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Kieren has a problem. It's his first fucking day on the job at the local coffee shop, his bike had gotten a flat tyre on the way there, only to have some deadbeat fifty-year-old mumble vague instructions for how to use the coffee machine, and then this Irish dick had come in.
"I'm sorry, you want a what?" Kieren asks, hardly trying to cover up his irritation and sheer bewilderment.
"I 'd like a venti skinny caramel macchiato, with an extra shot, extra hot, no whipped cream, and a shot of sugar-free syrup. Please." The guy adds for good measure.
Kieren just stares at him again because what the fuck do they even have sugar-free syrup, does that even exist. The sad thing about this entire situation was that the guy is completely hot. In that annoying way where you don't really know if you wanna punch the guy or make out with him. Right now, Kieren is tempted more by the former.
Suddenly, feeling a churn in his stomach at the way the man's blue eyes shoot right through him, he grabs a cup.
"What's your name? I'll call it out when it's ready." And for some reason Kieren internally smirks with anticipation, wondering if this guy's name is going to be equally obnoxious.
Instead the guy just shrugs. "Simon."
Pursing his lips and realising there is literally no one else to help him out of this mess, Kieren sticks the cup under the machine and pours the guy, Simon, a bloody filter coffee. Kieren peeks at Simon while he pretends to type in the order on the till (because, let's face it, he couldn't charge the guy for a coffee he wasn't actually gonna get) and watches him as he plucks loose threads on his ridiculously dorky jumper. A minute later, Simon catches him staring and Kieren turns away with a blush. Preparing himself for an onslaught of complaining, he barely calls Simon's name and yet the guy still bounds up to the counter with a lithe leap, clearly eager for his bloody venti vanilla macchiato espresso or whatever.
Kieren prays to God Simon isn't going to taste the thing right there so he hastily says, "It's on the house."
Simon's eyebrows rise as his fingers slide round the cup and, unexpectedly, smiles very shyly and ducks his head a little. "Thanks."
Ohhh shit. Now Kieren feels like the dick. Now he really wants to snatch the cup back and make his little special snowflake order because shit, that smile was cute. But Simon is already back at his seat by the window, getting some battered book out his bag, and looking all nestled. All nestled and ready for disappointment, oh crap.
He doesn't even realise that he's squatting behind the counter, eyes barely peering over, until Simon's face contorts as lips meet cup and Kieren presses himself up behind shelves desperately. For a couple of long minutes, he's frozen there, waiting for the inevitable footsteps but nothing happens. So he slowly creeps back to take another peek to see Simon is actually drinking the coffee.
Feeling like an entire tidal wave just evaporated, Kieren shoots back to his feet and bangs his knee on one of shelves, letting out a very loud trail of expletives before he can stop himself. Yeah, Kieren thinks to himself as he tries to rub the pain out, I deserved that. Hearing a muffled chuckle from Simon's direction makes Kieren's cheeks flush red and he almost ducks into the backroom until another customer comes in with a tinkle of that dreaded bell.
It's half an hour later when a cup with Simon's name on it is dropped on the counter beside the till where Kieren is serving another customer as the older man leaves. Feeling his heart sink by the way he can't even apologise to the poor guy, he picks up the cup, ready to throw it in the bin, before a new scrawl of writing on the side catches his eye. Shifting the cup round in his hand, he reads the message once, then twice, then a third time for luck before he puts it back on the side with a smile twitching at the sides of his mouth.
Nice try, better luck next time? Thanks for the freebie.
Though the message itself was cute, Kieren is still pissed off when Simon comes in a few days later and orders his special sugar-free, boiling-so-much-it-must-burn-my-throat-hot latte with extra caramel sprinkles or something.
Somewhat more confident now that he's actually failed with this guy once, Kieren sighs heavily right at the till. "I can barely make a normal latte, you know?"
"Latte it is then." Simon responds simply with an amused smirk and places the change for the coffee on the counter before taking his usual seat.
