Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Baby liked the quiet hum of the coffee shop, a small corner of peace hidden away on a small side street off the corner of the main avenue - quaint, with a wooden rustic charm that screamed a clash of vintage yet modern aesthetic. Brown wooden interior with off-green colored paint that made the two-toned walls feel more like a farmhouse than a modern café. Tiny little sting lights were lit up near the ceiling, some in the shapes of stars, and others circular. It was close enough to the university to keep business busy with a constant wave of exhausted students looking for a place to hold on to their sanity for a little while longer. The shelves along the walls were crammed with mismatched books, their spines bent and worn from years of curious hands wandering through the pages. The air carried the comfortable scent of fresh espresso mingling with hints of cinnamon, vanilla, and the smell of sweet pastries.

He had worked here for around a year now, ever since he decided to try and make something of himself, step away from the illicit behavior of his old life. He had learned his lesson; no more breaking and entering, no more shipping out illegal imports, no more racing for dangerous men with guns. Just the quiet solace he had found in the rhythmic grind of coffee beans, the hiss of steaming milk, and the soft clinks of ceramic mugs being placed on polished countertops. He didn't need anything else, even if sometimes his fingers couldn't stop fidgeting, remembering all of the muscle memory actions he's tried hard not to give in to. With his earbuds tucked in, a familiar soundtrack playing, and the hush chattering from the customers, his world narrowed down to the steady, soothing flow of his work. 

It was around mid-afternoon when the man walked in. Baby glanced up as the bell above the door chimed. The man stood out immediately - a sharp suit that looked overly expensive, a long overcoat that reached below the knees, and a perpetually displeased expression etched into his face. There was something about the man that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight. A chill maybe, or a premonition. He was shorter than Baby, and looked to be middle-aged, but that didn't stop his presence from filling the room.

The man approached the counter, his gait sure and his posture straight - the type of precise walking that exuded a better-than-thou attitude and self-assurance so readily available, even he was ready to accept the fact that the man was better than everyone in the room. His gaze flicked over the menu board for all of one second before landing on Baby, heavy and judgmental. 

"Black coffee. No sugar, no cream," the man said, his voice clipped and efficient, like he had somewhere more important to be. 

Baby nodded, his hands moving to punch in the buttons on the register. "Name for the order?" he asked, his voice soft but clear with a slight drawl you only get from growing up in the South. 

The man hesitated a beat before replying, "Doc."

Doc.

Baby's brow quirked slightly, though he masked it just as fast. Strange name. Maybe a professor? One of those snobby people with PhDs who preferred academic titles over first names. It had happened before, the amount of times he's written "Dr. Such and Such" on a cup surprisingly higher than one would thing. It's never just been "Doc" before, thought. He glanced up and found Doc staring at him, his eyes unblinking. He quickly took the man's money, popped the register, and handed back the appropriate change, making sure his fingers didn't touch the man's skin. 

It wasn't the first time someone had stared at him. He was used to the occasional customer trying to get his attention, trying to make small talk, or even getting bold enough to ask for his number. But this- this was different. There was something unkind, something searching in the gaze that made Baby's skin prickle with cold goosebumps.

He mentally shrugged it off, turning up the volume of his iPod and slipping back into the smooth flow of making coffee. A simple order - grind the beans, set the machine, lid the top, add a sleeve on it. A minute later, he slid the cup across the counter into the designated pickup area. 

"Black coffee for Doc," he announced softly, carried just loud enough to reach the man who had stepped off to the side after receiving the receipt.

Doc took the cup but lingered for a moment. The man's gaze swept over the small café, taking in the cozy setting, the brown and green earth tones of the walls, the mismatched books, and the scattered patrons hunched over laptops or novels.

"Nice place," he muttered, almost begrudgingly.

Baby gave a small, noncommittal nod, unsure if it was meant to be a compliment or a simple observation the man had decided was true. Doc looked at him one last time, eyes narrowing, then turned and walked out the door, his steps just as measured as when he walked in. 

From his spot behind the counter, Baby couldn't help but watch him go, staring through the storefront's glass until the older man disappeared from view. There was something about Doc -those sharp edges, that quiet intensity- that felt strange and out of place in this little sanctuary he carved out for himself. And yet, Doc didn't seem entirely confident either, like he was busy trying to figure out why he was even here, just as much as Baby was trying to figure out why he couldn't stop glancing his way. 

As Baby wiped down the counter, his earbuds now playing a more mellow track, he thought about the man's eyes. How they constantly flicked over to him while he had been working, meeting his for a moment before shifting away. It hadn't just been curiosity - it had felt like recognition. 

But that was impossible. They'd never met. Had they?

Baby frowned, pushing the odd thought aside. It didn't matter, the man was gone and there were other customers that needed his attention. He had a shift to finish, a playlist to shuffle through.

No time to dwell on mysterious men who ordered black coffee and stared too long. 

.....

The shop was dark and silent, save for the low hum of the fridge in the back of the kitchen. He shut the last of the lights off, the flickering of the neon sign illuminating the café's name fading into the same darkness of the dining area. Baby wiped his hands on his apron one last time, undid the knot, hung it up on the employee apparel rack, and finished locking up. The city's air hit him as he stepped out, crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of car exhaust and damp pavement from a previous light shower of rain. It had been a long day, longer than usual. For once he was glad to be away from the constant smell of sweet pastries and artificial creamer, glad to inhale air that wasn't filled with the aroma of grounded-up caffeine powder.

