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The overpriced coffee comes from somewhere out in the boonies, apparently. You're reading the sign as you wait in the queue, trying not to make eye contact with the hot barista taking orders.
This place was right in the center of the Sector, and you're surprised you didn't stumble across it sooner. Some 120-gil coffee would surely set you straight, even if it threw a wrench into your budget. But ah, hell, whatever! You just need a pick-me-up! A nice coffee and maybe a cookie would be the perfect thing to wrap up your walk before you go back to the deadened monotony of life… or something. The jazzy background music is austere enough for it to be nothing more than idle background noise.
The barista, though — woof!
He's all muscle. Distantly, you think of the stuff you've overheard about those pick-me men nowadays, where they look like they're stupid but they spend their time at coffee shops like fucking philosophers or something. You're currently philosophizing on how they can let him wear his hair down. It goes past the counter and you can see the side of his ass. Not enough of his ass and his hair to make a judgment, though… alas!
But maybe you can ask him when it's your turn. The person in front of you starts to order, and she's got a baby in her arms who has been pretty quiet all things considered. She's buying a medium coffee and a hot caramel frappe, whatever that is.
The man stares at her. Good god, that gaze is enough to set something on fire! You're glad he's not into arson and instead he's at work. Or maybe that's his hobby with dealing with bad customers. Maybe he'll find a picture of you and put it on a dartboard and set the whole thing on fire, or something. Is he going to think about you after he takes your order? Maybe!
"Frappuccinos can't be hot," the man replies, and even over the humdrum of the jazzy elevator music you can hear how his pitch just has a bit of grit to it, how even the house aflame would cower under his tone.
"I can go to Midgar Coffee across the plate and get a hot frappe ALL the time," the lady snaps.
The man just keeps staring. Her words aren't working, and you rock on your heels as you idle and watch them tiff.
She's rebounding. "Plus, I-I know the owner! Shouldn't you know how to make exactly what I want?"
When he shifts his muscles stretch in alllll the right places. Is he shredded under that shirt, too? And it must get hot standing around slaving over hot coffee… and you're pretty sure his sweat might taste nice too, all over that hot, hard muscle and that pretty face with that sharp jawline and killer eyes…
"No," says the man, "because I'm not a mind-reader."
Good god, but if he was a mind-reader you'd be busted! If anyone notices your blushing, they probably wouldn't be able to figure out if it's your thoughts or the guy himself. Or maybe it's just the stuffy weather.
Then he looks over to you with that same accusatory stare. The world stops.
He's looking at you. He's looking right at you with his sexy eyes and his sexy sneer and his sexy sexy everything. Is he going to kill you, too? All you can do is stand and stare back, letting your heart explode. Only metaphorically, though. You have a feeling a latte with a shot of viscera in it wouldn't be good. But the way he's looking at you… maybe it WOULD be worth a taste—
"There are customers behind you," he says, and those beautiful bright eyes slink back towards the woman in front of you. "Either order something I can make or leave."
"Wh… what's your name?" the woman asks, hoisting her babe up on her hip. The baby looks just as miserable as you and the barista.
The barista stares at her for a moment longer. "Sephiroth, though my boss isn't in. You'll have to wait for him to return if you'd like to issue a complaint."
If the woman was a young petulant child she might have stomped her foot, but instead she says some crap about how she'll be back and NEVER buy anything again. Then she leaves, leaving you to move up in line and face the pinnacle of hottie-hot-hotness just a foot away.
"Good riddance," you say, smiling. It's just small-talk.
Sephiroth stares at you. He hasn't said anything yet. Your feet are sort of melting into the ground just from the heat of his gaze.
"Um. Well." You suddenly forget nearly every word in every language you could know. He's just intense, and he's going to have to be the one to mop up the goop you're melting into.
"What can I get for you," says Sephiroth, deadpan. Even when he's pissed off he's gorgeous. His RBF is something to behold, he's got such a sexy smoulder—
"What do you recommend?" you ask, forcing your face to work into a smile. "I've never been here."
Sephiroth turns briefly. You're not sure what he's looking at, but you follow his gaze. His coworkers are working on drinks just as they have been throughout this whole ordeal. Then he turns back to you, leaning over the counter.
Is he going to kiss you? You're so, so close to his face! He smells like coffee… which makes sense. But it's GOOD coffee!
"The specials are right here," he tells you. With a tap of a very-neat nail, he points to the cardstock with the specials on them.
"Oh. Um." You don't want to say either of the names. APPLE-ADAMANTITE SMOOTHIE doesn't sound very good, and the word materia is spelled wrong in GODDESS MATEERA LATTE. The specials also don't say what's in them. "I'll just have an iced coffee, please?"
There's that stare again. You nearly stumble even though your legs are locked. Sephiroth blinks, replies slowly: "we don't serve iced coffee."
"Oh…" You look at the menu. "Then I'll just have an iced vanilla latte?"
"We're out of espresso."
What? How can a coffee shop be out of espresso? You look at the workers all dressed like fuckin' SOLDIERS. And then you realize this is some sort of fucking SOLDIER LARP cafe, because why else would they all look so ridiculous.
"Ha. Um. Then what do you have?"
"I could get you a coffee," he answers.
"Um, sure." There's customers behind you.
"Do you want room for cream?"
"Yes please." Better to just answer so you can get out of here faster.
Sephiroth taps on the little register tablet in front of him. "155."
155 gil? What the hell. A drink from the airport vending machines would cost less than that! But you're already in line so you resign to take out your wallet and pay. Sephiroth takes the card you extend to him and swipes it.
Once he slides back the card, he swivels the tablet around, staring at you. There's the screen for a tip, and he's still staring at you. Where a more modest barista might gawk and go "oh, no pressure, the next screens are optional!" that doesn't matter much, does it, because if you don't tap 20% there's a very real possibility he might murder and maim you. Though, to be fair, you'd probably like it. His hands are so nice to look at, so you're sure he has a killer grip and he could choke you out—
You tap the most expensive tip option and press NO RECEIPT.
"Thank you," you choke out.
Sephiroth takes the ticket the machine prints out and turns to go hook it up. You go to wander by the delivery station, watching the beefy guys making coffees and talking to each other. The jazzy music is starting to get on your nerves because you wish you could hear them. They all look hot, so you're sure they'd be so kind too. Maybe kinder than Sephiroth if he's the mean one out of them. You don't know, but you're content to watch them all, idling there and watching.
…his hair does go past his very-nice-ass. Sephiroth turns to go ask one of his coworkers something. They both glance towards your direction. Are they talking about you? Your heart does leaps and bounds - metaphorically - because him and the black-haired one MIGHT be talking about you!! It's such a good day to be in the vicinity of such walls of muscle.
Then the black-haired one comes up and makes eye contact with you. "Coffee?"
"Yes, thank you." It's even perfectly warmed when you take it from his hands!
He doesn't tell you to have a nice day, but Sephiroth gazes at you for a nanosecond longer as he goes back to the register. When you amble on over to the cream and sugar there's one thimble of half-and-half left and… and that's it. But you pour it in, using the coffee stirrer to fix up your coffee. No sugar, but it'll be fine.
It's only when you leave the store do you taste it: it's the nastiest thing you've had in a long while. Fuck, over 180 gil for this shit? But then you decide that if you just pretend to like it, Sephiroth might hold you in what little good graces he has. Might as well suck it up… even if you can't stomach it for long and dump the drink in the first trash can you see. You'll just have to be back… and maybe, just maybe you'll be able to get Sephiroth to like your small-talking!