Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At exactly 12:30pm Monday through Friday Legault forgets for two minutes that he’s 27 years old and working fulltime in coffee shop hell. The previously annoying, shrill bell’s jingle is like a chorus of angels announcing the presence of their head angel. Chai Latte-not his real name-walks in through the doors. He’s taller than Legault and broader too but his face isn’t as angular, his undereyes are dark confirming the lack of sleep his order hints at. While he looks a bit like a hobo Legault sees kindness in his golden eyes-Isadora tells him it’s lust clouding his perception but Legault knows what kindness looks like. He’s been up close and personal with rose coloured glasses more times than he’d necessarily like to be.

The minute Chai Latte steps up to the counter Legault has already risen to his tip toes. He throws on his best smile and leans forward.

“So, what can I get for you?” he asks. He might be batting his eyelashes hard enough to cause a tsunami in another part of the world.

Chai Latte smiles back, “the usual, please. How has your day been going so far?”

“Oh, you know, I only had to scream in the walk-in for five minutes today so I’m counting it as a win. How’s the lizards?”

Chai Latte always widens his eyes when he asks, like he can’t imagine anyone ever wanting to hear about them but Legault may as well be in a desert he’s so thirsty. “They’re good. Hyperion, the bearded dragon? He seems like he’s doing better. Umbriel is still a handful though.”

He takes the exact change-somehow Chai Latte always pays in exact change like another of their regulars-and moves to the side for Isadora to take the other customer’s orders. He grabs a disposable cup and goes about preparing his Chai Latte with 3 shots of espresso. His calves start to burn but he doesn’t drop back on his heels. His usual footwear has a three inch heel, but they aren’t “work-safe” and so he has to make do or else look like the five foot seven that he actually is. Guys tend to get the wrong idea about him when they see how short he is.

“Well nothing you can’t handle I’m sure?”

“No. She’s just a grump, Hyperion isn’t a fan of her.”

Legault looks up from under his ugly black visor, “he must get his sweetness from his owner then.”

Chai Latte ducks his head, but doesn’t say anything. Legault sets his drink on the higher part of the counter and Chai Latte takes it with a soft “thank you”. He tries not to watch him too much while he walks away but Isadora nudges him as she goes to make a drink.

“Might want to wipe your face, you’re drooling a bit,” she whispers and he huffs out a laugh.

“Don’t be jealous just because he wants to talk about his lizards with me and not you.”

“Yeah well we know that you’re more interested in his snake than his bearded dragons,” she says and he really has corrupted her if she’s saying that. He remembers the first time they’d met she’d been so embarrassed to even talk about anything sexual and now she’s making jokes about it.

He tells her so and she gives him extra cleaning to do. Worth it.

--

Legault types a response to his landlord and settles himself into the bed. His phone beeps and he looks down at it; Jan, of course.

‘What’s up?’ he types in and the responses comes a few minutes afterwards, the call immediately after.

“I need you to take her.”

“I work the rest of the week, Jan,” he says and tries to force a smile to cover how he wants to sigh.

“She’s been asking for you.”

He looks around the room strewn with his clothes and the odd can and then he does sigh. “Give me a couple of hours.”

It only takes him a couple of minutes to clean up; he keeps a clean house even if it’s not necessarily tidy. But it’s that he needs to go to the bank that takes the most time. He has enough cash for himself but Jan never sends anything beyond the clothes on the kid’s back and he’s well aware that he can’t feed himself takeout for every meal nevermind a kid. He makes it back just in time to see the car pull up and Nino jump out with her backpack.

“Uncle Legault!” she calls and waves with both hands like he doesn’t remember where his apartment building is.

He smiles and braces himself for impact before she jumps at him with her arms open. She’s smaller than an average 14 year old and she pulls back after a second. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t hug people so strongly.”

“And I told you I don’t mind it, but seriously don’t call me uncle,” he says like he does every time she comes over.

Jan peers out the car window and Legault stares him down over Nino’s shoulder. It isn’t that he minds having her over, but she needs a lot of attention and he’s constantly worried he’s messing her up more than she already is.

He pulls away and waves Jan off, “Come on, do you have any homework?”

“Uh uh. I finished it already. Uncle Legault can you do algebra?”

“I might have some of it kicking around in here somewhere,” he taps on his head and they start inside.

His apartment is on the 5^th floor of the building and considering the elevator has an ‘out of service’ sign on it they take the stairs. Nino bounces up each flight like it isn’t 9pm at night.

“Uncle Legault did I tell you that Florina let me ride on her horse the other day?” she looks down at him to ask. She grins and he returns it without any trouble.

“You did, but tell me again.”

She goes through the entire encounter again, except that it’s not a text message, and she continues chattering long after they reach his apartment. The place isn’t really big enough for more than him but she doesn’t seem to notice, just throws her things onto the couch and then the bed when he tells her to take that instead.

It’s not late enough for him to sleep but she starts to yawn after half an hour of House Hunters and so he turns off the lights and TV. The couch squeaks as he lays down and he buries himself in the scratchy blanket and he listens to the sounds the cars passing outside until he falls asleep.

Chapter Text

The bell over the door jingles and Legault looks up with a plastered on smile that quickly falters. Nino steps inside the door, backpack slung across her back and black hair pulled into two stubby braids. She smiles as she surveys the shop and its lunch-time patrons talking to one another in between eating their food. She smiles even wider when she spots him. Might be time to dye his hair; even among the patrons and his co-workers the lavender makes him easy to sight.

