#butterflies?? no no it's probably a gastrointestinal issue

[snoffyy]

Arrhythmia

“Have you considered using a reusable cup?”

Zhao glanced up at Yue, his usual takeaway cup already in his hands, his heel already in a half-turn to head back to the hospital.

“Uh,” he said eloquently. “No, not really.”

Mostly because he kept losing his travel mugs and cups. It came with rushing around the place all the time. He’d take a sip, write a report, get up to do something else, take another sip if he remembered, hurry off to a consultation, and…

By the time he remembered he’d had coffee in the first place, he was usually already at home, belatedly realising that he couldn’t quite remember if he’d put it in his clinic, in the staffroom, or lying around literally anywhere but on his person.

So no, he hadn’t considered a reusable cup in a long, long time.

Yue wrinkled her nose at him and brought out a reusable coffee cup from under the counter, setting it in front of him.

“Here,” she said. “I’ve been trialling these. They’re cute, aren’t they?”

It was cute. Not that he’d ever admit it even under torture. Cartoonish koi patterned the baby blue cup, the same koi that were featured in the café’s logo. It was sickeningly cute, and if Jee saw him using it, he’d never let Zhao live it down.

Zhao was going to paste a name label on it, wasn’t he?

“How much?”

Yue waved him off. “Bring it the next time you come here for coffee, and it’s on the house.”

.

He still had the cup. It had been weeks, and he still had it. Yue had been beyond pleased with him, as if managing to not lose a cup was some insurmountable achievement. It certainly had nothing to do with the happy little smile she would proffer whenever he came by with cup in hand.

No, it most certainly did not have anything to do with that.

And he didn’t care if it was some Pavlov conditioning thing because it was not, it was simply him making use of the gift because if he didn’t, it would be a waste, and he didn’t like waste. There was no other reason, none at all, because he was all about pragmatics and not fixating on pretty smiles or cheerful anecdotes or watching someone putter around with their nose scrunched up in concentration as they experimented with enough syrups and flavourings to make his head spin.

“Do you mind helping me keep record of what I’m doing?” Yue asked distractedly, pushing a notepad and pen in his direction. “Sorry. I’d usually try do it myself, but it’s a lot easier with two people.”

“Of course,” Zhao said, because he was a pragmatic person up to the task and would not get distracted by anything as ridiculous as a dollop of whipped cream adorably adorning Yue’s nose.

Frankly, it was ridiculous. How was he to know that over time, somewhere between all the coffee and pastries, he’d find himself sitting here writing notes about how many pumps of hazelnut syrup she’d dumped into a cup when he knew for a fact that he still had to write three letters to his patients’ GPs.

But he didn’t care. He was too busy dutifully jotting down the dashes of cinnamon and cocoa she was sprinkling into the drink.

Caramel drizzle.

Sprinkles?

Whipped cream.

Conclusion, Zhao wrote, she has produced a sugary monstrosity.

Yue’s face suddenly appeared next to his, her wide blue eyes examining the notepad.

“Did you get everything?”

“Yes,” Zhao said, handing it over.

She took the notepad, tilting her head as she scanned his writing, her brow furrowing more and more with every second.

And then her face broke out into a grin.

“Oh my,” Yue said gleefully. “You have terrible doctor handwriting!”

She turned the notepad towards him, and Zhao couldn’t help cringing at the sloppy, slanted mess that was scribbled along the lines. He should’ve slowed down, he knew. But he had been distracted by the deft flicks of her hands, the way she’d scrutinise between two different syrups, and how she deliberated between toppings by tapping a slender finger against her chin.

He must’ve looked a little too downtrodden, as Yue softened, patting his shoulder.

“It’s fine. Honestly, it’s still legible. I can read it.”

He wasn’t offended, not really. He was more surprised that he’d gotten so distracted by Yue that he’d forgotten everything else that had been happening. It was then that the strange, squirming feeling in his gut suddenly made sense.

His mouth was already moving before his brain could form a semblance of logical thought, and much to his mortification, the words that came out of his mouth were:

“My digits are usually fine, though. Maybe I could give you my number instead?”

If there were ever a merciful higher being, they should have taken pity on him and put him out of his misery. A comet could come careening through the sky, hurtling towards him to smear him into atoms, and he would be grateful.

He’d have to find a new favourite café. And maybe a new favourite barista too. There were many coffeeshops around the hospital, after all. Or, if the shame were to follow him everywhere, he could put in a request to transfer to a different hospital. Or he could go private. There was no shortage of work for surgeons.

Or he could take an extended vacation. When was the last time he’d went on proper leave?

Yue started giggling. Then outright laughing. She muffled her mouth with a hand, but there was a delighted glint in her eye, a rising flush evident even against her tanned skin.

“I think,” she said with a wide grin once she’d composed herself, “I’d like that very much.”

He stared, helpless, and it occurred to him that not only had he figured out what the strange feeling was, but he was also completely, utterly fucked.