Work Text:
It was your average Friday in Savannah, Georgia. The sun was shining, the people were out and about, and fall had just begun. Most of the people in living in Savannah were as sweet as the peaches that grew on the Georgia plains, with the exception of one bitter Brit who now called this sunny state home.
Just a few weeks ago Arthur was home in gloomy London, but with his business growing at a rapid pace and demand stemming from only one obnoxious country, he had no choice but to relocate. Now he found himself surrounded by loud, cheerful Americans who had no concept of personal space or quiet courtesy.
He had been working himself to the bone, and this particular Friday was Arthurs’ first day off since the move. He decided to scope out the city, find out what Savannah had to offer.
By the time it was one thirty and he had been walking for an hour, Arthur was even more drained. The only thing he found worthwhile was a quaint little coffee shop, fully equipped with the perfect blend of a quiet atmosphere, decent Wi-Fi, and a cute male barista.
As he walked in, he knew exactly what he wanted, and was delighted to see there was no line. The barista behind the counter was no doubt an American. Tall, blonde, sturdy, and exactly Arthur’s type. His smile was instant the moment Arthur walked into the café, along with a warm greeting. “Welcome, to Star Spangled Coffee, what would you, like?”
Something was off about his voice, but Arthur couldn’t put his finger on it, so he just ignored it for the time being. He had an unnaturally cute face, with soft yet masculine features, and eyes that sparkled with all the strength of fifty shining stars. He had to take note of this handsome fella, noticing the nametag on his apron. It read ‘Alfred’; what a fitting name.
With his unnaturally thick English accent, Arthur placed his order.
“Yes hello, I’d like a triple, half sweet, nonfat caramel macchiato, venti please.”
The look on the barista’s face was one of utter confusion, as he held a sharpie in one hand and a cup in the other.
“P-pardon me?”
“Yes?”
“Repeat, please?”
That was weird. He had never been asked to repeat his order before. Sure, it was complex, but it wasn’t that hard to keep up with.
“Uh sure, I’d like a triple, half sweet, nonfat caramel macchiato, venti.”
Alfred still looked puzzled, writing something on the cup, then spastically scribbling it off. His face was now veiled in a light pink blush. Was he embarrassed?
The American swallowed and shyly asked again. “Slower?”
Slower? Why would this guy need to hear him go slower, this is his third time repeating it for Christ’s sake.
Tediously and painfully slowly, Arthur reiterated his order.
“Alright. If it isn’t that much trouble, I would like to order a triple, half, sweet, nonfat, caramel, macchiato, venti, please.”
As Alfred wrote a few more scribbles on the cup, his cheeks and ears developed an even darker shade of pink.
“Again, please?”
The Englishman was beginning to lose his patience, it was never this hard to wrangle his usual caffeine fix back home.
Achingly slowly, he repeated his order.
“Triple…half…sweet…nonfat…caramel…macchiato…in…a…venti…sized…cup. Please.”
“Once more, time?”
This was utterly ridiculous! How hard was it for someone to write down some notes on a cup and then push some buttons? He was the only person there, so he must be capable of doing these right?
Arthur figured it was because he was British, and the more he thought about it, the more heated he became. He had already been exhausted from work, readjusting to a new setting, and all he wanted was his god damn coffee.
Arthur’s voice rose in pitch and volume when all of his frustration culminated into one large outburst at the worker in front of him.
“Honestly, what the hell is your problem?! I know you’re just trying to do your job, but how difficult could this be! Can you even hear me?! I think I’m going to have to call your manager and find out why the hell he can’t hire someone to do their own god damn job!”
Alfred began to shake, his hands losing grip of the cup and sharpie. Eyes glistening with tears, he hurriedly wiped his eyes and pulled his hair over his ears out of nervous habit, then bent down to grab the cup and marker.
It was in that split second that Arthur saw it, and the pieces of the puzzle began to fit.
It was a hearing aid.
His speech pattern, His nervousness, his hesitation to ask for repeats.
It all made sense.
“This man is deaf.”
“And I just criticized him because of it.”
Arthur felt like if there was a ‘Jackass of the Year’ award, he would’ve been too qualified for it. Not only was Alfred trying his best to fulfil the order, but it was also painfully obvious that it was an insecurity of his.
Once Alfred came up from his search, Arthur grabbed the marker from his hand and scrawled a message for the barista on a napkin. His face blooming with the rosiest red of embarrassment, he handed the message to the sniffling American.
Alfred hesitantly took the napkin, but his face instantly lit up when he began reading. The note stated:
“I’m sorry I’ve been so intolerable, I had no idea you were deaf. My name is Arthur, I’d like a triple, venti, half sweet, non-fat, caramel macchiato.”
Alfred nodded and wrote down notes on the correct cup, then saying something that took the Brit completely by surprise.
“Arthur? Cute name!”
After Alfred made the drink and Arthur took a seat in the café, he noticed something written on the side of the cup.
“5X0-457-1776, my shift ends at two ;)”
Arthur checked his phone for the time, which read 1:45. He then eyed the counter, which was now preoccupied with a new set of customers. That didn’t stop Alfred from sending a wink to the flustered Brit from his work station.
“Maybe Georgia wasn’t going to be so bad after all.”