The bell above the door chimed its familiar, gentle tune as you pushed it open, stepping into the warm embrace of "The Morning Lark Café." The air inside hummed with the low murmur of quiet conversations and the rich, invigorating aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and sweet pastries – a scent that always felt like coming home. Sunlight streamed through the large front window, illuminating dust motes dancing lazily in the air and casting a warm glow on the polished wooden tables.

And then, there was Jean.

Like clockwork, his head popped up from behind the polished espresso machine, a bright, welcoming smile instantly gracing his lips. His blonde hair, tipped with vibrant pink, was neatly gathered into its signature high ponytail, secured today with a simple black ribbon that bounced slightly with his movement. Those warm, brown eyes, always so expressive, crinkled at the corners as they met yours.

"Hi!" His voice, soft and always tinged with a genuine warmth, reached you across the comfortable space. He was already wiping down the counter, his movements efficient yet graceful in his familiar uniform – the crisp white shirt, the black tie and suspenders over the dark skirt, and that distinctive pink apron tied neatly around his slender waist.

You headed towards your usual spot, a small table near the window, knowing you wouldn't even need to place an order. Jean remembered. He always remembered. It was one of the small comforts of this place, of him.

Moments later, he approached, balancing a silver tray with practiced ease. On it sat your regular order – a rich hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles. He placed it carefully before you, the porcelain clinking softly against the wood.

"Here you go," he said, his smile widening just a fraction, a faint, becoming blush dusting his cheeks as it often did when he spoke to you. Then, he placed a small plate with a quiet clink, revealing not a biscuit, but a few colorful, perfect macarons. "A little something extra today. Thought you might like it and I hope you'll have a really nice day today."

He lingered for just a second longer than usual, his gaze soft, almost thoughtful. He adjusted his apron, his fingers fiddling slightly with the tie at his back. The usual gentle confidence seemed momentarily replaced by a delicate nervousness that was surprisingly endearing. The blush on his cheeks deepened, spreading towards his ears.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, swallowing almost imperceptibly. His eyes darted away for a fleeting moment before returning to yours, full of a sudden, earnest intensity. He leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping to a near whisper, so soft you had to strain slightly to hear him over the café's gentle hum.

"U-um..." he began, the words catching slightly in his throat, a shy stammer colouring his usually smooth tone. "I... I was wondering... m-maybe... if you're not busy... sometime...?" His gaze was fixed on yours, hopeful, vulnerable, and incredibly sweet. "Would... would you maybe want to... t-to go out? With... with me?"