Chapter Text
Honey poured through his veins alive and achingly slow, unrest came to him as the wave of sleep rushed under the surface from the fifth time of his alarm going off. Bdubs wakes.
Bdubs then had the fun realisation of noticing the time not starting with an 8, but instead by a 10, followed by a 40. His shift started forty minutes ago.
The blanket covering his form gets strewn across the mattress as he flings himself off the bed, throwing on his work jeans and shoes, followed by the cafes polo shirt, he barely has enough forethought to grab his phone wallet and keys before leaving the house.
It was only a ten minute walk from his share house to the cafe, which was nice on some mornings where it was crisp in the air, with pollen heavy in the atmosphere with the smell of the roses from the flower shop on his way, these feelings were not shared on a hot summer morning, sweat already starting to cling to his face from the run to work.
Cleo was gonna kill him, he already had to call out last week because his professor for his drawing class had picked out a perfect time for a last minute assignment that he posted the day before it was due. Now don’t get him wrong, Bdubs loved Cleo as a boss, she was firm but knew when to let some ease into the work day, her biggest issue was people not showing up on time— especially right before the lunch rush.
The building came into view and Bdubs was rushing even further forward hoping the extra seconds he shaves off will somehow come to the benefit of the reaping he was already sowing.
The jingle of the door rang out and Bdubs rushed behind the counter to clock in.
“Where have you been?” Cleo voiced from the machine.
“Sorry! Sorry! Slept in won’t happen again!” Bdubs tied an apron around his waist and came to the rescue to man the till.
Rushes were unique in the sense that it was easy to forget what you had done during them. Of course, in the moment you remember why does this order have 7 different types of milk? And crap someone needs to get the beans from the back! And ow did I just burn myself? And my feet hurt. Are people even supposed to stand for this long? Afterwards is always a mess of milk and grounds on the table with a forehead sticky with sweat.
After dealing with the stragglers loitering at the back of the line, the bench was finally clear enough to start wiping away the residue of the rush, Cleo taking out the recycling to the back, now confident in Bdubs’ ability to not fall over where he stands and to handle the till and the machine without quitting from overwork.
Bussing the small amount of tables they had, wiping them down and humming the the tune of the top 40 radio, he swears he hears the same 10 songs on a loop, they really should invest in a cafe curated playlist.
As Bdubs returned to tend to the till a jingle of the door revealed its way to a handsome man with stark white hair, darker roots shining through by just a centimetre or so. A sleeveless band top for the warm weather showing off a trail of tattoos forming a sleeve down his right arm that goes to his hand. Mostly vines and various flowers and plants he recognises from his course. Despite his appearance, he walks in a way that sparks similarities to how a nervous mouse approaches a trap, hands fiddling together and back hunched trying to make his tall figure appear smaller.
Bdubs realises he is staring and starts with an automatic, “hello! How can I help you?” Well, he meant to say a longer version but the wires got crossed in his mind. Looking closer at the man he found him wearing a mask, donned with a scar running through his left eye, a question for later.
“Uhh, do you have a latte?” The man asks. His words sounding unsure, like every syllable was asking a deep thought provoking question that would leave philosophers gaping and wondering at.
Bdubs wasn’t sure what kind of coffee place doesn’t do lattes, but automatically starts ringing in his order. “Yep! what kind of milk do you want with that?”
“Okay, uh this is gonna sound weird but do you have whipping cream?”
“We have have whipped cream, which we do for the fun drinks, or do you mean heavy cream, like the type you serve for desserts?”
“Do you have the second one? Can I get that with my coffee?”
“I don’t see why not!” Bdubs is ringing in a regular latte, he realises, and adds, “that’ll be a surcharge? Because it’s an alternative milk, technically.”
“Uh yep yep, that’s fine.” The more this guy talks the less apparent his nerves get, like the starting of a conversation is equal to moving mountains.
“Have here or to go?”
“Have here, please.” Dang it, Bdubs was hoping to have him take it away so he could at least learn his name, but it seems like god is not on his side today; alarms and hot men alike.
Bdubs finishes the order and the man pays. Bdubs was used to odd orders, and using heavy cream wasn’t unheard of when making coffee, something about the fats dissipating the bitterness, but typically it was mixed with equal parts milk in order to not make the drink too rich. Bdubs wasn’t even sure how to froth heavy cream and make the latte art without it being messed up, but he tries. Definitely easier to go with a heart than a tulip or rosetta, given the texture.
Handing over the coffee to the corner the man had found himself in Bdubs peeked to see him working on a drawing on his tablet, what looked to be the start of a design of some sort. Graphic designer maybe? Or perhaps a tattoo artist? That would explain the sleeve, which would not narrow it down at all. The cafe was situated around an area known for being artsy, there were three different tattoo places just on this street.
“Thanks,” he said. Bdubs was sad to turn away from his eye candy and return to his work, but necessary evils and such.
-
The next time the man visited it was the same time a few days later, and Bdubs pretended to not have a clue in the world to what his order might be.
“Can I get a large latte with heavy cream?”
Why yes of course mystery man!
“Have here or to go?”
“To go, please.”
Yes! “Name for the order?”
“Etho.”
This time Bdubs understands the weird, now not so foreign order right away, and still adds a heart even in the takeaway coffee cup, it’s lopsided and mostly out of habit, but it’s the thought that counts. Etho. Etho, what a name! Rolls right off the tongue when he calls it out, it suits him, Bdubs thinks. As he exits he sees him turn left. There was one tattoo place to the left, bingo.
“You should get his number.” Cleo starts, startling Bdubs out of his Etho-gaze.
“Are you crazy?” Bdubs sputters, “got outta here! He’s way out of my league!”
“Okay heart eyes, just make sure you don’t waste all the cream.”
Bdubs was gonna kill them, and then take the advice and hide away forever.
After clocking out, dusk starting to form its way through the sky, Bdubs turns left instead of right to scope out potential. This is weird, he thinks, it’s weird that I’m stalking this guy, he continues walking left.
Spotting a glowing sign that he recognises to be the from of the tattoo place, it’s closed, lights off. Save for the direct lights pointing to the current flash sales from the artists in the shop window, Bdubs pulls out his phone and takes a photo of all three before following the shops account listed for booking appointments. Customer research of course.