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Deon really didn’t think his day could get worse, but here he was, staring at an empty shelf in the middle of a convenience store, wishing an asteroid would crash into Earth—specifically his exact location.
Of course, it didn’t happen. The world couldn’t be that kind.
He should probably be sleeping, as any sane person would be at three in the morning, but he had two essays due tomorrow—now the end of the day—one of which he hasn’t even gotten started on, and his stomach was killing him, so. As much as he would love to close his eyes and never wake up, he couldn’t do that. Sadly.
If only I didn’t forget about the goddamned essays, he thought. Then he wouldn’t be pulling an all nighter, and then he wouldn’t sleep like the world was doing backflips around him. But nooo. He just had to forget about the essays for two whole weeks. Honestly, fuck his memory. It clearly wasn’t doing him any good.
So, after hours of sitting at his desk in his rather uncomfortable, squeaky chair, his stomach had let out an embarrassingly loud rumble, and he finally decided to take a break and go satiate his hunger by going to the local convenience store that was thankfully open twenty-four seven.
Which led to him standing in front of the empty shelf, questioning all of his life choices.
See, usually, there would be a fully stocked shelf of his favorite cup of noodles. The cheap, unhealthy, and delicious kind. His comfort food, for when he was suffering and questioning the meaning of life.
But usually, he also wouldn’t be having one of the worst days of his life and be half-dead to the world, swaying on his feet, so obviously, his favorite cup of noodles just had to be out of stock.
Great, he said, internally cursing everything and everyone. Just great.
Deon wondered just how many people could be awake at three in the morning, for the shelf to be completely empty, before remembering that coffee existed and the world was a fucked up, corporate society.
Coffee. Oh, what he wouldn’t do for a cup of a black liquid that would make the world seem a little brighter.
His head hit the shelf with a dull thud and he groaned, his hands limp at his sides.
Seriously, though, fuck his life. He never should’ve gone to college. He was regretting everything.
But it was fine. He was fine.
He… just needed a moment. A minute, or five, to close his eyes and breathe.
As he focused on his breathing, sleep began to creep up on him, even though he was standing, and he mumbled a curse.
“Fuck me,” he said under his breath.
Someone cleared their throat. Deon had never moved so fast.
In one motion, he straightened his body and yanked his head off of the shelf, his hands still hanging on the shelf. His eyes flew open, darting all over the place before they landed on the only other person in the aisle, and—oh, wow.
To his left was one of the richest people he had ever seen.
It wasn’t like he was wearing a watch made out of gold, but his clothes alone looked like they were worth more than anything Deon could ever hope to buy.
And he was very handsome. That part was very important.
He was wearing a suit, clearly tailored and well-kept without a single wrinkle. He stood straight, and he had a few inches on Deon—and he wasn’t even that short. He was average.
And oh, to make it worse, the man was staring at him.
Did he want something? Oh shit, was Deon in his way? He moved away from the shelf, thinking the man wanted something from the shelf he was blocking. “Sorry,” he mumbled, so quiet he doubted the man could hear him.
The man didn’t smile or quickly grab what he needed before bolting out of there, far away from Deon. He just… stood there, and kept staring. Actually, his gaze on Deon seemed to grow in intensity, and Deon squirmed.
Did the man think he was a weirdo? Deon frowned slightly. Or maybe he was freaked out at the sight of Deon, who probably looked like a dead man walking, and he was frozen in fear. The thought made Deon laugh internally and cringe.
Shit, the man was still staring. “Um,” Deon started, wincing when he heard his voice crack, “did you need something…?”
The man’s smile was glued to his face, never once leaving as they stared at each other. He broke the silence before it could stretch on for too long. “Are you alright?”
Deon took far too long to register the question and even longer to answer.
“Uh, yeah, why?” he stammered out, unable to resist the urge to back up a few inches. Wow, the man’s voice was so deep. And smooth. And pretty. Was it possible to have such a pretty voice? Or legal? It has to be illegal…
In the face of the man, who looked like he was made for modeling, Deon became far too aware of what he was wearing: black pants, a baggy t-shirt with an ugly skull on it, and really dirty shoes, because they were like, five years old. He was surprised they still fit.
The man didn’t answer, only continuing to stare at Deon with something he couldn’t name in his eyes. Sweating and fidgeting slightly, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, Deon wished the asteroid would hurry up already.
