Exentio here, sorry for the interjection. Due to *sigh* limitations from Tapas, the story is split into parts. It's annoying, I only have 15,000 characters. You can read it in one piece on Yozakura by clicking on the banner, on the image at the end, or by writing this URL: https://yozakura.me/projects/exentio/dreamer/the-cafe

Back to the story.

Somewhere between the world of the living and the realm of gods lies a space that used to have no purpose, a space filled with nothingness where, on rare occasions, souls would get lost during their rest. There was nothing to be perceived, not even the faintest light or the tiniest sound. One day, though, the gods decided that this empty place that terrified the poor souls unlucky enough to end up there needed to change, to become more welcoming and warm, turning from a frightful incident to a lucky occurrence. That was the day in which I was appointed the manager of this café, to make it a better place for humans, and to let me learn from them.
Here I get to meet every different kind of person: sweet, energetic, sad, weird people, most of them have stories to tell, and I always try to get them to share them with me, hoping that they’ll help me become a bit more human.

A client just walked through the door. “Welcome!”
He’s a middle-aged man with dark hair and some hint of graying here and there, long enough to style his fringe up; honestly speaking, he might be using a tad too much hair gel. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and black jeans, sunglasses on his face despite being inside, and has a packet of cigarettes sticking out from a pocket on his chest. Also, he’s surrounded by a strong smell of aftershave. I’m confident that he’s in his fifties, I can tell from his face, and yet somehow he doesn’t have that many wrinkles: souls look like their bodies, everything they wear changes with the mental image of the person, but the body itself won’t change. Even I can tell that he’s quite handsome, although I have mixed feelings about the “tough guy” look he’s going for.
“Would you like a table in the smoking area?”
“Hell no, I can’t stand the smell of smoke. These are just for show.”
He’s an oddball. He decided to sit at a table close to the door, and I feel like he did it so he could stand out as soon as someone sets foot inside. Considering how rare it is to end up here, I think he’s gonna end up disappointed.
“It’s rather dark here.”
He’s still wearing his sunglasses. “Sorry, I only have this many lights…”
Maybe he doesn’t realize that he still has them on? Should I tell him?
“Not trying to be indiscreet, but… m-maybe you should take your sunglasses off…?”
He doesn’t move an inch, I can’t even tell whether he’s looking at me or just staring at the door. “I’m fine. Could I have the menu?”
“Sure! With that said, we usually recommend our special taste-changing cappuccino to our clients!”

We serve a bit of everything to our clients, but this café’s specialty is a cappuccino that changes taste depending on what’s on the mind of those who drink it. Some of the flavors I encountered so far are chocolate for love, cinnamon for gratitude, mint for happiness, pistachio for sadness, licorice for regret; although it’s not always the same for everyone, I met people whose happiness tasted like orange and some whose sadness tasted like blueberry.

“Alright, as long as it’s cheap.”
I smile at him. “Sure, you won’t have to pay for anything here!”
He raises a brow. “Did I snuff it?”
“Oh no, don’t worry! You’re still alive and sleeping, this is no different from a dream.”

It’s not too far from the truth, so I prefer not to tell people that their soul left their body, as they might think that they died and panic. They might stay here for what they perceive as hours, but in their world it probably lasts for less than a second. Ethereal matter perceives time differently: we don’t even have clocks or calendars, time doesn’t exist here.

“So, a cappuccino. Would you like a croissant or some other pastry?”
“No, thank you.”
“… Don’t you wanna take your sunglasses off?”
“No, thank you.”
I won’t ask anymore.

I clean the milk pitcher and the espresso machine while I wait for him to finish so I can ask about the taste. Despite trying to look tough he seems a good and polite enough person. He drinks his cappuccino slowly, sipping it thoughtfully, sometimes stopping to look at his cup. Or so I think, I can’t really see his eyes behind those sunglasses.

