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Coffee’s never really been Flora’s area of specialty—the caffeine in it was never enough to satiate Flora’s nerves, so she sticks to tea instead. And yet, the coffee shop tucked between the conglomerate stores in Magix City paints a consistent scene every weekend; the head of a brunette hunched over the coffee machine counter, hands flying over the array of buttons and mechanics and an Alfea student hoping for magic’s sake that she wasn’t going to get another customer telling her to lay off on the caffeine level.
People come and go (at least that’s what she hopes), and Flora just hopes the customers she might have irritated were wise enough to go to another coffee shop instead of coming back again and again just to receive another miserable excuse of a cappuccino. Not that anyone ever exactly said it to her face—Aisha had the pleasure of receiving the complaints first hand, reminding Flora constantly of the fact that of any part-time jobs she should have taken, it should not have been a barista.
“It’s not you,” Aisha had said one day as she put away the mops. It was the end of the first week of their part-time job at the coffee shop, and the two let out a loud laugh that they had restrained ever since they caught sight of Riven and Musa having a screaming match outside of the coffee shop. That conversation had somehow ended up being about Flora’s difficulty with making an average coffee. She glanced back and winced, and Flora instinctively fiddled with a strand of her hair—she knew that look on Aisha when she’s trying to figure out the next best thing to say to sugarcoat the truth. “I mean it partially is, but let’s face it. Not everyone's made for the fast life.”
Flora dropped her hand and pushed herself off the counter. A half-hearted grin formed on her face. “Or… you could just say that I should just quit and do something else.”
Aisha snickered. “I could… but it’s really up to you. If anything, I could ask the manager if we can switch our shifts. You can try being the cashier for a change and see how mad people can actually get when you mess up their order.”
Snorting at the way Aisha wiggled her brows, Flora shook her head—but she did think that would be the better alternative. In a twisted way, Flora did get to be a cashier. Except it was because Aisha fell sick and took leave, which meant Flora had to handle being both the cashier and the barista while the manager found another temporary employee.
As exhausting it was on paper, it wasn’t actually that bad. But she’s only saying that because she gets a great view of a certain someone sitting beside the window at the back of the coffee shop.
She doesn’t exactly know when she found a fascination with grayish blue eyes, or realized she had a thing for long black hair, but maybe that was because those things weren’t important. Maybe it was just the way there was a quiet charm to the guy who had his eyes glued to his books while the whole room glanced at him in awestruck. Flora doesn’t miss the way some girls pass by him intentionally, flouncing their skirts or laughing at a volume that was more than the standard for a crowded coffee shop. She doesn’t miss the way some others sit at another corner of the shop and just stare at him in silent admiration, as if he was a bird that would fly away at the rustle of a noise. She doesn’t miss anything because she’s doing it too.
Flora regrets not choosing to be a cashier sooner, but it was better late than ever. She’s never seen the guy before, not around the streets, not when the Specialists were visiting, so she presumes he’s new around town. He was like a breath of fresh air—while everyone was at the pace of the city’s advancements, he seemed like the type of guy to take his time to appreciate the slice of life moments that filled in the spaces of time. She finds herself pondering what goes through that head of his whilst he hovers over his books, but then catches herself staring a bit too long and pulls herself together. Her cheeks go beet red in the aftermath—what was she doing, staring at a customer like that? Perhaps it was that quiet hope that one day she’d look at him long enough for him to glance up from his table and meet her gaze.
This is ridiculous, I don’t even know his name!
But she looks at other fairies her age, fairies who had attention grabbing beauty that made heads spin dizzily. And then she looks at herself in the mirror. Sure, she knows she’s pretty. But she wasn’t that type of pretty—not the type of pretty to make men fall on their knees and serenade her with love songs. Not the type of pretty that most guys would like, and therefore not the type of pretty the guy would notice.
But he doesn’t even look at any of those gorgeous girls when they’re right in front of his face either.
It’s the first time that she understands what it feels like to be melting when her gaze flickers from the register to a face that looked like it was a gift from the angels. Her voice gets caught in her throat and her fingers tremble a bit as she shoves the remaining cash into the drawer. “Can I help you?” It comes out as an awkward whisper. Her insides are all in a mess, and she foolishly wishes she could put a pause on this almost perfect moment to tidy herself up in the toilet.
