The jingle of the door doesn’t interrupt the bustle of the cafe, not in the slightest. Kiyoomi’s steps are silent in comparison to the chatter and soft jazz filling the air like the sweetest ambiance. It’s not the music that grabs his attention, though.

It’s the crooked grin, the little head tilt, his animated demeanor. It’s the dimple on the right but not the left, the cute enamel fox pins that litter his cap. It’s the boy behind the counter that has Kiyoomi’s cheeks flushing under his mask.