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Published:
2024-04-25
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2024-05-17
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2/2
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Caution: Hot Liquid Inside

Summary:

Café AU | #ALNST | #IVANTILL

“So, Till. I know this sounds, like, bad, but I really do need to ask.” She remains friendly, but there’s a certain seriousness in her voice. “Are you two in a relationship?”

-

When the Hot™ co-worker makes passes at you constantly but you only notice because the visiting manager asks you if you want to bring it up with HR.

 

//Translation available in Russian

Notes:

Coffee Shop AU, because all the art on twitter rotted my brain.

Mind the tags! If this isn't a topic you feel comfortable joking about, this might not be for you.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

“Why the fuck are we so busy, it’s fucking Wednesday,” Till mutters under his breath, but doubts anyone could have heard him even if he had voiced his complaints with his whole chest. Not with all the chatter, doorbell chimes, and machinations in perpetual use behind the counter. This cacophony of steamers and clinking cups on saucers, paired with the constant wafts of coffee and syrups cloying the air makes sure to keep all his senses overworked and overstimulated.

He’ll be hearing the coffee grinder in his sleep. Or when he’s dead. Whichever comes first.

It’s a mid-week weekday, yet the orders just keep fucking coming.

Of course, rush-hours are part of the daily coffee shop grind. He knew as much when he signed the employment contract. The problem is that it’s unnecessarily busy on this particular afternoon.

See, today the staff are all in turn being sent to the corner table to have a chat with the visiting manager about the workplace environment or some stupid shit like that. They haven’t really had a steady manager for the last two months or so, so they sent one down from the original branch to come keep an eye on things.

Till is just here to get paid. Most of the staff are people he has known from outside of the café. When shit comes up, if someone needs a shift change or someone’s stepped out of line, they sort it out among themselves. They’re doing well, even without a proper leadership.

This visit is just a formality, and a waste of time and resources. He can say that, because now Mizi is having a long, useless chat with the OG branch manager instead of waiting the tables, and because this manager is a very pretty woman Sua can’t seem to get it together for shit and keeps overflowing the milk with the steamer because she is too busy not-so-subtly watching her newly minted girlfriend talk to said hot-as-hell branch manager.

Till would have sent her on a break already if they hadn’t been so damn understaffed for this out-of-the-fucking-blue Wednesday afternoon rush.

In his irritation, he almost makes the same mistake he’s just mentally reprimanded his co-worker for, but a hand pressing his over the lever turns the steamer off just in time.

“Careful,” warns Ivan cheerily as he squeezes past him to man the counter, and he should probably say thanks, but Ivan is also probably-likely-definitely part of the reason why they’re in this predicament to begin with.

Recently, a post on the local university’s gossip account went viral. It featured an insanely handsome idol-lookalike cashier with a cute, toothed smile and a gorgeous voice at a local coffee house, and thanks to some sneakily shot and cleverly edited videos matched to pining lyrics that apparently confirmed those rumours, the café now sees booms of student traffic whenever lectures end for the day.

So honestly, fuck Ivan. Particularly today.

The rush continues, and there is no end to the sweet, syruped coffees he’s making. He’s long given up on Sua’s usual efficacy and sends her out of the way to clear tables while he handles the drink orders by himself. She’s at least a little apologetic as she leaves him to it, but also thanks him: she can probably keep a closer eye on Mizi like this. Maybe even eavesdrop.

He gets it, a little. His own twelve-year-long crush on Sua’s now-girlfriend that had lasted through the entirety of his teenage years might be as good as over, but his chest still stings a little on the days she looks especially cute or says something particularly nice to him.

In between customers, Ivan helps tray orders and call out take-outs for pickup. They’re used to working like this, have developed a rhythm for the behind-counter dance that helps them avoid spills and unnecessary clutter—but he still feels so fucking relieved when Luka (their longest working staff and pseudo shift manager) shows up to help out for a couple of hours. (It’s his day off, too, so Till grits his teeth and promises he won’t say anything rude even if he is being his usual insufferable narcissist self).

Before he knows it (although his aching legs sure are feeling it), Mizi is back on the floor-side of the counter, calling out for him. “Till, you’re up! I’ll handle the floor, so let Sua take over for you.”

He nods, and secretly lets himself be a little pleased that he gets to take an extra paid break for this (even though he still thinks it’s a waste of time). Ivan lets him squeeze past but stops him just shy of leaving the counter-area by holding on to the tie of his apron. It must have snagged on something because he feels how it’s come loose.

“You’re a mess,” says his co-worker, and Till is too overworked to reply with anything that doesn’t contain a metric ton of vitriol. His glare probably conveys it well enough, but Ivan is Ivan, so he only grins and ties it up for him. Tight. “How’s that?”