Being the manager had its perks -a steady paycheck, a sense of responsibility, a way to stay out of trouble- but closing alone most nights left Baby restless. His hands ached to grip something more real, to feel the wheel of a car beneath his fingers and chase the kind of thrill that couldn't be found by counting change and stirring lattes.

He let his feet guide him as he walked through the dimly lit streets of Atlanta, his playlist switched to something faster, louder, matching the sudden increased pulse of his heartbeat. The city lights blurred as he walked, a mix of red and green and white. The noise of traffic and the distant laughter of drunkards faded into the background as he found himself walking deeper and deeper into different side streets. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he knew he'd find it eventually. 

Then he did. 

Parked near an alley, almost hidden from view, practically begging for his attention. A car - sleek and aggressive, with its wide body kit and wheels angled sharply inward from its extreme camber setup. Low to the ground, almost teasing the asphalt. The white exterior gleamed even in the low lighting of a broken street lamp, catching the slight pearlescence in the paint. A custom job.

It was a beauty, someone's pride and joy, no doubt. 

Baby grinned, feeling that familiar itch flare to life. He knew he shouldn't. He'd told himself he was done with this, that it was too dangerous, that he didn't want to end up locked in prison again. But...he was already here, and the thrill was hard to walk away from. 

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Baby looked around, watching for any movement. The street was empty. Quiet. No one was around, no one would notice a thing. Just a quick spin, nothing serious, that's what he told himself. He just wanted to have some fun, live a little. He pulled out his iPod as he stalked toward the car, spinning the dial and settling on something to really get his heart racing. The sounds of old 70s rock blared in his ears, the resonance of the vocals bleeding into perfectly timed high hats and low bass. 

It didn't take long. He was good at this, always had been. Another quick glance to make sure the coast was clear, a single practiced motion to jimmy the lock, and he was smoothly sliding into the driver's seat like he belonged there and wasn't just some invader encroaching into someone else's property. The interior smelled like leather cleaner and lemon air freshener, a pleasant citrus smell. On the black dashboard hung little trinkets and toys belonging to the owner, showing off their interests.

He reached under the dash, pulling apart the bottom panel to reveal the delicate wiring. His fingers worked on autopilot, finding the right connections and sparking the car to life within the first few tries. The engine roared awake, deep and guttural, sending a hot thrill up his spine.

"Hello, gorgeous," Baby murmured, his grin widening as he tested the throttle response and the sound of the exhaust. 

As he settled in, he looked around, his hand brushing against something cold in the center console. An iPod. He picked it up instinctively, turning it on, thumbing through the songs on it like second nature. The selection wasn't bad - some old-school rock, a little of blues jazz, a few odd modern tracks that made him curious. 

He quickly plugged his earbuds in, determined to test out the tastes of the owner, syncing up the music with the subtle growl of the idling engine. Baby eased the car out of its parking spot, laughing to himself. 

Baby didn't think too hard about the consequences of what he was doing, didn't think much about what he was willing to risk for a little bit of excitement. Right now, the only thing that was important was seeing how this kind of setup would take turns if he went just a bit too fast. 

.....

The thrill of the stolen ride still buzzed in Baby's veins, leaving him with a pounding heart and skin that felt too tight and hot. Even as he dumped the car on the edge of a quiet industrial lot, that comforting twist in his core kept him replaying the drive in his mind as he stared at the small amount of steam coming from the brakes. The engine was still cooling with soft clicks and pings of expanding metal - he gave it one last appreciative look before walking away. 

He should feel bad, he thought. Some poor soul would wake up tomorrow, find their expensive ride gone, and probably call the cops in a panic. But the car was fine. They'd find it eventually, have it towed back and inspected. Insurance would cover whatever damage he had done. It wasn't like he had stripped it for parts or totally trashed it, he just...borrowed it. 

Now, it wasn't his problem. 

He started the walk back to his apartment in a brisk fashion, the cool air nipping at his fevered skin as he slipped his earbuds back in, the stolen iPod safely housed in his pocket like a souvenir. His thumb scrolled to something slower, a steady melody to die down the hurried movement of his steps, to make him breathe and appreciate the walk. The adrenaline still hummed in his chest though, his heart pounding harder than it should despite the orchestral piano in the background. 

He wanted to let it fade, so he wasn't so wound up by the time he got home and could head to bed at a reasonable hour for his shift tomorrow, but the city wasn't making it easy for him tonight. Around almost every corner, there were more tempting cars - parked neatly, waiting quietly, as if daring him to take the bait. Baby stuffed his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and kept walking. 

It wasn't until he passed the multi-level parking lot near an upscale apartment complex -the kind that costs more in rent than he could ever afford on a barista's salary- that he froze. The building itself wasn't what caught his attention, or even the sign that listed out the prices for overnight parking of the structure, it was a car. 

There it was; a sleek back Mercedes with twenty-inch large-spoked rims sitting on the first floor, its paint like a liquid oil mirror under the parking lot's overhead lights. It was perfection; every line was clean, every detail in its design deliberate.

His hands itched. His heart kicked into overdrive all over again. 

Baby stepped closer, his sneaker crunching faintly on the asphalt beneath his feet. The car exuded power and elegance, the kind of ride that all but demanded his attention without really trying. Baby's fingers clenched into fists at his sides, his mind already running through the process. He'd be in and out in seconds, maybe a minute at worst. Just one more bad decision to chase the fading energy in his system. 

But something stopped him.

It wasn't guilt, or even logic. It was...something else. A sudden weight, heavy and cold, settled into his chest and spread throughout his body the longer he stared at the Mercedes. A strange sense of apprehension that made his stomach swirl with unease.

It didn't make sense.

