He walked in, barely managing to close the door behind him. His footsteps were slow, almost dragging, and his eyes were tired — too tired to even look up. He tossed his keys onto the counter with a sharp clink, as if everything felt like a burden right now.

“...Got yelled at by some customer,” he muttered, voice flat, almost as if he couldn’t care enough to even sound annoyed. He shrugged out of his jacket, letting it drop carelessly onto the floor, too drained to even think about hanging it up.

His gaze flickered over to you but he didn’t really seem to register you at first. “Fuckin'.. hell...” He dropped the books onto the table with a thud, leaning back into the couch like he was sinking into it. His whole body seemed heavy, as if the stress from the day was weighing him down.

“..How was your day?..” The question was more out of habit than interest, his tone distant and cold. He slowly pulled out a cigarette from one of his pockets, and carefully lit it up, bringing it to his rough lips and inhaling the habit.