It wasn't often that Logan would wander outside his workplace unprompted.

To museums of national history? Sure. Watching documentaries on a nearly empty cinema? He's there, happy to soak up knowledge. But to find him in commonplace areas outside his usual scope of intelligent scenes, well, there's a higher chance that one would be hit by lightning before he would participate in everyone else's barbaric pastime of wasting away time than learn. Yet there he was, visiting the nearby Coffee shop, not because of pressure from his friend, but of his own free will. A place not known for serving knowledge, only drinks.

A simple visit turned routine, a feat he didn't account as probable, a thing that he never planned. Too much time spent on that HuggaMug Cafe when he could've easily brewed his own coffee at home, Logan Berry is not the type of person who would prolong an activity if it was not beneficial to his time.

Which became an increasingly worrying problem for him as he seemed to spend more and more time just sat, sipping on a cup of coffee that he could have finished within a few minutes, if not less when he'd just get the drink on the go. Something he did religiously for years as a student, reviewing for class while simultaneously enjoying his coffee.

Of course, despite evidence, he would deny that his newly formed habit and caffeine fixation stemmed from what he would call, "The Incident". That day, despite him being the teacher, it seemed that he had been the one to learn: that unexpected situations still had their bright sides.

It had been raining, on the one of the few chances where Logan had forgotten to bring an umbrella. In that state, he had two choice to either wait for the rain to turn to a light drizzle or or simply suck it up and get wet.

The rain was the cherry on top on an overwhelmingly stressful day. With how much Logan wanted it to be, nothing still seemed to go his way. Was he frustrated? you bet. As much as Logan loved imparting his wisdom to willing students, and while Roman believed that he was a giant nerd who wanted nothing more than to prove that he was smarter than everyone else, he truly did like his job.

And yet, he could be… less than composed at times. Especially when three teachers have collectively decided to use their vacation days at once, leading him to cover more than his backup backup plan. All of which didn't account for the weather. Or perhaps it was the outburst of meddling to his routine, safe practice that got him frazzled. Whatever the case, however, he he stumbled out of his bed ungracefully, feeling much like a newborn deer, figuratively at least.

While he might have a reputation for being strict, that does not cover the extent entirely.

"I see." His tone might have nothing short of his normal cool politeness, but deep down, as he never lets himself become panicked or overwhelmed, he screamed profanities. He ended the short discussion with an agreement to help cover up a few of his coworker's absence, one of which is unaccounted for. A phone call with unwelcome news wasn't what he expected when he faced the day.

Unprofessional, Logan would've commented to their face. While it might not have that much effect than the ultimate sign of aggression- yet a vulgar term, "Fuck you", for him it was the lowest and gravest insult you could say to an adult. Profanity has never been his strong suit, as to state such thoughts would have been inappropriate to the majority of people, and would often come off as crass and uneducated. Simply unacceptable.

Well. It was not like he could do anything, short of protesting, if it weren't an inefficient use of time. Effort and payoff does not outweigh each other, thus began a stressful saga of a rushed presentations, all aimed to give students the lessons they needed, made from scratch with the use of the internet, the much useful syllabus, and free time reduced to none.

By the end, Logan hoped he didn't looked as haggard as he felt. When his phone chimed with its usual alarm to the workday's end, exhaustion rolled from every step he took. His usual posture felt heavy, so he slouched his way outside the faculty area, mindlessly clicking away on his phone as he walked. Although he was certain that the majority of both young and old people considered Candy Crush as a dead form of entertainment; to that he'll simply scoff.

He opened the door to a nearly deserted campus, students already out of sight, either to rush an assignment or to sleep. He walked through the grounds, the weather gloomy as it enveloped the sky in grey.

A tap made him stare up, and there it was. More droplets fell to his face. He rushed to the waiting shed, and rummaged through his bag, only to come up empty. The small blue umbrella he had must've still be at his apartment, tucked beside his shoe rack.

He ran his hand through his hair as he debated. To leave or not to leave? That was the question. His hand felt damp, but the rain didn't seem to be strong, as of the moment. If he ran now, he could still get back to his apartment not entirely drenched. His feet tapped the pavement in short frequencies, as he covered his head in vain.

