Work Text:
It was the fifth cup George had made this morning.
It’s almost concerning, the way the man sitting in the corner of the coffee shop he works at continues to droop his head and yawn, eyelashes fluttering as if still half-awake. After four cups of coffee, George’s pretty sure the average person would be wide-eyed and breezing through whatever essay’s on their laptop, not tapping listlessly at their laptop with the speed of about a word per minute, goddamnit.
But no. The man’s head continues to fall and his absurdly long eyelashes continue to flutter. George resists the urge to scream.
Dream, he scribbles on the cup, the word almost seared into his mind by now. He hesitates, and then sets black marker to cream paper again. please stop drinking caffeine.
He almost immediately wishes he can wipe it off. His own handwriting glares at him from the cup, spikey and accusing. But what’s done is done, and he jams the receipt down on the spike and grabs the cup, easing through the small hatch by the counter.
The worst Dream can do is leave the shop, right? And it’s not as if George can just throw this cup away and make another. It would be terribly wasteful, stupid-
It would also be the one smart decision in this whole situation. But truth be told, George’s rather curious to see Dream’s reaction to the words. Would he be angry? Upset? Or would he just not care and continue tapping his way through whatever he’s working on?
The corner he’s in is swamped in lazy sunshine, and George winces as he approaches. He’s never been much of a morning person, and the bright light stealing through the blinds stings his eyes. Four coffee cups are stacked neatly by the laptop, one on top of the other, rims facing up. It’s like a collection, almost.
“Your order, sir,” he says, and places down the coffee. Dream looks up with a half-hearted smile. Up close, the bruising underneath his eyes are a dark purple, reminiscent of grape juice.
“Thank you-” Green eyes flick down to his nametag. “Thank you, George.”
George nods quickly, and makes a hasty retreat, watching from the safety of behind the counter. The anxiety eats at him as Dream picks up the cup, guilty and regretful. Maybe he shouldn’t have written that, maybe he should just have written Dream’s name and left it at that-
A laugh spills across the chequered floors, golden as the sunshine on the street outside. George glances up, alarmed at the wheezing gasps that continue and continue and never seem to stop, and he watches in almost awe as Dream smiles.
Their eyes meet, and Dream takes out a pen and jots something down on the cup. He then rises from his seat and makes his way to the counter, threading through the empty coffeeshop. George has to force his legs to stay still when he finally approaches and passes the cup to him.
George takes it, trying not to think about the way Dream’s fingers are long and lovely and
begging to be held
, rolling it over so that the new words are visible, written haphazardly in a way that fits so, so perfectly.
are you willingly depriving yourself of customers??
and - down below:
that’s a first if i’ve ever seen one. you, too. youre a first too.
George blinks at the words, bewildered. “What do they even mean? I mean, what do you mean? Wait.”
Dream laughs, again, and George thinks he might keel over and collapse from the sound alone.
“It means that I’d like your phone number, please,” he says, and god his voice is so pretty George can’t refuse. He types his number into Dream’s phone wordlessly, and then looks him in the eye.
“I didn’t do anything but tell you to lower your caffeine consumption.”
Dream shrugs, and George promptly decides that he doesn’t care at all, if coffee was the one to bring him to the shop this morning