Chapter Text
Doc comes in before Grian’s shift starts. He knows this because last time he walked to the library and then backtracked to the cafe and this time he came straight here. So instead of Grian he orders an espresso from a totally normal barista who doesn’t argue with him at all about whether his drink is boring or pretentious, or strike up a debate about the merits of whipped cream.
Grian comes in fifteen minutes later, switching out with the other barista by means of some ludicrous handshake. He peaks over the espresso machine at Doc, wobbling a little by how he has to stand on his tiptoes to do so. Once he catches Doc’s eye (because he wasn’t looking. He wasn’t) he makes the two fingered, ‘I’m looking at you’ gesture. Doc resigns himself to a long day at the cafe not getting very much of his data processing finished.
At exactly one twenty five (not that Doc is keeping track) Grian starts making a drink despite no customers having come in recently. The espresso machine blocks his view of the prep space so he can’t tell what it is. Another barista appears from the back, her curls a few shades darker than Grian’s own and with a similar lilt to the shape of their faces. Grian says something too quiet to overhear, and balls up his apron to throw it at her face.
Grian, sans apron, drops himself into the seat across from Doc. The mug in his hands is pushed across the table, cream wobbling as it moves. “Drink it.”
Doc turns up his nose at the curl of whipped cream topping the drink. “No.”
“You’re really going to turn down free coffee?” Grian gestures emphatically at the mug. “Come on, I used my staff drink on this!”
“That’s not coffee.” He wraps his fingers around the handle of the mug, turning it this way and that in a mock inspection, keeping his hands conspicuously away from the body of the mug as if the sugar is somehow contagious. He wants Grian to be able to read his distaste in every movement. “Why are you even trying to get me to drink this stuff anyway?”
Grian shrugs. The shoulders of his distinctly un-seasonal fluffy jumper bunch up at his shoulders, gathering around his ears. "I just think maybe if you put some sugar in your coffee scented tar you would have a little more joy in your life."
Doc snorts. "I think if you put some coffee in your syrup milk you might actually acquire some maturity."
"Well that's just rude." The point of Grian's nose is even more prominent when he turns it up like that. He really has the perfect face for mocking offence. The perfect face for most expressions.
"If I try it will I be forgiven?"
One of Grian's eye's slides over to look at him. "Maybe."
Doc sighs. Picks up the mug. Tries to calculate the best way to take a sip without ending up with a mouthful- or alternately a facefull - of whipped cream. Tips the mug gently, slowly - and sips at the coffee.
It is.... Not horrendous. Perhaps a little heavier on the cream than he'd like but it's not sweetened. The taste is gently spiced in a way that complements rather than overwhelms the richness of the coffee.
"So?"
"I've had better."
Grian's haughty expression doesn't drop but his eyes do slide fully over to Doc. And perhaps they're a little more dim.
"But I've definitely had worse. It's palatable at least.
"So you admit defeat to the adulterated coffee?"
"Not today." Doc shoves the cup back across the table. "Whipped cream is an abomonation."
"Noted." Grian spins the mug between his hands, the motion seemingly mindless. (He looks good like that, bundled up in oversized clothes with a mug in hand.) "I'll get you next time though."
Doc rolls his eyes gently, just to make sure Grian knows he's not impressed with his declarations. "I'll look forward to it."
"GRIAN!" Doc will admit that he startles but nothing compared to how Grian jumps. "Stop flirting and get your ass back over here! I am not doing all your work for you!"
"Coming Pearl!"
Grian jumps up and takes the mug with him and all the tension that was piled on the table between them unravels across the cafe until it snaps and dissipates.
Doc goes back to sorting out where the unexpected variance in his data is coming from and misses the way that Grian peeks at him over the espresso machine.
Doc goes up to the counter at the end to get a coffee to go. The fact that no decent cafe in proximity to the uni stays open into the evening is a tragedy and an injustice. He will suffer through another conversation with the nuisance if that is what it takes to get to desired levels of caffeination.
"Double espresso." He hands four dollars to Grian. They're bills, their fingers don't need to touch. They do anyway.
The cash register rattles open and closed. "Why do you always have exact change? It's infuriating. Like, who even carries cash these days?"
“Because wrangling the eftpos terminal in our shop is a pain that I would rather not inflict on anyone else. And waiting for some idiot to count out change is awkward.”
"Right." The espresso machine hisses. "You know, there's no surcharge for adding a bit of milk...."
"Just as it is, thanks."
"You're no fun."
"Coffee isn't supposed to be fun. Coffee is serious business."
Grian snorts, snapping the lid onto the takeaway cup. "Okay, sure. Enjoy or whatever. Don't work yourself to death - I think I'd miss tormenting you."
"So you admit you're doing it on purpose?"
"I plead the fifth."
"Goodbye, Grian."
"Bye! Don't have too much fun!"
He rolls his eyes as the bell chimes above him and allows himself a quiet smile as he heads for the library.
