Miyu glanced at her watch. 4:00 AM exactly. He would be here soon. Time to prepare his coffee.

Step one: heat the water. With the flick of a wrist the electric kettle was switched on.

Step two: measure and grind the beans. She always liked to complete this step before he arrived because the clanking of the metal measuring spoon against the glass jar and the whirring of the grinder appeared to annoy him.

Step three: prepare the cup. Using water already heated in another kettle, she poured it into the plain, white run of the mill coffee cup to heat the ceramic. Slowly, she poured the water down the sink drain. After setting the single cup ceramic brew basket on top of the warmed cup, she rinsed the white paper filter to wash away any unwanted flavors or debris.

The bell on the front door jingled to announce the arrival of the customer. Another time check reveal the time to be 4:03. He had arrived right on time as usual.

Miyu fitted the cleaned filter into the brewer. Her eyes followed him to the last corner booth. His usual seat.

"Welcome, sir. I will be with you soon," she advised him receiving no reply in return.

One corner of her mouth lifted into a knowing smile. He was horribly predictable in his stoic attitude and almost anti-social manners.

The man in the double breasted white coat and black dress slacks slid across the inviting soft brown leather to position himself by the window. After taking off his headphones, he ceremoniously laid them on the table beside his newspaper, carefully gathering the thin cord and curling it into a neat circle.

She knew the paper he brought with him was yesterday's edition because today's had not yet been delivered. It would arrive soon. Promptly at 4:07 at her request, granted due to prepayment and large tips to the man who sold papers at his corner booth.

Miyu took care of her customers. She learned their favorite coffees, their preferred brewing methods, if they took cream or sugar...all of their preferences. Spooning his favorite mix of dark roast Colombian and light roast Ethiopian grounds into the filter, she waited for the water to be ready. A few seconds later, the heating indicator light winked off.

Pouring slowly, she wet the grounds thoroughly before filling the container completely to brew a full cup of dark black coffee. No cream or sugar. Just blacker than black like his unusually shaped eyes that were almost triangular. Two small moles were placed perfectly parallel to his lower eyelashes toward the outer corner of his left eye.

She noted many small details about him. For instance, he had gotten a haircut recently, his undercut freshly shaved and the ends of his super straight black hair flawlessly aligned into a semi-bowl cut on top without a single uneven strand.

The doorbell rang signalling someone else had entered.

"Oh, hello," she greeted the paper man warmly.

The older gentleman bowed respectfully since she was the proprietor of the shop and a good benefactor to him. His face crinkled from his mouth to his eyes with numerous lines of old age and happiness when he smiled. He appeared to have led a humble life but a joyful one.

Miyu envied him in his placid contentment but returned his kind smile. She poured him a large white paper cup to the brim with the plain brewed coffee she had set to percolate in time to be ready for his arrival.

"Thank you, Miss," he said gratefully, bowing again. "Here's today's paper. Fresh off the presses!"

"Thank you, Mr. Tamura," she returned, pouring a little cream and dropping two sugar cubes into his cup.

She stirred it seven times, as he had told her to many times until she remembered, then handed him the cup without a lid so he could immediately take a sip. Her hand grasped the paper outstretched to her to complete their exchange.

"Oooh, hot!" he hissed, but drank it anyway with tiny plumes of steam swirling into his nose and across his wrinkled cheeks.

Miyu smiled an ear to ear grin of amusement. He always did that knowing darn good and well it would be scalding hot. She had no idea how the man could take a drink of the searing hot liquid only a few degrees cooler than boiling lava without scorching his lips and throat.

"Have a good day, Miss," he called, waving behind him as he left.

Miyu removed the brewer from the cup, setting it in the sink. She placed the cup on a saucer, setting a short handled silver spoon on the dish. He liked to stir absentmindedly while reading his paper. Perhaps it was a comforting gesture that somehow calmed him, allowing him to escape from whatever awful thoughts plagued his mind. She tucked the 'fresh off the presses' paper under her arm and picked up the coffee.

The paper would be old news by now in today's world, but the man's paper he presently read was even older news. The world moved too fast nowadays, carrying bad news at terrifyingly faster rates every day, available at our fingertips with the few clicks of a mouse. But this man liked the old fashioned way, reading words printed on paper with ink. She liked that.

Miyu sat the cup down in front of him, careful not to spill, turning the handle to his right so he could immediately grasp it with his right hand without having to fuss with turning the cup. She doubted he noticed since his paper covered his face, but these small details were important to her. Without saying anything, she set the new paper down, fitting it carefully between his coffee and headphones, touching neither.

"Please enjoy, sir. If you should need anything else, please do not hesitate to ask," she announced, bowing to him.

Silence. Not a word. Nor had she expected one. She liked peace and quiet and routine. Apparently he did too. Turning on her heel, she walked away a few steps.

The paper shifted, crinkling as he folded it. Then he spoke.

"How long have I been coming here?" he inquired.

What an odd question.

His voice was not exceptionally deep but definitely masculine. It was smooth, precisely cadenced, almost lyrical. There was a slightly hoarse edge to it that she found incredibly pleasing. Inviting almost. But inviting her to do what?

"I'm not exactly sure, sir. Six months?" she answered vaguely. Honestly, she had lost count. Time no longer mattered to her. She lived life, day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute.

"Six months, two weeks, and as of today, one day. In that time, you have learned to take care of me better than some wives take care of their husbands," he said.

Miyu's stomach lurched and trembled at his choice of comparison. Hell, he could have even compared her to a stalker, but he had chosen a matrimonial bond. She rotated back on her heel to face him. Her belly fluttered uncertainly again as he gazed at her with his sharp black eyes, assessing her, sizing her up so to speak, as if attempting to figure out her worth as a person and figure out her deepest darkest intentions simultaneously.

Although she could feel the warmth blossoming across her cheeks under his scrutiny, she did her best to keep her eyes neutral. She folded her hands over her quivering belly under the brown apron bearing the name of her coffee shop, Midnight Coffee.

Her shop opened at midnight and closed at 8AM. She served a special crowd. The insomniacs, the drunks, the late nighters, the early risers, and every one in between who might be out at such obscure hours. She offered a safe haven, a comforting cup of coffee, a listening ear, a few kind words, or complete silence - and always great coffee. Whatever they needed she attempted to give to them. At the moment, she had no idea what this man could possibly need - or want - from her.

"I am ashamed to say in all of this time I never asked for your name. What is it?" he asked, picking up the spoon. He stirred without bumping the sides of the cup.

"Miyu Nakashima," she replied, her eyes following his long tapered fingers as he set the spoon back on the edge of the dish. His hands were slender, elegant like the rest of his body.

"Would you like to know my name?" he questioned her, taking a sip of his coffee.

"If it pleases you, sir. I would like to have it," she stated, swallowing hard. Sometimes she hated this dutiful, submissive shit, but as a shop owner, as one who serves customers, her subservience was required.

Miyu knew his name. She also knew that he was a member of the surgically altered humans bearing ghoul weapons in their bodies. Members of the Qinx Squad, ghoul investigators, hated and rivaled by both humans and ghouls. She also knew him as a Dove. If he knew what she knew about him, he really would classify her as a stalker.

"Kuki Urie," he returned flatly, drinking his coffee. "Excellent as always, Miss Nakashima."

"Thank you, Mr. Urie," she said, bowing again.

"I appreciate the newspaper as well," he added before she could walk away.

"It's what I do. Please enjoy."