stretched one paw forward, chin resting on it,
eyes half closed, comfortable completely at home.
Evan leaned back and looked around the cafe, the shelves
lined with mismatched books, the stack of newspapers by the
window, the coat rack near the door.
It reminded him of the places he used to picture when imagining a
new start. Warm, ordinary, alive.
The thought came quietly, like it didn't want to startle him.
Maybe I could get used to this. He reached down, brushing his
hand over Cucum's ear. Good choice, he whispered.
The bell chimed again. Evan looked up.
Daniel stepped in from the street, dark jacket damp at the
shoulders, hand running through. Rain touched hair that calm,
unhurried presents that always seemed to fill the air around
him. Before he said anything, Sonny
padded in after him, big paws already making for Cucumber's
corner. Evan felt his chest lift without
meaning to, a small, quiet recognition, like remembering
the next line of a song you hadn't realized was still
playing. Even Cucumber lifted his head.
Daniel gave a small nod, a faint curve at the mouth that wasn't
quite a smile but felt like one anyway.
Evan half rose from his seat, unsure whether to wave or greet.
He didn't have to. Daniel had already begun
crossing the room. Sunny followed his lay, big paws
and soft confidence. The leash trailed loose, a
rhythm of trust learned long ago.
He reached Cucumbers Corner, tail thumping once, twice,
before settling beside the smaller dog like they'd planned
it. The air between them felt
familiar but careful, as if they were both aware of something new
in the space and didn't want to startle it.
Evan lifted the menu he'd already been reading, though his
eyes weren't on the words Danielle noticed.
Do you need help translating? Evan smiled, lowering it
slightly. Maybe just deciding it all looks
good. Daniel leaned forward, pointing.
If you want something simple, eggs with dill, black bread and
coffee, or the pancakes. They're not really pancakes,
though I'll take your word for it.
He tried to sound easy, but his voice came out quieter than he
meant. Daniel's hand brushed the edge
of the table as he called to the waiter.
The faint clink of a silver ring against the wooden surface
caught Evan's attention. He looked down before he could
stop himself, a quick flicker of curiosity that felt too personal
the moment it happened. The ring wasn't shining.
It was dulled, familiar, like it had been worn longer than it
should have been. Evan forced himself to look
away. Coffee's fine black.
Good choice. Daniel said.
He smiled, but Evan's return was faint, polite, distant, trying
not to give anything away. When the waiter left, a quiet
filled the space, not uncomfortable but aware.
Daniel folded his hands loosely, the silver catching light again.
Outside, the mist thickened, softening the edges of passing
cars. Inside, the two dogs pressed
closer like warmths. Evan watched the condensation
for him on his cup, small beads of warmth gathering and sliding
down the porcelain. He told himself he wasn't
thinking about the ring, but his chest felt heavier than it had a
moment ago. Maybe it was nothing.
Maybe it was a story he wasn't meant to ask for yet.
Daniel broke the silence first. So, did you survive the first
full week? Evan exhaled, grateful for the
distraction. Barely.
I already lost track of how many times I said repeat after me.
Daniel laughed softly. They'll learn faster than you
think. Evan smiled again, the weight in
his chest easing, not gone, but quieter.
The plates arrived with a soft clatter, eggs still steaming,
bread thick and dark, a faint scent of butter and dill
drifting upward. Outside, the drizzle softened
into a pale haze. Light pressed through the window
like watercolor. Then Daniel's recommendation
arrived. Not quite pancakes, but thin
folded circles with caramelized tedges layered with a drizzle of
poppy seed honey and a scoop of soft white cheese melting at the
center. Evan blinked, smiling faintly.
Daniel cut a small piece with his fork and nodded toward it.
Try it. And for a moment, he didn't
speak. His eyes widened slightly, not
from surprise, but from that quiet disbelief that something
so simple could taste that good. Daniel's laugh was low.
Quick. Told you.
Evan smiled without answering, a small shake of his head as if
conceding defeat. The warmth of it stayed in his
expression even as he looked back down at his plate, cutting
slower, thoughtful. For a while, they ate in
companionable quiet. Cucumber and Sunny shifted
beneath the table, tails brushing, the occasional sigh
rising between them, and Daniel noticed something, a small smear
of sauce near the corner of Evan's mouth, catching the
light. When he smiled, Daniel
hesitated. His hand lifted halfway,
stopped, then dropped to the table.
He tried again, this time using words.
You. Evan reached for his napkin, but
missed the spot entirely. Steal.
Daniel's voice lowered, uncertain but gentle.
He leaned forward before he could second guess himself, then
reached for a napkin instead. Hold still.
He said quietly. Evan stopped mid motion.
