Archive of Our Own

Every day before going to work (always right on time, might he add) Rowan likes to enjoy a medium cup of hazelnut latte sold specifically by the café just two blocks down from his apartment. The owner, Aurelia Banks, a kind old lady that never spells his name correctly (yesterday he was a Ruben), makes the best lattes in the entire city of Orynth and her pastries are enough to make a grown man cry. Sure, she regularly comments on his tattoos and dyed hair, but it’s a small price he’s willing to pay to get access to her baked goods and sweet coffee. His friend Lorcan likes to tease him relentlessly about his coffee addiction, but truth be told, Rowan can’t start his day without it. And he never had to. At least not until a random day in September when, for the first time in his 6 years living here, Aurelia closed for “an undetermined amount of time.” No explanation whatsoever. No return date. Nothing. 

Rowan can’t exactly say Aurelia is the only café available in Orynth, but something about his morning routine being disturbed doesn’t sit right with him. Especially not when he knows he now has to walk an extra 10 minutes to stop by the only café that could possibly be open at 6:30 in the morning on a Friday. Rowan can admit their coffee is pretty good, but something about the owner makes him unexplainably angry. A man that calls his own café “Chaol’s Beans” should never be trusted. 

The café itself is pretty pleasant – a mix of earth tones with vibrant patterns that seem to compliment the smell of coffee. That and the soft music playing create a cosy atmosphere Rowan could see himself enjoying – if only not for all things Chaol. The place is empty except for a girl studying in a booth by the corner and a couple trading bites of their food and speaking softly with each other. Not weird considering the time, except for the fact no one appears to be working either. Not that it bothers Rowan – it’s not like he’s not already 5 minutes late or anything. 

Sighing loudly, Rowan leans against the dark counter, trying to see if he can find someone to serve him some coffee, but he only hears voices coming from behind the service doors. Loud ones, too. Something about sweets and a bad temper. He doesn’t get the chance to listen much else before the door aggressively swings back and a young woman steps out, fumbling with her moss green apron and walking furiously - as if imagining whoever is behind those doors pressed under the soles of her shoes. 

Rowan feels his breath catch as he takes her in – her lithe form and her assertive walk, messy hair flying behind her with every step she takes as she mutters something under her breath. She’s too distracted to even notice him, but Rowan is fine with just watching her. Right as she is about to take her apron off, her head snaps in Rowan’s direction, her hands falling to her sides as she stops dead in her tracks. Her cheeks gain a pink tint, and she straightens. She stares at him for a few seconds, no words being exchanged between them. It’s like the entire universe shifts and they’re the only two people in the world to stand still in time. Rowan smiles softly at her, unable to talk for whatever reason, and that makes her snap out of her trance. She looks back to the door she just left from and clears her throat, stepping forward and sending him a soft smile. Her turquoise eyes can’t seem to decide if they should focus on the door behind her back or on Rowan.

She fixes her hair as she looks back once more, her apron swinging with her body’s movement. Never has something with the name Chaol’s Beans on it seem more appealing. Her gaze finds Rowan once again and she shakily grabs a pen and a paper cup. “Hi.” She smiles, the pink in her cheeks darkening. Rowan likes that. He likes that a lot. “Welcome to Chaol’s Beans, what can I get you?” 

His heart catches in his throat and suddenly there are no words in the English language that could make him seem like the capable human being he sometimes is. The woman chuckles nervously, one eyebrow rising, and Rowan feels his cheeks warm. Hellas, it’s like he’s 17 all over again.

He’s aware a question was asked – and if only he hadn’t forgotten every single word in the English language, he would be more than pleased to answer her. To talk with her. To hear her sweet melodic voice, a bit of raspiness coming through, probably thanks to the screaming match going on a few seconds earlier. 

Rowan Whitethorn has never been one of believing in fate. He never considered himself to be religious, nor is he superstitious. The closest he’s ever been to believing in an ulterior force was that one time he spilled beer on the counter and the amber puddle ended up looking exactly like his friend Lorcan - he still has that picture saved on his phone.

He wouldn’t go as far as to call himself a skeptic – he does like to believe that there is some order to the universe. But he’s never believed in things like destiny.

At least, he didn’t until now.

