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Bettel should not be surprised that this date is a flop.
There’s a lot of reasons why it could have turned out this way, but he chooses to focus on the one that hurts the least.
In hindsight, he’s just too well-dressed for it.
He must look like an idiot, dolled up for coffee — of all things! Coffee! Why did he even bother? — and if his prospective date hadn’t run at the sight of him, maybe they had looked him up on the internet and realized that he also has a public reputation for being unlucky.
He’s been in minor news articles, here and there.
Something about fire, something about accidentally being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It’s not enough that he’s famous for it or anything, but just enough that it’s obvious he brings trouble with him wherever he goes.
It’s just enough for minor tabloids to start reporting on him as the unlucky jester.
Not that he’s a jester in this day and age! No such thing!
He’s just a theatre performer. An actor. But he’s exceedingly and notably unlucky.
And god knows nobody wants to date someone who carries misfortune around like a bad omen.
It’s taken a lot of convincing, but Bettel knows he’s not a bad person for having bad things just happen to him.
Some people are simply born unlucky. Extremely unlucky. The tides of his luck have always been out of his control.
It just sucks that he has to deal with this.
He had been tentative about dating already, and hopped onto dating apps because it was supposed to be easier than falling face first for anyone that is remotely nice to him, but it’s the first date and he’s already being stood up, so there goes his faith in that idea.
He’d text his prospective date but his number is blocked. He’d even give them the benefit of the doubt and call it an issue with the network if he didn’t try messaging through the app itself — finding out there that he’s also been blocked.
No explanation. No excuse, or even an attempt to tell him why.
Like that wasn’t enough salt on the wound, some teenagers who think they’re being so witty are now caging him in and asking him why he’s been sitting here by himself for three hours doing absolutely nothing.
He hates that they’ve noticed.
He hates that everyone has probably noticed, what with the odd glances he keeps getting. His anxiety gets the better of him sometimes, but he knows he’s not mishearing people talking about him in the quiet hush of the café.
And now this.
He just wants to get out of here but he’s being cornered. He shifts backwards, phone clutched awkwardly to his chest. He should never have come. As if anyone would actually want to go out with him.
“Babe! Forgive me, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, my shift ran late!” The cute barista is untying his apron as he jogs over. Bettel’s head snaps up to stare at him with wide eyes. It takes a moment for him to realize that he’s being spoken to. “Are these guys bothering you?”
Bettel’s mouth drops open and he glances at the teens. They look equally stunned to have been interrupted.
He looks back at the barista, and he can’t for the life of him remember his name, but he knows immediately what he’s trying to do and takes the heroic hand he’s being offered.
If there’s anything Bettel’s good at, it’s acting a part.
“It’s fine, baby,” he mutters, pretending he doesn't care as much as he does. “They were just… asking questions. No harm done.”
“Were they?” The barista’s gaze sharpens as he rounds on the teenagers, and they lean into each other, suddenly looking very sheepish. “Can you leave my boyfriend alone, please?” His tone changes into something beautiful and kind. “I know he’s gorgeous, but you shouldn’t bother people when they’re just minding their own business.”
“But we weren’t really bothering him—”
“Don't try to get out of this. It’s super uncool and you were clearly making him uncomfy,” the barista scolds them, shaking his head. His dark purple ponytail flicks from side to side at the movement. “Have some manners, will you? Manners maketh man.”
“Sorry,” the other kid nods frantically, grabbing their friend and tugging them towards the door. “We’ll just, um, go. We’ll just go. Sorry!” They nod at Bettel as well. “Sorry, dude!”
He doesn’t respond because he doesn't know what to say, but one glance around and he can see that people are looking at them and he feels ten times more awkward. The barista has his hands on his hips, watching the teenagers on their way out the door, and huffs.
“You’d think people would know to leave strangers alone,” he says. “Especially kids. Ganging up on someone is so rude.” His eyes fall on Bettel again, boasting a cool striking blue. “You okay there?”
Bettel avoids the gaze immediately. He's so cute and now Bettel has to deal with the fact that he's been watching, too? That he knows Bettel has just been sitting here, and not only that, but he was being bullied by a bunch of teenagers?
“Yeah. Um. Thanks.” He mumbles. He tries to at least appear confident as he waves his hand dismissively. “I’m usually better at dealing with things like that.”
