Work Text:
Whenever Abe stands for too long, he gets a numb feeling in his bones. It starts in his fingers as it gradually makes its way to his whole hands. He can feel them become temporarily paralysed as he doesn’t bother to move to shake the stagnant feeling swelling his joints so quickly, it makes him feel like he’s leaning onto nothing whilst he’s really leaning onto everything. The sensation made it nearly impossible to move his hands from the place they linger, It itched just beneath the surface of his skin, demanding attention to be shaken free from paralysation; or perhaps not be moved at all. He wishes he could admit that it scares him, that it unsettles him, that it makes him doubt his own body, his health, but he wouldn’t dare to tell his parents, knowing that news of his health would be shared to both sides of his family quicker than expected.
Abe never identified as anything rather than just himself. He didn’t care about finding things that were special to him personally ever since he was stuck in a family that practiced two religions whilst swearing they were on the line of agnosticism for the 16 whole years that hes living. He often wondered if his parents met at a middle ground, calling him ‘Abraham’ to please the religious communities they were apart of. He scrunched his nose thinking about how he was born in the middle of everything political with this world (as of the past, present, and the future). Despite all of this, He always loved to cook. He tells himself he fixed these problems that run in his mind freely when he was 12, when he met Chico, and now everything is alright between the two sides of his families who still want very different for him.
The rain pattering outside made his thoughts rampant, and the numbness in his hand began to make his body feel cold. He flexed his fingers subtly, but it did little to shake the stiffness, the slow crawl of that hollow weight up his arms. The place felt impossibly quiet, each drip of water from the roof amplified in the space, echoing like a metronome to his spiraling thoughts.
The place he worked was tucked into a corner that nobody really noticed, the exterior wasn’t special, decorated a forest green and beige with a simple coffee next to the word ‘CAFÉ’. The interior was pretty plain too, one of the two booths they had was vandalised by somebodies toddler just the other day. ‘Not even Mr. Clean could clean this’ Abe giggled to himself as he glanced over to notice small things about the establishment, trying his best to not notice the possibility of a simple rainstorm being a hurricane. By the sounds of thunder coming every three minutes, there was no way in hell he’ll be closing up and biking back in this weather. There weren’t any customers today, or this week, and he alongside thinking about his life, he thought about how his pay might get cut.
He wondered how long he could stand here before the chills he was now trying to shake off would sink too far into his bones, before the ache in his joints would demand he moved more, or cry out, or do something drastic just to remind his body it still existed.
But then he noticed it. Movement outside. A shadow shifting beneath the lone yellow-tinted streetlight outside, hesitating at the edge of the glass. His chest tightened slightly, not with fear exactly, but with curiosity that comes uninvited. He squinted, tracing the outline, and his mind, already scrambled from hours alone and hours too long standing, began weaving stories. Who was this? Somebody lost? Looking for shelter? Or just some random passerby caught in the storm?
Abe left from behind the pastry display he was leaning against, coming up to the door as his breath fogged the glass as he leaned closer, the ache in his arms stretching into his shoulders. Something about the way the figure shifted, the slight tilt of their head, the soaked black hoodie clinging to them, made him pause longer than he intended. It was almost as if the world had condensed into this single moment. (The cold, the numbness, the rain, and this silent stranger waiting outside, looking small and exposed.)
For the first time that evening, Abe felt the itch beneath his skin, the one he’d ignored the entire 9-5, the one that demanded he act, and he realised he might just have to. The door didn’t move itself, and he certainly wouldn’t stay frozen forever.
Abe’s fingers brushed the handle, the numbness crawling stubbornly up his wrists as if trying to stop him. He hesitated for just a fraction longer, heart thudding, ears straining over the rain’s drumming, before finally twisting it.
The door creaked open, and the cold hit him first, a sharp, wet shock that made him flinch. The stranger blinked down at him, droplets running down their face and pooling along the hem of a hoodie that was far too thin for the storm.
Abe stared at the figure in-front of him, looking down as the wind outside is so harsh against him he looks like he’s about to be flown away.
“You- uh…” Abe started, voice catching slightly. Words failed him, as they often did when he had to deal with people he didn’t already know. The stranger looked down, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in pockets, like they weren’t sure they deserved to be noticed.
Abe swallowed, the numbness biting at his arms, and finally managed, “You can… come in, if you want. It’s… dry in here.” He said, stepping to the side to invite him in with a crooked smile. The dark-haired stranger’s eyes lifted, just barely, and there was a flicker of relief, or maybe surprise. They stepped forward cautiously, dripping onto the tile, leaving small puddles behind them. Abe instinctively grabbed a towel from the counter and held it out, a little stiff, a little unsure.
“Thanks,” they murmured.
Abe nodded, unsure what else to say. The rains hammering on the roof and windows turned to be muted again as the door shut, leaving the bell to let out a small ring as Abe watched the person take his hood off and place his face into the towel given to him. He looked around the same age as him, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from staring.
Abe looked away a little too late, heat crawling up his neck as programmed guilt pricked him for staring. He busied his hands by folding the damp edge of the towel that hung from the counter, though his fingers still felt like they belonged to someone else. The stranger lowered the towel eventually, dark hair plastered to his forehead, eyelashes clumped together with rain. His cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, lips slightly parted as he took in a careful breath, like he wasn’t used to warm air yet.
