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It’s not that you’re looking for love, but you’re not NOT looking for love. That’s why when you see him you can’t seem to look away. He sticks out like a sore thumb - clad in a colorful windbreaker and clashing shorts. A red propeller hat sits backwards on his skull and covering his sockets are a pair of dark glasses with neon yellow and cyan lettering on them that seem to be flashing different words as he stands at the pickup counter arguing with the barista (right now they say ‘WU-T?’).
You’re not sure what compels you to approach him, but before you can stop yourself you’re standing beside him as he leans forward on the laminate countertop, rocking on the heels of his high top sneakers. You listen in as he tries to explain himself to the bewildered teenager in front of him.
“Listen, home skillet. Ya need to take a chill pill and hear what I’m tellin’ ya,” the skeleton says. From up close you can tell that he towers over you (and the trembling teen, who stands just out of his reach with his lip visibly quivering).
“I’m sorry, s-sir,” the kid starts. “But I can’t give you a refund if you already drank it.”
“Are you buggin’? I said I don’t want a refund!”
“Then what do you want? I can hardly understand a thing you’re saying!”
“Is everything okay?” You interject, unsure where this surge of courage is coming from.
“No! This hater isn’t listening when I tell him my coffee was cold. I ain’t about that iced coffee life,” the skeleton tells you.
“If it was cold then you shouldn’t have drank it!” The barista argues. “Any sane person would have brought it right back up and had me fix it instead of coming up here and ranting like a lunatic with an empty cup!”
“Quit icin’ my grill in front of the pretty lady-brah,” the skeleton says, a hint of blush on his cheekbones.
Pretty?
“What does that even mean?” The teen asks. You can’t help but laugh.
“It means you’re being wack! I drank it cuz I needed my caffeine fix bad, ya hear?” The skeleton continues.
“Why don’t you let me buy you a new one?” you offer.
“Can’t let ya do that,” he replies.
“Please, I insist. What did he order?” You ask the barista. The teen recites the skeleton’s order - a hazelnut cappuccino - and you nod and ask him to make another. The skeleton stands back with his hands in his windbreaker pockets, cheekbones flushed and glasses flashing with ‘SHA-ME’ as you take out your wallet and pay.
“I really don’t mind,” you tell him, trying to dispel some of his evident worry. “I hate it when someone gets my order wrong.”
You both stand silently at the counter until the barista comes back with the skeleton’s order, where he dramatically takes the cup out of the teen’s hand and turns his back to him and mutters a sarcastic “thanks dawg.”
The skeleton follows you to the table you had been sitting at, and pulls up a chair with its back to the table which he straddles backwards to face you. For a moment he studies you, looking like he wants to say something, opening his mouth a few times but no words come out. Finally he takes the first sip of his cappuccino and his face instantly lights up, his glasses flashing with the word ‘WO-W!’
“Is it good?” You ask him.
“It’s the bomb!” He grins. After a few more sips of it he puts the paper cup down on the table and sighs, suddenly looking glum. “My bad, lady-brah. It was un-rad of me to let you pay,” he laments.
“It’s really not a big deal,” you assure him with a smile. “I’m just glad you got the right coffee this time.”
“The name’s Fresh, b-t-dubs,” he says, knocking back the rest of his cappuccino in a single go then slamming the cup down on the table with a grin. “Let’s bounce,” he suggests.
“Uh,” you say, confused. “And go where?”
“Don’t know,” he admits, his glasses flashing to ‘YO-LO’. “Life’s better when you don’t got an agenda, ya hear?”
“Yeah,” you find yourself agreeing. “Alright, let’s go.”
He takes your empty cup out of your hand and tosses it in the trash with his, then leads you to the door which he holds open with a smile that you can only describe as charming. You walk for a while, neither saying a word, before he stops and turns to you.
“So what’s the dillio?” Fresh asks you. “You always buyin’ coffees for rad brahs like myself?”
“Oh, uh. No,” You admit. “You just seemed cool so I thought I’d help you out.”
“That’s pretty fly,” he says. “I appreciate the generosity.”
“Don’t mention it,” you reply. You walk a little more in silence, you internally berating yourself for not being able to carry on a conversation with this attractive monster who is actually giving you the time of day. “Sorry for being so quiet,” you say eventually. “I’m kind of shy.”
“No duh,” he laughs. “But you should chill out. I can tell you’re pretty rad,” he tells you, adding “and very fine” as his glasses flash to ‘CU-TE’.
“Um, thanks,” you say, your cheeks hot and flushed pink.
“So, uh, wanna go back to my crib and chill?” He asks, holding out his hand. You stare at it nervously for a moment before you feel another surge of courage and grab onto it, which makes a wide smile spread across his face.
“Sure,” you say, trying to hide the shake in your voice.
It’s a short walk to where he lives, which you find out upon entering is decorated in a fashion similar to his attire (which to someone else may seem gaudy but you just see it as endearing). He leads you to a floral couch that seems to clash with everything else in the room and sits you down, but himself remains standing.
“I’m down to watch a movie if you are,” Fresh says.
“Okay,” you agree, then watch as he goes to a bookshelf full of VHS tapes.
“You like chick-flicks?” He asks. You don’t really, but you nod anyway and he’s quick to turn his back to you, scanning the shelves before plucking something out and walking it over to the VHS player and pushing it in. “Want some grindage?” It takes you a minute to process what he’s asking, before you realize he’s trying to feed you.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” you try to tell him, but he shakes his head.
“You chillax. I’ll be back with popcorn.”
Fresh disappears for a few minutes then comes back with a big plastic bowl in hand. The air smells of butter with a hint of burnt corn no doubt from the kernels that had been microwaved too long. He comes and sits next to you and you can’t help but notice how close he is. You barely have to reach out to get to the popcorn, which is balanced precariously on his femur.
“Dig in!” he tells you as the movie starts playing.
It’s your typical 90’s rom-com with a ridiculous plot and cringey dialogue, but you’re hardly watching it anyway. You’re too busy paying attention to the way his leg keeps rubbing up against yours, and how he yawns and stretches an arm out around you during a heated kiss on screen. From the moment you saw Fresh you were so drawn to him but never thought you’d so much as talk to him, and yet here you are sitting on a couch beside him with his arm around your shoulders watching a heavy makeout session on the TV kind of wishing he would kiss you like that.
(This is definitely not how you thought your day was going to go when you decided to stop for coffee this morning.)
His arm is still around you when the movie ends, when he turns to you and says “Rom-coms are wack, yo” and you can’t help but laugh in agreement. “But it gave me a rad idea.”
His glasses flash to ‘KI-SS?’ and before you know what’s happening his teeth are on your lips. Shocked as you are, you don’t try to pull away, even as several wet appendages (you’re not sure if they’re tongues or tentacles but if you’re being honest you don’t really care) snake their way into your mouth. Your tongue is no match for them and is quickly overpowered as they lap against it.
He pulls you into his lap and continues his attack on your mouth while his skeletal hands roam your body. You wrap your arms around his neck and lean into him as he pulls you in closer.
It feels like he kisses you for hours, but when he finally pulls away he’s looking at you with a satisfied smirk and his glasses read ‘MI-NE’.