Work Text:
James sighed raggedly as he left his apartment building, ten minutes later than usual. His shower had malfunctioned, forcing him to spend way too much time he didn’t have making sure it at least wouldn’t leak until he could find a plumber to take a look at it.
Then, in his haste to put on a shirt to try and compensate, he had struck down his coffee machine, sending it crashing to the floor. He could do nothing but look on in horror as the glass jar cracked and the cord was ripped away, sparks flying dramatically.
Now he was late for his meeting with his partners, and he still hadn’t had his morning coffee. For the sake of everyone’s safety, he needed caffeine in his body before he had to face Charles Fucking Vane.
In a fit of desperation, he pushed open the door of the first coffee shop on his path. He had walked past it hundreds of time by now, and it always seemed to be well frequented, and he had appreciated the clean, simple décor.
No matter how much James despised having to squeeze himself against a crowd of noisy, cranky people, the popularity of the establishment might just mean it had decent coffee.
If anything, it couldn’t be worse than whatever dish water Rackham still tried to pass as coffee.
Once he was in line, James pulled out his phone and opened his e-mails. If at least he could make a dent in his inbox, there would be a few less thing to worry about once he got to the office.
He was replying to one of Eleanor’s e-mail about a lawsuit –someone complaining about their shipping ethics again- when his turn came his turn to order.
“What can I get you, sir?” a cheerful voice asked.
“Large coffee. Black.” Flint answered, without looking up, hoping the barista wouldn’t try to sell him one of those overly expensive sugarfests Hornigold drank every morning.
“That’ll be two dollars.” The voice answered, tone flatter. Flint fished the money out of his wallet, still looking at his phone, wondering how polite he needed to be while telling Eleanor he really didn’t give a fuck what Whitehall thought of their practices.
“Your order will be right up. What’s your name?” the barista asked.
“Flint.” He answered curtly.
He walked away from the queue, eager to escape the overbearing push of the line at his back. When his name was called, he strode up briskly to the counter, grabbed the cup and power walked out of the shop, eager to be released from the stifling morning crowd. From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of dark curly hair, but quickly dismissed it.
The coffee was surprisingly decent when he took a sip, almost better than what he could have had at home. He couldn’t help but be slightly pleased, until his eyes caught the name written on the side of the cup.
‘Finn’
James rolled his eyes, but pushed it out of his brain when he stepped in his building. His assistant Mr. Gates instantly swooped in, berating him for choosing to be late on the day of their meeting with Teach of all days.
In fact, James didn’t spare a single thought to the coffee shop until the following morning. He had been able to find a plumber to come for his shower the day before, while he was at work, but sadly still found himself without a functioning coffee machine.
He sighed, but finished getting dressed anyway. He walked over to the same coffee shop as the day before, figuring out there was no pointing in changing a, if not winning than acceptable, formula. James almost turned around when he saw it was still packed, but the promise of decent coffee lured him in. It wasn’t as if any other shop would have less customers.
If they did, James was pretty sure their coffee might give him an ulcer.
He was quickly distracted from his inner cursing by his phone ringing, and by the time he got to the counter, he was in a heated debate with Rackham over the latest stunt Vane pulled.
“Large coffee. Black.” He told the barista, a smaller man with dark curly hair and bright blue eyes.
The other man offered him a bright smile that looked only slightly forced, and nodded.
“That’ll be-” he started, but Rackham was still blabbering in his ear, and James couldn’t tell him to shut up so he just cut the barista off.
“Two dollars, yes, I know.” He barked, throwing the bills on the counter before he moved away to wait. Rackham was now arguing with Bonny on the other end of the call, only her low voice wasn’t decipherable through the phone, leaving James to try and parse what was being said with only one side of the conversation. It wasn’t even eight yet, and he could already feel a headache building at his temples.
With a scowl, he looked up to see the barista waving at him. When he noticed James had seen him, he pointed to the cup on the counter with a smile that was just a bit too sharp at the corners to be customer friendly.
