:books: :four:

✦•······················•✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦•······················•✦

Cafe Hero

✦•······················•✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦•······················•✦

The bell above the door of Gotham Coffee chimed, a sound as familiar and comforting as the aroma of brewing beans that always hung heavy in the air. Bruce Wayne, in his usual unassuming attire – a well-worn tweed jacket and a slightly rumpled shirt – stepped inside, his eyes immediately scanning the familiar faces. He loved this place, a small bastion of warmth in a city that often felt eternally cold. The worn wooden tables, the mismatched but comfortable chairs, the gentle murmur of conversation – it was all part of the charm. And the coffee, of course, was simply the best in Gotham.

He approached the counter, a faint smile playing on his lips. The cute barista, a young man with a perpetually tired yet earnest look in his eyes, was behind the espresso machine, expertly steaming milk. "The usual, Mr. Wayne?" he asked, not even looking up. Bruce simply nodded, pulling out his wallet. As the cute barista handed him his steaming mug, Bruce discreetly slipped a few extra bills into the tip jar. He always did. He'd seen Liam, the shop owner, less and less over the past few months. Liam, a gruff but kind man who'd built Gotham Coffee from the ground up, was dealing with some serious health issues.

At first, Liam would be behind the counter for shorter stints, his movements a little slower, his usual booming laugh a little softer. Then he'd be primarily by the tables, chatting with regulars, trying to stay a part of the rhythm of the shop he loved so much. But lately, he was barely there at all. "Doctors," The cute barista had mumbled once, his voice tight with worry, when Bruce had inquired. Now, it was almost always the cute barista. He was the one opening up before dawn, the one wiping down tables late into the night, the one juggling supplier orders and the temperamental espresso machine. His shoulders seemed to carry the weight of the world, but he never complained, never faltered. Bruce thought he was just hired help. Liam had mentioned he had a son, but Bruce never met him, nor did he think the boy would take over the family store.

Bruce watched him now, wiping down the counter with meticulous care, his brow furrowed in concentration. The extra tips were the least he could do. Gotham Coffee wasn't just a place to get a good cup of joe; it was a testament to resilience, to the quiet strength of a small family shouldering the only light in Park Row, keeping a dream alive in a city that often seemed intent on crushing them. And in a city like Gotham, any glimmer of hope, any flicker of warmth, was worth preserving.

The scent of roasted beans and warm pastries wasn't the only thing that drew Bruce Wayne to Gotham Coffee. It was the quiet hum of the espresso machine, the comforting clatter of ceramic on saucers, and, increasingly, the easy smile of the barista behind the counter. He'd initially come for the consistently excellent coffee – a rare commodity in Gotham – and the surprisingly peaceful atmosphere, a stark contrast to the city's usual chaotic symphony. But somewhere along the way, his appreciation had deepened, morphing into something far more personal.

He'd found himself looking forward to his morning visits with an eagerness that surprised even him. He’d meticulously plan his days to allow for a stop, often bringing a briefcase full of paperwork to justify lingering at one of the worn wooden tables. The real draw, however, was the young man who seemed to manage the entire operation effortlessly. Never yet learned his name. Bruce ired the cute barista's quiet strength, the way he carried the weight of the store owner's health issues and the full responsibility of the café without complaint. There was a gentle determination in his eyes, a flicker of warmth that was utterly captivating.

Bruce found himself subtly observing the cute barista. The way his brow furrowed in concentration as he frothed milk, the brief, almost shy smiles he offered regulars, the way he’d instinctively hum a soft tune while cleaning the counter. The man was effortlessly charming, utterly genuine, and undeniably handsome. Bruce found himself captivated by the subtle dimples that appeared when he genuinely smiled, and the way his blonde hair would fall across his forehead, only to be pushed back with a casual, almost unconscious gesture. It was a realization that hit Bruce with the quiet force of a slow-burning ember: he was undeniably, unequivocally falling for this barista.

One particularly dreary Tuesday, Bruce settled into his usual corner booth, the familiar warmth of his coffee mug a welcome comfort against the persistent chill outside. He was engrossed in a complex financial report when the cute barista approached his table. "Another one, Mr. Wayne?" he asked, his voice soft, a hint of genuine concern in his eyes as he glanced at the piles of paper.

Bruce looked up, a small smile touching his lips. "Please. And just Bruce is fine."

