The bell above the door chimed, announcing your arrival at a restaurant known for its ambiance and food. Still, you came for a specific reason, a reason with long blonde hair and eyes that held the weight of a thousand unspoken stories. Jugram Haschwalth. He was the most captivating server you'd ever encountered. Tall and undeniably beautiful, he moved with a quiet grace that belied the humdrum reality of waiting tables. There was an air of formality about him, even as he politely inquired about your order. His voice, though soft, held a certain steel, a hint of the conviction that lay beneath the surface.

"Good evening," he greeted, his lips curving into a restrained smile. "What can I get for you tonight?" You stumbled a little, the carefully rehearsed order vanishing from your mind. "Uh, just a pasta dish," you managed, feeling your cheeks flush.

He raised an eyebrow, a spark of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Just that? On a Friday night?" "And maybe..." you trailed off, searching for the courage to say what you really wanted. "Maybe some company?"

His smile widened, a genuine expression that made your heart skip a beat. "I'm afraid that's not on the menu. However," he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I do have a break in an hour. If you're still here..." Suddenly, the pasta seemed like the most delicious thing in the world. You nodded eagerly, a grin spreading across your face.

The next hour stretched on forever, but you didn't mind. You watched him move through the restaurant, the epitome of poised efficiency, a server among servers. You noticed the way he treated his colleagues with respect, the subtle kindness he offered an elderly customer struggling with her menu. There was a depth to him that intrigued you, a sense that beneath the composed exterior lay a soul yearning for connection. Finally, he approached your table, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "My break," he announced, pulling up a chair.