Chapter Text
“A fucking flat white, Remy!”
“I know, hon.”
“And you didn’t even return my texts!”
“Have to keep you guessing sometimes, y’know.”
“He could’ve been reading those! And then he would’ve seen all the times you called him my boyfriend and he’d be weirded out and—” Virgil buried his face in his hands. “Uhg. I hate everything. Why did he order a flat white?”
Virgil’s quasi-interrogation wasn’t going as well as planned, he decided. He had cornered Remy in the breakroom that morning in the hopes of finally getting some answers about what had happened, but his two and a half hours of sleep from the previous night had nulled his ability to form a coherent chain of thought and the conversation had quickly devolved into a flustered rant session.
“I think I have an idea,” Remy murmured, scrolling through his phone as Virgil paced back and forth.
“Yeah. This dude just wants to pester the heck out of me. You know what? This is war between him and I. And I’m going to win.”
“Or you could…admit that you like him?” Remy shrugged.
“WHAT?” Virgil said, louder than he had meant. “I’m not—I can’t—he doesn’t like me! Didn’t you notice? He ordered a flat white just to get on my nerves!” Virgil said, his hands flying around and making wild gestures as he paced. With the dark circles under his eyes, all he needed was a bulletin board, some loose paper, and a ton of red string to complete the cryptid aesthetic he had going.
“Uh…don’t you think this might be a bit of an overreaction for a coffee order?”
“I’m not overreacting!”
Remy raised a brow, waiting until they made eye contact to speak. “You’re gay as fuck, Virgil.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, are you trying to fight him or f— uh, date him?”
“Fight! He’s deliberately trying to get on my nerves, and I have to enact my revenge! Aren’t you listening?”
Remy sighed, immune to his friend’s antics. “Fighting is not the best way of getting the date, Virgilicious.”
Virgil mumbled something along the lines of ‘it’s easier that way…’ before turning on his heel, storming out of the breakroom to get started on the cleaning.
“It’s not like he’s into men, anyways,” he added over his shoulder. Remy stood up from his seat in the breakroom, dropping his phone into an apron pocket and following the purple-haired barista out. He leaned against the countertop, watching Virgil fumble distractedly with the machines.
“Suuuuure. Just watch him today when—and I mean when because that dude is here like every day—he comes inside, because I’m absolutely sure that his eyes will go straight to you. And that’s like, a direct indicator, babe.”
Virgil raised a brow. “Okay. Bet. You stand guard at the cash register. If he looks at you first then he’s not into me. Simple as that.”
“So if he immediately starts searching for you, then I win?” Remy clarified, and Virgil nodded. “How much are you betting here?”
“I—I don’t know. I don’t have much money to spare.”
“Seriously? You work here almost every single day.”
“All my money’s going to college. I’m paying on my own, remember?” Virgil responded, flicking a couple of switches to turn on the machinery.
“Right,” Remy said, more to himself than anyone else. Suddenly an idea popped into his head. “Well, Virgil…I have something else we could wager.”
“Why does it sound like I’m going to regret this?” Virgil muttered.
Remy smirked. “You won’t. Trust me.”
“Spit it out, then.”
“Okay, so…If you win the wager, then I will cover a week’s worth of shifts for you. To be used whenever you would like.”
“Why is this making me more anxious?” Virgil murmured, kneeling down to plug in one of the machines.
“And if I win the wager, then you give him your phone number,” Remy said.
“What.”
“That’s only if you lose the wager, Virge. Which you seemed pretty confident you wouldn’t.”
“You can’t be serious,” Virgil said, shaking his head. He stepped around where Remy was standing and went to put down chairs. “He doesn’t like me.”
Remy raised a brow. “You like him.”
Virgil’s hands stilled on the chair he was holding.
“HA! You do like him. Called it.”
“Remy! It’s not—no, I just—” Virgil couldn’t think of the words to finish that sentence. What was there to say, really? He could feel his face reddening despite himself. “He’s just a café patron. I hardly know him, how could I—” He cut himself off again, pulling down the chair in his hands and setting it on the floor.
“Virgil. I have known you for long enough to know the look,” Remy responded, his voice softer now. “But all he’s ever going to be is a patron unless you make a move.”
“But he’s literally my rival. You’ve heard his ridiculous coffee orders. I swear he’s just trying to get back at me for something.”
“OR, he’s trying to spend more time with you? It would explain why he only ordered a flat white when I was the server—he likes your company best.”
Virgil scoffed. “Right. Wishful thinking.”
“We’ll see about that,” Remy murmured to himself.
——
It wasn’t like Virgil had hoped for Roman to walk through those doors. Definitely not. And Virgil’s heart absolutely was not threatening to burst out of his chest every single time the bell on the door rung for the rest of that morning.
