Julian Devorak Coffe Shop AU

Julian's Beginning

Julian's POV

The bell chimed, the clock read eight thirty -I knew who had entered immediately. I tried my best to lean nonchalantly against the worktop.
The early hour meant the cafe was quiet apart from the group of business workers typing in the corner, so I could hear their footsteps echoing towards the counter clearly.
I noticed they hadn't said anything since their footfalls stopped, so I turned around.
"Oh, hey you!" I said a little too loudly. "Hazelnut latte?"
They responded politely as ever despite my cracking voice.
I stopped to study their features just for a moment, there was a certain beauty to them that hadn't shifted from the first time I'd served them. Maybe it was the way the morning light fell from the windows and shone behind them like a divine figure. I realised I may have stayed that way for too long and made an excuse for it.
"I'm sorry, but your name's escaped me." This was a lie, it was Y/n. "You wouldn't mind repeating it, would you?"
They smiled forgivingly, "it's Y/n."
"Y/n." I slapped the counter top, over emphasising my mock remembering. "And what a lovely name it is, how could I forget?"
A bashful smile crossed their lips. "You must hear lots of different names working here, it's understandable."
They were too kind. I hurriedly got to making their drink and asked them what they did for work.
"I'm an apprentice just around the corner, we sell candles and stuff." They paused, "what about you? This your full-time gig?"
I chuckled at their phrasing, "'candles and stuff', how fascinating. Know someone who does something similar. I'm studying historical medicine at the city university."
"Cool, interesting."
I pressed the lid onto the take out cup, they had the money ready to hand to me. As I handed them the change, their fingertips brushed softly against my hand. I pulled back quickly, clearing my throat.
They thanked me, I watched them put the change in their purse, then that into their bag. I was pathetically intrigued by these mundane actions, as if observing them could tell me something more.
I scratched the back of my head, looking at the ceiling, then the wall. "I have another question."
They looked back at me, eyes wide and interested, nodding in encouragement.
Whatever confidence I had gathered left me then and there, I cleared my throat once more.
"What's 'and stuff'?"

Back in the break room, I sat in the old armchair that had been there since probably before the building was a cafe. The cushioning had been worn down and was now rather hard to sit on.
Portia joined me there too, she was seeing to a box of potted flowers that she'd kept under an artificial light to keep alive in the changing seasons.
"Can't believe you wussed out like that." She said, rolling her eyes at me.
I picked at the fraying fabric of the chair's arm. I had often vented to her about Y/n, anyone else would have grown sick of my ramblings, but Pasha loved hearing of my infatuation -or more so make fun of me for it.
"I mean, it's all 'Y/n's a painting come to life,'" she playfully swooned. "'Tangible poetry!'"
She pulled the clip our boss, her girlfriend, had gifted her from her hair.
"Don't mock me so," I was, admittedly, in a huff with myself.
Portia gasped as theatrically as I would have, "I'm fixing my hair Julian. Jeez." She did. "You both like coffee, right? Go get drinks together."
I thought back to all the times I remembered serving them, I wondered if they'd still order a hazelnut latte -even if we went somewhere new.