Work Text:
1: Hot cocoa
As much as he complains about the closing shift, there are parts of his job that Merlin wouldn’t trade for the world.
Sure, the free drinks are nice, the apron fits perfectly over his crewnecks, and his friends can always keep him company at the row of stools next to the counter.
But the best part?
“Yeah, I’m not sure this is working out.”
The breakups.
God, he loves the breakups.
The fights, the tears, even the thrown drinks are all so purely entertaining that it makes the cleanup worth it.
From behind the espresso machine, he watches a man be drenched in frappuccino muck and rush to chase after his partner. Well… ex-partner now.
The puddle isn’t that bad, so it thankfully won’t take too long to mop up. Worst comes to worst, he’ll leave it for Gwaine to deal with tomorrow morning. A quick glance at the clock lets him know there’s only half an hour until he can officially kick everyone out and close for the night.
Maybe he’ll finally have a nice, quiet night in. He could tuck into Lancelot’s cheap liquor. Oh, he’ll have time to watch that show that Gwen keeps talking about. Something something doctors, something something love triangle. A cheese fest, she called it. He should text her before he forgets and ask what it’s called–
“Excuse me?”
Merlin forgot that even thinking about leaving will automatically draw in three more customers for him to deal with. The joys of the service industry, he supposes.
“How can I help you?” he asks when his eyes land on a head of blond waves. The man’s facing the phone in his hand so intently, Merlin worries for his eyesight. “Sir?”
The customer’s eyes are cool and light when he looks up. They remind Merlin of his favorite tea. The blond clears his throat like he’s coming out of a daze.
“Apologies. I’d like a medium iced chai and… just a second.” His eyes flicker down to his screen. “I’m meeting someone here and they haven’t sent me their order yet,” he explains.
Biting back a sigh, Merlin does his best to nod with some semblance of understanding. Dates aren’t nearly as fun to watch as breakups, but he crosses his fingers behind his back and hopes for catastrophe nonetheless. No matter how pretty the boy in front of him may be (and he’s very pretty, for the record. Upsettingly pretty), Merlin hopes his date is a trainwreck.
Karma for coming in at 7:30 when they close at 8:00.
A small ding sounds between them and he sees the man heave a small breath of relief.
“Alright, medium iced chai and a..?” Merlin trails, holding the sharpie to a fresh cup with a raised eyebrow. The man scoffs at the screen and locks eyes with Merlin, indignant.
“And a large hot chocolate with extra whipped cream,” he spits, nose scrunching in distaste. Merlin has half a mind to laugh.
“Do they want mini marshmallows on top, too? Maybe a chocolate drizzle?” he goads, delighting in the eye roll he earns.
“Probably. But that all costs extra, doesn’t it? You’re just trying to swindle me into spending even more money on this… monstrosity.”
“Maybe so,” Merlin hums, knowing he’ll most likely smother the drink in add-ons just for the hell of it. He didn’t cash in his free drink for the shift, so no harm, no foul. It’s not like his manager cares enough to check the inventory more than once a trimester, anyway. “What’s the name on that order?”
“Arthur,” the man says at the same time the bell over the door announces a new customer. A tall ginger grins at Merlin as he approaches the counter and taps Arthur’s shoulder. Merlin pretends not to see the way he tenses under the other’s touch as they walk toward a table in the back. Merlin doesn’t get a chance to give him back his change.
He brings the drinks over himself. For proper customer service. Obviously.
And also to see Arthur’s face of disgust when Merlin hands his date the hot chocolate topped with every sugar-coated confection available. When the ginger closes his eyes and takes a dramatic, over-the-top sip that makes Merlin wince, Arthur throws a middle finger in the counter’s direction.
Merlin can’t lie and say he doesn’t find amusement in the awkward hug goodbye he sees on the stoop twenty minutes later.
2: Caramel Latte
There’s a torrential downpour covering the windows in sheets of rain the next time Merlin clocks in. His manager texted him to come in early. Since it was “drizzling”.
The first thing he does is turn on the lights. The warm glow of the lamps only makes the sky look more dreadful. The second thing he does is take a shot of room-temperature espresso in the stockroom. It seemed like a wise decision at the time.
When the bell above the door chimes, Merlin takes a moment to school his disgusted expression into something neutral before he takes his place behind the cash register. A modicum of tension leaves his shoulders when he sees Arthur shuffling in place on the other side of the counter. Memories flood back of the ginger’s cocoa. The arm pat outside. Arthur’s heavy brow of consternation. Merlin grins.
