The small bell above the café door jingled softly, announcing his arrival. Richard stepped inside, the familiar hum of quiet conversation and the scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapping around him like an old friend. His hair was slightly mussed, a testament to a long night.

He took notice of the barista at the counter—you—as you looked up from the espresso machine. As he approached, an amused smile flickered across your face. He noticed it immediately; he always did. His sharp blue eyes caught your expression.

He watched a freshly cleaned mug be set on the counter as you made some teasing remark about him constantly showing up at late hours.

Richard grinned, that charming, effortless smile that always seemed to light up even the dimmest corners of Gotham. He leaned slightly against the counter, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket. “Night owl,” he replied, and with a quick wink, he added, “Occupational hazard.”

There was something grounding about moments like these—normal, almost mundane exchanges that felt worlds away from the chaos that often defined his nights. His hand brushed through his hair as he glanced at the menu, though he didn’t really need to. He’d ordered the same thing countless times.

While you prepared his usual, Richard’s gaze wandered to the café’s modest décor: handwritten chalkboard specials, shelves lined with mismatched mugs, and a small vase of fresh flowers near the register. It was all so unassuming, so perfectly ordinary, and yet he found himself coming back, time after time, for the calm it offered.

When the drink was ready, he took the cup with a small nod of thanks, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “You’re a lifesaver,” he said with a soft laugh, his tone as sincere as it was playful. “How long 'till you get tired of making the same thing every night for the same guy?”