Kieren glares at his back, jaw slack, hating how attracted he is to that stupidly oversized parka coat and tatty turtle neck. Kieren makes his bloody latte and adds chocolate sprinkles for the hell of it, before scrawling "you're an idiot" on the cup.
It makes Simon frown at first but then he laughs and Kieren can't help feeling a little proud of himself that he's made this hot guy laugh despite being completely inadequate at his actual job. And when the empty cup winds up back on his counter, Kieren feels his heart skip at Simon's scribbled response of "says the barista who can't make coffee" with a little smiley face. Earning a blasé glare from Kieren as he slips out the door, Simon quickly turns for a short wave and a genuine smile.
Their messages continue for several more weeks, exchanging varying degrees of insults from "if I thought this coffee was meant to be cold, I would have asked for ice" to "fuck you and your snobby coffee orders". Either way, Simon still takes pictures of all the cups and Kieren still takes the cups home to cut the messages out and stick them in his scrapbook. Either way, Kieren still wants to both punch and make out with Simon. No change there then.
One thing that Kieren keeps to himself and deliberately forgets every time Simon walks in the door is that he's perfectly fine with making a decent cup of whatever Simon throws at him. He just likes to indulge in their banter and maybe a part of him is worried that if he finally gets it right, their exchanges will stop. Or maybe he'll get to stage where he doesn't exactly know what will happen. Whichever it is, it scares the hell out of him.
Needless to say, he feels like he's been punched in the stomach when Simon comes in with company one day. There's a group of five or six of them, all looking like they're from the Arctic Monkeys or something, with leather pants, tom toms, and blazers. But worst of all, is that there's a girl hanging on Simon's arm, her floral dress pooling out underneath her duffle coat and tangled head of hair leaning on Simon's shoulder.
Fuck.
Kieren tries to reason with himself, saying it could be his sister, but the bitter taste in his mouth reminds him that there's no way that girl is his sister. Fuck.
He tries to keep his face impassive when Simon's crew reaches the counter and begins their orders, thankfully none of them like Simon's and all doable. When the girl (Amy, he hears Simon call her) orders a pot of tea, clearly surveying Kieren from head to toe, Simon's embarrassment suddenly becomes quite evident to the younger man. Huh, Kieren thinks, trying to mull over the situation he seems to be in.
"So what's your name, morgeous?" Amy purrs, and Kieren's head spins because what.
"I'm sorry?"
"Your name? You do have a name, right?" She laughs, practically cackles, but her eyes are levelly fixed upon Kieren and he can sense no malice there.
"Er..." For some reason, his eyes flick towards Simon and finds the older man looking away with a tinge of red in his cheeks, "It's Kieren."
"Kieren," Amy purrs again, "Well there you go, beau, that's all you had to do."
As Simon begins to splutter, Kieren stalls in pouring boiled water because damn he'd actually never introduced himself.
"My bad." Kieren whispers, suddenly seeing Amy in a different light and instantly starting to like her, Simon's girlfriend or not. Simon stops abruptly in his wild stammering to glance at Kieren and smile tautly, clearly still mortified, before quietly excusing himself. Amy follows him, asking him exasperatedly where he would be without "Amy the beautiful genius" and suddenly Kieren knows she is most definitely not his girlfriend. And inside he's silently screaming.
After the afternoon with all his friends, where Amy continued to purr over Kieren, another friend started smoking inside, one coffee is spilt fucking everywhere, Simon appears to disappear completely. Whether it's out of mortification or being genuinely busy or loss of interest (which Kieren hopes is not the case), he doesn't know but he sure as hell doesn't stop thinking about it.
He begins to realise how much he looks forward to Simon coming in with his oversized jumpers and stupid books and long coffee orders. How much he enjoys his playful insults and genuine kindness and goofy smiles. Kieren realises how much he actually likes Simon and slowly regrets never asking for the guy's number.
