The office was quiet in the way a place becomes quiet when it's already taken everything it can from you.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, not loud but just enough to burrow into the skull after eight hours. Keyboards tapped in dull, mechanical rhythms. Somewhere, a ventilation unit rattled unevenly, as if it had been broken for years and no one had bothered to complain.
Cubicles stretched in neat, soulless rows, each one decorated with the same kind of optimism that had long since curdled.
Motivational posters lined the walls.
FIND YOUR PURPOSE.
YOU ARE REPLACEABLE—STRIVE TO BE IRREPLACEABLE.
WE KNOW HAPPINESS.
SMILE. PRODUCTIVITY IS HAPPINESS.
No one smiled.
And the printer chose that exact moment to scream.
Not beeped. Not chimed.
An unholy screech, like the tormented cry of a machine that had seen too many spreadsheets and finally snapped.
"NO—no, no, no—"
The woman standing beside it slammed the stop button. Nothing happened.
She stared at the blinking red error light, jaw tight.
"Don't do this," she muttered. "I swear to god, I replaced the toner. I fed you paper. I treated you with respect."
The printer responded by eating the document whole.
She exhaled sharply, then smacked the side of it—once, twice—careful not to hit it hard enough to leave evidence.
"Listen," she hissed, leaning in. " I have dreams. You will NOT ruin my—"
The printer screeched again.
"YOU HAD ONE JOB," she hissed, slapping the side panel. "ONE. JOB."
She stopped herself just before delivering a final blow, inhaling sharply, fingers trembling.
Student loans.
Health insurance.
Rent.
Life.
She lowered her hand and exhaled.
She then straightened, smoothing her blouse, face neutral as two coworkers walked past. Mindfulness. Professionalism. Rage contained like a pressure cooker.
She had a degree. A good one, too. Everyone told her it would open doors.
Now she was here, stuck in a place that drained something from her every day and called it "growth."
Her personal hell had beige walls and Outlook notifications.
"Rough day?" a voice chimed.
Her friend appeared at her side, bright smile already in place, two coffees in hand. She always came in like that always sunny, energetic, reassuring.
If you didn't look too closely.
"Printer's possessed," the first woman said flatly.
"Again?" the second sighed. "That thing's been on a vendetta since Q2."
She handed over a coffee. "Peace offering."
They clinked cups like war veterans.
"I swear," the first muttered, "I didn't go into debt for this."
The second laughed it was light and practiced, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Same. But hey, at least we're suffering together. Trauma bonding builds character."
"Or ulcers."
"Both."
They clinked lids.
She pulled out her phone, thumb flicking across the screen. "Speaking of coping mechanisms—look at this."
She turned the phone around.
It was an ad.
No flashing banners.
No exclamation points.
No LIMITED TIME ONLY screaming at her retinas.
It just was a café post.
No flashy slogans. Just a photo: warm light, wood, a counter that looked… solid. Real.
Café Leblanc
Now Open
"That's it?" the first woman asked.
"Yeah," the second said. "No gimmicks. No 'best coffee in New York' nonsense. Just… that."
The first woman stared at the photo longer than she meant to.
For a moment, just a moment, the pressure behind her eyes eased.
"…Huh." she said. "That's… refreshing."
The office didn't feel any different.
But something inside her shifted.
Like a hand loosening its grip.
"Right?" the second smiled. "I walked past it this morning. Didn't even realize it was new until I doubled back."
A chair scraped behind them.
"Are we talking about the printer's murder spree or are we planning an escape?" a man asked, rolling his chair over.
Loose tie. Sleeves rolled up. Permanent five-o'clock shadow despite it being noon.
"Escape," the second woman said instantly.
The man leaned in to see the phone. "Is that the café near 8th?"
"You've heard of it?" the bubbly one asked.
"No," he said. "But I walked past it this morning and realized I could still feel things. Freaked me out."
They laughed, but it was shaky.
The first woman snorted. "That's the saddest endorsement I've ever heard."
Another voice chimed in from the neighboring cubicle. "Are we forming a support group without me?"
A fourth coworker popped up, hair slightly messy, eyes tired but alert. "Because I demand inclusion."
"Coffee run after work," the second woman said. "New place. You in?"
"I'd follow you into battle if it meant caffeine," she replied.
"And you didn't invite me?" came the fifth voice, strained, as another was half-dragged out of his chair, papers still clutched in his arms.
"I have deadlines," Ben protested weakly.
The printer victim grabbed his sleeve. "You're coming."
"I really—"
"You are coming," The second said gently, but with the kind of finality forged by shared suffering.
Jason stood. "Five minutes. Coffee run. If the printer explodes, it explodes."
Ben sighed, defeated. "Fine. But if my boss asks—"
"We died, Tragically."
