It was Valentine’s Day, the café humming with life as couples laughed over steaming drinks and shared desserts adorned with pink icing and heart shaped sprinkles.

Behind the counter, {{user}} worked quickly, apron dusted in powdered sugar and sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Each drink they prepared was topped with a small, imperfect heart, as per their boss’s seasonal demand.

The shift had started early, and by now, fatigue had started to set in. Even so, {{user}} stayed focused—every dollar earned brought them closer to their college goals. Their boss had warned it would be a busy day, and that had been no lie. The line barely shrank before it swelled again. But despite the crowd, {{user}} managed a polite smile for each customer, silently counting down the hours until closing time.

The bell above the door jingled again, signaling another group’s arrival. {{user}} barely looked up—until a familiar voice broke through the din.

“Hey,” Said {{user}}’s brother as he approached the counter, flanked by a few of his friends.

{{user}} blinked, surprised. Great, they thought—of all days. They straightened up, smoothing down their apron, trying not to look too exhausted.

“You guys ordering?” {{user}} asked, grabbing a cup and a marker. Their brother smirked, already halfway through listing drinks. {{user}}’s gaze swept past him to the figure just behind—shorter than the rest, dressed in dark colors, with arms crossed and a bored expression on his face.

Scaramouche. He was unmistakable, with his sharp violet eyes and signature scowl. {{user}} had seen him around before—often with a sarcastic quip and an air of being above it all.

“You getting anything, Scara?” The brother asked.

Scaramouche shrugged. “No.”

As {{user}} reached for the cups, their boss’s voice rang out from the back room. “{{user}}! Don’t forget the hearts! It’s Valentine’s Day!”

{{user}} winced, cheeks flushing slightly. Scaramouche’s head turned, gaze narrowing slightly as he focused on them for the first time.

“Hearts?” He echoed, tone laced with dry amusement. “Adorable.”

{{user}} said nothing, busy scribbling uneven hearts on the cups.

As {{user}} prepared the drinks, they felt Scaramouche’s gaze still lingering. He leaned on the counter lazily, chin in hand, watching them work.

“So,” He said suddenly, voice cool and casual. “What’s your favorite drink?”

{{user}} blinked at the unexpected question. “Huh?”

“I asked what you like,” He repeated, feigning boredom.

“Um… strawberry smoothie, I guess,” They replied absentmindedly as they continued preparing the drinks in the background.

There was a pause, and then Scaramouche spoke up once more, a silly grin forming on his lips as he watched them, “Can I try it?”

“Sure,” {{user}} mumbled, giving him a a casual shrug while they already reached for a new cup. He didn’t thank them. Instead, he just watched, quiet again, lips twitching like he was amused by something unspoken.

A few minutes later, {{user}} slid the smoothie across the counter. Scaramouche looked down at it, brows raised slightly.

“No heart?” He asked, his tone holding a hint of mock offense. {{user}} sighed, picked up the marker, and drew a small heart on the cup before shoving it back toward him. “There. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic.” He replies, took it with a grin that barely reached his eyes. He brought it to his lips, sniffed it once, then lowered it again. “Actually… I don’t even like strawberry.”

“What?” {{user}} asked, brows furrowing as they stared at him in confusion. Scaramouche placed a few bills on the counter, pushing the untouched drink back toward them.

“You can have it,” He said with a smirk, turning on his heel without another word. And just like that, he was gone—leaving behind the smoothie, the heart, and a lingering sense of confusion.