Archive of Our Own ^beta

The worst day in Arthur Kirkland’s life began at eleven A.M. with the beginning of Brigitte Bardot singing in teeny-boppy 60s French about love. To be honest, Arthur never hated Brigitte Bardot. He liked Brigitte Bardot. He just disliked the person who chose Brigitte Bardot to play over the café. But he was reassured with the thought that the café he worked at never had one continuous playlist, but that it changed with each employee’s choice. And he was further reassured with the fact his coworkers had decent music choices; from Matthew’s unheard of Canadian Indie, to Alfred’s devoted reliance upon Pandora’s American Jazz choices. But, this wasn’t about any of that. This wasn’t about Bardot. Bardot had not ruined his day.

It was, instead, a someone. The appearance of someone. The small, chic, attempting to be hip café he worked at had many regulars. Because it was just as New York as people liked. It had started with the image of art nouveu France, transported smack dab near an art museum and another deli. Yet with every employee that was hired, the atmosphere changed. The menu changed. It mixed their different cultures beautifully and casually, a place where you could drink a steamed au chocolat while browsing a pseudo liberal fashion blog that occasionally dipped into talks about politics and feminism. It was a place that made you feel possible and properly knit together. And so, with that, Arthur knew a variety of the people who came in. Skinny girls in thick glasses, weathered old men with heavy accents, men and boys with scruffy beards and colorful opinions.

These people had not ruined his day. Arthur was not in love with these people. Some of them wanted him to be; the handsome mess of a barista with arm tattoos finishing his English degree such as himself was the perfect love interest for some student film.

But Arthur never fell in love.

Not until the worst day of his life.

He’d always thought (before going to sleep, in those solitary fragile moments) the person he’d fall in love with would be a hot mess in tight jeans with a head full of punk music; with someone like him.

However, the person at the counter was small with fashionable glasses, wearing a cardigan that fit so big only his fingertips peeked out from the sleeves.

“A hazelnut coffee with milk, please.”

It took Arthur fifteen seconds to realize the angel spoke.

He didn’t look like an angel. He didn’t even speak like one. But swimming in his sweater, a heavy laptop balanced on his hip, he effortlessly and in a single stroke caught Arthur’s attention.

The angel blinked.

“Sir?”

Arthur stirred awake, heart pounding, face red, secretly cursing the hangnail he had found that morning, and every other flaw he was suddenly completely aware of. He hated his boss then and the effortless beauty he had.

As if he was in grade school again, like years of building up self esteem was nothing, Arthur began to hate his eyebrows again.

But the angel didn’t care as Arthur stuttered out “S-Sorry what was that again?”

He was gently reminded of the order and Arthur keyed it in (“That’ll be four fifty, thank you.”) In the background, the clinking of glasses served as backup to Bardot. Beside him, the grinding of coffee beans and Alfred coughing into the inside of his elbow filled Arthur’s ears.

Yet he still couldn’t stop looking at the customer.

“And your name, sir?” he asked, as the angel rummaged through his wallet, sliding out a five dollar bill. He flicked his eyes up to breathless Arthur, who was poised with marker and coffee cup in hand, ready when he was ready.

“Kiku” he told him and smiled politely. Arthur was hit so hard by it that he accidently wrote ‘Katy’ instead. Alfred had to call it three times until the poor customer recognized it as himself.

Arthur also took the order as a hazelnut latte.

And it was supposed to cost four seventy five his boss hissed at him later with a voice laced in curt French accent.

But Arthur heard none of this. None of his fuck ups from the four drinks he got wrong, to the trash he forgot to take out, from the table he gave two peppers and another with two salts.

Because the angel had stayed. Deciding he was content with his latte, he had set up camp in a comfy arm chair, computer set on lap, fingers fast, eyes focused.

God, Arthur had thought longingly, he’s a writer!

He tripped over himself the entire day trying to catch his eye.

At the end of the day, Arthur wound up with the worst paycheck he’d ever had in his history of working there, and a lovesickness he’d only heard of in silly love songs.

He dreamt of the name Kiku for the entire night, as if it was whispered into his ear, almost sounding like a prayer after a point.

Arthur Kirkland finally being in love did not escape the notice of his twin coworkers.

“You’ve been staring at him,” Alfred had leaned over and whispered one afternoon, “for thirty minutes now.”

“I have not.” Arthur immediately defended, eyes still focused on his muse. He was wearing a knit green scarf today. Arthur loved green.

“I’ve been keeping count. You’ve been doing this for a week .”

“No, I haven’t.” Arthur shook his head. In the back of his mind, he wondered if that was a good conversation starter. I see you’re wearing green. I like green.

Beside him, Alfred rolled his eyes dramatically. However, Arthur ignored this because Alfred was always dramatic; perhaps because he played parts in musicals part time. Arthur always thought Alfred was a strange mix of hobbies. Engineer major, top grades, part time actor; but it suited his loud personality and cheery disposition. Admittedly, Arthur had grown fond of the way Alfred hummed ‘Defying Gravity’ every other week.

“Mattie”, he quipped now, motioning to his brother walking in after taking out the trash, “back me up here. Arthur’s in love, right?”

Matthew, shaking blond curls from his face, eyes wide and spacey, blinked. “Are you still on this?” he deadpanned.

“Oh come on! Mister Popular is finally in love! Aren’t you interested?”

“I’m not some heartthrob.” Arthur hissed, turning his head from his object of affection.

“It’s no good to be in denial is all I’m saying.”

Arthur looked to Matthew for help, but he only smiled sheepishly, and shrugged.

