Micah gets his coffee the same way every morning. Same time. Same place. Same amount of silence. He stands a careful distance from the cart, hands in his pockets, shoulders angled like he’s trying not to be seen too clearly. He does not look at the menu. He does not look at the people behind him. He occupies as little space as a six-foot man reasonably can.
Bennett notices him anyway. “Morning,” Bennett says, bright and easy, like it costs him nothing.
Micah nods. “Hello.”
“What’ll it be?”
“The usual.”
Bennett grins. “Of course it is.” He makes the coffee without asking questions. No small talk required. No pressure. He hums while he works. Something cheerful. Something Micah does not recognize but feels in his chest anyway.
Micah waits. He always waits. He doesn’t rush Bennett. He doesn’t check his phone. He stands there like he’s bracing against weather.
Bennett sets the cup down. Slides it toward him. “There you go,” Bennett says. “Looks like it’s gonna rain later.”
Micah glances at the sky. “Possibly.”
Bennett smiles like that’s enough. “Have a good one.”
Micah hesitates. Just a fraction. “You too,” he says. It comes out quieter than he intends.
Bennett doesn’t comment. He just keeps smiling. Keeps being exactly who he is. Unfazed by the distance. Unbothered by Micah’s careful containment. Micah takes the cup and steps away, already folding back into himself, already rehearsing the day. He does not notice the way Bennett watches him go, thoughtful but kind. He doesn’t yet understand that some people don’t need you to meet them halfway. They shine anyway. And sometimes, that’s what makes all the difference.
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