The campus empties after midnight.

Lights dim in lecture halls. Voices fade from sidewalks. The world slows down to something softer, quieter—something easier to breathe in.

That’s when you usually end up here.

Fezco’s place sits just off campus, a small convenience store with flickering lights and a hand-written sign that says OPEN LATE like a promise. Everyone knows it. Everyone’s been here at least once.

Fez knows most of them, too.

He rings people up with the same calm expression, same steady voice. Coffee. Snacks. Late-night cravings fueled by stress and deadlines. People talk at him more than they talk to him.

But when you walk in, he looks up.

“Hey,” he says, like he was expecting you.

You drop your backpack by the counter. “Long night.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Midterms?”

“Always.”

He grabs your usual without asking. Sets it down in front of you. You notice he does that every time now.

The store goes quiet after that—just the hum of the fridge and the sound of Fez wiping down the counter. You sit on a stool, scrolling through notes, occasionally glancing up.

“You stayin’ up late again,” he says, not accusing. Just observing.

“Only way I get anything done.”

Fez hums in understanding. “Makes sense.”

Outside, a group of students pass by, laughing too loud, living in a world that feels very far away from this one. You watch them through the glass.

“They don’t really notice this place,” you say.

Fez shrugs. “That’s cool. I don’t really notice them.”

You smile at that.

As the night drags on, you talk about small things. Classes you hate. Music playing quietly from the radio. Nothing important. Everything important.