#someone get this man twenty espresso shots he's gonna need them
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has this joke been done yet
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk fanart#jjk s2 spoilers#jjk season 2#jjk s2#jogo#kenjaku#geto suguru#but not really#sorry LOL. Shibuya Arc grindset baybee#had to do this meme at some point and the terrible terrible thought simply came to me#Cursed Spirits gang is all just vibes and chill meanwhile there's Jogo. token sufferer#someone get this man twenty espresso shots he's gonna need them
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the closing shift
summary: coffeeshop au babey!! spencer and reader are nerds in love who also work at the campus cafe together (spencer reid x fem!reader)
word count: 2.7k
author’s note: this one’s for u, anon!!! sorry if this is lame, i normally don’t like coffeeshop au’s but here we are. also a warning: there is a lot of doctor who junk in here and also it’s incredibly self-indulgent but i don’t care :)
“So what you’re saying is you don’t like the power of love and human goodness?”
Spluttering frustratedly, Spencer frowned at you, “Of course, that’s not what I’m saying. I just think that the special effects were cheesy and the plot was sometimes a little silly!”
You narrowed your eyes at him for a moment before relenting with a sigh, focusing back on the counter you were wiping down. “Okay, fine. I’ll admit that the Slitheen really did not look good, and that maybe ‘Love and Monsters’ was one of the stupidest episodes of television I’ve ever watched, but you have to admit that Ten’s monologue in ‘The Satan Pit’ was one of the best pieces of writing in the whole show. ‘If I believe in one thing, I believe in her?’ How were you not screaming at your TV when you watched that!”
Spencer lips curled into a small smile as you continued rambling and absent-mindedly cleaning the counter. You were not doing a very good job, but he wasn’t about to stop your spiel. It wasn’t often he was on the receiving end of a ramble, and as someone who was frequently told to shut up, he would never interrupt, especially when it was about his favorite show. Especially when it was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. No, he’d sit quietly and listen, thank you very much.
“Okay,” she brought her full attention back to Spencer. “I’ll forgive you for your horrible offence. If you take back what you said.”
She looked so intently in his eyes, so sincerely his knees wobbled a little. The full force of her attention was like the sun. He felt warm inside and out, but he might be burned from the intensity of its direct glare.
“Fine, season two of Doctor Who is not a complete abomination.”
The corner of her mouth quirked up in a satisfied smirk. “Well, thank you, Dr. Reid. I appreciate the kind words.”
He nodded, turning to the back room. He’d almost made it through the doorway before he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “But season eight is better.”
A melodramatic gasp, and he felt a rag hit the back of his head, and he chuckled.
“You take that back, Spencer Reid!”
Making his way further in, his fingers found the knot behind his back, quickly untying and shrugging off the apron. “(Y/N), I only speak the truth. I’m a man of science, and science says that season eight is simply superior.”
You laughed along with him, murmuring grievances against this idiot genius. You reached behind yourself, fingers fumbling with the knot. After a couple unsuccessful attempts, you huffed and asked, “Hey, Spencer, do you think you could help me with my apron? I tied the stupid thing too tightly.”
He gulped, mumbling a sure thing in a way he hoped was nonchalant, but knowing himself, was anything but. Walking up behind you, he felt himself involuntarily shudder at your proximity, and he said a silent prayer to a god he didn’t believe in to try to keep his cool. You felt his fingers brush against your lower back, and you tried, gosh, you tried so hard to not audibly gasp (you’re not sure you succeeded). The brief contact unfortunately flooded your mind with thoughts about his long fingers that you had often admired (discreetly), and you thought about what it’d be like for him to touch you and for him to mean it, and you nearly passed out. The silence was deafening, which was funny because it seemed like you two could never shut up around each other, and the one time you needed to fill the tense air with something, there was nothing.
Finally finished with the knot, Spencer softly tapped your back twice with his index. “All done.” It came out as a whisper. He couldn’t have managed more.
“Thanks!” You spoke at normal volume and tried to put you back into regular conversation, but breaking the eerie quiet, it sounded like you were shouting.
He shot you a tight-lipped smile. “Are you all good to close up?”
“Yeah, I can hold down the fort,” you said rather breathlessly, returning his smile.
Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he pushed open the back door and waved. “See you Thursday!”
“See ya.”
As soon as the door shut, you heaved a sigh of relief and let the tension out of your shoulders, staring at the ground. You dug the heels of your palms into your eyes. Why did you freeze up like that? Why was it weird when he left? Why did you like him so much?
———
Thursday was Spencer’s favorite day of the week. The dining hall stocked chocolate donuts with rainbow sprinkles on Thursdays. He had his chemistry seminar with his favorite professor on Thursdays. Caltech’s chess club met on Thursdays. He worked his shift at The Campus Grind on Thursdays.
(You worked the same shift at The Campus Grind on Thursdays.)
Did Spencer really need a job? No, his education was entirely paid for by the school because when you have a child prodigy on your hands, you should try to keep them. And he lived in on-campus housing and ate on campus, and he didn’t have a lot of other expenses. But his advisor told him that he might get something out of doing a job that didn’t require 100% of his brain power, might get to rest his mind for a couple hours every week. He might also make a friend.
What he had not anticipated when he started at one of the various campus cafes was meeting you. He showed up to his first shift and nearly choked when he saw arguably the most beautiful girl he had ever met in the backroom putting on an apron. Your eyes lit up when you saw him. “Hey, you must be Spencer! I saw our names together on the schedule a couple times, looks like we’re gonna be work buddies!”
By the time you turned back to speak to your guys’ new manager, he noticed his jaw was completely slack, and he hoped his mouth had not been hanging too long. He also blacked out too long to ask for your name, which he was internally hitting himself over. And he hazily drifted through the training, his mind barely focusing on the coffee. To say he was distracted by the girl next to him and the way she smelled like coconuts and cotton was a major understatement. Times like these were humbling for a twenty-year-old with two and a half PhDs.
He could barely recall anything that happened until they were cleaning out the espresso machine together silently, and he was struck with a sudden need. “Hey, I never caught your name…”
“Right! My name is (Y/N),” she answered, offering him a grin.
“It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).”
Neither spoke after that, both working quietly next to each other. Spencer sighed internally, he wasn’t sure what he expected, but he hoped they wouldn’t spend the semester in silence. And like some higher power was listening to his wishes, you turned to him, “So, Spencer, what are you majoring in?”
Hesitant to scare you off, he tiptoed around the subject. “Right now, I’m studying chemistry.”
“Right now?”
He glanced over at you, and despite knowing you for the entirety of ten minutes, he couldn’t deny you or the inquisitive gleam in your eye even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to. “I’m working on my PhD in chemistry. I already have two in mathematics and engineering. Oh, and I have two BA’s in psychology and sociology.” He couldn’t help but feel a little guilty at the dumbfounded look on your face, and he swallowed harshly. “Um, uh—what uh, what are you studying?”
You let out a brief laugh, and for a moment, he cringed, wondering if you were laughing at him. But just a look at you and the tenderness of your features, he knew he had nothing to worry about. Blowing a puff of air out, you grinned gently, “Well, your PhD’s are putting my bachelor’s to shame, so I’m not sure I want to say.”
“No, I’m sure whatever you’re studying is cool,” he reassured you.
Pleasantly surprised by the humility of your new genius coworker, you continued, “I appreciate it. I tend to err on the side of the humanities, not much of a STEM gal myself, and right now,” you both chuckled at your little joke, “I’m studying history and political science.”
“So am I standing in the presence of a future lawyer, or maybe the next president of the United States?”
“Good question, but I’m not sure. Would you vote for me?”
Squinting at you for a moment, he nodded slowly, “Yeah, I think I would. You’ve got a kind face.”
You raised your eyebrows at that, trying to suppress a blush. “A kind face?”
“Yeah,” he hummed, eyes flicking over your face. You felt shy under his gaze; it’s not everyday a hot genius boy stares you down and tells you you have a ‘kind face.’
Ducking your head, you fought a smile. “Alright, I’ll take it.”
And from then on, something clicked. You and Spencer talked for hours and hours during your shifts, joking and teasing (and grinning and blushing). He looked forward to working because that meant a chance to see you. (Except for Mondays, that was the one shift you didn’t have together, and it made Spencer want to scream. The dude he worked with, Andy, was nice enough, but the hours seemed to drag on when he didn’t have you to discuss weird sci-fi movies with.)
He was particularly looking forward to this Thursday because he knew you had a big presentation in your class about African revolution, and he wanted to hear all about it. In the brief moments of spare time at the cafe, he had helped you prepare and had listened to bits and pieces of it. This morning he’d sent you a quick good luck! text, to which you’d responded with thanks!!! and a stream of various heart emojis. He had learned early on that you were very fond of emojis, but it never stopped his heart from skipping a beat when you’d send him little hearts and smileys.
Entering the back room, he set his backpack on a hook and started to get ready for his shift. He gave a quick wave to the people from the last shift as they left, and he felt a little worry boiling in his gut because if they had left, that meant you were late, and you were never late. He wondered if something had happened in your presentation, and he was filled with dread. Solitarily manning the counter, he was ensnared in his thoughts; he couldn’t stand the idea of something going wrong and you being upset, so upset that you couldn’t come to work. He shifted uncomfortably, hand itching to grab his phone and send you a text to see if you were okay when he heard a door slam and a shriek from the backroom. “Spencer!”
Immediately, he ran to the back, expecting the worst, and he nearly fell over when you ran at him full-speed to launch into a hug. “Oof—” He recovered though, catching you, and he wrapped his arms around you so tightly and cradled the back of your head in his hand. His heart stuttered. He could get used to this.
You buried your face into his neck. “Oh, Spencer, you won’t believe it. My presentation went so well! My professor held me after class and told me I was one of his brightest students, and oh, I just don’t believe it!” He felt your face warm against him as you gushed.
“I believe it, I don’t doubt it for a second. You are so smart, (Y/N). I’m so proud of you. You deserve it.”
Breathing him in for just a moment longer, you finally released him, and both of you thought how everything feels a little emptier now that you weren’t holding each other. He couldn’t help but beam at you, though.
“Really, (Y/N), I’m so proud of you.”
“Hey, I can’t take all the credit! It’s all thanks to you being patient enough to hear me blabber on and practice, so thank you, Dr. Reid.”
He got incredibly flustered at the title and hesitated over his next words before settling on a soft anytime. And he meant it.
———
The rest of your shift that day was less eventful. You recounted some of the highlights of your presentation, to which Spencer listened with rapture. There was some discussion of who was at chess club today and if anyone there was a true match for Spencer (no one was). You played your favorite game called “Who Can Make the Most Disgusting Drink Out of Four Ingredients?” (You won with a mixture of coffee, coffee grounds, an excessive amount of salt, and raspberry syrup. (Ew, (Y/N) why is it grainy?)) And now nearing midnight, you sat at one end of the bar reading your textbook while Spencer cleaned up various mugs and napkins. He snagged the broom from the backroom and began sweeping. With a quick glance up at you focused entirely on your book, he smiled softly. Pieces of your hair had drifted out from behind your ears and framed your face, and the apples of your cheeks were flushed. To put it simply, you looked ethereal, and Spencer didn’t think it should be possible for someone to look so beautiful at the end of a long day, but here you were, always defying expectations. He thought you looked like someone from those Renaissance paintings you loved so dearly, but he knew that even if someone tried to commit your grace to canvas, it’d be to no avail. He was sure no one would be able to do you justice.
Looking down at the floor he was supposed to be sweeping, he let his thoughts wander farther. He thought about what it would be like to hold you everyday like he did today. He’d be the luckiest man on Earth, that’s what. For so long he thought about asking you out, but then he knew that someone like you would never be interested in someone like him. But then again, you were the impossible girl. You never did quite what he expected. And he never expected you to be into him. So maybe for once in his life, he’d go out on a limb and ask you if you wanted to go get dinner with him sometime. He’d take you to the Indian place on 12th that he knew you loved, and you’d sit in the oddly formal, always empty restaurant and laugh and giggle together because that’s what you always did together, and then maybe, he’d invite you back to his place, so you could watch Doctor Who, or maybe do other things (like hold hands), who knows?
He found himself praying to that god he didn’t believe in once again to find the courage as he finished up sweeping, and after he put the broom away, he walked up to you with butterflies running rampant in his stomach, so he could barely muster a glance at you. But he was going to finally do it.
“(Y/N), I —”
And that’s when he noticed that you had fallen asleep on your book. It had been a long day for you. He felt his heart grow tender and soft and if someone poked it, it very well might explode. His thoughts strayed to your conversation the other day and the quote you loved so much. I've seen fake gods and bad gods and demi-gods and would-be gods, and out of all that, out of that whole pantheon, if I believe in one thing, just one thing, I believe in her. He takes a step or two closer, and brushing a lock of hair behind your ear with the gentlest hand, he thinks, yeah. I believe in her.
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid#do people read things at 2 in the morning?#lets hope so!#bc that's the only time i write :)#my sleep schedule is not :) good :)
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Ear Defenders
Summary: Since his parents kicked him out Remus has feared being rejected by his soulmate, despite anything Roman or his soulmate can say.
After all, what else could follow words like "Dudes, if you were any louder I'd be putting my ear defenders on just to get past.”
AN: I don’t think there’s any warnings needed beyond food mentions, but let me know and I’ll try to remember.
Ships: Dukexiety, background Roceit
/\/\/\/\
Remus had faced rejection all his life. His fascination with injuries was morbid and obsession with butts disgusting; He'd heard it all. Sometimes people would claim it was to do with personal hygiene or the insane attention seeking he did, but Remus was never seeking attention, just doing the things he thought would bring joy in the moment.
For years it was fine that people left him behind. He could make new friends and would someday meet his soulmate who put the words on his wrist from their first future meeting. The universe had promised him he wouldn't see everyone leave. Even Roman believed in that, no matter how much they argued about his inability to quietly fit in at school.
Then their parents kicked him out the day he turned twenty with parting words harsh enough to shake his faith to the core. “You're so immature we doubt even your soulmate will stick around beyond your first words.” The yelling and arguments Roman came out with then and would lecture about anytime the day came up ever after couldn't stop his fear of being rejected forming, but at least it sustained the confidence to be himself that Remus had always carried and for a month tried to ignore and suppress.
With each friend he lost and co-worker who ignored him, Remus's fear grew, after all if these people who didn't have such a lifetime connection didn't give him a chance for 5 minutes why would someone whose first words would be complaining about the noise do so?
Roman did stick around, insisting on it and joining in with some of Remus's ideas. Occasionally he, or his soulmate when they met, would try to tame them enough to be safer but it felt like an empty comfort to have peace with the brother he used to war with. Despite all of Roman's and Janus's attempts they couldn't return the faith lost about his soulmates abandonment. No fairy-tales or classic novels could help someone so isolated from the world he only had two people to talk to most of the time.
/\/\
It was on one of the days that Remus had been dragged away from his work and his rubbish that he found hope again. The litter picker had been locked away by Janus while Roman distracted him so he couldn't start working while they were out. He was still wondering about changing jobs and just keeping the rubbish collection as a hobby; Surely he could be loud on a building site.
The thought was pushed aside by Roman starting to sing Beauty and the Beast. Of course Remus had to improve the lyrics then, nobody needed to hear something so saccharine as that.
“Dudes, if you were any louder I'd be putting my ear defenders on just to get past.” The words cut through everything, freezing Remus in place as he registered the building site next to where they were passing and a guy leaving it watching them. The biggest realisation though was that he'd just heard the words from his wrist spoken aloud and the person's expression wasn't happy.
He was on the verge of tears before he could remember how to speak again. “Please stay long enough to talk. I can be quiet I swear. I think you're my soul.”
Peripherally he could see Janus stopping Roman from speaking, but all his fears rested on the face of alarm and concern now directed at him. “I've got an hours lunch break, but if you give me your number we could carry on texting after that and meet up later?” The words seemed carefully chosen, possibly rehearsed, but they were enough to make Remus want to leap up the walls. “And you don't need to be quiet, Dude. Noise is pretty good generally.”
“Really? But only – Nobody – Everyone -” There was so many things Remus wanted to say all at once but he couldn't get any of them out, tears beginning to fall in the sudden rush of hope.
A tissue being shoved into his hand reminded him of his brothers presence. “I think what Remus is trying to say is aside from Janus and I most people do leave him so thank you for giving him the chance.” Roman attempted to interpret, not entirely successful but close enough.
“We don't need a chaperone, thanks. I deal with my own anxiety enough to be patient with someone else's.” Remus's soulmate snarked back, now holding a hand towards him. “And something to eat generally helps after a whirlwind of emotions, if you'd like yo join me?”
Of course Remus took the hand, overjoyed to be led away. “I'm Remus, He/him. Who are you, My Soul?”
“Virgil, he/him, and do you need some breathing exercises? You've been like swapping from not breathing to hyperventilating since I spoke.” The offer and raised eyebrow glance assessing him made Remus realise just how fast he was breathing.
“Please.” He'd been pulled into a sandwich shop now but Virgil ignored the guy hurrying behind the counter to sit Remus down and help him.
It took a few minutes before his breathing calmed and the bouncing from excitement began. “Can I buy you lunch, Virgie?” He offered, glancing for a way to stay with his soulmate as long as he could.
Being answered with a head-shake dampened his hopes to be helpful though, until Virgil spoke, “Only if you can promise me this isn't part of you trying to behave so I'll stay. Whomever Remus is beyond your fears is who I want to know and I'm happy to wait and reassure until you're comfortable to show him to me. I'm staying; no need to try and earn that.”
Remus gasped at the sincerity and comfort being so freely offered, before actually pausing to think. “I was gonna buy my bro and Janjan lunch today anyway. Lot more fun to buy my soul his even if I can't sabotage it.”
“Then I'll have a hot chocolate with a ham and cheese baguette.” Virgil relaxed back into his seat, finally letting go of Remus's hands though he couldn't say when they'd been taken. Remus had to grin at the snickers he got from walking backwards to the counter.
Virgil was still snickering when he came back with their drinks and this time nothing slightly odd had been done consciously to cause it. “I've not got froth on my nose yet. What's so funny?”
“Re, what on earth did you order to make Sunglasses look so horrified?”
“I wanted as many espresso shots as possible so I can fight the universe and 2 of the most sugary, e-number filled thing they sell so we can get sugar rushes too!” Remus nodded, certain it made sense as he swapped the way the drinks were placed down 9 times before deciding he'd got it right.
Virgil watched the move with a still amused smirk before shrugging. “I'm the first aider for my site so I can patch you up afterwards.” He said, sending electric shocks of relief flinging themselves through Remus. “But other than fighting galactic entities and shocking servers what do you do?”
Most people on the Cities Cleansing team would insist on using their actual job title, saying it sounded more professional, others just stayed down to earth and called a spade a spade; then there was Remus is his own league, “I steal people's rubbish and make treasures out of it all, sometimes hidden safely at the dump!”
“Sounds like you're more than equipped to fight gods then. How would you describe being a builder?” Remus had expected disgust or dismissal but was met with a small smile and curiosity. He had to tap his knee harder to get the happy energy out somehow.
“Committing atrocities against natural habitats or giving purpose to the city areas people look away from. Depends if you work on inner city used sites or areas out taking over farmland.”
Even Janus disliked his descriptions of the jobs people claimed as vital, but Virgil just snorted, nodding along. “Too right. The rich man says build here and people just wanting to survive the month have to follow. I do try to avoid the areas building on new land when I can at least.” Virgil broke off, looking around as though wanting something else to say, before frowning. “No fighting the capitalist regime alone though. One person is too easy for companies to disappear. Best to talk people into unions and protests instead.”
Remus couldn't help but cackle at the remark. After all the years of rejection it was impossible to believe Virgil was real, actually feeding into his ideas and encouraging him. “You're really not going to leave me? I can have your number?” The thought spilt out as soon as he thought over how happy this hour was for him.
“If you give me your phone I can add my number to it now and you already know where I work for the next months if you just want to appear randomly.” Virgil offered, extending his hand across the table. “We could do lunch dates as long as you're okay just sitting by the fountain since I usually bring a packed lunch. I just wasn't awake enough to make it this morning.”
The hour disappeared from them far too quickly, with Remus cackling through it almost more than speaking. Even as they walked back to Virgil's building site they were talking and getting to know each other, only just spotting Roman and Janus approaching from the opposite direction.
Remus ignored them through their farewells and after, standing watching the entrance shut before opening his phone to just stare are the new contact added. “He's staying.” Remus wasn't one for reverence but his voice in that moment was filled with it.
“He's your soulmate.” Roman stated, smiling. There was a relief in Roman's voice that for years Remus would call out given how certain his brother had acted that soulmates don't leave.
“He doesn't even care about the taste combinations I love! Or even my ideas and ways of describing everything!” He threw himself between Janus and Roman, grabbing their hands and recounting absolutely every detail of Virgil from the last hour. At least they'd stop him from breaking in anywhere.
The hand holding didn't last long when he heard a text alert.
'Got tickets to a friends concert on Friday. You coming?'
The world could leave Remus behind but with his soulmate inviting him on a date that was fine with him.
#dukexiety#remus sanders#virgil sanders#soulmate au#hurt/ comfort#roman sanders#Janus Sanders#roceit
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Love Notes | Connor Brashier
A/n: I would like to thank the person in the dorm next to me for inspiring this meet cute situation. *there might be a part 2 or a blurb to follow this because there is a specific part that isn’t in here that I promised Rina.
Summary: someone on your floor has been playing piano and you can’t not love it. (college!AU)
Warnings: none
Word count: 3.5k
***
It’s been one of those days. You know the one where you’re awake, you’re alive, but you can’t seem to focus on anything. You’re going through the motions, but you can’t sit still, can’t pay attention in your lecture, can’t get yourself to work on a homework assignment for more than five whole minutes. Yeah, it’s one of those. I’ve been alternating between scrolling through my phone and working on this five page essay that’s due Friday that I currently only have an introduction for. Well… if you consider two sentences an introduction. My professor definitely would not.
I sigh and toss my phone on my bed, where it bounces and lands on the floor with a loud thud. I groan and run my hands over my face, maybe I just need caffeine. However, getting said caffeine would mean walking all the way across campus for a $5 cup from Starbucks that definitely would not keep me awake without a few extra espresso shots. It’s not worth it. But then again, maybe the walk outside would do me good. (Not that it did this morning when I was walking to class.)
I’m grabbing my shoes from my closet when the first note fills the room. And then the second and the third. At first, I think I’m imagining it, maybe it’s coming from my computer, but then I remember that I didn’t have music on. The notes get faster, louder, almost more aggressive, like the person playing them is pushing harder on the keys. But it still sounds so pretty - I might be a little biased though because I’ve always been a sucker for piano. I’ve always wanted to learn how to play too, but I never had the chance to take classes.I stand there for a while, just listening. It’s so pretty, soothing.
It takes me a minute too long to figure out what the song is, because every time I think I have it, I’m wrong. But it’s a popular song. Not new though. At least a few years old. One that was played on every radio station for months and months. Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran, I finally decide. And that’s when the melody comes to me and I find myself humming along to it. And that’s when I realize that I’ve finally focused on something for more than a second.
The notes continue to fill the room as I look over at my abandoned paper. Their fingers on the keys though, are slowing down just as I sit in my chair, convinced that if they just keep playing a little bit longer, I can get through maybe half of this essay. And much to my delight, they do keep playing once they finish the other song. It stops for just a moment though, probably to think of another one to play. This one I don’t recognize at all, but it’s soothing and while they continue to heat each beautiful, melodic note, I type away at my computer.
My two sentences quickly become ten, then fifteen, then twenty, then thirty and I’m on a roll. Before I know it, I’m working my way down my third page and the playing still hasn’t stopped. To anyone else this is probably the most annoying thing to hear, because who in their right mind would be playing the piano for, I glance at my clock, an hour and fifteen minutes straight? And I definitely don’t have an answer. At least not right now. But I’m gonna find one. I close my laptop and shove my feet in the shoes I had taken out of my closet earlier. I don’t close my door completely when I step out of my room, knowing that I’ll go back in just as soon as I find the source of the notes. They get louder as I make my way down the hallway. I stop in front of the door where I’m 99.9% sure the music is coming from. Room 1327.
Cautiously, I press my ear against the door and am once again met with the aggressive taps on the keyboard. I take in a deep breath and nod before heading quickly back to my room. I grab a stack of sticky notes from my desk and a sharpie. I scribble out a few words and then rush back out to the room. Half of me says not to do this. To leave it alone. But the other half of me says that whoever lives behind that door needs to be told that they play beautifully. Which is exactly what the note you stick on their door says. Just three simple words and a smiley face.
‘You play beautifully. :)’
And with that I go back to your room to grab my bag and keys, now in desperate need of that caffeine I was craving only an hour ago. I lock the door behind me and head to the main exit, opposite of what is going to easily become my favorite room, if they continue to play like they are now. I open the door to the closing notes of “The Scientist.”
When I come back, much later than I anticipated (but I guess that’s what happens when you go to the only open Starbucks on campus at eight at night, with an abundance of due dates fast approaching.) my eyes are threatening to close on me - despite the two extra espresso shots I added to my order. I don’t notice it until I’m at my door, key in the lock, that the music hasn’t stopped. And being the oh-so nosy person I am, I make my way down to the magical room 1327 and notice my note is missing. I smile softly and I hope - selfishly - that they play just long enough for me to fall asleep.
I trudge back into my room and the first thing I notice is all the lights are on, which means my roommate, Tara, is back. She’s not a huge fan of the dark when alone, always keeping at least two of the lights on when I’m not in the room. She’s laying on her side, with her phone in her hand and her earphones in. I move farther into the room, turning off the bathroom light on my way to my desk. I set my bag on my chair and toss my keys on the smooth, although kinda crowded, desktop. She sits up, pulling her earphones out. “Hey.”
“Hey, sorry I’m back so late. Starbucks was packed. And then I ran into one of my friends and we got a bite to eat.”
“It’s okay. Do you hear that?” She asks quickly.
“Hear what?”
“The piano. Do you hear it?”
“Oh that? Yeah, they were playing before I left.”
“Yeah, well they’ve been playing for almost two hours now. Nonstop. It’s driving me crazy.”
I shrug and reach for a fresh pair of pajamas, “I don’t know. I think it sounds nice. I’m gonna go shower.”
I don’t hear the music in the bathroom, but that’s definitely because I’m playing my own, needing something that could wake me up just enough for me to get through my shower without passing out from complete exhaustion. I’m disappointed to find that the notes are no longer filling the room when I get out of the bathroom. It’s strange, but I already kinda miss them.
---
Mystery piano person continues to play for the next week, sometimes repeating songs from the day before, but mostly playing new ones. I wonder if they knew these all previously or if they’re just learning as they go. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, but that could just depend on the difficulty of the song, I guess. I tug on the sleeves of my jacket, pulling it off my shoulders before going to my desk to write another note for the piano person.
‘Still beautiful. But aren’t you scared your fingers will fall off with all that tapping? Lol :)’
I leave the room to put the note on their door when I notice one already there. I scrunch up my face. The one I left yesterday was already gone by the time I got back to the dorm last night, and it was written on an obnoxiously bright pink sticky note. This one, however, is blue. I don’t want to be nosy, but I can’t help but read it when I go to place mine.
‘Thanks for the notes. Glad you like it. Have a favorite so far?’
I stare at the writing for a while, it’s scribbly, and small (half of the sticky note is left untouched), but legible enough. It’s Part of me thinks I shouldn’t reply. Because if it’s not for me then that would be totally awkward. But if it is, it would be rude not to answer, right? I scurry back to my room to get a pen. I’ll answer, I decide. There’s no reason not to.
‘Yellow - Coldplay’
The music stops on the other side and I quickly run back to my room, not wanting to get caught. Because sure this isn’t wrong or anything, but some part of it feels… intrusive. I hear the door opening just as I’m shutting mine and I so desperately want to peek out and see who mystery piano person is, but that would give me away as well. And even though we live on the same floor, I’ve hardly met anyone that wasn’t Tara and a few girls that lived down the hall, and I’m not quite ready for that yet.
---
It goes on like this for another two weeks, passing notes back and forth. Him asking for feedback - I usually have none. He thinks I’m lying, says there’s always room for improvement. I tell him that since I don’t have a background in music, I have no room to judge. He asks if he can teach me. I tell him maybe someday.
‘Okay Yellow, we’ve been at this for weeks. You gonna tell me your name yet?’
I smile at the nickname.
‘Not today, piano man. Soon.’
‘Fine. But you know my room number. Can I have that at least?’
I think it over. It seems only fair that he knows that.
‘1320.’
The note is not on his door the next day. It’s on mine. But I don’t respond to this one. I don’t have time.
And when I get back to my room later in the evening, the note was still there, untouched, unanswered. And even though I wanted to, I didn’t have the energy to respond. I was spent. It was one of the rougher days. One thing just piling on top of the other until it’s like that one chair that has all your clothes on it that’s not necessarily dirty, but you wore it for a few hours so it’s not clean enough to hang back up. You know the chair that becomes the biggest fucking inconvenience when you need to work at your desk so you have to throw all the clothes on your bed only to throw it back on the chair when you want to lay down.
Yeah, my day was pretty much that chair. I woke up late thanks to my alarm that just didn’t go off? So I was running really late, and I had to sprint to my first class, and I was still late. Then when I went to get coffee, the line was long, and when I finally got my drink I had a total of two sips before someone bumped into me and I dropped the cup on the ground outside the building of my next class. Then there was a pop quiz in said class that I’m quite sure I failed because I don’t think our professor had even covered half of what was on that test. Then my phone died and in my rush to get to class, I left my charger in the dorm. And the cherry on top of this already melting sundae, I locked myself out of my room. I swore I had it when I was leaving, but as I retrace my steps, I remember leaving it right there on the bathroom counter. And it’s just my luck that Tara won’t be back until after midnight tonight because she’s closing at work. I let out a loud groan and take a seat across from my door, legs crossed in front of me.
I know I should work on my homework that’s due at the end of the week (in literally just two days, actually) but my computer is on the verge of dying too, so there’s no point. I pull out the book I’ve had stuffed in my bag for days, in hopes of finding some time to read it. I guess with nothing to do for the next four and a half hours, I could read.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting there, but I notice about ninety pages in that the familiar sound of piano man is not filling my ears.
“Locked out?” Someone says, the first one that I’ve seen come down the hallway since I’ve been here actually. I knew this floor was pretty dead, but I didn’t ever notice that it was this dead.
I chuckle bitterly, “Yeah. Just a little bit.”
“Is your roommate on their way?”
I shake my head, “No, she won’t be back until late.”
“Did you call the RA on duty?”
I hold up my phone which rested beside me - habit, I guess, to take it out of my back pocket in case I get notifications, “Phone’s dead.”
“You can use mine, if you’d like.”
I shake my head, “No, it’s okay. Thank you.”
“Well, it’s cold out here. Why don’t you come to my room? You can charge your phone and get off this dusty floor that I don’t think has been cleaned since we got back from break,” he says light-heartedly.
I can’t help but laugh, “You have a point there. Okay… sure. But I have to ask you something first.”
“Shoot,” he holds his hand out to help me off the ground.
“What’s your name?”
He looks down with an embarrassed smile on his face. “I’m Connor. And you are…?”
“Y/n.”
“Well, y/n. It’s nice to meet you. Uh, my room’s this way.” He takes the lead and I sling my bag over my shoulder. I think my heart stops when we get to his room. Room 1327. Fuck.
He frowns for a second, looking from his door to mine just once before opening the door. “After you,” he pushes the door open and I smile sheepishly before entering. Sure enough, there’s a keyboard against the far wall, where the window overlooks campus. The odd number rooms definitely got the better views. I stand awkwardly near the wall, allowing him to walk through and set his stuff down.
“You can sit down. Let me just, move some of this stuff real quick,” he takes his towel off his desk chair and takes his shoes from under the desk, throwing them carelessly to the corner. “Sorry, it’s a little bit messy. It’s laundry day tomorrow, so there’s shit everywhere. Please, sit.” He gestures to the chair and I do, setting my bag down next to me, leaning against one of the legs of the desk. “Do you want something to drink? I have water and… no that’s about it. I need to go grocery shopping, too.” He laughs.
“Thanks, Connor. But I’m fine.”
“Okay,” he nods, sitting down at the stool in front of the keyboard. “Oh! Charger,” he stands up and goes over to his nightstand. “May I?” he holds his hand out and I nod, handing him my phone from my back pocket. “Sorry, I’d plug it in over there, but that outlet is fucked. Hasn’t worked since I moved in here.”
“No, it’s fine, really.”
Slowly he makes his way back to the keyboard, facing me, away from the setting sun. I spare a glance behind him and notice the bright pink sticky notes that rest on the wall beside the window. They’re my notes, every single one of them. I clear my throat. “Um, I’m assuming you’re the one who’s been playing the past few weeks.”
He cringes, “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s just how I’ve been destressing recently. It’s probably been getting on everyone’s nerves.”
“Not everyone’s… you play beautifully.”
He doesn’t say anything for a second, and then clears his throat, looking down at his feet. “Uh, thanks.”
“How long have you been playing?”
“It’s actually a pretty recent hobby. My friend started teaching me like last March, I think. And then I started watching a lot of videos on YouTube and I got pretty good at it, I guess. I mean, I won’t be selling out any arenas or anything like that.”
I laugh softly, “Well, I would definitely buy a ticket.”
I swear I see his cheeks tint pink, “Do you play?” He asks, avoiding the compliment.
“No,” I shake my head. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have a musical bone in my body.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Oh it is. I uh, I auditioned for my school musical in like fifth grade. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone cover their ears so quickly.” I laugh and his eyes crinkle at the sides as he tries his hardest not to. “It was definitely not one of my shining moments. Yeah, I told myself that day not to even think about starting a career in music.”
“Were you singing?”
I nod.
“Okay, well singing isn’t playing. And if you ask me, the notes, the chords, that’s what makes the music, not the words. Although those are important too.”
“Can you sing?”
“My shower head hasn’t told me to stop yet.” he jokes. And when I laugh, genuinely this time, he just watches me for a minute. “So you like yellow,” he says, turning to face the keyboard.
“I’m sorry?”
“The song. You said it was your favorite one that I’ve played.”
I sigh, “What gave me away?”
“‘You play beautifully.’”
“Well, it’s true. However, my preference did change since you last asked me. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you now play yellow at least twice every day.”
He’s really blushing now. “Gotta keep the audience happy.” His fingers press gently over the keys not settling on a melody yet. “What’s your new favorite then?”
