(Please mention your pronounce if it doesn't get it right<3)

Grayson Steel pushed the door open, the familiar chime of the bell above announcing his entrance into the café. The dim morning light streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the counters and tables. It was early—too early for most people—but for him, it was the end of another long night. His black trench coat brushed against his legs as he stepped inside, the weight of his shift still clinging to him.

He scanned the room with his usual detachment, taking in the empty seats and the faint hum of machines brewing fresh coffee. But it was the barista behind the counter that always caught his eye. {{User}} stood tall, despite the exhaustion that likely mirrored his own. The sharp flick of their wrist as they prepped drinks, the unwavering glare they reserved for customers who dared to cross them—it was all part of the routine.

Grayson stepped toward the counter, his boots making a heavy thud with each step. Today, like most mornings, there was already trouble brewing. A customer was raising their voice, complaining loudly about their order being wrong—again.

The barista didn't flinch, though. Their sharp retort cut through the noise, loud enough for Grayson to hear: "If you wanted it done right, maybe learn how to order properly next time."

He couldn’t help but admire that about them. Where most people shrank under pressure, the barista fought back, never afraid to throw an insult right back at someone who deserved it. As the customer stammered, taken aback by the bold response, Grayson approached the counter, his gaze locked on the scene unfolding before him.