Emily was late.

She wasn’t running behind by much, maybe five minutes or so, but her heart still raced as she hurried down the bustling street, oversized tote bag bouncing against her side with every step. The cool morning air nipped at her cheeks, yet her skin felt warm—too warm—as if the world itself had cranked up the intensity just to match the manic hum thrumming through her veins. Everything was amplified: the bright, clear blue of the sky overhead, the sharp scent of car exhaust mingling with the faint smell of fresh pastries from the bakery on the corner, and the chatter of people rushing past her like they were all part of some grand symphony she hadn’t quite figured out the rhythm to yet.

Her tote bag was filled with her usual collection of chaos—sketchbooks she might touch once and then forget about after half-assing a drawing just to remember she prefers the tablet anyway, an almost started novel she’d picked up two weeks ago but lost interest in, and, most importantly, a little velvet pouch filled with crystals. The amethyst and rose quartz had practically jumped into her hand that morning, promising her they’d keep her grounded for her first day at the new job. And she needed that grounding. She was so far from steady, thoughts bouncing between excitement and anxiety faster than she could pin them down.

As Emily rounded the corner, the familiar sight of The Steamed Bean came into view. It was nestled between a small bookstore and an old-fashioned record shop, like it was trying to hold on to the past while everything around it grew slick and modern. The coffee shop had the kind of quaint charm that made people linger—a dark wood counter, mismatched chairs scattered across the floor, and shelves lined with jars of beans from all over the world. The sign out front was hand-painted, slightly chipped around the edges, but still managed to invite people in with a sense of coziness that almost tricked Emily into thinking it wasn’t all too much.

She pushed open the door, and immediately, the overwhelming scent of coffee hit her like a wall. It was thick and sappy, and Emily had to resist the urge to gag. 

Why did I take a job at a coffee shop when I hate coffee? 

The answer popped into her head as fast as it had left when she’d applied: the uniforms. The little aprons, the cute shirts—it was all about the aesthetic, really. Her glasses—pink, round frames today—sat perfectly on her stout nose, matching her floral skirt and pastel cardigan. She’d thought about wearing something more subtle, but subtle wasn’t her thing, especially not today. Her hair, freshly dyed a bright pastel pink, framed her face in wild curls that she’d just barely tamed with some mousse. She liked the way it looked with her glasses; it felt like a good start.

As she stepped inside, the low hum of conversation mingled with the sound of clinking cups and the sharp hiss of steam from the espresso machine. The shop was already buzzing with early morning customers—regulars who’d claimed their favorite seats and commuters grabbing their fuel before disappearing into the blur of the city. The energy in the room was contagious, feeding right into Emily’s excitement. She felt like she was vibrating, her skin practically tingling with how alive everything felt.

It was all so…real.

Her new coworkers barely noticed her as she stood awkwardly by the entrance, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. She caught sight of the manager, Claire, a middle-aged woman with a frazzled expression and a ponytail that looked like it had been yanked into place in a rush. Claire offered her a quick smile, more out of obligation than actual warmth, before hurriedly explaining something to the barista at the register. 

Emily didn’t mind. She wasn’t really listening anyway, her mind racing in a million directions at once.

What if I mess up? I won’t, I can handle it. Should I draw the coffee shop later? No, I’ll read that book instead. Maybe I should start a new project—ugh, I hate the smell of coffee. Oh, but that one guy’s shirt is kind of cute…

She blinked, realizing Claire was talking to her now, something about “just follow Megan” and “you’ll get the hang of it.” Megan was a petite brunette with a polite smile that looked like it was pasted on, and Emily followed her without question, trying to mimic her movements but feeling more like a puppy chasing after a squirrel. She could feel the manic energy bubbling under the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Megan was patient as she showed Emily the ropes, going over how to work the register and where everything was in the back, but Emily only half-listened. Her mind was too noisy, too fast. It was a blur of instructions and thoughts, mixing and melding into a racket she couldn’t focus on. The espresso machine hissed too loudly, the clatter of cups too sharp—it all felt like someone had turned up the world’s volume and Emily was the only one struggling to keep up with the beat.

