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The clock above the counter ticked softly, its minute hand grazing the edge of nine. Outside the tall, shiny windows of the coffee shop, the traffic noises softened, neon signs flickering to life in the dusk like fireflies.
The last customer left with the jingle of the soft, yellow and used bell over the door to the entrance, and a gust of warm air stirred the scent of spongy vanilla cake and yummy caramel syrup which lingered in the Sweet Dream Café like sugary smoke. The shop’s bright lights dimmed, tinting the walls, with clouds and images of painted coffee beans, a delicious rosy-gold like rosé wine, shining down on the cherrywood tables and tiled floors who looked like checkerboards.
The last customer, a kind looking man, had exited with napkins and a brown, paper bag decorated chibi stickers of each of the main five maids and butlers glued on, filled full sweet treats and a tray of a sugary, mango and coconut mint tea with added creme and milk. Now, only a faint instrumental tune played from one of the wall speakers, something slow yet upbeat—a piano version of a soft melody which drifted like fog through the room.
“Closing time~!” Mizi sing-sang, spinning playfully in her long, black maid dress, long and thick braids following the movement. The swish of the ruffled, laced skirt followed her as she grabbed a few cleaning tools from the back, her glasses slipping just slightly down the soft, strawberry-pink bridge of her nose.
The pink-haired girl danced from one table to the next with wet wipes clutched in her hands and between her fingers, the white bonnet tied securely on her head slightly crooked. Her puffed sleeves rubbed against her shoulders as she moved, while her crisp white apron fluttered Infront of her like a cape, a lazy smile curling her lips.
“That’s the last one,” she called out, beaming, “All clear!” she declared, grinning toward the cash register where a familiar man was counting today’s earnings with a blasé and tired look, like he had seen too much to even care at this point, silver hair slightly drooping unto his forehead like curtains.
“Don’t forget the back door again,” he mumbled, his teal eyes finally ripping their attention off the bills, to the pink-haired maid, “Someone left it unlocked last week, making us all get an earful from Luka. And be careful, you’re going to knock something over and break it like last week. You know how that went.”
Till looked utterly exhausted in all ways possible—his shirt sleeves were rolled up all the way to his elbows, exposing lean and pale forearms dusted with flour and a faint, black grease smudge. His black vest was half-buttoned, and his white gloves were tucked into his back pocket. Gray-ish, teal hair clung slightly to his forehead, sweat sticking to the sharp line of his brow, the few silver piercings on his right ear catching the light every time he turned his head.
“I didn’t knock it over last time,” Mizi chimed back, a pink eyebrow raised before hopping over behind the bar to refill the sugar and salt jar. Her twin braids bounced with the motion, the bright-colored morganite and seafoam strands catching hints of the rosé light as she popped the lids off.
Till, in his turn, raised a light eyebrow and sighed. “You cracked a saucer.”
“Oh hush.” She giggled, waving her hand dismissively at Till, scooping up some sugar before putting it in the jar. “You saw how that weird customer was flirting with Ivan, I had to make a scene somehow .”
Till snorted, half-smiling before shaking his head. “We still work in a maid café, you know. Kind of in the job description to deal with weirdos sometimes.”
Mizi turned dramatically and gave him a mock glare, puffing out her cheeks like a sulky chipmunk. “That’s not an excuse! She was staring at him like she wanted to eat him!”
“Yeah, but she flirted with everyone. That’s not a reason to go full tornado and nearly send a tray hurling at her head.”
At the far corner, near the sink, Ivan—still dressed in his own butler outfit, was delicately drying spoons, strands of jet-black hair pushed back out of his vision. He didn’t look behind him at the duo, but gave a tiny side glance underneath his thick, rectangular glasses. A knowing smirk played on his lips making the crooked, but adorable little snaggletooth in the corner of his mouth press against his lower lip.
“I heard that,”
“I meant for you to,” Mizi huffed back before a small laugh escaped her throat.
Mizi, suddenly jolted remembering something and slipped Infront of the cash register and Till. “ Anyway , remember the movie night? Can we do it at your place again, Till? Yours has a better couch.”
“You mean worse Wi-Fi,” Ivan chimed in, to which the gray-haired man rolled his eyes, looking up to meet Mizi’s bright, yellow eyes.
“But better snacks,” The pink-haired maid bubbled, “He raids the kitchen after every shift. I caught him sneaking an entire strawberry parfait into his jacket pocket last week.”
