Work Text:
Your life is routine.
Every day, you wake up, go to work, go to class, study, and sleep. And then you repeat. You see the same people daily; the regulars at the little coffee shop you work at, your classmates and professors. They’re all part of the routine you dutily follow, day in and day out.
It’s not really fun —despite what everyone says about college being the “best years of your life”—but, hey, you pay the bills, pass your classes.
Your head lifts at the sound of the doorbell, and you abandon your attempt to clean a spill from earlier, wiping your hands on your apron as you make your way to the register. It’s just you this morning; your usual coworker had called in sick, and their replacement wouldn’t arrive for another hour. Your manager had stayed just long enough to get you through the morning rush, then promptly slipped out, leaving you to handle things on your own.
It’s not a big deal, you tell yourself. You’ve worked plenty of shifts alone.
“Good morning~,” you practically sing, putting on your most convincing smile—as if you’re not already exhausted. “What can I get for you?”
You’ve never seen this customer before. He looks to be about your age, piercing amber eyes peeking out behind his dark teal bangs as he reads the menu above your head. He’s dressed in all black, save for a few accents of green or teal, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. You figure it’s his first time here, watching his neutral expression morph into a deep scowl as he examines the menu. There’s a flicker of something—relief, maybe—in his gaze as he meets your eyes.
“One small vanilla almond latte,” he pauses as you punch the order into the register, reaching with your other hand to grab the right size cup, “with two extra shots of espresso.” He’s blunt with it, falling silent again as you nod and scribble the drink’s abbreviation on his cup.
“And can I get a name for the order?” you ask, eyes darting to him again. He stares back, unblinking.
“Xiao.”
You smile, writing that too, before ringing him up. Immediately after paying, Xiao shoves his hands back into his pockets, stepping back as you turn to make the drink.
It’s easy enough, something you’ve done dozens of times, and it’s not long before you have his order done. You don’t even get a chance to call his name; he’s waiting at the pickup area for you. He doesn’t say anything as he takes the drink from you, his fingers brushing against yours. Xiao only offers you a curt nod, his gaze averted.
The bell jingles as he leaves.
⭒
Xiao becomes part of your routine, stopping in every morning to order the same thing: a small vanilla almond latte with two extra shots of espresso. You don’t even need to ask anymore, really. He always takes it to go, darting out of the coffee shop just as quickly as he appears. His visits are short and to the point; he orders, he pays, he leaves. Not the most exciting customer, but he tips well—only after you’ve turned your back.
Though he’s blunt, he’s never mean. You think he’s just shy, if the way he ducks his head and avoids eye contact whenever you have to interact is an indication of anything.
But as the days turn to weeks, you manage to rope him into some small talk here and there. He shows up just after the morning rush, when a much-appreciated hush falls over the shop. It gives you a chance to chat—or try to—while you make his order. His willingness to converse wanes and waxes, but you’ve learned a little about him through your bouts of chattiness.
He goes to the same university as you, actually, which had shocked you. Your face must’ve shown so, because Xiao explained he tends to keep to himself, sitting at the back of lecture halls and only speaking when necessary. A soft blush had risen to his cheeks when you said you’d make sure to say “hi” if you saw him from now on.
You were also surprised to find out he has quite the sweet tooth, something the young man had reluctantly admitted while refusing to meet your gaze. It’s endearing, honestly, his shyness. You would even dare to call it cute, though you’d never say so to his face.
“You know, you should try one of our almond pastries sometime,” you call over your shoulder. “I think you’d like them.”
He’s silent for a moment, and although your back is turned, you can picture how his scowl lessens only slightly as he ponders the idea.
“Ok.” You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. He certainly has days where he’d rather be left alone, but Xiao’s been going along with your whims more often lately, willingly engaging in conversation, and seeming interested in what you have to say.
Placing a lid on his drink, you make your way to where he’s waiting.
“Have a nice day, Xiao.” He takes the drink from you, mouth drawing back in what you think is supposed to be a quick smile—though it looks more like a grimace.
He mutters a small “thank you” before he leaves, a gentle warmth blossoming in your chest as you watch him go.
⭒
You’re not friends, and certainly nothing more.