“We really can’t deny it, Arthur.”

And they rightly couldn’t. For each pretentious prick and hopeful sap that came in there, Arthur gained an admirer.

The three had already concluded it was because of the image he put out. Matthew was too sweet, Alfred was too loud, but Arthur was the perfect bad boy with his tattoos and his frown and his knowing pretty boy eyes. He gave off the image of someone who needed his soul to be healed, who could ‘hold galaxies under his skin’. He would give heart-stopping insight as he drank a beer with you under the stars at midnight.

Of course, this was utter bullshit. Arthur could never dream of being so profound and he was never the image people projected on him. He remembers once having this discussion with his coworkers after work.

“You are every hipster’s wet dream, Arthur,” Alfred laughed as he wiped down the tables, “But it’s alright; we know how you really are.”

Francis, sitting at a table, hair tied up as he looked over paperwork, chuckled. “Yes,” he added, “short-tempered, insufferable, and picky.”

“Shut it, frog.” Arthur huffed, leaning over the broom in his hands, face red.

“I feel so bad for all those people is all,” he sighed daintily, “you’re tricking every single one of those people.”

“I don’t mean to!”

At this point, Alfred grabs Arthur’s wrist and he twirls him around, dipping him, and Arthur tries not to laugh.

“But we wouldn’t have you any other way” Alfred sing-songs, “Our precious, prickly Arthur.”

“Fuck off.” Arthur tries to sound angry, but Alfred passes him on to Francis who receives him with two hands on Arthur’s waist, exaggerating his French accent as he speaks.

“Oh yes, the dear caterpillar of our store, our siren, mon cher. ” he fake serenades and Arthur makes a face as he gets out of his grip. When he walks away he flips them off and they laugh.

(Arthur wouldn’t trade this job for the world.)

In the present, Arthur still contests his given title.

“Matthew, I thought at least you would be on my side.”

“Well, I can’t deny what isn’t true.”

Alfred grins until Arthur punches him in the arm, and he overdramatasizes the pain. But Arthur doesn’t notice this. He simply can’t, because the angel has risen. He’s approaching the counter and Arthur’s breath stops, the world is in slow motion, and it’d be a gorgeous scene if Brigitte Bardot wasn’t on just then, actively moaning during her song.

(It was incredibly awkward, but it was French. There was no arguing that.)

“Excuse me,” Kiku says, subtly looking up at the speakers in embarrassment, “Could I get a refill on my matcha latte?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Arthur responds automatically, “Of course.”

He can see Alfred trying not to laugh next to him as he fixed the drink. Alfred always broke out into giggles when he was nervous, but despite knowing that Arthur still felt the urge to step on his foot. Instead, Arthur has to focus. He knows he has to, Kiku is examining the menu above as he waits for his drink. He adjusts his green scarf. Arthur gulps.

God, he looked good in green.

“So, you’re a writer?”

Kiku looks at him, his cheeks flushed. Bardot was still moaning, her voice high-pitched and sweet. They try to pretend they don’t hear anything.

“Oh, um. Yes. I-It’s just. Short stories.”

Bardot screams.

“Oh yeah? What kind?”

Arthur mentally kicks himself. Of course writers never know what to say when they’re just asked that out right. He was doing this all wrong, he couldn’t blow this chance. But before he could take it back, Kiku smiles sheepishly.

“Horror stories.” He tells him plainly.

Arthur swears his heart just jumped out his chest. How could this person get any more perfect? Was this a blessing?

“That sounds amazing.”

Kiku looks surprised. He smiles a bit more, as if he was coming out of hiding. “Usually people give me a strange look when I say that.”

“A genre doesn’t reflect on the writer.” Arthur automatically says, “Death of the author and all that. Besides, horror is more of a challenge to write then read.” He catches himself. He was laying it on too thick. Was he coming on too strongly? No, no, he was just making conversation. Kiku looks like he’s about to say something, he’s smiling. Arthur felt horribly overwhelmed then. He got him to smile! He was smiling! He had to keep up the pace.

“I love it, um. Horror. It’s fun to read!” He continues, stuttering, “All the blood and guts, the torture scenes. It’s all incredibly entertaining”

Kiku’s face drops. Bardot is still screaming. Arthur has lost it and he tries to scramble to get it back, embarrassed, mortified.

“No, I mean.” he forcefully laughs, “I’m not some madman. It’s just, y’know. Gore, it’s popular right?”

“...I, er, wouldn’t know. I tend to write ghost stories.”

Arthur’s shoulders slump. He was crashing and burning. He was suddenly incredibly jealous of Bardot who was having a more fun time than he was. Kiku glances back at the speakers, visibly disturbed and uncomfortable. Arthur is trying to think of a clever line to save his ass. He’s trying to think of something that completely changes the situation, that gets them back at something more stable, less awkward, something bearable.

“Ghosts are cool.” he manages to say.

Kiku just stares.

It’s that moment, Bardot reaches a climax, and she’s quickly back to singing. The awkward music still hangs around them and Arthur remembers all over again why he dislikes the French.

“Thank you.” Kiku offers awkwardly. Arthur feels uncomfortable. It’s something, at least? I mean it wasn’t him just walking away, so it was something? Maybe he wasn’t a complete fuck up?

(He’s kidding himself; he’s well aware he’s a fuck up.)

“Matcha latte!” Alfred yells, and he watches Arthur. He’s still trying not to laugh. When Arthur looks back, Kiku bows his head a bit.