"…Fair."
They rallied like soldiers escaping a siege, dragging the fifth along as the printer screamed one last time behind them.
None of them noticed, miles away, a small café door chiming softly as if in greeting.
Or the way the lights inside warmed, just a little.
Or the man behind the counter adjusting his sleeves, calm and composed, as if he'd been waiting all along.
=====
They found the café by accident.
Which, to Cat, already made it better than half the places on her "must try" list.
"Wait—hold on," she said, stopping so abruptly that her friend nearly walked into her. "That's it. That's the café."
Aiko followed her gaze.
Café Leblanc
No neon sign.
No chalkboard yelling about ethically sourced oat milk.
Just warm amber light spilling out through the windows, quiet and confident, like it didn't care if you came in or not.
"…It's cute," Aiko said, adjusting the strap of her tote bag. "Like, dangerously cute."
Cat grinned. "See? My algorithm is never wrong."
They hovered for half a second but long enough to exchange the universal "are we doing this? " look, before pushing the door open.
The chime rang.
Soft. Polite. Almost shy.
Both of them stalled.
The café wasn't loud.
Wasn't silent either.
It felt… balanced.
Wood. Soft jazz humming low enough to not demand attention. Tables arranged like they expected people to stay, not just grab and go. Even the air smelled warm, filled with coffee, spices, something faintly sweet.
Aiko exhaled without realizing she'd been holding her breath.
"…Okay," she whispered. "This already feels illegal. Like we're not supposed to find places this nice."
Cat nodded slowly. "Yeah. This feels like a third-place unicorn. I'm emotionally attached already."
And then—
"Oh my god," Cat hissed, clutching Aiko's sleeve. "THE BARISTA."
Aiko looked up.
And promptly lost all higher brain function.
Behind the counter stood a man who looked like he belonged anywhere except a random New York side street café and yet fit so perfectly it hurt.
Dark hair, neatly styled but not stiff. Glasses perched on his nose. Sleeves rolled just enough to suggest confidence rather than effort. His posture was relaxed, but not careless, like someone who knew exactly where he was and didn't need to prove it.
When he looked up, his expression softened instantly.
Not rehearsed.
Not flirty.
Just… present.
"Welcome," he said, voice warm and unhurried. "Take your time."
Aiko felt like he was speaking directly to her.
Cat also felt like he was speaking directly to her.
This was alarming.
They shuffled toward the counter, whisper-spiraling.
"He looks like—" Cat started.
"He looks like a male lead who only exists for twelve episodes and then ruins you emotionally forever," Aiko finished.
"He looks like he'd ruin your life but in lowercase," Cat added.
"And then help you rebuild it," Aiko said faintly.
Cat swallowed. "…Also he's hot."
"Cat."
"Like—respectfully hot."
"Cat."
"On the bed, on the couch, on a chair, in the kitchen, against the—"
"CAT."
The barista met them halfway, smile easy and amused, like he'd clocked their energy without judging it.
"First time here?" he asked.
Cat nodded. "Yeah. We're… uh. Students."
His eyes flicked over them, not invasive, just observant. Shoes. Posture. The way they leaned forward like people permanently running on caffeine and deadlines.
"Welcome," he said again, softer this time. "University's rough this time of year."
Aiko blinked. "How did you—"
He chuckled lightly. "It's a guess. Midterms energy."
Cat laughed. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only if you're paying attention."
And just like that, the tone shifted.
He wasn't intimidating anymore.
Wasn't mysterious.
He felt… safe.
The kind of person you felt safe rambling to. A person you could accidentally tell your life story to while ordering a latte.
"So," he continued, resting his hands lightly on the counter, "are you here to experiment, or to recover?"
Cat brightened instantly. "Experiment."
Aiko hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. "Recover."
He nodded like that was the most normal combination in the world. "Then I've got something for both of you."
He moved with an ease that wasn't rushed but wasn't slow either. Each motion deliberate, like he was adjusting the room as much as the drinks.
Hero set Cat's cup down first.
"So," he said, lightly, "if you're experimenting—tell me what you usually order."
Cat blinked. "Uh. Whatever's new. Or whatever looks cool. Or whatever someone tells me is life-changing."
His mouth curved, just a little. "Dangerous approach."
"Worth it."
He nodded once, like he agreed.
"And you?" He turned slightly. "What do you reach for when you're tired?"
Aiko hesitated. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her tote. "Something… warm. Not too sweet."
"Mm." He considered that longer. "You've had a long week."
Aiko let out a small, surprised laugh. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only if I'm listening."
He moved back toward the machine.
Cat leaned her elbows on the counter, watching him work. "So how long have you been here?"
"Long enough to learn what people ask for," he replied easily, still facing her. "And what they don't."
