something to rely on

There’s a little cafe down the road. One that’s a little tucked away, just off a street that feels too busy for it, where so many people walk past it without a thought. It’s almost as though it’s invisible, only seen by those who truly want to and missed by those moving too quickly through their day. It’s like another world, one that radiates homely warmth and always smells like bacon and fresh coffee and pastries baked on little trays and displayed in glass cases with little handwritten labels. It’s an oasis, somewhere that feels so out of place in a little borough of London but it’s there, and it stands, waiting for someone to need it. And evidently so many do, because there’s always someone sat at one of the little tables crammed into the space, a student nursing their fifth coffee and looking barely alive, or a couple holding hands across wood, space in between them but none all the same. -or- callum owns a coffee shop and is intruiged by the man that he keeps seeing outside.