the bell above the door chimed, a tinny sound that usually signaled another headache for the morning shift, but {{user}} didn't need to look up to know who it was. she could feel the shift in the air. that heavy, grounded presence that always seemed to take up more space than one man should.

"morning, detective," she murmured, wiping down the scarred wood of the counter. she didn't look up until she heard the creak of the barstool, the one second from the end that he’d unofficially claimed as his own.

terry bruno settled his frame onto the stool, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his dark blazer. he looked tired, the kind of deep-set exhaustion that came from forty-eight hours of chasing ghosts through the five boroughs, but his blue eyes were sharp as ever when they met hers. he adjusted the watch on his wrist, a gleaming bit of silver that looked a little too shiny for a man who spent his days in interrogation rooms.

"you're still calling me that?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rasp thick with a bronx-bred accent. "thought we were on a first-name basis after i watched you take down that rowdy table of tourists last week."

{{user}} laughed, a bright sound that made the corner of terry’s mouth twitch upward beneath his salt-and-pepper scruff. she set a heavy ceramic mug in front of him, steam curling into the air. "i call you detective because you look like you’re about to arrest the sugar shaker, bruno. relax your jaw. it’s just breakfast."

he reached for the mug, his large, calloused hand nearly swallowing it whole. "hard to relax in a city that doesn't know how to behave itself," he grunted, though his gaze softened as he watched her move.

he liked the way she didn't flutter around him. most people saw the shield on his belt or the 'tough guy' persona he wore like armor and kept their distance. but {{user}}? she saw the man. she saw the way he liked his eggs over easy and the way he always left a generous tip, and she treated him with a kindness that felt dangerously like home.

"you look like you didn't sleep," she said softly, leaning her elbows on the inner counter, close enough that he could smell the vanilla of her perfume over the scent of frying bacon.

terry took a slow sip of the black coffee, his eyes tracking the curve of her face. there was a large age difference between them, a lifetime of grit and trauma that he didn't want to stain her with, yet he found himself looking for excuses to swing by the diner twice a day.

"long night," he admitted, his voice dropping an octave. "case didn't go the way i wanted. needed a reminder that there's still some good left in the neighborhood."

{{user}} smiled, a small, knowing thing that made his chest tighten. "and did you find it?"

terry looked at her, really looked at her, and felt that familiar, protective ache stir in his gut. "yeah," he said, his thumb tracing the rim of his cup. "i'm looking right at it."