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sleep-i-ness · 4 years

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Love At First Coffee (Vanya Hargreeves x reader)

Summary: Y/N is a struggling flautist, trying to make ends meet, but when a violinist catches her eyes, life doesn’t seem quite so difficult.

Request: No

TUA Taglist: @neymarlionelmessi7

Beep beep beep. Y/N groaned, stretching out languidly as she patted her bedside table. Her fingers found nothing but the worn wooden surface. Blearily rubbing her eyes, she pushed herself up onto one elbow. The alarm was incessant. Where on earth was that phone?

The bitter smell of coffee filled the kitchen as she poured the boiling water into her chipped mug. A lethargic ache had settled into her bones; the haphazard pile of unopened letters mounting her dread the more she looked at the mess. A quick glance at the plastic clock ticking merrily away warned her she was on the verge of being late if she did not leave now.

Y/N slung the straps of her flute case and tattered leather satchel over her shoulder, her crumpled sheet music clutched in one hand. The lock of her apartment was always such a fiddle and she stuffed the sheet music in her satchel, wincing as it creased even further. She yanked the door shut, leaning backwards to align the lock as she twisted the key.

With a huff, she blew the strands of hair that had fallen over her eyes during her tussle with the door. Her path was a familiar one; down the hallway over the scuffed tiles, where she’d have to wait for the creaky elevator to haul itself up to her, and then out onto the street. Past the rowdy bar that never seemed to shut and the hot dog street vendor to the bus stop, littered with chewing gum and graffiti. Then, depending on whether she had the time to waste on the agonizingly slow journey, it was either onto the grimy bus, nodding to the leering driver, or straight past, a brisk walk of about 20 minutes to the concert hall.

Today was not going in her favor. Y/N sighed as it pulled away from the stop. No need to make a choice now. The walk into the more central and less dodgy area of town was usually quite unpleasant; the streets were still reeling from the nighttime activities. She wrinkled her nose as the putrid scent of rotting garbage filled the air, a dumpster nearby overflowing with ripped trash bags.

Keeping her head down, she hurried through the streets, neatly sidestepping the ‘businessmen’ on their flip phones and the gossiping ladies, one hand always clamping their handbags shut. A rush of balmy air burst through the vent as she passed over it, the warm stench of urine and cooking garbage wafting upwards. Left, then a right, then straight on past two crossroads and lines of honking traffic and foul-mouthed drivers, swearing at the day for daring to begin. Wait for the lights to turn red, cross over and continue down the road until you reach the performers door.

The Icarus Theatre. Y/N would have liked to be one of those performers who gushed on about how their performance center was ‘like a second home’, but that was cheesy and frankly unrealistic. Her dreams of being a world-famous flautist had been crushed the moment she’d received her first lot of bills and realized how naïve she truly was. The joy in performing in an orchestra was short-lived as every day felt like a struggle to scrape together enough money to keep herself out of debt and prove her parents wrong. That was enough to dampen anyone’s spirits.

Every hour she didn’t have a rehearsal, she was booked chockful with students of all ages and genders who turned up with a passion for the flute. Or their parents were forcing them to go. Either way she got paid and hoped that maybe she was imbuing someone with a new appreciation for classical music.

“Morning, Will.”

The principal piccoloist was already sat in his seat, absorbed in conversation with Lucy, one of the second violins. He glanced over and raised a slender hand in acknowledgment. Will was always punctual and smartly attired, wearing crisply ironed shirts and smart blazers, free of lint. Y/N was sharply aware of the contrast between them, her shirt creased and half-untucked and her hair escaping from its bun.

She flipped open the latches on her case; there was a trick to it, you needed to open both at once while opening the lid at the same time. Her prize and joy, her baby lay inside. The first time she had ever saved up enough money to buy herself something worthwhile, she had bought a professional flute. Before then, she’d been using her aunt’s old flute from the 60s, a battered old thing that was lucky to even still be able to play.

The murmur died down as Lorin Toscanini, the conductor, stepped onto the raised podium and raised his baton. Y/N slipped into her seat next to Will, who raised an eyebrow at the creased sheets she deposited onto her stand.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Today we need to fix the timing on the opening sequence. Remember this is iconic and it needs to be perfect. Second violins, I hope you have improved since yesterday.” The nasally tone of Toscanini grated on Y/N’s nerves, especially so early in the morning when she would much rather be in bed.

Y/N raised her flute to her lower lip, watching the baton as it swayed in time with the music. Down, left, right, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. The violins and cellos came in in unison on the downbeat, bows drawing across the string in harmony. The harmonies in perfect time caused shivers to run up and down her spine as the bows swayed mournfully across the vibrating strings in unison.

Okay. 4, 5, 6, 7, 8-

“Stop, stop,” Toscanini cried out, baton smacking against the stand. All instruments were immediately lowered, as a sign of deference. Something about stroking his highly inflated ego. “Someone in the clarinets is playing a B natural instead of a B flat. Now remember, we want to create a sense of tension, so the dynamics start off at piano and then we reach mezzo forte. But this isn’t the most dramatic section; we are building up to that. So, at bar 4 we need an audible diminuendo. Like tiptoeing... From the top!”

There was something so magical about playing in an orchestra when it all slotted into place. You stopped being an individual person and instead became immersed in a group movement of sound and emotion, compelling the listener to be draw in with you. The different melodic lines weave together into one, playing off each other to create a final piece.

It was an almost addictive sensation. The feeling of being swept away and losing sense of oneself in the bigger picture of a whole was something Y/N craved when she wasn’t playing. Music restored a part of herself that she sometimes didn’t realize she was missing. It lifted her away from the mortal world, to a place where the music and the notes were the only thing that mattered.

Y/N’s eye fell upon one of the first violins, newly promoted, her brown hair pulled back tightly in a low ponytail. The woman’s brow was furrowed as her fingers danced over the neck of the guitar, swaying gently with the music. Momentarily transfixed, Y/N’s mind turned foggy as she lost count, all thoughts focused on the violinist.

The piece drew to its climax, as if a great beast had climbed to its hind legs and roared. A mounting rush of notes as each musician lost themselves in the crescendo, furiously playing. Cascading melodies toppled over each other, nimble fingers tumbling up scales and bow strokes timed impeccably.

E, G, A!

An audible sigh of satisfaction echoed round the room as the piece ended without any pauses for tinkering; the joy of a composition well played shared throughout all the players.

“Beautiful, just beautiful. I think we’ll call that a day, there. Our next rehearsal is at one on Wednesday, now do not be late.”

Now that the piece had ended, Y/N glanced over to the violinist she had spotted earlier. While Y/N quietly packed her instrument away, the woman prepared to slip out, unnoticed. Should she…?

“Hey,” Y/N flagged down the women, fingertips brushing the cuffs of her dark shirt. “I’m Y/N, I noticed you playing. It was beautiful! You recently got moved up from fourth chair to third, right?”

“Yeah,” the woman seemed flustered by the attention, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. “I’m Vanya, it’s nice to meet you.”

Y/N pulled her slipping straps back onto her shoulder as she grinned at Vanya from beneath the curls threatening to fall in her face. “Pretty name. Say, are you busy now? I know an excellent little coffee shop across the road.”

Vanya flushed as she murmured some expression of gratitude. She hesitated, carefully switching her phone on and off again before sliding it back in her pocket when no notifications showed up. “I’m free for a couple of hours. I have to teach lessons from 3 though.”

The coffee shop was quaint and always quiet; since a Starbucks had opened only a few doors down, business had slowly dried up until only a few regulars and those who were opposed to coffee from chain shops came along. Vanya fidgeted with the strap of her violin case, her eyes darting around the shop’s wooden and gold furnishings.

“Hey Marjorie, I’ll have a cappuccino and a chocolate éclair. Vanya, what do you want?”

“Oh, you don’t need to order for me, I can pay for myself.” Vanya’s eyes widened as she protested profusely.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning nonchalantly against the bar, “I asked you to come with me for coffee, there’s no way that I am going to be so rude as to make my guest pay for her order. So?”

“I’ll have a mocha, thanks.”

Y/N soon joined Vanya where she was sitting, tucked away in a booth in the corner.

“One mocha, milady.” God, she sounded like one of those ‘nice guys’ in the Instagram DMs.

“Thanks,” Vanya laughed, and Y/N decided she quite liked hearing that sound and that she was definitely going to try and hear it more often. Especially, she wanted to see the way Vanya’s eyes crinkled as she tried to stifle her giggles and how her hand flew up to try and cover her face.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Y/N propped up her head on one hand as she sipped at her cappuccino, blowing softly on the frothy layer.

“Umm, I don’t know what there is to say, I’m a pretty boring person.”

Y/N could not believe that. There was something so hypnotizingly attractive about Vanya; a quiet sort of pretty that crept up on you when you were least expecting it and stole your breath away. Someone like that could never be boring, every inch of her whispered of a tale to be told.

“Have you got any siblings? Pets?”

Vanya’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly before she smoothed her features out, as if to imply Y/N should know something. “Yeah, I have a sister and 3 brothers.”

“Wow, 3 brothers. That must have been a nightmare!”

“Yeah, I was kind of the black sheep of the family. But I haven’t spoken to them in years; we just ended up drifting,” Vanya’s tone appeared nonchalant, but a nervous hand gave her away as she massaged her neck. “It was my fault basically.”

“No that’s ridiculous. The only real excuse for cutting you off is if you killed someone or put someone in danger, and no offence, you don’t seem particularly capable of either of those things,”-Vanya pulled a face-“in a good way!”

“I don’t know, I feel like I deserved it.”

Y/N tore the éclair in half, messily coating her fingers in chocolate as she pressed her fingertips into the half-melted layer on top. “For you. Because fuck shitty families. Who needs them, am I right?”

Vanya giggled and raised her half in response, touching them together to make a toast. “Amen!”

There was a lull in conversation as attention was redirected to eating the intoxicatingly good pastries.

“What about you?” Vanya mumbled; mouth full. There was a tiny dot of cream on the left corner of her mouth and Y/N stared, transfixed as her tongue darted out to dab it away.

“Oh, me. Well, the whole struggling artist career path was not one my parents had hoped I would go down. In comparison to my banker brother, I’m a bit of a disappointment and they make sure to let me know.”

Christmas this year had been a nightmare. It was full of meaningful looks from her parents as her brother prattled on about his new promotion, or the last exotic trip he went on, or the wonderful restaurants near his place of work on Wall Street. She didn’t know what they expected her to do; just suddenly become a high-profile surgeon?

Vanya placed her hand over Y/N’s, looking earnestly into her eyes. “You’re not a disappointment. Fuck what they think.”

Y/N cracked a half-hearted smile at the sentiment of Vanya’s sentence, although there was a certain strangeness to hearing her say ‘fuck’. A hot sensation prickled the back of her neck as Vanya kept her hand where it was, her gaze never wavering as she seemingly searched for something in Y/N’s eyes.

“Well, now we’ve got the family trauma out the way, what do you like to do for fun?” Y/N said, every muscle relaxing as Vanya moved her hand to pick up her mug. She hadn’t realized how tense she was, nervousness laced into every tendon.

“Well, my life seems to be taken up with violin, but I enjoy writing. And I can cook.” Vanya paused to think about what she was saying. “Somewhat.”

“Somewhat?” Y/N laughed, trapping her lower lip between her teeth as she awaited Vanya’s response.

“I’m not about to be out here claiming that I’m world-class standard. However, I do make a mean cottage pie which you will have to try someday.”

Someday. That was promising. Y/N smiled sweetly, nodding fervently. “I’d like that very much.”

Y/N took a sip of her cappuccino, recoiling as the tip of her tongue was scalding by the still piping hot coffee. Vanya took one look at her and grinned.

“You’ve got something there,” she said, tapping the tip of her nose.

“Where?” Y/N rubbed her nose.

“No, wait, up a bit- to the right, no, left, umm-”

“Would you mind just getting it for me?” Y/N interrupted her, and Vanya froze.