“It’s not a problem,” the barista smiles softly. His voice dips down into a whisper. “Sorry you got stood up, by the way. I felt like I shouldn’t say anything, but whoever it was? They’re an asshole. You should dump them.”
“Oh. It’s fine.” Bettel bows his head, embarrassment only getting worse. So it really was that obvious. “It’s not like it’s the first time something like this has happened to me. And this is just the first date, anyway.”
“Really? That sucks.” He effortlessly slides into the chair opposite him. “Bailing on the first date is even worse. They didn’t even give you a chance.”
“I know, right?” Bettel wants to be indignant, but the part of him that’s still absorbing the rejection is faltering. “Maybe something held them up. They could still be on their way. There’s still a chance.”
“Did they say anything?”
“Well,” He picks up his phone to check, as if expecting there to be a text that he knows isn’t there. “No…”
“Dude, if they’ve been on their way for three hours and haven’t even sent you a message, the date is off. Talk about a bad first impression.” The barista waves his own hand in the air. Bettel tries not to notice how pretty his nails are, crackled in purple and black. “Don’t wait for someone that doesn’t respect your time. You deserve better than that.”
“I’d hope so.”
“I know so! Come on. Let me make this worth your while at least.” He replies, eyes bright and concerned. “Ask for anything on the menu and I’ll make it for you. Free of charge. Since you're having such a bad day.”
“You don’t have to do that. You already made me all of these.” Bettel gestures to the cups on his table, feeling strangely guilty. He doesn’t mention that half of them were panic orders because he didn’t know how long he was allowed to sit here after finishing one cup. He never read a coffee shop manual. He doesn’t know how these things work.
“For a paying customer, yes.” The barista smiles and it's so very open and genuine. “Now I just want to do something for you as a friend.”
“We’re friends now?”
“Sure, why not?” He grins, then he leans in again to whisper. “Technically, everyone around us right now thinks we’re boyfriends.”
He can’t help but blush at the words. The notion itself could set him on fire, but the way this man talks to him is going to make him weak in the knees. It’s not fair to have a lovely voice like that, and a cute personality, too.
“That’s true. But I don’t even know your name.”
“Oh!” He offers his hand, grin not leaving his face. “It’s Banzoin Hakka, but you can just call me beautiful.” He ends his sentence with a wink.
Bettel laughs, shaking his head in disbelief but he can’t deny he’s a little bit won over by it. Okay, Banzoin Hakka. He thinks. You got me.
“I’m not calling you that. My name’s Bettel. Gavis Bettel.”
“Well, Gavis Bettel,” Hakka gestures to the menu with delighted little claps. “Tell me your wish, and as your pretend boyfriend of about five minutes, I’ll swear to make it come true.”
“I really don’t mean to keep you.” Bettel tells him when Hakka sets down the slice of cake on the table. “Your shift is over, right? You can, y’know, go home. No need to stick around for someone like me.”
“I’m not busy,” Hakka shrugs, once again taking the seat across from him. “Do you really want me to get up and leave you here by yourself again? You’ve already been sitting alone for a while.”
“I just don’t want to take up too much of your time.” He admits, fork stabbing into his cake.
“What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I left you after a fifteen minute date?” Hakka chortles. He drapes his arm casually over the back of his chair, waving at a pair of customers that seem to know who he is. Judging by his friendliness, Bettel wouldn't be surprised if he knew some café-goers by name. “Really, Bettel. At least keep up with the narrative here. People are watching.”
“Maybe I’ll just have the saddest love life in the history of mankind.” He takes a bite of his treat. It's pillowy soft and sugary and a cure for all ailments. The power of cheesecake cannot be matched. “Thanks for this, by the way. It’s really nice of you.”
“Like I said, it’s no problem.” Hakka replies sunnily, perking up. “If it can cheer you up even for a little bit, I’ll be happy.”
That’s too sweet for Bettel to know what to do with, so he just says, “Shut up.”
To his credit, Hakka simply laughs again, completely unfazed by his attitude. It’s so warm that Bettel can’t look at him so he just stares aggressively at his cake instead.
“Don’t glare at it like that.” Hakka says, thankfully deciding not to shut up. He reads the air well, or maybe he’s just good enough at reading people to tell that Bettel didn’t actually want him to stay quiet. “What did that little cake ever do to you?”
“Not let me pay for it.”
“Why are you complaining? I gave you free cake!”