Till froze like a deer in headlights, a thick blush blooming across his cheeks and ravaging up the soft nape of his nape like seafoam splashing over beach stones. His voice dropped into a low grumble as he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
He sighed and planted a hand on his hip, the fabric of his shirt still slightly wrinkled, “Besides… my place reeks like paint thinner right now. One of the shitty pipes in the back room started leaking again.”
“ Ohhhh ... I don’t care.” She teased, leaning over the counter, cradling her chin in her head. “I want to watch that weird movie you kept rambling about—you know, the one with the angry forest god and all the blood and wolves' spirits. That one.”
Near the coffee machine, Hyuna yawned, stretching her arms above her head, her frilly apron untied and barely hanging on for dear life on her hips. “Hey, lovebirds,” she called out lazily, light-blue eyes half lidded, “Either kiss or clean up. I wanna go home before sunrise.”
Mizi let out a strangled squeak, covering her face with both hands, making her glasses slightly askew on her nose once more. “Ehh? Nooonaa !”
Without missing a beat, Till grabbed and threw a towel at Hyuna's head. “Mind your own business.” he hissed, though his ears and cheeks were almost comical with how pink and bright they were, as if he was in some shoujo manga.
The night had fallen completely, a spectacular performance of navy-blue shadows dancing across the apartment walls like circus monkeys. Till’s place was pretty compact and straightforward, if not a little simple if it wasn’t for the many paintings scattered across the walls (which were all done by yours truly)—wooden floors, a low ceiling fan spinning that buzzed with a constant click-click , and long curtains fluttering faintly with the evening breeze; the faint smell of mint-scented fabric softener and leftover syrup clung to the furniture and the people who entered this haven.
Mizi sat cross-legged on the faded brown couch in the middle of the big living room, her frilly and over-dramatic maid dress now replaced with a comfortable, fluffy gray hoodie borrowed (stolen) from Till's closet. Her braids were still slightly intact but starting to fray at the ends, curling into soft, blue-tipped willow wisps. Her round glasses had fogged slightly from the warmth of the popcorn bowl between her legs, and her yellow eyes followed the screen in wonder, a quiet awe she reserved for only a few things she loved—like cute dogs, sweet desserts and drink trays, and apparently, cursed prince riding red elks had been added to the list without realizing.
Till stepped in from the bathroom, having now changed into an old, oversized band-tee with the band’s name HYUKOH splattered across it and black sweatpants. His hair was damp from a quick rinse, falling neatly again on the sides of his head.
“Did you start it without me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Mizi blinked up and looked behind her, almost startled, and grinned sheepishly. “I was just checking if the disc worked.”
He rolled his eyes but came over anyway, plopping down beside her with a soft grunt, their shoulders bumping. “Sure. Bet you’ve been checking it for, like, twenty minutes.”
Mizi huffed, “You took forever,” she said, snatching a piece of popcorn and tossing it at his head, making him chuckle. “The popcorn could’ve exploded into ash waiting for you.”
“Still tastes better than the ones you made last time.”
“Rude,” she muttered, nestling closer into his side like a shy cat.
Half an hour in, Mizi was tucked under his arm, head against his chest, faintly listening to the younger man’s heartbeat as it vibrated through her skull. Till had an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her upper arm absently with his thumb. His teal eyes looked down at her, gray hair creating a curtain over them. He paused as he was almost surprised to see how concentrated she was.
“Are you cold?” he murmured.
Mizi lightly shook her head, cheek pressing against the silver-haired man’s chest. “No.”
Till thought of what to say next, “You hands feel like they're cold.”
The pink-haired girl paused, yellow eyes ripping away from the screen to look at Till with faint uncertainty clouding her pupils. It made him curse himself and all of his family members because oh my god he as so fucking stupid —“Then warm me.”
He paused and blinked before nodding, flush creeping up his cheeks and ears. “Okay.”
Till took one of her soft, slim hands in his, gently rubbing circles into her palm. Mizi’s lips parted slightly but she didn't say anything. The room seemed to hush around them—the distant hum of the fridge, the muffled voices from the TV, the occasional honk from the street outside—all went quiet.
“You’re fidgety,” she mumbled, honey-colored pupils still staring down at where their hands met.
