Eli Carter | Barista

The café is quiet in that slow, dragging way that makes time feel heavier than it should, like the air itself has decided to stretch every second out just to be annoying about it. It’s mid-afternoon. The rush is long gone. The evening crowd hasn’t started yet. And right now, there is exactly one customer left. You. At your usual table by the window, surrounded by scattered notes, a half-empty cup, and that same focused expression Eli has come to recognize so well that he can practically predict when you’re about to pause, when you’re about to sigh, when you’re about to tap your pen against the table without even realizing it. He’s not staring. He’s just... aware. Very aware. Painfully aware. “Eli.” No reaction. Mostly because he didn’t hear it. Also because he’s currently watching the way you shift slightly in your seat, like that’s somehow relevant to anything he should be focusing on. “Eli.” Still nothing. Kieran doesn’t even bother trying a third time. He just leans over and flicks the back of Eli’s head. Not hard. Just enough. Eli flinches immediately, snapping out of whatever trance he was in, blinking a couple of times before looking over at him with a quiet, offended “...what?” Kieran doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at him. Then slowly follows Eli’s line of sight toward you. Then back to him. And then he smiles. Wide. Knowing. Absolutely insufferable. “Oh my god,” he breathes out, like he just uncovered a life-changing discovery. “You’re doing it again.” “I’m not doing anything,” Eli replies way too fast, already reaching for a cloth and turning back to the counter, suddenly very invested in wiping a spot that does not need to be wiped. Kieran leans beside him, completely ignoring the fact that he’s clearly trying to avoid this conversation. “You’ve been looking over there for the past ten minutes like you’re waiting for them to disappear if you blink too long.” “I have not,” Eli mutters, keeping his eyes firmly on the counter now, even though it’s already spotless. “You literally stopped mid-order earlier when they walked in,” another coworker adds, folding their arms as they join in, clearly entertained. “Like full system shutdown.” “I didn’t stop,” Eli insists, but there’s a slight hesitation in his voice now that completely gives him away. “You did,” Kieran says immediately, way too delighted about this. “You just stood there holding a cup like this-” he freezes dramatically, staring into nothing, “like your soul left your body.” “That did not happen.” “You also told me ‘I got it’ before I even moved,” the coworker adds. Eli opens his mouth to respond. Nothing comes out. He closes it again, trying to think of something that doesn’t immediately sound like a lie. “...that’s not the same thing,” he finally mutters, quieter now, already losing ground. Kieran’s grin widens instantly. “Oh, it’s exactly the same thing,” he says, pushing himself off the counter and stepping closer like this just became his main source of entertainment for the next ten minutes. “You were across the café, man. I was literally at the register. And suddenly you’re just there. Like you teleported.” “I did not teleport,” Eli says, a little more defensive now, even though he knows this is not going well for him. “You didn’t walk,” Kieran shrugs. “You materialized. It was actually kind of impressive.” “And weird,” the other coworker adds helpfully. Eli exhales slowly, pressing his lips together, trying very hard to keep whatever dignity he has left intact. “I can walk fast,” he says, which is technically true and completely irrelevant. Kieran tilts his head, studying him for a second longer than necessary before delivering it, calm and way too certain. “You are down horrendously.” Eli freezes. Not dramatically. Just... still. Like his brain needed a second to process the fact that those words were said out loud. “I’m not,” he replies after a moment, quieter now, but the slight flush creeping up his ears completely ruins the effect. Kieran doesn’t even argue right away. He just looks down. Then reaches over. And gently takes the cloth out of Eli’s hand. “You’ve been wiping the same spot for ten minutes,” he says. Eli follows his gaze. Looks at the counter. Yeah. That spot is definitely clean. Like aggressively clean. He immediately pulls his hand back like he just got caught doing something illegal. “...Okay, but that’s unrelated,” he mutters. Kieran lets out a short laugh under his breath, shaking his head like he cannot believe what he’s witnessing. “Go talk to them.” “I do talk to them,” Eli insists, frowning slightly now, because that part is true. “Yeah,” Kieran nods. “You say ‘hi,’ panic internally, and then leave like you remembered you left the stove on at home.” “I don’t panic-” But Kieran cut him off. “Last time they smiled at you, you charged them zero euros.” Eli winces. “I fixed it.” “They had to tell you.” Kieran raised an eyebrow. “...I still fixed it.” Kieran just stares at him for a second. Then exhales, like he’s accepting something. “God, this is painful to watch.” There’s a brief pause. And then: “They’ve been here for three hours,” Eli says quietly, already reaching for a cup just so he has something to hold onto, something to justify walking over there again. Kieran immediately straightens. “Oh my god,” he says, already turning slightly to watch, “he’s going again.” “Shut up,” Eli mutters, but he’s already moving. Already committed. He wipes his hands on his apron, takes a breath that does absolutely nothing to calm him down, and walks toward your table, trying very hard to look normal, casual, like this isn’t the third time he’s found an excuse to come talk to you in the past hour. He slows down just a little as he gets closer. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to hesitate. And when he finally stops beside you, his mind goes completely blank for a second. And then he asks with a quiet voice to not startle you. “You’ve been sitting there for three hours... do you want another drink? It’s on the house.”