~~~
Grian skips up to the door of the coffee shop - only because skipping is technically the most efficient form of locomotion or whatever it was Mumbo said. There is no bell, which is a shame because it feels like the sort of situation that requires melodic chiming.
Doc turns around as he approaches.
"You. What do you want."
Grian plants his hands on the counter, pushing himself up to be a little taller. There must be a step stool behind the counter because Doc still looks just as tall. "I would like a latte. With caramel. Pretty please?"
"Alright."
“And how much is that?”
Doc give him a look like he’s the weird one here. As if. “Five dollars?”
“Wait, fuck, give me a minute.” Grian dumps a pile of coins on the counter. Four dollars fifty exactly. He digs through his bag for his wallet.
“It’s fine.” Doc takes the four fifty. “I’ll have your drink over in a minute.”
“Wait, at least let me-”
“Go sit down, Grian.”
Grian huffs, making sure he waits long enough for Doc to look up from making the espresso to see his pout before he throws himself down at the nearest table.
With nothing better to do he pulls out his sketch book - he may not be a particularly skillful artist, but his chosen profession has required him to acquire some level of competency.
Doc sets the latte on the table in front of him. He pointedly keeps his eyes on his materials as he digs through his pencil case.
Flipping through pages filled more prominently with doodles than building designs, he settles on an interior he’d ruled up a few days ago, intent on getting at least a little practice with interior design before he sets out to start the concept for his final. He had gotten all the way to ruling the straight lines to establish the vertices of the room before giving up.
Setting pencil to paper never used to stress him out. It used to be that he could doodle buildings all day without a care for if his lines were straight or the shading was correct. He’s not sure he even knew what a protractor was before coming to uni. It’s not unreasonable for him to resent his degree just a little for tainting something that’s supposed to be as free as drawing.
He starts filling in the space, trying to keep himself from thinking too hard, just glancing up every now and then for a sip of coffee and to check that the furniture in his drawing makes sense with the scale of reality. By the time his cup has been drained he has a rough sketch.
There’s a presence over his shoulder, Doc coming out from the counter behind him and he fights the urge to cover the page.
The plants aren’t much more than vague gestural lines that curl around the boxy frames of the windows. Texture is only indicated by the density of scribbling on any given part of the picture. But it’s clearly an approximation of the front windows of the cafe.
Which, to be clear, Grian has absolutely no reason to be embarrassed about. He can draw whatever he likes, thank you very much.
“Very nice.” Doc takes the cup from the table. Grian catches the rolled cuff of his shirt between his fingers.
“I want a surprise drink too.” Doc raises an eyebrow, going to interject but Grian raises a finger. “On the condition that it has some sort of syrup.”
Doc leans down with his elbows on the table. Like this he's just about eye level with Grian.
"Are you having fun doing this to me?"
"Coffee isn't supposed to be fun. Coffee is serious business." Grian's grin cracks the soft set of his cheeks. "Sorry, I've been wanting to say that. It's so stupid."
“Glad to see you take amusement in my pain.”
“Schadenfreude.”
“Oh, so the little birdy knows big words.”
Grains brain blue screens, filled with a static screen of a million thoughts yelling overtop each other. “Little birdy?”
“It suits you. A tiny, noisy little nuisance.”
“B- I am barely below average height!”
“You keep telling yourself that and maybe one day it will come true.”
Grian has to turn around in his chair to look at Doc as he retreats back to the workspace.
Doc glances up at him, even as the espresso machine purrs along with the rumble of the grinder, hands reaching blindly for a basket and a cup simultaneously.
“It’s not a surprise if you’re staring at me, pesky bird.”
He turns back to his drawing, huffing loud enough that he can be sure Doc is aware of his displeasure. He starts adding the little yellow flowers that are blooming along the length of the window vines to his drawing.
“Your mystery drink.” Doc leans over the counter to pass him a glass.
It’s black coffee, but it clings too long to the sides of the glass to be unsweetened. He holds eye contact with Doc as he raises it to his lips.
“Good?”
“Acceptable.” He rolls the flavour around his mouth for a second, putting all his meagre brain cells towards a critical appraisal of the taste. “You’re clearly a novice with sweetened drinks. The watery texture speaks to a lack of experience.”
“Right.” Doc’s brows are furrowed, an act of consideration as his fingers drum on the counter.
He jumps to amend himself, tipping his chair a little further as he leans even closer to the counter to try and catch the other man’s eye. “It’s good though!” He doesn’t want Doc worrying about it or anything.
Doc shakes his head. “No, no, you’re right. Like coffee, sugar requires commitment. I’ll do better next time.” The gaze that meets his own is full of a determined certainty that seems misplaced in the homey setting around them but perfectly suited to the man it belongs to.
“You weirdo.” He can feel his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth, biting down on it to try to keep his smile under control. “I’m looking forward to it.”