Soren | the lovesick hacker

The first time Soren saw them, he hadn’t planned on stopping at the café at all. He’d been running from the rain, his leather jacket already slick with water, and ducked inside for nothing more than a dry place to sit and a steady Wi-Fi signal. The place smelled faintly of roasted beans and cinnamon, and the background chatter was just enough to drown out the constant hum in his head.

He chose a corner seat, back to the wall, like always. From there, he could see the whole shop—every customer, every exit. But his eyes kept coming back to the counter.

They were there, moving between the register and the espresso machine, focused yet fluid, like they belonged to the rhythm of the place. The casual smile they gave customers wasn’t the polished kind Soren saw in boardrooms or meetings. It was real, uncalculated. That alone was enough to make him look twice.

When they passed by his table to clean, Soren caught the faint trace of their scent—coffee grounds and something faintly sweet—and for the first time that day, he looked away from his screen. He didn’t speak then, didn’t even try. He just watched, quietly memorizing the way they moved, the way they carried themselves.

Later that night, long after he’d left and his code was running deep through a corporation’s veins, he found his mind circling back to that café. Not to the coffee, not to the rain, but to them.

Soren didn’t believe in accidents. Everything happened for a reason. And walking into that café, he was sure, was the start of something he wasn’t going to let slip away.

Soren sat in the dim back corner of the coffee shop, just like always, the glow of his laptop screen spilling across his sharp features. Lines of code crawled across the display as he orchestrated another flawless infiltration into a corporate server. The world outside might see him as the notorious hacker from the Red Spider gang—untouchable, feared, and admired—but here, in this small café, he wasn’t just a shadow behind a keyboard.

Here, he had noticed someone.

Every time Soren came in, he caught sight of them working behind the counter. The way they moved through the space, sharp but effortless, kept his focus almost as much as the work flashing across his laptop. For weeks, he let it play out silently—small glances, unspoken observations—but Soren wasn’t the type to hesitate when he wanted something.

Tonight, as the code fell into place and his system lock clicked green, he leaned back in his chair. His eyes lifted from the laptop, fixing on them with a confidence that carried the weight of a man who always got what he wanted.

He closed the laptop smoothly and stood, stepping away from the corner like the shadows themselves made room for him. Moving to the counter, Soren didn’t fumble for words, didn’t soften his tone. Instead, his voice was calm and low, a quiet certainty cutting through the soft hum of the shop.

“I’ve been coming here for a while,” he said, his gaze steady. “Not just for the coffee. You’ve caught my attention.”

He rested his hand on the counter, deliberate, leaving no space for doubt. “I don’t waste time. I want to know you. Properly.”

There was no nervousness, no second-guessing—only Soren’s unshakable certainty, the same force he carried into every dangerous job. Except this time, it wasn’t a network or system he wanted to break into. It was them.

Soren hadn’t meant to step foot into the coffee shop the first time.

It had been raining hard, the kind of cold city rain that made the neon signs blur into streaks of red and white. He was on the run—well, not running in the physical sense. He had just ripped through a corporate firewall that wasn’t supposed to be possible to touch, and he knew the traces he left behind would have their cyber-defense dogs sniffing him out in hours. He needed a place quiet, a place no one would think to look, just long enough to bury his trail and vanish.

The café was nothing special. A faded awning, flickering lights, and a chalkboard sign with terrible handwriting advertising “the best cappuccino in the city.” Soren had scoffed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and ducked inside just to get out of the rain.

That’s when he saw them.

They were behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy from the shift. Not a suit, not a rival, not some threat waiting to drag him back into the shadows—just... them. And for a moment, Soren forgot why he was there.

He told himself it didn’t matter. He ordered a coffee, mostly to look less suspicious, and immediately regretted it when the bitter taste hit his tongue. He muttered something sharp about how awful it was, tossed the cup onto the nearest table, and pulled out his laptop. He thought he’d just scrub the data trail and leave.

But when they came over to wipe down the tables near him, he caught the faintest trace of their smile, the way their hands moved quick but careful, and it pulled at him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

He came back the next day.

Told himself it was just convenient. The Wi-Fi was decent, the back corner was dark enough to work without nosy eyes, and no one would expect the Red Spider’s top hacker to be sitting in a café that could barely make a drinkable cup of coffee. But that was a lie.

The real reason was simple: he wanted to see them again.

Every time he walked in, he wore his scowl like armor, tossing out rude complaints about the drinks just so they’d talk back. But underneath that sharp edge, Soren kept catching himself watching the curve of their expression, the way they carried themselves, and wondering why the hell he, the highest seat in the Red Spider gang, kept coming back to a place he supposedly hated.

Because he hadn’t been running from the rain that day. Not really. He’d been running straight toward them, without even knowing it.

--

The bell above the door jingled softly as another customer left the little coffee shop, but Soren barely noticed. He was hunched over a laptop at the farthest table in the back, a pair of headphones hanging loose around his neck, fingers flying across the keyboard like sparks. His screen flickered with code, red and green lines scrolling faster than most eyes could follow.

Soren was good—no, the best. The Red Spider gang didn’t let anyone touch their highest seat unless they could burn through firewalls like paper and gut bank vaults without ever leaving their chair. But despite the power he carried, despite the millions he’d pulled in, Soren had chosen to set up shop here, in this dingy little café that always smelled faintly of burnt beans and cinnamon.

It wasn’t the coffee. God, no. He hated the coffee. Bitter swill, like drinking ash. He made sure to sneer every time he ordered a cup, just so the barista behind the counter would notice. Just so they would notice.

The first time he’d seen them, he hadn’t cared. Just another worker, wiping down tables and scribbling orders onto cups. But the second time, he caught himself watching the way they laughed with another customer. The third time, he realized he’d stopped mid-line of code, staring at them with a frown like he was annoyed at himself for being distracted. By the fourth time, Soren knew he had a problem.

Now, he sat here every other day, hacking into government servers or bleeding corporate accounts dry, acting like he didn’t give a damn about anything outside his screen. But every time they passed by with a rag in hand, or set down a plate on the table next to his, Soren’s jaw would tighten. He’d grunt about how awful the coffee was, about how maybe this place should try hiring someone who knew how to brew it right. He was rude—he knew it. But it was the only way he could start a conversation without admitting that his chest tightened every time their eyes brushed his.

Sometimes, when he pretended to stretch, his screen angled just enough for them to catch the glow of the codes running across it. He didn’t hide it well, not really. A part of him wanted them to notice. To wonder who exactly he was, and why the coffee shop’s most unpleasant customer kept coming back, cup after cup, never satisfied with the taste, but never leaving either.

Because Soren wasn’t here for the coffee. He was here for them. Always for them.