And it definitely wasn’t true that just as Virgil was beginning to calm down and convince himself that maybe Roman wasn’t coming that the man found the audacity to walk right through those fucking doors with his adorable ass grin that had singlehandedly murdered Virgil’s circadian rhythm.
…so you can get those images out of your head.
Virgil was, in fact, busy on a chai latte order when the Bane of His Existence sauntered in, looking unfairly relaxed and stylish (I mean, who the hell gave him the right??). At this point Virgil was barely glancing up to see who walked through the doors, but something on this patron’s outfit caught his attention and forced his gaze upwards.
He knew when their eyes met that he was utterly, utterly screwed.
Virgil whirled around before the latte spilled over. He tried to cool the rising flush that was already burning on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nooooooo—
Maybe if I just pretend I didn’t see him, then Remy can’t—
“Hey Roman~” Remy drawled. Virgil didn’t have to turn around this time to feel the smirk in his voice.
Shit. Shitshitshitshit.
Visions of phone numbers and texting, texting!, flew through his head and Virgil began to feel dizzy. He quickly put a lid on the latte and passed it across the bar to an oblivious customer before reluctantly making his way to the register, where, to his relief, Remy was already beginning Roman’s order.
Virgil grabbed a cup and scribbled Ramen on it without a second thought—but his Sharpie hovered over the blank space just underneath it. His fingers twitched once, twice, before dropping to his sides.
I can’t. I can’t do that to him.
Remy glanced over from their conversation. “Y’know, Virgilicious, you’re awfully quiet today?” He asked teasingly, his eyes flicking down to the coffee cup and back up to his face.
“3/10, bad nickname,” Virgil responded, trying to ignore the way Roman scoffed and put a manicured hand to his chest in mock horror. “ And I am quiet because Roman and I have some beef,” he added, pointing an accusing finger at the man in question. None of Virgil's efforts, however, concealed the playful look dancing just behind his eyes that made Roman's heart melt just a little.
“Uh, actually, I’m vegetarian,” Roman said.
Both of the baristas stared at him for a moment before Virgil snorted.
“Roman, no—" He said, trying to force down the giggles that were threatening to bubble up to the surface.
"Roman, yes," Remy and Roman both said in unison, and the three of them burst into laughter.
For the two baristas, it was nothing more than a simple, two-braincell joke. But in that moment time stopped for Roman. His own laugh died down, his expression instead melting into that of awe as he stared at a particular black-clad barista.
He had never seen Virgil laugh before. And the last time he had heard a giggle, Virgil tried to cover it up. This time, though—this time it was ringing out through the cafe, a private concert for only the patrons to enjoy.
It was angelic. It was adorable.
Roman was falling hard.
The sound of a throat clearing snapped his attention back to the present, where Remy was giving him a side eye. Virgil glanced between the two of them, confused, before Remy finally spoke up.
“Well, loves, it looks like someone is calling me soo…I trust you can take care of the order, Virgey?” Remy took two steps backwards, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively in Roman's direction.
Virgil huffed, shaking his head and pretending not to see...whatever it was that Remy was doing. “Really with the nickname? And isn’t your phone in the back room?”
“Yes, but…someone is totes calling me right now. Bye!” Remy slipped into the break room before Virgil could get another word in edgewise.
Leaving the two of them alone.
Remy, you little shit, Virgil thought, his cheeks tinting pink. Remy really wasn't going to let him live this down, was he?
The barista was tempted to let out a slew of curse words right then and there.
“So are you really a vegetarian or are you just avoiding confrontation?” Virgil asked instead, folding his arms across his chest.
Roman hummed, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know, most people have to ask me out on a date before they learn that information.” He let the line sit for an agonizingly long second before continuing. “But, I suppose I can make an exception. Just this once,” he added with a wink. Virgil debated if he should call the ambulance now or wait until he collapsed from the heart attack he was sure he was having.
Flushing face? Check. Irregular heartbeat? Check. Dizziness? Check. Chest pain and/or shortness of breath? Check and check. Yep, he was definitely having a heart attack.
“And your answer is?” Virgil prompted, trying to play off the first half of Roman’s statement as a joke.
“Yes to both. I’m a vegetarian, and I’m really scared of what you look like when you’re mad.”
“Uh huh,” Virgil said, raising a brow. “So why, then, did you risk my wrath by letting Remy make you a flat white?” Roman was laughing now, but Virgil couldn’t be sure whether it was out of fear or genuine entertainment.
“Well, you see, I didn’t have my trusted barista to ensure that my drink was done properly! Usually they mess it up.”
“Sure, pretty boy. You better start groveling before Remy overhears what you just said.” The words slipped out of Virgil’s mouth before he had even registered what he said, and his face heated up as Roman smirked.
“You think I’m pretty?”
Virgil huffed, trying to hide his own grin. “‘Most people have to ask me out on a date before they learn that information,’” he quoted.