His shoulders slump but he continues working on the orders Isadora sets in front of him. She glances back at him, perfectly arched navy blue eyebrow raised, and he shakes his head. At least this time Nino’s here at lunchtime. He counts it as a win and sets the first mug of coffee on the counter before calling the customer’s name. The cafe is loud this time of day, and other than the slow sound of the milk steamer right at his fingertips he can’t hear much over conversations and the clanking of dishware.

“If you want to go on your break I’ll get Matthew to take over for you,” Isadora offers in between three Americano and a BLT. She glances at the clock behind the counter and he nods before she changes her mind.

“Yeah, might as well, thanks.”

He unties his black apron and hands it over to the sandy haired Matthew, who takes it without a word. Lucky Legault, he includes the scowl cutting across his face for free.

Nino grins when he steps out from behind the counter and joins her line, bouncing on her heels and all together acting like she really doesn’t need the sugary drink she’s going to order, “Uncle Legault! I’m on lunch, I promise, cause me and Florina are gonna go out shopping after school so I have to stay the whole day, right?”

“Hey, Nino,” he says with a sigh of relief at her promise, “thought it was time for my daily dose of feeling old.”

“It’s really busy here on lunch, huh?”

“Like you don’t already know that. How’s school? Everything okay?” he asks and looks her over. She wears the slightly too-large forest green sweater that he’d bought her and a threadbare hoodie that, judging by the white fur, belongs to Florina.

“Math was really hard today, but Canas said that I’m really improving. And I only made one mistake in English!”

“Jeez, soon you’ll be teaching me things, huh?” he smiles when she laughs and continues, “So what do you want, kid?”

She studies the menu boards for a while, through the entire rest of the wait in line, then turns to him, “what do you think I should get?”

“I think you should get whatever you want.”

She frowns, her hands curling into fists as Isadora smiles and waits and she looks between them, “I. I dunno.”

“Need another minute?”

“Uncle Legault, you should just choose for me. There’s too many choices, I’ll just end up choosing something stupid,” she laughs. She stares at her feet.

“It’s not stupid if you want it. Besides, Isadora will give you whatever you want for free, right?”

Isadora sighs, but she’s smiling as she leans across the counter, “anything for Nino, sure.”

“This is why you don’t date people you work with, Nino, you end up getting screwed over after she gets a newer, hotter boyfriend,” he says even as Nino proclaims the information ‘totally gross’.

“I’ll get... I’ll get the bagel and. Can I.”

“One day when you’re old like me you’ll understand what I’m talking about,” he says and follows her line of sight, “and one of those sugary monstrosities, right?”

She smiles again and he breathes out. Jan will kill him for letting her have that much sugar but they can’t all be on the caveman diet and he can consider it payback for dropping her off in the middle of the night last week. Someone behind them mutters “finally” and he glares over his shoulder as he gets his usual soup and sandwich combo. Nino is thankfully occupied with watching Matthew make her frappe and doesn’t hear the asshole which he thanks whoever is listening for. And for the fact that despite his open dislike for Legault, he sees Matthew add an extra spoonful of sprinkles to Nino’s drink. He smiles in thanks, but Matthew looks away without returning it. Well. An extra spoonful of salt for Legault then.

“So where are you and Florina going? Do you need money?” he asks as he scopes out the cafe for a highly coveted window booth seat. He spots someone gathering up their dishes and stares intently at them over the heads of the people at the tables between them until they look up.

“Just to the mall. I think she said that she wanted to get some new hair stuff, so I don’t need any money.”

He mouths ‘hold that seat?’ at the stranger in the seat before turning back to Nino, “you don’t want anything? One of those Larry......”

“Harry Potter, Uncle Legault!”

“Sure, that kid. Harry. Great kid.”

She screws up her face a little, thinking and takes the very pink drink placed on the counter for her, “um. Well. There’s that new book that came out but I don’t really need it.”

“Uh huh. So how much is it?”

“$30.00...” She mumbles and takes a sip of her drink. She blinks, then takes another. Jan is definitely going to kill him. “This is really good!”

The stranger saves the seat for them and he slides into the booth across from her, then watches the people passing by the large window. Most of them wear suits, thanks to the café being situated in the business district, and the ones who don’t talk to their companions hold cellphones to their ears. “So. $30.00.”

“Uncle Legault, you don’t have to buy it. I’ll ask for it for my birthday, mom will probably get it for me if I ask.”

He doubts it, but doesn’t say so outloud. “Or I’ll get it for you for your birthday. Early birthday.”

“You don’t have to keep buying me stuff,” she says and doesn’t meet his eyes when he looks at her.

“You’re my favourite niece, right? Wouldn’t be right if I didn’t spoil you.”

“Uncle Legault.”

He holds his hands up in surrender before he picks up his sandwich, “you can still be my favourite if you’re the only one.”

“I’ll just look at the book. Maybe it’ll be bad! And then I don’t have to ask mom for it either,” she grins like she formulated a winning plan and he decides to let it go for now.

“Whatever you say.”