But you’ve been finding it harder to ignore the pure, unadulterated joy that surges through you each morning when Xiao walks through the door. It’s hard to ignore the way your heart pounds when his fingers brush against yours when handing him his change or a drink, or when he actually meets your eyes and you can see his gaze soften. Or when you see him in passing while walking across campus and he sheepishly waves back at you, a blush dusting his cheeks.
Your short chats aren’t satisfying enough anymore; there’s this feeling you can’t shake, a craving for more of his time. But how could you possibly ask? It took weeks to get him to look you in the eyes while talking. You don’t want to be pushy.
You don’t want to scare him away.
Not that you have time to think about that right now, anyway. The fast-approaching end of the semester has you scrambling, torn between work and studying for finals. If you thought you were low on free time before… well.
The coffee shop’s been busier lately, too, with students looking for a quiet place to study. And what better way to wind down than with your favorite coffee or tea?
Yet, despite the sudden influx of customers, Xiao’s been abnormally absent. You know he’s alive, at least—he had told you he was just busy with the semester’s end, just as you are, the last time he’d been by—but you can’t help worrying. Worse yet, you can’t help feeling lonely.
You feel lonely without him.
You could chalk it up to your routine being thrown off, but you doubt that’s the problem. For months, Xiao would stop by at the same time every morning. He would order the same thing every morning.
You would get to see him every morning.
Scowling, you return to scrubbing the counters, wishing you could wipe your thoughts away like the unwanted mess they are.
Another day passes without him.
⭒
Weeks. It’s been weeks since you’ve seen Xiao.
Your new routine—with the semester over, you’d gotten a new work schedule—has you coming into work later. Later than when Xiao usually stops by. You haven’t bothered asking your coworkers about him, too afraid of the answer they may give you.
So you fall back into a dull routine. You see the same people each day.
But none of them are Xiao.
You’re not sure why your heart aches as it does. You weren’t even friends… right? And yet, the thought of never seeing him again fills you with an indescribable dread.
You sigh as you finish restocking the cups by the register. You scold yourself in your head, brows furrowing; there is a time and a place for being sad, you think, and this is certainly not it. Though, it’s hard when the ideas of Xiao and work have become so terribly intertwined.
Ah. You’re doing it again. You shake your head to clear your thoughts.
It’s as you’re at the sink, washing dishes from earlier in the day, that you see a familiar flash of teal out of the corner of your eye. You drop the dish into the sink, your head whipping toward the front of the store, eyes widening.
There , through the front windows, is Xiao.
Maybe it’s luck that makes him stop, that makes him look up and into the shop and at you .
It feels like time freezes when your gazes meet, feels like hours before Xiao moves, bursting through the door, sending the bell into a fit. You can’t shake the water off your hands fast enough as you meet him at the counter, still shocked that he’s here , in front of you.
“Xiao,” you breathe. Your hand lifts, hovers over the register. “The usual?”
He shakes his head, clears his throat. “No, not today. I just—” He’s flushed, averting his eyes as he rocks back on his heels. “I just wanted to see you,” he mumbles, tucking his chin into his shoulder in an attempt to hide just how badly he’s blushing.
“Oh.” You lower your hand back to your side. “I’m glad you’re alright.” You flash him a smile, your own cheeks warming.
Xiao nods, and you both fall silent—you’re grateful it’s a slow hour. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but the words never come. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, wringing his hands in front of him.
“Actually—” He clears his throat again. “There is something I’d like.” Gods, he looks terrified, his entire body rigid. You say nothing, waiting for him to speak again. You flinch when Xiao groans, bringing his hands up to cover his face.
“... Can I get your number?”
Suddenly, you’re quite certain someone has taken a match and set the building on fire.
“ Yes ,” you blurt, despite the fact that you feel like you’re burning . “Yes, please. Here.” You scramble for a moment before getting ahold of a pen and a napkin, scrawling your phone number before handing it over to Xiao.
The corners of his mouth twitch upward as he pockets the napkin. “Thank you, I—” He glances over his shoulder, toward the door. “I have to go, sorry. I—I’ll text you, yeah?” You nod—maybe a little more enthusiastically than necessary—as he backs toward the door.
“I’ll see you around, Xiao,” you say, waving as he fumbles with the door. He shoots you another awkward smile and a tiny wave as he slips out, and you can’t help but laugh.
Later, on your way out the same door, your phone buzzes.
Movie tomorrow night?
It’s not hard to guess who it is. You type your response.
I’d like that.