coffee shop [male!annie x reader]

I think that possibly, maybe
I'm falling for you

   The snow drifted lightly through the air, falling under the dark sky like glitter thrown into the air. It coated the concrete walkway, streetlamps, anything that its cold being could grasp. The sun was beginning to set, and as the orange light in the sky began to disappear, the shop lights turned out one by one. Anthony cursed at his late timing, looking desperately for an establishment that hadn't closed up shop quite yet. It was cold, and he needed to calm himself down after a fight he'd had with his parents over his anti-social behavior. His long strides picked up into a slow jog, powder blue eyes darting around for a source of light. Off in the distance, he could spot the silhouette of a coffee shop through the thick curtain of snow. He picked up his pace, heading for the haven.

   His footfalls were silenced by the fluffy layer of snow beneath his feet, and breathing was become an arduous task to undergo. He'd reached his destination, out of breath and red in the face from the cold. After his pulse had come back down from an erratic tempo, he pulled his scarf closer to his face before taking the shop's handle in his gloved hand, opening it with ease. A bell chimed to announce his arrival, and the high-pitched sound was just a tad annoying to his red-tipped ears.

   It was smaller than what he'd expected, but size didn't really matter at the moment. The air was warm like the walls, painted with a golden hue with cream accents. Tables were scattered about the room, chairs stacked on top of them neatly. The counter was at the very back, spanning maybe three quarters across the wall, occupied by a single employee donning a white apron and a warm smile to die for. A strange sense of familiarity flowed through Anthony, feeling as if he'd met the person before, but unknowing of when or where.

   Whatever, he thought, the cold must be getting to me.

   He strode up to the soft maple counter, maneuvering around the tables with no real pattern to them. His shoulder accidentally bumped a chair, making it tumble down to the ground with a loud clatter. He cursed and jerked back, making the table behind him shift and cause more chairs to fall. Before he could muster an apology, the barista jumped over the counter and made their way over to him quickly with a concerned expression. He knew the question about to come, and was about to make a point to say he was alright and sorry for the mess before they interrupted him.

   "Do I know you?" They asked, tilting their head and bringing their face closer to his to inspect him further. Taken by surprise at the question, he only stared back at them with an  indifferent expression, unsure why he hadn't shoved them away yet. He'd never been a touchy person, but for some reason he found comfort in the hand softly resting on his shoulder. It felt too odd, and Anthony quickly brought himself to reality by stepping away from the employee, now aware and cautious of his surroundings.

   "I don't think so," he replied with a skeptical look, though he did find it bizarre for them to replicate his thoughts. They stared at each other awkwardly until the barista bent down to begin picking up the batch of chairs he'd knocked over, carefully placing them back to their original places. Anthony joined them, stealing glances over at their form, trying to pinpoint where he'd seen them before. Though he couldn't disagree that they looked just fine in the standard apron, something felt as if it was missing. Something that included a white and brown getup with straps, he thought with observant eyes.

   He was brought back to reality by their voice, which held a teasing manner. "It's not polite to stare," they told him with a sneer, and he profusely denied doing such a thing. They laughed before retracting their statement, asking him to assist them in putting the chairs back  up. He gave a silent nod before reaching down and beginning to set the chairs back in order.

Yes, there's a chance that I've fallen quite hard over you

   Ever since that incident, Anthony had found himself visiting the store more and more often. It started with one Wednesday every month, when he knew the employee would be working their shift, then quickly escalated into every Wednesday after school. The worker joked that they would've though he had a crush on them with how often he visited, but he tried to redeem some pride by saying he needed their free wi-fi for a project for school. The clerk obviously didn't buy it, but didn't press the matter after that, not really minding the apathetic blond's company.

   One night as he lay in bed, it felt as if a movie was playing through his head as he watched a blond male aiming a rifle straight at someone who looked remarkably similar to the staff member he'd grown curious of. The point of view changed to where he was the one holding the firearm, staring into a pair of frightful eyes as they scrambled backwards, only to hit the cracked concrete behind them, their face illuminated by the torches that lined the walls. Although he attempted to will the dream away, gunfire sounded and he knew that it was the end of the individual.

