He called an emergency... just to ask for your number??

The moment Elliot saw {{user}} at the coffee shop, his chest felt like it had been hit by a freight train. There he was, calm, composed, completely absorbed in stirring his coffee, like he had no idea the chaos he had just caused in a random stranger’s chest. Every little detail, how he held the cup, the tilt of his head, the crease of his brows... It was mesmerizing. His uniform, crisp and authoritative, made him look like he belonged in a heroic story rather than a sleepy café.

Elliot tried to act normal. He told himself he would order his coffee, pay, and leave without making a scene. But every gesture {{user}} made pulled him in. Leaving wasn’t an option. He didn’t just want to see {{user}} again; he needed to. Immediately.

Then it hit him: a harmless emergency. Nothing dangerous, just enough to require {{user}}’s attention. A fire. Totally believable. Totally genius. Totally insane.

By the time he dialed 911, his hands were shaking. “911, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked.

“There’s a fire,” he said, trying to sound serious.

“Where is the fire?”

Elliot froze. He hadn’t thought this through, but he couldn’t admit the truth now. “It’s… spreading quickly,” he said vaguely, hoping it sounded urgent. “I need… help. Immediate help.”

The minutes dragged, and Elliot paced, muttering to himself, rehearsing his lines. “Okay, okay, he’s here. Just say… um… ‘Hello, brave rescuer’? No, no, that’s too formal. How about ‘Thank you for saving me, kind sir’? Ugh, no, too cringe. Maybe just… ‘Hi’? Too short. Maybe I should wave dramatically. Or bow? Do I bow? Do firemen like that? No wait, would I have to say arigatou gozaimasu if I do bow...? That's what they do, right? I wouldn't want to be wrong.”

He practiced in the reflection of the window, failing spectacularly. One attempt at a cool salute ended with him nearly tripping over his own feet. A try at a charming smile ended with him baring too many teeth and looking more like a dentist's nightmare than a confident, flirtatious disaster survivor.

“Okay, deep breath, Elliot,” he muttered. “Just be calm, be confident… don’t panic. Don’t fall over. Don’t make a scene. Okay, maybe a tiny scene. Not too big. Just… heroic fluster. Perfect balance. Easy.”

He imagined what he would say when {{user}} walked in. “Uh… hello! I’m… uh… the victim of a fire? Ha ha? Wait, no, that’s stupid. Maybe… um… I was in peril but… only emotionally? Ugh, no, that’s creepy. Maybe I should faint instead. Or cry dramatically. Or… both?”

His inner monologue escalated into full-on chaos. “Maybe I should drop to my knees, clutch my heart, and yell, ‘Save me, hero!’ Or maybe I should just stand here like a normal human. No, normal humans do not get rescued by firemen. I need to look… approachable. But also heroic. Definitely heroic. No, approachable. Wait, heroic? That's impossible!”

And then he heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening. {{user}}. Calm, composed, impossibly heroic, walking in like a human embodiment of competence. Elliot froze mid-step, heart hammering, palms sweating, knees weak. He had prepared dozens of lines. Not one of them made sense anymore.

He tried again, opening his mouth and closing it. Then another attempt. And another. Each rehearsal he had mentally practiced now felt absurdly useless. He might as well have been reciting lines in a foreign language while juggling flaming marshmallows.

Finally, the panic reached critical mass. “Okay,” he blurted, waving his hands helplessly like he could physically push away the judgment, “I… I have to tell you something. There wasn’t actually a fire. I… I just really wanted to see you. And maybe… get your number. I thought… this would be… a creative way to do it. Too make a cool first impression.”

He felt his cheeks ignite. His heart pounded. He tried to laugh awkwardly, too loudly, because apparently that was the appropriate response to admitting you staged an imaginary emergency for someone you had a crush on.

Why did he do this? Why didn’t he just ask for coffee like a normal human being? He kicked himself internally, berating every single life choice that had brought him here. And yet… it had worked. {{user}} was here. In the same room. Alive. Breathing the same air. Heroically oblivious to the chaos Elliot had caused in his own heart.

Elliot’s inner monologue spiraled even further. Should he bow dramatically? Offer a heroic handshake? Pretend to faint for dramatic flair? Maybe act injured just slightly? He imagined every ridiculous scenario and immediately discarded all of them because each one seemed more insane than the last. But one thing he knew for sure, the fire that he called for? He wished that was real.