SEND ME A ✿ AND I’LL GENERATE A NUMBER.
In the end, he’s unable to really get the image out of his head—that unattainable, wonderful image of Mr. Amagasa, of the perfect customer. He counts the days until the man’s return in coffee beans, lining them up on the counter side-by-side and adding to the queue for every day he goes without seeing him. It’s a pitiful existence, almost, but it is what it is. And he finds himself sighing far more often than he used to.
The day he finally walks through those doors again, he perks up almost immediately. His eyes light up. He makes the coffee, serves it, and accepts the man’s praise with a gracious dip of his head. And when the man slides his empty cup back over the counter, when he leans over the table just slightly…
He prides himself on his self-control, and on staying calm even in the most dire situations. But today, in the most uncharacteristic thing he’s ever felt, he finds himself unable to resist lifting one hand, the side of his index finger tracing Mr. Amagasa’s jaw as his thumb touches his lower lip in thought.
The perfect customer tastes like the perfect cup of coffee in this very moment.
With that logic in mind, he kisses him. The action is gentle and quiet, soft and warm, and his hand shifts to cup the man’s face as his tongue parts those soft lips and tastes the inside of his cheek, the roof of his mouth, and the tongue with remnants of the drink he’d made for him.
Quietly, in a voice so soft it’s nearly unrecognisable, he sighs out a quiet ‘ah’, swirling his tongue once against the man’s before finally pulling away.
That had been the perfect kiss, too.