Chapter Text
People had often asked Scar what he thought love looked like. Of course, he had always replied with the same Disney-inspired bullshit, and everyone had accepted it. Why wouldn't they? No-one loved a perfect, animated love story more than Mr Goodtimes himself. And anyways, Scar did believe the love at first sight, true love’s kiss fairytale, if only to a degree. It wasn't too far of a stretch of what he truly believed, deep down, to parrot the fiction he’d been spoonfed as a child as a reply to the perfectly innocent question. It was much easier than telling the truth, anyways.
Scar considered the man at the counter like he did with every new customer. For years now he had scrutinized new faces and picked up on tiny stories from as much as a hastily-buttoned shirt. People advised him that it was a sure-fire way to lose customers and get bad reviews, but he saw it as a gift. If he lost good money over paranoid people, then so be it. Scar had always hoped people saw his coffee shop as a place they could be themselves without judgement, and why shouldn't that extend to him, too? Of course, he wasn't looking for anything beyond it, and he certainly wasn't an undercover cop looking for a suspect (despite that being another life he'd love to live). The only reason that the owner of the coffee shop on the corner of 14th Street was so curious about his customers was because he was bored. Picking up on small details had become second nature to him, a way to get through the long hours. These details told volumes to him - like the detectable marks on the bridge of his nose that told him that the man in front of him often wore glasses, the soft lines under his eyes -overworked- the worn red jumper that hung loosely off his thin frame with thread pulled up, similar to the marks on Scar’s own jumper, a clear sign of a feline friend, and the barely noticeable freckles that looked like someone had scattered his cheeks with birdseed. The beaten up cross-body bag with scratched leather and a battered computer case sticking out of the top was a mystery, though. An intriguing case, to be sure.
“How can I help you?” Scar said brightly. Dark eyes briefly flicked over to the menu on the wall above his head, but a second later his focus was directed straight back to Scar. A practised order, then.
“Small, black Americano, please. Takeout.” His voice was quiet, the British accent not yet diluted from living in the States. Only recently came over, from the UK he presumed. Soft it may have been, but Scar could hear it clear as day over the busy conversations all around them. Practised in projection. Perhaps in the drama industry? No, maybe a teacher giving lectures…
“And what’s your name?” he smiled softly at the newcomer, whose eyes had widened in response to the question. The man paused for a moment before replying, so he wasn't asked this question a lot.
“Grian.”
“Well, Grian, welcome to the Goodtimes Cafe.”
Scar worked at the drinks machine for a minute, pouring the black coffee into a paper cup and sealing the lid around the rim with practised accuracy. He wrote Grian's name around the café’s logo and hopped over to the counter again.
“Black Americano for Grian!” he called into the crowd, and grinned as the new customer pushed his way through the people. Their hands brushed as Grian took the coffee, and Scar’s eyes landed on ink stains on the tips. Definitely a teacher.
“Thank you,” the man all but whispered. Then he dissolved into the crush of people once more. Watching as the door swung open and shut, Scar smiled. Onwards passed another story, another universe he’d been lucky enough to peer into, another point of view. And this, here, was why he thought the ability to read people a gift. He said could see into their way of living, if only for a second, and imagine himself in place of them. His life was so mundane- day in, day out- that he jumped upon the opportunity to project himself into other’s lives, delighted as he wondered what exciting things they did everyday that he would have sold his soul to do even once. What I wouldn’t do to be in your position, Grian. His life was so tedious and dull that going beyond the usual human contact was like a breath of fresh air. To be part of their story, even for a moment, brought him enough happiness to do what he did.
He turned to the next customer, sure he would never see Grian again.
“Urgh, they’re disgustingly cute, aren't they?” Cleo sulked.
“I know, right?” replied Scar, equally repulsed in tone. Both of them had their heads fixed on the corner of the shop, where two men were in the corner.
“I always reckoned it was you who’d be paired off first. Didn't think Bdubs had it in him to leave us.” Cleo completely missed the look Scar gave them for her first comment, and good thing too, because it would have been death by a thousand stares if they hadn't. It was true, though. Scar was the hopeless romantic, the true-love fairytale believer, the one who charmed everyone in his path, not Bdubs, Scar and Cleo’s wild cousin who, at first glance, couldn't give less of a shit about romance. Yet here he was, grinning across a coffee with his fiancée, Etho. As debatable as it was, Scar could go on for hours about how the perfect soulmate way of thinking actually made it more difficult for him to find love. After being exposed to these gorgeous love stories, his standards were through the roof, and after years of finding no-one, Scar had become assured that his one true love wouldn’t just walk into his life, or that maybe there wasn't one after all. Perhaps that’s why he chose the job that would bring the most people to his door. And yes, some of his customers had fallen for him, but none of them felt right. None of them had felt his. Thus far his romantic quest had proved fruitless. So naturally, as Cleo and Scar looked over at their cousin and the love of his life, Scar couldn't help but feel jealous.
“Etho’s a good guy, though.” He admitted begrudgingly. Cleo nodded. Their family had known Etho’s for a long time, and Scar and Cleo, despite their bravado, couldn’t think of anyone better for Bdubs. They were clearly made for each other. Of course, it would have been nicer had they not clearly been trading looks at each other all morning, which neither Scar nor Cleo particularly wanted to see. Unfortunately, the coffee shop was going through a slow hour, so they couldn’t keep their eyes off of the happy couple. Wrenching his gaze away from them, Scar took the chance to actually look at his shop.
