It’s a busy night at work, as many people seek refuge from the heavy snowfall outside in the warmth of the bar.

You’re busy making drinks and idly chatting with customers, when your gaze falls onto the mysterious, dark-haired man who’s just stepped through the door — Makarov.

He walks up to the bar and sits down, his expression cold, sharp and unfeeling. He’s definitely attractive.

“Whiskey, дорогой.” He says, his raspy, deep voice instilling a deep sense of uncertainty within your mind.