A Little Accident

The air inside the cafe is warm and scented with cinnamon and roasted coffee beans. Outside, winter paints the windows with soft condensation, and distant bells chime faintly from passing trams. Two weeks before Christmas, the world seems to hold its breath, waiting for snow.

I start my morning shift with a smile that feels strange at first—but I push through it. I greet every customer a little brighter, let the cheer in the air nudge me forward. I don't want to seem gloomy anymore. There's enough heaviness inside me that I don't want others to see.

Yuna notices the change. She raises an eyebrow as I hum to myself while cleaning the counter, and I can feel her grin even before I look up. "Someone woke up on the right side of bed."

"Maybe," I say, offering her a wink. "Or maybe it's the season."

"Christmas spirit got you, huh?" she teases, setting down a small box of ornaments. "Help me decorate when there's no order. Noah's been going full elf mode with these decorations."

Noah is in the corner with his laptop, surrounded by small boxes of tinsel, fairy lights, and ribbons in shades of gold and red. He's focused, scrolling through something, occasionally sipping from a steaming mug. The usual quiet calm sits on him like a second skin.

I don't interrupt him, just smile to myself and return to work. Yuna and I hang decorations when the rush slows. We string warm lights above the menu board, drape garlands across the display case. It feels nice. Like we're building something cozy together.

Then the bell above the door rings.

A woman walks in—mid-thirties, heels clicking against the floor, her coat stylish and her expression sharp with urgency. I step up to the register and greet her warmly. "Good morning. What can I get for you?"

"Large almond milk cappuccino. Extra hot. No sugar," she says without looking up from her phone.

"Coming right up."

I move behind the machine, steam rising in comforting clouds. I've done this dozens of times now. I know the steps, the tempo. I pour the milk, angle the cup—

—and then my hand slips.

Hot liquid splashes against my skin, searing heat shooting up my palm. The cup teeters, then hits the counter with a dull thud. Some coffee spills onto the woman's sleeve.

"I'm so sorry," I gasp, instinctively grabbing a cloth. My hand burns, but I press through it.

The woman steps back, eyes wide with disbelief. "Are you serious? I'm in a hurry!"

"I—I apologize," I say quickly, flustered. "I'll make a new one right away."

"You better," she snaps, dabbing at her sleeve. "This coat costs more than your entire paycheck."

Her words sting more than the burn. My voice shrinks in my throat.

"Let me handle this," Noah's voice cuts in.

He's suddenly beside me, calm but fast. He makes the drink with fluid efficiency, offering it to her with a practiced smile. "Here you go. Extra hot. And it's on the house today. Our apologies."

She hesitates but takes it, mutters something under her breath, and walks out in a huff.

As soon as the door closes, Noah turns to me. His smile is gone. He reaches for my hand, brows knit with worry. "Let me see."

"I'm okay," I try to brush it off.

"You're not."

He gently takes my hand, inspecting the red skin. The touch is careful, but his eyes—his eyes are sharp with concern. Gone is the usual unreadable calm. For the first time, he looks rattled.

"You should've said something immediately. Yuna, can you grab the first aid kit?"

"On it," she says.

I try not to wince as he leads me to sit by the corner bench. His hands are cool against the heat of my skin. He doesn't speak as he examines the burn again, but I can feel it—the tightness in his shoulders, the flicker of emotion in his features.

"It's not that bad," I say, but the words feel weak even to me.

"It doesn't have to be bad for it to matter."

There's a strange silence between us then. Heavy but not awkward. He dabs ointment on the skin once Yuna brings the kit, then gently wraps the hand with soft gauze.

"You didn't even flinch," Yuna observes. "Knox, are you part robot?"

I manage a laugh. "Maybe just well-practiced in pretending things don't hurt."

Noah doesn't laugh. He keeps his eyes on my hand for a moment longer, then finally looks up. "Next time, let me know immediately. I mean it."

"Okay," I say softly.

Yuna goes to the counter when a new customer walks in. It's just me and Noah now. He's still taking care of the burn. I keep looking at him. The way he cares ... I don't want to get the wrong idea. I just know that it's genuine.

I murmur, "Thank you."

He sighs. "Just ... tell me whenever you're not okay. I don't care if it's the tinniest inconvenience, you still have to tell me, got it? I have the responsibilities on this cafe. I need to make sure the workers are safe. You sure you don't need to go to hospital?"

"Yes, this is enough." I smile.

Noah pats my head again. Wait. It's more like ... ruffle. He ruffles my hair. "Good. You can rest for a while. Make sure your burn get better first. You can help other things. Yuna and I will handle the orders."

We return to work, the cafe slowly filling with more customers. The holiday playlist hums in the background, and Yuna throws a string of tinsel at me when I get too quiet. "Don't go gloomy on us again. We need cheerful Knox to survive these shifts."

I flash a grin. "Cheerful Knox is back. Burned, but still standing."

Noah chuckles under his breath as he returns to his laptop. But now and then, I catch him glancing over at me.

And every time he does, I feel that flustered twist inside me again.

Maybe it's just the season. Or maybe it's something else I'm still trying to name.