A fierce wind whistles through the glass doors of your company building as you hurry out the building, huddled as best as you could into the folds of your wool coat. In your haste this morning, you’d forgotten your umbrella and are now getting pelted by unforgiving elements in an even more unforgiving city. Taxis whizz past sheltering people with quicker feet to their destinations; those who have cars are already ducking inside and revving their engines. With only a subway pass and two feet, you can only resort to seeking solace inside of the nearest coffee shop.

Cafe Vivi is located under one of the busier underpasses by your company’s building. You’d been inside a few times, if only to pick up some coffee for the department, but had never gotten any for yourself. The door jingles as you come in, your clothes sloshing as you make your way to one of the empty seats by an outlet. The interior of the cafe is posh, furnished by mahogany chairs and tables and styled with a parisian flair. The barista behind the bar looks up from where he is cleaning to give you a belated once over as a greeting. You fumble around for your wallet and drip your way to the counter. The wind and snow outside don’t seem to be letting up which means you have to pretend to at least be a paying customer.

“The bar is closed. You don’t order up here, I come to you.” He explains, already halfway around the corner of the counter, and following you back to your seat. Tall and slender, the black apron hanging around his waist seems to emphasize how broad is upper half is under his dress shirt. No doubt he’s handsome. You can only react with a short ‘sorry’ before sliding back into your chair.

You squint at the menu he presents to you, written in a neat french with photographs of steamy cups of coffee adjacent to their names.  You falter, not quite sure what to get, but feeling rushed given the the wetness seeping into your shoes and the gaze of the man hovering near you. Your stomach turns at the thought of coffee; and you look anywhere else on the menu for an alternative to the liquid poison.

“Do you have tea?” You say finally looking up and noting the barista’s nametag that’s engraved, “Sehun” and  then finally meeting his eyes. His eyebrows raise just slightly to your inquiry. “Or hot chocolate, maybe?” You add meekly. You’d rather spend your money on something you would enjoy drinking. He only nods, taking your order with a hint of a smile, perhaps amused by your wet appearance, perhaps at your unsophisticated palate.

Once he was a good enough distance away you slip off to the bathroom to dry yourself. The wind had done a number on your hair, but at least your makeup is still intact and you’d dried off quite a bit. Back at your seat you find yourself watching as Sehun prepares your drink. You can see glimpses of the crown of his head peeking out from the top of the industrial espresso machine. He catches your eye as he straightens up, the whirrs of machinery and sounds of valves opening and closing filling the air.

You avert your eyes quickly. Waiting for your phone to charge allowed for few places to look, so you opted to look at the big floor to-ceiling chalkboard menu just behind him. Your heartbeat quickens as the whirring sounds wane and Sehun approaches your table. He’s balancing a large mug and saucer in one hand, and the bill in the other. A 3D foam dog floats in the center of the hot chocolate, and though he tries to set the cup down carefully, the left-hand side of the dog deflates.

“Ah I ruined it.” He murmurs, leaning closer to dab a napkin lightly around the edge of the cup. The scent of his cologne mixes with the sweetness of the hot drink in front of you.

“No I like it, it has character,” You assure him.

He laughs an embarrassed thank you. “It’s not supposed to look like that. Ah, be careful it’s hot.” Sehun puffs his cheeks and blows air earnestly, demonstrating for you to blow before taking a sip of the drink. He lingers, satisfied once you follow suit and returns to his post.

As you sip your drink you check the train schedule. The cafe guests have all but trickled down to a few people including yourself. Outside has already become rather dark; the snow, however, doesn’t seem to have let up. You sigh and frown at the now, deformed dog dissolving in your cup. The door jingles as two patrons who had been waiting out the storm, finally take the plunge and brace the elements under a large umbrella.

You look worriedly at the clock now that you are the last person in the store. Sehun seems to be readying the shop for closing, so you gulp down the rest of your drink, and approach the counter with your bill to pay. Sehun pauses in his cleaning and returns to the register.

“How’d you like it?” He asks, taking your bill and skewering it on a stack of receipts nearby.

“It was really good. And the dog too, what do you call that?”

“Oh that? That’s...art.” He says finally deciding on a word. “The dog was on it’s last leg though.”

“It was cute, really. I should’ve taken a picture.”

“I have a picture... Actually, you should see the real thing, he’s cuter.”

You look back at him quizzically as he reaches into his pocket to fish out his phone.

“My dog, Vivi,” He introduces, whipping through his photo gallery to land on a picture of a fluffy white dog, not unlike the foam dog in your cup earlier. “He’s a Bichon. I don’t think he looks like one though.”

“Ah Vivi....as in Cafe Vivi?” You grin while examining the picture and look up at him for confirmation.

He scratches behind his ear bashfully avoiding your gaze. “He’s part of the inspiration for this Cafe. It made sense at the time.”

“Well, I should thank him for giving you the idea.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that. You’ll spoil him...” He trails off as if serious, but cracks another smile. “Also, you don’t have to pay for this.” He says entering something into the system before opening and closing the register.

After a beat of your confusion, he continues, “I don’t actually sell hot chocolate, so I can’t in good conscience make you pay for it. But I did the best I could with what I had, and it looked like you could use a pick-me-up.”

“So it was--”

“Melted Godiva with steamed milk.” He interrupts. 

You blink, surprised. “It was really good though. You should put it on the menu.”

“Next time I’ll make it for you with better ingredients; then you can tell me if you like it better.”

You nod, amused at his words since he seemed to take pride in his work, but grateful for the free drink. “I might just take you up on that.”