⋆˚ WHEN THE WORLD IS QUIET ˚⋆
ྀི PART 1 .ᐟ⭑.ᐟ FIRST GLANCES ྀི
in which distant!reader and observant!matt first meet.
warnings: mentions of trauma, fluff
you've always been the quiet girl. not silent—just the type whose presence never makes any noise.
you move through life like moonlight slipping between curtains—soft enough to go unnoticed, bright enough only for someone who's actually looking.
most people never look.
your distance wasn't something you chose. it was something you learned—growing up in a house where speaking too loudly meant being snapped at, and asking for comfort felt like handing someone a burden they didn't want. so you shrank. you learned to take up less space and less air.
even now, twenty-one and living in your tiny off-campus apartment with your black cat miso, you cling to routines that make the world feel predictable.
classes. library. go home. feed miso. study. sleep. repeat.
miso is the only one you let close. she never asks for explanations, just curls beside you and blinks with slow, patient eyes.
people are never that simple.
which is why you surprise even yourself the morning you step into a café you've walked past countless of times but never actually entered. the warm lights, the plants, the windows—you've admired it quietly from the outside, always thinking, maybe one day.
today, somehow, becomes that day.
the bell above the door chimes as you walk in. warm air greets you—cinnamon, espresso, and a hint of that woody smell.
soft instrumental music hums gently in the background.
it feels... gentle. a little home-like. a little safe.
you step toward the counter with your gaze lowered, your thumb rubbing the sleeve of your new red sweater you recently got at the thrift store near your apartment, it's a quiet habit for when you feel too seen, too new.
then you hear him.
"hey—welcome."
you freeze for half a second before looking up just enough.
a barista stands behind the counter, apron tied loosely with coffee stains on it, messy curls falling over ocean-deep eyes. nothing about him feels sharp or overwhelming. his presence is like sunlight you don't have to squint at.
and he softens the moment he sees you.
he notices your hesitation instantly—the way you're holding your breath, the careful posture, the way you're trying to make yourself smaller. you can tell he reads people easily. not in a nosy way, but in a gentle, observant way.
"first time here?" he asks, tone gentler.
you nod. "um... yeah."
your voice comes out quiet, like it needs permission.
he smiles—small, soft, real.
"i'm matt," he says, tapping the name on his apron even though you can clearly read it. "if you need help choosing something, i can help."
you shake your head lightly. "i... i'll just have an iced latte. please."
"okay," he murmurs.
as he makes your drink, you sneak tiny glances. his careful hands. his calm movements. the way he hums under his breath without noticing. he treats small tasks like they matter.
you're not used to people like him.
he turns slightly and catches you looking. heat rises instantly under your skin. your eyes drop to your converse shoes.
he definitely notices.
but he doesn't tease, doesn't react loudly—he just give you a small, sweet smile.
when he's done, he sets the drink down.
"iced latte for...?" his voice lifts—hopeful, almost shy.
he wants your name.
you swallow. "...luna."
something in his expression softens. like your name is a tiny gift you placed in his hands with a ribbon on top.
"that fits you," he says gently.
your breath catches, your cheeks warm up too fast.
you never know what to do with compliments. they unravel you.
you take your drink and walk over to the corner table near the back.
the safest spot.
you set your cup down, then reach into your tote bag, pulling out your laptop, two notebooks, and your pencil case.
you open your laptop with the smallest click.
you smooth down the pages of your notebook.
you tuck your hair behind your ear.
you can feel matt glancing over every few moments.
not staring.
not quite hovering.
just watching softly—like he's checking the weather.
he stays close to the counter, wiping spots that don't need wiping, and adjusting cups that don't need adjusting.
you know he's doing it to stay near your corner of the world.
his gentleness pulls at you in a way your not used to, in a way you're scared to name.
but as you sit there surrounded by your notebooks, laptop humming, drink cooling slowly, you catch yourself thinking:
maybe you'll come back tomorrow.
and behind the counter—even though he only knows your name and the way you blush when spoken to softly—matt is hoping for the exact same thing.
an: first chapter aaa!! i'm sorry its so short, i promise the next one will be longer, ty all so much for reading!! i hope u enjoyeeddd C:
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