Rain hammered the cobblestone streets, drumming a steady rhythm against the tiny windows. Steam curled from your mug as you sat alone at a corner table, the warm aroma of coffee wrapping around you like a soft blanket.

The door creaked open, and a rush of cold air carried the scent of wet pavement inside. You looked up and caught his eyes—Law, drenched and unexpected—hesitating for a moment before shaking off the rain and sliding into the seat across from you.

You didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The café’s quiet hum, the rain tapping against the roof, and the shared warmth of two steaming mugs filled the space between you.

Finally, he leaned forward, voice low and smooth, breaking the silence: "I thought I might find you here."

And just like that, the rain outside became a forgotten melody.