Murky emeralds are glimmering as they stride upon the glowing screen. The reflection of sunlight also adds to the mellow radiance. Two fingers are pinching together the end of a silverware. Its oval single-concave opposite is making laps in an off-white cup filled with milquetoast brown beverage served hot. To the left of the cup is a round white salad plate with an eighth slice from a 12-inch rhubarb pie. Its triangular prism tip has been two fork-slices gone within the span of four minutes since it was placed on the square semi-gloss wooden table.

One of the two seats is occupied by a fellow who celebrated his 22nd birthday shy of nine weeks ago. Short brown locks seem straight out of a salon with their stylists aware of the dazzling do’s from Square Enix games. In truth, he’s been in dressing rooms being permed enough to know how his stylists groom him ready to be the public heartthrob that he is. And so he’s been applying what he learned just for everyday preparation to not look awful before leaving his flat less than nine blocks southwest of this respective café in the city. Much like anything in life, practice makes perfect.

The other hand is busy on the glass page of his smartphone at 52% of its total brightness. What sound it emits is transferred into a pair of black Bluetooth earphones currently occupying each ear. Reassurance is brought upon this fellow’s way by means of a text-based gratitude for cancelling the latest tour. His bandmate and a long-time friend, their drummer since the group’s inception, won’t simply abandon her mother alone who took ill less than three weeks ago while the band is in an ongoing quest for fame and glory.

His disappointment will die off as days go by. His own fame produced its own cost of being often away from his family. Money and recognition are transient and shallow in satisfaction compared to having his solitude kept well at bay by those who dearly care for him. His dad, his stepmother and his stepsisters. As he pauses the stir of the hot brew, while raising the cup for the nearest part of the curved rim to be close to his slightly parted lips, Hanzo does ponder on how they all are doing lately. The sting of being distant with those who raise him better is there, though he doesn’t show it often. A nigh-unbreakable confidence is his mask.

Frankly, he should also visit his friend’s mother in the hospital. Show further support. While finishing up reading the message, he makes a mental note to put a reminder on this device for a visitation tomorrow around 2:30 PM at the hospital. He replies with appreciation towards the person who is thanking him for his full support of the tour cancellation. Not his bandmate with an ill mother, no, but someone in the music business he and his friends have collaborated with several times now; perhaps he even made passionate love with, though wine fueling each steamy session between the man and the woman.

Hanzo smirks after a hearty sip or two and then brings down the cup. He conjures a different message to the same person. The smooth jazz from the earphones adds aid in nurturing his lonesome spirit. He proofreads the outgoing message.
 

When are you in town, Di?
I kind of miss us. . .

He sends it but soon follows it with a row of four emojis.
A finger pointing to the right.
An ‘Ok’ sign.
A red heart.
A smirking face.
He sends this sequence too, this fellow who let his silly hormones do the talking.

Up with the fork next to the pie. A chunk of the baked wonder is severed away, bringing less integrity on the solid eighth of a slice it once was. Part away lips and the delicious piece vanishes with a fleshly clamp upon the silver prongs. It’s just in time for him to give this café a fair gander from farthest left to the farthest right. The newcomer who made the two tiny brass bells on the door chime catches his attention.

‘Hello, cutie,’ gleefully growled in his inside voice.

He averts his eyes away back to his phone just in case they clash gaze and make things feel rather awkward. Hanzo lowers the volume of his device, enough to hear a bit of the melody playing on it and what noise and chatter are going on around him. Part of the fellow wants to look at that young beauty which his meadow-locked pearls are eager to do. And he soon does it again, puzzled in a pleasant way that the lady looks like a certain gorgeous actress from a certain television series which he isn’t too well-versed but is aware nevertheless. The resemblance is uncanny. Hanzo may not realize himself that his stare is becoming too long if the other does take notice. Boys will be boys.