Living in a rented apartment and working at a dead-end café at 25 wasn't how I'd pictured my life. I mean, who dreams of barely scraping by while serving overpriced coffee to stuck-up customers? But life doesn't give a damn about your plans.
The alarm blared at 6 a.m., pulling me out of a dream I couldn't quite remember. I groaned, silenced it, and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My tiny apartment greeted me like it always did-walls too close together, paint peeling here and there, but still... it was mine. Stretching as much as the space allowed, I shuffled to the bathroom.
Morning routines were sacred-brush teeth, wash face, apply my favorite skincare products. Call it self-care or vanity, but it was one thing that made me feel good about myself . Wrapped in a pink fluffy towel I stood before my closet. "What should I wear today?" I asked myself.
I eventually settled on a red Gucci jacket (a secondhand find, but still fabulous), a blue shirt, ripped jeans, and my trusty white sneakers. It was a little loud for my job, but I didn't care. Dressing up was my armor, and who knows? Maybe today I'd meet someone. The thought made me laugh—bitterly, almost. A boyfriend? Yeah, right. I hadn't been with anyone since my ex, and the scars he left behind weren't the kind you could see. Three years might as well have been three minutes.
I grabbed my bag, locked up, and stepped into the chilly morning air. As I walked, the familiar stares started. Not the friendly kind—no, these were cold, judgmental, filled with whispers left unspoken. This neighborhood didn't like me. Or, more accurately, it didn't like what I was: openly gay and unapologetic about it.
But their opinions didn't define me. I wasn't ashamed of who I was, not anymore. Sure, some days it got overwhelming, and I'd break down when no one was looking. But I always picked myself back up.
Passing a park, I spotted a family laughing together, and my chest tightened. I missed my own family—Mom and my brothers, Neo and Cain. They'd been my rock after Dad died. But life had pulled us in different directions, and now it felt like I was drifting alone.
I shook the thoughts away as the café came into view. The Mist. The neon sign buzzed faintly, welcoming me to another long, exhausting day.
Inside, the air smelled of fresh pastries and coffee beans, a bittersweet reminder that I was trapped here for another shift. My boss greeted me with his usual creepy smile, and I swallowed the urge to roll my eyes. "Morning," I said, heading to the back to change into my uniform.
The moment the doors opened, the flood began. Customers piled in, orders flying in every direction. The place was small but deceptively popular. "Liam, table seven needs you," Ryan called out.
Grabbing my notepad, I approached the table with my best customer-service smile. "Hi there, may I take your order?" I asked.
A group of teenagers sat there, laughing and chatting loudly. A girl with bright pink hair looked up. "I'll have a black coffee and a sponge cake. Oh, and maybe your number too?" She giggled, twirling a strand of hair.
I forced a polite smile. Being hit on wasn't new—it happened often, but it rarely felt flattering. Before I could respond, another voice cut through the noise.
"Jenny," one of the guys sneered. "The dude's a faggot. No way you're getting his number."
My stomach dropped. The word hung in the air like smoke, choking me.
Jenny gasped dramatically. "He's gay? But he's so... pretty. How can he be gay?"
Her words stung more than they should have. I'd heard it all before, but it still hit a nerve. For a moment, I was frozen, unsure whether to walk away or confront them.
Finally, I found my voice. "Yes, I'm gay. And yes, I'm pretty. Do you have a problem with that?" My tone was sharp, my gaze steady.
Jenny's expression twisted into disgust. "Hell yeah, I have a problem with that. Faggots are disgusting. Ugh, I can't believe I hit on one."
Her friends burst into laughter, their voices blending into an ugly cacophony.
I felt my walls crumbling. My carefully constructed armor-gone. Heat rose to my face as I clenched my fists, biting back the tears threatening to spill.
"Have a nice day," I muttered through gritted teeth before walking away. My chest felt tight, and every breath burned.
Back behind the counter, I tried to shake it off. "What a shitty day," I whispered to myself. But deep down, I knew it wasn't just the day. It was everything-the stares, the whispers, the loneliness that clung to me like a second skin.
And yet, despite i tood tall. Because tomorrow was another day.