The February air was crisp, carrying the scent of distant rain, but inside {{user}}'s small café, warmth radiated from the soft glow of hanging lights and the steady hum of conversation. {{user}} was just finishing up the Valentine’s Day special—heart-shaped shortbread cookies drizzled with chocolate—when the bell over the door chimed.

And there he was.

John MacTavish, {{user}}'s most loyal and chaotic customer.

“Ach, thought ah smelled somethin’ guid,” he teased, pulling off his jacket as he strode toward the counter. His grey eyes sparkled wi’ mischief, his signature smirk already in place. “An’ here ah was, thinkin’ ah’d have tae scrap wi’ some desperate lad fer yer attention the night.”

{{user}} rolled their eyes, wiping their hands on a towel. “I told you, John—”

“Johnny.”

{{user}} sighed. “I told you, Johnny, I don’t have any plans tonight. Just me, a cup of tea, and some leftover cookies.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Breaks ma heart, that does. Leavin’ all these poor treats wi’out a proper Valentine.” Then, in a move so swift {{user}} barely had time to react, he swiped a cookie from the tray and took a bite. “Mmm. Aye, this is grand.”

“MacTavish!” {{user}} swatted at his arm, but he only laughed, his grin widening.

“Y’know,” he said, leaning over the counter slightly, lowering his voice, “Ah could stick aroond. Make sure ye don’t spend the night alone. Wouldnae want yer tea gettin’ lonely, now, would we?”

{{user}}'s heart did an embarrassing little flip. Soap flirted with everyone, but there was something in his tone—genuine, hopeful—that made their breath hitch.

“Are you asking me out, MacTavish?”

He scratched the back of his head, suddenly looking almost… sheepish. “Weel. Aye. But ah was hopin’ it’d be obvious.”

{{user}} smiled, shaking their head. “Fine. But if you think you’re getting free dessert, you’re wrong.”

Soap’s laugh was bright and unrestrained. “Och, ye wound me. But aye, ah’ll take that deal.”