“Yeah, uh,” she leant across the table, thumb extended as she brushed the callused pad gently across Y/N’s skin. “There. All gone.”

“Thanks.”

They shared a soft smile.

The walk back to Y/N’s apartment was swelteringly sticky, especially in the noon sun. However, today felt different. Buoyed along on a cloud of joy, she practically skipped over the cracks in the sidewalk and past the piled trash bags. Her mind swooped over the fields of possibilities, whirling thoughts on a tangent of their own. The storm in her mind had cleared to allow a small shaft of sunlight through to shine on the choppy waves below, great dark clouds parting with hope.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Hi Y/N, it’s Vanya.

Y/N could barely contain the gleeful grin as she read the message, pressing her phone to her chest.

Hey Vanya, it was really nice to have coffee with you today. We should do something like that again.

Barely a couple minutes had passed when her phone emitted the telltale ding, alerting her to a new incoming message.

Absolutely. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you promised to try my cottage pie.

Y/N tapped out a quick response, finger hovering over the send button as she reread it.

It’s a date.

#tua #the umbrella academy #tua imagine #vanya hargreeves #vanya #hargreeves #vanya x reader #number 7 #number seven #number 7 x reader #white violin #vanya hargreeves x reader

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pergaias · 4 years

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soon we’ll be home ; pt. i

umm here i am with more writing ?

here’s a short story i wrote based off of almost home by mxmtoon, innocent by taylor swift, and never grow up by taylor swift ; um, i personally adore it - maybe i’m just biased, but i love the emotions and descriptions in this :))

i hope you love it as much as i do !

word count ; 2470

When I was eleven years old, all I wanted to do was grow up.

They told me that I wouldn’t want to - being a child is … it’s the time of your life, Mama promised. She wore spicy-sweet citrus-blossom perfume and always-smudged eyeglasses that hung on long beaded strings. Mama was glittering smiles and woolen cardigans and a tired, sad sort of energy, like coffee that had been left to go cold.

Mama made a lot of empty promises.

And because of it, all I wanted was to grow. To me, growing up meant laughing with friends, going to bed past midnight, driving in a bright-red sedan - eleven-year-old me had an extensive vocabulary, even if I didn’t know how to properly apply it - kissing boys and wearing dresses and lipstick. Things that I couldn’t have back then. Things that I thought were only attainable if I was grown.

Why - why did I want it?

The coffee shop was filled with a droning buzz, the hum of university students up too late with too much caffeine in their systems. There was nobody coming to place orders, so I was leaning on my elbow on the bar, the smell of coffee and caramel syrup thick in my nostrils. No shouts of Emmie! As my friends - if they could be called that - barged in, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, scarves caught with snow.

Growing up had hurt. The realization that I wasn’t a child, that there was no place of retreat that I could go back to, that no one would comfort me or stroke my hair or hold me as I cried myself to sleep. It was easier in my lunch box days - when I believed in everything.

And everybody believed in me.

There was a tinkling, and the coffee shop doors open. My eyes snapped wide, and a group of people sauntered to the counter, coats dusted with snow and cheeks high with color from the cold. Strangers in red and green and gold, stories in their own rights.

I wondered what they were waiting for - it was obviously something more than a hot cup of coffee on a late, snowy night.

A mocha for the girl, extra whip. Green tea for another girl, who was picking at her chipping gel nails. Americanos for the two boys who were holding hands. A peppermint special - sorry, love, pumpkin spice is still on the menu. Oh, yes, I’ll take that.

My hands shook as I wrote names and orders onto cardboard coffee cups, the scent of tea and coffee and spices almost overwhelming for a moment. Growing up was like Mama’s candied orange peels, mostly bitter but sweet if you looked for it.

And I - well, I was too tired to look for it.

Vega was in the back, her colorful highlights barely visible under a black knit cap. Vega had a septum piercing, a tattoo, and a girlfriend at home. She was the kind of person Mama - and Papa, for that matter - would have told me to stray away from on the street, but the kind of person I secretly admired nonetheless.

Curvy, brunette Emerson Quinn-Whitley, the girl with the fake friends and shattered dreams and eyes the color of the coffee she made for minimum wage on a late shift, admiring an almost-delicate petite girl who did what she wanted when she wanted it, a girl with dyed hair and emotionless, luminous fox’s eyes, lips stained red with the blood of her conquests.

I shook the thought away. Vega was nice enough - Asian American, scholarship, hard worker, girlfriend at home, etcetera etcetera. I handed her the orders and leaned on my elbow again, my backpack full of shattered dreams, sleepless nights, and the sexy promise of an all-nighter.

Vega filled the orders, her thinly-plucked brows pressed tightly together in concentration as she drizzled something onto another something. The thought of why why why why why nagged me almost as much as the homework did. Why did I want to grow up? Why did I?

Because you were impatient, a sour part of my conscience nagged. Because you hated the rules your mother imposed on you, reminded another. Because you were waiting for Neverland, a different part sighed. A wistful picture painted behind my eyelids of a castle waiting for me to be queen, which slipped away like a tear down a cheek.

They didn’t tell you that all the love you give might not be enough. Was it when I had that epiphany that I grew up? A thousand possible moments, snapshots, memories, tinted dark like Polaroid photos.

The chatter in the room crescendoed as Vega finished with the group’s drinks, her usually brooding expression firmly in place as she pressed a pumpkin-spice-not-peppermint-mocha into a girl’s mittened hands and shooed her out the door.

Bad vibes, Vega mouthed at me, hazel eyes twinkling. Vega liked witchy things - crystals, detox tea, chunky jewelry and drapey black dresses. Vega had personality - you could see it on the rings on her hands, the swoop of her black, color-streaked bangs, the hand-painted night sky on her bookbag.

I tapped my fingers against the counter, counting minutes - seconds - until . . . what? Would a prince drop waltz through the glass door and offer me his hand? Would a fleet of owls - no, crows - no, how about peacocks, those sound cool - appear out of nowhere with summons for me, the lost heir, who had family and promise and a story, far far away?

If I wanted to grow up, this wasn’t it. I didn’t want to sit on a high stool behind a cash register, the smell of burnt coffee pressing in on me, the insufferable buzz of students doing homework droning on over the music playing slow and low in the background?

Our other employee, an unpleasant dudebro who went by Albie - his name, I had discovered, was Alberto de la Cruz the fourteenth or something - had chosen today’s coffee shop playlist. I had no idea who he was trying to drive mad first with the rapping; Vega and I, who bitched about his taste in everything from music to cars to girls - and one time, interestingly, tomato sauce, or our customers. They came here for cool beans and caffeine and classic rock or indie music, not Billboard’s Top 100 Rap Failures.

“Almost closing time,” Vega remarked, idly brushing an eyelash off of her cheekbone. She was tired - I could see it in the hunch of her shoulder and the tone of her already-husky voice.

I turned away from her as my head rushed to make excuses as to why I noticed that. Vega is dark chocolate and spellbooks, old bookstores and flickering chandeliers.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice as droning as it was tired. “If coffee could power me the way it powered them -” I gestured to the students starting to slowly pack up their laptops and notes, their hours of free wifi, heat, and shitty music coming to an end, “I would have foreseen sleep in my near future.”

Vega cackled. She didn’t have a laugh - she cackled, wheezed, snorted. It was equal parts entertaining and annoying, especially when you were working with scalding-hot espresso and your coworker started honking like a demented goose next to you.

“That was a good one, Quinn-Whitley,” she barked, a gleam in her eyes. She was emotionless when she made coffee, and only talked to me around closing time and during lunch. I liked to think that I was the only one who got to see this side of her - probably high, very very gay, and incredibly enthralling. Vega was a story that I wanted to read.

I half smiled, preemptively untying my coffee shop apron and haphazardly hanging it on a hook. As much as I disliked working at the coffee shop - which had, ironically, been a vaguely romantic, soft sort of fantasy when I was younger - it was comforting, in a way. Comforting in the way the smell of coffee brought you back to when you were nine and your mother had a mug curled in her hands, staring out the window as rain pattered on its panes.

The last of the coffee shop’s patrons gloomily filed out, coats turned up to block out the wind, and Vega and I silently closed up, making coffees for each other, muttering don’t tell Carney - Carney was the shop owner - pressing day-old muffins into each other’s hands, Vega rolling her eyes as I hastily stuffed another bite of pastry into my mouth.

Leaving the coffee shop was routine. I’d scuff my boots along the lightly-snowed-over pavement, Vega would put her headphones on and tune out the world, and I’d drag her out of the way if she veered into some poor unsuspecting soul’s way.

“Vega!” I exclaimed, dragging her across the street. Her eyes were closed, her dark-red lips moving along with the song, completely blissed out. Or maybe she was just that sleep deprived.

Vega and I had the same student housing building, but other than that, I knew nothing about her - not really, but I wasn’t a stalker-watcher-psychopath or anything - yet Vega wasn’t heading to the gothy, romantic brick building. I described too many things as ‘romantic’ nowadays.

Growing up had been romantic, too - the idea of being on my own, making my own decisions, getting taller and more voluptuous, as if my flat-chested boyishness of sixth grade was the root of all my problems. ( Spoiler alert, Younger Emmie - they weren’t. )

“Vega,” I said again, pulling at her coat sleeve. Her eyes were half-closed, her headphones firmly over her ears. I was getting exasperated - every night as we walked back, she zoned the world out. It was admirable - I was paranoid and hyperaware of everything around me, the opposite of slim, petite Vega in every way.

But she opened one of her luminous hazel eyes, lashes dark against her cheeks, and beckoned me forward. Towards the river.

“Come on, Emerson!” she laughed, and I was stunned. Vega Zhao was dark chocolate and mysterious smiles, dark loose dresses and the fringe of a woolen scarf. She didn’t laugh or smile wide or drag me down an icy street to an equally icy river.

“Vega - what?” I said weakly, still holding onto the sleeve of her crowlike coat. She rolled her eyes. Beckoned me again. Didn’t take her headphones off.

She had always been strange - the brooding, emotionless expression. The personality in her clothes and makeup and hair, but not in her unless we were on break. Vega was a mystery, a novel that was still being read.

And I think I had gotten to the plot twist.

She carefully clambered over the low stone wall over to the rocks that made up the riverbank, me a few moments behind her like a beanie-bedecked, anxious shadow. It was late, I was tired, my homework a constant thought in the back of my mind.

Vega was taking her dark coat off now, revealing an equally dark shift dress over a short-sleeved white shirt. She slid her headphones off now, stuffed them into the coat pocket, reached for my hand. “Come on, Quinn-Whitley!” she repeated, as if she were inviting me to a bakery - or better, an alternate universe where my essays were already written - and not to an icy river.

“Vega,” I said hesitantly, trying not to blush as she took my hand. “What - what’s going on?”

Vega’s eyes only glowed, luminous hazel, like the harvest moon at its peak.

“You don’t believe in fairy tales, do you, Emerson Quinn-Whitley?” she said, her husky voice taking on a strangely melodic quality.

“What did fairy tales do for me in the end?” I snapped, my voice surprisingly sharp. There was bitterness behind that statement, so much that my tongue could almost taste it. My once-golden dreams crumbling away when Mama left, when Papa’s hand made a claw on my shoulder. When nights reading in bed dissolved into studying in tears, screaming into my textbooks because I wasn’t good enough.

Vega’s eyes darkened, almost sadly. And then she waved her hand over the ice-frozen river and stepped in. Winked at me, held out her slender hand invitingly, and disappeared.

“VEGA!” I screamed, reaching out. But it was like she was there and gone, like she’d slipped away in a moment in time. Somehow, between blinks or heartbeats or breaths, she simply vanished.

The water still glowed where she stepped in, gold and amber and almost warm. Emerson, Emerson, Emmie! it seemed to call. My mother’s voice on the day of the first frost, Emmie, I can smell the pumpkin spice in the air! My father’s gruff baritone, grudgingly admitting Emerson, you - you did well.

