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Ronan didn’t even like coffee.
But Noah had dragged him into Persephone’s one day, thereby ending his fucking life and sealing his fate.
Because he saw him and it was like looking at the sun.
No, that wasn’t right, because it hurt to look at the sun.
It was like swallowing the sun.
Which, yes, Ronan thought, would also hurt like a motherfucker, but he was being fucking poetic.
Looking at him made heat rise in Ronan’s chest. He felt electrically charged. He felt millions of miles away from the closest habitable planet.
He just felt.
God, it was a whole thing.
And it made it extremely difficult to speak.
Ronan was not shy. “Shy” implied caring what other people thought about you. It implied treading softly through the world, and choosing your words carefully to avoid offense and attention.
He was definitely not shy.
But this guy - this Coffee Guy - made him... not himself. He made Ronan’s words disappear.
The first time Ronan saw him he was laughing. He was talking to another customer - an older woman with one of those tiny dogs that lives in a purse. Coffee Guy was smiling and scratching the dog behind the ear, and Ronan found himself truly jealous for the first time in his life.
Jealous of a purse dog.
Jesus.
Noah had ordered some caramel-covered abomination, and when Coffee Guy turned his blue eyes on Ronan, and asked him what he wanted, he’d nearly swallowed his tongue.
He’d choked out largeblackcoffee like it was a single curse word, and managed to put a little asshole English on it, so that his words flew through the air with a certain how dare you ask in the first place spin on them, of which he was both proud and wanted to kick himself for.
Coffee Guy - God, beautiful Coffee Guy - hadn’t seemed phased. His eyes got a little wide, but he smiled again (not as big a smile as the dog got, Ronan noticed) and responded unbothered, “You got it.”
And then he went about making their drinks as if Ronan had not just sounded like a cartoon villain.
Noah had curiously surveyed Ronan’s flushed state, slowly tracked his panicked stare in a straight line to its focus, and turned back to Ronan with a knowing look that Ronan wanted to wipe violently off his face.
“Don’t.”
“I said nothing.”
His Coffee Guy returned with their drinks.
Fuck, he was already thinking of him as his.
Ronan would figure this out. He would say something not filled with rage. He would say something to make Coffee Guy — glorious, esophageal-sun-producing Coffee Guy — smile at him at least as brightly as he did that fucking dog.
But again, it’s hard to talk when you have a sun burning in your chest. And, frankly, it makes it hard to think, too.
He racked his brain as he pulled some bills from his wallet. Silence. Static. The hiss of an old-timey radio between stations. His brain, and with it any hope of speaking to Coffee Guy, had abandoned him. He might very well have just handed over two fifty-dollar bills to pay for their coffee. He had no fucking idea.
Noah grabbed both cups and herded a dazed Ronan out the door like a border collie with a particularly addled sheep.
“That was new,” Noah said lightly.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ronan growled. He wasn’t about to have a conversation about whatever that was.
Noah just hummed, and took a sip of his drink. He handed Ronan his cup. Ronan looked down at it.
He hated coffee.
“You hate coffee.”
Ronan threw the cup into a nearby garbage can, the lid flying off. Noah jumped out of the splash zone and hissed like an affronted cat.
Ronan ignored him and stalked towards his car, Noah jogging to keep up.
“You’re going back, aren’t you?”
Ronan didn’t respond.
He needed to figure this out.
**
Ronan went back the next afternoon sans Noah. He’d managed to convince himself that the selective mutism was Noah’s fault somehow. His presence had made him self-conscious. He’d do better on his own. He’d find something to say.
And it had gone better.
Or at least it hadn’t gone any worse.
Coffee Guy seemed to recognize him. Based on the lack of customers, though, he wasn’t going to put too much stock in that. He’d even remembered his order.
“Large black coffee?” he asked, smiling.
Ronan had managed a jerky nod, and cleared his throat.
Coffee Guy began making his drink, but turned to Ronan over his shoulder, “Do you work around here? Most of our regulars work close by.”
