9 | ☕ Is Atlas a Vampire? ☕ #3
A long, quiet sigh, before he lifted his coffee and took a slow sip, like he was contemplating the meaning of life.
She grinned.
"You're fun to mess with," she admitted. "Did you know that?"
Atlas set his coffee down, fingers already moving again.
Anya leaned closer, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"And you give too many mysterious non-answers."
Atlas held her gaze.
Then, with almost dangerous slowness, he signed:
Because Atlas Valtieri never said more than necessary.
Never wasted a single motion.
Never did anything without reason.
And yet, here he was, sitting across from her, drinking her coffee, staring at her with those impossibly dark eyes that made it hard to breathe.
She swallowed.
"Oh," she said, attempting to keep her tone light, casual, like he hadn't just said something without really saying it. "That's a—vague answer. Very on-brand."
Atlas said nothing.
Just lifted his cup, took another slow sip, gaze still locked on hers.
And maybe it was the caffeine buzz, maybe it was the way Kaia was probably watching this entire exchange like a soap opera from the back, but Anya—being Anya—did what she always did when she felt the weight of Atlas's presence pressing in too close.
She pushed back.
"Well, obviously you come here," she said, feigning exasperation, waving a hand around the café. "You've been coming here every day for weeks. I meant—why?"
Atlas's gaze didn't waver.
Didn't flicker.
Didn't give her anything.
Instead, with the kind of agonizing patience that could drive a person insane, he took his time setting his coffee down, fingers tapping lightly against the ceramic, before finally lifting his hands to respond.
Anya stared at him.
Then scoffed.
"That is such a lie." She narrowed her eyes, folding her arms on the counter. "You barely drink it."
Atlas blinked at her.
Then, maintaining eye contact, he lifted the cup and took a deliberate, measured sip.
Slow.
Calculated.
Like a silent challenge.
Anya's lips parted in disbelief. "Oh my God. You are so—" She exhaled, shaking her head, fingers tapping against the counter. "Fine. Fine. Let's say you like the coffee. That still doesn't explain why you sit right here every day. This café has plenty of seats."
Atlas tilted his head slightly, watching her.
Then, fingers moving with the same maddening patience, he signed:
Anya snorted. "That's just another way of saying you're avoiding my question."
Atlas's lips twitched. The tiniest movement. Almost imperceptible.
Almost.
And damn it, why was that little flicker of amusement so distracting?
Anya huffed, leaning closer. "Be honest, Valtieri. Do you just sit here because it's the best spot to glare at people in peace?"
Atlas exhaled. A soundless sigh.
But his fingers moved again.
Anya narrowed her eyes. "Because people are too afraid to sit near you?"
Atlas didn't deny it.
Didn't confirm it either.
Just let the silence stretch, gaze steady, unreadable.
And somehow, that silence said everything.
She groaned. "Unbelievable."
Behind her, Kaia muttered under her breath, "Oh my God, just ask him out already."
Anya choked on air.
Atlas blinked, head tilting slightly, but his expression remained unreadable.
Anya shot Kaia a glare over her shoulder. "Excuse me?"
Kaia smirked, wiping down the espresso machine like she hadn't just dropped a bomb in the middle of Anya's very delicate balancing act with Atlas Valtieri. "I'm just saying," she continued, unfazed. "You two do this weird, intense, thing every day, and it's driving me insane."
"I—" Anya turned back to Atlas, who was still watching her, unmoved, like he was waiting to see how she'd react. She pointed at him. "This is his fault."
Kaia scoffed. "Oh, please. If he's the problem, why do you always react like that every time he looks at you?"
Anya clenched her jaw. "Like what?"
Kaia smirked. "Like you forgot how to breathe."
Anya inhaled sharply.
Nope. Not doing this.
She turned back to Atlas, face burning, determined to steer the conversation back to literally anything else—
But Atlas was still watching her.
Still quiet.
Still waiting.
And then—
With slow, measured precision—
He lifted his hands.
Anya froze.
Stared at him.
Her brain short-circuited. "I—what?"
Atlas tapped his fingers against his coffee cup, the barest flicker of something almost amused in his gaze. Then, as if he hadn't just said something completely unhinged, he signed:
Silence.
Anya's stomach dropped.
A sudden rush of warmth coiled in her chest, creeping up her neck, leaving her momentarily at a loss for words.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Atlas just watched.
And then—
Then, he lifted his coffee, took another slow sip, and—
And smirked.
Not a full one.
Not obvious.
Just the slightest, ghost of a smirk.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing to her.
Anya sucked in a breath. "Okay. Nope. I'm cutting you off. No more coffee for you."
Atlas didn't respond.
Didn't protest.
Just watched her.
And damn it, why did it feel like she was the one losing this game?