He chuckled, a fond smile appearing on his lips, one of which the girl couldn’t see. “You’re right here. What am I supposed to do?”
She giggled. “Watch the movie? Isn't it your favorite?”
“I would, but you’re literally glowing . I can’t think.”
She laughed, cheeks pink as the cotton candy drink, she once dropped in his lap on accident when she ran too fast to her customer’s table. “Do I make you nervous, Till?”
His teal eyes almost glowed in the faint light of the moon, sighing softly. “You’re underestimating your effect... you destroy me.”
That stopped her in her tracks, making Mizi freeze. Her smile faded into something gentler, eyes searching for his. The room hummed with the soft sound of film dialogue and sharp sound effects, the crinkle of popcorn between them forgotten.
“You’re being really honest tonight,” she chimed.
“I’m always honest,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling extremely embarrassed. “I just suck at saying it.”
She turned to face him fully, tucking her legs under herself, her face more serious now as her light eyebrows frowned. “Say it again, then. That I glow.”
Her hair shimmered pink and blue in the soft light of the screen, cheeks flushed from warmth, glasses slightly askew and slipping off her nose again. She looked like a dream. His dream.
Till chuckled, low and sweet like warm honey splattered in gravel. His hand moved before his brain could process, palm rubbing against the pink-haired girl’s flushed cheek, the soft pads of his fingers brushing just beneath her eye and glasses. “You glow so much it hurts my eyes.”
Mizi paused and smiled, leaning in, and tugged gently on the collar of his hoodie to get his head a little lower. They were close enough that he could feel her breath on his chin. “Then maybe you need to close them for a sec.” she teased, eyes half-lidded.
And as he did, shyly and nervously that is, swallowing spit loudly—his Adam’s apple bobbing—but he obeyed, his eyelashes fluttering. As he closed his teal eyes, she kissed him.
Her lips were warm, tasting faintly of butter and milk tea, her strawberry lipgloss slowly making itself known in Till’s mouth. Her fingers and perfectly manicured nails curled in his hoodie as she leaned deeper to his chest, pushing and squeezing their chests together, as if Mizi was anchoring herself to him.
The gray-haired man hesitated only for a second before kissing her back, slower, to savor the best of it. His soft lips pressed against hers with just enough pressure to make her breath catch and tremble in her throat, his hand falling from her cheek to go behind her head, fingers tangling between her strawberry-pink hair.
Mizi tilted her head, and he matched her rhythm, letting the kiss deepen with a lazy hunger, like a moving sloth. Mizi noted that Till tasted like caramel popcorn and something boyish and earthy, like cedarwood or old woodsmoke. It made her dizzy.
When they finally broke apart, a slight string of shiny saliva parted between their lips, the movie playing in the background having been already long forgotten. Mizi exhaled slowly, golden-honey eyes half-lidded, a soft laugh rising slowly from her throat. Till reaching to cup both of her cheeks, teal eyes, pure like the ocean, washing over her features.
When they finally parted, breathless and blinking, their noses bumped against each other, then their foreheads knocked together gently with a soft bump, just letting each other rest there.
Till smiled crookedly, pink printed on his cheeks like an indelible mark, though close enough that his breath brushed her lips. “Dumb pretty,” he mumbled, barely audible, his mouth moving on its own.
“What?” she asked, her brow arching.
He slightly jolted, realizing what he said, looking away from her eyes. “You’re just…” He swallowed again, eyes flicking up to hers and then back down. “Dumb pretty. Still.” He pouted.
“‘Dumb pretty’?” She repeated, giggling as melodic as a singing bird, and shaking her head. She leaned back just enough to reach into the buttery popcorn bowl and tossed a kernel at his chest. “What kind of backhanded compliment is that ?”
“The kind where I mean it and don’t know how to say it better,” he mumbled awkwardly, catching the kernel before it fell and popping it into his mouth.
Mizi continued giggling at the man for a few seconds more before her laughter softened into a quiet hum, and the air between them shifted. She scooted a little closer once again, her shoulder brushing his as she looked sideways at him.
“I like it when you look at me like that,” she whispered, the words so soft they barely touched the air, a tint of embarrassing pink staining her cheeks.
He didn’t reply right away. Just looked at her the same way he had all night, his green eyes widening before he turned as red as a tomato—looking at her like she was the pure, hot sunlight filtering through old, dusty curtains: warm, accidental and yet, too much to hold.