i'll make a cup of coffee for your head
Katara is not in love with the hot barista, no matter how much Sokka seems convinced to the contrary.
"Smoochie, smoochie, someone's in looooooooove," he says, drawing out that last word until it loops round and round like a ribbon tied in a butterfly knot.
Katara shoots him the kind of scowl that would have eviscerated him if looks could kill. Unfortunately for her, they don't quite work like that, not for lack of trying. "Sometimes I wish I never came out to you."
That is wholly untrue, no matter how much she tries to mean it. Spending her late nights in high school filling out "Am I gay?" quizzes on Buzzfeed and agonizing over the answers would fill her with an endless amount of anxiety, but as a sophomore in college, Katara is just getting comfortable in her own skin. Him knowing and generally not being weird about it helps more than she will ever admit.
"Why don't you just ask her out?" Suki asks, trying to placate the situation.
Katara's cheeks redden. "I told you, it isn't like that!" she says indignantly, her words coming out so high pitched that they sound squeaky to her ears.
Sokka chuckles under his breath, and she elbows him so sharply that he doubles over, clutching at his ribs for some kind of relief. "You didn't have to do that," he chokes out.
"Do what?" she asks with faux innocence.
It's Sokka's turn to glare at her, but his accompanying pout is so pathetically childish that Katara can't help but laugh. He lunges for her, and she dances out of his grasp before he can get any amount of fair retribution. Watching his misery is almost enough to make her forget where they're going and why, and the tightness in her chest she has grown so accustomed to is nowhere to be found.
"We're here," Suki announces. "Do we want to study in The Jasmine Dragon or head to one of the libraries instead?"
Katara freezes when she stares up at the green lettering spelling out the letters of the coffee shop's name, then gulps. "One of the libraries," she replies, her mouth forming the words before her brain can fully catch up.
The immediacy of her response makes Sokka snort. "One of the libraries," he mimes, earning him another jab in the same rib. "Let off, woman! Have you no mercy?"
"Not for you."
"I hate you sometimes."
Katara just sticks out her tongue to him and pushes the door open, a bill ringing above her head to announce their entry. Like most days around noon, there's a long, winding line in front of the counter. Unlike Sokka and Suki, who are probably impatient and want to get their hands on some caffeine, Katara is glad for the buffer. She can mentally prepare herself for the hot barista, and hopefully come out of this encounter not seeming like a complete idiot.
Because while Katara is not in love with the hot barista, the barista is certainly hot. She's tall and lean in a way that reminds Katara very much of a willow tree, and a wide smile that always reaches her stormy gray eyes and never fails to make Katara's eyes light up. She's always dressed in bright yellows and blues, like a slice of the summer sun given human form. And though her hair being shaved down to a stubble makes her seem more severe than she perhaps is, Katara quite likes it.
My name is Katara and I want a lavender blueberry latte, she mentally practices.
Wait. That isn't right.
Why would the hot barista need to know her name? It's not like Katara knows hers.
The line moves forward while some more people grab their receipts and stand off to the side, waiting for their numbers to be called out. With each step Katara takes forward, her heartbeat gets louder and louder, a steady drumbeat echoing through her ears. She clenches and unclenches her fists, gulps. Then, finally, she catches sight of the barista manning the cash register.
The knot in her chest undoes itself and she nearly sinks to her knees in relief.
The boy standing there—he can't be much more than Sokka's age—has a permanent scowl on his face, dark hair lazily uncombed, and a scar over his right eye that makes Katara startle at first glance. He is, decidedly, not the hot barista, and for her nerves, that is more than enough.
"What will it be for you today?" he asks dryly.
"A small lavender blueberry latte," Katara replies evenly, eying the nametag on his chest that says 'Zuko' in a messy black scrawl. Suki orders the hibiscus tea, while Sokka gets himself a caramel mocha. Zuko dutifully notes everything down while Katara tries catching a glance over his shoulder to see if the hot barista is here at all.
"You coming?" Suki asks, tugging at her forearm.
"Give me minute."
Zuko shoots her a dirty look that makes Katara smile at him sheepishly. "Next!" he barks out, and she dutifully bows out of his way.
-x-
Katara passes the five-ish minutes it takes for her drink to be made on her phone, which is admittedly not the best habit. Flicking through her friends' Instagram stories makes thoughts of a certain barista flit to the periphery of her mind instead of the forefront, safely out of the purview of her consciousness.
"Order forty-five!"
Katara stills, her blood turning to ice in her veins.
Shit. Shit.
"One small lavender blueberry latte for," a pause, "Katara?"
Even the way she says her name makes Katara's stomach swoop.
"Going once, going twice!"
Sokka shoves Katara in the middle of her shoulder blades, earning him another withering look. He rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath, and it takes all of Katara's self-control to not flip him over her shoulder and onto his back.
