coffee break
theeflowerchild
oneshot
It is cold, and she is new to this town, and her jacket isn't quite stopping her form from shivering beyond what it should, so she decides to stop in a strange little café—that is dark and purple and almost empty, except for a few college-aged students and the workers—on the corner of an almost deserted town to stop herself from suffering from hypothermia.
When she opens the door it jingles loudly, and the only two waiters there look up, one greeting her with a smile, and the other looking right back down at the counter (what could be so damn interesting?). She smiles back and walks toward the far right corner of the café to sit as far away as possible from the only civilization that resides there.
The booth is purple, and mahogany, and quaint, and while there are dim lights littering the shop to keep it from blackness, there is still a small candle set toward the wall that wavers every so often.
She does not remove her thick, wool pea coat as she sits down in the comfortable yet stiff booth, still shivering, but slowly stilling as her body succumbs to the gentle heat of the store—or, possibly, the constantly brewing coffee, she's not sure. She rips off her mittens, and lets out an exasperated breath she did not know she was holding.
"Good evening." The voice is smooth and soft, like silk-wrapped steel.
She nods her head in acknowledgment.
"What would you like?" She finally decides to look up, and sees the man that had not given her the time of day. His hair is long, and black, and held back at the nape of his neck by a blood-red rubber-band, and his eyes are hard, and cold, and black. It's almost as if he's staring into her soul while not even bothering to make eye-contact.
She shivers, but not from the cold. "Coffee; two sugars and whole milk," she says, and the words are much softer than she expects.
He doesn't even bother scribbling it down, and escapes her gaze before she realizes it. She slowly removes her jacket while waiting for the warm beverage, finding herself far more comfortable than she was outside.
He is back with a forest-green colored mug with steam radiating from its mouth. He leaves it on the table without a sound; she thanks him and he does not respond, but he does not leave. When she begins to feel uncomfortable, he finally opens his mouth and says, "If you need anything else, or the check, holler."
She nods, but is concentrated solely on the steaming cup of coffee in front of her. It is a soft brown color from the milk, but smells bitter and lovely, just like any old joe. She brings her nose to it, and smells its rough aroma. Right when she is about to thank him again, he is gone, speaking to the other employee who is just rolling his big blue eyes, and uttering a slew of curses she can't help, but pick up.
She finally decides to take a sip of her coffee. It is warm, and she feels it right in her chest as it slowly fills her body. She has since stopped shivering, but the heat only causes more comfort to slither through her body. She leans into the ugly purple cushions, and sighs softly against the thick rim of the mug.
The coffee itself is mediocre, but made exactly how she likes it; she can't help the sliver of a smile that surfaces on her face at the first familiar thing in this new, crappy town she was forced to exist in at the moment. After finishing the first cup of coffee, she soon "hollers" for the waiter that is almost too handsome, but it is almost too cold, so she does not notice.
Before he can speak, she squeaks, "Check!" and he slowly nods his head, but his face does not change as he reaches into the pocket of his cream-colored apron, and grabs a little hand-written note.
The coffee is cheap, and the atmosphere is borderline creepy, but she does like the eerie place. She thanks him one more time before reaching into her small bag at her side, and fishing out a five, telling him to keep the change.
He does not offer a smile—or any face other than a blank one, for that matter—but thanks her and tells her to come again.
She does.
Come again, that is. It is not quite as cold that day, and there are a few more scattered people littering the café than she remembers, but it is not packed, and she likes that about it.
The door opens and it jingles familiarly. The handsome, spiky-haired blonde boy gives her a smile, and the suddenly noticeably handsome boy does not give her the time of day. There is a woman there that was not there the last time with buns on her head, and a grin almost as wide as the blonde-boy's. She feels welcomed.
She manages to snag the same table as the last time, and is glad to be away from the scattered college folk with their laptops, and their thick-rimmed glasses, and emotionless faces. This time, the blonde waiter approaches her. She notices scars on his face, and big, wet blue eyes that make you want to fall in love with him without even hearing him speak, and when he does, it is raspy and loud, but she does not mind. "Hello! What can I do you for?"
