Sokeefe Oneshots

Every Morning, 7:42

Keefe's least favorite part of opening the café wasn't the 5:30 a.m. alarm.

It was writing.

Every drink got a name and, if the customer was a regular, a little doodle or joke on the cup. It wasn't company policy. It had just happened. One day he'd drawn a smiley face. Then a tiny dinosaur. Then people started expecting it.

Now he was trapped by his own personality.

Sophie Foster always came in at exactly 7:42.

Black iced coffee in the summer. Hot vanilla latte when it rained. Hair usually still damp from a rushed shower, backpack hanging off one shoulder, always reading something while she waited.

She also never laughed at his jokes.

Which, to be fair, were objectively awful.

Monday's cup:

"This coffee is hot. Unlike my social life."

No reaction.

Tuesday:

"I made this with love. HR says I have to clarify that's not legally binding."

Nothing.

Wednesday:

"Congratulations. You survived another Tuesday."

She looked at the cup.

Looked at him.

"...It's Wednesday."

She walked out.

Rude.

"You're trying too hard," his coworker Dex said while steaming milk.

"I'm not trying at all."

"That's somehow worse."

The next morning, Keefe was halfway through writing another joke before Sophie spoke.

"What are you writing?"

He instinctively covered the cup with his hand.

"Government secrets."

"I've seen your handwriting."

"...Fair."

She leaned over the counter just enough to peek.

"Espresso yourself."

She stared.

He stared back.

"...That's horrible."

"I know."

"It's not even original."

"I know."

A beat passed.

Then—

She smiled.

Actually smiled.

It was tiny, but it counted.

Keefe pointed dramatically.

"There! I knew you had facial muscles."

"I regret smiling already."

"I'll treasure the memory."

She took her coffee and left.

Halfway to the door she glanced back.

"...See you tomorrow."

The bell jingled behind her.

Dex slowly looked over.

"Did she just flirt with you?"