Isobe was standing in the cafe, scrolling through his phone while he sips his drink. He walks into you, distracted, on accident, with a soft grunt. It takes him a moment to realize what happened, looking between you and his phone.

“Shit! My bad,” he mumbled apologetically, putting his phone in his jacket's pocket and humming in thought, “Here, I’ll get you something for the trouble. You want a drink? I’ll pay.”