He is far friendlier than her last encounter with a worker at the café. She offers him a smile in return. "A cup of coffee with two sugars and whole milk, please?"
He nods his head enthusiastically, and he has to write it down. He stops mid-way and purses his lips. "Was that two sugars?"
She almost rolls her eyes, and nods her head. He grins, again, and it makes her stomach flutter. "Anything else? We have this yummy cake today with loads of chocolate and I'm sure you'd like it!"
She giggles because he speaks just like a child and decides, what the heck? Maybe she should just go for it, despite the calories and the fat content (and since when had she started caring about that?), even though she doesn't like sweets. "I would like that…" she looks at the scratched name tag that seems as if it hasn't seen the light of day in quite a bit of time and mimics its name, "Naruto-san."
His eyes sparkle as he writes it down. "It'll be here sooner than you can say coffee!"
She does roll her eyes that time as he runs toward the counter with the paper in his hand, flinging it at the beautiful boy. She looks away, and finds herself entranced by the tearing wallpaper that is too purple and too dark.
She is interrupted from her thoughts when a piece of a little too rich chocolate cake is placed in front of her by a pale hand along with a familiar, forest-green mug. She looks up to find that it is not her waiter, but the beautiful boy that is so noticeably attractive by now that it takes her breath away.
"Will that be all?" He raises a fine eyebrow at her, but his eyes do not sparkle; he does not smile, and he does not have a nametag like Naruto-san, so all she can do is nod her head in the affirmative. He escapes her gaze as quickly as he appeared.
The cake is thick, but it does not taste like dirt. She cannot bring herself to finish it—whether it is the heaviness or the disturbing amount of calories she would be consuming, she does know—but she does not bother to question her decision, either. She finishes every last drop of the perfectly mediocre coffee, and before she can even holler this time, the ebony-haired boy—she wonders, if she could touch it, would it be soft and silky or rough and manly and unnervingly coarse like most men?—is before her with an apathetic look, and lidded eyes.
Despite his beauty, he looks tired, but not the type of tired where one has been deprived of sleep the night before, but eternally tired, with purple—like the ugly café—rings under his eyes and deep wrinkles that any parent would be overly-concerned about. "Check?"
She nods her head, wordlessly, and musters a smile that would break anybody's heart, but not his (if he even has one, she muses). He gathers it from his cream-colored apron and it is scrawled in cursive—a lost art, she thinks—and it is more expensive than the last time, but still considerably cheap. She fishes another five out of her bag and tells him to keep the change.
"Thank you, have a nice night, come again." It is robotic. She almost flinches, but manages a, "you too," before gathering her things and leaving into a flurry of white snow.
She has made it a habit to stop in the café whenever she can. The coffee is cheap, the company is almost nonexistent, and the atmosphere is still creepy, but the workers are either familiar and kind or nothing at all and she likes that.
It has been three months of her frequent visits when she finally decides to learn his name—because she knows everybody else working here by a first-name basis, why shouldn't she know his?
He brings her the usual without even asking—a cup of coffee and the cake of the day that she never does finish and usually doesn't like, but can't bring herself to not order—and she stops him before he can leave. "Excuse me?"
He wordlessly raises an eyebrow at her request. He does not make a motion to escape her, but does he make eye-contact either.
"What is your name?" she asks, her finger skimming the mouth of the mug, basking in the warmth of the steam. She shifts her gaze from his eyes that are not looking at her to the mug of light brown, mediocre coffee that she has grown both fond, and sick of.
"Why?" he asks, and she doesn't have an answer, so she doesn't. "My name is Itachi."
"You do not wear a name-tag." It is a statement, but he answers her anyway, to her surprise, because she has come to notice that he is not a man of many words.
