Chapter Text
If Scar had to mark one more paper, he was going to quit teaching altogether and pick up a new life as a grifter.
Which may have been an unfair exaggeration, but Scar was nothing if not a little dramatic. It wasn't that he didn't love his job or his students; it was just that sometimes this part of the process got a little too repetitive. It didn’t help that he was on a tight timeline. Finals were coming up, and his students needed these grades back to know how anxious they should be before presenting their final case studies in a couple of weeks.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to focus them on the digital clock on his desk. Eleven-thirty-something, from the looks of it. Scar sighed audibly, glancing over at the stack of papers he had hoped to get through before his 9 a.m. lecture.
He was halfway through a paper titled “The Role of Architectural Symmetry and Asymmetry in the Eiffel Tower: A Critical Evaluation of Design Philosophy and Cohesion in Urban Environments.” It was clear this student was trying desperately to hit their word count, and Scar wished they hadn’t bothered.
Deciding he was going to need a coffee if he had any hope of meeting his deadline, he debated his options. He could roll over to the staff room and get the coffee maker going, but it would likely be quicker to head down to the campus café and grab something. The added bonus of finding a cookie or some other late-night snack finally swayed him as he set the paper down and unlocked his chair.
As he moved down the halls of the upper floors, the lights slowly came on with each pass, clear evidence that no one had been by in a long while. The building was a ghost town at this time of night, and Scar generally didn’t mind working late, given how quiet and peaceful it could be.
The café was fairly new, and Scar hadn’t had much opportunity to swing by yet, but his coworkers all raved about the place. It was well-suited to the Architectural School building, with its modern and eco-friendly design. It was cozy, designed with raw wood and exposed brick, but also had some more contemporary elements like a sleek stainless steel bar counter, modern lighting, and (most striking of all in Scar’s opinion) a living green wall.
Several students were camped out in various booths and tables, looking worse for wear. With finals fast approaching, it was clear many were also putting in overtime to finish major capstones and prepare for exams.
He recognized one of his students, who stood out due to his light blue hair. The student was sleeping in the back over a closed laptop, head resting in the cradle of his arms. Scar felt a twinge of guilt, wondering how much of that weariness was his fault. What was his name again?
“Hello,” Scar looked over to the counter to see the barista leaning against the bar. “Haven’t seen you around here before. Burning some midnight oil?”
Scar’s first thought was something along the lines of oh no followed quickly by he’s cute. He quickly assessed the man, noting that he couldn’t be much younger than Scar himself, which was a bit of a relief when accidentally checking someone out at a campus coffee shop.
The man was small—smaller than Scar, at least—which might have incited worry that he was a student. He had floppy blonde hair that curled slightly at the ends and hung over his brow in a fringe above dark eyes. He wore a loose red band t-shirt that looked soft and well-worn, cinched at the waist by the green apron he wore. His gaze was piercing, aware and locked in, but friendly. Topped off with that British accent- Scar was a goner.
Scar slapped on a big grin and rolled his chair up to the counter. “Finals always run us down a bit. Just doing some late-night grading and needing some fuel.”
The blonde behind the counter smirked with a bit of mischief. “Looks like you could use a bed more.”
Was… this man flirting with him? Scar couldn’t be sure. Part of him really hoped he was, but he quickly tamped down his expectations. This guy looked like he had no problem finding eligible partners, and being friendly to customers was literally part of his job description.
“Fuel I’ve got though. What’s your poison?”
Scar squinted at the menu. “Just a small coffee, please. Three cream and three sugar.”
The man made a bit of a face, and Scar wondered if he was dealing with one of those baristas who was about to tear him a new one for putting cream in his coffee. Instead, the barista sounded genuinely apologetic. “I’m afraid we don’t do drip coffee after 7 p.m., not enough people buying it to keep it fresh. I can do anything espresso-based though—maybe an americano?”
Scar rarely ever drank coffee, to be honest. His limited experience came from the drive-thru on his way to work after the occasional late night, and he usually had to use copious amounts of cream and sugar to mask the taste. “What would you recommend? To be honest, I’m not really sure what I’m ordering here.”
The barista grinned like he’d just been handed a prize. “I’m actually really good at making personalized drinks for people. Joel, the owner, calls me a drink-psychic. Let me ask you a few questions, and I’ll whip up something you’ll love, guaranteed or on me.”
Scar was a bit skeptical but nodded, smiling at how quickly this conversation was becoming a bit ridiculous.
“Alright, what’s your name?”
“Scar.”
“Any allergies?”
“Just penicillin, but I’d hope you aren’t putting that in.”
The blonde grinned with a hint of mischief, “You never know. Are you on campus often?”
Scar chuckled a bit. “I practically live here, especially this time of year.”
The barista's grin didn’t dim, but it did carry a hint of sympathy. “I bet. Do you have any pets?”
“Oh! Yes! I have a cat, Jellie. She’s the sweetest thing in the world.”
His eyes widened a bit in excitement as he leaned closer on the counter. “I love cats. Do you have a photo?”
Scar sighed a bit regretfully, hardly believing he had an opportunity to show off cat photos but no phone within reach. “Sadly, I left my phone on my desk.”
The barista nodded in consolation. “Ah, too bad. Well then, last question: What’s your number?”
Scar suddenly blushed furiously. “M-my number? Is this part of your psychic routine?”
“Yes,” the barista said with full confidence, then added a bit bashfully, “And also so you can send me a photo of Jellie later, if you want.”
Oh, of course. For a second, Scar thought that, just maybe, the blonde was flirting with him. Which was ridiculous. It was too bad, but not a total downer. He’d be happy to chat more with this man, and equally happy to show off photos of Jellie.
Scar rattled off his number while the barista put it into his phone. When he finished, he looked up and smiled. “Alright then, Scar. Just a moment.”
Scar smiled as the barista disappeared behind the espresso machine. He looked around some more as the hissing and gurgling of the machine filled the space, suddenly catching the eye of his student who had been sleeping near the back. Scott—that was his name.
Scott had a sly smile on his face, watching Scar. He gave the student a bit of a wave, and the boy waved back, clearly finding something amusing—likely Scar being here so late.
“All done! One Scar-special,” the blonde suddenly exclaimed from the other side of the counter. He slid over a paper cup with a sleeve. The coffee looked well-made and even had one of those hearts Scar had seen on social media. There was also something crumbled on the top.
Scar grinned and took the cup. It was warm but didn’t burn his hand. “Thank you, how much do I owe you?”
“On the house.” Scar immediately started to protest, but the blonde held up a hand. “You’re my guinea pig with this one. All I ask is that you send me a detailed review after.”
Scar smiled sincerely. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. I’ll do that.”
“Please do,” the man smiled back wider.
Scar began to leave before remembering something crucial. “Oh, my goodness, I completely forgot to ask your name.”
The blonde grinned widely. “Grian.”
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Later, over a nearly completed stack of papers, Scar tipped back the rest of his drink. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
His phone pinged, and Scar’s heart did a little twirl as he saw the messages:
412-576-8472: hey this is grian!
412-576-8472: hope you liked the latte
412-576-8472: don’t forget my photo of Jellie
Scar smiled, then quickly snapped a picture of his empty cup, sending it off before selecting one of his best Jellie photos (the one where she was sleeping pressed up against his chin) and sent that off as well.
With a contented sigh, Scar realized that maybe grading papers at midnight wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Not if it led to late-night lattes and meeting someone like Grian who seemed genuinely interested in his cat—and maybe even a little interested in being his friend too.