Work Text:
Steve had a feeling this was going to be a bad idea.
Nancy’s been pushing him for months to get out there again — “C’mon Steve, just give it a try!” It’s been non-stop: pointing out who she figures must be his type whenever they’re out in public, nitpicking him for actors and actresses that he finds attractive whenever they’re watching movies back at her and Jonathan’s place together, building him fucking dating profiles without his permission on at least three different apps.
He can appreciate her drive, but that is all he can admire about the situation.
It’s clear from the get-go that she just doesn’t understand that he really doesn’t have a hell of a lot of luck in the field of romance, and is, hilariously - an example of that. A few casual hookups in the dark of foreign apartments is enough to curb his need for physical intimacy, to give him his fix and then send him on his merry, fucked-out way. It’s not particularly ideal but it’s better than falling into a constant state of oh my god I’m gonna die alone or putting himself at risk by actively devoting himself to someone that could just as easily chew him up and spit him out.
Regardless though, Steve gets so tired of Nancy scrolling through his possible matches and asking him which famous Chris he finds hottest - they’ve all got different aspects he likes so he doesn’t have a favorite anyway , but that’s not good enough for her - that he matches with the first cute girl he finds on his Tinder feed, just to shut her up.
The girl’s name is Sarah and she’s smiling in each of her pictures, all of them taken from a different set of hands as she sips daiquiris in a neon-backlit club or poses in her bikini while standing knee-deep in clear Atlantic water. She’s a dental receptionist and she has her ‘personal anthem’ posted to her profile, along with her zodiac in emoji format.
That whole schtick isn’t what he’s about, but she’s still cute, all long blond hair and big blue eyes, freckles spotted over her nose, so if he’s going to do this, he’d at least like to enjoy looking at her.
And luckily for him - and honestly, Nancy’s sake as well if she doesn’t stop pestering - Sarah matches with him almost instantly and they start chatting.
It goes… unexpectedly well.
They’re texting on and off for two weeks, talking bullshit about work and where they went to school, about favorite movies and weird dates they’ve been on in the past, when he asks her if she wants to meet for coffee and she immediately agrees.
And Steve feels uncharacteristically excited about it. Like, he hasn’t gone on an organized, pre-planned date in almost two years, so this is kind of a big deal for him. It’s planted butterflies in his stomach and pinks his cheeks whenever he checks his reminders and sees that yes, he’s got plans for eleven-thirty on Saturday morning.
The only thing is, she wants to meet at this coffee shop close to his apartment where this one barista works.
Said barista is a guy and he’s as obnoxious as he is hot . He’s tan and trim and he’s got these piercing blue-green eyes and a pouty pink mouth and lashes for miles. His hair is a mess of long honey brown curls and is always piled in the messiest of buns. The stray pieces are constantly falling in his eyes but it gives him even more charm and Steve is positive he’s the prettiest and simultaneously most annoying person he’s ever seen in his life .
Billy - hot barista guy - will intentionally mess up Steve’s orders so he has to come back and stand by the bar while his drink gets fixed. While standing there waiting for a drink that was purposefully fucked with, Billy will poke fun at the sugary things he orders, the way he fiddles about and taps his fingers on the counter, what he wears to work — he’ll do anything he can to get Steve to bite back while he goes about effortlessly fixing the drink of choice for the day, seemingly satisfied with the snark he receives in retaliation.
And Steve plays into it every time . At first it was just to show Billy that he wasn’t going to leave with his tail between his legs - or maybe lean over the counter and try to deck him - but now they’ve got this playful, overtly sexual banter going, because Billy will also make comments about his ass and calls him pretty all the time and talks about how luckily his imagined bedside partners must be.
He flirts with Steve so filthily and so shamelessly that now Steve blushes on instinct just walking past the coffee shop.
Like yeah, he’s obnoxious , but their banter has someone slipped from over the top and underhandedly hostile to obvious flirtation and tactfully snarky back and forth.
Billy calls him a monkey suited prep, Steve turns around and tells him the 1984 called and it wants it’s hair back. Billy says he looks like he’s got a sweet mouth, Steve asks how much he charges to use his.
