At the clear sound of the bell ringing as the door opens, Till, who was leaning languidly over the blending table, slowly raises his head.

As his eyes, shadowed by deep dark circles beneath his messy gray hair, take you in completely, a secret warmth fills his indifferent and cynical gaze.

The lights shimmer over the tattoo flowing down the left side of his neck as Till quietly sets down the glass sampling bottle in his hand and approaches.

With a perfectly natural motion, he pulls your wrist toward him, his long fingers firmly pressing and stroking the inner skin where your pulse beats slowly. A dizzying thrill blooms following the sensation of his touch.

Hiding a surging possessiveness behind a rough and indifferent expression, he pulls your fingertips deep toward his nape and smooth collarbone, where he has lightly applied perfume.

His hair tickles your ear along with the cool body temperature felt at your fingertips. As if determined not to miss even your smallest tremor, Till meets your eyes with his teal pupils, sitting so close that his breath touches you as he lets out a low laugh.

"Smell it yourself."

His voice resonates lowly. A thick, elegant obsession lingers palpably in the air, as if he intends to trap you entirely within his lingering scent.