And then the door to the back opened.

He was tall—really tall—at least a foot taller than her, and his presence filled the room in a way she couldn’t ignore. He had his hair tied up in a messy ponytail, strands of black hanging loose around his face, and the first thing Emily noticed was how pale his skin was against the dark locks. His clothes—a faded band tee and ripped jeans—gave off an effortlessly cool, grunge vibe, like he’d just rolled out of bed but somehow made it work.

The second thing she noticed was the cigarette dangling from his lips. He took one last drag, his eyes half-lidded as he blew out the smoke before carelessly putting it out on the side of the doorframe. 

Smoking inside? She glanced around, wondering if anyone was going to call him out, but no one did. He simply pocketed the cigarette, shrugged off his jacket, and sauntered over to the counter without a word.

Emily felt a flutter in her chest, though she wasn’t sure if it was excitement or nerves. 

Maybe both.

Her eyes flickered over him, quickly cataloging every little detail. The piercings in his ears—two on the left, one on the right. The way his jeans hung low on his hips, worn and frayed at the edges. The sharp line of his jaw that made him look like he’d just stepped out of a ’90s punk magazine. There was something about him that screamed I don’t care, and it intrigued her more than she cared to admit.

Her mind raced. What kind of music does he listen to? Does he like tattoos? Poetry? He looks like the type who’d have some secret hobby—maybe guitar? Or maybe something unexpected, like knitting. God, knitting? Really, Emily? 

Focus.

His eyes flicked to her for just a second, dark and indifferent, before he turned to the counter and started wiping it down with all the enthusiasm of someone watching paint dry. She felt herself freeze in place for a beat too long, unsure of how to respond to his complete lack of acknowledgment.

Then, just as she was about to look away and pretend she hadn’t been staring, he spoke.

“You’re the new girl, right?” His voice was deep, rough—like he’d been smoking for years—and carried the kind of monotone disinterest that made it clear he didn’t actually care about the answer.

Emily blinked. “Uh, yep! That’s me. Emily. It’s my first day.”

He barely glanced at her, already back to his task. “Cool.”

Cool? That was it? That was all she got? Emily felt her mind grasping at the silence, trying to fill it with something, anything. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, tapping her fingers against the counter nervously before blurting, “I love your hair! Do you do it yourself?”

It was a ridiculous question, she knew, but she couldn’t stop herself. There was something about him that made her want to break through that indifference, to get him to say something more than just “cool.” Maybe it was because his calm felt like the exact opposite of the chaos stirring inside her, and she wanted to see if she could disrupt it, if only for a moment.

He shrugged, not looking up. “Yeah.”

Another one-word answer. Emily’s smile faltered, but only for a second. She was determined now, even if she had no idea why.

She opened her mouth to ask another question when Megan walked up, interrupting the moment and pulling her back to reality. “Emily, right? Let’s head to the back so I can show you the storage area,” Megan said, her tone as cheerful as her practiced smile. She gently tugged at Emily’s sleeve to guide her toward the back of the shop, away from the counter and, more importantly, away from him. The moment was gone, dissolved into the familiar chaos of first-day onboarding, and Emily had no choice but to follow.

As Megan led her into the storage room, Emily’s thoughts stayed fixed on the tall, quiet figure she’d left behind at the counter. Alex. She didn’t know how she knew that was his name, but she did. She must’ve heard Claire mention it in passing earlier, or maybe Megan had said it when she wasn’t paying attention. Either way, the name Alex seemed to fit him: short, simple, and to the point, just like his attitude.

