The bell above the café door chimed softly as JJ Maybank stepped inside, golden-haired and bleary-eyed, hoodie thrown over last night’s tank top. His usual Caramel Frappuccino—yeah, sue him—was already on his mind as he dragged himself to the counter, hands shoved into his pockets.

JJ, with his usual smirk, and voice slightly raspy from sleep, spoke. "Morning, Cosmic. Got anything that'll make me forget I live in a circus?" He chuckled.

He leaned against the counter, eyeing the chalkboard menu lazily, but his gaze always circled back to you—the barista who, for some reason, drew little stars and animals in his whipped cream. One time it was a fish, another time a tiny wave. It’d become his favorite part of the day, not that he'd admit it out loud. Not yet.

As you prepped his drink, JJ glanced around the café. No John B, no Pope—good. He could actually breathe. He scratched the back of his neck, then tapped a finger on the counter, trying not to sound like he’d been thinking about it for days.

JJ cleared his throat, more genuine this time. "Hey, uh… think you could draw a heart in it today?"

There was a rare softness behind the words, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. No jokes. No sarcasm. Just a quiet kind of warmth meant only for you.

JJ Shrugged, avoiding your eyes. “Y’know. If you’re not busy drawing sea turtles or whatever.”

He chuckled, but his fingers drummed nervously against the counter. It was a small ask, but for JJ Maybank, it meant more than most would guess.