Chishiya x Reader | Oneshots

Summer and Strawberry Cake

You remember the customer that always orders the strawberry cake. 

You had taken up a part-time job working the register at a café run by family friends of yours as a summer pastime, delighting in the chance to be around desserts as well as being able to earn some money on the side. Occasionally, you were even given the option to take any leftover treats home at the day's end, which you gladly accepted - you were particularly fond of the summer specials offered in the café, the desserts and drinks often featuring pink strawberries dusted with icing sugar. Your favourite of these was definitely the strawberry shortcake, a simple cake layered with cream and red fruit.

It was also because of this you began to take notice of the cafe's recurring blonde customer, who frequently came in just late enough to grab the slice you had been hoping to take for yourself. 

This customer, who you and the rest of the staff had come to refer to as 'Strawberry Cake' (or less colloquially, 'The Strawberry Cake Guy'), came in almost every second day to order your beloved dessert. He had shoulder-length blonde hair and a somewhat amused quality about the way he spoke, his lips quirking at the corners during the small pleasantries you exchange with him while taking his order. However, you found it strange - you didn't consider him to be arrogant, as his manner would suggest, but became curious about him instead. The strawberry cake he bought in bulk seemed out of character for someone like him, anyway.

"Would you mind closing up today?" your co-worker gives you an apologetic smile, and you assure her that you wouldn't mind at all. It's just about time that Strawberry Cake pays the café a visit, after all, and perhaps he will give you the shock of the century by ordering something different. 

"Go ahead," you reply, taking her apron from her with a smile of your own. "I've got time to spare, anyway."

You help her package one of the other summer specials for her own family, an assortment of neat little strawberry and custard tarts. To your knowledge she has two children, both of which you've seen visiting the café before. She thanks you and takes the pink confectionary box from you, before leaving the café in a flurry of dessert and puffy coat. 

It's late when a familiar blonde head appears in the doorway of the café, letting the glass door swing shut on its own. You give him a warm smile and he dips his head slightly, coming to the counter to take his order. You shoot a quick glance at the dessert display case - two slices of strawberry cake left. Your customer service smile changes to an I'm-taking-cake-home smile, and the blonde seems to notice the slight change in your expression. His lips curve slightly upward with that amused quality, and you try not to look embarrassed.   

"Hey! It's nice to see you again," you offer, indicating the display case with another smile since you already know his order. "Will it be strawberry cake again today, then?"

A huffed laugh escapes his lips. "That's the one." Your blonde customer's voice is rather throaty, low and teasing in a way that makes you admittedly look forward to the small snatches of conversation that occur between the two of you. "It seems you've got me figured out already."  

"Ah, it's the psychic powers you get from working in a café." You laugh as you carefully transfer a slice of cake into one of the café takeout boxes. Unsurprisingly, your blonde customer never eats in the café. "Well, why not surprise me for once? We've got loads of summer specials, if it's the strawberries you're after."

He hums, surveying the glass display case with half-lidded eyes. "I'll give it some thought."

"Glad to hear it." you grin. He slides cash over the counter and you hold out the pink confectionary box for him to take - his hands close over the box's handles, warm over your own hands before you quickly let go in surprise. The way his eyes flicker to yours momentarily, almost as if he was expecting your reaction, makes you wonder whether the fleeting touch was intentional. You blink, quick to compose yourself as he turns away.