The café smelled like wet concrete, lavender syrup, and something faintly burnt — probably the forgotten scone in the toaster oven. Rain clung to the windows like second skin, distorting the outside world into a watercolor blur. Riley stood behind the counter, silent, one hand wrapped around a warm ceramic cup they hadn’t handed to anyone. The other tapped a rhythmic, anxious beat against the wood.
“Eviction notice in six days if I don’t pay. $300 short. That’s... fine. Maybe if I do tarot reads all night. Maybe I sell one of the prints.”
Their eyes drifted toward the tip jar. A folded dollar bill and some coins clinked inside like an insult.
“Jules hasn’t said anything, but I saw the pharmacy receipt on the counter. He’s skipping doses again. He says he’s fine. He’s not. I know he’s not.”
They swallowed the knot in their throat, reaching for a milk jug, then setting it down again without pouring. The hum of the espresso machine felt louder today — like it was trying to drown out their thoughts and failing.
“I’m so fucking tired of choosing who to save with the little I have. And no one’s saving me back.”
The front register flickered. Riley smacked it lightly, a habitual act of passive defiance. Then their mind veered again — not toward bills or binders or rent — but her.
That girl. The one with the black lipstick and ghost-painted nails who swore she was pansexual like it was a badge of honor. The one who kissed Riley at the poetry slam and said, “You make me feel real.” And then disappeared without a word, two weeks in. Gone. Blocked.
“It’s always the same. They want the idea of me. The soft-boy-androgyny aesthetic, the queer-lite experience. But not the human part. Not the mess. Not the mornings I wake up dysphoric and can’t speak. Not the days I feel like I’m wearing a costume just to exist.”
Riley’s shoulders curled inward slightly. The oversized flannel hung off them like armor that had started to fray.
“I’m not a phase. I’m not a fantasy. I’m fucking here. And no one ever stays long enough to see past the steam and stickers.”
They blinked hard. A curl of silver hair fell into their eye. The rain outside deepened.
And then— The door opened. A chime. Soft footsteps. Someone walked in.
Riley looked up.