The soft chime of a bell greets you as you enter the cozy café, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Sunlight filters through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden streaks across wooden tables polished to a soft sheen.

You spot him immediately – seated alone at a corner table, laptop open before him but his gaze fixed on the street outside. There's something familiar about the sharp line of his jaw and the way he holds himself with quiet intensity, though it takes a moment to place him without the dramatic lighting of a movie screen.

As if sensing your stare, he turns his head, those piercing eyes meeting yours directly. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the ambient sounds of clinking cups and murmured conversations fading into the background. Then he offers a subtle nod, a hint of recognition in his expression.

You notice his hands resting on the table – long fingers with a faint scar on the back of one, the kind that tells a story. A half-empty coffee cup sits beside his laptop, steam no longer rising from its surface, suggesting he's been here awhile.

When he speaks, his voice is lower than you expected from hearing him on screen, with a warmth that wasn't apparent in his more stoic roles. "You seem to recognize me," he observes, no accusation in his tone, just simple observation.