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What a fucking mess of a day this had been. Paul generally tried pretty hard to keep up a good attitude (despite his historically persistent dark streak) but he was absolutely at his limit here. First, he'd gotten his usual morning coffee, and then some moron knocked into him and spilled the still-hot drink all down his front. In addition to the discomfort, it had stained his jumpsuit, which made him look slovenly before he had even come into work. He didn't have time to go back and get a refill, or have another jumpsuit at his disposal, so he'd had to hurry along, warm, wet, and tragically under-caffeinated.
At work, in the auto repair shop, Paul generally excelled. His high levels of energy gave him the near constant need to have something to do with his hands, and his technical knowledge made fixing most of the cars that came in a snap. It was a job he enjoyed thoroughly. The environment was generally relaxed and the job itself was stimulating, perfect for someone whose friends normally described him as hyperactive. And most people that came in to have their cars looked at were generally very laid-back and nice--well. With a few exceptions.
Mrs. Florence Wilhelm often brought her husband's car in. Paul could not have said why, exactly, except that perhaps she just really enjoyed shouting at people. Her husband had gotten the junker for about 400 euros years ago. It was a miracle the car still ran as well as it did, despite constant trips to the mechanic.
"You must have done a horrible job last time!" she squawked, trailing after Paul as he headed deeper into the garage to borrow a 5/8 wrench. He hated to be chased around, especially by someone so loud and obnoxious. "Otherwise it wouldn't have broken again so soon!"
"Ma'am, your car is older than most university students," he replied, trying very hard to keep his tone even. "After a while, everything has to be replaced. This is completely normal for cars this old--"
"I'm sure that's what you tell everyone who comes in here to take the blame off your shoddy work. I should take my business elsewhere!"
Paul almost rolled his eyes. She said that every single time she came in, and he desperately wished that one of these days she would keep her word. "What was the problem this time?"
"It was smoking under the hood again."
Paul nodded pensively and popped the hood, peeking down at the engine. It seemed to have stopped, so Paul reached down with the wrench and twisted a valve on the side of the engine block.
A burst of white-blue smoke shot out of the car and burned Paul's face and hands, causing him to jump back and drop the wrench, which clattered to the ground. "Ah, fuck!"
"You're the most incompetent mechanic I've ever seen!" she snapped.
"Then go find someone else to help you!" Paul snapped right back, grabbing his coat on the way out of the garage.
"Where did you think you're going?!"
"I'm going for a walk." He hissed and shook out his stinging hands. "Find someone else to help you."
And with that, Paul started walking. He didn't have a particular destination, but anything it took to get away from that beastly woman. It was a little early for a lunch break, but that didn't matter. He headed into town, already in a better mood, intent on getting his hands on another coffee. On his way to the cafe, he suddenly stopped, peeking into the window of a familiar storefront. It was the guitar shop! The man who ran it did everything all alone, but he hand-made the most beautiful instruments Paul had ever seen. He was also rather attractive, if Paul did have anything to say about it. He may or may not have purchased a guitar from there just for an excuse to chat with the cute owner, but that was neither here nor there. He'd been due for a new one anyway--or at least that's what he'd told himself.
It was a beautiful guitar, though. Even without the guy selling it, the thing was a total work of art. It had been worth the money, easily. From the slender, graceful neck, to the high-quality strings. Paul had never had such a nice instrument, and to play that one was almost an honor.
"Hey." A voice from inside the shop caught Paul's attention, and he straightened up instantly, a blush filling his round cheeks. It was the owner. "Come on in."
Paul debated for a few seconds, but couldn't help himself. A little bell jingled as he rushed inside.
"How are you doing?" Richard smiled at him, leaning one elbow on the counter. "How's the guitar?"
"It's great!" Paul grinned as he wandered around the shop, but his eyes kept finding Richard. "Best guitar I've ever had, as it happens. Oh! How's your motorcycle?"
Richard's lips quirked up in a little smile. Paul remembered. A few weeks after Paul had purchased a guitar from him, Richard had brought his Harley into the garage Paul worked at. Had there actually been something wrong with the bike? Well, that was hard to say. Richard had come in with a complaint that some part of the bike was squeaking, but none of them had been able to find anything. Richard had stayed the whole time though, and had flirted plenty. Overall, it had been a very enjoyable experience. "Good. Stopped making that sound."
"That's good." Paul clasped his hands behind his back and hummed, swaying a little as he peeked around at all the different accessories.
"So what brings you here? Have the day off or something?"
"Oh, no. I needed to take a walk, you know? I was going to get a cappuccino, but I like your shop a lot."
"Well, that's very kind of you." Richard raised his eyebrows, then glanced at his watch. It was still early, and weekdays were generally slow. The weekend was when he got most of his traffic. "Well, you know...I could do with a cappuccino."
Paul's eyebrows shot up, and by the time he'd processed that statement, Richard was already throwing on his leather jacket. "What? What does that mean?"