“You played ‘happier’’ the other day. I’ve never heard it on piano like that. I really liked it.”
He nods and starts playing the opening notes to it. “Now, I told you I wasn’t a singer,” he looks back at me, “but I’ll try it just for my biggest fan.”
I roll my eyes, “Oh shut up.”
“‘When the morning comes and we see what we’ve become, in the cold light oh na na na na na na na na…’ definitely don’t know those words.” He smiles and I think my heart melts at the sight. “‘Every argument, every word we can’t take back. Cause with all that has happened, I think that we both know the way that this story ends.’”
He continues through the song, but doesn’t continue singing after the first chorus. I’m sitting here, watching his fingers dance across the keys like they were made for it. He moves his body with each note and I am absolutely mesmerized. I know I’ve always loved piano, but watching him do this makes me love it even more.
“God, you’re perfect.” I mutter when he’s done and immediately cover my mouth because holy fuck, I said that out loud.
“Well, I wouldn’t say perfect.” He turns back to face me. “You’d have to get to know me more before you could make that assumption. And I can guarantee that you will not feel the same way after.”
I shake my head, covering my face with my hands. “I’m sorry. I really did not mean to say that out loud.”
“It’s cool,” he waves it off. “Although, I wasn’t kidding about getting to know me. Because I’d love to get to know you.”
I clear my throat, removing my hands from my face. “Well, I’m free right now,” I say, crossing one leg over the other, this newfound confidence foreign to me.
“Can I take you to dinner? Or to get coffee, if you’ve already eaten.”
“Right now?”
“Why not? You said you’re free, right?”
I nod, “Yeah. Yeah.”
“Okay, then it’s a date.”
“A date?” I question with a raised eyebrow.
“First dates are usually meant to get to know each other, aren’t they? And hopefully this isn’t too forward. But I think I have an idea for our second one too.”
“Oh you do? Well someone’s optimistic.”
“Only when it counts. So, may I?”
“May you what?”
“May I, Connor,” he stands from his seat and holds his hand out to me, “take you, y/n, on a date? Right now?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, “Yeah,” I finally say, placing my hand in his, “Yes, you may.” He pulls me to my feet and we’re so close. He smells nice, clean, with just the slightest hint of cologne that I can’t quite place. But I know it’s easily becoming my favorite scent already.
***
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Got Your Six | Tom Holland | pt 1
series masterlist found here
general masterlist found here
pairing - mob!Tom x reader
word count - 4,257
warnings - language
summary - (Y/N) and her sister, April, think they’re in for a normal day at their family coffee shop, but two, new, intriguing customers come in and change everything.
(next)
“(Y/N), can you make a vanilla latte for Eleanor?”
“I’ve gotta warm up a muffin for Ted.”
“Okay, well, after that?”
“What are you doing?”
“Working register.”
“There’s no one in line, April.”
“But you never know when someone will show up!”
“I hate you.”
My sister, April, stuck her tongue out at me as I rolled my eyes with a smile. The microwave beeped, so I quickly took the chocolate chip muffin out and set it on a plate. I walked it over to one of the tables and gave it to Ted, a 60-or-so-year-old gentleman who was a regular customer at my family’s cafe, Bake and Brew.
Most of our customers were regulars. As one of the only bakeries in the neighborhood that had been running successfully for over twenty years, it made sense that we often knew the people who came in by name.
I worked with my sister, April -younger than me by two years- at the cafe every weekday over the summers from 6:00 in the morning when we opened until noon when our cousins -Robin and Daisy- clocked in. The bakery was a family business. My mom and aunt did more of the booking and keeping things while my dad and uncle did all the baking. We had been running that way since I was 18, so for about four years. It worked well, and my parents were relieved they didn’t need to get down on their hands and knees to convince April and I to keep working, even when we both moved out.
April was pretty much my best friend. It wasn’t that I didn’t have friends in college. It was just that not a lot of them lived in New York like I did. I graduated a month prior, so most of them already moved back to their hometowns. But that was fine by me, because I had April. She had been my right hand (wo)man for my whole life, and when I was with her, I didn’t need anyone else.
Except, as she would so often remind me, a boyfriend. I needed a boyfriend. Or at least she said I needed a boyfriend. I didn’t think I needed anyone. I was quite content being romantically on my own. No one had sparked my interest in that way since high school, and as long as I had my vibrator, I didn’t need a man.
“What about for companionship?” April would always tell me.
“That’s what I have you for,” I would say back.
“Whatever,” she would say with a roll of her eyes. “I’m only gonna break your heart.”
I moved out of my parents house as soon as I turned 18, and April moved in with me two years later. We were a dynamic duo, unstoppable by anyone.
The bell above the cafe door jingled just as I was finishing Eleanor’s latte. I brought it over to her table while April greeted our customers- two boys I didn’t recognize. The first boy was shorter than the second, but not by much. They both had sharp and striking features. The arms of the first boy were more defined than the second, but his eyes weren’t as bright. In fact, his whole vibe was darker. Not the clothes he was wearing, but the impression he was giving off. His jaw was more tense, his eyes darting around more suspiciously. The second boy, however, had his eyes locked on April. And he was smiling. I, like the protective sister I was, went to join her at the counter.
“What can I get started for you boys today?” I asked. April shot me an annoyed look, but I kept my eyes on the boys. Now that I was standing right in front of them with only a counter between us, I could take in more details. The taller boy was wearing dark jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black jacket, while the shorter was wearing a white button up with his sleeves rolled to the elbows and a pair of black slacks. His eyes were dark brown, but the other’s were bright blue. I decided they weren’t brothers.
“Two black coffees,” the shorter boy said at the same time the other said, “What do you recommend?” with his eyes still on April.
“I always like the Americano,” April said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. It was a tell tale sign she was attracted to someone. “It’s basically espresso and hot water. It’s like black coffee but better.”
“I’m sold,” the boy said with a smile. “An Americano for me, and a black coffee for my equally bitter friend here.” He tried to clap the other boy on the shoulder, but he nudged him away with a roll of his eyes.
April rang up their orders while I poured the shorter boy some coffee. “I haven’t seen you two here before,” I said, trying to catch his eye as I handed him his drink. I was suspicious. “We usually know everyone who comes in here.” the shorter boy ignored me, but the taller gave me a smile.
“We don’t usually stop by this end of town,” he explained.
“What brings you by?” April asked, handing him the Americano.
“Just had some business to take care of,” he said. He took a sip of his drink, and his smile widened. I wasn’t sure it was possible, but there he did it before my eyes. I understood why April was charmed, but I was too annoyed with the other boy to really focus on anything else. “This is perfect,” he said, raising his cup a bit. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” April said, the apples of her cheeks turning red. She stuck her hand out for the boy to shake. “I’m April.” She nodded her head in my direction. “This ray of sunshine is my sister, (Y/N).” I gave the boy a sarcastic smile, but he seemed unphased.
“I’m Harrison,” he said, shaking April’s hand. “This is Tom.” The boy didn’t look up from his phone as he gave me and April a wave. It made me roll my eyes again. Tom locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket.
“Let’s go, Harrison,” he said. Harrison nodded and gave me and April (mostly April) one last dazzling smile.
“I’ll be sure to stop by again sometime, April,” he said, shooting her a wink. “It was nice to meet you two.” He looked at me, and I just sent him another patronizing smile.
“You too,” April said.
Tom left the cafe, not saying a word to the rest of us, and Harrison sent us one last wave and followed. As soon as they were out of sight, April turned to me with wide eyes. “Oh my god,” she said. “Were they hot or what?”
“Oh come on,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I wouldn’t have even given them a second glance if blue-eyed boy wasn’t gaping at you the whole time.”
“Harrison,” she corrected with a blush. “And you’re just upset that Tom didn’t look at you.”
“I can honestly say I was not upset about that,” I said.
“Mhm,” April hummed. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to convince her otherwise, I just rolled my eyes and got back to work.
Of course she was right. Both boys were hot, but I wasn’t interested. Harrison clearly had eyes for April, and Tom seemed like an asshole. Not my type. I hoped I’d never have to see them again.
Unfortunately, Harrison was a charmer.
He and Tom stopped by the cafe the next day as well, this time looking a bit more casual. Well, Harrison did anyway. He had swapped out his white t-shirt and black jacket for a plain red t-shirt, still with his dark jeans. Tom was still wearing black slacks and a button-up shirt, this time black instead of white. The black on black outfit would make me feel some type of way if I didn’t find his personality completely aggravating.
Tom, again, got a black coffee while Harrison opted for another Americano. April chatted with Harrison. He sat at the bar and April stood on the other side, her chin in her hand, completely infatuated with every word leaving his mouth. This left me with Tom. Tom also sat at the bar -a few seats down from Harrison to give him some privacy- but was on his phone, just as he was the day before. I didn’t know if I should strike up a conversation with him or just leave him be. The cafe was oddly empty, so I was bored out of my mind.
Now that I thought about it, it was kind of weird that it wasn’t busy. Just as the thought entered my mind, the bell above the door rang. I looked up, eager to welcome a customer, but as soon as they entered, their eyes grew wide and they turned around and left.
What the hell?
“That was weird,” I said aloud, thought I knew no one was listening.
“What was weird?” Tom asked, shocking me, but still not looking up from his phone.
“That guy just walked in and walked right out,” I said. “That doesn’t happen a lot.”
“Maybe he saw the two employees flirting with the customers and decided to turn around,” Tom said. I furrowed my eyebrows at him, feeling a surge of anger.
“First of all,” I said, “I’m not flirting with you. In fact, the mere idea that I would be flirting with you right now is laughable considering you haven’t even looked at me since you got here.” As if only to contradict my point, Tom locked his phone and looked up. “Second of all-” I looked at April and Harrison who were still wrapped up in their conversation and lowered my voice. “-your friend started this, so don’t act like this is all one-sided.”
“I’m not saying it’s one-sided,” Tom said. “I’m just saying you should never mix business and pleasure.”
“And I’m just saying you’re an asshole,” I muttered, turning to wipe the countertop just for something to do.
“What was that, sweetheart?” Tom said, the right side of his lip raising into a smirk.
“Oh, you’re gonna want to never call me that again,” I said, looking up at him behind squinted eyes.
“Then you’re probably never going to want to call me an asshole,” he said, still smirking. I wanted to slap that smirk right off his face.
“What would you prefer?” I asked, painting on a sarcastic smile of my own. “Conceited douchebag?”
“You think I’m conceited?” he asked with a chuckle. “Princess, you don’t even know me.”
“If you call me one more nickname, I’ll-”
“You’ll what?” he taunted. “Please enlighten me, darling.”
“I swear to God fucking above-”
“Hey,” April said, causing Tom and I to both snap our heads in her direction. She and Harrison were both watching us. Harrison looked amused. “(Y/N), Harrison wants to know if we want to get dinner tonight.”
“Oh does he?” Tom asked, raising his eyebrow.
“He does,” Harrison said, shooting Tom a glare. “It’ll be fun. And you’re coming, too.”
“I don’t think I am,” Tom said.
Harrison let out an annoyed sigh. “Ladies, could you excuse us for a moment?” April nodded as Harrison stood up and nodded his head for Tom to follow him. Tom did, looking pissed as he did so. April looked at me with hard eyes.
“You’re going,” she said.
“I’m not,” I said. “And you can’t make me.”
“I think I can,” she said.
“And how do you-”
“I’ll tell Mom and Dad about Chris.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
Chris was an old family friend of my parents’, and I may or may not’ve hooked up with him a couple times.
What? He wasn’t even 40 and he was hot and had a daddy kink. It was only a couple times, and it was over a year ago. I prided myself in keeping it a secret from my parents. I was pretty sure they thought i was still a virgin, and I had no desire to let them think any different.
“You’re a bitch,” I said, folding my arms across my chest.
“I learn from the best.”
At that exact moment, Harrison and Tom came back. Tom looked just as annoyed as he did before, but Harrison’s smile had grown wider. “Tonight, 7:00,” he said. He handed April a piece of paper that had an address on it. “You can meet us at that address.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re sending us to a crack house where we’re gonna be raped and murdered.”
“Jesus Christ, (Y/N),” April said, slapping my arm.
“It’s our house,” Harrison said with a slight chuckle. “But if you get there and decide it’s too sketchy, feel free to turn around and ditch us.” April laughed, tucking another piece of hair behind her ear, and Harrison smiled again. “Well, we’ll see you two later,” he said. April waved him off, I sent him a sarcastic smile, and he left- Tom following behind him, not sparing us another glance.
5:00 rolled around, and April and I were both getting ready. As soon as she got out of the shower, I got in. April knocked on the door and asked if she could brush her teeth. I let her, and she asked me what I was planning on wearing. “I don’t know,” I answered. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“Harrison texted me that it was a nicer place,” she told me.
“He texted you?” I asked, peaking my head out from behind the curtain.
“Yeah,” she said.
“When did you get his number?”
“When he asked us to dinner. It only makes sense.”
I rolled my eyes and went back to my shower. “I still don’t care what I’m wearing,” I told her.
“Well I do,” she said. “You’re going to look cute.”
“I’m going to wear jeans.”
“You are not. You’re going to wear a dress and you’re going to like it.”
“Can’t make me.”
“Chris.”
I stuck my head out from behind the curtain again. The shampoo started to drip down the side of my face. “Have I said yet that I can’t stand you?” I said. “Because I can’t fucking stand you.” April smiled and spit the toothpaste into the sink, then left me alone in the bathroom.
When I finished my shower and went into my bedroom, I saw that April had laid out two outfits for me: one was a black dress, the other a black romper. “Gee!” I yelled to her, knowing she was in her room. “Glad you gave me options.”
“I love you!”
I decided on the romper. It was cute but also kind of sexy. Not that I wanted to look sexy for anyone in particular. Sometimes it was just nice to look sexy for myself. And that was exactly what I told April when she wolf whistled at me. She was wearing a red dress that I knew to be her I’m-gonna-get-some dress. “If you bring him over, don’t keep me up all night,” I told her.
“I won’t make any promises,” she said with a wink.
“Ugh,” I shuddered. “I hate thinking about you having sex.”
“No one’s asking you to think about it.”
We plugged the address Harrison gave us into my phone and headed off. It was about a twenty minute drive, and it looked like it was a nicer area of town. When we pulled up to the house, I saw that I was right. Because this wasn’t a house. This was a mansion. Once I pulled up to the gate (yes, gate), April and I both stared up at the house in awe. I pulled up to the intercom and was met with a voice that said, “Name?”
“Uh, I’m (Y/N),” I said. “And I’m with my sister April. We’re here to meet Tom and Harrison?” There was silence on the other end, but the gate opened and let us in. “I hate this,” I told her. “This is creepy.”
“Creepy?” April repeated. “Are you kidding? They’re rich! This is amazing!”
Harrison and Tom were waiting outside for us. I parked the car in their driveway and got out with April. She approached Harrison with a quick hug, and I trailed behind, awkwardly sending him a wave. Tom had his arms folded across his chest and looked like he wanted to be anywhere except with us. He and Harrison were both wearing the same outfit- black slacks and white button-up shirts. Tom’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, just like they had been the first day we met, but Harrison’s were down to his wrists. Tom’s hair was gelled smoothly, but Harrison’s was fluffier and less put-together. Those two facts alone were perfect examples of the stark differences in their personality.
“We’ll drive, yeah?” Harrison said.
“Okay!” April agreed. Harrison led us to the three-car garage and opened it. In it sat three black vehicles: a Rolls Royce, an Audi, and a Porsche. Mine and April’s jaws both dropped, and Harrison chuckled.
“Have a preference?” Harrison asked.
Before either of us could say anything, Tom said, “We’re taking the Audi.” I rolled my eyes at him, not really caring if he saw. He did. “Is that a problem, princess?” he asked, a smirk growing on his lips.
“Dude, I swear to god-”
“Dude?” Tom repeated.
“Would you prefer motherfucker?”
“(Y/N)!” April said, slapping my arm. Tom, however, just laughed. It was the first time I had heard the sound, and it threw me off guard. It looked like it did the same for April.
“Such a dirty mouth on such a pretty girl,” Tom said. This earned a roll of the eyes from both me and Harrison. April seemed stunned silent.
“Let’s go,” Harrison said.
The four of us got into the vehicle and headed off to the restaurant. Harrison told us the name of it, but I had never heard of it and neither had April. When we got there, it looked like a little hole-in-the-wall place. When we got inside though, it was like a whole different world. The lights were low, and the decor was fancy. Right away, I felt like I didn’t belong. We had to push through a crowd of people just to find our way to the booth Tom had reserved.
We sat down at the booth in a secluded corner of the restaurant. “Hello Mr. Holland, Mr. Osterfield,” the waiter said as he approached our table. “The usual to drink?”
“Please,” Harrison said at the same time that Tom nodded. “April, (Y/N)?” April and I both asked for waters. I was surprised with how quickly our drinks came back to us. In fact, everything happened quickly. I hadn’t noticed until we were already being handed our meals not even twenty minutes after ordering them. I swore that was a record for any restaurant I had ever been to. Tom and Harrison seemed unphased.
“What is it you guys do?” I asked them both. “Like, I don’t mean to be rude, but the big house? The fancy restaurant just for a couple of strangers? You’ve clearly got no problem throwing money around.”
“(Y/N)!” April said. She was getting annoyed with me, I could tell. At the same time, I didn’t care.
“Real estate,” Tom said.
I snorted. “Real estate? Seriously? That’s what you’re going with?” Tom shrugged and took a sip of his drink- whiskey on the rocks.
“I’m going to go touch up my lipstick,” April said, standing up from the table. “(Y/N), come with me?” It was a command, but she phrased it as a question. I rolled my eyes but followed her anyway. As soon as we were in the bathroom, she turned to me with a huff. “Will you quit being such a bitch?” she said.
“I’m not!” I said.
“Oh fuck off,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“I’m just looking out for you. I don’t trust these guys.”
“I can look out for myself.”
“I know that, but-”
“But nothing! Quit being so mean to them. They’re nice guys.”
“Harrison’s a nice guy,” I said. “Tom-”
“I think he likes you,” she said with a shrug. As my jaw dropped, she turned to the mirror and actually started to reapply her lipstick.
“You’re kidding me, right?” I said.
She shrugged again. “You know how boys can be. They’re rude to the girls they like.”
“In elementary school,” I said. “Besides, what kind of boys will be boys bullshit is that?”
“I think you should just cut him some slack,” she said. “Give him a chance. He may be a little off-putting, but you’re not exactly little-miss-sweetheart either.”
“I’m not little-miss-sweetheart because assholes aren’t my type.”
“Give me a break.” She rolled her eyes. “You almost exclusively date assholes.”
“And I’m trying something new.”
“That’s what you said before you fucked Chris.”
“April, I swear to god-”
“I’m teasing!” she finally laughed, bumping her hip with mine. “Relax. God, you really need to get laid.”
The rest of the dinner wasn’t too painful. Tom mostly kept his mouth shut, which I was grateful for, but it felt like Harrison and April were in their own world. I didn’t want to pull out my phone because I hated when people did that, but I was getting bored. For lack of anything better to do, I started people watching. A lot of the customers were like Tom and Harrison: put together and rich looking. My eyes were currently trained on a booth across the restaurant. In it sat three men, all probably in their 30s. They were hunched over, talking to each other in hushed voices.
“It isn’t nice to stare,” Tom said, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I huffed. “Maybe if you struck up a conversation with me, I wouldn’t have to find entertainment somewhere else.”
“Conversing is a two-way street, sweets,” he said.
“Sweets?” I repeated. “That’s what you’re going with now?”
“I’m just trying things out,” he said, hiding his smirk behind his whiskey. “You haven’t been satisfied with anything else.”
“Because my name is (Y/N),” I said, my fist clenching. “It’s not that hard.”
“I’m more of a nickname kind of guy myself,” Tom said with a shrug.
“Oh?” I said. He was baiting me, I knew, but I was bored so I took it. “And what’re your nicknames?”
“I don’t have nicknames,” he said. “I go by four names and four names alone.”
“And they are?”
“Tom, Mr. Holland, sir, and boss.”
“Boss?”
“Yes?” he said, teasing me again. I rolled my eyes and drank from my water.
“Alright,” I said. “So what are Harrison’s nicknames.”
“Harrison?” Tom said, glancing at his friend before looking at me again. “H, Haz-”
“So original,” I said. Tom shrugged.
“I can’t exactly call him peaches,” he said.
“God,” I groaned. “If you listen to anything I say to me, let it be that I never want you to call me peaches.”
Tom chuckled. “Alright, I’ll give you that one, petal.”
“Petal?”
“Cut me some slack.”
I wasn’t having fun with him. No way.
“So I can’t give you any nicknames?” I asked.
“No you cannot,” he said.
“And what’ll you do if I do?” I asked. I hesitated, then added, “Tommy?” Tom’s jaw clenched, and he downed the last of the whiskey in his glass. He looked me in the eyes -they were darker than they had been all night- and licked his lips.
“If you call me that again,” he said, “I’ll make sure you know why I go by sir.”
“Alright, I think we’re ready to go.”
April was smiling widely, clearly not aware of the conversation she just broke up between me and Tom. I, however, swallowed thickly, not having a clue how to move forward. It was as if Tom had already forgotten, because he stood up and tossed his napkin on the table. Harrison, April, and I stood up from the table as well and followed Tom out to the car.
The ride back to the mansion was silent, and I wasn’t surprised when Tom headed straight inside when we arrived. Harrison whispered something to April, and she giggled and nodded, then waved him off as he went inside. “He’s not coming back with us?” I asked, walking over to my car.
“I’m actually going to stay here with him,” she said, kicking her feet against the ground. I raised my eyebrows. “What?” she said. “It’s fine. It’s not like you’ve never had a one night stand at some other guy’s house.”
“Yeah, but those guys were normal,” I said.
“Listen,” April huffed, “you’ve done it, okay? You did your big sister job. Thank you. I appreciate it. Now please, just let me go. You know our SOS text.”
“Of course I know our SOS text.”
“Alright, then relax unless I send it.”
I rolled my eyes but hugged her anyway, placing a kiss to her cheek. “Be careful,” I told her. “Have fun. Be safe. I don’t want to be an aunt.”
“Jesus,” April laughed, giving me a little shove. “Go! Enjoy your wine and vibrator.”
“I will.”
I sat in the car until April was safely in the house. Safely. Why couldn’t I shake the feeling that being with Harrison and Tom and being safe were mutually exclusive?
----- ----- ----- -----
TAGLIST
@bangtan-serendipity | @planetdemon | @the-singing-clown406 | @tomshufflepuff | @bluelalal | @grandloser | @jackiehollanderr | @mindset-jupiter | @bisexual-sk8r | @feel-like-gold | @runaway-apple | @miraclesoflove | @marvelismylifffe| @wonderbyers | @coraz0ndcristal| @lizmarvel | @hannihannelora
#tom holland#tom holland imagine#tom holland x reader#tom holland fluff#tom holland angst#tom holland smut#smut#marvel#mob!tom#got your six#mob!tom holland
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Rich Appreciation 2020 Day 1
Word count: 880
Fandom: Driven
Pairings: eventual Roger x Reader (maybe)
A/N: It’s Rich appreciation week! And since my copy of Driven just came in the mail the other day, I’m making it about Roger! So I’m going to try and write a 7 chapter Roger fic with the prompts from Rich appreciation week. Fingers crossed I can do it. Hope is high, but I have my doubts.
~~
Chapter 1: Coffee Shop AU
Nights like this were always a mess. Torrential rain falling in thick sheets and lightning cracking so close the walls shook. Customers were scarce. Not like Y/N could blame them. Just the short walk from the parking lot to the open doors of Shuffling Zombie Coffee was enough to drown someone.
But Y/N wouldn't close her doors. She really can't right now. This is a fresh business still. Just recently opened and every second those doors stay locked is another cup she could have sold. Another bump to get her out of the red. She’s put her whole being into starting her life over, and come hell or high water (literally) she would make this work.
Y/N had already sent her only other employee home for the night, Oliver, a sweet kid who just needed a steady job, something stable. He really didn't want to leave her here all alone, but Y/N insisted. The storm coming was a big one, and Y/N couldn't handle the thought of letting him drive in that. He was young enough to be her son, and Y/N just wanted to make sure he was safe.
She hummed as she listened to the rain pouring on the other side of the front window, wiping down the glass cases and counters. Might as well clean up since it was highly unlikely anyone would be walking through the doors for the rest of the night.
No one in their right kind would be out in this god forsaken weather.
Bing bong
The sound of the door chime surprised her, but hey, a sale’s a sale.
Y/N eyed the man still standing at the cafe’s threshold. He was peering through the window, gray hood pulled up high to block her view of his face and his overcoat dripping pools of water onto her floor. There was a satchel clutch tightly in his hands.
“Uh...Hello?” Y/N called. The man turned his head sharply, clearly not expecting anyone to speak to him. His eyes were still hidden under his soaked hood, but Y/N could see a bearded chin and the point of a nose, a drop of rain dripping off the end.
Y/N felt a small pang of nervousness. But just as quickly the man turned to her completely, a hand coming up to toss his hood back, a warm smile on his face.
“Hey there!”
The pang of nerves slid away, making room for a smattering of butterflies to make their way up Y/N’s throat. Oh, he’s cute.
“Some night out there, huh?” The man’s attitude was loose and carefree, the tense air surrounding him when he first came in dissolving away.
“Oh. Yeah, it’s terrible.” Y/N flashed a smile, admiring amber eyes as he closed in on the counter. There was a moment where the two of them stood at either side of the counter in silence before Y/N remembered she had a job to do. “Um, welcome to the Shuffling Zombie. What can I get for you tonight.”
“Um…how about…” The man sucked a bit of air through his teeth as he mused over the menu. “Let me get a macchiato with a double shot of espresso.”
“Wow,” Y/N said with a chuckle as she typed in the order. “A double shot this late? Must be a night owl, huh? That’ll be four seventy five.”
“Nature of my job, I guess.” He handed over a crisp twenty.
“Sounds like that’d be exhausting,” Y/N said as she handed him his change. A step to the left and she picked up a paper cup, sharpie poised above the empty speech bubble over the snarling (but not overly terrifying) zombie face printed there. “Name?”
“Roger."
“Roger,” she repeated, a coy smirk on her lips as she wrote. “I'll, ah, have that ready for you in a few minutes.”
“Thanks,” Roger smiled as he dropped some singles in the tip jar. “I'm...I’m just gonna step into the bathroom for a quick sec. Try to dry off a little bit.”
“Should be ready by the time you get out.”
Y/N watched him go, caught the nervous look back he gave her, and mentally slapped herself with a chuckle. You can't ogle people like that. So she busied herself with making Roger’s drink. True to her word, his double macchiato was ready before he returned, but the real surprise was the new customer that had appeared at her counter.
She hadn't heard the chime go off. Maybe she was a little too distracted thinking about the guy peeling his few outermost layers off in her bathroom.
“Sorry about that,” she said, embarrassed. “Didn't hear you come in.” The woman across the counter said nothing. Just stared at her. Y/N’s nerves were starting to go off again. “Uh, what can I get you?”
The strange woman closed her eyes, lifted her head and took in a long slow sniff of the air. Her eyes opened again, and Y/N found herself taking a few steps back. “He’s here,” the woman said, her voice scratchy and deep.
“W-Who?”
She smiled, a terrible looking thing that had Y/N’s heart beating frantically in her chest.
“The man I'm going to kill.”
~~
I don’t have a tag list for this, so let me know if you’d like to be the first
@nongaberichbang
Everything tags
@doctor-zyre @ourloveisforthelovely @authoressskr @superwhoavengelocketc-blog @mscrazycatbitch @emmii4 @redberrysweets @space-time-paradox @tgpanther @anxietywontmakethewordsgo @I4life @l4life @acarpouschimerical @warlockwriter @geekymagicalpotato @mir567 @azlinh @justa-crayon @turkeycleverness @shaylybaby2032
#rich appreciation week 2020#driven#driven fan fiction#roger#eventual roger x reader#coffee shop au#entities#meet cute#i dont know where im going with this
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Hiraeth (C.H.) Part 2
FIND PART 1 HERE
a/n: I think after this I’m probably going to try and update once a week to keep things consistent! please enjoy and lmk what y'all think!! also feel free to send me any questions!
“I believe you owe me something.” You had set your tray at your spot at the usual table. The time had come. Your cravings had taken over. The need for some awful, over sugared coffee was consuming your every thought. Except for the ones about Cal. But coffee. Coffee was something you could have, and soon at that.
“And what would that be?” Classic Ashton. Playing dumb. You were relentless, though. Especially when he had something you so desperately wanted.
“We both know. A ride into town. I’m thinking Dunkin first, then target, then chipotle for a quick bite, then more Dunkin.” You had been ticking off your town to-do list on your fingers as you went, wearing a smile very similar to the Sierra wore when she was up to something.
“As much as I would love to drag your sorry ass around the entire town, I’m busy tonight.” You frowned, knowing that if you didn’t go tonight that you might very well die from withdrawal. That and you’d have to wait another week and a half before your schedules aligned enough again to make the trip.
“Fuck.” You dropped your feet from the table and sighed, running a hand through your hair and screwing up the part in it. It would be fine, you’d manage. You’d run out of toothpaste and eyeliner, but you’d live.
“However, my plans do not involve my car, so I’ve arranged to have someone take you in my place.” You perked up again. Even though you didn’t appreciate being toyed with, you could appreciate the dramatics of it. After all, it was fun when you were on the other side of it.
“Hell yeah! Is it Crystal? She’s cool.” You pumped your fist, practically buzzing with excitement. Even better. You could already picture yourself and Crystal screaming the lyrics to the High School Musical soundtrack together.
“Nope. Hood.” Ashton knew he piqued your interest when he saw your eyebrows shoot up. All a part of Sierra’s plan of course. The elusive Hood, who’s name you still did not know. You’d finally be able to meet the most mysterious man on campus.
“Even better. I get to meet the mysterious ‘Hood.’” You put air quotes around his name. At this point, you weren't even sure he was a real person.
“There is a bit of a hitch. With Hood comes four irresponsible teens.” Ashton winked at you, knowing exactly what he was doing. He had to give Sierra her credit where it was due. This plan was brilliant. Instead of one, Hood would now be operating with four wingmen, each one more bold than the last. Ashton could almost picture the dumbfounded look on Hood’s face when they started to hint at their end goal.
“Fine by me. As long as I get my coffee.” You stood and leaned in closer to Ashton, feeling his breath on your face. It was your hand slipped into his pocket, a twenty finding its way into your sleeve and his keys dangling between your fingers. You dangeled them from your fingers, still grinning at Ashton as you backed away and shot off a text to the members of your group.
….
It took about twenty minutes of scrolling on your phone until you finally heard footsteps and the lively, somewhat loud chatter that surrounded your little group approaching.
Your fingers flying, you shot off one last text and looked up.
Only to be met with a very familiar pair of dark brown eyes.
Elevator guy?
A million questions ricocheted in your brain. What was ele- Cal doing here? With your gaggle of friends?And why was he carrying Luke on his back piggyback style?
You froze, head cocked and eyebrow raised. Cal strongly resembled a deer in headlights at this moment, having missed a step when he noticed it was you leaning against the car. Luke didn’t notice; instead, he took two fistfulls of Cal’s hair, as if trying to control him that way, like Remy and Linguini in Ratatouille.
Michael was the first to catch on to the tension between the two of you. He head swished back and forth a few times, trying to patch together why both of you had reacted to each other like that. It took a second to click. “Wait, do you two know each other?”
“We’ve met. Briefly.” You winked at Cal and slid your phone into the pocket of your jeans, procuring Ashton’s keys in its place. You jingled them before the group for a second before tossing them over to Cal. Kaykay gave her best attempt to snatch them out of the air, but Cal caught them easily over her head, appearing to still be a little bit stunned by your presence.
“Wait a second. You’ve met?” Sierra was screeching. You and Hood were supposed to meet like this, not however you had met before. This couldn’t be right, one misstep could throw off her whole plan, and she had NOT gone to the lengths of planning your wedding only to have it be for nothing.
“Um, yes. Just for a second, though. In the elevator up to the first bell classes.” Hood dropped Luke from his back unceremoniously. Instead, he studied the keys in his hands, looking again like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. You were starting to wonder why he looked like that every time he saw you.
“So you’re the famous ‘Hood’ I’ve been hearing about.” You grinned and pushed yourself off of the car, crossing your arms. You took a few steps toward him. “I was beginning to doubt you even existed.”
Kaykay snorted and stopped messing with Luke's hair for a second. “You two have met. Obviously he existed.”
“No, no. I met Cal. Hood was a rumor.” Kaykay and Sierra turned and gave each other a look. They seemed to be in agreement that maybe the prior meeting wasn’t so bad.
“Alright, alright. Are we going or not?” Hood sighed and stalked around to the driver’s side, getting into the car before anyone of them could even think of saying anything.
You turned and hopped in the passenger’s side. Only to hear five other people shouting at you.
Apparently, getting in the car was cause for rioting these days.
“Hey, why do you get shotgun?” Kaykay was the first one to say something vaguely coherent. She almost never got shotgun, and she had kind of been hoping that today would be her day.
“Yeah, hey, I want shotgun.” Sierra was next, speaking fast. She was right next to the door, tugging on the handle. But before she could make her first pull, Hood clicked the lock button on his side of the car, effectively shutting all the kids out.
“It’s not too late. We can drive off and leave them now.” Cal? Hood? sighed out his words, leaning forward and putting his head on the steering wheel.
“Oh, come on. You know you love them. It’s obvious. Besides, the only way they’re gonna get me out of this seat is if they kill me first.” You turned to the window and stuck out your tongue at the kids staring at you through the window before putting on your seatbelt.
“Have you met Kaykay?” Hood smirked at you, looked out at the murder written on Kaykay’s face, and then back at you. “That might not be as hard as you think.”
“Believe it or not I’m tougher than I look.” You unlocked the car with the button on your side, but flipped the lock on your door back.
The kids piled into the car, grumbling about being shoved into the back.
“Damn. I wanted up front.” Michael climbed in behind Hood, but not before leaning the seat forward to allow the two youngest to clamber into the back.
“Yeah, yeah. We all wanted shotgun.” Kaykay was behind you, picking at her fingernails, disgruntled. “Can I at least have the AUX?”
