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“Bohne Dich?”
Richard pulls a face at the absolutely terrible pun that is the coffee shop’s name. He’s guessing it’s a pun on ‘ohne dich’ but what that has to do with coffee, he doesn’t know.
Till doesn’t seem to care one bit for the establishment’s name and has already made his way to the counter. Nothing comes between Till and his first cup of coffee of the day, apparently not even terrible puns.
There is in actual fact no one behind the counter but there’s a bell that dings merrily when Till hits it. It’s one of those hotel bells you see in Hollywood movies, though this one is all the colours of the rainbow rather than gold.
It does its job though, because the merry ding hasn’t quite faded away when the door to what Richard assumes is the kitchen swings open and a short, widely smiling man pops out. When he sees Till, his whole face lights up. “Till! It’s been too long, how’ve you been?”
He dances around the counter and swoops Till up in a hug. Richard is this-close to intervening; Till hates hugs, especially before he’s had any coffee. He is fully expecting Till to forcefully pull the guy off and punch him in the face.
What actually happens though, is Till wrapping one arm briefly around the man with a small smile on his face. A smile! Richard didn’t get one until he knew Till for a month! What has this man ever done to not only greet Till with a hug but get a smile so easily out of him?
Well, serve him coffee, presumably.
While Richard has been gawking, the man has let go of Till and darted back behind the counter to start making a coffee. He is so befuddled that it doesn’t even occur to him to order something too. He just watches Till make small talk - small talk! - and smile - smile! - at the barista while waiting for his coffee patiently - patiently! The last time Richard took longer than thirty seconds to hand him a cup of coffee, Till had growled at him.
It’s all surreal enough that he has to pinch himself.
No, this is real life. Now with a bruise on his arm.
“Scholle?”
“Hm?” He’s pulled from his musings, and rubbing the sore spot on his arm, by Till handing him a cup of steaming coffee. It smells heavenly, but Richard’s pretty sure he didn’t order anything. When he says as much, Till nods sagely.
“No one orders here.”
“What.” He can’t even bring himself to add the question mark, the comment is so ridiculous.
“Paul knows exactly what you need, every time.”
Richard assumes Paul is the barista, the barista is Paul. He eyes him suspiciously, demonstratively sniffs his coffee. It earns him a cuff to the back of his head and a glare from Till. “Cut it out, just drink it.”
Paul doesn’t seem to have taken any offense, he’s broadly grinning again, now at both Till and Richard. Richard feels oddly pressured to taste his coffee now, under the watchful - from Till - and expectant - from Paul - gaze of the two men.
He wants to hate it on principle. But he can’t. It might be the best coffee he’s ever had.
But he can’t admit that. So he forces himself not to moan like a teenager during his first orgasm, even though he really wants to. Instead, he swallows silently - barely - and nods begrudgingly at Paul. “It’s good.”
Paul beams at him - actually beams. Richard thinks he’s even glowing a bit. “Excellent!” He then turns to Till with a clear question on his face. Till chuckles softly - chuckles! - and inclines his head to the barista.
“Perfect, as always.”
Till and Paul exchange some more small talk but Richard’s tuned out. His coffee is too good, everything else can wait for a bit. He barely registers Till nudging him to get him to move, but dutifully follows him out and down the street. Onto the bus. Off the bus. Into the studio.
“Helloooo? Earth to Scholle!”
“Hm? What? Oh hey, we’re here.”
Till smirks knowingly, nods at the cup in his hand. “Good coffee, huh?”
Richard glares. “Shut up. It’s just because it’s the first cup of the day.”
Till laughs at him but doesn’t call him out. He also doesn’t have time to answer any of the hundred questions Richard has about Paul and Bohne Dich - which is still a stupid name, no matter how good the coffee is - so Richard just finishes his coffee and decides to let it go.
***
He can’t let it go. Paul and Bohne Dich - ugh - keep rattling around in his mind. What’s with the name? How long has Till been going there? What’s with the ‘no one orders here’ thing? How is the coffee so damn better than anywhere else in the city?
Why won’t Till answer any of his questions when he finally has time to ask?
He steadfastly refuses to shed any light on the mysterious coffee shop and barista, other than to say Paul also owns the place and he’s been going there for about three months now after a recommendation from Schneider.
Which leads to him standing in the middle of Bohne Dich - fucking UGH - with Schneider, witnessing the same ritual of bell, Paul, hug, miraculous coffee, the next morning. Till has a day off so Richard took the opportunity to test his theory that yesterday was just a fever dream, despite the bruise that’s blossomed right where he pinched himself. Dreamed he pinched himself.
