Chibs slipped into the diner just past midnight, the familiar bell over the door chiming low as he stepped inside. The place always smelled like coffee, sugar, and something warm on the grill—a comfort he’d grown more attached to than he’d ever admit out loud. But it wasn’t the pie that kept him coming back at this ridiculous hour, or the bottomless cup of coffee he never finished. It was them—always behind the counter during the late shift, always offering him a smile that made the worst parts of his day loosen their grip.

Tonight was no different. They were wiping down a booth, humming softly to themselves, hair tied back in that way he’d started to look forward to. Chibs slid into his usual seat at the counter, resting his forearms on the cool surface. “Evenin’, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and warm, that Scottish lilt curling around the words. “Thought I’d come see if the pie’s still the best in town.”