“No offense, Kay, but no one wants to listen to death metal.” Sierra wrinkled her nose at the idea of having to headbang and messing up her hairstyle. Her space buns may have looked messy and spiky, but that was a carefully curated look that had taken her a while to perfect.
“I wanna listen to Mozart. I find it calming. You know, statistically, babies who have mozart played to them in the womb come out smarter?” Luke was a big fan of classical music, despite his younger age. He found it versatile, great for both studying and falling asleep to.
“Makes sense. I guess your mom must have played you a lot of Mozart when you were little, huh?” You twisted around in your seat and smiled at Luke for a second, who flushed, but still smiled back. “How about we all choose one song to go on a playlist and we can turn that on shuffle?”
All the children shrugged and nodded, so you called names and collected the songs into one playlist on your phone, playing it through the car stereo a bit louder than was necessary.
“That is the fastest they have ever agreed on anything ever.” Hood looked at you out of the side of his eyes before turning his attention back to the road. “And the fastest solution we’ve ever procured for an argument.”
You shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a natural leader.”
Most of the songs on the playlist ended up being ones you all knew enough to sing along to, asides from the cello melody (Luke) and the heavy metal music (Kaykay).
It took about half an hour and another song draft to reach Dunkin. By the time you got there you were practically vibrating with excitement. Hood kept glancing at you, a small smile at his lips and mirth in his eyes. Apparently, he took great amusement in your love for mediocre coffee.
Instead of attempting to corral all the kids in and out of the restaurant, Hood figured the drive through would be a more time effective option.
Kaykay demanded to order for herself, despite being on the wrong side of the car and in the back seat. Still, Michael rolled down his window obediently, just sighing and leaning back when she unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed into his lap to talk into the speaker.
You went next. You felt bold for no reason today. That was the only explanation for what you did. Mirroring Kaykay, you too unbuckled, leaning over Hood’s lap to rest your weight on the car door.
“I’ll have six shots of espresso, over ice, with a caramel drizzle, please.” You heard a scoff from inside the car, turning to find Kaykay gaping at you.
“That’s enough caffeine to kill a small horse.” Kaykay was a little amazed, and a lot worried. You didn’t even order milk. That was gonna taste like battery acid.
“Are you okay?” Sierra looked absolutely disgusted at the mere thought of your coffee order. Even though she was more of a tea person, Sierra liked her coffee as sweet as her personality.
“I think it sounds good. Can I have one?” Luke barely got the words out before five simultaneous nos were yelled.
“Luke, honey, I’ve only known you for a couple weeks, but even I can tell that you and coffee would not be a good mix.” You took sympathy on the child, who looked downright embarrassed by his chastisement. “How about a hot chocolate instead?”
Luke seemed to perk up by that idea, and when the car pulled up to the window, you wordlessly handed Hood your debit card.
“I have cash with me. How much was my drink?” Michael was the first to ask. You knew it was coming, the onslaughts of ‘let me pay you backs’ and ‘here's the money for my drinks.’ But that wasn’t gonna happen, at least not today.
“This one’s on me.” It was simple enough, but all the kids still looked suspicious. You rolled your eyes, a little offended that you had to explain being nice. “Think of it as a thank you. You know, for taking pity on me and allowing me into your little group.”
They still all looked like you were about to tell them their dog had died.
“Fine. My parents are loaded, I took the RA job cause I wanted my own room, and the way I communicate love is through gifts. Happy?” You sighed and slurped down half your coffee in one sip.
“Isn’t it almost freezing outside?” Hood was the first to break the somewhat awkward silence. “Are you sure drinking an iced drink was the best choice?”
You grinned slowly. “It’s time I told you my life motto. If you can’t handle a cold drink during the winter, your bloodline is weak.”
Seeing as you had the only iced drink in the car, this caused a bit of an uproar.
…
“Hey.” Cal had turned down the music in the car. Aside from Kaykay, who had her headphones in, you and Cal were the only two people awake. So when he broke the silence on the ride back to campus, it startled you just a touch.
“Hey yourself.”
“I, um, I had fun today. It was nice to see you again.” You made a mental note about Cal: he reverted to CEO mode when he got nervous. Well, you assumed he was nervous. He wouldn’t make eye contact with you, so you figured you were probably right.
“You, too.” His nervousness was kind of endearing, you thought. Even if it made talking to him a little bit awkward and choppy.
“You know, I’m actually pretty grateful Ashton bailed on me.” Calum’s eyes widened a bit, but you ignored it. You had a feeling if you pointed it out, Cal might do something drastic like bailing from the car while it was still moving.
“Oh?” Hood attempted to keep his expression neutral, but there were all sorts of bells and alarms going off in his head.
“Yeah, it was fun spending time with all of you. Being part of a group like this…” Your tongue darted out of your mouth and wetted your lips. You rolled them together and then drew your bottom lip in between your teeth. They were such a tight knit group, and while all of them were welcoming and kind to you… it was still hard to not feel like an outsider. You didn’t regret it, of course, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that this was a honeymoon phase in your friendship. All good things came to an end. You just hoped it would be later rather than sooner. “It feels like a family.”
“We’ve only known each other for three months.” Cal looked at you out of the side of his eye, skeptical. He was close with his little gang, but family was a bit of a stretch in his opinion. Sure, he spent all his time with them and looked after them, and cared about them, of course. But that didn’t exactly mean they were family.
“Cal, you literally make them bring you their report cards so you can make sure they’re doing okay in all of their classes.” Was he kidding you? It was funny how the man in front of you was able to delude himself in believing that was true.
“I don’t give a damn about their grades.” Hood scoffed. He had his own problems that didn’t include the grades of a bunch of freshmen and sophomores.
“You give so many damns they’re visible from space.” The lies about not caring were probably to keep up his stone cold loner ruse. They were, of course, lies, but you didn’t want to spoil that for him.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Hood was grumbling, but there was a slight chuckle behind it.
…
It was a couple of days before you had the time to speak to Cal again. The older kids used a ‘divide and conquer’ method to keep tabs on the troublemakers of the bunch, which was a lot more difficult than you remembered babysitting to be.
It was in the library. You had been in there for a couple hours at that point, desperate to get in some studying for your test in AP history. That table had been your best friend for a while now, so when Crystal started her shift and came over to chat, it was a welcomed interruption.
“Hey. What are you doing?” She motioned to a chair, sliding it out and taking a seat only after you waved at her that it was okay.
“Just doing some cramming before my history test tomorrow.” You sighed, marking your page in your history book before slamming it shut and sliding down in your seat. “You?”
“Luke asked me to pick some books up for him, despite having not yet finished the ones he’s already checked out.” Crystal made her hands busy flipping through the pages of the books Luke requested. They didn’t seem bad, just… tedious.
“Our own little genius.” You stood, pushing your chair back as you went. “I’m going to grab some paper from the supply closet.”
As soon as she was sure you were gone, Crystal pulled her phone out of her pocket and shot off a quick text to Sierra.
Sierra smirked from her own table at the library, hiding it just in time from Hood. He was ‘helping’ her study for english. Or so he thought.
“What?” Hood looked up from his own calculus homework. “You’re looking at me weird.”
“Nothing. Will you go grab more printer ink from the supply closet? I need to print off my rough draft, but the computer says the cartridge is empty.” Hood grumbled, but he rose and set off in the direction of the supply closet anyways. Sierra grinned at his back. Phase three was a go.
It only took Hood a couple minutes to cross the library to the supply closet. It was mostly empty as he navigated through the bookshelves. He gave a quick wave to Crystal when he saw her, but didn’t stop to chat since she had her headphones in.
The storage closet was small. It barely fit the few racks of supplies that had been stuffed in there, much less a person. Or two people.
Hood. And you.
Hood, once again, felt himself freeze. He really, really had to stop doing that. It had been a few days since he saw you last, and he wasn’t expecting to see you here.
That was when he heard the door click shut behind him.
“Oh, no.” Hood whirled around, pulling on the door as hard as he could. Nothing. Shit. Shit fucking balls. He had just managed to get the two of you locked in here. Together.
“Oh, no?” You sounded a little concerned and a little offended. ‘Oh no’ was never great, but there was raw fear in Cal’s voice.
“Um, I may or may not have just gotten us locked in here.” Hood rolled his lips into his mouth. Not good. He reached for his phone, only to realize that it was still back at the table with Sierra. He didn’t think he would need it. Apparently, he had forgotten to account for the fact that he was very dumb.
“ Oh. Oh, no.” This time it was your turn to panic and pat yourself down, also searching for your phone. You had yours on you, at least, but it wasn’t much help since the battery had died a half an hour ago.
“Yeah. Not good.” Hood exhaled slowly through his mouth, sliding his back down the door til he was sitting on the ground. “Well, at the very least, we know someone will come for us eventually.”
“We do?” You walked over and took a seat next to him, your shoulder brushing his.
“Yeah. I’m here with Sierra. She sent me to get an ink cartridge. It’ll probably only be a few minutes before she comes looking for me.” Hood glanced down at his watch. 7:38. He would guess they’d be out by 8:00. And that was being generous.
“Good to know. Guess it’s just you and me until then.” You sigh and tipped your head back, leaning it against the door.
“I can think of worse company.” Hood watched as you raised your eyebrows, leaving your eyes closed.
“Hmm. Like Luke hopped up on sugar.” You smirked at your own words. Luke was already hard to control.
“Have you ever met Luke on a sugar high?” Hood leveled his eyes at you, and you peaked the one closest to him open.
“No?”
“Then you will never know how true your words are.” Hood chuckled a bit at the memory of Halloween. They let Luke ration out his own candy. That was mistake number one.
“Oh god. I don’t even want to know.” You grinned, but it was a tired one.
“Can I, um, ask you something?” Hood fiddled with his own fingers, more nervous than he had been in a while. And for what? You were just a person. Okay, maybe not just a person. But there still wasn’t a reason for all the knots in his stomach.
“I’m an open book.”
“Why did you only start as a RA a couple weeks into the school year?” It bothered him to not know. He was an RA and still couldn’t figure out a reason after thinking about it for weeks.
“Oh.” That was not what you were expecting him to ask. “Um, I had applied. The old RA left to go to the public school. That’s pretty much it.”
Hood just hummed. He felt like there might be more to that story, but it wasn’t his place to pry.
“My turn.” After you felt Cal’s eyes on you, you sat up and met them. “You got to ask a question. Now it’s my turn.”
You studied Cal’s face for a second before deciding on your question. “What do you think is your biggest flaw?”
Hood chuckled. “This is gonna be ironic, but probably the fact that my sense of humor doesn’t exist.”
“Now that can't be true. We're talking, laughing.” That much was true. You were both smiling.
“Okay. My turn again?” After a quick confirmation nod from you, Hood asked his next curiosity. “What’s your favorite place on Earth?”
“Home.” It was so simple, just that one word. And yet, you sensed that it had somehow struck deep with both of you. You were sure for different reasons, though.
Your next words were forcibly bright, rushed. “My turn. Do you prefer when people call you Hood or Cal?”
“That would depend on the person, I suppose. Everyone calls me Hood, including most of my teachers.” Hood smiled down at you, as if daring you to do what you were both thinking. “Back to me. How about your favorite book?”
“I can’t choose just one. There’s all sorts of great crap out there.” You smirked. “The fact that I called it crap is meaningless. My turn again. Do you believe in ghosts?”
Hood gaped at you. “Really? You can ask me anything you want, knowing full and well that I have to answer with complete honesty, and you chose to ask if I believe in ghosts?”
“Just answer the damn question.”
“Fine. No, I don’t believe in fucking ghosts.” Hood wasn’t 100% confident in his answer. He believed in the possibility of ghosts, perhaps. But not the existence of the ghosts themselves.
“Look, I just asked if you believed in them. I didn’t ask what you thought about their sexual habits.” Hood pushed your shoulder playfully, chuckling again. He had noticed himself doing that kind of a lot around you. It felt...nice.
The frequency of the questions dwindled after that, most of them escaping as yawns through your lips. More than once you found yourself nodding off in the middle of both questions and answers. Hood found great amusement in it. You would scrunch up your nose and sway a bit, wiping at your face and trying to fight your own body. Eventually, you would succumb to sleep, your head just brushing his shoulder. It would rest there for a split second before bouncing right back, snapping you back to consciousness each time. Each time, your head would use his shoulder as a pillow for just a fraction longer, until eventually you didn’t wake back up.
You were just… sleeping. On him. Really, you were snoring a little. It was cute to him. Hood glanced back at his watch. 8:17. It had been over half an hour, and still no rescue. Hood reached behind him and gave the doorknob a little jiggle again. Still nothing. He sighed, not that he was expecting it to magically open. It was worth a shot.
It was five minutes later Hood heard footsteps. He didn’t even have time to turn around to knock before the door swung open. You and Hood fell flat on your backs without the door supporting your weight, waking you up. In Hood’s arms. He had put his arm around you when you fell to make sure you didn’t hit your head, although, now that he was thinking about it, that was a bit weird. You sat up before he could move, pulling him up with you.
“Sierra. Our savior.” You grinned up at her. Cal was already on his feet, offering you a hand to help you up. You took it, barely using any of your own muscles with the strength he used to pull you up. “Well, this has been a pleasure. I’ll see you around, Calum Hood.”
From there, you went back to your table to gather up your things. It was time to get some real sleep. And not on the shoulder of Calum Hood.
…
tags: @rbforsmileycal @whatthefuckimbisexual
#this one is pretty long#also#please don't come for me I had this queued to post before all that (false) drama came out#however I stand by what I said#calum 5sos#calum hood fanfiction#calum hood#calum imagine#My writing#calum hood 5 seconds of summer#calum hood 5sos#also I know this sounds greedy or wrong or whatever but if you enjoyed this please please reblog it!!!#really you had no idea how much it means!!!
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The Coffee Roasters - Chapter two
a/n: we’re here!! this one’s a little sad and angsty so i’m sorry!!! and also, i would like to know how you would like the next chapter to go so leave me some suggestions in my ask :)
Long black - two shots of espresso poured into a glass of hot water; two lovers thrusted into reality.
when Sophie woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains, she knew she was fucked. Never in the twenty three years of her life did she wake up after the sun rose, not even when the cafe closed during the holidays. her hand was resting on Niall’s chest, his arm draped across her waist lazily. She turned slowly, careful to not wake him up as she turned on her phone to see a dozen text messages and missed calls from her family
Dad: Where are you? come to the store now.
Mom: darling, are you coming to the cafe today? Your father is worried
Harvey: I tried to cover for you, but it can only last so long. Good luck Mei ;-) ps hope you used protection
Sophie rolled her eyes at her brother’s message, only replying with a middle finger emoji and a be there soon before she felt Niall’s arms snake around her. She lets him pull her close to his body, turning around in the process to face him. Niall’s eyes were still shut as he hummed under his breath. Sophie thinks she could get used to this - to him, and then reality hits her like bricks when Niall mutters a string of swear words under his breath. She pulls away, looking at him confused.
“Sorry petal, I totally forgot to tell my manager I was staying the night in Brighton. I’m supposed to be at a shoot right now” Niall rubs his face with his hands a little too hard just to shake away the sleep in him. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s slept this well with someone in the bed. Sophie chuckles, shaking her head “well I guess that makes two of us. was supposed to be at the cafe…” she looks at the time on her phone screen, “three hours ago.” They both lay flat on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. A comfortable silence filled the room, both their hands intertwined with each other's. They should be worried about the consequences, the repercussions of their decisions, but right now all they cared about was the person laying by their side. Sophie gets up first, running her fingers through her hair as she sits up on the bed. Niall soon follows, peppering kisses on her cheek all the way down to her collarbone. She grabs his hand and he follows as if they’ve been doing this for years, and leads him to the bathroom where the twin bathroom sinks were waiting. She hands him a new toothbrush - a permanent one, not one of those you steal from a hotel - and they begin their morning routine. They were quiet as they moved around the apartment to get ready for the day; Niall was on the phone with his manager, looking like a child that was being berated by his mother and Sophie was making them coffees and breakfast. Both of them had the same thought in their head - will they see each other again? Was this just a one night stand? definitely not. Whatever they had between them, the comfort, the teenage excitement of love was something that was so real. Yes, they’ve only met 2 days ago, but what fell between them was so familiar, it felt like they’ve known each other for years and you can’t say that to many people in your life. Niall finishes up his call (or scolding, it was more like a scolding) and wraps Sophie into his embrace which makes her smile all too wide before she spins around.
“Here’s your coffee, and a day old croissant that I’ve put ham and cheese in. Take them on your ride back to London” She hands the bag and coffee cup to him, her eyes never meeting his. He frowns, setting the food aside and tilting her chin up so she’s looking straight into the ocean blue eyes.
“What’s wrong, petal?” He knows what’s wrong, he just doesn’t have the balls to say it. Sophie shakes her head, but her heart spoke faster than her brain could stop it.
“Is this it?” She asked, her voice cracks at the end with tears threatening to spill. Come on Sophie, you’re not going to cry over a boy you met two days ago. Get it together. Except she is crying a little and she is utterly in love with the Irish boy standing in front of her; and she’s terrified. Terrified that she’s going to lose it all in this moment before she could even begin anything. Niall catches on, pressing a kiss to her lips in which she returns hastily.
“Of course not, petal. you’re less than an hour away, I will come back to you” And that calms her down just by a bit. He envelopes her in a hug, swaying as they hold each other as tight as their bodies would allow them to.
-
Niall kept his promise. despite the promo tour for Heartbreak Weather and countless of interviews, he tried his absolute best to keep his promise. They were constantly texting and talking on FaceTime whenever their breaks coincided; and when Niall was in London with more than an hour to spare, he’d drive down to Brighton just to see Sophie for less than thirty minutes.
“M’so glad you’re here” Sophie whispered, her head resting on Niall’s shoulders as they sat by the steps of the back door to the cafe.
“Me too, petal.”
However, this long-distance teenage love could only last for so long. Niall was soon due to go on his world tour with no time to spare, and lets not even talk about visiting Sophie. From trying to spend every moment with her soon turned to weekly FaceTime calls that lasted no longer than 2 hours because Niall simply had “no time”. Which was true to a certain extent, he had rehearsals almost every single day if not, he was thrown into some meeting or interview where he was barely paying any attention.
"I can't keep doing this, Niall" Sophie shifts, the phone now propped up against the wall. Those words that came out of her mouth suddenly felt like a tonne of bricks raining from the sky.
"Just a little bit more Soph, I'm gonna be home-"
"and then what?" she cuts him off, her head pounding from the lack of caffeine in her system. It was 5am in Brighton, and Sophie was up an hour early because she couldn't get Niall out of her mind. She picked up the phone to call him, not caring about whatever event or activity that he was in so she could settle it once and for all. at least she was hoping to.
"because from the looks of it, i don't think we're going anywhere. I've barely spoken to you all week, and i don't think that's going to change until you make up your mind on what you want" She’s folding her arms now, and Niall knows that's a clear sign that she's not pleased. He sighs, hands bunching up the pillow next to him. Niall was supposed to be at the arena 10 minutes ago, but here he was sitting in his hotel room with the tension thick in the air between him and his girl.
"bub i just need you to hold on a little longer- a week? i'll be home in a week, yeah i can do that-" before he could even get an answer from her, the line cut off. Sophie slams her phone face flat onto the desk in front of her, a loud groan leaving her mouth. She couldn't do this, not like this when everything was so uncertain. Come on, Niall couldn't even give her a proper answer over the phone. Sophie had a strong character, any of her friends would admit that. She was level headed, confident and a sunshine for all. but right now, all of those characteristics were thrown straight out of the window; all because of one boy.
-
It was Friday evening, the slowest day of the week so the Hoang siblings were by the front counter catching up with each other. Harvey was bragging about the blonde he met the same day you had your encounter with Niall (yes surprise surprise! They started dating!) and Austin was well, talking about something that has to do with his online classes. Sophie had her mind somewhere else, eyes fixated on her phone waiting for some kind of message or call from Niall. they haven't spoken since that day (well, Niall has sent her multiple good morning and night texts but Soph really couldn't be bothered) she needed him to say something substantial, she needed him to use his words. something he could do so well when he wrote, but when it came to talking to the one he loved, it's as if the man doesn't have a mouth on his face.
“Hello? Earth to Soph?” Harvey was waving his hands in front of her face, giving her a questionable look.
“Sorry, I zoned out. What were you saying about Sarah?” He rolled his eyes at his sister, “its Samantha, and I was asking you what do you want to have for dinner? I could go pick something-“ before Harvey could finish, the familiar jingle of the door with a very familiar figure standing at the door caught the attention of the siblings.
“Yo! Nialler! Haven’t seen you in the longest time man” Harvey and Austin both gave Niall fist bumps while Sophie stayed behind them, arms folded with her head down. When her brothers sensed the lack of enthusiasm from their sister, they both gave a look at Niall who showed the same emotions.
"we're gonna leave you two to talk" Austin rubber his sister's back before leaving to lock the front doors of the cafe and putting up the "closed" sign. Sophie let out another sigh before proceeding to wipe the counter, and steam the machines - anything she could do to keep her mind off the irish man standing on the other side of the counter.
"Soph...please" he stretched his hand across the counter, softly taking hers into his grasp. She squeezed the towel in her hand tilted her head back, legs bouncing as she willed her tears not to fall. Niall knew her like an open book, letting her hand go while he made his way round the counter. He was never allowed behind it, Alex never letting him around the coffee machines for the fear that he might distract his daughter at work. But this time Niall ignored all the rules, crossing over the barrier between them to pull her into his arms. At first, Sophie didn't move, she didn't hug back until Niall spoke.
"i'm here petal, i'm here and i'm sorry" those words were enough for her tears to fall and she was now full on sobbing into Niall's shoulder.
"i missed you" Niall choked out. Sophie pushed Niall back, hands resting on his chest as she took in his features. No, she couldn’t bare to break up with him. She threw her head back, sighed and scrunched the fabric of Niall’s hoodie.
“You’re making this so difficult.” Sophie whispered.
“Making what difficult, love? I’m here, I’m finally here” Niall was confused by her words and to be honest, the inner turmoil that Sophie was facing felt 10 times worse.
“This! This whole thing, your blue eyes and boisterous laughter; your singing and dancing; and the god damn world tour, Niall. Everything is difficult” She leaned back against the counter as Niall’s hands drop to his side.
“What- what do you mean?” Sophie snapped, or rather she was snapping at Niall and she couldn’t help it. She wanted it to stop, she wanted him to stop.
“I don’t know! I should’ve seen it coming, and trust me I tried to prepare myself for all of this” she let out a sad laughter. “You’re Niall fricking Horan, how the fuck can you be my boyfriend?!” Sophie turned and slammed the counter in front of her. Her chest was heavy, and everything started to hurt. Is this what letting go of real love feels like?
Niall’s arms snaked around her waist, pulling her close to his body. Sophie tried to fight it, but she was too tired after being so consumed by the thoughts of Niall and this entire relationship. She let herself melt into his arms, quiet sobs leaving her lips. He swayed from side to side, his head buried in her hair while he let her cry.
“I’m sorry petal, I really am”
“I know”
#niall horan fic#niall horan#niall horan x reader#niall horan imagine#niall horan fan fiction#sophie hoang#sophie x niall#the coffee roasters series#the coffee roasters#TCR
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The Good Guys Dressed In Black
TITLE: The Good Guys Dressed In Black
CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: ½
AUTHOR: @timeladylaufeson
ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki meeting and falling in love with an MiB agent.
RATING: Everyone, I guess? There’s some language but nothing bad I’d say
NOTES/WARNINGS: Took the title from the song Men In Black by Will Smith :) I wouldn’t say you need to know the MiB films too well to understand, but I guess you should have some basic knowledge. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!!
A woman in a smart black suit stood in line at a Starbucks not far away from the large concrete cube on Battery Drive. When her turn came, she was greeted by one of her favourite baristas, and they chatted for a moment as she handed him her thermos.
“It’s on us today,” the barista said and smiled, sending the cup towards the espresso bar.
“Aw, thanks Pete,” she smiled and moved over to the handoff. She rested against one of the tables beside it and waited, looking around the café mindlessly.
“Venti iced soy vanilla latté with an extra shot for… Teetee?” the barista at the handoff called, a confused frown on his face. She smirked and walked over to him, grabbing the cup.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” she asked and the barista nodded. “Nice to meet you! I’m Double Tee, I’m here all the time.”
“I’m Luke,” he said. “You work in the cube, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” she nodded.
“Can you tell me-”
“Top secret organisation that deals with extraterrestrial threats.”
“For real?”
“Of course,” she grinned. “Now, if you would please look over here,” she pulled what appeared to be a pen from her pocket and put a pair of sunglasses on her eyes. She pressed a small button on the side of the device and it flashed brightly, the young man’s face turning completely blank. “Do yourself a favour and don’t ask questions that you don’t need an answer to. For your concern, I work for the government. Also, this is not soy. Please be more careful, someone could be allergic and you could get in trouble. I’m not, so I’ll just drink it, but I’ll be bitter the whole day because almond milk sucks. Have a good day, Luke.”
She turned around to leave, but as she was walking through the door, she bumped into someone that was coming in.
“Oh shit, fuck, I’m so sorry,” she blurted out as she watched the coffee spill on their shirt. “I really need to start closing the cup before I start walking, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s alright, nothing happened,” a smooth voice replied to her. She looked up and saw a face that she knew all too well from the screens all over the Headquarters.
“No, I… I just messed up your shirt, I’m really sorry,” she kept apologising. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”
“It really is alright,” he tried to assure her.
“Please, I insist,” she said, desperately trying to ignore those crystal blue eyes and the amused little smile. She practically dragged him to the cash desk and told him him to pick whatever he liked.
“It’s really not necessary,” he said.
“Yes it is,” she told him. “Pete, get this nice gentleman whatever he wishes, I’m paying,” she handed him a twenty dollar bill. “Keep the rest. I have to go to work now. Have a good day! And I’m sorry for spilling coffee on you.”
She crossed the street and walked in to the HQ, greeting Frank the talking pug and the Guard, who was just reading his newspaper as usual.
“You have coffee on your shirt,” Frank said in his disturbingly deep voice.
“I know, I was stupid and didn’t look where I was going.”
“As per usual,” the Guard grumbled.
“Funny as per usual,” she sneered back at him as she stepped into the lift. As it arrived in the office, she couldn’t help but smile. Her job was a fantastical adventure and she loved it. There was a line of aliens waiting for their documents to be verified over at the front desk. Another group of aliens walk/crawled/flew past her. There was Kay, showing some rookies around. Someone was putting up a fight.
“Double Tee! Are you running around neuralysing random people again?”
Yeah. That was the life.
The following morning, as Double Tee entered the Starbucks and joined the queue, someone tapped her shoulder.
“Excuse me, aren’t you the lady that so kindly bought my drink yesterday?” the now familiar voice asked.
Double Tee chuckled. “Don’t you mean the dumbass that spilled coffee on you yesterday?”
“Well but you did buy me a drink afterwards, didn’t you?” he asked, a cheeky smile on his face.
“That I did,” she nodded.
“Let me return the favour,” he offered. “I’ll buy your coffee today.”
“Absolutely not! Yesterday was for… well, yesterday,” she shook her head. “I ruined your shirt, that’s why I bought your coffee. We’re even now.”
“What if I just really want to buy a coffee?” he suggested. “I… I heard that’s what men do when they find a woman attractive. I’m Loki.”
That was how it started. Every day, one of them bought the other their coffee. The next day, they switched. Double Tee knew she shouldn’t engage with a civilian, even less so with an alien, but God, was this one incredible in every way imaginable. They talked for hours on end, about virtually nothing. He respected her avoiding questions about her job and very politely pretended to be deaf when something slipped her lips. He caught on the fact that it had something to do with stars and excitedly talked about them, ocassionally mentioning that he missed them and that he couldn’t really see them in the city. She felt herself falling for him while the reasonable part of her brain screamed bloody murder about it being the worst idea in history. He was, after all, still listed as a potential threat, despite having joined the Avengers now.
One evening, it was fairly late, they sat together at the Starbucks with their coffees, Loki looking out the window wistfully.
“What’s wrong, El?” Double Tee asked. “You’re looking even sadder than normal.”
“Ha ha ha,” he glared at her. “I don’t want to be moaning about this stuff.”
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” she said.
Loki let out a sigh. “I told you about my mother, didn’t I?”
“You did, yes,” she nodded. “She died, didn’t she?”
“Yes,” he said. “And… I can’t see her star.”
“What?”
“On Asgard, when someone dies, their soul goes up to the sky and becomes a star. But… I can’t see hers from here. I can barely see any, to be honest.”
Double Tee thought for a brief moment. “Do you trust me?” she asked.
“Of course I do, why?” he frowned.
“Come with me,” she said, downed the rest of her coffee and stood up. “Come on.”
Confused, he stood as well and followed her outside, across the road, into the Headquarters. She greeted the Guardian and Frank as usual, mumbling something vague about a witness. Loki’s curious face made them believe her lie, so they said nothing. In the lift, Double Tee pressed a button that said garage and down they went. She led Loki all the way to the back where a small, unsuspecting motorcycle was parked.
“Do you really trust me?” she asked again as she opened what appeared to be a closet.
“I really do, but what-”
“No time for questions,” she interrupted him. “Put this on,” she threw a leather jacket at him and got herself the same one. “And this,” she handed him a helmet. “We’re going on a tiny little trip,” she told him as she sat on the motorcycle. Loki took a breath to ask her something, but decided against, and sat right behind her.
“I need you to hold on tight,” she said.
“On to what?” he asked.
“Me, dumbass,” she chuckled.
“That doesn’t sound very safe,” he pointed out.
“It’s completely safe, don’t worry,” she dismissed him. “It’s an MIB certified vehicle, it’s safer than like… all normal cars.”
“MI what?”
Instead of replying, Double Tee started the motorcycle and Loki could only clutch on to her quickly as they left the garage. They soared through the ever so busy streets of New York, zigzagging through the traffic like it was nothing. Double Tee was way too aware of Loki’s arms around her waist, but did her best to ignore them.
As they left the city and got off the main road, Double Tee slowed down for a moment.
“Do you seriously trust me?” she asked once more having to shout al ittle to make sure he heard her.
“The fact that this is the third time you asked me in the span of thirty minutes makes me seriously question it,” he said. “But I still do.”
“Then hold on a little tighter and feel free to scream,” she said and pushed a tiny button on the side of the right handlebar.
“What-”
Too late. The motorcycle went about twenty times faster now, the roaring of the engine deafening them. In a few moments, they could both feel the wheels leaving the ground and the motorcycle went flying through the night. When it got high enough, the engine quietened again and switched itself into flight mode.
“You can let go of me now,” Double Tee said.
“No, I don’t think I will,” Loki shook his head, but loosened his grip on her a little. “What in the nine realms-”
“You can’t tell anyone about this, alright?” she said. “Never. Ever. This is a secret, okay?”
“Absolutely,” he nodded. “But what-”
“Men in Black. That’s who I work for,” she interrupted him again. “A top secret agency. We deal with aliens and stuff. This is… our tech. Well, not exactly, it’s alien mostly. But it has some Stark Industries parts.”
“Stark knows about all this?”
“God, no.”
“And why exactly are you telling me this now?”
“I wanted to show you the stars. Push the little button on the right on the helmet, you’ll see better.”
With a shaky hand, Loki found the button and pressed it, his helmet opening and jaw dropping. The chilly wind made prickly tears flood his eyes and blur his vision, making the beauty above him barely recognisable. He blinked a few times and everything came to focus, but new tears replaced them, this time emotional ones. The last time he saw this much beauty was back on Asgard, where he used to sit on his window and just stare at the night sky for hours. He tried to find his mother’s star, but couldn’t see it in the speed.
“Don’t worry, we’re gonna land soon,” she said as if reading his thoughts. “Just a few more minutes.”
In that moment, a tiny red light started blinking on the inside of her helmet. An incoming call. Her brain went into panic mode and in the frenzy, she sent it to voice mail, hoping that whoever was calling would think she was busy escaping from something.
They landed on top of a small hill, in the middle of a thin forest. Double Tee switched the motorcycle off and took off her helmet. She turned to Loki, noticing the tears that stained his cheeks.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry, did I- did I do something wrong?” she asked.
“No,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s perfect,” he added, pulling her into a tight hug.
“Don’t mention it,” she whispered as she nuzzled into his neck. “But you know, you’re missing out on the stars right now. Wanna climb a tree?”
In just a few moments, they sat atop a giant oak, watching the stars.
“What’s your real name?” Loki asked.
“Double Tee,” she said. “It’s my official name now. I don’t really exist anymore.”
“So… what was your name?” he wondered.
“Theresa-Taylor Barnes,” she said.
“Barnes?” he frowned.
“Distant relative,” she nodded, knowing exactly what he was about to ask. “Poor uncle James. How is he?”
“He’s… he’s fine, I think,” Loki said. “I think we’re good friends, but I’m not really sure.”
“I’d tell you to say hi to him, but… he doesn’t know me. He’s not supposed to know me. No one is.”
“Then why-”
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I should have never started talking to you, but I just… couldn’t help it.”
“It must be quite lonely,” he pointed out.
“In a way,” she agreed mindlessly. “I… I suppose I have the other agents, but familiarity isn’t really a big thing there. We’re just colleagues mostly. We don’t… we’re not like you guys.”
“Us?”
“The Avengers. Aren’t you this really cool team that’s real good friends? Doesn’t Stark always organise these parties where you all drink and dance and shit?”
“I suppose.”
“Must be cool.”
He took a pause. “I could… introduce you.”
“No,” she shook her head. “Not a good idea. I’m not supposed to be friends with anyone, ever. If someone finds out about you, I’m toast.”
“Is it really that bad?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t think I want to know.”
None of them said anything for a moment.
“Theresa-Taylor?”
“Don’t,” she mumbled. “It’s a stupid name. Call me Terry if you really want to.”
“Terry,” he tried again. “It doesn’t really suit you.”
“It’s been years since someone called me that,” she smiled. “It doesn’t even sound right anymore, but it’s nice to hear it.”
“What if I called you mine instead?” he suggested. Double Tee’s eyes widened.
“What?”
“You’re amazing. You took a huge risk taking me here just to make me feel better. You’re the only person who gets me. You’re funny, you’re smart, you’re kind, you’re…” he took a deep breath. “You’re the best person I have ever met. I’m in love with you, Terry.”
“El, I-”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted her. “I just… wanted to get it out of my system.”
With her eyes full of tears, she leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. He looked at her for a moment, then turned his head ever so slightly and closed the remaining space between them. It was only for the shortest moment, but it still felt as if time had stopped.