No such luck, apparently.
He pays attention this time. Schneider definitely doesn’t order anything, yet Paul makes two cups of coffee and hands them to Schneider and Richard. Schneider’s happy sigh is so dreamy, Richard’s eyes bug out of his head. Schneider is generally a happy guy but he’s not known to openly sigh as if he’s swooning. Over a cup of coffee.
Richard sniffs his cup again. It smells different from yesterday so he eyes Paul warily. Paul’s smile dims a little, though not from disappointment or trepidation. It’s more of an encouraging smile, something a mother would wear when their child looks back at them right before going down the slide for the first time.
Jesus, his analogies need work. Or coffee.
So he takes a sip. To restore his ability to come up with analogies, not because Paul looks at him so promisingly.
It’s heavenly again. This time he can’t keep the moan in. He even closes his eyes for a second to really savour the taste. It’s not the same as yesterday, something more spicy and woods-y in it today, but it’s equally as strong and flavourful and amazing.
Paul’s amused chuckle snaps him out of it and he glares at the smaller man. Opens his mouth to say it was a moan of disgust but he is aware that’s just childish. And they say he’s never self aware.
It’s also not fair to the coffee.
He does turn on his heel though, and storms out of the coffee shop. Good work, Rich, not childish at all. He hears Schneider yell a goodbye to Paul on his way out before he catches up with Richard. Instead of berating him for acting like a moody five-year-old at fifty-fucking-seven, Schneider just sidles up to him with a nod at his coffee. “Good, huh?”
Richard shrugs. He’s not ready to give in yet. He still has a thousand questions. Bohne Dich is still a stupid name.
“Not bad.”
Schneider chuckles, tunes out in favour of dreamily sipping his own coffee. When they reach the studio, their coffees are gone and Richard is already planning his next trip to the coffee shop.
***
He’s come alone today but he’s not the only one in the coffee shop. Two tall, gangly men are standing at the counter, apparently already in the small-talk-while-Paul-makes-them-a-mystery-coffee stage of the transaction. Paul is chatting away while he prepares the coffees, seemingly about keyboards? Pianos? Xylophones, maybe? Before he figures it out, Paul hands the two men their coffees and they moan in appreciation in unison. Richard feels like he should clutch his pearls, it sounds so lewd.
In fact, Paul is wearing pearls.
What?
“Richard! How are you today? Good to see you again.”
He doesn’t get a hug, is the first thing he notices. Paul knows his name, is the second thing he notices. The other two men have left and the coffee shop is now silent save for soft music playing in the background, is the third thing he notices.
“Is that Bowie?”
Paul beams at him, “Yes! I love his later work, Blackstar is one of my favourite albums of all time. And Flake really loves him so I put it on when he got here for his coffee.”
“... Flake?” That does not sound like someone’s name. More like an offensive nickname, if anything. But Paul just nods, “The guy with the glasses that was just here. His buddy is Oliver. Oli.”
He’s not sure what to do with that information. He nods, hoping Paul will take it as acknowledgement and move on. He thankfully does, starting up the coffee machine without Richard ordering anything. He’s almost getting used to it. Accepting it at least.
“I missed you the last few days, where have you been?”
That startles him, he didn’t think Paul would even remember him. All he did was mutely hang around Schneider and Till, and glare at Paul as if he was plotting Richard’s demise one cup of coffee at a time. He’s silent for too long apparently, because Paul just barrels on. Or maybe he wasn’t even waiting for an answer.
“Till was here yesterday, and Schneider the day before. I asked them where you were but they just said you weren’t around for a bit?”
Somewhat recovered from being stunned Paul remembered him, he stammers out that he was out of town with his family for a few days. He must pull a face that matches the ache in his stomach and heart thinking back on the disaster that was the last few days, because Paul smiles softly and hands him a cup.
It smells amazing. Nutty, a little something sweet, and a little bit of salt. He wants to ask what’s in it, but he wants to taste it even more. The first sip is like sinking into a hot bath after three weeks of cold showers. He can’t hold back the indecent groan but he doesn’t care. Let it be inappropriate, he’s sure Paul’s heard worse.
When he opens his eyes - and when did they slip shut? - Paul is smiling at him warmly, clearly satisfied he’s served Richard something he really enjoys again. Richard wants to ask how he knows, but he also doesn’t want to ruin the mystery if he’s honest. So he just smiles back and thanks Paul for the coffee.