Ronan shook his head. He did not work nearby.
“Do you go to school? I’m pre-law. This is a good gig. Flexible, you know?”
Ronan nodded. Yes, a flexible job would be good if you went to college he thought.
He realized that he had yet to make a single verbal response.
Coffee Guy handed over the soon-to-be-violently-disposed-of beverage, and Ronan shoved some cash across the counter.
He was going to say something. Anything!
His throat was so dry he almost - almost- took a sip of the coffee, but grimacing in disgust wasn’t going to get him a date.
He swallowed painfully and managed to croak, “Keep the change,” before turning and retreating, while trying to look like he wasn’t running away. He pulled the door open so roughly the hinges squeaked in dismay.
Shit, it wasn’t Noah.
**
Ronan went back the next day.
Declan called just as he was entering the shop and he was tempted to ignore the call, but Matthew had been feeling under the weather lately and he wanted to make sure it wasn’t anything serious. Somehow a quick “he’s fine – just a cold” call turned into a knock-down drag-out fight about the need for Ronan to figure out health insurance for himself, which in turn lead Ronan to burn through some of his better insults before violently hanging up.
Or as violently as one can hang up by pressing the glowing image of a button on a screen.
He schooled his features before approaching the counter, cautious like he was approaching a wild animal. A wild animal he wanted to make out with.
Once again Coffee Guy remembered his order, and gave him the same friendly smile. This time, though, it seemed like he wasn’t going to attempt small talk. Ronan felt the sun burning in his chest sputter and dim a bit.
Fuck. He couldn’t start.
But then it was almost like Coffee Guy couldn’t help himself, and he looked up at Ronan as he poured the coffee.
“Guess you must like our coffee, huh?”
Ronan didn’t lie. But this time he really fucking wanted to.
He could hear the lie in his head.
Yeah, the coffee’s great. What’s your secret?
That’s all he had to do! Coffee Guy would take it from there he was sure! But he wasn’t going to have the first full sentence he uttered to this beautiful god of caffeine be a lie.
He made do with a noncommittal grunt.
He slipped his hand into his jeans pocket and pinched his leg.
You. Are. An. Idiot.
**
Ronan did not give up.
He decided that he would go back to that café every goddamned day, and order a coffee he would never drink, and at some point he would figure it out. At some point he would know what to say. At some point he would push the sun in his throat down low enough that he could think and speak.
Ronan did not want to think about just how long it was taking for him to be able to act like a normal human being. At this point the amount of coffee he had bought and thrown away could’ve filled a fucking bathtub. Coffee guy had definitely given up trying to talk to him. And Ronan still had no idea how to start a conversation. How did other people know how to do this? Was it taught somewhere?
And then one day the universe finally threw him a bone. He had noticed that Coffee Guy always had a book tucked into his apron, but he could never see what he was reading. That day, however, Ronan watched him put the book down on the counter.
Information!
He could use this somehow.
He stealthily glanced at the cover. It was some random fantasy thing with a dragon and some dudes.
Coffee Guy slid his drink across the counter and Ronan threw some bills down. They’d done this so many times at this point they hardly spoke at all anymore. Ronan didn’t want to think about how his awkward silence had become contagious.
He was stealing another glance at the book when Coffee Guy returned with his change.
Coffee Guy must have noticed, because when Ronan looked up he saw that his eyes had become wide and excited. He said something about it being his favorite book, but Ronan missed the rest of whatever he was saying because he was a) too busy repeating the title over and over to himself, committing it to memory, and b) staring into those eyes was making it hard to breathe.
Coffee Guy seemed to be expecting a response. Had he asked him something? Shit. Fuck.
Ronan busied himself with his wallet, buying time.
By the time he looked back up it seemed like Coffee Guy had given up on getting a response. Ronan probably deserved that.
He had to say something though.
“I’ve never read it,” he muttered and went into full retreat through the door.
Yet.