Emily’s thoughts spiraled in a million directions at once. Why did he seem so unaffected by everything? It was almost like he didn’t care where he was or who he was with, and it fascinated her. She, on the other hand, cared about everything. Too much, probably. Her emotions were constantly spilling over the edge, flooding every conversation, every interaction, every moment of her life. But not him. Alex seemed to live on the opposite end of the emotional spectrum, grounded in a calm she couldn’t comprehend.

“What do you think so far?” Megan’s voice snapped her back to the present. They stood in the cramped storage room, surrounded by stacks of coffee beans, syrups, and cleaning supplies. Megan gestured toward the shelves like she was showcasing a grand prize. “It’s a bit overwhelming at first, but you’ll get the hang of it.”

Emily smiled, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Yeah, I’m sure I will. It’s just...a lot to take in.”

Megan laughed softly. “You’ll be fine. Everyone here’s super chill. Well, except for Alex.” She rolled her eyes, smile turning conspiratorial. “He’s...different.”

She couldn’t help herself. “What do you mean by different?”

Megan leaned in slightly, as if about to share a secret. “Oh, you know, he’s just...kind of a loner. He’s been working here for a while, but he keeps to himself. Not much of a talker.” She raised an eyebrow, like she knew something Emily didn’t. “If I were you, I wouldn’t waste too much time trying to get to know him. He’s not exactly friendly.”

Emily’s heart sank a little, but she forced herself to shrug it off. “I don’t mind quiet people,” she said, a little too quickly. “Sometimes it’s nice to...you know, have that kind of balance.”

Megan gave her a look that suggested she didn’t quite understand. “Sure, if you’re into that sort of thing.” She glanced at her watch and sighed. “Anyway, I’ve got to get back out there. You’ll be fine here. Just make sure to restock the syrups before the lunch rush.”

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Emily nodded, and Megan disappeared back into the main area of the shop, leaving her with her thoughts. When she was sure she was alone, Emily exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Her manic energy buzzed inside her like a swarm of bees, ricocheting off the walls of her mind. The storage room felt too small, too stuffy, and she had to resist the urge to throw open the door and escape into the cool morning air. 

But she didn’t. Instead, she focused on the task Megan had given her—restocking the syrups—though her mind was already wandering.

Why am I so curious about him? It was a question she didn’t have an answer to.

She’d barely known him for five minutes, and yet he’d already carved out a space in her thoughts, refusing to leave. She wondered what his apartment looked like. Was it as minimalistic as his personality, or was it a total mess? Did he have posters of old punk bands on the walls, or was he more of a “bookshelves lined with obscure literature” type? Maybe he was secretly into something completely unexpected—like knitting, or gardening. The thought made her giggle to herself as she pulled down a bottle of caramel syrup from the top shelf.

She liked the idea of Alex having a hidden, softer side. Something about his aloofness made her want to crack him open like a mystery novel, to figure out what made him tick. 

There had to be something underneath the controlled exterior, something real, something warm. Maybe she was just projecting. 

Maybe she was being ridiculous. But maybe... maybe not.

After finishing with the syrup bottles, Emily made her way back to the front of the shop. The morning rush had slowed to a crawl, with only a few customers lingering over their half-finished coffees. Megan was wiping down the tables, humming softly to herself, and Claire was chatting with one of the regulars near the counter. 

And there, in his, as she assumed to be, usual spot, was Alex.

He stood behind the counter, wiping down the espresso machine with the same disinterest as before. He didn’t look up when Emily approached, didn’t acknowledge her presence at all. For a moment, she hesitated, unsure if she should even bother trying to talk to him again.

She leaned against the counter, trying to appear casual. “So, how long have you been working here?”

Alex didn’t stop wiping, but his eyes darted toward her for a brief second before returning to his task. “A while.”

Another one-word answer. Typical. But Emily wasn’t discouraged. She could work with this.

“Do you like it here?” she pressed, hoping to get more out of him this time.

He shrugged. “It’s a job.”