“Fine,” Till mumbles, and doesn’t even protest when his crooked tie is straightened for him, as well. “I wasn’t aware I had hired a personal valet.”

“Just making sure you look professional,” Ivan says, and adjusts his half-ironed collar while he’s at it. “We do have uniform standards, after all.”

“Tsk… if the manager is here to enforce them, she can tell me herself.” He pushes past Ivan and flicks his fingers in a lazy salute. “I’ll make it quick. Don’t burn the place down for five minutes, for fuck’s sake.” He slides his hands into his pockets and saunters away (and can’t hear anyone’s reply over all the goddamn noise anyways).

-

“Till, right? You can call me Hyuna.”

The pretty branch manager doesn’t actually seem that bad. She’s a bit older than Till, though probably not by that much. He vaguely remembers Luka saying they know each other, so she might be in his age-bracket. Friends from their school days, something like that. She has that sort of no-nonsense vibe that Till generally likes to exude himself, and that’s probably why he immediately feels like he can relax when he slides into the chair opposite her.

(Learning from a quick look at her phone screen that they share a common musical interest certainly helps, and while he normally hates chit-chat while on the clock, he can’t help but give his two cents on the new releases from this and that band, and eagerly exchanges follows on their band/artist Instagram accounts.)

“The café is actually my brother’s stint. Got into roasting a few years back. Now he has two shops and way too little free time for the band stuff. I just help manage and hire staff—make sure things are running a-okay. Our friend who was running this branch went off on a year-long backpacking trip, but like as a travelling violinist sort of gig—which is cool, but we haven’t really managed to fill in for him. Yet.”

Till is almost annoyed with himself that he lets their talk go on for so long, but he notices the flow of customers slowly thinning out and feels better about letting Hyuna share her unasked-for stories and highly-desired info on second-hand music equipment stores until he almost forgets that this is technically a work-meeting.

A minute later, he is reminded.

“So, Till. I know this sounds, like, bad, but I really do need to ask.” Hyuna remains friendly, but there’s a certain seriousness in her expression now. “Are you two in a relationship?”

At first, he stops, wondering if he’s heard her right. Then he realises that the manager is looking at… the counter. And, for the moment, there’s only one person managing the counter. “…what the fuck.”

“Pardon?”

“—I mean, excuse me?!”

“I take it that’s a no…” Hyuna says, scribbling something quickly on her otherwise scarcely touched notepad, and Till is too slow to catch it, upside down and all. “Are you hoping to be?”

“With… Ivan? Wait, why are you even asking me these things, isn’t this some kind of workplace harassment?!”

“Well, that’s what I’d like to know.” She lowers her voice and looks him right in the eyes, dead serious. “Does he often touch you like that while at work?”

“T-touch me?”

Hyuna ‘hm’s, tapping her pen on the table. “Your waist, when he walks past you. Adjusting your uniform without your consent. This is just what I’ve observed this past hour.” She refers to her notes again. “Does he do this regularly? Or to other workers, as well?”

“No.” The reply comes quickly, and the certainty of his answer surprises Till, too.

She nods. “Just you, then. Well, I suppose it makes sense, seeing how he looks at you.”

For some reason, he’s getting a bit fired up by her accusive tone. “What does it matter how he looks at me?”

“Because, Till, he looks at you like he wants to take you to the back room, but not to help you count beans.”

Till is way into his 20s and knows exactly what she means. It’s the fact that it’s about Ivan of all people that’s causing his brain to lag. Is she for real?

“I apologise if my questions are making you uncomfortable, but we take harassment cases very seriously here. Men statistically have a worse time accepting being in a situation like this. It’s alright to be honest.” She leans forward again, remaining both calm and inviting. “Let me ask you again, just to be clear. Are you facing workplace harassment from your co-worker?”

Till takes a breath, clears his head the best he can before carefully attempting an answer. “Ivan… is just like that. We’re… we’ve known each other for a while. Childhood friends, I guess. He’s always been like this. Clingy. It’s just how he is.”

Hyuna smiles, visibly more satisfied with his reply. “Alright, I will take your word for it. After all, I could be wrong.”

Despite saying this, she leaves a card on the table once they’re done talking.

“Don’t hesitate to use this if you need to.”

He nods, but carelessly thrusts it into his back pocket once he’s sure she’s not looking. He heads back to his workspace and tries hard not to think about it.

Chapter 2

Summary:

It really isn’t a fucking problem.

So he’s not going to make it one.

Notes:

Hello!! Thank you so much for waiting patiently for the conclusion of this fic!

