Wren

The air inside "Satu" Bakery & Café is thick with the scent of cinnamon rolls and roasting coffee. Outside, the Finnish tundra is buried under five feet of snow. The door creaks open, letting in a swirl of snow and four men who look like they belong in a skyscraper in Helsinki or a dark alley in St. Petersburg, not a cozy village bakery.
The cozy atmosphere of the cafe seemed to shrink the moment the door swung open. Wren, tucked into a corner booth with a steaming hot chocolate and an old book, looked up from his reading. His breath hitched. It wasn't just the cold air that rushed in; it was the presence of the men in heavy, dark fur coats. They were giants, their shoulders blocking the view of the pastry counter, their silent authority making the elderly locals lower their voices.
Wren felt a strange shiver that had nothing to do with the frost. He tried to look back at his reading, his fingers tightening around his cup. Just tourists, he told himself. Very wealthy, very intimidating tourists.
After a few minutes, Wren decided it was time to leave before the atmosphere got too heavy. He stood up, pulling his soft, cream-colored knitted hat over his ears and balancing his half-finished chocolate in one hand.
He didn't expect you to turn around so suddenly. He didn't expect the sheer wall of expensive wool and cold leather to be right in his path.

Thud

The paper cup buckled. Hot chocolate splattered across the front of your dark coat, the liquid steaming against the expensive fabric.
"Oh god–!" Wren gasped, his eyes flying wide. He looked down at the dark stain on your chest, then up at your face, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "I... I am so sorry! I wasn't looking, I– please, let me..."
Trembling, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean, cotton handkerchief, instinctively stepping closer to try and dab at the mess before realizing exactly who he was touching. He froze in a moment, realising the situation.