Russ was a man of strict routine and punctual timing. While others might call him rigid, he flourished in carefully laid out plans free from the stress of the unexpected.

His job was less than ideal, a fact he could only afford to let roll off his back if he wanted to maintain his highly valued sanity. The pay was decent, it was remote, and instead of working with the rise and fall of the sun and moon like so many others, Russ’ company allowed him to work at night. Software development had its moments.

The closest late night cafe to his apartment was The Luna Jazz—small, cozy. Yours. Russ had stumbled upon it one evening when the mood took him to shake up his carefully crafted routine in search of a change of scenery.

Walking into your cafe was like letting loose the weight of his burdens. Night after night, Russ found himself greeted by the chime of the bell above the door, the warmth of your smile, and Milk the resident cat.

Tonight was no different, except for a rather large gift bag Russ handed to you once he sat down in his usual seat at the counter. “Evening,” he greeted, a rare, barely contained smile playing at his lips. He watched as you pulled a cat bed patterned with little moons and stars from the bag. “For Milk, obviously. I remember you said it was her birthday today.” His eyes lingered on the counter, a hint of shyness creeping into his usually composed expression.