“Did you come back for your thirty-four cents? Sorry, man, I already spent it all.”
At the sound of his voice, Arthur stills and meets his eyes, surprise melting into a quiet sort of humor.
“Oh, yeah? Big night out at the casino?” he crosses his arms, turning to scan the menu overhead.
Merlin is already scribbling the shorthand for a chai on the side of the cup. “Naturally. Won big, too. Gonna buy every coffee shop in the nation next.”
Nodding, Arthur swipes through a few text conversations on his phone before facing Merlin. “Medium iced chai and a medium caramel latte. Please and thank you.”
A smile tugs at the corner of Merlin’s mouth as he sets off to work. “No hot chocolate today? I invested in some jumbo marshmallows.”
With an almost petulant sigh, Arthur shakes his head.
“Luckily for everyone involved, that man will presumably not be here today. Well… lucky for everyone except you and your jumbo marshmallows, I suppose.”
Merlin clicks his tongue, though he’s not convinced it’s audible beneath the hiss of the milk frother.
“Here’s hoping this date goes better then,” Merlin tells him earnestly, sliding two sealed cups across the counter. Arthur silently nods in thanks before setting off toward a booth. Merlin’s boss had finally conceded and purchased the vinyl seating after months of pestering and passive-aggressive emails. The fresh, Robin’s Egg seats stand out against the grey clouds pooling in the windows. It’s a theatrical sight. Merlin only half hopes it’s a harbinger of more drama.
Moments later, a man with chestnut brown hair swiftly takes the seat opposite Arthur. Merlin watches a hesitant smile grow on his face.
“Hey, buddy. Can I get an Americano, or is your staring contest an all-day sorta thing?”
Merlin turns to the counter. A short, stocky man is glaring up at him with thinly veiled annoyance. Merlin uncaps his marker with a placating smile.
Other customers approach despite the worsening storm and Merlin is cruelly forced to do his job as the morning rush persists. Every free moment he has, however, is spent observing the scene across the way. Arthur’s date is very talkative. Arthur hasn’t stopped politely nodding since the last time Merlin looked over. Which must’ve been… Merlin looks at the clock on the opposite wall. Twenty minutes.
Soon enough, Arthur is walking back to the counter with a few bills clutched tightly in his hand.
“I need a refill,” he explains when Merlin mutely stares. With a shrug, Merlin rummages for the chai concentrate.
“Will your guest be needing a refill as well?” he calls from his spot on the ground.
“No. I don’t think he’s even noticed I’ve left, actually. He was in the middle of his fifth story about Harvard. I really wish I cared enough to listen after the second one,” Merlin hears him slouch against the counter. With a snort, he hauls himself back to his feet with the carton only to freeze at the minimal distance between Arthur’s face and his. A beat passes before his barista senses seem to rush back and he’s turning, shoveling ice into a plastic cup.
“Harvard guys are the worst,” he clears his throat, no chance but to hope Arthur doesn’t see the red tinging his ears. “I grew up in the area. Ninety percent of Harvard students bought their way in. True fact!”
There’s an odd look in Arthur’s eyes when Merlin finds the nerve to look back at him. It makes him feel like he’s been dropped in a blender and he’s hanging on the edge.
“Anyway… here’s your drink! Go back to Harvard boy, maybe he’ll have an interesting story this time around!” Their hands meet for a split second when Merlin hands him the drink. He holds his breath.
“I doubt it,” Arthur scoffs, bringing the cup against his chest, “but thank you… Merlin.”
His fingers itch to tear off his stupid nametag. His stupid, stupid nametag that just told this stupid beautiful boy his stupid name.
“You’re welcome, Arthur,” he replies, watching as Arthur walks out of the front door, leaving Harvard Boy alone in a booth. Merlin can do nothing but watch the receding figure until the rain obscures his sight and he feels the need to approach the abandoned date. He spews a half-witted excuse about Arthur having to leave because “something important” came up.
Though disgruntled, Harvard Boy didn’t seem too disappointed. Merlin convinces him to buy a pastry before he goes.
3: Green Tea
Merlin doesn’t see Arthur again for a few weeks.
He won’t say he was waiting for Arthur to return, nor was he necessarily expecting Arthur to come back any time soon. Still… some nagging part of him thought that he’d come by. If only for a drink.