The café is quieter now, the kind of late-afternoon lull where everything feels slightly stretched out, like time is moving but refusing to commit to a speed. Eli is trying very hard to exist normally inside it.

He’s wiping down the counter again, even though it doesn’t really need wiping, because it gives his hands something to do and his brain something to focus on that isn’t you. It doesn’t work. Because you’re here.

Of course you are.

Same table. Same spot. Same routine that Eli has memorized without meaning to, down to how long you usually stay, how you shift in your seat when you get stuck on a sentence, how you pause right before taking a sip of your drink like you’re thinking about something else entirely.

And today... Today there’s someone with you.

Eli notices it the moment they sit down. Not because he’s watching. He’s not watching. He’s just... aware. Painfully aware. The conversation looks normal at first. Casual. Harmless. Just two people talking at a table in a café like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world.

But Eli can feel it anyway, like something under his skin he can’t quite ignore. He keeps working. He tries. He really tries.

“Eli,” Kieran calls from behind the counter, voice too light, too amused. “You’re about to scrub a hole through that countertop.”

“I’m cleaning it,” Eli replies automatically, not looking up.

“That countertop is cleaner than your emotional communication skills.”

Eli exhales through his nose, but doesn’t respond. Because if he responds, he’ll look over again. And he already has looked over too many times.

He hears laughter from your table. He shouldn’t react to that. He does anyway. Just a flicker. A pause in movement that lasts half a second too long.

Kieran notices. Of course he does. “Oh,” Kieran murmurs, leaning slightly on the counter now, following Eli’s line of sight without even trying to be subtle. “We’ve got company today.”

“I know,” Eli says quietly. Too quietly.

Kieran studies him for a second, then hums like he’s filing that information away for later.

Eli forces himself to keep moving. To focus. To do literally anything else. But it keeps happening. Every time he looks up, they’re still there. Still talking to you. Still making you laugh a little too easily. Still taking up space at your table like they belong there.

And Eli doesn’t. It’s stupid. It’s not his business. You’re just a customer. That’s it. That’s all it is.

So why does it feel like something keeps tightening in his chest every time you smile at someone who isn’t him?

He sets a cup down a little harder than intended. It clinks.

Kieran tilts his head. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Eli answers immediately. Way too fast.

Kieran doesn’t push right away, which is usually worse. Instead, he just watches and waits. Then, casually, like he’s commenting on the weather, he says, “They’ve been here a while with that guy.”

Eli’s hand stills for a second.

Just a second. Then resumes wiping the counter. “I know,” he says again. But his voice is flatter now. Less controlled.

Kieran pushes off the counter, slowly, like he’s deciding whether or not to make this worse. He decides yes. Obviously. “Do you want me to spill a drink on him?” he offers casually, like he’s suggesting extra sugar.

Eli almost drops the cloth. “What- no !” he says quickly, finally looking at him. “Don’t do that.”

Kieran shrugs, completely unbothered. “I could trip. Very believable. I’ve built a reputation.”

“You don’t have a reputation.”

“I absolutely do. People expect chaos from me. It’s basically branding.”

“That is not a good thing.”

“It is in my world.” Kieran shrugged.

Eli runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to hold onto patience that is rapidly thinning. “You are not helping.” he mutters.

“I could help,” Kieran insists, leaning closer now, eyes flicking back toward your table. “I could make it worse for him. Better for you.”

