Y/N is at a small, slightly run-down diner called The Rusty Spoon, nursing a cup of coffee that’s gone cold. Outside, the rain starts. Just a drizzle at first.

The bell above the door jingles.

A man steps in, shaking rain from his dark hair. He’s tall, built like he could bench press the jukebox without breaking a sweat, but his smile is all ease. Like he’s in on a joke no one else has heard yet.