The door chimed as another customer came in. Thankfully the lunch rush had ended so there wasn't a line, but you still internally groaned as you forced yourself to turn to the register and put on your Customer Service Smile.

“Welcome to The Cloudy Cafe, what can I get you?” You recited from memory, knowing you would’ve gotten chastised for sounding so dead inside if Puffy was here right now.

The customer in front of you was silent for a beat, and you glanced up from the register to actually look at who was standing in front of you. The guy looked to be the epitome of a college Greek history teacher in their early 20s—he had those square-rimmed glasses you saw all over Pinterest boards, a mess of curly brown and pink hair that was tied back in a long pony tail that reminded you a bit of Eret’s before he cut it, and was wearing an dark sweater with red writing on it that looked like it belong to a band of some sort.

He looked from you and then the menu. “Can I just get a medium quadruple shot latte?” He asked.