All of the While It Was You- Day 25
Title: All of the While It Was You
Rated: G
Genre: Romance
Words: 1,366
Summary: Alfred is intrigued by the writer that sits in the corner seat of the coffee shop.
Written for Day 25 for the usxuk Summer Camp event. July 25th: Tea/Coffee. The beverages of choice for England and America respectively. Either tea, coffee, or both must be featured in the fanwork somewhere. They can be drinking it, discussing it, going to/working at a place that sells it, etc.
It wasn't a special day. There was nothing that stood out. Just that the little bell in the coffee shop tinkled and customers came in. Alfred and his crew were hard at work behind the counter. They didn't remember faces, but who would? They all ordered the same thing. Mocha frappaccino, soy latte, or low-fat, sugar free iced tea. Then they would take their drinks and leave, or go fill up the chairs in the cramped quarters of the small shop.
Alfred was washing up the counter that day. Nothing unusual. Then came the ring of the bell. He lifted his eyes, smiling to welcome the customer. The customer was a blonde man with a terrible sense of fashion. He was wearing a sweater vest, penny loafers, and horrid brown pants that seemed a little too big for his small frame. The baby blue sweater vest was hard to see over the notebooks the man had clutched to his chest.
The man glanced at Alfred, and then promptly turned away. He moved to grab a seat by the window that faced the counter. He plopped down and dumped his notebooks on the table. Alfred watched as the man finished up by pulling out half-rimmed glasses that he put on, flipping open the top notebook. He pulled out a mechanical pencil from seemingly nowhere. Again, the man glanced up.
This time, Alfred chanced a different smile. This time it was more in a questioning, "You want anything to drink?" way. The man looked away again. He began scribbling in his book.
One of the Alfred's co-workers called for him. So Alfred left.
All day, the man sat at the table, writing. He never got up to ask for anything, not even if he could use the restroom. He would occasionally look up at Alfred, but pointedly looked away when Alfred turned his way.
Then, shortly before closing time, he stood up. It was so abrupt that it startled Alfred, who was in the middle of steaming the milk. He watched as the blonde man left.
How weird, he thought. Then went back to work.
The next day, it was the same thing. The blonde man came in, this time with a different sweater vest on, but still brown pants and penny loafers. Again, notebooks, and again, his glasses were on. Alfred was much busier this day as it was a Saturday. He flew to and fro, helping customers and his co-workers. All day long, though, he felt the man's eyes on him.
Something occurred to Alfred. He wondered what the man's eye color was. He chanced a look over, finding he was being stared at. Green. They were impossibly green. Bright, but dark at the same time. The man looked startled to be found out, but then he cast his eyes downward.
He left shortly afterwards, just as suddenly as the last time.
The third day, Alfred attempted to try and be kind to the strange writer. He thought that maybe he was a reporter, doing a story on their location. He hoped so, as during the week it could get awfully slow. So Alfred made him a fresh cup of coffee, putting it in their cup.
He placed it on the table. The man jerked his head up, eyes wide. He looked over the rim of his glasses at Alfred, not noticing the coffee. Alfred merely smiled as he backed away. He didn't want to upset the man.
But it didn't work. He scrambled up his notebook and quickly rushed out. Then, he stopped at the door, as if remembering something. He dug in his pocket, finding a few loose change and some dollar bills. He went to the counter, putting it all in the tip jar. Finally, he left. Alfred sighed, wondering if he'd come back the next day. But his worries were all for naught. The man did indeed return come Monday morning.
That time, Alfred put the coffee at the table just as the man came in. He seemed to time his arrival at noon, staying until just a little after eight. All the time, he would write and watch, sometimes it would be the employees working, but mostly it was Alfred.
The man stopped short. He looked at the coffee, then to Alfred. His expression seemed a little pained. Alfred preferred him without the glasses on. His eyes were much clearer. Briefly, he thought if that were the same with his own eyes, having them constantly hidden behind glasses. So he took them off, and gestured for the man to take a seat.
He did, but said nothing. Alfred returned to work, but again, it was a slow day. He checked up on the writer occasionally. Not once did he touch his coffee. So Alfred went and replaced it. He even put a little blueberry muffin on the side. The man picked at the muffin during the day, but still ignored the coffee. Eventually, it rounded on eight and the man left.
Tuesday was a much better day. Alfred happened to have some more courage than usual. He not only placed the coffee on the table with an apple fritter, but he also sat down. The man tensed up, eyes wide. He clutched his books to his chest again, as if holding on to them in case he drown. Alfred smirked, thinking he was cute.
