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The bell above the door chimed, a bright, piercing sound that seemed to shatter Tamaki’s carefully (manually) constructed composure. It wasn't aggressive; it was just a bell. But to Tamaki, it sounded like a starting gun for a race. One that he hadn't trained for before he ran.
He hesitated just inside the threshold of the new cafe that opened in his sector of the city, clutching the strap of his bag so tightly his knuckles turned white. The cafe was busy, a sea of noise, clattering ceramic, and the smell of roasted beans that seemed a little too intense. It smelled like... productivity. It smelled like people who knew what they were doing. Baristas. Regular customers.
Tamaki did not feel like a person who knew what he was doing.
He just wanted his coffee. He wanted the caffeine to settle the jittery feeling in his hands so he could go back to his dorm and work in peace. But the line was long. Four people. That was four too many.
He shuffled forward, keeping his eyes glued to the scuffed floorboards. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t trip. Just order. It’s easy. You’ve done it before.
He rehearsed the line in his head, a mantra against the panic rising in his throat. Iced Americano. No sugar. Iced Americano. No sugar. Iced Americano. No sugar.
He reached the counter.
The person standing there wasn't even mean looking. This person was… bright. Blond hair styled in a messy, perfect aureole, a smile that seemed to illuminate the room despite the cloudy weather outside.
"Hi there! Welcome in!" The barista’s voice was like sunlight breaking through clouds. "What can I get for you today?"
Tamaki’s brain short-circuited. All the words tumbled out of his head, leaving a blank, terrifying static. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Fuck.
The line behind him shifted. Someone sighed. Tamaki felt his face heat up, a wildfire creeping up his neck.
"I… uh…" Tamaki stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
But the barista... the barista didn’t sigh. He didn't look impatient. He leaned in slightly, his expression softening with an understanding that made Tamaki’s chest ache. "Take your time. No rush."
"… A-Americano?" Tamaki managed, his eyes darting to the menu board as if for safety. "I-iced?"
"You got it," the barista said cheerfully, tapping on the screen. "Anything else? Sugar? Cream?"
"No sugar," Tamaki murmured. "Please."
"Coming right up. Name for the cup?"
"...Tamaki."
"Tamaki," the barista repeated, writing it down with a flourish. "I’ll have that right out for you, Tamaki."
Tamaki retreated to the corner, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt foolish. He was an adult. A new adult sure, but still an adult. He should be able to order coffee without wanting to dissolve into the floorboards.
But when the blond barista, Mirio his nametag read, handed him the cup a few minutes later. And he didn't just hand it over. He winked. "Have a great day, okay?"
Tamaki took the cup. He took a sip. It was perfect.
The second time was three days later.
Tamaki stood outside the cafe for ten minutes, psyching himself up. He knew Mirio would be there. He’d checked the schedule posted on the door with a weird sense of obsessive guilt.
He went in. The bell chimed. The anxiety was still there, a heavy stone in his stomach, but it was… lighter. Manageable. Maybe.
He got in line. When he reached the front, Mirio was already smiling.
"Hey! Tamaki, right?" Mirio said, as if Tamaki were a friend he’d been expecting.
Tamaki blinked, surprised he’d been remembered. "Y-yeah."
"Back for the usual?"
"Y-yeah. Please."
"Iced Americano, no sugar," Mirio said, punching it in before Tamaki could even stutter through the order. He looked up, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "You got it."
Tamaki stood by the pickup counter, fidgeting with his sleeve. When Mirio placed the cup down, he lingered for a second.
"It’s pretty quiet over there in the corner," Mirio noted, gesturing vaguely to the back of the shop. "Good spot for hiding out."
Tamaki flinched slightly. Was his anxiety that obvious?
Mirio laughed softly, shaking his head. "I didn't mean it like that! I just mean… sometimes the world gets loud. It’s nice to have a bunker." He slid the cup closer. "Enjoy your bunker, Tamaki."