He'd never felt this before. 

Baby took a step back, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to turn and walk away. Maybe it was paranoia, the potential camera likely stationed around the parking lot. Maybe he was more tired than he realized and just needed to sleep it off. Either way, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't supposed to touch that car. 

He glanced back once he crossed the street, the black Mercedes unmoving, blending into the dark shadows of other cars and concrete pillars. 

By the time he reached his apartment, the adrenaline had finally begun to fade completely. He climbed the stairs and shuffled through the rundown hallway, finding his door and retreating into the quiet space. He made sure not to make any noise as he kicked off his shoes, not wanting to wake up his roommate. He collapsed onto his bed without bothering to change.

Sleep came quickly, pulling him under its influence like a tide. But even as his body relaxed, his mind lingered on that car, pondering what would have happened if he had taken it after all. 

Chapter Text

The morning was about as bland as any other morning is. Baby's alarm buzzed faintly from his phone, an obnoxious jingle from a song that he hated, put there so that it would guarantee he would wake up just to silence it. He had already been awake long before the first notes echoed from his phone, staring at the cracks in the ceiling of his room and counting all the dots of texture he could make out from the popcorn roof. He rolled out of bed, tugged on the first set of clean clothes his hands brushed against, and made his way to the bathroom, ignoring the sound of Debora rummaging around in the kitchen.

"Hey, where's the sugar?" she called, her voice carrying easily through the thin walls. 

"Top shelf," Baby muttered, slightly muffled by the toothbrush in his mouth, not bothering to look out through the open door. 

He heard the scrape of a chair across the floorboards as she climbed up to grab it, no doubt helping herself to coffee in his favorite mug. 

By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, Debora was leaning against the counter, sipping lazily from a red mug that had a cartoon caricature of a cat holding up the sign of horns, with the word "metal' spelled incorrectly. He had found it at the bottom of a shelf of rejected mugs forever ago. It had been his favorite ever since, and apparently also Debora's favorite...to steal. 

She had the air of someone who'd slept better than she should have, her brown curls pulled back in a messy ponytail and her clothes slightly crumped from where her shirt was tucked into her jeans. 

"Ready?" she asked, putting the mug in the sink, already trailing after him as he grabbed his bag and keys. 

Her presence was a constant, one he didn't mind as much as he pretended to. They had met years ago, back when he was still trying to pick up the pieces of his life after getting out of juvie. His foster father hadn't wanted anything to do with him then, not as long as he couldn't be sure Baby wouldn't immediately fall back into the same old crime he had always been in. He hasn't talked to Joe in a while - things have been strained and it's been so long he just wasn't sure how to reach out anymore. It wasn't a proud chapter, and getting caught for grand theft auto had been the wake-up call he hadn't wanted. 

Debora had been working as a waitress at some dingy diner back then, pouring coffee and handing out servings of food to customers with a practiced smile. She had seen through him almost immediately, pulling him out of his sulking whenever he made time to sit in one of the booths and listen to music. She had treated him with a no-nonsense kindness that he hadn't expected but quietly appreciated. Somewhere along the way, they had become friends, and after a particularly heated argument with Joe that got him kicked out, she hadn't hesitated to let him stay when he needed a place to crash. 

She got fed up with the diner, so now she worked with him at the coffee shop, and though she couldn't make a proper latte to save her life, her personality was magnetic enough to charm even the most tired and grouchy customers. All she had to do was flash them a sweet smile, and all was forgiven.

"So," she started, falling into step beside him as they walked through the streets to the shop nearby. "I'm thinking about going out with this guy from the gym. You know the one. Tall, dark, and handsome. Great arms. Name's Emmett or Evan or something like that."

"Mhm," Baby hummed noncommittally, the jangle of his keys sounding as he unlocked the shop door and stepped inside.

Debora followed after him, her chatter filling in the quiet space of the still-dark storefront as he busied himself with the morning routine. Turn on the lights, prime the register, grinding beans, setting out pastries, checking the contents of the fridge.

"You're not even listening," she accused lightly with a pout that only works half the time in making him feel guilty.

"I'm listening," he replied, his focus on cleaning the pockets of the espresso machine.

"You don't care."

"Also true."

Debora laughed, wiping down the counters with a cleaning rag as he worked. 

Despite his calm exterior, and his apparent focus on his tasks, Baby's thoughts still lingered on the night before. He tried not to tell Debora about his little late-night escapades in stolen cars, the things he took from them, the dark tire marks left on the road when he decides to do donuts at intersections. He's never given himself away, and he has no intention of starting now.

At least, that's what he tells himself. 

She had a real way of playing with his guilt, giving him that look until he spilled all the reasons why he gets back to the apartment so late at night, or why his closet is so full of random crap that it's like an avalanche if someone so much as opens the door. 

She doesn't lecture him...much. Baby thinks she knows she can't stop him, so the least she can do is be supportive of his criminal habits and make sure he doesn't get himself into any real trouble.

His personal moral compass. 

Still, it wasn't like he wanted to go back to that life. He just...couldn't seem to shake the habit. Never has been, probably never will.

The bell above the sop door jingled, signaling the arrival of the first customer. Debora straightened, flashing the person with her practiced customer-service smile. Baby slipped into his role too, letting the familiar rhythm of work take over the other confusing thoughts rattling around in his mind like a loose axle. 

Take the orders. Hand back the change. Steam the milk. 

Done and done.

