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Dimitri thinks that Dedue has a caffeine addiction, which might be true. What Dimitri doesn’t know is that the reason his friend’s pulse races and his hands sweat when he orders his coffee isn’t because of painful withdrawal, but because he’s in denial about being head-over-heels for the barista.
Currently Dedue sits alone behind a near-empty coffee cup with his gaze permanently fixated on his lap. The rain patters rhythmically against a window, and soft instrumental hums from the speakers. His fingers drum impishly against the denim of his jeans as he tries to calm the electric current that bubbles underneath his skin; perhaps he should consider switching to decaf. Rather, what he really should do instead is swallow some liquid courage and talk to the man he’s been utterly enamored with for nearly a month. Well, ‘enamored’ was a word that Dedue most certainly refused to use when describing… whatever this attraction was, but it’s one word Annette loved to tease him with when she’d find an empty coffee cup in the trash or the smell of americano on his breath at work.
“Just talk to him!” She’d chide, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “He seems so nice! What’s the worst that could happen?” Dedue never had an answer to this, yet he still feels his tongue go numb with nerves every single time he walks up to the counter. Five times a week Dedue comes into Seiros Café, and five times a week he leaves with mocha on his breath and a horrible ruddiness on his cheeks from failing yet again to strike up a conversation.
You cannot have a crush on someone you hardly know anything about, anyways. He knew his name was Ashe, although he’d hardly call that an impressive feat considering he wore a nametag. He knew… that he hums to himself while sweeping, that he furrows his brow when making change, and his eyes are such a stunning clover that it makes Dedue’s heart hammer if he looks at them for too long. He never knew someone’s eyes could be so green before, nor how awful they clash against the dead, blue slate of his own. Chilled and sullen Dedue’s eyes are compared to the lively shamrock of Ashe’s, it makes him feel inferior.
Perhaps Dedue’s admiration was bordering along infatuation.
But still, he came every morning. And Ashe would smile warm as he walked up to the counter, and Dedue would mumble a hello and order his usual drink, (occasionally fumbling for his wallet) toss his change in the tip jar, and sit in the corner without another word. It was his morning ritual before work, and a very pathetic one at that.
Dedue sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, and he goes to check the time on his phone before a voice rings like a church bell in his ears.
“Um… Dedue, right?”
The bumbling fool of a man in question nearly snaps his neck from looking up so fast, and mentally kicks himself for making Ashe look at him like a deer in headlights. He swallows the painful lump in his throat and nods awkwardly.
“Um, hi. I was… wondering if you wanted this drink! It’s on the house.” Ashe points to a large cup in his hand. “I kind of messed up an order and now we have this sitting around and I figured that you might be running low and I thought—” Ashe stops in his tracks, gasps as if he’s out of breath, and lets out an unsteady laugh. “It’s a vanilla latte.”
“Yes.” Dedue says much too quickly, then immediately adds an ungraceful “I mean—yes, thank you. I’ll drink anything.” Ashe gives his signature warm smile and places the drink in front of him.
“I figured you might be picky, considering you order the same thing every day.”
Dedue tosses his old now-empty coffee in the trashcan next to his seat. “Ah, that is just… force of habit, I guess. But coffee is coffee.” He lies, trying to keep his voice measured. After seeing Annette one time order the tooth-rotting amalgamation that is a frappe, he has firmly decided that just because something has coffee in it, most certainly does not make it coffee. Dedue wrings his hands together underneath the table and stares at the steam billowing out of the coffee cup. What was his problem? He’s been practically begging for an opportunity like this, to be able to talk to Ashe, and he’s completely choked up. The corner of his mouth twitches as he struggles to find something to say, but the brilliant green of Ashe’s eye makes his brain go static. Thankfully, the barista finds some hidden sustenance in Dedue’s (extremely elegant) reply and chuckles.
“I guess I wouldn’t know, I don’t actually like coffee.” Ashe rubs the back of his neck and Dedue quirks a brow.
“A barista who doesn’t like coffee?” He half-jokes, testing the waters. Ashe rests his palms on the vacant chair in front of Dedue and he tries to control the pounding of his damned heart.
“Ironic, right? It’s not the taste that’s the problem, it just makes me, uh, what’s the word…”
“Jittery?” Dedue suggests.