He only looks over at the sound of the bell because of the time, and the door doesn’t disappoint. Chai Latte with three shots of Espresso drags his way through the door with the grace of someone who absolutely needs caffeine intravenously injected into their system to make it through the day. Unlike the rest of the customers, he doesn’t look at a phone as he shambles into place at the end of the long line, just stares at the menu board. His broad shoulders are down, his previously vibrant green dye job fading, and the hem of his shirt looks like something has been gnawing on it. Which, knowing him, something is probably named Hyperion.

“Is that-“ Nino starts and he shoves the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth. “Uncle Legault you have really bad taste.”

“In what?” he asks around his mouthful of bread.

“That’s the guy who always orders three Espresso shots, right?” she stares openly, and Legault might have told her to cut it out if he thought she ran a risk of being caught.

“It. Might be.”

She looks at him, then Chai Latte, then moves on, “Florina says I should try dying my hair; do you think mom would be mad if I did?”

“I’ll help you if you want to,” he says and peels his eyes away from the zombie in line, “what colour do you want?”

“I dunno. Green’s my favourite colour.”

“Green, huh? That’ll take a lot of bleach, but we can do it if you want,” he tells her.

“I dunno. What if I don’t like it?”

“Then you can shave it all off and look like Jan,” he grins as she makes a face that does a good enough job at telling him how she feels about that, and it intensifies further when he says “I thought you liked Jan.”

--

“He was looking for you,” Isadora says when his break and the rush ends. She leans against the counter wiping the same spot with the rag in her hand while Legault sweeps in front of the counter for the fifth time in the hour.

“Who?”

She rolls her eyes, “please. Looks like a mess? Always shows you pictures of his lizards? 3 shots of Espresso?”

“Well who can blame him? I am handsome, and dashing, and-“

“He left his number fo-“

“What?” he very suavely manages not to drop the broom in his hands and Isadora points, triumphant.

“I knew it. You like him.”

“Isadora, please. I’m not 13,” he mutters and leans forward, “we’ve established this. I don’t like him.”

“Yeah we both know for sure you’re only interested in,” she makes a face that she definitely stole from him and he feels the tiniest sting of nostalgia. They’d been good together; or so he’d thought. And now she’s stealing his eyebrow raises and probably using them with Perfect Man Harken. “Good to know.”

“Can you really judge me? I mean, you slept with me. That was. I mean, you really settled there.”

“Oh shut up,” she reaches across the counter to push him and nearly knocks him over but her face is soft in the way it had been when she broke it off. He swipes at the floor with the broom a few more times then returns behind the counter.

“Anyway, if he hasn’t given me his number I’ll just have to give him mine.”

“Are you serious? Legault, he looks like he lives under a bridge.”

He shrugs, “True. But a nice bridge. That one in the park, you know? By the cherryblossoms.”

And barring any other prospects, he can deal with living under a bridge. It wouldn’t be the worst place he’d ever slept-or fucked-in.

~~**~~

When he steps into his apartment he toes off his shoes and flicks on the light. The studio is a little over 300 square feet, and the only overhead light barely gets used when the sun sets-the lighted billboard hung on the building across the street more than provides enough to see by. His neighbours overhead do their usual stomping routine, and the ones to the left and right sound to be having a party and an argument respectively.

He drops onto the couch and it squeals and jabs him in the shoulder with a spring. He tosses his visor onto the floor with a sigh-he should make something to eat that isn’t leftover pizza but after a brief rest he hauls himself to his feet and flips open the box in the fridge.

Again, not the worst thing that he’s ever eaten. He wonders for a minute what Chai Latte eats under his bridge; he’ll have to ask him if he gives him his number. He turns the TV on just to attempt to drown out his neighbours and settles on a show about people trying to find ‘tiny homes’ even though it makes him roll his eyes. He checks his phone with one hand and selects the hookup app. He swipes right a few times on people with the same aim as him-then stops. A familiar face looks out at him.

It’s Hyperion, the smallest of Chai Latte’s lizards, staring moodily at the camera. He drags his hand down his face at the realization that he knows the guy’s lizard’s name but not his. Luckily, the app provides. Heath. No last name, but Heath is better than Chai Latte. He flicks through the rest of his pictures before reading his profile. 25-younger than Legault’s 27-and within 10 minutes of Legault’s place. Just looking for friends, new to the city. He raises his eyebrow at that; three months hardly counts as “new” in his mind but Heath seems the shy type.

He hesitates all of ten seconds before swiping right and sending a message a little more personal than his usual pickup line.

[Fancy seeing you here].

He responds to the other messages back from both men and women, but he doesn’t make any plans. Not before he gets an answer from Heath. His finger taps on the side of his phone as he waits, which is exactly when he notices how low his battery has gotten. 5%; he peels himself off the couch and starts the search for his charger. Not in his satchel, not in his bedroom area, not by the couch. He blows out a breath and remembers distinctly taking it out to let Isadora use it at the cafe.

He might be desperate enough to go back for it. But he still hasn’t gotten a reply from Heath so he doesn’t move from his re-taken spot on the couch, instead turning his attention to the people who have responded. He’s about to reply to a proposition when his phone gives it death knell in the form of a buzz and the screen goes black. He flops, not pouting at all, onto his side. At least he still has TV.

Chapter Text

“You what?” Isadora shouts far too loudly for 5:00 a.m. He winces, and takes a step away from her despite the fact that the damage to his hearing is likely done.

The stainless steel prep area is a mess of flour, pre-baked pastries, and soup mix in tubs since the cafe opens in half an hour, and so he throws back the last of his coffee in a bid to rouse himself before he responds. “I found Chai Latte on Tindr.”

