Deer in headlights. Brown eyes hold a sort of sheepish lostness, one that doesn’t quite match the fact that Caleb had just finished making the other’s order before he was even able to get to the register to order it. The beating of his heart in his chest feels heavy, like the pounding muscle is crawling up his throat, sinking down to his gut the moment he swallows. His mouth feels dry and for a moment, all he can do is set the cup on the counter in front of the register for him.
“Morning.” The greeting feels almost like a gasp for air. Freckled cheeks seem permanently dyed crimson and his only saving grace is the fact that his co worker was on break and thus couldn’t witness this pathetic act of trying to engage in flirtation. As if this boy hadn’t been coming to the coffee bar for a few weeks now, each time stealing Caleb’s breath -- taking him to a state between euphoria and disillusion. How many stupid little poems had he written about this boy’s eyes? Chicken scratch on receipt paper. This is his moment and yet he feels frozen in time.
“It’s uh .. it’s on the house today. Since you’re ... y’know here all the time.” He clears his throat, hands pushing into the front of the pockets of his black apron. His name and pronouns clearly written with a small heart at the end -- a contrast to his usual unreadable writing, but he’d wanted it to look perfect and his boss had complained that it had to be legible.
“But uh if you wanted to pay somehow ... you could ... y’know ... by giving me your number?” Did his voice just raise a whole octave? It’s clear as day that this very moment is going to radiate into his nightmares tonight -- if he even manages to get a wink of sleep with the memory in his mind. How stupid he must look to the other, but some part still hopeful.