Critical hit. Roman spluttered, unprepared to have his his own line used against him. Virgil grinned triumphantly.
“So, what can I get started for you?” he added before Roman could fire anything back at him.
Roman stared for a moment, taking in the man’s smug grin that was just barely shining through his professional stance. He narrowed his eyes.
There’s no way he’s getting the last word here, he thought, and soon the flustered expression turned into a grin of his own as he opened his mouth to order.
“Salted caramel mocha latte with soy milk, cinnamon, and no whip.”
“Son of a—”
“Babe!” Remy called out from behind Virgil, knocking the barista out of his semi-homicidal, semi-panicking headspace and into reality. The barista sauntered back to the counter and hip-bumped Virgil away from the register. “I’ll finish up, you start the drink,” he said with a wink. Virgil shot him a withering glare before turning on his heel.
As soon as Virgil was out of earshot (the coffee grinder blocked out quite a bit of sound) Remy leaned over the counter to whisper.
“Flowers are a go. He likes the color purple.”
“Are you sure? How’d you find out?” Roman whispered back, quirking a brow.
“I called his ex,” the barista shrugged. Roman’s eyes widened.
“You called his—” Roman cut himself off, stealing a glance at Virgil (who thankfully still had his back turned…wait, was he writing something on the cup?) before he continued, voice dropping back to a whisper. “You can’t just call people’s exes, Remy! That’s like, the first rule of being a wingman. Bad things could happen!”
“Relax, his ex is super chill. And they’re still friends, so it’s fine.”
“It is not f—” Roman faked clearing his throat when he saw Virgil turn around and walk towards one of the closer pieces of equipment. Remy shot Roman a smug grin when he finally looked back, causing his face to heat up far more than he would’ve liked.
When it was clear Virgil was finishing with the drink, Remy’s back straightened and he resumed typing into the register as if nothing had happened. “Will that be all for you today?”
Roman sighed, exasperated. This day can’t get weirder, can it?
——
The conversation with Roman rushed by in a whirlwind, and it took Virgil a full minute after he had been forcefully removed from the front counter to completely register what they had just done.
Flirting.
Roman had flirted with him. And worse, Virgil had flirted back.
Or at least he thought he had. Had he?
Can that even be quantified as flirting? He wondered to himself as he turned on the coffee grinder, trying not to steal any glances at the subject in question. I mean, we just tossed around some banter and it was kind of more like a fight than anyth—
‘You think I’m pretty?’
Virgil blinked, his face flushing all over again.
Okay, yeah, that was kind of flirting.
Holy shit. I flirted with Roman.
Virgil lifted the drink too fast and nearly spilled hot coffee on his fingers. With a start, he remembered his deal with Remy as he stared at the large amount of blank space still left on the cup. He swallowed hard, stealing a glance at Roman out of the corner of his eye. As stealthily as he could, he drew a Sharpie out of his apron, twirling it in his fingers as he contemplated what he was about to do.
His heart fluttered at the idea of late-night texts from a pretty guy—from that pretty guy across the bar who kept stealing glances at him.
But was that really fair? To give his phone number so early?
What if he scared Roman off? Never got to see him again?
He was stepping into unknown territory here. No longer in the safe space he had been for years now.
Suddenly a lightbulb flashed on in his head, and he put the Sharpie to the cup, writing it out before he had time to overthink the idea.
Remy sauntered over soon after, apparently finished with the transaction. As Roman waited at the end of the bar seating, the barista leaned on him in a not-at-all subtle way, his eye flicking once between Virgil and the cup he was already handing over. Virgil tipped his head towards Roman, thrusting the drink into Remy’s hands and walking away to end their little nonverbal chat before Remy could ask any questions.
He knew the plan was set in motion when he heard Remy call “Mocha latte for Ramen!” from across the cafe. Virgil had already started helping another waiting customer, but even without seeing Roman he recognized the sound of his spluttering as he picked up the drink.
The customer probably had no idea why Virgil started grinning halfway through typing their matcha latte order into the register. Or why, when a certain man apparently named “Ramen” waved at the barista as he walked out, his face went red and he bit his lip to conceal the infectious smile.
——
It wasn’t until Roman got into his car that he noticed the Sharpie message just barely peeking out over the edge of his hand. He raised a brow, setting down his keys to examine it for a moment. When his hands were free he repositioned the drink so he could read the thin, swooping script on the side.
Ramen--
I have cities, but no houses.
I have mountains, but no trees.
I have water, but no fish.
What am I?
Roman chuckled, shaking his head at the barista’s antics.
“What am I going to do with you, Virgil?” He asked the cup, cheeks flushed as he thought of the beautiful, peculiar barista that he couldn’t seem to get off his mind.
No, he thought, his heart fluttering just a little as he took one last glance at the riddle before setting down the cup and starting the car. No chance of that now.