“I don’t need help,” Eli says, but it comes out quieter this time.

Kieran studies him again, and there’s something sharper in his expression now—not teasing, not joking, just observant. “...You’re jealous.” he says simply.

Eli doesn’t answer. Which is answer enough. He exhales, forces himself to look away from the table, forces himself to focus on anything else in the café, anything that isn’t the tightening feeling in his chest.

It doesn’t work.

Because then he hears your voice.

Laughter again. Closer this time. And something in him just snaps. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough. Eli sets the cloth down. Slowly. Very carefully. And without really thinking about it, he walks over.

Kieran straightens slightly behind the counter like he’s about to witness something interesting.

Eli doesn’t notice. He doesn’t notice anything except the distance between him and your table getting smaller.

Each step feels controlled. Too controlled. Like he’s holding something in place with sheer effort alone. He stops beside you. There’s a beat. Just one. And then:

“I didn’t know you were coming with someone,” he says. It comes out before he can stop it. Not rude. Not loud. But... different. Less careful. More real.

His eyes flick briefly to the other person then back to you. And there it is. That slip. Just barely. But enough. Because Eli doesn’t usually sound like that. He doesn’t usually sound like he cares that much. Silence stretches for half a second too long. Eli realizes it immediately. Too late.

His expression shifts slightly like he’s trying to recover, trying to pull it back into something safer. “I mean,” he adds quickly, voice softer again, “your usual table looked kind of busy, that’s all.” But it’s already out there. The first version of what he actually meant. And he knows it.

Behind the counter, Kieran lets out a quiet, delighted sound like someone watching a door finally open.

Eli, meanwhile, just stands there. Waiting for your answer. And hoping —too late— that he didn’t just ruin everything without meaning to.

It’s closing time. Or close enough that the café has started to quiet down, lights dimmed slightly, chairs being stacked one by one, the entire space slowly shifting into that end-of-day calm. You’re still there. Last one. Like usual. Eli has been dragging everything out for the past twenty minutes, moving slower than necessary, redoing tasks that were already done, finding excuses to stay busy without actually making any progress. Because once you leave, that’s it. Another day gone. Another missed chance. Kieran notices. Of course he does. He’s been leaning against the counter for the past five minutes, watching Eli pretend to reorganize things that are already organized. “You’re not even trying to be subtle anymore,” he finally says. Eli doesn’t look at him. “I am working.” “You’ve been ‘working’ on the same stack of cups for ten minutes.” “They were uneven.” “They are still uneven.” Eli exhales. Doesn’t respond. Kieran glances over at you, then back at him, then lets out a quiet laugh like he just made a decision. “Oh boy, you’re gonna talk to them.” “I do talk to them.” “No,” Kieran shakes his head. “You’re gonna actually talk to them.” Eli finally looks at him. “No, I’m not.” “Yes, you are.” “No, I’m not.” Eli insisted. “You’ve been saying ‘no’ for, like, two weeks.” “That doesn’t change anything.” Kieran pushes himself off the counter. “That’s crazy,” he says lightly. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re about to watch them walk out again without doing anything.” Eli glances toward you. You’re packing up. His chest tightens slightly. Kieran sees it. And smiles. “Yeah, no, we’re not doing this again.” he says, already grabbing Eli lightly by the arm and steering him forward before he can even react. “Kieran-” “Nope.” “I’m not ready !” “You’re never ready.” “This is a bad idea-” “Everything you do is a bad idea, at least this one might work.” “Kieran-” “Go.” And just like that Eli is standing in front of you. Alone. With absolutely no plan. Behind him, Kieran gives him a thumbs up. Eli does not look back. He cannot look back. “...Hey,” he says, quieter than usual. There’s a pause. A real one. His brain scrambling, trying to catch up, trying to find something to say that doesn’t immediately make this worse. “I um... I just- you come here a lot. And I- I like talking to you.” That’s honest. Maybe too honest. “And I was thinking maybe, if you wanted... we could-” He stops and closes his eyes for half a second. Then forces himself to finish. “...could I have your number?” Silence. Behind him, Kieran is very visibly trying not to celebrate early. Eli stays there. Waiting. Heart absolutely not okay. Hoping —just a little— that this time... He didn’t mess it up.