Every day at 5pm the same boy comes into my families’ café and sits on the same chair near the same window.
We don’t talk much.
“The same as always?” I would say.
“Yeah” He would reply, catching my eyes with his before looking back down at his phone.
He has tanned skin and wild white hair that sticks out in spikes in all different directions. And his eyes… His eyes were that of a demon’s; bright red and luring, they would often catch me staring.
He ordered the same thing every day too: a cup of black coffee and a slice of strawberry cake which I would take to him every day.
He would