Today Your Barista Is...

Chapter 1

I walk into the cramped coffee shop and am immediately hit by the sharp aroma of mocha. It wraps around me, seeping into my skin and warming my body from the wintry wind outside. People sit at the tiny tables, sipping on flavorful drinks or quietly clacking on laptop keyboards.

I walk past the people, ignoring their judging glances at my outfit. I'm used to the stares and glares by now; one of the downsides to looking like you hate everyone and everything.

It only takes three of my very long strides to reach the coffee bar. As I approach it, I glance over the whiteboard that always says the barista and recommended drink. But this time, instead of not even reading it, bright, rainbow colors catch my eye. I read closer. Under the barista, it states my barista is "hella fucking gay." I look farther, where the board says the recommended drink is "give me your number." This both confuses and attracts me, to the point where I'm too distracted to even notice the barista walk up.

"Can I help you?" He says, smiling slyly. There's a slight feeling of awkwardness in the air. I glance at the menu quickly even though I already had something on my mind.

"Yeah...uh..." I stammer off. I must admit the whiteboard has clouded my thoughts.

I'm shaken from my thoughts with a snapping noise. Looking up I see his fingers in post-snap position.

"Hello? Are you going to order or just stand there looking cute?" I blink suddenly and finish my order.

"Oh yeah uh one grande mocha frappe with extra whipped cream please" smiling as I finish my sentence. My mysterious barista nods and turn to make the drink, but stops and turns back.

"Name for the cup?" He asks.

"Dallon. D-a-l-l-o-n" I answer, spelling out my name because nobody never understands how to spell it. He turns and continues to prepare the coffee.

There is small talk all around me in the shop. In the corner there is two girls instagraming their cups, typical. There's a couple business men speaking with steaming mugs. The cafe gives me a sense of calm, I suppose that's because of the smell.

"Dallon!" A voice calls, and I turn my head toward the counter. There he is, the nameless barista who made my drink.

I walk over and grab my cup, making eye contact with him, then looking at the board which should say hi name, back to him, and smirk.

"Thanks for the drink Hella Fucking Gay." I high five myself mentally for the joke I made. His face turns bright red and his confident smile falls.

"Y-You saw that?" He asks while blushing deeply. I almost feel bad for pointing it out, but I couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah, it's sort of obvious. The rainbow colors kind of-"

"It's Brendon." He cuts me off quickly, then looks away. I offer a weak smile although I know he can't see.

Brendon. I like that name. It suits his brown hair and eyes. It suits his small build and face structure. It suits his personality.

He stands there for a bit, playing with his hair and allowing me to stare blankly at him. I wonder what he's thinking. After a minute I begin to feel bad. I clearly embarrassed him.

"Look I didn't mean anything by it. I hope you didn't think I wanted to call you out. I uh.....I'm gay too." The last part was a whisper. The girls in the corner from earlier were already looking at us with strange expressions.

He perks up once I say something. The light returns to his eyes slowly, and he smiles. "It's alright, I didn't think anyone would pay attention to it, nobody really does."

I nod in conformation at the information he's given me. I glance over to the board one more time. I suddenly have a thought and grab the cup from Brendon. "Thanks." I say, leaving him standing at the counter confused.

I sit down in the nearest booth, digging in my pockets. I find what I'm looking for, the receipt to my mocha. I grab a pen from a nearby table and start scribbling on it, and I can feel Brendon's eyes on me. I smile and continue writing.

When I finish I slam the pen down on the table. I decide to rest for a bit and finish my drink. I can still feel Brendon's eyes on me, observing every sip I take. I must admit, he is really cute. The way he smiles to himself while making each drink, he seems to be subtly dancing along to a song in his head. I almost want to- no. No. What I'm about to do should get his attention.

I stand up slowly, throwing my - now empty - cup in the trash. Here goes nothing.

A/N: this may or may not continue. If you liked it please tell me I need motivation.