The drowsiness that consumes me every morning when I try to force myself to get out of bed has more or less turned into an unwelcome guest at this point. I am, in no way, a morning person. If it were up to me, I’d rather spend my mornings in bed until the clock told me it was finally time for the moon to rise. No, I’m no vampire. I just prefer it when there are no gas giants shining directly above my head, radiating heat that walks the line of unbearable. I am a moon person—a creature of darkness, if you may say.
So yeah, mornings…. definitely not my cup of coffee. Which is why I need the bitter beverage to hit me in the head so I can get on with the days. It’s the only thing that makes me look forward to getting out of bed. That, and my nice pack of cigarettes, even though most might roll their eyes at my unhealthy obsession with them. But what do they know about the maddening combination of deadly smokes and the heavenly hits of caffeine? Nothing. They know nothing.
This is why you can clearly imagine my utter devastation when I wake up, only to find my coffee machine blinking sorrily at me, without any other explanation as to what might be wrong with it.
I stare at it in shock.
It blinks at me as if I’m being overdramatic about it.
Normally, if it were the weekend, I’d have actually taken my time to figure out just what the hell was wrong with it. But as you may understand, I have a routine. A job I need to get to. Work that I need to do. I certainly have no time to be wasting behind the blinking madness at the moment, as I have already wasted half of my smoking time staring at the thing, willing it to work with my eyes to no avail.
With uncoordinated steps, I still somehow put myself together, verging on the line of looking presentable before I dash out of my house. If my machine decides to betray me, then so be it, there are many machines out there who could give me my fill. Just like the new cafe that recently opened a few blocks away from my flat.
There is a saying that goes; when it rains, it pours. And by the time I get myself to the sidewalk, it is definitely pouring. The rain made its appearance without any announcement beforehand, and for a moment, I looked at the sky in unfiltered sorrow. It was supposed to be a good start to the morning. I was supposed to be having the best coffee of my life on my balcony with my cigarettes, watching the sky cry with dreamy eyes. But here it was, barreling down the sidewalks so I could grab a cup to go, hoping that by the time I reach my office, I wouldn’t be late.
But even that particular prayer of mine is left unanswered, because the cafe I wanted to visit, seems to have not opened yet. The closed sign stares at my face like an insult, and I find myself bubbling with barely contained rage.
“Motherfu--” I cruse out loud, and in answer, the sky also curses with me, right before drenching me with a sudden gust of rain. Great
“You look like a drenched cat,” A voice behind me quips, mirth hidden behind each word, and I whisk around to glare at the source.
The man, unaffected by the accusation in my eyes, crosses me without waiting for a reply, coming to a stop in front of the cafe itself. Only then does he turn his head towards me in question.
“Bad day?” He asks, still looking amused. And I fume.
“The day just started.”
“Yeah? You look just about done with it already.” He smirks.
Any insulting remarks I have for him die in my throat when I see him pulling out the keys to open the door to the cafe, and he throws me a funny glance, holding the door wide open.
“Well, coming in?” He raises his eyebrows in question.
“I…” I stumble with my words. “I have work.”
“And yet, you stood in front of the door for five minutes straight.”
“I’ll be late.”
“You’ll also be miserable. So, your call, really,” he says before stepping inside. “I do happen to make a mean cup of latte, by the way,” he singsongs before the door closes in front of my face like an insult. I gaze at the shop longingly. I look down at my watch. The words seven thirty stare back at me mockingly. Maybe if I break into a sprint right after…
The sound of the door breaks me out of my reverie.
“I have the god-awful instant stuff stashed inside a drawer.” The man pokes his head out again. “So, in, or out?”
I gaze at him. He looks at me expectantly.
“Make it to go. And make it full black.” I mutter before pushing my way inside. His answering laugh leaves an unsettling feeling in my gut.
Reaching the office in time might have damaged my lungs and reduced a year of my life. But even as I huff for breath, sitting on my chair in my isolated cube, I can’t help but glance at the to-go cup standing tall on my desk.
The hand-drawn cat on the cup looks horrendous.
The coffee itself tastes terrible.
His handwriting also needs work.
The man laughed at me before throwing in a free muffin when I told him as much.
Along with a name, and an invitation to drop by later, so he can show me what real coffee tastes like.
Image was created by Dall.E AI
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You just gave me a little flashbacks of those cubical-hellish life. Well, excluding the coffee-shop part :v
What new story are you cooking this time :v Is there going to be a next part?
P.S: Don't you fucking say yes and leave it on hold for eternity -_-
Nahh. Take this as a one shot fanfic of my current obsession that is keeping me awake at night :v I'm sure you’ll be able to guess who is who here :v
So, will he go again for the real coffee?
Oh! Wait I think I know the answer. =D
Ohh he is going to go back all right. He is going to go back, act like he doesn’t want to be there, whine about the coffee and bad choices in decors. Then he go home with the to-go cup our cafe owner gives him, and place it neatly on his bedside table after cleaning it very carefully. You know, cause he hates it a so much.... :v
ahaha thanks! ^_^