It was supposed to be a normal day - a nice, relaxing coffee break. He’s staring down at his phone as he orders, paying no mind to the usual chatter of the cafe as he recites his order with routine ease. His name is called, and as routine, he stands and walks to the counter to retrieve his desperately needed caffeine fix.

He looks up from his phone to take his order, and he sees you, and god - he thinks he might feel lightheaded. You’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. He feels stunned, and it’s only when someone loudly clears their throat that he notices he’s staring - and you’re staring back, your brows furrowed as you hold out his coffee order to him. An order that you have been politely waiting for him to take for at least a minute as he stares at you like a dumbstruck, starry-eyed fool.

He blinks, trying to shake off whatever spell you’ve somehow cast on him as he stammers out, “I’m sorry. I don’t… know what’s come over me.” He all but snatches the cup out of your hands, desperately trying to pretend like he’s completely in control of himself and that the way your fingers grazed his isn’t running through his mind with the ferocity of a rabid dog.

He retreats back to the little corner booth he’s deemed ‘his booth’ sipping at his coffee as he tries so, so hard not to stare at you. He wants your number, he decides, but how will he get it? He’s quite sure you get hit on all the time - there’s no way you don’t, looking that ethereal - and he doesn’t want to be rude. So he simply settles for pretending not to stare.