“It was nice talking with you.” and he leaves. Arthur mutters a yeah and wishes he said more. He wishes Bardot was more discreet. He wishes he had been more perfect and impeccable and everything he was supposed to be. There is embarrassed, overly-critical shame hanging heavy in his stomach: he was getting all worked up over a crush. He didn’t even know if Kiku was single.

Besides him, he hears a loud booming laugh. An arm is looped around him and Alfred leans against Arthur, chuckling. He’s heavy and smells of coffee grounds.

“Oh my god.” he says, shaking his head. “Buddy. Buddy you are so lost .”

Arthur only feels a little bad. He’s being very stupid, there’s no arguing that. However, Arthur believes he’s allowed to be stupid right now. He had been a cynical soul from the start, someone who has avoided love. It was shallow, he thought. It was short, and it was horrendously bittersweet. But as much as he had tried to run from it, he had butterflies in his stomach. He wanted to be noticed. He was the immature person he never let himself be.

Arthur was being stupid, but he had hope. He realizes those things have always gone hand in hand and thank god. If the world was always so anxiously careful nothing would get done anyway.

So, with this in mind, Arthur sheds his insecurities. He tries to talk to Kiku.

“Who’s your favorite writer?” He asks him suddenly one day, as he writes down his name on a paper cup. Kiku looks startled. Being asked an abrupt question like that without having some coffee in you first does that to people.

“Er.” He thinks for a moment, “Kazuo Umezu. Edogawa Ranpo.”He blinks, “H.G. Wells.”

“You like sci-fi too?”

“I dabble in it. There’s a certain horror to sci-fi as well.” Kiku smiles. Oh thank god, Arthur thinks. I’m saving a bit of my reputation. Of course, their conversation ends there, because there’s a long line behind Kiku, and Alfred is notoriously quick with the drinks when he has to put in effort. But Arthur feels he’s made a recovery; he wants to keep going forward.

(Although, previously, Arthur would never say he was that person, he ends up picking up books from the other two writers in the next week. Their second-hand covers were rough in his fingers but he barely noticed. Edogawa was suspenseful and grotesque. The Floating Classroom left him feeling uneasy. Suffice to say, Arthur was impressed.)

This continues for awhile. He makes small talk, abrupt but not probing. Kiku is shy at first, and taken back. But he’s not affronted, he opens up little by little. They comment on the weather. They share opinions. Kiku never makes the same order, but it’s rather a set of orders he sticks to. At one point, Arthur asks Kiku if today was an “iced coffee day, or a latte day?” He gets Kiku to laugh.

Dear God, he laughs! It was beautiful. Arthur feels pride swelling in his chest that entire day. So with three weeks of successful twenty second conversations (‘successful’ meaning he didn’t make things too awkward) Arthur decides to take a risk.

He writes his phone number on the coffee cup, with a cheeky message saying ‘call me’.

He plans this on his way to work, riding his bike through the streets, his face red and his heart pounding. Ten million voices of reason in his head are screaming ‘Don’t do it!’ but he stays willfully ignorant. As pointed out before, Arthur is incredibly stupid right now. He’s in love. Arthur decides to be daring and romantic and risk it all. So when Kiku orders his drink, and they make their usual small talk, Arthur quickly scribbles it down. He feels adrenaline rushing through his veins and he hands the cup over to Alfred before he could rethink it. Alfred notices the number. He sends a quick glance Arthur’s way, eyebrows raised, but Arthur makes a motion for him to just hurry up. He’s blushing like crazy. Alfred is trying to hold back giggles again but he does offer a thumbs up.

That day, Arthur’s playlist is coming through the speakers. He notices all the songs. All the rough, husky voices and guitar solos fill him with courage. He felt this time he’d made a wonderful decision, that it was all going to work out.

When Kiku gets his drink, he doesn’t give it more than a glance. He doesn’t notice the number. He merely takes it back to his little work-station and goes back to writing. Arthur is anxiously waiting, but he reasons that of course he wouldn’t see it immediately. He needs time. He’ll see it in time.

And that’s how Arthur walks on eggshells his entire work shift.

Arthur would not stop watching Kiku. He must look like some sort of awkward bird of prey. He watched Kiku write. He watched him check his phone time to time. He coughs into his elbow at some point. He takes drinks. He never looks at the drink. When Arthur has to leave the counter (to re-stock, to get something from the bakery display) he makes his actions quick so he can get back to his vantage point. Arthur is fast with his orders that day, he is curt but efficient and the patrons are surprisingly pleased with this efficiency. Arthur’s queue only ever exists for a few seconds before he shoos everyone off. The lunch rush only lasts a few minutes at a time. Arthur is tired and sweating from all the steam from the coffee machines, but by God, he wants to see Kiku’s reaction.

At one point, Matthew asks him if he’s okay. Alfred beckons him over and whispers in his twin brother’s ear the entire scenario. Matthew’s eyebrows raise, and he makes a soft “Ohhh” sound, like a concerned grandmother. He is soon by Arthur’s side, voice quiet.

“Do you want me to go over there and point it out?”

“What? No!” Arthur sputters, embarrassed.

“Alfred says it’s been an hour.”

“Well, yes, but you don’t just point it out!”

“Maybe I can like. Spill it?” He offers, “And then point it out?”

Arthur is dying of an embarrassment. Matthew was incredibly sweet, but he could also be incredibly embarrassing. They’re speaking in hushed whispers but Arthur is still mortified he had to talk about this anyway. He felt like a kid after his mother had just confessed to her friend that he still kept a teddy bear at the age of ten. Arthur shakes his head.

“No, that’s too obvious.”

“I’ll make it look casual?”

