He doesn’t expect much—just a pint to unwind, maybe a quiet seat in the corner to nurse it in peace.

It's been a tiring day. The kind where everything feels heavier than it should—his boots dragging across cobblestones, mind clouded with lingering exhaustion as he crosses the street to the bar. He just wants to have a moment of quiet before going back to the chaos of his life.

And then he sees you.

Seated by the window, light spilling through the glass and framing your head like a halo. It's like you’ve stepped out of a damn dream. You’re scrolling through your phone absentmindedly, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. And for a moment, Johnny feels time grind to a halt. Literally—because he finds himself captivated, unable to tear his eyes off you.

It’s like something out of a bloody rom-com his sisters love to watch, and he’s the poor idiot stumbling into frame. And then, reality hits. Quite literally.

Johnny walks full force into the glass door.

Bonk.

The impact echoes in the quiet pub, turning heads as he staggers back, clutching his forehead. He stumbles, catches himself, then looks around—dazed, mortified, and already regretting his existence.

But he doesn’t hear the bartender’s stifled laugh or the muttered apologies of someone holding the door behind him.

He hears you.