The Broken Window

It was late evening, the kind of time where the streets hummed with the remnants of rush hour, and the coffee shop's ambiance settled into a lull. Toran, perched behind the counter, idly wiped down the espresso machine for the third time, silently cursing the universe for stretching minutes into eternity. Her shift was dragging, the only company being the muted chatter of the last remaining customers and the rhythmic tap of rain against the glass windows.

Then, the window shattered.

Glass exploded inward in a chaotic symphony of splintering shards and startled gasps. A figure tumbled through, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. A groan followed, deep and guttural. Silence gripped the room as Toran stood frozen, cloth still in hand, watching the mess unfold in front of her.

A man pushed himself up from the floor, dusting off shards of glass like they were mere inconveniences. He was tall, lean but solidly built, with multi-colored hair brushed and swept to the right. The majority was a fiery mix of orange and blonde, but one long bang section was streaked with magenta pink, dark green near the roots. His undercut near his ear and sideburns was a cool shade of grey. Tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, and he carried an air of unshaken confidence despite literally crashing through a window. Blood trickled from fresh cuts on his arms, but he barely seemed to acknowledge them.

Toran sighed, tossing the cloth over her shoulder. "Great. Just what I needed," she muttered, stepping around the counter. "Because nothing screams end-of-shift like picking glass out of some lunatic."

The man, still crouched, lifted his head, meeting her gaze with a smirk that barely concealed amusement. His light amber eyes gleamed with something wild. "Lunatic? Now that’s unkind. I prefer ‘unexpected guest.’"

"Unexpected guests use doors." She gestured at the entrance before folding her arms. "You just scared away my last customers. And now I have to explain a broken window to my manager. So, unless you’re planning to pay for that and the extra cleaning, I suggest you keep the charming act to yourself."

He chuckled, the sound a low rumble that vibrated through his chest. Ignoring the fresh gash on his forearm, he pushed to his feet with an ease that made Toran narrow her eyes. "Compensation? Darling, my entire life is compensation. You think a measly window pane holds a candle to the thrill of having the formidable Tamura grace your little shop with my presence? C’mon, sweetheart, we can work out something much more...interesting. Besides, think of how my enhanced storytelling abilities will boost your business."

Toran’s expression remained unimpressed. "You talk too much for someone bleeding on my floor."

Tamura glanced down at his arm as if noticing the injury for the first time. "Ah, so I am. Care to help me out?"

"Oh, sure. Because tending to some dramatic peacock who crashed through my window is exactly what I had on my to-do list." Still, she grabbed the first aid kit from under the counter and motioned for him to sit in one of the booths, stepping around the scattered glass with practiced ease.

He slid into the seat, watching her with an unreadable look as she pulled on gloves and began pulling shards from his arm. "You know, you’re quite the multitasker—scolding me, patching me up...and making my heart skip a beat."

She pressed a little harder than necessary on his wound, and he winced, though his smirk never wavered. "They don’t pay me enough for this." She flicked her gaze up, her sharp brown eyes unimpressed. "Name, address, and phone number. I’ll let my manager deal with compensation. As for hazard pay…" She glanced over at the mess, sighing as she saw the glass still scattered across the floor. "That’s extra."

His lips twitched as if he found her reaction entertaining. "Wouldn’t expect a barista to be paid enough for this…" He leaned back against the booth, a picture of ease despite the stinging antiseptic she applied to his arm. "You’re dealing with the big leagues now, darling."

"You keep saying that like it means something to me," she replied flatly, wrapping his arm in a bandage. "Name. Unless you want me to write down ‘himbo peacock that crashed through my window.’"

Tamura laughed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a sleek black card, embossed with a silver snake emblem. "This is for damage control."

Toran took the card, eyes scanning it. No name. Just a number. She exhaled through her nose and glanced back at him. "Cute. But I still need a name."

He leaned in slightly, amusement dancing in his amber eyes. "Tamura. Just Tamura. For now."

She met his gaze with the same unshaken nonchalance. "Fine. But if my manager asks, I’m telling them it was ‘Some Homeless Guy’ who thought he was too cool for doors."

Tamura grinned. "Fair enough, sweetheart."

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made the air around them vibrate. Running a hand through his vibrant hair, he smirked. "Homeless? Darling, I own half this city. Crashing through your window was just a…" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Dramatic entrance. And a himbo? Oh, trust me." He leaned in, gaze intense. "I am anything but."

She scoffed, shaking her head as she started cleaning up the mess. He noticed her name tag. ‘Toran.’

As she moved behind the coffee bar, she began making herself a latte. Tamura was still standing there. She grabbed a water bottle and handed it to him. "You might want to go before the police arrive. Did I forget to mention? The windows have sensors." She smirked and sipped her latte. She didn’t make it for him.

He took the water bottle with a smirk, downing a long swig, eyes never leaving hers. "Oh, you’re playing hard to get, Toran?" He leaned against the counter, arms folded. "I like a little challenge."

She glanced at her phone. "Polices are on their way. New rookies, full of enthusiasm and justice seekers after weeks of parking tickets. Highly suggest you leave."

His smirk widened. "Oh, my dear Toran, you wound me. But I’ll play nice for now. Don't worry, I'm quick. Just like you will be when I see you again." He winked, stepping toward the shattered window. Before leaving, he turned, eyes locking with hers. "Until our next…" He let the word hang in the air. "Collision."

He swiftly exits the way he came, leaving behind the scent of spice and danger.