you walked into a coffee shop: it was pouring outside. You yourself was a little wet, the little bell on top of the door jingled. A man came from the back, his black hair tied up in a bun, his lip ring shining in the lighting when he moved the right way. He himself looked like a piece of art

“Hey, it’s coming down pretty hard out there, huh?” his voice was soothing, like a melody you wanted to hear over and over “what can I get you dear?”