And then Vega. Quinn-Whitley. Step in the goddamn portal. Live a little, Emerson.

I stepped back from the shimmering water, fear holding me back and fatigue making me question everything in front of me.

Do you believe in magic?

You don’t believe in fairytales, do you?

Soon we’ll be home, Emmie. Soon we’ll be home.

A cacophony of voices. Everyone I had ever loved, gone. All gone. Were they ghosts? Was this river a swirling cumulation of every broken dream, every shattered hope, every happy memory that faded in time like the fading of bright autumn leaves?

Soon we’ll be home.

But where was home, my home? I was Emerson Quinn-Whitley with the divorced parents, the mother who was glittering smiles and woolen cardigans and coffee left to go cold, the father who was the smell of brandy and ice-chip eyes and bear hugs that filled you up like hot cocoa. I lived at a gothic-romantic dorm with three roommates and a mountain of homework. Where was home?

I didn’t know that growing up would come and meet me. Wishing on a star, waiting for a glorious daydream to take me away into its world of glittering gowns and sequinned smiles, a world where all my worries melted away.

I crept closer to the patch of water where Vega vanished, and first it was like a mirror - my round face with its worried eyes and smattering of freckles - and then like a birds-eye view of some other place. Vega in her white shirt and black dress, trees with leaves the color of pumpkin and spice.

Behind me, a group of drunken strangers passed the river, wearing red and green and gold. I wondered what they were waiting for - a shooting star, a cab driver to take them away?

What was I waiting for? I liked to think that I’d grown away from the fairy tales that I had lived by when I was a child. But maybe everyone had to be a child sometimes.

I took a deep breath, briefly closed my eyes, and stepped in.

Soon we’ll be home.

#cece writes #soon we'll be home #short story #writing #sorta a songfic ?#please don't let this flop i love this one

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hideyseek · 4 years

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50 Questions You’ve Never Been Asked

tagged by @usersoup <3

What is the colour of your hairbrush? it is .. black and turquoise, though i must admit that since i’ve cut my hair i rarely use it.

Name a food you never eat? huh. caviar? i tend to forget about the existence of foods i don’t eat until i’m on the instacard website. chocolate ice cream, i guess. that’s like, a normal-person food i never consume.

Are you typically too warm or too cold? i am constantly too cold. as i type this i am in my apartment in sweatpants under a blanket and my roommate is in shorts and a tshirt.

What were you doing 45 minutes ago? mm i was reading a room of one’s own, at risk of sounding like the pretentious humanities major i am. i’m reading it out of desperation (we are in possession of the writer’s block and we would like to give it up as soon as possible), after having had it in my head to read since i came across a lin-manuel miranda tween in like 2015 telling all young writers to read it

What is your favourite candy bar? i don’t really like.. candy. twix or butterfingers, if i had to pick one at gunpoint.

Have you ever been to a professional sports event? yEAH u fucking bet i went to winterguard international championships twice in high school and bands of america championships once (both as part of my school’s winter/colorguard). i’ve never gone to a pro sportsball match though.

What is the last thing you said out loud? oh, are you really out there alone? (at my roommate, who is on the balcony with a desk lamp rigged up for optimal dirtball making).

What is your favourite ice cream? vanilla. or hazelnut. i fucking love hazelnut.

What was the last thing you had to drink? not to associate myself with brands, but i am drinking sprite as i type this.

Do you like your wallet? yes! i had my wallet nicked on a bus in the middle of the semester and my replacement is a lovely narrow black folding wallet that i am infinitely fond of.

What was the last thing you ate? the dregs of my cheezits, pepper jack flavor

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? mm no, though during my phone call with my grandma earlier this week she told me i should buy more clothes no less than four times. she thinks i should own and wear more “pretty girl clothes” and i haven’t the heart to tell her that i think gender is fake.

The last sporting event you watched? i participated in a harry potter pub quiz over zoom the other week, if that counts. otherwise, probably something televised and american football related, several months ago.

What is your favourite flavour of popcorn? KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN

Who is the last person you sent a text message to? oH thank god i have an interesting answer to this one -- my stage manager/playwright friend, whose recent play i am dying to get a copy of.

Ever go camping? yeah. my family used to go every august with some family friends.

Do you take vitamins? mm just vitamin d. (fuck off this was not meant to be a dick joke).

Do you go to church every Sunday? nah.

Do you have a tan? not anymore... even during the semester i spend most of my time underground in a basement rehearsal space or in the on-campus computer labs. (hence the vitamin d)

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? these are?? not equivalent at all in terms of scope? chinese food, of course.

Do you drink your soda with a straw? nah. can-to-mouth for me.

What colour socks do you usually wear? depends on how cold i am: i have some very lovely warm purple socks and some red and black socks that my dear friend gifted me for christmas last? year? but otherwise i have just sports shoes height white socks and black socks.

Do you ever drive above the speed limit? i am gay, i do not drive.

What terrifies you? failure, mostly. i hate that that’s my answer, but there you go. failure, or being putting myself in a situation where i don’t really have a choice in what happens to me.

Look to your left, what do you see? mm, i just moved from the study to bed so: the empty space in the loft bed railing where the ladder is, a blank wall, the edge and hinges of the bedroom wall.

What chore do you hate? none, really? i’ll get really passive-aggressive about some of the small apartment tidying things in my head, but not often enough that anything comes to mind now.

What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? how my linguistics prof last semester had folks self-identify if they spoke non-american english in the middle of lecture

What’s your favourite soda? hm, hm. oH. there’s a vietnamese sandwich place in my hometown that has the best lychee soda. (a handful of google image searches informs me this is elisha aerated brand)

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? hm, most of the time when i’m going to fast food i’m going to in-n-out with either a pile of theater people or my high school friend group, so sitting. er, going in.

Who’s the last person you talked to? roommates, in person.

Favourite cut of beef? i could not name cuts of beef if u asked me to really nicely. actually jk i know uh, ox... oxtail? i like oxtail soup.

Last song you listened to? am in the middle of listening to trenchh by cavetown but i’ve been alternating fob and cavetown and bastille on shuffle on spotify.

Last book you read? ella enchanted by gail carson levine, because it is my #1 comfort book.

Favourite day of the week? i like thursdays. they just sound nice.

Can you say the alphabet backwards? if i had like, several minutes, i probably could do it. but everything after w would involve me counting (counting? reciting?) from the beginning.

How do you like you coffee? i’ll drink it any way but black. i have discovered i do not like dalgona coffee. but i like the dark chocolate mocha that peet’s does in the winter a ridiculous amount.

Favourite pair of shoes? i have this pair of converse that’s grey stripes that always makes me feel like a Cool Arts Student, even though it’s actively terrible for my arches.

The time you normally go to bed? to bed? midnightish. to being asleep? usually 1-2ish.

The time you normally get up? eleven in the morning, apparently, since that’s what’s been happening now that i’m not setting alarms. during the school year, usually 7:30 or 8 because i work in the scene shop half the mornings of the week.

What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? conceptually? sunsets. aesthetically? also sunsets. metaphorically, though, i prefer sunrises.

How many blankets on your bed? i’ve got a blanket (duvet, maybe? comforter? i have never really vibed with these western concepts of bedding) and another knitted blanket.

Describe your kitchen plates: black and square and slightly chipped because roommates and i get a bit aggressive with cramming them onto the drying rack.

Do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage? i like hard cider. (i like soft cider better than hard cider, but the apple taste drowns out the alcohol taste enough for me to have a pretty good time.)

Do you play cards? haha yeah. whenever i’m home i play 24 with my little brother and lose a lot. or my family’ll play 21. or BS, which i fucking hate because i cannot lie for shit.

What colour is your car? still gay, still don’t drive.

Can you change a tire? mmmmmmmmmmm no. i have a shocking lack of car-related life skills for someone holding down a job that mostly involves wrenches.

Your favourite province? oh boy. hubei province, bc there’s no country specification and this feels less impersonal than if i were to just point somewhere in australia.

Favourite job you’ve ever had? hm, let’s limit this to work i’ve done for money, just to narrow the field down. (i tend to like the work i do a lot.) i really really enjoy working as a sound technician, especially as a mic assistant (it checks my “meeting people” box and my “helping people with their emotions” box and my “storytelling for an audience” box because at the theater i work at, pre-show mic check is me talking about my day and has resulted in a handful of people telling me i should try standup). the hours and pay are kind of crap, though. you don’t get friday nights when your friday nights are spent backstage of the same show you’ve heard twenty million times at this point. i also enjoy teaching computer science, because i just fucking like computer science. christ, i just,, miss being at work :c the production of newsies i was gonna do this summer got canceled.

How did you get your biggest scar? mm, pass.

What did you do today that made someone else happy? i, hm. everything that comes to mind feels vaguely manipulative, since i can’t really tell if people were made happy? oh! i had an extended slack conversation with one of the academic interns for the cs class i help teach that was basically just us bonding over word humor. he seems like the kind of person who would have gotten a kick out of it.

I tag: @kittog @wali21 @capt-ann @lemon-yellow @iamanonniemouse @raccoon-sex-dungeon @snakesonacartesianplane @eternalflarg @swimmingseafish (do it if u want! don’t let me bully u into anything)

#tag game #SOUP I LIKED THIS A LOT! THANK U #no pressure friends #!#but also i enjoy holding knowledge about the people i like

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jungnoir · 6 years

Text

tulips;

⇢ summary: “tulips, the beautiful you. tulips, so lovable.”

⇢ relationship: lee donghyuck/reader, a bit of wong yukhei/reader but kinda not.

⇢ genre: barista!au, college!au, fluff, minor angst.

⇢ words: 9k

⇢ warnings: none!

a/n: inspired by a conversation with @goldenscript and also slightly by her rival baristas au!! happy birthday, baby girl~ music for this - tulips by snuper.

“Don’t you have to meet up with your boyfriend right about now?” The mischievous Lisa raises a brow from beside you, her russet hair brushing your skin with how little proximity she allowed when you walked together. You’d grown used to her need to be close to everyone she was around; despite the fact, her voice was very much amplified regardless of how close she was or how loud the environment was. You have to grip her elbow and squeeze to even get a reaction out of the girl, a squeak leaving her mouth followed by a laugh. “My circulation!”

“I’ll cut more off than your circulation if you keep yelling.” You hiss at her but there is no malice, just an undeniable amount of embarrassment at the mention of Donghyuck. It had gotten to the point where you didn’t even have to ask her to clarify who she meant, and if any of your other friends had done the same thing you still would have been well aware. You had never meant for it to get this far. Seriously.

Lisa snorts, “I’m not yelling! That was my inside voice,” she emphasizes this by speaking even louder this time, drawing several students’ attention her way and making you laugh into her shoulder, “and I know he’s probably anxiously waiting for you to arrive so he can take your order and make googly eyes at you while you try to look like you’re not making googly eyes at him.”

She widens her already large eyes to a comical level at you and makes a face that you assume is to mock your own. Your own eyes narrow, “Lisa, those long legs of yours make you look really good in a skirt but also make it super easy to shove you over, you know.”

Giggling nervously, Lisa moves away from you quickly and wraps her arms around her chest in a defensive stance. “Just saying... anyway, do you want a ride? I’m going by there to pick up Chaeyoung for our date.”

You grin at her and nudge her shoulder, “Date...?” “Not like that!” Her cheeks immediately go rosy, “but yeah, we’re going to an archery training course and then for pho afterward.”

Your walk with Lisa spills into the parking lot and you absentmindedly follow her on her way to her convertible, the taste of your favorite drink already gracing your taste buds, “Be careful or she might aim for your heart.”

Lisa spins quickly to scold you for teasing her but has nothing to say when you smirk. She knew just as well as you did that this was karma, and if anyone was more head over heels in like with someone, it was Lisa Manoban with Park Chaeyoung. It was actually pretty cute watching the usually cheeky girl become a blubbering mess in the face of her crush (and happened to produce a lot of really good blackmail in the process).

You grab the handle to the passenger door of her bright red car and wink, “So what were you saying about my “boyfriend”, future Mrs. Park?”

