Chapter Text
“What’s a gorgeous thing like you doing in alone in a place like this?”
You turn around in your seat to meet the coffee coloured gaze of a tall blond-haired man. His smile is disarming. Despite the cheesy pick up line – shamelessly deployed in the middle of a busy coffee shop at 2pm on a Tuesday no less - his body has an air of dishevelled sincerity. He is annoyingly handsome; wearing a long black t-shirt that hangs a little too loose but somehow still manages to show off the lithe muscles in his arms, framed wonderfully by the snaking tattoo that slinks around his forearm all the way to his wrist.
You must be taking too long to respond because he tries again. “Do you speak Japanese?” he asks.
“Yes! Yes, I speak Japanese!” you reply a little too hastily, remembering it’s rude to stare.
“Great, I’m Dino,” he says, offering his hand.
“Name, and, uh, I’m actually waiting for a date,” you respond, taking his hand and shaking it in kind almost apologetically as you laugh to try and dispel the awkwardness.
“Ah, figures,” he laughs, “Best ones are always taken.” He winks and politely returns to his table a little way from yours.
You let out a long sigh, blowing the steam from your coffee cup and checking your phone. Your date is running late, but then being a wheelchair user always comes with its own unique set of travelling challenges. Busses were great, unless some parents had thoughtlessly taken up the one wheelchair space with their pram in which case it could be ten, twenty, thirty minutes before another bus comes along. Footpaths were fine as long as they were maintained, god forbid there’s gravel or cobbles, fucking cobbles.
It is incredibly feasible that the guy you met on a wheelchair dating site will be late for multiple reasons beyond his control. As if reminding yourself, you let you fingers brush against the collapsed metal of you own chair, tucked safely under the table. It has been a while since you dated and nerves are high. You stroke the worn padding of your arm rest for relief, a comforting action you bonded with a long time ago.
Another aching twenty minutes pass before you accept you’ve been stood up. As you’re about to begin the arduous process of unfolding and manoeuvring yourself back into your wheelchair, a dark-haired man approaches you.
“Name?” he asks uncertainly.
You look up and vaguely recognise him from his dating profile. He’s older than his pictures, the thinning hair line and creased edges of his eyes being a dead giveaway. You brush it aside and opt to introduce yourself; everyone lies a little on their profiles.
As the conversation staggers painfully on you being to realise that some people lie more than others, and being a wheelchair user wasn’t a replacement for a personality.
Everything is about his wheelchair, his accident, the loss of his thriving sports career – you try to provide some comfort, pointing out there are several wheelchair adapted sports clubs around here. Fuck, you could even introduce him to your basketball team, but you get as far as, “Oh actually,” before he’s interrupting you again - the horrors of being bound to his chair. It’s almost comical that he seems to think he’s the first person to go through this stage, like he’s not sitting across from someone who’s going through the exact same thing.
Rolling your eyes at yet another comment about things people can’t do in wheelchairs, you catch the gaze of the blond from before. He laughs and mouths something, asking if you’re having a good time.
Your eyes check in with your date, who’s still rambling about how he could have gone pro, and slowly you shake your head pulling your face into a doubtful frown.
Like clockwork the man who introduced himself as Dino slides to your table. “Name, how are you! I haven’t seen you in agesss.” He goes in for a blinding bear hug that catches you momentarily off guard. God, he’s strong.
“Dino, it’s been so long!” you respond. A whole half an hour right!
“How are things? Did your friend ever get that thing going? Ah, please let me buy you a coffee before you tell me all about it,” he says, reaching for your arm to pull you to the till.
Bad move, bad move!
Swiping your arm back, you rush to think of a counter point to his offer. “Actually, why don’t you sit with us? I’m sure you want a break from all my talking, right?” you turn to ask your date; completely blanking on his name. “You haven’t even had a chance to get a coffee.”
Your date looks less than impressed by the sudden intrusion of someone with an ounce of personality and sulks off to the counter to order a hot drink. In the meantime, Dino takes a seat opposite and eyes you up.
“We could head out the back door before he gets back if you’re too nervous to turn him down,” he whispers sneakily. You sigh, about to tell him why that’s probably not as smooth of an option as he thinks before you’re interrupted.
“I, uh, actually forgot my wallet,” your date says, having sheepishly returned to the table, “I’ll have to go home and get it.” he turns to you, a strange look on his face. “Would you like to come back with me, Name?” his smile turns cocky in his request.
You can’t believe the cheek of this guy. As politely as possible you turn him down, mentioning how you’d prefer to stay with your friend. He looks scorned as he wheels away, mentioning something about dating being nothing but a waste of time.
“Wow, he’s a charmer,” Dino remarks, seemingly just as surprised as you were.
“Honestly that’s the most interesting thing he’s said all day and it’s still disappointing,” you joke as you drain your coffee cup.
“Hey, what’s say I buy you another one of those to make up for Mr-wheelchair-life-is-a-death-sentence?” he proposes, leaning his chin on folded hands, seemingly not caring he’s just admitted to listening in on your entire conversation.