He looked him over, noticing that his clothes still were very old for such a young face. He was probably just a few older than him, college at most. But everything about him screamed for everyone to stay away, from the way he carried himself to his clothes. Except for those eyes. Despite the fact they were under unfortunate eyebrows, they shone more than anything on him.
Right now, those eyes were watching Alfred carefully. They studied him.
Then, they put the notebooks back down on the table. Slowly, he pushed them over to Alfred. Alfred was caught off guard. They hadn't even said hello to each other yet. He didn't even know the man's name. Still, he picked up the book and began reading from the start.
After a moment, his mouth dropped open. Not only was the writing incredibly beautiful, but it was all about him. How he moved "fluidly from one station to the next", how "his eyes glittered at the customers, helping them out with such a meaningless task that meant so much to a golden boy like him", and how "his kindness outshone everyone else's in the building."
Slowly, Alfred thought of just what he could say to that. He was flattered, but couldn't think of anything other than "thank you", which wouldn't do. He had to think of something better. What was better than en entire notebook filled with entries about you, though?
The man grabbed the notebook from Alfred's hand. He had been clenching his fists into his pants, looking down at his lap all the while. His face was so red it had spread to his ears. Without saying a word he left. Alfred tried to stop him, but it was no use. He was fast.
Again, his coffee lay untouched.
Wednesday came. Alfred looked at the clock, sighing in dismay. It was past noon, and still no sign of the writer. Perhaps that had been the final straw. Maybe he had moved on to someone else. Or he just didn't like Alfred anymore. Either way, it made Alfred uneasy.
Then, the bell rang. Alfred looked up from cleaning the counter. There was the man. He was without his notebooks today. And this time, he approached the counter.
"Tea," the man said. His voice had a distinct British accent.
"Huh?" Alfred thought himself an idiot for his intelligent reply. "I mean, sorry?"
A light flutter of a smile, but it was soon concealed. "You always give me coffee. I enjoy tea."
Alfred smiled, relieved. "Tea it is, uh…"
"Arthur."
"It's nice to meet you, Arthur. Let me get you your tea."
Hoshiko2's cents: This song is based off of the song, Falling In Love at a Coffee Shop. Feel free to see it on Youtube. It's a brilliant song.
Rated: G
Genre: Romance
Words: 1,366
Summary: Alfred is intrigued by the writer that sits in the corner seat of the coffee shop.
Written for Day 25 for the usxuk Summer Camp event. July 25th: Tea/Coffee. The beverages of choice for England and America respectively. Either tea, coffee, or both must be featured in the fanwork somewhere. They can be drinking it, discussing it, going to/working at a place that sells it, etc.
It wasn't a special day. There was nothing that stood out. Just that the little bell in the coffee shop tinkled and customers came in. Alfred and his crew were hard at work behind the counter. They didn't remember faces, but who would? They all ordered the same thing. Mocha frappaccino, soy latte, or low-fat, sugar free iced tea. Then they would take their drinks and leave, or go fill up the chairs in the cramped quarters of the small shop.
Alfred was washing up the counter that day. Nothing unusual. Then came the ring of the bell. He lifted his eyes, smiling to welcome the customer. The customer was a blonde man with a terrible sense of fashion. He was wearing a sweater vest, penny loafers, and horrid brown pants that seemed a little too big for his small frame. The baby blue sweater vest was hard to see over the notebooks the man had clutched to his chest.
The man glanced at Alfred, and then promptly turned away. He moved to grab a seat by the window that faced the counter. He plopped down and dumped his notebooks on the table. Alfred watched as the man finished up by pulling out half-rimmed glasses that he put on, flipping open the top notebook. He pulled out a mechanical pencil from seemingly nowhere. Again, the man glanced up.
This time, Alfred chanced a different smile. This time it was more in a questioning, "You want anything to drink?" way. The man looked away again. He began scribbling in his book.
One of the Alfred's co-workers called for him. So Alfred left.
All day, the man sat at the table, writing. He never got up to ask for anything, not even if he could use the restroom. He would occasionally look up at Alfred, but pointedly looked away when Alfred turned his way.
Then, shortly before closing time, he stood up. It was so abrupt that it startled Alfred, who was in the middle of steaming the milk. He watched as the blonde man left.
How weird, he thought. Then went back to work.
The next day, it was the same thing. The blonde man came in, this time with a different sweater vest on, but still brown pants and penny loafers. Again, notebooks, and again, his glasses were on. Alfred was much busier this day as it was a Saturday. He flew to and fro, helping customers and his co-workers. All day long, though, he felt the man's eyes on him.
