Chapter Text
It was 10am on a Tuesday morning, and the city longed for rain. The overcast sky seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something. Billy looked over the coffee machine at the customers- half had not looked at the weather forecast, and were out without raincoats or umbrellas. The others had come prepared, carrying their rain gear over their arms as it was too hot and humid right now for extra layers.
The place was beginning to slow. There was normally a lull at this time- the pre-work coffee drinkers having already been, the lunchtime lot not yet in.
Billy used this time to check the stocks- they were running low on peppermint tea. They glanced around to make sure there were no customers who needed them (needed? As if this place was A&E?) and then walked from behind the counter to the store cupboard by the kitchen.
They spotted the box of teas on the top shelf and rose on their toes to reach it.
Once they had what they needed, they glanced into the kitchen. The chef, Edward Little, looked like he might be crying but that was pretty normal.
In the past Billy would have asked if he was ok, but they had learnt that Edward will just say he’s fine. Billy was not paid enough to deal with him anyway.
With the box Billy returned back to the main room.
Henry Collins, the coffee roaster, was stood by the door talking to the owner, George Hodgson. Well, being talked at by George Hodgson. They had been getting Collins & Co. Big Bear Beans (‘its like a dream’) for years because it was ‘locally roasted’. Billy never really understood why it mattered how close a product was roasted when it was grown in Columbia. At least the packaging looked nice on the wall behind the bar- featuring a monochrome design of an old fashioned diver in a helmet. (‘Why not a bear?’ ‘Billy,’ Tom Jopson had said flatly, ‘he is the bear.’). It went with the theme of the rest of the place- faintly old fashioned, nautical. George hadn’t brought in an interior designer, he just brought back things from antique shops that he liked, as well as random things from ancient relatives' attics. All these vaguely historical oddities against blue and white striped wallpaper was to make it look ‘eclectic’, apparently.
The place itself, as the menus explained (in a paragraph Billy had tried to say was too long to be on the back page), was once the town house of George’s great great something something, who had been an explorer in the mid 1800s. In his time, the house would have stood in grand gardens, but it had since been absorbed into the city centre, and was now terraced on both sides by other businesses in far less grand buildings. George had bought it five years ago, and wanted to honour his ancestor by creating a ‘community space’, which was really a fancy way of saying that the upstairs was multi purpose. Most of the time it was just where they sat the people ordering brunch or lunch, but it did have a stage and on some evenings was rented out by various groups. Those meant Billy and Ned usually had to stay longer to rearrange the furniture.
As Billy walked back behind the bar, they could see there was a customer leant against the counter.
Billy walked passed, placed the tea box on the back service and turned to them, still watching Henry and George talk.
‘What can I get you?’ It was only when they didn't receive an immediate response, Billy looked up at the person in front of them.
It was a man, at first glance not particularly attractive or notable, aside from his short stature (Billy would have been taller than that at about 10 years old). He met Billy’s eyes and cocked his head, causing his copper hair to swing around his chin.
Billy felt their ‘customer smile’ falter a bit when their eyes met. Somehow looking at him like this made all his features, which were nothing on their own, come together in an intriguing way, like when all parts of an orchestra play together.
The man smirked, as if perceiving Billy’s thoughts. ‘What do you like?’ he asked.
‘What?’
He smiled, showing his teeth slightly. ‘What do you recommend?’
‘The most expensive item on the menu.’ Billy wasn’t sure why they said that. Made no odds to them how much money George made. ‘I like the iced chai.’
‘I’ll get that, then.’
Billy couldn't place his accent. They found it difficult to turn away and start on his drink. Billy pulled the chai mixed from under the counter, placed generous spoonfuls into a jug and turned to the coffee machine to get hot water. They could feel the man watching him.
‘What milk do you want?’
The man smirked again, his brow creasing slightly in confusion. ‘The… normal kind.’
Billy nodded. ‘You can sit down, I’ll bring it to you.’
‘I’m good.’ He had taken to leaning on the counter, watching Billy intently. Billy usually was precious about the counter- it was their defense against customers- the boundary between them and the public, a wall around their space. But somehow, they found themselves not minding this intrusion.
‘You sure? This will take a while.’
The man smirked, ‘Yeah.’
Billy added a spoon of sugar to the mix and went back to the till. ‘That’ll be £5.10.’
‘For one drink?’
Billy half shrugged. ‘Yeah.’
The man looked up at them through his eyelashes. Those had a coppery tint too. With a shiver Billy thought about the rest of him, whether other hair had a similar tone.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘It better be good.’
