Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
Written for auction prompt - Coffee Shop!AU
Word Count - 249
Too Late To Mean Anything
You wait for him to come by every day. He arrives at the same time, he orders the same drink (Cappuccino), and he sits at the same table. You wonder sometimes if he's ever even noticed that six out of seven days a week, it's you that takes his order.
It's you that makes his coffee.
Does he even know your name?
You know his, of course. James. A classic name, you think, not like yours.
You want to know him, know what he's studying when he sits at that corner table every day. You want to know his favourite colour, his favourite food, what makes him smile.
You already know his coffee choice, but that's all you know.
You almost build up the courage to talk to him, but the day you tell yourself you can do it, he comes into the coffee shop with a pretty red haired woman hanging off his arm.
Your courage leaves you immediately, and you make his coffee as you do daily, and you make her a tea and just barely manage to stop yourself adding salt to the leaves.
She hasn't done anything wrong ; your jealousy is your problem.
"Thanks, Sirius," James murmurs as you hand over the drinks.
You watch as he moves to his regular table with the woman, and you hear him laughing, free and easy.
You sigh. He knows your name, and yet, the knowledge sits heavy on you because it's too late to mean anything.