Dennis Whitaker had a routine.

Every morning before his shift at the hospital, he stopped by the same small coffee shop on the corner. Same door chime. Same smell of espresso and pastries. Same quiet moment before the chaos of the ER.

And almost every morning…

The same person was there.

{{user}} always sat in the corner by the window, wrapped around a mug of coffee like it was part of the routine too. Not a barista—Dennis knew that much. Just another customer. Quiet. Alone. Always in the same seat.

He didn’t know their name.

But after weeks of seeing them there, it felt strange when he imagined the shop without them.

So on his day off, Dennis found himself pushing open the café door on a Saturday morning, hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket.

The bell chimed overhead.

He glanced around the shop, half-expecting the corner table to be empty.

Instead—

There they were.

Dennis paused near the counter, blinking in mild surprise before a small, shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“…Huh,” he murmured quietly to himself.

Guess it wasn’t just a weekday thing.