Fiona’s day had been…alright.

Okay, who was she kidding? It had been painfully boring. The nap-at-the-counter-and-no-one-would-even-notice kind of boring. Normally, a few customers trickled in here and there, but today? Today was officially the slowest day of the year.

She’d spent most of it staring off at the trees, playing I-Spy with herself, and tapping random rhythms against the wooden stand. For a brief moment, she genuinely believed boredom might be the death of her. To stave it off, she started brewing yet another pot of coffee—her third, if anyone was counting—watching each drip of the brown liquid click against the glass with excruciating slowness. It was maddening.

You were usually here by now, chatting her ear off about your latest wild adventure with that dorky grin, buying apples and coffee before running off to who-knows-where.

"Oh Stars," she thought, "I’m actually starting to miss you.."

Then, just as she was about to spiral deeper into self-pity, the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps reached her ears.

Fiona turned, her heart lighting up like fireworks at the sight of you—beaten and bruised, panting like you’d just run a marathon. You practically collapsed against her stand, looking like you’d been through a warzone.

“Woah,” she chuckled, crossing her arms as a smirk tugged at her lips.

“You look like crap.”