It’s not any type of flirting he countered before, so boyish and sexually charged, but right now, he’s not really complaining. He’s more than a little into it.
Regardless, hopefully Billy , who always purposefully rubs his fingertips over Steve’s palm when he takes his payment, won’t be there for once, because if he is, Steve doesn’t know how attentive a date he’s going to be to Sarah. She might be cute and he might know a little more about where she grew up and where her favorite beach in Kauai is, but Billy Blue Eyes could prove to be a distraction regardless.
So, when Saturday morning rolls around, Steve’s got this weight planted in the pit of his stomach, heavy like a bucket of rocks. He confirmed with Sarah the night before and they agreed to text when they leave, but something still feels off .
Steve initially takes it as nerves, pre-date jitters from sitting benchside for so long, and takes his time getting ready. He can’t stop fiddling and fussing and ends up spending an extra ten minutes doing his hair and swaps shirts three times until he decides on a fitted black knit to pair up with snug dark jeans and a pricier pair of non-work slip ons.
He even texts Nancy an outfit pic to try and displace the some of the anxiety gripping his chest, and she (thankfully) comes through with a collection of heart and prayer hand emojis, along with telling him Jonathan also approves and that he wishes him luck.
Steve decides to walk because the café’s so close to his place, as well as to try and work off some of his nerves by blasting some upbeat Walk the Moon and Passion Pit through his earphones on the way over.
When he arrives, his last message to Sarah is on ‘delivered’, not ‘read’. Steve’s learned to be a snake and keep his own receipts turned off for when he’s feeling antisocial, but Sarah obviously doesn’t do the same. She hadn’t replied earlier either, but at least she read that text. He convinces himself he’s being silly, being dumb , that she’s just driving and isn’t the type of person to check her phone while behind the wheel.
Steve eyes the counter as well, where the usual weekend baristas are bustling about, to see that Billy isn’t there. It kind of sucks but at least he won’t be distracted and have to make some excuses when Billy inevitably starts flirting with him extra hard and asking Sarah if she’s willing to put out already. He figures that’d get him a cup of coffee to the face, even if Billy’s the one making the snide, invasive remarks.
He picks a table parked against a wall of frameless windows, the area warmed by the afternoon sun passing through glass. From here, he’s got a bad view of the front door but can easily watch other café patrons while he waits for Sarah’s inevitable arrival.
There’s an elderly couple in some armchairs in the far corner, both reading, as well as a woman in thick framed glasses typing furiously on her laptop, and a group of teens on their phones waiting for their drinks, leaning against the condiment bar and fucking around with the stir sticks and Stevia packets.
Behind the bar, steam wands whistle in milk carafes, chatter rises and settles in uneven patterns, oven timers beep incessantly. There’s Erin, one of the baristas usually working when Billy is, furiously scrubbing at something at one of the registers and throwing death glares to the group of kids waiting for their - inevitably - too caffeinated and over-sugary drinks.
It’s really a fairly calm scene for a Saturday afternoon, no middle schoolers skateboarding into the lobby and knocking over a display stand of snack packs or baristas seconds away from snapping a rude customer’s neck over a coffee they ordered incorrectly.
Steve gives the scene one more careful look before he puts all his attention into his phone and waits.
And waits, and waits.
Twenty minutes pass and he’s probably fifteen pages deep in his Instagram explore page, when the front door rattles for the seventh time. It’s not Sarah - surprise, surprise - but it is Billy, half a bagel stuffed in his mouth and his navy apron rolled up under his arm, a backpack slung over his shoulder half open and his keys jingling in hand. Fuck .
He ducks into the backroom immediately, luckily having not seen Steve, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. If he ends up getting playfully heckled when his date shows up, he’s going to lay down in the middle of the intersection up the street.
With each minute that passes, the lead weight of dread resting in the pit of Steve’s belly grows heavier and heavier. The icy vice grip around his throat grows ever tighter. Cars pass, people come and go. The last text to Sarah has finally been read, but there’s no magical little ellipsis to ignite a spark of relief in him.
