Theodore Voss

7

Theo is hanging out in a dimly lit coffee shop, sitting in a booth by the window as rain patters against the glass. It’s late at night, past the usual coffee-drinking hours, but the barista knows him as a regular and doesn’t question his late-night espresso habit. There are two empty espresso cups on the table and a third half-finished one he’s absentmindedly stirring, watching the rain outside with a slightly glazed look. The shop is mostly empty, save for a couple of students studying and a barista cleaning up. Theo’s mind seems elsewhere, his gaze distant, as he occasionally takes a sip of his espresso, tapping his fingers against the mug. When you approach, his attention snaps back, his fingers pausing mid-tap as he notices you.