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Part ||: Caramel lattes
《𝔅𝔨𝔡𝔨》
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I stood by the counter, waiting for my drink, trying—and failing—not to steal glances at him. He moved with sharp precision, like every motion was calculated and efficient. I could see the flex of his forearms as he poured the milk, the controlled strength in his hands as he maneuvered the steam wand.
And then he turned, stepping towards me with my drink in hand.
"Caramel latte. That’ll be 480 yen."
Oh
Oh no.
His voice—deep, rough around the edges, smooth in all the right places—hit me like a truck. My grip on my wallet tightened as I swallowed hard, feeling my knees go weak.
I must have looked ridiculous, standing there, staring at him like he’d just whispered the secrets of the universe into my ear. Somehow, I managed to pay without dropping my money all over the counter, taking the cup from his hand with fingers that tingled where they brushed his.
"Thanks," I murmured, turning away quickly before I could humiliate myself any further.
But from that moment on, I was doomed.
Because I came back the next day.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.
Every single time, I ordered the same thing. A caramel latte. Every single time, I watched him work, let his voice shake something deep inside me when he called out my order. And every single time, I told myself I was just here for the coffee.
Lies.
By the second week, I knew I was in trouble.
By the third week, I stopped pretending.
And then, one day, I walked up to the counter, hands in my pockets, heart racing in my chest.
"The usual," I said, then hesitated before adding, “Caramel latte and… one more thing as well.”
Bakugo raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"A thing I’ve been dying to try." I let the words hang between us for a second before meeting his eyes, my lips curling up just slightly.
"You."
For the first time since I met him, I saw him freeze.
The cup in his hand stilled. His crimson eyes widened just a fraction before narrowing, scanning my face like he was trying to figure out if I was joking.
I wasn’t.
And judging by the way the corner of his mouth twitched upward, he knew it too.
HIS POV
At first, I told myself it was nothing.
Just another customer. Just another order. Just another guy in a suit who looked too damn expensive for this small café.
But then he kept coming back.
Every damn day.
Same order. Same lazy, knowing smile. Same deep green eyes that always lingered a little too long, like he was studying me. Memorizing me.
At first, I thought he was just the polite type, the kind of guy who made eye contact when he spoke. But then I started noticing things.
The way his gaze dropped—not to the menu, but to my hands as I worked the espresso machine. The way his lips parted slightly when I rolled up my sleeves, exposing my forearms. The way his breath hitched, just barely, when I slid his cup across the counter and let my fingers brush his.
By the second week, I knew.
By the third week, I played along.
I started making his drink before he even ordered, just to see that flicker of amusement in his eyes. I took my time calling out his total, my voice dropping just a little lower. And maybe—just maybe—I let my shirt ride up when I reached for something on the higher shelf, just to see if he’d look.
(He always did.)
And then today happened.
He walked in like usual, but this time, something was different. His steps were slower, more deliberate. His confidence was sharp, cutting through the air between us like a blade.
"The usual," he said, then paused. His lips curled slightly, teasing. "Caramel latte and… one more thing as well."
He leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something smoother, something heavier.
"A thing I’ve been dying to try."
I raised an eyebrow, waiting.
Then, his eyes flickered up to meet mine, dark with something dangerous. Something knowing.
"You."
The words slid between us like a match striking against a rough surface, and for the first time in weeks, I faltered.
My grip on the cup tightened. My pulse kicked up, heat curling low in my stomach.
Shit.
His smirk deepened, and I knew—he could see it. The way his words got to me. The way my body reacted, even when I tried to stay still.
Slowly, I exhaled, rolling my shoulders back, letting a smirk creep onto my own lips.
"Took you long enough," I muttered, voice rougher than I intended.
He grinned, slow and lazy, and damn it—if he kept looking at me like that, I was gonna lose my job.
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[A/N]
Hello. I just wanted to spread awareness that gaze is being bombed again despite the ceasefire. Please spread awareness and support and donate to gaza. Even a dollar can help them. In this economy we can't depend on the shitty ahh government we need to take this into our own hands because its not just palestine but Afghanistan, iraq, and so many other countries who are going through war itself but we are not doing anything. If you guys didn't know this is also a holy month for Muslims called ramdan. The people in gaza can't fast which is a holy practice in this month. Let's donate and support them in any possible way we can and not just Palestine, let's support all the other countries who are going through war against their human rights. Even if it only one person you might save thousands.
