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Patroclus spends the last half of his measly fifteen minute break staring at himself in the tiny bathroom mirror. There doesn't seem to be anything about his current appearance that differs drastically from usual, but something is going on.
He's been given four phone numbers today, in as many hours.
That's one more than he's gotten in his entire life up to this point. Way outside normal parameters. There'd been Deidameia, when they were sixteen and she was looking for a rebound. Then Automedon had slipped his number into Patroclus' pocket two semesters ago, but honestly he thought that was more about the getaway driving service that Automedon “totally did not have, no way”than any real desire to date him (and really, what made him think Patroclus would be a good candidate for that? He didn't even know how to drive! Or have a profound desire to assist in criminal activity). And Briseis, six weeks ago. She'd been incredibly embarrassed when he simultaneously let her down gently and came out to her all in one rambling, run-on sentence, but was nothing if not supportive ever since. In fact, she was-
Sticking her head through the bathroom door.
“You alright in here?”
“Yeah, yeah, I just- does my hair look good today? Or something?” He asks, a little desperately.
“No more than usual,” she says, eyes alight with what he knows is mischief, “Why?”
“It's- well- nothing. It's nothing.”
“Well, if you're done with nothing, your favorite eye-candy just walked in the door, and he appears so very heartbroken that you're not around to serve him.”
One day he'll learn how to waggle his eyebrows just as obnoxiously as she does. As soon as he gets control of the ridiculous heat in his face.
“Achilles isn't eye-candy,” he grumbles, running wet hands through his hair totally casually to smooth it down and straightening his already-immaculate shirt.
He has to brush past Briseis to make his way up front, which gives her a perfect opportunity to stage-whisper “the fact you know exactly who I meant only proves my point” and cackle as he pushes her through the bathroom door.
-----
The thing is, they've been flirting for months.
Achilles first came in after a morning run, and Patroclus had actually dropped the handful of change he'd been about to hand to a customer. Achilles noticed, laughed, winked, and sauntered up to the line with a heart-stopping smile.
Patroclus still has no idea what it was about his increasingly red face and adamant refusal to make eye contact made him seem like the kind of person Achilles would want to flirt with with, but he's not ever going to be the one to question it.
(Not to Achilles' face, anyway, but Briseis had had the good fortune of hearing all about how this must be a joke or he must act like that with everyone and no Briseis I will not ask him out that is preposterous for the next few weeks, during which Achilles came in every Thursday around nine in the morning and continued to chip away at Patroclus' sanity by being both gorgeous and apparently interested.)
They've been flirting for months, but Achilles hasn't asked him out or for his number, and Patroclus doesn't want to make the first move after embarassing himself so thoroughly during their first meeting. No matter how clear Achilles has been. (He's been very clear. Incredibly clear. But he still hasn't actually asked. And anyway, flirting does not necessarily indicate a desire to actually date.)
But today has been a good day for Patroclus' confidence, and Achilles is right there looking as gorgeous as ever, and honestly he's kind of over the lonliness that settled in him when he was eleven and has yet to vacate the premises, so he thinks why not? Why not be brave? Why not make the first move?
So he makes Achilles' ridiculously sweet coffee, writes his phone number and “text me sometime” on the cup, comes around the counter to place it into those lovely hands, and presses a quick kiss to those lovely lips.
And uses Achilles' surprise as a distraction to dart back behind the register and, once again, refuse to make eye contact.
-----
Patroclus is very busy. Incredibly busy. All of these cups need to be counted for inventory, and the syrup levels need to be checked, and “Briseis I think the fridge isn't running cold enough, come feel this.”
Except it's Achilles who comes to stand beside him, completely ignoring all etiquette about allowing someone to escape after surprising your... something with a kiss, and also the cafe policy about only employees permitted behind the counter. Patroclus would definitely say something about that, if only he weren't so distracted by Achilles staring at his mouth.
“This is all completely backwards,” Achilles says, and he seems exasperated. And fond. He definitely sounds fond. Also amused.
“What?”
“The sign says I'm supposed to give you my number.”
“What?”
-----
The board outside the cafe states, in large block letters:
“TODAY YOUR BARISTA IS:
1. Hella Fucking Gay
2. Desperately Single
FOR YOUR DRINK I RECOMMEND:
You give him your number.”
He is going to kill Briseis.
-----
Or maybe hug her. He'll decide eventually, if he ever stops making out with Achilles.