He grabbed the freshly made coffee and walked to the furthest table in the corner. In the heat of the moment, however, he hadn't realized how hot the cup was, and by the time he made it to the table, he hurriedly slammed the cup down, splashing some hot coffee on his hand.
It burned.
He bit his lower lip.
When he made sure the coffee was in no danger of being knocked over, he put his hand on his wrist and clutched it. Swiftly, the chair was pulled out. He slammed down, back pressing against it. Bones squashed from the pressure of his fingers.
"Do you need help?" asked the woman, appearing at the table.
With a bucket of ice in her hand, she sat down on the chair across from him.
"Here, let me see it." Her hand extended.
The boy with a stiff expression raised his head.
What are you… My mother? said—well, wanted to say the boy, though, just like always, he kept it to himself.
The towel tied to his right hand prevented him from finding a comfortable position. He tried rotating his hand, hoping to find the right angle, only to give up moments later. Reluctant to show his hand, he tried not to involve her in anything unnecessary, pressing his wrist even harder. But when he realized she wasn't going to let him off the hook, he changed his mind.
His hand pulled away from his wrist.
"Ugh," she flinched. "Yep, it's definitely burned." Her hands gently wrapped around his.
"I know somethin' that'll help," she said, the corner of her mouth curling up.
She must have meant the ice—at least, that's what a normal person would do, but she was a bit different. The fact that she was here alone, letting a customer have a free coffee—those weren't the traits of someone normal.
His arm got grabbed.
She leaned closer and dragged his hand all the way to her soft chin. With her other hand, she snatched his index finger, slowly, and brought his hand closer to her mouth. His finger almost touching her lip, she opened her mouth. Tongue stuck out.
Where was this going?
She must have enjoyed herself with that mischievous grin on her face.
The boy, unable to react, watched her.
His pupils dilated. Eyebrows slightly raised. Mouth barely closed.
Her warm breath surrounded his finger. He looked at her. Watching as her long brown hair fell off her shoulders, her lips, which were just slightly redder than natural, and the light's reflection on her hazel-green eyes. Eyes like his.
Why did he care about any of that?
No! Don't!
He flicked his head, looking at a faint reflection of himself from the window. The mass of blurry colors covered most of his reflection from the outside.
I can't. If I do, I…
While he was having a mental war inside, his hand carelessly moved to the side. Something soft brushed against his skin. Something his finger never touched before.
Both pulled back. The woman let go of the boy's finger.
"What're you doin'!?" Her voice high-pitched. "I was just teasin'. I-I wasn't serious!" Her cheeks turned red.
The boy looked at his finger.
Saliva coated the length of his index finger. It was warm. Her drool slowly dribbled down from his fingertips to where they ended. Where that sensation didn't reach, he felt something… else. The cold. He shivered where his finger wasn't glistening. The room was well above the temperature one needed to feel cold, and yet, he couldn't help but feel the absence of warmth.
What's this?
He stared at his finger, his body unmoving.
Unable to bear that sticky, thick feeling on his skin, he flinched. Thoughts running rampant. His left hand moved to his right, starting to untie the towel that was bound to his hand. Five seconds and a lot of struggles later, he removed the towel. Light purple marks remained on his wrist. Wasting no time, he brushed his finger on the towel, erasing anything inconvenient. The woman watched him as he wiped away any resemblance to their physical interaction.
Calming down, her cheeks relaxed. Then, a newfound smile appeared.
"Wow, I never thought you'd just wipe it off. Most guys would leave them on, prolly waitin' till it'd naturally disappear or something," she teased.
The boy had a slightly concerned expression on his face.
He put the used towel on the table.
"What, are you scared?" she said in a playful tone, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, her head slightly tilted.
He shifted his head back, catching the big grin stretched across her face.
The boy looked straight at her face.
"How old are you?" His voice dropped.
Wait, what? Does he have a death wish? There's no way he doesn't know. Even if he was a shut-in, he must have at least heard of it, right?