5 Seconds Of Summer One Shots. {Original}

The Boy At The Coffee Shop (Calum)

I lived on the outer suburbs with my family and my friends, and to us this was life, and all that we wanted. It wasn’t crowded or busy, but rather quiet and gentle, and the only dramatic stuff that happened was when a small town family of boys moved in, but none of us saw who they were, or what they wanted. They weren’t social, and never came out as a group, and we didn’t know if we wanted to see much of them because we didn’t know if there was anything much to see, but when my coffee boy walked in, angry, flustered, his cheeks a hot red, I knew that the family of boys that moved in were a lot more interesting than they liked to put off. There were theories, of them being vampires, or werewolves, demons of the night even, but no, they were just boys, all very attractive and very introverted, and my coffee boy was one of them.

My coffee boy had walked in 3 years ago, it was cold, and a storm was brewing in the distance, and he stomped in very demanding and very aggressive. He ordered me to get him a large double shot caramel espresso with whole milk slight cooled with three sugars, and not even a please, and I did what he told me to without questioning him. When he looked at me, I gave him the most gentle and sweet smile I could, and it seemed his eyes softened as well as his breathing, and he whispered a small thank you before taking the seat by the window.

My coffee boy got up and walked over to the counter today, something he had not done in years, and he smiled at me, and I smiled back, he left a tip, a thank you note, and a small letter on the bench before my, before bringing up his used cup, and leaving his umbrella behind and walking away before I could tell him. Today was different. I took the tip, and the thank you note, something I was used to, the familiarity feeling nice to the touch and warm in my heart, but picking up the small letter was different and scary, but at the same time, it was new, and anything new with the coffee boy, was worth it.

I breathed heavy as I walked home, drips of rain hitting my face in a pattern, it wasn’t quite dark yet, and I knew it would be soon, so I walked fast, and I walked steady. I arrived home just as the sun had set over the horizon, I got inside and walked up stairs and shut my door, putting my tip in the jar on my desk that was labled “to fly away”. I laid on my bed and touched my pocket, his note feeling like it was burning a hole in it, I wanted it to say how much he loved me, how much he wanted me, but my coffee boy did not seem that way.

I opened it; My Coffee Girl, with the sad eyes, I wanted you to see my show at 7 tonight. It’s not far from the coffee shop, the small abandoned warehouse on the corner of Brennan and Klark roads, I’d love to see you there, signed; your coffee boy

I was his coffee girl, and he was my coffee boy and it was meant to be that way, and he had acknowledged that, I was nervous and tense, unsure of what it was that I was going to do, but at the same time knowing all too well. I called (Y/F/N), who accepted the invitation willingly, suspicious of the location, but curious about the music. We met up outside the coffee shop and headed to the warehouse, our steps echoing back at us because of the puddles that were formed from the afternoons light rain.

The warehouse was dimly lit, and the light furnishings were old and ratty, and yet romantic, (Y/F/N) looked around, her jacket on her arm and her eyes peeled for my coffee boy. I stood, and watched around me as the world passed slowly, nothing was the same without the coffee boy, my life felt dim without him lighting it with his small smile.

With that, a guitar strum vibrated my thoughts and brought me back to reality, the lights had turned off and the warehouse had become crowded, and on the stage, was my coffee boy, his jeans tight, his shirt baggy and his arms showing, biting his lip as the boy with the blonde hair spoke into the microphone. My coffee boy, stared out to the crowd, I was in the darkness, and he could not see me, and yet I was not hurt, or sad, because I could see him be him, without me around, and that made me happy.

The blonde boy stopped talking and my coffee boy started to speak, about a girl who he wished was there, a girl with sad eyes and a false smile, who worked at a coffee shop every day even though her dream was to escape, and I lost my breath, he saw me, raw, delicate, my soul, my body, every inch of me. Every tip, every thank you was to help me, to escape, because he knew I needed money or I wouldn’t work so hard, and he knew I needed to be thanked because I felt taken for granted, and he knew I needed him, otherwise he wouldn’t have stayed. He continued on, telling the crowd how he had fallen for my eyes and my laugh, even though it wasn’t him who made me laugh, how he loved the swing in my hips and the way I pouted my lips when I wasn’t pleased.

“This is for you, My Coffee Girl, my sweet poison, for you (Y/N)” My Coffee boy spoke into the microphone, but to my heart.

I stepped toward the crowd, into it, surrounding myself in it, as his lips moved and his hips swayed, and his fingers strummed the strings with such power, it was like I was being called toward him. And suddenly there was no-one but my coffee shop boy and me, he was tall, and he was powerful, and I saw for the first time the love he had for me and the amount of power that gave me. My coffee boy sung, and he sung, and then he didn’t anymore, it was over and I was there, in front of him, raw and vulnerable but his, and it was okay. He took off his guitar and stepped down in front of me, his eyes covered in the shear gloss of his emotions and his forehead beaded with sweat, and his lips found mine.

And it was perfect and crazy and yet it mended my soul as though he had come in and fixed me, like he was meant to all this time, and it was okay, I was okay. My hands combed through his hair pulling and searching for him, his mouth feeling mine for the first time and syncing perfectly and it was okay, it was more than okay, it was love and I was going to keep it for once. He pulled away, his lips swollen as were mine and we stared at each-other’s eyes, and my heart didn’t feel broken anymore, and I didn’t want to escape if he was with me.

I realised I wasn’t broken to a point where I couldn’t be fixed, but to a point where I was not fixable until a person who was willing to fix me came along and that was him. I found out that he had come into the shop angry that he couldn’t find any inspiration, but one look at me and he found his muse, and he wasn’t going to stop coming until his muse was his, without the coffee shop. And he still comes to my coffee shop, in our house, next to the fridge, in the middle of nowhere, where we could live and be free, and escape.