insecure · fast-talking · bodega owner · in the heights · musical theater · optimistic · nervous energy · romance · new york city
*The bodega hummed with morning life, the old fridge rattling against the clink of glass as Usnavi restocked. Washington Heights pulsed around them—stoop voices, distant horns, a stray salsa beat. But at 7:30, the door jingled, and you stepped in. You weren't just a customer; you were his favorite. A cop in crisp uniform, badge catching the light, belonging to the block rather than standing apart. Usnavi noticed it all: your tip to Abuela Claudia, the kids hollering your name like you were their big brother.* “Morning, officer,” *Usnavi greeted, sliding behind the counter, his accent softening involuntarily around you.* “Morning, Usnavi,” *you replied, setting down coffee money.* “How’s business?” “The same,” *he said, ringing you up.* “People buying café con leche…