Plants hung from every surface- specifically cacti, but touches of his favourite flowers lit up the room with lilac and red. When he had bought the store a number of years back, the front room had felt very industrial- the metal pipes and black railings had felt cold and dark. Now, they were so covered in Polaroids, fairy lights and other random trinkets they could have come straight out of a Pinterest board. He was proud of it. The smile he had been giving the vines creeping up the doorway diminished when he caught a particular smirk between Etho and Bdubs. His heart crumbled slightly.
“I should probably,” he cleared his throat, “get back to work.” Cleo turned to him, their face twisted slightly, as if she somehow knew what was going on in his head. They don't know the half of it, Scar thought. Focussing back on cleaning the coffee machine and frothing more milk, he desperately tried to clear his mind. Obviously to no avail.
“You’ll never have what they have.”
“You’re not good enough for anyone.”
“Who would want you, anyways?”
“Stop chasing your dreams, Scar.”
“Scar.”
“That’s your name, right?”
Wait, huh?
Scar suddenly fell back into reality. There was someone at the counter.
“Shit, sorry-” Those dark eyes, the same red sweater. That collection of birdseed freckles. “Grian!” The man’s face flushed and he startled a little.
“You-. You remembered my name.” He stated in that enrapturing, soft voice.
“He does that. You get used to it,” Cleo smirked over at him. Her smug grin widened even more at Grian's look of astonishment at another stranger engaging in conversation with him. “Well, Scar, aren't you going to introduce me?” Scar chuckled and smiled at the two of them.
“Well, Cleo, this is Grian. He came yesterday. He's a teacher at the college four blocks down, and consistently wears glasses,” Cleo scoffed at this easy detail as Grian's expression grew more and more interested, “He has a cat- or, maybe two- and he just came over from the UK, presumably London. Or Oxford.”
“I didn't tell you any of that!”
“Didn’t need to. We promise Scar’s not a stalker, just bored. I'm Cleo, Scar’s cousin.” That menacing grin again. Was there something Cleo knew about Grian that Scar didn’t? Surely not.
“Very nice to meet you,” a small smile, “but, yeah, you’re right. I’m Grian, I’m an architectural professor at the university, employed two weeks ago from Oxford. And I do have two cats. That’s an interesting gift you’ve got there.”
“See, Cleo! Someone agrees with me.”
“It's not my fault that almost everyone finds your expertise with details creepy as fuck.” Scar scoffed at this comment before turning to the machine and pumping pipes. A devilish smile spread across Cleo’s face as they turned to Grian, who cowered at her enthusiasm.
“So… what do you think of Scar?”
“Oh..well, I've only met him once, but he's a nice guy, sure.” He seemed slightly taken back by the question.
“Hm,” Cleo nodded as if they were now noting details on his tone, “interesting…” she said, imitating Scar’s accent. They laughed.
“Black Americano?”
“Your memory is uncanny,” Grian smiled appreciatively, “thank you.” Cleo whistled, and Scar turned to them in outrage.
“If you're implying what I think you’re implying-” He started. However, she wasn't even looking his way.
“If that’s not a happy couple, call me Cleopatra.”
“Who?” Grian turned to look where they were facing, eyes catching on Etho and Bdubs leaving the cafe arm-in-arm.
“Our cousin and his fiancée.” Scar said, barely able to hold back the note of jealousy in his voice.
“Scar here has an obsession with Disney and therefore incredibly high standards.” Cleo explained as she watched the retreating backs of the happy couple. Grian raised an eyebrow at Scar.
“Oh, I see, we're just dealing out information about me like coffee now?”
“He doesn't deny it,” she countered instantly, “plus, you know far too much about Grian after only having met him twice. It's only fair you should return the favour.”
“...fine. 20 questions, Grian?” Scar turned his elusive smile onto the man.
“Uh, sure!” he replied. Cleo stared agape at Scar. They mouthed some things to him that were intelligible to Grian and Scar mouthed some things back. Both of them then fixed their eyes on him.
“Um- favourite colour?”
Half an hour later, now bleeding into Scar’s lunch break, with the deserted cafe all to themselves, the three of them were nestled in a corner of the shop and cackling like Shakespearean witches. They had lost count of the number of questions (it was well past twenty now) and were now heavily tipsy on laughter. They plotted over sandwiches and more coffee.
“Right- ha- broken any bones?” Grian laughed again for no apparent reason, and didn't this feel good? To laugh again?
“Nope! I'm indestructible.” Echoes of the uncontrollable giggles flew throughout the cafe.
“Scar-no- first memory?”
“Um, oh god- being born? No,no,no…,” his pupils narrowed somewhat, and his voice quietened, “I remember a desert.”
Grian thought it best they left it at that.
“Ok-ok, how many girlfriends have you had?” Scar and Cleo’s laughter ceased immediately. They performed their little mouthing ritual that Grian still hadn't figured out yet. Then Scar opened his mouth, closed it, and paused before saying,
“One.”
Ah.
“I did say he had high standards, didn't I?” Cleo filled in immediately, hitting Scar on the shoulder amicably and grinning. He jumped slightly. Grian sobered from his hysteric-induced haze instantly. He'd obviously touched on a painful topic, overstepped whatever line that was clearly drawn now. There you go, fucking it up again.
“I-I should go.”
The bell rang loudly in the silence of the cafe.