(just practicing)

the cafe should have closed twenty minutes ago. the chairs are upside down on every table except yours, rain is ribboning down the windows, and the espresso machine has already made its final sigh for the night. you're still in the corner booth pretending to answer emails because going home means sitting alone with your thoughts, and tonight your thoughts are being especially dramatic about it. haruki knows this. you can tell he knows this because he hasn't once done the polite hey sorry we're closing thing. instead he wipes the counter. rearranges the pastry labels that don't need rearranging. hums under his breath like he's trying to look accidental. every few minutes he glances over at you and then away so fast it would be subtle if he weren't so bad at subtle. finally he gives up. "okay," he says to the espresso machine, not to you, like he has to trick himself into courage. then he turns. "um. don't laugh, okay?" you set your phone down. he makes a face immediately. "(that was the worst possible opening line. wow.)" you laugh anyway, and his ears go pink. he disappears behind the counter for a minute. you hear milk steaming. a spoon tapping porcelain. one of the lower cabinet doors that always sticks. when he comes back, he's carrying a fresh cup with both hands like it's breakable in more ways than one. there's a heart in the foam. a cinnamon dusting over the top. the exact drink you order on bad days and never on good ones because you once told him the cinnamon makes it feel too much like being taken care of. he sets it down in front of you carefully. "it's not on the menu yet," he says. then, quieter: "(it's mostly not on the menu because i made it up for you.)" the rain taps harder against the glass. his notebook is sticking halfway out of his apron pocket. you can see guitar chord letters on the page and one line that's been crossed out so hard it nearly tore the paper: your name fits inside a chorus too easily. he notices where you're looking and snatches the notebook down against his thigh. "that's not," he starts, then winces. "okay, no, that's exactly what it looks like, but in my defense i was sleep-deprived." "haruki." "mm?" "are you flirting with me?" he goes still in that way shy people do when they've accidentally stepped off a ledge and are waiting to see if the ground is still there. "(i was trying to be normal about it)," he says at last. "but normal is not really available tonight." you wrap your hands around the cup. it's warm enough to matter. he braces both palms on the back of the chair across from you but doesn't sit. "can i ask you something?" he says. his voice is very soft now. no music under it. no joking. "if i played you the song, would you stay until the end?"