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fandomweekly2024-09-06 04:51 am
[#232] She's Just Jess (Original Work)
Title: She's Just Jess
Fandom: Original Work
Rating/Warnings: G, none
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 790
Sometimes, she wonders if he even knows she exists. Not in the existential, "Do I matter in the grand scheme of things?" kind of way, but in the more immediate, "Does he even see me standing here, day after day, making his damn coffee?" kind of way. The answer, she suspects, is no. Or at least, not in the way she wants him to.
His name is Ethan. Of course it is. He looks like an Ethan—tall, with that kind of lean muscle that suggests he’s more into rock climbing or yoga than football or basketball. He’s got this brooding aura about him, like he’s always thinking about something important, something deep. Maybe he’s writing a novel, or maybe he's solving complex physics equations in his head. Or maybe, he’s just really into his Spotify playlists. Who knows? He’s got dark hair that’s always a little too long, curling at the nape of his neck, and these sharp, angular features that make him look like he stepped out of a Renaissance painting. His eyes are this ridiculous shade of green, like moss after a rainstorm, and they’re always half-hidden behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that he pushes up his nose every five minutes.
He comes in every day at 3:15 PM, like clockwork. Orders the same thing every time: a large black coffee, no sugar, no cream. Just straight-up caffeine, as if he’s trying to keep himself awake through sheer force of will. He never lingers, never chats. Just pays, takes his coffee, and leaves. Sometimes he’ll nod at her, a quick, almost imperceptible dip of his head, but that’s the extent of their interaction. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t even know her name.
Her name is Jess, by the way. Not that it matters.
Today, though, something’s different. She can feel it the moment he walks in. There’s a tension in the air, a kind of crackling energy that makes her stomach flip. He’s wearing that gray Henley shirt she likes, the one that clings to his shoulders in a way that’s almost unfair. His dark blue jeans are faded, frayed at the hems, and there’s a hole in the knee that looks like it happened naturally, not one of those pre-ripped deals. A Moleskine notebook is tucked under one arm, the edges worn and soft from use. She’s seen him with it before, frantically scribbling in it between classes.
He steps up to the counter, and for a split second, she thinks he’s going to order something different. There’s a hesitation, a flicker of something in his eyes that she can’t quite place. But then he says it, the same words he always does, in that silky-smooth baritone of his.
"Large black coffee, please."
She nods, trying not to let her disappointment show. Of course he’s not going to change. Why would he? He’s Ethan, the guy who’s got his shit together, who probably has a five-year plan and a color-coded calendar. She’s just Jess, the barista who spends too much time daydreaming about customers.
When she hands him his coffee, their fingers brush for the briefest of moments. It’s nothing, really, just a tiny, insignificant touch, but it sends a jolt of electricity through her all the same. Ethan doesn’t seem to notice. He never does.
But then, just as he’s about to turn towards the door, he pauses. His eyes f thinklick back to her, and for the first time, she thinks he might actually be seeing her. Really seeing her.
"Well shit. I might need something stronger than coffee," he says, almost to himself. There’s a weariness in his voice, a kind of quiet desperation that she’s never heard from him before.
She blinks, caught off guard. "Had a rough day?"
He lets out a short, humorless laugh. "You could say that."
She wants to ask him more, to find out what’s bothering him, but she doesn’t. It’s not her place. She’s just the barista, after all. Instead, she offers him a small smile, the kind that’s meant to be comforting but probably just comes off as awkward.
"Well, if you ever need to talk… I’m here. With coffee. And, you know, ears."
He looks at her for a long moment, and she can’t quite read the expression on his face. It’s like he’s trying to decide something, weighing his options. But then he just nods, a quick, almost imperceptible dip of his head, and walks away.
She watches him go, her heart sinking a little. Of course he’s not going to open up to her. Why would he? He’s Ethan, the guy who’s got his shit together, who probably has a five-year plan and a color-coded calendar.
She's just Jess, a barista.
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