A few days ago I got this, like, crushing homesickness for tuliptime and so. Here we are.
I have so much fun writing these tbh I don't see myself stopping anytime soon. I've already got the next like... Three parts planned out. Two of which were requested (ily) and the one for Fury that's more or less finished. It's pretty short tho so I might go back and more before posting.
Hope you have a good day! ! !
Also... I don't know if they serve them in other countries, but elephant ears are like fried pastries that are usually covered in cinnamon sugar/ chocolate sauce / powdered sugar. They're fuckin huge too but they are better than other things offered at state fairs and parades.
Fried Oreos are fucking amazing tho, don't let anybody tell you otherwise. You just can't have more than two without feeling your sins crawling up your back so.
God bless America.
You have a lot of regulars, working so close to a college and in the downtown area, but you look forward to seeing only of handful of those. Most come in every day and order the same thing in a zombielike trance, and hardly give you the time of day. Others just grate on your nerves.
There is the Americano boy though.
He comes in every single day at eleven fifteen (ish), usually with his hair pulled back and a downright tired look on his face. Sometimes he'll have fresh bruises, or his hands wrapped up, and on those days he tends to look even worse for wear.
But he's... Sweet, in his own way. He tips nicely despite only ever ordering a mini tiramisu and americano (both of which have a pretty high amount of caffeine) and you've seen the way he treats kids. Which, is with a begrudging acceptance as they marvel over his strangely pale hair.
You're not quite sure what to make of him, honestly.
You're almost certain he's a college student too, and if you're to be completely honest, makes you absolutely green with envy. Which is ridiculous, really. It's not his fault you're broke and unable to further your education.
But that's beside the point.
The point is that as soon as the words, "So have you got any new crushes?" left your friend's mouth, all you could think about was the americano boy and his bright blue eyes.
And you have no idea what to make of this development.
You... You don't. Like him, right?
No. That'd be weird. You're not supposed to crush on your regulars, especially ones you don't even know the name of.
You know that, but when he shows up at exactly eleven seventeen, you swear your heart does a flip and all you can think is oh no.
He doesn't seem to notice anything different though, simply ordering the same he does everyday and collapsing onto the nearest bench tiredly.
"Long morning?" You ask curiously, already getting to work cutting him out a square of tiramisu. You fleetingly wonder if mentioning that you're typically the one to make the pastries would affect your chances with him.
Not that you have any chance with a customer, you correct yourself. What do you think this is? Some cliche coffeehouse AU?
God, you fuckin hope so.
"I've got a concussion." He answers after a second, sighing tiredly. "You'd think that would mean something to my professors."
You lift your eyebrows in confusion, and he continues, "Artificial light makes my head hurt. ...Worse."
"Makes sense." You make a humming noise, sliding the dessert over the counter and asking, "How'd you end up with a concussion?" Not another fight, right? A concussion seems pretty unlikely unless he totally got dunked on. Which seems... Impossible, honestly.
He hesitates, apparently thinking it over before pulling his phone out. "Ruin threw me."
Leaning over the counter, he shows you a picture of the creature in question, who turns out to be a positively gorgeous horse.
"Oh," You gasp. "He's so pretty." You want to say more, to ask how old he is and what kind, but honestly... You're not the most knowledgeable horse person.
Americano boy just laughs, "Yeah."
"So... Is like your horse or what?" You ask slowly, smiling excitedly.
"He's mine. We all have our own and a few more." He seems happy to talk about his horse, despite the fact this conversation started with his concussion. You're pretty stoked too, but that's mostly because you just really like animals. If given the option, you would've loved to become a veterinarian.
"Rad." Is all you can respond, laughing.
He tilts his head, obviously debating his next words. "He's going to be in the spring parade. If you'd like to see him."
"Really!?" Your voice comes out embarrassingly high with your excitement, but War just seems to think its amusing.
He shrugs, "It's good publicity for Death and my siblings all enjoy the limelight."
"Death the lawyer brother." You reiterate, returning to the task at hand. Making coffee doesn't require much effort at this point.
"Yes." He says, tinged with confusion.
"Just confirming." You reply lightly. You struggle to remember everything Americano's told you about his family. While its true he's a... Top priority customer, if you will, he's still just one of the many customers you face during the average shift (who knew college kids drank so much coffee?). He's not even that talkative. "What are the other two named?" You finally ask, sliding his coffee over the counter.
His lips tilt up in a half smile (and it becomes painfully obvious that yes, you do have a crush on him), "Fury and Strife. Fury being my only sister."
Your eyes narrow, a particularly memorable tale from one of your other regulars coming to mind. "The same Strife from the cornchip thing?" You think they were cornchips, at least. Apparently he got a datemate by breaking a vending machine or something.
You honestly aren't surprised Americano's got a weird-ass family.
He snorts, lips pressing into a thin line to stop himself from smiling. "The very same Strife."
He doesn't ask, but you feel the need to explain, "You wouldn't believe how many people come here to gossip."
"I would, actually." He says, "Given how quickly that-" A couple walks in, Americano glancing at them briefly before finishing, "Story spread."
You don't want to cut this conversation, but it is you job. You give the newcomers a bright smile, and by the time you've taken their orders and grabbed them both a slice of banana bread, Americano is gone.
