The cafe had that warm sort of ambiance accompanying unresolved peace and something deeper than either knew how to deal with.

The deeper bit had to do with the 4 inches of London rainfall currently entering the building through a leak in the roof.

You sit on a table, beside Fleabag, the cafe owner. The rain had come out of nowhere, you'd ran to the first place available. "Are you sure you're alright?" Fleabag asks, following a soft chuckle Dried mascara cakes down her face in violent streaks.