So when, thank God, Simon walks in the battered door several days later despite it pissing down with rain outside, Kieren struggles to contain his smile that is quickly spreading across his face.
"Hey." Kieren calls lamely, biting down his smile slightly.
"Hi, Kieren. Erm, when do you get off today? I guess I should order something if I wanna stay here, huh. Just a filter coffee, please."
Kieren raises an eyebrow, "Seriously?"
"What?"
"Simon-I-always-order-ridiculously-stupid-coffee-orders is ordering a filter coffee."
"Yes."
They stare at each other a moment and suddenly Kieren takes a cup and begins making the coffee, watching in confusion as Simon sits in his spot, tapping his fingers on his knees. Simon jumps slightly when Kieren goes over to put the cup on the table, trying not to give too much away with his smile and glances back to see Simon already looking at his latest message.
One venti macchiato, with an extra shot, extra hot, no whipped cream, and caramel sprinkles. So drink it and enjoy it, you bastard. I finish at 4.
The next two hours and twenty three minutes drag so much, Kieren contemplates scooping his eyes out with a coffee stirrer. Every time he walks by Simon, the hum of frustration seems to radiate from both of them and he can feel Simon's eyes burning a hole in his back the entire time. He watched Simon scribble a response to his - a fucking long one at that judging from how much black scrawl he can see on the side of the cup - and all he wants is for his shift to end so he can read it. And it has to be out of hours now. He knows that whatever Simon's written is about to determine where whatever the hell they have right now goes.
When it's close to four, Kieren feels like his hair has gone static with the amount of times he's run his fingers through it. It's ten minutes before and he can't fucking bear it anymore so he practically throws his apron into the staff room and shouts a hurried bye to his manager before practically dragging Simon out the shop by his coat.
By this time, Kieren no longer cares what the hell Simon's written on the bloody cup because he's towed the guy round the corner, pushed him against the wall, and kissing him like there's no tomorrow. From their clenched position at the sides of Simon's coat, Kieren curls his arms round Simon's back as the other grasps the back of Kieren's neck. It's hungry and sloppy and goddamn near the best snog Kieren has had since he did the same with Rick years ago.
"Kieren," Simon manages to gasp in between kisses, "As much - as I love this - I want - to say something."
"Please don't tell me you're not single." Kieren warns, still staring at Simon's swollen lips.
"No, I am most definitely single."
"Then be fucking quick okay." Kieren breathes, gripping the coat material between them.
Suddenly, a dark look flashes through Simon's eyes.
"Ah, fuck it." He dismisses, bringing Kieren's face to his again and crashing their lips together.
* * *
After becoming more conscious of judging stares from the street, they'd continued their make out session back at Simon's place which, in the end, was only a few doors down from the actual café.
Kieren, I know my friends were a fucking mess last time I was in and Jesus do I feel like an idiot because of them but what I want to say is that you're incredible and frustrating and hot and I want to learn more about you. Outside the café. I don't even know if you're into guys or whatever and I really like you, and I want you to call me sometime or I can call you and we can go out somewhere like dinner or a movie or a couple of drinks and talk more. Here's my number.
Kieren had reread Simon's note several times now, still musing and tracing his finger over the curling script. They're lounging on Simon's sofa, legs entangled in the middle, with some rock music playing in the background softly, both men feeling rather pleased with themselves.
"If I'd known you were gonna look at it so much, I would have written more."
Kieren gives Simon an unimpressed glance before stuffing the cup back in his bag and crawling on top of Simon again. "If I had known you were gonna spew your feelings like that, I would have given you a piece of A2 paper."
Simon pushes Kieren's face away playfully when he goes to kiss him and smirks.
"Leave me alone. I was trying to be romantic."
"Uh huh."
They're both silent a moment, arms wrapped about one another.
"I meant every word though. Seriously."
"I know," Kieren smiles to himself, hiding his face in the crook of Simon's neck. "I know."