Billy opened the under counter fridge and got the milk. They added it to the mix and steamed it, hoping if they were blushing that it would be blamed on the heat. They knelt and got scooped ice from the freezer. They glanced up, and met the man’s eyes as he looked down on them.
He hadn’t been this observed making a drink since his test shift. And then it was pretty obvious that George had no idea what he was looking at. They stood, placing the cup with ice on the counter, and turned to get the rest of the drink. Once they poured it through the sieve and onto the ice, the man reached for it, but Billy swatted his hand away. The man raised and showed his palm in an apologetic gesture. Billy grabbed the cinnamon shaker and sprinkled the drink, before picking it up and passing it to the man, their fingers meeting as it went from one hand to another.
‘Oh, I forgot your straw.’
Billy grabbed it and plonked it into the drink.
‘Ta-da.’ they said slightly awkwardly. ‘Enjoy.’ they added as if that somehow erased the ‘ta-da’ from existence.
The man took a sip. He looked slightly puzzled and then took another.
‘Do you like it?’ Billy said, then cursed their neediness.
‘I… think so.’ he said, sipping again. Billy watched his pink lips on the straw then glanced away. ‘It reminds me of something.’
‘A non-iced chai latte?’
‘Well, yes, but also-’ he sipped again, frowning. ‘I think it's just christmas-y.’
Billy nodded. ‘Yeah, makes me think of that too.’
***************
‘I like your nails.’
Billy started, their hand jolting and ruining the image in the foam.
With irritation they looked up. Oh.
It was that guy, face surprising close, leaning on the counter. It was a few days since he had first come in. Billy saw a lot of costumers, a lot of them regulars, but a decent amount of new faces. They didn’t remember them all, but they remembered this one.
Billy purposely didn't let their frown soften.
‘Didn’t mean to make you mess up your. Foam.’ the man said, indicating delicately with his hands.
Billy sighed. ‘I’ll start over. You have to drink this one though.’
The man took it and sipped and frowned. ‘Almonds.’
‘Yeah. Decaf latte with almond syrup.’
‘I don’t like almonds.’
‘Tough. Drink up.’
Billy started the coffee again. Out of the corner of their eye they watched him dutifully drink, shaking his head occasionally. Billy felt themself smile slightly at his obedience.
‘Can I order what I want to drink now?’
Billy returned their focus to foaming the milk. ‘Only when you’ve finished.’
‘Do you do this to every customer? Or do you just like torturing me?’
‘I would tell you that you aren't special. But most people wouldn't have drunk that. Maybe try to be less torturable.’ Billy took the mug from him. ‘What do you want?’
‘To order?’
‘What else?’
‘You remember what you made me the last time I was in here?’
‘No.’ Billy lied.
‘Liar. One of those.’
‘Fine. But you have to sit down. I can't focus with you staring at me.’
‘Why not?’
‘Its creepy. Go. Shoo.’
Billy waited until he was gone to return the latte art. They only granted themselves a glance up to see where he had sat when they had finished.
He had sat in the armchair by one of the big windows so he had the clearest view of the coffee bar. He was leaning back, ankles crossed, blatantly staring at Billy. Billy glanced at the two over customers, both engrossed in their laptops, before glancing back at the man. His stare was plain and made Billy blush, and return their attention to the bar. They started on the iced latte, conscious of the gaze on them, even as they left the bar to give the lady her latte. She didn't even glance at it, or Billy, before taking a sip, smudging the foam swab into a beige blob.
Feeling a little deflated Billy returned to the bar and finished the iced latte for that man. Pausing by the pastry cabinet, they grabbed a brownie and a plate and took it to his table.
‘Do you not have a phone?’ Billy said, placing the plate and glass on his table.
‘Hmm?’
‘Most people would get out their phone. Or a book. Or something. They don’t just sit there.’
‘God forbid a man live in the moment. What’s this?’ he said, pointing at the brownie.
‘What does it look like?’
‘Did you hear me order or one-?’
‘Do you not like brownies? As well as almonds?’
‘No. I'm just confused by the freebie.’ he picked it up and took a bite.
‘Maybe I dropped it on the floor.’
‘The floors are pretty clean here. I'll take my chances,’ he bit it again.
‘Gross.’
‘You gave it to me?’
Billy returned to the bar. Now would be a good time to make an itinerary. Or clear out the fridge. Or to put some used glasses in the dumbwaiter to be raised to the kitchen and washed. They glanced back at the man. He was still looking. Billy licked their lips slightly. This place wasn’t likely to get busy for another hour, when the school pick up time started. They could potentially find somewhere private… like the walk-in, Edward was unlikely to need anything from there at this time-
The bell on the door rang as two women came in. Billy sighed, shaking their head slightly. It probably wasn’t viable while they were at work. If that guy wanted to be sucked off in the walk-in, he’d have to come in when Billy was closing.
