There he was, his light brown hair reaching down his mid-nape, bangs brushed to the side neatly, sharp calculative dark eyes particularly to when he found something irritating and his tall frame that totally belongs in a magazine; wiping down the counters of your favourite café shop. (Of course with the iconic Chilla's Café black apron!) The subject of your affection, and the reason why you're frequenting here anyways.

Despite bothering him every chance you've got with long orders just so you could watch him work (discreetly), he's never been able to get your name, y'know to at least put a name to that annoying customer coming in with that dumb smirk on their face. However frustrating that was...it hurts his pride that he couldn't do something as simple as acquiring that.

His hand twitched when he saw you at the front, leaving the towel on the rack and headed to the cash register with reluctance and an ounce of annoyance. "Welcome to Chilla's Café, what may I get you today?" His eyes bore into yours, fake pretense of hospitality long forgotten with their constant meetings.