The napkin brushed gently across his skin, a soft, careful motion
that lingered a fraction too long before Daniel pulled back.
The warmth of it startled them both.
The waiter passed by just then, catching the moment with a
knowing half smile that vanished as quickly as it came.
Daniel leaned back, eyes lowering to his coffee.
Sorry. He said quietly.
Old habit. I'm used to looking out for
details. It's fine.
Evan answered, still half smiling.
He didn't look away this time. The silence that followed wasn't
heavy, just full, like the air after rain outside.
Someone walked past with an umbrella the colour of honey.
Inside, the dogs had drifted into sleep, their paws tangled,
their breathing perfectly aligned.
It wasn't a spark, not yet, just a brief crossing of lines, a
touch meant for kindness that carried something neither of
them named. The kind of moment that stays
even after the coffee cools. When the plates were nearly
empty, the conversation drifted icily to the dogs.
It was the kind of talk that didn't need much thinking, just
affection shared in sentences that smiled.
Daniel leaned back, watching Sunny under the table.
He's a little too polite sometimes.
Waits at doors, never takes food unless I not first.
I think he picked up all my bad habits.
Evan laughed. That sounds ideal, cucumbers the
opposite. He's brave until something moves
faster than him, then it's chaos.
Daniel's eyes softened. Maybe that's why they get along.
Evan nodded, following the curve of his spoon in the cup.
He makes the apartment feel like it's not just a place I'm
staying in. That made Daniel glance up
quietly, like he didn't mean to look so directly.
That's important, he said, to have someone that waits for you.
The waiter return with the bill, setting it down between them.
Daniel reached first, quick but unhurried.
My treat. You can owe me a walk.
Evan tilted his head. A walk?
Trade places. You take Sunny, I'll take
cucumber. He said it casually, but the
idea hung in the air like an invitation to something lighter.
Evan hesitated, smiling. All right, but if Sunny decides
to change careers mid walk, I'm blaming you.
They left the cafe together. The rain had stopped, leaving
the pavement slick and shining like glass.
Sonny walked perfectly at Evan's side, matching his pace.
Cucumber, meanwhile, zigzag down the street, stopping every few
meters to sniff or make his mark, pulling Daniel this way
and that with cheerful insistence.
Daniel didn't mind. Each tug made him laugh quietly,
shoulders shaking as he tried to keep up.
Evan glanced over once, grinning despite himself.
He's got a system, he said. Daniel Nodet.
A chaotic one, but it works. When they reached the park
gates, the clouds had thinned, letting the first stretch of
late afternoon light fall across the grass.
The air smelt clean again, pine and the faint sweetness of
something blooming too early for the season.
Let them loose? Evan asked.
Daniel Nodet. Sunny won't go far.
They unlatched the leashes almost at the same time.
For a heartbeat both dogs stayed near, sniffing, circling,
testing the space. Then a sudden blur of white
fluttered above the pathogen, scattering from the fountain.
Cucumber barked once, sharp and excited.
Then Cucumber bolted forward. Sonny hesitated.
Look back at Daniel, then at the flying shapes.
Sonny ran off Evans leash caught mid release.
He stumbled forward as it pulled tight, boots slipping on the
damp path, falling hard against the grass.
Soon he stopped a few paces ahead, ears high, unsure.
Cucumber barked again from farther away, tail high and
certain. Forget about him, come on.
And soon he did. A flash of gold, a sound of
pause fading into distance. Daniel reached Evan in a few
quick strides, kneeling beside him.
Evan laughed once more, out of breath than humor.
There was dirt streaked across his hand, a small cut blooming
near the base of his palm. Daniel uncapped his water
bottle, pouring a little over it without asking first.
The water ran cool over skin and earth.
Evan flinched, but didn't pull away.
Daniel's hand steadied his thumb pressing gently to keep it
still. Hold on, he murmured.
The touch lingered, not held but resting warm against the chill
air. When Evan finally looked up,
Daniel was already watching him. Neither spoke.
The distance between them felt measured by breath alone.
Then a bark cut through the quiet sunny mud on his paws,
tail wagging, tongue out. Came bounding back, full of
apology. Daniel smiled, standing.
See, he never goes far. Evan pushed himself up, brushing
dirt from his coat. Daniel scanned the park.
No sign of cucumber, just the echo of his bark somewhere down
the slope. He crouched beside Sunny,
resting a hand on his collar. Sunny, show me where cucumber
is. Sunny barked once, then shot
forward. Daniel followed, quick and sure.
Evan hesitated only long enough to take a breath, then ran after
them, his step softer, heart louder than he wanted to admit.
It wasn't the distance that scared him.
It was a sudden quiet where something familiar had been a
moment before. They followed the sound of
barking through the lower path, past the vineyard wall and into
the softer, wetter ground where the rain had gathered.
