There is this girl that Matthew notices. She comes by every Wednesday afternoon, when the sun is at its highest peak. She orders no coffee, only an iced tea-interchanging flavours every week, and always always sits by the coffee machine. There is a clear view of the kitchen through the open door, and when she isn't sneaking peeks because of the noises within during evening rush, she can be found bent reading a book.
Matthew doesn't know her name, only that she is beautiful. Long dark brown hair swept into a low ponytail and golden honey eyes lowered to the ground, a simple kind of beauty, yet there is an aura of aloofness and sharpness in her eyes, telling people to stay away. Matthew finds it shapes her personality rather well.
True to his hypothesis, she has never attempted conversation with any of the baristas that worked there since the first day she entered the cafe. Only silent nods and mumbled greetings and orders greeted their ears as she slides into the usual seat. Still, that is enough for Matthew to pick out the soft lilts in her voice; the gentleness, shyness, awkwardness, and that is enough for him to want to know more.
There is a pastry chef who works in the kitchen. He has auburn hair, tied into a short ponytail like the ones he sees his uncle do occasionally. Brown eyes with an oriental accent, he and the girl look similar in appearance, and it makes him wonder. Once when Carlos had bided him goodbye and he had stayed back on night shift to clean the cafe, he had spied the two of them out at the backdoor; the chef dressed in a hoodie, the girl with a carrier bag in hand, both talking in hush tones.
Trash bag in hand, he had hid quietly in the darkness, watching the girl smacked the hard cover of her book against the chef's head gently (playfully, and he feels a smile tug the corners of his lips), before the two walked away towards the flickering lampposts of the main street. Only when he was sure that they had turned the corner and were gone then did he come out to dispose of the hefty bag of trash.
He wants to talk to her, wants to know about her. What her favourite colour is. What genre of books she enjoys reading most. What her relationship with the pastry chef is. Why she only comes every Wednesday.
He would have been mortified with himself a few weeks ago if he had known of the thoughts that would rumble throughout his head. As a barista, it was required that he keep himself out of customers' businesses and leave them to their privacy. He had no trouble following this before, for it just felt like common courtesy to him. Just be polite and well mannered, and both parties would be happy.
It was easy for him at first. Almost no one stood to chat with him long enough for his shy demeanor to pop up. People noticed him and paid attention to him (when he was the cashier). His co-workers were friendly and nice towards him. Cheerful Carlos with his Hispanic accent and a tendency to joke too much and quiet Leon who was an immigrant from halfway across the world and has a hidden streak of pranking people. It was easy, and he loved his job.
Or at least it was, until she came in. Her constant visits have made her a regular in the cafe, and regulars always have a tendency to be chatted up with other regulars or workers. Matthew finds that both a good and bad thing.
Absentmindedly wiping a mug dry behind the counter, Matthew ponders. Carlos would have a laughing fit if he knew that he had become interested in a female customer. It would not matter anyway; he will never be able to gather his courage to speak to her, the quiet girl who waits for the pastry chef to get off from work every Wednesday.
He sneaks another glance her way, eyes flitting towards the half full glass of peach tea sitting on the counter top before moving upwards to meet a soft pale cheek. The girl of his observations remain oblivious, eyes downcast and fixed intently on the book she is reading.
Matthew sighs wistfully.
The thudding of footsteps stopping in front of him made Matthew lift his head up in curiosity. The cafe was closing in five minutes. Carlos had started wiping clean tables ten minutes ago, and that had been the cue for the last few customers to leave.
Matthew's hands stilled from rubbing cloth against coffee machine, and he blinked quickly, a twinkle of recognition in his eye. Brown eyes stare back at him, the owner greeting him cheerfully. The sweet smell of cinnamon and bread rolls hits his face, and Matthew can't help smiling in return at the chef's friendly demeanour.
"Her name is Lien, and she is my sister."
..what?
