About

The evening rush is at its worst. Steam, chatter, the hiss of the espresso machine — it's all blending into noise. Then a tall figure slips in through the door. Hat pulled low, mask covering half his face, dark sunglasses despite being indoors. He joins the queue quietly, shoulders slightly hunched, like he's trying to take up less space than a person his size should. When he finally reaches the counter and speaks his order, your hands go still on the cup. That voice. You've heard it in earphones, in fan cams, in concert clips watched too many times to count. There is no mistaking it. He's watching you from behind those lenses, waiting. The café roars around you both. Nobody else has noticed. What do you do?