It’s almost twelve thirty now and the remaining café patrons that have been here since he’s walked in - aggressive typing lady and old reading couple - have sent him a few obvious looks of sympathy, but he’s been avidly trying to avoid seeing their pitiful expressions. Billy’s behind the counter too now, an added pressure, and has definitely eyed him a few times as well.
Steve sighs to himself because it’s abundantly clear now, despite the positivity he’s been desperately holding onto and the fact that Sarah’s seen his text, that he’s been stood up.
He’s been stood up like a lovelorn sixteen year old loser on prom night, watching their date blow them off to come with someone else, or like some pretty girl in a romcom with extremely poor luck, sitting alone at a back table at some chez whatever, dressed up in a pearl necklace and red lipstick and filling up on wine before she goes home pissed off and kind of drunk.
“Fuck,” he says to himself, fingers clenching, “ fuck .”
There’s no way to play this cool, not with how he’s been incessantly checking his phone and looking out the window with hopeful puppy dog eyes. If he just gets up and leaves without a drink in hand, everyone will have confirmation his date never showed and he can never come back to this place, but if he goes up to order a drink now and try to take advantage of the hour he’s just fucking wasted, he’s going to get just as much pity and his ego can’t take that kind of blow right now. He set himself up for this, really — it has to be fucking karma for getting irritated and Nancy trying to do him her behavior.
Like, he’s so embarrassed and pissed off he might cry , and if the way his throat constricts and it suddenly becomes harder to swallow is anything to go by, he’s definitely going to do just that.
It’s really not fair , being a grown ass adult and getting emotional in the middle of a coffee shop because some stranger he’s been flirting with through text for two weeks decided he suddenly wasn’t worth her time. Or he wasn’t worth her time from the get-go but she felt obligated to play nice, or she wanted to duck out the second she delved past Nancy’s handpicked pictures of him and started conversation.
Steve doesn’t like to assume the worst of people, but Jesus . What the fuck?
He faces the window and rubs furiously at his eyes with the backs of his sleeves, tries to make it look like he’s got an itch or he’s tired or something, and not like the reality of scrubbing the dew drops of tears threatening to spill over.
And just when he’s about to get up and go hide in the bathroom, there’s someone clearing their throat right next to him.
Meaning — he really is going to walk into traffic now.
Steve sniffles and looks up, minutely praying it’s Sarah who’s sorry but she had car troubles or issues with her phone but no , it’s Billy with a wad of napkins in hand and a pink tinge to his cheeks. Fucking perfect . Attempting a scowl that probably just makes him look like he’s going to burst into tears, Steve eyes his interruptor.
“Yes?” he asks hoarsely.
“Uh,” Billy starts, “you okay over here?”
“Yeah, uh, just allergies. Pollen, grass, whatever.”
It’s quite obvious that Billy does not believe him. “Sure about that?”
He sets the crumbled bunch of napkins onto the table and scoots them closer to Steve with a single finger, then raises his brows expectantly. Steve feels his face and the tips of his ears burn and go scarlet.
“Look, some chick I met on Tinder didn’t show up for our date. It’s whatever .”
He crosses his arms and turns towards the window, feeling even more embarrassed now, but Billy nudges his foot with the toe of his Nike’s, a little splattered with espresso. Are they even allowed to wear those on the work floor?
“No, you’re upset that she stood you up, which is a bitch move, so I think you’re allowed to be a little,” and Billy smirks, “ allergic .”
Steve wants to cover his face in his sweater, he’s so fucking abashed. The collar on his sweater sits just under his collarbones so the splotchy flush he gets when he’s embarrassed or nervous is already starting to spread from his chest up his neck.
“Thanks,” he manages, head tilted up to look at Billy properly. “It’s fucking embarrassing though, like I can’t just leave now; people’ll gonna know I was here sitting on my ass, waiting for someone that never showed up.”
