“Hey, that waiter’s cute.”
“That one,” you murmur, resting your head on your palm as you tilt your head towards a certain blonde waiter. “I think his name is Genos.”
“Oh, let’s call him over! Sir, sir, hey, excuse me,” she says, waving the cyborg over.
“No, Eloise, let’s not call him over!” Your eyes dance, flicking between your friend and the now-approaching male. As he nears, all you can do is gape as you stare at his well-defined form.
He wears a sleek black suit, his notched lapel creasing ever so slightly as he rests his weight on his left foot. A white dress shirt accents his aureate tie, reflecting the fairy lights overhead; the black waistcoat worn underneath his jacket is embellished with similarly colored buttons, and his golden pocket square is folded straight in its pocket.
Your eyes wander up to his face, from his sharp chin to his steeply sloping nose, to his slim cheeks and landing on his orbs. They practically glow chrome yellow, emanating pulsating rings around his inky pupils and making them seem almost auric in nature; the rest of his eyes are a swirling dark hole, fathomless and uninterpretable, as they flit between you and your friend. His lips are pulled into a small line, his expression unreadable as you stare unabashedly at the male. You watch as they begin to move, forming words that soothe your ears when spoken in his composed, modulated dulcet tones.
“(First Name),” your friend hisses, “Stop staring.”
“What? Oh. Sorry,” you start, blinking quickly and averting your attention to the napkin resting on your lap.
“Sorry. You’re Genos, right? We’d like to order.” Eloise steps on your foot, raising her eyebrows at your hunched-over form as you bite your tongue and try to keep from wincing at the abrupt, painful impact. “I’d like one of your mille crepes – hmm, strawberry sounds good.”
He nods as his gaze shifts from your friend to you. You squirm under his sharp eyes and gulp, raising the menu with trembling hands as you point to (favorite cake) and force out the words sotto voce.
“Your strawberry mille crepe and (favorite cake) will be out shortly. If you require any other assistance, please do not hesitate to call me.” The blonde cyborg bows stiffly at a perfect right angle before jerking up again and walking away, his strides long and elegant.
“(First Name), what was that?” Eloise cocks her head at you, her onyx locks falling onto the table as her eyes narrow, her fierce gaze scrutinizing you like a bug under a microscope.
“I don’t know,” you slump, defeated. “He was just so handsome. I can’t really think properly when there are hot guys around.”
Your delicacies arrive, delivered by a bald waiter with a blank stare (was his name Saitama or something of the sort?), and you pick at your (favorite cake) listlessly before giving up and letting the fork fall from your fingers to land on the table. You instead turn your attention to the café.
Vermilion velvet curtains are draped alongside your small booth, bordered by a white lace fringe; the black cherry hardwood flooring beneath your feet shines under the soft fairy lights strung about the small establishment. In the middle of the butler café in a straight line are a row of tables with a two chairs facing each other, with a Prussian-blue square serviette embroidered with the infinity-sign logo of the restaurant precisely placed at the edge of the wooden table. Indistinct conversations float between the patrons, hushed murmurs and giggles from the other customers barely heard as silvery piano music provides a muted backing track. The smell of sweets and pastries lingers in the air, the fragrant notes of fruits, citrus, and cream inviting the palate to come and try all the café has to offer.
“I think I’ll talk to him.”
“Good for you!” your friend cheers, waving a piece of her pink mille crepe at you as she smiles.
“Hey, Genos?” You gesture at the waiter, who comes over immediately.
“Can I have the check, please?”
He nods and takes out the thin leather booklet from his pocket, laying it on the table; taking out a credit card, you put it into the checkbook, write down the designated tip, sign it, and return it to the tabletop. Genos takes it and, minutes later, returns with it. He hands you your card and receipt and you reach out for it. Suddenly, you place your hand on his and fold your fingers around his, keeping him from withdrawing his digits from your firm grasp.
You stare deeply into his eyes, burning (eye color) flaring against auric golden irises. His gaze falters under yours as his eyes flick between you and your friend, who watches with an amused smirk on her face.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
The staring continues as you, without breaking off eye contact, take out a golden pen and draw him closer to you. Turning it over, you press down on his palm with the writing utensil and scrawl something on his warm metal hand. He can feel the variations in pressure as you continue scribbling letters and numbers, your brows furrowed and your tongue sticking out a bit as you go about your concentrated efforts.
You release his fingers and stand up, your friend doing the same. “Thank you for your service,” you bow to the cyborg before shoving the card and receipt into your pocket, grabbing your purse, and pulling Eloise out of the butler café.
Genos stares after you in a confused haze, then glances down at his palm to read the markings left by your golden pen:
you’re cute (***) *** **** call me ;]
He flushes red.