Chapter Text
By six a.m. on a chilly Tuesday, the streets of New York were only beginning to wake up. Stars still filled the sky, street lamps glowing as night slowly transitioned to day. Marvin watched for a moment, taking in his surroundings—typical morning traffic crowding the roads, pedestrians hurrying past with purpose, the inappropriately loud honking followed by shouted curses from impatient drivers. A usual Tuesday morning.
Marvin felt his lungs deflate as the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding left his lips. He let his shoulders relax before flicking the switch that declared the café Open.
The first patron of the morning swung the door open almost immediately. Marvin hurried back to his station as hungry, half-asleep customers flooded the café. The calming aroma of espresso and disinfectant was quickly replaced by the bitter frustration radiating from the woman in front of him.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" the woman started. Slick, blonde hair framed her pale face. Her makeup was done in a hurry, and her clothes seemed unkempt—to put it kindly. Marvin's attention flicked to the soft tap of nails tapping the counter.
"Six a.m.," she continued, "Six. I'm going to be late to work because you decided to open an hour late!"
Marvin's smile faltered as he felt his relaxed demeanor slip through his fingers. His once calm gaze met fierce blue ones.
"Ma'am," he said evenly, "we open at six on weekdays, and five on the weekends."
It took all of Marvin's strength to remember his customer-knows-best training. The woman's face flushed as she spat out her order, paid with one swift motion, and turned away.
The rest of the morning passed smoothly. Between serving the long line of customers and preparing orders, Marvin seized any opportunity he had to restock milk and wipe down countertops. The barista wondered how he managed to maintain such a demanding job; mornings at the coffee shop were relentless. Consistency, he decided, was what made it bearable. The pungent scent of freshly brewed coffee, the low chatter amongst friends over breakfast, even unpleasant customers–all of it formed a familiar rhythm. Each day followed the same pattern, every moment rehearsed. Marvin rarely felt unprepared.
A soft chime rang through the coffee shop as warm air escaped, replaced by a rush of chilled wind when customers entered. Marvin offered a quick, “Be with you in one moment,” before finishing the daunting task of balancing a tower of lids. When he turned back to the counter, Marvin stilled, struck by the unexpected pull of the man standing patiently before him.
“Hi,” he said, a little too quickly, “What can I get for you?”
“Whatever you’d recommend,” the other man replied with a small smile. “Something simple–with oat milk, please.”
Marvin wasted no time preparing the order, though his shaking hands and flushed cheeks made the task more challenging than usual. For a moment, his heart fluttered in a way he didn’t quite understand.
The man watched quietly, patient but intense, and Marvin realized only after a brief pause that his gaze had never wavered. Clearing his throat, Marvin handed over the cup. “Here you go,” he said, trying to sound steady.
Calloused fingers brushed soft ones as the drink was exchanged. “Thank you,” the man murmured. Marvin watched closely as he brought the cup to his lips, suddenly invested in the man’s reaction. After a few painstakingly long beats, the man’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. The man adjusted the cup in his hands, meeting Marvin’s gaze again. For a moment, the background chatter and clinking dishes faded, and Marvin’s morning routine was completely forgotten.
“Hope you like it,” Marvin said, trying to sound casual.
The man nodded, smiling. “I’m sure I will.”
Marvin’s fingers lingered on the counter longer than necessary, though he wasn’t sure why. He watched as the man turned to claim a seat, then quickly shook his head, forcing his hands to steady as he returned to his duties. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared so much about someone else’s simple reaction—much less a man’s. Still, he couldn’t resist letting his gaze fall on the man who had managed to shatter years of routine in a single interaction.
Marvin snapped his focus back to the counter, restocking cups and wiping down surfaces, but his eyes kept returning to the man seated a few tables away. He noticed how the man watched the busy streets outside and took small, deliberate sips, drawing out his visit. Marvin found himself smiling at nothing in particular, the usual rhythm of his work felt muted, as if time had stopped.
A napkin hit the counter with a sharp smack, yanking him out of his thoughts. He yelped in surprise, his startled eyes meeting the soft, subtly humorous ones he had begun to adore.
“Sorry,” the man chuckled sheepishly. “Just wanted to hand you this.”
Marvin’s gaze dropped to the napkin, then back to the man as he continued, “Thanks for the coffee suggestion, I loved it.” His one-sided smirk affected Marvin more than he’d ever admit. “What was it?”
“An iced chai latte,” Marvin said timidly. “With cinnamon flavoring. And oat milk, as requested.”
The man responded with an appreciative hum, waiting a moment before adding a smooth, “See you around,” before heading out.
Marvin watched until the man disappeared from sight, then finally looked down at the napkin:
“212-880-7774. txt me :)
- Whizzer”