Quickly checking the time on your phone, you give Lisa a short “thanks” and part ways the minute she parks outside of the shop, trying not to look as eager as you feel the closer you get to the towering glass doors that separated you from your drink, and most importantly... Lee Donghyuck.

You had met Donghyuck two months ago at the beginning of the semester, when you’d realized that five classes were going to be the test of your sanity in your young life so far. Needing to cram for three different tests assigned not even halfway through the second week of school had you somewhat in a crisis. With your roommate being not the most helpful study partner and your friends already being too consumed in their own classes with no time to spare to help you, your last ditch attempt was to do the aesthetic thing to do and find a cute cafe to focus in. You hadn’t meant to stumble upon Donghyuck in a messy ponytail and yesterday’s sweatpants, but he didn’t pay any mind with his sunny disposition and glittering smile. You still remembered the moment you locked eyes with him over the counter after having double and triple checked that you hadn’t left any of your textbooks behind at your dorm. You still remembered when he smiled at once and his light voice caressed your ears with a “What can I get you today?”

You had been adamant about getting a strong black coffee that would be bitter enough to turn your will to steel and force you to finish your homework instead of procrastinating and falling into despair. However, the minute he looked at you with those honey eyes, you were spewing whatever BS that would come out just to fill the silence, “What do you recommend?”

Your question shocked him for all of three seconds before he perked up even more (if that was even possible), his hands flying around animatedly as he pointed at the faux chalkboard menus positioned above and behind his head, “Oh, all kinds of things! Drink wise, there’s this one called the Choco Supreme Mocha Frap that is loaded with espresso chips and whipped cream and chocolate syrup,” you swore his eyes sparkled as he described it, “but that one is ice cold. If you’re looking for something hot, I suggest the hot chocolate. Simple, a good amount of chocolate but not as much as the Choco Supreme Mocha Frap, and actually one of my favorites during the winter.”

“Then I’ll have that.” You said, not really thinking.

“The frap or hot cocoa?” He tilted his head to the side cutely, brown hair looking copper in the sunlight that beamed through the coffee shop windows.

“C...Cocoa.” You stuttered out, just managing to look away from his inquisitive gaze in lieu of taking out your money. He had smiled out of the corner of your eye and you were still glad to this day that you had been looking away, just in case his smile might’ve sent you flushed with legs of jelly on your way over to your table for the rest of the afternoon.

Once you’d handed him the money, he quickly glanced back behind him at an array of small desserts lining the other side of the counter, “Would you like a chocolate muffin to go with it?”

Boy, does this kid love chocolate or what?

You just shook your head no, “The cocoa will be sweet enough for me.”

A small, painfully adorable pout appeared on his lips and you suddenly took note of the several little moles dotted across his skin like kisses, “Worth a shot. It’ll be out in a minute. Can I have your name?”

You had prepared yourself to just disappear once he’d given you your change, so out of surprise, you blurt, “Why?”

He blinks, then laughs, and if you weren’t already embarrassingly smitten before, you definitely were now. The twinkling bells of his laughter made you fidget in place, suddenly very aware of how accusatory that sounded. Once he comes down from his amusement, he flutters his eyelashes at you, “Why? I need to know the name of the person I’m going to ask out on a date tonight.”

Despite how cleanly he had delivered the bad pick-up line, you couldn’t help but giggle out of your own volition in response, the sound of your own giggle causing a similar reaction to bubble out of the mystery barista’s mouth. “You have a sweet laugh,” he says nonchalantly, “I guess I better keep you laughing...?”

He holds out for your name, and this time you give it up without a fight. His nose scrunches as he repeats it back to himself, looking away for the first time as he repeats it under his breath, “Got it! I won’t forget you.” “But... what if I don’t come back?” You ask.

“Then you’ll be the one that got away.”

It hadn’t been that long since you’d first met the boy who you later learned was named Donghyuck, but it had felt like the two of you had been friends for years. The lame pick-up lines and shitty puns you two shared between each other when you’d come to get your cocoa fix (something he’d managed to get you hooked on against your will) had started to pile up. When you were stressed over homework or group projects with less-than-willing partners, you would find your solace in Donghyuck. He could make you laugh so hard your sides would be hurting the next day; after all, he had to keep true to his word.

Your friends had found you running off to the shop at all hours of the day, and after having learned Donghyuck’s schedule, you began to go exclusively during his shift just to see him and have some hot cocoa. It had become a thing that whenever you entered, no matter what Donghyuck was doing, Donghyuck would be in charge of taking care of your order. Some days, you’d come in for lunch and other days you would come in just to chat and run. Whatever the case might’ve been, everyone who worked at the cafe and every one of your friends were aware of the fact that you and Donghyuck were a duo never to be separated, never to be without the other. Your friendship began to span outside of the cafe walls when you’d learned he attended your university as well, and though you’d never seen him around on campus before, he had begun to make a habit out of trying to find you and vice versa. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to be greeted by an arm slung around your shoulder and Donghyuck asking you what you were doing later, even if he couldn’t participate.

The coffee shop was your playground though, the sacred place in which you and Donghyuck could slack off on homework and work work in the back and talk about any and everything. He’d run before his manager would notice he wasn’t on duty, and would reserve his breaks for when you’d show. He’d always claim that the shop was far too boring when you weren’t around, and you would claim that the only reason you came back was for the hot cocoa (it wasn’t, and so many people knew it too).

It almost felt cheapening to say that Donghyuck was “just a friend”. Did just-friends make those eyes at each other all the time? Did they smile coyly at each other to give away an unbidden promise of more in between the lines? Did just-friends squirm at the mere idea of only being that: friends? No, certainly not, but no one was confirming anything more any time soon. Timing, he’d claim. Reassurance, you’d reason.

You’d always thought it pretty harsh for Lisa to tell you that dating was “first-come, first-serve”. Sometimes, coming to her for dating advice was like getting teeth pulled; you never knew what impulsive, exciting thing she’d tell you to do if you so much as mentioned a crush or potential partner. The worst thing was the guilt you’d feel after hearing her advice. A worry unlike any other would envelop your insides and make you feel a little seasick at the thought that “you’ll never know if you don’t try”.

Was it wrong for you to not mind taking it slow, seeing where things with Donghyuck might lead? Was it so terrible that you liked the easiness between you and wanted that easiness to last? Possibly... in her eyes. Possibly in your eyes too.

If there was anything you knew best about life, it was that nothing easy lasted.

It didn’t register that you’d been staring too long at the entrance to the coffee shop until someone walking past gave you a questioning glance. It read very clearly to you that you might look a bit strange just standing there, not moving, so you quickly push yourself into gear and settle on ignoring your heavy feelings. After all, this was just another casual meeting with Donghyuck. In fact, you were sure the minute you saw him, you’d feel at ease once more.

Only, when you enter, he is not there like usual.

You stand off to the side, diligently scanning the entire cafe, but no copper-headed firecracker was in sight. It was so unlike him not to be here; maybe you were too used to his presence, never once thinking about him having to take a sick day or day off because he was such a constant. The shop surely didn’t have the same aura it usually did without him, and maybe you might have picked up on that outside if you weren’t so spaced out today.

No, the shop didn’t have the same aura. Instead of missing anything however, it seemed to have gained something else in its place. And that something was currently inviting you over with a smirk that neither teetered on smug nor cheesy.

You’d never seen this one before.

You’re momentarily shocked by your height difference, and then you’re even more shocked when the person standing in Donghyuck’s usual spot speaks up without a care in the world, “Well, hello there. Can I get you anything?”

He’s relaxed, terribly in his element despite the fact that you’re almost certain he hasn’t been here before today as an employee. You’re sure you’d never miss someone like him, and you’d been here at all times of the day. You’d never seen anyone on shift like him. There was no way you could forget a face and aura like this guy’s, not in the slightest. You also find you’re not very displeased by this new discovery.

Sauntering over on auto-pilot, you look from his eyes to his folded arms as he leans down to rest them on the counter, the sleeves of his baby yellow sweater rolled up past his elbows to reveal honey skin. His fingers poke out and you see the glitter of several metal bands sitting above his knuckles. Drawn by the sheer broadness of his shoulders and the features of his face that dare you to try and ignore them, you completely brush over his question to ask the most pressing one in your mind, “Who are you?”

While someone else might have been turned off by this, confused at most, the guy just laughs. He has a cute, high pitch to his laugh that faintly reminds you of Donghyuck, but when he speaks, his voice is low and scratchy, “You asked me that like I’m in trouble... I’m not, am I?”

Not yet, maybe. You’d make up your mind once you figured out why Donghyuck was missing and why this giraffe-like boy was in his place. “No... it’s just... I’m used to someone else being here around this time.”

The boy hums in understanding, smirk forming into a pensive line instead. He seems to seriously consider your statement before suddenly unfolding one arm and snapping his fingers, “Is the person you’re looking for like way smaller than me? Round face, tanned skin, kinda excitable?”

You let out a small laugh at the description, finding that Donghyuck fits it quite well in reality. You nod, “That’s the one. Answers to Donghyuck, as well.”

The boy flashes his pearly whites at you. He straightens his back, places one hand on the counter (you try to keep your eyes from rolling out of their sockets when the expanse of his fingers splayed out before you takes up more space than a plate), and then answers, “I took his shift so he’s got a new one. Quite last minute but... I was also a last minute hire.”

Ah, so that’s why you’d never seen him.

Your look of understanding also comes with an underlying relief. So he wasn’t gone like you’d been quietly dreading, not completely. He was just working another time... but once the relief had passed, then slight disappointment arose. Why, if it was just like routine that you’d both meet here everyday, didn’t he let you know he was working a different time? You got it was last minute, but a quick text would- no, you weren’t going to get legitimately upset over something as small as this. He probably didn’t have time. You weren’t the only one in college, and it sure as hell wasn’t like the semester wasn’t diving into full swing by now. He probably had more on his plate than he let on, and maybe the new time allowed him better working around his class schedule.

Whatever the reason he hadn’t told you, it didn’t matter. You were here now... you’d see him later, surely.

“Do you still want to know who I am, or has this magical genie granted all your wishes already?” He asks, a bit of anticipation in his words. He wanted you to ask, for reasons you weren’t... privy to, not yet.

It couldn’t hurt, right? Donghyuck or not, this was still your usual break time. “I’m sure the genie could cough up a name.”

He grins again, and my god was it infectious, “You can call me Yukhei. ‘The guy who stole Donghyuck’s shift’ might be a mouthful.”

“Yukhei,” his name rolls off your tongue experimentally as you chance a glance at the boy in question to see if you said it right; he nods at you in confirmation, eyes flashing minutely when he hears you say it, “nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N).”

Yukhei looks away from you, sighing your name once, then twice, then several times one after the other like a tongue-twister. He locks eyes with you when he utters it one last time, “Said it right?” Something about his smile tells you that he’s certain he has, but he asks anyway. The tease.

You raise your chin at him and mirror his smile, “Yeah, perfectly.”

Yukhei seems ready to say something else. His lips part and a sound barely gets past his lips before he notices a new customer rounding up behind you, looking a bit impatient when he observes that both you and Yukhei seem to be deep in friendly conversation and not actual business. Not wanting to get scolded on his first day, Yukhei shoots you an apologetic smile and nods subtly at the person behind you, “Anything else for you?”

You catch on quick. You rattle off your usual order and watch as he inputs it on his computer before turning to you to take your money. The exchange of payment is over in seconds, your fingers brushing the cool rings around his fingers and sending a spark of something across your skin. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek as he tells you your order will be out soon, barely prepared for the wink he sends your way before turning his full attention onto the customer behind you. You take your cue to move to the side, all the while catching your breath that you were unaware you had been straining to breathe in the process of talking to Yukhei.

Normally, you were only relaxed like this with Donghyuck. In fact, the two of you had hit it off so quickly that you’d never thought you’d do so with anyone else. Yukhei’s energy was similar to Donghyuck’s, but something told them apart to you. It was small and you hadn’t a clue what it was, but it was big enough to be perceptible by you.