“I heard you, I just mean-did you send him a message?”

“Mm.”

“And did he reply?”

He shrugs, “haven’t checked yet. Phone died.”

“Oh, darn, right, I forgot,” she rushes off to where her purse hangs in the break room and comes back with his charger in hand. “sorry, it was so hectic yesterday.”

“No worries. He probably hasn’t responded anyway.”

“Don’t be like that; he likes you. Is he interested in guys? Did it say on his profile?”

“He’s just looking for friends.”

She scoffs in the way that makes her sound every bit like the rich-guy’s daughter that she is while she shoves the first five batches of frozen cookies into the oven. “I wouldn’t go on Tindr to find friends. Friends with benefits maybe. Come on, check your messages, I want to see.”

He plugs his phone in and they finish with the morning prep while it charges enough to turn on for longer than a minute. They both huddle around the outlet and the phone in his hand and wait in silence as it boots up. It buzzes in his hands a few times as the missed notifications start to come in-the icon comes up for Tindr. He ignores all the others and clicks on it to open the app.

Isadora makes a noise in protest as he tips his phone away from her and shields the screen from her view with his hand. No messages from Heath. He tosses the phone back on the table.

“Guess I scared him off.”

“Maybe he just hasn’t seen it yet. Or he’s thinking of a good reply.”

“Or he thinks I’m a weirdo for messaging a customer from my job,” Legault groans. What had he been thinking? Other than that Heath is attractive and charming in his own ‘I tell random strangers about my pet lizard collection’ kind of way and he wants to at the very very least kiss him.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Part of my charm,” he says and glances out to the front of the shop where the early morning regulars have started to accumulate at the doors. There’s Kent, his friend(?) Sain who despite the early hour is talking Kent’s ear off, and Wallace who is so large that he has to duck to get in the door so he doesn’t hit his large, bald head.

Only Sain changes his order on occasion, the other two firm creatures of habit who order the same bagel + coffee combo every morning. Kent always pays with exact change, and this morning will be no different he’s sure once Legault opens up the doors for business.

“Morning, fellas,” he says and tries not to yawn in anyone’s face as he starts on the coffees.

Kent is ruthlessly polite even at 5:30 a.m., and does in fact pay in exact change for his Americano one milk one sugar. Wallace is next, dark roast; two cream one sugar, pays by debit. Sain, a earl grey tea triple triple.

“What is the point in ordering a tea if you are just going to put that much sugar and milk in it?” Kent grumbles. His eyes are fully open in contrast to Sain’s half closed ones, but he looks tired anyway with the dark black bags under his eyes.

“Oh drink your bean water and leave me alone, it’s not my fault you can’t see the sweet side of life.”

Wallace laughs, “It’s too early for your arguing; have some pity on Legault.”

Heath related issues aside, that makes him smile. “Yeah, have some pity on me here.”

“My apologies. I’ll be in the car,” Kent takes his coffee and goes. Despite their arguing Sain takes his forgotten bagel with him in addition to Sain’s own breakfast sandwich when they make their way out of the shop again.

Legault slumps against the counter. It really is too early to be awake even for money. Isadora joins him out front and leans her elbow against the top of the upper part of the dual height counter.

“Oh come on, it’s not that early.”

“It is that early, you’re just a mutant.”

“I’m sure you’ll perk right up when a certain someone comes in,” she says and though he has his face pressed into his forearms he can hear the shit-eating grin on her face.

“No, I long for death and if you were my friend you’d kill me before he comes in.”

She just laughs instead of doing what he asks and so he drags himself out to the booths to wipe down the tables for the second time.

--

Somewhere between the early morning rush and the mid-morning rush he wakes up enough to not feel like a corpse, and good thing too because Matthew comes in just in time for the lunch rush and his glare is especially strong this afternoon. Nino, mercifully, stays at school for lunch today but then Heath comes in and he wishes she would have come in after all if only to save him from having to put on a smile and take Heath’s order.

“Um. Hey, I,” Heath says. His eyes don’t rest on anything too long, but especially not on Legault’s face, “I’ll get the usual.”

“Sure.” 

“Yeah. Uh,” he murmurs and when his eyes finally lift to look at Legault his face goes so red he looks sunburnt. That at least he can work with. “I’m not sure about the etiquette of... that. Site.”

“Oh. Uh. Forget about it if I weirded you out or-“

“No. Not weirded out I,” he laughs and drags his hand down his face, “I’m sorry, I’m still-“

“Uncaffienated.”

“Yeah.”

He leans across the counter, “well tell you what, you have your coffee and then if you want, send me a message. If you don’t, I’ll forget I ever sent one to you though I know it’ll be hard to forget how handsome I am in my profile picture, I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

He doesn’t expect to get a reply, and so when he looks at his phone on the walk home he stares at it for a minute then reloads the app just to make sure it isn’t a fluke. But there it is.

[Hey. I’ve heard good things about the art museum here. Was thinking of going on the weekend if you want to come with me?]

It’s not anywhere close to romantic. Heath is looking for friends. Friends. Friends he tells himself firmly-he can do friends. Or at least, he hopes he can because otherwise he’s going to be in a world of hurt that he terraformed for himself. Regardless, he takes the chance. He sends back a message.

[Love to. Just let me know what time and I’ll be there since I hate being square.]

