It started with a name.
Or rather, the lack of one.
Taiki was used to regulars at the small café near campus. Students cramming for exams, professors with their espresso orders, even the occasional freelancers who treated the place like their personal office. But none of them had ever managed to confuse him the way that guy did.
He first came in on a random Tuesday afternoon, around two o’clock. Taiki was wiping down the counter, half-lost in thought when the door chimed.
Bright red and yellow hair that looked like a bonfire, a hoodie that had definitely seen better days, and a backpack hanging off one shoulder. The guy looked like every art major stereotype rolled into one human being—tired, but stylish in a chaotic way.
“Welcome!” Taiki chirped, slipping easily into his customer voice. “What can I get for you?”
The guy leaned on the counter. “A cappuccino, please. And, uh…” He squinted at the pastry display. “One of those chocolate croissants. Please.”
“Got it! Name for the order?”
The stranger grinned. “Batman.”
Taiki blinked, pen hovering above the cup. “…Batman?”
“Yeah,” the man said, straight-faced. “Like the superhero. You know. Dark Knight. That guy.”
“Batman,” Taiki repeated flatly, writing it on the cup in neat black ink. “Sure. Anything else, Batman?”
“Nope.”
“Alright. Coming right up!”
While the milk frothed, Taiki risked a glance. The art student was perched at the table near the window, tapping his pencil against a page. His sneakers were splattered with dried paint. He looked messy yet alive.
When Taiki called out, “Cappuccino for Batman!” the guy looked up, eyes crinkling as he grinned.
He sauntered up to the counter, took the cup, and said, “Thanks. You’ve got nice handwriting, Taiki.”
Taiki blinked. “You—oh… my nametag.”
“Mm,” he said, eyes glinting with amusement. “Looks good on you.”
And that was the start of it.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ☕️ ˖ ࣪ ⊹
The next day, he came back.
This time, the name was “Zorro.”
Then “Spiderman.” Then “Rengoku.”
By the time Taiki was writing “Your Future Husband” on his cup two weeks later, Yusei and Keito—his coworkers, had started keeping score.
Keito leaned against the counter one afternoon, smirking. “What is it today?”
Taiki read the cup, deadpan. “‘Prince of Atlantis.’”
Yusei doubled over laughing. “You have to admit, that’s creative.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Taiki muttered.
“Ridiculously cute,” Keito said under his breath, watching as the guy flashed another grin and retreated to his favorite corner table.
Taiki learned things without meaning to. The guy was definitely a student at Nakameguro College—he carried their art department tote bag. He drank too much coffee for someone who probably already had anxiety. He doodled on napkins. Sometimes when he thought no one was looking, he hummed softly, pencil moving over paper like it was breathing.
Taiki couldn’t help watching.
One particularly hectic day, Taiki was juggling three orders. The bell rang again, and without looking up he called, “Welcome! What can I get for you?”
“Something to keep me alive,” came the familiar voice, playful but tired.
Taiki looked up, startled. The art student looked worse than usual—hair even messier, dark circles under his eyes, a streak of blue paint across his cheek. His shirt was inside out.
Taiki blinked. “Rough day?”
“Rough week,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Midterm projects. I’ve been painting for forty-eight hours. I’m regretting my life choice.”
“Sounds about right,” Taiki commented flatly.
The guy grinned at him. “Name is… Lord Voldemort today.”
“Right away, Lord Voldemort.”
Taiki wrote it down with a resigned sigh, trying not to smile as he prepared the cappuccino.
When he handed over the cup, their fingers brushed. Just barely. But it was enough to make Taiki’s breath catch, his heart skipping like a missed beat.
“Thanks, Taiki,” the guy said softer this time, eyes holding his a little too long before turning away.
Taiki started to look forward to these weird meetings.
Every time the guy came in, Taiki told himself he wouldn’t get flustered. And every time, he failed spectacularly. There was something about the way that guy leaned over the counter when he ordered, or how he laughed like he had no filter that sent Taiki’s nerves fluttering.
He’d pretend to be annoyed, scribbling the ridiculous names on cups with a bit too much force.
But secretly, Taiki liked it. He liked the mystery of it. He liked that the art student with the messy hair and confident grin always came back to his register, even when the line was long and the other baristas were free.
Yusei caught on Taiki’s behavior eventually. “So, when is your wedding to Spider-Man?” he teased one afternoon, sliding a tray of croissants into the display.
