Chapter Text
It was something small, but you noticed that the drink the cute guy next to you in your evening lecture class always sipped on had the sticker peeled off of it, the one that tells you what drink it was.
Of course you only noticed this because you first realized he was the type to always show up to class with a cafe beverage in hand. Then you realized that he was drinking coffee at a 5pm lecture class, which although the health concern was there, was not too unusual for a university student. But definitely the least important reason you noticed was because he was strikingly gorgeous.
A sharp angular face that held definition in all the right spots to take your breath away, flattered by dark hair that always had immaculate braids texturing it, and was usually pulled back in some way. He was always dressed impeccably, exactly how you would expect someone walking out of a Pinterest catalogue for “Dark academia men” to look; woolen coat, grey slacks, and an inconspicuous shirt that was never too much, or too little. The classy style was the perfect juxtaposition to his shoulder length hair, a peculiar shade of blue, that was always done up in a myriad of ways: half-up with a bun, a low ponytail, a bun, but always with some strands pulled into braids right next to his temple that were beaded with green beads.
And then his eyes, oh lord his eyes were a piercing dark green that made you think of things you certainly did not want any lord to be overhearing. They never saw you, only looking up and down from the notebook that was decorated in scratchy color-coded writing and to the professor.
As it was just a lecture class, you had not yet had a chance to speak to him, but you had certainly lost focus on more than one occasion thinking about him. Most days when the class ended, there was someone waiting for him by the door, either a similarly intimidating and handsome silver-haired man, who distinctly had similar braids to this guy and who would be carrying a duffel bag that matched one your classmate had. Or there would be a petite auburn red-haired lady who had the most warming smile you had ever seen. Those days were fewer, and the man of your attention was lacking the duffle bag those times.
You always assumed his drink was like him, dark and intimidating-though no less delicious, an americano, a black coffee, or a breakfast tea, or something along those lines.
Everyone has class crushes, and you were just leaving this one as something to brighten your evenings with fantasies of, but one day you covered an evening shift for your coworker at the cafe, and skipped class, and you would never be able to forget this mysterious man after it.
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A sigh left your lips as you stacked porcelain plates in your hand off the table, pointedly staring at the “leave dishes here please!” sign that was on a cart a few steps away. Soft jazz gave a subtle ambience to your practiced movements as you kindly cleaned up after the customers, and finished wiping down the tables, wincing at the feeling of the cleaning spray drying your hands out. There were only a few faces in the cafe at the moment, as the gloomy clouds covering the sky promised an autumn drizzle.
There was not much time until you closed, so the lack of customers was appreciated as it meant you could start chores early. Glancing around at the scattered customers, you deem it okay to run to the back to grab product to stock the shelves with, and turn around to do so.
You weren’t usually the closer for the cafe, let alone on a school day, but alas your dear coworker was on vacation to visit her family and her sweet puppy eyes combined with a delectable homemade cake swayed you. The morning shifts were nice because they ensured you were up to have a full productive day, whereas you might sleep in otherwise. Plus, despite the stereotype of grumpy morning people, you found that the earlier in the day, the more cordial people seemed to be. It was as if there was an unspoken camaraderie between those who needed to be awake by 5am.
You go behind the bar and through the swinging double doors, eager to finally start on your closing chores, but before you can take more than a few steps you hear the bell attached to the front door jingle loudly, as if someone had opened the door with more force than necessary. You sigh, cursing your luck, and spin on your heel, plastering your best smile on your face to meet the last minute customer.
The double doors swing open and you feel yourself blink, startled to see the familiar angled face of the guy from your lecture class. He has his duffle bag swung over his shoulder effortlessly, and his hand is resting on the counter top next to the cash register. You make eye contact with him, and maybe hold it a bit too long until the doors come swinging back and the sound of the bell jolts you out of your stupor. You watch as one of his eyebrows raise as you jog up to the register.
Breathlessly you manage to get out a “Hi! How can I help you?” and you try to recover your customer service smile while trying not to be too obvious how you recognized him from your shared class. You didn’t even know if he knew you DID share a class.
Any remaining inch of normal person you had went out the window as he opens his mouth and says “I’ll have a medium caramel macchiato, ristretto shots, made with just the caramel sauce none of the syrup, and with skim milk and extra foam, to go if you would.”
Not only was this guy unfairly good looking, his voice was the perfect balance of masculine enough to make your heart stutter, but without being too over-the-edge. You find yourself blushing at the mere sound, before the words this guy said caught up to you. Your eye twitches at the ridiculous order. The delayed reaction from you causes your classmate to raise one eyebrow, and dear Hylia it was unfair how hot this guy was.
He stares at you for another second before scoffing with a smirk, “You can stop staring you know.”
“U-uh was that hot or iced?” You manage to stutter out, averting your gaze and focusing on typing the information into the computer.
“I said extra foam did I not? Hot of course.” You just nod, not trusting your voice--whether it was going to blurt out something about how hot he was or to insult his stupid drink, you weren’t sure--and finish entering the drink in.
Flicking your gaze back up to meet his steadfast stare at you, your mouth moves on autopilot and somehow you manage to ask, “What’s a good name for this order?”
The blue-haired man is looking at his phone and replies dismissively, “Revali.”
“So that’s your name…” The words slip out of your mouth before you can catch them and your hand slaps over your lips belatedly as Revali looks up from his phone and gives you a perplexed look.