He bolted up from his comfortable position in a cold sweat, crystalline eyes scouring the room before they landed on his alarm clock. His hand slammed down onto the machine before swinging his legs over his mattress to become ready for the day.

   Wednesday came, and he jogged down to the coffee shop, admittedly eager to see the barista once more. They'd never learnt the other's name, but the employee had lovingly nicknamed him as "chairs", which struck him with embarrassment at the thought of his first impression.

   He opened the door, greeted by that same chime as always, and found that the shop was empty aside from the only person he wanted to see at the front. Anthony was bewildered by this; normally it was so packed with people at this time of day, he'd taken to leaning against the wall as he drank his fix of caffeine. Nevertheless, he moved through the tables and up to the counter, watching as they'd already turned around to make his usual order. His elbows rested on the wooden counter, newly polished by the looks of it, as he waited.

   "What happened to all of the business?" He asked to break the silence, taking a gander at the room before fixing his eyes to their working form. A profile of their face came from over their white-clad shoulder, looking at him comically. He waited for an answer, face as still and unwavering as ever, and their only response to him was to laugh. They asked if he was joking between fits, and he asked if there was a reason he should be.

   "You have got to be kidding me. It's Christmas, dumbass!" They turned around with his drink in their hand, and set it before him with their eyes lit up with entertainment at the prospect of him forgetting such a tremendous holiday.

   He'd never been one for holidays, so it didn't surprise him that he'd forgotten about the date despite the cheery decor that littered literally everything. It was partly his own ignorance, but it didn't really matter. His parents were out of town, thankfully, and hadn't left him anything. No surprise there.

   His hand reached into his pocket to pull out his money, but the clerk stopped him with their hand, placing it onto his wrist and holding it there. He raised an eyebrow at them, and they gave him a smile in return. "It's free. Merry Christmas."

   The next few hours were spent with friendly chatter, only taking breaks when the occasional customer arrived. He felt he had a better understanding of them now, and couldn't help but admit to himself that he'd fallen for their charms, from their lovely personality to their lovely eyes. They'd exchanged names, and memories of battles fought and lost came flooding back to him upon hearing theirs. They'd asked him why he was clutching his head, and he'd made the excuse of the weather getting to him.

   [First] was certainly something else; he didn't know how to begin to understand why they would tolerate someone as cold and harsh as him. Perhaps they pitied him? That was the only logical explanation that Anthony could comprehend, though it wasn't exactly what he wanted.

   It was time to close up shop, and he stayed around to help clean up, sweeping under the tables as she put up chairs. "The only thing you're good at is knocking them down," the employee joked while he rolled his eyes at their rule that he wasn't allowed to touch the chairs without their permission. The normally mundane and burdensome task went by quickly with their quick-witted banter, and at one point, Anthony even found himself smiling at their goofy behavior.

   He showed them out, watching as they locked up the store, darkened by the late night's blackness. They stared at each other once [First] turned around with some kind of hesitance in their eyes, not wanting to part from one another. They asked for his hand, and he'd given it to them without thinking to ask why. He watched silently as they pulled a pen out and scribbled a series of numbers onto his hand, then signed their name carefully below in tiny print.

   Before he could speak, they had capped the pen and stuffed it back into their satchel, already walking away from him.

   "H-hey!" He called out to her, wanting to ask why she gave him her number.

   "See you around, Anthony," they called over their shoulder, throwing a hand up to wave at him as they walked into the flurry of snowflakes. "Merry Christmas!"

   His mouth hung slack as he stared at their disappearing form, registering their words and actions that left him flabbergasted.
   
   The corner of his mouth lifted, and he shook his head before turning around to head home, chin tucking down lower into his scarf to hide from the winter chill.

   "Merry Christmas to you, too, [First]."

I think that possibly, maybe
I'm falling for you