***
“I appreciate the mysterious coffees you’ve made me so far but I would like to actually order something myself some day?”
He doesn’t mean to pose it as a question but he isn’t sure how well his request will go over with Paul and he doesn’t want to mortally offend him. He doesn’t want the coffee miracle to go away, despite the terrible name of the shop. Bloody hell, Bohne Dich. Ugh.
But Paul just smiles serenely and gestures for him to go ahead.
“Okay. Well, a black coffee with a shot of cocoa syrup then. Please.” The tacked-on ‘please’ sounds almost apologetic and he doesn’t know why. But again, Paul just smiles and goes to work.
Richard isn’t paying much attention to the coffee making process because Paul starts to ask him questions - they have apparently reached the small talk part of the ritual. “So you work with Till and Schneider at the recording studio, right?”
“Hm? Oh yeah, I’m a session guitarist.”
Paul looks at him over his shoulder with a twinkle in his eyes. “Rockstar ambitions didn’t work out?” And then he winks. Actually winks.
He rolls his eyes but smiles so Paul knows he takes the joke as it’s meant. “I’m still a rockstar, thank you very much.”
Paul cackles, “Whatever you say, mister Rockstar”, Richard can hear the capital R in there.
“It’s fun though, getting to work with a lot of really cool bands and artists.”
Paul hums, “I bet. What’s today’s job?”
“A Japanese guitarist actually, Hotei. He’s huge in Japan. He’s here making a new collaborative record with lots of European artists. I play rhythm guitar on some of the songs where he needs it.”
His coffee is handed to him with an impressed murmur of, “wow, I’m going to look him up,” and a quick ‘enjoy the coffee’. Richard thanks Paul and heads out, coffee in hand. He doesn’t taste it until he’s down the street, taking advantage of not having his friends stare at him to check what he thinks of Paul’s latest surprise brew. Or his poor attempts at not showing how much he likes them.
Fully expecting his regular coffee order with a bit of something extra flavourful - this is Paul’s coffee after all - he is not prepared for the burst of cardamom and cinnamon on his tongue. He slams to a stop to stare down at his cup in shocked surprise - and maybe a tiny bit of dismay. That is not what he ordered, but it is so. Damn. Good.
He debates going back for all of a second and then decides, fuck it, this is too good to complain about.
***
He does mention it the next day, accompanied by a cheeky grin which he gets returned by Paul.
“Oops, sorry, my mistake.” Paul doesn’t sound very contrite or like he made a mistake at all.
“Want to try again?”
Paul shrugs but goes to work on, what Richard assumes, is the correct order this time.
It is not. But somehow it’s better.
***
It keeps happening.
Richard stubbornly keeps ordering the same thing and Paul keeps giving him something different. And a new invention every day too.
Rose and liquorice. Vanilla and orange. Cardamom again, but this time with mint. Lavender. Pistachio and cherry. Chile and banana.
One memorable day Richard swears there’s something alcoholic in it, but Paul gives him huge, innocent eyes and insists there isn’t. He’s glad he’s got the day off though, because he does feel a bit tipsy after drinking the coffee. Damn Paul and his inventions.
Come to think of it, he’d started grinning in that slightly worrying way that predicts chaos when Richard had told him he’d had the day off. Wait, how does he know what types of grins Paul has anyway?
He’s been going to the coffee shop too often, clearly. To a coffee shop that never gets his order right but somehow always serves him what he wants.
But it still has a terrible name.
***
“What’s with the name, anyway? I’ve always wanted to know.”
“Two years, and now you ask?”
“I was hoping the sex would have made you more agreeable to answer the question.”
“You wish. The sex was good, but not that good.”
“EXCUSE ME?!”
“Oh simmer down, mister Rockstar. You know I never answer any questions about the shop, the coffee, or my innate ability to always know what the customer really wants.”
“So modest, he is.”
“Shush.”
“But I am your boyfriend. Lover. Partner, whatever.”
“Live-in nurse?”
“That was one time, Paulchen, I am never wearing that costume again.”
“But you looked hot in it!”
“The stockings kept sliding down, the top was too hot, and the fake leather kept sticking in uncomfortable places. Buy me a better quality one and I’ll wear it.”
“Consider it done.”
“And you tell me about the name.”
He never did wear the nurse's outfit again. And he never did find out about the name.