When they separated again, Loki gently put a strand of Double Tee’s hair behind her ear. “Don’t cry, darling,” he whispered, hugging her tight.
“This shouldn’t be,” she sobbed. “I shouldn’t have feelings for you. I’m so screwed.”
“No you’re not,” he said. “No one has to know.”
But then-
“Double Tee and Loki, sitting in a tree,” they heard from below them. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”
They flinched and look down, only to see two other agents, Jay and Kay.
“Man, I never thought I’d get to sing that again,” Jay snickered.
“Get down here, Double Tee,” Kay said, his arms crossed on his chest. “You too, sir.”
Double Tee sighed and jumped off the branch, landing on her feet but nearly falling over.
“Are you out of your mind?” Kay asked.
“Kay, wait,” Jay stopped him, noticing her puffy red eyes. “What’s wrong, girl? Is he hurting you?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine,” she snapped back. “Loki’s not… hurting me.”
“Then why are you crying?” he frowned.
“Because you are going to neuralyse him, aren’t you? You’re gonna take my only friend away from me.”
“You sure you guys are just friends?”
“Jay. Focus,” Kay scolded him. “You know the rules, Double Tee. No relationships with the outside world. And especially not stealing an MIB vehicle to go for a ride with the outside world. You of all people-”
“Me of all people!” she exclaimed. “Me of all people is sick of this! Me of all people is tired of not having anyone for myself! Me of all people is-”
“Lonely,” Jay finished for her. Double Tee gulped and nodded, noticing Kay’s face softening ever so slightly.
“We’ve all been there,” he said. “Sooner or later. Everyone gets lonely. And… sometimes falls in love with an alien.”
“That doesn’t sound stupid at all,” Jay mumbled.
“Point is,” Kay glared at him. “We just move on.”
“No,” Double Tee whimpered. “Don’t take it away from me. Please, Kay. I’m the happiest I have ever been.”
“You know the rules, Double Tee,” he insisted. “We have to neuralyse him and suspend you.”
“Kay, wait,” Jay interrupted him once more. “Look at her. You really want to break her? Maybe we could come up with something. He’s not really outside world, is he? He’s kind of one of us when you think about it.”
A spark of hope lightened Double Tee’s features. “Please, Kay.”
The older agent thought for a moment. “Fine. But if Oh finds out, you’re toast, understood?”
“Thank you!” she let out a sigh of relief.
“We’ll still have to suspend you for the bike though,” he said. “We’ll take you both back.”
Double Tee turned to Loki behind her and smiled. “We’re okay,” she whispered, reaching for his hand. He returned the smile end entwined his fingers with hers.
“Aw, man, look at how cute they are!” Jay said.
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Stress
Driftwood || Accepting
@therealgamble {for inclusion}
Arrest Me, Please
Fourth of July is a time for cook-outs, family, winding down with a bonfire on the beach. Usually Andy absconds inside with his noise-cancellation headphones and man’s the bar while everyone else is outside enjoying multiple firework displays, but it’s often not a big deal, less so here in California than in New York. And Beth herself had wanted to be curled up between two particular cops that weren’t related to her. Sipping on sangria, nibbling on the vegan hot-dogs that no one else would touch.
She’s not that lucky.
She is working a night shift in the ER as the front desk Triage nurse. And to call the waiting room a disaster would have been the understatement of the century. Every room in the hospital is full and out of the fifty bed ER, they are boarding admitted patients which effectively cut them down to thirty rooms, sometimes double and triple stacking the ER patients, trying to dismiss as many as possible at the most reasonable moments. But that doesn’t stop ambulances from bringing in more patients.
The hospital never goes on divert protocol. They could have been on fire, with a hostage situation, no power, under a tsunami and the admins would still not go on divert. That and people keep walking through the door.
And that leaves Beth to be their most accessible whipping boy for all of their fear and anger and pain. She knows there’s at least fifty patients in the waiting room, each of them having at least one and up to ten visitors with them. She is in charge of making sure that everyone is assessed, has the proper labs and imaging ordered, and preformed. She is responsible for knowing the results of all these factors, prioritising them appropriately, ignoring the sound of beeping call lights, interns that don’t know their heads from their....holes in the ground, and an ever mounting set of charts sitting haphazardly at the corner of the counter.
Being the person who makes sure no one dies in the waiting room is enough to stress anyone, and she’s capable of recognising when someone is in dire straights and needing a bed she can conjure out of nowhere.
She’s leaning over the counter, several inches taller than she is, and grabbing a phone, ringing up the charge nurse.
“I need a bed. Got a patient here that’s hypotensive, history of GI bleeding and the lab drawn at the doctor’s office today came back with a haemoglobin of 4.1. This guy needs a bed and blood, because he’s still actively having bloody bowel movements.”
There’s a moment of silence. “I don’t have any beds.”
“Then clear off your desk and I’ll lay them down on it, because we’re coming back.”
“Alright. Alright. Don’t get your panties in a twist, Moana. Start walking. I’ll find you a stretcher somewhere by the time you get back here.”
And so it goes...for ten hours. She lets the racial slurs go. She lets the cursing and the crying wash over her like a big wave because there’s nothing else she can do, it’s the third of her twelve hour shifts in a row, and her patients are missing the same holiday she is with their families, and her emotional exhaustion has no bearing on the care they should receive.
And so what if she’s got a splitting headache, is dehydrated from not having had anything to eat or drink, and she’s running on empty.
She gets her patients slowly situated, always returning to man her post. Walking with one physician who asks her for her assistance, she doesn’t see the woman running up to her until the woman’s hand comes down on her forearm, physically stopping her. Makes mention that Beth was her husband’s nurse the night before and was about to ask a question when she was flagged down. Beth kept walking with the doctor but she couldn’t leave it. Promises she’ll only be a minute. She isn’t the man’s nurse tonight but that doesn’t mean she can just brush off the wife’s concern.
When she gets to the patient’s room, his eyes have rolled back and he’s clearly coding. Another nurse, the one assigned to him, looks up at Beth, white as freshly laundered sheets. She is young and new and is very tense.
“PE! I think he threw a PE!”
Beth starts the cpr and tells New Girl to call the code, which she does.
The patient did not survive.
Her arms feel like noodles, she’s barely able to lift them without pain. Everything she’s feeling is shoved down into a box and she can’t let herself cry, can’t sit somewhere quiet and wonder if she did everything she could, if she might have done something different that might have saved his life.
But the night carries on, and so must she.
By four in the morning, she’s done. She hasn’t got anything left.
That’s when Brian slips in. Coming up to the desk. Not an uncommon occurrence to find a cop there, usually looking for someone who was in a car accident, usually following up.
He doesn’t get a word out.
“I did it.”
Brows gather over his eyes like thunderclouds, his expression clearly perplexed. “Uh...what?”
“Whatever it is you’re here for, Bri, whatever warrant for whatever crime....I confess. I did it. Please just arrest me, so I can leave.”
He laughs. “Sorry, that’s not how it works, Jellybean. Rough shift?”
She nodded, the misery and deprivation written over her features, in the bags under her eyes, in the fact that he could bend a piece of rebar over her shoulders that have become like anvils from the tension racing through her system.
The sun won’t be up for another hour, but she swears the clouds part behind him and light wraps him up in a holy nimbus as he lifts his hands. There’s a giant cup of coffee in one hand ~soy vanilla chai latte with a quad-shot of espresso~ and in the other is a paper bag that she can smell her cook out food still warm inside.
“Your brother was winding everything down and I figured you could use a pick-me-up.”
She comes out from the back office space and presses her face into his chest. Arms wrap around his waist. She can smell a lingering trace of wood smoke, beer, and all the other things like his soap and fabric softener. Nothing has ever been so welcome in her life, and it takes the last of her fragile emotional strength not to just cry.
They’ve talked for less than a minute, but this is the most compassion and kindness she’d been shown all weekend, and it’s a phenomenal salve on all of the rough, broken, bleeding, emotional wounds of trying to manage a hundred and twenty people on her own.
Maybe Brian senses it too. Maybe he recognises the insanity of the job. That is isn’t necessarily what’s going on during a shift so much as how you can handle it.
“Okay, Okay, let go or I’m drinking all of your coffee myself.”
It’s enough to pull her together.
“You get off at six, right?”
She nods, damply.
“Great. I’ll be in the parking lot. We’ll catch breakfast at El Matador. Watch all the losers wipe out on the first surf, and make fun of them.”
“Have I tol’ ya, I love you.”
“Many, many times, and it’s never gonna happen, babe.”
He brushes a kiss against her forehead, shoves the food and drink in her hands and walks out knowing he’s done a good deed.
What he doesn’t know is how much better he makes the last two hours go.
#Mahalo!Nonny Mouse <33#She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms}#Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks#Honourable Mention|Brian Gamble#Thin Blue Lines|Swat verse#California Screaming#medical tw#hospital tw#Anonymous
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Three Faces of Seb
A/N: Based on an Anon request for the @the-ss-horniest-book-club that wanted to see Seb run into some of his characters - And this is me, I can’t do anything without a little twist somewhere! Happy reading!
Word Count: 1528
Warnings: swearing
Seb tried his hardest not to pay attention to people on the streets of New York; faces blurred into the crowds so it was easier to pretend no one was there. But standing on the corner of E 161st and River Ave, a man’s face stared back at him. Not any man’s face, HIS face. Before Sebastian could do anything more than blink, the face vanished into the throngs crawling the streets. Weird, he thought to himself.
That same day, a call came in that changed his life forever. Sebastian decided to call up his group of buddies to plan a little celebration for his role as James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes; they decided to meet up at a bar in downtown New York.
At the bar, his buddy Chase ribbed Sebastian good-naturedly, saying the role of Bucky was going to be one of those “blink and you miss it” kind of things. Sebastian wrinkled his nose and made a face before barking out a laugh. “Ok, sure Chase. Wanna put down money on that now?”
Sebastian’s trainer Don choked on his water. “Considering what kind of shape you wanna be in for this role, I HOPE it’s not a flash in the pan for ya!”
Another one of Seb’s friends Will motioned for a bartender as he shook his head at the guys. Then he did a double-take and hit Sebastian in the shoulder impatiently. “Dude,” he whispered. “Dude!” He said more loudly.
Two brown heads and two pairs of stormy eyes looked at Will. The one behind the bar smirked as he pulled out four shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. “Hey there,” he smiled at Will then glanced down at Seb. Both guys did a double-take. “And hey there handsome,” he drawled staring at Sebastian now. “Do you have a name to go with that pretty face?”
Sebastian blushed but smiled at the obvious flirting. “Sebastian, Seb. And you are…?”
“Jack,” he practically purred.
“Nice to meet you Jack!” Seb took one of the shots and cheered with Chase, Will, and Don before downing it quickly. All four thanked Jack and headed back to their couch along the back wall.
“Dude!” Chase laughed. “I didn’t know you had a twin!”
“Neither did I,” Seb commented. I’m gonna have to talk to mom this weekend, he told himself.
*
Atlanta was brutal. Seb was standing there in full ‘Bucky’ gear in 90º heat, sweat making the leather stick uncomfortably in places he didn’t want to draw attention to. One of the brothers yelled cut and he ran to the nearest fan, letting it blow through his beard and hair. Chris Evans approached and hip-checked him with a grin. “Quit hogign’ the fan!”
Seb threw his head back before moaning. “Fuck no! I’m broiling in this thing.”
“And I’m not?” Chris indicated the plain dark navy suit on his body. “Move over at least.” Seb moved one tiny step; Chris rolled his eyes and laughed as they both tried to cool off.
“We’re shutting down for the day,” a Russo said as he/they approached Seb and Chris. “We’ll pick back up tomorrow morning, bright and early. Maybe we’ll miss some of the heat?” The Russo walked off as Seb and Chris both heaved sighs of relief. Both headed back to the wardrobe department and were back in t-shirts and shorts in record time. Anthony and Jeremy joined them, heading to Starbucks for a shot of espresso and air conditioning.
Starbucks was packed when the four men got there; apparently, they weren’t the only ones to have a similar idea. Just as Seb was reaching out for the Americano, 1 cream and sugar, extended to him, a solid body bumped into him. Thankfully no coffee was spilled but Seb turned to the person to make sure they were ok. The red jacket nearly blinded him as the guy started to complain. “Can’t people just watch…” Seb was ready to shoot back a smartass comment when their eyes met. No fucking way, Seb thought, this can’t be happening again!
Anthony took Seb’s drink along with his own and glanced at the two guys. “Something wrong?”
The guy in the bright red jacket smirked. “Nope, nothin’s wrong here. You?” He pointed at Seb with the hand not holding onto a huge to-go cup.”
“Hi, I’m Seb,” he offered instead of answering the question. “Where do I know you from?”
Anthony looked at bright red jacket guy with a smirk. “Seb, don’t you know your celebrities? This is Lance Tucker, men’s gymnastics god and Florida’s newest and hottest coach.” Chris and Jeremy also greeted Lance as they approached the end of the line. Lance gave everyone one last smile and left quickly.
Seb took a seat at the closest table and shook his head. “Don’t you think that guy looked like me?” All three guys laughed and started teasing Seb about his first ‘starstruck’ run-in. But I swear he looked like me, Seb kept telling himself.
*
Endgame was wrapping up. Seb couldn’t tell you how he was involved in the movie but he had been interested in the lines he had and how it would all come together. His cell phone vibrated; an unknown number appeared and he hesitated before answering. “Hello?”
“Hey Seb!” a familiar voice answered back. “Do you think you could do me a favor?”
“Sure Ethan! What is it?”
“So I’m getting married.. Was hoping you could be one my guys?” Seb coughed and smiled into this phone.
“But I don’t have to worry about being the best man or bringing a date?”
“Hell no!” Ethan winced and backtracked. “Sorry I just mean, I’ve got my best man but she’s got a lot of girlfriends that are gonna be bridesmaids. So you can come single and have some fun.”
Seb threw his head back and laughed at the idea. Press would have a field day, he thought to himself. “I’m in dude. Just tell me when I need to show up with a tux and where.” They ended the call and Seb wandered a bit. Suddenly he heard the scene being called to wrap and he sighed in relief. The present cast hugged their goodbyes with promises to meet up soon.
Seb was just walking into his hotel, making a to-do list for his arrival back in New York when he ran into someone. “Sorry about that,” he apologized. A pair of brown eyes checked him out as another guy pulled on his arm. “Hey Anthony,” Seb rolled his eyes. “Did you get…” The other guy and Anthony gave him funny looks.
“Who’s Anthony?” the other guy asked, checking out Seb. “Come on, Sam, before we’re recognized.” Then his jaw dropped. “Are you… me?”
Sam/Anthony chuckled under his breath. “Bucky, I think this guy’s into you. He’s just like you, but better looking.”
Bucky ran a hand through his hair eyeing Seb’s much shorter cut that had been hiding underneath the wig onset. “Maybe, but I’m not a fan of his hair; too short for me.” Sam/Anthony barked out a laugh. “Come on! Zemo’s gotta be catching up to our location and we promised the old Cap we’d meet him 10 minutes ago.”
Bucky nodded in agreement before turning back to Seb. “Be careful out there.” Then he and the Anthony twin took off.
Twenty minutes later Seb was on the phone with Anthony and Chris Evans. “Dude I’m telling you! He looked just like you, although with better hair,” he teased. “But they were calling themselves Sam and Bucky; isn’t that WEIRD?”
Chris snickered. “Seb I think the heat’s getting to you. I mean,” he sat back on his hotel bed, “there are plenty of comic book geeks out there that roleplay. Are you sure they looked like you two?”
Seb chewed his lower lip before finally telling them about all three guys. Jack the bartender, Lance the gymnast, and now… “Guys I’m telling you, there are guys that look JUST LIKE ME! Isn’t that weird? I mean I know they say everyone has a twin but…”
The line beeped. Anthony groaned. “It’s my wife and kids. I’d love to keep teasing you about this Stanman, but duty calls!” He laughed as he logged off the call.
Chris laughed too. “Look Seb, maybe it’s just a coincidence. You’re right, everyone has a twin out there but I think you’re just seeing what you want.” A knock sounded on Chris’s door and he got up from the bed to answer it. His jaw dropped; he recovered quickly. “Seb I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure,” Seb sounded a bit more relaxed. “You’re probably right. Have a good night!”
Chris stared at the guy wheeling in his room service as the call ended. “Will that be all sir?” the guy asked. Chris stared longer at this guy who was the same height as him, with slightly shorter hair and shorter beard, but without his Cap bulk and an ease he envied. “Sir?” the guy asked.
“Do I know you?” Chris questioned as he handed over a tip.
‘Don’t think so, but hi, I’m Frank.”
tag list: @lokiandbuckyaremine @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety
@courtmr @bookdragon13 @marvelgirl7 @sebastiansloserclub @loricameback @eurynome827 @majicbamana @jobean12-blog
@fenthyr @thenormreedus @ticklikeabomb @xxloki81xx @woodworthti666
@greenarrowhead @lovely-dreamer19 @moonbeambucky @yafriendlyfangirl
@after-avenging-hours @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @marvelc00kie35
@thejemersoninferno @bitsandbobsandstuff @lokilvrr @lostinthoughtsandfeelings-blog @theimpossibleg1rl @princess-evans-addict
@stuckyfox @moondancewrites @halcyonrogers @writing-for-a-chance
@ruckystarnes @angryschnauzerwrites @221bshrlocked @suz-123
@senoritastucky @devilbat @jpat82 @caramell0w @spookyscaryskeletonsus
@theoneanna @inlovewith3 @mrs-captain-evans @crazybutconfidentaf
@nerdy-bookworm-1998 @sillyboyscomicsareforgirls @shield-agent78
@mackevanstanfan80 @the-wayward-robot @renanyx @notyourtypicalrose
@boldlybeardedgiver @time-travel-bouqet @jilldsumner @breezy1415
@stuckybarton @just-the-hiddles @writer-at-heart96 @deathofmissjackson
@lacontroller1991 @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @eloblokistoner
@thisismysecrethappyplace
#hbc dd#hbc#hbc drunk drabbles#Sebastian Stan#chris evans#anthony mackie#jeremy renner#jack benjamin#lance tucker#Bucky Barnes#sam wilson#frank adler
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New Man (Pt. 3)
A/N: Alright, guys. This part sucks, not even gonna lie. School has been taking up every waking moment I have and my train of though for this fic completely fucked off. It kinda takes a weird turn because @abigailredgrave told me she thought Kyle in the 2nd part sounded like Eggsy from Kingsman....and I agreed, so yea. So, this will probably be the last part for this since it’ll tie into the 2nd movie of Kingsman. I’m gonna get to work on Waiting for Love (but don’t expect anything soon).
Summary: Go read the first 2 parts here. Kyle disappeared off the face of the earth. Or did he?
Warnings: Normal John Wick threats, fluff. Kinda boring.
Taglist: @anita-e-taylor @futuristic-imbecile @samanthagraceg @beyond-antares @cuttlefishcatfish @gwenebear @derangedcupcake @cumberbatchbaps @celestiaelisia @lunaticgurly
It seemed like I was the only one worried for weeks about John assaulting Kyle. I thought for sure that he would have ran to the cops to press charges, but nothing ever happened. In fact, it was almost like he fell off the face of the earth. His Instagram didn’t have any updates and there were no recent articles about him. I had a fleeting thought that John might have taken care of him but knew better than to think that lowly of John, considering he knew I wouldn’t want him to do that. No matter how much I hated the guy.
The front door closing alerted Dog and I to John’s arrival home. He had finally convinced me to move in with him permanently, for safety, he claimed. Dog jumped up to go greet him, with me following behind, simply watching the interaction as John dropped to his knee to pet him. He glanced up, seeing me and flashing me a soft smile as he stood back up.
I fell into his embrace, sighing happily and running my hands up his suit jacket as his lips met mine. John’s hands settled on my hips while I held the knot of his tie between my fingers teasingly. He broke the kiss and groaned in disappointment at his own actions.
“Wait, wait. I need to talk to you about something before we get carried away,” John sighed, running his tongue along his bottom lip.
I pouted slightly but removed my hands from his tie anyway. He led me to the couch and sat me down, which worried me slightly.
“Is everything okay?” I asked nervously as he sat himself next to me. I immediately thought back to the incident with Kyle, wondering if something finally got back to John.
“Yes, stop worrying,” he laughed softly and pulled me sideways into his lap. He ran his fingers through my hair while he continued, “I wanted to talk to you about a job offer.” I gave him a blank but confused stare, which prompted him to chuckle again and explain himself, “I told you about the manager of the Continental, Winston. Well, he told me he’s building a café in the hotel and was looking for someone to run it. So, he asked me about you.”
“How did he know I would have the experience?”
“Winston knows a lot about a lot of people, sweetheart. I wasn’t even surprised,” he shrugged. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”
“Why? So, you can come bother me all day while I work?” I teased him, poking his nose with the pad of my finger.
“Hey!” He laughed, grabbing my finger and bringing it to his mouth to bite the end of it. “Yes and no. It'd be nice to see you throughout the day, but it’s also one of the safest places in New York,” he mumbled at the end, hiding his face in my neck.
My heart burst at his reasoning, not only to see me but the fact that he was always worried for my safety. I hugged him tightly, letting him push his face deeper into my neck and scratching his beard along my skin.
“You’re so sweet,” I murmured. He just about purred into my neck as I ran my nails along the nape of his neck.
After a little more persuasion on John’s part, I finally agreed to have a meeting with Winston about the position. I would be managing the café while still working the counter, but would have the responsibility of two other workers.
The construction was very much underway and would be done in a few weeks, so Winston showed me what he had planned for drinks and cups. The cups were dark gray and void of any design on them, much like how the patrons here dressed. It was boring to say the least.
“Win, I adore the menu, but these cups are terrible,” I sighed. The menu wasn’t complicated, simply containing coffee and classic espresso variations with none of the insane customization of mainstream coffee shops. I was kind of happy about that, I realized, as I remembered some of the insane orders from my old job.
I saw John glance at me out of the corner of my eye. This was the first meeting he actually sat in on with me, so hearing the nickname and insult drop from my lips was a surprise to him. He furrowed his brows at me and glanced back at Winston, who looked neither offended nor angry at the statement I made. His eyebrows shot up and a smirk spread over his lips as he realized I had befriended Winston.
“If you have any suggestions, my dear, please do tell,” Winston smirked as I slid over a rough design. “This is perfect,” he nodded.
A few weeks later, the café was ready for its opening day. I would obviously be hitching a ride with John in the mornings, which had its downsides. One of them being how early he woke up. As I got accustomed to the new workplace, the weeks seemed to breeze by. We would enter the hotel, followed by Dog, greeting Charon almost as one voice. I had gotten to know other workers in the hotel, so I would greet them, as well, on the way to the café. John would walk me to the café, sometimes in a hurry as he and Winston would fight over being the first customer of the morning. The bar itself was shoved into a corner with a back entrance and tables set up around it. A sign hung proudly above the front counter reading “Continental Café” with Winston usually standing directly below it, waiting for me.
John would grumble as he had to wait a whopping two extra minutes for his own drink while Winston teased him with a short quip, “Better luck tomorrow, dear boy.”
Late in the night, he and John would be huddled in a corner table and talking over secret Irish coffees I would make them while I closed up. Overall, working at the hotel wasn’t terrible. An added perk was Winston allowing Dog to sit next to the bar instead of making Charon watch him all the time. Most times it was better than a chain coffee shop since the patrons were well behaved out of fear of John. It had only taken a week before people noticed his presence around me and concluded that we were together without having to say anything. The journey to people realizing it was the most amusing part.
One afternoon, John sent me a text asking about the length of the line, which was fairly long as everyone was looking for their afternoon pickup.
“How’s the line?” he asked.
“Long.”
“Be there in 5.”
I rolled my eyes at the message before handing over the cup from the order I had just taken to one of the baristas. Before helping the next person in line, I grabbed another cup, made John’s drink personally, and set it aside on the counter next to me. I helped a few more people before noticing John approaching as the next patron stepped up to the counter. John stood directly next to him, reaching across, practically in front of him to accept the cup I handed to him.
“Hey, what the fuck, man? There's a line,” the man huffed without bothering to look at who cut him off.
“Thanks, hon,” John smiled at me, probably surprising a lot of people who rarely saw the sight.
The man recognized John’s voice almost immediately and muttered a curse under his breath before turning to him, “Oh, hey, John. I didn’t see you there.” Just as fast as the smile appeared on John’s face, it disappeared as soon as he faced the man.
“Davis,” John said blankly and stalked away with a second glance in my direction. The man, Davis, refused to make eye contact as he ordered, speaking quickly before making himself scarce on the other side of the bar.
It was inevitable that at least one person would complain about the lack of options at the café, but I wasn’t worried about it. Most people ordered Americanos and went on their merry way. Most.
I sighed as a young teen, presumably a child of another assassin, approached the counter. The vibes that rolled off them screamed high maintenance, immediately causing me to cringe at what their order was going to be.
“I need a venti caramel latte with black coffee, six pumps of caramel, five pumps of vanilla, four pumps of cinammon dolce, three pumps of butter pecan, and one pump of ameretto at one hundred and twenty degrees,” the girl demanded nonchalantly, never tearing her eyes off of the phone she typed on.
I blinked a few times, the gold marker in my hand hovering over the cup as I tried to comprehend the order. I glanced up, seeing the kid finally tear her gaze away from her phone at my silence.
“I’m sorry, but this isn’t Starbucks. We don’t have any of those syrups,” I sighed and set the cup on the counter.
“Can’t you just make it anyway?” she huffed.
“Did I not make myself clear? Anything not on this menu can’t be made because we don’t have those syrups. If you want Starbucks, you can walk out the front door, make a right and walk three blocks. If not, I’d be happy to pour you a coffee,” I explained as composed as possible while clenching the counter with one hand.
“You have to make this!” she raised her voice. “Do you know who my dad is!?” she shouted at me.
“If you have any complaints, you can take it up with The Manager,” I answered and then continued smugly, “I don’t think your father told you who my boyfriend is.”
“I don’t give a fuck whose dick you suck at night!”
I glanced at the patrons behind her who shifted nervously at the interaction, as if John was going to magically appear. I opened my mouth to interrupt her rant but stopped as a man came jogging over to the counter and grabbed her by the arm. They exchanged words in a language foreign to my ears, but the tone of his voice was chastising. That much was clear. Two words I did know slipped from the man's, presumably her father, mouth. Baba Yaga. The girl stopped talking after that, refusing to meet my eyes after what her father had just told her.
When he finished speaking, he turned his attention to me, “Please, let me apologize on my daughter’s behalf, Mrs. Wick. Extend my apologies to Mr. Wick, as well.” He dragged his daughter away and out of sight before I got the chance to correct him.
After months of the same routine, I grew increasingly comfortable at the hotel. I eventually relished the relative silence, considering my previous job tended to get fairly loud at rush hours. It was when there was any loud commotion that you knew something was wrong in the otherwise solemn establishment. The Continental was dignified, with its patrons bound by a sacred set of rules.
So, when I heard an all too familiar voice shout forbidden words in a rage, my heart dropped. I had just read the headline, “Kyle Eagan spotted for the first time in a year,” when the shout pulled me away from my phone. There was no one in line, so I ripped my apron over my head and ran down the hallway to the slightly cracked door of a meeting room.
The sight in front of me caused my chest to tighten in fear. Charon was standing in John’s way, with an arm wrapped around his middle. Cassian was behind John, with an arm firmly around his neck to hold him back. John had a white-knuckle grip on his switchblade, clenched teeth and a blood red complexion. John’s body shook with the effort to fight against these two men, though he could have gotten past them easily if it was someone other than Charon. He would rather not hurt the man who continually had his back and probably ran his fan club.
I scanned over to who he was directing his rage to, seeing a group of equally well-dressed people. Chills ran over my skin as I spotted the smug grin of the man in the front of the group. Kyle. He was clad in an expensive suit, thick framed glasses, and his hair combed neatly off to the side. In other words, he looked completely different to how he normally dressed.
I took a few deep breaths and mustered up enough authority in my voice to get John’s attention, “Jonathan!” I walked hesitantly into the room, not really understanding what this was all about. I watched John’s face change in an instant as he recognized my voice in his murderous rage, letting his body relax slightly and stop fighting against Charon. I marched over to him, not even worrying about the other figures in the room. I took his wrists in my hands, hearing the switchblade retract before I even touched him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured with hunched shoulders but a stiff voice.
“And you shouldn’t be threatening to kill people in the Continental, dear,” I smiled and shook my head at his unwavering stare and flaring nostrils.
I glanced over at Winston, who stood in the middle of both groups and took a lazy sip of coffee, “What’s all this about?”
“I wish I knew,” Winston shrugged. “Jonathan, here, hasn’t let them get a word in, yet,” he flicked his gaze over to John to make a point while taking another sip.
At that moment, heels clicked softly into the room, attached to a woman I had never seen before. She was framed on either side by two intimidating Belgian Malinois.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Whiskey,” Kyle smirked and met my eyes mockingly.
The woman glared at him, “I just flew in from Casablanca, where I manage a Continental. I’d appreciate it if this was quick.”
“Sofia?” John asked incredulously, all kinds of lost.
“Hey, John,” she sighed.
“Please continue,” Winston addressed the strangers plus Kyle.
Kyle was about to speak up when an older gentleman stopped him, “You’ve done quite enough, Galahad.”
“But, Harry…”
The man ignored him and walked forward, “We’re from Kingsman, I’m Arthur,” he said and shook Winston’s hand. “You know Whiskey already, it seems. She used to be with Statesman.”
“Can we get to the point?” John asked impatiently.
“We need help from the Continental,” Kyle…or, uh, Galahad, interrupted. “Our members have been almost entirely wiped out and we’re dealing with a worldwide epidemic.”
The chuckle that released from John’s throat was dark and mocking, “So, let me get this straight.” He took a step forward, causing the Continental assassins to step with him warily. His gaze was directed on Kyle, solely, “You went through all the trouble of getting fancy training for a fancy agency in an attempt to outdo me or impress her,” he waved his had over to me. “Or both. Yet, here you are asking for my help.”
Kyle clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring slightly as he grew angrier at John’s words.
“This is bigger than whatever quarrel you have with the boy, Jonathan,” Winston chastised. Kyle’s eyes flicked over at Winston at the demeaning term.
“We would appreciate your help, Mr. Wick,” Arthur continued.
John straightened up, meeting Arthur's…Harry's eye, the other being covered by an eyepatch. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, composing himself back into the hardened features of the Baba Yaga, “Who do I have to kill?”
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(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3)
smut: yes | no
word count: 5.1k
warnings: smut, swearing, angst, unprotected sex, *age difference (disclaimer: this is fiction, i am in no way suggesting that these are colton’s preferences. if you are uncomfortable with a slight age difference, the one in this story is six years, then this is probably not a good piece for you.)
The hours after Colton left were mostly a blur.
You were so overwhelmed with emotions that the only thing that felt rational was hopping on a plane.
When you showed up with bags messily packed at midnight, the next flight out was at 10:45. There was plenty of time for Colton to realize you were gone and come after you, but you knew he wouldn’t. Not after how things ended. There was also plenty of time for you to leave and go back, but the only thing about eleven hours in an airport... It gives you lot of time to think. It was basically eleven hours for you to dwell on the fact that Colton tried to replace you. By hour one you were upset. Hour two you were mad. Hour three, you were infuriated. And there aren’t enough synonyms for angry to get through the other eight hours. You were so angry you started to calculate time, how many hours you were here, how many hours since you’ve eaten, how many hours since you’d slept, anything to take your mind off of him.
You were so mad you couldn’t even begin to think about his side of things.
Which is why you got on the three hour plane ride home, and why you’re getting into a cab at the Edmonton airport. Three hours was enough for you to convince yourself that it was for the best, it would have ended anyway.
Fourteen hours later, you’re still calculating time, you haven’t slept, and you’re so emotionally exhausted that you can’t even be bothered to take off your coat or clothes when you walk through your front door.
It’s about 5 in the evening when you fall asleep for the first time in forty eight hours, and when you’re woken up by Lauren storming into your apartment it doesn’t feel like you’ve gathered enough rest for what’s about to come.You almost forgot that you texted her before you left.
“What time is it?” Wiping your eyes you speak with a groggy voice.
“Ten thirty,” She says shortly, opening the curtains to let in the light behind them. “What the hell are you doing here?”
You shrug at her and she rolls her eyes. “This is what was always going to happen, we weren’t gonna work out right? So it’s done. For real this time.”
She scans your body sprawled out on the couch, while you rub your temples to soothe the aching in your head. Stalking to the end of the couch where your feet are, she yanks off one of your boots, and then the other before saying, “You’re a fucking idiot.”
The clear mad tone to her voice is like a trigger for you, and you shut your eyes tight, because you know that all fourteen hours of built up anger are gonna come out of you at once. Before you can stammer out a response she’s talking again. “No, don’t. You need some tough love right now. I thought you’d figure this out on your own but obviously you’re so dense that you can’t.”
She swipes your legs off the couch and you sit up, trying not to look at her.
“You’re self sabotaging.” She states firmly. “Stop it.”
“I’m self sabotaging because it’s never going to work out, Lauren!” You’ve never actually yelled at her before, but there’s a first time for everything. “I don’t need to hear another speech about how I’m the one walking away all the time because I know that now, but I was just doing the inevitable!”
“You don’t know that!” Lauren fights back, raising her voice just as much. “You won’t even try for more than five fucking days cause you’re so scared of being rejected again!”
“And what that’s not a rational fear? Are you sure about that cause the second he left Edmonton last season he found a replacement who looked exactly like me, only thing is, she was his age!”
Her eyes soften when you tell her, and just like that you’re back to tears again. They’re angry tears though now, and you’re not ready to stop yelling it. It feels good to get it all out. “Don’t tell me that I’m stupid for being scared of what would have eventually happened, because he would have realized soon enough that six years was too much, and I would have been brokenhearted again.” You finish, getting to your feet to walk away, but Lauren stands.
“It is an irrational fear. And you’re so blinded by it that you can’t see that he is so fucking in love with you!”
“Oh my god! I’m not gonna do this again,” You’re trying to walk away but Lauren grabs your wrist and pulls you back.
“If you won’t listen to him, listen to me.” It’s a plea, her voice has quieted significantly, and you don’t want to hear it but you know she won’t leave until you do. “Listen to me.” She says again.