Finally, a hum vibrating in his throat, the man turned around, his black coat swaying with the movement. “Wait here,” was all he said.
Then he walked away, but not out of the store; no, he went to the cashier for some reason. Gesturing with his hands and having a conversation that Deon couldn’t hear—also pointing at Deon for some reason—the cashier finally nodded after a moment before disappearing to the employees only room. Emerging a moment later, the cashier gave the man two objects, who took them carefully and walked over to the microwaves in the store. He opened the microwave door, put one of the things inside, pressed some buttons, and waited.
Deon watched all of this happen with blank, stupid eyes, even as the microwave dinged and the man took out the… cup? He sniffed, and a familiar and addicting smell made itself known. Deon’s mouth fell open. Coffee.
The man wasn’t done, though. He took another package—a round, shorter one, with some familiar cute doodles on the side—and promptly ripped off the top. Deon squinted. Was that a package of instant ramen? He was pretty sure it was.
Wait, the package looked familiar…
He looked closer. His eyes widened. That was the package of instant ramen, the one that was supposed to be out of stock.
Watching stupidly as the man ripped open a few small packets and tossed some spices into the bowl, Deon stood frozen in the aisle as the package of ramen—his ramen—was put into the microwave.
Only when the man pressed some buttons and ‘start’ did Deon’s painfully slow thoughts put it together.
Oh my god, this fucker just asked the employee for my favorite ramen brand. And coffee. And he’s heating it up. In front of my fucking face. Deon stared incredulously at the man’s back.
The man turned, and made eye contact with Deon, smiling sweetly.
I’m going to kill him, he thought, hand clenched. Who does he think he is? Is he some rich piece of shit who wants to show me how much better his life is? Does he want to rub it in my face just how shitty my life is? About how I’m going to flunk out of college and be publicly humiliated when Cruel inevitably finds out and tells me I should’ve ‘studied harder?’
He paused at that. Okay, maybe he was being slightly unfair. There was no way a random stranger knew any of that. Unless he was sent by his brother, which was totally possible.
Even from twenty feet away, Deon could smell the ramen and coffee.
If this guy wasn’t so handsome, he’d be dead to me.
Deon was so busy stewing in his thoughts about murder, that he almost missed the microwave beeping and someone clearing their throat a moment later, the sound alarmingly close. Deon startled, looked up, and saw the man standing in front of him, a proud and eager smile on his lips, holding the cup of instant noodles in one hand and a fresh cup of coffee in the other. It smelled even better up close, and Deon gulped.
“For you,” the man said, his arms outstretched.
“Oh,” Deon said dumbly. Then he processed the words. Wait, what?
“You looked…” the man trailed off, clearly trying to find the right word that would inflict the least offense, “unwell.”
“...Yeah?”
The man took Deon’s confused response as explicit permission to continue, which he did, beaming. Deon’s going to go blind at this rate. “So I made you some noodles! And coffee, since I thought you’d like it.”
“Oh,” he said. “That’s… thoughtful.”
That’s so nice, he was thinking internally, heart thumping in his chest. Oh my god. Is this guy an angel? I’m so sorry I ever thought ill of you, stranger!
…Wow, he should not be this touched. Seriously. His standards were so low.
The man pushed the coffee towards Deon, and he took it automatically. “Wait, no, I can’t just take this—!” He shoved the coffee back at the man and started rummaging through his pockets for any spare change. He cursed when he came up empty; of fucking course he forgot his wallet at home—how the fuck did he plan to get for anything? Sell his clothes? They were so old that they wouldn’t get him a lottery ticket.
“I can’t—” accept this, he was about to say, when the man smiled and held the coffee to Deon’s chest once more.
“Please,” he said. “I insist.”
Deon hesitated, but relented when the man shook the coffee once more, motioning for him to take it. “Thank you,” he said, taking in the coffee’s warmth. He shivered. “But I really don’t have any money.”
The man laughed. “I didn’t do it for the money.” He continued on, giving Deon no time to digest that confusing statement. “Though, if you really want to repay me,” he said with a smile, “you could keep me company for a little while.”
Deon blinked. “Eh?”
And that was how he found himself slurping noodles, the most beautiful man he had ever seen before sitting across from him, resting his head on his palm and leaning forward.
Somehow, the harsh convenience store lights managed to act as a halo for the man.
