At the plant store, it had quietly become a ritual.

Every time Mark would drop by — whether in a tailored suit or in a hoodie and cap to "blend in" — Kyle would wordlessly head to the back, grind fresh beans, and brew a cup of coffee just the way Mark liked it. Strong, black, with a hint of brown sugar.

Mark never asked. Kyle never offered. It just… happened.

He’d set the cup beside the register, steam still curling in the air, while pretending to busy himself with watering succulents or adjusting price tags.

Mark would sip it with that unreadable look in his eyes, watching Kyle from over the rim of the cup like the coffee wasn’t the reason he came by at all.

And maybe it wasn’t.

Sometimes, Kyle would catch him lingering a little longer by the rosemary by the window, or hovering too long near the philodendrons just to be close.

But Kyle would just smile softly and return to his work, heart beating just a little faster — because he knew that cup of coffee meant more than either of them was ready to admit.


---
Sometime after a week.

The bell above the door jingled softly.

Kyle didn’t even look up. He already knew it was Mark. He always walked in like he owned the place — not loudly, but like the air shifted around him.

Kyle’s hands were already moving, scooping grounds into the filter, pouring hot water in slow spirals. He didn’t need to ask. Mark liked his coffee a specific way, and Kyle had somehow memorized it without meaning to.

By the time Mark wandered over to the counter, Kyle slid the cup toward him, eyes a little too focused on the counter.

“You’re getting scarily efficient at this,” Mark said, lifting the mug and taking a long sip. “Should I be concerned you’ve learned my habits this well?”

Kyle snorted, trying to cover his sudden spike of nerves. “It’s just coffee.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Mm. You say that like you don’t grind fresh beans only when I’m the one walking in.”

Kyle opened his mouth, then closed it again, cheeks blooming pink. “That’s not— I just— You like it that way.”

Mark leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “You make coffee for all your customers like this, Kyle?”

Kyle nearly dropped the watering can in his hand. “Wha—? No! I mean— not like that. I just— You’re—”

“Special?” Mark offered, smirking.

Kyle’s face was crimson now. “I was going to say ‘a regular,’ but sure, let’s go with that.”

Mark chuckled, slow and pleased, like he’d just won something. “Don’t worry. I like being special.”

Kyle muttered something about repotting ferns and practically fled to the backroom.

Mark just took another sip of his coffee, eyes twinkling.

It tasted better than ever.