MISC 13. “You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.” with Zab please????
Does anyone else hear an overly used trope? No? Okay. Sorry this is late, and that it’s kind of short, my brain’s still fried from midterms.
Prompt: “You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.” from this prompt list.
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If there’s one thing college sophomore Zabdiel de Jesus could appreciate about the on-campus coffee shop (aside from the wide selection of pastries and drinks, of course), it’d have to be the barista. She looked to be his age, maybe a year younger, maybe a year older, he wasn’t really sure. What he was sure of was that she knew how to make a good cup of coffee, strong enough to jolt him awake when he was too tired from a late night of studying and doing homework. That, and she had a pretty smile.
“Ay papa,” Christopher says, looking up from his laptop. Of course Zab would take any excuse to camp out in the café, and while Chris did enjoy it at first, it soon became an exhausting wait. “If you’re going to ask her out, then do it already.”
The tips of Zabdiel’s ears turn pink, and it only turns darker when the barista (”Her name’s (Y/n),” Richard told them. “I share my Intro to Psych class with her.”) turns to their general direction. Just his luck that he picked a table near the door as his usual table—how was he supposed to know that she had a thing for looking out the door?—and it’s just his luck that his friend was quickly getting fed up with him not doing anything about the painfully obvious crush he had on her.
“What do you want me to do?” He mutters, seemingly focused on his laptop. Seemingly being the keyword; Chris had a front-row seat to how often the taller male would look in (Y/n)’s direction.
“Habla con ella, güey.” The way Chris says it turns Zabdiel’s face an interesting shade of pink, and he ducks behind his laptop just in time to hide from her. “¿Qué tienes que perder?”
“It’s not that easy,” Zabdiel grumbles, typing away at the essay he’d been procrastinating on for the past week. “No quiero hacer nada estúpido, and I don’t want to make anything awkward either.” To this, his friend just shakes his head, about to retort when a familiar, feminine voice speaks up.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” (Y/n) has her hands clasped behind her back, an apologetic grin on her lips as she gestures to the slowly emptying store, “But I’m supposed to close soon. If you guys want one last refill, please let me know now.” That’s all she says before going to other tables, giving them that same smile and a similar statement, completely oblivious to how Zabdiel’s eyes followed her around.
“You’ve got it bad, papa,” Christopher says, snickering as he begins to put his things away. Noticing that she’s returned to her spot behind the counter, the brunet nudges his empty mug over to his friend, a sly gleam in his eyes. “I don’t need anymore coffee, pero she’d probably appreciate having one less table to clean up.” The way he punctuated the statement with a wiggle of his brows had his friend groaning, but nonetheless, Zabdiel picks up their empty mugs and makes his way to the granite countertop of (Y/n)’s workstation.
“Here.” You’re a little surprised when the clink of ceramic and granite hit your ears, and the surprise only grows when you look up at whoever put the mugs down. Surprise, surprise, it’s one of your best customers, a tall blond—who, according to one of your co-workers, recently bleached his hair—that always showed up around the time of your shifts. He’s also a regular coffee-drinker, often nodding whenever you approached him to refill the mug. Matter of fact, that’s exactly what prompts your response.
“Do you want a refill?” Much to your surprise—wow, he’s really good at that, and you don’t even know his name—he shakes his head, pushing them closer to you.
“We’re leaving soon, and I figured you’d want two less mugs to grab before you close.” It’s an odd thing to do, especially for someone who’s never really stuck around until closing, and you just nod, taking the mugs from the counter and setting them in the sink. When you turn back to face the rest of the café, you expected him to be gone, but he’s still there, fidgeting in place. Weird.
“Do you need anything else?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. There’s still ten minutes until you close, so maybe he wanted a pastry or something. Hopefully he says what he wants, because those ten minutes could go by pretty quickly, and you still had a few chapters left to read for your Developmental Psych class.
“Uh...” Whatever it is, you didn’t anticipate him looking down, before blurting, “I just wanted to know if you come here often?” The question makes you blink, before a soft chuckle slips past your lips.
“Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.” From the way he refused to look at you, it’s easy to tell he’s embarrassed. Then again, you muse, anyone would be. It’s a cheesy as hell pick-up line after all, one that had an obvious answer, given how frequently he saw you behind the counter. A smile plays on your lips as you scribble something on a piece of paper, pushing it towards him before drumming your fingers on the counter.
“If you want to talk to me when I’m off the job, then here.” There’s no denying how cute the tiny grin he gives you is, and you wave goodbye to him as he and his friend leave.
The rest of closing goes smoothly, and you leave the last of the mugs and dishes on the rack to dry, covering them with a towel for your co-worker. Just as you’re about to collect your things from the staff room, your phone buzzes, alerting you to a text.
???: Sorry for the lame line, nena. My name’s Zabdiel, by the way, and if you were free this Thursday, maybe we could hang out?