His coffee had perished long ago—may it rest in peace, it lived a short life—but if it was still alive, Deon would’ve thrown it at the ground because of how unfair the world was. He wouldn’t, but he would be tempted to.
At least he still had his noodles. His sweet, sweet noodles. His one and only salvation from this cruel world.
Of course, the world couldn’t be completely perfect. If one thing was great, that automatically meant something else had to give. And that something was the absolutely suffocating atmosphere between him and the man as Deon slurped his noodles.
Wow, this is awkward, he thought as he continued to slurp. Really awkward. He should probably say something, but consider this: he sucked at small talk, and also, his noodles. The second reason was the main one.
“So.” But unexpectedly, the man spoke up. “Why are you awake at,“ he checked his watch, “four in the morning?”
Deon continued to slurp his noodles (and were they heavenly, wow, Deon could kiss the man) as he debated how to answer. He swallowed “Nothing much, just the usual. Dealing with a couple of really long essays I forgot about.” He smiled wryly. “Y’know, the ones due tomorrow.”
“Oh? What kinds of essays?”
“Just a five page essay about…” Deon hesitated. “About, like, the effects of war on soldiers and civilians. Mainly how it messes with them psychologically,” he mumbled through the food. “I managed to finish it like, an hour ago, but the second essay’s giving me shit. Probably the sleep deprivation’s getting to me. Still due tomorrow, too.”
The man blinked, surprised. A wave of embarrassment washed over Deon—why the fuck was he spilling his whole life story to a stranger; god he was so stupid—but his thoughts were quickly silenced by the sweetest smile Deon had seen possess the man’s lips.
It was almost… fond. Genuine in every way. Somehow, it reminded Deon of how Cruel used to smile at him when they were younger. How his parents used to, before he left.
“That’s a noteworthy topic,” the man commented, and Deon turned his attention to him—which wasn’t hard to do, because he was still wearing that distracting smile. “May I ask what class it’s for?”
“It’s for my psychology class,” he said. On a whim, he added, “But I chose the topic myself. I thought it was… interesting. Y’know, about how war isn’t just a show of power or a dispute, but a traumatic event that affects everyone. It really makes you think if it’s ever worth it, y’know?”
“It does,” the man agreed. “Especially when you see the aftereffects of it on veterans. Or civilians who got involved due to being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Right?!” Deon exclaimed, his words slurred by the noodles. “Like, you would think we’d learn by now that war is bad for literally everyone—except the guys up top, obviously—but noo, there’s always another stupid reason for another war. Why don’t the old guys in power just fight the war themselves? Make them fight on the frontlines. That’ll show them.
“It just goes to show how shitty the government is,” Deon finished, “and how they couldn’t care for any of us peasants down here.”
Breathless, Deon’s head finally managed to catch up to his mouth, and his jaw snapped shut.
“Shit, I went off a little bit there.” Deon looked at the man apologetically. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have… you shouldn’t have to listen to me yap about some stupid shit—”
“Not at all,” the man interrupted. “I actually find listening to you very fascinating. It’s rare to find someone as passionate as you about… well, anything.” The man spoke as if he were talking about nothing significant. “It makes them dreadfully boring.”
“Ah,” Deon said. His fingers were wrapped around his bowl, stealing its warmth. “That’s nice and all, but I actually got the assignment like, two weeks ago. And I only started today. So what use is any of that passion, y’know? I haven’t turned in a single thing unless it was a minute before the deadline this year.” He laughed quietly, and he couldn’t hide the slight bitterness in it. “That’s really pathetic, right?”
When the man said nothing, Deon thought he’d finally said something wrong. Or he acted too pessimistic, and the man was getting uncomfortable. Great job, Deon.
“I think,” the man said, “that people work at their own pace. There isn’t exactly a correct way of doing things. Or one acceptable way to live life.”
Deon moved to speak, but the man barreled on.
“Besides, you seem to know your essay topic very well. I don’t think actually writing the essay a bit late makes you any less intelligent. In fact, I think it’s admirable that you managed to write an essay so efficiently, and in such,” the man paused, “poor physical condition.” Subtly but not at all, he glanced at the cup of coffee, noodles, and the eyebags Deon knew were very noticeable on his face. At least he’s being polite… and it’s not like I can argue with him, really. “So, I find it very impressive.
