Chapter Text
The man keeps coming in. Maybe he had been coming in, and Noel just didn’t notice before. Though, he doubts he would forget a face like that.
He doesn’t always walk up to the counter. Sometimes, he’ll just sit there on his phone with his earbuds in. Everytime, Noel can’t stop staring at him.
Today, he does come up to the counter. Constance gives him a knowing glance (she knew all about his “hot guardian angel” from the extended phone call that occurred the moment Noel’s shift ended) and nudges him forward.
He takes the man in, only for a moment. If he truly is a regular, Noel can’t afford to get attached to a man he sees often, but knows nothing about. For Christ's sake, he doesn’t even know the man’s name!
Despite this, Noel fondly observes the faint stubble dusting the man’s chin. His smile is patient and kind as he waits to be helped. The baggy sweats he wears cover his physique, but Noel has already had plenty of time to notice the way his arms flex as he reaches for something, or the man’s hairy, strong legs. Everything about him screams that he is a Greek God, merely stopping by this mortal realm to make poor souls such as Noel’s swoon and fall head over heels for him.
Somehow, his feet have carried him closer to the man somewhere during these thoughts, because Noel finds himself much closer to him than he was just a moment before. “Hello!”, Noel greets far too excitedly, “I assume you’d like your usual?”. His usual being a black coffee and a chocolate croissant.
Seemingly surprised, the man answers with “Oh! Yes, that please.”
Noel starts to work on the order, before turning back, a half-formed plan hatching in his mind. With a sudden spark of confidence, he attempted to put this “plan” into action immediately
“Uhm, I need…I need a name. To put on- you know. This.” He awkwardly stumbles through his words, holding up the cup. A blush instantly begins to form on his face, as he realizes how utterly stupid he must sound. The man seems mostly confused, with as well as unconvinced, and Noel begins to regret ever going off script. This is why he can never have a crush on his regulars. Or anyone at the coffee shop. Or maybe just anyone at all, truthfully.
“I do not understand why you need a name now. You did not need one the last times.” Forget “beginning” to regret, what is the quickest way out of this situation, so Noel can stop embarrassing himself? “But, I know your name, so you can know mine. Plus, I never reject pretty people who ask me for my name.”
Noel is so lost in his victory, it takes a moment for the second part of what the man said to register. What did he mean by “pretty people”? Was he flirting with Noel? “I am Mischa Bachinski. Pleasure to meet you, Noel Gruber.”
Mischa Bachinski. Mischa. Misch. Yeah, that fit him. Noel almost repeated it back, just to see how it would feel to say. That was probably stupid, though. (Which means that it could be postponed until he was in the safety of his own home.)
Mischa, the beautiful stranger (who technically isn’t a stranger anymore), extends his hand to Noel jokingly, which Noel delicately takes with a small curtsy. “Believe me, Mischa, the pleasure is all mine.”
Noel means to pull away, but he gets lost in the warmth that the other man’s hand seems to radiate. It’s slightly calloused, but not completely rough; the skin on the back of his palm is still soft. raHe wants to memorize this hand as if it was his own. The path of Mischa’s hand extends up to his broad shoulders, up to his eyes. Noel loves his eyes.
After an uncomfortable amount of loose hand holding and intense eye contact, Constance bumps slightly into Noel (likely intentionally), causing him to realize that he is being awkward once again. This causes Noel to practically rip his hand away from the man’s. Noel very clearly does not write Mischa’s name on the cup before going to make the drink, which gives his motives away even further. He needs to get himself together and actually appear normal if he wants any chance with this guy.
“A black coffee and a chocolate croissant for Mischa?” Noel exclaims, as if it were a question.
Mischa grabs the items from Noel’s hands, and, upon inspecting them, definitely notices the lack of name. For a second, Noel tenses, and prepares for the worst. What if Mischa thinks he’s a creep for having a crush on his customers? However, he just smiles and says a small “thanks”, before walking out of the store.
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For once, Noel has a closing shift at the cafe. No one really comes in, but they still remain open until 7pm. He’s always avoided these, as there are no ways to entertain himself. The store almost felt eerie with no golden sun flowing through the curtains, and no people in the shop. For better or worse, the patrons made the coffee shop. The small town feeling, the charm that the place exuded, their delicious food and drink options, all of it was lost without the characters that walked through the door every day. Without them, the Blackwood Cafe was just another couple of walls and chairs, some random business that lost all relevance in the greater context of the city.