“Look, he’ll see it. It’s just. Fine.”

Matthew pauses for a bit, and watches Kiku with Arthur. He’s still hunched over typing, looking a tad bit sleepy. He scratches the side of nose, but remains focused. He still doesn’t regard the cup.

“He seems nice.” Matthew comments, “He seems very nice.”

“I know.”

“He’s just focused. I’m sure he’ll see it.”

Matthew has switched from embarrassing comfort to sweet pity. Arthur honestly feels like dying. Arthur grimaces, and Alfred has begun laughing again. Arthur loved the twins, he got along with them wonderfully. But other days he wondered if they were working together in some way to get to him. Maybe it was just because they were younger. Arthur puts a hand up to stop Matthew from saying anything else, and tells him to get back to work.

Soon enough, Arthur’s shift begins to end. And that’s when Kiku gets the phonecall. There’s a faint sound of vibration, and Kiku grabs his phone. Arthur can’t hear the contents, but Kiku is packing up after awhile. He nods sometimes, and gives affirmations. At one point, though, he picks up the cup.

He looks at it. He stops. And Arthur holds his breath. He finally saw it! Arthur is internally panicking and all his insecurities and hope come rushing back after a long wait. He saw it! He was going to hate it! He was going to love it, maybe? He’d call him tonight. No, he’d never go to the coffee shop ever again. Maybe he’d let him down tomorrow morning. Maybe he’d ask him out tomorrow morning? Maybe he’d walk over and tell him his answer right now?

Arthur’s blood is pumping and he’s waiting for something. He’s waiting for some sort of response, and he gets impatient. Come on, he thinks the number is right there!

It’s then he realizes. The number is right there. He can see it. The number is turned towards Arthur, and he feels his heart stop.

Kiku gives the cup a shake. Seeing there was nothing left, he gets up and throws it away.

The world falls around Arthur.

Kiku continues his phone conversation, and grabs his laptop case. He walks out of the coffee shop, still on the phone. He doesn’t miss a beat. He exits, stage right, until he’s out of Arthur’s viewpoint.

Arthur is numb. He wonders what he did wrong in a previous life. He must’ve done something wrong, right? Maybe he kicked a kitten once. That’s pretty bad, right, he’d completely understand why some higher being was being cruel to him right now.

There is an impatient cough, and Arthur looks forward. There is a restless man in glasses in front of him with a beauty mark by his mouth. His face is stern.

“Yes, can I order now?” He asks curtly. Arthur watches him for a moment.

“Why?” he asks, laughing, “We’re all going to die anyway.”

Alfred bursts out in loud laughter, and Matthew has to rush in to save the situation. But Arthur feels nothing except a deep regret.

He should’ve just written the damn thing on his forehead.

Arthur retreats for a moment. He even considers forfeiting altogether, wonders why he tries so hard. Because honestly, it was just a crush on someone he barely knew. He wanted to know him sure, but there is a logical mind pestering him with all sorts of sound questions. Is infatuation a good foundation for a relationship? Perhap this person has baggage Arthur won’t be able to handle. For all he knows, Kiku could be in an intense relationship, and his significant other could propose to him any day now. Arthur is a logical person and begins to be swayed by these opinions. Oh yes, falling in love in a coffee shop all sounds very nice; but completely fake. Arthur is human; he must accept that.

Except one day, he finds Kiku in trouble.

Now, it’s not some dramatic affair, like he was getting mugged in an alleyway or anything like that. Rather, Kiku didn’t look like he was in peril that morning. He came in as he always did, ordered what he always ordered. One of Alfred’s show tunes were playing that morning, something sultry but angry. (It was probably from Chicago, Arthur guesses.) Arthur rung up other patrons that morning as he always did, but something felt off to him. Like something itching at the back of his mind, like something was out of place. There wasn’t anything wrong with the cafe but it felt like it was wrong. It took Arthur a moment to find it, but when he finally did, his heart ached in a way he never thought it could.

Kiku was not writing.

Kiku simply sat there with his drink, staring morosely out the window onto the busy street. His back was to Arthur, and his laptop case was there but it sat unopened. Something felt terribly wrong with this picture, incredibly sad even. Arthur waited for him to take out his laptop and start writing, but he never did.

He never did.

Not when half an hour passed, not even when the full hour passed. At times, Kiku would rub his eyes and sigh loudly, but nothing else.

Arthur told himself it was none of his business. If the man didn’t want to write, he didn’t have to. If he was sad, that was his own business. What did Arthur have to do with it? What could he even do about about it? Kiku barely knew him, and vice-versa. He had no place in whatever was bothering him then.

But it also didn’t feel right to just leave it like this.

It’s when there’s a lull that Arthur goes over with a religieuse on a plate with cutlery, a small offering. When Kiku sees him he looks confused, and Arthur is too modest to look him in the eye.

“Er. It’s on the house.” He explains, “You didn’t seem to be doing so well so I thought I’d bring you something.”

“No,” Kiku is taken aback, “You don’t need to do this for me. I…”

“It’s not much.”

His heart is pounding fast, and Kiku shifts in his seat. He’s looking back to the counter, and then back at Arthur. He offers a quiet smile in return and nods.

“I’ll have it if you sit with me.”

Arthur’s heart jumps. It does somersaults and cartwheels and even more inhuman feats. A chill runs up his spine. His throat is suddenly dry. Just as he had turned away, suddenly he was being pulled back in. Love was real. If what he was feeling was fake, then he must be a miracle himself.

