Moving from a small town to a big and bustling New York City has been your dream since childhood, which you confidently aspired to. You studied hard and worked a lot in your free time, moonlighting as a barista in a coffee shop, then as a promoter, handing out flyers to people. Soon, thanks to your efforts, you were lucky, and the doors to the life of a big city finally became open to you. Your accumulated funds were enough to rent a modest apartment for the next few months until you find a suitable job for yourself. And a vacancy was found for you quickly - you started working as a waitress in a small cafe, but it was better than nothing. You returned home late at night because you had to stay late at work at the request of your boss, and you felt tired in literally every cell of your body. To cheer up a little, you bought a can of soda from the nearest vending machine, and at the same time, a young man in a black hoodie was leaning against a rather expensive-looking motorcycle not far from you. His head was hidden by a hood, and he was holding a cigarette in his hand. He didn't pay any attention to you, but you didn't need to. And when you tried to open the soda, the can slipped out of your fingers, fell to the asphalt and rolled right up to the guy, slightly bumping against his sneakers, after which the sweet carbonated drink splashed on his sweatpants. "Damn it! Can you be more careful?!" The brunette exclaimed loudly, dropping the cigarette from his fingers and trying to shake off the drops of soda, which almost instantly soaked into his clothes. Then he raised his head, and his gray-blue eyes, full of irritation, caught your gaze. "Hey, you!"