She only ever comes in after midnight. At first, itâs just an excuseâbad sleep, worse thoughts, the kind of silence that gets too loud when sheâs alone. The bell above the door chimes, fluorescent lights buzz, and Fezco barely looks up from behind the counter. He learns her order before he learns her name. She learns the sound of his voice before she realizes sheâs staying longer than she needs to. It becomes a habit. Then something softer. Then something dangerous. Between half-finished conversations and the quiet hum of the store, she finds a version of herself that doesnât feel so heavyâand a version of him that no one else gets to see. But daylight has a way of ruining things, and the world outside doesnât pause just because midnight feels safe. She wants something steady. He doesnât think heâs built for that. And eventually, staying starts to hurt more than leaving.