Arthur keeps his attention two-ways: partially on Kiku, and partially on the door. He wishes he still wasn’t on the clock, and he wishes they had all the time in the world. He finally had the angel’s attention. He sits across from him, and to have him here in more detail felt overwhelming. Once again, Kiku was practically swimming in his sweater, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked so small, Arthur realized. He half-wondered how many inches he had over him.

There were dark circles under his eyes. Arthur doesn’t remember those ever being there.

“I’m sorry,” Kiku speaks up, “I just don’t think I could finish this by myself.”

Arthur smiles. “It is a bit much, isn’t it? My boss insists on these things though. Says it’s popular for couples.”

Arthur catches himself. He didn’t mean to say it like that, but it ended up like that anyway. He feels his face heat up and he’s about to excuse himself, because honestly he had only chosen the pastry because they had extra in the display case. But he stops himself, because Kiku is not smiling anymore. He’s not even really there.

“Do I really look that bad?” He asks quietly.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just...you seem to be having a rough time.” Arthur explains, “You weren’t writing.”

Kiku blinks and half-heartedly picks up the fork. He tears apart a piece of the pastry and he considers it for a moment but doesn’t eat. He shrugs.

“You noticed that?”

“It’s hard not to.”

“I think I’ve hit a wall.” He looks at Arthur, apologetically, “I’m very sorry, I don’t mean to bother you with this.”

“It’s no bother.” Arthur smiles. He leans forward in his chair, “Look, all writers hit a wall right? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It just feels heavier this time.”

“So?”

Kiku furrows his brow. “So?” He repeats in question of this answer.

“So it will pass like all the others right?” Arthur leans back, “Look I know I probably sound like some jackass because I don’t know your full story. But I think it’s applicable to everything. Just step away for a bit. Stop pushing yourself. You seem like a very dedicated person, I think you deserve a break.”

Kiku thinks for a moment. God, Arthur thinks, I really do sound like a jackass. He worried he sounded dismissive, he worried he sounded uncaring. But his intentions were kind, were understanding, and he hoped he was communicating this properly. Most of all, he wanted Kiku to be okay. It was odd, because someone could rightly argue he was only doing this to impress Kiku, to have him fall in love with him. Even Arthur worried he was being like that. Even Arthur worried he was being selfish. That was the worst feeling of all.

But Kiku took a bite of the religieuse. He chews it for a moment and his face lightens up, he smiles, he grins. Suddenly, Arthur’s world brighten in returned.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Kiku laughs, “I think I’m taking this too seriously. I need a break.”

“See? You’re just fine. Don’t be a drama queen.”

Kiku laughs. Arthur’s tone was light but teasing so there was no hurt and he felt he had done good. He shrugs again. He’s not looking at Arthur.

“Perhaps I should go out. See a movie.” He muses.

“You could spend time with your girlfriend.”

“I don’t have one.”

Arthur’s heart leaps.

“Boyfriend?”

“None.”

His heart jumps for joy. At this point, Kiku looks up at Arthur, and there’s something in his gaze. Something predatory but inviting but before Arthur could guess the mood, Kiku switches the subject.

“To be honest, coming here helped a lot. This place is very calming.” He confides. “It’s Arthur, right?”

Oh my god, he remembered my name.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I just wanted to make sure I had it right. I’m horrible with names.”

Arthur is smiling and he can’t stop smiling. He gulps and goes on to recommend some movies Kiku should watch. The talk about it for awhile, halfways banter and halfways compliments. Kiku likes modern day dramas. Arthur likes period works. They marvel on how people have the same problems as they did back then, the clothes just changed. Arthur chides Kiku’s interest in action movies, but Kiku turns it around to Arthur’s love of rom-coms. They go onto the topic of reading, and about their favorite authors, their favorite genres, what they hate here and what they love there. At one point, Arthur asks about Kiku’s writing. Kiku doesn’t offer much (which Arthur had expected), but he does tell him shyly “Maybe I can show you it later.” They don’t stop talking. Soon enough, the religieuse is finished, and the cafe falls to the background. It’s just each other and Arthur feels hope for once in a long, long time.

The bell above the door rings. A customer walks in. Their time is up.

“S-Sorry, I have to-”

“It’s fine.” Kiku shakes his head, “I need to head out soon anyway. Thank you.”

“For what?”

Kiku smiles. He shrugs, as if he wasn’t sure where to even start. He finally looks him in the eye, and Arthur doesn’t want to break their gaze. It’s something, and it’s enough to make him happy for a lifetime.

“I should repay you next time.” He says, “For your kindness.”

Arthur never dreamt of anyone saying that to him, least of all Kiku. Kiku gets up from the table, gathering his things, and he pauses for a moment in front of him.

“Arthur.”

“Yeah?”

Kiku smiles.

“I just wanted to make sure I got it.”

He walks past Arthur. The bells rings again. He’s gone. In that moment, Arthur feels like he’d faint right there. He goes through the rest of the day through a lovesick haze, repeating parts of their conversation in his mind. He remembers all the small details, from how Kiku held his fork, to the way he pursed his lips in thought. How could Arthur leave now? How could Arthur give up now, of all times?

That evening, Arthur kept remembering the way his name sounded coming out of Kiku’s mouth. He never thought his own name could sound so beautiful. It almost made him cry.

Kiku doesn’t come to the cafe for a few days, but Arthur isn’t sure if this saddens him or relieves him. To see him so soon would be a joy but also intensely embarrassing. What would he even say? He’s made so much progress but now he needs a breather. He wants to be careful. Meanwhile, he can’t help but tell his co-workers. Perhaps it’s that self-satisfying pride of Arthur’s but when Alfred asks he can’t help but tell both him and Matthew. It’s early in the morning, still dark outside, as they’re prepping for the work day, when he tells them.