Flint really couldn’t be bothered to care about the moods of his barista, however, and he picked up the cup without another look.
He hung up on Rackham as he stepped out with a harsh “I’ll be there soon”. His day already announced itself to be hellish, he’d be damned if he couldn’t at least enjoy his coffee in peace.
He was just draining the last few precious drops, his building in sight, when he noticed the name on the cup.
‘Lint’
With a roll of his eyes at the barista’s petty comebacks, he threw the cup in the trash.
On the third day after the tragic death of his coffee maker, James managed to get to the coffee shop on time and without anyone calling him in a panic.
Which meant, to his great dismay, that there was nothing distracting him from the coffee shop. There was only one barista, the same one from the day before, and at least ten people in line. The crowd was composed of a weird mix of business people and students, despite there not being a school of any kind in the neighbourhood.
Two of those mysterious students stood in front of James, white boys talking far too loud, with too many bros and dudes, and James felt the urge to knock their heads together, to see if combined, they might form a whole functional brain.
From the irritated looks the young black woman in front of them would throw over her shoulder, the feeling was not his alone.
Despite working by himself, the barista was decently efficient, and soon enough it was the woman’s turn to order. The man’s face stretched into a wide beaming smile, and he leaned over the counter to give her an awkward, one armed hug.
James caught himself thinking for a second that the man’s face was very interesting when he smiled.
The moment of appreciation was swept away a second after, as the two imbecilic specimens in front of him hollered violently about some insignificant nonsense or another.
By the time Flint got to the counter, he was irritated again, the woman had left the shop and the two boys had taken seats at one of the small tables, meaning he still had to listen to them.
When the barista offered him a tight smile that didn’t have any of the warmth he had displayed for the young woman earlier, James threw two one dollar bills on the counter.
“Tall black.” He grunted.
The barista cocked an eyebrow as he went to work, and his eyes flashed to the two young men slapping themselves on the back a few meters away, before going back to James’ with a wry wriggle of his eyebrows. James’ snorted derisively with a roll of his eyes, and the young man smirked sharply in answer.
He was forced to step closer to the dreaded table to wait, and he felt irritation prickle under his skin until the barista mercifully waved him forward for his order.
Once outside, after taking a blessed sip of his coffee, he inspected the cup.
‘Oh yes, it’s such a pity that all my customers aren’t as pleasant as you’
‘Fern’
Flint grunted and took another sip. The man did look like a little shit.
At least the fucking coffee was good.
On the fourth day, getting into the coffee shop wasn’t even in question, not only because he still didn’t have a coffee maker. The barista looked up from the counter when James came in, shooting him a cocky smirk, obviously waiting for James to react to his message from the day before.
James simply smirked back at him, crossing his arms over his chest, knowing it would both show them to their advantage, and make him more intimidating. The man faltered for a second, disappointed and a bit surprised, but not worried, and he went back to preparing the order. James was dismayed that he didn’t get the fretful response his intimidation tactics usually garnered. He kept staring at the barista regardless, observing the quick way his hands worked over the complicated commands of the machine.
He was rewarded when the barista looked back up at him, taken aback and a bit flustered that James was still staring impassively at him. Quickly, he gathered himself however, and he grinned wickedly at James.
From then on, every time he could afford it, he would look back at James with an exaggerated squint and pouty mouth, like this was the beginning of a duel in a western.
When he got to the counter, James simply slapped the bills down in front of the man, never braking eye contact, not saying a word. The barista responded in kind, slapping his own hand on the counter to gather the money.
James had to move away for a moment then, reluctantly snapping out of his performance, but it did give him the opportunity to glance at the way the barista’s pants complimented his figure as he worked. By the time the man turned back around, James’ eyes were still in the safe zone and perfectly blank.
The barista smirked at him and pointed his fingers like a gun at James to beacon him forward. James huffed, but did so, gathering his order. Just before he turned away, he gave the barista a cruel smirk.
Before the young man could try and up that, he left the shop. He heard snickers behind him, but he couldn’t tell whether they were from the barista himself or the people still waiting in line.
