cupid

But truth be told though, he’d have a hard time staying awake behind the wheel on especially hard days without his coffee. This man doesn’t exactly have the healthiest diet, especially not while driving, his passenger's seat is always full of fast-food bags and his cup holder always has soda or an energy drink lingering in it. Coffee, however, helps him start his day off right. It’s a tasty, warm energizer early in the morning when his eyes are still adjusting and his brain still isnt awake.

Yet the only thing that can get his day off to a good start better than coffee is you.

You’re a sweet college student, probably close to graduating, maybe a four-year degree, he thinks. You work at a cafe he frequents as often as he can, as long as he’s in the area it's his number one choice for his morning coffee and bagels. Half of it is because he really likes the coffee, the rest is because he likes seeing you.

You’re way too kind for someone working the early morning opening shift. You always smile at him and banter with him, no matter how clearly exhausted you are. And he’s way too cheery for a guy who wakes up at the ass-crack of dawn to drive a big ass truck around all day, so you guys have that one in common. You have a lot in common. Maybe you guys have matching eyebags, he thinks, or your voices are equally as groggy. 

But you always smile when he comes in, he's a regular at this point, the kind of regular who doesn't even need to order because the barista knows what he's getting. You always draw a little heart next to his name on his cup, sometimes lately you’ve been writing Alfie instead of Alfred, too. That one will never cease to make his heart stutter. You know exactly how much cream cheese he likes on his bagels, you know exactly how much cream to put in his coffee, and yeah maybe that's just because you’ve made the same order for him a gazillion times but he likes to think of it as something more intimate than it is. 

One time you complimented his hoodie, it had a little alien head embroidered over his heart, and “I come in peace!” was written over his back. You noticed it, you mentioned it, you complimented it, and he broke out into a grin.

“Really? I think it's great, too.” He said triumphantly. “My brother said it was corny, but you should see some of the shit he wears.”

“Corny? Maybe. Cute? Definitely.” You giggled, writing his name on a large cup. 

“You’re supposed to be on my side, you know.” He winked playfully, leaning on the counter and watching you as you made his drink. He’s seen you do it a thousand times, he never gets over how efficient you are.

“I said it was cute!” You said, defensively, a coy glint in your eyes. “But I can’t exactly lie to you, either.”

He laughed joyfully.

The first time Alfred saw you he thought you were cute, the second time he thought your haircut was cool. Now when he sees you it's like a puppy seeing his owner after they’ve been at work all day. He gets happy, his stomach does backflips like an Olympic gymnast, and he can’t stop smiling.

Most of the time it's just you, him, and one or two of your coworkers. Not many customers pop in so early—shocker, right?—so he gets to enjoy chatting with you until his coffee is ready before he has to set off on the road. 

Sometimes there’s another person in the cafe though, sometimes two. One time that other person was clearly a college guy, one who had no business being here this early, one that should be hungover and passed out on his frat house’s deck instead of leaning over the counter and trying to flirt with you.

That was probably the first time Alfred realized you weren’t just his barista friend, but his barista crush. What tipped him off? The fact he wanted to grab the guy by his collar and carry him out of the building like a mama cat carrying its kitten by the scruff of its neck.

He didn’t, by the way, he wouldn’t do that unless you asked him to.

Instead, he just grit his teeth as he waited in line behind the guy, listening as he dragged out the ordering process to drop some lame pickup line that made his skin crawl—and yours too, judging by the awkward smile on your face and the forced laugh you humored him with. Alfred definitely wanted to groan out loud at that point. When the guy finally got the hint and left, Al walked up to the counter with a smile, and your shoulders relaxed and you sighed. 

“Long time, no see, partner.” You smiled tiredly up at him. 

It had been a long time, maybe a week or two, and he realized he missed you all that time, too. 

“Yeah, it’s great to be back in town.” He tipped his ballcap like he was tipping a cowboy hat, a dumb grin on his face. He didn’t have to place his order, you knew already.

