T.M.R. // Stranger
★ Coffee shop AU ★ Wordcount 2.5k ★ No warnings ★ Gif Credit! ★
ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 𝔸 - 𝕄 @abhorredlara @arana-alpha @cranberrypills @dear-fifi @dropssofjupitter @dravenwitchmusings @empath-bunny @expectoscamander @fish-eg @grimdevil @hueanhdang @itsjustfics @lemirabitur @lucys-brain @mentally-in-northern-italy @mikariell95 @moatsnow ℕ - ℤ @niallwrld @nothinghcppens @obliviouspotter @oui-magnifique @pearlstiare @pink-kixxes @rededfoxy @rorrygillmore @raven-riddle @seriouslyginnychase @silverdelirium @suicide-sweetheart636 @sunles @tallyovie @tm-mrvl-rddl @toasterking @valentinecarnage @voidmalfoy @weirdowithnobeardo @whoevenfrickenknows @whoreforgeorgeandfred @wizardcherryblossom
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
“He’s back,” Ada whispers over the tingling of the bell, her smile audible with her eyes glued on the front door.
You roll your eyes and reach further into the cabinet, dragging out the container right from the very back. Someone has mislabelled all the scones with the wrong date and you’re going to have to somehow figure out what was made when. “You say that like he’s not here every single day, Ada, when is this going to stop being –”
“Good morning!” Ada says cheerfully in her best customer service voice, kicking you lightly in the leg beneath the hidden sightline of the counter. “What can I get for you?”
You silently mouth the words alongside him as he orders, rolling your eyes at the broad plastic container of blueberry cinnamon scones you’re heaving out of the cabinet. “A black coffee with no sugar, please.”
Your face is a polite mask when you stand, scones in hand. “Won’t be a moment,” you say, and the man offers you an equally polite smile back (which you suspect is about as genuine as your own). Ada is pink-cheeked as he hands her his loyalty card and you hear her breathlessly telling him that he’s only two away from a free coffee as you turn for the espresso machine. Lucky that your back is turned; it’s impossible to keep the smirk off your face.
The man was a regular before you even started working at the café a few months ago, by which point Ada was already violently in love with him. Not that she knows his name.
“You are unbelievable,” you drawl as she comes over the second he moves away to sit down. Same table as always, same chair as always, the man lives the exact same half-hour every single weekday morning.
“I’m unbelievable?” Ada grins, leaning on the counter and watching him with flagrant appreciation from across the room where he’s cracked open a book (as per usual). It’s no great mystery what she likes about him – he has model-worthy cheekbones, pale, gold-toned skin that suggests he would tan well were he ever to spend time outside, dark blue eyes with a smudge of black lashes, and thick, liquorice-coloured hair that falls in the sort of carelessly gorgeous waves that you strongly suspect are deliberately curated to give the impression of effortlessness. He’s also very smoothly spoken, polite, and reserved in a shrewd, watchful sense that gives Ada plenty of room to daydream about.
“I bet he’s good in bed,” she says simply, turning to watch you twist the portafilter into place.
You snort. “Oh, I’m sure you do.”
“He has amazing hands,” Ada protests, looking offended at your scepticism.
“Yeah I’m sure he’s also a really great listener and a brilliant cook, and he already knows how to do laundry and he’s well-versed in feminist theory and he’s never ever cheated and he texts back real fast and –”
“Shut up,” Ada grumbles, looking over her shoulder at the guy again. “What’s wrong with a little fantasising?”
“Nothing, just don’t expect him to actually be good in bed just because you can’t stop drooling over his hands,” you tease as the machine screeches before you.
“I’m not going to sleep with him, I’m just gonna think about it,” Ada grins as another customer enters. “That way I’ll never find out if I’m wrong.”
You laugh under your breath and pick up the guy’s coffee. “Like I said, you are unbelievable.”
When you set his boring drink down on his table the man barely looks up with his distracted word of thanks. You get a glimpse at his page, thickly packed with intensely justified print – some sort of textbook, god knows what about, but it looks extraordinarily dull and far too heavy for this early in the morning. His eyes flash up at your brief moment of hesitation and you turn at once with a barely concealed flair of panic, retreating behind the counter before you’re forced to acknowledge the indiscretion. Mercifully Ada’s attention is still occupied by taking the new customer’s order – you can only imagine what she would have made of the incident.
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