Taiki groaned. “Please don’t start.”
“C’mon. You’re so into him.”
“I’m not!” Taiki protested, though the heat creeping up his neck betrayed him.
“Then why do you remember all his fake names in order?”
Taiki glared. “I have a good memory.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
Yusei smirked and leaned his elbows on the counter. “What do you even know about him, besides the fact that he’s an attractive art student?”
“Nothing,” Taiki admitted. “He never gives me anything real. I don’t even know his name.”
“Well,” Yusei said, “maybe that’s his way of flirting.”
Taiki’s heart skipped a beat. “Flirting?”
“Oh, definitely. No one commits to that level of bit unless they like you. He’s doing it on purpose.”
That idea lodged itself firmly in Taiki’s mind and refused to leave.
It made every interaction sharper—every glance, every quirk of a smile.
And once Taiki started noticing, he couldn’t stop.
The way the guy always lingered longer at the counter, tapping his fingers idly against the surface. The way his eyes softened when Taiki laughed. The way he’d sometimes sketch in the café, gaze flicking up at Taiki more often than at his paper.
That was the moment Taiki knew he was in trouble.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ☕️ ˖ ࣪ ⊹
The game was entertaining. The mystery was fun. The guy was amusing.
But the more Taiki’s feelings grew, the more he started to feel frustrated.
It wasn’t until mid-November, when the air turned cold and the café windows fogged easily, that Taiki’s patience finally broke.
It had been a long day, one of those shifts where every customer was picky and the espresso machine refused to cooperate. He was cleaning the counter when the door chimed again, and there he was.
Red-and-yellow hair, sky blue scarf, bag sliding in one arm, and that same ridiculous grin.
“Back again,” Taiki greeted.
The guy leaned against the counter, eyes bright despite the exhaustion. “Couldn’t stay away. The barista here is too cute.”
Taiki scoffed, though the warmth in his chest betrayed him. “Haha, hilarious. What is it this time? Cappuccino for Harry Potter? Naruto?”
He tilted his head thoughtfully, pretending to consider. “Hmm. Let’s go with… The Prince of All Saiyans.”
Taiki snorted. “You mean Vegeta?”
“Exactly. Strong, proud, slightly tragic. Just like me.”
“You forgot ‘ridiculous,’” Taiki muttered, writing the name on the cup. He caught his amused look and rolled his eyes. “You’re seriously never going to tell me your real name, huh?”
The guy grinned as he leaned closer, voice lowering a little. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Maybe in honesty,” Taiki said before he could stop himself. “Or, you know, basic decency.”
“Ouch,” The guy pressed a hand to his chest in mock injury. “You wound me.”
“Good,” Taiki said. He moved to the espresso machine, focusing on the hiss and steam to distract himself from how his pulse sped up every time the guy looked at him like that. He radiated chaos, and yet, Taiki couldn’t bring himself to dislike it.
When the cappuccino was ready, Taiki placed it on the counter.
“For Vegeta,” he said, deadpan. “Your royal beverage.”
The guy reached for it, but didn’t take it immediately. His gaze lingered on Taiki, soft and amused. “No smile for me today?”
Taiki rolled his eyes and sighed, shoulders slumping. He’s done.
“Why can’t you just tell me your real name?”
The guy blinked, surprised by the frustration in his tone.
“I mean—” Taiki huffed. “You’ve been coming here for months. I know your drink, your usual pastry, even the fact that you like sitting near the window. But I don’t know your name. You know mine, though! You know everything about me. So why do I keep writing fake names like some idiot barista in a bad sitcom?”
The guy looked at him for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then suddenly, he laughed—loud and genuine.
“You really hate not knowing, huh?”
“I don’t hate it! It’s just… You make a mess out of me, and I just…” He stopped, realizing he was saying nonsense. His cheeks were warming, his words tumbling faster. “I just want to know who you actually are. Because you’re—you’re—”
The guy smiled faintly. “Handsome?”
“Annoying,” Taiki corrected, glaring even as his blush deepened. “You’re unbelievably—”
But before he could finish, the guy reached across the counter, hand coming up to gently cup Taiki’s cheek.
Taiki froze.
The guy’s palm was warm, roughened faintly by charcoal and graphite, the kind of hands that belonged to someone who spent hours lost in art. His thumb brushed lightly against Taiki’s skin, the movement unhurried and deliberate. Taiki’s breath caught, his heart tripping over itself.