Every once and a while, a rattled college student would walk in, clearly needing a boost for some school-related project. Other than that however, Noel was left alone, with only his thoughts to entertain him.
He spends this time cleaning tables, and getting a touch sentimental over the cafe, and by extension, Uranium. Surprisingly, he misses it more than he’d ever expected. Sure, the bigotry and general hatred directed at him wasn’t ideal, but that would follow him everywhere, to a certain degree.
Back in Uranium, he had such a clear sense of who Noel Gruber was. He was bold, rebellious, quick-witted, and a dreamer who longed for something more than what the town could give him. Of course, now that he’d made that dream a reality, Noel wasn’t entirely sure what that “more” was.
And of course, while he had many people who didn’t exactly love him, he always had his people. Constance, obviously, who dragged him out here in the first place. Ricky also came to mind; the pair spent countless hours drawing and dreaming and laughing about who they could be in another world. There was Penny, who was interesting, to say the least. She was quiet at first, sticking to the edges of photos and corners of classrooms. But once she opened up? It was like getting to know a whole other person. She was bright, loud, and unapologetically herself. Strange was also certainly a word you could use to describe her, but at the end of the day, the rest of the choir wasn’t much better. In fact, the choir seemed to find it endearing most of the time, smiling and reminding her to breathe as she told another one of her insane and hilarious stories.
And while Noel was too stubborn to admit it, he even reminisced about Ocean from time to time. Despite everything, everytime she ignored the daylights out of Noel, he thought of her fondly. There was one evening when Ocean simply showed up to his house, completely unannounced. She made some kind of Ocean-y “everything is perfectly fine and I don’t need your help but you’re going to give it to me anyways” excuse, and barged into his home. It took every single bone in Noel’s body not to scream at her for being entitled, selfish, and a general demon to deal with, because he could tell that she genuinely needed help. Ocean was the kind of person who refused to rely on anyone unless absolutely necessary. This led to years of aggravating group projects, tyrannical takeovers of the choir, and many screaming matches between the two of them. Because of this, Noel could tell she needed him then, so he rolled his eyes, bit his tongue, and tossed her a blanket and pillow.
But the person he missed the most, that everything in him ached to be near, was his mom.
Noel wasn't particularly close with his mom, that is, until his dad left. After that, all they had was each other. During high school, there were days where Noel refused to leave his room. He’d sit there, completely overwhelmed and exhausted with life. All he’d have the energy to do was to daydream about being the free, beautiful, ungovernable Monique Gibeau. When this happened, his mom would knock on the door and call out a soft “Sweetie?”. She’d bring him crepes, or crackers, or anything really, just something to make him eat. They’d end up watching The Blue Angel, giggling as they recited each line to each other in the most over dramatic voices they could manage.
However, there was one thing that would always remind Noel of his mom. Ever since he was little, his mom always kept flowers in the house. Whether it was a bouquet on the fireplace, a vase on the dining table, or an arrangement of flowers made from all of the roses Noel received for one of his performances, the Gruber household wasn’t complete without that small pop of color.
Noel tried buying an orchid once, shortly after moving out of his mom’s house. Turns out, they don’t make for the best starter plant, and he barely had time to look after himself, much less a whole other living thing. From then on, he avoided keeping other living things in his apartment, though he’d occasionally pick up some flowers from the store if he was feeling particularly down.
He thought about this as he left the coffee shop, his shift finally over. He hadn’t planned on actually buying any flowers, as it was late and all Noel wanted was to go home and eat a dinner of reheated pizza from two days ago, when he and Constance had a movie night together.
This plan changed, however, when he noticed the small shop to his right. Of course, he knew there was a flower shop there, it’d been there even longer than the cafe. There was just no reason for him to take note of it, he supposed.
Now, though? The shop had a strange allure to it, like Noel was a moth, and this small, slightly worn shop was his flame. Soft light glowed out from the window, illuminating the nearby sidewalk. Beautiful bouquets of flowers lined the windowsills on either side of the door. Inside, Noel spotted the figure of a man with his back facing him, presumably an employee.
After a slight moment of consideration, Noel grabbed the golden doorknob, and entered the store.
As soon as he was inside, he found himself surrounded by a sweet floral aroma, and felt the scent enveloping him like a blanket. There were even more plants inside the store, ranging from daisies to lavenders to Hydrangeas, and even a few small cacti tucked away in the corner. The lights illuminated the room in a way that made it easy to see the arrangements, but that still felt soft and comforting.