Not that it really mattered. James didn’t really care what either of them thought, why would it matter which one laughed?
As soon as he was out of sight from the windows of the shop, James quickly twisted the cup around to find the barista’s hand writing.
This time, his “name” was in the middle of the sentence, not under it, written in big bold letters.
‘You keep looking at a man like that, FILLING, and he might get the wrong impression”
James could almost imagine the little self-satisfied smirk that little shit must have had while writing down the note.
Who the fuck did he think he is?
James resolutely ignored the way he heated up under his collar. He shook his head, rolling his eyes and vowed to push the barista out of his head. He was a busy man, after all. He had other things to do.
He had.
It was finally Friday, and James really, really couldn’t wait for the week to end. Between Eleanor being stressed out because of the lawsuit, and Vane stressing everybody else out with his continuous dangerous stunts, James’ office had been even more of a mess than usual. Not even Max could calm everyone down anymore.
James almost expected Bonny to take out a knife and stab someone repeatedly the next time anyone mentioned International Policies in a meeting.
James certainly wouldn’t blame her.
On top of it, he was running late again, and didn’t have time to eat breakfast. He had a meeting with Hornigold, which would invariably stretch to the whole morning, and his stomach was already growling. If he couldn’t eat until lunch, he might well be the one to go nuts with a knife.
When he stepped in the coffee shop, he threw a look at the glass box displaying the various food options offered. It wasn’t what he preferred to eat for breakfast, but it was definitely better than nothing.
When he got to the counter, the barista took one look at him and turned to get started on his order.
“I’ll take a banana muffin too.” James called out, fishing for his wallet in his back pocket.
The barista stopped for a second, before grinning.
“Sure thing!” he quipped, turning back toward the coffee machine. James found himself smiling back, despite his dreadful day looming over his head.
“It’ll be 4.50$” The barista said, as he turned back with the coffee cup. James stretched out a hand with the proper bills as the man bagged a muffin and handed it to him. The barista took the money from him, fingers overreaching a bit to brush over the tip of James’ in the process. James’ ears started to burn, and he cleared his throat.
“Have a nice day!” He grinned at James.
James could only grunt skeptically in answer, and he heard the young man snicker behind him as he left the shop.
He waited until he was back at the office to look at the cup, wanting to enjoy his coffee with his muffin. Once he was seated, with five minutes to spare until his meeting, he took a long sip of coffee before looking for the barista’s note.
‘The shop is a Zombie free zone. Come back looking any more dead on your feet, and I’ll have to get my shotgun from the backroom.’
‘Limp’
James snorted, aware of the dark bags under his eyes, and took another sip before taking a bite of his muffing.
He almost spit it right back out on his desk, and he scrambled to his trashcan to get the disgusting bite out his mouth. He gagged at bit, and grabbed the rest of the muffin, throwing it violently in the trash as well.
How the fuck could someone make banana muffins inedible?
“Mr. Flint? Mr. Hornigold’s waiting for you.” Billy, Gates’ intern popped his head in the office for a second, and quickly ducked back out again when he saw James’ thunderous expression. He’d done his job, no need to remain in the line of fire.
James felt his stomach rumble. There was no time to get anything else to eat. He would have to endure Hornigold of all people on an empty stomach. Maybe he should get Billy to come with him, keep him from doing bodily harm to anyone.
Fucking hell.
Could the week just end already?
At five, James was the first one out of the door. As much as he usually wasn’t one to stick to regular work schedule, often working late and coming in on weekend, nothing could have possibly kept him from bolting out as soon as he possibly could that day. He was leaving Gates to deal with whatever messes would arise until Vane went home.
Eleanor had finally figured out a system that would appease their British partners, Max and Rackham got Bonny to calm down and Vane hadn’t threatened to eviscerate anyone all day. James was not tempting faith by staying in that office one minute longer.
He needed a drink, a proper meal and good book.
