One Shots | Cross Gene

Colourlessly Colourful (Takushin)

Original

P.S, I am not well versed in cafè-ness; sorry in advance

Work Text:

"Why can't you do it better?"

His words were harsh and blackened in bold, like the stale coffee sitting in front of him.

"This is the worst coffee I've tasted in my life!" the man shouted. His stare was red, but Shin knew better. Watching from his spot behind the counter, he saw how red faded into grey and the hardened black melt into nothingness. In the end, how much anger could sadness sustain?

The man turned and left.

If Shin had to pick a colour to describe him, he would pick grey, because he was just that sad- sad over something he couldn't be angry about. So naturally, blame it on the coffee, right?

This was what Shin did. He read people, and he gave them a colour. Sometimes it helped to add just a little brightness to his otherwise boring life.

The café was silenced in an air of awkwardness, but Shin breathed freely. He watched as his flustered co-workers tried to do the same.

"Order number 61," he called mildly, "come get your drink please."

The tension was dissolved into sweetened drinks and hushed whispers; the shaking of heads and the shrugging of shoulders.

Another day's work.

It was rhythmic; the footsteps of customers coming and going; the clinking of dishes in the back; the orchestra of gossip and conversations and the occasional loud laugh; the steady pace of his hands as he pressed the buttons of the cash register.

"Would you like to buy another cake? You can get a discount," he said, explaining the promotion with a blank smile and a blank voice. The customer said no, and she walked away. Shin had forgotten her face before she walked out the door.

Eventually the early morning business trickled down into a handful of late afternoon regulars. It was that hour of the day; where the colourless walls became even more colourless and the white cups got even paler; when each recognisable face blurred into the next and the seconds turned into minutes of hours and days.

It was that time of the day; when colours faded and rhythms slowed to a crawl.

"Bored?" Seyoung asked as he came out to the front, his fingers slightly pruned by soap and water. They were close friends, and Seyoung had already familiarised himself with how Shin looked when he was bored, but he asked the question anyways, just for the sake of it.

"Same old, same old," Shin replied monotonously. "We always have no business at this time."

Then the little bell at the entrance rang, a pleasant abnormality to disrupt the rhythm of boring. Seyoung raised an eyebrow and returned to the back.

And then he walked in.

His steps were light and graceful, blissfully out of time with the incessant tick ticking of the grey old clock. He was out of place, the brownness of his bright eyes somehow not blending into the brownness of the coffee Shin had grown so used to seeing.