written for day 5: coffee shop au of @neddenweek 2019.
“Mathias has a different coffee each time he and barista Laurens meet.”
word count: 1,688
rating: general
netherlands’ name is taken from @askaphnl
if you would rather read on ao3, it can be found here
i.
The first time Mathias enters the coffee shop is because he’s far more eager to get out of the gusty rain than looking for his next caffeine hit. He shakes himself off like a dog as the bell over the door chimes his arrival, and he can’t help the shudder that passes through his body at the sudden heat that embraces him; a stark change to the coldness of the depressing weather outside. Now that he’s in the shop, he figures he might as well see if they have a decent brew, azure eyes scanning over the neatly handwritten menu board that hangs above the heads of the few staff behind the counter.
“Welcome,” a low voice says as he steps a little closer to make his order, earning a blink of surprise before his gaze drops to the man who had greeted him. Not that he has to lower his line of eyesight much - the barista is tall, is Mathias’ first assessment of him, followed by an acknowledgement that he’s really handsome.
“Hi,” he says, swallowing thickly. “Um. A cappuccino, please.”
A neat, scared eyebrow is quirked at him, and there is silence a moment before he asks, “What size?”
Mathias flushes darkly, before gesturing awkwardly to the middle-sized cup on the display for him. All of his smooth pick up lines and bright, flirtatious smiles seem to be eluding him in the presence of this man, leaving him a flustered mess, only just managing to stutter out his name when the barista asks for it. He somehow pays without further disaster before shuffling around to wait - out of the way - for his coffee to be made, unable to draw his eyes away from long-fingered, elegant hands easily working the machine.
“Mathias,” the barista calls soon enough, though he doesn’t really need to say his name when no one else has come into the quaint shop. Mathias is quick to step forward and take the cup, wrapping his hands eagerly around the warmth it provides.
“Thanks,” he says, finally noticing and reading the man’s name badge. “Laurens… Thanks, Laurens.” Finally, he manages to muster up one of his sunny smiles, allowing himself a brief few seconds to admire the ever so subtle rosiness his words bring to Laurens’ cheeks before he gives a short wave of departure and turns to head back outside into dismal weather.
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