Vikkstar123 [sidemen]

There's Certain Things That I Adore

Day 3 of Sydneyxix's 12 Days of Ficmas 

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"Hey, Y/n."

"Hm?"

"Your big tipper's here."

Your coworker's comment to you as you worked on clearing table three together did not come as a surprise; your "big tipper" made his way to the cafe that you worked in at around the same time every afternoon. You feigned disinterest, chuckling lightly, but when your coworker laughed and disappeared with the dirty silverware you stole a nervous glance at the glass door and smoothed out your apron.

"Alright, Y/n," you whispered to yourself. "Get it together. He's no one."

But you knew that he had to be someone. Even your favorite regulars never left you tips that exceeded twenty percent of the bill. But this guy--this someone--always somehow managed to leave you a twenty when his breakfast order and tea refills never costed nearly that much.

And all you knew him by was the name with which he signed the bill: Vik.

You turned away from the table after you'd wiped it down, and somewhere across the restaurant, at the front, the entrance bell chimed gently. Your heart leapt.

It was odd; of course you appreciated the huge tip Vik always left you, but moreso you just wanted to see him. You always wanted to see him, and you hardly knew him. But you could never express that; you were still a bit of a pathetic mess after your last breakup.

You went to wipe down another table, one from which you could watch him approach the counter without looking like you were blatantly staring. He wore dark jeans and a heather gray sweater, smiled warmly at the worker at the register before she took his order. You watched her tell him that he could sit at whatever open table he'd like, and he nodded kindly, turning around to scan his eyes across the restaurant.

You could feel him begin to turn toward you like you can feel the chill in the air when a cloud begins to obstruct the sun. And yet you were frozen there, half-leaning over the table where your hand had a rag pinned to the wood, waiting for him to see you. You hadn't thought you could feel any more nervous or that your heart could beat any faster until suddenly his gaze met yours and everything you were feeling was amplified a thousand times.

Staring steadfastly back at him from across the room, you were convinced that you'd never seen such dark eyes with so much light in them. They were the feathers of ravens and the velvety midnight sky, pieces of obsidian when held near candlelight; captivating, vast, and illuminated only by his mellow disposition.

One corner of his mouth turning up in greeting, he looked away from you and started toward table three. Your table.

You exhaled the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding and finished your work before hurrying behind the takeout counter to recoup. "Jesus, Y/n, he's just a boy," you muttered to yourself, rinsing your hands in the sink.

Your coworker slid up beside you, a tea in one hand and a muffin on a plate in the other. "Ready to go out," she said, then winked. "Table three."

"Chill," you muttered with an eyeroll, taking Vik's order from her and turning around to carry it out to him.

His eyes were trained on the phone in his hands when you finally made it to his table and deposited his food. You said, "Good afternoon. Your breakfast, sir."

When Vik finally looked up at you, his smile was as exaggeratedly sweet as your greeting was. "I thought we'd agreed that we'd keep that between you and me."

"What, the fact that you have breakfast at four in the afternoon?"

"Exactly that."

You shrugged, resting your hands lightly on your hips. "I like that about you. It's different."