UNRELIABLY TOLDㅤ misc

backstory, contest

for the cherry blossom contest
hosted by aleena <33

the boy leaned on the counter, waiting for his coffee. the cafe was famous for their latte art, and as an expert (no one but himself called him that), he was excited to see it.

he stood on the tips of his toes (he was depressingly short; it was one of his most terrible qualities, really) in an attempt to peek over the counter's film.

a girl, about his age, just a touch taller, was attempting to pour steamed milk into the cup of coffee, a low-quality youtube tutorial playing from her phone.

it came out as a blob that faintly resembled a deformed octopus wearing a sombrero. "crap," the girl muttered. and, unable to help himself, the boy snorted.

she looked up and they met eyes; hot damn, the boy thought, then shook his head because was he really simping for this stranger's pretty green (his favorite color) eyes?

yeah, his brain said to him. you're doing just that.

"can i help you?" she asked, her voice beautifully low and actually also lowkey pissed.

he cleared his throat, embarrassed to be caught laughing at the poor girl. "ah, sorry," he said.

she rose an eyebrow. "you should be," the girl said. "it's not like you would do any better."

the boy let out a startled laugh, and she shot him a look. he tried his best to keep a straight face, biting back a smile. "of course," he said. "my bad.."—he looked at her nametag—"amara?"

"yeah, that's my name, sherlock," she said under her breath, then looked at her phone and paused the youtube video. "now how the hell am i supposed to fix this?"

"it looks beautiful, though," the boy said, half-kidding.

she looked at him. "oh really," the girl deadpanned.

"i love sombrero-wearing octopuses!"

the girl studied the coffee for a hot second, then sighed, seeing the resemblance. "you're so annoying," she muttered, then grabbed a popsicle stick and attempted to swirl it.

"we're mixing the milk into it now?" the boy said, unable to resist. she flipped him off very elegantly, and he tried his hardest not to laugh.

"okay, smart guy," the girl said. "you wanna help me? it's a slow day, the boss is in the back, this is the third coffee, and i am absolutely done with this job."

"isn't that my order?" he asked, resisting a smile.

"yeah, and?"

"damn, well, this can get you fired, amara," he said, rocking back on his feet. "and if i give you a hand here, how'll you serve everyone next shift?"

"that's my problem, not yours."

"you don't even know my name—"

"well, what is it?"

"lionel."

"there we go, now i know."

"and i'm not getting paid for this, am i?" the boy continued. "in my opinion, as an expert latte artist—"

"yeah, okay."

"—i deserve full wage for my contributions."

"fifty cents, my guy, take it or leave it."

he couldn't help but smile. "a dollar?"

"no."

"damn. fine."