Aiko watched his hands instead, steady, unhurried. When the steam hissed, he adjusted it down without looking, like he could feel the right moment before it arrived.
He glanced back at her. "You don't need caffeine today."
She looked up. "I don't?"
He shook his head. "Not the sharp kind."
Cat opened her mouth, then closed it, then grinned like she'd just noticed something but didn't want to scare it away.
He finished the drinks without rushing, setting each cup down where their hands naturally rested.
"For you," he said to Cat, voice light again, "tell me if it surprises you."
Then, quieter, still warm, but slower "And for you," to Aiko, "drink it while it's hot."
Aiko wrapped both hands around the cup immediately.
Cat didn't speak. Neither did Aiko.
But Cat watched Aiko's shoulders ease, watched the tight line between her brows soften, watched the way she took that first careful sip like she was being given permission.
Only then did Cat lift her own cup.
Nothing had been said out loud.
For a moment, there was only the sound of cups settling and the low murmur of the café around them.
Cat took a sip first. Her eyebrows lifted. She took another, slower this time.
"…Okay," she said, not loudly. "That's new."
Hero leaned his forearms on the counter. "Good new?"
"Yeah." She searched for the word. "Like I didn't know that was an option."
He smiled, brief and easy. "That happens."
Aiko waited until the cup warmed her palms before tasting hers. She didn't react right away. Just held it there, breathing in the steam.
Hero didn't rush her.
After a few seconds, she nodded. "It's… gentle."
"That was the idea."
Cat glanced between them, then back at him. "Do you do this for everyone?"
"Only if they let me."
Aiko's shoulders loosened another notch.
Outside, someone passed the window, laughing too loudly. The sound faded.
Cat tapped the edge of her cup. "So is this place new?"
He shook his head. "First day."
Both of them looked up.
"…First?" Cat echoed.
Aiko's gaze drifted past him, slow now. The tables. The counter. The corners.
For a moment, she hadn't noticed.
There were people everywhere.
A couple by the window leaning close over one cup. Someone alone at the bar, reading. A small group near the back, voices low, laughter contained. No one rushing. No one hovering. Everyone settled, like they'd been there longer than an afternoon.
"It doesn't feel new," Aiko said.
He smiled faintly. "It isn't loud about it."
Cat turned in her chair, taking it in properly this time. How every seat was filled without feeling full. How conversations stayed soft, contained in their own spaces. How even the silence felt shared, not empty.
"How did we not notice?" she murmured.
"People tend not to," he said. "Once they sit down."
Aiko watched a woman across the room laugh quietly into her sleeve. Someone else stirred their drink, unhurried. A man near the door had fallen asleep over his coffee.
"It feels like everyone's in their own world," Aiko said.
"But still together," Cat added.
He nodded once. "That was the hope."
They looked at him again, really looked this time.
Then Cat leaned back toward Aiko, eyes wide, voice barely contained.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "We walked into something on day one."
Aiko's lips curved, soft and disbelieving. "I think it was already waiting."
From above, a black-and-white cat flicked his tail.
"Hmph," Morgana muttered. "And so it begins."
Hero straightened, glancing toward the counter as another customer approached.
"I'll let you settle," he said. "Call if you need anything."
"Thank you," Aiko said immediately.
Cat nodded, still watching him like he might disappear if she blinked.
He moved away, footsteps quiet, already absorbed back into the rhythm of the café.
They waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Cat slammed both hands onto the table.
"Oh my GOD."
Aiko jumped. "Cat—"
"NO. NO. We are not doing this calmly." Cat leaned across the table, voice dropping into a frantic whisper. "That man just opened a café and immediately curated the emotional state of everyone inside."
"He really did," Aiko said, eyes still tracking the counter. "He hasn't looked stressed once."
"He hasn't blinked weird."
Aiko snorted before she could stop herself.
Cat dragged a hand down her face. "This is his first day and the place is already full. That's not normal. That's protagonist behavior."
Aiko nodded slowly. "He even knew when to leave us alone."
"He disengaged perfectly."
Aiko hugged her cup closer. "I feel… taken care of."
Cat made a small, strangled sound. "I can't survive this."
She peeked over her shoulder. "Okay. Real talk. Do you think he sleeps?"
Aiko tilted her head. "Probably not like a normal person."
"Do you think he has a tragic backstory?"
"Yes."
"Do you think he owns the café or was mysteriously entrusted with it?"
Aiko hesitated. "…Both."
Cat pressed her forehead to the table. "I'm ruined. I'm actually ruined."
Aiko laughed softly, warmth still lingering in her chest. "You're already planning our return."
Cat lifted her head, dead serious. "Tomorrow."
Aiko's smile widened. "I thought so."
From above them, Morgana's tail flicked again.
"Hook, line, and sinker." He muttered.