He was in a coffee shop when he saw him.
He tried to cover the dried paint stains on his hands so the beautiful man wouldn't think he was pyscho, or a hobo, or worse, a wannabe indie painter.
Oh, wait. He was.
But there was no point in hiding his hands, because those blue eyes didn't glance his way once.
And that disappointed him a whole lot.
So he came back the next day.
He had never been to this specific shop. He usually went to Starbucks, always grabbing a quick coffee because he was always late to something, always needing to get back home to finish an overdue project or an assignment. But this day he had time, so he decided to enter an urban coffee shop, one his friend had once mentioned. He wasn't disappointed, as he's not very picky, But it wasn't the coffee that caught his attention.
It was the Adonis that sat in the left corner of the shop, tucked away in a big gray hoodie and hidden behind huge black glasses frames, much too big for his face. His hair was a disheveled mop of blonde strands, and he was sipping a small cup of hot coffee, a small brown stain on his big chest. Occasionally, he would put his hands onto the laptop on his lap and type something furiously, before picking his coffee up again and frantically drinking more of it. He clearly didn't give a fuck about the stain on his shirt, but Mitch didn't care, though. Mitch thought he was adorable.
So he came back the next day.
This time, the Adonis decided to wear a black t-shirt, and he discarded the frames for some contacts. Neither managed to hinder the way those crystal blue eyes lit up the room and sparked fireworks in his heart. There he was, perched up in that same left corner, sipping an iced coffee instead. At least it was harder to spill.
Mitch watched him.
As his lips closed around the straw, Mitch had to catch himself from staring at his mouth for too long, or he'd be caught in a trance.
Mitch remembered to wash his hands before leaving his clustered apartment, and he even dressed up a little, instead of deeming dirty sweatpants and paint-stained tank tops. He wore black jeans, and a black shirt, and he thought he looked pretty damn good.
Yet, the Adonis didn't glance up, again. He had his face shoved into a phone screen instead of a laptop, and he was typing furiously all the same, his thumbs making quiet sounds that rung throughout the silent shop. No wonder Adonis came here so often, Mitch noticed, no one else did.
Still, after drinking his second macchiato in hopes that the stranger would see him at the counter more than once, he left, disappointed that he wasted his time, and feeling a bit hyper from two cups of coffee.
Mitch couldn't get the Adonis out of his mind. Despite executing the initial vision Mitch had for his project when he got home, he found himself holding his paintbrush and creating a subconscious portrait of the Adonis, complete with a blinding smile and striking eyes. Creating art was Mitch's safe haven, and you would think that he would be annoyed that a stranger trampled his way into his happy place, but Mitch's heart leapt instead. He didn't care that this wasn't at all what was requested of him. He just could not forget about him.
So he came back the next day.
And this time, Mitch decided to do something.
And by that, he decided to sit at a chair at six feet away from him, and hope that they happened to make eye contact.