The occasional customer turned into a steady stream of people walking in and out as the sun rose a little higher in the sky. People going to work, students going to class, tired parents on their way to drop off their kids. Baby barely had time to breathe as the morning rush hit, customers filing in, each one in a hurry, each one convinced their coffee was more important than anyone else's. Orders flew at him -double shot this, nonfat milk that- and he worked on autopilot, relying on muscle memory as his hands moved with practiced precision over the equipment. 

The line snaked toward the door, a blend of irritable and impatient people with dark eye bags and hunched shoulders. Some of these people were more volatile without caffeine than some criminals he had worked for. Baby kept his head down, avoiding making eye contact as a self-preservation tactic, focusing instead on pulling espresso shots and cleaning up spills. 

That was until he noticed the group of girls in line. 

One of them he recognized, though he couldn't remember her name - she was a regular, one of the college students who often camped out in a corner booth with a pile of textbooks while she pretended to do work when she was really just texting on her phone. Today, she was giggling with her friends, her cheeks already flushed as they nudged her and whispered conspiratorially.

Baby didn't need to hear them to know what they were saying.

He'd learned to real lips a long time ago, a skill you pick up when your foster father happens to be deaf. It's how he's able to keep working with his earbuds firmly tucked into his ears when he took orders - it's more about reading the orders than hearing them.

He caught snippets as the girls spoke to each other.

'He's so cute.'

'You should totally do it, he'll say yes for sure."

'Come on, ask him!'

Great. Just what he needed.

By the time they reached the counter, Baby had already schooled his expression into something professionally neutral. The girl hesitated as her friends stifled their laughter behind her; he saw the way she batted her lashes at him, the not-so-discrete way she pushed out her chest as she leaned forward in a guise of ordering. She rattled off her order - an iced vanilla latte - and Baby nodded politely, repeating the order and her total, punching it in into the ticket machine without meeting her eyes. 

He moved quickly, ringing her up and handing her the change, well aware of the numerous amounts of customers in line behind her. Just when he thought he was in the clear, she opened her mouth and blurted out, "Hey, um...do you maybe want to grab coffee sometime? I mean, like, not here, but, you know, somewhere else?"

He read the words faster than he heard them. She was pretty, sure, but in that standard kind of way most girls are pretty. It's not that he doesn't find her attractive, it's just...nothing about her screamed excitement. Nothing flashy. Nothing interesting. He can already imagine it - a nice date at some bland cafe, making small talk, a pleasant lunch, maybe even a kiss. Normal. Lacking any rush of danger or- or anything at all that makes his heart race. 

It's not her, it's him. 

The girl's voice wavered, her confidence faltering at his lack of reaction.

Baby didn't even blink. "I appreciate it, really, but, uh, no thanks," he said calmly, sliding her receipt across the counter. His tone wasn't harsh, it was soft but matter-of-fact.

The girl blinked, her cheeks darkening further as she stammered out a quiet "Oh, o-okay." She took the paper and hurried off with her friends, their giggles morphing into quiet whispers and judgmental glares in his directions as they retreated to a table.

Baby sighed and turned back to the espresso machine. He wasn't trying to be cold, but he also wasn't interested. The attention was flattering, sure, but it came with a whole bunch of complications he didn't want or need. She wasn't his type anyway.

Behind him, he heard Debora cackle. 

"Awe, Miles. You're ruthless, you know that?" she teased, leaning against the counter as she waited for some pastries to finish warming in the oven. "Heartbreaker Baby strikes again."

He rolled his eyes at the nickname, brushing past her to grab the next order slip. It's not his fault he's awkward and doesn't know how to talk to people, much less reject them.

"I'm just not interested. S'not personal."

"Yeah, yeah. Tell that to her face." Debora smirked, nodding toward the table where the girl sat, still looking dazed. 

"Not my fault..." Baby muttered, breaking off his line of sight as he returned to his work.

Debora only grinned at him sweetly and patted his shoulder, clearly enjoying his discomfort. 

.....

By the time the morning rush finally slowed, Baby felt like collapsing. His hands were aching, cramping from the subtle burns of dealing with hot food and a grueling hour of cups flying everywhere. His apron smelled faintly of spilled coffee and non-dairy creamer, and he'd already mentally checked out the moment when he had handed a customer a drink, only for them to immediately spill all of it and demand another. 

Debora had wandered off to chat with a regular, leaving him and one other employee to finish cleaning up the leftover mess of that morning. 

Maybe I should just take the evening shifts.

He glanced at the clock. His lunch hour was so close he could practically taste it. 

And then the bell above the door rang out. 

His hands stilled at the bow of his apron, a second away from clocking out. 

God, just kill me. 

Baby turned, ready to force a smile for whoever had just ruined the start of his break. 

The sight that greeted him made him pause.

It was him. 

The man from the other day - the one with the sharp suit, the stoic expression, and the air of someone who didn't suffer fools. The sneering glare on the man's face made his heart jump just a little, a strange gut reaction made out of a fight-or-flight response. 

Today, his suit was navy blue with pinstripes, perfectly tailored to his broad frame, paired with a dark red tie that almost bordered on a cool-toned purple. A silver wristwatch that looked way too expensive was worn on his left side, the same color as the couple of silver rings that were adorning his fingers. His slicked-back hair caught the light briefly as he stepped inside, carrying a brown-skinned leather briefcase in one hand. 

Debora started toward the register, but Baby was faster, cutting her off with a subtle shove and a calculated look. She stumbled back, glaring at him with an exaggerated look of betrayal.

"Seriously?" she hissed.

"I've got this one," Baby said, not meeting her accusatory eyes as he slid behind the register. 

Debora muttered something under her breath but didn't argue. 

