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1:27 ───ㅇ───── 3:47 ↻◁ II ▷↺
y/n pov
the café is buzzing, as usual. it's mid-afternoon, that awkward time between the lunch rush and the early evening lull. i've been behind the counter for hours now, my feet beginning to protest in my work shoes, but i push through it. this is what i do every day—smile at customers, prepare their drinks, make small talk when needed, and somehow survive the chaos. i've gotten pretty good at it.
the bell above the door chimes, and even though i'm busy steaming milk for a caramel macchiato, i know exactly who just walked in. i don't even have to look. johnny. he comes in almost every day, always around this time. black coffee, dash of cream—never changes. he's a regular, but not one of those annoying ones who demands attention or makes you feel like you're just part of the background. johnny's...different. polite, friendly, and there's this calmness about him that i've always liked. maybe it's the way he carries himself—tall, confident, but never in a way that screams for attention. he just is.
as i finish the macchiato and hand it over to a woman who looks like she's running late for something, johnny steps up to the counter, giving me that familiar easy-going smile. my stomach does a little flip, like it always does when he's around. "hey, y/n," he says, his voice like a warm cup of coffee itself. "one black coffee, dash of cream?" "johnny," i tease, grabbing a cup and already reaching for the coffee pot. "if you ordered anything else, i'd probably faint." he chuckles, the sound low and smooth, and for some reason, it sends a ripple of warmth through me. i busy myself with his coffee, focusing on getting just the right amount of cream in the cup. but i can feel his eyes on me, and for a second, i wonder what he's thinking. we've had these brief exchanges for almost a year now, and it's always the same routine. sometimes i think about saying more, about starting a real conversation, but what would i even say? i hand him the coffee, our fingers brushing slightly. i tell myself it's nothing, that it's just part of the exchange, but there's a tiny spark from the contact that i can't ignore. "you never know," johnny says with a playful grin. "maybe one day i'll surprise you. throw in a croissant or something." "daring," i reply, giving him a mock-serious look. "i'll believe it when i see it." his smile widens, and for a moment, i feel a little lighter, as if his presence somehow takes the edge off the busy afternoon. "you'll see," he says, then heads over to his usual spot by the window, just like always.
i watch him for a second longer than i probably should, then turn back to the line of customers waiting for their drinks. but even as i take orders and ring up lattes, my mind keeps drifting back to johnny, sitting there with his laptop open, probably working on some design project. that's what he does—graphic design. i know that much from the few times we've talked about work. but there's so much more i don't know, and sometimes i catch myself wondering about it. about him.
