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Albedo is a man of science, which is why his pounding pulse comes as a surprise.
The woman is pretty enough, her cheeks tinted pink. Her face is framed by wide-rimmed glasses, and she tugs idly at the sea foam green sweater that she’s wrapped up tight in. He has seen her before, but with every day comes the rushing of blood to his heart, and the butterflies in his stomach.
There is no rhyme or reason to it. Albedo makes coffee as usual, perfect in every way thanks to his alchemy—but when it comes to the sweet Miss Sucrose, he screws up her drink every single time.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, tossing out the milk and pouring a new pitcher. “I swear to you, I’m better than this.”
“It’s perfectly fine, Mr. Albedo,” says Sucrose. “To be fair, I’ve yet to find a drink that I’ve truly loved.”
Albedo pauses at that, looking at her from over the espresso machine. Sucrose turns bright red. “Ah, I didn’t mean—that isn’t to say that you are the problem. Each drink is good, but it isn’t the one, you know? I’m still trying to find the one that truly speaks to me."
Which is how Albedo was turned on to this seemingly impossible mission. Instead of using his alchemy to craft the most perfect of brews, he spends his days thinking of what next to make for Sucrose. She’s in every Friday, sometime around two in the afternoon.
Albedo makes a suggestion and they awkwardly share words. Sucrose pays with cash, their fingers brushing against each other. And it is the same at the hand-off plane when he slides the cup over, his mouth curved into a subtle smile.
At first, he tries lattes—just about every flavor under the sun. Half-shots and full shots, or twice the amount of vanilla. He changes the water filters or adjusts the temperature.
Sucrose sits in the corner and drinks the whole thing, cheeks tinged pink as she soaks up the brew. And then she brings the cup back and drops a tip into the jar. “Thanks, Mr. Albedo. It was delicious as always, but still not quite right. I shall see you next week for another try.”
He moves on to flat whites, thinking that short-pulled ristretto shots will impress. Or, perhaps, a macchiato, filled to the brim and drizzled with perfected caramel. Cappuccinos and double-espressos, and even an undertow—Sucrose drinks them all happily. Her only complaint is that it isn’t the one , and his heart lurches every time because he only wants to impress.
Albedo disguises old combinations beneath tricky latte art and hopes that tiers of carefully-crafted foam will distract from the fact they aren’t new. If Sucrose notices, she doesn’t say a thing, smiling wide at his art for the week.
One day is different. One day, Albedo paints into her latte foam a dog with a bone. Sucrose laughs, a tinkling sort of sound.
“Did you know that I like bones?” she asks him, wrapping her fingers around the mug.
“I do now,” he says, blinking in surprise.
This day, Sucrose takes her time as she sips the triple vanilla latte he painstakingly decorated. And maybe she feels it, maybe she’s realized.
“I think that I’m not looking for a drink,” she says when she brings back the mug, “but rather a person.”
“Oh?” asks Albedo, busy steaming another pitcher of milk.
“I would think it’s you, perhaps. No one has gone to such lengths to impress me.” Albedo nearly drops the pitcher, spilling the milk. But when he meets Sucrose’s gaze, she only smiles warmly. “Next week,” she continues, “why don’t you share a coffee with me?”
It doesn’t take alchemy to realize that he’s in love. Science dictates that the next move is to test the theory.
And so, Albedo says yes.