In the meantime, he catches up with friends. Morgana and Guinevere sit at their assigned stools and tell Merlin all about what’s happening in their lives. Lancelot comes in for his free drink exactly at noon. Gwaine asks to switch shifts again and Merlin, as always, refuses.
It’s nice. It’s a return to normalcy that shouldn’t feel as jarring as it does. He shouldn’t be so invested in the life of a customer he’s met twice. But can you blame him for being curious?
“So then Gwen comes into my room with a pair of bright yellow rainboots that I told her not to buy. Don’t look at me like that, they were a fortune– oh, Merlin, you’ve got a customer,” Morgana cuts herself off, nodding towards the register.
The man at the counter is waiting patiently, hands resting in the pockets of his flowing cardigan. For all intents and purposes, Merlin should feel relieved by his peace, but there’s a pin about to drop in his mind. The fake, LA yogis are the worst.
“Namaste,” he opens with, clasping hands together and bowing towards Merlin. “Would you grace me with a small green tea latte? Just a splash of soy milk on that, please. And my companion would like a medium iced chai.”
Merlin tries not to roll his eyes. He really does. But he can’t help it at the forced, ‘soothing’ affectation of his voice. Turning, he locks eyes with Morgana and lets his eyebrows shoot to the high heavens. The wicked witch only laughs behind her elegant hand.
By the time he’s placing the drinks on the pick-up counter, he hears a familiar voice making hushed conversation.
“Green tea latte and iced chai for Shane,” he calls out, waving when Arthur turns towards the counter. He opens his mouth to say something before the door opens and Gwaine is rushing in for the shift he’s five minutes late for.
“I can take it from here, Merl! Thanks for covering for me.”
Shucking the apron over his head, Merlin sends him a mock salute before ducking into the backroom to grab his jacket.
On his way out of the door, his gaze lingers on the far table where Arthur is sitting with his date. They seem to be getting along fairly well.
Morgana shoves Merlin outside. Something about needing a good bottle of merlot. Arthur’s laughing when Merlin catches a glimpse of him through the window.
4: Water
“If one of my dates ever orders soy milk again, I need you to warn me,” Arthur complains, throwing his coat onto a nearby stool. Merlin tilts his head at him, amused, before turning for an empty cup.
Before Arthur can even speak again, Merlin sets off on making an iced chai.
“So what went wrong?” he asks before he can convince himself not to. Arthur only sighs and sinks down against the counter.
“He tried to get me to invest in his cold-press juice business. Apparently, it would align my chakras.” Shaking his head, Merlin slides the chai over to Arthur who raises both eyebrows. “I didn’t pay for this.”
Merlin notices he has no qualms about accepting it. His eyes linger on the easy way Arthur’s fingers curl around the free drink. It makes him giddy in a strange, unnameable way.
“Consider it financial compensation for three shitty dates at this fine establishment.” He busies his hand with a washcloth just so he has something to do. He ignores the dubious stare and continues wiping the already-clean counters until a laugh rumbles out of Arthur’s chest.
Arthur takes a sip like he’s taking a shot. Merlin watches in his peripherals as Arthur’s head turns to the door. “Might be four soon.”
Following his gaze, Merlin sees a broad-shouldered man walking across the street. He’s not sure why he immediately starts to find flaws in the stranger.
“Hey, boss. Can I get a large ice water?” the brute asks. Merlin nods in silence. “Much obliged, thanks.”
Suddenly, the stool next to Arthur is creaking under the weight of a presumed bodybuilder. Merlin rolls his sleeves up to his elbows as he digs for more ice.
Sitting this close, Merlin can hear the awkward pleasantries passed between the two, offers of “hi”, “how are you”, “I’m glad you look like your pictures” fleetingly thrown into the air like paper planes. It doesn’t sound unpleasant, really. Just… nothing very exciting.
“Yeah, I had a big workout this morning. My back is super sore. Almost canceled on you for my chiropractor,” the man says. Merlin thinks it’s a joke, but neither of them laugh after it. To cut the tension, he brings over the water. The man drains half of it before speaking again. “How much do I owe you?”
Waving him off, Merlin walks back to the counter. “We don’t charge for water.”
“Well, that’s not the best idea for a business. You just give away free water?”
