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Dylan really did like making coffee, oddly enough. When his family moved to Massachusetts to be closer to his mom’s hometown, and it turned out that Grandma Aggie had a lovely little coffee shop that was surprisingly popular, he didn’t expect to enjoy it. What had started as a minimum wage job to save money for college had become a hobby, of sorts. There was a lot he liked about coffee. Grinding the beans, tamping down the espresso, getting a gorgeously layered shot pulled from the crappy old espresso bar… not to mention how satisfying it felt to get the perfect foam on his steamed milk. There was something relaxing and brainless about it, and he enjoyed that. He especially loved being able to be pretentious about it, naturally a bit of a know-it-all in all aspects of life. Why would coffee be any different?
Ethan was hired a few months after Dylan. He was good enough at the job. The first things Dylan noticed were that the blond was loud, a bit clumsy, oddly dressed, and very friendly. Too friendly. Dylan was a bit more cautious around his new coworker because of it. He was always on guard around all of his coworkers, but he found something about Ethan’s smile in particular to be too… performative. Something about his posture and small talk was a little too practiced, too refined.
But Ethan was great with customers, and Dylan was great behind the bar, so they made a pretty solid team. They were scheduled together almost constantly. Some of Ethan’s more artificial mannerisms stopped around Dylan, almost like he was becoming comfortable enough that he didn’t feel like they were necessary. When no customers were around, he’d chat at Dylan about whatever he wanted to talk about, and Dylan would normally just nod along. Sometimes, he responded, and Ethan’s face would light up a bit. It wasn’t insincere, either, like his false smiles or rehearsed laughs that he’d use with customers. That expression was real, genuine. Dylan started to feel more comfortable around his new coworker. They were almost, kind of… friends, in a way. Dylan did not like the way his chest fluttered when he thought about it.
He started to look forward to their long shifts together. Sometimes, after close, they’d joke around while cleaning and, even more rarely, they'd talk about very personal matters. Ethan told him about how his father was absurdly, old-money wealthy and had unreachable expectations set for his son: Ethan Dalloway, his only heir. When he fell short of those grand expectations, which was often, his father would always have some form of punishment awaiting. Ethan didn't like to go into specifics, but from the way his shoulders hunched when he thought about it, Dylan could only assume the worst.
He recognized that last name, Dalloway. He couldn’t quite remember why.
Dylan talked about how he felt like an outsider in his family, the only guy surrounded by amazing and strong women who had never really understood or tried to understand his boring quirks, despite having many oddities of their own.
Ethan joked that they could start their own, cooler coffee shop family. Dylan kind of liked that idea.
They got stuck there overnight in a bad storm, once. They had a slumber party, of sorts. They made some pastry monstrosities, played “guess the drink,” painted each other's nails with some black nail polish Ethan found in his work bag, and ended up huddling close in the back room for warmth as they laughed about some dumb joke Ethan had made. Dylan woke up laying on the cold floor and wrapped in Ethan’s arms, the storm finally dying down outside. He felt the way Ethan’s arms shifted, pulling him closer. Ethan drove him home after. He waved and smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. They didn’t really talk about that night for the next few weeks after. Ethan pulled away a bit, Dylan could feel it. He was always better at reading people than most assumed, and it almost seemed like Ethan felt… guilty.
And one brisk August day, when a smug silver haired man in a too-nice suit came in offering to buy off the coffee shop from Agatha to become yet another Dalloway-Bucks, everything clicked into place. He felt nauseous, watching as his favorite coworker walked in with the suited man. Ethan's eyes were focused firmly on the ground and his jaw was clenched tightly, though his posture and expression remained almost perfect.
“I’m sure you’ve met my son, Ethan?” He grinned at grandma Aggie, who just glared, thoroughly unimpressed.
“Yes, I was aware. I just hoped Ethan was a genuine, bright young man with his own actions and opinions. I suppose I thought wrong.” Aggie waved a flamboyant hand dismissively as Ethan winced.
Mr. Dalloway continued on. “He’s been cataloging every single transgression you and your staff have committed. Rags left on counters, sanitizers not changed out in time… Unless you’d like me to submit the log to the state regulatory authorities, I suggest you go through with this sale. It'll save you the pain, I’m sure of it.” He pushed an engraved pen into her hands, offering her the contract to sign, all with that smug smile plastered on his face.
She sighed, weighing her options for a few moments.
Dylan, who had been frozen in place behind an espresso bar, glanced at Ethan again. Their eyes met, and in those eyes he saw all of the shame, sadness, and the eagerness for his father’s approval, the emotions he’d become so good at hiding. There was something else, though. Something he couldn’t quite place, but it looked an awful lot like… defiance. Ethan looked away quickly.
“Ah, dad, about that… I lost those logs,” Ethan finally spoke, getting quieter as he continued. His hands clenched and unclenched nervously.
Mr. Dalloway’s expression shifted, just slightly, showing an ungodly amount of rage for a split second before returning to a more neutral one. He turned back to his son, hissing just above a whisper, “what do you mean , Ethan?”
Ethan cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders. “I mean what I said. I don’t have them.” He braced himself, readying for… something. Dylan realized what, exactly, as Mr. Dalloway raised one poised hand and pulled it back, about to hit his son.
Aggie immediately grabbed the arm with ease, raising an eyebrow with a knowing smile. “Mr. Dalloway, I’m not sure if that’s the best idea. Not in my coffee shop, at least. Nor in front of all these people.”
He yanked his arm out of her grip, dusting it off with disgust. “This isn’t over.”
Aggie laughed, “Oh, I think it is. Ethan, I believe you have another surprise for our guest of honor?”
Ethan ran a hand through his hair, his nerves getting the better of him. “Yeah, um, I… I do have records of some of the shady stuff our- I mean, your corporation has done.”
“Oh, yes? And what are you going to do with those?” His father almost mocked.
“Unless you want these leaked to the public, you’re going to leave this family alone. This coffee shop alone,” Ethan stated, wearing a confident expression that Dylan had never seen on him before. He seemed happier in this moment than Dylan had ever seen him before.
Mr. Dalloway stuttered a few half-cooked threats before storming out. Agatha grinned widely before pulling Ethan into a bone crushing hug.
“Oh, my dear!! I’m so proud of you, standing up to him like that. I always believed you would do the right thing. Can I get you anything? Water, a cookie, a latte?”
Ethan slowly put his arms around the older woman, accepting the hug gently. His eyes met Dylan’s again, and he smiled softly. “I’d never say no to one of Dylan’s lattes.”
Agatha shook her head fondly and let go of the blond. “Well, you heard him,” she turned back to look at her grandson, and whispered exaggeratedly, “you can break into the pumpkin spice syrup a little early for this one.”
The way Ethan’s face lit up after the first sip almost made it worth how hard it was to get to those syrup bottles.
If they shared their first kiss that day in the back room, laughing together in the camera’s blind spot behind the milk fridges, no one needed to know.
It was hard for Ethan, at first. His family disowned him. He was left with nothing to fall back on, but grandma Aggie would never let something like that happen to anyone under her protection. She gave him a place to stay in her cozy home, letting him pick up some odd jobs for her. She enjoyed having someone around to help out with the less-than-fun aspects of running a business, and he was happy to help.
That Thanksgiving was the first one that either of them felt fully at home. Ethan made a surprisingly good turkey, but it was more than that. Surrounded by the people they both loved, all talking chaotically over the dinner spread, they decided together that this is what family felt like.