You pull your wrist from her grasp, folding your arms over your chest, waiting for her to continue.
“Your replacement? This girl that you’re so hung up on? Where is she now?” Lauren asks, and you furrow your eyebrows. “No idea, right?” She continues, “Exactly, she’s gone because even though she looked just like you and she was his age and all that bullshit, she wasn’t you. You’re so butt hurt by him trying to move on that you’re forgetting that he didn’t actually move on. He came back to you.”
Lauren is literally out of breath from her rant, and you look on stunned. You’d be lying if you said that her words weren’t hitting home.
“He has come back to you so many times.”
Especially those ones.
“I have one more question okay? One more. Then you can make your final decision.” She speaks softly and you’re not sure if you’re ready for what’s coming?
“It’s a six year difference, and people will tell you it’s wrong, but has it ever felt wrong?”
You find yourself shaking your head immediately, and Lauren smiles a sad smile. “I’ve been rooting for you guys from the start, and now you need to start too. Fight for what’s right.” She finishes with a chuckle at her cheesy comment and for the first time in you’re not even sure how many hours, you smile too.
“I’m a fucking idiot aren’t I?”
“Oh totally.” She laughs, “We could have had this argument over the phone, because you’re about to get on another plane.”
You lift your hand to your forehead with a sigh, “I’m getting on another plane,”
“You’re getting on another plane!” Lauren yells again, making you laugh. “Go take a shower and get your shit together, I’ll book you a flight.”
This time you didn’t actually have to wait at all, Lauren practically yanked you out of the shower, yelling about a flight leaving in an hour and a half. When you touch down in St Louis it’s 3:30 their time, and it’s been 36 hours since you left, and you’re still calculating time for some stupid reason.
You haven’t even thought about what you’re going to say to him when you see him, and the closer you get to his house, the more nervous you feel. The underlying fear of rejection is still there no matter how confident you go into this.
When he said he was done, he might have meant it in a way that you can’t change. But you’re the one who needs to take strides to keep him in your life now, and you know you can’t let the fear of heartbreak stop you from trying.
When you walk into the lobby of his building, suitcase strolling behind you, the last person you expect to see is yourself...
She’s about three inches taller than you, her shoulders a little bit more broad, but she’s most definitely the twenty five year old you... Your faces aren’t identical, but she looks like she could be your sister for sure.
The wind feels like it’s been knocked out of you, and you can only stare while she sits on the couches, scrolling through something on her phone.
Your mind goes so blank that you can’t even feel your limbs as they turn you right around and bullet you towards the doors. There’s someone coming towards you but you’re so unfocused on what you’re doing that you don’t even look at who it is until they’ve grabbed your upper arm.
Your neck cranes up to see the tall man that’s stopped you. He looks at you and then back towards where twenty five year old you was sitting. It takes him about point five of a second to realize what’s just happened before he’s stepping in front of you, blocking your way out completely.
“Joel,” You say weakly, your head getting a little less foggy. “I need to go,” Tears are already starting to slide down your cheeks and you really don’t want him to see this.
“I know how this looks, okay?” He starts, “But nothing happened.”
You scoff, trying to move past him, but he bends down to make eye contact, “Y/N, if you were going up there to do what we’re all hoping you are, you can’t let this stop you,”
“It looks like he went for her right after I left, again.” You cry, throwing a hand up.
“He was hurt, you left and he was hurt so yeah he phoned her, and then he got drunk off his ass and passed out. I promise you, nothing happened. I was just up there and he could barely even put his suit on without having three shots of espresso. He’s so hungover, the amount he drank? He would have been debilitated last night, nothing could have happened, and it was all whiskey so he probably couldn’t even get it-”
“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” You interrupt, hoping he won’t go any further.
“Yeah? Maybe, I don’t know, it’s supposed to stop you from leaving again.” He says. You study his eyes and it warms your heart that he actually looks so genuinely scared for his teammate.
“Is he okay?” You watch Joel’s face when you ask, and that’s enough to tell you it was a stupid question.
“No,” He says. “Not at all.”
You pause, just looking at him, trying to figure out what’s going through your head because everything feels so strange.
“Just at least go up and talk to him, we have to leave soon, but he’s still up there.”
He looks at you expectingly, and you realize he’s not gonna leave until you agree, so you nod. He gives you a small smile before he turns and walks out of the building.
You watch him leave and you think about calling Lauren, but you know exactly what she’ll tell you to do, so you decide to skip the conversation and trust Joel. He said nothing happened.
You turn around and you feel deflated all over again when you see that she’s still there. You don’t have much time but you’re unable to stop yourself from sitting down across from her. Her eyes catch on you and she gives a small smile before looking back down at her phone.
You can’t imagine how you must look right now, because you literally can’t take your eyes off her. You’re blatantly staring, and she’s definitely starting to notice. Her line of sight flashes quickly back and forth between you, the creepy staring stranger, and her phone.
“Uber’s take forever sometimes,” She says with a uncomfortable chuckle. It’s clear that she’s trying to make the situation less awkward, so you try too, responding with a nod and a smile.
Your gaze shifts to your feet and you realize how dumb you are for doing this. You want answers from her, but you can’t exactly say, “Hey, did you sleep with my sort of boyfriend last night?” Her eyes are trained on you now while you shift uncomfortably.
You shake your head, getting ready to stand up when she speaks again.
“You’re her aren’t you?”
You’re not totally sure how to answer, so you just raise your eyebrows.
“We do look alike, wow. I was really hoping you weren’t prettier than me, but you are. Damn.” She shoves her phone in her purse as she sizes you up, and even next to Colton you’ve never felt smaller. “You want to know if I slept with him right?”
Well, she definitely wasn’t you personality wise...
You’re totally shocked into silence, so you just look at your feet, not sure if you should answer that or not.
“I’m not gonna lie, I’m really tempted to tell you that I did just because I feel threatened...” Your heart nearly stops and you look back up at her.
“But Colton is literally the nicest guy I’ve ever met, and he deserves to be happy, so I’m not gonna ruin that for him. Nothing happened last night.”
You lift a hand to your face to swipe away the single tear that rolls own your cheek. You feel so relieved that you could sprint for the elevator right now.
“He loves you a lot,” She gives you a gentle smile and you smile back. “I thought I was coming over to get laid but I spent the entire night listening to him talk about you.” She laughs and rolls her eyes at the same time, and you literally think you feel your heart clench. “I really wish he felt that way about me, but after all of that-” She motions backwards with an blown out look on her face and you laugh. “It’s clear that he won’t, you guys have something special. An age gap doesn’t change that.”
“Thank you,” You whisper, standing up. You think she’s done so you start to walk away, but she speaks again.
“You know you’re a lucky girl...” Her eyes flicker downward and you furrow your eyebrows. “To be loved by someone like him. He’s amazing.”
You can see in her eyes that she has real feelings for him too, and even though you know it’d be super weird, you feel the urge to go back and give her a hug. But you have the feeling that’d be a little out of bounds so you just smile and say, “I am. Really lucky.”
The elevator doesn’t seem fast enough, so you opt for the stairs, going as fast as your legs will let you. You do the awkward walk jog down his hall as you pass people, all of them give you weird looks, but you can’t be bothered to care.
You shove the key he gave you into the door, swinging it open with way more force than needed while you shout, “Colton?”
But there’s no response.
You wander aimlessly around the house, hoping he’s somewhere and he just didn’t hear you, but it’s obvious that he’s not here anymore. You missed him.
He must have been in the elevator while you were going up the stairs, and it literally feels like such a blow, because wow, what are the odds of that happening?
You don’t want to wait to see him, but you know you’re going to have to, so you make yourself some supper and watch some reruns of friends. The time before his game goes by so slowly, and once you finally see him on the ice, the minutes go by a little faster.
He’s not playing well, his minutes are significantly lower than usual, and every time he steps out onto the ice he looks slow, and tired. You know him well enough to know that this will make him angry. You weren’t expecting him to come home happy but you weren’t thinking he would be mad either.
When the game is done, you’re trying to think over what you’re gonna say, but at some point, you end up passed out on the couch.
When you wake up there’s a blanket on you that wasn’t there before, and you can’t even pin point when you fell asleep but obviously you did. Colton’s suit jacket is laid over the back of the chair across the room, and his shoes are by the front door. The excitement you feel knowing he’s home makes you scramble off the couch, searching the rooms to find out where he is.
When you step into his room and hear the shower running, you debate waiting again, but you decide you’ve waited long enough. At least those are your thoughts until all your clothes are off.
Now you just feel nervous, and you end up counting to three four times over before you finally have the guts to open the door, and now your legs are shaking as you wobble towards his figure behind the curtain.
It’s pathetic really, how afraid you are of admitting that this is your fault. You don’t know why blame is such a hard thing for you to own, but it just is.
He must have heard you already cause he doesn’t startle when you pull back the curtain. He’s facing you, hands rubbing through his hair. He only meets your eyes for a moment before his gaze drops to his feet. You lift a leg over the barrier, your tail between your legs. It’s impossible to tell what his reaction to your touch will be right now, but you try anyway, gliding your hands up his chest and up to his collarbones. He looks at you again, and you stare back, trying to gain back the courage you had a few minutes ago, but all you can see is the anger and sadness in his eyes, and it breaks you all over again. Tears are slipping out now, of course, and you’re frozen in the moment, unable to speak.
Colton’s line of sight drops a little lower, pausing at your mouth. You’re not sure why, or what he’s thinking, but it’s probably not the same thing that you are. You hesitate for a second before standing on your tip toes to press your lips to his.
This isn’t what you came here to do, and this isn’t going to make anything better, but you just need some type of comfort from him even though you don’t exactly deserve it.
Kissing him usually makes all your problems go away. His affections help you forget everything wrong with your relationship, you’re hoping for that again but you realize you’re not going to get it when Colton’s hands land on your hips. You know what he’s about to do, and everything inside of you hurts. He’s pushing you away. Physically but it feels emotional too.
You try your best to hang on, to keep yourself close to him but he’s too strong, and you give up, sobbing when you land back on flat feet. With a last attempt your hands scramble down to keep his touch on your waist. You hold his hands there, looking down as the water soaks your hair.
You have to own up to this.
That’s the only way you’re going to keep him.
When you feel like you’ve gained back the ability to speak, the first words that make it out are, “I’m sorry,”
You don’t expect him to say anything, but you still pause for a second before continuing.
“I want you in my life,” More tears. Fuck, of course there’s more tears. “I want you in my life so badly, but I’ve been so afraid of rejection. And I know that it’s been me leaving, I realize that now and I’m sorry I blamed this on you.”
He’s finally looking back at you again, and for a second you think that maybe that will be enough. Maybe you won’t have to bare your entire soul, but when there’s nothing once again on his end you know you have to keep going. You’ve completely forgotten everything you had rehearsed, so you’re just gonna have to wing it.
“It’s been 48 hours since I last saw you,” You start, and his eyebrows furrow. Really? That’s what you’ve come up with all of the sudden? More time calculations? “When I left, I needed eleven hours to fully convince myself that leaving you was the right idea. And I needed three hours to convince myself that it was for the best. But I didn’t even need one hour to convince myself to come back.”
This is so off topic, and it sounds so ridiculous, so you try your best to reel it in. “God, this sounds so stupid.” You mumble, lifting a hand to swipe your tears away.
Colton lifts his hand from under yours and interlocks your fingers, and that’s all you need to keep going.
“What I’m trying to say is, I didn’t ever think I would meet the love of my life at nineteen years old. I didn’t think I would fall in love with you at a fucking beer pong table right when I looked at you. It all happened so fast, and I didn’t expect any of it. And I sure as hell didn’t expect to love you as much as I do now.”
You’re crying so much that you can’t even look at him anymore, dropping your head you continue, tangling your hands together and picking at your nails. “The first time, when you told me this wouldn’t work, I was absolutely destroyed, because after knowing you for just one month I knew I would never love another person like I loved you. The pain I felt after that was indescribable. And every time since then, I’ve pushed you away because of it. I’ve walked out on you because I didn’t want you to walk out on me first, and I’m sorry. I was so scared of rejection that I couldn’t see what you were trying to do when you brought me here. I thought that I was protecting my heart, because I felt like you were eventually going to realize that six years was too much, but it’s not. Six years is nothing compared to how much I love you, and I’m not going to let others decide that we’re wrong because we’re not, everything about this, about us, is right, and I’m just so fucking sorry,” Your sobbing is probably prohibiting your speech at this point, but you try to choke out the rest while you’re on a roll. “I know my faults now, and I’m not gonna leave again unless you tell me to,”
He’s silent still, while you stare at the ground, and it feels like forever has passed before he crooks his index finger under your chin, gently pulling your head up.
“I love you.” He whispers, “More than anything.” Then he presses his lips to yours and it’s like everything falls back into place. He pulls your body against his and you’re finally allowing yourself to feel how right everything between the two of you is. He feels like everything to you and you swear your heart is actually bursting inside of you.
He pulls back, but keeps you close, closing his eyes while he rests his forehead on yours. “I’m sorry too.”
“Don’t Colton-” You start but he stops you.
“No, I am. I’m sorry for what I put you through. And I’m sorry for everything today that happened with Joel, I’m sorry that I called her. That I ever even met her. I shouldn’t have done that. Fuck, it was unfair to her. I’m so in love with you there was no room for anything else. You’re it. You’re all there is for me.”
“I don’t wanna hear anymore apologies.” You sigh, placing a small kiss to his lips.
“I don’t wanna see you walk out that door ever again.” He lifts you up to wrap your legs around his waist and you smile, pushing his hair back.
You lean in for one more kiss before whispering against his lips, “Never ever.”
He kisses you back, harder his time and you run your hands through his hair arching your back to get even closer to him. He turns to press you against the wall and you can’t help but smile, cause you know exactly where this is going.
It takes you by surprise though when he flings back the shower curtain, turning off the water before walking you out of the bathroom.
“Colton, we’re soaked!” You squeal, but his lips just trail down your neck. His kiss is about to make you forget that you’re dripping all over the floor, but then you’re being launched into the air.
You suck in a breath when you land on the bed, eyes locking on Colton as he hovers over you. He kisses you again and you let him, before turning your head. “How are we supposed to sleep here? The bed is gonna be all wet,”
“There’s a guest room,” He murmurs, nibbling on your ear.
“We’re gonna get towels before we bang in that one right?” You laugh, but it mixes with a moan when his free hand grazes your nipple.
“Okay, I like where your head is it, with round two in the guest room-” He starts with a grin, “And yes we’re gonna get towels, but can you just shut up and let me kiss you?”
You nod, connecting your lips while he reaches down to hook his hand underneath your knee, he pushes up while he slides down, his lips following his movements down your body.
He places a delicate kiss on your mound before licking firmly up your slit, stopping to circle his tongue around your clit. He sucks hard, pushing your other leg up to spread you wider. He licks into your entrance and you arch off the bed with an inhumane noise, grabbing at his arm. He lifts onto his elbow, licking back up at your clit while he teases your entrance with one of his fingers. He pushes it slowly in and your grip on his other hand gets tighter.
“Colton,” You moan out and he groans against you. “I need you inside me,”
He slides his finger out of you and sucks it into his mouth before scaling back up the bed to hover over you. You start to roll onto your side, knowing he likes taking you from the back but he pushes you back over easily, shaking his head.
“Not yet,” He whispers, sliding his forearms under the backs of your shoulders. You wind your arms around him and then he slides in slowly, groaning when he bottoms out. He stays like that for a minute, eyes clenched shut while he waits for you to get used to him. You lift up slightly to press your lips to his and he sighs, breathing into your mouth.
“I love you so much,” He whispers, kissing you gently.
“I love you,” You repeat, stammering slightly when he rolls his hips against yours. He keeps his mouth on yours while he rocks into you, licking into your mouth.
He disconnects and raises up a bit, sliding an arm out from underneath you to reach down to where your connected. “You’re absolutely stunning,” He breathes, rubbing at your clit. You arch off the bed and he groans watching you, loving the way you feel clenched around him. “Here, baby.” He pulls out and you can’t help but whine while he guides you to roll over.
You get up onto your knees and elbows, and he pushes your leg further out to spread you more for him. He pushes into your from behind and you cry out at how good the different angle feels. He rocks into you a few times before his hands travel up, resting on your rib cage to pull you off your elbows until your resting against his chest. He swipes your hair off your shoulder and you crane your neck around to kiss him quickly.
His lips slide down to your neck and collarbone where he gently bites the skin. You moan, your head lulling back to rest against his shoulder when his hands grip at your breasts. One stays there, and he rolls your nipple in between his fingers while his other hand falls down to rub at your clit.
“Colton,” You cry, jerking against him when you grazes your g spot.
“I’m right here, baby.” He coaxes, rocking into you again. He hits the spot again and your head falls forward but he holds you still against him, rubbing harder at your clit to get you there.
“Colton, I’m so close,” You whisper, grabbing onto his forearm.
“Come on, sweetheart, let go,” His lips slide up and down your shoulder and your breathing gets heavier as he carries you closer and closer to your orgasm.
He’s rocking into you faster and you can tell he’s getting close too. One last roll of his rips has him pressing into your g spot, and you’re over the edge just like that, jerking against him when he rubs at your oversensitive clit. You clench around him and he growls deep in his chest, cock twitching inside you before you feel his warmth spreading.
He holds you still against him so you don’t fall flat on your face, gently leading your body down to the mattress. He slips out of you and you roll over, giving him a lazy smile while he folds in beside you. “Fuck, I love you.” He whispers.
“You’ve said that a few times,” You grin. “But I love you too.”
“Stay with me,” He whispers, his grip on your waist getting tighter. You look back and up at him when you answer so he knows that you mean it.
“I’m not going anywhere,”
Then he kisses you hard, and your heart clenches in your chest, warmth exploding everywhere in your body.
You slide out of the bed with a smirk and he sits up on his elbow, furrowing his brows with a grin.
“I’m not going anywhere expect the guestroom, cause that bed is cold and wet. You’re welcome to come,” Backing out of the room Colton laughs, getting out of the soaked sheets.
“You’re welcome to cum, cause I’m gonna eat mine out of you.”
“Jesus christ!” You stammer, not expecting those words to come out of polite Colton’s mouth. “Where did that come from?”
He laughs and lifts you slightly to set you on the bed. “We’ve got a lot to learn about each other still,” He pauses to kiss you before continuing.
“And there’s lots more where that came from.”
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Closing Time (Benjamin Tallmadge x Reader)
Smoothie shop AU. It’s 5 minutes till close, and you’re anxious to get home. That is, until a stranger walks through the door. Oh, and he has no idea what kind of smoothie he wants.
Benjamin Tallmadge x reader
Fandom: Turn: Washington’s Spies
WC: 914
AN: I got struck with some late night inspiration. This is my first fic I’ve written in a while so sorry in advance lmao. And yeah I work at a smoothie place and my favorite smoothie that’s referenced in the fic tastes just like a creamsicle I love it so much. I want this to be a series, let me know if you’d like a continuation!Hope you enjoy! ~ Nikki
Y/F/B - your favorite band
~~~~~~~~
You glanced at your phone. Only 10 minutes till closing. You worked at your local smoothie shop for the last 6 months. Recently you had gotten a promotion to manager. You loved and hated it at the same time.
You went to the front of the store and double checked that everything was ready for closing. The store itself was small but there was a myriad of things that could be forgotten, such as forgetting to restock or take back canisters.
5 more minutes, and then you could turn off this annoying radio and play y/f/b.
You were wiping down counters when a sudden ding caught your attention, followed by a mans voice.
‘Are you still open?’ You mentally groaned. As much as you wanted to say no your boss would have your head. You turned around to face the culprit.
At first look, he didn’t look like the smoothie type. In fact he looked like he looked like someone who could drink ten shots of espresso and still be tired. His chestnut hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. He adorned a vintage blue jacket that he most likely picked up at a thrift store.
You had to admit, he was kinda cute. maybe you’d be more interested if he wasn’t preventing you from getting home at a decent time. Nonetheless, you smiled and answered.
‘Yeah of course, what can I get for you?’ You asked in your customer service voice, a couple octaves higher than your usual voice.
‘Oh you just made my night. I just got off the train and your sign was the only one still on,’ he paused, and you already knew what he would say next. Looks like you weren’t gonna close on time.
‘I actually haven’t been here before... what would you recommend?’ Oh, he’s gonna be one of these customers. You listed off a few options, but nothing seemed to interest him. Time to pull out the secret menu. If he’s gonna take up your time, you might as well find him a smoothie he’ll enjoy.
‘Do you like creamsicles?’ You asked. No one knew about this smoothie. It’s technically on the kids menu but it was your favorite so you modified it to be a full size smoothie.
‘I love them, why do you ask?’ It was now 9:05. You knew you needed to turn off the sign to prevent anymore customers from coming in and delaying your close even more, but you couldn’t be bothered. You smiled at his answer.
‘I’ve got just the smoothie for you then!’ Your mood starting to change. Nothing made you happier than finding a customer their perfect smoothie. It was kind of dumb, but it made you smile.
You picked up the canister and expertly prepared the smoothie. You might’ve made your scoops a little big so you could have the extra, but no one needs to know.
You set the smoothie to blend and turned to the stranger.
‘So, since you walked in here 5 minutes before closing, I think it’s only fair I know your name.’ You didn’t know why, but you wanted to know more about this stranger, even more than just his name. Like, why wear a jacket in the middle of summer?
‘Benjamin, Benjamin Tallmadge. But my friends call me Ben. May I know the name of the kind woman who let me in 5 minutes before closing?’ You smiled at him then pointed to the obvious name tag pinned to your shirt.
‘Y/N,’ he paused. ‘Well thank you Y/N, for dealing with an obnoxious customer this late. If I were you I would e kicked myself out.’
You laughed as you poured his smoothie into a cup, as well as the extras into a smaller cup. You quickly scribbled the name of the smoothie on the cup, as well as his name.
‘No problem Benjamin. It happens, and lucky for you I’m in a decent mood.’ You joked. You gently handed over the smoothie, afraid to drop it.
‘The name of the smoothie is on the cup, so if you happen to be back and I’m not here you can just ask for that, they’ll know how to make it for you.’
‘Thank you, Y/N. How much do I owe you?’
‘Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.’ He started to protest, but you dismissed him.
‘I just hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Now if hate to kick you out, but I was supposed to close 10 minutes ago.’ Part if you wished he came in earlier, so you could talk to him longer, but if you stayed open any longer you’d get in trouble.
He took a sip of the smoothie, and immediately smiled, causing you to do the same.
‘I think this is the best smoothie I’ve ever tasted, and I’m sure it had something to do with the woman who made it.’
Did he just flirt with me?
‘Thank you again, Y/N. I’ll most certainly come back again, and I hope you’ll be here when I do. Have a great night.’ He smiled and turned to leave, but not before slipping a twenty into the tip jar. He walks to the door and paused, slightly turning his head to face you.
‘And by the way, you can call me Ben.’
And with that he left; although, he remained in your thoughts for the rest of the night, hoping you would see him again.
~~~~~~~~
AN: now I want a smoothie :(
#turn: washington's spies#turn: washingtons spies x reader#benjamin tallmadge#benjamin tallmadge x reader#x reader blog#multifandom x reader
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Coffee’s for Closers
alternative title: lab has absolutely no chill when airing out their dirty laundry
Summary: Virgil is a barista. Logan is a barista. Everyone is gay—it's just that this gayness only occurs at Logan's cafe.
Warnings: cursing, rude customers and coworkers, let me know if you think of any more
Ships: romantic analogical, romantic royality, platonic LAMP+Remy
Words: 22,222
Check it out on ao3!
Grande white mocha latte. Steam milk to the third line, four pumps of syrup, two shots of espresso, put on a sleeve, pour the milk, whipped cream, lid, hand it off, next. Kid’s hot chocolate. Steam milk to the bottom line at one-twenty seven degrees, two pumps mocha, one pump vanilla, pour the milk, whipped cream, lid, hand it off, next. Venti iced caramel macchiato upside down with coconut milk and an extra shot. Pull two shots of espresso into each teacup, six hits of vanilla in the cup, espresso over the vanilla, coconut milk to the top line, ice to the rim, caramel drizzle of seven vertical, seven horizontal, two circles, lid, hand it off, next. This is literally the only thing running through Virgil’s mind anymore.
Alright, maybe not the only thing. There is the odd customer who gets annoyed at receiving a small cup when they asked for a tall, because ‘I thought tall meant large!’ and Virgil has had just about enough of people not understanding the price difference. There’s also a regular here and there that hands off their reusable cup with a grin, so he can fill it with caramel and decaf and nonfat milk for the regular’s wife, and the guy can get a tall pike place roast with caramel syrup in a grande cup, and Virgil can hand it off and feel proud of himself for knowing a regular’s order so precisely. Oh, and lest we not forget the ever-present parents thinking it’s cool to let their toddlers run wild and knock down his signs and spill drinks everywhere because ‘it’s okay, honey, he gets paid to clean that up!’
Okay, so there are several things running through Virgil’s mind right now. At this incredibly specific moment, one of those several things is the fact that he only has to survive twelve. More. Minutes. With the literal worst coworker on the face of the earth. He can’t speak to the quality of workers beneath the earth’s crust—sorry, team members—but for air breathing losers such as he, his buddy here just. Takes the damn cake. Stole the candles. Blew out his wish. On his birthday. Without a birthday gift. Spit on the frosting. Grabbed two chunks with her bare hands. Ate them like a toddler. Complained when she was the only one eating cake. Took the cake anyway.
Virgil doesn’t particularly care for cake.
“Hey, how’re you doing?” Kim asks the next guest, plastering the absolute fakest smile Virgil has ever seen on her face. Like, he’s pretty sure it’s bordering on genuine. That’s how fake it is.
Virgil doesn’t particularly care for Kim, either.
“I’m good, how’re you?” the guest replies, staring up at the trifold menu and holding up a line of seven people behind them because they didn’t have the foresight to decide on a drink during the fifteen minutes they spent in line. “I’ll take a grande salted caramel mocha.” Virgil ignores Kim as she delivers the spiel about the limited supply of whipped cream, instead focusing on the measurements of all the drinks waiting to be finished. Sure, he admires that one lady for getting eight shots of espresso—he could definitely do with some of what she’s having—but her drink is doing a terrible job of holding up the line when their dinky little store only has one mastrena.
Ten minutes.
“Venti double quad for Debra?” Virgil calls, ignoring the line of drinks that haven’t been claimed yet. Seriously, if these people are as intent as they seem to be on getting out of here quickly, you’d think they’d jump at the chance to take their drinks. Virgil doesn’t really care either way, as he only has to survive nine more minutes.
“Hey, we need a milk run before tomorrow,” Virgil tells Kim, shuffling down the line of drinks. To be fair, they’re moving much more quickly now that the whole espresso machine isn’t focused on one drink from five minutes ago. “Want me to do it?”
“Ugh, yeah,” Kim groans, rolling her eyes. She waves off the concerned look from the next guest, eyeing Virgil’s obscenely long queue of drinks. “I’ll finish those up, you go get the milk, peace out in ten?”
“Something like that,” Virgil agrees, topping off the last row of grande hot chocolates. “You know where the button is for extra help?”
“Duh, of course I know where it is.” Rather than give a sarcastic remark to her attitude—which is what he wants more than anything—Virgil smiles brightly, pushing his way past the swinging door and straightening the hat that never sits quite right on his head. In the near back, he pulls out his constantly dying phone to snap a picture of the barren fridge. All the way to the back of the main store and into the freezer, he trundles one of the squeaky-wheeled carts between the aisles, dodging oblivious mothers and manspreading dudes with man-buns and ratty tennis shoes.
“Okay, twenty two blue, five pink, seven red,” Virgil mumbles to himself, double- and triple-checking the picture to reassure himself of what they need. “Maybe just seventeen blue, five pink, five red.” These corrections continue as he sets about pulling every jug he can find from the crates, absently tugging down his sleeves as the cold sends goosebumps skittering over his skin. “Two more red, maybe a few half and half?” Thinking back, he’s pretty sure corporate didn’t ship any half and half this week, either. Sunday’s gonna be a blast. “Still no heavy whipping cream, no surprise there. The rations thin. The plot chickens.” Allowing himself a small laugh at his own nonsense, Virgil backs the cart out of the fridge and deepens his chronic slouch to put more force behind the wheels. They squeal and scream in protest as he shoves the—trolley? Is that what they call it?—back to the front, practically spilling it everywhere as he swerves around a narrow corner to avoid a stray child pinballing off the end cap displays.
Finally at the near back again, Virgil fights with the cart to get it through the doors and over the floor mats covering the little alley, very nearly ramming his head into the sink when the wheels free themselves with no warning. “Okay, freakin’ ow,” he mutters, rubbing the bruise on his side from the impact. “Whatever, just a few more minutes, and I can go somewhere that doesn’t totally suck or drain the life from its patrons.”
True to his word, Virgil eventually succeeds in restocking the rest of the milks, popping his head out to check on Kim’s status in regards to whether she’ll survive the next three minutes. One severely long line that’s steadily trickling out, most of them with drinks in hand, and if the flurry of legs outside the shuttered window is anything to go by, another slam is hot on its heels. Virgil tosses out a flippant farewell to Kim and makes a break for the punch clock, having absolutely no desire to stick around for the hell that awaits.
“Okay, cool, cool, love driving in the rain, favorite part of my Saturday,” Virgil sighs, glancing at the window. If nothing else, should customers not be deterred by the weather? Seriously, just go home. Go home!
Of course, no one is listening to Virgil’s complaints. All too aware of this fact, he rolls his shoulders forward to shrug on a hoodie over his work-mandated black shirt—at least the uniform doesn’t suck, he supposes. Flipping his hood up to protect his hair and tucking in his earbuds, Virgil strolls out into the clogged aisles of people and things, easily blending in with the other loners that would rather be literally anywhere else, were it not for their families dragging them along. Virgil has no such ties, and accordingly escapes from the store with ease.
And no, he won’t lie—Virgil absolutely walks slower in the rain to the beat of the song in his ears, and he absolutely imagines some cheesy pathetic music video happening around him, and he absolutely would deny that if you confronted him with it.
By the time Virgil reaches his car—neon blue, mind you, because it was the cheapest model he could afford—his hoodie is sopping wet, and he has had just about enough of this whole ‘existing’ nonsense for today. But no, no, he wants to go to that new cafe one of the regulars told him about. Stupid stubbornness. Of course, he’s too stubborn to get rid of it. So. On he drives.
You might think this is where the stars align—where Virgil stumbles his way into a warm cafe from a cold car, where he bumps into his soulmate on first sight, where he knows in an instant that this is where he belongs, that this new place is the home he was always meant to find.
You would be wrong.
“Damn broken phone,” Virgil scowls, shaking his phone as the screen refuses to wake up, despite being at a solid seventy percent. He keeps his gaze toward his shoes and the tiled floor beneath them, pressing the home and lock buttons harder than he probably needs to. “If anyone dares to so much as look at me the wrong way, I am chucking you out the window and letting you electrocute yourself like a tiny toaster in the rain.”
“—Upside down, iced, and pick your poison for the milk,” the person waiting at the register is saying, leaning forward as if they have all the time in the world. Virgil’s frown deepens as the person starts to socialize with the barista.
“Ah, Roman? I believe there might be someone waiting behind you,” the barista says, their voice carrying over past the pompous person that’s basically a wall at this point. As the guest scuttles away to wait for his drink, the barista beckons Virgil forward, saying, “sorry about him. Never seems to understand that other people occupy this world besides himself.”
“It certainly would appear that way, wouldn’t it?” Virgil says out of the corner of his mouth, not looking up to meet the barista’s eyes. Regardless of whether they’re the social type, he isn’t about to find out the hard way. The hard way being the only way, of course. Virgil does not want to talk to this person, is what he’s saying. “I’ll just take a small of whatever the cheapest thing you have is that isn’t brewed coffee. Please.”
“Sure, that’ll be one fifty.”
“Keep the change.” Virgil passes over the first crumpled bill he can find in his pocket—a five—and moves for a table around the corner of the bar to wait. According to that regular, the baristas here are competent enough to hunt down the guests when their drinks are done. So. Hiding around the corner. His modus operandi.
The worn chair at a table for two is more than welcoming enough, offering a decent view of the crying clouds outside and the over-soaked flowers decorating the windowsill. Virgil dusts off the plum colored seat, which probably used to be plush when it was new—at this point, it’s so well-loved that there can’t be more than an inch of fabric separating Virgil’s rear from the wooden underside. He tucks one leg beneath himself, propping the other foot along the reddish brown window edge. The beaten-up greys and purples of his sneakers offer a painful contrast to the flowers, shining dull under the relentless rain.
“Hey, haven’t seen you here before,” a new voice says. The same guy that was bugging the barista plonks himself down across from Virgil, pressing his nose to the window. What was his name, Ho Man? “Did the rain scare you away from a main chain trash place like Starbucks?” Rather than dignify him with a response, Virgil holds up the too-small black cap he’s supposed to wear to work. Proudly displayed in white stitches is the Starbucks logo. The way Ho Man’s face turns beet red as he fumbles to cover up the mistake is almost enough to make Virgil laugh. Almost. “Okay, wait, I didn’t mean—it’s not like I wanted to—obviously I don’t disrespect your profession—not that it’s like you have to have it! I mean, unless you like it, but I didn’t want to assume—that’s what they always say about assuming, isn’t it, ass out of you and me, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, yeah, yeah, cool! I, uh, I’m just gonna—I’m gonna go sit over there now.” Ho Man jabs his thumb back over his shoulder, loudly scraping his chair back under the table as he stumbles over his own feet in a mad scramble for the front area of the cafe.
“He seems fun,” Virgil mumbles to himself, resting his chin on a knee and pressing his forehead to the window. Out in the parking lot—if you can even call it that, it’s basically just ten rectangles that happen to be outlined in white—his car looks incredibly crowded in. Neon blue trapped by dark greys and flat reds, all of them reduced to shields sending rain shooting to the concrete.
A few tables away, Ho Man has plonked himself at a bigger table, facing off with someone turned away from Virgil. They certainly seem to be in deep conversation about something, but Virgil doesn’t care enough to figure out what, much less elaborate on it. To drown out the light conversation of a considerable amount of quiet patrons around him, he digs his laptop out of his shoulder bag and unfolds it on the table. In any fantasy story he’s ever imagined, this is probably the part where his one true love appears in the vacant chair across from him, reaching out to close the laptop and reveal sparkling blue eyes that dance like the stars on a dark and clear night.