He tries to shake himself from his stupor, looking quickly up to the menu board and then back to the woman again, not really having the time to read it. He knows he didn’t read shit and by the amused look on her face, she knows it too. Her lips quirk up.

“I trust you as long as you bring me something with hazelnut.”

The woman looks up at him with smiling eyes. “Hazelnut?”

She’s not small in any sense of the word, but at 6’4 Rowan makes most people look up. Only Lorcan manages to escape that fate, much to Rowan’s chagrin.

He looks up to the menu board once again, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Do they not serve hazelnut flavoured drinks here? He’s not sure he minds, the stunning creature in front of him could serve him a glass of tap water and he’d be over the moon. “Hazelnut latte? Hazelnut Cappuccino?”

“Oh. Right!” She chuckles nervously, turning around to look up at the menu board. “Hazelnut latte, of course.” She writes down something on the paper cup that seems way too long to be a coffee order. Rowan watches her with avid interest. “A-and your name?” She stutters a bit and it’s all Rowan can do not to smile in victory. Something like male pride warming his chest at the thought of making her flustered.

 “Rowan.” He leans against the counter, probably looking cockier than intended. The woman follows the movement, amusement playing in her eyes. “Rowan Whitethorn.”

“Well, Rowan Whitethorn,” Rowan has to fight the shiver that threatens to run through his body at the way his name sounds coming from her lips. “I’m going to make you the best hazelnut latte you’ve ever had in your entire life.” She announces with a mischievous smile, turning around before Rowan even has the chance to pay.

He follows her with his eyes, watching as she stumbles around behind the counter preparing his drink. She curses under her breath a few times, occasionally looking up at Rowan with a flush in her cheeks. Rowan recons he’ll remember that look for the rest of his life.

She looks like she’s not entirely sure what she’s doing and Rowan wonders if it’s her first week at the job. She reads every label of every dispenser and spills milk all over the counter, hiding an embarrassed look behind a curtain of golden hair. She appears to to do some latte art, but when she finally clears her throat and gives him his cup, all Rowan sees is lines of white with no apparent meaning. The words For the Hazelnut addict are scribbled on the cup alongside a…bird? He looks up at her with a questioning look. She blushes under his gaze and clasps her hands behind her back.

“It’s supposed to be a bird.” She explains quickly. “Because of your tattoo…” She points to her neck. “Well, you know.” He does know. That tattoo is a favourite of Miss Aurelia. There isn’t a day where he doesn’t hear about the fall of proper culture and how people now enjoy “painting” pigeons on their own skin. It’s actually a white-tailed hawk, something he’s tried to explain several times to no avail.

“And the latte art?” He asks, examining it further. It’s still just white lines that make absolutely no sense, but he wills his face to remain neutral. She chuckles nervously, muttering something under her breath. When she looks up her eyes find his and everything inside him goes still.

“It’s supposed to be flames.” She shrugs. “Or a fire, I guess.”

Rowan smirks as he looks down at his cup. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her it looks nothing like a flame, mainly when her choice of drawing resonates with him. Everything about this woman is fire: warmth, strength, boldness. “Fireheart.” He says softly.

Her eyes snap up to his, a confused look on her face. “Sorry?” Her voice is meek.

He clears his throat. “Your name.” He tries instead, nodding to her apron. “There’s no name tag.”

She looks down at her clothes, about to open her mouth just as the back door opens once again, this time with half the strength used by his fireheart. The colour drains from her face and she refuses to look back, her eyes comically wide as she stares at Rowan and Rowan alone.

“Aelin?” A deep voice calls out. Aelin. Something inside his body settles at that name.

“Fuck.” She mutters, and Rowan looks at her with a confused look on his face. Aelin sends him an apologetic look in return. “I thought you’d left already.” Rowan looks at the man speaking, a tall man with chestnut hair and dark eyes looks confusedly at Aelin. He looks at Rowan and sends him a greeting smile. “I’ll be right with you.” He says, pressing his hand on Aelin’s shoulder. He’s about to speak to her again when his eyes zero on the cup in Rowan’s hand. “Excuse me sir, who served you that?”

Rowan furrows his brows, looking between the newcomer and Aelin. Did he hallucinate her? No, that wouldn’t make sense, right? The dude has his hand on her shoulder. He called her Aelin. Right?