You find yourself pouting as you wipe the counter down, mulling over his spring parade offer. You were considering going anyway, and although standing in the hot sun for hours isn't really your style, maybe Americano boy being there would make up for it.
Or make it even worse, what with the blush you're now sporting.
And he's not even here. Just shameful.
Fuck, is it even hotter than you expected. Your water bottle is already half empty, the packed crowds doing you no favors. At least I still look cute, a quick glance at one of the store front windows reminds you.
Not that you're trying to impress anyone, obviously. And if you were, it would definitely not be some guy that clearly has a caffeine addiction.
You're just here for the festivities.
You missed the first parade (they have a two a day on Thursday and Friday) unfortunately, but you know it can't be helped. Goodness knows the coffee shop is already short staffed enough without you flaking on them to flirt with some boy you still don't know the name of.
You almost invited a friend to join you, but that would require explaining why you want to go so bad in the first place and that sounds... Unpleasant. You have run into several friends anyway, and they've all seemed happy to see you.
Plus you grabbed a some grade A elephant ear, so you're happy to have dragged yourself out of your blissfully air conditioned apartment. There's honestly no way to go wrong with horribly unhealthy fair food, in your opinion (you just barely resisted the temptation of trying "deep fried Oreos", which sound like a heart attack in a cookie, but also pretty yummy).
God bless fair food.
And the fair in general, you suppose, scanning the crowds as you pull apart your pastry. Exhausted parents, their obnoxiously energetic children, and tourists dominate the scene, mixed up with teenagers and disgruntled parade workers.
One of which just so happens to have his ridiculously pale hair pulled into a messy ponytail and an award worthy scowl on his face as who you assume is one of his brothers chit-chats with a parade official. He's certainly got the hair to be one of War's siblings.
Death, then? You wonder, weaving your way over to him. The other siblings are no where to be found, and you're almost certain you can get away with stealing him without having to meet the family.
"Hey, Americano." You greet with a smile.
His scowl drops almost immediately, replaced by complete and utter shock when he glances down at you. "Hello." He finally says, eyes flickering over to his brother.
"Isn't it your break time?" You ask, moving to unclip the water bottle at your waist and offer it to him. "You look horrible, and I've seen you after exams."
His lips quirk as he accepts the drink. "I appreciate your concern." He says dryly, oh so casually looking you up and down. You narrow your eyes and he snorts, "I've never seen you out of uniform."
You place a hand on your hip, "That is like the weakest excuse for checking someone out I've ever heard."
He just smirks, and damn do you have a crush on this boy. "I did not expect to see you." He says, not even trying to subtly change the subject.
Smooth. You roll your eyes, the parchment paper crinkling in your fingers as you grab another chunk of elephant ear, "You underestimate my weakness for shitty carnival food, Americano."
"War." He corrects, making you pause.
War. His name is War. "Well... It's nice to officially meet you then, War." You say with a grin. "You wanna ditch your bro and hang with me then?" You don't say 'date', but his wide eyes make it clear that's what he heard.
He glances over at his brother and then back at you, considering his options.
"You promised to show me Ruin." You add, sing song as you hold your hand out for him. A risky move, in your opinion. "Come on, War, you're not gonna go back on a promise, are you?"
He laughs, shaking his head as he takes your offered hand in his. "Death," He says, "I'll check on the horses."
You're tempted to add 'and maybe grab some dinner', but you think that's a little too risky. His brother looks over at the two of you curiously, eyes lingering on yourself. "...fine. Be back in time for the next parade."
You may've been just imagining the 'I expect an introduction later' vibe he's sending, but with the way War rolls his eyes in response, you think you're right.
"Come on, Americano." You cheer, trying to drag War away. "We got things to do."
He lets you do the leading, although you mostly just wander aimlessly and talk. You learn a lot in that time, like his favorite color (yellow), his abnormal hatred for anything sour, and that he has absolutely no idea what he wants to major in (you have no idea, period).
You tell him random facts about yourself in return, talking about your now rather distant family and your job at the coffee place. He seems startled when you mention that you usually work double shifts and make the pastries, but thankfully doesn't ask about your financial situation. That seems more of a 'going steady' sort of question rather than one for the first date.
He does comment that you should teach him how to make tiramisu though, adding that their family kitchen is rarely used.
The family kitchen.
In his home.
Is... Is he inviting me over?
You blush seven shades of red at that, and War quickly backpedals,"I didn't mean- like that."
You're unable to keep a straight face, trying to reign your laughter in with your free hand. "No, no! It's fine! God, I'm sorry for assuming." You attempt to say, your laughter making it that much harder to understand.
War, at least, seems to think its cute. "I should've worded it better." He replies, smiling down at you.
You wonder if you can kiss him if you get up on your tiptoes. Right now you're about even with his shoulders, so he'd probably have to lean down. I mean, I have already dared to hold his hand.
And god does he look kissable right now.
"Hey, War?" You say, purposely lowering your voice so he's forced to move closer to hear you over the crowd.
He raises one eyebrow.
"Can I kiss you?" You say, the words coming out much more delicate than planned. They don't match how you feel.
War blinks, and you can feel his smirk when he presses his lips to yours.
It's short and sweet, and when you say sweet you mean it. He licks his lips when he pulls away (you don't think you'll ever get that image out of your head). "You taste like cinnamon sugar."
You're unable to keep from smiling, asking, "You got a sweet tooth by any chance?"