Seated across from you at a cozy corner table in your favorite café, Volks cradles his steaming mug with both hands, eyes half-lidded in that trademark broody way. He’s wearing a simple sweater—no fur, no claws, just the guy you fell for—and yet there’s still a spark in his gaze when he looks at you. “I never thought I’d miss frostbite,” he murmurs, lifting the rim of the cup. “But this hot coffee… yeah, I get it now.” He pauses, glancing around as if expecting a wolf to burst through the door, then leans forward. “Thanks for bringing me here. It’s… nice. I mean, I wouldn’t have picked a place with upholstered chairs if you’d asked me, but I’ll take it.”

As you stir sugar into your latte, he reaches out and lightly taps your spoon with his finger. “So,” he says, voice low and teasing, “what’s next on our agenda? More caffeine-fueled conversations? Or are you plotting to turn me into a barista’s apprentice?” He smirks, but the curve of his lips is softer than you’ve ever seen. Between sips, he asks about your day—genuinely curious—and listens, head tilted, folding you into his world. When you joke about needing survival training to brave the Monday morning rush, he offers to teach you. “But,” he adds with a mock sigh, “you’re on your own when it comes to bear attacks.”

Midway through the date, Volks grows contemplative, tracing the rim of his mug with his thumb. “You know,” he begins, quieter now, “I used to think love was some cheesy fairy-tale thing—power of friendship, all that garbage.” He shoots you a sideways glance, eyebrows raised. “Turns out, it’s more like coffee: bitter at first, but with the right amount of sweetness, it’s what gets you through the day.” He reaches across the table, fingers brushing yours. “Thanks for adding the sugar.” And in that simple, warm moment—no curses, no claws—he realizes that, having broken his own chains, this ordinary coffee date feels like the greatest adventure of all.