Okay, progress. She smiled, even though he wasn’t looking at her. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. It’s a cute place, though. Kinda cozy. I like the vibe.”

Alex’s hands stilled for a moment, as if he was considering her words, but then he continued wiping. “I guess.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and awkward. Emily chewed on the inside of her cheek, brain scrambling to come up with something else to say. But before she could, a loud crash echoed through the shop. Both of them turned in unison to see Megan standing over a shattered mug, her face red with embarrassment as she crouched to pick up the pieces.

“I’m such a klutz!” Megan groaned, sweeping the shards into a dustpan. “I swear, I’m cursed today.”

Claire rushed over to help her, but Emily barely registered the scene. Her focus was back on Alex, who was now leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. His expression hadn’t changed—still that same chilly, detached look—but something in his posture seemed a little less tense than before.

“You’re kind of hard to talk to, you know that?” Emily said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Alex raised an eyebrow, finally looking at her properly for the first time since they’d met. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Emily felt her face heat up, but she didn’t back down. “I mean...you don’t really say much. It’s like pulling teeth.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he studied her for a moment, dark eyes moving over her face, as if trying to decide whether or not she was worth the effort of a real conversation. Finally, he sighed.

“I’m not much of a talker.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Emily said, her tone light and teasing. “But that’s okay. I talk enough for both of us.”

That earned her a small, almost unnoticeable smirk. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but Emily caught it, and it made her heart skip.

“Good to know,” he said, turning back to the espresso machine. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

For the rest of the morning, they worked in relative silence, but the awkwardness had faded, replaced by a tentative understanding. Emily didn’t try to force conversation anymore, and Alex didn’t go out of his way to avoid her. It was a fragile peace, but it was something.

As the hours passed, Emily found herself glancing at Alex more and more, studying him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. She noticed the way his hands moved when he made a latte—quick, precise, like he’d done it a thousand times before. She noticed the way he would occasionally push his glasses up on his nose with the back of his hand, a small, unconscious gesture that made her smile every time. And she noticed, more than anything, how calm he seemed. 

How unaffected by everything.

It was the exact opposite of how she felt—like her skin was too tight, her brain too full. But being around him, even in silence, made her feel...better. More balanced. Like maybe, just maybe, she could borrow some of his calm for herself.

By the time their shift ended, Emily was exhausted. Her energy had finally started to dip, leaving her feeling drained but satisfied. She’d made it through her first day, and more importantly, she’d made a tiny bit of progress with Alex.

As she gathered her things to leave, she noticed Alex slipping his jacket on, the same indifferent look on his face as always. But before he could leave, Emily found herself speaking up, almost without thinking.

“Hey, Alex?”

He paused, turning to look at her, one eyebrow raised in mild curiosity.

“See you tomorrow?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just stared at her, his dark eyes vague. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Yeah. See you.”

And with that, he was gone, slipping out the door and into the cool evening air, leaving Emily standing there. The clinking of cups and distant chatter felt muted, almost dream-like, as her thoughts looped around that brief moment of connection with Alex. For most people, a nod and a few words exchanged wouldn’t have meant anything. But for Emily, it was a crack in the surface, a glimpse of something more. 

And she couldn’t help but feel like she’d earned that tiny, fleeting smirk. That alone made the exhaustion of the day feel worth it.

Megan approached from behind the counter, breaking Emily’s daze. “Not too bad for your first day, huh?”

“Yeah,” Emily said absently, her eyes still on the door where Alex had disappeared. “Not bad at all.”

Megan chuckled softly. “You’re still here, by the way. You can leave now. Claire won’t make you clean the floors on your first day.”

“Oh! Right,” Emily laughed, blinking herself back into focus. She tightened her grip on her bag and offered Megan a bright smile. “See you tomorrow?”

Megan grinned. “You bet. Don’t worry—by the end of the week, you’ll know all our regulars’ coffee orders by heart. It gets easier.”

