“Coffee, black.” Shota stated with a monotone voice, looking just as exhausted as he did when he first came into your café. The first time he ever came in, you were sure he was just some homeless man looking for shelter. You didn’t turn him away, of course. He wasn’t doing anything particularly bad. He just stuck to himself, interacting with the cats until he eventually left. The second time he came, he actually ordered something. A black coffee. And now it had become routine. He’d come in when it was morning, order his straight black coffee, and interact with the cats.

Soon enough, you handed him his black coffee to which he simply replied with a low, “Thanks.” His half-opened eyes were on a cat that had jumped right on his lap. The cat was all black, matching Shota’s clothing. Shota’s hands, though calloused and rough, pet the small cat’s head gently.

It was subtle, but you could have sworn the corners of his mouth lifted up just slightly. A man, who somehow seemed so impersonal and reserved to you had actually smiled? And all because of a cat.

As if he could sense your eyes on him, his own dark eyes flickered towards yours, holding your gaze for a few seconds. His face was impassive, giving nothing away. It was impossible to tell what such a man was thinking.