I got struck with a cold and a case of imposter syndrome. Joining new fandoms makes me a little nervous, because I want my writing to express the characters or some aspect of them in a way that I'm happy with. This was just a whim made into a fun AU, but I do take all my crack a bit too seriously (I just don't say it out loud, so be kind lol).

I still had fun finishing this, so I hope you guys enjoy it as well. ♡

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Till gets back to work.

Hyuna leaves the café soon after to a chorus of polite goodbyes (of various levels of sincerity) from the staff, and that’s it. Back to normal, the same old routines carved into his muscle memory; handling the now spaced-out drink orders that come through, clearing the counters and cleaning the blenders and restocking the fridges, and everything is like any other damn day at the café.

Except, now he’s hyperaware of Ivan.

He already fails trying not to think about what Hyuna had said the moment he crosses behind the counter and realises that in-between orders and tasks his eyes are constantly finding, well, Ivan.

He’s hardly special in that regard: Ivan does tend to get stared at. In fact, Till immediately notices at least three tables occupied by a healthy mix of both female and male students whose express purpose in being here is to stare at Ivan. They’re doing a very poor job at hiding it.

He imagines they’re seeing much the same as he is. He’ll readily admit that Ivan is a pretty handsome guy—too handsome, even (which is the source of many of Till’s headaches to begin with). Sharp nose, pretty eyes. Nice lips. Lean forearms on display while he works. If Till looks close enough, he’s sure he’ll see sparkles around his face. (It’s probably just the light catching on his glasses). He is also taller than anyone needs to be if they’re not a professional athlete or model. Which, come on. It’s not like being over six feet is going to help him brew a better macchiato.

Now that he is thinking about it, it’s weird that Ivan hasn’t landed some sort of modelling gig by now. Surely, someone with one or two functioning eyes must have offered him something far more lucrative than slaving away behind the counter of a local coffeeshop, as he has for the past… well. Year or so, maybe. He had asked Till if they were still hiring shortly after he got the job himself, and here they both are, still. Which he guesses makes sense if Ivan had wanted to be close to…

…and he is being ridiculous, isn’t he, because no way someone with enough rizz to charm the entire student population and the local neighbourhood ladies to boot is hankering for, well, Till.

I suppose it makes sense, seeing how he looks at you.

And yet, the manager’s words won’t go away, no matter how wrong she obviously is.

The most ridiculous part is that while his eyes keep going back to Ivan, sometimes another pair of eyes look back.

The first time it happens, he is embarrassed by how easily he has been caught—even if Ivan probably doesn’t know what he’s been up to. He only smiles and asks Till if there’s anything he needs him to do, so he sends him off on some menial tasks that he was thinking of getting to anyways to cover up his slip.

Then it keeps happening.

Only after the fifth time does he thinks that maybe… maybe it’s because Ivan has been looking at him, too.

“So-fucking-what, we both work here,” he argues to himself while he’s out back taking his actual paid break of the day. It’s not like he never looks at anyone at work. It doesn’t even have to be deliberate. Looking at someone isn’t really the same as eye-fucking them over the counter. It’s certainly not an HR issue.

This isn’t a problem.

It’s really not. Not even when he is reminding Mizi to get off her shift on time (and then reminding Sua that she still has another thirty minutes left on hers, and that no, the branch manager is absolutely not waiting outside to walk her girlfriend home), and then remembers he and Ivan are on the closing shift tonight.

It really isn’t a fucking problem.

So he’s not going to make it one.

He makes it business as usual. He devotes all his focus to the tasks at hand, fills his brain with thoughts and lists of what needs to be restocked or prepped to make tomorrow’s shift more bearable (so that there’s no space left to think about stupid, ridiculous things, like the weirdly gratified feeling he gets watching another pretty girl get gently let down when vying for their attractive cashier’s phone number).

When the clock strikes the hour, he makes Ivan go chase out the last customers. They usually respond better to his suave people-handling techniques (and Till can’t be arsed to learn them). Heck, they might even gladly pack up quickly as if it will get them imaginary favourability points with him. They still linger for an annoyingly long time at the doorway, giggling and small-talking until they finally leave and let him lock up.

Till only realises he’s been watching the whole time when only one of the espresso spouts is shining and the rest of the machine he’s been cleaning is still a mess.

He rolls his eyes at his own behaviour and gets back to not making this a problem, I’ve literally got what fifteen minutes left this is so not becoming a problem—and it isn’t. Until Ivan comes back behind the counter and passes by him, and the beginning pressure of a hand at his waist lights up every nerve beneath his paper-thin skin, and he jumps.

“Woah, are you ok?”

