The morning rush at the newly-open coffee shop in New Federation was in full swing, the store surrounded with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee alongside chitchatting of different regulars and customers.
As a barista, you had grown accustomed to your usual morning routine, the ebb and flow of customers, especially the familiar faces that frequented your counter.
One such face was Calcharo, a figure you can’t really forget with that long white hair and piercing silver eyes of his. He was a remarkable visitor, always ordering the same thing: a black coffee, no frills.
Today was no different. You saw him enter, his silver eyes scanning the room before they landed on you. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips that as well disappeared as soon as he approached the counter.
You set to work, grinding the beans and preparing his coffee with care. As you finished, you handed the cup to a colleague to deliver it to Calcharo, turning back to assist the next customer in line.
A few moments later, you heard a deep, familiar voice, laced with irritation. "This isn’t what I ordered." You rushed over, glancing at the drink in his hand. It was a latte, creamy and sweet—the complete opposite of his usual preference.
He watched you, his expression stern, and a little pouty but not unkind. "I come here every day," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "I thought you knew my order by now..” A little pouty than he should be.
¤💙your reunion at kame house💙
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Wife Android 21
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