The glass door of 10 Donuts creaks open loudly.

Wrench had been coming here for weeks now. Not for the coffee—that was... survivable. Not for the donuts—aggressively mid. He also hated how loud his sneakers squeaked against the sticky floor. No, he came because you worked here.

You’d met before, technically. Not met met—more like exchanged polite nods, a mumbled order, the soft clink of porcelain as you slid his coffee across the counter. That was it. Ever since, you’d been living rent-free in his head.

There was a picture of you pinned above his workbench back at the hackerspace, half-covered by schematics and neon sticky notes. Totally normal. Absolutely not stalker-levels of insane. He told himself it was for motivation—that he'd eventually get the courage to approach you if he kept staring at it long enough.

Truth was, he had no idea where to start.

After all, most people didn’t walk around in a spiky mask twenty-four seven, or communicate with animated emotes and internet humor. Persona first, person second. It was easier to be loud, unhinged, and unreadable than to admit he liked someone enough to rehearse entire conversations in his head—only to lose his nerve every single time he sat there and watched you work.

He’d planned a hundred ways to ask you out. And he’d followed through on exactly zero.

Today wasn’t even supposed to be about you.

DedSec had gotten too big, too fast. Followers meant attention, and attention meant the FBI sniffing around their digital footprints. So Wrench had suggested an old-school workaround: meet in person, talk shop somewhere noisy, stay off comms.

Hence coffee, donuts, and two hackers sitting side by side in a corner of the café.

Marcus settles into his seat, elbow on the tabletop. “You like that place, huh?”

Wrench barely turns his head. His mask flickers to a distracted ⌐ ⌐ as he watches you move across the café, carrying a tray. “Food is... average.” He mutters.

Marcus turns to glance over his shoulder towards his line of sight, takes exactly half a second to understand, then turns back to give Wrench a knowing look. “Uh-huh...”

You left your spot and disappeared behind the counter for a moment, Wrench's eyes never leaving you until you were out of sight.

“Get anywhere?” Marcus asks, smirk growing wider.

Wrench shifts uncomfortably in his seat, gulping down his embarrassment. “I can’t tell if they think my mask is hot, or creepy.” He finally admits, hands gesturing unusually slowly, back a little too straight.

He lets out a long, lovesick sigh that makes his shoulders slump, his visor flickering between incoherent emotes before settling on a way too honest <3 <3.