He was too focused on Doc to worry about Debora's complaints. Doc, who had approached the counter with the same calm, bored presence as before. He glanced at the menu, though it was clear he already had decided on what he wanted before he even walked in here.

"Large Americano," Doc said, his tone clipped but not unpleasantly demanding. 

Baby nodded, punching it into the register. "That'll be $5.75."

Doc pulled out a crisp bill and handed it over, his movements followed by a strange canter, precise and snappy, a particular style of motion that seemed to be unique to the man. A signature, perhaps. Maybe like a personalized accent, but for body language. Baby took the bill and couldn't help but notice the veins on Doc's hands, the apparent strength in his grip. He filed that thought away, his brain moving a step ahead of his mouth to keep that bored-looking attention on him. 

"Nice suit," Baby drawled, soft-spoken but steady. "The navy and red work well together."

The comment slipped out before he could stop it. He froze, waiting for Doc's reaction. It was just an observation, really. He makes them all the time, it shouldn't mean anything more than exactly what he said. 

He half-expected Doc to brush it off or ignore it entirely, like he hadn't even heard it. 

Instead, Doc raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting just slightly as he adjusted his suitcase and finally made eye contact with him. It wasn't quite a smile -Doc didn't seem like the type of guy that would ever smile- but there was something amused in the way he looked at Baby, like he was trying to decide if the attempted compliment was him being genuine or a pitiful attempt at flirting. 

"Uh-huh," Doc hummed after a beat, clearly uncaring either way, sliding his change into his wallet. His voice was smooth, a little deep, with just a hint of something rough around the edges peaking through. As he turned to leave the counter to wait, he paused, his gaze dropping to Baby's name tag.

"Thanks...Miles," he said, squinting at the lettering of Baby's real name, testing it out like he was examining the flavor of a finely aged wine. 

The way he said it -like he was pretending to care, even though Baby knew he didn't- sent a strange, warm feel coursing through him. 

"Sure, anytime," Baby replied, even though Doc had already walked away far enough where he probably didn't even hear him.

Debora appeared at his side, her hands on her hips and a pout on her lips. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Baby asked, feigning ignorance as he pulled out a large cup to start on Doc's drink.

Debora smirked, leaning on the counter and blocking his path pettily. "You practically shoved me out of the way to take his order, and now you're blushing."

"I'm not blushing."

"Sweetie, you're totally blushing."

Baby didn't respond, using his height advantage over her and reaching past her to grab a lid. He focused on steaming the water for the Americano and not the incredulous way Debora was smiling at him. His heart was racing at her accusation for no good reason.

Was he really that obvious? Is that why Doc was looking at him like that? All annoyed amusement and tolerance if he squinted enough.

He hates that he probably was.

As he placed Doc's drink on the pickup counter, their eyes met briefly from across the room. Doc gave a slight nod as he stood from his seat and walked over to grab it, and Baby's lips twitched into the smallest of smiles before he could stop himself. When Doc took his cup, there was a small paper slid across the counter toward him, the folded-up structure of a large bill. 

Eyes widening a little, he quickly shoved it into his pocket, hoping Debora hadn't seen. 

Her teasing voice rang in his ear as he attempted to retreat. "Heartbreaker Baby, meet your match."

Baby scoffed. "It's not like that." He kept his voice down and pretended to be busy opening up a new bag of cups for the station. His exasperation was just clear enough to make Debora smirk.

She had metaphorically and literally plugged her ears, sticking her fingers in them and humming an obnoxious tune to drown him out. She was using one of his most hated songs as her choice - a childish move. 

"I'm serious," he continued, crossing his arms. "He's just a customer, and I wasn't on break yet."

Debora finally pulled her finger out, her grin bright and smug. "Sure, an' I'm the Queen of England," she said, in a fake yet charming faux British accent.

Baby rolled his eyes but didn't bother responding. He was already on his way to losing this battle, and they both knew it.

His coworker pointed dramatically at his pocket like it was evidence for one of his crimes. "Then what's that?" she demanded, her finger wagging back and forth in accusation. 

Dammit.

Baby sighed, unsuccessful in hiding it, pulling out the crisp $100 bill Doc had slipped him as a tip when he picked up his drink. He unfolded it, trying to hold it up as if to prove it wasn't a big deal, like his heart wasn't subtly increasing in tempo the longer he held it.

"It's just a tip."

"A hundred-dollar tip," Debora emphasized, her tone dripping with mock incredulity. "Face it, Miles. You've got a sugar daddy in the making."

Baby's face flushed, and he shoved the bill back into his pocket with force. "You're reading into it."

Debora narrowed her eyes, her expression turning sly. Oh no. She better not say what he thinks she's going to say.

"Y'know who this reminds me of? Mr. What's-His-Face. You remember him. Rich, snobby, bad attitude- ringing any bells?"

Baby groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose to wipe away the memories of too many expensive drinks and a bad decision. "That's different."

"Oh, really?" Debora arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms to mimic his standoffish posture. "Because if I recall correctly, that guy was a walking red flag too."

"He was secretly married," Baby shot back, a little defensive.

Her grin widened. "And wearing a ring the entire time. Not exactly subtle."

"Okay, so I chose to be ignorant," Baby admitted, fiddling with the strings of his apron in defeat. "But that doesn't matter because this-" he gestured vaguely toward the corner where Doc was sitting with his laptop open "-isn't that."

Debora gave him a long, knowing look, her silence saying more than her words ever could. Maybe he was rubbing off on her a little too much. The silent judging treatment was staring to become a problem.

