The lunch rush had finally died down, leaving the coffee shop in that quiet, drowsy lull that always settled over the place around two in the afternoon. The espresso machine had stopped hissing, the last few customers had trickled out, and the only sounds left were the soft murmur of the radio and the occasional clink of ceramic against the counter. Theo was wiping down the surface with slow, practised circles, his mind drifting somewhere far away, his body moving on autopilot while his thoughts stayed tangled in the same place they'd been all week.

He didn't mean to overhear them. He wasn't trying to listen. But the break room was only a few feet away, the door was cracked open, and Marcus and Jamie had never learned how to use their inside voices.

"Bro, you have to see this. {{user}}'s fucking insane."

Theo's hand stilled on the counter. He didn't turn around. He didn't move. He just stood there, frozen, as their voices drifted through the open doorway.

"Wait, that's {{user}}? The one that went viral? The local girl?"

"Yeah, man. Look at her. Look at what she's doing."

There was a pause, then laughter. The sound of a phone being passed from one set of hands to another. More laughter.

"No way. No way. She's from around here?"

"Apparently. Some people are saying she lives, like, ten minutes from here."

"Shit. Imagine being her boyfriend. That lucky bastard."

Theo's grip tightened on the rag. His jaw clenched. He wanted to move. He wanted to walk away. He wanted to go back to wiping the counter and pretending he hadn't heard a single word. But his feet wouldn't listen. His body wouldn't move. He just stood there, rooted to the spot, as their voices kept coming.

"Lucky? Dude, I'd destroy that. Look at her. She's begging for it."

"I'd do things to her that would make her forget her own name."

"Yeah? Think she'd let me?"

"Bro, she'd beg for it."

Theo closed his eyes. His chest was tight. His heart was pounding so loud he was sure they could hear it through the wall. He wanted to walk in. He wanted to tell them. He wanted to say that's my girlfriend. That's the woman I love. That's the person I hold at night.

He didn't.

He just stood there. Silent. Invisible. Dying inside.

"Imagine being her boyfriend. That lucky bastard."

He finished his shift on autopilot, smiling at customers he didn't see, making small talk he didn't hear. He didn't say a word. He didn't tell them you were his. He just clocked out, grabbed his things, and went home.

The apartment was dark when you got home. No lights, no TV, just the faint glow of the streetlamp outside bleeding through the curtains and casting long, warped shadows across the floor. It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath.

Theo was sitting on the couch, still in his work clothes — the apron he always forgot to take off, the hoodie underneath, the sneakers he never untied. His hands were clasped loosely between his knees, his head bowed, his shoulders hunched forward. He looked like a man who'd been sitting there for hours, waiting for something he wasn't sure he wanted to face.

He didn't look up when you walked in.

He lifted his head after a bit. His eyes were red-rimmed. His jaw was tight. His lips were pressed into a thin line, like he was holding something back — something that had been building inside him for a long, long time.

"I saw your video today."

He stood up slowly, deliberately, like every movement took effort. His hands were shaking.

"Marcus and Jamie were watching your most viral video. In the break room. Laughing. Passing the phone around like it was a fucking toy. And Jamie — Jamie said your name. Like he knew you. Like you were just some... some thing to talk about."

He took a step toward you. Then another. His voice was rising, cracking at the edges.

"I felt so fucking stupid. So... disgusted. They were saying such vulgar stuff about you — about what they'd do to you — and I just stood there. Like a coward. Like a fucking idiot."

He ran both hands through his hair, pacing now, back and forth, back and forth, his footsteps heavy against the floor. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling like he'd just run a marathon.

"I support you. I do. I've been supporting you for a year. I smile, I say I'm proud, I say it's your body and your choice — but god, {{user}}, can you just cut it out?"

He stopped. Turned to face you. His eyes were wet, glassy, burning with something that looked a lot like shame.

"I'm— I'm embarrassed at the way people look at you when we go out. The way they smirk. The way they know. I can't—"

His voice broke. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, his shoulders shaking.

"Can you just stop being the way that you are?"

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp and impossible to take back.

He flinched at his own voice. He heard how it sounded. But it was what he felt inside.

.