Wendy Oneshot

The Usual (Part 2)

It's like a catchphrase, or trademark, or something along those lines.

It's... kinda cute, actually.

Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with you Y/N.

When you get your drink Wendy smiles again, and you smile back, almost by reflex, your lips curling into a grin in a immediate response to the brightness of Wendy's smile, and maybe it's the lighting of the place or maybe you're hallucinating, but you could swear that Wendy almost glows, and it's nothing like you've ever seen before, not in any other person.

"See you," Wendy calls as you turn to go, and it takes all of your self-control to not sprint right out of the shop.

The third day is a Thursday. You've got it all planned out in your head already. You'll smile and be confident, and you won't stutter or blush. Maybe you'll even introduce yourself properly, or ask for Wendy's name-as if you don't already have it burned into the back of your brain-just as a conversation starter.

You rehearse it on the way to the coffee shop-what you're going to say, how you'll say it. Of course, the inherent assumption of all these scenarios is that your stupid heart isn't going to get the better of your brain, but you're confident that it's a safe assumption to make.

So when you walk into the shop, standing tall and exuding an air of confident, and get not the familiar set of brown eyes standing by the counter, all that sureness and certainty drains right out your faster than you can say "fuck".

You almost feel like just heading right back out of the coffee shop, but somehow you manage to remember what it's like to be a regular human being, and instead make your way to the counter-if slightly unwillingly.

You rattle off your oder almost mechanically, and instead of Wendy's sweet voice and that catchphrase you have spent far too long thinking about yesterday all you get is a grunt in reply, and yeah, this really isn't what you were expecting at all.

Even the coffee doesn't taste as good as it did yesterday and the day before. You think to yourself bitterly as you pedal towards campus. Maybe this is a sign that I just shouldn't come back.

Day four is Friday, and as you cycle to the café there's a peculiar feeling in the pit of your stomach-equal parts anticipation and nervousness, and you start to wonder at what point did your life begin to revolve around a barista whose full name you don't even know, a person that you know nothing about outside of a single word on a name tag and inferences drawn from two measly encounters.

She... seems nice. The gentle, soothing type, the kind of person you go to for advice or for a kind word when you're feeling down, someone you're not afraid to ask for help from. She seems like the sort of person who keeps her rooms meticulously organized, who reads good books in her spare time and listens attentively in every class.

But that's nothing but a baseless inference built on the sound of her voice and the curve of her smile, and you hate it. You hate how you know nothing concrete about this mysterious barista, and you want to remedy it as soon as possible.

That's the thought that occupies your mind as you make the trip down to the coffee shop, and when you step inside you also find yourself letting out a sigh of relied when standing there is Wendy again, and you silently thank your lucky stars for this.

"Hi," Wendy says cheerfully as you walk up to the counter, hands in your pocket, and for some reason you're not... panicking. You hear rate is not going out of control and your palms aren't sweating like you're in the Sahara in summer.

Somehow you feel... calm. You have never been one to believe in things like fate and destiny, but you do believe in luck, and that's what you'll ca it.