"I don't feel that anybody really needs to know my name." His voice is strong and never wavers, but not exactly confident. She finds herself constantly soft and stuttering around him, though she does not know why; even though she is attracted to his appearance, she is not necessarily attracted to his personality, and that is enough for her to be turned-off by his entire being.
"Understandable," she comments. She takes a sip of her coffee, and he leaves her without any more unneeded conversation. He wordlessly brings her the check when she is finished with the coffee, and half the cake is left. She fishes out her money, and tells him to keep the change, like she always does.
Then he tells her, just like every other night, without any emotion or even a fake smile (he doesn't even bother and she likes that), "Thank you, and come again."
She gives him a small smile and says, "Good night, Itachi. See you soon."
It is a week later when he actually shows her an emotion other than his usual, familiar, and somehow comforting apathy.
He brings her the usual—today is cheesecake, and she may actually finish it this time, because her mother always used to make cheesecake when she was a little girl, and she has been fond of it ever since—and his pale hand puts down the plate, and the forest-green mug soundlessly, as usual, and she thanks him, as usual, but he does not leave.
She looks up at him and raises a fine, pink eyebrow, but does not say anything. When he speaks, she is almost taken aback, because the velvet against her ears is not monotone, but curious. "Is your hair natural?" She almost laughs at the familiar question, but she does not answer just yet and allows him to continue. "Your hair is pink, your eyebrows are pink and your eyelashes are pink… Is that natural, or are you just careful?"
"Careful?" she asks and now she is curious, but he does not answer her question or push further on his, so she decides to let him out of his misery (but he is not embarrassed, just genuinely curious, and maybe he can't quite feel that emotion, but she is not sure) and answers him, "Yes, it is natural." She laughs and it is sweet and light and warm and fills the small, almost empty café.
He nods his head and disappears before her eyes. When she is done with the coffee and almost finished with the cheesecake—she can't bring herself to finish the entirely too rich concoction, and she almost feels bad or empty or something, but nothing—and Itachi does not show up before her eyes, but the girl with the buns and the cheeky grin with the check already in her hand. She looks around to notice that the boy is no longer in the café and almost frowns at her revelation, but does not, because who is she to care?
She removes the money from her wallet, handing it to the girl—Tenten, she remembers—and offers her a smile. "Have a nice night, Tenten."
She grins in return—it is big and warm, but not quite as genuinely friendly as Naruto's, who is not here today. Sakura notes how the place is a little dimmer than usual without his fiery presence—and tells her to, "Come again soon!" and she knows she will.
When she steps outside, she sees the familiar boy standing off to the side, almost drowning in his wool coat and blood-red scarf (she never noticed, but he is very tall and very skinny and normally drowns in his clothing that it is always black, which is always so fitting, so maybe that's why she never took notice to it). He has a cigarette in his hand, and she almost feels the need to tell him how bad it is for him, but does not. When she passes by him, she offers him a, "Goodnight, Itachi."
He nods his head, taking a slow drag of his somehow never-ending cigarette, and allows his curiosity to get the best of him again. Twice in one night and he already feels more tired than usual. She nearly gapes at him, but does not, because her best friend always tells her how unladylike that is of her and how she'll be forever single, so in turn, she has stopped doing such a thing and allows him to question her. "What's your name?"
She offers him a small smile and nearly laughs, "Sakura."
He nods again and his thick, black fringe flies into his eyes, but he does not push the hair away. She almost frowns because, as emotionless as they are, his eyes are still quite exquisite, and she can never quite tell where the pupil stops and the iris starts. She begins walking away when she hears him say, "Goodnight, Sakura."
She smiles again and he does not see it, but he cannot look away from direction she walked off in as he finishes his never-ending cigarette.
She is not necessarily surprised to see him outside of the coffee shop; it is a small town and they are bound to run into each other at some point in their lives, but she is surprised at where she runs into him.
