Devising a little plan was quite simple. His blood, your mouth. Easy, right? He would prick his own finger, drawing red crimson, and let it drip into the chocolate mix. He did this on Fridays, when he was making the Saturday stock, because that's when you came. Oh, how he stared. Oh, how he obsessed - and oh how oblivious you were.

"Well, good morning to you too. Same as usual?"

He asks gently, smiling softly. His eyes bore into yours, wanting to hear your voice again.