You toy with the idea for a moment, finger absentmindedly running round the rim of your cup. He is incredibly cute and he did just save you from a horrible date. You agree, but insist on paying since he was the one who helped you. He insists on paying and sprints up to the counter before you can say otherwise, a giddy smile on his face when he looks back to check you haven’t followed him. When he returns, he leans in a little too close and you catch the faintest smell of coffee and cologne on his skin.
Conversation is incredibly easy. The charming blonde asking you question after question, seemingly drinking in your every response. It’s cute but you’re careful not to tell him too much. He seems happy to keep the conversation light. You’re both Netflix addicts – although admittedly you don’t pay for yours, a statement which horrifies him as you tell him you borrow from a friend. He’s seen most of your favourites and you’re more than happy to suggest the ones he hasn’t.
He doesn’t mention what his job is exactly just a quick mumble of business stuff before he goes back to his favourite topic: you. Dino appears to love talking about normal things. Where you liked to go on a Friday night, the local parks, how unreliable the bus service in town was. You’d think these kind of topics were new to him with the way he listened intently.
You almost don’t notice when your phone goes off, buzzing abruptly in your pocket.
“Something important?” Dino asks.
“Yeah,” you sigh, “My rides here,” you say without thinking.
“Ride?” Dino asks, eyes assessing you, like maybe you’re someone important he hasn’t recognised; a movie star, a famous athlete, royalty of some foreign country.
“Yeah, it’s, uh . . .never mind. Thank you for the coffee,” you say, nodding to let him leave.
But he doesn’t, politely waiting for you to get up instead. You hold off gesturing again, but he doesn’t move, smile unbudging on his face. To try and prompt him you shimmy in your seat like you’re going to get up and he does the same only to stop when you stop.
It becomes a weird game, his hand mirroring yours as you make to push yourself up using the table. Pulling back when yours does. Playfully, you mime picking your nose and he does the same. Laughing at the childish joke.
“Okay, okay.” He smiles, finally getting out of his seat. He turns around to say something else and manages to trip over his own feet. Falling into your chair, falling into you like a sawed-off log slamming into the ground. It’s sore, really sore. Dino’s entire body lands on top of you and you can’t help a yell of pain.
“I’m so sorry, Name!” he stumbles out from on top of you, scrambling to his feet, taking your hand to pull you up. Your body follows before it sinks back like a dead weight.
He blinks a few times, brain needing a moment to process the information relayed from his eyes. “Oh fuck,” his voice rises in panic, “Did I break your legs?! I’ll call an ambulance!” He’s in full panic mode now, blindly punching numbers into his phone.
“Dino,” you say but he’s too busy freaking out. He’s touching your legs, asking where it hurts, relaying information to some guy called Romario.
“It happened. Oh fuck, I broke someone’s legs. NO, not on purpose! I fell! Get the family doctor--“
“DINO!” you shout sharply, breaking through his frenzied state. “I’m fine.” you put on a smile to try and reassure the distressed boy.
You swallow thickly. It’s not that you’re ashamed of your wheelchair, you and it had made peace a long time ago. But men . . . well, certain men . . . a lot of men treat it like some kind of life threatening illness they’re bound to catch if they stayed a moment longer. The only thing worse were the ones who treated you like an infant, Assuming you wanted them to crouch down, eyes full of sympathy, suddenly forgetting you’d held an entire intelligent conversation with them as pity rings harsh through their voice.
And Dino has been so much fun, so wonderful, you don’t want to see that from him.
But you will have to, as reasonable as it sounds right now you can’t lie on the floor forever. Taking a deep breath, you roll over and tug your chair out from under the table. It isn’t the most elegant of actions but you’ve manoeuvred yourself off the floor enough times to be able to do it without injuring yourself further.
Sheepishly, you look up to show him you are fine.
“Oh. OHH!” he says, letting the phone dangle by his ear, a rosy blush spreading over his cheeks as he realises his mistake.
You look at him, then at the loud voice coming from the other end of the phone, frantic in its demand for further orders.
Dino is still looking at you in disbelief, mouth wide open. “Your phone?” you remind him gently.
He snaps back into focus and apologises to the man he called. “It’s okay they're in a wheelchair.”
This prompts an enormous roar from the other end of the phone, “YOU PUT THEM IN A WHEELCHAIR BOSS?!”
Helpfully, you reach over and take the phone from the overwhelmed blond. “Hi? Hi, this is the person he knocked over. No it’s fine, the wheelchair is mine, I need it. Dino didn’t know and he fell into me. Haha, yes! No, it’s fine, don’t worry. Okay, okay, Thank you.” You hear the familiar click of the closed line and feel proud to have calmed the situation. You return the phone to Dino, giving him a small smile.
He’s staring at you and it’s a moment before he says anything. “You keep so calm.” He laughs, a relieved look on his face. You let out your own laugh at his observation.
“You panic a lot,” you retort, giving him a gentle nudge to his leg.
“Your ride! Can I walk you to the street? I mean not walk, obviously, I--“ he stresses again and it’s an adorable look on him.
You laugh and give him your best smile. “I’d like that,” you say, unlocking the breaks and rolling with him to the exit.