He sighs at himself; that definitely sounded funnier in his head. What the hell is Heath doing to him? He climbs the stairs up to the lobby of his building and leans against the wall as he waits for the inevitable ‘please never speak to me again’ message.

[Lunch time good for you? Their site says they do lunch.]

“Oh you son of a,” he mutters outloud. It’s not a date. Heath is looking for friends. For friends. Friends. Friends friends friends.

[Yeah, sure. Sounds good.]

The elevator door dings and he steps inside. He is so supremely, unbelievably screwed.  

Chapter Text

Heath looks-Legault takes a breath and adjusts his own black v-neck t-shirt for the fiftieth time this hour-Heath looks like he’s going somewhere with someone far more classy than Legault. Or maybe his standards are just low as hell these days.

He’s wearing a navy blue crewneck sweater without any signs of lizards having gnawed on it and a pair of dark wash jeans that are nearly as tight as Legault’s own black ones. He carries a leather jacket over one arm along with a scarf, and his usually wild hair has been tamed with styling wax.

Legault realizes he’s staring a little too long to be friendly just as Heath steps up and smiles, “have you been waiting long?”

“I just got here,” he lies and returns the smile. He hasn’t been here before, and habit necessitates he scope out all the exits and entries or else he’ll spend the whole afternoon trying to case the place instead of giving Heath and his styled and freshly redyed hair the attention they deserve.

“Oh, good. I got a little bit lost on the way,” he says and rubs at the back of his neck, “I don’t have a great sense of direction when I’m somewhere. Ah.”

He senses the hesitation and nods, “not looking at the Google Maps top down version? I get it.”

“Right,” Heath agrees with a gust of breath, “shall we?”

It’s also second-nature for him to analyze people, and Heath is only making him more intrigued. Especially with how his eyes are very quickly flicking from one place to another-it’s almost as if. Legault shakes the thought from his head; he doesn’t know much about Heath yet, but he highly doubts that he’s got the same background as Legault has. Unless he’s a spy sent by Sonia to seduce him and then kill him that is. Which, considering his luck in romance lately, he won’t entirely rule out.

The cafe attached to the museum is just enough for a small group of people, but as it is today they’re the only ones here. The modern stylings of the rest of the museum extend to here too though not all of the art on the white walls is contemporary looking.

They both head towards the small circular table by the window with the cleanest getaway across the slightly claustrophobic dining area. The woman behind the counter steps out from behind it to hand them their menus and he glances down at it.

Pretty expensive for what will probably be just on the right side of edible food. He orders a water to start, thinking of that book Nino won’t admit she wants.

“Ah. So, you mentioned on your profile you’re new in town. I’ve been wondering about what brought you to our fair city,” he asks after Heath sets the menu down onto the stainless steel table.

“I just needed a change. I don’t really have much family, so making a move wasn’t especially difficult.”

So something had happened at his old place. Heath doesn’t have any visible scars, but he can’t help but notice he hasn’t seen him wearing any short sleeved shirts-even in his pictures on Tindr he’d been wearing long sleeves. He won’t rule out the possibility of something physical, but the way Heath moves in a crowd at the cafe-wary, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible-makes him think something less violent.

“Yeah, I hear you. I moved here a few years ago myself, but I really only had my niece to worry about.”

“The girl who was with you the other day, right?” Heath asks and his cheeks get just a hint of colour, “not that I was stalking you or anything.”

“Just that I’m so dazzlingly handsome you can’t help but find your eyes drawn to me, huh?” he says then kicks himself. Just friends. He covers up his inner turmoil with a smile before Heath can comment, “just kidding. My hair gives me away pretty fast.”

The waitress sets down Heath’s coffee and Legault’s water, interrupting whatever Heath had planned on saying, but not interrupting the way his eyes sweep down the length of Legault’s hair until it disappears beneath the edge of the table. Legault winks at him and Heath stares at the contents of his coffee mug instead.

“It must have taken forever to grow,” he says and Legault hums.

“It did. At first I thought I’d stop at my shoulders, but then I just put it off and now. I keep thinking of cutting it, but now it’s so long it feels like it’d be a shame.”

“It would be,” Heath agrees, eyes rising again to look at it.

He grins, “You can touch it if you want. The hair, I mean.”

Heath gives him a flat look and he has the sense to feel a hint of shame. Friendship. Legault’d never been especially great at that. At least, not until after he’d already ruined the romantic aspect of a relationship.

“Sorry, sorry. I know, you’re just looking for friends,” he says and Heath shakes his head. Embarrassing how quickly his heart leaps.

“No, it’s fine. I’m not that much of a prude.”

“Oh? Tell me more,” he leans over the table and Heath chuckles.

“I haven’t dated in a long time. But trust me, I can handle someone like you.”

“Someone like me? And what kind of person would that be?” he asks, lowering his voice to a purr that makes Heath’s face go red for real this time. His fingers walk across the table top towards where Heath’s curl around his mug, but Heath doesn’t pull just his hand away.

He raises his coffee to his mouth, “a shameless flirt.”

“Mm, I’m not sure I can live up to the shameless part, but the rest...guilty.”

Something about the way that Heath tries to be cool about the situation only makes him want to tease him more to see how far he can go. But not right now. He settles back into his own chair, and the waitress comes around again. He orders the cheapest item on the menu and smiles as Heath tries and fails to keep his eyes off of him.

