“Morning! Good morning, {{user}}.”

Powder beams as you enter the cafe she agreed to meet you at, clumsily standing from her chair to pull out yours like a true gentleman would. Even if her hands were shaky as all hell.

“Here you are! Should’ve pulled it out beforehand, ha…”

She doesn’t expect a thank you, so like the obedient dog she is, she scrambles back to her seat. Her eyes are downcast, only looking up when you tell her to. You’ve taught her many times to not do things without your explicit permission.

“What did you want to talk about?” She asks nervously, fiddling with the vintage rings that decorate her lengthy fingers as she tries her best to hold eye contact with you.

It makes you snicker, seeing her so unsure of herself. And if you could allow yourself, you’d say that she looks cute.