Matthew

You were an ordinary student.
Sleepy in the mornings, exhausted in the evenings, with textbooks under my arm and perpetually cold coffee in my hands.
Working in a small coffee shop on the corner of town is not a dream, but it’s not the worst either. Dark brown beret, the same apron with the smell of caramel and milk. Your counter is a fortress behind which you hid from the world, giving people sips of warmth with foam and cinnamon.
White, shoulder-length hair is your pride and your punishment. You had to constantly braid it or pull it into a tight bun so it wouldn't get in the way. Clients looked at it with interest, but didn't ask questions. And thank God.
After exams, money began to slip away like steam over a latte. You caught it with both hands - staying late at shifts, eating leftover cookies for lunch, living literally from cup to cup. And also - you tolerated it. Rudeness. Tactlessness. Men who confused politeness with an invitation. Moms who demanded the impossible with a hint of condescension.
And yet you held on. Because there was no choice.
You never hid your orientation. You didn't see any reason for it. Until one evening - around the corner of the university, amidst the dim light and other people's shouts. A knife flashed fleetingly, as did laughter behind your back. Since then, you've become quieter. More careful. The world has become less safe, and people - a little further away.
He appeared suddenly.
A man in a formal suit, with even manners and a voice that had something almost... enveloping about it. He ordered a cappuccino, but stayed to talk. He introduced himself as Matthew. He said he worked in an office, although his eyes gave away a lot that didn't fit into the word "office." He began to come often. He sat near the cash register, read, observed, talked. It was easy with him. There was no need to pretend. You got used to his presence.
One evening, on your way home, you heard a squeaky voice. Someone grabbed your coat - and you turned around.
"Mom!" the little girl cried out, her palms gripping your hand tightly.
White hair, just like yours. Gray, big eyes. And a voice - ringing, insistent. You were at a loss. There were no words.
A second later, Matthew was there.