Her best friend is turning twenty-one and despite getting hammered most days of her life she decides to throw a party and do it officially. The party is in Konoha, and the small little café is in Oto, and it is a strange place to meet because, not only is Konoha nearly an hour away from Oto, but Itachi does not seem like the party-animal type.
It also means, somehow, in some way, they are connected, for him to show up at a party with people she is so incredibly familiar with, and had grown up with, and lived with all her life.
She does not say anything at first or even attempt to approach him, but she cannot decide whether it is because she actually doesn't very much care or because she is nervous; she decides it is the first one because why should she be nervous? He is only her waiter and that is that and it is perfectly normal for him to have a social life whether or not it somehow interferes with hers.
It is actually him that approaches her with a small smirk on his face and a drink in his hand that smells of alcohol, and is a light brown color, like coffee. "You're here, but there's no coffee, how can that be?" he jokes and she is almost shocked.
She laughs and takes a sip of her own fruity, slightly alcoholic, but not so much beverage. "On occasion, I like to branch out a little."
He nods his head and his smirk does not fleet. "This is a funny place to meet up, Sakura."
She agrees, "It is, isn't it?" Despite herself, she indulges her curiosity and asks him, "Who do you know here?"
"My brother, actually," he points to a boy with dark black hair just like his who is talking to a silver-haired, sharp-toothed boy that she knows to be the resident pervert of the party: Suigetsu or something. She recognizes the boy as a school friend of hers who always gets invited to theses get-togethers, despite them not being too incredibly close, but rarely speaks or smiles or interacts, and when he does it's snarky and even impolite.
"Oh, Sasuke," she deadpans. Itachi actually laughs and she is taken aback. It is raspy and dry and somehow incredibly warming. She would not mind hearing it for the rest of her life.
"He's a friendly one, isn't he?" he says and rolls his eyes when he notices Suigetsu or something nearly deck Sasuke for a stupid, socially-inappropriate comment he probably made.
She nods and laughs. She doesn't quite expect Itachi to be social or funny or even hold some other emotion besides the curiosity he had shown her recently. It may be the alcohol speaking, but she does not mind, because she likes this Itachi.
"Who do you know?" he asks with the curiosity she finds herself to be suddenly familiar with and takes a long sip of the beverage in his hand.
"The girl who threw the party is my best friend." She points with the hand that her drink is in and he is greeted with a blonde bombshell with legs to die for, the brightest blue eyes, and the possibly one of the lowest-cut shirts he has ever seen. She is stunning, but he doesn't notice because she is incredibly drunk as well and making out with a boy with spiky, black hair in a ponytail and no pants.
He only rolls his eyes. "She's a looker," he comments when her skirt hikes up so far that he can see her bright purple—just like the horribly comfortable and familiar café—underwear and Sakura laughs and nods in agreement, but wonders what he would say if he saw her sober and dressed appropriately and she was working her magic on him.
They speak the rest of the night, sobering up and getting tipsy over and over again. They both enjoy it because the conversation is friendly and intelligent and laughable—which Itachi isn't exactly familiar with, but he has come to like it—and it is nearing four AM when the night finally comes to a close.
Sasuke approaches them. His face is stoic and he is just as beautiful as his brother, Sakura notes. She offers him a smile that he does not return, but he does acknowledge her with a quirked eyebrow and a, "Hello, Sakura."
She only nods her head and Itachi suddenly turns back to his stoic, usual self that she is familiar with. "What do you want, Sasuke?"
Sasuke only rolls his eyes at his brother's sudden change in emotion. He sticks out his hand into Itachi's face. "We have to go, give me the keys, you are drunk." It is a statement. He is blunt, and along with his beauty, Sakura also notices why people do not like him.
It's almost laughable, because maybe Itachi is drunk, but it is unnoticeable to Sakura. He does not question his brother and hands him the keys, which she notices allow an incredibly expensive car to work. "It was nice speaking to you, Sakura, I'll see you soon," he tells her with a smirk she has also come to know and love. Sasuke nods his head once more at the pink-haired girl. He does not question their interaction, even though he is curious as to why oh-so-suddenly Itachi is talking to a girl and interacting with other people. It is unfamiliar, because since when does Itachi do that?