Emily nodded, but her thoughts were elsewhere as she stepped out into the evening. The frigid air hit her face, leveling her, and she inhaled deeply, grateful for the crisp freshness compared to the stuffy warmth of the shop. She adjusted the strap of her bag, hands fiddling absentmindedly with the buttons on her cardigan as she began her walk home.

The city around her was alive—cars honking, people chatting, music spilling from open windows—but Emily felt oddly separate from it all. It wasn’t the usual hum of her manic energy driving her now. Instead, it was the lingering warmth of that brief exchange with Alex, his quiet, almost indistinguishable shift in demeanor

Her fingers brushed against the crystals in her bag, the amethyst and rose quartz she’d brought with her for comfort. She wasn’t sure they had done much for her anxiety during the day, but now, the smooth coolness of them brought a small sense of calm. She smiled to herself, thinking about how silly she probably looked—walking home, grinning like a fool over a guy who barely said three words to her.

But there was something about Alex. Something in the way he moved, the way he existed so quietly in the world, that drew her in. He was a mystery she wanted to unravel, piece by piece, layer by layer. And that smirk, that little moment of acknowledgment? It was enough to make her want to come back tomorrow. And the day after that.

Emily’s thoughts spiraled again, imagining what it would be like to spend more time with him, to learn the things he didn’t say out loud. Would he ever open up? Or would he always be that distant, unreachable figure leaning against the counter, uninterested in everything around him? She didn’t know, but she wanted to find out. And, in her typical way, her imagination ran wild, filling in the gaps with possibilities—fantasies of quiet conversations, stolen glances, maybe even the feeling of his hand brushing against hers one day.

Maybe... 

But Emily cut herself off, forcing her thoughts back to reality. 

Stop getting ahead of yourself. 

It was just one shift. One conversation. She reminded herself that it was just the beginning—no need to start dreaming up romantic storylines after barely saying more than two words to him. And yet, the thought lingered.

She pushed the door open to her small apartment, instantly greeted by the cozy chaos that reflected her inner world. A stack of half-read books sat next to the couch, a cluttered coffee table covered with art supplies, and an unmade bed in the corner. It wasn’t much, but it was hers.

Tossing her bag onto the couch, she kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the bed, the day’s exhaustion finally catching up with her. Her mind was still buzzing with thoughts of Alex—how his voice had sounded, rough and quiet, how his eyes had looked up toward her for just a second, how that smirk had emerged, so brief but so real. She replayed it all in her head, over and over, as if dissecting it would reveal something she had missed.

Before she knew it, her phone buzzed from across the room, snapping her out of her reverie. She reached for it, her heart skipping a beat as a small, irrational part of her hoped it might be Alex, though she had no reason to believe he’d ever text her. But no—it was just a message from Megan.

Megan: You did great today! First days are rough, but I think you’re going to fit in just fine :)

Emily smiled at the message, her fingers hovering over the screen as she tried to come up with a response. But her mind was still stuck on Alex, on what Megan had said earlier. 

He’s different. Was that true? Or was that just how people saw him?

Emily: Thanks! Had fun today. See you tomorrow! :) Also, what’s Alex’s deal? Is he always that quiet?

She hit send before she could overthink it, chewing her bottom lip as she stared at the screen, waiting for Megan’s response. A part of her felt ridiculous for asking, but she couldn’t help it. She needed to know more.

Megan’s reply came almost immediately.

Megan: Lol, yeah. He’s been like that forever. I don’t think he likes people, tbh. Good luck if you’re trying to get through to him ;)

Emily laughed softly to herself, mind whirling with possibilities. 

Doesn’t like people, huh? 

The day had left her physically exhausted, but her mind wouldn’t let her rest. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the coffee shop, about Alex, about what tomorrow might bring. There was something thrilling about the unknown, about the possibility that something—anything—could happen.

And as she drifted off to sleep, her last thought was simple.

I want to know him.