“Sorry,” the stranger said quietly, voice soft, a little rough around the edges. “I didn’t mean to stand outside awkwardly.” He gestured vaguely back toward the door, the storm, the world outside that had clearly turned hostile. “It got bad.”
“It’s okay,” Abe replied too quickly, then laughed under his breath at himself. He shifted his weight, the numbness in his legs flaring as pins and needles. “I mean- yeah, It’s bad out there.” He glanced at the windows as thunder rolled again, lower this time, like a distant warning.
For a moment, neither of them moved. It really felt awkward knowing this was the first person to even come in today, the café had started to feel smaller with another person inside it, but warmer too, like the air itself had changed its mind. Abe noticed the small things about the person infront of him without meaning to: the way the their hands trembled as he wrung water from the towel, the faint smell of rain and asphalt clinging to him, the way his shoulders slowly dropped as he realized he was safe, at least for now.
“I’m Abe,” he said, mostly to fill the quiet, mostly because the name felt lighter when he said it out loud to someone new.
“Miles,” the other replied after a second, meeting Abe’s eyes properly this time. There was something gentle there, something tired but kind, and it made Abe’s chest feel strangely full, like he’d taken a breath too deep.
“Well, Miles,” Abe said, lips tugging into a shy smile, “you can sit wherever. I don’t… get many customers when it rains like this.” He gestured toward the booths, including the vandalized one, and winced. “Maybe not that one.”
Miles gave him a small smile staring at the booth, then, really smiled, and it felt like a quiet thing, like it was meant just for Abe. “I don’t mind,” he said, but still chose the cleaner booth, sliding in carefully, as if afraid of leaving water behind.
“You want something hot?” Abe asked over his shoulder. “On the house, you look like you’re about to get frostbite.”
Miles hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. That’d be… nice.”
Abe moved to the counter, hands automatically reaching for a mug, something warm, something he knew how to do. Making, offering, his kindness for giving free things steadied him.
As Abe worked, the feeling in his hands slowly returned as he glanced over at the others hair, dark curls slowly starting to take form as they dried, Abes pins and needles giving way to another wave of unneeded sensation. He wanted to distract himself, he became focused on the rhythm of something he was lacking to do all day. The kettle, the mug, the steam curling upward, while being acutely aware of Miles’ presence behind him. He didn’t want to look like a creep, or a stalker, he was just admiring him.
Abe set the mug down and finally slid into the opposite side of the booth, more out of habit than confidence. Sitting felt better anyway - his legs were still buzzing, like they hadn’t forgiven him yet.
“So,” he said, then stopped. Cleared his throat. Tried again. “Uh. You good now? Like, not frozen?”
Miles chuckled softly, caught off guard. “Yeah. I think my hands are mine again.” He flexed his fingers like he was checking. “Barely, but still.”
Abe nodded. “That’s good. Losing hands is… inconvenient.” The joke landed awkwardly, but Miles smiled anyway, the corner of his mouth lifting like he appreciated the effort.
They fell into a quiet that wasn’t empty, just unsure. Rain kept hammering the windows, loud enough that it gave them something to blame the silence on.
Miles was the one who spoke next. “You always work this late?”
“Only when the weather’s bad,” Abe said. “No one comes in, so closing feels pointless.” He glanced outside. “Also I bike, so, not trying to die.”
Miles hummed in agreement. “Yeah. That checks out.”
Another pause. Abe picked at a chip in the table. “You were just… standing out there for a while.”
“Didn’t wanna be weird,” Miles clarified immediately, then winced. “I mean, i know that didn’t help.”
“No, it’s fine,” Abe said, a little too fast. “I do weird stuff all the time. Like standing in one place until my body shuts off.”
Miles looked up at him. “That doesn’t sound great.”
“It’s not,” Abe admitted, then shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “But it passes.”
Miles nodded, like he was filing that away, then took another sip of his drink. “This is really good, by the way.”
Abe ducked his head. “Thanks.”
Their small talk ran for a while, Miles mentioned his job in vague terms, Abe mentioned cooking like it was an apology. they stopped complaining about the rain, about buses, and about how the café smelled like burnt espresso no matter what Abe, or his co-workers did. Sometimes one of them laughed, surprised by it. Sometimes they just listened to the storm and let the minutes stretch.
Eventually the rain softened. The pounding turned to a drizzle, then to nothing at all. They didn’t notice right away, not until the quiet felt different. Abe noticed the drink in front of him was empty and reached for it without thinking. “Good customer service,” he said under his breath, mostly to justify getting up.
He didn’t properly notice that the rain had stopped, at this point it was white noise to him, He wiped the counter from where he was previously resting his hands, then grabbed a towel and headed back to the booth to dry the seat where the water had dripped.
Miles wasn’t there.
Abe stood there a second, towel in his hands. He looked toward the door. The little bell above it was still. He was pretty sure he would’ve heard it. And for a weird moment, he wondered if he’d imagined the whole conversation.
He walked towards the booth where they sat idly only a few minutes ago, he still had to fulfil the promise of good customer service, then he saw the money on the table. A tip, folded once, sitting where the cup had been. Next to it was a napkin with something written on it.
Thank you. And a number underneath.
Abe stared at it longer than he meant to. He folded the napkin and slid it into his pocket, then cleared the table like he was supposed to.
Maybe admiring him as he stared into the window paid off.