However, as he passed in front of the coffee shop on his way home, a twinge of irritation stayed his feet. There were a few customers sitting at the handful of tables, but no queue. The barista, the same one James knew, was busying himself cleaning the counter and making sure everything was in its place.
One man pushed past James to walk into the shop. Jolting back to the present, James felt a scowl settle on his face, remembering his morning misadventure. He stepped in as well, waiting at a distance until the barista was done with the present customer.
The man ordered something, and the barista nodded with a ‘I am serving a vaguely unpleasant customer’ smile, one James recognized easily for having been aimed at him a few days ago. The barista nonetheless went to work with his usual efficiency, eager to get rid of the man.
When he turned back to get paid, however, the man tried to hand him a piece of paper that wasn’t money. The barista looked down in confusion before coming back up. James couldn’t hear what he said from where he was, but he gathered the barista wouldn’t accept whatever the man was offering as payment.
The would-be customer simply thrusted the piece of paper forward again, and the barista shook his head a bit more forcefully, smile definitely strained.
James took an involuntary step forward.
“But I have a coupon!” The man said, raising his voice in frustration, loud enough for James to hear, leaning toward the barista.
Wary, James came a few more steps closer.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I really can’t accept this as payment: it hasn’t been distributed by us. I’ll need you to give me actual money.” The barista’s voice was calm and reasonable, and James had to admire his cool head when being yelled at. James himself would be far less collected.
“It says ‘One free coffee’ on it!” The man demanded, even louder.
“Sir, it’s a Starbuck coupon. This is not a Starbuck. I would ask you to pay for your coffee and leave.” The barista said again, keeping his voice low despite the aggression.
The customer growled, and went to take another step forward in an effort to look intimidating, but James grabbed his shoulder, dragging him away from the barista.
“Hey, what’s your problem?” The man yelled, shaking James’ hand off, glaring at him.
“I do believe this man asked you to pay and leave.” James said a low, rumbling voice, fixing his best death stare on the man.
He took a step back, looking between James and the barista a few times. With a final grunt, he reluctantly fished a few dollars out of his pocket, throwing them on the counter, grabbing his cup and leaving the shop, always keeping himself very carefully farther than James could reach.
He slammed the door with a “Fuckers!” thrown over his shoulders.
There were a few beats of stunned silence in the shop, until the customers went back to whatever they were doing before.
The barista was staring at James with wide eyes, and it was a few additional seconds before he seemed to get a handle of himself, clearing his throat.
“Hey, never saw you here so late before. What can I do for you?” He asked with a warm, genuine smile.
James suddenly felt very warm under the collar of his shirt, and had to stop himself from fidgeting with his tie.
“I came for a refund.” He blurted out.
“A refund?” The barista repeated blankly.
“For the muffin, this morning. It was fucking inedible.” James grunted, feeling the tip of his ears heat up.
The barista blinked slowly at him until his mouth started to shake, and suddenly he was giggling uncontrollably. James lasted for a few second, but couldn’t help but join in, a few silent chuckles shaking his shoulders.
The young man needed almost a full minute to be able to speak, but when he did, he kept grinning at James.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I would have warned you, but you looked like you needed the sugar. I guess I can make it up to you, it’s not every day some grumpy knight in a business suit comes to defend my nonexistent honor. Why don’t I make you a cup of coffee, on the house?” The barista offered, smiling charmingly, tilting his head toward the couple of stools in front of the counter.
James was suddenly overcome by the realisation that the man was flirting with him. He felt panic and excitement bubble in his chest.
“I’m sorry, I can’t tonight.” He blurted out without thinking. He saw a twinkle disappear in the barista’s eyes, but the man kept smiling, like it wasn’t a big deal. James could see the effort underneath the smile though, and it twisted his gut.
He opened his mouth to add something, but couldn’t find what, so he closed it again, fiddling with his fingers.
After a few awkward seconds, the barista nodded, and suddenly he smirked at James with a ridiculous leer.
“Perhaps it’s for the best. You look like you need to sleep.” He winked exaggeratedly at James before turning back to the coffee machine.
