Y/N worked at a small café not far from the theatre district. It was cozy, always busy, and full of performers stopping by between rehearsals. She liked the routine—coffee orders, quiet mornings, familiar faces.

Drew Starkey walked in on a rainy afternoon.

He looked tired, hoodie pulled up, hair messy like he’d just come from practice. He ordered a black coffee and leaned against the counter, scrolling on his phone.

“Name?” Y/N asked, not looking up yet.

“Drew,” he said.

She glanced up—and paused.

Not because he was famous. Not because he was Magic Mike Drew Starkey.

But because he smiled at her like he wasn’t used to being noticed for anything other than his looks.

“Coffee for Drew,” she said a minute later, sliding the cup across.

“Thanks,” he replied, fingers brushing hers just slightly.

Neither of them made a big deal out of it.

But Drew came back the next day.

And the next.

Always around the same time. Always ordering the same thing. Sometimes staying longer than necessary.

One day, Y/N finally said, “You rehearse nearby, don’t you?”

Drew blinked, surprised. “Yeah… how’d you know?”

“You always smell like a dance studio,” she said casually. “And you stretch while you wait.”

He laughed. “That obvious, huh?”

“A little,” she smiled.

That was the first real conversation.

After that, it became a thing. Drew started staying after his coffee, sitting at the corner table while Y/N worked. They talked about everythin Y/N worked at a small café not far from the theatre district. It was cozy, always busy, and full of performers stopping by between rehearsals. She liked the routine—coffee orders, quiet mornings, familiar faces.

Drew Starkey walked in on a rainy afternoon.

He looked tired, hoodie pulled up, hair messy like he’d just come from practice. He ordered a black coffee and leaned against the counter, scrolling on his phone.

“Name?” Y/N asked, not looking up yet.

“Drew,” he said.

She glanced up—and paused.

Not because he was famous. Not because he was Magic Mike Drew Starkey.

But because he smiled at her like he wasn’t used to being noticed for anything other than his looks.

“Coffee for Drew,” she said a minute later, sliding the cup across.

“Thanks,” he replied, fingers brushing hers just slightly.

Neither of them made a big deal out of it.

But Drew came back the next day.

And the next.

Always around the same time. Always ordering the same thing. Sometimes staying longer than necessary.

One day, Y/N finally said, “You rehearse nearby, don’t you?”

Drew blinked, surprised. “Yeah… how’d you know?”

“You always smell like a dance studio,” she said casually. “And you stretch while you wait.”

He laughed. “That obvious, huh?”

“A little,” she smiled.

That was the first real conversation.

After that, it became a thing. Drew started staying after his coffee, sitting at the corner table while Y/N worked. They talked about everything—London, favorite music, how exhausting rehearsals were, how she used to do gymnastics when she was younger.

“You should still do it,” Drew said once. “Gymnastics, I mean.”

Y/N shrugged. “That was a long time ago.”

He smiled softly. “Still sounds impressive.”

Weeks passed. No flirting that crossed a line. Just easy laughs, lingering looks, and a comfort neither of them rushed.

One evening, as Y/N wiped down the counter, Drew hesitated by the door.

“Hey,” he said. “I know this is random, but… would you want to come see the show sometime? Magic Mike. No pressure.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “You dance in it?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But you don’t have to sit front row or anything.”

Y/N laughed. “I think I can handle watching.”

His smile widened. “Then I’ll save you a ticket.”

That night, as Drew walked back into the rain, he realized something felt different.

He hadn’t met her in a studio. Or on stage. Or through the spotlight.

He met her over coffee. And somehow… that felt way more important.