Katara slowly walks up to the counter, the lub-dub of her heart unbearably loud. She breathes in sharply through her nose, but that just makes her chest tighten even more. Why is the prospect of merely making eye contact with a marginally attractive barista terrifying her so much more than her organic chemistry finals ever did?
She's not going to remember you, Katara tells herself. You're just one paying customer among, like, a hundred.
"You're Katara, right?"
Katara carefully tilts her head up and nods, hoping that her somewhat darker skin is able to hide the warmth she feels spreading in her cheeks. Or maybe they'll just assume that she has blush blindness, or something equally asinine.
"Here's your latte," the barista says, handing her a paper cup with the lid off.
"Thanks," Katara murmurs, lowering her eyes, because she thinks even the smallest bit of eye contact will reveal the atrocious choke hold that this stupid, stupid crush has on her. She catches sight of the barista's name, written in a loopier but neater font than Zuko's.
Aanya.
Huh.
Katara files that information away for later, folds it into a paper crane and tucks it into a pocket behind her heart. Her name feels like honey on Katara's tongue when she tries to form it into a word, not daring to speak it aloud.
"Hope you enjoy your drink," Aanya offers, then picks up another paper cup and receipt. "Order forty-six!"
Katara feels her face flush when she recognizes the dismissal for what it is. Her gaze remains stubbornly fixed on the familiar bluish purple of her latte, but something is different about it this time. There's a pattern on its surface, carefully drawn in swirling brushstrokes of white milk, and even the slightest sip would have disrupted it.
It's a heart.
An honest-to-goodness heart.
Katara's own does a funny little dance inside her chest, and she thinks that she might need a pacemaker. She feels a little dizzy, her steps faltering as she seems beset by a sudden strike of vertigo, or maybe it's just that she's a little weak in the knees. The hot barista—Aanya, she has a name—certainly doesn't mean anything by it. She's heard of friends who've gotten drinks with latte art from The Jasmine Dragon, along with nice notes.
What is this, some kind of trademark?
If it is, it's a really lovely one. Sweet, even. It makes Katara warm in a very different way than the urgent, blinding rush she's been feeling every time she comes here lately. She smiles to herself when she lifts her cup to see if there's a note for her, and that turns out to be her first mistake.
Probably even her last.
In the same loopy, curling font that made Aanya's nametag, Katara finds the words, I hope your day is as beautiful as you are.
That vertigo returns again, everything inside Katara's brain going into a tailspin. Her heart beats wildly, and her knees give out from underneath her. One moment, the world is utterly still, and the next, it's sliding to the side, like a singular earthquake has affected her and only her. There isn't much more she can process before the piping hot drink spills all over her arm.
-x-
"I'm so sorry!" Aanya exclaims, abandoning her post to come kneel by Katara's side.
"It's fine," Katara murmurs quietly, casting uneasy glances about at the crowd that has gathered around them. Their attention starts to disperse after a few short moments, giving her some kind of relief, but Katara is still in so much shock that she can barely register that she should probably be feeling embarrassed right now.
She gingerly lifts a hand to her scalded skin while Aanya rushes off, her fingers reaching towards the paper cup she dropped. I hope your day is as beautiful as you are. The heat Katara feels now isn't from the latte she just spilled over herself, that is for sure. She forces herself to exhale, feeling the quick rush of her breath on her upper lip, how shaky and delicate everything inside her still feels.
"I brought you some ice."
Katara looks up to see Aanya standing there with a Ziplock bag filled with ice cubes, and before she can say anything, Aanya kneels and presses them to her skin. Katara hisses a little with relief, trying not to explode into a million little pieces when Aanya wipes at her forearm with a wet paper towel.
"I am so, so sorry," Aanya repeats. "I didn't mean to— I didn't think—"
"It's alright," Katara snorts. "I didn't either."
Aanya cleans off one last bit of latte from the back of Katara's hand, and their fingers brush.
An unmistakable blush blooms across Aanya's face when their eyes meet.
A heartbeat passes between them, then another.
"You know," Katara says, trying to make light of things when she feels her stomach turning to lead, "you owe me a drink."
Aanya raises one black brow. "Do I, now?"
"This is all your fault." Katara picks up the now-empty cup in demonstration, tilting it just so that Aanya can see the note.
"Guilty as charged." She ducks her head and laughs in response, running a nervous hand across her scalp. "How do you propose I make it up to you?"
Katara pretends to think on it for a moment. "Are you free this Friday afternoon?"
"I have lectures till three," Aanya offers apologetically. "But dinner works! If-if you're free, that is."
"I am."
Aanya shoots her a small, hopeful smile. "So it's a date then?"
Katara feels her lips twitch, despite herself. "It's a date."