Talking to Yukhei had dulled your disappointment in not seeing Donghyuck today, but that feeling came back tenfold the minute you moved away from the register. Because, even if Yukhei was entertaining to talk to, he wasn’t... Donghyuck.

You slip your phone out of your pocket and into your hand. There’s no messages from him.

You’re tempted to send him one when you hear Yukhei call your name. Blinking out of your daze to face him, he holds out your drink and winks at you, “Come back here at seven. Donghyuck.” And then the “genie” is back to work, even your silent wish granted.

“Before you get mad, I was neck-deep in midterms today and didn’t get a chance to tell you. Please don’t injure me.”

Donghyuck grimaces when you enter the shop with a slight sharpness to your stare. It wasn’t usually your thing to come here so late into the day, the sun on the horizon but not quite gone yet, so the atmosphere feels a lot sleepier, but calmer nonetheless. You appreciate the feeling in comparison to the hectic-ness of the afternoon when everyone and their mother was crowded inside the shop with the collective patience spanning the length of a string of pasta.

You raise an eyebrow but do nothing of the sort, motioning for him to follow you to your usual table. You watch him call for break, his fellow co-worker (Doyoung was his name, you’d met a few times before) scoffing from his spot across the shop, slouched deep in a booth with his phone pressed up close to his face as if to say “don’t bother me”.

Donghyuck is sitting across from you minutes later, “You’re not mad? I felt really bad, you know.” He turns on the puppy-dog eyes as soon as he says so, fluttering eyelashes on full display.

As endearing as the show of cuteness is (and as disarming as it is, as well), you still feign upset with him, some of it actually real, “I was hurt, Lee. Real hurt.”

Donghyuck whines and shuffles in his seat, practically throwing himself over the table to get up all in your space. Bottom lip jutted out comically, Donghyuck is doing the most, “I was gonna make it up to you by buying you dinner during my new shift!”

Your ears perk up at this, “Was?” “Am,” He corrects, slipping back into his seat tentatively, “am buying you dinner. What would you like? It’s all on me.”

Donghyuck dresses differently in the evening shift. While usually, you’d catch him in a sweater not too different in comparison to Yukhei’s, he had went for a graphic tee sporting a nerdy pun that you didn’t get. Donghyuck’s bright personality almost didn’t fit in the atmosphere, what with the day winding down and the customers sticking to dark, muted colors in their attire and makeup. It was poetic and calm; you had to admit that the cafe felt much better to be in when it wasn’t that busy and wasn’t that early.

You fix him with your stare only a few moments longer before breaking out into a smile. Donghyuck’s shoulders immediately fall in gratitude of your mercy, his head slumping forward while quiet, whispered tales of thanks flew out of his mouth so fast you wondered how he didn’t stumble over a word. Then, he shot his head back up at you and met your smile with his own, “So, you missed me, huh?”

Your smile contorts into an expression of mild annoyance, your foot rising and hitting Donghyuck lightly in the shin. He bites his lip to ignore the pain, but keeps that same giddy look on. He’s absolutely beaming at the thought that you had missed him. Had actually felt upset that he wasn’t there today when you thought he would be. You cared enough to crave his presence. “I was mad that you weren’t there to give me your friends and family discount, actually.”

Donghyuck is already on cloud nine and your sarcasm doesn’t tug him off any time soon, “You missed me. Don’t worry, I think you’ll like this time of day much better than the afternoons. Thank god for new meat.”

At the mention of new meat, Yukhei flashes back in your mind, “Oh, yeah, speaking of... that Yukhei guy sure is something.”

Donghyuck blinks, laughs, then shrugs his shoulders, “I guess. If by ‘something’ you mean a lifesaver for taking up the hell shift.”

“Well, yeah. But he’s also really nice and friendly! I was surprised by how cool he looked on his first day, you know? We both remember Mark on his first day.” “Mark has been a ball of nerves since birth so he’s an outlier to that rule, but still,” plucking the salt shaker from the little basket off to the side of the table, Donghyuck begins rubbing the glass container between the palms of his hands at a slow speed, “some people are just made for retail.”

You chuckle, “He sure seemed it.”

Donghyuck reaches across and before you know it, he’s tapped your nose with the pad of his finger. You do nothing but stare at his offending appendage, dangling above your skin for a minute before he yanks it back to his body (because he knows better than to leave any part of him in biting distance when he’s invaded your personal space like that), “Hey,” he starts, “how can you talk about another barista in front of me?”

If you didn’t know better, you’d think Donghyuck was mildly jealous with the way his voice bordered on a whine. You had always been kind and friendly to the other baristas you met at the cafe or who Donghyuck introduced you to on campus, but he had never had a problem with that much. You’d ask about them in conversation, talk to them in class, wave to them when passing. Donghyuck had never had a problem with that. He had even encouraged it, wanting you to know everyone in his life.

It was only Yukhei, then? Maybe because he was new to the both of you. A stranger who had suddenly walked into your lives and Donghyuck hadn’t had a chance to get a reading on him yet, not before you. That seemed most logical in this situation to you.

You raise an eyebrow, “Wasn’t I promised dinner?”

Donghyuck seems to remember his promise he’d made only minutes ago at the same time as you. Instead of prying about Yukhei more, Donghyuck shuffles out of his seat and mumbles something about retrieving your menus before you’re left completely alone at your table. Your eyes can’t help but follow the boy on his way to the counter, your curiosity misting over your expression in the form of squinted eyes and a twisted lip. You don’t know what it is about him today that’s throwing you off, but this is seriously throwing a wrench in your usual routine.

Regardless, you’re able to push away those thoughts as Donghyuck and you both order something to eat (his choice being light, seeing as he’d have to get back to work soon) and begin to catch up what you’d missed throughout the day. Usually, you both would catch up on only so much in the afternoon before texting about it later, but having gone without talking to him for almost a whole day, he’s overflowing with even more to say. Part of you actually prefers hearing his long-winded days described in grand hand gestures and bulging eyes and impersonations of everyone that he’d come across on campus.

Were you a stranger on the outside looking in, you’d think that you and Donghyuck went to different schools and lived totally different lives. He always had some funny story to tell or exciting event going on in his life and you often wondered if you just didn’t get out enough. Maybe it was the difference in majors? It took you a while to learn that it wasn’t that your lives were so vastly opposite each other. Your lives were practically the same, only, Donghyuck had such a rosy outlook on it that changed what you viewed as the simply mundane drastically.

Your dinner ends quickly, Donghyuck having to finish up his shift when a couple of night owls make their way into the cafe. You take your leftovers and bid him farewell, and soon you’re back home as per usual. The times may have changed, but Donghyuck is still very much an important part of your day. Tomorrow will be just like normal again, you’re certain.

You have to remind yourself not to be so spooked when you see Yukhei in Donghyuck’s place again, in a baby blue button up. He doesn’t have nearly as many rings on today as he did yesterday, but there’s still a few that glitter in the sunlight as he waves to patrons he’d seen yesterday, faces memorized already. You are no exception, catching his attention and immediately making him perk up when you approach the register, “Same as yesterday?” He inquires. If he remembers, you would really applaud him.

You affirm it, impressed when he doesn’t ask you to clarify, and then you add on a small bowl of soup on the side because your breakfast hadn’t quite stuck to your ribs like you’d wanted it to. Yukhei has no trouble ringing about that exact order, but he moves a little slowly as there aren’t many customers around at the moment. “I’m surprised you can remember faces and orders after only one day.” You tell him, leaning to the side as he begins to prepare your drink while finishing up processing the order. You slide your card to him and he thanks you under his breath.

“I’m really good with that when I wanna be. To be honest though, I only remember your order because you left the best impression.” He puffs up in pride when you snort, but nevertheless laugh, in amusement. “What? I speak truth.”

“Do you? I couldn’t have been the most memorable part of your shift yesterday.” You combat his “truth” with something more believable; even a boy as evidently friendly as he couldn’t bother to remember such a minute detail, right?

Yukhei shakes his head like he can’t believe you, sliding your card and a receipt back to you once the price has been paid, “You underestimate how memorable you are.”

What was with this coffee shop and handsome boys flirting with you? Sheesh.

Instead of answering (because you don’t have confidence you’ll get many coherent words out anyway), you slip to the side and wait patiently as he gets to work on your drink, putting in an order for your soup at the same time. Figuring it’ll be a while, you turn and begin to make your way to your table... but someone is already there.

With sunglasses too big for his face and shoulders hunched over to somehow disguise him, Donghyuck stares directly at you with a small pout on his face before whispering for you to come over. Surprised, and a little worried, you do as you’re told.

The boy is dragging down his glasses to stare at you over them, his eyes squinted in suspicion, “You two are awfully chummy.”

You look over at Yukhei for confirmation that yes, that’s what Donghyuck is referring to, “Are you- what are you doing in those ridiculous glasses, Hyuck?”

Donghyuck scowls, “They’re not ridiculous, they’re Doyoung’s hangover glasses I stole from his car when he drove me home last night. And as for what I’m doing... I’m scoping out the fresh meat.”

“So... spying on Yukhei.”

“It’s not spying! I’m doing this for the good of the cafe! I can’t have some kid smearing my months of hard work and dedication and ruining my regulars’ days, sorry not sorry.”

“Seems more plausible that you came to see me, actually. Worried I might prefer Yukhei more?”

Donghyuck looks seriously offended that you’d even insinuate such a thing. He reaches over to flick your forehead but you’re quicker, smacking his hand back to the table before he can inflict any pain on you. He hisses at your hard hit, muttering about how heavy-handed you are. As silly as the glasses are on him (and it’s much funnier to talk to him like this, really), you reach over this time to slip them off. Donghyuck flinches when he thinks you’re about to deliver a blow to the middle of his forehead only to feel the bulky glasses slip away from their spot perched on his nose and into your waiting hands. You fold them up and slide them back to him, smiling sweetly, “You look a lot better like that.”

Donghyuck, lightly flushing, raises his shoulder to shield his expression from you. “I didn’t by the way,” he grumbles, “come to see you, I mean. This is strictly surveillance.”

You nod, not buying it at all, “Wanna share my drink with me?”

Donghyuck flushes even deeper, dropping his shoulder in surprise to show his cheeks gleaming strawberry on display. When you giggle right after, he knows you’d only said it to fluster him. Lightly kicking your shin under the table like you’d done the night before, he manages to get you to shut up at least a little.

When Yukhei calls you over to retrieve your order, Donghyuck watches you walk over with slight contempt. It wasn’t that he was jealous - no, far from it - it was just a little easier to fool himself into believing that you didn’t just come to the cafe because it was convenient and nearby, but that you also enjoyed his company too. After all, it had become very much a part of his everyday just like it had become a part of yours... and he hoped you thought of the time you got to spend with each other as highly as he did.

You two had formed a friendship over the few months that it took for you to get used to each other, and he was grateful that when he got the chance to see you outside of the shop he could. He was also grateful for the constant streams of texts between the two of you day in and day out, but he wished so greatly that maybe one day it could be something more than that.

His friends had inquired time and time again why he hadn’t taken that next step, that tentative leap from friends to something more. The opportunities were there, sure, but his confidence was a long way behind him.

Would you even want something like that with him? Wasn’t he just someone you knew? Someone on campus to talk to? Someone to fill your dull breaks at the cafe with a little life and laughter? Wasn’t he just temporary?

You float back over before he can clear his grim look off his face. Soup and drink in hand, you squint at his dejected look and wonder what in the world could have happened between you getting up to approach the counter not fifteen feet away and your return that could make him look that down all of a sudden.

“Hyuck?” You call his nickname in a delicate voice, sparking him out of his little stupor. The boy in question blinks up at you. “Something the matter?”

“Hm... me? No, nothing. Just... thinking about how we’re gonna have to extend this observation into tomorrow. Looks like there’s no strong evidence here for his case.” Donghyuck clears his throat and steals your drink while you’re busy blowing on your spoonful of soup, taking a long drag through the straw that has you dropping your spoon in awe.