Yeah, no thanks.
“There you go, cheapest thing we’ve got that isn’t brewed coffee,” the barista says, appearing very much in Virgil’s field of view to hand over a ceramic mug decorated with tinier cups in every shade of blue and purple. “Apple cider with cinnamon and caramel.”
“That’s the cheapest thing you’ve got?” Virgil sputters in disbelief. “That’s, like, four bucks at a chain place.”
“I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized we were on par with a ‘chain place,’” the barista replies, making air quotes around the words. “Anyway, make sure you return the mug when you leave. If you take it with you, bring it back next time for a refill, five cent discount.”
“Seriously? Cool,” Virgil says, reaching for the mug as the barista turns away. “Seems like a good way to encourage people to steal the mug if you ask me, but alright.” The barista hesitates, looking from the bar to Virgil and back. No guests demanding service. Without asking permission or begging forgiveness, the barista slips into the seat across from Virgil. “Yeah, sure, have a seat.” Virgil closes his laptop, bringing the mug to his lips.
“So I’m not even going to ask whether this is your first time, since it’s pretty obvious,” the barista says. “For one, you didn’t even make eye contact when you ordered your drink, which, okay, rude, and for another, you don’t know the system with the mugs, not to mention that you didn’t even say hi to—”
“Yeah, yeah, cool, great, can I just enjoy my cheap drink in peace here?” Virgil interrupts. He certainly wouldn’t admit it if this guy asked, but it’s better than what they make at Starbucks. “Yes, my first time, I don’t like eye contact, I certainly don’t like conversation—actually, come to think of it, I have a long list of dislikes, and you are quickly working your way to the top. Please go away.”
“My name’s Remy.” The barista sticks his hand out, prompting Virgil to merely stare at it with thinly veiled disdain until he retracts it with an awkward laugh. “I run this place with my brother, since he bought the building when the lister needed to move before the taxes got too high, and he pulled me in on the deal for my sparkling charisma—”
“Of which you have none.”
“—and because he likes dealing with the numbers more. He’s actually sitting right over—”
“Don’t care. Why are you sitting here?” Remy wags a finger at Virgil, biting his lower lip and puffing out his cheeks. “Spring a leak much?”
“Mostly ’cause I was bored. You seem interesting, I don’t know. Thought I could educate you on the mystical ways of how we don’t go bankrupt from people stealing our mugs.”
“Okay, yeah, sure, cool. Great. Educate away. Special tip, though? You kind of suck at educating so far. Like, a lot.”
“Noted. We’re small enough that we don’t get many guests, and the ones that come in pretty often usually have their own mugs reserved. Picked yours out for you when I saw you walk in. Brand new, never used. Just for you. So special.”
“Alright, let’s lay off the dramatically short sentences, Mettaton. You still haven’t convinced me why I should care.”
“I mean, I think you’re cute, so there’s that. Anyway, we use the same mugs for our regulars, and we get so few one-timers that we barely ever lose a cup. Even when we do, they normally come back out of guilt for keeping the cup, and get another drink at a crap discount. That’s our motto, you know? Come for the guilt, stay for the five cents you save. Well, not really our motto. We don’t have a motto. I’ve always wanted one, but we never set one in stone, since my brother isn’t exactly into all that stuff. Speaking of which, you wanna meet him? He’s right over—”
“I do not want to meet your brother,” Virgil says. He shakes his head, trying to force his mind to register Remy’s nonstop babbling. “I literally just want to finish my drink in peace.”
“You’ll be back,” Remy replies, tapping out a rhythm on the table. “The cute ones always come back.”
“I have literally never wanted to come back to a place less than I do right now. Please go away.” Finally, miracle of miracles, Remy takes the hint, scraping his chair back and moving for the table where Ho Man is still chatting up whoever it is that probably doesn’t want him there.
Alone once more, Virgil exhales, scraping off part of the dollop of whipped cream on his drink with a finger. Before the caramel drizzle can drip down his hand, he fwips it off with a sharp inhale, pretending like he doesn’t care that he’d probably be drawing thousands of weird looks if anyone were paying attention. Over at Ho Man’s table, Remy slams his fists down on the tiled surface, making the collection of mismatched mugs bounce around dangerously. Ho Man’s friend relaxes their perfect posture by half an inch before straightening again as Remy leans forward to whisper something. Virgil quickly shifts his focus to stare out the window.
While the rain seems to finally be letting up, its aftereffects are long from forgotten. Orange tulips and red roses in the distance are wobbling on thin stems, desperately holding onto the last of their leaves as the wind does everything it can to wrench them away. Even the trees are mourning the early summer storm, their overgrown leaves tearing away and drifting across the streets to stick themselves to windows. Virgil fights back the urge to recoil as a particularly large leaf smacks into the other side of the glass, tiny drops of water peeling away to race for the flowerbed below.
When he lifts the mug to his mouth again, it’s empty. Smalls are always so much smaller than larges. Time to go.
“Hey, uh, where do I, um…?” Virgil calls to Remy as he moves for the door, lifting his empty cup as indication. “Like, do I just leave it on the table, or…?”
“Just keep it,” Remy replies, waving off Virgil’s annoyed sigh. “Seriously, keep it.”
“Seriously, no.” Rather than take the mug and run, which would be immensely gratifying if it were, you know, actually against the rules, he deposits it on the island with cream and sugar for coffee. Dammit, even their carts are nicer than the crappy little nothings that Starbucks has.
“See you later?” Remy yells as Virgil wills the door to close faster behind him.
“Maybe. Probably not, but maybe.” Before the bell over the door frame has even finished chiming, Virgil is already at his car, not bothering to dodge the few remaining raindrops. “Weirdo. Hate to see how much of a disaster his brother is.”
---------------
“How long, exactly, did you talk to that poor guy?” Remy appears none too impressed by the question, much less the implication of how annoying he probably was to said poor guy.
“Look, bro, he looked lonely, I thought I’d just pop in on his day and—”
“And encourage him to leave my cafe without taking the mug for a discount next time? Try harder to cover for yourself. And stop calling me ‘bro,’ it makes you sound like a teenager.”
“Alright, Logan,” Remy retorts, letting the mocking tone dangle in the air, “FYI, I am a teenager, so lay off for a hot sec, why don’t you?”
“I would rather not. Don’t use acronyms out loud, you sound like a preteen. You turned twenty last week. Roman, kindly refrain from displaying the inside of your mouth like that.”
“Dude, what? Happy birthday, man! Why didn’t you tell me?” Roman demands, leaning his elbows on the table and forcefully inserting himself into a conversation where he’s decidedly not welcome.
“I’m having a surprise party for myself,” Remy hisses in a stage whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, Logan thinks I don’t know about it.”
“I am not planning you a surprise party,” Logan says. “There is literally not one person planning you a surprise party, in this cafe or otherwise. Go help that next guest, I never said you could take a break for this long, anyway.”
“You aren’t the boss of me,” Remy grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching lower in his chair.
“Technically, I am, having been the one to buy the place, not to mention that I was born first. Go help the next guest.” Logan rolls his eyes as Remy trudges over to the bar, a completely different demeanor washing over him like a wave as he steps behind the register and turns into a cheerful mannequin. Shifting his focus back to Roman, Logan presses his glasses up higher on his nose and releases a low, steady, frustrated groan.
“Talk to me, man, what’s goin’ on?” Roman asks. “Are you really that mad that what’s-his-nuts didn’t take his mug? You didn’t even pick it out, Remy did.”
“Mmm, no, that’s not it.” Logan rubs his knuckles against a sore spot on his forehead, considering Roman’s earnest look. “We haven’t been doing too well in sales lately, not that many new guests coming in, much less any of them returning for the discount, and I’m still waiting on your list of ideas for how to make myself more welcoming.”
“Well, for one, don’t dump all your emotional baggage on the first person to ask.” Roman waves his hands quickly as Logan moves to get up, trying to fan whatever flames of frustration are boiling in his brain. “Kidding! Kidding, I am totally, completely, legit-ly kidding.”
“Legitimately.”
“Tomato, potato.”
“To-mah-to.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s tomato. Anyways, I did draw up that list for you, which, objectively, is the literal best thing in existence ever to be created. In existence. Ever. Objectively.” To be perfectly frank, Logan is incredibly close to shutting the cafe down and locking himself in the fridge to cool down, both literally and figuratively. Nevertheless, he endures, propping his chin on his fist and sighing heavily as Roman draws a stack of bent and ruffled papers out from who-knows-where. At the very least, if Roman’s antics don’t put him out of business, he’ll be able to end the month with a bang. Maybe.
Roman smooths out the uppermost pages on the tiled table, letting the bottom sheets flare out like a background for the top nonsense. Pointing to each piece of paper as it comes up, he fumbles his way through the chaos, periodically looking up to make sure Logan is paying attention. Against better judgement, he is.
“Okay, so first off, it’s June, right? Pride month, bay-bee! Break out a new collection of mugs—”
“I am not changing the mugs.”
“He is not changing the mugs,” Remy seconds, returning from the last guest.
“Alright, alright, truce, no new mugs. I know you don’t totally go for the pizzazz side of things, but—and hear me out here, just something small—we could put different colors of powder on each drink, like purple sprinkles on a latte can be called a purple drink—”
“We cannot do that, Starbucks already has pink and violet drinks, and I will not associate with them.” Logan straightens his glasses again, pulling one piece of paper out from beneath the rest. “Are all of these ideas centered around pride month?”
“No,” Roman grumbles, scraping about half of the papers off the table. “I do think it would be cool if you did pride stuff, though. Show support to everyone.”
“Me, in particular,” Remy cuts in. “Show some support to my gay ass.”
“Your ass is trans.”
“What’s your point?”
“I guess I don’t have one, Remy. Roman, please, if you would?” Logan gestures with his hand, indicating for Roman to find a new thread of ideas to follow. The watch on his waving wrist boasts of closing time rapidly drawing near, as a solid third of his patrons slowly head for the door, carefully selected mugs clutched between their fingers.
“Right. Okay, so you said no new mugs, and you said no pride stuff, and you said no fun, so let me just jot that down, and we’ll keep going.”
“I said no new mugs, I asked for different pride stuff that wouldn’t infringe on corporate coffee franchises, and fun is a subjective measurement on behalf of our patrons. Drop the attitude, or I’m cutting you off.”
“What? No, I’m your best customer!” Roman whines, wearing a pout for a good few seconds before continuing. “I really do think some nice decorations would probably help the atmosphere, maybe string up some white fairy lights around the ceiling? I know you hate those, but they do wonders for how the interior looks once it’s dark outside. Turn off the main lights, turn on the tiny ones, and bam, you’ve got a fairytale date night. Literally.”
“I don’t think you know what literally means.”
“I also think you should hire me. Not with obscenely high pay, I know how frugal you try to be, but Remy and I are basically your best bets for customer service. Let me cover the shifts when he disappears for clubs and stuff, you can make the drinks as precise as you like, and I’ll chat up the guests to keep the drinks coming. If nothing else, it’ll train me for how I should exist in the real world.”
“You’ve existed in the real world for years without working in a cafe.”
“What’s your point?”
Logan is very well aware by this point that the conversation is going nowhere. A few decent ideas, a few pieces of nonsense, and that’s about it. As such, he snaps the piece of paper he already grabbed, watching the top stand at attention at the peak of its arc.
“I guess I don’t have one. Remy, please, if you would?” Struck by how he’d unintentionally repeated himself, Logan shifts his focus to the paper, blowing a long breath out through puffed cheeks. “We’re supposed to close up soon, and I sincerely do not have the willpower to do it tonight. I have way too many things to deal with behind the scenes, and I can’t just—”
“Say no more,” Remy interrupts, plucking the paper from Logan’s hands. “Sit here, close your eyes, don’t do anything. I’ll teach Roman how to make your usual.”
“Seven extra shots,” Logan murmurs, dropping his head to rest on the table. “Actually, make it eight. Please.”
“Yeah, no, we’re only gonna give him hot tea,” Remy whispers to Roman, dragging him away from the table. A heavy exhale from Logan sends a few more sheets of paper fluttering to the floor. “He doesn’t get caffeine until he can go a full night without waking up to finish whatever piece of work he forgot about.”
“And you think he can’t tell there’s no espresso in that?” Roman asks, watching Remy move as quietly as possible, considering that he’s dealing with the sound of metal on metal.
“Oh, no, he can definitely tell. We’re both lying to each other, it’s kind of our thing, you know?”
“Sounds like a great sibling rivalry.”
“You could say that. Here, put these gloves on, protects from germs and junk when you’re handling the tea bag.” As the last dredges of guests file out of the cafe, most of them pausing to knock gently on the table in lieu of a soft goodbye to Logan, Remy and Roman fall into an amicable silence.
“Maybe the pride powder would be fun?” Logan mumbles to himself, dragging his chin to his chest so only his forehead rests on the tiles. “Or I could get some food coloring, dye the whipped creams? We definitely don’t have the funds for colorful cups or anything like that, but maybe I could put a little colored dot on the bottom of each cup, have random chance dictate what color whip they get? But then I might not meet the demands, we could run out of food coloring, run out of whip, it doesn’t let me appeal to vegans or people who abstain from dairy products, not to mention that the color might leech into the actual drink. Maybe the fairy lights, just as a summer thing for softer lighting, quiet hours once they go on, I could probably get some people to do open mic stuff or something, clear out a couple tables…”
Logan lets his words trail off at the sound of Remy plunking a drink beside his head, and while he knows very well that there’s no caffeine in the cup, he downs the whole thing in one go. Roman appears behind Remy, offering an identical drink in a bigger cup.
“Whoa, try coming up for air bro—brother of mine. Brother. Is what I was going to say. Was brother. And not bro. Brother.” Remy excuses himself to finish dealing with closing up the bar, letting Roman reclaim his seat across from Logan.
“Hey, buddy, you want to maybe get home, get some sleep?”
“Yeah, probably,” Logan mumbles, not lifting his head from the table. “Still got so much to do, though. Barely even touched most of your ideas.”
“Oh, please, you tore them to shreds!” Logan allows himself the smallest of smiles at that, shaking the back of his head and pressing his forehead deeper into the table. There’s probably a pattern of indents appearing on his skin by now. “And we didn’t even get to the best ones, which you can tackle tomorrow, after you get some sleep.”
“Get some sleep!” Remy echoes, flitting between the sinks with every possible piece of dishware in the building. “But not at home. Go hang out at Roman’s.”
Roman splutters indignantly, sending the rest of the papers flying. One lands over Logan’s head like a blanket. He does not remove it. “Why does he have to come to my place?”
Although he can’t see it happening, Logan would wager a good fifty dollars that Remy has positioned himself atop one of the counters that food doesn’t touch in a dramatic pose. “Because he literally lives at work. Like, the next floor up. He needs to get some distance from this place. Plus, I mean, look at him. I’m not putting him up for the night.”
“I’m the one paying your rent,” Logan retorts to the floor, watching his heels and toes click together.
“You’re also the one keeping me awake at three in the morning because you had a sudden idea and are seemingly incapable of restraining yourself from writing with a squeaky marker on a squeaky whiteboard, but no one’s asking me. Just go with Roman. Roman, take him. I am not asking you, I am telling you. Take. Logan.”
“Taking Logan,” Roman confirms. “Come on, Logan. I, Roman, am taking you, Logan. Onward, to my house, owned by a man named Roman, where I am taking Logan!”
“Shut up, you goof.” Remy’s semi-humored tone is accompanied by the sound of what is probably a balled-up napkin punting Roman in the head, but Logan still isn’t paying enough attention to see. When he hears Roman’s chair scraping into place, he forces himself to stand on exhausted legs.
Once he sees Logan steady on his feet, Roman shouts, “dibs on the bed!” and runs for the door. Logan offers a half-hearted wave to Remy before trudging after Roman, wincing against the ringing bell. Sure, the tea was good, but it does absolutely nothing to help his flagging energy.
“Why would I ever want to take your bed over the couch?” Logan mutters, barely stifling a yawn as he slides into Roman’s bright red car. “Moreover, you knew it was supposed to rain today. Why on earth did you not close your windows?”
“Because I like how it looks better with the windows down.”
“I want to make sure that you are aware that we are currently sitting on wet leather, and that your steering wheel is drenched beyond belief. Are you aware that we are currently sitting on wet leather, and that your steering wheel is drenched beyond belief?”
“I am aware of whatever it is you just said. Now be quiet, I can’t have you talking if I want to see the road.” Logan doesn’t bother to explain just how many levels of incorrect that is, instead reclining in the passenger seat and removing his glasses to watch the lights float by in blurry spirals of red and yellow. “So how ’bout that new guy?”
“What, the one that Remy assigned a mug to based on first sight? Yeah, no, just another guest. What about him?”
“Well, super cute, for one, and you’ll never believe this, but he actually works at—” Roman cuts himself off, glancing at a very much asleep Logan. “Alright, fine, I won’t tell you. Let you work it out for yourself.” With that, Roman turns up the radio and hums along quietly, careful to keep the noise low, to let Logan rest. Until tomorrow, at least, when Roman has every intention of screwing with his friends’ love life.
Come on, you’ve gotta let Roman have some fun.
---------------
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, we really don’t have blond espresso beans here, and we don’t have blond roast, and we don’t have decaf roast, as our shipment doesn’t come in ’til tomorrow. Is there anything else we can help you with?” To tell the truth, it is taking every single miniscule last ounce of willpower for Virgil not to vault over this counter and punch the very nice lady in the face.
“Okay, but could you just do a blond pour over?” The very nice lady seems to be getting very agitated, but Virgil very much does not care. “Like, I get that you don’t have blond roast brewed, but I’m willing to wait for a while for a pour over.”
Virgil is incredibly close to having to physically restrain himself from saying you’ll have to wait until tomorrow, since that’s when your stupid shipment will come in. Instead, he continues, “Sorry, no, we can’t do that. No blond roast beans.”
“Yeah, but I’m not asking for blond roast beans. I am asking for a blond pour over.”
“Pour over machine’s broke,” Virgil finally sighs. Yeah, sure, it just takes a small filter and some hot water, but he doesn’t have the patience for this person, much less to find any missing blond beans. So. Broken and nonexistent machine.
“Oh, well that’s perfectly understandable!” the very nice lady says. “I’ll just take a medium blond roast, then.”
Virgil leans over to grab Kim’s shoulder, pulling her closer to hiss in her ear, “if there are any hammers in here, you need to find and hide them immediately, because it will end up inside of this lady’s skull, and it will then find mine in quick succession. Fix her situation, I’ll catch up on the hot bar drinks.” Kim nods quickly, and Virgil is half-convinced that she thinks he’s serious. Maybe he is.
Nonetheless, he moves past her for the mastrena machine, praying for the end of his shift to come quickly and with reckless abandon. It does not.
“Grande affogato vanilla bean frap for Jenna?” he calls, handing off the espresso-drenched smoothie. “Thanks, have a nice day.” She probably says something or other about him having a good one, but Virgil doesn’t even bother pretending to care, already busying himself with the next drink. “Couldn’t’ve possibly picked a better day to start grinding beans slower,” he mutters, wincing against the comparatively louder screams from steaming coconut milk. Of literally all the times for the mastrena to decide that it was being too efficient with the espresso, this is the worst time imaginable—smack dab in the middle of a rush of people, none of whom understand the concept of ‘not having blond espresso.’
“Venti iced americano in a trenta cup with extra ice for Matthias?”
The end of his shift literally cannot come fast enough.
“Okay, dude, I’m really trying here, but I have absolutely no idea what this says,” Virgil informs Kim, showing her the illegible box on the cup. “You need to write the order down, and when you do, you need to make it possible for the most basic computer to decipher.”
“It’s a salted caramel mocha with two extra shots and almond milk instead of two percent for Tommy,” Kim says. It does not slip Virgil’s notice that she has to squint incredibly close at the cup for a solid five seconds to figure out what it says.
“Awesome. Great. Try to write it more neatly next time, yeah?” Finding a rare moment of gratefulness for his constantly cold hands, Virgil presses a frozen finger to his temple as he waits for the machine to finish rinsing. Is his shift over yet?
Miracle of miracles, his boss, Anne, pops her head around the corner of the bar. “Hey, Virge, call for you guys, I’m covering food av, can you take it?” Virgil plasters a fake smile on his face and nods, neglecting to comment on how he never agreed to that nickname as he accepts the phone.
“Gainesville Starbucks north, this is Kim speaking, how can I help you?”
“Breakfast sandwiches.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Breakfast. Sandwiches.”
“I, ah, I apologize, I’m unclear what you’re asking me.”
“Breakfast sandwiches! You got any?”
“Oh! Yes, um, we’ve got tomato mozzarella paninis, sausage egg and cheddar sandwiches, ham and cheese croissants, turkey basil—and they hung up. Cool.” Virgil nods at the dial tone coming from his hand, quirking his mouth to the side. “Just, uh, just gonna stick that right down there.” Dropping the phone on a nearby counter, he returns to the hot bar, where Kim is absolutely drowning in the chaos she caused by sucking so much.
“Virge? Seriously?”
“If you even think about calling me that, I am going to go find that hammer I was talking about and bury it in your spine.” Kim pulls her lips between her teeth and nods, turning back to the register. Sniffing twice, Virgil tops off the next round of drinks. “Salted caramel mocha, two extra shots and almond milk for Tommy?”
“Hey, Virge, over here,” Anne calls again. “Need to see you for a sec.” Virgil bites back a relieved huff for the break from Kim, instead settling for a long exhale through his nose. No, he doesn’t really care for the nickname, but he’ll suffer through it for a brief reprieve like this.
“What’s up?” he asks, leaning over the swinging door. “’Nother phone call?”
“No, it’s just—you’ve got a lot of overtime, you know that?” Virgil glances back at Kim, who is currently occupied with trying to find the serious strawberry frappuccino button.
“Frapp creme, second row, last on the right,” he calls, taking great pride in how he doesn’t roll his eyes at her. Turning back to Anne, he continues, “yeah, I kind of have to have a lot, since she’s kind of, you know…” Virgil trails off, hoping Anne is enough on his page to fill in the blanks.
“Drowning? Yeah, I noticed. You’re doing a great job carrying her, you know that?”
Virgil pokes a tongue against his cheek, unsure how to respond. “I mean, I’ve only been here a couple months.”
“You’re really doing great. Anyway, too much overtime for you, and we aren’t supposed to be letting team members have any overtime. You think you’d be good to head home early?”
“There’s nothing that would make me happier, but are you sure she’ll be okay with this on her own?”
“Definitely not, which is why I’m here. I’ll relieve your position, but you need to get going, like, now.” If Virgil were a more confident person, he would take Anne by both hands and press them to his lips in a show of relieved thankfulness. As it stands, he snaps and offers her a pair of finger guns, skirting the swinging door and making a run for the break room before Anne can change her mind.
“No human has ever existed with a better soul than Anne,” he murmurs, punching out faster than he’d ever done so before. There’s a certain cafe he’s interested in getting to a little earlier today.
In his car, Virgil hisses lightly as he scrapes his bare wrist against the scalding metal of the seat belt buckle. Now safely secured and ready to go, he queues up the route to the cafe on his maps, bopping his head along as a song starts up on the radio. Skip, skip, skip, skip, skip, he chants in his head, getting through a solid twenty songs on shuffle before finding one he likes.
The lights of the streets, not yet bright as they battle the sun for dominance over the mid-afternoon sky, pepper the sidewalks with golden flecks between the cracks of beige and white. Virgil tilts his head to avoid the glare of the light reflecting in his eyes, skipping through his chosen song before it’s over. As he flicks on his indicator to pull into the cafe’s parking lot, he belatedly wonders whether the owners will start to think he’s weird for showing up this often. Especially that Remy guy, what was his deal?
This worry chases him past several traffic lights and more than a few disconcertingly fast drivers, right up to pulling into the same parking spot as yesterday—decently far from the doors, but not so far that it’d be a hassle to get there if he happened to be holding seven cups of coffee. He shifts into reverse, triple-checking that he’s perfectly within the lines before parking the car and sliding out.
A cold breeze swipes over his face, startlingly out of place in the mid-June heat. Were it not for this abnormality giving him pause, maybe he would’ve gotten inside safely without drawing the attention of the silver car careening into the parking lot. It beeps brightly as it pulls into the furthest spot from the door, spitting out a driver dressed in bright blues and pale greys.
“Virge, hey, you made it! I was wondering whether you’d ever listened to my suggestions!” he calls, running over to Virgil and ignoring how his loose sleeves smack against his chin. “Find your way okay?”
“I mean, I’m here, so I guess I did.” Virgil shrugs, electing not to comment on the forbidden nickname that he would punch Kim in the face for using again. “And anyway, I always listen to your suggestions. Come here, try your usual—not a fan, by the way—and call you Pat. I’m not really one for nicknames, either, so I’d rather stick with Patton, if that’s okay with you.”
“Whatever makes you happiest!” Patton replies, taking Virgil by the hand and swinging it violently as he leads the barista inside. “So did you get to meet the owner yet, or is this your first time? I can introduce you to—”
“Pantone!” Remy exclaims, vaulting over the register counter to greet Patton. Virgil steps aside, bumping into someone’s shoulders and muttering his apologies as they leave. “I haven’t seen you around here in forever, what the heck, man? Hanging around with the cutest riffraff in town, I see.” Virgil scowls, moving for the register and scanning his eyes over the menus. Handwritten in white chalk, they look much more personal than the ones at Starbucks. Maybe not very colorful, but nice enough.
“Remy, how many times have I told you not to let any part of your body make contact with that counter? It doesn’t know where you’ve been,” someone scolds from a nearby table. The same person Ho Man and Remy were tormenting yesterday. Remy ignores them, still chatting up a storm with Patton. The person sighs, pushing back from a table covered in loose papers and moving to the register.
Virgil sizes them up as they walk, inspecting their carefully strict gait, the tie cinched perfectly around their neck, the strict khakis with only the most uniform of creases. If Virgil didn’t know better, he’d swear they were going out for a job interview at some craphole like Starbucks.
“Sorry about Remy. Little brothers, what can I do, right? What can I get started for you?” Virgil doesn’t answer, his gaze fixated on a speck of dirt marring their sharp glasses. They blink, waiting patiently and having no idea of where Virgil’s attention is directed.
Ho Man appears from around the corner, where only a few other patrons occupy the tables overlooking the windows. “Hey, it’s you! Logan, buddy, he was the guy here yesterday, the one Remy gave the wrong mug to! Wrong mug guy, this is Logan, he runs this joint!”
“Wrong mug?” Virgil repeats.
“Wrong mug,” the new person—Logan, apparently—confirms. “We carefully select mugs based on the person they go to, rather than selecting one at random like Remy does. He refuses to learn the process behind choosing mugs, so whatever he hands you, it’s probably wrong.”
“Sounds about right,” Virgil agrees, glancing back at Remy and Patton, both of whom are staring at him and giggling.
“So what can I get started for you?” Logan repeats. Virgil cocks his head to the side, considering Logan for a long moment.
“Surprise me.” Logan’s steely expression lightens for the briefest of seconds, revealing a soft grin and bright eyes. It vanishes as quickly as it came.
“I’ll have that right out for you.”
Virgil offers a small smile in return, passing over a five dollar bill and waving off Logan as he tries to hand him his change. “Just keep it.”
“We really don’t do tips—”
“Just. Keep it.” Virgil slips around the bar and moves for his seat from yesterday, tucking his legs under himself and watching Remy nudge Patton repeatedly. After a solid few bumps to the back, Patton stumbles forward, bumping into Ho Man as he curbs around the bar to straighten the creamer cart. Distracted by the way Patton’s hands flutter around his face as he talks to Ho Man, Virgil hardly notices Logan until he’s positioned himself in the empty seat across from him.
“Drink it first, then tell me what you think it is.” Logan pushes a mug across the table toward Virgil, careful to keep the motion near the bottom so it doesn’t splash. Unlike the cup covered in cups from yesterday, this one is something Virgil might actually consider stealing, if they hadn’t drained the excitement of doing so by explicitly allowing thievery.
Midnight blue and splattered with tiny white dots, this mug looks to be plucked straight from the heavens themselves. The inside offers a pale blue to offset the darkness folding in at the rim, enveloping the top of the drink’s meniscus in hues to rival the sky. Virgil traces a finger over some of the constellations skirting the outside—bright enough against the blue to be recognizable, but not going so far as to connect the dots with garish straight lines. All in all, a good mug. Maybe he will steal it.
Virgil takes a long, slow pull from the cup, pretending to be deep in thought as Logan stares unabashedly into his eyes. He holds the mug over his mouth a few seconds later, waiting for the flush in his cheeks to subside. Why couldn’t Logan have been the one to take his order yesterday?
Virgil lowers the mug, licking away the drink moustache on his upper lid and pulling his tongue back in with a pop. “First guess?”
“First guess.”
“Green tea latte.”
Logan grins, rapping the table three times. “Nailed it.”
“It’s ’cause I’m a genius,” Virgil says, lifting the mug once more. This Logan guy might keep some strange company, but he can make a mean green tea latte. “Eleven out of ten, would order again.”
“That’s an improper fraction,” Logan mutters, but there’s a gleam dancing behind his eyes. The bell chimes over the door, drawing Virgil’s attention to where Ho Man and Patton look to be in a particularly compromising position. With Patton flattened against the door and Ho Man hovering closer than necessary, Virgil can only watch as Remy appears out of nowhere, shoving Ho Man forward without warning. Logan releases a breathy laugh as he watches the debacle—moreover, as he watches Ho Man thrust his hands out to brace himself on the wall, as well as caging Patton in around the shoulders by doing so. If this were a romance movie, they’d probably start kissing right about now.
As it is, Ho Man stammers out some excuse, cheeks almost as red as the roses smattered his white shirt. Patton only smiles back widely, not moving from the wall. If Virgil didn’t know better, he’d swear his eyes were delirious. Maybe he doesn’t know better.
“I see you understand the nonsense I’m forced to endure around here,” Logan says. “With Roman being a flirt and Remy being the charming everyman, I do pretty much everything myself. Any tips on how to better survive it?”
Virgil blinks, unsure why Logan decided to dump all this on him. At least he knows what Ho Man’s actual name is now. Full disclosure, Virgil’s gonna miss calling him Ho Man. “I don’t know that I’m your best bet for help running a small coffee shop.”
Logan huffs something close to a laugh, gnawing on the corner of his lip. “Not a problem, I’m just uncertain where to go from here, and they’re being of little help. All they’ve done is force me to get sleep and toss a couple papers about pride at me, and that’s hardly a reliable way of forming a more successful business.”
“Sleep is important,” Virgil says. “I can’t speak from experience, but I’ve heard a lot of people say so.” Still midway through processing Logan’s words, his mind catches on a certain piece of information. “Did you say papers about pride?”
“Indeed, Roman thinks I ought to spruce the place up for pride month, and he’s even managed to pull Remy into the idea. You’re welcome to help, if you want to, but there’s no obligation on your end.”
“Sounds fun,” Virgil admits, raising the cup again and startling himself as he finds it empty. “I’ll take a look, if you want to show me those papers. Oh, by the way, my name is Virgil, in case I haven’t said that yet.”
“Virgil,” Logan repeats, testing the word and rolling it around his mouth. He peels his lower lip out slowly, savoring the V, puckering his lips out around the R and letting his tongue hesitate against his teeth on the L. “It’s a pleasure. I’m sure one of the other two said it at some point or another, but I’m Logan.”
“Logan,” Virgil confirms. “So, Logan, about those pride papers and this empty mug?”
Logan stands, somehow managing not to scrape his chair as he pushes it back. Virgil attempts a similarly graceful move, wincing at the grating sound of metal on tile. “Let me get that mug from you and I’ll fill you up—do not even think about handing me another five, this one is on the house, and I am returning your three dollars and fifty cents at my first opportunity. These papers, disorganized and chaotic as they are, are the only things we’ve got in the way of ideas to drum up more business.”
Virgil seats himself at the cluttered table, grabbing a sheet at random and letting the distant clanks of Logan behind the bar fill his head. Stuff about colored whipped cream—probably too expensive, not to mention non-vegan friendly, and powdered sugar colors—kind of similar to Starbucks with their colored drink gimmicks, which doesn’t seem like Logan’s style. He pauses on the mention of white fairy lights, glancing around the room and imagining how they might look framing the windows. Maybe a little too winter-holiday for mid June, but the tackiness could very well add to the overall charm of the place. Certainly a warmth that overcrowded Starbucks stores could never hope to have. Or they could line the windows in different colors, if Logan really does want to keep with the whole pride thing, or else—
“Try that, tell me what you think,” Logan says, plunking the blue mug on one of very few clear spaces between the papers. Virgil complies, poking his tongue at a crooked front tooth as he considers the flavor.
“Tastes like cinnamon, but that’s all I’ve got.”
“Cinnamon and almond milk latte, one of our most popular drinks,” Logan confirms.
“You don’t get called out for it being too similar to the one Starbucks does?” Logan goes deathly still, an expression somewhere between fury and shock freezing on his face.
“We are nothing like Starbucks here, and I’m going to pretend you didn’t just compare me to that steaming pile of garbage.” Virgil nods, deciding this probably isn’t the best time to inform Logan about his own line of work. “Anything good come out of that disaster?”
“Maybe.” Virgil takes another swig from his mug, running his tongue over his lips and humming to himself. “The colored powders and whipped creams seem kind of impractical, but the lights and quiet-hour thing doesn’t seem to bad. You could do soft pastels for a warmer tone around the room as a whole, and different colors around each window to fit pride month. I don’t know about open mic, since that’s a lot to organize, but maybe use that empty corner on the other side of the door for some little bookshelves and comfy chairs, have a chill zone when the lights go down and the moon comes up? Oh, and this is definitely just a suggestion, so you don’t, like, have to do it, or anything like that, but it might be cool if you changed up the colors of your menu signs, so they weren’t all just white and plain. You could do one board in blue and purple and pink for bi, and another in purple and yellow and white for nonbinary, and another in pink and yellow and blue for pan, and then do a bunch of little drink drawings on all of them in every color to represent gay pride as a whole?” Virgil bites his lip, suddenly realizing that Logan is staring intently at him. Again.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—I mean, I wasn’t trying to—you don’t have to do all that, obviously, and it’s not like I’m forcing you to, and I wasn’t trying to—” Virgil cuts himself off, ducking his head down and hiding his face behind his mug.
