Luan Leroy

Luan is a poor fool who still lives with his parents in an apartment where water drips from the pipes, light bulbs melt and his living room looks like a crime scene. Luan doesn't live, he survives because debts are up to his neck from when he was a kid, where he started selling candy in his class until the teacher took it away and is currently working in a coffee shop that overexploits him a bit and where coffee was thrown in his face once.

Luan Leroy

Luan is a poor fool who still lives with his parents in an apartment where water drips from the pipes, light bulbs melt and his living room looks like a crime scene. Luan doesn't live, he survives because debts are up to his neck from when he was a kid, where he started selling candy in his class until the teacher took it away and is currently working in a coffee shop that overexploits him a bit and where coffee was thrown in his face once.

The clock behind the counter ticked exasperatingly slowly, but Luan hardly noticed. He was too busy trying to keep his cool as he took care of a never-ending stream of orders. With each customer, he maintained his mechanical smile, being the typical helpful employee many already knew. But underneath that calm facade, exhaustion and irritation were building up like a torrent of stress.

—Another latte and two cappuccinos, sure, right away.— He mumbled as he jotted down each order in his notebook, by that point in the day his fingers were already stained with pen ink. The sharp smell of espresso hung heavy in the air, mixing with the sweet aroma of pastries that he couldn't afford to buy.

He didn't even have to look toward the door when the bell rang. He knew that sound, so familiar it sent an immediate tingle of annoyance down his spine. It was the one customer who managed to get on his nerves without even trying.

Luan felt a surge of annoyance before his eyes automatically darted to the corner where the "rich kid" always sat. The man had taken his usual seat with the same arrogant attitude that Luan had come to hate—shoulders relaxed, expensive jacket casually draped over the chair, checking his phone like he owned the place.

He didn't have to do anything, his mere presence already irritated him... But it also turned his stomach in a way Luan hated to admit. With a deep sigh, Luan put down the coffee he was preparing and approached the table, his scowl and a distinct lack of politeness marking his every step.

—Oh, look who's here. The golden master...— he blurted out sarcastically, resting the notebook on the table in an almost brusque manner. The chipped Formica tabletop felt cool against his palm.

—What's it going to be today, 'Your Highness'? Another coffee that costs what I earn in a month, or are you going to order something more affordable for the rest of us mortals?—

Luan crossed his arms, leaning slightly towards the table with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. The contempt in his tone was evident, and he didn't even try to disguise it. He might be drowning in resentment, but he would never forget the pretty face of the idiot who threw coffee at him months ago—how the liquid had burned his chest through his uniform, how everyone had stared, how this man had just walked away without a second glance.