As if the rain sensed his presence, although he knew it was only a coincidence, water poured faster, droplets sprayed him from left to right. Even the wind picked up, and he gritted his teeth as he shivered. He ignored the familiar dark buildings of the neighborhood, home the only thing in mind. He ran faster on instinct.

Perhaps he shouldn't been so careless, or maybe it was his fatigue that weighed him down, but he slipped. His bag tumbled to his side as his world came to a crashing halt, his hands the only thing that kept him barely upright. One knee got drenched on the ground, and he winced at the impact. His hands felt dirty, the piercing small rocks pressed against his skin.

"This is not my day." He stood slowly, slinging his bag to his body in the process.

He searched for shelter. His eyes caught the soft glow of what seemed to be a restaurant, finally a proper objective for today's contrasting sequence.

His footsteps joined the rhythmic tapping of water as the weather relentlessly chased those without cover. His breath came out in puffs, his legs heavy.

He reached the threshold without any more incidents, pausing at the front. He shook his heads of his thoughts and went in, grateful for the heat. He must've looked like a mess, with water everywhere and a dirty knee from his fall. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice. He did notice, however, that his earlier prediction had been incorrect, and that the place was not a restaurant, but rather, a Cafe.

A drink would do him good, as the weather didn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. He walked up to the counter and bought a cup of black coffee. He dumped his bag on the nearest chair while he waited for his name to be called. He got his phone out only to see the battery had already drained. His roommate must be wondering where he was.

He sighed and removed his remarkably wet cardigan, and used it to wipe the few grains of sand still stuck to his knee.

"Logan?" He stood up and gathered his drink, not paying attention to anything.

He didn't realize how his feet shuffled almost drunkenly, head in the clouds as his mind draw in a blank.

He didn't realize that his drink was dangerously close to spilling.

He didn't realize how a person, distracted as well but by laughter and greeting someone from his behind, was turned in his direction.

The man he bumped into screamed- understandable, really.

Proper manners kicked in immediately. "I am so sorry," he added a bit of criminally inflection to his voice, a trait he picked up from Roman. Most people do not take it well when he'd speak in his monotone.

Logan waited the inevitable shouting at him. He itched to leave, even if might be rude. He, however, forced his head, which was already in the process of turning to the floor in shame, to face the man who he had inconvenienced.

"I am so sorry," he repeated, ready for the inevitable glare to be thrown to his face. "I was otherwise occupied," he might've played off, but his experience with dealing with other people was that excuses are always unacceptable. He faced his victim in the eyes.

"This is really hot!" The man said, electric blue eyes wide. As if only now feeling the sensation, the man leaped up and sprinted into the bathroom, a few tables jostled on the way. The man once again shrieked in fear. "It's occupied!"

He turned back to Logan in short strides and grabbed his shoulders. "I'm going into shock! Is this how it feels to have boils?"

"That is not the correct-" Logan snapped his mouth shut. He couldn't think of any other thing to remedy the situation, but he'll avoid making it worse, if he could just be on his best behavior. He inched back, hoping that the other removed the tight grip on him.

"Am I melting?" The man asked, without a trace of irony. "If I die, tell my son I love him." His eyes never stayed from Logan, a tad bit too serious, yet without fear.

That single minded intensity threw Logan off for a second, the man's eyes too blue and too close, and while he felt like he was not in complete control of his body but at the same time knowing he was, in fact, steering and doing the action himself, he reached out from a table near his mostly forgotten belongings and threw a glass of cold water over the man.

His hands felt cold even as blood rushed into face, something usually indicative when he'd been frustrated. But he wasn't. It took him a moment to discern the emotion. He was embarrassed.

He took a step back, with half a mind to run off. Yet his surprise was mirrored by the other's, who simply watched him as the water dripped from his curls to the floor in hurried rush.

The stranger opened his mouth not to shout, but to say, "This isn't the first thing on my mind when someone says the cold shoulder. But hey, it works!" Objectively, or if the reverse happened to Logan, he would deem it as a horrible day. Drenched in coffee and showered in cold water- basically a nightmare. And yet the man in front of him did nothing but smile, and make terrible jokes.

Sincere, he noted of the smile. He found himself less rigid, and calmed. "I am so sorry, I shouldn't have done that." He said, surprising himself of his mirrored sincerity. "I should have been paying attention." He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it carefully to the curly haired man, who took it without hesitation.

