Work Text:
It’s a peaceful kind of quietness, being here in the warm cafe. You sit at a table next to a large, rectangular window that stretches nearly from the floor to the ceiling. The only sounds present are the occasional whirring of the milk frother behind the counter and the sharp clicking of the few other students typing away on their laptops and sitting in similar situations as you.
“Here you go.”
The silence shatters. You look up from your laptop to see the smiling barista placing a drink onto the little circular table where you’re situated.
“Oh, I didn’t order this,” you say before he can walk away.
The boy turns around; his smile reaches up to his eyes. “It’s on the house, don’t worry.”
“Soonyoung, you can’t keep giving me drinks for free every time I come here.”
“Says who?” the male in question retorts.
“Won’t your manager become upset at you?”
“(Y/N), I am the manager,” he giggles softly. “You keep forgetting.”
You’re a keyholder at best. You shake your head, “No, I just feel bad about you always giving me free drinks. How many others do you do that for?”
Soonyoung hums and then pronounces more quietly, “Only you.”
“I find that hard to believe,” you mumble. You clear your throat and utter louder, “But why? It’s not like I can’t afford to buy coffee here.”
“You’re a student, (Y/N). You can save your money for your tuition and textbooks,” Soonyoung takes a cloth from his apron and wipes off a small speck of some beverage dried on your table. “Besides, it’s not like the drinks here cost a fortune.”
“And that gives me another reason to be paying for them!”
The bell above the doorway chimes with the entrance of another customer.
The barista looks up at the door with a small, polite grin to greet the newcomer, but his smile beams wider when he returns to you. “Since when did you get so stubborn?”
“We’re on a first-name basis, Soonyoung. I think you should know by now my general temperament,” you chuckle at the boy. “Or, at least, how stubborn I can be.”
He shakes his head, amusement decorating his features. “But I only ever see you when I’m working, and you’re trying to study.”
You tilt your head, “What are you implying?”
“Soonyoung! Could you help me with using this gift card, please?”
The male in question audibly sighs but turns to call out to the new hire how he’ll be right there to help.
“That drink better be touched by the time I finish helping Chan,” Soonyoung points at the cup upon the saucer as he steps away and back to the counter.
You shake your head with a smile at the boy’s words. Your initial instinct is to return to your schoolwork on your laptop—and you do—but between every few clicks of the keyboard, your eyes glance to the side where the teacup rests. For an inanimate object, each time you look at it holds an immense amount of weight, a pressure on your chest at the mere sight of it.
You do feel sorry about Soonyoung giving you free drinks each time you visit the cafe. However, you are also aware of his persistence and kindness, despite showing it sometimes through questionable methods. You know he means well.
You pull your gaze from the ceramic cup sat in front of you and, instead, turn your head to the side to look out of the window. The sky is a brilliant blue today, with puffy, white cotton candy clouds decorating the atmosphere. There’s an airplane passing overhead with its vapour trail following immediately behind like it’s painting a picture in the sky. The early morning sun beams downwards from beyond the clouds, warming the sidewalk and your arm resting in the rays falling onto your table. Yet despite the clear sky and sunshine, there’s a frigid nip to the air beyond the cafe’s doors; little swirls of frost embellish the corners of the windows, some condensation beads down. The warm environment here is part of the reason why you ventured inside. The other reason was in the hopes of seeing a particular barista at work today.
“You still haven’t touched your tea? I know you’re stubborn, but come on, it’ll get cold at this rate!”
Soonyoung’s voice pulls you from examining the view outside.
Your gaze finds the boy’s, who bears an eye-smile when he nudges the cup closer to you yet again with the slightest pout to his lips.
“Is it because you need something to eat with it?” he continues. “I can go grab you a cookie or something else from the display–”
“Soonyoung,” you interrupt him before he can dash back to the counter.
The boy complies and takes that as his cue to pull out the chair from across you. Your first thought is how unprofessional that is of him, but you know if you say something, he’ll quip back with how he’s a manager, probably adding something about being on his break. Besides, it’s not very busy right now in the cafe; most people are likely at home and sleeping in on this Sunday morning, laying beneath cozy covers and basking in the gentle morning glow. For those of you who have faced the bitter outside, it’s as if you have a mutual understanding while sitting at the scattered tables: this is a sacred space, supplying warmth and uplifting spirits in the forms of little floral mugs and friendly smiles.
You reach out to the one mere inches from your hands resting on the table, picking it up and bringing it to your lips. The tea is sweet, rich but milky; something else seems to be there in subtle undertones. Peach, maybe? Or maple? Both are sugary; both are possibilities. You can’t quite put your finger on it.
Soonyoung’s expression lifts at your movement. He leans in ever-so-slightly, waiting for your reaction.
“Alright, what did I just drink, Soon.”
The barista bears a knowing smirk, “Just a little something not on the menu.”
You give him a questioning look—ruffled eyebrows and lips slightly puffed out in confusion; it causes Soonyoung to giggle as he stands from the table, tucking the chair in neatly after him.
“It’s something I made on a whim—reminds me of you.”
His comment doesn’t bring any clarity.
“He’s calling you sweet, (Y/N).”
But, from across the room, Chan’s does.
Soonyoung scurries away to deal with his coworker while you’re left sitting at your table with a stupid grin on your face. The beige mug resides in your grasp; violet-toned lilacs bloom on its surface in the form of delicate watercolours. It is now mild, a comfortable lukewarm, radiating through your palms and into your spirit. You take another sip, grinning into the cup; the tea latte inside smiles back at you as if it knows all of the cute barista’s secrets you have yet to discover.