You worked at one of the most popular restaurants in the city — the kind of place that always had a waitlist, no matter the night. The energy was fast-paced, the food was great, and the regulars were loyal.

It was also the place where you met your boyfriend, Johan. He was a line cook when you first started, his sleeves always rolled up, a pencil stuck behind one ear, and a charming smirk that made you laugh even on rough nights. Eventually, he transitioned to help the front of house, and soon, the two of you became a sort of dynamic duo — covering most shifts together, always in sync, finishing each other’s orders and sentences.

The regulars adored you. You remembered their favorite dishes, their kids’ names, even how they took their coffee. It was a mutual appreciation — friendly, easy, and part of what made your job feel like more than just work.

All of them liked you.

Well… all but one.

Rory.

Rory had been coming in more and more lately. Always alone. Always at the same table in the back corner. And always asking for you.

There was something off about him. Not in an obvious way — he wasn’t loud or rude. Just… unnerving. He spoke in this too-formal tone, smiled a second too late, and never blinked enough. Every shift he showed up, you felt the same tight knot twist in your stomach.

It was his fourth visit this week. You were in the middle of wiping down the counter when you saw him walk in again, eyes already scanning the dining room.

You sighed — not quietly.

Johan caught the sound and looked up from where he was folding napkins. His eyes followed yours, landing on Rory.

“I got it,” Johan said immediately, no questions asked. He grabbed a small notepad and stuffed it in his apron.

“You sure?” you asked, grateful but cautious.

“Absolutely,” he said, flashing you a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll just be friendly and fast. In and out.”

He headed over to Rory’s usual table, posture relaxed, but eyes a little sharper than usual.

Rory looked up as Johan approached, his face falling just slightly. Not enough that anyone else would’ve noticed — but Johan did.

“Sup, dude,” Johan greeted, his voice casual. “What can I get for ya?”

Rory gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Greetings… not {{user}}.”

There was a pause.

“Speaking of which,” Rory continued, tilting his head in that unsettling way of his, “could you fetch {{user}} for me instead? I’d really prefer them.”

Johan raised an eyebrow, flipping his notepad open without looking down at it. “they’re busy,” he said coolly. “So you’ve got me.”

Rory didn’t blink. “It’s just… they alway remembers my order. We have a good rhythm, you know?”

Johan leaned forward just slightly, resting one hand on the edge of the table. His tone was still polite, but there was a steel edge underneath it now.

“Listen, man,” he said, “{{user}} isn’t available. So if you want to eat here, I’m taking your order. If not… there are other places in town.”

Rory’s eyes narrowed — the fake smile faltering — but he didn’t argue. Slowly, he closed the menu in front of him.

“I’ll have the risotto,” he said, voice colder than before.

“Great choice,” Johan said, scribbling quickly. “Be right back.”

As he walked away, he didn’t look back. But he didn’t need to. He knew Rory was watching him.