Café coffee

The café was already buzzing with early morning regulars by the time Billie and Nat arrived. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries filled the air, familiar and comforting.

Nat had barely stepped through the door before one of her baristas, James, spotted her.

"Oh, look who decided to show up," he teased, grinning as he wiped his hands on his apron. "You had us all worried, boss."

Nat smirked, slipping behind the counter with the ease of someone who belonged there. "You should be worried," she shot back. "Especially since I know for a fact you burned at least two batches of croissants last week."

James gasped dramatically. "How dare you accuse me of—"

"Dude, you literally threw them in the trash in front of me," Billie chimed in, sliding onto a stool at the counter.

James narrowed his eyes at her. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"I like food too much to be on the side of burnt croissants," Billie said with a smirk.

Nat shook her head, a familiar warmth settling in her chest. It was strange how quickly things could shift—from the darkness of yesterday to this, the normalcy of her café, of Billie beside her, teasing her staff like she had been a part of this world all along.

For the first time in days, Nat felt steady again.

She moved effortlessly behind the counter, her hands already reaching for Billie's usual order.

"You don't have to make my coffee, you know," Billie pointed out, resting her chin in her palm as she watched Nat work.

"I own the place. I can make whatever I want."

Billie's lips twitched. "So, what you're saying is, I get special treatment?"

"Obviously."

"Damn," Billie murmured. "I should fall apart more often if it means free coffee and late-night cuddles."

Nat's hands stopped.

Her breath caught, but she forced herself to keep moving, pretending the words hadn't made her stomach flip.

"Careful, Eilish," she muttered, setting the cup in front of her. "People might start thinking you actually like spending time with me."

Billie met her eyes over the rim of her cup, her gaze softer than Nat expected. "Maybe I do."

Nat's pulse jumped.

Before she could react, James cleared his throat loudly. "I hate to interrupt whatever this is, but I need someone to cover the register before Carol murders a customer."

Nat blinked, shaking herself out of the moment. "Right. Yeah. I got it."

She stepped away, but she could still feel Billie watching her, could still hear the words lingering between them.

Maybe I do.

She had no idea what the hell that meant.

But for the first time in a long time, she wanted to find out.

—

The café was already alive with the usual morning crowd, but Billie barely noticed. Her focus was on her.

Nat moved behind the counter like she owned the world. Confident, sharp, completely in her element. She took orders with an easy smirk, tossed sarcastic remarks at her baristas, and made every single customer feel like they belonged there—like she belonged there.

And maybe that's why Billie couldn't stop staring.

It wasn't just admiration. It wasn't just that Nat looked good doing anything. It was the way she commanded the space without even trying. The way she could be holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and still somehow send a threatening glare to a barista messing up an order with the other.

Billie sipped her drink, trying not to think too much about how warm she felt just watching her.

Then the moment shattered.

"Excuse me—excuse me!"

Billie's attention snapped toward the counter where a woman stood, arms crossed, tapping her long, manicured nails impatiently.

Even from a distance, Billie could tell exactly who she was—the kind of person who thought the world revolved around her, that money gave her the right to be cruel.

Nat turned, her expression slipping from easy confidence to something colder. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so," the woman snapped. "I've been waiting for my order for ten minutes, and I see you standing around instead of doing your job."

Billie rolled her eyes. Oh, here we go.

Nat arched a brow. "What was your order?"

"A triple-shot oat milk vanilla latte, extra hot, no foam," the woman spat, her eyes sweeping over Nat in open judgment. "Though I doubt you're competent enough to get it right."

Billie's fingers clenched around her cup.

If Nat was affected by the insult, she didn't show it. "If your drink isn't ready yet, it's because we're busy," she said smoothly. "But if you're going to be rude, I can just throw it in the trash and ask you to leave."

Billie nearly choked on her coffee.

The café went dead silent.

The woman scoffed. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Nat crossed her arms. "I don't tolerate disrespect in my café. So you can wait like everyone else, or you can go spend your daddy's money somewhere else."

The woman's face turned red, her lips curling in rage.

Billie expected her to throw another insult. What she didn't expect was for the woman to grab a nearby cup of coffee and shove it at Nat—hot liquid splashing over her arm.

Nat inhaled sharply, her whole body going rigid.

Billie shot up from her stool, her heart pounding.

"Oh, you bitch—"

But before she could get to her, Nat moved.

She didn't yell. Didn't hesitate. She just stepped forward, closing the distance between them in an instant.

The woman barely had time to react before Nat shoved her, sending her stumbling back into a table.

Gasps echoed through the café.

The woman's shock turned to fury. "You psycho—"

She lunged.

And then she froze.

Because Nat caught her wrist midair.

"Oh, you do not want to do that," Nat said, her voice dangerously calm.

That's when Billie saw it.

The fresh, angry cuts on Nat's arm—exposed from the rolled-up sleeves of her hoodie, now smeared with blood where the hot coffee had splashed over them.

Billie's stomach dropped.

The woman saw them too, and for a second, something flickered in her eyes—something cruel.

"No wonder you're such a mess," she sneered, yanking her arm away. "Look at you."

Billie saw the way Nat's entire body went still, the way her breath hitched just slightly.

And that was it.

Billie didn't even think.

She was on the woman before she could say another word, stepping between her and Nat. "Get the hell out," she snarled, voice low and dangerous.

The woman faltered, suddenly realizing that, oh yeah, she had just pissed off Billie Eilish.

Billie took another step forward, and that was all it took. The woman grabbed her bag and practically ran out of the café.

Silence.

Then, James let out a slow whistle. "Damn, boss."

But Billie wasn't looking at him. She was looking at Nat.

At the blood slowly dripping from her arm.

"Come here," she murmured, reaching for her wrist.

Nat shook her head, already pulling her sleeve down. "It's fine."

Billie caught her hand before she could hide it. "No, it's not."

Nat exhaled, her eyes flickering to the door like she was still trying to shake off what had just happened.

"Nat," Billie said softly. "Let me help."

Something cracked in her expression then, something raw. But instead of arguing, Nat just nodded.

And Billie knew—she wasn't just agreeing to let her clean up her arm.

She was letting her in.