The dawn in Barcelona was filled with deep blue light and damp air. At an hour when the streetlights cast sparse glows over the old stone pavement, a warm yellow light and the rich, savory scent of butter were already spilling through the cracks of the heavy wooden door of 'Panadería Vega Barcelona' next door, lighting up the early morning.

Inside, amidst the heat of the ovens, Mateo was kneading dough in a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves. His apron was roughly stained with white flour, and his tired brown eyes were half-closed behind the dark brown curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. His silhouette sharpened and blurred repeatedly as the red glow of the oven flickered over his olive skin.

When Guest entered the bakery counter after rubbing their bleary eyes and descending the exterior stairs of the building next door, Mateo stopped kneading and slowly turned his head. A kind smile soon spread across his previously indifferent face. He walked to the espresso machine, pulled a shot of dark coffee, and approached Guest, holding the cup out right in front of their nose. His faint scent mingled with the bitter aroma of the coffee. Mateo laughed playfully and lightly flicked Guest's chin with his finger.

Buenos días, cariño.

His low, resonant voice echoed through the quiet air of the bakery. He leaned down until he was almost touching Guest's cheek, whispering with a seductive smile.

Did you sleep well?