tratie one shots, vol. i

[ coffee shop ]

woah, it's been a fat minute. i've had writer's block for a while, so i'm offering up a v dry, crusty, overused au that everyone knows.

words: 1114

. . .

"Hello, what can I get y-"

Woah. 

The guy that walked up to the register was... something. His hair was a gorgeous auburn-brown and curled in front of his eyes, which were a shocking cerulean blue - a color that would put oceans to shame. His jaw was sharp and chiseled, set as if he were unstoppable. His body was... a whole other story. Towering above me by probably half a foot, his strong chest was at my eye level - I definitely was not checking him out, though. His frame was lithe and fit, like the weight of the entire world couldn't bring him down. Donned in slacks and a dress shirt (his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, could you believe it?), he was obviously on his way to somewhere important.

He also had a piece of food stuck in his teeth. 

"What, am I that breathtaking?" he remarked, a smug look cast over his face. 

Instead of telling him that there was something green protruding from in between a tooth, I looked down at the register. "Hardly. What would you like?"

As he asked for a peppermint mocha with extra chocolate sauce, I could hardly concentrate on punching in the order. He was smiling at me now, the sprig of whatever he had for breakfast dangling from his gums like a hair waiting to be tweezed. It was quite awkward, really, because if he hadn't had that thing there, I might've considered throwing a smooth comment his way.

But alas, the handsome stranger was doomed to live a life without my flirting. I couldn't even look him in the eye as I handed him his coffee, questioning whether or not I should've told him about the gross thing that probably would make him looked down upon for the rest of the day.

"And your name?"

"Travis. You want the number, too?"

I snorted and rolled my eyes, jotting his name on the cup before passing it down the bar. "Have a nice day."

He grinned at me one last time before leaving the register, a gesture which I would've found charming if not for the thing in his mouth.

The guilt of not pointing it out to him hurt me for the remainder of the day, knowing that the poor man probably had no idea that such an awkward scenario befell upon him. If I'd have replayed the day, I would've politely let him know so that he could get rid of it discretely. 

Oh, well.

As it happened, the guy came in the next morning, smiling vibrantly with... a piece of his breakfast wedged in a new spot. He wore a different shirt - this time plaid - and brown pants instead of his black ones the day prior, along with the ghastly crumb of food in his teeth. How did he keep doing that? It was a true talent, honestly. 

He strutted up to the register and flashed a smile. "Good morrow, my lady. How goes it?"

"It's as good a day as any," I coughed, glancing over to the barista making a caramel frappe. 

The man raised an eyebrow. "...Indeed. I'll have a peppermint mocha. Heavy on the sauce."

As smoothly as possible - which, in fact, wasn't very smooth at all - I told him the amount plus tax and called out his order to my coworker.

"Name?"

"Travis. When do I get yours?"

When I didn't say anything further to him, the guy pouted.

"I thought that one was pretty good," he chuckled sarcastically before slipping over to the other end of the counter.

This went on for a week and a half - the mystery gunk-in-his-teeth man Travis would show up at the same time every morning in a sharp outfit, order his peppermint mocha with extra chocolate sauce, and throw me a pick-up line with a grin at me with a new bit of food to display. We became more bold in the things we said to each other, whether it be flirty comments or sarcastic remarks. I ached to tell him he really needed to floss, but I kept my trap shut and hoped I wouldn't have to endure another day of this uncomfortable situation. Yet, day after day, he would show up with his stupid teeth and I'd have to smile politely as I took his order and avoid eye contact.

A month passed before he raised his eyebrows as I stared at his button-up shirt rather than his face.

"Hey, my eyes are up here." He laughed at his own sardonic humor, but still held a questioning look in his expression.

I pursed my lips to suppress the giggle bubbling up my throat. "Sure thing, whatever you say."

He readjusted his hands on the counter, leaning in to the register. "Seriously though, why don't you ever look at me? Is it because of my rugged good looks?"

I scoffed. "You're holding up the line."

Glancing behind him, he gestured at the empty shop. "You were saying?"

Chuckling, I put a hand to my mouth. "I wasn't gonna say anything, but..."

"Spill."

"Ugh, fine." I set his cup down, not yet passing it to the barista. "Every day, without fail, since you started coming here, you've had a piece of food stuck in your mouth. It's in a different place every time, and I didn't wanna point it out but it's a really awkward and frankly hilarious thing that I look forward to not pointing out every time you walk in."

He immediately put a finger to his teeth, searching for the offender. When he couldn't find it (it was a stringy green something wedged in between his right canine and the tooth over). I only laughed harder when his face contorted, and all the pent-up stress I had about the topic suddenly looked silly. I was right, it was hilarious. 

"So, you're not gonna help me, or...?" he trailed, and I grabbed his hand over the counter to guide it to the correct spot. 

"There."

He was laughing too, then, and when I retracted my hand, he clasped his around my wrist. "Apparently I need help keeping food out of my teeth. You should come to dinner with me so you can alert me next time."

Huh. Not terribly cheesy, not the most romantic way to ask someone out either though. Clever.

"Alright, obviously you've gotta have someone around." I reached for his coffee cup again and scribbled my number and name on it before finally passing it down the line. 

Exhaling, he quirked an eyebrow. "That really worked?"

I shrugged. "Guess we'll see."

(Just so you know, it did.)