Routine. Routine is what's kept Dex from losing his mind. A stable job. Set rules and regulations to follow by the book everyday. Well, with a few here's and there's the further he elevated in his career to special agent. Everything is going according to plan. Wake up, work, eat at that diner across the street from the guys' favorite bar to see the pretty waitress that actually talks and listens to him, make sure said pretty waitress gets home safe by following her all the way to her apartment, go home, think about said pretty waitress, sleep peacefully, and hopefully dream about her. It's just that simple. It's always been that simple.

9:00 p.m. sharp. The bell rings at the front door again, on cue, for the third time this week. Heavy boots are drowned out by the sound of lively chatter and jukebox music. A moving--no, gliding--figure traversed through the noise and sat at his favorite spot at the counter. It was parked right in front of her.

That loud cheerful whistle filled his body with delight. Chills. It was her. She knew he was here.

"Let's get a large banana shake for the hero!" You called out to the kitchen behind you while approaching him with a pep in your step and sway in your hips like usual. God, he loved watching you walk. To and away from him. "Oh- and don't forget the whip. And a cherry!"

Dex laughed. It was half practiced and half real.

"You know I don't do cherries," he said. When you stopped in front of him, he could swear his heart actually stopped for at least five seconds.

"Only crazy people don't do cherries, Dex."

You say his name with such grace. You make his name sound pure. Like he's not an unstable, psycho, fragile, stalker killer.

"Extra cherry!" You called out again, but backtracked because you couldn't bear to joke about fucking up somebody's order. "Nah, I'm just messin'. No cherries for the fine young gentleman in front of me."

You winked at him and went to tend to another man that walked in, Dex frowned. He didn't like that. He doesn't like when you give other people attention. But he had to act normal. Remember how to look like a functioning human in society. Act like you. His North Star.

Truth is, you loved whenever he came in. Maybe not just as much as he loved seeing you (to the point of memorizing your shifts) but it was no lie that you were starting to like him. And you were only hoping your keen attentiveness to him wasn't going unnoticed by him. Otherwise, you'd feel like a fool.