Billy smirks down at him, cheeks dimpled. “Lucky for you, pretty boy , I’m a floor manager so I can take my break whenever I want, so no one’s gonna say jack shit.”
Steve scoffs, “Isn’t that kind of an abuse of power?” but it is better than sitting by himself, even if he can see Billy’s even more attractive up close and he’s going to make an even bigger ass out of himself if he pulls anything slick.
“You need some company, it’s a slow day, who cares?” Billy shrugs and quickly disappears into the back room.
Luckily, unlike Sarah, he actually does show (back) up , returning a handful of minutes later with his apron off and two porcelain mugs in hand. It’s maybe the sweetest gesture Billy’s ever made towards him, if he’s doing what Steve thinks he’s doing.
And when Billy places the cups on the tabletop, he’s thankfully correct. The mug pushed in Steve’s direction is filled with something milky brown and topped with a few white floret style hearts, one stacked on another and then completed with two rounded leaves. There’s cocoa powder sprinkled lightly on the top as well.
Leaning across the table, he sees that Billy’s drink is dark brown and topped with a thin layer of bubbly foam, then a dollop of whipped cream. A dark chocolate mocha, probably. Hilariously, Billy always seemed like a black coffee kind of guy, the way he made fun of every single order of Steve’s.
“Got you uh, hazelnut white mocha, extra shot,” Billy says, gesturing to Steve’s mug with a jerk of his head, “you always get them when you need a pick me up.”
He’s blushing when he says it as well, the pink in his face mirroring Steve’s.
Steve purses his lips in response; it’s true — there’s nothing that brings his spirits up before a day full of meetings or after getting chewed out by his dad at work than a hazelnut white mocha.
“You remember every customer’s orders?”
“Just the pretty ones,” Billy quips, dipping a pinky into his whipped cream. “Particularly brunettes with big brown eyes who wear stuffy suits to work and only drink liquid sugar.”
Steve actually snorts in his response, biting down a smile. Billy’s bouncing his leg so fast that he’s bumping the table and threatening to spill their drinks. He’s attempting to play cool and collected but he’s obviously nervous, which is beyond cute as well as out of character, seeing as how slick he is behind the counter, smiling all wolflike. Steve’s still trying to get over the fact that he’s actually sitting across from him, keeping him temporary company to compensate for Sarah’s flakiness.
He also thought Billy might just like getting a rise out of him all this time - despite all the vibes - and was the kind of the guy that if he even dared to get another guy’s hand on his dick, it’d be while drunk in the safety of a darkened stall, but now he’s a little more sure that Billy’s flirty for tips and straight passing with the way he expertly gets girls blushing. The gay undertone is there though, and growing stronger if all the blushing and fidgeting is any form of a hint.
“I’m gay,” Billy says then, out of nowhere.
“Huh?”
“You’ve been staring at me for like, ten seconds with this look on your face. Seemed like that’s what you were tryna figure it out — if I’m just being nice right now or if I’m into you.” Billy’s cheeks just go darker and darker.
Steve doesn’t reply at first, taking a sip of his drink instead. It’s nutty and sweet, smooth and tastes like there’s been a few sprinkles of salt tossed in as well to balance it out. Billy’s the only one that makes it this way: a little lighter on the syrups with a little something extra. With care .
“First off, just because you’re gay, doesn’t mean you’re into me.”
Billy gives him a look but his flush doesn’t fade a bit.
“And uh, I was thinking you were just being nice at first,” he adds, saving the moment, “this time, at least, but then I thought back to all your sweet talk and I was leaning a little bit more to being nice and maybe being into me.”
“Is it bad that I’m being nice because I’m into you?”
“I’m not complaining,” Steve says, a little softly, “but it’s also kind of a
bummer
it takes me getting stood up for you to make a real move here.”
“Hey, I didn’t even know if what I was doing was even working? I mean, I wanted to ask you out like a normal person, but I only see you at work so I could get in trouble for asking out a customer on the clock.” Then he lifts his cup to his lips, “But when I saw you sitting over here all pissy and miserable, I figured you’d at least like some company. Didn’t want to take advantage of your misery , so if anything I hoped the coffee would help.”
