Secret Admirer
— ⋆. ☆ .⋆ —
an: this was a request , wlw for Roxie <3
wc: 642
Roxie notices the first gift because it doesn’t belong.It’s sitting on the edge of her locker like it’s always been there small, neatly wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine instead of ribbon. No tag. No name. Just… there.“Secret admirer?” one of the guys teases as he passes.Roxie rolls her eyes, but her fingers are already brushing over it, careful, almost reverent. “Yeah, sure,” she mutters, but she waits until no one’s looking before slipping it into her bag.Inside, later, it’s a keychain. Simple. A tiny firetruck, worn just enough to look vintage. It makes something in her chest tighten.She doesn’t say anything. Then it happens again.A week later, there’s coffee waiting for her when she walks in her exact order. Not just something close. Exact. Down to the extra shot and the stupid amount of caramel she pretends she doesn’t like.“Okay, that’s creepy,” she says, staring at it.“Or romantic,” blue shoots back.Roxie scoffs, but her lips twitch. She takes a sip anyway.Perfect.It becomes a thing. Little gifts. Never over the top. Always thoughtful. A new set of hair ties after she snaps her last one mid-shift. Her favorite protein bar tucked into her turnout pocket on a rough day. A note once just once slipped under her locker door:You did good today. I’m proud of you. No signature. But Roxie knows. She’s known from the beginning.Still, she plays along.“Whoever it is, they’ve got good taste,” she says one night, leaning back in her chair as the others speculate wildly.“Or they’re obsessed,” Taylor laughs. Roxie just shrugs. “Maybe I like obsessed.”Across the room, you don’t look up. You keep scrolling on your phone like none of this has anything to do with you.Like your heart isn’t pounding.It’s late when she finally corners you.No audience. No noise. Just the quiet hum of the station and the soft buzz of fluorescent lights.“You’re getting bold,” Roxie says, arms crossed, blocking your way.You raise an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”She steps closer. “My coffee order? The note?” Her voice drops, softer now. “The keychain?”You hold her gaze, steady, even as your pulse jumps. “Maybe someone just pays attention.”Roxie exhales a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Maybe they do.”There’s a beat.Then her hand finds yours, quick and hidden between your bodies where no one can see.“Next time,” she says, squeezing gently, “just give it to me yourself.”Your lips curve. “Where’s the fun in that?”Roxie leans in just enough that her forehead almost brushes yours, her voice barely there. “Trust me,” she whispers, “I can think of better ways to have fun.”And when someone calls her name from across the station, she pulls away like nothing happened.But her fingers linger for a second longer than they should.And later, when she finds the next gift waiting.she doesn’t even pretend to be surprised.