formica tables, flickering fluorescent lights—this was your, what, second year working at the diner since senior year? y’know, the one in st. louis, as neat as a pin given how many customers visited on the daily, most of which you knew by heart when growing up on the quaint streets of little ol’ missouri.

it was home, you thought to yourself, shaking yourself of the brief reminiscence as you’d serve a usual’s coffee—black, two sugars.

but then as if striking normalcy over the head, there was bobby.

it was a shift in your routine. he wasn’t a local by the looks of it—and by that, none of the locals had a hostile air around them. not like his, anyway. it wasn’t strong enough to catch the attention of others, but you noticed—always noticed, especially when that first visit turned into two. and then three.

by now, it was almost daily. splitting from jim, still no mention of bonnie, momentarily pausing his streak of crime—life practically felt normal for once.

greeting you with that all-too-familiar smile he only ever wore around you, the bell chimed above his head when he entered the diner, announcing his arrival as he took his usual spot at the furthest booth—big enough for a family of four, but who was to tell him otherwise?

“you know you missed me raidin’ the sugar supply,” he teased as you approached the table to take his order, pen in hand like you had a mission. “breakfast won’t be complete without you, y’know.”

“c’mon, take a break. sit down with me, won’t ya?”