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“You look fine my friend, stop fidgeting, he is not even looking our way”.
Johns ears perked up at the sound of the increasingly familiar language. He had been studying french for about a year and a half now, and although his reading a writing skills where, to say the least, passable, his ability to actually understand the language in any practical real world scenario was still embarrassingly low.
His eyes moved around the café from his place behind the counter, searching for faces to attach to the participants of the conversation he was now effectively, be it for academic purposes, eavesdropping on.
“I’ve been wearing this hoodie for five days now Lafayette!” Said a second voice, faster, and full of an exuberant nervous energy that only served to further draw John into this questionable activity. “I’m hardly fit to be seen by someone with their life together” The voice sighed dramatically.
“That may very well be my friend” said the first voice with a sort of tired fondness. “But there is no way to tell the overuse of your wardrobe upon first meeting, do not fret”.
John had now located the source of the voices, they where coming from two men, around Johns age, sitting at one of the small round tables in front of the thickly frosted window that cast a soft golden light on that corner of the café.
Despite having to wake up at the ungodly hour of 6:00, John liked the slow mornings he spent working here. It was cosy, with mismatched wicker and cast iron chairs, illuminated by the huge storefront window working in tandem with various smaller ones to let in the buttery morning light. Light that was now falling on the two men who had begun speaking so rapidly in French his novice ears struggled to keep up.
“Trust me my friend! you look sexy! In an exhausted, intellectual sort of way.” The first man chuckled the reassurance in a gently mocking tone. Leaning into his friend and grinning.“As if you where, perhaps, up all night writing essays on the homoerotic subtext of “The Importance of being Ernest” He paused a moment before adding. “…by candle light”. Leaning back and grinning all the more.
“Thats not fair you know i was, well not by candle light but…” the man drifted off, gesturing his hands back and forth between the two of them in awkward admittance to the former part of his friends statement.
John dared a longer look towards the two. The man who had spoken first was wearing a white dress shirt and tight black vest with his curly brown hair pulled up into a neat ponytail, by contrast his friend, who was facing slightly away from Laurens, sported a tattered and fading university hoodie and dark navy jeans. Silky looking dark brown hair fell in disarray to tense shoulders, tense from excitement or stress it was hard to tell. The man seemingly couldn't keep still, his leg bounced non-stop underneath the table as his hands fidgeted with everything in reach, running though his hair, back and forth over his jeans, pushing up his sleeves only to pull them back down again and take a sip of coffee. Did he have two coffees?
John was snapped out of his revere by a costumer waiting to order. He sighed, he really did love the café, but more so for its atmosphere than his own employment there. Every hour he spent serving butter scones and a hundred different iterations of coffee felt like time he should be using to fight, for anything really.
John had involved himself in every civil rights campaign he could manage since moving to New York. Big advancements had been made in the time he had been here and even bigger ones where brewing, and here he was, making coffees and changing nothing. Besides improving his French listening comprehension he supposed, but that was a fairly fleeting consolation to an ongoing problem.
“Oh my god Lafayette i don’t think i can handle this though, he’s so damn attractive are you seeing all those freckles?”
Johns hands stilled halfway though the motion of pouring the drink he was working on. Where they talking about him? Did the man sitting by the window with the ragged hoodie, two coffees, and exuberance to spare just say he found him attractive? John did a quick scan around the room. Looking for another man with a full face of freckles or maybe someone holding up a big “pranked ya” sign, but came up with nothing.
“Just go up to the counter and flirt a bit, get his number” proposed the first man in an exaggeratedly causal tone.
It was him, there was no longer any question about that. John was listening intently now, hands running on autopilot as he gave up on all pretence of practicing the language and began to full on eavesdropping on the two men. Strangers admiring him in fluent French wasn’t exactly something that he could say he was used to, sadly. Though it was certainly more than welcome.
“Its not that easy!” protested the second voice.
“Is it not?” asked the man with the ponytail. “You usually cant make yourself shut up”.
“Its different!” The other man exclaimed.“What if he’s straight and i just make a fool of myself!” John huffed a laugh at the needless concern, but the man was becoming even more agitated, if that was possible, leaning in towards his friend and making wild, questioning gestures with his hands.
“It wouldn't be the first time” the first man replied, leaning back in his seat and chuckling quietly.
“Ahem”
The sound of the increasingly impatient costumer pulled John back to awareness just in time for him to watch, helpless, as scalding hot coffee spill over the edges of the cup and onto his hand.
He yelled, flailing backward and shoving his burned knuckles into his mouth. Fuck, that hurt. The entirety of the, thankfully sparsely populated, café, turned their heads toward the noise. Including, to Johns dismay, the man seated by the window, the overhearing of who’s, admittedly intended secret, conversation, has caused John to spill the drink in the first place. And oh boy. John froze in his spot, he felt as if someone had just punched him in the stomach in the most incredibly pleasant way possible. The man was maybe the most gorgeous person he had ever seen in his life.