“Our cappuccino tastes like the feelings of those who drink it, mind if I ask you which flavors you tasted?”
He starts rolling his empty cup between his hands. “Hmm… licorice… and ginger. Odd combination, but it was nice.”
“Ginger? That’s a new one.”
He keeps rolling the cup. “I suppose that suits me.”
I’ve been here for the longest time, but despite being far from uncommon as an ingredient itself, I never heard of anyone tasting ginger in their cappuccino. I’m curious.
“Licorice is regret, but ginger I have no clue. Do you mind telling me your story?”
The man sighs, “do I really have to?”
“Ah, of course not! I’m just curious about the things you tasted. Don’t feel pressured! Still, I feel like your story might be interesting.”
I start feeling his gaze on me, even behind the sunglasses. He puts the cup back on its plate, and starts tapping on the table, then finally stops. “Alright, I’ll tell you. First of all, my name is Noah.”

Noah is a musician, he’s quite famous from what he says, and I don’t think he’s trying to sound bigger than he really is. He had a band that was even more famous than he is right now, and his younger brother Livy was one of the members. The beginning of their career went as smoothly as it could be, they were in the right spot between mainstream and underground, with fans that appreciated their music for what it was, rather than focusing too much on the looks of the members, although Noah said quite brazenly that everyone and especially him was “bloody cool and among the most beautiful men any woman could hope to lay her eyes on”.
With time, though, Livy started wanting more. He wanted more fame, more fans, more money. He tried to change the band’s direction towards a sound that was more popular and easy to sell, and Noah compromised a bit trying to make him happy. But Livy wanted more, more, always more. The two kept fighting every day, and although they tried to avoid repercussions for the band, it wasn’t without incidents: one would make questionable public statements about the other, just for the other to reply with an even worse one. Livy also started not showing up during rehearsals and getting on stage completely drunk. No need to say that the press loved this, to the point that Noah started to think that his brother kept the whole situation going exactly because he knew that it’d have brought the band to the attention of even more people; however, it was far from being the kind of attention that Noah wanted. Before the concert that would end up being their last, Noah started a fight with his brother, accusing him of manipulating him and acting recklessly to create gossip around the band, and as soon as the other members managed to stop the fight, he walked on the stage to announce the breakup of the band. He still remembers the words he said to the fans who were waiting for the live to begin: “as of now, I hereby announce that I’m quitting this joke of a band, please send your complaints to that shithead of a brother,” followed by Livy’s full house address.
Time went on and he started a solo career with a touring band, carrying with him a large part of the original band’s fans: after all, he wrote most of the songs himself. The hate between the brothers never stopped, and the reciprocal slander still keeps going, except now nobody is profiting from it: some people find it somewhat funny, others think it’s sad, and overall, almost everyone wants them to stop and get back together.

He giggles a bit, “once I even said that I hated my mother for giving birth to him.”
“… Do you?”
“Nah, back then it seemed funnier in my head. I loved my mum. I think that comment made her quite sad. I was too much of a prat to apologize, pride took over.”
“Is she… gone?”
He lets out a sigh, “yeah, she passed away a few years back. Covid, was too much for her.”
Someone mentioned a pandemic not too long ago, I guess she was one of the victims. “I guess we found your regret then.”
“Yeah, well done, mate.”
I still don’t know about the ginger, though. “Do you also regret everything that happened with your brother?”
He finally takes his sunglasses off… except there is one more pair right under them, the light can’t get him. This man really likes imagining himself with sunglasses. “I don’t regret anything I said to that arsehole.”
What is he, a kid? “Don’t you wish things were different, though?”
He crosses his arms and takes a while to answer. “Maybe I do. I can’t stand what he did, but I suppose I miss the good old days before the success we had went to his head. I wouldn’t mind it if he apologized.”
Good grief, he really is a kid. “I agree that he did a lot more wrong than you did, but can’t you put your pride aside and be the one to apologize?”
“No way in hell.”
Sigh. “Come on, you miss him, don’t you?”
“Listen, love, I get your point, but that won’t do any good to either of us. If I say I’m sorry, he’ll just reckon he’s won the battle, won’t change his ways, and I’d be waiting and waiting for an apology that would never come, with my anger boiling inside.”
Mhh, he’s got a point. “So you did think about it. You do want this to end.”
“Yes, I do. And I will apologize if he apologizes, because I know that the other way round won’t work.”
Seems like I might have found it. “It’s longing. Ginger means longing. You want to make up with your brother, and you keep waiting for him, unable to do anything by your side.”
He stays silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, which in his case should mean that he agrees. “Thank you for helping me find the meaning behind what you tasted. I really hope that something will change with your brother!”
He finally shows me his smile and takes off his sunglasses, this time for real. He has deep blue eyes, they fit his face very well. “Well, I suppose having a chat about it was good for me too. Can I get your name, miss?”
He said it in such a lovely way, I guess he can be a gentleman. “I’m Irene, nice to meet you!”
He gets up and puts his sunglasses back on (only one pair). “Well, I should be going now. Thank you for having me, lovely Irene.”
And with a smile on his face, Noah left the café, leaving me to wait for the next client.