“Hm-”

“I did.” Aelin mutters and the man goes still.

“Why the fu-“ The man stops and closes his eyes as he takes too many deep breaths in not enough seconds. “Are you insane?” His voice drops to a whisper – Rowan is not sure why since he’s right there and he can listen to everything. “Are you trying to get Chaol’s Beans shut down?”

Would that make this man Chaol? He’s not sure he’s ready for that interaction.

“It’s not like you wouldn’t deserve it.” Aelin crosses her arms as she whisper-shouts back. She looks back at Rowan, as if fearing he’d left already. It’s not like he could leave her behind without a goodbye. Not now. Probably not ever.

“I told you I didn’t eat your sour patch kids, I don’t know what else you want to me say. And even if I did, could you please try and not poison my clients?”

He's Chaol, then.

“I’m not poisoning Rowan!” She yells, louder than intended by the way she flinches.

“Wait,” He interrupts, trying to catch up. Chaol looks up at Rowan with an apologetic smile on his face and Aelin looks like she wants to hide under the counter. He’s not sure what’s happening, but it’s positively hilarious. “You don’t work here?” He asks Aelin. She smiles sheepishly, shaking her head no. He nods, frowning as he tries to wrap his head around the weirdest morning he’s had in years as he takes a sip from his coffee. It’s all he can do not to spit it out and beg for mercy as the bitter taste overwhelms his taste buds. He's not sure how anyone could make such a bitter drink with so much sweetness at their disposal, but he swallows anyway and smiles at Aelin who starts to laugh, unable to stop.

“Sir, let me make you a new drink.” Chaol sends Aelin a murderous look, but she doesn’t even notice as she tries to catch her breath. “On the house.”

Rowan refrains from telling him he didn't pay for this one either.

“That’s not necessary.” He says, taking another sip. If he stops breathing for a few seconds, it doesn’t even taste that bad. “It’s actually quite good.” He shrugs, willing his face to remain neutral.

Aelin looks up at him with a beaming smile. “You really don’t have to drink it.”

Rowan shrugs sheepishly, “I want to.” And smiles at her. Chaol mutters something under his breath and storms off – but not before screaming at Aelin to get out of his café. Aelin bites her lip as she takes off her apron and makes her way around the counter, a questioning look on her face. Rowan smirks as he walks past her, opening the door for her to leave and follows right behind.

They start walking in comfortable silence, both glancing at each other like they’re on their first date in middle school. It ought to feel ridiculous, but he can’t bring himself to care. About anything, really.

Rowan is fine – he’s fine with being late for the first time in his life; he’s fine with drinking what’s probably the worst thing he’s ever tasted in his life; and he’s fine with becoming a regular customer at Chaol’s Beans. There’s no reason not to be fine when Aelin walks next to him with a gorgeous smile on her rosy lips.

“I’m sorry.” She chuckles nervously, breaking the silence. “I don’t know why I did that, it’s not like I ever even worked as a Barista. But…” She sighs, looking at him and back to the sidewalk again. “Something-”

“I know.” Rowan interrupts her, his hand finding the small of her back as they walk side by side. He feels her tense for a second before she relaxes into him – nothing has ever felt more right in his entire life.

“You really don’t have to drink that. It probably tastes like crap. I’m pretty sure I added some cleaning product at some point. I was a little distracted.”

By the taste of it, Rowan wouldn’t be surprised. But he shrugs. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Really?” She smirks. “I think we need to work on that, Rowan Whitethorn.”

And how could he say not to that? Especially when she steps a bit closer and her sweet smoky scent reaches his nose. When she laughs as he finally gives in and grimaces at a gulp of latte that definitely has some salt in it.

Rowan isn’t sure where they’re heading as they slowly walk down the sidewalk. His job has been long forgotten and he isn’t sure where Aelin is supposed to go next. But somethings just happen before people realize why they’re happening and there’s really no questioning their silent agreement that they must keep walking side by side until they find a way to do something else. There’s a lot to find out, a lot to learn, but Rowan isn’t in a hurry. From the looks of it, neither is Aelin. It’s almost like they have all the time in the world.

And maybe they do.

Fallin', yes, I am fallin'

And she keeps callin'

Me back again