Imagines

Ben Wyatt

You grabbed your starbucks apron, and started preparing for the days orders. The shop had not been open 5 minutes until a tall, slender, dark haired man walked in. Your pupils dilated, taking in his dark brown quiff, plaid shirt, and dress pants. He had light stubble and chocolate eyes, with a prominent nose. He walked up, his gait not too heavy but not too light. 

“A tall pumpkin spice latte, please.” His slender hands slapped a ten on the counter. You looked up at him, and noticed that his eyes had more dark circle than eye. 

“That all?” You asked. He chuckled softly.

“How about a venti espresso, with 3 extra shots.” You smiled.

“Rough night?” You asked, giving him his change and starting to work on his caffeine monster. 

“Yeah, I stayed up all night.”

You raised your eyebrow, a woman? Not that he couldn’t land a girl, those warm eyes melted your knees and his angular face make your stomach do a flip flop. So yeah, you were jealous.

He laughed. “No, I work in the Parks Department, I am always swamped with paperwork and red tape and procedures and precautions and-“

“So, a lot.” You set his coffee on the counter, the steam rising from the branded cup.

“Thanks.” He said, picking the cup from your hand, his slender fingers accidentally brushing yours. Your eyes locked, frozen in that moment.

The moment was interrupted when the bell jingled again, signaling a new customer. He awkwardly stumbled back towards his seat, briefly checking the view from behind before turning to the new customer.

“f/n l/n! How are you!”

Chris Traeger. He was stupidly happy, he believed he was going to live to be 150 year old. He once exercised in the middle of the Starbucks floor. He let kids sit on his back for “extra resistance”. You eventually had to ask him to leave, but it was nonetheless enjoyable.

“One green tea, no sugar, no plastic, only recyclable products please.”

“Coming right up, Chris Taeger.”

You could have sworn you heard the stranger smile behind you. It was only to your surprise when Chris started towards the stranger.

“Benjamin Wyatt!” Chris sat down, the stranger, Ben groaned and sat back in his seat.

“Chris Taeger!” Ben said, with much less enthusiasm.

Time passed, customers came and went. You were about to close up shop, exhausted after a long day of work, when Ben came bursting in. 

“You aren’t closed are you?” Ben was panting, sweat forming at the corners of his armpits. His chest rose and fell, he dropped his books on the floor and raced over to you. He tripped on the freshly mopped floor, his papers falling all over. He jumped over the counter, grabbed your face in his hands, and kissed you. 

Surprised.

Shocked.

Surprised.

Pleased.

You returned the kiss, but he pulled away. 

“I’m so sorry. Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

You smiled, looking down at your feet.

“No,” you stuttered, “I liked it.” You rubbed your arms, suddenly self conscious. 

He tipped your chin up, “Good.”

Kissing you once more on the mouth for good measure, he stumbled back to his things, and left. 

Your heart was racing, something was activated inside of you. Oh god, what was happening. 

He ran back in, slapping his number on the counter, tipped his head, then left. You closed up shop, your mind buzzing with thoughts.

Was it too quick?

You only met today.

You’re not a slut, you’ve only dated a couple of times. 

Oh god, what was happening.

You sat in your apartment, staring down your phone. Picking it up, putting it down. Picking it up, putting it down. His lips were soft, they tasted like pizza. His awkwardness was oddly endearing, his slenderness, his slenderness. His hands were warm and reassuring, you trusted him, but you have never seen him before. 

You picked up the phone, and dialed the number.

You got a response immediately. 

“Hello? y/n? Hi! Yes, hello!”

Your smile spread to your cheeks and eyes, also spreading a little lower. 

“Hey.”

“Hey. Is that friendly, or romantic? I don’t know, sorry, I’m bad at this. Wait, no, don’t think that. Wait, um, uh, date?”

“Tonight?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah! I am all for that! My apartment is a mess, but, uh, hey?”

“It’s your apartment, or my dorm. My roommate is a prostitute, so your place works!”

“Awesome! Wait, I shouldn’t have said awesome, oh, okay, um, uh, see you there!”

He hung up, without giving you his address.

He called back.

“2758 Brandy Street, sorry!”

He hung up again.

Grabbing a sweater and gloves from your closet, you headed out.