You giggled softly at that. Was it just him or were you more exhausted than usual? Maybe the weirdo hitting on you drained your social battery or something, maybe it was finals week or something. 

“Great to have you back, I missed my favorite regular.” 

“Aw, you tellin’ me you have other regulars?” He clutched his pears in faux shock, acting hurt for dramatic effect. Somewhere to your left, your coworker snorted.

“Maybe, but none of them are as cool as you.” You grinned. “And none of them have such easy orders, either.”

“I’m a simple man, what can I say.” 

When you handed him his coffee and bagel, your fingers brushed his, and he felt a tingle go down his arm for a split second. Then you winked, and he felt one in his heart.

To say you felt any different than him would be a lie.

Alfred was definitely your favorite regular, that was no joke when you said it to him no matter how playful your tone was. He was always sweet and respectful and always cheered you up when you were barely dragging yourself through your shift.

The first time he came in you thought he was hot, the second time he came in you thought he was funny, and now when he comes in you feel a breath of fresh air cut through the coffee-scented air and your heart speeds up momentarily at his smile.

His smile always got to you. It was so attractive, he had such nice straight teeth and his lips framed them perfectly. It felt like a beautiful oil painting framed in gold or something. What came out of those lips was no different, his voice was always pleasing to the ears, and sometimes he came in sounding like he just rolled out of bed, and that was also pleasing. 

Alfred’s presence was the best part of your week, everything else sucked if you were being honest. Your coworkers made it really hard to feel positive when they were so bitter because they had to do the job they applied for. Your patience was thinning every day, and honestly when that guy from one of your classes showed up you felt like quitting then and there. Thankfully he never came back, if he did you probably would’ve thrown down your apron as soon as he entered. 

As much as you hate to say it, Alfred alone wasn't enough for you to want to keep the job. So you turned in your two weeks, you found a new job—one much more impressive than “barista”—and you counted the days until you were free from your coffee-stained shackles.

The last week of your job you didn’t see Alfred once, and you were starting to get anxious that you wouldn’t see him again. Maybe you could get one of your lazy coworkers to give him your number, or you could show up every morning until he was there. 

(that was in no way plausible, you barely even wanted to show up now and you work there)

But, to your relief, on your last day, Alfred popped through the window. His blue eyes shone through his glasses, his blonde hair was a mess, and he was wearing a hoodie with his iconic bomber jacket over it. He looked warm, he looked good. He grinned widely at you, shooting you finger-guns as he approached the counter.

“If it isn’t my favorite barista!” 

“And my favorite customer returns! I was getting worried, you know.” You smiled back, grabbing a cup for his drink.

“Aw, I always come back to this place! If you didn’t see me today, you’d see me tomorrow or next week or something.” He promised.

“I actually wouldn’t.” You said, “Because I wouldn’t be here.”

Alfred paused, “What’d’ya mean?”

“It’s my last day.” You smiled, glancing back up to him momentarily and catching the way his lips tugged down slightly.

“Like… forever?” He asked.

“Yup, I got myself a shiny new job.” You boasted.

“So I won’t get my morning coffee from you anymore?” He leaned on the counter, his voice seemed disappointed.

“Uh,” You pulled your eyes away from the coffee machine to meet his, “Yeah. Not anymore.”

He nodded slowly, “I won’t get to see you again, then?”

You chuckled to yourself, “Of course you will, silly.”

“I will?”

“Yeah, did you think I would part ways with you without giving you my number or something?” You grinned.

Slowly, he did too. His eyes twinkled and his chest shook in laughter. “I’d sure hope not.”

You smiled, face warming a little as he stared at you intently. This time, when you handed him his coffee and bagel your number was written beneath his name. 

“So, your number-?”

“It’s on the cup.” You noted.

“Got it. Yeah. I’ll- I’ll call you.” He grinned, walking backward for a moment before ripping his eyes away from your face and walking out the door feeling like a giddy teenage girl.

Today his day got off to an amazing start. Coffee always helped with that, but you? You always made it ten times better.

