Ash exhaled slowly, the air leaving his chest in a thin, weary sigh. "This is so absurd," he muttered under his breath, "like an Albert Camus book." He turned toward the café door, pushing it open as the muffled ring of the entrance bell echoed through the still air.
"Wait—who's he?" Aardh's voice came lazily, drifting through the edges of his mind.
Ash's reply was just as careless. "A meaningless person."
Aardh didn't answer. The silence that followed felt like an eye roll.
Inside, the café carried the gentle warmth of routine. Rose was already chatting with the gentleman Gen, her hands graceful as she poured the steaming chocolate coffee into his porcelain cup. The old man's wrinkled fingers curled around it, the rising steam filled his nose. Ash stepped behind the counter, his voice low, almost swallowed by the clinking cups. "How peaceful," he murmured, "no attachment, no personality."
"Yeah… As if the bandit didn't almost kill a man" Aardh replied flatly, his tone thin with annoyance, as if he'd already grown tired of Ash's brooding.
Dingg~
The doorbell rang again.
The sound was soft, but somehow heavy like the start of something that shouldn't have entered this quiet morning.
A man walked in.
His steps were slow and deliberate. The sharp tap of his boots against the wooden floor drew every pair of eyes toward him. He was dressed in worn black leather boots and hard, dust-marked pants. Over his white shirt that turned a dull grey from travel, was a small brown jacket, the kind soldiers or drifters wore when the world outside had nothing left to offer. A black Stetson shadowed his face, its brim cutting his features in half. Only his jaw was visible. A line of neatly trimmed beard and the faint twitch of a muscle as he chewed on silence.
He stopped in front of the door, his presence pressing against the air like the tension before thunder.
"A black coffee," he said, his tone low and heavy, as if the words themselves carried weight.
He walked to the middle row and sat down without another glance.
Gen looked up from his cup, his brow furrowed in mild curiosity. Rose paused mid-motion, the spoon she was holding tapping once against the saucer. Even the clock on the far wall seemed to slow.
Rose leaned closer to Ash, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's looking weird."
Ash nodded slightly, eyes not leaving the man. "Make the coffee," he murmured, his tone calm but unreadable. "I'll handle it."
Rose quietly turned back toward the counter, her movements slower than usual as she reached for the kettle. The muffled hiss of boiling water filled the silence, blending with the rhythmic click of the siphon brewer.
Gen lifted his cup with both hands, taking a careful sip, his old eyes half-lidded as he looked outside. "Hmm," he muttered softly, admiring the calm streets, the way sunlight melted over cobblestones.
Ash, however, wasn't fooled by that illusion of peace. His gaze stayed fixed on the man sitting at the center table. The stranger hadn't moved since sitting down, his hands rested flat on the table, his hat still low enough to hide his eyes.
The black coffee was ready
Rose turned slightly, holding the cup by its handle, but Ash raised his hand. "I'll take it," he said quietly.
He lifted the cup himself, the warmth spreading through his palm, and started walking toward the man. Each step echoed lightly against the floorboards.
The man didn't look up.
Ash stopped beside the table, the faint scent of roasted beans and dust mixing between them. The stranger's hat brim still shadowed his face, but up close, Ash could feel the air around him.
He placed the cup gently on the table. "Your black coffee," Ash said, voice even.
For a moment, the man didn't move.