𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐞𝐚 ˚☕·˚ ⋆₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐟𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞! ˗ˏˋ☕ˎˊ˗
•°. *࿐ Your cafe is claimed by your regulars to be a precious gem in Fontaine. with a plentiful assortment of only the finest brews and ingredients imported from other nations, it isn't hard to attract the attention of those strolling by the streets of Quartier Lyonnais.
You specialize in not just selling homemade pastries and jam or coffee, but tea. From simple Inazuman matcha to pungent and earthy pu'er from Liyue, you can brew up just about any variety. Your carefully hand-picked blends, fresh and luxurious, tend to be more favored amongst your customers rather than the ordinary servings of coffee. Now, everyone demands your tea, and normal cappuccinos and expressos are pushed to the side, forgotten.
There is something different about your small business that is just incomparable to other cafes on the same street. It's very welcoming, with all of the little pots of sweet-smelling, colorful flowers growing at the front door, the cute menu propped outside the window with all of the week's special selections printed in neat, loopy handwriting, and the tantalizing fragrance of rich baked goods.
Inside, wooden shelves with extending rows of packaged bags tied up with pink ribbon and labeled jars of dried tea leaves line the wall behind the counter and your workspace where you conjure up every single beverage by hand.
Each day, the smell of the store seems to change.
One Monday, refreshing mint and sugary fruit, Wednesday is reserved for the mouth-watering scent of buttered bread that you whip up to restock the glass displays, and Fridays are sometimes rainy, and when waves of chamomile crash onto the front doorstep nothing but floral notes of rose and warm apples fill your nostrils.
Recently, the past few weeks have gone by steadily. The mornings are the busiest, when the heavy curtains are pulled away and the open sign is hung up on the door, most of your usual customers rush in for a to-go bag of berry scones and their favorite blend poured into paper cups with decorated lids stuck on top.
You work assiduously and to show what makes your tea, well, yours, you take extra care when it comes to the orders you receive.
Each cup always includes a special sticky note with either a little individual message for most of your frequent patrons who enjoy chatting with you no matter the time of day, or messily scribbled smiley faces and stars and words of encouragement. It's your unique trademark and you can only hope that your purple-inked notes can make someone's day just a bit better.
Surely, one of your customers must have spread the word about your distinctive way of preparing your tea, because one day, when you least expected it, crowds of people were grouped outside the door while you had temporarily closed for your lunch break. It was overwhelming, with all of the new faces to greet and welcome inside, and the enormous amounts of custom beverages you had to make. A rush of excitement overcame you on that unforgettable day. It was hard getting through everyone all by yourself, and while you wished you had someone else to lend a hand, you felt a sense of accomplishment and took pride in your hard work.
The bustle died down over the next couple of days, and soon, you were operating back at a more consistent pace you could easily deal with without breaking a single sweat. But your business has definitely gained popularity since you've been having more customers than you did several months ago.
The people weren't just your customers, but many have been made your friends. The elderly of Fontaine who come in for a cup of jasmine and your scrumptious pound cake are very fond of you and your sweet personality, finding your company as bright as sunshine. They were kind, always sitting at the table near your brewing station, and you enjoyed conversing with them back and forth as you took orders, always welcome into their daily gossiping sessions.
The success brought you a sense of happiness you had once been separated from, and you felt as though everything was finally moving down the right path.
It's Tuesday, and Tuesdays are more of a relaxing day. The soothing aftermath of the tumultuous storm Monday was.
Early afternoon, the clock ticks, and the hand points to three twenty-seven. there are no customers currently dining in and Fontaine has stopped at a peaceful rest. It's just you and the comfort of your shop.
To indulge in the serenity, you make yourself your favorite blend. Popping open the lid of the jar of shriveled matcha leaves, you dig into the green blend with a measuring spoon and place it in a tea strainer. It falls to the bottom of your glass with a meek clink! and you pour in the scorching hot water from your kettle.
A fresh batch of scones is baking in the oven of your workspace, it's a new recipe you decided to test out. Dried cranberries and chopped almonds, a simple combination that you think will work well for when the cold arrives.
Sitting at the counter, perched on a tall chair, you blow at your green tea and drink prudently, fearful of somehow managing to burn your tongue. Even as an expert with your magical tea-making hands, you have not mastered the art of comfortably drinking cups of liquid flames. The bottom of the cup, wet with moisture from when you washed it not a long while ago, sits comfortably on a pink fabric coaster you knitted up, and you stare down at your reflection in the murky tea while listening to the ticking of the oven timer.
Boredom strikes once the clock hits three thirty, and you crank up the music on the radio. It's soothing, the tune that switches on, and the beat in the background reminds you of the pitter-pattering of rain against the window.
The bells hung at the top of the front door jingle merrily and the startling sound jolts you out of your absentminded reverie. You crane your head to peer at who is entering. Another new face. An intimidating one, at that. Most people would recognize the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide, but you, who had only arrived in Fontaine a few months before to start your business again from scratch, hadn't a clue who the mysterious man could have been.
