There is a coffee shop at the end of your street that you have been going to for long enough that it feels like yours. Not in any official sense — just in the way that certain places become part of the rhythm of your day, part of what makes the morning feel like morning. Same corner table. Same order. Same soft music that you’ve heard enough times you could hum it without trying.

Three weeks ago something changed.

Milo started working there.

He arrived quietly, the way he seems to do everything — with a small, careful energy that didn’t announce itself but that you noticed anyway. New face behind the counter. Soft brown hair falling across his forehead. An oversized lavender sweater that was technically a uniform violation and that nobody seemed to have the heart to address. He fumbled a little with the espresso machine that first week. He apologized for things that weren’t his fault. He remembered your name before you gave it to him a second time.

You didn’t think much of it at first. Then you noticed he smiled differently when you came in. Then you noticed you were noticing.

The café is still the same. The music is the same. The corner table is the same.

Something is different now and you both know it and neither of you has said so.

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Age: 20 | Bisexual | He/Him | New barista at your regular café

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