“I asked if you wanted to share not steal!”

Yukhei watches from his perch at the counter, inquisitive eyes finding you and Donghyuck when he wasn’t serving customers. He can see you trying to wrestle your drink out of Donghyuck’s hand and pretty much failing with the table as a barrier, but that’s only before you get up and try to tackle it out of him. He knows that with anyone else, he might have been concerned, if not incredibly proactive in getting you two to settle down before scaring off the customers, but all he can do is smile knowingly. He wasn’t just observant with customers and coffee after all.

Your “stake-out” with Donghyuck doesn’t last just until the next day. No, it lasts for fourteen days more.

With the weekends excluded, Donghyuck is popping up at the cafe same time everyday, sharing something small with you sometimes and something a little fuller other times while you both “observe” Yukhei’s work ethic. You would argue that most of it was just the two of you talking and him showing you memes while you try not to choke on your sandwich, but he world argue that he had one eye for you and one eye for Yukhei. He could multitask. You just enjoyed his company.

Lisa had shared her thoughts on the matter, that of which you completely brushed aside because she still referred to Donghyuck as your boyfriend. In fact, that was probably the only reason the two hadn’t met yet. You were worried she’d say something too secret and then spoil your whole dynamic with Hyuck. That, and you were seriously troubled by the thought that the two of them set free together might literally implode your city. But mainly just the former.

The matter of what you were doing for your birthday didn’t rear its ugly head to you until a few days prior when Donghyuck, out of the blue, decided to ask you what you were doing for the big day.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly, “probably nothing. It’s just another day.”

Donghyuck, ever the party person, scoffed. Today, he was sharing a steaming plate of nachos with you while chopping the jalapenos in half with a tortilla chip. Yukhei had definitely gotten into his groove here in the time allotted. Sometimes, he’d switch between the register and fluttering around the cafe to personally serve drinks and the like, so you would sometimes get him assigned to your table (much to Donghyuck’s chagrin at first. you had claimed it gave him a much more up close and personal observation, though. he claimed you just liked the way Yukhei’s arms flexed when holding a tray of food. you didn’t fight him on that).

“You’re at least going to dinner, right?” He prods.

“What’s this about dinner? Are you finally going somewhere else for a date? And here I thought Hyuck was just a cheapskate.” Yukhei appears next to you out of nowhere, one cup of steaming hot cocoa for Donghyuck and another cup of the same for you. Yukhei’s piled more marshmallows on your cup just to get on his bad side, Donghyuck just knows it.

The pair of you snap your heads to a grinning Yukhei who dusts his hands off on his apron, “No!” You both say at the same time.

“Sounds like a lie. Anyway, what are we doing for your birthday, (Y/N)?” Yukhei turns his full attention to you, genuinely curious. You’re not sure if he’d actually overhead the whole conversation or if he really just remembered it was coming up, but regardless, you were a little too stunned to answer right away. You hadn’t expected either of them being very interested in your birthday, other than knowing to wish you one on the day of and maybe dish out a little something to give you for managing to stay alive this long.

“I already asked that...” Donghyuck grunts.

Honestly, you hadn’t planned much at all for your birthday. You expected to spend it with your family. Maybe you’d get a cake. Maybe you’d ask for something. Really, it was just another day to you at this point. It didn’t really matter if you had a big party or not. You just wanted to be surrounded by the people you loved. You know what...

“I just want to be with the people I care about. That’s all I want for my birthday.”

The two boys look at you, perplexed. They’d honestly been hoping for something along the lines of Chuck E. Cheese’s. That’d be easier to ask to be invited to.

You interpret their loss for words as judgment and sigh, “Sorry it’s not a party or something.”

“That’s not it!” They chime simultaneously. You blink as Donghyuck explains, “We just... wonder... does that include us by any chance?”

So they wanted to be invited, huh? ...cute.

You break into a delighted smile, fiddling with your cup handle to give your hands something to do. “Well... a small dinner at my place won’t hurt, will it?”

In the short span of time that Donghyuck had gotten to know Wong Yukhei, never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d ever corner the guy for advice. No, not even in the nightmares.

Yet here he stands, blocking Yukhei’s path to your front door in what he thinks might be overdressed but what his mother called “cute!” before she’d shoved him out of the door so he couldn’t fret over how he looked a moment longer. He’d combed his hair to the side, slipped into a dark patterned button-down, matching blazer, and jeans rolled up to reveal tawny loafers with his only clean pair of black ankle socks (as long as he didn’t take his shoes off at any point, you’d never notice the Spider-Man print on the top of his feet) poking out. His lips shine with lip balm that instantly has Yukehi stifling a laugh into the back of his hand because he’d never let Donghyuck live this look down. “Looking sharp, Lee. You’re dressed to impress (Y/N)’s mom?”

Donghyuck huffs, miffed, “And you aren’t?” Donghyuck takes a quick survey of Yukhei’s similar outfit, save for the parted hair, rolled legs, and blazer. Yukhei looks relaxed in his outfit at least, where Donghyuck feels utterly out of place. He’d never been this dressed up in front of you before, and he was about to meet your family for heaven’s sake. He had hoped that this would at least come later on when you two were more... acquainted.

Yukhei, calm as ever, knows Donghyuck’s snark is out of fear and therefore feels no reason to snark back. “I have a feeling (Y/N)’ll love it, so don’t sweat it.” At the mention of sweat, Donghyuck does note he feels a little hot and quickly wipes his forehead with the back of his sleeve before it can gloss over into a sheen.

“Can I... ask you something?” Donghyuck requests, knowing at some point the two will have to enter and the chance will be lost on him. He can’t spend all his time squabbling with the boy in front of him forever.

Yukhei reads the mood well. Motions for Donghyuck to continue.

“Will you promise to not make it weird later if something... changes between me and (Y/N) tonight?”

“Weird how? Are you... Hyuck, you’re confessing?”

“Wait- dude, we’ve known each other for two weeks and you already know?” Dumbfounded, the youngest of the two feels his shoulders slacken in disbelief.

Yukhei shrugs as if it’s common knowledge, “You aren’t very opaque when it comes to crushes and all that... it was pretty obvious the minute I saw you two together. And, to answer your earlier question... I won’t.”

Donghyuck wants to worry about how many other people know about this little detail too. Right now though, he’s just glad it seems you’re not one of them. Yukhei makes sure to punctuate this by placing a comforting hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder, turning him to face the front door. “To answer your unspoken question too,” Yukhei says, leading the younger up to the doorbell, “just be honest. I have a pretty good feeling they’ll appreciate that.”

Be honest. Yukhei pushes the doorbell. Just be honest. Say the truth and lay it out flat. You open the door, in all your grandeur, glowing like in his daydreams. Just be- oh hell.

Dinner is the most nerve-wracking hour and a half of Donghyuck’s life, and while he has a usual flair of the dramatic, he’s being completely serious right now.

Your family is lovely, you are lovely... and he’s too choked up to say a thing. He has to eat your mother’s lovely food and hear Yukhei describe it in such exquisite terms and big words and all Donghyuck can manage is a smile and “it’s delicious, thank you”. Donghyuck listens to your family gush about you, your friend Lisa tell embarrassing stories about you, and Yukhei recount your wondrous two-week friendship like you all have known each other for years. Yukhei is everything Donghyuck had expected him to be when in the presence of you and your family and friends. Smart, thoughtful, funny... everything Donghyuck had been hoping he could be.

It was like every time he looked at you, all bright eyes and rosy cheeks and stunning smiles in the comfort of your home around the people you loved... he felt small. What was he doing here, really? Even Yukhei, someone who’d barely known you for a month, could find more material to charm your parents with than Donghyuck could. It made him feel so, so small.

You’ve shot him several questioning looks, rubbed his arm on the way to the living room to open presents, even straight up asked him if he was okay after cutting the cake. There’s some icing on the side of your lip that he wants to kiss off and that’s when he knows he needs to collect himself. “Where’s your bathroom?” He asks, and you laugh lightly. Maybe you thought the reason he looked so uncomfortable and out of place was because he really need to let loose a number two and wasn’t comfortable doing so in your house the first time he was over, on a night like this no less. You’re understanding. You tell him that your friend Wooseok is currently occupying the one downstairs because dinner “got to him too”, and point him to the one upstairs. He is so thankful he can be away from the hustle and bustle downstairs for just a few moments to breathe.

The minute he enters your bathroom, he notices the little things that he assumes belongs to you, and he tries to center himself by turning on the sink and splashing his face with cold water. Thankfully, the dark color of his shirt doesn’t show the sprinkles of water that fall on it in the process.

He grabs a few paper towels and dabs his face dry, attempting to pep-talk himself into being his usual cheerful self again. He was making you worried on your day and that wasn’t fair to you.

On his way out of the bathroom, he doesn’t mean to. He blames it on his tendency to look around and be curious, but when his eyes land on the wide open door to a room that looks like it belongs to you... he’s interested.

He examines what he can from his spot at the bathroom door. Your unmade bed, several different outfits tossed across it and some even strewn on the floor. There’s some cards and gift bags on top of the sheets, no doubt what you’d taken home after classes ended for the day. There’s a stack of books on the bedside table that you’ve got markers poking out of. It’s cute... it’s so you. He doesn’t realize he’s drifted inside until he hears you clear your throat at the doorway.

Donghyuck spins at the speed of light, facing your raised brow and amused expression. He looks fearful, a deer in headlights practically. He didn’t mean to wander in, and he doesn’t think he’s been standing in here that long, so either you’d hiked it up the stairs two at a time or you’d been there the whole time, watching him walk in. The latter seemed highly likely. “I was gonna show you my room later, anyway.” You tell him, walking further in and closing your door till it’s a mere crack. He gulps. “I also wanted to get you alone.”

“Me?” His voice cracks. Nice going, Lee.

You save him his pride and don’t laugh at the slip up, simply strolling over to your window. You push the curtains away, roll up the blinds, and unlock the window. Pushing up the glass panel, a gust of wind floods the room that sends shivers along Donghyuck’s exposed ankles. He’s confused when you get down on your knees beside the window sill, but when you pat the carpet beside you, he’s shuffling over wordlessly.

He opts to sit with his legs folded underneath, sweaty palms turned down so they can soak his jeans. He isn’t sure what to look at, so he just looks at you.

“I can’t believe I’m a year older.” You say quietly. “Can you?”

Donghyuck laughs short and soundlessly, “You’re that much closer to being a senior citizen.”

You snap your head to him and shove his shoulder, eliciting a real laugh out of him this time. “Hey! So are you, kid.”

“Hmph, not me. I’m Peter Pan. I’ll stay forever young.” He says proudly, folding his arms over his chest and straightening his back. In that moment, as his copper hair plays in the breeze, you truly believe him. The lamp light in the corner of the room casts a warm glow on his tan skin, highlighting his cheekbones and enchanting lips. How you’d been thinking of kissing them all night and not doing anything about it was beyond you.

“Then, shall I be Wendy?” You lower your voice, “So I can stay forever young too?”

Donghyuck slowly unfurls his arms, back slouching some, “Well... that means you’ll also be with me forever. Quite the commitment really. Even real-Wendy wasn’t ready for it.”

You bite your lip, wondering if you’re both still talking about the same thing anymore. “Maybe she wasn’t, but... I am.”

You both stare at each other’s eyes for a moment too long, and then you’re frantically turning to look out of the window once more. The air is heavy, so heavy. You can feel every breath and movement that Donghyuck makes from beside you, your knees just barely brushing.

It’s at that moment that the moonlight moves from behind the scattered clouds and suddenly shines on both of you, reminding you instantly as to why you’d opened the window in the first place. The sky is dotted with pretty stars and a gorgeous moon that shines down on the two of you. The promise of your day coming to an end is both sweet and melancholy. The moon seems to tell you “happy birthday, congratulations on another trip around the sun” with just that light that shines down.

