The mornings came slower at Red Velvet.
The air inside the café always felt just a little warmer than the outside world. It smelled like brown sugar, cinnamon sticks and roasted Robusta coffee beans. Eli learned the rhythm quickly, open the blinds halfway, polish the front windows until the light gleamed red through the fog, start the grinder, then wait for Flint to drift in silently appearing from wherever they slept upstairs.
Flint never seemed to be tired. They moved through the shop with a practiced quiet, humming something tuneless while arranging cups in careful rows. Their hands were small but steady, wrists pale as porcelain. The world felt softer when they were near.
"You're catching on," they said one morning sift as Eli attempted to mimic their swirl of milk through espresso.
"You make it so look easy flint," he said.
"That's the trick. Most things worth learning hurt first."
They smiled, and Eli couldn't tell if that was wisdom or warning.
The days slowly fell into a pattern.
Customers trickled in. Some familiar, some not. All of them polite to the point of unease, with that faint gleam in their eyes that seemed both hungry and grateful. Eli told himself it was just city weirdness. Cities collected people like that, those who didn't fit anywhere else.
When the rush ended one day, he and Flint would sit at one of the corner tables, sipping what whatever what left in the pots. The café was quiet now, the only sound was the tick of the wall clock and the rain pressing against the glass.
"So, where's home for you?" Flint asked on that afternoon, voice low and even.
"Nowhere," Eli said, before catching himself. "I mean, my family's… complicated."
Flint tilted their head, encouraging him to continue.
"My mom died a few years back. Cancer."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be,I have gotten over it... She was the good one… My dad… My dad's still around, though. Drunk half the time, angry all the time. My sister… she took his side. Daddy's little miracle. Haven't spoken in two years."
He laughed, but it came out cracked.
Flint didn't. They just nodded, eyes soft.
"So you came here for a start over then."
"Guess so."
"That's good," Flint said, almost tenderly. "People like us… we find families where we can."
The words should've comforted him, but instead, they felt heavy, like a promise disguised as kindness.
In the evenings, Flint would teach him how to close. They moved together behind the counter, wiping down machines, scrubbing the stains from the wood, turning off the red shaded lamps one by one. The light dimmed until the café looked less like a shop and more like a heartbeat, pulsing in the dark.
Sometimes Flint would brush Eli's arm when reaching for a cup. Their fingers were always cool, never clammy, just wrong enough to notice. Once, when he burned his hand on the espresso wand, Flint pressed their palm to his skin to soothe it. The pain vanished almost instantly, though the spot tingled for hours after.
"See?" they said softly. "A little heat, a little care, and everything mends."
He nodded, but the way they looked at him made him feel both safe and seen in a way that twisted deep in his gut.
They ate dinner together most nights now.
Flint always cooked, soups that tasted like earth and smoke, stews that filled the small apartment above the café with a sweetness that wasn't quite right. Eli tried not to think too hard about the meat, about the way Flint's knife skills were far too precise for a barista.
"You shouldn't worry about where things come from," Flint said once, reading his hesitation without looking up. "Just that they nourish you."
Eli smiled weakly and took another spoonful. It was good, too good, and he hated how his stomach responded like it had been waiting all week for that exact flavor.
He started dreaming about the café some night. Odd dreams.
In the dreams, Red Velvet stretched longer than it should, the counters repeating endlessly, the lights dimming until all that remained was Flint's voice, quiet, melodic, humming through the dark. He'd wake with the smell of coffee still clinging to his hands.
By the end of his second week, Flint began leaving him alone for short shifts.
"You can handle the regulars," they said. "They like you."
"I'm still learning."
"Good. Never stop. That's how you stay human."
The phrase struck him oddly, but Flint had already turned away, tying their apron with that same fluid grace.
When the door closed behind them, the café fell silent. The clock ticked. The air hummed.
For the first time, Eli realized how large the space felt without Flint in it, not peaceful, not empty, just waiting.
He thought of what Flint had said: People like us find families where we can.
He looked around the empty café, at the deep red curtains and the faint, sweet scent in the air, and wondered, just for a moment, what kind of family he had stumbled into.