These were all observations that Noel made later on, however, because the first thing Noel noticed upon entering the room was music. A moment later, he realized what, or rather who, was producing the sound. From across the room, the man at the counter lightly sang a tune. It was bright and sweet, a noise that felt packed with pure love.
From beneath Noel, the floorboards creaked. The other man jumped slightly, immediately stopping his singing. All Noel could think at that moment was how desperately he wanted that noise back.
Immediately after, he stopped thinking entirely, as the man turned around to reveal Mischa, of all people.
Both of them completely froze for a moment. Mischa, seeming equally surprised, eventually offered a warm smile that made Noel slightly dizzy with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. “Hi, Noel,” Mischa welcomed softly.
“Hello Mischa,” Noel responded with a slight nod. Flustered at the fact that the other man actually remembered his name, he wasn’t exactly sure what to say, and could only manage a blush. He’d never even imagined that Mischa could sing like that (granted, he barely knew him in the first place), but something akin to fondness, or maybe endearment, took root in Noel’s heart knowing the man could sing that beautifuly. And that he looked that pretty while doing it. “Well, how the tables have turned, huh? I didn’t know you worked here.”
Mischa chuckled lightly, despite Noel’s realization a moment later that of course he didn’t know Mischa worked here; it’d be weird if he did. If he could get a hold of himself, rather than being a hopeless romantic, maybe he could actually hold an entire conversation with this guy without further humiliation.
“Yeah, well, is not half bad, eh? Flowers are pretty, it pays well…” Mischa trailed off, but Noel had the sense that there was more he wanted to say as the other man’s hazel eyes stared into him, an unwavering but subtle smile plastered on his face.
They stared at each other for a moment. Noel picked at his nail polish absently as he admired the man before him. He had seen Mischa many times at this point. Theoretically, he should be able to restrain himself. Despite that, Noel couldn’t help but melt at the sight of the other boy in the florist’s apron, and a matching hat. It made him feel more real, and a little dorkier than Noel was used to seeing him look, but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome.
Mischa suddenly cleared his throat. “Uhm, do you have any specific flowers in mind? A specific occasion?”
“Oh! Uh, no. Not exactly.” Noel managed. He wasn’t exactly sure how much information would be considered normal and sane to provide, so that Mischa could assist him without hearing his entire life story. “You see, my mom always used to have flowers around the house, and I was feeling a touch homesick? And I saw the shop and just, you know, figured I’d get something while I was here .”
Surely, Noel wasn’t winning a medal for his eloquence anytime soon, but it was good enough, he supposed. Besides, Mischa still seemed to understand, as he nodded empathetically. “I see. I- I can relate.” The words were uncharacteristically soft and breathy, and felt completely different from the loud, determined, compassionate person he’d initially met. “Did your mom have a favorite flower? Anything you remember?”
“Yes, actually. She loved roses. So do I, actually. It was a tradition of ours to give each other a rose for our birthdays.”
Seemingly in the blink of an eye, Mischa seemed normal again. Gone was the vulnerable look in his eye, alluding to something more there that Noel was not quite in the know about yet. (Hopefully, he will be. Someday.) “Alright! One moment please.”
Mischa turned away quickly, a sudden passion and drive in his step. This was followed though with a slight pause, where he looked almost hesitant. “I would ask for a name, but that is not exactly how flower shops work. Nor some coffee shops, apparently.”
Slightly shocked and very embarrassed, Noel had no time to formulate some form of response before Mischa was moving again, with no evidence that he’d ever even stopped in the first place.
Noel’s eyes followed Mischa as he made his way around the room with ease. Noel couldn’t tell you what a single one of these flowers were off of the top of his head, and yet Mischa seemed to now only know what they were, but also where they were, how best to get to them, which of them looked best next to each other, as well as likely thousands of other things that Noel hadn’t even began to consider. The way that the man looked so at home here, so in his zone, was quite handsome to him.
After a few more moments of that, Mischa finally arrived back at the cash register. “Alright. That will be 45 dollars.”
Noel nodded slightly and extended his arm, credit card in hand. Another awkward silence set in as the other man swiped his card before handing it back, along with the roses.
Noel wanted to say more, considered asking for his number, but instead just thanked Mischa before leaving.
It was only when Noel got home that he saw the note that Mischa slipped into the bouquet.
“There is another perk of the job: I get to see the cutest barista in the coffee shop next to where I work”. Below it was a series of digits.
If Noel knew the digits like the back of his hand, or like he knew how many freckles were on Mischa’s face (twenty-seven) by the next time he saw Mischa in person, that was his own business.