“Look, it’s nothing personal. I just happen to enter establishments expecting to pay for my goods and services.”
“You’ve never been given a gift before?”
“Usually, going to a café does not end with me getting a gift, no.”
“Well, lucky you,” Hakka says, tugging something out from within his sleeve. “I have one more thing for you.”
“Oh god no.”
“So ungrateful!” He snickers. Something about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners has Bettel wishing he knew every possible thing to say to keep that expression on his face. “Here you go.”
Hakka presses a folded napkin into his hands.
“Read this when you get home.”
Bettel tries to unfold it anyway. “What is this?”
“Not now!” Hakka exclaims, cheeks flushing slightly as he slams the napkin closed again. “At least — if you have to look, do it when I’m not here.”
“Okay, fine,” he laughs, pocketing it. “But you better not just be throwing garbage at me.”
“How dare you imply I would do that,” Hakka protests with a pout. “Unlike you, I am a gentleman.”
“What do you mean unlike me?!”
When his cake is finished and he realizes he's spent another hour or so just chatting with Hakka, Bettel runs the day's events in his head once more.
What he concludes is that he does not ever want to go back to that coffee shop again to relive what just happened, because quite honestly the mortification would be too much.
There’s a chance that any one of the other customers had been regulars, and he doesn’t think he could stand being recognized.
Even without knowing he had been stood up, the fact that he had gotten special treatment from the café’s cutest barista is already enough to make him hot around the ears.
He’d lament the loss of Hakka’s company if he was sure he might never see him again, but he doesn’t think that’ll be an issue.
When he gets home, he pulls out the little napkin Hakka had handed him, reading the note over. He had read it the moment he had left the café, and a couple of times on the train back as well.
Every time he reads it, it’s like the first time again, the giddiness setting off his heartbeat in a playful little staccato.
Call me or text me if you need a fake boyfriend (or a real one just saying) anytime! (･//ω//･)
— Banzoin Hakka ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
There’s a phone number scribbled beneath it. The numbers are messy and slanted, as if it had been done in a rush, but thankfully still legible enough to make out.
Bettel can’t help but smile like an idiot, tapping the number into his phone.
bettel >> Hey Hakka, it’s Bettel. We met today?
The reply is practically instant.
Bettel almost jumps when his phone vibrates, and he’s left feeling swept off balance by the slew of sudden messages, and charmed by the thought of Hakka scrambling to type back as fast as he can.
hakka >> OFJGDJSKSHSAHSJG
hakka >> BETTEL
hakka >> HI
hakka >> points at you
hakka >> points at you
hakka >> points at you
He emits a startled chuckle at the repeated sentence as it pops onto his screen, one after the other. What's with this guy? Why is he so cute?
bettel >> Stop pointing at me. What do you want?
hakka >> hi you’re cool and I like you. goodnight and have a nice rest! you deserve it!
hakka >> (･ω･)ノ♪
Lying back against his couch, he does everything in his power not to get bowled over by a string of letters on a screen, but he's feeling like he might be failing that. He reaches out to grab one of the couch pillows and tucks it under his chin, hugging it.
bettel >> points at you
hakka >> do not point at me.
bettel >> You like me.
hakka >> and?
hakka >> what are u gonna do about it
bettel >> You should ask me out and see.
hakka >> ok go out with me I’m the best boyfriend ever
bettel >> No. :)
hakka >> WHAT
hakka >> YOU
hakka >> BASTARD
hakka >> WHY DID YOU SAY THAT THEN
hakka >> what do I have to do to win ur heart
He grins. He knows exactly what card to play.
bettel >> Wait for me three hours in a coffee shop, then let me come rescue you.
bettel >> You won’t do it.
hakka >> BET.
hakka >> when and where
hakka >> I’ll be there
hakka >> 3 hours is nothing if it’s for you
bettel >> HAKKA I’M JOKING
bettel >> DON’T ACTUALLY DO THAT
hakka >> I’M DOING IT. WHICH COFFEE SHOP AND WHEN.
bettel >> oh my god I’m not that much of an asshole
bettel >> how about you just take me to dinner
bettel >> we could see a movie?
hakka >> yes yes yes yes
hakka >> when and where? ♡
As he’s typing out his answer, he realizes that he hasn’t stopped smiling since they started texting, and that sets off a warm, giddy feeling in his chest. He squeezes the pillow tighter.
Maybe getting stood up was worth it after all.