Finally, she pouted and reached for his pocket. "Fine, since you're not interested, I'll just take that tip off your hands-"

Baby stepped back, keeping her at bay with one of his arms while she swatted at him like a petulant child. "Deb, no. Back off."

"But I need it more than you!" she whined, still reaching for the bill.

"No, you don't," Baby countered, giving into a smile as he held her at arm's length.

They grappled for a moment, laughing despite the odd looks some of the customers were throwing them. Debora eventually gave up, huffing dramatically as she accepted the $20 bill he handed her as a consolation prize.

"Fine," she relented, her voice dripping with mock resignation. "But don't you come cryin' an' wailin' to me when he sweeps you off your feet and breaks your heart."

Baby huffed, finally shoving his apron off and clocking out for his lunch break.

Her words stuck with him longer than he cared to admit. 

Chapter Text

Baby crouched behind the counter, dragging out a large wholesale box of coffee beans for the grinder. His body was mostly obscured by the sink faucet and various machines housed on the main counter, allowing him to 'blend in with his environment'. He moved efficiently, his main focus on the task at hand, but his eyes kept drifting toward the corner of the shop, where Doc sat with his laptop open.

His task shouldn't have taken as long as it is, but somewhere along the way he had gotten rather...distracted. 

The man had the same cool, collected air as always, his face set in what could only be described as a permanent scowl. Baby isn't sure if he's ever seen the guy wear any other expression - maybe his face was just stuck like that, or maybe he was perpetually angry all the time. A part of him had hoped that that's just the way Doc looked, and underneath all the glaring and scoffing, was a nice guy who didn't match his own face at all. He's only met Doc a couple of times now, and he can say for certain, that that's not the case. 

Doc's suit jacket was draped on the back of his chair, his briefcase leaning against the leg of the table. The AC in the store worked a little too well, making the working environment chilly enough to warrant a hot coffee, even in the middle of the afternoon. He figured that's why Doc chose a window seat, sitting in the direct sunlight, the bright rays washing over his crisp dress shirt and fast typing hands. 

It was hard not to watch him, with the way his fingers moved over the keyboard with that same strange cadence, a snappy precision, no motion wasted. The way Doc's scowl would deepen as he leaned forward to look at something specific on his screen. The subtle flex of his jaw that accentuated the lean muscles in his neck when he concentrated. 

Baby told himself he wasn't gawking. He was just...observing. 

That was, until Debora suddenly popped up behind him, her head practically leaning right over his shoulder.

"What're we lookin' at?" she whispered, startling him enough that his grip nearly slipped on the heavy carton of beans he was holding. 

"Jesus, Debora!" Baby hissed, quickly setting down the box so he could pick his heart up off the floor. 

The chiding went straight over her head. She wasn't even paying attention to him anymore, her eyes had locked onto his previous line of sight, where Doc was sitting in the corner, and her smirk grew wicked. 

"Ohhh," she drawled, tilting her head, not at all controlling her volume. "It's him." 

Baby scowled, brushing past her to finish what he was supposed to have done five minutes ago. "I wasn't staring."

"Sure," Debora said, leaning farther out of the workstation to get a better look. He had to resist the urge to grab her by the shoulders and pull her back before she gave them away. Debora hummed, counting on her fingers as she made her observations. 

"Older guy, obviously rich, big hands, a nice face, and- ooh, a bad attitude to boot."

Baby stiffened, feeling like he was sitting in the county courthouse all over again, a harsh gravel slapped on some wood, ringing out his sentencing. 

"Can you not?" he muttered, already moving to the far side of the counter, hoping she'd drop it. 

Debora ignored him. "I gotta' say, Miles, this one screams trouble."

He shot her a glare, but before he come up with anything to retort, there was movement from the other side of the cafe, their commotion and Debora's too-loud voice catching Doc's attention. 

The man looked up from his laptop, his scowl deepening from the distracting noises coming from the two idiots behind the counter. That unamused gaze zeroed in on them with an uncanny level of precision. Straight at them, telling them to 'shut up' without even having to say a word.

Baby froze, an embarrassingly hot sensation rising up from the back of his neck to the tips of his ears.

Had Doc heard every word Debora said?

Please, no. 

Debora, of course, continued to stare, unburdened by the evil eye they were getting. "He's looking," she whispered to him dramatically.

"Great, thanks for that," Baby muttered, quiet enough in hopes Doc wouldn't hear any more of what he wasn't supposed to. Baby shoved her out of the way lightly, breaking their eye contact. "Go do literally anything else." 

Debora snickered but relented, swaying off to the other end of the counter to water the tiny potted plants sitting on the edge. Small cactus-like succulents with vibrant red and purple petals that Debora had "rescued" from the local Home Depot, seeing their wilted forms and hiding them under her coat as she snuck them out like some kind of environmental activist.

And she calls him a thief. 

Hypocrite. 

Baby straightened up and focused on his work, ignoring the heat rising to his cheeks from the glare he could still feel on his back.

He didn't dare glance toward the corner again.

At least, not for the next five minutes. 

.....

The last stretch of Baby's shift dragged on and on like molasses. His feet ached, his head throbbed, and he was seriously considering selling drugs for the rest of his life if it meant never having to make another frappuccino ever again. 

Then came her. 

A middle-aged woman with a gaggle of children swarming her, perfectly manicured and furiously irate. She stood at the pick-up counter, holding a half-empty cup of coffee and pointing it at him as if it were a gun. An experience he is quite familiar with.

"You made it wrong," she snapped, her voice nasally and uptight. "I asked for no foam. Does this look like no foam to you?"