“I like to look at the stars here when I come home from university,” you tell Donghyuck, feeling his eyes drift to your face, “it’s really comforting. Sometimes, I’ll turn on my music and look at the night sky and center myself. It’s nice... something I miss when I’m away.”

Donghyuck hums in appreciation, “You don’t see them much in the city. I’d almost forgotten what they looked like, but the moon is always there. It’s comforting.”

You smile softly, nodding in agreement. “Yeah. The moon has seen me do a lot since I came to be on this planet.”

Donghyuck shakes his leg lightly, brushing your knee just a little. He can still hear the others downstairs, enjoying themselves well without the two of you there. It feels like the two of you are on your own other plane of existence, somehow.

Finally, Donghyuck opens his mouth. He’s ready to be honest like Yukhei said. He’s been too chicken all night, it’s only right that he does it now. I mean, he’s been fussing about timing and all that for a while now. What better time than right now would there ever be-

“Donghyuck, I like-”

“-like you.” He finishes your whisper with his own.

He’d... he’d expected a lot on his way here. A refusal, acceptance, a laugh, a downright demand to never see him again even. Among none of the several scenarios he’d thought up did he think that you’d confess at the same time.

“Were you... did you plan to confess tonight? Too?” Donghyuck asks, his elation just slightly muted by his unmitigated doubt. He had really just confessed to his crush of who knows how long. At the same time.

“Yeah!” You half-yell, practically choking on words to snicker instead, “I really did. I’d been rehearsing since last night.”

This was the most “you” kind of confession the two of you could possibly have, perhaps.

Donghyuck and you both just stare at each other, but the smiles that creep onto your faces make their way there all on their own. Donghyuck had run over a lot of scenarios in his head, and yet, not one of them could ever make him feel the way he was feeling right now. If cloud nine had an advanced, VIP branch, he’d be on it for sure.

And, in a very “you” way of being, the two of you are sprawled on the floor in happy laughter that deafens the sounds of talking downstairs easily. Your foreheads nearly knock together as you both roll onto your sides, gasping for breath at the predicament you’d found yourselves in. Finding his eyes with yours when some of it dies down, you exhale happily against his lips, “So, Yukhei... you too?” “Yeah,” Donghyuck nods, “nosy jerk. I kinda thought you liked him.”

You hum, looking down at his lips and their very small proximity to yours. “A nosy jerk who may or may not have been the catalyst to all this.”

Donghyuck also looks down at your lips, the little bit of icing still there in the very corner that he wants to kiss off. Now he knows you’ll let him. “Hm. To-may-to, to-mah-to.”

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enmibarrio-blog1 · 6 years

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En Mi Barrio con Kulture

Interviewee: Co-owner, David Garcia.

"En Mi Barrio": storytelling through a multicultural and intersectional lens. Highlighting the works of artists, business owners, and community leaders of their own respective fields who uplift underrepresented groups and share their culture through their works. In their own words: “Kulture... with a backward "K"! In business since July 2015. You have to visit our eclectic store to understand how diverse and full of culture our inventory is. Our small local business thrives on making our customers smile and bringing ethnic diversity to midtown Sacramento.” Kulture is owned and operated by David Garcia and Cuahutemoc Vargas with a strong familia support system and dedicated business team to keep it all running smoothly. Below is the first installment of the En Mi Barrio series ~ enjoy! <3

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Sophia: Let’s start with your origins and family history.

David: So my dad was born in Coalcoman, Michoacan and when he was young they moved to Jalisco were my mom is from. They grew up the town of Cihuatlan. That’s where my oldest brother was born and then we moved to the US. We travel there a lot and many other cities. My business partner was born in Michoacan and would go back and forth from the US when he was young. We gather a our goods from these areas but also from a variety of towns and cities in Mexico.

Sophia: How did Kulture gain its roots?

David: So Kulture started with our clothing brand, Keeping It Paisa, and with Kulture but on a smaller scale at first. When my partner and I started, I was working at the Capitol for the Senate and he was working at Sherwin Williams in the painting industry. He actually started the clothing brand, but had just one design and a couple of hats in the beginning. I’ve come from a sales background with my past jobs and with my degree, so he asked me if I could join and help boost sales and I said yeah. I loved the name right off the bat, so I jumped on board and within three months after I joined we did a golf tournament to raise money to donate to the migrant students at Sac State in the CAMP program, College Assistant Migrant Program. I was in that program, my business partner too, we were both apart of it. We ended up donating money to a local school that year to buy them TV’s and the second year we made more money were able then to give back to the students at Sac State. Every year it’s gotten bigger and bigger. This last year we actually sold out and had about 180 people there with all-you-can-eat taqueros and we were sponsored by Corona and Modelo. It’s a fun event and it sold out a month before the golf tournament. With that, we figured we’ve grown our name and reputation so we began looking for a shop. I found the little space on 24th street, which was originally Theresa’s Antiques. The owner wanted to sell the space under the condition that her antiques stay with it. In the end we decided to buy the business and began selling antiques alongside our clothes. We were surprised to see the antiques really sold well and that’s when folks started asking about imports. Do we ever get this or know where to get this and that from Mexico. We met a guy that brings Talavera that his family makes in Guanajuato, he started bringing us some, that started selling, and we kept growing and growing from there.

I don’t think we did Kulture in the proper way. Most people have a business plan and we did it kinda the opposite way. We found the place, signed, and made it work. Three years in and things are really starting to fall into place with this new location. I always wanted to start my own business but never knew what. Kulture was never planned, but it’s been a great journey. The feedback from our customers is honestly amazing and keeps us pushing too. They love the store and what we’re about.

Sophia: So how long has Kulture been in Sacramento?

David: This past July was three years, July 6th, but we moved here to our new location in November. Honestly, since we moved here it’s really grown now that we have more of an outlet to do more with our space. We’re working together with the owners of Midtown Cantina Alley and they have a vision for the place too. Our new signs just went up recently too, which say, “Placita MX”, with one on both entrance. This whole location will be called just that, with shops inside La Placita. We’re one of the main anchor tenants and slowly they’re gonna bring in a few more. We also own La Tiendita Oxo inside the court, a play off the name of the Oxxo’s in Mexico. Sodas, chips, candies, and some other goods from Mexico.

Sophia: What other plans do you have for the court?

David: So this court area, we’re hoping to get wifi set up in here so people can come hang out, do work, maybe grab a snack or soda at the shops. Eventually the owners may want to open a small coffee or food shop, still an idea in the works. There’s even potential for private dance or yoga classes here, but definitely as many events as we can to bring people in to get to know what we’re about.

Sophia: What challenges have you faced as a Latino business owner in Sacramento?

David: Honestly I feel we never faced pushback from the people. The community is really embracing of the Mexican cultures, foods, and traditions. Going back to the beginning when we sold antiques. Those same people who bought those from us were the same people who would ask about the imports which led us to begin thinking about really selling these imports.

Sophia: How do you feel that Kulture might help the Sacramento community better understand Mexican traditions? Was it a part of the mission?

David: Honestly at first, I don’t think it really was. It was more so something we wanted to start. My business partner and I travel to Mexico multiple times a year, together and on our own time. More and more people began to ask if we could bring back this and that, so slowly we started bringing goods in and the more people would see, the more demand increased from there. I don’t know what percent, but there’s a big percent of our customers who have either visited Mexico or traveled to visit family, but many times they can’t bring anything back with flight restrictions or things break or it’s too expensive. They come into Kulture saying, “Oh I saw that in Cabo or Guadalajara, but I’ll buy it here because I can’t get over there”. I feel like, specifically in the Latino or Mexicano culture, it’s so rich. There’s so much to it that all people can feel welcomed by. Like even with the whole “Taco Tuesday” thing. Everyone uses it to sell, even places that don’t have anything to do with Mexican foods, but we’re very diverse with such rich history that a lot of people embrace it and want to be apart of it.

Sophia: Yes! There’s already such a huge market for mexican foods and fusions in California, but it’s definitely starting to show in Sacramento. Like Camellia and the Horchata Lattes, people really went crazy for those.

David: Exactly, or even like Temple’s Mexican Mochas because everyone knows their gonna sell. You see lots of Mexican food restaurants do very well these days too. People love Mexican food and the fact that we’re in California, with a denser population of Mexicans and Latinos of all kinds, definitely helps these businesses to continue to grow.

Sophia: We’re also a crazy growing demographic and our culture has become so prevalent in all areas.

David: Exactly and to me, I’m very proud to be Mexicano, and I see some people shy away from saying they’re Mexican or showing their traditions. To me I feel like, people here almost have to change now to fit parts of our culture as opposed to us to fit American culture like it’s traditionally been. It’s just a huge melting pot in this city. Like you said, the numbers are growing and they’re going to continue to keep growing. The way I see it, I’m gonna do mine and you’re gonna do yours. If you don’t like mine then you don’t have to be around it, but if you want to be involved and be apart of it, come join us, you’re always welcome. And a lot of people do! I think they embrace it.

#en mi barrio #sharingculture #building with community #Kulture Sacramento #sacramento #multicultural #intersectionality #interview #storytelling #support small business #mexican and proud

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howardlinkedin · 7 years

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Group Project: Part 3

Running Title: Group Project. Part 3 Part 2: Here Part 4: Here Sequel to Shelter Summary: Timothy goes on a wild clown case, Neah may as well be the family security system, and we get to witness the day and the life of a barista.

Here is what Chaoji learned:

Alma Karma was slowly, but surely, taking on the fashion world by storm. Their name had appeared in magazines, and benefactors had started looking, interested in what they had to offer in that brilliant, creative mind of theirs. (The fact that a certain famous friend of theirs continued to sport their designs on stage helped, immensely.)

They liked large, caramel-vanilla blended coffees with whipped cream and chocolate chips, and Mahoja’s lemon cupcakes.

They had married Kanda Yuu mere months after graduating high school.

The same Kanda who hates anything sweet, and only ever drinks herbal teas (preference: white tea), and always scowls at Alma’s frou frou drinks when picking up their order, but diligently delivers it anyway.

Kanda was also working his way through his college degree online, as the man would often hole himself up in the cafe corner, typing away at his laptop. Anita seemed to adore him, and always made a point to keep that particular corner reserved for when she knew his study days were.

He also wore glasses when on the computer, and apparently had a side job as a dog walker, which Chaoji was honored to witness one early morning. The long haired man toting an armful of leashes and happy canines from across the street. A smiling corgi harnessed at his front.

To see people he thought he knew from his past in a different light was somewhat exhilarating.

---

Chaoji had tried college.

He honest to God, really did try.

The dream was to head off right after graduation, and make a way himself. He wanted to make Anita proud. Proud that she even bothered to take in his lonesome and arrogant self. He wanted the world to see him successful and know that he was raised by someone worth knowing.

That she hadn’t wasted her time on him.

He lasted until his second year away, and he felt himself slipping.

I can’t do this. He thought, troubled. But don’t I have to? What a waste! His mind argued.

He couldn’t just waste Anita’s money like this! College was important, wasn’t it?

But he couldn’t keep up. It felt as though he was trapped by dark gray, looming walls and lost in the open sea at the same time. His feet were heavy but his nerves told him to run!

He can’t run! He’s an adult now! He was supposed to be a man!

Unconsciously, he dialed his aunt’s number, and cried. “Can I come home?”

Faster than flipping a light switch, Anita was there holding his sad, sad face and wiping away the salt water. “Come help me run the cafe.” She said.

His aunt truly was a superhero.

---

Komui’s phone chimed and he instantly recognised the ring tone. “Ah! It’s Lenalee!” He cheered and ran to connect the phone to the lab’s bluetooth.

On the overhead, the facetime was projected and Lenalee appeared. “Hello!”

The entire forensics team chorused their own greetings, enthusiastic and rambunctious.

She was smiling and safe and sound and beautiful and Komui suddenly felt blessed.

“My dear, darling, little sister how are you?” He gushed.