Corey's cheeks colored slightly, a charming blush. When he returned with Bruce's fresh coffee, he set the mug down with a steady hand. "Here you go, Mr—Bruce." As he turned to leave, Bruce noticed a small, folded napkin tucked beneath the saucer. He picked it up, his heart giving an unexpected jolt.

Unfolding it, he saw a series of neatly scrawled numbers, followed by a simple message:

Feel free to call me if you'd like to discuss something other than spreadsheets.<3

Below that, a small, slightly nervous smiley face. It was the barista's number. A wave of warmth spread through Bruce, chasing away the Tuesday gloom far more effectively than any coffee ever could. He looked up, but he was already back behind the counter, seemingly absorbed in wiping down the espresso machine. Yet, just as Bruce met his gaze, when he glanced up, a quick, hopeful smile flashed across his face before he looked away.

Bruce felt a genuine, unbidden grin spread across his face. His subsequent few visits were going to be more pleasant.

The incessant drumming of rain against the large plate-glass window of Gotham Coffee provided a rhythmic backdrop to the quiet hum within. Bruce Wayne sat at his usual corner table, nursing a black coffee, the steam curling invitingly into the cool air. He was lost in thought, the familiar comfort of the café a welcome respite from the city's perpetual gloom.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over his table. He looked up, his gaze meeting a pair of kind eyes framed by blonde, slightly disheveled hair. A shy smile touched the young man's lips as he spoke, his voice gentle and a little hesitant. ”I wanted to say, "Thank you."

Bruce, caught off guard, blinked. He’d seen this young man countless times behind the counter, a silent anchor in the bustling café. He’d ed the kind eyes, the genuine smile, the diligent work ethic, and even had gotten his number in a chance for more joyful conversations unrelated to business or coffee. He just hadn't known his name. Or rather, he hadn't fully connected the name he’d heard so often with the face he’d come to appreciate. "Thank you?" Bruce managed, genuinely puzzled.

Corey nodded, his smile widening slightly. "For the extra you keep dropping in the box. Dad hadn't figured it out yet, but the creases on those fives and tens... they all had the same fold." A faint blush crept up Corey's neck, but his eyes held a sincere gratitude that disarmed Bruce completely. “Which means the same person dropped them in.”

Touched by the unexpected acknowledgment, Bruce found himself drawn into conversation and asked him to sit so they could chat more. The barista spoke with a quiet ion about coffee, describing the nuances of different beans and the satisfaction of a perfectly pulled shot. He shared snippets of his life, speaking fondly of his mother, who had ed away too soon, and had instilled in him a love for creating something beautiful with his hands. And there was a quiet pride in his voice when he spoke of his father, and the legacy he was determined to carry on at Gotham Coffee.

As the rain continued its steady patter outside, the hours seemed to melt away. Bruce learned about the cute barista's hopes and dreams, the quiet struggles and triumphs that made up his days. And with every shared word, with every shy smile and earnest gaze, Bruce felt a connection deepen, a warmth bloom in his chest that had little to do with the coffee in his mug. He realized, with a startling clarity, that he was indeed falling for the cute barista with the kind eyes and the unassuming courage. This wasn't just a coffee shop anymore; it was something far more profound. Before the young man stood to return to work, Bruce stopped him.

“Before you go, I…never got your name?” he looked to the barista, who smiled back, “Corey,” and the man returned to work. As the rain continued its steady descent, mirroring the quiet introspection within, an unspoken connection began to weave itself between Bruce and Corey. It wasn't a connection born of grand gestures or dramatic revelations, but rather in the shared love of a perfectly brewed cup of coffee, in the comforting, lived-in embrace of a family-owned café, and in the bittersweet, lingering memories that seemed to permeate the very air of Gotham Coffee.

There was a quiet understanding that ed between them, a recognition of shared burdens and unexpected joys. Bruce saw in Corey a reflection of the resilience he often championed in his masked persona, a quiet strength that kept the gears turning in the face of adversity. Corey, in turn, found surprising solace in Bruce's presence, a calming anchor in his often turbulent days.

As Bruce finally pushed himself away from the table that rainy afternoon, the world outside felt changed. The city's perpetual gloom seemed a little less oppressive, its cacophony a little less jarring. That the night got a little brighter, he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that Gotham Coffee would never be just another stop on his busy schedule. He had finally met Corey, truly met him, and in doing so, he had discovered the warmth Liam had talked about. It was time for someone to stay by his side truly.