5SOS Imagines

Ashton - He Sees You in a Cafe

Author: Rhine

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It's an idle day; the clouds a swirling grey like a frustrated artist's palette, early morning showers slanting off coloured rooves and dripping into a melodic pitter-patter rhythm onto the cobblestone streets. People are bustling past, careful to avoid the puddles in the cracks and the fall of rainwater from other's umbrellas; a dance of hurried people in sashaying steps and twirling umbrellas.

He watches the swarm of rushing people from the rain-specked windows as he waits in line, the small café full with other escapees from the rain.

He runs long fingers through his damp curls, trying to wipe at his water-smudged glasses with the edges of his soaked sweater, peeking over heads to count how many places are left until it's his turn, reviewing his order over and over again in his head.

The boy sighs but the sound is lost to the soft music of the café and the whirs of grinding coffee machines; distant conversations and the patter of the rain outside.

He just wants a place to sit, some coffee in his hands to warm his rain-soaked skin; a moment of stillness from the rush of swarming people and falling skies outside.

When he finally reaches the front of the line, his order is rehearsed and short, a quick nod of thanks and exact change as he finally holds the tall cup in his hands; hot enough to burn and just enough to thaw his numb hands again.

His hazel eyes are scanning for a spot in the crowded café, pink lips in a small frown as his eyes do a sweep over at all the taken seats; barely enough space to stand as it is, let alone sit.

He doesn't fancy heading back out again; cold rainwater mixing with his hot cup of bliss, searching for a safe haven in the form of a too-small canopy that he has to hunch over to fit without so much as an umbrella against the downpour of rain.

The boy meanders around, determined to stay – when he spots a small round table on the side corner of the shop, squished and hidden by others sitting in the too-close seats.

It'll do – he isn't exactly meant for squeezing into small places with his stocky build and broad shoulders, but if he can find a seat, then he can find a way.

He hurries over, leaving a trail of rainwater footprints, constantly mumbling excuse me as he tries to slip through the crowded shop – rather ungracefully, with his large, blundering steps – finally stopping at the small seat for a two-person table, halting in his tracks.

There's a girl on the opposite seat, earbuds firmly in place and humming a song he doesn't know, eyes trained on the thick sketchbook in front of her, a thin pencil in her hands and swift strokes of black against the paper.

He clears his throat loudly – ahem – and you look up with startled eyes, pulling an earbud out and pencil frozen in place.

"Can I sit with you?" He nods to the too-small seat across from you, a small smile on his lips accented by the drops of rain running from his wet curls. "There's no more seats, you see."

You nod, shifting your sketchbook closer to you, though it makes no difference – even after he's cramped himself onto the opposite seat, his large form is hunched over slightly, elbows propped onto the table, casting a noticeable shadow on your sheet with raindrop puddles beginning to form from his wet figure, a concerning trickle making its path towards you.

He mumbles a sheepish sorry upon noticing the hesitant bite of your lip at his disruption of your tranquility, looking out the window as he sips his coffee in an attempt to dispel your unease at his sudden company.