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Given the cold and dreary weather outside, Melchior doesn’t find it surprising that the coffee shop is packed – the end of the line is nearly out the door, and every seat inside seems to be taken. He takes off his gloves, careful to keep the bracelets on his wrist in place as he removes his woolen gloves.
“Jesus, it’s cold outside,” Mortiz says as he takes off his hat and glances around the establishment. “Too bad this place is so crowded – guess we can’t study here after all.”
Shuffling forwards, Melchior shrugs. “It’s fine. We’ll just order and head back to my place. I think I left my psych book there anyways.”
Moritz taps the toe of his boot nervously on the floor and groans. “I can’t believe our first final is tomorrow,” he says as they slowly move closer towards the cashier. “I mean it literally feels like we just finished midterms.”
“The suffering never ends in school, my friend,” Melchior says as the pair in front of them finish paying for their drinks and Moritz steps up to the counter.
As Mortiz makes his order, Melchior can’t help but notice the barista behind the cash register – a boy about their age. His thick hair is pushed back, with a few strands falling over his inquisitive dark eyes that light up as he says something that Melchior can’t hear but makes Moritz laugh. The barista’s lips curve into a smug yet genuinely amused looking smile and Melchior suddenly feels not at all cold and a little shy too. God damn you’re weak, Melchior thinks to himself as he watches the boy extend his toned arm to take Moritz’s money. Losing it over a guy you just saw? This might be a new low for you, Melchi, get it toget-
“Hello, how are you doing today?” the barista asks as Melchior stumbles towards the counter. Shit.
“I’m great, thanks. How about you?” Melchior manages to respond without stammering.
The boy behind the counter relaxes his shoulders. “It’s been a pretty busy day, especially since it’s so cold outside. But I mean,” he says as his mouth curls back into that smirking smile, “I always love meeting new customers and talking to them. Especially the cute ones…like you.”
“What?” Melchior blurts out without thinking. He stares directly at the boy’s twinkling eyes and can’t decide if this dude is actually flirting with him or just fucking around with him. Maybe the guy noticed him staring at his arms earlier. Shit.
The barista laughs. “You’re probably the cutest guy that’s walked in here all day. But anyways, what can I get for you today?”
Melchior is still flustered. “Uh, can I get a large caramel macchiato? With-“
“With whipped cream?” The boy asks at the same time Melchior requests, and they both laugh. “Excellent,” he says as he scrawls the order onto the cup. “And can I get your name…for the order?”
“Melchior. I know it’s kinda a weird name, M-E-L-“
“C…H…I…O…R…?” the boy finishes for him. His smirk slowly falls off his face and he’s staring straight at Melchior, one dark eyebrow arched in an expression of disbelief and almost…anger? His face is hard to read, but nothing like the lively, flirty expression he had earlier.
This quick trip for coffee is suddenly taking a very weird turn. “Yeah, how did you know…” Melchior asks.
The pen and the cup clatter against the countertop. “I cannot fucking believe-“ The barista mumbles as he starts fiddling with the ribbons wrapped around his wrists and Melchior still has no idea what is happening until the boy lifts up his arms.
In his squiggly scrawl of a handwriting, is Melchior’s name, on both of the boy’s wrists.
On the eve of Melchior’s thirteenth birthday Moritz had stayed the night and they had sat in Melchior’s bed, waiting together eagerly for the names to appear on his wrists. They sat with old yearbooks at hand in case one of the names was a childhood friend, like Moritz’s had been, flipping through them and reminiscing on the past while waiting for the names that would define Melchior’s future.
Midnight came and the names appeared. Well, “name” would be more accurate, since apparently his soulmate and his mortal, absolute enemy were the same person.
“Maybe they just happen to have the same name,” Moritz had suggested in an attempt to calm Melchior down. “They could be different people.”
“How common of a name is ‘Hanschen’, Mo?? And besides, the handwriting on each wrist was identical – neat and small, slanting slightly towards the left. The eight letters in that crisp handwriting was embedded in Melchior’s mind and he’d always kept an eye out for it, a sign of his enemy-lover to be.
“When I find him, I’m going to punch him in the face.”
“Wha- Why the heck would you do that, Melchi?”
“Cause he’s my mortal enemy, Mo. We’re supposed to fight. Might as well be straightforward about it.”
“He’s also your soulmate. You’re supposed to be together forever.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic. I get to fight with this guy for the rest of my life.”
Melchior has imagined this moment, meeting his soulmate-slash-enemy, too many times to count – tried to figure out what he would say or do. But all he can think of right now is what he told Moritz, that first night “Hanschen” appeared on his wrists.
“I’m going to punch you in the face.”
Hanschen’s eyes narrow. “Why the fuck would you – What’s the point of – Ok. Fine. Fucking deck me.”
This wasn’t quite the response Melchior was expecting. To be honest, he didn’t know what he was expecting. “Right here?” He nervously rubs the bracelets around his wrist that hide Hanschen’s name.
The smaller boy glares at Melchior from behind the counter, rubbing the names inked on his wrists. “It would probably piss off my manager if we started throwing punches in here.”
“…Ok.”
“Ok.”
Melchior spins around on his feet and pushes the couple in line behind him out of the way as he heads towards the door. He can hear the slam of the counter top and a couple concerned gasps behind him, then footsteps.
“Melchior, where the hell are you going?” Moritz yells as he watches the two boys run out of the shop.
Flinging the door open, Melchior turns around to see Hanschen right behind him. So close behind him that Hanschen’s fists are inches away from his face, the distance rapidly shortening-
WHAM.
“FUCK,” Melchior screams, holding his cheekbone.
“You ASKED FOR THIS,” Hanschen yells as he takes another swing at Melchior.
Moritz, having finally pushed his way past the crowd inside the store, stumbles out onto the sidewalk. “What the fuck is this. What the fuck is happening,” he pants, his breath visible in the cold air as he watches his best friend swing, and miss, at the barista who took his order not minutes ago. And then suddenly it hits him.
“Oh God. This is him,” Moritz whispers to himself. He stares, bewildered, as he watches Melchior get tackled by the stranger boy. Instinctively, he steps towards Melchi to pull him off the ground but a new thought hits him. Mortiz steps back and pulls his phone out his pocket, opening the camera app.
Wendla wipes a tear from her eye. “I cannot believe this video has three-hundred and seventy-two views already.” Laughing some more, she dabs at her eyes.
“To be fair, probably half of those views were from me,” Moritz says as he flops down on the sofa and throws an arm around Wendla’s shoulder. He snickers as he presses the screen again. “Melchi, I counted, and out of the twenty three swings you take, you only hit Hanschen twice. You have a less than 10% hit rate,” Moritz snickers.
“Shut it,” Melchior says as he walks out of his room, tie hanging around his neck. “And I still haven’t forgiven you for posting that video on Youtube. Some girl in my english class laughed when she saw me walk into lecture the other day.”
There’s a sharp knock on the door. “HE’S HERE!” Wendla yells and jumps up from the sofa to get the door.
“Mo, how do I look??” Melchior asks as he finishes tightening the knot on his tie.
“The color of that tie really matches the bruise I gave you,” calls a voice from the door. Hanschen leans against the doorway, a sly smirk on his face. Before Melchior can think of an equally snarky response, Hanschen opens his mouth again. “I have something else to give you,” he says as he reveals a bouquet of roses from behind his back.
Melchior can't help but smile. "You're so fucking cheesy."
"Shut the fuck up and let's go on this stupid date already."