Till looks at Ivan and sees—nothing but concern. Yeah. Because that’s the normal reaction to your friend suddenly convulsing when you’re walking past him, like you usually do. Inwardly, he doesn’t know what to make of the messy lump of feeling churning in his belly at that moment, so he tries to label it as something less dangerous. Like relief.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just… felt a bit ticklish.” The skin where he’s been touched still tingles, like someone’s stuck a hot-pack to his shirt.

Ivan smiles, his usual dumb smile. “Yeah? Sorry.”

Till chews at the inside of his lips, turns back to clean the machine with more dedication than he’s ever given anything at this damn job. It’s only after he’s cleaned the major surfaces that he notices Ivan hasn’t moved for a while. At all. And he still isn’t moving. In the blurred reflection of the stainless steel, he sees him standing there. Just… staring.

The manager’s words are in his head again.

He feels his face prickle. Feels warm. He easily flushes—it’s something he’s always been self-conscious of, hated about himself as a teen filled with equal amounts fluctuating hormones and body heat—and he still hates how he can see himself go red in the reflection of a frothing jug, feels it crawl down the back of his neck. Ivan must have noticed too.

He steals a glance at him again through the steel reflection, and... did he just lick his lips?

Till spins around.

Ivan startles a little but doesn’t otherwise react.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

It’s blunt, and Till could probably have been more subtle about it, but it bursts out of him like boiling water under too much pressure.

He has to know.

Ivan tilts his head, questioning. “How do you mean?”

Till doesn’t know what to say to that. He feels his palms sweating in his gloves. The confusion and the embarrassment probably have his face redder still. “Fuck, I don’t know! You’re just—you’re staring!”

“Heh.” Ivan huffs a laugh, but doesn’t break eye contact with him, doesn’t seem embarrassed at all, and looks unfairly good when he smiles. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

He says it like it’s nothing, like Till is silly for pointing out the obvious, for only just noticing, and he is ready to just say “fuck you, stop stalling and do your damn job” and leave it at that. Except he had started this now, doesn’t want to feel like he’s losing, and Ivan is still…

…staring.

More than before.

Intense, in a way that suddenly makes Till very aware how alone they are, just the two of them in the dimmed lights above the counter.

Neither of them says anything for a while, but Till’s head is not silent.

Ivan suddenly takes a step closer, and Till’s entire body tenses up in anticipation, waiting for… what exactly he doesn’t know, but the movement sends him sprawling backwards into the solid espresso machine, cursing lowly as a handle or lever digs into his back.

“Hey, what the—what are you doing, you idiot—”

He is about to cuss him out, but Ivan’s hands never touch him. He stops in front of him, his focus has shifted to the side… to the fabric in his hand.

“It came loose again.”

His apron ties. Oh.

“Oh. Yeah.” The tension leaves him like hot air out of a balloon. “Uh, it’s fine.”

“Let me get it for you.”

“I said it’s—” but it’s so, so silly, because Ivan’s done this for him a million times. He’s always been this way, a bit awkward with his words, always trying to fix things that are out of place, returning things to Till that he’s carelessly left somewhere, like it bothers him when he can’t take care of it. Why is Till being so defensive now, just because some dumb manager who doesn’t even know them…

He sighs, admits to himself that he’s just overstimulated by his own overactive imagination. It’s been a long day.

“Fine. Thanks. Whatever.”

He turns around once the permission is given, grabs the rag again while he’s at it, and returns to cleaning. Like he usually does—continues whatever chore he’s doing while Ivan does this for him. So that’s what he’ll do. The quicker he finishes, the quicker they can go home and forget all about this, and then tomorrow will be exactly like all the days before.

Except, again, he is so much more aware of the body behind him, the hands grabbing hold of his apron—not even touching him directly, and still—

The tightening of the ribbon feels like large hands gripping his waist. He bites his cheek and fights the urge to squirm.

“Is this ok?”

He startles, because Ivan’s voice is a lot closer than expected, maybe even too close. He doesn’t know why he turns his head just then, only feels the warmth of a surprised exhale against his neck, sees Ivan’s face out of the corner of his eye. Too close. If he leans back just a little, their faces will touch.

There are hands on his waist for real now.

The kiss would have been more surprising if he hadn’t been subconsciously thinking about it for the past couple of hours. Ivan kisses him like he’s been thinking about it a lot longer than that. He almost feels bad for not immediately closing his eyes. His head spins, and there are hands cradling his face, not really holding him in place, but rather just holding, tilting so their lips can slide at an angle that’s a bit different, a bit more intense.

Till has to push back against him to break the kiss, to breathe, and before he can begin to decide what to think about this other than how good it felt, Ivan’s already chasing him down for a review.