Baby plastered on the best customer service smile he could muster, though it felt more like a grimace than anything. "Sorry bout' that, ma'am. I can remake it for you-"

"I don't want it remade," she interrupted him, her volume rising. "I wanted you to do it right the first time. Is that so hard?"

He nodded along to her speech, tuning out most of it as his patience dwindled into nothing. He was about to offer a refund, a coupon, anything just to get her to leave when Doc appeared at the counter, his empty cup in hand and his belongings in the other. 

Baby seized the opportunity as it presented itself, flashing a pleading look at Debora as he shuffled away from the woman and towards someone who was more pleasant despite the equally annoyed look. He'll take quiet, brooding businessmen over loud, snarling housewives any day. 

Debora sighed but stepped up beside him, taking over the woman's complaints with an exaggeratedly cheerful, "Hi there! Let's see what we can do to fix this for you."

He owed her big time for this, and by the look she threw his way, she knew it too.

Turning to Doc, he slipped back into a much more genuine version of his customer service voice - soft, lacking any pep. "Need a refill to go?"

Doc nodded, setting his cup down. "Black," he said simply. 

As worked on the order, he caught Doc glancing toward the still-ranting woman. His expression, already perpetually displeased, darkened into something truly annoyed.

"Shut up," Doc said suddenly.

The woman froze mid-sentence, blinking rapidly as if she were convinced Doc wasn't speaking to her at first. Her mouth was left hanging open, mouthing over silent indignant words as she turned to face him. 

Doc's sneer deepened, his top lip curling in a way that made it abundantly clear how little he thought of her and her problems. "It's a coffee. Not the end of the world. Get over it."

Baby's hand faltered, spilling a bit of excess coffee onto the counter. He bit his cheek to keep himself from snickering, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sheer audacity and sass in the comment itself. But another part of him, one that he would have been happy to ignore, found himself...swooning?

God, Debora was right about him. 

He handed Doc the refill, keeping his face neutral and his eyes averted as the woman sputtered, insulted, and stormed out of the cafe with her children in tow. Debora was barely suppressing her laughter from behind the counter and he had to elbow her in the side to get her to quit it.

Doc glanced at him, his scowl softening just enough to resemble something almost...amused? Or maybe smug would be a better word. "Thanks," he said, tone more casual than just a second ago.

"...no problem," Baby mumbled, suddenly very interested in cleaning up the coffee he had spilled. 

He refused to look up even when he heard footsteps walking away or the doorbell chiming as Doc exited. He leaned against the espresso machine, burying his face into his arms with a groan, pointedly ignoring the condescending pat on his shoulder he got in return. 

.....

The city lights glimmered, reflecting against the puddles on the streets as Baby locked up for the night, the sound of the key turning in the lock echoing faintly on the empty walkway. Before he could take a breath of stale city air, Debora was there, looping her arm through his and tugging him toward the apartment like a woman on a mission. 

"No arguments," she declared. "We're going out." 

Baby sighed but didn't fight her, he knew better than that. Debora had her situationship waiting for her at some dingy club no doubt, and apparently, he was being dragged along for the ride. Not the first time, and for sure not the last. If it means making sure she doesn't end up going home with some shady guy who she could do better than, then so be it.

By the time they got home, and before he even had a chance to close the door properly, she was already stomping into her room, rifling through her closet. Clothes flew everywhere, most deemed not 'good' enough, before she settled on a black shimmery dress and sky-high heels. She paused her raid on her closet long enough to point at him with the heal of the shoe.

"Wear something sleazy," she ordered.

Baby raised an eyebrow, hand half-way in the kitchen cabinets in search of snacks. "Why?"

"Because," Debora said, rolling her eyes as if it were obvious, "we're going out out, and we need to match, and you-" she paused, pointing the shoe at him more aggressively, "need to attract someone who isn't your type."

"...it's not that bad," Baby argued, mouth full of crackers and cheese he had found at the bottom of a drawer in the fridge. He doesn't ever remember buying cheese, but it tasted alright. It was safe to eat...probably. 

Debora snorted, turning away to rifle through her jewelry box. "Baby, you deserve better. Let's broaden your horizons."

He huffed but didn't complain any further. He dusted off his hands and put the cheese back into the strange storage compartment he found it in and headed into his room. He rummaged through his wardrobe halfheartedly, eyes scanning his rows of plain white shirts and various sweatshirts. Nothing that exactly screamed skimpy. He's not exactly known for his fashion sense.  

After a bit of searching, he settled on an outfit that Debora would approve of; a tight black shirt that clung to his torso, paired with some dark cargo pants that hung off his hips a little. The top was thin and delicate, the kind of thing that subtly showed off his build without being considered too indecent. He put on a couple of necklaces he 'borrowed' from Debora's jewelry box that he conveniently 'forgot' to give back and threw on his leather jacket to complete the look. The crisp $100 bill Doc had given him was still tucked in the pocket of his old jeans; he slipped it into his wallet, mentally earmarking it for something later. What, he wasn't sure yet.

When he stepped out of his room, Debora whistled, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up. 

"See? Isn't this fun?" she said, grabbing her bag.

Before he could protest, she latched onto his arm again, practically dragging him out the door with strength a woman in heels shouldn't have.

Baby let himself be manhandled and couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips. If nothing else, he'd do it just to make Debora happy.

.....

The club was everything Baby didn't like; loud music with a bass that rattled the organs in his chest, strobing lights that flashed in his vision and made it hard to focus on his own thoughts, crowds of sweaty strangers grinding against each other on the dance floor. He wouldn't necessarily call that dancing either, more like public displays of foreplay. He kept his earbuds in, even if he wasn't currently playing anything. It was the only barrier he had between the ringing in his already sensitive ears, and the blaring of electronica from the overhead speakers. 