He peers at Steve over the rim over his mug and raises his eyebrows as he takes another drink.
Steve takes a good mouthful of his own hot white mocha and then stares down into his own cup. The foam accents have started to become misshapen with the few sips he’s taken, but the gist of a heart shape still remains. The tightness in his chest has evolved into a fluttering kind of feeling.
“I’m feeling a little better about my date not showing up anymore, if that’s says anything.”
“What happened anyways? Pretty boy like you shouldn’t have anything to worry about there.”
“My friend Nancy -”
“The short one, uh, the you used to go out with?” When Steve looks at him a little suspiciously, he hastily adds, “You’ve mentioned it before, when I asked if your ‘date was gonna put out or not’ and you freaked out and said you guys haven’t been together since high school.”
Oh , that’s right. He was so flustered and horrified by the thought that he’d defended both of their honor with maybe a little too much vigor. Half the shop probably heard him let out that girlishly shrill ‘no!’
“Yeah, her. She keeps wanting to set me up with someone because she thinks a relationship is going to fix all my problems, so she made me a bunch of profiles and I only started talking to this chick to get her off my back.”
Billy wrinkles his nose again. “Sounds fuckin’ annoying.”
And Steve has to laugh, because it is . Jonathan thinks what she’s doing is sweet, but if he remembers correctly, Jonathan has also been on the receiving end of Nancy playing matchmaker back when she was still with Steve, and he was, well, less than pleased with her insistence.
“It is . She was cute too, but it probably wouldn’t have worked out even if she did come. We’re not really into any of the same shit, plus I’m not good at the whole,” and Steve does this hand gesture, hoping it’ll fill in the blank, “you know, serious dating thing. I’ve only had two longer relationships but I got played in both of ‘em, so.”
The shame feels hot, fresh then, so freely admitting that he’s been cheated on twice in serious relationships. Nancy and Jonathan he’s forgiven, Matthew he hasn’t.
“Fucking sucks,” Billy says, frowning.
“Helps with the pity party thing though, huh? Gets cheated on, tries dating again, gets stood up. I think it’s a sign I need to stop chasing people altogether, or just let them come to me or whatever.”
Billy smirks. “I don’t think you’re supposed to talk about how bad you are at relationships when someone who thinks you’re hot just admitted to trying to being into you, man.” The tips of his fingers brush past Steve’s wrist then.
“Hey, it’s called a disclaimer ,” Steve retorts.
“Well, whatever. I’m not good at that shit either, but you’re too damn cute to leave alone, Harrington.”
“ Harrington ?”
Billy rolls his eyes. “Your member card has your full name on it and you pay with it every time . Plus, you gave me your business card on accident one time.”
“Still,” Steve laughs, a little incredulous, “my last name? Sounds like you’re my algebra teacher.”
Billy plays with the elastic keeping his hair pulled away from his face, cracks a toothy grin. “If I call you ‘Steve’, it sounds like I’m pissed at you, so — Harrington, Stevie, pretty boy, baby , pick your poison.”
“What am I supposed to call you then? I don’t think it’s fair I have to call you ‘Billy’ if I’m getting all these nicknames.”
He gently touches Billy ankle with the toe of his shoe under the table, just a light press to show he is interested. On the dates he has been on in the past, he usually doesn’t spend the first meetup being as playful and flirty and overly familiar as he is now, or if it’s someone he knew ahead of time swapping banter for months on end. It’s usually twenty questions about general interests and family life and favorite x, y and z.
Honestly though, he likes this, feels a thousand times better even if he was feeling stupid and more than a little hopeless ten minutes ago.
“I’ll take whatever you give me, Stevie ,” Billy nearly purrs, “but fine, I’ll bite — the last name’s Hargrove. Use it how you want, as long as you’re not saying it between the sheets.”
Jesus Christ .
There’s the level of flirtation Billy usually throws at him. It leaves Steve choking on his spit, coughing into his elbow, and accidentally attracts the concerned attention of a girl ordering her drink at the register. Billy fruitlessly covers up his laughter by attempting to clear his throat, but it just makes him laugh harder.
