Work Text:
Wilbur was cursed from birth to be a barista. And he was not joking.
From the moment little baby Wilbur opened his eyes to the bright lights of a hospital room, he would forever be destined to serve low-quality espresso to wannabe hipsters. And while his parents cooed at the supposed ‘meet-cute’ potential of his words, Wilbur was practically halfway dressed in a green apron.
‘I’d like just a mocha please.’
His Soulmate Words couldn’t have been more worthless.
After working literal years through various coffee shops in his highschool days, and furthermore through his freshman and sophomore years at college, Wilbur was pretty sure he had heard that exact same phrase millions of times. At first, he would excitedly glance down at his sleeve in trepidation of seeing glowing ink, but it was to no avail.
But still, he continued plastering fake smiles on his face and pouring lattes. Wilbur rationalized to himself that it didn’t matter if this customer had said the words without so much as a blink, surely the next one would be his Forever.
But long after he stopped caring about meeting his soulmate, he wondered why he still worked as a barista. It was a dead end job for sure, and the money wasn’t that good for a part timer. The customers were rude and he developed a bitter aroma of coffee about him.
Wilbur wasn’t quite sure.
Loud snapping broke him out of his thoughts and he cursed as he dropped his cleaning rag. He quickly bent down to scoop it up, glaring up at his snickering coworker as he did so, “This isn’t that funny, you can stop laughing now.”
“Oh, but it is that funny, you kinda looked like, umm, that dog— the one with the long nose, you know?” Ranboo leaned against the counter as they scrolled through their phone.
“What— The fucking borzoi meme?” He sputtered in disbelief, almost dropping his rag again, “I am not a dog, if anything I’d be a cat!”
“C’mon man, don’t lie to yourself,” He briefly looked up to make eye contact with Wilbur, “Wouldn’t you do it for Kermie?”
“What the fuck are you even talking about?
Ranboo could only sigh, “You’re not hip with the kids anymore, Wilbur, you’re an old man actually—“
“I am not! ”
His coworker laughed at his indignation, ignoring him in favor of scrolling through lYthehis hipster memes or whatever the fuck he did. He was probably trolling kids on Reddit again.
Rolling his eyes again, Wilbur restacked the cups for possibly the 28th time in the past hour. And look , he knew it seemed like he was goofing off instead of working but there was nothing to do!
The whole place was clean, other than a few crumbs near a group of students, and he had restocked their wares ten minutes ago. All of their customers seemed to be engaged in their own affairs, and Ranboo clearly had nothing to do either. Even watching the window passerby did nothing to alleviate the dull afternoon.
Just when he thought he was going to actually die from boredom, the bell above the door rang and someone walked inside. Glancing at Ranboo, who just gave him a vague go-ahead, Wilbur stood to attention at the register with a cup in hand.
“Hello, what can I get for you today?” He robotically recited, memorized word to word from the employee’s manual. That was another result of his everlasting boredom: he memorized a fucking handbook of all things!
Poised with a marker in hand above the surface of the cup, Wilbur awaited to hear the order. Feeling a slight pause in the air around them, he only glanced up when he heard a heavy sigh.
Standing before him was the prettiest man he had ever seen.
He had thick lashes hiding eyes of amber, with darted across the menu board. His face contorted briefly as he pondered his options, although Wilbur could only focus on the little birthmark gracing his cheek. He drummed lithe fingers against the countertop as he bit his lip.
Finally, he uttered Wilbur’s words.
“I’d like just a mocha please.”
His heart skipped a beat and he felt a burning sensation in his chest… But Wilbur knew better than to even fantasize that the man was his soulmate. With a perfectly warm and comforting voice, he was sure to have uttered his Words to somebody else already.
And besides the point, Wilbur was working, he couldn’t just daydream about random men. He nodded at the customer with a tight-lipped smile, “Name for the order?”
The man seemed to flounder for a bit, “Uhh, just Q I guess?”
“You guess?” He couldn’t help the teasing tone that escaped him.
Surprisingly, it made ‘Q’ laugh, “I guess I’m just used to the other guys who know my name.”
“Ah, I see, you must be more of a midnight espresso guy then, huh?” Wilbur joked, his hands busy with preparing the drink, “I’m always on day shift but I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”
“You caught me, man.” Q held his hands up in mock surrender, “I can’t help it, coffee just tastes better when I’m cramming for shit. Late night energy and all that.”
“You could say that again, my roommates brew a batch when they get home for that reason.”
“Smart people I can tell.”
The conversation lulled to a halt until he was done. Quickly, he scribbled a small duck next to the ‘Q’ on the cup and handed it over to Q, who took it without a second glance.
“If you need any more of this caffeinated monstrosities, you know where to find it.”
“For sure, for sure man!” He laughed politely. Even with Wilbur’s terrible jokes, at least this Q guy was nice enough to let him think he was funny.
Then he rung up Q and watched as he walked out after paying.
It was just another day at a lousy coffee shop.
The rest of the day passed by in a blur until finally he was left alone to clean up for tomorrow. As he waved Ranboo off, Wilbur felt a wave of melancholy wash over him.
He let the smile slip off his face with a sigh as he grabbed his mop. He let his mind go over the day's events as he mindlessly wiped the floors down.
Wilbur never thought he’d feel so… weirdly attracted to someone, lest of all somebody he only knew of as Q . But he wasn’t exactly attracted in the traditional sense (although he was, trust him) but it felt… magnetic. Like he was a moon revolving around a planet, inexplicably tied together by fate and gravity.
But that was silly, Wilbur hadn’t met his soulmate. And if he did, he would know . He was being ridiculous.
He had no intention of looking for his so-called ‘other half’. He was just fine wiping off grime on tables older than he was.
The wristband concealing his Words itched terribly.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally clocked out. He felt a half-hearted sigh escape his chest as he walked to the bus stop, bag slung over his shoulder.
Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he sent a quick text to his brother.
Hey, just got off work do we need anything?
Tommy sent a reply back just as quickly.
we need butter bitch. and one of those drinks i like
I don’t know what a butter bitch is but I’ll try to find it.
Ignoring the slew of curses and angry emojis, Wilbur elected to pocket his phone once more. Tommy would probably forget all about it by the time he got home. Besides, he still needed to catch his bus.
After he boarded the bus he felt like he couldn’t ignore the incessant pain on his wrist. The skin started to feel like it was burning instead of the itching he had grown accustomed to. Did he… suddenly develop an allergy to the polyester in his wristband?
No, that was stupid. He would’ve noticed it sooner if he did!
Cautiously, he peeled away the band hiding his skin. He expected to see reddened skin, maybe goosebumps or even a scratch he somehow forgot.
Instead he saw destiny.
Well—okay, that was definitely a little overdramatic. He could admit that, okay! But what the fuck else was he supposed to think when his Words turned red?
Wilbur wasn’t ashamed to admit that he panicked a little bit. It wasn’t every day that you met your Soulmate! And he didn’t even know who it was!
And from what he remembered, aside from the notable Q fellow, there were… at least 15 customers who ordered mochas. If he had to guess, he would say probably 5 or 6 of them spoke his true Words?
Even with the list narrowed down, it felt like a daunting task to be the one to track down his soulmate. The unlucky fellow probably had his usual tactless greeting imprinted on their arm. And if they didn’t come back to the coffee house, Wilbur would be the one shit out of luck.
But even if they did meet again, he mused to himself, what would he even say?
“Hi, I’m your soulmate and your choice of drink is shit.”
He really was destined to never meet his soulmate.