Tamaki took the cup. For the first time in a long time, the corners of his mouth twitched upward. Right now... he didn't feel so invisible.
The third time, it was raining. A torrential downpour that turned the city into a gray blob.
Tamaki ran into the cafe, wet as well as miserable. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his bag was damp, and he felt like a drowned rat. The line was long-- six people. The noise level was too high. The anxiety hit him right away, tightening his chest like a corset.
Go back. Just go back outside and go home. Home sounds nice. You can’t do this.
He turned to leave, but the door was blocked by people shaking out their umbrellas. He was trapped. His breathing hitched.
"Tamaki!"
The voice cut through the noise. Tamaki looked up. Mirio was leaning over the counter, past the confused customer currently ordering.
"Hey! Tamaki!" Mirio waved him over. "Don't worry about the line, come to the side register!"
Tamaki froze. Everyone was looking. He felt the heat of a dozen gazes.
"C-come on," Mirio urged gently, stepping out from behind the machine to open the little swinging gate for him. "I’ve got your drink started already."
Tamaki walked toward him on shaky legs. He felt small, but Mirio’s presence was like a shield.
"I… I'm sorry…" Tamaki whispered, standing by the register. "I didn't mean to cut…"
"Don't apologize," Mirio said firmly but kindly, handing him a paper towel for his hair, which was flimsy, but the thought was there. "You're soaking wet. You look like you need this coffee more than anyone."
Tamaki dried his face clumsily. "Iced… Americano? No sugar?"
"You know it," Mirio said. He turned to make it, moving with an efficiency that mesmerized Tamaki. He handed it over. Double cupped, so Tamaki’s cold hands wouldn't freeze.
"On the house today," Mirio whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "For surviving the rain."
"I… I can pay…" Tamaki scrambled for his wallet.
Mirio reached out and gently pushed his wallet hand down. "Next time. Just get dry, okay?"
Tamaki looked at Mirio-- at the genuine concern in those bright eyes. The anxiety in his chest didn't vanish, but it stopped screaming. It quieted down to a whisper.
"Thank you," Tamaki said. He actually said it clearly.
Two weeks later.
Tamaki walked into the cafe. The bell chimed. He didn't flinch.
He looked at the line. Three people. He waited patiently, checking his phone, scrolling through social media. When it was his turn, he stepped up to the counter with confidence he didn't know he possessed.
Mirio was there, smiling that smile. "Hey, Tamaki. The usual?"
Tamaki took a deep breath. He looked Mirio in the eye.
It was still scary.
Mirio was radiant and loud and everything Tamaki wasn't.
But Mirio was also the person who remembered his name.
The person who made him a space when the world was too loud.
The person who made coffee taste sweeter than ever, even without sugar.
The silence stretched between them for a beat. The noise of the espresso machine roared in the background, but Tamaki didn't care.
"Not today," Tamaki said.
Mirio blinked, tilting his head. "No? You want something different? We have a great seasonal tea--"
"No, I mean…" Tamaki gripped the counter edge. His hands were shaking, just a little, but he kept going. "Instead of the iced Americano… I was wondering if you’d… want to go out with me?"
The words hung in the air. Tamaki stopped breathing.
Mirio stared at him. For a second, his face was blank. Then, slowly, the biggest, brightest smile Tamaki had ever seen broke across his face.
It was brighter than the cafe lights.
It was brighter than the sun itself.
Mirio laughed, a happy, incredulous sound. "You know," Mirio said, leaning his elbows on the counter, closing the distance between them. "I was hoping you’d ask that. I was running out of excuses to write cute things on your cup."
Tamaki let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for a month. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Mirio beamed. "I'd love to go out with you, Tamaki."
"Okay," Tamaki whispered, feeling the smile finally break across his own face. "Okay. That's… that's good."
"I get off at four," Mirio said. "Do you want to wait for your usual? Or… do you want to... wait for me instead?"
"I'll wait for you," Tamaki said.
Mirio winked. "Good choice."