Ashe snaps his fingers and points a finger at him. “Yeah! And then I’ll just fidget all day and hardly be able to focus on anything. I had just, like, a single shot of expresso last week and I was just going on and on and on just talking Caspar’s ear off. Oh! Caspar’s the guy with the blue hair that I sometimes open with, by the way. But yeah, I’ll just talk and talk nonstop and I won’t even realize I’m doing it until Caspar says some—” When the realization hits, Ashe turns a charming shade of pink, and Dedue notices the grip he has on the back of the chair tightens. “King of like what I’m doing right now.” He says with a disingenuous laugh. “Guess coffee isn’t the problem.”
“I don’t mind.” Frankly, Dedue had hardly noticed he was rambling. He’s used to other people doing most of the talking anyways, plus he found himself too distracted by the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles for him to pay much mind.
“Oh.” Is all he replies with, and a brief silence falls between the pair. It is a violently painful silence to Dedue, one that feels like the awkward end to an interaction he’s not ready to let go of. The seconds feel like lifetimes to Dedue as Ashe’s quiet presence makes him grow uncomfortably hot under his collar. When did he become such a nervous person? He doesn’t know where to advert his gaze; eye-contact is just making him sweat, but staring at his shoes could show disinterest and make him walk away! By the time Ashe says something to Dedue again, he can hardly hear it over the sound of his own brain short-circuiting. Dedue blinks up at the barista and offers a ‘hm’.
“Do you mind if I sit down? There’s nothing to do here other than wipe the tables for a fifth time.” His smile is small, but it is quickly replaced by an abashed expression and a noticeable stutter. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude—”
“Please. Sit.” It accidently comes out more like a loud command and Dedue bites the inside of cheek, but his nerves soothe as Ashe plops down in the chair with a soft expression. Dedue doesn’t meet his gaze when he sits, instead choosing to take a heaping mouthful of his free cup of coffee to soothe his nerves. What Dedue has forgotten in this moment is how ridiculously hot coffee can be, as he promptly clasps a hand over his mouth as he sputters the scolding drink. If any one of his friends were to see what a blundering idiot he’s making of himself right now, he’d never hear the end of it. After successfully not spitting the drink all over Ashe, he clears his throat and tries to ignore the numbing burn on the tip of his tongue as he notices Ashe’s eyes wide and cheeks puffed as if he’s trying to not find the whole ordeal amusing.
“You’re allowed to laugh.” He mutters, and Ashe replies by tittering behind a closed fist.
“With as often as you come in here, I’d expect you to know that coffee can get pretty hot.” He half-heartedly chides, before quickly enquiring if he needs a cup of water. Dedue shakes his head and clears his throat.
“It is… odd not seeing this place so busy.” Dedue says, struggling to take initiative. His eyes flicker towards the café’s empty chairs and untouched condiment stand. Ashe hums and follows Dedue’s gaze.
“This usually happens when it rains, no one wants to come in. We’ve tried talking to the owner about getting a drive-thru, but then there’s dealing with cost and construction and that’s just—” Ashe sighs and shakes his head, presumably stopping himself from going on another tangent. Dedue admires the way his silver hair tassels against his head; it looks unbelievably soft. “It’d just be a mess that no one wants to deal with.” Dedue nods and takes another sip of his coffee—much slower this time. The drink is incredibly sweeter than what he usually prefers and he’ll probably end up tossing it after he leaves, but he fakes contentment in front of the handsome barista as sugary syrup and whipped cream assault his tongue, the bitter bite of expresso far off.
“Oh my God, I never introduced myself!” Ashe suddenly proclaims, astonished. He extends his hand towards Dedue and the other man sees the tip of his fingers twitch. “I’m Ashe.”
He doesn’t know how to ask Ashe if he’s completely forgotten he’s been wearing a nametag this entire time, so instead Dedue goes along with it and takes the other man’s hand into his own and gives it a loose shake. He’d rather not embarrass Ashe. (even though the roseing of his freckled cheeks is incredibly adorable) He notices how much smaller Ashe’s hand is compared to his own, and how surprisingly rough and callus they are, which Dedue finds weird comfort in.
“It is nice to formally meet you, Ashe.” He admires how pleasant his name feels in his mouth.
“Likewise. It was about time I talked to you.” He says, before adding in a single breath: “I mean—I just like to get acquainted with all my regular customers, you know?” He quickly slides his hand out of Dedue’s, and it disappears under the table, and Dedue feels his stomach churn. Ah, customer.
He hides his grimace and gives a curt nod. “That’s good, when you’re personable with customers, it makes them feel more inclined to come back. I do the same thing.” More like, Annette does the same thing, but it works, nonetheless.
“What do you do?” Ashe chirps.
“I’m a florist, I own a shop two streets over.”
“Oh, Molinaro’s Flowers, right?”