Your spoon that you were previously stirring around in your tea is dropped back in with a light splash, staining the countertop as you try to clumsily muster up the words to welcome the customer and reach for a napkin to clean up your mistake.
Wriothesley watches you struggle from the front door before making his way inside. His first impression of you, when you were staring off in the distance and daydreaming, has completely changed. You seemed so peaceful when your mind was elsewhere, yet you were a total klutz when it came to reality. It's slightly amusing to watch, how much you fumble to properly clean up and stammer over your words, but he manages to keep a straight face.
"Welcome...!" You squeak from the counter, not even noticing that he was quickly approaching. Your voice trails off as you quickly glance down to wipe away the spill on the counter and toss the napkin off to the side.
You keep your head low and count inside your head for five seconds to both regain your "professional" composure and scold yourself. Wriothesley barely has the time to return your greeting.
"What can I get for you?" When you lift your head up, you're met with the sight of his stony eyes examining yours, and you pull back, startled. When did he even sit down?
The only thing that comes to mind when you eye the stranger is that the puffy dunes in his hair resemble pup ears, and the thought makes you stifle a laugh. An intimidating face paired with strange hair...
He seems to notice the way you falter for a moment and he awkwardly clears his throat, stiff expression softening a bit.
"What do you recommend? I'd like to try a cup of tea, any variety would be fine,"
"Hm, alright then," You ponder for a bit, turning around as you scan the tea shelves. Seeing how he wasn't familiar when it came to the vast world of tea flavors, you chose something simple.
"How does white tea sound? It's very subtle," You offer kindly, stretching up on your tippy toes to grab the jar of white tea leaves from the tall shelf. You open the lid and tilt the container over in his direction, showing him the long wrinkled buds.
Wriothesley, a man who loves drinking tea, has never tasted actual high-quality tea, let alone made a cup for himself. He wants to, of course, as he is aware of all sorts of tea there is, but to experience the finer end of tea is something he has never done.
With his line of work, he's busy. When he wants tea, all he does is go out and buy a couple cheap tea bags of his favorite brand, bring it back home, and toss one into a cup of hot water. Making loose-leaf tea, from what he has heard, is a tedious process, the hardest part being the tea leaf picking. Tea leaves are expensive. The cost to enjoy upscale things, he supposes.
Even if he had enough to purchase some for his own, it was hard to find them, which must have been why your store was so well-liked since you weighed and sold tea leaves by the pound with your own homespun stamp and branded label.
Fascinated by the sight of freshly harvested tea leaves up close, he nods eagerly, "That sounds lovely. I'll have a cup,"
Another thing that Wriothesley notices about you is that you are certainly clumsy, but not when you're working.
Your back is turned to him while you try to settle down your workspace (which is untidily strewn with several used tea strainers, slips of paper with squiggly writing and doodles that are illegible from his sight, and bits of tea leaves), but he can tell by the thorough manner your hands move that you take each cup of tea very seriously. There's a perfectionistic glow in your benign eyes, a visible glint of determination that somehow enthralls him.
You call out to him after arranging a precisely measured amount of tea leaves on a strainer as the kettle is bubbling on the small stove, "Would you like anything else in your tea? Perhaps extra lemon or honey...?"
"Good choice! Coming right up. It's nearly done,"
A spritz of lemon juice from a slice you just cut mixed with a dash of honey, and it's finally finished. As you set down the white mug of piping tea, you peel off a little sticker mark with your cafe's name from a notepad you were carrying and stick it onto the front of the cup.
"Please enjoy," You present it to him with a coaster underneath and a soft smile.
"Thank you," Wriothesley waits for it to cool a bit, eyes lingering on you longer than they probably should as you wait for him to try it. You notice how handsome his weary features really are and anticipation gnaws away at you as he gingerly blows at the steam.
The dinging of your oven timer breaks your gaze away from him and scurry over to check on your scones that were long forgotten. A wave of relief washes over you as you pull out the dessert tray and from the awkward eye contact, you find your hands to be slightly shaky and your cheeks warm as you let the scones rest on the counter.
The corners of Wriothesley's lips turn up a bit and he chuckles at your embarrassment, a sound that is far sweeter than you would have ever expected to come from the man. When he languidly takes his first taste of the tea, you don't think he's as frightening as he first appeared.
You find yourself panicking a bit and you aren't sure why you care so much about his opinion, but you're rambling and spouting nonsense before you can fully register it.
"How does it taste? Is it to your liking? I may have added too much lemon, and I know some people don't like their tea too sour. I can make you a new cup, if you want me t-"
"It's perfect," He reassures you with a warm grin and you instantly close your mouth.
