The shop bell rings and he about curses under his breath before giving his customary "welcome"- only as he's been instructed- sharp eyes with a flat face that doesn't particularly scream cordial as that one word falls from his mouth.
"Welcome."
Though she's not exactly welcome here.
As she comes to take a seat at the counter, deft eyes make quick work of her form; her scent. In the past, she's one of those that would have started his cycle; binging.
She seems sweet, in every way; her smile-syrupy and warm like sunshine-, the curve of her legs, her copper fringe, the way her honey locks bound about her trim jaw line. Her scent. He has to hold himself back from inhaling too deeply; from allowing her to permeate his olfactories. Aaaah. It's too late. Sharp glints cross his ashen gaze, and if he were the ghoul he once was, she'd be an appetizer to a very long process. Whatever chirpy greeting she makes in return swirls into something unintelligible as it hits his ear drums; he can't process it—a mix of elongated, sickly toned syllables. His stomach churns.
A sharp sensation hits his brain; heightens his senses, he can feel her sweet scent wash over him, course through his veins, like that which would stain his lips. He nearly shudders, his knuckles turning white in his attempts to control himself as the undying need spreads over his form. Curse this fucking woman with her perfect, savory-sweet note. His jaw clenches, though his strain isn't reflected much outwardly- his gaze blurs and then heightens. Someone touches his shoulder; calling him back to reality.
Sharp eyes, regaining their human-esque appearance fall over a stern, azure gaze and bushy brow paired with a genuine smile. Erwin.
"Hn." Levi nods stiffly and his "boss" of sorts returns to the back room.
Levi raises his gaze anew to the woman with the copper locks as she heads to the bar seating area to await his service. He both wishes and doesn't wish she'd fucking sat at one of the little tables lining the outskirts of the room- complete with little veranda seating areas and drapes; plush pillows and the like. He craves her proximity, and rejects it all at once.
A cool, fresh air fills the café from the thermostat in the corner though he feels hot; terribly hot; the room is stale, stifling— a searing sensation running his form in his strain to control himself. It's been months now since his last, regrettable incidence. He doesn't intend on letting her restart his cycle.
He makes quick, flat steps to her side from behind the bar –which pierce the calm ambiance of the room-, dressed in his required work attire -a white oxford beneath a tan and black pin-striped vest with black trousers-, plus cravat.
He slides her a menu, sharp, thin eyes trained on every mannerism of her being; the way her chest rises and falls, the lively glow in her eyes, the way she tucks her stubborn honey hair behind her ears, her constellations of freckles, her sce—.
"What can I get you?"
He cuts himself off. Flat words, well-timed.