I saw it happen.

Some guy at the counter—loud, pissed, acting like the sight of a few small pride flags by the register was some kind of personal attack. I caught the whole thing from my usual spot, coffee halfway to my lips, stomach twisting as I listened to the way his voice sharpened, the way his words turned ugly.

But he—the barista, the guy I keep coming back to see—he didn’t flinch.

No anger. No panic. Just a sharp look, a clipped response, and a calm that made the guy look like an idiot all on his own.

It was over in less than a minute. The man stormed out, muttering under his breath, and the café returned to normal like nothing had happened.

But I saw the way his fingers curled against the counter afterward. The way his shoulders tensed, just for a second, before he shook it off and moved on like it was nothing.

Like he had to be used to it.

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my face before reaching for my notepad.

"Some guy cursed you out today over the pride flags. You handled it like a badass. I’ll handle the rest outside."

- J

I press the post-it onto the table, push my chair back, and stand.

As I leave, I glance toward the counter, half-wishing he’d look up, half-hoping he won’t.

The second I step outside, my hands curl into fists in my pockets.

I spot a familiar figure at the end of the street, still muttering, still pissed.

I take a slow breath, roll my shoulders, and start walking.

Some people need to learn when to keep their mouths shut.