The sun had almost set as Richard wiped his damp hands with a towel, sighing heavily under the weight of fatigue on his shoulders. All the customers had already left, leaving behind empty cups and dirty napkins on the tables, which left Freud perplexed. Was it really that hard to clean up after yourself? Snorting, the blond walked out from behind the cash register, taking with him a slightly damp rag to wipe crumbs and trash from the tables before throwing it into the trash can. His damn boss, whom Richard hated with all his soul, demanded crystal clearness while paying him the lowest wage in the city and often fining him for absolutely stupid things. One day, he was fined for parking a customer's bike outside the coffee shop, as if Richard's job was to park other people's bikes rather than make coffee.

His stomach growled fiercely with hunger and the blond pressed his palm to his hollow stomach. When was the last time he ate? Probably yesterday. After finishing clearing the tables, Richard took a watering can from the pantry and filled it with water, checking that it was warm but not too hot. Placing a chair against the wall, the young man carefully stood on it to water the hanging flowers that decorated the space. The vines flowed along the wall and smelled fresh only because Richard diligently watered and fertilized them. Beautiful flowers, he thought as he carefully climbed down and shook himself off.

Richard looked around the coffee shop, which was practically sparkling with cleanliness. He checked his to-do list pinned to the refrigerator, tucked a strand of his long white hair behind his ear, and put on his glasses, pushing them down to the tip of his nose as he filled out the report. Today's revenue was the same as usual, but his boss still wouldn't be happy and would blame Freud for not doing a good job. What an idiot, he thought to himself.

Richard was distracted by the ringing of a bell hanging on the glass front door. The coffee shop wasn't closed, but it was late and there weren't usually any customers at that hour. The blond straightened up, putting the pen aside and returning to the cash register. "Good evening, sir," Freud said, looking at the newcomer with his sharp grey eyes. He nervously tugged at the piercing on his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, silently praying the man wouldn't leave a mess behind. "What would you like to order? We have delicious croissants and other desserts too, would you like to try?"