When their food finally arrives he’s forgotten about exits and entries and trying to figure out if the dome on the ceiling is a security camera or just a weird light. Heath knows a surprising amount about the city, even if he hasn’t been here long and he has a way of speaking that makes him easy to listen to.

“Sorry,” Heath says after he finishes the last of his soup, “I talked a lot more than I intended to. Are you ready to go in to the museum?”

“Oh I’m always ready to view some masterpieces, Heath.”

He smiles, making his golden eyes look so warm that Legault thinks, and says that they ought to be painted and hung up on a wall somewhere. Heath shakes his head, “you know if you keep talking like this I’m going to get the impression you like me.”

He gathers up his coat from where it’s slung over the back of his chair and scoffs, “me? Now that’s just ridiculous.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

He pats him on the shoulder, letting the touch linger a second too long, “I mean, it’s not like I’m out here on my only day off this week with a guy I only know from his order at my job.”

“Your only day off?” Heath’s eyebrows crash together and while Legault forces himself to let go of his shoulder he almost wishes he hadn’t with how tense they look, “I’m sorry. I should have waited a few days to ask you or-“

“Hey, if I didn’t want to be here I wouldn’t be,” he says as they head past the first set of glass doors into the museum proper, “besides, I don’t have many friends aside from ones at work, and I suspect that my niece doesn’t really count.”

Heath relaxes his big, broad, strong-looking shoulders and Legault forces himself to relax his everything and step up to the first installation.

It’s a. Something made of beauty products. It looks kind of like a monster, which he guesses is supposed to be a critique of the beauty industry then reads the placard.

“Uh...huh. So this is.”

“Someone is angry because... people wear makeup?” Heath finishes for him with a raise of his eyebrows. The slash of white hair drops between his eyes making him look slightly cross-eyed as he looks from Legault to the installation. He wants to brush it back into place but since he’s trying to go for the mostly straight version of friendship he restrains himself. Barely.

“I believe that this thing says that women are actually monsters underneath. Probably cause this guy can’t get a date,” Legault says and Heath tips his head to the side.

“I just don’t get contemporary art.”

“Mm, let me guess, you like Monet,” Legault guesses and frowns-that messed up concealer that makes up one of claws costs 30 dollars. He could’ve used that, on the off chance he ever managed to get more than just enough money to scrape by with to buy 30 dollar concealer.

“I’m not very good at art in general,” Heath admits and starts heading for the next station.

Legault falls into step with him, their slightly out of sync footfalls echoing down the wide open space of this half of this wing of the museum, “oh?”

“I... Thought you might be in to it.”

“Oh, now, I’m going to get the wrong impression here, Heath,” he replies and looks up at him with his eyes. The skin on his left cheek pulls uncomfortably and he relaxes his face again, “but you’re not wrong. I do like a good piece of art. If you’d prefer to go somewhere else, though, I’m sure you could convince me to go for a walk in the park.”

“No, it’s fine, we already paid. And it’s only fair after I bored you with talking about my lizards every day for the past three months.”

“You didn’t bore me, it was the highlight of my otherwise terrible day hearing about those lizards.”

Heath laughs, and Legault thinks once again about how he’s screwed-and not in the good way.

--

They arrive at the front of the museum again a couple of hours later, and Legault settles back onto the heels of his boots. It’s not very late, and he’s not exactly tired, but it might be too much to ask Heath to go somewhere else. Nevermind that his wallet is feeling pretty light too after paying rent this morning.

Still, he doesn’t want to go home either. Heath’s proven himself to be good company, if a little bit on the anxious side, and he’s putting up with Legault longer than most people who aren’t getting an incentive in the form of a blowjob.

“So,” he says and Heath turns towards him. His shoulders are back to being tense and Legault fights every instinct in him that tells him to comfort him; they’re just friends and at this point barely even that. Acquaintances, and flirting is one thing but a shoulder to cry on is something a whole lot different.

Heath’s eyes look towards the exit, and Legault prepares himself for the gentle let down. It’s not you, it’s me: Friendship Edition. He shouldn’t have flirted with him so much, but then this is what he does; self-sabotages.

“Can we walk?” Heath asks instead and Legault nods.

He pulls his jacket on and shoves his hands in the pockets while Heath does the same. He looks wild wearing a leather jacket and together with the hair he wouldn’t look out of place frontlining some indie band but Legault keeps his thoughts to himself. He may not have a lot of friends, but he knows that waxing poetic about your companion’s looks more than once is a no-go. And Heath really does just want friends, even if Legault gets the feeling he wants more.

They make their way out into the cold fall air and he just starts walking. He doesn’t know where Heath lives exactly, but everywhere around here is on a subway or bus line so there’s no harm in picking a random direction.

“Is it colder than I remember or am I just getting old?” Legault asks when a particularly strong gust of wind nearly blows him over. He should have worn a scarf, but he doesn’t have any that match his jacket-it’d seemed like a good reason at the time.

“Here,” Heath says and puts a hand on his back, guiding him out of the flow of foot traffic. He unwraps his scarf and drops it around Legault’s neck, “I’m pretty used to the cold.”

Fuck.

He doesn’t know what to say. His mind is blank and his face must show it because Heath lifts the ends of navy blue scarf and sniffs it, “Sorry, does it smell like lizard? I can’t really tell anymore.”