Taken aback, Merlin simply looks at him for a second. There’s genuine concern on the man’s face. Incredulously, Merlin speaks: “Uh… yeah? It doesn’t cost us anything to give people water. The only thing we lose is a cup, and we always have extra in our monthly inventory, so…”
The muscle man nods once before turning back to Arthur. “So what do you do?”
Merlin does his best to tune the pair out as he cleans the machinery, running the washcloth along the counter once more, mindlessly, until the pair stand and dons their coats. Something in Merlin winces at the smile on Arthur’s face.
It must have gone well. Which is great! Arthur deserves a great date.
For some reason, Merlin thinks that Arthur will stop coming here once he has a boyfriend. It doesn’t make any sense when he stops to think about it, actually. Why was he thinking about it at all?
But Merlin doesn’t have his number. Merlin doesn’t know his last name. If Arthur walked out and never came back, Merlin would have no way of reaching him.
Which is… the normal relationship a barista is meant to have with a customer.
The thought gives him pause. Merlin is a service worker; he provides a service. He does his job. Arthur is just a consumer of his product. It’s completely inappropriate to want more.
In the corner of his eye, he watches as Arthur shakes the gym rat’s hand before walking in the opposite direction.
Merlin forces himself not to care.
The light feeling in his chest at the sight of Arthur’s back starts to dissipate like cotton candy on a tongue. Merlin curses when he realizes it tastes just as sweet, too.
5: Macchiato
Whatever crush Merlin somehow let himself develop is inconsequential, he tells himself.
So he got too involved. What about it? Arthur was cute. He was something new for Merlin to focus on. That’s all!
There are invisible boundaries that Merlin needs to respect as a worker. He’s there to make Arthur a slightly overpriced drink. That’s… that’s all.
“Good morning, Merlin.”
God, it’s going to be difficult to let that just be all.
“Hi. What can I get for you?” his tone is clipped; professional. A pang hits him square in the chest when Arthur tilts his head, clueless and beautiful and–
And his customer.
“Hm… I wonder. What do you think I’m going to ask for?” Arthur pushes, crossing his arms in front of him. Merlin tries to put himself in Arthur’s shoes. He probably thinks he’s become a regular. Merlin should know his order by now (he does, obviously), but what can you do? He’s just another customer. Merlin’s a cashier. He sees a hundred other people every day.
“I’m not sure. If you’re interested, I can tell you about our seasonal latte–”
“Chai, Merlin. I’d like a medium iced chai,” he says, eyebrows furrowed. Merlin glares at the cup in his hand as he focuses all of his attention on writing down the order.
“Anything else for you today, sir?” he asks, setting the cup behind him. He keeps the Sharpie clutched tightly between his fingers. There’s an almost imperceptible tremor, but he feels Arthur’s eyes zero in on the movement. He doesn’t mention anything, but his voice is hesitant when he speaks.
“...yeah. A medium iced macchiato. Two shots of vanilla.”
Clinically, Merlin inputs the order button by button on the register. It feels wrong. Every fiber of his being wants to slouch down and poke a sarcastic joke about his fancy shoes or his dumb haircut.
“That’ll be $11.75–”
“What’s wrong?” Arthur cuts in, unblinking as he stares at Merlin.
“What do you mean?” he counters, apathetically moving to work on the drinks. Arthur doesn’t flinch.
“You’re acting weird,” he continues, scoffing when Merlin only shrugs. “Did you have a poor night’s sleep? Did Gwaine ask you to take the Sunday shift again? Did Morgana demand more free scones? C’mon, Merlin, give me something to work with here.”
It hits him then, how many boundaries he’s already crossed. He’s talked to Arthur while he makes drinks, talked to Arthur when he cleans, talked to Arthur in between dates and hellos and goodbyes. Arthur knows him well. Far too well for a transactional relationship.
“Nothing happened,” he answers honestly, placing two cups on the counter. “I’m just doing my job.”
Arthur clicks his tongue and slides the macchiato back. “You can keep that one. Or throw it in the sink or something.”
“What? Why?” he reluctantly takes the drink back, placing it to the side.
“I told my blind date to fuck off. We’re going to talk about what’s wrong with you.”
The admission shocks Merlin like a shot of espresso hitting a glass of ice. Arthur resolutely takes the closest possible seat and rests his head in the palm of his hand, looking expectantly at Merlin.
“Why would you cancel your date?” he asks, his voice falling to a barely-audible level. Arthur’s gaze softens.