"Oh, it's fine. I'm fine. But..."

Logan's forced himself to remain calm.

"Are you hurt?" the man asked him. It was the last thing he would have expected the other would say. As if to placate Logan, the man instead smiled, and added hurriedly, "I guess you could say this place is getting too steamy, Or is it just me?" He cocked his head, curls falling out of place from its head like halo. When he received no response, he smiled wider and continued, "Is that too corny? I was aiming for bittersweet. Get it? Cause it's coffee?"

"I could- I should pay to get that cleaned," Logan blurted out, and wondered why a stutter drew out when he'd had none for a couple years or so now.

"Oh, don't worry about that, accidents happens," The stranger attempted to placate him, which did not help at all. Logan strived for perfection, and while unattainable, he does not do anything without coherent thought. He certainly does not make a habit of being clumsy, or throwing drinks at unsuspecting people. Simply put, he was offended.

"I insist." His tone grew cool, none-encompassing of his friend's flamboyant behaviour, which he only imitate in times of social placation. Times unlike this one.

"It's not hot, see." The man fanned his shirt out, eyes locked in concentration as if he might fool Logan that he was forcefully ejecting any source of heat. A scientific impossibility, unless one were to draw heat from a dryer, a kettle, of a microwave, and still an impossibility with human bodies. The antics, which reminded him of a certain head in the clouds friend, comforted him.

Social convention- or at least as much as he had experienced, demanded that the two of them should throw an epic- if he recalled correctly -down smack. Which might have left him with a punch and a few bruises during his student days. Needless to say, he was prepared. But it wasn't happening.

"May I offer you my-" his hands moved faster than his mouth, he'd already shrugged his jacket off, but the man waved it off.

"I'm prone to spilling a few drinks here and there, too." He said with a smile, as if lack of coordination and uncontrolled limbs was somehow endearing. "I have spare clothes."

"The least I could offer is to buy you a coffee?" Logan asked politely.

Almost ruefully, the man shook his head. "Oh, I am trying to limit my caffeine intake. I tend to palpitate."

This only served to confuse the Logical man further. "We are in a coffee shop. Isn't this establishment's purpose is to serve caffeinated drinks?"

"True", The man conceded, not even battling an eye when Logan lapsed into his overly polite nerd voice, as Roman liked to call it. The other man seemed to ooze acceptance for everything he does. "But they also serve pastries, cupcakes, doughnuts, all those sugary goodness."

"All highly unhealthy." He didn't even realize that his mouth has scrunched up in disgust. He removed the expression as he realized its existence, as to not offend the other.

"True," the man echoed. His tone bounced into jolly. "But I believe that life shouldn't be lived without the simplest pleasures! A few cupcakes here and there won't kill you."

Peculiar. It was neither patronizing or condescending, but rather something of a suggestion. Rather than dismissing his sentiment and accusing him of being someone of a killjoy, the stranger in front of him accepted his belief and offered his own. Absolutely peculiar.

"I must be going now," Logan waved, even as his head urged him to stay. Unusual, as Logan would like to bolt every moment possible when dealing with an uncomfortable situation. "I do apologize for my misstep." The man waved it off with a smile.

He didn't rush to grab his belongings as he would have done otherwise. His mind didn't scream at him to calm down and walk slower to not be rude, and instead it was the opposite where his mind compelled him to turn back and stay. He didn't feel compelled to get another drink, while he might be cold earlier, his embarrassment certainly warmed him up.

In the entire duration of their talk, his wrist watch was completely ignored, a break in his ingrained habit in peeking every so often. It was only then when he realized his phone was still out of commission that he resigned and stared at the watch.

Five minutes to seven. He was going to be late for dinner with his friend Roman, for the first time in ever. It was maddening. The day had been simply maddening.

Maybe it wasn't just the coldness of the damp air outside that woke him up from his the sweet bubble of the shop. Or not even the slow but sure fading of the warmness of the coffee shop and it's bright interior. Outside the door, he stood alone.

Outside, it was cold, wet, and somber. Logan embraced reality, sighed, and stepped outside from the confines of shelter.

If he had left just a minute later, he might have caught Patton, breathless and triumphant in finding an umbrella, his victory deflated when realizing that the strange, almost stilted man already left before he had a chance to offer it.