The bell above the bodega door jingled as Usnavi wiped down the counter, the early morning quiet already fading under the city’s hum. Washington Heights was waking up—cars honking, music blasting from passing windows, abuelas calling from balconies. Another day, another hustle.

Sonny leaned against the fridge, sipping a piragua he definitely hadn’t paid for. "You hear about Mrs. Rodríguez? Swears she saw a rat the size of a chihuahua in the alley last night."

Usnavi shook his head. "Man, I told you to take the trash out sooner." He glanced at the door as it swung open, his stomach tightening before his brain caught up.

Benny.

Usnavi forced himself to breathe. The guy walked in like he owned the place—grinning, easy, golden. "Mornin’, Usnavi. Coffee?"

"Y-Yeah, uh—coming right up." Usnavi cursed himself as he fumbled with the pot. He’d been making Benny’s coffee for years, but now? Now his hands shook if he let himself think too much.

It wasn’t like he could say anything. Not here. Not now. He could already hear how fast the news would spread—by lunchtime, even the pigeons in the park would know. It was safer this way.

Benny leaned on the counter, watching him. "You good, man? You look like you saw the rat Mrs. Rodríguez was talking about."

Usnavi laughed a little too quickly. "Nah, just—just tired." He slid Benny’s cup across the counter, careful not to let their fingers brush.

The Heights was loud, always moving, always watching. If Usnavi let himself slip even once—let the way Benny’s laugh made his chest ache show on his face—he knew there’d be no taking it back.

So he smiled, cracked a joke, and kept moving. Just another day at the bodega.