He had deep set brown eyes, widening in concern as he looked at John. A pronounced nose drawing Johns eyes downward to his mouth, to his neatly trimmed beard. Johns eyes wandered lower. He was slighter than John and somewhat shorter as well, shoulder length hair fell in graceful shambles past his jaw, lightly grazing the smooth tan skin of his neck and…and he was standing up, his concerned eyes locked on johns burned hand in his mouth, he was coming over.
“Hey are you ok there? I didn’t quite see what happened but if thats a burn you might want to get it under some cold water pretty soon, coffee is always served ridiculously hot for some reason, not sure why, it’s not like anyone can drink it at that temperature anyway.” The man rambled, running his hands though his hair and only serving to make is messier.
“Thanks” replied John. “Uh ya good idea, i’ll…do that” he fumbled, turning slightly in his place to stick his hand under the tap.
“Hey i couldn't help noticing your buttons”. Said the man gesturing to the several colourful pins John wore on his work apron proclaiming his allegiance with various movements. “If you don’t mind my asking, where would you say you stand of the new transgender bathroom laws they’re trying to push though?”.
John huffed, quite a conversation opener but, thankfully, one he was prepared for, from battling his own fathers bigoted opinions in recent weeks. “It’s ridiculous honestly,” He stated glancing up at the man to gauge his reaction, pleased to see a smile start on his face. “Most people in favour of the law claim they want to ‘protect women from assault’” He continued “despite never lifting a finger to do so in any other situation where its actually needed.”
“Right?” the man was nodding vigorously, a wild gleam in his eyes. “If they actually cared about women you’d think they’ed start by, i don't know, listening to them.” The man laughed.
“And!” John was getting on a roll now, he always got fired up around these kinds of topics. “What they seem to fail to realize that assault of any kind in bathrooms involving trans and cis people always sees transgender people as the victim. So who are they trying to protect here?”
“Their own unrelenting bigotry?” The other man deadpanned the question, looking John directly in the eye.
He let out a small bitter laugh in response. “Yea…Honestly its obvious they don’t actually care about women's safety, they’re just using that as a scapegoat for their own barely concealed transphobia. Which kinda makes it feel even more fucked up if that is at all possible.”
There was a short silence where the two simply looked at each other, almost buzzing with the feeling of talking to someone new without needing to brace yourself for bullshit.
“I’m Alexander Hamilton” Said the man extending his hand to Johns to shake.
“John Laurens” he replied, reaching over the counter to take his hand, leaving the other under the running tap water. “Nice to meet you Alexander.”
“Alex, please” he said, smiling, Alex… Alex said.
“So do you make a habit of this Alex?” John quipped. “Asking strangers about their political views? It can be a dangerous practice.”
“I’ve been told i can be somewhat confrontational.” He grinned. “I had a good feeling about you though.”
“Well its a efficient way to weed out friends from enemies to say the least, and you certainly seem to know what you're talking about.” He said, raising an eyebrow at Alex.
“Well i recently wrote a essay on the subject” He explained, rubbing the back of his neck distractingly. “You write 57 pages on a topic and you start to feel like you know what you're talking about.”
“Mon amie!” Came the voice the man who had been sitting by Alex. “Pardon me for interrupting but may i remind you that it is not the length of your essays which you are to be bragging about.”
Alex blushed fiercely at the implication. “Sorry thats my friend Lafayette, they can be…” He stuttered, looking around as if the right word would materialize in the air. “Forward.”
“Ah so you where going to get around to telling me later then?” He joked, smiling at Alex’s growing agitation.
“Ah” Alex stilled, pausing for a long moment and looking John directly in the eye yet again. “It seems I have talked myself into a corner from which I do not have the skill to escape.”
“No need, no need, I like you where you are.” John smirked. He may have been laying it on a little thick but honestly, he already knew how this guy felt about him, and subtly had never really been his strong suit anyway. “Now I should probably get back to work before I get murdered by a horde of angry hipsters.”
He could feel the growing annoyance of the line starting to burn into his brain. “Talk to you again sometime?” He asked.
“Oh of course sorry. Ya absolutely, sounds wonderful, i’ll be back, for sure, ill uh…see ya then.” Alex exclaimed, smiling and slapping the counter in a sort of reluctantly definitive gesture, before finally turning and heading back to his table, and the proud, beaming face of his friend.
John grinned, tearing his eyes away from Alex and turning to the costumer he had stranded coffee-less at the cash. “What can i get for you ma’am?” he asked politely, still smiling like an idiot.
“Yes, I’d like to speak to the manager please.”
“Ya ok” He sighed a relenting breath, not even the least bit resentful. “Thats fair.”