“I just told you, idiot.”
Clearing his throat, Merlin takes a sip of the macchiato to buy himself time.
“Okay. We can talk if you insist. But I was telling you the truth. Nothing’s happened.”
Arthur watches him for a moment before sighing. “Fine. Then we can just talk. In general. Do you know why I always have my first dates here?”
Merlin digs his nails into his thigh. “Why?”
Coughing into his fist, Arthur adjusts his posture.
“There are a few reasons, actually. It’s close enough to my apartment that I can walk here, it has acceptable chai for a decent price, and… I feel safe here.” he looks down, nervously toying with the edge of his jacket. “I feel safe because I know you’re there to get me out of it if I need you to. If something goes wrong, I… trust you. To help me. Try to show some reciprocity. Trust me to help you.”
Something in Merlin feels set on fire. He swallows around the lump of nerves he finds in his throat. Burning, burning, burning, he nods.
“Alright,” he offers. Arthur smiles. It’s barely there, just a small curve to his closed lips, but it’s a smile. Merlin accepts that he’ll be nothing but ash soon enough.
“Alright.”
+1: Iced chai
Arthur’s a regular now. It is an irrefutable, undeniable fact. He walks into the coffee shop every other day. The other shift workers have met him and memorized his order. He hovers at the counter and doesn’t leave until he makes Merlin laugh. It’s all horribly lovely.
Sometimes he’ll appear with a date, sometimes alone, but always willing to give Merlin his undivided attention.
Speaking of Merlin… he gets Arthur’s number (and sometimes texts it, too). He learns Arthur’s last name (Pendragon; terribly pretentious, he says). He finds out all about his career, his life, his hobbies. They go to the gym together on the weekends.
And, damn it, Merlin is a little bit in love with him.
Every joke, every laugh, every smile tattoos itself on Merlin’s brain for him to relive over and over in the dead hours of the night.
There are even some moments when Merlin insists that Arthur is… affectionate for him as well. When Merlin’s closing the shop because he lost a bet with Gwaine and Arthur comes to keep him company as he cleans. When Arthur asks for Merlin’s opinion after a new date, his eyes intense and unyielding. When Merlin makes an ass out of himself in front of a customer and Arthur just smiles, reassuring him that he’ll always have someone to drop a few coins in the tip jar.
It’s pathetic. He knows it’s pathetic. And yet…
The bell above the door rings just before quick footsteps sound behind him. With a helpless grin, Merlin turns to Arthur.
“Medium iced chai,” he says in lieu of a greeting, already leaving the cup above the ice container. “Anything else?”
With a low hum, Arthur taps his chin. “Yes, but I don’t know what.”
Merlin raises an eyebrow, patiently grabbing a second cup. “Why’s that?”
“Well, I don’t know what my date wants.”
“Uh-huh,” Merlin squints at him, watching the smirk rise on Arthur’s face. “Have you texted to ask?”
“Oh! Good idea,” Arthur fishes for his phone, fingers quickly flying across his keyboard. A moment later, Merlin’s phone buzzes in his back pocket. His heart jumps.
“Arthur,” he starts, setting the cup down.
“Merlin,” the other echoes.
“Did you just text me, by chance?”
“I did. What do you want to drink?”
Fighting to keep his smile a reasonable size, Merlin scribbles his order on the side of the second cup. “You’re lucky I haven’t claimed my free drink of the day yet.”
Arthur only laughs and leans over the counter, looking at Merlin with kind eyes. “I would’ve paid, you know.”
Smugly, Merlin moves closer. “Sure, sure. Good thing you don’t have to.”
Their noses brush against each other. It takes a second for them to calm their grins down enough to press their lips together, chaste and sweet like an affogato.
When they part, they last all of three seconds before they’re leaning in for another kiss. And another. And one more before the bell rings and Merlin has to push his date away with two flat palms.
When he turns to greet his new customer, he can feel the burning of his blush.
He hears Arthur take a seat nearby and drum his fingers against the counter as he waits, content to just watch Merlin work with the certainty that they have all the time in the world for their first date.
Maybe for their second date, Arthur can pick a day that Merlin is actually free.
It’s that realization, the potential for more that makes Merlin realize that maybe breakups aren’t the best part of his job.
When he glances to the side, Arthur is still staring. And smiling. He looks like he’s in love.
Merlin doesn’t think anything will ever be sweeter than that.