Richard grinned as he slipped past Paul, flipping the sign on the door to CLOSED. "I'm coming with you. I could use some coffee too."
"Oh...really?"
"Yeah. You go to the Champignon Cafe too? The little one down the street?"
"Mhm!" Paul nodded emphatically. "I'm very picky. I like my coffee a certain way and they make it nearly perfectly."
Richard smirked, looking very amused at that. And he looked even more amused when Paul blushed a little. "What do you mean, nearly perfectly?"
"Well, they don't make it completely perfectly. But it's close enough." He squinted for a moment. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Who makes it perfectly then?"
"Well...me." Paul blinked up at Richard very earnestly. "I like a strong milk coffee, but a weak cappuccino. Because espresso tastes very strong, you know? So I like less milk than usual in my coffee, but more milk than they usually put in a cappuccino. And they're the only ones who get it as close to perfect as they do."
"Ah, I see." Richard nodded pensively and held the door as the two of them stepped out of the shop. "I just get normal coffee."
"You drink it black?"
"Yeah. Sometimes a little sugar if I want a treat." Richard peered down at him and grinned when he wrinkled his nose. "Well, now I don't have to worry about you stealing sips from me."
"Do you think this is going to be a regular thing, or something?"
"Oh, I don't know. It depends on how our first date goes."
Paul tripped over his own feet, and then caught himself and snapped back up straight. The one fluid motion made him look like a cartoon character, and Richard snickered.
"What? You don't want to go out with me?"
Paul huffed and dusted himself off, trying hard to make himself seem collected. Though, after that little slip, it was hard. "I didn't say that."
"Hm." Richard stopped in front of the next store over to preen himself in the window. He actually looked a little like a bird, the way he was worrying the spikes in his hair. "Is it because of all the hair gel?"
"I never said I don't want to date you!"
Feigning genuine surprise, Richard stopped primping and pressed a hand to his chest, finally turning to look at Paul. "So...you do want to date me then. Right?"
Suddenly, Paul felt very silly in his coffee-stained navy blue jumpsuit. They were both working men, of course, but Richard looked so...crisp. Black skinny jeans and biker boots without a single scuff on them, a studded red and black leather belt, and a leather jacket over an Anthrax t-shirt. Didn't he sand wood and work with his hands for a living? How was he still so clean-cut? It wasn't even noon yet, and Paul was already covered in coffee and motor oil, with steam burns on both hands.
"Let's just get our coffee."
The diversion hadn't worked as well as Paul had hoped, unfortunately. Sitting across from one another at a small table in a cozy little cafe was, as they came to realize, far more intimate than walking side by side down the street. And, as Richard cupped his disgusting cup of black coffee with no sugar with both hands, Paul began to take notice of some revoltingly intimate and endearing details. Like the fact that he painted his nails.
"Do you have to be back at work soon?" Richard asked him, snapping him back into the mortal world and away from his daydreams.
"Oh. Uh...I don't know."
"Well in that case, I think we can stay out a little longer." Richard grinned, reclining in his chair and grinning like a self-satisfied cockatoo. "Would you like to split a muffin with me?"
No. "Sure."
They split a blueberry muffin 70/30, and Richard worked hard to wriggle Paul out of his embarrassed little turtle shell. It took a little bit of effort, and asking the right questions, but soon he saw that smile that he liked so much, and found himself laughing with his whole chest as Paul told an animated story, hands waving every which way. In fact, he found it difficult to take his eyes away from Paul at all. There was something so captivating about the energy he gave off, something utterly disarming and full of mischievous charm. And it was certainly out of character for him to be shy, based on the little he knew about him, so the fact that there had been anything to work away at had surprised Richard.
But as Paul got to the story about the woman in the garage, Richard finally began to understand. He was just having an off day. When someone worked hard to make you feel that badly about yourself, eventually...you would.
"So that's how I ended up at your shop." Paul tipped his mug back, savoring the last drops of his cappuccino.
"Well, I see no reason for you to go back there." Richard grinned at Paul's stunned expression and continued, "You said you hardly take any days off, right? Well, take this one. Come on, it'll be fun."
"Oh, I don't know." Paul rubbed the back of his neck. "Aljoscha will be expecting me back, you know?"
"I'll let you ride on my motorcycle."
His eyes lit up. "Deal."
That little wager had been worth it, though much scarier than Paul had expected. When you get on a motorcycle, there's a certain expectation of grace. They're featured in movies so frequently, their riders cool and collected, that you think it must not really be so scary. That was an absolute crock of shit. It was terrifying! It felt like being on a rollercoaster, but you could really be hit by or crash into another vehicle at any moment. Paul had clung to Richard's waist and screamed nearly the entire time.
Suddenly, Paul was aware that they were not back at Richard's house, and that they hadn't just gone in a large circular lap like he'd anticipated. Richard killed the engine and turned back to grin at Paul over his shoulder. "You alright back there?"