James was pretty sure he didn’t need to show himself off like that to clean it.
Before the barista could catch him staring at his ass, James turned around to leave, glaring at the few patrons who were smirking knowingly at him.
While running errands on Saturday, James came face to face with the shop where he had bought his coffee machine.
He stopped. He could see the same model on sale on the other side of the window.
He walked on.
The next Monday morning, he woke up ten minutes earlier than usual, immediately jumping to his feet to get ready. He slipped in the coffee shop a short time later. It was busy as it always was during the morning rush, noisy and crowed and somehow much more tolerable than a week before.
The barista looked up as he entered, and a split second of relief softened his features before he grinned a cocky salute at James.
When James came to the counter, he had already taken out the money for his order. The barista took one look at it, and glared at James, waggling a finger like an old matron.
“No, no, no, it’s on the house! I have to make up for my abysmal baking skills, I can’t have my honor besmirched!” he quipped, turning around to prepare James’ order before the man could argue.
“I thought your honor was nonexistent.” James retorted nonetheless.
The barista threw him a wink over his shoulder, grabbing a pen to scribble on James’ cup, before handing it to him. James accepted it with a twitch of a smile, but rather than leaving, he went to sit down on one of the stools close to the counter.
The barista looked at him with confused eyes until James settled himself, at which point the young man beamed, still surprised but obviously pleased.
James took a long sip, and waited until the barista had his back to him to look at the note.
‘Look if it isn’t the demon businessman of FLINT Street!’
James snorted despite himself. The barista heard him, and sent a teasing smirk his way. James held his gaze, but once more, couldn’t think of something to say for the life of him.
The barista turned back around to deal with another customer, and James took another sip, berating himself for his pathetic inability to flirt. Miranda would tease him mercilessly if she saw.
She would also tell him to stop being an idiot and do something about the cute, infuriating barista.
James reached for his bag, and grabbing a napkin, scribbled down a note he hoped would be legible.
‘Glad to learn you actually know my name. I was starting to wonder. Although, that would make us even, since I still don’t know yours.’
He didn’t bother signing, simply slipping the note under the napkin holder, in full view of the counter, and left with one last nod at the barista.
He was walking home late that night when he passed in front of the coffee shop. It was closed, windows dark, and James couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed.
“I wasn’t sure if I actually had your name right. You know, since you couldn’t be bothered to look up from your phone when you gave it to me.” James didn’t visibly startle when the voice rung out, but it was a near thing. He turned around to see the barista walk out of the shadow cloaking the door.
“How long have you been there?” James blurted.
“I haven’t been standing in the cold waiting for you, if that’s what you’re subtly trying to ask.” The barista answered, smirking. “You just have good timing.” He finished, walking up to James.
“Good.” James answered. There was a beat of silence as the barista waited for him to add more, but James found he could only shove his hands in his pockets, grateful for the darkness hiding his embarrassed blush.
“Not really the talking sort, are you?” The barista asked.
“If I need to be. And I still don’t know your name.” James replied slowly.
“Why would that matter? Will you suddenly talk more if I tell you my name?” The barista asked, grinning.
“You could always try.” James replied, smirking, relieved for a steadier conversation.
“Well then, I’m John Silver. Pleasure to meet you, Flint.” John offered, pushing his hand forward for James to shake.
“James Flint.” James corrected, letting go of John’s hand.
“Of course you didn’t even give me your first name. I should have guessed. Well now, James, will you talk to me, or will I be in charge of the conversation?” John asked, crossing his arms.
“Find us something interesting to talk about.” James demanded with a smile. He turned on his heels, inviting John to follow him with a tilt of his head. The young man came willingly, falling in step with James.
“Where are we going? And why do I have to find a subject for us?” John asked.
“Well, contrary to other people, I can actually cook. And since you are not coming anywhere near my kitchen, you get to enjoy the sound of your own voice.” James retorted with a smirk.
John threw his head and laughed, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Well, Jimmy, lead the way.”
“Call me Jimmy again and they will never find your body.”