Something occurred to Alfred. He wondered what the man's eye color was. He chanced a look over, finding he was being stared at. Green. They were impossibly green. Bright, but dark at the same time. The man looked startled to be found out, but then he cast his eyes downward.
He left shortly afterwards, just as suddenly as the last time.
The third day, Alfred attempted to try and be kind to the strange writer. He thought that maybe he was a reporter, doing a story on their location. He hoped so, as during the week it could get awfully slow. So Alfred made him a fresh cup of coffee, putting it in their cup.
He placed it on the table. The man jerked his head up, eyes wide. He looked over the rim of his glasses at Alfred, not noticing the coffee. Alfred merely smiled as he backed away. He didn't want to upset the man.
But it didn't work. He scrambled up his notebook and quickly rushed out. Then, he stopped at the door, as if remembering something. He dug in his pocket, finding a few loose change and some dollar bills. He went to the counter, putting it all in the tip jar. Finally, he left. Alfred sighed, wondering if he'd come back the next day. But his worries were all for naught. The man did indeed return come Monday morning.
That time, Alfred put the coffee at the table just as the man came in. He seemed to time his arrival at noon, staying until just a little after eight. All the time, he would write and watch, sometimes it would be the employees working, but mostly it was Alfred.
The man stopped short. He looked at the coffee, then to Alfred. His expression seemed a little pained. Alfred preferred him without the glasses on. His eyes were much clearer. Briefly, he thought if that were the same with his own eyes, having them constantly hidden behind glasses. So he took them off, and gestured for the man to take a seat.
He did, but said nothing. Alfred returned to work, but again, it was a slow day. He checked up on the writer occasionally. Not once did he touch his coffee. So Alfred went and replaced it. He even put a little blueberry muffin on the side. The man picked at the muffin during the day, but still ignored the coffee. Eventually, it rounded on eight and the man left.
Tuesday was a much better day. Alfred happened to have some more courage than usual. He not only placed the coffee on the table with an apple fritter, but he also sat down. The man tensed up, eyes wide. He clutched his books to his chest again, as if holding on to them in case he drown. Alfred smirked, thinking he was cute.
He looked him over, noticing that his clothes still were very old for such a young face. He was probably just a few older than him, college at most. But everything about him screamed for everyone to stay away, from the way he carried himself to his clothes. Except for those eyes. Despite the fact they were under unfortunate eyebrows, they shone more than anything on him.
Right now, those eyes were watching Alfred carefully. They studied him.
Then, they put the notebooks back down on the table. Slowly, he pushed them over to Alfred. Alfred was caught off guard. They hadn't even said hello to each other yet. He didn't even know the man's name. Still, he picked up the book and began reading from the start.
After a moment, his mouth dropped open. Not only was the writing incredibly beautiful, but it was all about him. How he moved "fluidly from one station to the next", how "his eyes glittered at the customers, helping them out with such a meaningless task that meant so much to a golden boy like him", and how "his kindness outshone everyone else's in the building."
Slowly, Alfred thought of just what he could say to that. He was flattered, but couldn't think of anything other than "thank you", which wouldn't do. He had to think of something better. What was better than en entire notebook filled with entries about you, though?
The man grabbed the notebook from Alfred's hand. He had been clenching his fists into his pants, looking down at his lap all the while. His face was so red it had spread to his ears. Without saying a word he left. Alfred tried to stop him, but it was no use. He was fast.
Again, his coffee lay untouched.
Wednesday came. Alfred looked at the clock, sighing in dismay. It was past noon, and still no sign of the writer. Perhaps that had been the final straw. Maybe he had moved on to someone else. Or he just didn't like Alfred anymore. Either way, it made Alfred uneasy.
Then, the bell rang. Alfred looked up from cleaning the counter. There was the man. He was without his notebooks today. And this time, he approached the counter.
"Tea," the man said. His voice had a distinct British accent.
"Huh?" Alfred thought himself an idiot for his intelligent reply. "I mean, sorry?"
A light flutter of a smile, but it was soon concealed. "You always give me coffee. I enjoy tea."
Alfred smiled, relieved. "Tea it is, uh…"
"Arthur."
"It's nice to meet you, Arthur. Let me get you your tea."
Hoshiko2's cents: This song is based off of the song, Falling In Love at a Coffee Shop. Feel free to see it on Youtube. It's a brilliant song.