**
It was easy enough to find the novel at the bookstore. What he hadn’t been expecting, though, was that it was the last book in a fucking series. He’d have to read the whole damned thing. Ronan sighed to himself and grabbed all five books from the shelf. Well, it was probably a better use of his time than mutely haunting a coffee shop.
He took the books home and dove in.
**
What even were these books? Dragons were one thing, but magical fucking forests? Ronan soldiered on.
**
He managed to get through all of them in roughly three days by barely sleeping. He hadn’t even gone back to the café for his daily disposable coffee. He wondered if Coffee Guy had noticed.
Probably not.
**
In the end, he actually did like the books, thank fucking god. He wouldn’t have to figure out how to skirt the issue with Coffee Guy. He already thought Ronan liked coffee, and while he hadn’t technically lied about anything (what he did with the coffee was between him and the trash can a block away from the café) he didn’t feel great about it.
He closed the final book – the book that had started it all – and grabbed his keys.
No more fucking around.
It was time.
He had this.
**
He did not have this.
He had five lengthy novels crammed into his brain, and he had no fucking idea where to start.
This would have been a good realization to have during the drive over, and not when he was standing in the middle of an empty café staring at the object of his mute affection. Said object seemed perfectly happy to wait. He was looking at Ronan with a slightly raised eyebrow and an expectant look on his face, which Ronan realized, made sense considering he was holding the guy’s favorite book and… not saying anything.
Shit.
Shitshitshitshit.
The silence was stretching out longer than he could recover from.
“The usual?” Coffee Guy finally asked, pointedly ignoring the book in Ronan’s hands.
He was pretty sure he managed to croak out a yeah.
Forward. Just move forward.
He forced his legs to move, and managed to get to the counter, putting the book down. He realized what a mess it looked. He’d read the last bit while he was in the shower, holding it just out of the spray, unwilling to lose any precious time and also thoroughly sucked into the story by then. The pages had swollen more than a bit.
Coffee Guy turned back to him and pushed the coffee across the counter, “Here you go.”
Ronan looked at him and waited for him to comment on the waterlogged book.
Coffee Guy just stared back, as if he was waiting for something.
Wasn’t he going to say something? It was supposedly his favorite fucking book…
“Are you OK?” Coffee Guy asked quietly, as if Ronan was behaving oddly, which, YES HE KNEW THAT HE WAS THANKS.
Ronan racked his brain. He was supposed to do something.
Pay!
Fuck, he was supposed to pay.
He grabbed his wallet and shoved some bills across the counter. Put a hot fucking guy in front of him and he forgot how capitalism worked. Fucking hell.
OK, Lynch, you can do this. Just say something. Something generic. Literally anything.
“It was good.”
OK, there you go! Possibly the dumbest thing you could say, but it was words.
Coffee Guy looked startled, “The coffee?”
Fuck no. Not the coffee. Never the coffee.
“The book.”
They were conversing. He said something, and Coffee Guy responded, and then he said something else. Ronan felt like he’d discovered penicillin.
“Oh!” Coffee Guy looked elated. “Yeah, I love those books! But did you understand what was going on…? I mean it’s the final book of five…”
Ahhhhh, fuck. He should have known this would come up. Well, this went south fucking fast. There was no way around it.
“I read the others, too. I bought them all when I left the other day,” he confessed to the counter, not wanting to see Coffee Guy’s reaction to this obviously thirsty ploy. Ha. Thirsty. Fucking idiot.
“You read all five books in… seventy-two hours?”
Abort! Abort!
But there was no going back.
“I have trouble sleeping… and you said you liked them…” Ronan somehow reached deep down and managed to find the strength to lift his gaze from the counter. Coffee Guy looked dazed.
“I… wanted to find something to talk to you about… and this seemed like a good strategy…”
So there it was. It was finally out there. It had only cost him several weeks of his life and untold gallons of wasted coffee.
“What’s your name?” Coffee Guy asked, gracing him with a smile brighter than Ronan had ever seen.
Fuck. What was his name?