“So, please, don’t dismiss your accomplishments in favor of focusing on your faults. Being hard on yourself can be a sin, sometimes.” The man’s eyes crinkled. “And I think it’d be nice if you were happy.”
What is he, the male lead from those cheesy dramas Mom and Dad used to watch? The back of his neck started to grow hot. He prayed internally that it wasn't noticeable. Well, he definitely has the face for it.
““T—thanks,” Deon sputtered after a moment. “But, um, I’m really not that great, honestly.”
The man tilted his head. Again, he said nothing, and Deon got the sense that he was trying to figure out how to phrase what he wanted to say. Unlike Deon, he wasn’t blunt; he was being considerate of Deon, which was—new, to say it one way. It didn’t take the man long to put his thoughts in order.
“You seem like the type of person,” the man said, “who’s going to do great things.”
Deon short-circuited. Then his mind caught up, and his entire body rebelled at the words. The only thing he would ever be was a disappointment. The idea of him being worth anything sounded like pure fiction. It was laughable.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he went on. His hands moved to rest near Deon’s, and the warmth radiating from them was addictive. Deon was almost possessed by the impulse to peel off those gloves and feel that warmth himself. Weird. “You’re so passionate and bright… You remind me of a star.”
He chuckled, shaking his head, and Deon thought he looked a little helpless—and fond. “I can’t seem to look away from you.”
Then, the man’s gaze rose to lock with Deon’s, and he was ensnared. His face was on fire. His heart was threatening to leap out of his chest. When the fuck did it suddenly turn into the Sahara Desert?
Deon couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t think of anything; and he wasn’t sure that if he opened his mouth, words would come out and not utter gibberish. Because what was he supposed to say to that? Gee, thanks, same?
Thankfully, the man seemed to realize his plight and leaned back in his chair. “You said you had a couple of essays to do. What was the other one about?”
It was a clear subject change, one Deon was immensely grateful for, because if he focused anymore on the man’s sweet, embarrassingly honest tongue, or his face, he was going to combust. Clearing his throat, he said, “Ah. Well, nothing too impressive. Just, uh, an essay about… rabbits.”
Deon watched as the man blinked, processing that sentence, and started laughing. A full body laugh, full of life and infectious. He has a nice laugh, he thought distantly.
“Hey, stop—look, it was for biology, okay?! I had to pick an animal and write an essay about—would you stop laughing?!”
The man proceeded to laugh even harder. He wheezed, and pride swirled in Deon’s chest. I did that.
“So,” the man said, breathless, “rabbits.”
“Yes,” Deon hissed. “White rabbits, to be specific. Y’know, the ones with the red eyes.”
“And why did you pick white rabbits?”
He perked up. “Why wouldn’t I pick rabbits? They’re just so interesting, y’know? Like, they represent purity for some reason in a lot of culture—and did you know their ears actually help them regulate their temperature?! Like, that’s so crazy—”
— — —
They danced from topic to topic until the passing minutes turned into another hour. They talked about everything; they talked about nothing. They talked about rabbits to the latest scandal, all the way to how much they both hated their high school years.
It was nice.
Eventually, as all things do, it came to an end, when Deon checked his phone and noticed the time. The man realized this, too, as he checked his watch.
Damn, was his first thought. Where did the time go?
It was now five in the morning. His classes started at eight. He had to go back to his apartment, actually start writing his second essay, maybe sneak in an hour of sleep if he could (he probably wouldn’t), and go to his classes. So, he had to go right now to do any of that.
But he only felt one thing in the moment he stared at his phone: he didn’t want to go.
He wanted to stay. For this night to last forever. To keep talking about stupid things. He didn’t want to say goodbye and go back to his small apartment with the only light being his computer.
He wanted to see the stranger again.
“It’s a bit late, but thanks for the noodles,” Deon said. “Also, it was, uh, nice talking to you.”
“Think nothing of it,” the man reassured. “And I also enjoyed our conversation.”
He rolled his eyes, playfully scoffing. “‘Think nothing of it?’ What are you, some kind of gentlemen?” he teased. “I guess you just go around buying strangers noodles a lot, huh?”
“Only the ones I like,” the man responded, chuckling a little. His heart skipped a beat. “Here,” the man said, holding something out. Looking closely, Deon realized it was a phone. He stared at it. He glanced up at the man. Then back down at the phone. “What is this?”