Dedue tries his best to not look at Ashe absolutely staggered. “You’ve been to my shop?” He asks, confused. Surely Annette would have mentioned him stopping by. (and most definitely tease and tease) To his pseudo-relief, Ashe shakes his head.
“Oh, no. It’s just on my bike route when I come in to work.” He says. “I love flowers though; I’d have a whole garden if I wasn’t stuck in a tiny apartment.” Ashe tucks a bang behind his ear and sighs. Oh no, he likes flowers, too?
“There’s plenty of flowers you can grow indoors though, like… begonias.” Dedue comments. “Or if you want more variety, you can do what I did and buy some window boxes, I have violets growing in mine and they’re doing pretty—”
“I love violets.” Ashe interrupts, mouth agape and eyes shining. “Do you have any pictures of them?” His giddy expression makes heat prick at Dedue’s cheeks, and after gawking for a second he mutters a reply and pulls out his phone. (Is his entire gallery really just pictures of his plants? Maybe Dimitri was right about him not going out enough.) He slides the phone over to Ashe and Dedue prays that he’s the only one that can hear how loud his heart is beating as he watches the other’s face light up.
In the few moments that Ashe spends distracted by the picture, Dedue quickly admires the chaotic gathering of freckles on his nose, the fullness of his bottom lip, and the alabaster of his skin before shamefully darting his eyes down towards his lap. He shouldn’t stare.
“It’s such a vibrant purple.” Ashe breathes, the corners of his lips curled. “My favorites are prairie violets, especially when they’re just barely purple they look almost white. They’re breathtaking.” Dedue feels like he has tunnel vision and it is most definitely not from the coffee.
“We have some at the shop.” He blurts. He doesn’t even know if that’s true or not. “I could cut you a deal if you ever happen to stop by. Can give you a free window box, too. Okay, now that is definitely a promise he doesn’t know if he can keep. The shop hasn’t been the most… lucrative as of late, and offering discounted flowers to a man (that he most definitely does not have a crush on) does not sound like the smartest idea.
But he doesn’t think about that, instead Dedue relishes in the cute ‘o’ shape of Ashe’s mouth and his nervous fidget. “You really don’t have to do that.” He states, and Dedue waves his comment away.
“Don’t worry about it. Come by anytime, and if I’m not there, just tell Annette that I sent you.” And hopefully she won’t say anything to humiliate me, he keeps to himself. “It’s not everyday I meet someone that gets as excited over flowers as I do.” This turns Ashe completely scarlet, to his surprise, and Dedue hides a timorous smile behind a mouthful of coffee.
“W-well…” Ashe’s voice falters and he pauses briefly to control himself. “I’ll be sure to bring you a drink when I stop by.” Dedue bobs his head in response, he hadn’t realized he’s been holding his breath. He parts his mouth to speak, but it’s in tandem with the chime of the front door and the wet squeak of boots making their way to the front counter. Ashe immediately snaps into attention and tosses his voice over his shoulder.
“Hello! I’ll be with you in just a moment!” He calls, then proceeds to practically leap out of the chair and smooth his apron. He looks at Dedue with the drooping face of someone who’d rather do anything but talk to customers right now, and it makes Dedue crack a rare smile in pity.
“It was really nice talking to you.” He says, and before Dedue can say likewise Ashe pivots on his heels and briskly makes his way behind the counter. The table is now empty, and Dedue feels a weight like stone press down on him.
He has a crush on him, and Dedue has no idea what do to.
Romance and feelings of the sort were sort of foreign to Dedue, (which, according to Annette, was: “No offense, but a little tiny eency weecy bit weird for someone in their mid-twenties.”) so he was clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation. Dedue sighs into another sip of coffee. The rain has stopped, and he figures he might as well start heading back to work before it decides to pour again. Ashe is too preoccupied with orders to notice his wave goodbye.
Dedue walks with shoulders slouched and steps heavy as they patter against the wet asphalt of the sidewalk. The occasional whir of a car past him or the chatter of a passerby are the only things that cut through the thoughts that clogs his ears and keeps his head buzzing, sickly sweet thoughts of green eyes, prairie violets, and nervous laughter. And that’s how it’s going to be for the rest of the day. Sighing, Dedue walks with a quicker pace down the street as a few stray raindrops pluck the top of his head. Luckily he makes it to his store just before the torrential downpour comes back to life, being greeted with familiar smell of dirt and flowers that peel the edge right off him. He passes a trashcan on his way to the storage and pauses, eyeing the half-full drink still in his hand.
He decides he’s grown to like the taste of vanilla latte’s and keeps walking.