He arches an inquisitive brow at the odd phrasing of her question, which triggers a sudden urge in her to use her powers to tangle herself in thorns to save herself from this embarrassment. “Yeah, can I get a decaf latte medium-sized.” It sounds less like a request and more like a statement when he says it in that monotone tone of his. This wasn’t exactly how she had previously pictured their first encounter to go. Flora doesn’t know if she should have expected his flat tone based on his aloof aura or if she had secretly hoped that he’d sound sweeter. But the husky edge of his voice inevitably erupts butterflies in her stomach, and she’s disappointed in herself for being this easy.
“Sure.” Flora reflects his cool manner as best as she could without looking like she was trying so hard, because if he could see the way she’s gripping her apron below the counter or how beads of perspiration were forming on her neck- she was a wreck. She tries to avert his piercing gaze, but she knows he probably has better things to look at, like the coffee machine that she’s glued her eyes onto.
Please just go already.
She decides to take a sneak peek around to see if he’s still in her vicinity, but almost jumps out of her skin when she sees him casually leaning across the counter, his right elbow easily resting on the surface while his body is slightly bent down but at a position where he could easily leave. He wordlessly nods to the money he left on the table, then looks up again to meet her eyes before walking off. Flora feels all the blood rushing to her cheeks, she might as well transform herself into a rose right then and there. This was either the stupidest she’s ever looked, or the cutest any guy has ever interacted with her in that way.
Somehow despite her hands shaking, she shoves the money into the register, crafts the coffee to the best of her limited abilities, and manages to walk over to his seat with the latte placed precariously on the saucer. Again, she reminds herself to not look him in the eye. You can admire him from afar, not this up close. Flora swiftly places it on his table, nods silently and scurries back to her counter. Relief floods her; that was the end of whatever that interaction was. She could feel the air flowing through her lungs once more, but not before the air gets sucked out once more when she hears a muffled cough from behind her.
The dark haired guy approaches her with a slightly scrunched up expression. Flora finds it kind of endearing to see an expression other than the default emotionless look he wears constantly. But dread fills her; she knows why he’s coming back.
“Coffee’s that bad?” she offers before he manages to open his mouth.
Cutely, his lips hang open before he closes them, nodding to confirm. Not a hint of remorse was on his face when he agreed. “Bitter,” he utters.
Flora grimaces. “I’m so sorry. Would you like me to remake it?”
The guy shakes his head. “No. Got water?”
Flora nods, still ashamed at her incompetent skills. But before he walks away, she pipes up, “I can make tea, if you’d like. It’ll definitely be better than the coffee.”
At that, his hardened eyes softens at her, and Flora has to look at the side of his head to avoid turning into a blubbering mess. She thinks he might be wary, cautious of her proficiency at making anything at this point. “It’s the season special,” she lies.
In the end he lets out a grunt of approval at the back of his throat and reaches for his wallet. Flora’s hand comes up to stop him. “You’ve already paid for… that.” Her lips thin as both of their gazes automatically travel to the pitiful caffeine liquid that was barely drunk. “My treat. And apology.”
Can he just say something-
“Take your time,” he finally says. The glimmer in his eye, or the slightest of a smirk on his lips makes her hands sweaty, before he adds, “Make it sweet.”
Ten silently frantic minutes pass before she finishes concocting the Linphea herbal tea—thank magic that she had an extra tea bag stuffed in her handbag. Inbetween sparse fractions of time, she lifts her head slightly to catch a glance of the stranger. Not once did he look over to her again—instead he’s writing intently in his notebook. Whatever he’s focused on must be important. Suddenly she feels a pang of guilt when she assumes that her unfortunate excuse of a latte distracted him from his task. The girls are going to have a kick out of this when I get back…
“How is it?” She takes full advantage of his attention on the cup of tea she placed in front of him, her eyes wandering from his casually raked hair that flowed down his back and his defined cheekbones. His delicate fingers wrap around the cup as he inhales the cosy aroma that arose from her conconction. His Adam’s apple rolls in a smooth wave as he tilts his head back. She chews her lips in anticipation, wondering if the next thing she’ll see is a ghost of a smile or a scowl.