“So?” Alfred loops an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, “What’s been going on with you? Any progress with the writer?”

They were in the middle of catching up when this came about. They had been complaining about the cold weather and how they were tired as hell and about their classes when Alfred broached the subject. Immediately, Arthur got butterflies. Just the mention of Kiku brought to mind their previous talk. Alfred whistled.

“You’re smiling.” he grinned, ruffling Arthur’s hair, “So that means good news?”

“Get off.” Arthur muttered, shrugging him off. He was still blushing and tried to focus on his task at hand. He was busy wiping down the counters and he picked up the can Matthew had placed down there yesterday. It reads on the front in thoughtful penwork “Please donate to the Save the Whales Project!! Every cent counts’. Funny, Arthur thought to himself, Matthew was vehement about saving the tigers last week. Then again, Matthew was the type who wanted to save everything. He gives the can a shake, and hears a small amount of change clang around.

“Matthew,” Arthur says, “I think we have enough money in here to save about half a whale.”

Alfred snorts. Matthew behind the counter, prepping the machines, frowns.

“It still counts.”

“We can save maybe, I don’t know.” Arthur grins, “A fin.”

“Maybe two baby whales.” Alfred adds on, “Two for the price of one.”

“Arthur, don’t change the subject.” Matthew points. Arthur almost flinches; Matthew could be blunt if you pushed him far enough. He feels both their eyes on him and after thinking on it for awhile, his lips curl into a smirk.

“I had lunch with him.”

“What?! Oh my god!”

“Really?!”

“Well.” Arthur puts his hands up, “Alright, technically, I just gave him a pastry on the house, but we talked! He invited me to sit with him!”

Alfred laughs and ruffles Arthur’s hair again. Arthur is partially thankful that his hair already looked messy to begin with. They go on to ask Arthur if he’s asked him out yet, and it’s then Arthur realizes how little progress he’s made as is. They don’t guilt him for it, because Arthur does that enough himself. There is a strange ache in his chest the rest of the day, a strange need. He wants to get closer. He’d be so happy if they could get closer. Arthur knows he’s balancing on a very fine beam right now, but there’s a very childish part of him that just wants it all to work out perfectly and easily. He ends up weakly thinking ‘Please notice me’ and he feels ashamed and mortified to even hold this sentiment. He’s not used to being at the mercy of someone else’s whim. He’s not used to being in love.

Perhaps the world decides to grant mercy on Arthur then. Perhaps Kiku hears him. The next time Kiku comes to the shop he stays by the counter as if trying to work up the courage. He hesitates, but then moves.

“I almost forgot to give this to you.” He says, reaching into his bag, “You were asking about it, right?”

He hands him a book; it’s thin, with an eerie blue cover of a girl at a train station. At the bottom in small print is Kiku’s name. Arthur’s heart leaps and when he looks up Kiku looks humbled.

“It’s rather old; it’s my only published work as well. But I’d like you to read it.” He looks back up, “If you could be honest in how you feel about it, I would like that.”

Arthur smiles. He feels he’s been given a wonderful gift, a sacred duty, and he tells him of course. He holds the book close, and he realizes perhaps his day was here, albeit short. There were setbacks but here was wonderful progress. He was being held captive, but he was also happy to be chosen. Cynical Arthur isn’t sure what to think. He’s not sure if he should think of himself as weak and easily swayed, or to begin believing in love when it’s finally presented to him.

Just then, Arthur doesn’t feel like thinking. Arthur simply allows himself the luxury of happiness without second guessing.

Kiku’s book is simple but haunting. Arthur lies awake that evening reading through it in his small apartment. He makes himself a cup of tea before he begins, but the tea sits neglected the entire time he reads. He’s too engrossed. The plot is simple: the protagonist’s best friend goes missing in the forest surrounding their small town and she’s never found. Years after, the protagonist forgets her, until she hears word of her friend appearing at the abandoned train station on the edge of town…

The city is loud as always outside Arthur’s window. There is a distant sound of police sirens and music from somewhere downstairs. Arthur listens to none of this as he flips the pages. He adjusts his position on his bed to get more comfy multiple times, and when he’s through he feels as if someone is looking over his shoulder. The book was scary enough, and it was intensely psychological. Arthur likes it; he respects it.

Now, admittedly, he finds some of the moments slow paced. The writing gets repetitive, and he gets the feeling Kiku was trying to play it safe. It could’ve been better, but this was honestly just small details Arthur kept catching. All in all, he remains impressed. He holds the book and studies the cover, letting it all sink in. It’s midnight, and Arthur’s apartment is dark. He’s getting sleepy. He closes his eyes, and his heart is aching.

You’re so talented, Arthur thinks, You’re so amazing.

Canadian Indie plays over the cafe the next day. Arthur knows it’s Canadian Indie for three reasons: It’s Thursday morning which meant it was Matthew’s turn. There was an interchanging of French and English in the lyrics. Thirdly, the singer was comparing his girlfriend and himself to trash and crooning about how lucky they were for it. It’s calming and chill, so Arthur can see why Matthew likes it. He’s half listening to it as he commits his full attention to Kiku. Kiku is hanging by the counter again as they talk. He’s been doing that more often. It’s starting to become the highlight of Arthur’s days, and they discuss Kiku’s book. Kiku pushes his hair behind his ear as he smiles, shy and humble.

“I told you to be honest.”

“I am though. The scene where she looks into the mirror is probably the best part!”