“No,” Legault says finally and shakes his head, “it’s uh. Thanks.”

Dammit. He wants to kiss him. He wants to do some other things to him too, but he’ll start with the kissing and make his way downward. But. Heath only wants friends, not grateful makeout sessions and blowjobs which honestly is a shame for him because Legault has only gotten good feedback on his oral skills.

Heath doesn’t move from where he’s standing and Legault takes a breath then steps backwards. He can’t go ruining this; there are plenty of people on Tindr who will have meaningless, anonymous sex with him and Heath isn’t one of them.

He wraps the scarf around his neck then tucks the ends in, “anyway, why don’t we keep moving before we freeze?”

No chance of that for him but if he doesn’t get some distance between them he’s definitely going to do something he’ll regret later.

“Oh. Sure,” Heath says and Legault must have been imagining the disappointment he heard in his voice.

Chapter Text

“Back again?” Lucius, the religious studies major who works the afternoon shift while his perpetually grumpy looking ‘just friend’ Raven looks on, asks as soon as Legault drags himself behind the counter. Raven, despite his name, is a redhead and glowers at him from his usual spot in the back corner of the café.

It’s just after 5pm, and he slept maybe a few hours last night after spending the night talking to Heath and working his usual morning shift. He pulls himself together and nods, managing a smirk, “making those dollar bills.”

Lucius hums in agreement, but his pretty face has got a not so pretty frown on it. Up until the next customer in line steps up to the counter anyway, then he’s all smiles again. Legault slips past him to the kitchen then further, to the breakroom, to hang up his coat.

Which is when he realizes he still has Heath’s scarf. They’d parted ways after he’d walked Heath to the subway station, and he’d walked all the way home wearing it. He shoots off a quick text about it then drops his phone into his pocket and pulls his hair into a ponytail.

Lucius is a pro at working the front counter so Legault leaves him to it and takes over the drink and food prep from Lowen. His hair is, as always, not in a hairnet and covering half his face but Legault isn’t about to call him on it-he doesn’t make enough to be a manager, and he isn’t a snitch either so it’s none of his business.

Unlike the loudness of his apartment, somehow the dinner rush and the coffee machines are a calming cacophony. It’s easy to get lost in the routine of it, especially because it feels like his brain is made of the same ice and syrup mix that their iced frappes are.

“Legault?” Lucius asks gently and snaps him out of staring at the blinking red light on the coffee machine that means the reservoir is empty.

“Hm. Yeah?”

“I’m going on my break now, but if a lot of people come in I’ll come help, all right?”

He shakes his head, “don’t worry, just go stop your ‘friend’ from staring me down.”

“Oh. Sorry, he really does mean well, you know.”

He believes it, surprisingly. He hasn’t seen it firsthand, but Isadora has told him that Lucius has some sort of medical condition-if Raven hadn’t been there glaring at everyone around him he wouldn’t have gotten his medication in him in time to prevent a hospital visit. That, and the seconds that Raven doesn’t think anyone is looking at him he stares at Lucius like he’s literally seeing Elimine herself standing in front of him.

Legault takes over the front counter and the bell jingles, preceding a girl chattering at high speed and high volume to a tired looking boy heading towards the counter. The boy carries two backpacks that sag low on his back and front-one purple, the other dusty pink. A gentleman, then, though maybe not by choice.

He’s gleaned that the boy’s name is Erk by the time reaches the counter, and he thinks he might be in Nino’s school but he doesn’t recognize the girl. Nino doesn’t have many friends; he can’t imagine her being friends with the girl, especially.

“What can I get for you?” he asks and the girl stops talking.

“You’re not Lucius,” she says, very astutely. He nods, and gestures to his nametag on the front of his apron. She rolls her eyes, “Like, where is he then?”

He glances over to where Lucius sits in the corner-looks like he and Raven are having a decent enough conversation that he hasn’t noticed the customer asking after him. Legault shrugs, “on break. What can I get for you?”

“Please, just give her a Chamomile tea,” Erk says with the air of someone who has suffered longer than Legault can even imagine.

“And for you?”

“A coffee. Americano.”

He bites back the remark that the kid is probably way too young for coffee and rings it in though he feels sorry for any of his parental figures that will have to deal with a wired kid the rest of the night.

“Oh! There he is! Lucius!” the girl squeaks after a minute of apparently scanning the entire restaurant for her prey.

Erk sighs, “Serra, leave him alone. He’s with…”

“Oh, come on, Erk-y, don’t be such a downer.”

His head hurts just dealing with them for a few minutes so he makes a mental note to never give Lucius any trouble for anything because clearly he’s a saint of some kind reincarnated and brought to Earth to have the patience to deal with the cavalcade of people who vie for his constant, undivided attention.

Serra drags Erk towards the back of the café and Legault just sets their drinks on the counter. They haven’t paid yet, but they obviously could both really use their orders.

He watches them accost Lucius from the safety of behind the counter. Despite the intrusion Lucius is smiling, shoulder pressed against Raven’s and his hair-which somehow manages to never get hat head-shining in the soft light of the back corner. Serra is going on about something he can’t hear, while Lucius nods and Erk cracks open a huge book from the purple backpack.

Legault drops his gaze to the counter instead and wipes at an imaginary spot.

--

[You’re working again?]

He looks down at the message as he stretches out on the couch in the breakroom and groans. [Not the greatest idea I’ve ever had.]