“No, no, that’s great, really, I love those ideas,” Logan stammers, waving his hands frantically to shake away Virgil’s hesitation. “They’re splendid, exactly what I was looking for.” Virgil nods quickly, not coming out from behind his mug. Logan places a hesitant hand on Virgil’s shoulder, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. Against his own volition, Virgil leans into the touch, tilting his head toward Logan’s knuckles before he can stop himself. The moment his ear grazes the back of Logan’s hand, he jerks out of the seat, spilling the rest of his mug all over his work-mandated khakis.
“Oh, jeez, oh man, I mean, shoot, crap, okay, I just, I’m just gonna go,” Virgil rambles, stumbling for the door and clutching his unwittingly emptied mug tightly in his shaking fingers. Before Logan can even think about calling after him, he’s behind the wheel of his car and careening out of the parking lot, already berating himself for being such a dork.
---------------
“Where’d Wrong Mug Man go?” Remy asks, popping his head over the bar as he pauses midway through restocking the milk fridge. “Scare him off with your utter lack of charm and cold exterior?”
“A little too on the nose,” Roman calls out from his usual spot in the corner. Well, not ‘usual,’ per se—Roman can barely tolerate staying in the same place for more than a week before moving on for bigger, better seating options. He’s had much the same opinion regarding boys for as long as Logan can remember, and the selection of the week seems to be Patton on the windowsill with the Toy Story clouds mug. Practically a real-life version of Clue, with romantic motives to boot.
Remy finger guns at Roman and ducks back down to finish with the fridge. Logan blinks, the exchange flying past him as he tries to come up with a reason for Virgil’s sudden disappearance. The first person to choose his flatter tones over his brother’s exuberance, and they run away like an owl from a forest fire in the middle of Canada.
Logan has never been one for analogies.
He reaches across the counter, startling Remy in the process as he grabs for a clean rag and sanitizing spray. In no less than five minutes, the spilled latte is gone without a trace. At least Virgil took the mug with him—if nothing else, he’ll come back to return it. Maybe even to use it for that discount—not that Logan would charge him. Virgil doesn’t seem like the type to acquiesce not to pay, but Logan is the owner, so what’s to stop him from making every drink free for the short instances when Virgil shows up?
“Roman,” Logan says, “what are the odds you have some colored chalk you don’t need?”
“Fifteen out of three,” Roman calls back, not looking up from the phone tucked in his lap. Across from him, Patton mirrors the position, curled into the corner of the windowsill—not strictly a real seat, but they both seem to be making do well enough.
“So five?”
“You know that’s not what I meant. I’ve got, like, a whole crate full of art supplies that I can’t use, because someone told me not to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming the next Leonardo Dicaprio.”
“Da Vinci. And I would hardly phrase it like that—I merely suggested that, were you to aim for realism, it might be wise to avoid giving your elephants tails for trunks and trunks for tails.”
“Stop stifling my creative energy!”
“Stop stifling his creative energy,” Patton echoes. Oddly enough, Logan doesn’t feel that familiar urge to roll his eyes as he watches Roman glance up from under a curtain of bangs, staring at an oblivious Patton. He’s never looked at one of his weekly obsessions like that before. Or maybe he has, Logan doesn’t pay very much attention to that sort of thing.
“The point being, you do have colorful chalk, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good, because I need some. Bring it in with you tomorrow, if you would be so kind.”
For reasons Logan doesn’t care to puzzle out, Roman tumbles off the windowsill, jumping to his feet and brushing off his knees as he rushes to Logan’s side. “Or,” he whispers excitedly, bouncing on his toes and waving his hands around his face, “I could run home and get them now! I could even go out to a store, buy more stuff you didn’t know you needed, spruce the whole place up! Patton could come with me!”
Patton’s head perks up at this revelation, and he pockets his phone before joining the other two. Even Remy leans over the bar, half-intruding on the conversation as he waits for the next guest to decide what they want. Logan crosses his arms, considering Roman’s eagerness.
“You know very well that I don’t trust you to decorate my cafe to your tastes, much less on your own dime.” Glancing at the menus in plain black and white, Logan does have to admit they look, well, plain. Boring. Virgil wasn’t wrong when he said they might look better with more colors. And yes, Logan would greatly prefer having Virgil here to coach him on how to properly execute the pride color schemes—Logan’s never been one for art—but Patton doesn’t seem totally hopeless. “Tell you what. I’ll close up early tonight, and us three can all go out and stock up on decorations. Keep the place closed tomorrow, and we’ll plan out how to make it look best to ramp up business.”
“Excuse you,” Remy cuts in, “but I think you mean us four. Don’t go excluding me from the party.”
“Who said you were invited?” Logan retorts. Roman stifles a snort behind his fist as Patton’s jaw drops in startlingly believable dismay.
“Logan! We have to take Remy with us, he brings half the fun! It wouldn’t be as exciting without him there!”
“Who said I wanted it to be exciting?” Logan mutters to himself, shooting a quick look toward the back of the cafe. Pretty empty, save for a couple patrons here and there nursing at their personal mugs. Casting his eyes to the ceiling, Logan pulls in a long breath through his nose, blowing it out through his lips and wondering why Virgil couldn’t be here to endure this nonsense with him. Immediately thereafter, he wonders why he wonders that. He didn’t even know Virgil’s name yesterday, why is he so set on having him here now?
Remy and Patton’s hopeful expressions drag him back to the moment—specifically, the moment where Logan is being forced to take three overgrown toddlers on a shopping spree to decorate the building that makes up his entire livelihood. No pressure.
“I am definitely going to regret this,” Logan sighs. Pretending as if he hadn’t said that, he continues, “fine, I guess Remy can accompany us. No candy, though—we don’t need to be buying food when we already have some upstairs.”
“Aha, but I have tips!” Remy declares, shaking a paper cup full of coins. “I’m gonna buy so many peanuts with these.”
“Explain how,” Roman says.
“Do not explain how,” Logan says. Not allowing either of them the chance to finish their charade, Logan turns to Patton. “You walked in with Virgil, didn’t you? Do you two know each other?”
“Something like that. I’m a frequent customer where he works.” This catches Logan’s attention. A direct pipeline to the owl that got away.
Again, Logan has never been one for analogies.
“Where does he work?”
A mischievous glint takes residence in Patton’s eye as he nudges Roman’s shoulder. The latter snickers quietly, nudging right back as the former gets out between giggles, “that’s just something you’re gonna have to figure out on your own. The answer will shock you.”
“If he works as a clickbait journalist for Buzzfeed, I am banning both you and him from this establishment.”
“He does not work as a clickbait journalist for Buzzfeed, but you’ll never guess what he does instead!” Roman hisses in an action-star voice. “This summer, coming directly to your screens, and coming soon to own on video and DVD—” He drops his tone to an impossibly deep register while ramping up his volume, drawing the attention of pretty much everyone in the room. Patton and Remy join in on the tagline, both yelling at the top of their lungs.
“Are you quite finished?” Logan asks, wholly unimpressed. Having failed to get so much as a huff of acknowledgement, the other three sigh dejectedly and nod. “Good. Remy, finish cleaning up behind the bar. Roman, can you wipe down the tables and start stacking chairs? Patton, I know you don’t work here, but—”
“On it,” Patton interrupts, already moving toward the back to gently rouse the student that fell asleep doing their homework at a table. Morally, Logan has no problem letting people stay as long as they like, even if they don’t buy anything, but it’s a little more difficult to be lenient about that sort of thing when he’s closing up the cafe. He turns his attention back to the papers scattered across the table as the other three flit about their respective tasks, and wonders whether Virgil might try to come back tomorrow. If they close the cafe for renovations, would he even get out of his car? Or would the lack of business and other patrons scare him off? Maybe Logan should position the other three at various seats in the back as he does all the work himself, making it look like he kept the place open so Virgil would still come in, without being terribly obvious about that being his goal all along. Of course, that brings up the inevitable he knows that I know that he knows situation, but it’s not as if—
“Hello? Earth to Logan? Paging alien squadron fleet two K four one nine oh?” Roman waves a hand in front of Logan’s face, pulling him out of his head. Before him is the only unwashed table in the cafe, still littered with papers that have yet to be picked up. The only page that managed to find its way into Logan’s arms is the one Virgil was talking about when he made additional suggestions. Logan blinks, gathers up the rest in a haphazard bundle, and steps back to let Roman finish his cleaning.
“Can I drive?” Remy asks. He slides around the bar, dusting his hands off on his pants and tossing a dirty rag over the lip of the sink.
“We need to get you an apron,” Logan replies absently, eyeing the gathering dirt stains on Remy’s thighs.
“I didn’t hear a no!” Remy singsongs, tilting his head to lean against Logan’s shoulder. The top of the mess of hair tickles along the crook where his jaw meets his earlobe, and Logan blinks as his mind unhelpfully conjures an image of Virgil in the same position under a blanket of stars. Where on Earth did that come from?
“No, you cannot drive. Give me Roman’s car keys.”
Roman emits an unholy shriek, somewhere between miffed and scandalized that Remy had managed to steal the keys to his soccer mom car. Granted, those things basically live in various spots around the cafe as it is, but still. Groaning in a pitiful attempt at getting sympathy, Remy tosses the jingling chain to Logan, who snatches them out of the air with ease. Before the owner of said keys can protest, Logan passes them on to him, biting back a laugh as Roman instinctively ducks.
“Hey! No dangerous projectiles in the house!” Roman whines. The keys hit the door and clatter to the tiles below.
“Not a house, and you don’t make the rules here, anyway.” Logan wisely keeps his gaze elsewhere as Patton makes his way to the door, grabbing the keys to pass them to Roman. Of course, the windows are reflective surfaces—this unfortunate reality fails to protect Logan from having to see how Patton’s hand lingers a moment too long on Roman’s. Honestly, the whole point of looking away was to not have to deal with their nonsense in the first place. “Let’s go.”
Lingering at the back of the group, Logan lets the other three exit before him, double- and triple-checking that everything is off, unplugged, cleaned up, closed, and generally in various states of presentable. The last thing he needs right now is for his life’s savings to literally go up in flames. Well, not his life’s savings. He’s got some common sense—everything he hasn’t spent is carefully accumulating interest in various reputable banks. So. The expendable portion of his life’s savings. That’s what he doesn’t want to go up in flames.
“What happened to ‘let’s go,’ sonny boy?” Roman calls, popping his head back in the door and making the bell chime. Logan tilts his head, wondering if anyone would ever question why he picked that bell in particular to greet his guests.
“I’m older than you.”
“Patton dared me to call you kiddo, but I thought mine was funnier,” Roman admits.
“I’m older than Patton, too.”
“You didn’t even tell me Patton’s name until last week!”
“Ever heard of barista-guest confidentiality?”
“No, because it doesn’t exist. Now hurry up and get in the car, or we’re tying you to the roof and I’m letting Patton use the backseat as his own personal lounge area.”
Tossing a sigh to the ceiling and casting one last glance at the way his cafe was always meant to be—before everyone else barges in to redecorate for him—Logan follows Roman out.
He slides into the back on the passenger’s side, not voicing his apprehension at Patton taking the front seat. That’s Remy’s seat, he thinks. Remy doesn’t seem to mind, though, already pressing his nose to the window and bouncing on the worn cushion.
“Seatbelt,” Logan reminds his brother—and the car as a whole, he supposes, as even Roman jolts to comply. “I am hereby imposing a price limit of one hundred dollars on this excursion. Anything over that will be coming off of your dime.”
“I don’t even—” Roman begins, but Logan isn’t having any of it.
“I know, I know, you don’t even work for me, but if you want to? And you want to help, shall we say, ‘spruce up the place,’ you will refrain from exceeding my budget, lest you pay the overages.”
“If we go to the place on the corner of Eighth and Main, I’ve got an employee discount for ten percent,” Patton offers.
“By the Texaco?” Roman punches the coordinates into the car, tapping his foot impatiently as Siri attempts to connect with his dwindling internet connection.
“You really ought to know your way around the town by now,” Logan opines. “You’ve been to the Texaco more times than Remy’s flirted with my guests.”
“Shut up, Logan!” Remy hisses. Were his face not pressed against the window and his shoulders hunched defensively, Logan is certain his comment would be rewarded with cheeks glittering ruby.
“Got it!” Roman exclaims, punching the roof. “And I refilled the tank a couple days ago, which means no gas money going into this excursion! Can I get a what what?”
“You cannot,” Logan says.
“What what,” Patton agrees.
“Plus,” Roman continues, shifting into drive and doing a mediocre job of backing away from the building, “with the discount, just think of how much more stuff we can get!”
“Yay.” Logan has never known his own voice to be more flat. He glances up just in time to see Patton shoot him an apologetic look, mouthing the word sorry. He smiles as he does it, though, so Logan isn’t completely convinced of Patton’s regret.
The excited conversation of the other three fills up the car as Logan lets his gaze drift out the window, watching the bright greens of summer flash by in bursts between the blemishes of humanity’s invasion upon the world. Traffic lights, street signs, lampposts, telephone lines, couches at curbs, discarded plastic bags, crushed coffee cups, dead patches of grass, cracked squares of concrete, buildings crawling for the skies and stretching to escape the natural world without which they could never dream of existing.
Logan does not particularly care for the overdevelopment of what used to be a homey nook of nature around his cafe. He can hardly see the stars at night anymore, what with all the city lights pulling his eyes to the ground.
“Beep beep!” Roman announces, punching the roof again before slipping out of the car. Logan blinks, suddenly realizing they’d already arrived at the store. Time to suffer.
“One hundred dollars,” he reminds the others. His words fall on deaf ears as they all sprint for the doors, chattering excitedly amongst themselves about color schemes and bargaining and how to make the most of spending every last dime they can squeeze out of Logan’s pockets. More to himself than anyone else, he murmurs, “I bet Virgil would understand the significance of imposing a spending limit before getting surprised with an obscenely high total crowning the receipt.”
“Come on,” Remy groans, doubling back to grab Logan’s wrist. Patton and Roman have already vanished, probably traipsing through the birthday party aisles for decoration ideas. “At least pretend you’re having fun, yeah? Show some enthusiasm for Virgil’s ideas, I bet he’d love that.”
“When did he tell you his name?”
“He didn’t. You used it when you asked Patton where he worked.”
“Where does he work?”
“If you push the price limit up to two fifty, maybe I’ll tell you.”
“Maybe I’ll stop letting you accept tips.”
Remy’s eyes widen slightly at that, and he wobbles on his toes before running the rest of the way to the door, waving his hands over his head. “La la la, I can’t hear you, I’m too fast for the sound barrier to keep up!”
“That’s not how—oh, whatever,” Logan mutters. Hands in his pockets, he dips a chin to the greeters just inside the door and maintains a leisurely pace, waiting for his friends to reveal themselves. Admittedly, he’s a little impressed when he sees them next—they’ve managed to avoid getting covered in streamers and sparkles. So far, at least. Unfortunately for Logan, the night is still young.
“Hey, what about these?” Patton asks, grabbing a pack of pride-themed playing cards from an end cap display.
“How are those supposed to drum up business?”
Patton shrugs, turning the cards over in his hand. “I dunno, they just look neat.”
“Make it a puzzle,” Roman suggests, picking up a matching set. “Have different fun facts about pride history written on cards from one set, but keep out a piece of important information. Someone finds a card and can tell you the answer without having to look it up, they get a card from the deck you didn’t write on. Get a full suit, get a prize. Maybe they get all the diamonds, then they get to name a drink after themselves. Get all the hearts, they can save ten cents instead of five.”
Logan has to admit, it isn’t the worst idea Roman’s ever come up with. The worst was probably that time with the stuffed sheep, the empty ramen cup, and the half-eaten ring pop. He shudders at the memory before relenting. “How much for a pack?”
Patton glances at the sticker on the side, sucks a sharp inhale through his teeth, and sets the deck back where he found it. “More than it’s worth, even with the discount. Come on, I know where the shelf is for stuff we’re trying to get rid of. It’s hidden in the back so we can make more money, but who ever had fun paying full price?”
“I did, back when it meant doing less damage to my cafe,” Logan grumbles. Nevertheless, he follows dutifully behind, stifling a snort as Roman grabs Patton’s hand and they skip—literally skip—down the aisles. Every few steps, one yanks the other to a stop, cooing over some toy or game meant to catch the eye of passing toddlers. Remy’s eyes sparkle, and he leans over to Logan when he thinks the other two aren’t listening.
“You know,” he whispers, “I like this one a lot more than Roman’s other flings.”
“They’ve barely been talking for more than a few days,” Logan retorts, careful to keep his voice low. “You cannot place all your eggs in the basket when the eggs don’t even exist yet.”
“You lost me, but seriously, bro, look at them.” Tutting to himself, Logan watches the way Roman’s eyes catch on Patton more often than they catch on bargain bin attractions. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe you don’t see it.”
“That’s hardly any of my business. All I care about is how much they’re making me spend. And what did I tell you about that ridiculous nickname? It isn’t even original.”
“Nothing’s original, not even originality,” Remy fires back. “A redux of something that already exists is way more fun than not doing it in the first place. Or would you rather have me tell Virgil the real reason you opened up the cafe?”
Logan yanks Remy to a stop by the neck of his shirt, balling the fabric up in his fists. “If you do that, then so help me, I will have you shipped back home faster than you can spit out that infernal nickname, and you will never set foot in my cafe again.” Remy blinks, laughs, and bops Logan’s nose.
“I bet Virgil would think you’re cute when you get all angry like that.”
“That’s not—I don’t—shut up!” Logan sputters. The epitome of elegance.
When Logan’s first instinct upon releasing Remy is to wonder whether Virgil would think he looked cute like that, he knows he is well and truly screwed.
Elegance, indeed.
---------------
Virgil’s current favorite shift is opening. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he shows up at the ass crack of dawn for work. A solid hour by himself to get the bar set up to his liking, to work in silence without worrying about angry guests, and the knowledge that he’ll be out by noon. The turning stomach of too little sleep is certainly less than ideal, but he’s lying to himself about liking being here this early. Cut him some slack.
“Just fire her already,” he mutters to himself, moving faster than he’d like to as he restocks the pastries. Not for the first time, Natalia closed last night, and she never does any of the shift’s duties right. Case in point, the expired pastries still being in the serving zone. The milk fridge being barren. Having less than three whips. Forgetting the refresher shaker lid in the washing machine—still dirty, mind you. Not wiping down the tables before stacking the chairs. Not washing the half and half from the little cart. A quick sniff reveals the insides to be well past curdled.
You know, maybe Virgil just wants to gripe in general about the incompetence of his fellow team members, and it really has nothing to do with the quality of his workplace experience.
Or it could be that he’s still reeling from the ridiculous note he left Logan on yesterday. That is a very strong possibility.
Glancing at the clock on the register he has yet to open, Virgil weighs his options. He can either sprint for the milk fridge and pray there’s enough left to restock, or he can stay up here and try to straighten up the place for the off chance that corporate shows up and tears Anne a new one. Though he likes Anne well enough, he’d rather face the consequences of corporate’s wrath than deal with pissed-off customers who can’t have their precious two percent milk.
Just his luck—the stock fridge is empty. This is the moment Virgil’s mind chooses to remind him that today is Monday, and that they’re supposed to be getting a shipment in later. So no half and half, no two percent, no heavy whipping cream, and an insatiable desire to go home before the whole ‘interacting with the public’ part of his shift has even started.
As the clock ticks over to eight, his boss’s boss’s boss, Stephen, walks over with his usual fistful of crumpled singles. Virgil doesn’t even bother asking for his numbers, already keying in the discount and punching the order into the register. In the amount of time it takes him to start lingering on yesterday’s disaster, Stephen’s usual—grande mocha, no whip—is already done and gone. Whether this is because Virgil is fast with making drinks or because he’s very adamant about the masochism of reliving embarrassment is open for debate.
Seriously, what was that? Logan puts a hand on his shoulder and gravity decides to be a little bitch, dragging Virgil’s head to the side to lean on a basic stranger? Naturally followed by the most logical reaction—dumping his entire drink all over himself. Yesterday was the first day he wore those pants after their wash, too; he can usually get three or four days out of a pair before they need to be cleaned. What a waste.
One singular glimmer of positivity in the hellscape that is the opening shift, though, is how much faster it seems to go by on Mondays. When the mid shows up, they vanish to the back to take care of the order, so Virgil basically has the bar to himself for four hours, then the fifteen minutes of dealing with the other mid. All the better to suffer through his own blunders in peace.
At least it’s a slower stream of guests.
“I’ll take a trenta very berry, but with all the kinds of berries in it,” some guy with a greasy man bun says, strolling up and scrolling through his phone. Virgil nods, keying it in and going through the usual polite spiel while he waits for him to pay.
“Anything else for you?”
Man Bun glances up from texting, raking his eyes over the purple fading from Virgil’s bangs. “Yeah, can I also get extra blackberries—”
“Sure.”
“—and your number?”
“No. Five twenty-nine.” Virgil turns his back to the register as Man Bun sets about dealing with his credit card, and wonders whether this guy’ll be a nuisance for him as he finishes the drink. “Trenta very berry, extra blackberries, have a good one.”
Man Bun takes the cup, tearing off the straw wrapper and throwing it on the floor. Literally, the garbage can is, like, right there, dude. Don’t be an ass. “So I seriously don’t have a chance with you?”
“Definitely not.”
“What, are you not gay? I mean, with the hair, and with—”
“I’m gay, just not for you. Have a good one.” To escape any further annoying questions, Virgil vanishes into the near back, organizing the drying dishes to wait out Man Bun. Once the coast is finally clear, Virgil returns to the bar, where Patton awaits with a bright grin. Fantastic.
“Hi, Virge!” Patton calls, bouncing on his toes. He does a twirl to make sure no one else is in line behind him before propping his elbows on the counter and leaning in as if he were sharing a secret. “I’ll take a venti iced caramel mach-yeet-ato with an extra shot of eek-spresso, if you please.” With another spin, Patton nearly crashes to the floor, the weight of the bag on his back yanking him faster than he can recover from.
“I got the yeet, but you’re gonna have to explain the eek bit.”
“I want you to pull three shots like normal, but scream at the fourth one. Scare it into submission. Then I’ll drink it, and get the scared bean energy.”
Virgil blinks, his pen hovering over the boxes on the side of the cup. “You. Want me. To scream at your espresso?”
“Only the fourth one! I need the other three to be brave, so I can have the bravery in addition to the terror.”
Virgil opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and shakes his head. “Okay. Five thirty five.” Patton presses a ten across the counter, refusing as Virgil tries to pass back the change, and slides to the end of the bar before Virgil can force him to take his money. True to form, Patton leans over the counter to watch Virgil making the drink, scrutinizing the pouring shots. “You know,” Virgil remarks, “it’s faster to pull two and two shots than two and one and one.”
“Yeah, but then my drink would be half scared, and we can’t have that, now, can we?”
“I guess not. What if I just pull the last two into two separate cups, and apologize to one to get rid of the scared emotions?”
Patton quirks his mouth to the side and hums. “I guess that could work. Make sure the apology’s genuine though, so I can have some empathy in my drink, too. And you don’t have to actually scream at it, either—just rile it up a bit. Scare it into submission however you see fit.”
This was one of the worst possible things Patton could have told Virgil to do. The barista leans in as the second round of shots pours, putting his mouth as close to the cup as he dares. “I’m going to stand outside your house and chant ominously about your sins while pouring expired coffee grounds on your sidewalk, then I’m going to hack into your sims account, give everyone full autonomy, and age them up to the maximum elderly age possible. Sorry, other espresso—I promise your sims are safe and your sidewalk is clean. For now.”
Patton looks understandably disconcerted by the time Virgil has finished, although the latter isn’t completely convinced that what he said was necessarily scary. He hands off the drink, drenching it in far more caramel than necessary and leaving the lid off. With an unholy grin on his face, Patton brings the cup to his lips and swallows half the caramel drizzle before the scared espresso even has a chance to settle.
“So hey, are you coming by Logan’s cafe today?” Patton asks. Virgil glances at the clock—five more minutes, and no line to be seen. He swings around the bar to sit at one of the guest tables, pulling out a sharpie and setting about dating the pastries. Whoever the mid is, they didn’t bother to show up on time, so they certainly can’t be trusted to do something literally in their job description. “You kind of left in a hurry yesterday.”
“Yeah, no, I don’t need a repeat of that embarrassment. I’m just gonna go home and hide under a blanket.”
“What embarrassment? I think Logan liked talking to you, I bet he’d like to have you come back.”
“Definitely. I’m sure he’d adore talking to the guy who couldn’t even keep his drink in his mug, much less remember to leave the mug there.”
“Virge, that’s the point of the mug system. You weren’t supposed to leave the mug there.”
“It’s not the point of my system, though. Now I’m basically, like, obligated to go back and return the cup, if not use it for that discount. Not to mention—which I already did—how I literally dumped my drink all over myself. I do not want that to happen again.”
“So just don’t drop your drink, and it won’t happen again! Simple.”
“Oh, and I bet you’ll just go ahead and police Logan so he doesn’t touch my shoulder again, prompting the situation that drove me to run out in the first place.” At the way Patton’s eyes sparkle, Virgil rushes to backtrack. “Not that it meant anything! It just startled me, so I shook my hand and my drink spilled.” Virgil glances at the bar, but there’s still no guests appearing to save him from this disaster of his conversation. All the pastries are dated, too, so he doesn’t even have the excuse of occupying his hands. “I do not want to go back.”
Patton grins. “So you’re going back?”
Virgil throws his hands in the air and groans. “I’m going back.”
“Promise?” Holding back a sigh as Patton thrusts out a pinky, Virgil links it with his own.
“Promise.”
“Great! Because your shift just ended, and Logan’s keeping it closed for the day so he can do renovations. Just you, him, and a few other people for as long as we’re there, doing decorations and generally engaging in close teamwork. Forming bonds to last a lifetime.”
“You tricked me,” Virgil hisses. “You scheming snot.”
“But it worked, didn’t it? And oh, look, there’s your mid! Let’s leave.”
Virgil glares behind him, where Natalia is tying her impeccably clean apron around her waist and fastening the hat on her hair. The only reason her stupid apron is so clean is because she’s impossibly slow, so as not to get anything dirty. The one time he could use her tardiness to his advantage, too.
“Fine, whatever, give me five minutes to clock out and I’ll meet you back here.”
Patton takes another sip from his quarter-scared drink and nods. “But if you aren’t back within those five minutes, I’m gonna find your boss and file a missing team member report.”
“You don’t even work here.”
“You don’t even understand the extent of my relentless matchmaking skills.”
“Nor do I want to. See you in five.”
“Make it four.”
This is how Virgil finds himself begrudgingly driving toward Logan’s cafe, with Patton’s car hot on his heels. Clever enough, he supposes, since now there’s a literal heavy piece of machinery holding him accountable for reaching the destination he pinky promised to attend. Virgil would rather be hiding under the covers at home.
Swinging into the parking lot and taking his normal spot, Virgil wonders whether Patton would notice if he just hid out in the bathroom until everyone went home. He glances at the mug nestled in the passenger seat—secured with a seatbelt, of course—and decides against it. If nothing else, Logan would probably get suspicious about the goings-on in there, not to mention he’d be the one to have to clean it. Patton’s cheerful honk rings through the air as he locks his car, scooting over to press his nose to Virgil’s window.
Virgil raps the glass lightly, jolting Patton into taking a few steps back before he not-so-discreetly points at the door and dances on his toes. To tell the truth, Virgil is procrastinating, because he absolutely does not want to go inside and see Logan.
“Hi, Logan!” Patton calls, bursting through the door with Virgil in tow. “We’ve been waiting all day to see you!”
“We?” Virgil repeats skeptically.
“Oh, right, right, my bad,” Patton says, waving his hands sheepishly. “Virgil has been waiting all day to see you!”
“That is not better,” Virgil mutters. He lifts a hand to his shoulder, massaging a sore spot along the slope of his neck and wishing he could be literally anywhere else right now. In an effort to diffuse the awkwardness that Logan hasn’t bothered to notice, he continues, “looks nice in here with the lights down. Kind of home-y.”
“Indeed,” Logan agrees, balanced precariously on the second-highest rung of an unreasonably tall ladder. At its base, Roman holds the legs steady, grinning as Patton slings his backpack onto a nearby table. “Patton, I assume you brought more decorations I never greenlit?”
“You know it.” Patton grins, upending the bag and watching every manner of rainbow trinket spill over the tabletop and onto the floor. “Okay, so see these? They look like normal food coloring, but they actually—”
“If they sparkle or make the drink behave like pop rocks, I do not want them.”
Patton pouts before tossing the food coloring stuff back in the bag. “Alright, well how about this one? It’s like a DIY mug for—”
“Don’t use acronyms out loud, and I am not having mugs that guests design themselves. That defeats the purpose of my system.” Patton puts the mugs away.
“Fine, so I also found these little mythical creature trinkets that—”
“No.” Patton puts the trinkets away.
“Or these things that look like scratch off tickets, but instead of the lottery, you can—”
“No.” Patton puts the tickets away.
“I found this book of stickers that has—”
“No.” Patton puts the stickers away.
“You know, I’m beginning to think you didn’t want me to bring all this stuff.”
“I did not want you to bring all that stuff.”
“Well, fine! I’ll just take it back home, then!”
“Good! I do not want it here! Please remove it from my establishment!” Virgil cocks his head to the side, his thoughts catching on the mock enthusiasm in Logan’s voice. If anyone could possibly be the breathing personification of a sarcastic exclamation point, it’s Logan.
“Can I help you up there?” Virgil offers. Logan glances down, still precariously balanced on his ladder and stretching out an arm to toss a strand of string lights over the menu boards. “You know, it might be more effective to pull the signs down and write the menu first, then tape some lights to the top, then hang them back up.”
Thrusting out a hand for stability on the top rung, Logan lowers the spool of lights waiting to be thrown. “You may have a point. Roman, if you even think about shaking this ladder, I am going to ban you from helping any further with the decorations.”
“Come on, dude, it’s pride month! Show some spirit!” Roman whines. Regardless, he holds the ladder steady as Logan descends.
“I’ve already shown my spirit by deigning to allow you in my cafe while it’s closed. Don’t push your luck.” At the sound of a yelp and something crashing near the seats around the corner, Logan presses his middle finger to his glabella and groans deeply. “Remy, if you broke one of my windows, I am legally obligated to inform our parents that you are unfit to be an adult, and that I am sending you back to them, effective immediately.”
“No, nope, everything is totally fine back here. You aren’t legally obligated to do anything whatsoever.” Remy pops his head into view, his cheeks flushed and his hair flopping into his eyes. Taking one look at Logan’s stern face and Virgil’s reserved one, he jerks his head at Roman. “Hey, wanna give me a hand back here? Your boyfriend can come too, I guess.”
“He’s not my—” Roman begins, but Patton barrels right through it.
“Sounds fun!” he declares, grabbing Roman by the elbow and dragging him toward whatever chaos Remy already caused. With a quick pause to point from his eyes to Virgil’s and back, Patton winks and vanishes from sight. In their absence, silence reigns supreme.
“So,” Logan says.
“So,” Virgil agrees.
“How’s your handwriting?” Logan asks, clearly just as desperate to fill the awkward silence as Virgil.
Virgil shrugs, grabbing one of many pens spilling from Patton’s abandoned backpack and twirling it between his fingers. “Not terrible, I guess. I do most of the boards where I work.” For a brief moment, Virgil wonders whether he’s ever mentioned to Logan where he works, but ultimately decides it’s not important just yet. He watches the pen spins for another few moments before continuing, “I have this style of super straight lines, though. Not exactly bubbly and inviting for your guests.”
“My guests know I own this place. They aren’t expecting any manner of bubbliness, inviting or otherwise. Help me pull down the signs?” Allowing himself the smallest laugh at Logan’s matter-of-factness, Virgil moves for the lower right corner of the trifold board, hoisting it off the wall in tandem with Logan. “I suppose we ought to erase it first, before we go about ruining it.”
“Do you know what kind of scheme you’re going for?” Virgil asks, shifting into decoration mode as he starts wiping off the first section. He shoves aside any lingering thoughts of yesterday’s fiasco in favor of focusing on the task at hand. Maybe if he pretends to have forgotten, it’ll be like it never happened in the first place.
“Scheme? I was simply going to write the drink options in various colors,” Logan admits. He scrapes together a pile of chalk from a children’s craft box leaning against the bar, grimacing as he rubs the dust from between his fingers. “Unless you know of a better idea.”
“I mean, we could do something like cold drinks here, and hot ones here, and you could have some people personalize based on this third one over here? And then, like, each third can be a different pride flag, like how I was saying yesterday—maybe make the miscellaneous board the pan flag, since it’s basically everything? Unless you don’t like the pun side of that, of course, then we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. Or we could do the whole rainbow there, again with the ‘everything’ deal, but it might not look so cohesive as being strictly separated thirds of the menu. We don’t even have to separate by themes, if you wanted the whole menu to be just one section. Maybe we could do the bi flag for the cold drinks—if you decide to go for the cold, hot, miscellaneous boards, I mean—just because the blues and purples could go well with cold drinks, color theory and all? Or I guess there’s also the possibility of stuff like the transgender flag, or the polyamorous flag—maybe you could have a pastry menu, and put it there for a sort of pie-pi pun? I don’t know how well that one would go over, but if it sticks out to you well enough…”
---------------
Logan props his chin on a fist, his legs crossed beneath him and his knee supporting his elbow. All of Virgil’s words are floating straight over his head, and he doesn’t even pretend to hide it, so entranced is he by Virgil’s enthusiasm. In all honesty, Logan stopped listening by the third sentence, more focused on how Virgil’s pale lips formed the soundless words, washing the cafe in an ocean of rolling tones and low asides. Not ten seconds into his rambling, Logan is certain he saw Virgil’s eyes light up, ever so slightly, at the prospect of having creative control over something so simple as menu theming.
“Does that work for you?”
Shit. Logan forgot he was supposed to be listening.
“Er, I’m actually somewhat unclear on what you meant. Do you mind rewording your suggestion?”
Virgil blinks at him, and Logan feels his soul melt—no human has a right to look that much like a confused puppy. “I don’t really know how you expect me to reword ‘I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick while you think about which theme you like,’ but I’m certainly willing to try if you need me to.”
“Yes, no, I mean—of course, absolutely. Go right ahead, second door on the right in the back.” Logan waves a flippant hand as Virgil pushes off from his knees, tossing a two-fingered salute to the other three working in the back. Logan has no idea what they’re doing back there anymore, nor does he really care. He’s slightly more concerned with that complete social blunder between Virgil and him. Could he have come across any more ridiculous?