Yes, thats it. He’s not nervous, he’s impatient. You're taking too long to get here, its almost the time you agreed upon meeting at and you’re still not here. He expected you to be more punctual, and he’s not impressed. 

He wonders whats taking you so long. Maybe you were being lazy and put off getting ready. Or you’re a bad driver and got lost. Perhaps you’re one of those high maintenance women, the ones that have to take hour long showers and spend twice as long on your makeup and outfit. He wonders if you’ve changed your outfit too many times. He hopes you're wearing a nice dress, one that hugs your figure maybe. He would hate for you to forget a coat, then he’d have to give you his. What a bother, really. What kind of lipstick are you wearing? Will it smudge when he kisses you? Does your mascara run?

Yao’s thoughts are interrupted by the click of heels. His eyes are drawn from their spot on the plate to meet yours, and for once his stomach flutters instead of falls. 

“Hi.” You smile. You're radiant, he cant help but notice, you exceed his expectations.

Yao swallows hard—still very unnervous, mind you—and stands from his seat. He made his way around the circular table, the cloth bunching up against his legs as he reaches to pull your chair out—because if Yao is anything, its a gentleman.

“Y/n.” He greets, watching as you take your seat. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you, you look handsome.” You smile coyly as he returns to his seat. “Thanks for inviting me to dinner, by the way. This place is nice.”

He nods. Of course its nice, why would he take you somewhere that isn’t nice? Yao Wang has taste. Do… do you not realize that? Do you think lowly of him?

He interrupts himself this time. “Thank you for allowing me to take you out.”

“I haven’t been on a date in a while, so I’m um, a bit nervous.” You giggle, admitting your nerves with an almost bashful tone.

He relaxes. You’re nervous. That makes him feel better.

“Neither have I, it has truly been longer than you can imagine.” He allows himself a soft smile.

“Well, then I guess we’re both in the same boat then, huh?” You tilt your head with a grin.

The tension in his shoulders starts to dissipate as he chuckles, nodding. He finds himself relaxing, even more so when the waiter brings the two of you wine. By the time your entre arrives, Yao’s enjoying himself freely. 

You're unlike any girl he’s ever met (he’s said that every time, but this time he tells himself that there’s more behind it), you're intelligent and beautiful. The conversation is flowing like a rapid, dangerous river, and he’s been pulled under by the current, drowing in it. Speaking of drowning, hes come to the conclusion your eyes are dangerous. Every time he meets them he’ll pulled in. Yao isn’t bad with eyecontact by any means. In fact, he’s rather good at winning a steely staring contest of intimidation, really. Yet the way you look at him has every vein is his body pusing and his joints aching—no wait, that part might just be because he’s old, actually.

By dessert, he's obsessed. He’s learned your ambitions, he knows your hobbies, he knows the names of your closest friends and family members. He’s enthralled in every aspect of your being, though his pride doesn't let him show it as openly as some others might. No, he doesn't fawn and melt and sigh like a teenage girl. He chuckles, he grins, he nods. He offers you a ride, he gives you his coat, he opens the car door for you. He drives you to your home, he opens the car door again.

Yao takes your hand in his, savoring the softness of your palms and the warmth of your skin. You’re so very alive, you're making him feel so very alive again, you're making him feel ways he hasn't felt in decades. You’re making him feel that forbidden feeling, that petty, immature thing he says he never feels. 

And when you reach your front door, and you smile up at him, his heart sputters like an old engine that’s breaking down. Maybe it is, maybe this all is finally too much, and he’s going to be taken out by a beautiful woman looking at him with admiration. Not a bad way to go… He thinks, but a better way to go is lips pressed up against yours, and you fulfill that desire without him asking. It’s chaste, its quick, it’s sweet like a highschool first kiss is sweet. Yao pulls you in for something slower, something more intimate as you both strand beneath the soft glow of your porch light and listen to the sounds of the city around you. When you pull back, his eyes dart to your lips again. Smudged. He thinks. Yao Wang still does not get nervous. The only exception is you.