"It tastes even better than I can make myself, which is probably expected since I just use cheap tea bags. The lemon adds the right amount of citrus. It's wonderful as is, I promise,"
He drinks about half of it before adding a charming, "Thank you very much,"
The racing of your heart relaxes and you can't help but return his smile with an eased sigh, "Phew, you had me worried there. You're very welcome... as long as it tastes good, that's really all I can ask for,"
Your eyes travel back to the scones that are now mildly warm and you light up.
"Would you like a scone with your tea? It's a new recipe I'm trying, and... I could use a taste tester," You try to say slickly, bringing over the tray.
"Of course, you don't have to if you don't want to-"
"Count me in," Wriothesley says, somewhat enthusiastically, and the way you perk up happily is the best possible way to repay him.
You eagerly slide to him the nicest shaped scone out of the batch on a small brown napkin, and he realizes that he can't stop himself from smiling. To pull himself together, he coughs into his hand and holds back the idiotic grin threatening to spread on his lips.
He picks up the scone, inspecting the cute homemade sort of look it has, "What's inside of it?"
"Dried cranberries and almonds. I wanted to release a new version to see how it would do with the customers, and I had those ingredients left in my pantry so I whipped something up," You explain bashfully, poking at one yourself.
"They're a bit lumpy, though... I think I've been losing my charm at, erm, shaping things recently. I'm too used to making cakes with those fun molds,"
He gives a small laugh, "They're special in their own way. Gives them more character," He insists, breaking off a piece to eat.
It's moderately sweet, having more of a bread-like taste than a cake or cookie. The cranberries pop nicely and are delightfully tart, while the almonds give more texture.
He lets out an approving hum as he chews before you can even ask for his feedback.
"Delicious," He says with a nod, taking more bites, and you huff a bit, narrowing your eyes at him, a far contrast to the usual kind look you always have.
"Hm, I have a feeling you're just saying that to make me feel better..."
Another chuckle escapes him as he shakes his head earnestly, "I'm being honest. It tastes good. Why don't you give it a try yourself?"
And so you do. It's a bit dry, could use more cranberries maybe? But it really isn't as bad as you were expecting.
Wriothesley sees the surprised widening of your eyes, "See? Perhaps you're just underestimating yourself. I'd buy these any day. I think your customers will love them,"
He pops the last of his scone and finishes it up, wiping his fingers on the napkin.
"I'll take your word for it," You murmur, rosy pink rising to your cheeks as you look off to the side with hidden frustration.
Loads of people applauded your success. New friends you had made ever since coming to Fontaine complimented how delicious your tea was, customers who tried your desserts for the first time praised you greatly, and the elderly ladies who regularly dined in flattered you and made several comments about your beauty. All of which you responded humbly to. Not once did they make you nervous, more so grateful. So why was it that you were getting all giddy over some random man? Because he liked your scones?
As you fall silent, Wriothesley downs about half of the rest of his tea. He really wasn't lying when he said yours was better than any cup he's brewed for himself.
He clears his throat, noticing how engrossed you were with the window.
"May I have some more honey?" He asks. You look over at him, dismissing your useless train of thought. At his silly question, you're back to all smiles in no time and he prefers that more than when you're distraught.
"Yes, of course. How much would you like?"
You hand him a spoon with more of the same honey you originally put into his tea and he thanks you for it, stirring it around to his liking before he's back to sipping.
Surprisingly, the rest of the time he spends with you is not as awkward as before. He's an expert at making small talk, it seems, nearly as much as an expert you are at tea. His voice is comforting, rich, and a little cheeky, you realize, when you learn he has a slight teasing side to him. It could put you to sleep, you think to yourself.
It doesn't feel like he's a simple customer, but more of a companion. Like someone you had known your whole life, and you don't think you've ever had a conversation go as smoothly as this one. By the end of it, you're genuinely laughing and it's a real laugh, not the sheepish ones you make when you're talking to any other customer. He does and doesn't make you nervous at the same time.
Nearly an hour passes by in a flash, his tea is cold when he downs the last of it. You're a bit upset when he says he has to leave.
"Thank you for..." You try to search for the right words, just like you were when he first entered.
"For talking with me. I enjoyed it very much..." You admit shyly, "-Wriothesley," You added quickly, testing how it officially sounded on your tongue.
He grins at the use of his name, "Of course. The tea was amazing. Perhaps I'll visit soon, to help you taste-test again,"
"I'll be sure to have a new recipe for you to try then!"
Once he's gone, you clean up his cup of tea. Recalling how he had been scraping his spoon against the bottom, some moments he was intently fixated on whatever was going on. Curious, you peek into the mug, nearly dropping it onto the floor by what you see.
The tiny bits of tea leaves leftover, like a trail of ants, curve into the small shape of a heart.
(kinda rushed bc i was so excited to release this, my first full length fanfic!! wrio's kinda occ, but he's still cute and silly. my only thoughts for the ending: rizzley.)
(ignore any mistakes im too tired. all forms of interactions such as reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!! i hope this doesnt flop)
also yes, i headcannon wrio drinks cheap tea fight me
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