“Thank you.”

“Though, if you want me to be honest, I think you could’ve done without the detective. His scenes did drag on.”

“I’ll admit I was very interested in Mulder at the time. That’s probably why.”

Arthur laughs, and Kiku can’t help but laugh with him. Their conversations are coming more easily these days, Arthur realizes. They’re comfortable, even if they stumble. He feels more confident, he feels more at ease. Kiku takes a sip of his drink, and as Arthur watches him he wishes he knew what he was thinking. Was he humoring him? Did he feel something too? Arthur could simply ask, but that was easier said than done. He wanted Kiku to make a move too, so he could feel more assured.

“This is good though.”

“What is?”

“I finished my story last night,” Kiku confesses, “So I’ll be ready to print soon. You can read that one too when it comes out.”

Arthur smiles without thinking. “Th-That’s great! I’m happy for you.”

And he was; this was new to Arthur, the feeling of joy from someone else’s joy. It felt good; it felt pure. Even his own cynical self couldn’t twist this feeling. Kiku looked down to his cup though, the sound of acoustics floating around them. He doesn’t look at Arthur.

“I’m sorry though. To be honest, I probably won’t be coming around here for awhile.”

And then Arthur’s world stops.

“What?”

“Well the process takes awhile, so I won’t have as much free time.” Kiku quickly tries to alleviate the situation, “Oh, but, as soon as the book comes out I’ll bring you a copy. You’ve helped me a lot.”

At this point, Arthur isn’t listening. He’s still processing this information. Well, it wasn’t the end of the world, was it? So what if he was going to gone for awhile. Arthur doesn’t own him. Similarly, Kiku doesn’t owe him anything. To Kiku all Arthur is, is a kindly barista at the local cafe. Arthur had gotten ahead of himself. In the end, their relationship was light and shallow, no matter how many ideas Arthur has otherwise. So he was in love; that didn’t mean anything if it was unspoken. They were acquaintances, and they would stay that way, as is.

Arthur looks back at Kiku, and he tries to think of what to say. He should tell him. There is no contest about it; that was the bare truth. He should just come out and tell him how he felt. While Arthur had entertained the idea he still wasn’t ready to go through with it. He opens his mouth. He closes it again.

(It’s just a crush anyway.)

“I look forward to it.” He smiles, “Don’t miss me too much.”

Kiku smiles back. Arthur feels such petty agony then.

I’m so stupid .

When Alfred and Matthew hear the news, they bombard Arthur with reasons he should confess. Arthur, of course, hears none of it because he’s stubborn like that. Even if his resolve is stupid, he sticks to it anyway, because he’s scared. That evening, Arthur helps close up the shop with Francis. He likes keeping busy at this time, because he begins to feel anxious if he’s not. His mind begins to battle itself, going through a list of pros and cons and it’s all a jumbled mess that just gives him a headache. He could rightly confess, but what if he was rejected? What if Arthur, who was finally feeling something pure, just ruined it all? What if Kiku stopped coming in general? It’s all too much risk for Arthur, so instead he focuses on wiping the tables down instead; its simple, and doable and doesn’t make him feel stupid.

“Arthur,” Francis ask from behind the counter, “Do you want anything from the bakery display?”

It would be thrown out otherwise, but Arthur doesn’t even look up. “You know that stuff’s too sweet for me anyway.”

There is a pause, and Arthur hears Francis click his tongue. “I’m getting you a chocolate eclair and an espresso.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You do. You’re heartbroken.”

Arthur stops and looks up, embarrassed. He’s met with a sharp look from Francis, telling him that there was no contesting this statement and offer. Arthur tries to think of something to say, but he really couldn’t deny it. There was something shameful in the idea that even the frog knew, however.

“You can tell?”

“Alfred is a gossip; you should know this by now.”

Arthur makes it a personal note to get back at Alfred the next chance he gets. After a moment, Arthur finds himself sitting across from Francis with the pastry and coffee steaming away. It dawns on Arthur that he probably shouldn’t drink it if he hopes to sleep tonight. But perhaps it really doesn’t matter anyway. He watches Francis, and thinks about his boss. Francis was a mystery. He always came into the cafe wearing expensive clothes, and he seemed to own the cafe more as a hobby than a means of income. There were many rumors about his past, but no one knew the real answer. Alfred’s favorite theory was that Francis was on the run from a spurned fiance. If this was true, Arthur marvels about how such a man could give love advice at all.

“So our darling caterpillar has been dumped.”

“I’m not dumped.”

Arthur absentmindedly picks at the eclair and watches the cream ooze out of it. “We weren’t even together.”

“His name is Kiku, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“He seems nice. Are you worried you’re too mean for him?”

Arthur scowls and glares up at Francis. “Are you just here to make fun of me?”

Francis chuckles, and it only makes Arthur angrier. The two fought occasionally, and yet Arthur’s job was never in danger. They were strange like that. If Arthur was hard pressed to give an actual opinion, he’d probably say that he felt more open with Francis. Both of them could be pretty rotten, so it was nice to know the other had nothing to hide.

“No. I’m worried about you, Arthur.”

Arthur scoffs.

“ I am . You seem happier these days ever since Kiku came by.”

Arthur continues to stab the eclair, and feels conflicted on whether he should be proud of this statement, or ashamed. Arthur takes a bite; it really was too sweet.

“So?” Arthur mutters between chews, “It’s just a crush.”

“But you’ve never had one. You’re used to being the object of affection, not having one. You’re scared.”