Breath stilling, Matthew gives a start, puzzlement written all over his features. I don't understand, his face says, and the chef lets out a chuckle-a foreign accented sound before adjusting the backpack over his shoulder. On the other end of the cafe, Carlos had turned to watch the exchange, curiosity gleaming in his eye. A sharp elbow from Leon and he turns his nosy self away, huffing under his breath.
"She is my sister, and she doesn't like too much sweetness in her teas."
"Who are you talking about?" Under the clinking of table cutlery and thudding of barista footsteps, Matthew's voice comes out slightly raspy from disuse. He cowers a little, embarrassed and slightly chiding of himself.
"She doesn't talk much see, so you have to talk to her first."
Again Matthew is struck at how oddly the chef was speaking to him. They had never conversed before tonight, yet the way the Asian man had addressed him with so much ease and familiarity sent mixed signals into his brain. He felt disoriented.
"W-Why are you telling me this?"
"The door is a rather good vantage point to notice things, don't you agree?" The chef grins at him before turning on his heel and walking towards the entrance door. Matthew could have sworn he saw the chef's eyes twinkle. Briefly he turns his attentions back to the rag in his hand, but a split second later looks back up. The doorbell had chimed once, and now he can make out two figures outside; one the chef, the other..someone familiar.
Matthew feels the blush rise to his cheeks and he turns swiftly away, scrubbing the coffee machine with renewed vigour.
It was Wednesday.
Manoeuvring the teaspoon with his fingers, Matthew twirls his hand with a flourish, smiling in satisfaction with the finished heart he had made from the coffee foam. Swiftly he places the cup on the counter, and watches Leon pick it up with his tray, carrying it to Table 14.
The air smelled sweetly of strawberry jam and the cafe was decorated aptly for the occasion. Pink scribbles littered the chalkboards and orders were written in fancier cursive, coloured hearts filling every available space. Red Velvet Frappuccino, Raspberry Mocha.. Valentine's Day was almost here and the atmosphere was showing it.
The tinkle of the doorbell sounds again and Matthew snaps his head away once he sees the familiar face. He desperately willed himself not to blush as he strains to hear her order from the female barista. He did not need to hear the order repeated from the latter before he got to work, filling ice and mixing ingredients.
She had ordered lemon tea today.
Carefully he sprinkles pink sugar crystals into the glass and stirs, watching the liquid turn a pale pink. Not too much, he reminds himself as he adds the crystals in. She doesn't like too much sweetness in her teas. He adds a paper umbrella at the top and hopes that the deco is not too fancy.
He brings the order to her-three seats down and close to the coffee machine-, mumbling the usual waiter etiquette by repeating her order and placing the glass on the counter top. Matthew cannot bring himself to look at her face when he does this, sure that he would stutter or do something humiliating if he does, but he does glimpse a tiny nod from her as she removes the umbrella from the glass.
(If he hadn't blinked, he would have seen the miniscule upward quirk of her mouth at the sight of the flower-patterned cocktail umbrella.)
He moves back to his post, cheeks slightly pink and mouth dry, when he spies a pair of brown eyes staring at him from within the kitchen door. By the empty work station, the chef smiles knowingly at him before moving out of sight, leaving him a flustered and distressed mess.
Her name is Lien, and she is my sister.
Matthew swallows the lump in his throat, determined to ignore the rising panic in his heart when a voice asks for him. Perhaps an unsatisfied customer, but when he turns around, violet meets honey gold and he curses himself from being too late to stop the strangled sound from leaving his constricted throat.
The girl was staring at him. Lien was staring at him. Not at a book or her tea or her brother but him. The one person that wanted to talk to her more than anything and also most likely to screw up while doing so. Matthew feels the butterflies in his chest become plummeting stones.
"...Is there anything wrong with your drink miss?" So far, so good. He was not stumbling over his words yet.
"The tea, it's too sweet and..pink?" She wasn't looking at him now, eyes maintaining their gaze on the wooden counter top. A tiny part of Matthew thinks that she might be shy, but he brushes away the thought before he could find it strangely endearing.