“God, you’re adorable,” He murmured, voice low and teasing. “Don’t look so frustrated, Taiki. You’d only look cuter when you pout.”
Taiki was speechless. He felt like the world narrowing to the space between them. His skin tingled where the guy touched him.
“Y–You shouldn’t—” Taiki started, but his voice came out too small.
The guy smiled and lowered his hand at last, though his fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary.
“Thanks for the drink, Taiki.” He said casually, picking up the cup marked Vegeta.
He walked away before Taiki could reply, sliding into his usual seat by the window. For a few quiet minutes, Taiki tried to focus on wiping down the counter, on resetting cups, on anything but the lingering warmth on his cheek.
As the afternoon light faded, the guy got up. He tossed his bag over his shoulder, glanced toward Taiki, and gave a small wave before heading for the door.
The bell chimed. The space he left behind felt strangely empty.
“Taiki-kun, your lover boy didn’t clean up after himself,” Yusei called.
Taiki frowned, but when he looked over, sure enough, the cup was still sitting there on the table.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, grabbing a rag. “Can’t even put it in the trash.”
Taiki walked over, irritation bubbling more from nerves than anything else. But when he picked up the cup, the annoyance melted away.
The name Vegeta had been crossed out, and beneath it, written neatly in pen:
Yamamoto Sekai
Art Major, Nakameguro College
080-XXXX-XXXX
Taiki blinked, stunned. Then he found something else tucked beneath the cup—a folded piece of paper, creased neatly in half. Heart thudding, he opened it.
It was a sketch of Taiki.
Not quick or careless like the napkin doodles from before, but it was a detailed one. It was drawn with incredible care, soft pencil strokes capturing his face as he handed over a cup of coffee. His hair fell across his forehead, his eyes curved in an easy smile, the faintest shading capturing the warmth of his expression.
The signature at the bottom read: SEKAI.
For a long moment, Taiki just stared, heart pounding. Then, slowly, a shy smile spread across his face.
“Holy crap,” Yusei leaned over his shoulder, whistling. “He drew you?”
Taiki nearly jumped. “Don’t sneak up on me!”
“Wow. That’s actually really good. And he left his number too? Oh my!”
Keito approached them in interest. “Wait, that guy with the crazy hair? The one who keeps using fictional names?”
“Yeah,” Yusei said gleefully. “Our art major mystery man finally revealed himself.”
Taiki’s cheeks burned. “It’s not what you think—”
“It’s exactly what we think,” Keito said. “You’re totally blushing.”
“I am not—”
“Text him,” Yusei said immediately.
Taiki hesitated. “I can’t just—what would I even say?”
Keito grinned. “How about, ‘Hi, this is the cute barista you keep flirting with?’”
“Or,” Yusei offered, “just send a picture of the sketch with ‘this is unfair.’”
“Stop giving me bad ideas,” Taiki groaned, clutching the paper to his chest. But his heart was racing. And no matter how he tried to hide it, the smile wouldn’t leave his lips.
“Come on,” Yusei said, nudging him. “Just text him. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“He could—he could think I’m desperate!”
“He left his number, Taiki-kun,” Keito said flatly. “He wants you to text him.”
Taiki bit his lip, still blushing. “Maybe later.”
That night, Taiki laid on his bed, hair still damp from a shower. His heart racing as he stared at his phone. The sketch sat on his nightstand, the corner curling slightly.
He typed out a message, erased it, typed again. Erased it again. Finally, he typed and immediately clicked send before he could overthink it.
Sato Taiki: Hello. It’s Sato Taiki from Business Major
Sato Taiki: The barista you’ve been messing with
The reply came almost immediately.
Yamamoto Sekai: Hey business boy. Did you like the drawing?
Sato Taiki: You made me look better than I do in real life…
Yamamoto Sekai: That’s impossible
Yamamoto Sekai: You’re even cuter in person
Taiki’s heart stuttered. He buried his face in his pillow, groaning. Then his phone buzzed again.
Yamamoto Sekai: You have evening shift tomorrow, right?
Yamamoto Sekai: I’ll use my real name when I order this time
Sato Taiki: I’ll be waiting, Sekai-san
Yamamoto Sekai: I’m starting to regret this
Yamamoto Sekai: Because I’ll explode when I hear you say my name
Taiki smiled despite himself, warmth flooding his chest.
Sato Taiki: Then I’ll make sure to say it extra sweetly for the maximum damage!
END