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Sundays were slow. So slow I almost always had the chance to brew myself a cup of - strictly - black coffee, mindlessly organise different cups on the counter by a million different systems and stare over the counter at my customers. Not that I'd be really interested in them specifically - one one ever really was -, they just meant countless prompts for a bored mind like mine was.
I had just finished my cup and was about to prepare another one - don't blame me, just barista things - when someone crashed in through the door. He shaked his head and snowflakes went flying all over the place - yeah, let me get this right for you. It was December, maybe just the third, fourth, and I thought about how there are gonna be Christmas lights when I come back home. My mom loved winter - but anyways.
This boy, maybe a little older than me, gave me a warm smile and I would've fell in love if he didn't order two cups at once. Stupid pretty guys with their stupid girlfriends and stupid coffee dates, I assumed.
Routine. Clean the portafilter, measure the coffee, get the cups, movements I knew by heart. I dropped our last bit of lavender syrup into one of the lattes - who even orders a lavender drink in december? - and got back to my customer. Soft lofi music changed to an indie melody and I saw him lighty nodding to the rhythm of those tunes. He shot a shy smile towards me and added it was his favourite artist. Cute- I mean, here are the two coffees you ordered, now get out. I waited for him to count the coins and turned to another customer in the meantime.
"A lavender latte, please" ordered this other boy. "Alice," he added politely once he deciphered my nametag.
I sighed. "I'm really sorry- we just ran out," I apologized and actually felt really bad. A disappointed look flushed through his face and I tried to apologise again-
"I'm sorry-"
"George," cut me off the brown-haired guy and offered me his hand in a greeting gesture. "Just sold the last bits to this gentleman," I finished my sentence after and pointed out to the blond guy. George shrugged. "Who orders a lavender drink in December anyways?" he asked and I couldn't help but laugh and look at my first customer, who was already smiling.
"I just did, hello," waved the blond guy and laughed. "And I have just a slight feeling you did as well, or am I wrong?" he said, a slight tease hidden in the undertone. "I go by Dream, by the way," he kept smiling and shook hands with George.
"Well I get it always," complained the brown-haired one now, but didn't seem to be so devastated about it anymore.
"Oh, really?" asked Dream and raised his eyebrows at me as if I had any idea what to answer or to do. Should I be running to the nearest grocery shop by now? Do they even sell it in december? Am I supposed to know this kind of stuff?
"I don't know either of you," I tried to laugh it off, because, well, I truly didn't. They could be the princes of Zimbabwe or Canada and I wouldn't have a clue.
"See, George?" Dream laughed and seemed to enjoy this situation. (I just thought he was the only one.) "Well don't believe me then," George countered and turned to me to ask what other flavors we had on the menu.
"Have mine," said Dream out of nowhere (and didn't even let me get to the fun flavours like chocolatte chip cookie or cherry dream). He picked up the bigger cup with his lavender latte and offered it to George. "It's still warm and very much untouched," he assured him and I was there left to just watch, smile and nod (once again.). Our coffee cups were truly stupidly magical and kept the drinks warm for what I sweared were hours.
George raised his eyebrows as he thought about the offer, vividly confused. I was too.
"You just bought it yourself," he argued weakly and Dream rolled his eyes. "Obviously, smartass," he answered what didn't need to be answered.
"Here, just take it," he insisted and pretty much forced George to grab the cup. "Well, thanks, Dream," George smiled back to him and for a moment I felt invisible to them.
"I'll at least pay for it-" continued George - after smiling for a bit longer than what was needed -, but the blond guy only waved his hand as if it was the lamest thing anyone has ever suggested.
"It has already been paid for. You're forever in my debt now," he laughed.
"I'm so scared, oh no, Dream, that sounded so ominous," sighed George, vaguely pretending to be scared of the possible consequences and we all laughed.
~~~
It was the same indie artist on the radio when Dream entered through the door once again. Surprisingly - or not at all - it was Sunday, just a week after the lavender incident. George entered right behind him and his cheeks turned pink when Dream helped him take his winter jacket off.
"No lavender today," assured me Dream with a smile right when they came up to the counter. "Thanks, guys," I smiled back and wondered if they met up by a coincidence or if they decided to meet up.
Almost as if he heard my thoughts - please no -, George explained that they ended up spending the last sunday afternoon together. "He already made me listen to the whole Cavetown discography, " he whispered loudly as if Dream wasn't standing literally a few inches next to him.
"If I fail maths this year, it's his fault. I wanted to study for once," George pretended to complain, but they both just seemed to be in a very happy mood. Two golden retrievers who just discovered swimming in mud, I had to laugh (I'm so funny.).
We chatted for a bit, it turned out that my (stupid) assumption about stupid girlfriends was completely wrong and the irresistible thought that I'm watching the start fo something great was just taking up more and more space in my heart. I'm a side character in their coffee shop story and I'm so here for it, I thought and turned to the coffeemaker when I felt too close to interrupting something so fragile.
Butterfly touches.
I brewed these cups with all the love my hands were capable of - and believe me, for an overworked student barista, that is a lot more than it sounds like. Cavetown's - as Dream taught both me and George - music was dancing in the air and once again I saw snowflakes falling behind the window. The guys sat across the room on a small couch, stayed there until the sky got grey outside and left just when I got up to start tidying up the place for the night.
I turned the lights off with a few clicks, the rhythmic melody of my second home falling asleep. I almost felt bad turning off the radio and I definitely thought about how new and immaculate the silver-white snow was.
So sparkly and soft, promising a fresh start.