He didn't like coming here, but Debora had insisted, and Baby rarely said no to her. So here he was, standing awkwardly by the bar while his roommate disappeared into the throng of bodies with her not-quite-boyfriend. 

He ordered a drink, something simple, a rum and coke, and leaned against the far side of the counter, watching the chaos of drunk adults around him. He grimaced and looked away when he caught someone throwing up in the corner. It wasn't awful, but it wasn't exactly fun either. His idea of fun involved illegal activities, street racing, and a bag full of stolen souvenirs at the end of it. 

Throughout the night, people approached him - guys, girls, groups of friends who thought he looked like the strong silent type, people who just wanted a quick fuck in one of the bathroom stalls. They bought him drinks, tried to chat him up, even invited him to dance. None of them sparked his interest.

Too young. Too bland. Too safe. 

Baby swirled his drink, taking small sips as he scanned the room. The whole scene was painfully ordinary, and other than the handing off of some illegal drugs, there wasn't much of what he would call 'exciting' happening. There was no danger here, nothing he could compare to the thrill of sneaking into a high-end car and taking it for a joyride, or the adrenaline rush of a bad and even riskier decision. 

No edge. No spark.

It wasn't that he wasn't trying, he was, it's just not easy. He's not some prude - he's got no issues with waking up next to a stranger in a stranger's bed just as much as the next guy.

What he really wanted, he thought bitterly, was someone who could make his heart race. Someone who exuded power, who wouldn't bore him to death with cheesy pick-up lines, maybe someone with a sharp tongue and a smirk that said, 'I could ruin you.' 

Preferably someone who wasn't that much of a creep. Being good-looking doesn't hurt either.

Baby sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He had a type, and apparently, the club was fresh out of it. 

He glances to the side and spotted Debora off in the distance standing with her not-boyfriend near the edge of the dance floor. She wasn't dancing, she was glaring at him, arms crossed and mouth twisted into a scowl. When she caught his eye, she started gesturing wildly, pointing at him and then out at the crowd of people.

Baby could read her message loud and clear.

Stop being so damn picky. Enjoy yourself.

He rolled his eyes, raising his glass in a mock toast and taking a sip and he watched her shake her head.

Yeah, like it was that simple.

.....

Despite how easy it would have been to overindulge, Baby stayed mostly sober, only nursing a couple drinks throughout the night. He didn't mind having to pace himself, it was part of the unspoken deal. Debora would drag him along to these little outings of hers, and in return, he played the responsible one who made sure they got home in one piece and she didn't make any rash decisions she would regret. He would never say it outright, but he liked looking after her, making sure she was safe, making sure none of the creeps here got any ideas.

By the time the club started to wind down, and it was getting far too late to still be awake, Debora was shitfaced and giggling, leaning heavily on the guy whose name Baby still couldn't remember. He quietly walked up to the pair, overhearing the guy, emboldened by the alcohol, trying to convince Debora to come home with him, his arm slipping too low around her waist for Baby's liking.

Yeah, not gonna' happen.

He didn't give a chance for Debora to slur out some form of agreement. Baby stepped in, grabbing his roommate's arm gently but firmly, sending the guy a glare from above the rim of his shades.

"She's coming with me," Baby said, leaving no room for argument.

The guy blinked, confused, before huffing and walking away, clearly not invested enough to fight him on the matter. Debora pouted as Baby hauled her to the beat-up, sad excuse of the car they owned. She'll thank him later. 

"Buzzkill," she muttered, letting him sit her down in the passenger seat. He made sure to put her seatbelt on and secure her so she wouldn't fall over.

Once they were on the road, Debora slumped against the window, humming along to the faint tune of Nothin' to Lose that was playing faintly from Baby's stereo. 

After a few minutes, she broke the silence, words soft and jumbled together sloppily.

"Soo, d'ya meet anyone?"

Baby snorted. "No."

"An' why not?"

"They were boring."

Debora cackled, the sound loud in the confined space of the car. "Thas' cause' you're too fussy, Miless'."

Baby's eyebrows furrowed together, not dignifying that with a response.

"You like guy'ss who are assholes on' purpose," she slurred, pointing a wobbly finger at him, undeterred by his silence. "Big egos, bad attitudes, the whole I-don't-care-bout'-you thing. You're like- like, into it."

"Not true," Baby protested, more to himself than anything. Debora heard him anyway.

"Uh-huhh," Debora drawled, laughing so hard she hiccupped. "You're like, a total masochist."

Baby opened his mouth to say something to that, but the unconvincing words died on his tongue.

Was she...wrong?

He frowned, disturbed, focusing on the road and not the odd way his cheeks were heating up. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're talking about."

Debora just snickered, leaning more heavily on the glass, her voice diminishing in volume as she grew more tired. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Miles."

When they finally got back to the apartment after looking for street parking for 15 whole minutes, Baby wasted no time in ushering her into her room.

"There. Bed. Sleep," he instructed, practically dumping her onto the mattress and dusting off his hands from a job well done.

Debora groaned but flopped onto the bed without further complaint, kicking her shoes off and muttering something unintelligible as she buried her face in the pillows. 

Baby made sure to close the door behind him, sighing in relief. Finally, some peace and quiet.

But even as he settled into his own bed, Debora's words lingered in his mind, annoying and persistent, like he could still hear her scolding him like she had been the entire drive back. 

"You're like, a total masochist."

"...am not," he muttered into the darkness. 

Right?

Right.