Sakura smiles and giggles because she is both bubbly and tipsy. "See you soon!" She waves as he stalks off with his brother and does not stop until he is out the door, despite the fact that he is not even look at her.
Her eyes fall to her pink-colored, fruity drink in the stereotypical red cup in her hand and she suddenly wishes it was coffee.
The next few times she makes her way to the café, Itachi is not there. She comes in and there is the familiar smile from the familiar blonde and the cheeky grin from the girl with the buns. Naruto is the one to take her order and she almost half-expects that, each time, Itachi will be the one to bring her coffee, and possibly ask her a question that she does not expect.
But he does not. It is always Naruto who brings her the cake she cannot finish and the coffee and it is somehow off—still mediocre, but just not as perfect and she cannot finish it either. Nevertheless, she tips the beautiful blonde boy with the wet eyes and the scars and the wedding ring, she notices, but does not comment on because she feels like, if she does, she will be there for another hour.
Every time she grows sadder and sadder at not seeing the beautiful boy who makes the perfect cup of crappy coffee and does not have many emotions when sober, but is an incredibly silly drunk. She drags herself to the café, hoping he will be there, and he is not.
It has been a month since she has stopped at the eerie café that she has grown to love; after two weeks of not seeing Itachi, she grew tired of the not-so-perfect coffee that she could not finish. The café turns from something that she is both fond of and sick of to something she is just sick of.
Summer is nearing and she is not wearing a jacket, but a long-sleeve dress and a pair of sheer stockings; she is comfortable and there is a small breeze that sends a few strands of pink hair into bottle-cap green eyes, but she does not push them away. She does not realize that she is walking down that all-too-empty and familiar street until she comes across the café she once loved and decides to walk in, for old time's sake.
She walks in and Naruto is there with a huge grin on his face, and this is the first time she is actually greeted at the door. "Wow, long time, no see, Pinky!" She nearly winces at the nickname, but offers him the biggest grin she can muster and a wave. She notices that he is seemingly the only one working today and, despite her mind telling her to leave; she stalks over to the familiar table in the back with the ugly purple cushions and the candle that sometimes wavers.
The blonde walks up to her with his grin and his wedding ring. His eyes are still as wet as she remembers and he asks her, "What'll it be?"
She almost rolls her eyes, because he has already forgotten her usual—so Naruto of him—and she tells him, "A coffee with two sugars and whole milk, with a slice of today's cake, please?"
He shakes his head, as if he's disappointed with himself. "How could I have forgotten?" He writes it down anyway and stalks off to the counter, leaving the white slip on the desk and then moving on to another customer.
She almost frowns, knowing the service may not be as fast as she can say coffee today with only one man on staff, so she decides to take an interest in her palms when a pale hand leaves a slice of rich, chocolate cake on her table and a forest-green mug of light brown coffee soundlessly. She looks up and her eyes are wide and she sees a boy with a smirk and cold, black eyes. "It's been a while, Sakura."
She nods her head and pink waves flow with her. "Yeah," she replies and before she can even begin a conversation, he is gone as quickly as he had been there, as usual. When she finishes with her strangely perfect coffee that she used to love so much and half of her cake, Naruto brings her the check, to her dismay.
She leaves him a hefty tip of nearly five dollars and he grins, saying how grateful he is, with a baby on the way. She decides to have a heart and ask him when the baby is due, and he suddenly turns even more chipper than he usually is and says, "In five months! Isn't that exciting!? I'm going to be a daddy!"
She nods and grins in return, because that is exciting, and despite not knowing him, she is happy for the blonde boy with the scars and the wife and the almost baby. She is wrong in thinking he will hold her up when he says, "Come again soon, alright? I don't want to go another month without seeing pink hair!"