He cleared his throat and popped Richard's helmet off, a crackle of static electricity following it as his hair stood up in all directions. "Couldn't be better." He looked around their new destination--a parking lot. "Erm, where are we?"
"Well, we had so much fun at the cafe, I thought you might want to get some dinner as well."
Paul reddened considerably around the ears. "...are you joking?"
"No, I am not joking. What, you don't want our night to continue?"
Redder and redder he got. Damn. "I do, but--"
"Well, alright then. Let's go."
Dinner was lovely, of course. The place wasn't crazy-fancy, but it was a nice little Italian restaurant to sit down and have a proper meal with someone. Somehow it managed to be both less intimate and more intimate than the cafe. There were more people in this place, but the table was smaller, and Paul took notice of more of the little things about Richard that he found strangely endearing. The way he held his wineglass. The way he twirled his pasta, or fussed with the gel in his hair. Paul even liked the way he smoked his cigarettes, which he had the pleasure of witnessing after their meal was done.
"I hope you don't mind," Richard said, again, puffing on his cigarette. "I know, it's a nasty habit."
"I don't mind, I smoke sometimes," Paul replied, leaning beside Richard against the wall. "Thank you for taking me out. I had a really nice time."
"Oh, you don't have to thank me," Richard murmured. "I had a good time. You're a lot of fun, Paul."
Paul smiled a little. "When you're finished smoking, do you want to go for a walk in the park?"
"Yeah." He smiled a little and flicked the cigarette butt down, stomping it out with his heel. "Yeah, that sounds really nice."
And so they walked, shoulder to shoulder, knuckles brushing fingers every so often. They weren't quite holding hands, but they weren't quite not, either. They wandered into the park, and gathered up together on the grass, underneath a tall tree, just as the sun began to set and turn the sky into technicolor tye-dye. They watched the clouds roll lazily across the warm June sky, and slowly, Richard lifted his arm and draped it around Paul's thin shoulders.
"Can I tell you something?" he murmured. "There was nothing wrong with my motorcycle."
Paul's lips twitched. "Oh, I know that." He nudged Richard with a light elbow to the ribs. "And I didn't need a new guitar."
"Ah, I see." He nodded, grinning. Finally, he peered down at Paul and leaned in a little. This time, Paul didn't blush, and he didn't move away. He met Richard right in the middle, pressing their foreheads together.
"You see."
"Yes. I see."
"You must have an awfully big crush on me."
Richard laughed at that, and almost pulled away, but Paul followed him, staying nose to nose with him. He was smiling so hard Richard thought he might pop like a balloon.
"Richard?"
"Yes?"
"Are you going to kiss me under this tree, or are you going to make me wait all night?"
Snickering at his attitude, Richard cupped the back of Paul's neck and pulled him into a kiss. Paul melted into it and shut his eyes, reaching up to graze his thumb across Richard's cheek. His other hand found Richard's waist and pulled him a little closer, and he huffed a little when he giggled against his lips.
"What?"
"I just think you're funny. That's all." Richard pressed another kiss to his lips, stroking the short hair at the back of his neck. "Let's go."
"What?!" Paul demanded, folding his arms. "What do you mean? Already?"
"Well, yeah. I have to get up early tomorrow." Paul visibly deflated, and Richard smirked a little. "Besides, if I'm taking you out properly on Friday night, I think we should both get some sleep."
Paul slowly straightened up. The guitar maker had just asked him out--officially! "...you're taking me out on Friday night?"
"If you want to go, of course. I just thought maybe that way you'd have less of a chance of getting in trouble."
"Of course I want to go! Don't be stupid." Paul popped up to his feet and dusted himself off, and Richard rose as well. "Where are we going?"
"Museum, maybe? I don't know." He smiled. "Think about it and let me know. You know where to find me, evidently."
"Oh...yeah." Paul nodded dutifully. "I will."
"In the meantime, do you want a ride home? Or would you rather walk? I know the motorcycle can be a little intimidating."
"Pffft. Maybe it was a little nerve-wracking at first, but I think it's fun. Totally cool. I would love a ride home."
They walked out of the park and found Richard's bike again, and he took the helmet off one of the handlebars and set it on Paul's head. And then, before he could pull it down again, Richard shocked him with another kiss. It was charming and chaste and gentle, and this time, Paul blushed from his freckle-specked collarbones to the roots of his hair. It felt sweet, like a high school kiss, and left a bloom of butterflies to tumble around in his stomach.
Richard pulled back a little, grinned, and bumped his nose against Paul's lightly. "I would put the helmet on."
"Oh. Right." Paul cleared his throat and tugged the helmet on, climbing on the bike behind Richard. He paused, then leaned into him gently, grabbing two fistfuls of his leather jacket. He wasn't scared or anything, obviously, but even if he had been, it was worth it. Being this close to him...that would always be worth it.