Evan's breath came in uneven bursts.
Daniel's steps stayed steady beside him, his hand brushing
branches out of the way. Sonny dotted ahead, circling
back once as if to say this way, before bounding through a patch
of reeds near the pond. And there, half hidden in the
mud, tail wagging furiously, was cucumber.
His chest was streaked brown, his fur matted into wild curls,
but his eyes were bright and unapologetic.
He gave 1 bark triumphant, then another, then, for good measure,
jumped straight into Daniel's legs.
The splash was immediate. Mud climbed the hem of Daniel's
jeans across his coat, splattering up his sleeve, all
dirt heavy. He froze midstep, one hand
outstretched, the other holding the leash.
Evan stopped a few feet away, breathless from running.
The dog only wagged harder, sending another spray of mud
over Daniel's shoes. Daniel looked down at himself,
then at Evan, and laughed. That low, real kind of laugh.
That doesn't sound often. Evan smiled, shaking his head.
You look like the one who got rescued.
Feels like it. Daniel admitted.
He wiped his sleeve with a handful of grass, which only
made it worse. For a moment, the world settled
again, rain beginning to lift the soft hum of the city beyond
the trees. Daniel stood there, soaked to
the knees, smiling despite himself.
Evan hesitated before speaking. My place is close.
He said, almost too casually. If you want to wash off before
heading home. Daniel glanced up, a faint
surprise in his eyes that quickly softened into gratitude.
You sewer. EBA nodded.
I think you've earned a clean towel.
Their eyes met briefly. Not charged, not hesitant, just
steady. Cucumber barked once, as if to
approve. Sonny wagged his tail in
agreement. They turned toward the street
together, leashes crossed, mud trailing behind them in faint,
uneven footprints. The rain had stopped for real
this time. The sky above them opened, pale
and clear, and the city seemed to exhale as if it had been
holding its breath, waiting for this quiet, ordinary moment.
On the small balcony of a Verzavis apartment, Sunny and
Cucumber waited, looped over the railing, tails thumping against
metal and uneven rhythm. They'd been left outside for
now, still damp and streaked with mud, until their turn came
for a proper wash. Cucumber, proud of his
adventure, sat close to Sunny, who looked cleaner, but not by
much. Neither seemed to mind.
They didn't know why they were waiting, only that the rain had
stopped and that being side by side felt right enough.
Below them, the street carried the soft hum of the evening.
A tram bell, a door closing, the smell of wet stone rising with
the wind. Inside, water ran in the
bathroom. Daniel's jacket hung by the
sink, droplets gathering at the edge before falling to the tile.
Steam curled up the mirror, blurring his reflection until it
was just movement, the sound of a man quietly washing off the
day. He opened the small cabinet
above the sink, half out of habit.
Inside, a scatter of everyday things.
A comb, A worn toothbrush, a box of plasters near the back.
He turned one over in his hand, remembering the cut on Evan's
palm, small, but enough to linger in his mind.
He set the bandage by the edge of the sink, ready to mention it
later. Evan moved through the apartment
in low light, searching drawers for an old towel and a pair of
sweatpants that might fit. The floor creaked under his bare
feet, small sounds that somehow felt louder tonight.
He passed the window on his way to the closet and paused.
Outside. The dogs waited on the balcony,
2 small silhouettes pressed close, unaware of why they'd
been left there. Cucumber's head rested against
Sonny's shoulder, both content in the way animals are when the
world finally feels still. Evan smiled to himself.
He found a towel at last, frayed at the edges, soft from years of
use, and folded it over his arm on the kitchen counter.
The kettle began to hum, steam curling against the light.
For a moment he just stood there, the room heavy with the
scent of rain and soap, a trace of laughter still hanging in the
air. He thought of Daniel's hand
steadiness earlier, the quiet patience in it.
Something about it lingered. Not the touch itself, but the
feeling that someone had noticed.
For the first time, the apartment didn't feel quiet.
It felt full. Two dogs, two men, one home
burrowed for a moment, warmed by accident and somewhere between
laughter and running water, the beginning of something they both
pretended not to name. This was Autumn Tales Chapter 3,
Brunch and Spark Next time Steam fills the bathroom, towels piled
by the door, and laughter softens into something steadier.
A simple act of care turns into belonging.
And the silver ring waiting on Daniel's hand begins to ask its
quiet question. And the night of calm becomes
the start of something neither expected.
If you enjoyed this episode, don't forget to follow and
subscribe for the next chapter where an evening turns into
honesty and a quiet question finally finds its answer.
And while you wait, check out the other stories on our
channel. Like men being Too Intimate, We
are SMWB and many more from our world of gay audiobooks.