The reply comes a couple minutes later when his eyes have closed and he’s having to beat the urge to sleep off with a stick. [Don’t overwork yourself. And don’t worry about the scarf. I can get it from you next time.]

He shoves the phonescreen against his face. Next time. He whacks his leg against the threadbare arm of the couch and hisses-definitely not dreaming. Heath hadn’t been in earlier, but he resists trying to bribe him to come to the café with the promise of free coffee by a very slim margin and only because he’s seen his reflection in a coffee pot and he doesn’t look good.

[Oh? Planning on asking me out again?]

[I thought that it was obvious I enjoyed your company. I’d like to see you again.]

He smiles, the desperate, bruised thing in his chest kicking itself to life at the words, then groans. Friends. As friends. [Sure. Though you know you can see me whenever since I serve you coffee every day.]

[That’s true. But I wasn’t talking about that.]

[You don’t get to hear my incredibly interesting theories on modern art while I’m working, I get it.]

The phone alarm interrupts the reply that comes a few minutes later and he sighs and shoves his phone back into his pocket. Lucius is dealing with some irate sounding customer with his usual saint-like patience while Raven drums his fingers on his knee. The kids, at least, seem to have cleared off and Legault thinks of just running out the door rather than helping deal with someone trying to use a coupon for the McDonalds down the street.

He doesn’t, but only because he’s pretty sure he hears a strange, bomb-like ticking sound from over Raven’s way that only gets louder the louder the customer gets.

“Hey. Hey, ma’am,” he says, and holds up his hand as he approaches the front counter. She turns the full force of her glare and her I Want To Speak To A Manager haircut on him and he ignores the sarcastic comment levelled at him. “Please understand. We’re not emotionally invested in this situation.”

She sputters, but somehow his words work and she storms out of the café.

Lucius turns to him, hands clasped in front of his chest, “you really are amazing at conflict de-escalation, Legault, thank you.”

“Ah. Well, I didn’t want your attack dog assaulting a customer.”

Lucius’ smile softens at the mention of Raven and if he were anyone else Legault would be tempted to commit assault himself out of jealousy, “he wouldn’t do anything, really. I’ll speak with him after my shift though, thank you for your concern for him.”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s not Raven he’s concerned for, so he just nods. “Well. I’ll be getting back to work now.”

--

By the time he drags himself home he’s running on fumes, also known as the shot of espresso he had a few hours ago, but then his phone is buzzing in his pocket.

Jan. He takes a deep breath before answering, “What is it?”

“She’s saying she forgot something at your house, a book report that’s due tomorrow.”

“I’ll look for it,” he mumbles. She hasn’t been here longer than a few hours since the last time she got dropped off randomly and so he doubts that she’ll have left anything here, but he checks anyway. He comes up empty and tells Jan so and he hears him sigh.

“I’ll tell her. Do you have anything planned for her birthday?”

He hums, “of course.”

It’s not for another couple of weeks, but he’s already counting out how much cash he’s going to need for that book she wants plus some snacks for the sleepover with Florina and Rebecca she’ll want to have at Jan’s. There won’t be anything left over for museum dates with Heath once he pays his phone bill and pays off some of his credit card, but maybe he can get him to go somewhere free.

“Good. I’ll need money for some things.”

“I know that. I just pulled a double, Jan, I’m not sitting here relaxing all day.”

“I-I know that. I’m just making sure you realize-“

“I realize the amount of money and work that goes in to caring for her. You’ve been taking her to her therapy appointments, right?” he asks and walks over to the physical calendar on the wall in the kitchenette. She’s every Monday, to Legault’s as-needed Friday appointments.

“Well she missed one this week, but… These things aren’t cheap, you know.”

“I get it. I’ll transfer you some money.”

“Thank you.”

Jan hangs up and he sighs. Who knows where the hell the money he gets goes, but it’s not like Legault is in a position to argue; not if he wants to give Nino the closest to a normal life that she can get. Though seeing how Jan acts, he’s starting to wonder if her staying with him is even close to what he’d wanted for her.

He sighs again, and counts back from ten.

“Just make it to the end of the week and everything will be fine,” he says out loud. His neighbours stomp around despite the hour, and the two constantly fighting continue their argument from earlier.

--

It’s 12:30 and Heath isn’t here. Actually, Heath hasn’t responded to his messages in near to a week. Heath is ghosting him, and Legault isn’t surprised at all but there’s still a tired, traitorous part of him that’s wanting to react badly to it. He reminds himself that no one owes him anything, the world doesn’t owe him anything even if he really would have liked the break from his usual.

“Maybe he’s sick?” Isadora says between customers. She’s got the soft, pitiful look on her face again and he shrugs.

“No big deal. I’m a lot to handle, so can’t blame him for needing a break.”

People say not to shit where you eat, but Legault’s always been bad at that, and it only really comes back to bite him with people like Isadora who give him the kind of words that instantly make him want to fall down and cry like a baby.

“That’s not true. You’re a great guy, Legault, don’t be so cruel to yourself.”

And Elimine, he believes that she believes that because she’s honest to a fault but he can’t bring himself to believe right this second.

“It’s not like we were dating, it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. Why don’t you take a break?”

“I’m fine.”

She shakes her head and turns her smile on the next person in line but he can see her glancing at him every so often like she’ll catch him crying at the coffee machine. Somehow he can’t bring himself to tell her to stop.