"I'm sorry miss, it's part of our Valentine's Day promotion you see. We use pink sugar crystals in all our teas. The sweetness.. is probably my fault. I added too much sugar. I..I can change it for you if you want." Shit. Matthew bit his lip. Maybe he had said a bit too much, maybe she finds him strange and annoying now. Was he too forward? Soft? Matthew didn't think he was soft. Maybe he had been shouting. The silence was getting deafening. He needed to say something, anything. He needed-
"No, it's fine. I.., I liked it." It was uttered quietly, but Matthew had definitely caught the sentence.
"Really? I can change it for you if you want. I-It won't be a bother, I promise!"
"No, I really do like it. Thank you." And here she smiles lightly at him. Lips a little crooked and stiff, but Matthew feels over the moon with that one simple gesture. His heart soars, and he has to remind himself not to sound too eager when he attempts conversation.
One small step for him, one giant step for his courage. He can make this work.
"I see you here every Wednesday. May I ask, why do you seat here when there's more comfortable chairs and tables to choose from?" He breathes out almost inaudibly, but to his relief, she catches his words and replies back with some manner of mirth. Their conversation eases into polite smiles (mostly on his part) and soft, sometimes bashful mumbles, and when he parts to change shifts with the cashier, she bids him with an amused adieu that leaves him a laughing flustered mess.
She doesn't admit the faint red visible on her cheeks too.
.
.
On the other side of the cafe, Carlos watches the Canadian talking to the regular by the coffee machine and chuckles under his breath. So he hasn't been imagining things yet. His friend has had an interest in a girl. Oh, the things he would tease him on later. A tray holding four cups of steaming cocoa is shoved suddenly into his empty arms, and Carlos grumbles when Leon shoots him a look to get moving. The latter merely rolls his eyes and continues to make his own assessments.
Perhaps if he timed it right, he could make the two kiss, and then Yao would owe him a hundred dollars.
The air was cold. Outside, white flakes fall continuously from the sky piling up in soft layers. A pair of hands with fingers intertwined rest limply against the soft leather of the sofa. A mug of tea and coffee sits cold and half full on the modern table top. The air in here was warm.
Matthew smiles and rubs his thumb lovingly against the hand of his partner, all soft cheeks and long untied dark brown hair. Her honey golden eyes were shut and her breath came in steady puffs. His scarf was wrapped loosely around her neck, and the sight of her relaxed, resting form sent contentment surging through him.
Gently he shifts closer and breathes in her scent, interchanging the hand that held hers so that he could pull her closer. He eyes slipped shut and he becomes all the more aware of the protrusion against his back that was making him vaguely uncomfortable in his rested position. Quietly he eases the cushion out from under him and leans his form fully against the firm sofa, relieved of the discomfort.
The door to the spacious apartment opens, and he smiles when he smells the scent of baked bread, hears the laughter of a Hispanic accent, feels the thudding of footsteps entering the room before fading away as hush shouts of two differing voices whispering "Leon stop elbowing me!" echoed down the hall.
Matthew chuckles and bends down to kiss his sleeping girlfriend awake. One small step at a time. He would find the perfect moment to tell her.
Happy Valentine's Day Lien. Will you marry me?
A/N
I always did like the premise of this couple and I wrote a drabble about them before one year ago. Now this is me, trying to write fluff. Happy Valentine's Day everyone! I'm a bit iffy about this to be honest, because this piece took a different turn in the end from what I envisioned. Viet didn't have a chance to talk much too didn't she? I wanted to have her talk more though.
I went back to clean up the finished work after a few days of sickness and rest from writing, and though I don't think it is my best work, I'm happy with how it turn out.
Carlos is Cuba, Leon is Hong Kong and the chef is well, China/Yao if you haven't guessed it already.
I'm just churning out weird couples now aren't I? (Hahaha if you think this is weird I have got another few things coming for you in the next few months.) Literally my mind right now is just going; AmeViet? Haha no, CanViet. ChuViet? Hahaha no, KorViet. FraViet? Hahaha no, SpaViet. I'm actually loving the possibilities.