She giggles again and his wet eyes sparkle and she finally says, "Wouldn't dream of it, Naruto."
And before she can leave, he stops her and asks, "What's your name? I can't believe I never thought to ask."
But she believes that he never even thought to, because if there's anything that she noticed about Naruto, though his color choices may be the brightest, he, necessarily, isn't. "It's Sakura."
"Wow, what a pretty name! It's so fitting!" he acknowledges and it's not like she hasn't heard that one before, but she leaves the café, knowing she will see him very soon. She knows she will have the privilege of hearing updates about his lovely baby that he seems so happy for, even though he looks so young. Maybe he's not that young; maybe he's much older than she thinks.
When she steps outside she sees Itachi and she almost laughs, because this scene is so familiar; he has on a black shirt that is noticeably loose against his thin frame, and jeans that are incredibly tight, but don't make him look as sunken as he does in the winter. He has a cigarette in his hand that he is taking long drags from and she finally does say, "That's unhealthy, you know."
He finally looks at her and offers another smirk. "I know."
"So then, why do you do it?" she asks.
He shrugs. "It feels good."
"Just because it feels good doesn't mean you should do it," her brows furrow and he sighs, but then laughs and it's just as lovely as when he's drunk.
"I know that, but I've never really thought of quitting." He's done and he throws it on the ground and digs his heel into the bud to make sure it's out. He drops the subject. "How have you been?"
It's her turn to shrug. "Busy." It's not a lie; she is finishing up medical school, and that is a lot of work, but it's enjoyable and it's worth it. It makes her a little more than happy.
He nods. "Always good to keep busy… Why haven't you stopped by, though? You always do." She can't quite tell, but his voice is almost sad; probably not, though, because this is Itachi and he rarely shows emotion, let alone sadness because she hasn't been at a coffee shop he frequently mans.
"I just haven't had the time," she lies, because she has, but she didn't want to be crushed over and over again by the beautiful boy not being there and making her the perfect cup of coffee.
He nods his head, but he doesn't believe her and she knows it. "Can I walk you home?"
It is sudden and unexpected, but she nods her head and offers him a smile that he reluctantly returns. It is beautiful and genuine and very small, and she probably would not have noticed it if she was not praying for one in return. "I'm pretty far from here."
He shrugs. "I have time."
And he walks her home, lighting a cigarette half-way through that she complains about. He only laughs and she absolutely loves it, so she keeps complaining and he keeps laughing. When they are finally at her apartment, he walks her to the door and she fumbles for the key. Before she can open the door he softly grabs her wrist and plants a soft kiss on her lips.
His lips are cracked and rough, but somehow just as velvet as his voice against hers. He tastes a little like smoke and espresso and it makes her feel warmer than the perfectly mediocre cup of coffee he made her ever could.
When he pulls away he is blushing and she sees something in his cold eyes she can't quite put her finger on, but he smiles a small smile while she is unlocking her door. He hands her a piece of paper with something in cursive scrolled on it, his number, and tells her to call him, and don't bother waiting on it.
She nods her head and opens the door and thinks that she won't be missing another coffee day any time soon.
It is a year later and they are sitting in the dark café at the only table she feels comfortable sitting in; he is not working that day, so he is sitting across from her, drinking from a forest-green mug and shifting in the ugly, stiff purple cushions of the seat. She hears him mumble, "How the hell do you sit in these seats?" but says nothing.
She smiles and says, "I've always been addicted to a certain drug."
He knows very much about Sakura by now, so he knows that she is incredibly cliché. He half expects her to say something like "you" or "your eyes" so he decides to humor her and says, "What, love?"
She giggles and nods her head in the negative. "No, silly goose, caffeine."
Edited 2/27/2015
I like coffee. A lot. Review and let me know what you think, criticism and the whatnot welcomed. It started the way I had wanted it to, but didn't end quite how I expected it to. Oh well. I think it's actually okay, but I hate the title. I hope you enjoyed it!