Arthur stops. He considers this for a moment. He’s used to having people pursue him; he’s used to being misread. He worries for a moment if he’s given the same treatment to Kiku. He’s saddened for another moment that Kiku has not given the same treatment to him. It was all terribly confusing to Arthur, this entire idea of romance based on first glances. It was all so very intimidating.

“I,” He gulps. He avoids looking Francis in the eye, “It’s just too much trouble, that’s all.”

“And so that’s it?”

Perhaps it was? Arthur could honestly just say it was and end it there. It was easy and without much pain. To avoid conflict  was an incredibly easy way to live. It was simple to just say no and be done with it. Yet, when Arthur thinks about this, he feels hurt. It’s easy but it’s cruel. It’s simple but it’s unfair. To not even give himself the chance felt too petty and short. He remembers seeing Kiku the first time, he remembers their talks, he remembers his book. He was so comfortable around him, he was so happy. He liked him and he wanted to be liked.

Wasn’t that simple too?

Arthur looks up. There is a wise, knowing gaze to Francis, and he smiles handsomely.

“You should give yourself more credit. Love shouldn’t hesitate, Arthur. It simply happens.”

Arthur is touched. For once in a long while he feels accepted, and as if he’s been given guidance. The answer is clear and it’s scary. But perhaps all those sayings did have some truth; he needed to stop running away. He takes another bite of the eclair, thankful for it despite its sweetness. He looks downward again, trying to think of a sufficient way to say thank you.

“And what would a frog know about love?”

“More than you do.”

(It was the closest he’d get.)

Kiku doesn’t come the next morning.

Arthur tries not to dwell on this, because he’s already prepared for the worst. He’s also prepared for the best. Arthur is not used to seeing the world in such a hopeful way. It was different and his snarky self was still getting used to it; but he wanted to. He so desperately wanted to believe in love. He wanted to think fate brought them together that afternoon. He wants to believe in all that baseless, romantic thinking.  Arthur is in love and he’s not ashamed of it anymore. His happiness has been increased tenfold; his sadness has been increased tenfold. And he’s starting to think that love is still wonderful as an amplifier. What a beautiful way to see the world. Of course there are thousands of reasons to be bitter about it, but could someone blame him for wanting to give it a chance anyway?

It was so beautiful. He was so unabashedly happy.

Kiku comes just as Arthur is closing up the shop.

The close sign was already turned around, and Arthur was by himself that evening. Everyone else had previous engagements, so he was already expecting this. However, as he was finishing up with the cash register he was not expecting to see Kiku at the door. Arthur’s heart stops. Kiku looks so small standing there against the cityscape. He gives a sheepish smile, and waves.

Arthur practically rushes to let him in.

“I-I’m sorry.” Kiku blurts out as he walks in, “I know the store is closed.”

“No, um, it’s fine. Are you alright?”

Kiku clears his throat. He fidgets with his long sleeves. He takes in a deep breath, and Arthur realizes he’s nervous.

“I know this is very strange of me.” Kiku says slowly, “and I’m very sorry.”

“For what?”

“There’s something I need to say. Well, I want to say. I...I was debating this for a long time. And tonight I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

Arthur feels his face heat up. His heart is pounding and he wants to believe it. Oh God, please. Please let me be right. Kiku takes a deep sigh, and puts a hand over his mouth. At this point, even his ears are red.

“To be honest, I,” Kiku begins, “hate the coffee here.”

Arthur’s face drops.

“What?”

“It’s much too bitter for me. And the sweets are too sugary. The atmosphere is nice, but that’s about it.”

Then, Kiku begins to laugh. It’s not like his usual laughs, it’s not shy and withdrawn. It sounds incredulous, self-deprecating. It’s loud and open and free.

“The only reason I kept coming here was because of you.”

And finally, Arthur is accepted.

“From the moment I saw you I...I liked you.” Kiku buries his face in his hands. “I’m very sorry. I couldn’t keep it in any longer I-”

“No! I liked you too!” Arthur blurts out. He’s starting to cry and he’s smiling. Kiku looks at him, shocked.

“From the moment I saw you,” Arthur continues, “I liked you too.”

Kiku slowly smiles. He laughs again, and they couldn’t help it.  Arthur laughs with him, tears spilling from his eyes. The situation was ridiculous, and Arthur hugs Kiku out of sheer joy. He’s small in his arms, he’s warm. In that moment, Arthur feels so complete.

“You were drinking all that shitty coffee for me.” Arthur laughs, and Kiku nods in his chest.

“I was quite stupid.”

“No, trust me, I was just as stupid.”

Kiku hugs him back. They stay like that for a long moment in the closed coffee shop. They must look strange to any outsiders, but they were happy. Arthur doesn’t want to let go; Kiku felt so precious there, so fragile and sweet.

“I was scared.” Kiku whispers, “I was scared you would reject me.”

“Why?”

Kiku pauses. He shifts in his hold. “Because you’re so wonderful.”

Arthur smiles. He chuckles, and his eyes are still wet from tears. They felt so connected, and he was finding all his worries subside. He closes his eyes, and kisses the top of Kiku’s head.

“I was thinking that too.” Arthur laughs. “I think we’re both pretty stupid, Kiku. Will you still date me?”

Kiku looks up at him. His eyes are clear, his face is lovely, and Arthur is finally starting to see the world for all its beauty. It all felt so simple then. It all felt so possible. Kiku nods, and he places a hand behind Arthur’s neck. He pulls him into a kiss, and everything else falls away.

The cafe still smells like coffee. There is the faint whisper of Bardot still playing on the speakers. Everything is where it should be.