“Yes, could you listen now?”
Your face flushes even harder and you fumble to enter the name into the register, “Um, your total will be 4.49, card or cash?”
He just hands you a crisp five dollar bill, still staring at you in a way that was now starting to look to you like amusement.
The cash register pops open with a ding, and you pull out the 51 cents and hand it to him, which immediately is dumped into your tips jar, the coins clanging loudly. You move to the bar to start his drink, and out of the corner of your eye notice him follow you along the other side.
Your heart beats against your chest as stage nerves rev up at the thought of your crush watching you make his drink, the one you wondered about on the near-daily. Shaking your head you nod and focus your attention on making the best goddamn drink you ever had, stupid order nonetheless. Your fingers pull the portafilter from its spot and push it into the automatic grinder, and then once that is done grinding you tamp the ground espresso down perfectly flat.
Using your shoulder to shove the portafilter back into its place on the old espresso machine, you then reach into the fridge to grab a blue jug of milk. Measuring precisely, you screw the lid back onto the jug, slide it back into the fridge and swing your foot around to hook the door and close the fridge with dexterity. Definitely a necessary move and you were definitely not showing off for the cute guy.
The steam wand sputters for a moment and after a few seconds of a paper-ripping sound, the soft purring of the milk steaming is all you can hear, save for the espresso shots pouring.
Revali’s voice cuts through the silence and you jump as he asks “So you’re new, where’s your coworker?
A little shocked he even wanted to converse, you respond “Oh she’s going to be gone for the next two weeks, I’m usually the morning person but I’m taking her shifts in the meanwhile!”
Revali just hums, the baritone sound obscenely, and unfairly nice sounding, and as the milk reaches temp, you turn off the steam wand and then gently wipe off the milk scum. You grab a cup, and add the espresso shots in, making sure not to dump them in and create unnecessary bubbles. Then from its place next to the espresso machine, you fetch the caramel bottle and squeeze for a good count into the espresso shots, and swirl the mixture to melt the sauce.
Revali again startles you by saying casually “You make it different than your coworker.”
You frown and look up at him, noting that he was tall enough to just lean on the pastel green espresso machine and lean over into your space.
The way his green eyes glint, you might say Revali was enjoying how much your neck has to crane to meet his eyes “I’m guessing she adds the shots at the end over the milk, and puts in the syrup first?”
His green eyes flash in the light as he cocks his head and nods in appreciation. “Yeah she does.”
You blush at his smile, noting the dimples that seemed so perfect on his face, and shrug, feeling a little defensive as you say “Well she used to work at Starbros, the chain coffee place, and that’s how they do it. But I feel that most people just want the espresso mixed in as a sweet drink, rather than the first few sips of pure espresso being tempered with the overtly sweet milk at the end, and so far after a year of working here no one has complained.”
Revali ‘ahhs’ a little and you figure that was that and go back to the drink.
You tap the pitcher with the steamed milk against the counter and tilt the cup as you pour, appreciating the texture you coaxed from the milk.
The foam tops off in a little mound on top of the drink, and you embellish it with a little more drizzle just ‘cause. You then realize you forgot to put the label sticker on the drink, the one that says what the contents are, and go to do so but then Revali reaches over the counter to grab your arm, the contact startling you and you whip your head up to meet his sharp, green eyes.
“Ahh wait! You don’t need…you don’t need to do that.” He says, getting quieter at the end of the sentence.
You blink at him owlishly, “...why?”
His expression morphs like five times in one second until Revali just looks off to the side and scoffs “Well I don’t want to waste the plastic and I already know what my drink is and really it is simply ridiculous to sticker you guys should be hand-writing these cups as a small cafe for the aesthetic and-” he keeps going on, growing less sheepish and delving more into defensively insulting territory and you have a realization that almost makes you laugh.
You hold it in, just barely, but you feel a grin start to split your face.
This guy has been either peeling off his sticker or actually asking to not have it be placed in the first place so people don’t know he is ordering a silly drink! And now that you aren’t too shocked by his presence you do recognize how surprising it is that Revali’s drink of choice is a modified starbros style caramel macchiato of all things. So basic, you think, but kinda endearing.
Revali realizes you aren’t listening and frowns at you, “Hey! Wipe that stupid grin off your face and hand me my drink already!”
You chuckle, trying-and-failing, to put aside your amusement. You thought this guy was so mysterious and cool. And maybe he still is cool, despite his squawking. To put him out of his misery, you pass your classmate his drink. He snaps his arm to grab it, but in his haste, his fingers wrap around your’s before you can pull away.
Your eyes meet his sharp eyes, the warm tones of the overhead lights swirling in his emerald tones, and you both try to pull away without bumping the drink, but with everything going on, you end up having to reach your second hand to the cup to prevent it from tipping over. You both flail a little more, but eventually the cup ends up in Revali’s hand, and he glowers down at you. You grin back, and he dramatically whirls around and marches out of the cafe, bell tingling after him. You note that the swoosh of the wool coat really added to the whole movement, and laugh a little.
Revali is still a mystery to you, and despite his squawking over his reputation regarding his beverage of choice, you definitely still think he may be the most handsome guy you have seen on your campus. But knowing his cool cafe drink has been a sugar bomb this whole time (made with skim milk nonetheless!) definitely paints him in a different light. You’re not sure what you gleaned from that interaction, but you know you would love to learn more about your dark-haired classmate.