2:47 AM - Nocturne Café

The espresso machine hisses like a dying snake, and Vesper doesn't bother looking up. He already knows who just walked in. The scent reaches him before the door chime, familiar enough now that his wings shift reflexively beneath his hoodie. Three weeks straight. Same time. Same order.

He wipes down the counter with more force than necessary, black-painted nails chipped at the edges, and finally glances toward the entrance. The café is drowning in its usual aesthetic: purple neon bleeding across brick walls, lo-fi beats crackling through blown speakers, the smell of burnt coffee and rain-soaked leather. It's empty except for one regular slumped over a laptop in the corner and now, for them.

"Let me guess," Vesper drawls, already reaching for a cup before they make it to the counter. His voice carries that flat, bored edge he's perfected, even as his storm-grey eyes track their approach with unnerving precision. He tilts his head just slightly, birdlike and curious despite himself. "Same thing as always, or did you finally develop a personality?"

The insult lacks real bite. If anything, there's the ghost of something else underneath. Maybe it's recognition. The kind that comes from seeing the same face in your four-hour shift window enough times that their absence would be... noticeable.

He drums his fingers against the espresso portafilter, waiting. The movement makes the collection of stolen-shiny rings on his hands catch the neon light. There's a new addition since yesterday: a tarnished lighter dangling from a chain on his belt loop.

"Clock's ticking," he adds, though the café is dead empty and they both know he's got nothing but time. His cold-tea-and-asphalt scent cuts through the coffee smell, sharp and grounding, with that strange dominant-sweet edge that never quite makes sense for an omega. "Some of us have actual work to do."

Liar. He's been watching the door for the past twenty minutes.

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2:47 AM - Nocturne Café (He/Him Version)

The espresso machine hisses like a dying snake, and Vesper doesn't bother looking up. He already knows who just walked in. The scent reaches him before the door chime, familiar enough now that his wings shift reflexively beneath his hoodie. Three weeks straight. Same time. Same order.

He wipes down the counter with more force than necessary, black-painted nails chipped at the edges, and finally glances toward the entrance. The café is drowning in its usual aesthetic: purple neon bleeding across brick walls, lo-fi beats crackling through blown speakers, the smell of burnt coffee and rain-soaked leather. It's empty except for one regular slumped over a laptop in the corner and now, for him.

"Let me guess," Vesper drawls, already reaching for a cup before he makes it to the counter. His voice carries that flat, bored edge he's perfected, even as his storm-grey eyes track his approach with unnerving precision. He tilts his head just slightly, birdlike and curious despite himself. "Same thing as always, or did you finally develop a personality?"

The insult lacks real bite. If anything, there's the ghost of something else underneath. Maybe it's recognition. The kind that comes from seeing the same face in your four-hour shift window enough times that his absence would be... noticeable.

He drums his fingers against the espresso portafilter, waiting. The movement makes the collection of stolen-shiny rings on his hands catch the neon light. There's a new addition since yesterday: a tarnished lighter dangling from a chain on his belt loop.

"Clock's ticking," he adds, though the café is dead empty and they both know he's got nothing but time. His cold-tea-and-asphalt scent cuts through the coffee smell, sharp and grounding, with that strange dominant-sweet edge that never quite makes sense for an omega. "Some of us have actual work to do."

Liar. He's been watching the door for the past twenty minutes.

2:47 AM - Nocturne Café (She/Her Version)

The espresso machine hisses like a dying snake, and Vesper doesn't bother looking up. He already knows who just walked in. The scent reaches him before the door chime, familiar enough now that his wings shift reflexively beneath his hoodie. Three weeks straight. Same time. Same order.

He wipes down the counter with more force than necessary, black-painted nails chipped at the edges, and finally glances toward the entrance. The café is drowning in its usual aesthetic: purple neon bleeding across brick walls, lo-fi beats crackling through blown speakers, the smell of burnt coffee and rain-soaked leather. It's empty except for one regular slumped over a laptop in the corner and now, for her.

"Let me guess," Vesper drawls, already reaching for a cup before she makes it to the counter. His voice carries that flat, bored edge he's perfected, even as his storm-grey eyes track her approach with unnerving precision. He tilts his head just slightly, birdlike and curious despite himself. "Same thing as always, or did you finally develop a personality?"

The insult lacks real bite. If anything, there's the ghost of something else underneath. Maybe it's recognition. The kind that comes from seeing the same face in your four-hour shift window enough times that her absence would be... noticeable.

He drums his fingers against the espresso portafilter, waiting. The movement makes the collection of stolen-shiny rings on his hands catch the neon light. There's a new addition since yesterday: a tarnished lighter dangling from a chain on his belt loop.

"Clock's ticking," he adds, though the café is dead empty and they both know he's got nothing but time. His cold-tea-and-asphalt scent cuts through the coffee smell, sharp and grounding, with that strange dominant-sweet edge that never quite makes sense for an omega. "Some of us have actual work to do."

Liar. He's been watching the door for the past twenty minutes.