The man looked amused. “It’s a phone,” he said slowly, and Deon just barely resisted the urge to say in his half-asleep state, yeah, no shit Sherlock—but the man was pushing it into his hands before he could say anything. Deon opened his hands to hold it automatically, and damn, that was a nice phone. Wow. How much money was he holding in his hands right now?
But the real question was: why was he holding the man’s phone?
He looked up, and the man’s already present smile widened. Deon really should stop staring at the man’s lips.
“For your number.”
Deon blinked. “My what?”
The man only grew more amused, like Deon’s entire existence was funny to him. “Your number. So I can contact you in the future.” The man looked Deon up and down, smiling when he was done. “It’d be a shame if I parted ways with someone as interesting as you.”
Huh. Why didn’t I think of that? He wondered, choosing to focus on his own stupidity rather than the man’s words. His heart still beat faster. It doesn’t have to be goodbye.
The man’s smile when Deon returned his phone and he saw his contact in his expensive phone was blinding. Deon needed to get some sunglasses. What the fuck.
He stared at the contact for a moment before smirking. Deon couldn’t think of what that meant before the man was pressing a button, raising the phone to his ear, and his own phone started vibrating in his pocket. Taking it out, there was an unknown number on the screen, calling him.
He glanced at the man, who still had his phone raised to his ear, and had one eyebrow raised expectantly and his lips twitching upward in the smallest of smirks and felt both exasperation and curiosity rise in his chest. He answered the call, putting his phone against his ear.
“Wow, I wonder who the fuck this is?” he asked.
A moment of silence, before: “You’re cute.”
The split between the voice over the phone, right next to his ear, and the words coming from the man in front of him was distorting. Almost to the point that he was stunned speechless for a moment.
The man hung up, and Deon, his phone still next to his ear, stayed still as he leaned in slightly, stopping when his face was next to Deon’s.
“Hm,” he mumbled, and Deon shivered, “you’re really cute.”
Huh?
It was quiet as they stood on the front steps of the store, in the cold embrace of the night. Every time Deon breathed, a cloud formed, the same being true for the man to his right.
He should say something.
“So… See you?” he said, hesitantly.
The man chuckled. “Yes, I’ll see you around, Deon.”
He stopped. “How—?”
The man’s hand on his was warm, in the cold air of the night. Blistering, even.
His lips, even more so.
Deon’s face burned, as the realization and embarrassment caught up to him.
“My name is Cavert,” the man said softly, lifting his lips from Deon’s hand. But he was still bowing, and looking up at Deon with something in his eyes that made Deon melt. What. “Don’t be a stranger, please,” he teased.
Then he let go of Deon’s hand and, looking back, smiled until his dimples showed and left.
Deon was still standing in the same place minutes after the man—Cavert—had left, frozen.
He must’ve seen it when I put my contact in his phone, he realized first.
Did he just kiss me? On the hand? He stared at the thing in question, like it held all the answers to his troubles. Why?
All at once, the last hour or so rushed back to him: Cavert staring at him, asking the employee for the brand of ramen that he was angsting over, making him coffee and ramen, then asking Deon to spend time with him as repayment… That whole conversation, calling him special and interesting—staring at him with those eyes—
“Oh,” he whispered to the air. “I was being hit on.”
The rich, far too handsome stranger had been hitting on him. Cavert. On him.
He ran that sentence over in his head again. He… was being flirted with. Him.
…Ooh, he thought as his head finally decided to work. Oh. Shit.
“I’m so fucking stupid,” he said.
How could he be so dense? Did it really take a kiss for it to register as flirting?
His ears started to burn. “Fuck,” he said. “And he’s handsome, too…”
I’m so doomed, he thought. Forgot college killing me. I’m going to die here and now. Where the fuck is that asteroid?
He stared down at the empty cup of instant coffee and instant noodles on the table, as if doing so would make them pop out of existence and confirm this was all a dream. They stubbornly remained solid.
He raised his tired gaze to the night sky, where dozens upon dozens of stars stared back, blinking at him. He buried his face in his hands and let out a silent scream.
I just got hit on by a man in a convenience store at five in the morning, he thought in despair. And it fucking worked.
—
Deon <3
Hello, Deon. It’s Cavert. [1:40PM]
I was wondering if you would like to meet for coffee this friday? [1:40PM]
Yeah, that sounds fun. [1:45PM]