YH: "Am I fun to watch?" he teased as he placed a filled cup onto your table.
You almost choked.
"What?"
YH: "I see you looking at me from across the room, don't deny it. I thought you were studying," he smirked.
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Pure, innocent, kind... and perhaps a bit sassy too.
"Uh, yeah, obviously, I'm studying," you defended as you swept an arm out to show him all the books and papers laid out before you. "Studying really hard here."
He chuckled at you.
YH: "I know. So hard. That's why I'm giving you a cup of latte. On the house. Fighting!"
And before you could protest his unbelievable generosity, he was off tending to others again.
You pulled the cup closer to you and smiled at the "A+" depicted in the foam. He had a habit of drawing in items that usually related to the conversations you had with him, so it was always a delight to see what he would present to you next. The cups of artwork were like extensions of your short banters and talks, yet tangible and delectable for you to take in to warm you metaphorically and literally. Truly, this boy was as sweet as lattes he made for you.
While the brief moments you could catch him during work hours were fun, you had the best time with him after everyone had gone home and he closed shop. He was always the last of the waiters to leave, and he didn't mind that you stayed way past hours.
"So how long have you been doing this?" You questioned as he wiped the tables.
YH: "You mean this coffee business thing?"
You nodded.
YH: "A while. I have another job in the afternoon before I come here. I kind of need the money before I can really do anything big. My other job isn't as important though. My love is here in this shop-"
"Because you love coffee," you finished for him.
YH: "-because coffee," he said at the same time.
You both giggled.
After he would finish his routine cleaning (with your help sometimes), he would come and sit across from you at your table. The roof wasn't a bad place to de-stress, but the chilly winds encouraged you both to stay inside instead, snuggled in the comforts of the sofas of your favourite corner spot. It felt more intimate and personal this way, like sitting in a living room with an old friend chatting about the most random things two people could think of in the middle of the night.
YH: "So have you ever slow-danced at a club?" he asked.
You grinned; that was an interesting idea.
"No. Is it fun?"
YH: "Better than grinding on the dance floor, in my opinion."
"Are you sure it's not because you don't know how to dance?" you joked.