“Wait—” and Ivan still gets a peck in before Till pushes him back with a bit more force this time. “Hey—stop.”

“Sorry,” says Ivan, as breathless as Till, “It’s just—you’re so—you looked like it was… really good.”

It’s almost scary how he thinks, in the moment, that’s an understatement.

They catch their breath at a distance, carefully watching, their soft pants and the electrical buzzing from the fridges filling the air between them. Ivan’s tongue comes out to slide over his kiss-sore lips. There’s a mark on his glasses where they’d been squished against Till’s face, and he’s suddenly aware that maybe he’s never really looked at Ivan before. At least not the way he’s looking now.

Maybe Ivan’s noticed too. He can tell by how his eyes light up, like there’s some foreign concept he’s just grasped that gives a whole new context to his universe. Carefully, he tries, “Is this… ok?”

Till doesn’t know exactly what he’s asking, and wishes he’d be a lot more fucking specific. Was the kiss ok? Very. Is making out in their workplace ok? Not very. Is the fact that he’s just locked lips with this guy he’s been fist fighting with since kindergarten ok? Probably.

Till gives a noncommittal shrug, evades Ivan’s eyes for a second before deciding that’s childish. Whatever else shows on his face must have pleased him though.

Ivan grins, wide, shakily.

“…want to continue in the back?”

Till nearly chokes on his own spit. “Go count the fucking cash, you perv.”

The insult feels safe, feels familiar, so he clings to that. He needs to get out of here, clear his head. There’s cooling sweat on his neck, his blood is still rushing in his ears—it’s dark out, so no one will see how bruised his lips are.

He’s got to finish cleaning—turns around, lets his actions speak for him, but Ivan clearly has lost his ability to read body language. Two quick steps, and then there are arms around him, lips on his neck, murmuring low anticipation against his damp skin. “And then?”

He feels his hairs stand up on end, expectant. Strained. He feels too hot. “And then we go home. It’s fucking late.”

The arms around him tighten. “I don’t think I can sleep after this.”

“Well, I’m beat, so I can.” He lies, like a liar.

“Please.” Ivan says—begs, in a voice Till hasn’t heard him use before, mouth trailing up his neck now, brushing over the skin directly behind his ear. “You liked it. I’ve wanted—the way you look right now—you know how you look, right?”

Like a mess. Unprofessional. Like he wants this, too.

“Please. Please,” continues the begging, the soft kisses to the shell of his ear, “You’re so pretty, please let me—”

“Okay, fuck, I get it—just, wait a sec, yeah?” Till turns, meets Ivan’s eyes and sees something there (something hungry, something desperate, and he suddenly understands what Hyuna had meant). He shakes his head, exhales, nods—useless gestures to fill up enough seconds so he can think. “Finish up the register. I’ll mop the floors. Then we can—just a bit. Before we go.”

“Okay.”

Ivan positively beams, and Till probably should stop him from leaning in. He pecks his lips once, twice, then kisses him again clumsily because he’s grinning so wide.

Till bites at his mouth, annoyed, impatient, but the noise he makes tells him that he might actually have liked it. “Well, get to it! You’d better be ready before me, or I’m leaving you here. Double check the amounts, too.”

And maybe Till should have given him more to do, because he’s still not halfway done with the floor when he hears him pull the last receipt and the register shuts down. (The rest of the floor sees subpar work, but he can probably deal with that in the morning).

-

The next day, Till shows up to his afternoon shift with his shirt done up two buttons higher than he usually wears it, and has no excuse prepared if anyone decides to ask him about it.

It takes him about 20 seconds to decide that it’s unlikely they will, because Ivan has created a distraction that will be the talk of the day for the rest of the week.

He stands tall behind the register, irritatingly as put together and gorgeous as ever, with a brand new, flashy nametag that reads: “Sorry, I have a boyfriend♡ ”

(Paradoxically, all the heartbroken students still show up for the afternoon rush. A new post goes viral, speculating the identity of the hot baristas’ alleged boyfriend. The blonde shift-manager is mentioned. Till feels no obligation to correct them.)

Notes:

Hyuna, showing up to manage the café for the time being: Oh! I see you worked that one out. Congrats, just keep it out of the workplace boys, hm?

Till, tired: …so it might be too late for that.

-

Thank you for reading!! Consider leaving me a comment if you liked this. They really make my day. ♡

Notes:

I sometimes post unedited fics and drabbles on twitter. I’m super new to this fandom, so come talk to me there!

Consider checking out my other ALNST fics. ♡

I accept anon asks and headcanons here. See you soon? ♡