đČ àčàŁÂ àŁȘ Ë a valentineâs day special! ( Ë¶Ë ÂłË)âĄâË
feat. hajime, osamu, shoyo, & kei. inspired by my cafe's spring menu.
ËáŻáĄŁđ© rose matcha â with hajime .ËââË đąÖŽà»ÖŽà»
â° a picnic in the trunk facing the flower fields â carrizo plain
â° i can't lie, he has the prettiest eyes i've ever seenâever seen â beabadoobee
â° drink notes: delicate rose seems to perch at the palate above the bright taste of fresh matcha.
for a while, youâve been mentioning wanting to see flowers. âthereâs a big field in carlsbad,â you brought up. âand lots of botanical gardens nearby.âÂ
now, hajime is not a man who will take you to some city garden and let that suffice. with what stress youâre going through lately, the last thing you need is to be around a busy crowd of people.
so hajime makes plans. hajime does his research. nestled in the central coast of california is a stretch of land where boundless blooms sprout from winter rain. the drive is long, and traffic is abysmal, but itâs worth it to him. itâs for you, after all.
four hours later, the tires of hajimeâs car crunch on the dirt road as he pulls over on a hill overlooking the vast canvas of wildflowers. he pops open the trunk, laying out a blanket for you to sit on as he leans on the taillight.
you glance over at him. hajime is standing still, his eyes wide with mirth at the sight. he turns to you after a moment, smiling, the kind that blows you away every time he does it. his eyes crinkle, and his nose kind of scrunches, but itâs so bright, and so wide, and heâs got the tiniest dimples that peek out from the hollows of his cheeks.Â
âisnât it pretty?â he asks, reaching out for your hand. you let out a soft laugh. the nerve to ask that question while he looks like that.
âyouâre pretty,â you reply, taking his hand with a reassuring squeeze.
âËê©ïœĄ blueberry pancake latte â with osamu .âËâč á°
⟠a hearty breakfast before viewing the wintersweet trees â matsuda
⟠instrumentalâsay it (over and over again) â masayoshi takanaka
⟠drink notes: the otherwise overt sweetness is balanced by the light roastâs smooth profile.
you nearly laugh at the amount of bags that osamu is holding when you walk into onigiri miya. âitâll be a long ride to kanagawa, iâm just prepared!â he says defensively. âand yer always complaininâ thatcha get hungry on trips!â âi know, i know,â you say, patting his bicep and taking one of the three plastic bags hanging off his elbow. âthank you. i love you.âÂ
osamu sighs affectionately as you give him a quick peck on the cheek. âi love you, too,â he replies, pulling you in by the waist. you tilt your head towards the entrance. âwhy is our wedding photo on the door, though?â he makes a face. ââcause thatâs why weâre closed?â you pinch his cheek. âyouâre so sappy.â ânot sappy if itâs the truth,â he insists. âwhyâre ya rollinâ up yer sleeves?â
âiâm gonna make us pancakes before we go,â you tell him, holding up a basket. âand i got blueberries from the neighbor before i left.â âaw, yer gonna make lilâ ole me blueberry pancakes?â osamu asks, shyly tucking a short strand of his hair behind his ear. you roll your eyes playfully, taking out a bag of flour. âyes, iâm gonna make lilâ ole you blueberry pancakes.âÂ
osamu hopes he makes it abundantly clear, whether verbally or through his actions, that he loves you, because he does. he leans over the counter, watching you make him breakfast with a lovesick expression.Â
âlove ya,â he calls, chin resting in his hand. âlove ya back,â you sing-song in reply, and his heart melts.
°ââ orange blossom matcha â with shoyo .àłàż*:
⌠a morning at home after the summer rain â sĂŁo paulo
⌠me dĂȘ a mĂŁo, vamos sair pra ver o solâestrada do sol â antonio carlos jobimÂ
⌠drink notes: the orange fragrance sits lightly over the creamy base of milk and matcha.
february in brazil means peak summer and carnaval in full swing. itâs busy, itâs hot, and itâs rainy. a thunderstorm washed over the day before, bringing in some respite from the normally sweltering heat. the city bustles below as you stir, and the windchimes sing their morning melody from the open window. the small space fan creaks and hums as you pad across the wood floor.
you greet shoyo in the kitchen with a pet on the nape of his neck, smoothing down light baby hairs that grow up into the golden tousled strands you know so dearly. your pinky catches onto the chain of the necklace you gave him, which has been worn by him so much thereâs a faint tan line.
shoyo turns to pass you an orange wedge, a fresh breeze blowing through and ruffling his hair. you take a bite, and immediately giggle. âyour hands are sandy, sho,â you tell him, covering your mouth. âoh no, can you taste it?â he asks, brows furrowed.
âtry one,â you say. shoyo complies, tossing a slice in his mouth, and it crunches much more than a juicy orange should. âaw, it is sandy,â he groans. âhow do you have sand on you already? you just woke up,â you say, resting your chin on his shoulder. âi was cleaning off your board so we can go to maresias later,â he replies, nuzzling his cheek to yours. âit should be warm and calm today.âÂ
you kiss shoyo through a smile. he tastes like sunscreen and citrus. âweâll go out and relax, then.â
ÖŽÖ¶Öžđ§·âËË strawberry mocha latte â with kei .đąÖŽÖŽâ§Ë.
â a wintry evening in his apartment â sendai
â ćăäžçă§ăăźćšăš / ć€éăèžăç¶ăăă âwords of love â lamp
â drink notes: reminiscent of melted strawberry ice cream and chocolate with a bitter tug of espresso.
kei kicks off his shoes in the genkan of his apartment and wearily flicks on the lights. itâs quiet, save for his shuffling around the house as he gets things ready for your date tonight. the plan is to indulge in chocolate covered strawberries and liquor.Â
the microwave hums as kei leans on the countertop to wait for the chocolate to melt. he cracks open the window, cool air brushing his skin. the city sparkles underneath, full of people with their own valentine agenda. itâs odd to think that youâre one of them.Â
twenty minutes later, he hears the familiar jingle of your keys at his door, bumping erratically as always. kei opens the door with a smirk, watching as you stumble in with a plastic bag. âi got the kahlua and vodka,â you tell him, breathless.Â
âi have the chocolate and the strawberries ready,â he replies, taking the bag from you. he holds out an arm for you to stabilize yourself as you wrench your shoes off. âwe can drizzle the toppings later.âÂ
you grin at him as you straighten up, and he leans down to meet you in a welcoming kiss. âugh, you ate some without me,â you complain, licking your lips. âjust one. to taste,â kei replies, a complacent smile on his face.
he shuts the door behind you and shrugs, the corner of his mouth curving up. âwe have all night to eat, anyway.â