“Fucking hell, you are filthy .”
Billy grins at him with all his teeth bared, shark-like. Back to the way he is behind the counter, just like that. “That a bad thing? Afraid you can’t keep up?”
Steve takes a second to string together something that’ll hopefully have Billy a little flustered in return.
“I just don’t want you choking on something when I let something worse slip out, s’all,” he quips, fiddling with his cuticles.
Billy’s brows shoot up and he leans forward then, his elbow bumping Steve’s. He leaves it there, bare skin warm against Steve’s thin sleeve. “Mm, but I like someone who can dish it. Maybe you need to work on taking it , though, especially if that’s what has you all worked up.”
He’s amping it up, raising the stakes, trying to see if Steve can keep up with him. Billy’s just so good at throwing Steve off course, an expert at timing his double entendres and abrupt innuendos, daring Steve to try and match him. That’s what keeps him coming back.
“I promise I’m perfectly fine at dishing and taking it, unless you don’t believe me,” and then Steve looks out the window, out into the street where cars line the sidewalks and storefronts bustle with activity, all nonchalant, “and would rather find out for yourself, Hargrove .”
Billy swallows a little harder at that and has moved his chair forward as well so he’s even closer now. Under the espresso and syrup clinging to him, Steve can smell something warm and spicy as well, all cloves and amber. When he speaks, his voice is rough like uneven gravel.
“Oh no, I believe you,” he muses lowly, “I just think I want to wait it out, y’know, rather earn finding out for myself?”
Steve purses his lips and in a leap of faith, rests his palm over Billy’s fingers. “I think the first step to earning that privilege is maybe joining me at that Italian place up on ninth sometime, if you want to take the scenic route here.”
Billy tongues at his bottom lip, plush and pink, and grins, perches his chin on his free hand. He stares down at Steve’s fingers and gently slides his hand out from under his palm, then carefully slides his fingers in the slots between Steve’s. His hands are so warm .
“Hm, I haven’t stopped to smell the roses in a long fuckin’ time,” he muses, “but if it means I get to do it with you , well, I feel a little better about doing it.”
“Guess this means you gotta thank my other date for bailing on me, then.”
“And me for taking advantage of it, especially because I was scared out of my fuckin’ mind you were just gonna tell me to fuck off.”
“Pssh I wouldn’t have; you’re cute, even when you make fun of me.”
Billy shrugs. “Hey, I like someone with some bite . It’s no fun if I’m just sweet on you all the time and you’re doing the same thing back, like c’mon .”
“Good to know you’ve been commenting on my fancy man work suits because you think I’m hot,” Steve playfully quips. He gives his mug a little swirl and sucks down a third of the remaining liquid in a single swallow.
“Hey, like I said, you gotta be a little mean to get some extra sweetness .”
“With you, that doesn’t surprise me one bit .”
They sit like that a little longer, the sun shining in on them while they joke around with each other, throw in some double meanings while fingers brush wrists and legs tangle together under the table. Eventually business starts to pick up and Billy has to excuse himself, claiming that they’ll need him in the most melodramatic of tones. Before he returns to work though, he stretches and stands close to Steve, bumping his arm with his hip.
“I’m still gonna get your shitty date banned or put salt in her fuckin’ latte next time she comes in, just show me her picture tonight and I’ll do it in a heartbeat .”
Steve bites back a grin. “What time?”
“Seven-thirty — meet me here? ‘m off at six-thirty but I wanna give myself time to clean up when I’ve got such a hot date.”
Nodding in agreement, Steve asks, “That your number?” and gestures to a rumpled napkin with some hastily scribbled numbers on it.
Billy just beams. “Text me when you’re leaving?”
“Absolutely,” Steve confirms, giving Billy one more nudge in the leg for the road, “ pretty boy .”
He might have to text Nancy when he gets home to thank her for annoying him back into the dating game. It may not be the date she intended for him to have, but he’s not feeling ungrateful.
Not anymore.