Your Shitty Handwriting Sucks
At this point, Baz had given up on ever finding his soulmate. Sure, he had the first words that his soulmate would say to him tattooed on his wrist, but he couldn’t fucking read it. His soulmate had shit handwriting, and if he ever met his soulmate, he wouldn’t know.
He sighs, leaning his elbow on the coffee shop counter, and propping his head in his hand. Work was slow tonight, only a few people were sitting in the lightly lit place. A cute bronze haired boy, furiously typing on a laptop, an elderly lady drinking coffee, and reading a novel, and a man who was scrolling through his phone with a muffin sitting in front of him. He couldn’t wait to get home and sleep, he had an early lecture in the morning. He wasn’t even supposed to be working tonight, he covered Agatha’s shift because he owed her for all the times she covered for him when he was so tired he could hardly stand, and days when he had to study.
He glanced at the clock. 9:40. The shop closed at 11:00, and he frowned. He pulled out his phone, and stuck his earbuds in. If no one needed him, he could at least listen to his music for the next hour until he could go home. He spared one last glance at the curly haired boy, almost wishing that he was his soulmate. Rubbing his wrist, he chided himself. He wouldn’t know anyway, and he sent up one more curse at his soulmate for having shit handwriting.
Simon yawned, leaning back in his chair. He was so tired, but he had an assignment that had to be turned in by midnight. He thought it would be easy, and that was his mistake. He didn’t listen to Penny when she kept telling him that he would need days to work on it, not hours. He’d been working on it for the past four hours, and was almost finished with it. He glanced at his watch, and saw that it was 9:47. He had time for a quick catnap. He looked at the handsome black haired barista standing behind the counter, earbuds in and eyes closed. Simon didn’t think he would care if he slept or that he hadn’t ordered anything since he came in around five. He laid his head down in his arms, and closed his eyes.
When the clock hit 10:50, he raised his arms above his head and stretched. He looked around the small, dimly lit shop, and saw the bronze haired boy, sitting down, head in his arms. The other two people had left, thank god. He just had to get the boy out of here and then he could close up, and head home. He took out his earbuds, and set his phone on the counter. He walked toward the boy, quickly seeing that he sleeping, soft snores emitting from him. He felt a little bad at having to wake him, but not that bad. He wanted to get home.
He nudged the boy with his hand, poking his shoulder.
“Hey? Sorry, but you have to leave, we’re closing in five.” Baz said, poking him again.
The boy groaned, but didn’t move.
“Excuse me, you have to leave. Contrary to popular belief, we’re not a hotel.” This time, the boy lifted his head, and blinked blearily at Baz.
The first thing that Baz saw was bright, blue eyes. It was as if he was staring at an unblemished sky on a bright sunny day. The boy’s eyes were beautiful, and bright, and brilliant. The second thing that stood out to Baz was the freckles and moles covering his face. Did this sleepy boy have to be so pretty?
“What’d you say?” The boy mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
Baz rolled his eyes. “I said that you need to leave because we’re closing.”
The last thing he sees before he was hugged was his blue eyes widening. The next thing was arms tightly wrapped around his waist, and were those tears?
Baz’s first thought was to push this maniac off, but he felt comfortable and safe with the boys arms around him.
The boy looked up at Baz, and thrust his wrist into his face. And in Baz’s neat handwriting were the words, “Hey? Sorry, but you have to leave, we’re closing in five.”
Baz gasped. This was his soulmate? He glanced at the papers and the laptop sitting on the table behind the boy. And yes, on the papers scattered all over the table, had the shit handwriting that was on his wrist.
“You’re the one with shit handwriting! Did you know that I can’t even read what you’re first words were until I heard them? Your shitty handwriting sucks ass.”
The boy had the grace to look embarrassed. “I never would have thought that you wouldn’t be able to read it. Um.” The boy unwrapped his arms from around Baz’s waist, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Simon Snow, your soulmate. And you are?”
“Baz Pitch.” He said, grasping Simon’s hand. Simon smiled shyly at him, and Baz’s knees got weak.
“Um, I know we’re soulmates and all, but I gotta close up shop. Would you-” Baz swallowed. “Would you like to hang out when I’m done?” Screw that morning lecture. He’d rather waste the night away with his soulmate.
Simon grinned at him, then glanced at the clock. Panic clouded his features. “Give me twenty minutes, and sure. I just have to finish this project as fast as I can.”
Baz nodded. “I guess I could keep this place open for twenty minutes more. Just hurry up, soulmate.”
The night finished with the two boys walking hand in hand under the dim streetlights, and Baz just realizing how lucky he was to have this beautiful, brilliant, lively boy as his soulmate. As Baz gave him another soft smile, he decided to let the fact that Simon had shit handwriting pass.