Billy thought they should also probably learn his name before doing that.
**************
‘Oh, hello.’
‘Hi.’
They looked at each other.
‘You going to order?’
‘Depends on if you're going to make me drink anything first.’
‘Luckily I noticed you before you could ruin my latte art. So not today. What do you want?’
‘I googled ‘hardest drinks for baristas to make’ and it said this.’ He held up his phone.
Billy didn’t glance at it. ‘No.’
‘Huh?’
‘You can only have one customisation thing. Like a syrup or decaf or oat milk. I'm not doing several.’
‘But I want a-’ he turned his phone to look at it.
‘You’re having macchiato. Name?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Your name. For the drink.’
‘I don’t want a takeout.’
‘You can have it in. I still need your name.’
‘Why?’ he smirked.
‘New policy. What is it? Or I'll just write ‘dick head’.’
‘Cornelius.’
‘No, your real name.’
‘Why? It's not a legal form.’
‘Ok, at least a believable one. Why would you be called Cornelius?’
He shrugged. ‘It's not like I chose it. Can I sit down now?’
Billy started on the coffee machine. ‘Yes.’
The man, Corneilus, didn’t leave though. He folded his arms on the counter and leaned at the cake display. ‘You make these?’
Billy took a moment to answer, they were rather distracted by the way his stance emphasised the muscles on his lithe arms. ‘Personally? No. George, the owner does.’
‘You just drop them on the floor.’
‘Mhm. You said it wasn’t an issue.’
‘I doubt most customers think that way.’
‘I don’t give most customers floor brownies.’
‘I don’t know. You seem the petty type. You ever spit in people's drinks?’
‘No. But I might start.’ They passed Cornelius his drink. ‘And I'm not petty.’
‘Hmmm. Irritable?’
‘I’m not.’
‘You’re irritated right now.’
‘Because you’re irritating. That’ll be £3.60.’ Corneilus passed him it in exact cash. ‘Sit down before I decide to spit it in and charge you extra.’
Corneilus obeyed this time, swaggering to what had become his usual spot. What would he do if someone was already sat there? Maybe Billy should set it up to see what happened.
Billy made themselves some jobs for the next few minutes, then grabbed the cloth and table spray, and made their way towards his table.
He watched but said nothing.
Aware of the woman sitting on a table nearby, Billy cleared their throat. ‘Is your drink good?’
‘Well it's not what I wanted to order.’ said Corneilus half shrugging.
‘I didn’t ask that.’ Billy half-hissed.
‘Other than that it's good. I wish I knew your name so I could tell your boss about it.’
Corneilus talking to George about them was a horrific image. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘If you wore your name tag then I wouldn't need to ask you for it. And yeah, I know you're meant to wear one, because the guy on the coffee machine yesterday did.’
‘Which guy?’
‘I don’t know, I didn’t care to read it. He had one though. Why don’t you wear yours?’ he shifted the way he was sitting, moving from leaning back with his legs stretched out to planting his feet flat and leaning his elbows on his knees. ‘Want to hear my theory?’
‘Not desperately.’
‘I think it's so people can’t report you to your boss for spitting in their drinks.’
‘I don’t-’ Billy glanced at the other customer who seemed too invested in her laptop to care about their conversation. ‘I do not spit- wait, you came in yesterday? I don’t work Mondays.’
‘Yeah, I discovered that. The guy-’
‘Describe him.’
‘Idk. Some guy. Shorter than you-’
‘Did he have creepy eyes?’
‘Huh?’
‘Like a possessed doll?’
‘I don't think-’
‘Tommy then. What did Tommy say?’
‘A lot. About his five-a-side team.’
‘No. About me.’
‘What makes you think we talked about you?’
Billy rolled their eyes. They moved like they were going to leave.
‘Ok, fine. I asked where the mardy barista was. He said something like oh it's Monday, Buffy’s not in-’
‘Billy.’
‘Oh yeah, Billy. That was it. Yeah he said you didn’t do Mondays. And that you were single.’
‘Unprompted?’
‘No. I asked,’ he sipped his drink. ‘Although I didn't need to. Clear as day.’
‘What’s that meant to mean?’
‘You know, your very obvious sexual frustration.’
‘My-?’
‘If you were being dicked down regularly, you wouldn’t be like this.’
Billy didn’t respond, they just turned on their heel and returned to the bar. Next time that man and his stupid name came in he would be getting spit in his drink.