Chapter Text
He isn't sure what to make of you.
You. You are new. Different. The waitress who typically worked the graveyard shift was gone. Seamlessly you absolved her of her late nights. You still wear the same plain outfit she did and wear your hair akin to her but it does something different for him.
Your first night he paid you little mind. There wasnt anything particularly remarkable about you, just another late night drifter. But you removed your coat and placed it behind the counter. He saw your name tag then, sees you dawn the apron.
You seemed to buzz with bottled feelings. Were you nervous, excited?
What were you thinking when you appraised the diner, seen the empty booths, until your eyes had landed on him? He was there hunched over his small book, his eyes avoided yours, his demeanor anxious. What did you say when you look a little while longer on him when he looked away? What were you saying to him?
But its been a few nights since your arrival and you seldom spoke to him at all. You took his order, worked the counter and then silently he left. An unspoken agreement was beginning to form between the both of you and it bothered him.
Tonight you are alone beside the cook. The heavy pour of rain dissuades most vistors, especially so late at night. The tv fills in the quiet gaps where normal dinner chatter would be but the quiet is still too much. The heavy sound of beating rain swells in the diner but it is a dull, monotonous noise. It does not quell the ache in your mind as you search for something to ease your boredom.
You look to the lonely man from over the counter and consider him. He's usually quiet, keeps to himself. But tonight you can't stand the silence. Surely he couldn't either.
You smile at him cautiously, looking up beneath his bangs which fell before his eyes.
"I've been seeing you around. You here every night?" Your voice is nice. He cant help but to look away when you speak.
Edward is silent at first, then he clears his throat and pushes his glasses up, "Usually." You smile a little wider, happy he's at least entertaining you a little.
He's cute in a nerdy sort of way, a dorky inviting look to his light, unkept hair and shiny glasses. There is a nervous way about him. You like watching him fidget with the journal he carries with him, keeping close to his body along the counter. Hiding. The deep, dark lines of his writing begging to draw you in closer. A tantalizingly small window into his world.
You lean against the counter across him and look to his coffee. The froth clings to the rim of the cup. It seems untouched. You frown. "Is the coffee okay? I'm still trying to get used to the machine."
He follows your gaze. "It's fine." He looks back to his journal and taps his pen against the page. You lean in a little further, your head a few inches from him, close enough you can better see the thick scribbles along the notebook. You knew better than to look but the curiosity ate at you. So many nights spent over this book, so many secrets for you to find.
You look to see it isn't a notebook at all but a ledger of some kind. It's green ink formed into columns which he has haphazardly scribbled hurried, overlapping text. You can't make out any of it with the quick glance you afforded. You look away before he notices.
You consider him again for a moment and frown a little more. You don't know what to think at all. So many secrets here. Like your coffee, is it really fine? You doubt the sentiment. Fine feels like an overstatement. The machine is old, outdated. You were sure the coffee must be bad.
He taps somewhat hurriedly again on the paper as though begging you would turn away from him.
You oblige feeling somewhat defeated. It filled up all but five minutes of your time and you managed to bother him. Great.
He watches as you turn away from him. Relief follows. It's better this way. He gets too distracted when you talk to him. Too engrossed in other thoughts. This is supposed to be a place of quiet. Quiet that isn't the roar of the busy street outside his apartment or the banging through the walls. This is just the gentle clink of silverware, of glass settling, of the hissing of the coffee maker. There's the smell of coffee and pie to awake his senses. He can concentrate. But you-- You are making it very difficult.
With a huff he drops his pen onto the paper beneath him and pushes his glasses again. You think to face him but decide better of it. This bothers him. Usually you'd at least throw him a smile, a nice look. He huffs again.
You swivel a little but remain firm in ignoring him. You were actually a little annoyed now. It felt a little harsh to be so untoward when all you tried to do was be friendly.
Gotham is a big city. It sprawls wider and deeper than an city you've ever known, and it's easy to become lost within it. To fade into it, to become another cog. You didn't have many friends. So it's easy to see yourself in someone lonely.
The diner is silent again.
"I think I'm ready for that pie now." The statement draws a look from you. You turn to see him smiling. His small lips playfully urging you to smile with him. You do.
"Hmm...I've been saving it for you all night. Was wondering when you'd ask." You retrieve the small box from under the counter, the last slice from the pie you made earlier. It's different from the usual. You made this one from scratch. Lovingly made for the mystery man. Of course it wasn't all for him but you wondered if he'd appreciate the idea.
He gazes at the box, caught in bewilderment so you are quick to explain, "I made this myself. We usually just sell pre-frozen from the bodega. Tell me if you like it."
You try. You try really hard. The thought bothers him. Why do you work so hard for a place that doesn't care for you? What do you gain? Do you enjoy moments like this, as he takes the small box from your hands and delicately places it before him? The moment before the truth? Do you like the excitement? The thrill of potential disappointment? He wonders as he gently opens the box. It's a small slice of pumpkin pie, cut into a perfect triangle with a dollop of whip cream.
He looks to you"you made this?" He sounds incredulous which makes you swallow nervously.
"Yes! But it's nothing weird! I mean experimental-- Just a pumpkin pie. Pretty basic. No family recipe or anything."
He pushes his glasses again before taking a bite. You study him closely. He is expressionless at first. Your confidence begins to falter until a smile breaks on his face.
"Just a pumpkin pie." He says.
"Just a pumpkin pie," You laugh.
Your laugh surprises him. He hasn't heard you laugh before. He never really tries. But it's effortless and wonderful to hear. He looks away from you but the effect already happened. He wants to hear it more. Selfishly he wishes he could bottle that laugh and savor it. Just his. It is just his laugh though. Nobody else is here to make you smile. He did that.
"I'm glad you like it," you say. You are quiet a moment. "Hey, you never did say your name."
"It's Edward." He's almost too quick to answer. He just wants to hear you say it between the same lips he made smile.
"Edward, okay. It's nice to meet you Edward. I hope we can be friends if I'm gonna be seeing you around. Now I got a name to to your face. Mission accomplished."
Edward. You were so naive. So pretty. He blushes. He quickly hides it with another bite into the pumpkin pie, finishing it.
"That good, huh?"
He nods and pushes the box away from him which you quickly take.
"Good. Guess I have an excuse to do it again." You return to cleaning up around you. Edward doesn't say anything else. It's a little too exciting to speak to you so friendly like. Like you're friends. It worries him.
Edward quietly places a twenty on the counter and leaves the diner without so much as a chime from the door. You didn't hear him leave, it's only until you turn to talk to him that you realize he had left. You felt a little wounded that he left without so much as a goodbye. After all you did actually make that pie specifically with him in mind. You didn't really expect much but you thought maybe it could be the start of something.
You stare at the twenty on the counter and sigh. Goodnight Edward.