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The dim sunlight of an early approaching dawn fell cast upon the worn wooden tabletop of LeBlanc, filling the café with the crescendo of bright streaming light followed by the grey blackened colour of night. Akira lazily rested his head crudely on one his coffee-stained hands, hair mused, and apron sullied by years of use.
Outside Yusuke observed the awe-striking sight, soaking in the imperfect scenery of worn LeBlanc and gainer of his curious affection. Slowly shaking himself out of his abrupt staring, he awkwardly, as if desperately trying not to alert the other gently placed his back to the window, breathing in slowly. It had gotten bad, lately.