Big Hero 6 x Reader One Shots (3)

(432): His Eyes (Tadashi)

I wrote this FOREVER ago, but never posted it. I like it though, so I think I'll post it now.

And I wanted to ask you all for a huge favor---

My best friend's birthday is on July 19th and she wants fan art of her and her favorite Big Hero 6 character, Tadashi. Now I would draw it, but I'm about as talented as a rock, so I figured I would ask one of you.

Whoever sends me art will get a five chapter short story of their choice of character [Big Hero 6, Star Wars, or Lex Luthor; anyone I write about] and them written by me! Your request, whatever it may be. A Tadashi x [your name], a Hiro x [your name], a Wasabi or Fred... whatever! [boy x girl ONLY please]

If any of you actually do this, please sent the art to me via email:

caitlynhamada@gmail.com

Here are some pics of her:

THANKS! LOVE YOU ALL!

---

On a bright and sunny Saturday morning, you take a stop at the Lucky Cat Café. The café is bustling with customers this morning. You notice only three workers, but that's more than the usual one. You're lucky to have found a table to yourself; luckily for you, you were the only one who was here without anyone.

You place your order at the front counter to the lady with short brown hair. Her emerald eyes were always kind, even today, as her name was being shouted from every regular customer. She smiles brightly as she hands you the medium coffee and the blueberry muffin. You nod, leave a nice tip in the jar, and walk back to your seat. You pull out your writing journal and your favorite ink pen.

As you munch on your breakfast, you scribble down random writings onto the notepad. You'd always had a passion for writing, and you found that the easiest way to practice details in stories was to write down details of whatever was happening right now. So, as you eat the soft muffin filled with sweet blueberries and drink the dark roast that left a pleasant bitter taste on your tongue, you write about it.

Of course, writing about random things such as food never held your attention for long. When you have half of a page filled with random notes, you lift your eyes to your surroundings. Surely there is something to write about in here. The conversations that your ears catch, what people have ordered, the way they act towards others...

But none of it sounds interesting. You lift the pen to your lips and softly nibble on the cap. You hate the habit, but you're stressed. What is there to write about? There is literally nothing going on in here. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You've written about the bustling of a busy café before. You've written about rude customers and sweet customers, the smell of green tea and the smell of black tea, the taste of a raspberry danish and the taste of a strawberry danish. Something new. You need something new.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You can feel someone's eyes staring right at you; right at the back of your head. Still, it isn't the usual uneasy feeling of being watched. It's like you are being told to look, as if the rest of your life is waiting for you, as if it depends on you looking over. You swallow thickly and turn your head, your thoughts swimming with possibilities.

It's a guy. Roughly your age, an apron tied around the back of his neck, coffee stains still dripped on his shirt. He's standing at the table beside you, his hand holding a rag. He's washing the small table, but he isn't paying attention to it. His eyes are on you. But you don't feel awkward or creeped out. In fact, you find yourself staring right back.

It's like his eyes are twinkling as they examine yours. Yours have to be doing the same thing, right? Looking at him, this young guy with pale skin and raven hair, neatly kept... it was like you were looking into your future.

There was something about him as a whole--- but what caught your attention the most were his eyes.

They were a deep, rich chocolate brown. The color of a dark chocolate bar, with tiny flakes of gold that you can see from even this distance. His eyes, while a thin almond shape, were opened wide as he watched you. He blinks, and your heart thuds wildly at the sight of his thick eyelashes. They cast long shadows against his cheeks that redden with each second he watches you.

Your hand slowly moves the pen to the paper. Write. Write about him. You try to look away, but you can't. You're frozen in his gaze. With trembling fingers, you drop the pen and decide that you don't need it to write a novel. You could write a five hundred paged book about just his eyes in your head.

About each flake of golden brown, each blink; how it would bring out the twinkling in that dark pool of pigment in his eye. Those eyelashes.

What is he thinking about you? You're just watching him. Is he creeped out? Should you stop, should you leave?

He finally moves. He drops the rag on the table and, his eyes not leaving yours, walks to where you sit. His lips part, his chest sinks in as he sucks in a nervous breath.

Say hello. Say it. Don't just watch him, say something.

He blinks at you. His tongue swipes nervously across his bottom lip as he whispers, barely audible, "Hi."

Your heart flutters. You blink rapidly, his voice hitting you like a soft puff of air. It felt like it blew you back; made your hair ruffle and your skin cool. His voice was beautiful. Almost as perfect as his deep eyes.

You open your mouth, ready to reply. Knowing that your voice would break whatever spell you're under, you don't want to talk. But if you ignore him, he'll leave. You'll never see those eyes again.

"Hello," you whisper.

His eyes twinkle again. His pale lips pull up into a small smile. He seems to relax at the sound of your voice. You smile as his mouth opens to show his perfect teeth. The rest of the world becomes a blur. It's just him, only him. And you. Somehow, you managed to get in this. You managed to catch the attention of this man. He slowly eases down into the seat in front of you. Your smile grows.

And at that moment, it's like you both knew at once.

He was meant to be yours, and you were meant to be his.

And you both could write a novel about the color of each others eyes together.