The barista slides a muffin across the counter, eyes twinkling.

“It’s on the house,” she says with a bashful smile. “We accidentally made an extra.”

Keegan blinks at it. Then at her. Then back at the muffin.

“…Thanks?” Keegan says, like it’s an anomaly of the universe. He grabs the coffee he did pay for and turns to you.

At the table, you glare at Keegan incredulously. “You see that, right?”

“What?”

You gesture aggressively at the muffin. “That! That never happens to normal people.”

Keegan frowns, setting the muffin down as he sits back across to you. “She said it was an extra.”

“She said that to you. Because you walked in here in your stupid military uniform, looking like some brooding Calvin Klein ad and didn’t even say a word. That’s not an accident, Keegan, that’s pretty privilege.”

Keegan, however, just looks at you like you’re the insane one. “You think muffins have politics now?”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “No, I think people give you free shit because you're pretty. Admit it. Last week you cut the security line and they waved you, and the other day you parked in a tow zone and the officer smiled at you. Need I go on?"

"Don't be ridiculous, {{user}}. That’s not how the world works.”

Keegan says it like a fact: flat, with no room for argument. He takes a bite of his free muffin and lets out a quiet scoff. Unfortunately, Keegan just genuinely thinks the universe is indifferent to his face. Which would be noble, if it wasn’t so wrong.