Chapter Text
Satoru's day seriously could not get any worse.
First, he slept through his alarm and had to sprint to work, only to barge into an important meeting and earn a withering glare from Nanami. What was his problem, anyway? Satoru was a delight to be around. It wasn't his fault his alarm occasionally failed him—or that he tended to leave all his work until the last minute. Nanami was just bitter that Satoru still outranked him despite all that.
Then, he realized he’d left his wallet at home, which meant no lunch. That led to him pestering Nanami for a bite of his sandwich, only for Nanami to flee to the top floor like Satoru was some kind of rabid animal. Rude.
And now, standing in Café Charmante, Satoru checked his watch and sighed. His date was nowhere to be found. Granted, he was half an hour late, but in his defense, he’d gone home to retrieve his wallet so he could pay like the gentleman he was. If he’d gotten distracted by the mess in his apartment and spent twenty minutes tidying up, well—that was just an unavoidable hazard. Besides, could anyone blame him for not being thrilled about yet another “nice girl” his father had set him up with? No, no they could not.
Slumping into a corner seat, he propped his cheek against his palm and idly stirred his iced white mocha. At least, when all else failed, coffee never let him down. Until he took a sip and—
Satoru recoiled. No. Not this too.
How could they mess up his order? He’d come here every single day, ordering the exact same thing: iced white mocha with oat milk, blonde espresso instead of regular, vanilla bean powder, and caramel drizzle on top of extra whipped cream. But today—of all days—the vanilla bean powder was missing.
Unacceptable.
Determined, he marched up to the counter and set his cup down with emphasis. The barista, his back turned, continued meticulously tidying the station, utterly unbothered. Was he being ignored? Satoru cleared his throat, loud and pointed.
The barista finally set his rag down and turned, completely unfazed by the disgruntled customer before him. But Satoru—
Satoru nearly forgot how to breathe.
The guy was gorgeous. Sharp cheekbones, perfectly shaped brows, dark eyes flecked with hints of violet. His sleek hair was pulled into a bun, save for one loose strand that framed his face just right. Satoru’s gaze flickered down to his nametag. Suguru.
Had he never seen him before? Was he new? Satoru would definitely remember someone this ethereal.
"Can I help you?" Suguru asked, stepping forward, forearms flexing as he rested his hands on the counter. His sleeves were rolled up, and—wow.
Satoru yanked his gaze away. Focus.
"Uh," he said intelligently.
Suguru raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Heat crept up Satoru’s ears. Nice. Real smooth.
"Um," he tried again, voice faltering. "I think my drink was made wrong, but—uh—it’s okay. I mean, it's not a big deal or anything, just—" He trailed off, words dissolving into nothing.
Well. This was going great.
"Your drink was made wrong?" Suguru repeated, tilting his head. "Ah, I'm so sorry about that. I can remake it for you if you'd like."
Before Satoru could react, Suguru had already reached for his cup, scanning the order printed on the side. As his eyes trailed over the details, his lips twitched, as if suppressing a laugh. He cleared his throat.
"So that would be... an iced white mocha with oat milk, blonde espresso instead of regular, vanilla bean powder, and caramel drizzle on top of extra whipped cream?" Suguru recited, his voice laced with amusement.
Satoru narrowed his eyes. "Yes. Is there a problem...?"
Suguru raised his hands in surrender, eyes twinkling with barely contained mirth. "No, no, of course not. I'll get right to it..." He glanced at the name scribbled on the cup. "...Satoru."
That smile—soft yet teasing—made something in Satoru’s chest tighten, like stepping into a patch of warm sunlight on a chilly day.
"Wait, er..." Satoru hesitated. Suguru paused, turning back to him expectantly. "You don't... you don’t have to remake it. It’s fine. Really."
Suguru frowned slightly. "Are you sure? At least let me give you a discount or a coupon for next time—"
Satoru shook his head. "No, I insist."
Something shifted in Suguru’s expression, the sharp amusement softening into something gentler. "Well... is there anything else I can get you, then?"
The obvious answer was your number, but Satoru had enough self-control to keep that to himself. Instead, he smiled, tilting his head just slightly. "No, thank you. Just—try not to mess up my order next time..." He made a show of glancing at Suguru’s nametag, even though the name was already burned into his memory. "...Suguru."
Suguru’s lips curved into a slow smirk, and oh, Satoru definitely liked that look. "Duly noted. Have a great rest of your day, then, Satoru."
Satoru raised his drink in a mock toast as he headed for the door, the bell jingling softly as he pushed it open. "You too! See you around."
As Satoru walked back to his apartment, he sipped his coffee, its lack of vanilla bean powder forgotten, as he smiled to himself. Maybe today wasn't so bad after all.