“Hello, how can I help you?”
Your smile burned into his mind like a scarlet ember in the ashes, a picture so clear and wholesome, one that he held onto and rememorated with great endearment every time the jet-pack blues kicked in and decided to overtake the tiniest bit of happiness he had left in that trembling soul of his.
“H-Hi...,” he uttered in a timid voice, so quiet that, if it weren't for you incidentally looking at his lips shape around the word, you wouldn't be able to understand it.
You suppressed a chuckle, head tilting to one side to analyse the boy in front of you. Although you've seen him around several times – given that you were the one that would take his order every time he stopped by – you couldn't help but admire his unintentional genuineness. He was really something else, and you didn't mind at all.
He wasn't cocky, that you could guarantee. In fact, he was the most sheepish guy you have encountered in your whole career as a barista – which wasn't wide to begin with, you were just a part-timer that happened to have their shift match with the time span the boy sitting in front of the counter allocated for his daily caffeine-based beverage.
You munched on your bottom lip so as to control the beaming grin that wanted to escape, and your eyes skimmed over his physique, taking in the beautiful details that seemed to charm you, and, therewith, spark a light of interest in your dreamy mind.
His thin hair was dyed grey, as if sampled, with an eye-dropper, straight from the stormy clouds that would take over the sky on a rainy day. His bangs were already too long for him to blink comfortably, so he would sweep them away every two seconds – though you weren't exactly sure if it was the length of his hair or the obvious nervousness that made him thread his fingers through his lead-like locks so god damn often. In any way, you were in no place to complain – this simple action of his made him look a thousand times hotter.
Moving down towards his eyes, you couldn't refrain yourself from simply admiring their beautiful shape and size – they were so big and, although almond-shaped, they would cut at the end in a winged line, offering him the flair of a tiny, adorable kitten. However, the eyeshadow that casted over his lids was in pure contradiction with your previous observation. It made him look more mature, and, oddly, even more masculine than he already was. Somehow, you felt your heart twitch at the thought, but you pushed it away as your gaze progressed downwards, past his amazingly-constructed pyramidal nose, and down to his plump, rose-tinted lips. What drove you crazy about him wasn't the luscious quality of his lips, nor the light-headening thought of how insanely soft they'd feel around yours. Instead, you found yourself dazed by the tiny mole that danced atop his mouth, a detail so cute, but oh-so-intoxicating, inducing, in your head, certain imagines that your brain should not produce about a mere client. Lastly, your eyes shifted towards his slender neck, and you gulped at how proeminent his Adam's apple was.
You didn't want to admit it, but you wouldn't mind wrapping your hand around his neck, thumb padding at the tiny bump that protruded from his seemingly soft skin and moved along every time he spoke, and you also wouldn't mind having your lips melt against his in heated kisses that seemed nothing but prohibited in the current circumstances.
You shook your head to wake yourself up from this exaggerated fantasy, cursing your own mind, in the process, for producing such sinful scenarios that had no place in a coffee shop, and definitely not during work hours.
You cleared your throat. “So, uhm, what should it be?,” you asked innocently, trying to maintain your pristine posture. “The usual?”
He managed a nod of the head, a molecular grin tugging at his lips. His hand dug into the pocket of his checkered, beige coat, grasping around for the leather wallet he had received just today. His birthday.
As you were preparing his drink, you saw him pull out his new acquisition, and your brow arched in interest. “That must be new, right?,” you curiously questioned. “Your old one was made of some other kind of material. And it was brown, just like firewood,” you chuckled.
He responded with a similar giggle, nodding and shaking his wallet as if to emphasise its uniqueness. “Yup, got rid of the old one,” he stated matter-of-factly. “This one's a gift.”
You were already topping his drink with whipping cream when he said that. “Oh?”, you feigned wonder. “For what kind of occasion?”
You could already guess the answer, but it was funnier to hear it from him, especially since you've already noticed a flush of pink creeping up on his cheeks. How adorable, he was getting shy all over again~
“Uh...,” he was definitely becoming more flustered by the second, tugging at the collar of his blouse. “You know...”
Your hand grasped the bottle of caramel topping, and you added a few, careful swirls on top of the whipped cream, popping on the lid once you were done.
Seeing this, he was already counting the money in his wallet to extract the exact sum required for his prefered beverage. You shook your head, picking up a black, permanent marker that laid atop the counter. “Nu-uh,”, your pursed your lips, scribbling on the surface of the cup.
He furrowed his brows, transfixed by your statement. “What do you–”
“This one's on me”, you smiled playfully, handing him the cup. “Happy birthday, Jun~”
Before he even had the chance to protest, his eyes fixed themselves on the cursive writing on the cup. Not only was his name written there, just like the usual, but a newfound information lay black against the plastic. A phone number.
Jun's head shot up in your direction, eyes enlarged with miraculous bewilderment, as his whole body froze in a moment of pure epiphany. His – now dry – lips parted themselves as if dying to voice out his absolute marvel, but no sound managed to slide across his vocal chords in coherent formulations.
None were needed though, as you simply shrugged, hand shifting into the shape of a universal “call me” gesture, leaving Jun frigid in his enthused state, suggested, especially, by the burning crimson that coloured his cheeks in the most delicate, yet alluring way.