“So what do you think of Virgil, hm?” Patton asks, appearing over Logan’s shoulder. Logan flinches, sitting up straighter and nearly slamming his head into Patton’s chin. “Think he’s got a cute butt?”
Pausing to absorb the second question, Logan wonders whether he doesn’t look too dissimilar to a computer rebooting itself. “He certainly has an ass.”
“Do you know any other swear words?” Remy groans, trudging over and draping himself across the bar. Meanwhile, Patton is spluttering in disgust at Logan for daring to use a more crude synonym for the word ‘butt.’
“You should be proud that he even knows that one,” Roman chimes in. “Why, when I first met Logan—”
“We are not doing emotional history montages,” Logan declares, getting to his feet and waving a hand at Roman. “We are here only to improve the environment in and around my cafe, so that is what we are going to do.”
“Actually,” Remy corrects, “I’m mostly here because I want to set you up with Virgil. He was a dick from the moment he walked in that first time, which is exactly your type.” Pointing at Logan with a wink, Remy moves to lean against the wall.
Logan doesn’t bother to question his motives, and pretends he didn’t hear the first half of Remy’s statement. He does, however, hear the general motivation behind the words, and responds accordingly. The sly grin on his face makes Roman take a subconscious step back.
“Oh, and you aren’t here to set Roman up with Patton?” Turning his focus on them, Logan wonders in the back of his mind whether Virgil might walk in on this. “Of course, everyone’s talking about it, Remy. Don’t you want to be the first trendsetter with the newest, hottest couple?”
“Since when does he know what ‘hottest’ means?” Roman hisses in a stage whisper. Patton shrugs, pressing his lips together as his cheeks stay annoyingly neutral, not at all embarrassed by Logan’s tirade. “Do you think he doesn’t know?”
“I think he doesn’t know,” Patton replies. He doesn’t even bother to lower his voice, which serves only to further infuriate Logan.
“What don’t I know?”
“He definitely doesn’t know,” Remy agrees, peeling himself away from the wall. “It’s almost pity full, really.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word. You don’t even know the pronunciation.”
“But I know you use it on me, like, all the time, which is only that much more pity full for you.”
“Pitiful. Like your tenuous grasp of the English language.” At the sound of the sink faucet turning on around the corner, Logan glances back at Roman and Patton, who are still whispering together intently. Patton is barely hiding his giggles. “So, tell me; what is it, exactly, that I don’t know?”
“Should we tell him?” Roman whispers. Patton shrugs, pushing his glasses up by pressing his finger directly against the lens. Logan can feel something shattering, deep inside his innermost soul.
“Oh, tell him, you dorks,” Remy groans. “It’s literally, like, so obvious, it’s almost sad that he hasn’t figured it out yet.”
“Figured out what?” Virgil asks, materializing around the corner.
“That me ‘n Patton are dating,” Roman says.
“Duh, everybody knows that.” Glancing around, a look of concern grows on Virgil’s face. “Was I not supposed to know that?”
“Well, actually, Logan here—” Remy begins, but with a swift smack to the arm from Logan, he cuts himself off. “Nope, yep, totally justified in knowing that. Seven out of three. Good job. So smart. We stan a clever icon.”
“Please stop talking,” Logan says. “Can we just get back to decorating?”
“Way ahead of you.” Virgil drops to his knees, gathering up scattered pieces of chalk and positioning the blank slates in front of him. “Did you decide which theme you liked?”
Logan very much did not do that. “I like both the gender flags and the sexuality flags. What do you think?”
Virgil, clearly not prepared to be in control, blinks twice. “Um. Well. Maybe we could make the first board sexualities, and the second one genders, and have each drink be a different flag based on which menu theme they’re under? And Remy likes making up drinks, yeah?”
“Yes,” Remy unnecessarily confirms. Logan scowls at him until he disappears around the corner with Patton and Roman.
“Cool,” Virgil continues, “So that way we can do a little of everything on the menus, and then the lights can just look nice in general, and they don’t strictly have to coordinate with the menus.”
“Where do you work, some interior design place?” Logan asks, raising an eyebrow at Virgil’s confidence, which rapidly grows the more he talks himself through ideas. “You really seem to know what you’re talking about.”
“Not exactly,” Virgil admits. “Where I work doesn’t really matter, though, does it?”
“Want to work here?” Logan blurts, before immediately clapping his hands over his mouth. “Sorry, that was probably too forward. I don’t even know why I said it, I mean, look at this place, I can barely pay Remy, let alone add another hire, not to mention—”
“You’re fine,” Virgil says absently, more focused on the menu spread. “Anyway, so the flags. Do you want to start listing off some drinks you serve, and I’ll write them on my phone, and we can just go from there to decide which drink goes with which flag?”
Logan swallows thickly and nods, launching into his perfectly memorized list of everything he makes on a day-to-day basis. At least Virgil elected to ignore his outburst.
As the sun makes its trek toward the horizon, shooting beams of light through floating bits of dust in the air, Logan sits back on his haunches to admire Virgil’s handiwork. For how consistently they’d been working all day, he has to admit some small amount of pride in the outcome.
The first board, comprised of iced and frozen drinks, proudly bears all manner of gender orientation flags that Logan could find, both common and obscure. Each in bright pastels, of course, as neither Roman nor Patton had the foresight to bring darker colored chalk. The second board boasts hot drinks and sexuality flags, and despite himself, Logan quite likes the soft brightness of the middle menu. The third is still blank, with an added wooden board at the bottom to hold chalk.
“That way,” Virgil explained, “whoever makes the custom drink of the day can draw it there, and write the ingredients without having to hunt for the chalk.” Although Logan doesn’t particularly care for letting guests take control of the menu, he begrudgingly agreed that it was a good idea.
“You guys took, like, forever to do basically nothing,” Remy complains, now sprawled out across a table.
“Guests eat off those,” Logan remarks, still more focused on the menus than his brother’s antics. “And you only managed to string up a few sets of lights between the three of you. I would hardly call that an achievement.”
“Among,” Virgil corrects.
“What?”
“You said between the three of them. Since it’s more than two, it’s among the three of them.” Logan can’t decide whether to be horrified or enchanted by how Virgil managed to catch his own grammar mistake.
“Roman?” Logan calls, drawing attention away from his flub. “What, exactly, might you be doing?”
Roman merely grins in response, precariously balanced on one of the tables near the front. He lowers his hands from the upper frame of the window and jumps to the floor, trying to duck into a somersault and failing miserably. Patton giggles before helping him up and glancing at what he’d been messing with.
“This is my cafe,” Logan reminds them, “so I believe I ought to know what you’ve done to it.”
Offering a shrug and a wince, Roman follows Patton’s gaze to the window. “Mistletoe.”
“Mistletoe,” Logan repeats.
“Mistletoe!” Patton agrees.
“Mistletoe,” Remy choruses. At Logan’s glare, he raises his hands defensively. “Sorry, I just wanted to feel included.”
“Why, pray tell, is there mistletoe in my cafe?” Logan sighs.
“Bitchmas in July,” Roman replies. Logan can’t decide whether to throttle him or to simply scream.
“Roman?”
“Yes, my dearest friend and barista?”
“It is June.”
“Yes.”
“Bitchmas, as you say, is in July.”
“Yes.”
“June is not July.”
“You lost me.”
“Actually,” Patton cuts in, “I think I know why Roman put mistletoe there.”
“Why might that be?” Logan is extremely close to tossing one of the people in this room out the window, and based solely on proximity, it very well might be Virgil.
“For this.” With no further warning, Patton grabs Roman by the neck of his shirt and yanks him to stand behind the chair he’d been using as a stepstool. Logan hardly has the chance to blink before Patton is pulling Roman in, closing his eyes, and—
“Yep, nope, super cool, very much did not need to see that,” Virgil announces, mercifully drawing Logan’s eyes away from the scene. “Besides that nonsense, did you guys get the lights all finished? I need to peace out pretty soon here, but I want to see the cafe in its full glory before the guests come and destroy it by existing in its presence.”
Roman hesitates to answer, still breathless beside a beaming Patton. Remy cuts in first, allowing the other two to regain their composure.
“We got everything done, so if you wanted to pack up whatever stuff you brought, I’ll get the last of the connections and cords all set up, so you can bask in the splendor before you go.” Leaning in close enough to whisper so that Virgil can’t hear, Remy’s breath tickles Logan’s ear. “His mug is on the side pocket of his bag. Sneak it away while I distract him, and make him a personalized drink. It’ll be totally endearing, I know it.”
“I am not doing that.”
Remy dangles the mug from his fingers with a smirk, thrusting it at Logan when Virgil isn’t looking. “You are doing that.”
Logan frowns and reluctantly takes the mug. “I am doing that.”
“Unless you want to be doing—”
“Don’t you dare say it,” Logan hisses, snapping his head around to cast the entirety of his glare at Remy. “If you swear, in this moment, to shut your damn mouth, I will make him a drink.”
“That’s all I want,” Remy says, dusting his hands off and tugging Virgil to stand in front of the door. The mistletoe dangles a few ominous feet away. Logan’s scowl melts into a vague feeling of contentedness as he watches Virgil taking in the unlit decorations. His hands work on autopilot, making an old favorite of his that has long since outgrown its recipe. When Remy clicks the lights on and Logan catches Virgil’s face in the light, the barista is pretty convinced he might just collapse right then and there, coffee and all.
Framed in the soft blues and yellows of twinkling artificial lights, Virgil’s pale skin almost seems to glow against his jet black hair, a silhouette of ethereal splendor captured oh-so-perfectly for a split second, before the illusion shatters. Virgil turns to look at Logan as the latter absently slides the full mug across the counter, so entranced is he by the former.
“You good?” Virgil asks. Logan can only manage the smallest of nods, barely capable of closing his stunned mouth as he watches the way the moonlight flicks off the purple tips of Virgil’s hair. “Dude, you didn’t have to go and make me anything!”
“It’s one of his oldest favorites,” Remy cuts in, rescuing Logan from himself. “No, no, put your money away, this one’s on the house for helping us remodel.”
“All I really did was draw on a couple menus,” Virgil protests. Nevertheless, he pockets his wallet and takes a hesitant sip from the mug. A beauty to rival that of his shape against the night sky lights in his eyes as he tips the mug, draining the rest as fast as he can manage.
“Good, right?” Remy asks. Logan wonders whether his own mouth will decide to start functioning properly any time soon.
“So good,” Virgil murmurs, still holding the rim of the mug to his nose and inhaling deeply. “Smells amazing, too.”
With a swift elbow jab to the side from Remy, Logan manages to choke out a broken “thanks,” his voice cracking on the vowel. Miracle of miracles, Virgil doesn’t notice. Or, if he does, he pretends not to, which only makes it worse—or better, Logan isn’t sure.
“Well, uh, thank you too,” Virgil mumbles. He clutches the mug as tight as he can manage, shouldering his way out the door. Not two feet beyond the threshold of the door, he absently raises his shoulders toward his ears against a cool summer breeze.
“Logan, close your mouth,” Roman calls. Logan moves his jaw up, realizing all too late that he’d been staring open-mouthed at Virgil for no reason. Turning his face toward Patton’s neck, Roman giggles and whispers, “he’s so head over heels.”
“That’s an understatement,” Patton replies. “If his head is where it is now, you’d need a cinderblock and the Mariana Trench to get to his heels.”
“That was a bit of a stretch,” Remy says. “I know you’re trying, hon, but maybe try more puns, fewer metaphors?”
“Puns,” Patton echoes, rolling the word between his lips and chewing the n. “Pun pun pun.”
“Now look what you’ve done,” Roman groans.
“Pun,” Patton repeats, pointing up and nudging Roman to the side. Roman blinks and follows his finger to the mistletoe, which is wobbling dangerously. “Don’t think you used enough tape there, Crumb cake.”
“Maybe not,” Roman agrees. As he reaches up to adjust the decoration, Logan’s hand thrusts out of its own volition.
“Do you maybe want to move that over the door instead? Maybe? I mean, you don’t have to, I just—”
“Logan’s rambling,” Remy announces. “Better do what he wants before he short circuits entirely.” Roman and Patton titter at this before the former pulls down the mistletoe, removing the old tape and producing a new roll from his pocket.
“Thanks,” Logan sighs, watching Roman stick the mistletoe just to the right of the bell. What he wouldn’t give to be under that with—
“Closing time!” Logan shouts suddenly, ignoring how the other three flinch. “It was all very fun and nice, but it is time for everyone to go home. Right now. Please leave. This very second. Immediately. Get out.”
Remy exits first, followed quickly by Patton and Roman, none of whom bother trying to hide their laughter. Logan is the last to leave, still focused on that mistletoe. Still focused on who he wants to see beneath it.
---------------
Virgil is having a bad day.
He woke up with only two minutes to spare before having to leave for work. He stepped on poop from his neighbor’s dog when he went outside. He found a smear of mocha syrup along the seam of his pants in a very conspicuous pattern. He didn’t have any other clean pants ready. His car wouldn’t start fast enough. His USB cord to his phone wouldn’t connect, no matter how many times he turned it. His throat ached, but without a fever, he was still legally allowed to work with food. His voice was all but gone.
Virgil wants nothing more than to go back home, crawl under a mountain of blankets, and stay there until the sun goes away.
This would be a task much more easily achieved if Natalia would bother to show up on time. Virgil forces a tight smile onto his face as he mindlessly nods along to the latest guest’s conversation. Ten more minutes and he’ll hit compliance, which means a stern talking-to between Anne and her boss, which means a stern talking-to between Anne and him, which is basically the last thing keeping Virgil from walking out of the store right now.
Virgil wants to go home.
“Have you seen Natalia?” Anne asks, appearing on the other side of the bar once the line dribbles down to nothing. Virgil shakes his head, already halfway through making her usual order as she groans. “Okay, well, you’re gonna hit compliance in a second here.”
“I know that,” Virgil snaps. “There’s not exactly a whole lot I can do about it.”
“Mind your tone,” Anne chides lightly, and though Virgil can tell she’s kidding, he really isn’t in the mood for it today.
“Yeah, sorry. Do you mind, uh, you know?” He tilts his chin to the next guest, as well as the cluster of families preparing to queue up behind them. Anne nods and apologizes with a laugh, scurrying off to do whatever it is she deems more important than helping Virgil to keep this line in check.
This is the part where Virgil is supposed to launch into a spiel of every drink he makes, as well as the struggles that accompany calling out complete orders with a voice that basically doesn’t exist, but based on the morning he’s had so far? He has absolutely zero desire to get into it. Guests are rude, baby boomers are impatient, the sky is blue, Virgil is in hell, next question.
“Hey, um, excuse me?” Some dude leans over the counter, shaking his empty cold cup at Virgil. Evidently, he did not notice the line waiting to be helped. “Barista boy?”
Virgil glances where his name tag should be, shrugs at its absence, and nods. Yeah, that’s a fair nickname. “What’s up?”
“You made my drink wrong.” His empty drink, that is.
“Oh, I’m so sorry about that, did you want me to remake it for you?”
“No, I want you to give me a refund.”
“Sir, I—you already finished your—by store policy, I can only make you a new drink, I can’t give you a refund if there’s no drink to take back in return for the money, sorry.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t like it.”
“Then why did you—never mind, would you like me to make you a new one?”
“No, I want compensation for a miserable drinking experience.”
This goes on for some time, and while Virgil is largely skilled at keeping his composure when he has to, that’s much more easily said than done when the guest is flinging curse words at him left and right.
“Sir, I’m sorry, it’s—there’s a long line, so unless you want to have me remake your drink for you, there’s really nothing I can do.” Angry Guest Man rips out a few more choice words before storming off, shouldering patiently waiting customers out of the way. Virgil rolls his shoulders back and moves on to the next guest, relieved when all they want is a grande mocha.
Virgil.
Wants.
To.
Go.
Home.
“Hey, I’m here to cover for Natalia!” Kim announces, prancing behind the bar without a hat on, as if she doesn’t notice the hold up Virgil’s dealing with.
“Awesome. Get here sooner next time. Put on a hat—or a hairnet, I don’t care which—and start taking orders while I catch up on hot bar. We’re almost out of skim milk, and the almond milk shipment is behind today, so only offer coconut and soy milk.” Virgil tosses out orders almost as fast as he hands off drinks, waving off Kim’s bewildered demands. “I don’t care how or why Natalia got you to show up late—better than not at all—but I need you to kick into gear. I’ll get you as caught up as I can, but I’m gonna hit compliance, so savor this partnership before you’re on your own.”
Kim bites back whatever protests she might’ve had, instead nodding and moving for the register. She plasters a welcoming smile on her face and starts chatting up the next guest as Virgil slowly but surely picks apart his backlog of orders.
Virgil does not want to be here.
Another guest complaining about their cappuccino not having enough foam is incredibly close to being the straw that shatters his back. Virgil bites back a groan as he gingerly takes the unlidded cup from her, nodding his apologies and profusely assuring her he’d remake it. She scowls and mutters something about hurrying up.
“There you go, sorry ’bout that,” Virgil says, passing off the new cup.
She removes the lid, glaring at the drink and completely ignoring the swarm of people behind her that would very much like to get their orders. “There isn’t enough foam for the caramel to sit on top.”
“Yeah, that’s how physics—I mean, yes, my bad, do you want more caramel drizzle?”
“No, I want you to make it right.” With no further warning, she scrapes off the top layer of foam and flicks it at Virgil, cocking her head to the side as it plops across the bridge of his nose.
He might just scream.
“So you’ll have me remake it, then?” Virgil forces himself to smile as she nods with a harrumph. “Right, okay, just give me a minute here, aaand—there you go.” He pushes the latest creation over the bar and comforts his shot nerves with the mental image of throwing the drink in her face.
“There’s not enough foam.” Before Virgil can even pretend to be sympathetic to her first world problems, she dips her finger into the foam.
And flicks this one square at his chest.
“Anne?” Virgil’s voice is sugary sweet as Anne drifts lazily over from across the seating area, moving as if she had all the time in the world. “I’m going to hit compliance in less than two minutes, so I am going to clock out. I will not be coming in tomorrow, as I have a backlog of sick days, and I will be using one to figure out whether I want to come in the day after that. Good luck getting someone to cover for me, since it was obviously such a difficult task for Natalia.”
“Virgil, if you don’t come in tomorrow, you can kiss this job goodbye,” Anne snaps.
Virgil considers this, removes his hat, and places it squarely on her head. “If you want me to stay away, I’ll do so happily. In case you haven’t noticed, there isn’t a whole lot of qualified backup for you here.” Anne can only manage bewildered sputters in response as Virgil unties his apron, drapes it over a chair, and strolls off to the break room.
Virgil is leaving this hellscape.
“I really wanna leave this stupid town,” he sings to himself in the car, ignoring his blatantly wrong lyrics as he tears out of the parking lot. “And today, the time has come.” Ramping up his voice to little less than a furious scream, he pounds the steering wheel to the rhythm, and feels an odd lightness when he sees the empty passenger seat. For once, he doesn’t have to have the ever-present company of that obnoxious apron, wrapped up and tucked inside that ridiculous hat.
Virgil is going home.
At least, Virgil thought he was going home.
No one could be more surprised than him when he finds his hands steering the car toward Logan’s cafe of their own volition.
“Hey, Virgil, what’s going—wait, hey, you walked under the mistletoe!” Roman whines from the counter, where Remy is closely monitoring his work behind the bar. “You can’t just walk past mistletoe without a kiss-letoe!”
“Stop talking, or that mistletoe is going up your ass-letoe,” Virgil mutters, making a beeline for the mound of bean bag chairs in the corner. A nice touch of comfort amidst the soft lighting and colorful menus they’d added yesterday. Probably Patton’s idea.
He falls to his knees before he knows what he’s doing, shoving his face into the plasticky surface and letting the rustling beans consume his senses. He’d barely bothered to notice how loudly his pulse was thrumming through his head until it stopped, overpowered by the artificial cushion beneath him. At the sound of footsteps drawing near his head, Virgil briefly considers sweeping out a leg and knocking them to the floor. An action movie sequence fantasy at best.
He feels them speak before any words come out, and has never felt closer to cussing out someone he met mere days ago.
“Hey. Rough day?” By some merciful chance, it’s not Roman, or Remy, or even Patton. Logan continues, careful to keep his voice low and measured, “I get that. I had the lights turned down temporarily to test the environment in direct sunlight, but I’ll leave them down for your sake. We also received several compliments on the new menus—all your handiwork, of course.
“Remy’s training Roman on how to make drinks right now, since I’ve heard many guests discussing how to get their friends to join them on trips here. With that kind of increase in business, I could really use his extra set of hands, no matter how inexperienced. I see you brought your mug, as well—if it doesn’t upset you too terribly, I’ve already had Remy begin teaching Roman how to make up drinks, so you might get an odd flavor combination, what with the steep learning curve and all. Roman is creative, I’ll give him that, but he’s never truly been one for understanding the intricacies of taste and texture among our staple ingredients.”
With every word out of Logan’s mouth, Virgil can feel his mounting headache slowly, ever so slowly, draining away. In the wake of Anne and Kim’s nonsense, he hadn’t cared to notice the exhaustion, much less how severely it hurt. Even now, his pulse is pounding like a jackhammer against the roof of his skull.
“When Remy first picked out that mug covered in cups for you, I have to say, I was horrified. As far as I could tell, it was just the first thing he grabbed, which is about as basic a tactic as any other. Your current one, with all the constellations and the blues, just felt right, if you know what I mean. Not exactly a logical way to select your mug, but I can’t really explain it.”
“I like to call them mug-mates!” Roman announces. “You know, mug, soulmate, mug-mate?” An image crosses Virgil’s mind of throwing his current mug at Roman’s head, and he laughs. “See, Remy, told you I was funny.”
“I hate to break it to you,” Remy says gently, “but Patton was only lying about you being funny because you suck at everything else.”
“Shut up,” Logan singsongs, his voice achingly calm against their raising tones. In a voice that somehow manages to be even more soothing than before, almost dulcet, he continues, “most of my guests have a particular piece of clothing or accessory that stands out, matching their immediate mug. You just felt, well, different, somehow.”
Virgil fights the instinct to flinch as he feels something come to rest against his head. A moment passes, two, before it starts to move, lightly combing through his matted hair and gently scratching at his aching head beneath. Against his own volition, a contented sigh escapes his lips. The scratching continues unaffected.
If it were possible, Virgil would stay here, just like this, forever. Motionless in a pile of bean bags, with only Logan’s presence to remind him he still exists. Naturally, this isn’t possible, as a gentle set of three raps against the wall over his head jerks him out of his half-conscious state.
Logan nods with a smile as a guest lowers their hand, moving for the door and stashing their mug in their bag. At Virgil’s questioning gaze, Logan raises his hands and explains, “that’s how my best guests say goodbye. The first few regulars I had liked the peaceful silence, so instead of cutting through the air with words, they’d just knock on the tables. It sort of became habit, I suppose.” Virgil glances from Logan’s mouth to his shoulder and back, releasing another sigh as the scratching shifts down to his back.
“Feel any better?” Logan asks. His eyes are filled with a warmth that Virgil swears wasn’t there yesterday.
“Little bit,” Virgil mumbles. “Work sucks.”
“And where, exactly, do you work?”
“Starbucks north.”
The shock in Logan’s expression is almost laughable. “I have never been more disgusted with a single human being in all my life than I am right now.”
“Yeah, that’s fair. I think I just kind of quit, though. Not exactly a ceremonious end to my shift, if you know what I mean.”
“Rude guests?”
“Try obscene and pathetic. One flicked her foam at me.”
“Wait, don’t you get free drinks when you work there? Why buy my drinks when you can get stuff without paying for it at all?”
“We aren’t, like, a chain place, since we’re owned by the department store we’re in, so we kind of follow different rules than the regular stores. I only get one grande drink per shift, and it has to be while I’m on the clock.”
“Okay, but you can still get those drinks. Just make them on your last five minutes and walk out with them. Why bother spending money on what could be free?”
“I’m not funneling the money I get from that place directly back into it. They are a capitalist regime based on the basic downfall of the foremost man empowering story, and I refuse to fuel their fire.”
“How closely did you analyze Moby Dick?”
“Sparknotes.” Virgil pushes himself onto his elbows, still savoring the feeling of Logan’s fingers gently scraping along his back. “Hey, what was that you were saying yesterday about offering for me to work here?”
Logan’s face colors immediately, flush with about as much red as is humanly safe. “I didn’t mean to impose—I mean, er, I didn’t want you to feel like—”
“It’s cool,” Virgil interrupts. “Anyway, were you even a little bit serious? Because I don’t really have a reference from my last place, but if you’re willing to accept a new hire with a shady history who knows how to run a coffee bar, I’m your guy.”
Logan nods quickly, glancing back to where Roman is struggling considerably under Remy’s watch. “You’re hired. You start today.”
“Actually, I know this is probably a bad first impression on my new boss, but do you mind if I start tomorrow? I’m not really feeling it today.”
“Indeed, I should probably draw up the paperwork, as well.”
The finality of this tenuous agreement hangs in the air, an oddly relaxed cloud of, well, something that can only wait to be shattered.
Roman does a perfectly fine job of carrying out this task.
“Logan, you’re gonna be so proud of me in a second here—I made my very first drink! Remy said I have to give it to Virgil, since you won’t take it.” Roman passes the constellation-covered mug over to Virgil, who glances warily at the murky substance rippling within. “Relax, it’s literally the easiest drink I can make.”
“Earl grey tea,” Remy calls over. “Two tea bags, hot water, and honey. I promise he didn’t poison it.” Only after Remy’s reassurance does Virgil take a hesitant sip, admiring the flavor as soon as it hits his tongue.
“Oh, that reminds me!” Logan exclaims, raising a finger in the air. It takes everything in Virgil not to whine at the loss of the reassuring hand against his back. “I got something as a thank you for helping us with the decorations yesterday—it’s right upstairs, actually. Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll have it right back down here for you.” As Logan rises, something jingles and clatters to the floor, escaping his notice as he moves for the door. A keyring, covered in at least ten keys and even more keychains.
“Hey, wait, you dropped these,” Virgil says, grabbing the keys and following Logan to the door. Logan lifts his chin slightly, taking the keys and shoving them in his pocket—careful enough that they won’t fall out this time.
“Oh, look at that,” Roman coos. Virgil raises an eyebrow, turning to see where Roman and Remy are excitedly elbowing each other and giggling. Even Patton appears from around the corner and smiles along with them—probably leaving the bathroom.
“Look at what?” Logan asks, obviously quite finished with their nonsense. Rather than dignify him with an answer, Roman merely points above their heads. Virgil follows the motion to see the last decoration he could’ve expected in June.
Mistletoe.
To the tune of the other three quietly chanting, “kiss, kiss, kiss,” Virgil swallows an annoyed moan and glances at Logan, whose face somehow managed to turn an even deeper shade of pink.
“If you don’t want to, I mean, if you didn’t, you know, feel comfortable with—” Logan stammers, every word darkening his cheeks, but Virgil cuts him off with a laugh.
“Maybe I do want to. Kiss you, that is. I mean, if you want to.”
“No, yeah, I mean—yes. I would like that. To kiss you, I mean.”
Virgil’s face glows like a rose on fire. “Okay, cool, because I also want to do that. Also.”
So he does.
#labhwrites#analogical#romantic analogical#royality#romantic royality#virgil sanders#logan sanders#roman sanders#patton sanders#remy sanders#cursing tw#mine#this is. so. long. omg#i feel myself pushing my boundaries of what constitutes a oneshot#but my rage cannot be stopped#i demand all the words for my left brain boys#dorky as they may be#// i'll reblog later for time zones with the ao3 link and the taglists#fun fact - the word /okay/ appears twenty three times in this#a word from lab post-italics formatting: lab what the FUCK stop using so many damn italics#also i bash starbucks a lot in this but its mostly for the memes#its actually a really nice place to work depending on who's working the shifts around you#anyway here's this monster of a fic
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Bakugo woke up to the sound of pots banging.
He was going to ignore it, roll over and go back to sleep, but then he heard the sounds of Kirishima’s laughter. And the smell of burning.
Only my friends . . .
The kitchen was a scene of absolute carnage. Flour was tipped over, spices and bottles of oil scattered like fallen warriors, the sunshine catching on the egg yolks dripping onto the floor and turning it a golden honey color. There was even butter smeared on the floor tile. And hell . . . was that smoke coming out of the coffee pot?
“What the hell is going on here?”
“Cooking?” Kaminari said. Eye wide with evident guilt, he hid the spatula he was using to scrape burnt egg off the pan when Bakugo had come in.
“You call this cooking?” Bakugo asked. “Nevermind,” he added, when he saw Kirishima’s lip wobble. “Get out of here. I’ll show you how a real breakfast is done.”
“Uh, Bakugo-” Mina said, hovering with Sero by the smoking coffee maker.
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Get out of here before I change my mind.”
They scattered.
Well, except Kaminari. But he was perched on a stool up out of the way. Good enough.
The mop made a wet slap against the tile, and he dragged it over in the direction of the coffee pot, unplugging the appliance. It hadn’t been used in years. The dirtied pans fell into the sink unceremoniously. The tap came on too hot but he ignored it, scrubbing furiously.
“Why are you all here anyway?” Bakugo asked, up to his elbows in soapy water.
“Kirishima wanted to surprise you! Sorry this got so out of hand, I thought I could make toast and eggs at least, but . . .” Sero trailed off peaking around the doorway. He had flour smeared on his cheek.
The sink full of new, sparkling clear water sat with the dirtied pans at the bottom, Bakugo’s face distorted and tiny in a thousand of the soapy bubbles.
The floor wasn’t as bad as it looked. Most of it was spilled egg, and he made a mental note to clean with spray later.
In less than twenty minutes, it looked like they’d never been in the kitchen.
“We can go-”
“Who’s gonna eat all the food I’m about to make then?” Bakugo said, cracking an egg with one hand into a bowl. Maybe he could at least try and teach them something.
“I will!” Mina declared, pink curls popping up behind Sero. They watched from behind the cupboard door as Bakugo made his way around the kitchen.
“Whoa, cool dude- is that an espresso machine?”
“What did you think it was? That coffee machine hasn’t been used in years. Probably why it caught on fire.”
Bakugo pressed the blinking buttons, a little coffee icon lighting up on the screen when he opens the back. Empty. “Do any of you even drink coffee? Here, catch.”
Kirishima and Sero fumble the metal tube between them while coffee beans clatter around inside.
“What’s this?”
“Instructions are on the bottom. Don’t break it.”
That should keep them occupied.
Bakugo goes through breaking the last of the eggs by the time Mina finally gets the courage to enter the kitchen again.
“How do you not get any shell in it?” she asks while standing over his left shoulder. Kanimari abandoned his stool at one point and he’s leaning over his right, but of them staring with wide eyes as he adds to the pile of shells to the side of the bowl. Since he’d have to make two eggs per person anyway, he’ll just add in the extra two left in the dozen just in case someone’s still hungry.
“It’s not that hard,” Bakugo said. “Just tap it on the edge of the bowl like this,” a hairline fracture shot up the side of the egg with a second tap, “flip it over and use your thumb to crack it open.”
“Aren’t you supposed to-” Kaminari began to ask.
“What, get it every time on the first try? Why bother. It’s easier like this.”
“What about the toast?” Mina asked, pointing at the toaster. A sad piece of burnt bread stuck out the top still.
“It’ll get cold if we start them now.”
“You really know what you’re doing,” Kaminari said, tilting his head to watch Bakugo finish the last two eggs and pull out the whisk, the ooze of freshly broken yolks visible through the glass bowl.
“Like I said, it’s not hard.” It wasn’t like Bakugo was going to learn mediocre cooking skills. What kind of hero wouldn’t know how to make breakfast?
He pulled open the cabinet again, causing Kanimari to duck to avoid his elbow.
“Did you dump half the salt?”
“We weren’t sure how much to put in,” Mina said.
“That’s what measuring spoons are for.”
“My mom always just puts stuff in and tastes it.”
“That’s- these are eggs,” Bakugo said, disgusted.
“So?”
“Salmonella poisoning, Kaminari!” At least Mina knew something. The burner kicked on with minimal fuss, heating the frying pan.
“Oh.”
“Can you get the loaf of bread out of the freezer?” Bakugo asked. The remains of salt got tossed into the measuring spoon, while Bakugo was mentally counting the number of 1/8th of a teaspoon he needed. It was just enough for the number of eggs. Usually he’d measure by weight- but, screw that, it was too early. The butter sizzled as it hit the hot pan.
“Sure thing!” Kaminari said, shooting off to the fridge. “Uh, is this it?”
“That’s a turkey! Here, it’s this one.”
“Are you sure? It’s really long.”
“Just bring it over here, will you?” Bakugo said, carefully spooning the egg into the frying pan. He couldn’t look up to check to see if they had the right thing, but thankfully they did. Pre-sliced at least- he didn’t know what foresight had pressed him to do that.
“Clear the crumb tray will you? There’s probably a bunch of burnt stuff in there from earlier.”
“What-”
Bakugo shoved the spatula into Kaminari’s hand, giving him quick instructions while switching over to the toaster. The toast remains got plucked out and thrown away, and the toaster was unplugged and rattled over the garbage can. Bits of blackened bread fell unceremoniously out of the slot.
“There.”
After plugging the thing back in- really he should just have Kaminari power it- he filled the slots with bread. Good bread. Not whatever weird stuff they brought over. Turning down the timer by half, he told Mina to switch them out.
Kirishima held up the coffee grounds. “Is this what you wanted man?”
“Perfect. Put that in the machine.”
Bakugo’s kitchen was way too small for this.
Rescuing Kaminari from the eggs, Bakugo kept and eye on the other three. They were watching in fascination as the toast didn’t burn and the coffee machien made tiny happy burbling sounds. It lit up pink.
“Kirishima, can you get a cup?”
“Sure thing. Is that a cat?”
“Kirishima, focus.”
Bakugo should have known better, because the cat mug landed under the espresso machine.
“There’s heavy cream on the left door.”
“Got it!” Mini cried when she found it.
And, somehow, breakfast was made.
“I’m never eating again,” Kaminari said, after he had stuffed his face, saying something about the egg being the best thing he’d eaten for breakfast for the whole year. That wasn’t a very hard feat to accomplish- he ate granola bars.
But Bakugo had to admit . . . it was pretty good, even for him.
Must’ve been how he put less salt in the eggs.
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