yawn Agh. Good morning, world. I open the midnight fog for the week at 10, so, I’ve got around 25 minutes before I need to go to work and start the morning prep. Nothing too fancy, mostly just turning stuff on, making myself some coffee and breakfast, and unstacking the chairs.

So, I get a quick shower, take my meds, change, all that good stuff, and drive down to the café, parking in the alley as usual. I switch on the lights, take the chairs off of the tables, turn on the espresso machine, and put the weekly special sign outside.

This week, it’s a mint mocha macchiato. You know those Andes mints, the ones you get from like, Olive Garden? Turns out you can melt those down and make a pretty tasty flavoring syrup. Who knew.

It turns 10, so I flip the sign, finish my muffin, and unlock the doors, throwing on some lo-fi in the background. Sipping on my mocha, I log into the register, and just idly start restocking cups, and such.

It winds up being a pretty slow monday, and I end up just eating lunch behind the register. Nothing fancy, just an egg salad sandwich from the nearby deli.

About an hour before close, I get a small bump in customers, mostly just people who enjoy the ambiance of a café closer to sunset. After they leave, around 15 minutes to close, I quickly sweep and mop, make sure I put in the restock order, and wipe everything down.

6 pm comes sooner rather than later, so, I close up shop and start the drive home. Traffic was mercifully light, so I made it home in only 15 minutes or so. Up to this point, I’d have called today rather calm, if uneventful.

That’s not what happened. I get up to my apartment door, aaaaand… There’s someone waiting there? I didn’t order any package or anything. Wait… long almond ponytail, about the right height…

That’s Camilla. Oh fuck. Why’s she here? Did she already succumb to my little curse? Why does she look so nervous? Well, only one way to find out, I suppose.

“Camilla? What’re you doing at my door? You alright?”

“Oh shut up, you know what you did to me.”

“…No? I’m not really sure what you’re talking about. Do you want to come in? I can order pizza or something.” I’m lying through my teeth, of course, but she doesn’t have to know that. The pizza isn’t a lie though, I was kinda craving it today.

She pouts, almost silently, clearly very agitated to be at my doorstep, so I fumble with my keys, and invite her in. She’s very closed off, wearing a baggy hoodie and gripping the sleeves tightly.

After a little bit of convincing, she does eventually follow me inside. She sits down on my couch like you’d imagine a raccoon who found their way into your house would. Very closed off, very protective, even more skittish.

Clearly, my little changes have messed with her, deeply. It’s only been two days.

“Do you.. wanna talk about it? We can just sit here too, if you prefer, I suppose. Are you hungry? I was gonna order pizza for dinner, do you like, have a topping preference?”

“…just mushroom, please.”

“Yeah, alright. What’s been going on? Why’d you wind up at my door?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I know you had something to do with it. I just - I know it was you, it had to have been.”

“Pardon? I did very little to you before sending you on your way. I just made it so you can’t say homophobic slurs anymore. I… doubt that’s why you’re here, Camilla.”

“I CAN’T STOP FUCKING THINKING ABOUT YOU, HEATHER. I KNOW YOU DID THIS. I was fucking straight before this, goddamn it, so why can’t I stop fucking thinking about you?”