Without looking up, he makes an agreeable noise of a grumble. “Not bad.” He sounds amused, almost cocky, which Flora doesn’t know if she should take to offense or not. He turns to look up at her and momentarily she sees him licking his lips in a dragging motion, as if soaking up the taste of the tea. Her lip caught between her teeth drops as she feels it go dry. “What kind of brew is this?”
“It’s something my family made for me back at home before I left for Alfea.” Relieved at his satisfaction, Flora feels the weight on her shoulder roll off. She rummages through her pocket and pulls out the handknit teabag her mother packed for her. “Mostly tea leaves mixed with yerba and crushed honey drops.”
His eyebrows go up, processing the information. “It tastes really good. You should,” he pauses momentarily, eyes darting to the right, “consider adding this to the menu.”
Small talk? Flora had doubted he would be capable of small talk, but found it beguiling that this was his attempt at it. “Maybe. I don’t plan working here for long.”
Something flickers in his face- surprise?- but it quickly goes back to the same solemn expression. “I see. Still.”
A slow smile tugs at her lips. “Still,” she echoes in good humor. This whole thing was awkward, but definitely an improvement from before. She felt herself gaining a bit more of a backbone. “I’m just surprised you didn’t shout at me for the horrible latte.”
“First timer?”
“Not exactly. It’s been two weeks.”
She doesn’t expect a chuckle out of him, nor what he says next. “That’s kind of sad. I’ve been here for two weeks too and I’ve never seen you around here.”
An inkling of annoyance irks her. Flora plasters a blatantly fake smile, not bothering to disguise her mild annoyance. She knows she doesn’t have the right to be mad that the guy she finds attractive didn’t know her existence ever since she showed up—but it’s not like she knew he existed either until she became a cashier. “Funny. I could say the same for you.”
The corner of his eyes crinkle up, unaffected by her snarky comment. “I’m just saying—today was actually my first time trying the coffee here. And look how that ended up”
Scoff. Him being cute aside, Flora reminds herself that he’s just another customer. “I’ll leave you to it,” she gestures to his book. Upon closer inspection, she sees the signature He… Helia? scrawled atop of the page. “Helia,” she drawls, meeting his gaze cheekily.
Whatever newfound confidence she had found immediately dissipates when Helia moves the book away from her sight. Something unreadable crosses his face, but she swears she sees him holding his breath momentarily. Smoothly, he responds, “You?”
She takes a moment to say her own name. “Flora.”
“Flora.” He takes his time to fully enunciate each syllable of her name. She has to keep her limbs upright—goodness knows what will happen if she crumbles on the ground in front of him. Suddenly she wishes she had whatever technology Tecna had up her sleeve to record and savor this moment. “I was just about to leave anyways.”
Oh. Flora wishes her mouth could say anything; can I have your number? Where are you from? Can you stay a little while? Instead, much to her disappointment she hears her own words: “Alright, have a good day.” There was a half-hearted tone to the way she says it, a tone in which she regrets. She compensates with a wide grin, nodding politely. After all they were only strangers.
“See you around.”
“Around?” The unrestrained questioning tone in her voice makes her cringe inward.
He stops himself from breaking into a smile. “You know. Since I hang around here a lot.”
Right. As Helia slings his bag around his shoulder, she hesitates before asking, “And what if I don’t work here anymore?”
His head snaps back to look at her, but his eyes fixates on a corner of her face. It was probably the trick of the light when she thinks his gaze lingers on the corner of her lips, but before she could react his finger comes up to gently point at her cheek. “You’ve got a stain.”
Flora abruptly wipes the spot, mortified internally. How long was that thing there? Did he notice it this whole time and not tell her until the last minute? She coughs in attempt to clear her throat. “Ahem, thank you.”
He gives her a bemused look. “No problem. And we’ll probably still see each other.”
Confusion raises her brow. “How do you know?”
“Alfea,” he simply states, and before she can say anything further. “I’ll remember to look for you.”
Brushing the heat boiling in her stomach away, she gives a weak laugh. “Doubtful. I have a very forgettable face.”
Helia narrows his eyes at her, and for a split second Flora rethinks her words, playing them over and over again in her head to make sure she didn’t accidentally say anything stupid. “You know you’re not,” he finally says quietly, offering her a small smile, and that’s when Flora believes him when he says, “I’d be a fool to forget a girl like you.”