Lenalee watched as her brother seemed to lose control of his limbs, as he often did when excited, a mixture of exasperation and joy on her face. “I’m fine brother. I just wanted to check in like I promised. We just landed in Bar- is that a dead body?!”

Komui, and the rest of the forensics team looked in unison, like a hive mind, at the cadaver on the table. “Yes.” He said, because. Well, it was.

There was a young and persistent voice over the connection where no one on their end could see. “A body?! I wanna see!”

“Tim no.” Lenalee held down a blue head of hair that was trying to hop into the camera’s view.

---

There were probably at least eleven codes of conduct and rules broken that day, because Lenalee was pretty sure that facetiming someone in the middle of a biopsy wasn’t on the list of “Okay Things To Do In A Forensics Lab.”

---

After Timothy, came Lala.

The first night of Allen’s concert in Barcelona, little Timothy learned that his father was kind of amazing. On stage at least.

Usually, Allen was about as mature as he was, which Timothy though was weird, because last he checked, he was the ten year old and Allen was the old man. The singer had white hair even!

It was obvious that Papa was the man in charge, even if Allen were the famous one. Papa was also cool, like Aunt Lenalee, because he helped make sure everything was safe and good. Papa also was wicked fantastic at baking, and Timothy was all about being a taste tester.

The boy decided that his new parents were great. Even though they liked to hold hands and cuddle in Timothy’s line of sight, and kiss and do other gross parent-couple things he only thought were in movies. But whatever.

Currently, it was the middle of the day, and Allen was at his scheduled practice in the new concert hall he was to perform his second concert at. Later, he was to also have an interview. Leaving his husband in the care of the family security, Link took Timothy out to the streets. Barcelona was preparing for its Carnival, and the populace had begun decorating.

Link observed the line of food stands with a keen eye, while his son marveled at the bright colors that were cascading the city walls.

The blue haired boy spotted bags of gummy candy at one vendor and tugged his father’s arm. “I want that.”

“Which one?” Inquired the young father. “All of them?”

“No.”

At this moment, the moment when the father went about buying his son a sweet treat, Timothy spotted a vibrant red ball fly overhead. It was rather large, and probably used as a prop of some sort for one of the entertainers.

“Oh my!” Startled a voice. Timothy glanced and saw a clown waving their arms in the air. “Young man, do you think you can fetch that for me?”

The boy shrugged. “Okay!” and went after the ball.

“Timothy!” Link called after his son and followed. He quickly looked behind them, trying to find who on earth the boy had spoken to.

He saw no one.

---

Working as a barista at a popular city cafe allowed one to become privy to very interesting individuals.

Chaoji had already catalogued the regulars and their times.

Every morning, no earlier than seven or later than eight, the tall red haired Colonel would saunter in for a large black coffee. Anita also had a soft spot for this customer, as there was always a to-go mug by the coffee press, with his name scrawled along the side. She also liked adding little designs around the rim. (Obviously, his aunt was more than a little fond of this man.) He would usually have his ear to his phone, mumbling and griping at someone he often called “Brat.”

Lately, it seemed that the Colonel had someone else to talk to, as he also began calling someone a “Little Goblin.”

(“I should just start calling you and that idiot father of yours Thing One and Thing Two.” snarked the Colonel. “Which one am I?” Demanded the boy.

“Thing One, obviously.” “Yeah, because I’m the best one!”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” )

The officer would set exact change on the counter, grab his cup and salute with it over his wide-brimmed hat and leave without a word to Chaoji, or a tip. The barista wondered what his aunt saw in this rude man.

---

Timothy chased after the bouncing and rolling ball, until he couldn’t anymore. Because it had disappeared. Somehow, with all the bouncing and twisting around the streets, the ten year old found himself lost, standing in front of an old church.

Turning in a quick circle, hoping he could spot anywhere he recognized, Timothy began to panic.

He had just gotten parents and now he’s lost them?!

“Hello!” There was a pat to his head.

“AH!” The boy yelled swung a wild punch at the strange voice.

There was an OOF and the sound of someone falling. Looking over his shoulder, Timothy saw it was the clown. “Ah! Clown!” He announced.

Said clown was grinning (Or was it the face paint?) and patted his belly. “Goodness, you have a strong arm on you!”

“How did you get here?!” Demanded Timothy, immediately suspicious. He didn’t notice anyone following him, did he?

“I knew you would be here.” Chirruped the Clown, standing and dusting off his balloon pants.

The blue haired boy squinted. “How?” The Clown posed, trying to look serious and regal. “I’m a detective.” Timothy looked unimpressed. (He never did like clowns.)

---

At ten o’clock, on the dot, the handywoman from across the street would enter the cafe and order a small mocha. Sometimes, when her mood seemed to be anxious, she would get three chocolate chip cookies along with her drink.

Chaoji found it interesting that whenever Kanda was there, the woman would go over and greet him, and that his past peer (the prickliest man he knew!) would acknowledge her. Sometimes she would even sit at his table in companionable silence until her drink was done.

Every Monday, just before the cafe opened, the florist in the same venue as them would deliver a fresh bouquet to replace the wilting ones in the window. Chaoji at first thought he was a vampire, with his pointed teeth and pale skin. The florist never ordered drinks, but boy did he like the donuts.

Once or twice, the eccentric looking florist would come in with a serious blonde officer, and order lunch.

Then there came a rather memorable incident, when a man with a computer and overcoat ordered a caffe latte, and answered his ringing phone with a hard “What?”

Startled, Chaoji almost dropped the customer’s change. “What am I, your personal satellite?” He hissed into the receiver.

The man then proceeded to crowd his way to a table and began typing furiously, and fast, cursing up a storm. Chaoji tried not to be nosey and pretended not to notice anything, especially when the man slapped his cell phone not five minutes later and announced that he had “found the kid, now stop losing my nephew you just got him!” There was also the threat of eye gouging, but again.

Chaoji was definitely not listening.

---

Before Timothy could question the Clown more, or even begin yelling, because stranger danger - The said stranger put his big goofy, gloved clown hands behind his ears and said, “Listen.”

Unwittingly, Timothy listened and he heard singing. It was a a very pretty voice, and it was coming from inside the church. Being ten years old and curious, Timothy momentarily forgot about the weird clown and made his way to the entrance and slowly pop open the door.

Inside was a girl, older than himself, with tanned skin, and tangled bright hair.

La, la, la she sang. The boy couldn’t make out any words, only the sound of her voice which was something right out of a fairy tale. Entranced, Timothy leaned a little too much on the door, and it creaked, disrupting the girl’s song, and startling her to stop.

“Sorry!” the boy pronounced, looking embarrassed at having been caught staring. “I got lost and I-”

Remembering the Clown, Timothy looked back. Only to find that they were nowhere to be seen.

Now that’s plain creepy, he thought.

---

Every afternoon, at two-fifteen, an intimidating young officer would take a table near the entrance, without ordering. Precisely three minutes after, another redhead would enter the cafe, this one loud and boisterous.

“Madds!” He would bellow, pleased to see the officer, and then flounce to the counter to order. Chaoji had learned early on this one was named Lavi, if only because the other man had introduced himself right away and proceeded to order one of the most complicated drinks the barista ever had to make.

Lavi never did order the same thing twice, which gave Chaoji a little enjoyable challenge every day. The officer though, “Madds,” himself would never order himself anything, and would only ever sit at the table and wait for his apparent friend.

After getting his complicated drink of the day, Lavi would sit with the other man and Chaoji swore the redhead never stopped talking.

Once the coffee was finished, both would always leave together.

Chaoji thought they made an odd match.

---

Link shoved his cellphone back into his pocket and rounded the last set of corners to where his son seemed to have ended up. The moment he lost sight of the boy, the father contacted the one person he knew would be able to find the boy in seconds.

“What am I, your personal satellite?” Neah had hissed.

Unbothered by the threats to his life, Link listened to the map of directions given to him. (Link had learned that ignoring Neah’s nonsense was the best course of action than to ever outright believe him. The blonde knew very well, were he not married to the man’s nephew, the risk of actually getting his eyes gouged out and shoved down his throat would have been real.

As it stood, Link knew that all Allen had to do was frown and Neah would backpedal so fast, the uncle would fall off a cliff and land in the lost city of Atlantis.)

Opening the church doors, Link ran into the foyer and called out his son’s name. “Timothy!”

“Papa!” The boy jumped from a pew, and waved. “I knew you’d find me!”

Before the father could scold his son for running away, and drag the boy into his arms, Link noticed the other presence in the room.

“Ah.”

His dark eyes made contact with a pair of weary, equally dark ones, and he swore he heard a piano in the air.

“This is Lala!” Timothy introduced, waving his arms with flare. “She likes to sing like Allen.”

“...Hello.” Remembering himself, Link stood straight and held out his hand. “I am Howard Link. Thank you for keeping my son company.”

The girl, who couldn’t be older than thirteen, only stared at the hand and huffed. “Next time, keep him from running off. The Carnival can get dangerous when it starts.” She warned, her voice was clear and sounded much older than she should.

Right, Link thought. He was the one being scolded instead.

By a child.

Timothy tugged his father’s arm. “Papa. She wants to meet Allen.” Of course she does.

---

Setting his sheet music down, Allen answered his phone. “Hello Mister Papa!”

He heard his husband clear his throat. “Are you still at the studio?”

“Yup!”

Allen could hear Timothy chattering away as giddy background noise.

“I’m bringing over a guest.”

Grey eyes blinked, surprised. “Oh?” ---

Three o’clock seemed to be when the last handful of interesting fellows entered the cafe.

First, a duo of more young officers would chime in. The young man (who looked an awful like the previous young officer with Lavi) would order a large Cafe Americano, with three shots of hazelnut, medium caramel latte and a medium regular coffee with a shot of mocha - rapid fire as though he had this order long memorized before Chaoji even started working the counter.

The other besides him would stare at the barista with her hawk like gaze that made Chaoji nervous. After ordering, the officer would give his friend’s long hair a tug and leave to wait at the pick up counter. The female officer would huff, flick her hair, give Chaoji one last meaningful look and follow.

On this particular evening, after setting the ordered drinks on the counter, and handing his female friend her latte, the officer says, “Her name is Tewaku and she stares because she thinks you’re cute.”

Silence.

Then, “Tokusa, I will obliterate you.” the woman says, clear as day as though she were mentioning the weather, and left the cafe.

Chaoji, too stunned to say anything, gaped like a fish.

The other, Tokusa, cackled and followed after.

After the duo, in came Mister Marie, who Chaoji learned was a high school music teacher. He was also Kanda’s brother.

He would order a green tea, and if Kanda was still tucked away in the corner, a tea for him as well and coerce his brother into human interaction. Sometimes another man would join them, with sarcasm rolling off him in waves and pester the other two.

(Chaoji would later learn this was Kanda’s other brother, and the barista wondered just how much family did he have?)

---

The girl hesitated at the door, which Link announced lead to where Allen was currently waiting on them. Judging by the sound in the air, he was on the piano the hall had provided for him.

Lala made a motion to open the door, only to stop short and shrink back on herself, and toyed with her tangled hair.

Deciding that he could just barge the door open for her, Timothy almost did just that when his father sighed and stepped forward. Taking out his braid and stretched the freed hair band in his hand, Link said, “Hold still.”��

Lala scowled, not liking being given orders from a stranger. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Helping.”

---

The door opened, and Allen greeted the young girl, whose hair had just been detangled and braided, and looked for all the world nervous.

“Hello Miss Lala! Come have a seat.”

The young teen stiffly sat at the piano bench beside the singer. “Th-thank you. I’m a. Fan.” She mumbled, face red and hands clutched.

Allen grinned, pleased. “Want to hear a song?”

The girl, wide eyed, nodded.

---

“Me too, me too!” Timothy ran in, and clambered up into his father’s lap, refusing to be left out.

Link blew an errant strand of hair from his face and figured he’d better go and find a fax machine.

---

After closing, his aunt would ask, “How was business?”

Chaoji would smile, proud, because he could say, “Good!”

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