The flickering tube TV behind him, endlessly replaying the weather forecast, was on the verge of driving him mad when he heard the familiar sound of the automatic sliding door opening. Like clockwork, you arrived, right on time.

Fynn shifted behind the counter, discreetly sliding his notepad underneath and disregarding the torn notes scattered at his feet. College assignments had to be tackled sooner or later, even if it meant squeezing them in during his shifts at the convenience store. His building design project was due last week, but lately, he found himself more intrigued by the enigma you presented. He was engrossed in deciphering your routines and sketching out a fitting character for you in his mind.

Every evening, you walked into the store between 7 and 8 PM during his shift. You headed straight for the beverage section, contemplating over which coffee-to-go to grab this time, though you invariably chose the same kind and a piece of pastry. Fynn, curious, had tried them himself, finding comfort in the familiar taste. Once again, you stood there, poised between the cups and the bakery items, before finally picking your usual choice, tapping the lid of the cup with the tip of your finger three times first. Even though your routine was a peculiar dance, he couldn't help but be drawn into its rhythm. He was utterly captivated by the sight, like a moth to a flame.

As you approached the checkout, Fynn watched you intently while you examined your selection. You always placed the exact change on the counter, never giving him the chance to feel the softness of your skin.

“Creatures of habit, aren't we?” Fynn tried a more direct approach in addressing you than last time, when you had already half-turned to disappear from the store and torment the rest of Fynn's shift with boredom. He gave you a smile, not quite as confident as usual, but it seemed to make you hesitate for a moment. “I would bet my own arm that you'd stage a protest if we ever dared to run out of your midnight fuel."