This is quite a rare sight. The client that walked through the door this time is a special kind of person that I don’t get to meet often: it’s a small kid. I don’t know if it’s just a coincidence, but I only got to serve kids a handful of times. They’re so much fun, though!
“Where am I?”
I squat to get to his height. “Hello! This is my café and you got here because you’re having a very special dream! Come in, you can get everything you want!”
“Whoaaa, really?! Yippie!”
The kid has medium long blond hair and light blue eyes, a pair of wolf ears, which aren’t uncommon among the people who end up here, and he’s wearing denim overalls with a light brown shirt under it. Pretty much a normal kid, nothing to note, unlike a certain tough guy. He’s a very polite and cheerful kid, he got to the table swiftly but without running, and sat all properly, without putting his shoes on the seat, although I had to help him to get on a cushion since he can’t reach the table.
“What’s your name, miss manager?”
Aww, he’s so cute! “My name is Irene! What’s yours?”
“I’m Milo!”
“That’s a very nice name, Milo!”
He gives me the biggest smile I’ve seen in a long while, “thank you, I like yours too!”
I sit beside him. I won’t offer him the cappuccino, it’s probably too soon for him to tell me any meaningful story. Instead, I want to pamper him for a bit! “What can I bring you, Milo? Can you read the menu?”
Still with his big smile, he replies, “I’m learning! This is… cho… co… la… te! I want this!”
“Hot chocolate, is that good?”
He nods, “yes, please!”
“Alright, hot chocolate for our special guest Milo!”

While I prepared his hot chocolate and tried to cool it down a bit so he could handle it, he tried to read the whole menu. He’s such a good kid!
“Here’s the hot chocolate for Milo! Would you like a dessert too?”
“Mhh… only if you eat it with me!”
Oh my, he’s way too cute!! “Sure! Then can I suggest this hazelnut cream cake?”
He nods way too cutely, “yes, my daddy loves hazelnut!”
I take two slices of cake from the fridge and bring them to the table, meanwhile he looks like he’s loving the hot chocolate. “How old are you, Milo?”
He makes the number six with his hands, “I’m this old!”
“Whoa, you’re a big boy!”
“How old are you, miss Irene?”
“Hmm, I’m around two thousand and half years old!”
He makes a lovely expression of surprise, “wow, that’s a very very biiig number! Did you see the dinosaurs too?”
I chuckle a bit, “I didn’t, the dinosaurs lived waaay before I was born!”
“Wow, I didn’t know that! I’ll have to tell my teacher!”
I wonder if he’ll remember this when he wakes up, but I don’t mind, the adults will play along. “Sure, you’ll learn a lot! Do you like studying?”
“I do, my mommy says I’m very curious! Hey, miss Irene, since you’re very old, are you not a normal person like me?”
I guess he means to ask if I’m human. Most people don’t ask because it’s not particularly noticeable unless you start wondering about my eyes, but he’s a kid, so I guess it’s expected, I know he doesn’t want to be impolite. “Nope, I’m not human like you!”
He tilts his head like a puppy, and his wolf ears make the comparison even more fitting. “What are you then, miss Irene? I thought only humans could talk.”
“Mhh… I guess you could say I’m a very ancient robot, made before electricity and computers existed.”
“Whoa, that’s so cool! Can you tell me more?”
He really is curious! I don’t mind, “sure! Have you ever heard of the ancient greeks at school?”

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