Work Text:
“Fffvvh… five more minutes….” grumbled Ryland, slapping at his bedside table ineffectually. The alarm on his phone kept ringing, playing a truly obnoxious sound that Yesterday Ryland had chosen for this very purpose. He’d even placed the phone strategically out of reach so that he’d be forced to get up to turn it off. Today Ryland hated Yesterday Ryland.
…Sigh. After another few miserable seconds, he exhaled heavily through his nose and officially gave up. He was already awake, and he did have things to do today. It was a Saturday, so he was going to hit up his favorite diner for breakfast—like always—before heading to the nearby crafts store. He needed to pick up some new materials for his various classroom decorations so that he could keep it all in tip-top shape.
—
Exiting the diner with a lazy wave at the familiar waitstaff and a contented smile, Ryland made his way to the craft store. It was close enough that he could comfortably walk there and back, even with a ton of awkward, bulging bags of arts and crafts material at his side. He wondered about what new shades of acrylic paint they might have—something dark but shimmery could work well for depicting a night sky full of constellations. Then he could just draw the stars on with a white paint pen! Maybe even glow in the dark! The kids would be obsessed.
‘You’re a genius, Ryland,’ he thought to himself. ‘Why thank you, Ryland.’ Gosh, the voice in his head was always so nice. He laughed quietly to himself and meandered down the sidewalk with his head in the clouds, wondering which constellations he should put up first.
Actually, wait—an unusual movement drew his eye back down. There was someone on the other side of the sidewalk, walking the opposite direction but actively drifting into his path. Their eyes were glued to their phone screen and they looked very focused on… something. Maybe a map? Or they were reading? Ryland squinted at them, slowing down gradually so that maybe they’d notice he was in the way before—nope, they were still coming straight for him.
“Um, excuse me—?” …No response. Maybe he spoke too quietly. They didn’t notice him and were just feet away now. Uh-oh. He should’ve just moved out of the way, but the sidewalk was small enough as it was and his traitorous brain chose that exact moment to freeze in absolutely unwarranted panic.
“Uh, hey, you’re going to run into—oof!”
——
You collide bodily with some large, unidentified (strangely soft?) object.
“Oof!” it says, at the moment of impact. Two unknown hands fly up to grasp your shoulders and prevent further movement, but you still meet a solid wall of interference before that happens. Your phone clatters out of your hand to the sidewalk.
Oh, it’s… a person. It’s a human person and you’ve just run face first into his chest. The softness must’ve been his knit cardigan. (Are those foxes? Very cute.)
Well, that’s embarrassing. You quickly shake your head to recalibrate and look up at your poor victim to apologize. There's a tall, blonde, gentle-looking man looking at you worriedly, like you didn’t just smack right into his sternum.
“I’m so sorry—” “Are you okay—?”
You both speak at the same time. There’s one millisecond of awkwardness that would have been deadly if it had lasted any longer, but the guy you’ve just run into—and woah, this is a big ass man, how did you miss him— You blink up at him with what’s probably a dumb expression.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you sigh, a little jittery from the shock of the impact (no matter how soft it was). You rub your forehead absently. “I just wasn’t paying attention at all. I’m so sorry I ran into you—are you okay?”
“No, no, that’s—don’t worry about it. I’m also fine.” He flashes a toothy, slightly awkward smile and releases your shoulders—you had already forgotten his large, warm hands were on you, but now you wonder how you could’ve ever—nevermind. Back to the present. He let go so that he could bend down and reach for your phone (miraculously undamaged!). When he comes back up, his smile is still sheepish. His hair is ruffled gently by the breeze. “Here. You, uh. I think you dropped this.”
“...I did drop it.” You can’t help but smile and laugh a little. “Thank you.” His eyes crinkle.
“Where were you going so distracted? It’s not safe to be on your phone in a crowded area, you know—” He pauses for a second, seeming to snap out of whatever mother-hen teacher mode he’d just slipped into. “—I mean—Um. Is there something I could help you find?”
‘He must have kids, to start mother-henning so instinctually,’ you think. “Well, I was looking for this arts and crafts supply store that’s supposed to be on this block, but… obviously I haven’t found it yet.” You exhale through your nose with self-deprecating amusement. He blinks at you with surprise.
“Woah, are you going to the same one I’m going to?” When you squint at him uncertainly, he flushes, embarrassed at his weird phrasing, and seems to scramble for his next words. “I mean—I’m also going to a crafts store, and there’s only one near here. It’s just down the street, a block over.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking away. You have to quirk a smile at that.
“...I mean, if that’s the only one nearby, then I’d assume our destination is the same, yeah,” you laugh. “Can’t believe I missed it. I’ve been going in circles for like fifteen minutes.”
“Oh, good!” He seems incredibly relieved that he didn’t fumble the interaction too badly. “I mean, not good that you were lost. But I could show you how to get there, if you want. It really isn’t far—I’m there all the time.”
“Oh! That’s so sweet of you. I’d appreciate that,” you smile at him fully. “Mister….?” You lean slightly closer, fishing for a name to call this kind stranger.
“It’s Ryland. Ryland Grace.” He puts out a hand to shake and grins. “Please don’t call me ‘mister,’” he begs with mock desperation. “I get enough of that from my kids. Makes me feel so old when adults say it too.”
Your hand comes to meet his for a firm shake as you both giggle at his—successful!—attempt at comedy. His hand is large and warm, a little dry from the weather but comforting in its slight roughness. It feels good in yours and you don’t really want to let go, but that’s not how handshakes work.
“Nice to meet you, Ryland. Shall we go to the crafts store?” You aim for jokingly formal to maintain the easy atmosphere he built and give a playful bow. He snorts a little bit.
“Yes, let’s.” He follows your lead and playfully offers you his arm, acting as your escort.
You walk down the sidewalk arm-in-arm, and Ryland takes the opportunity to point out a few interesting stores or restaurants while you travel.
——
“That one by the intersection looked really good, actually,” you say quietly, leaning a little closer so that Ryland can hear you. You’re side by side with Ryland in the paint section, looking for the shimmery paint that he excitedly told you about. He was a teacher, of course. It’s the most obvious thing in the world, now that you look at him. He just has the vibe. You’d bet money that he’s the cool teacher, too. He hums thoughtfully, hand on his chin while he’s leaned over perusing the paint tubes.
“They do have an amazing cheeseburger there. If you like those?” He glances at you questioningly for a moment. His dark blue eyes are… startlingly pretty. “They also make a mean pie, but they only sell it on the weekdays.”
“Aww.” You frown. “I would’ve wanted to try the pie.” He nods sympathetically, looking back at the paint options he’s narrowed it down to. Clearly he’s been deprived of pie before and felt this same pain already. He’s considering two different shades of indigo when he tilts his head up and asks distractedly:
“We could come back sometime? On a weekday.” You blink. You blink again. Woah. Okay. Is he asking you out? …Already???
“Uh. I—Yeah, I’d—I’d like that, I think.” You can feel your face heating up and mentally tell it to cut it OUT, but faces never want to listen at times like this. He seems to finalize his selection of paint, grabs about a dozen tubes in both hands, and stands up fully again. He beams at you with his prize.
“Look! These are perfect. The kids are going to love it!” He all but throws the tubes into his basket before excitedly hustling away to the checkout counter. You stand there by yourself for a moment, feeling a little dazed. You stare at his retreating figure. He’s already pretty far away because of his long legs and unfathomable excitement.
“Did you just… ask me out and then immediately forget you asked me out??” You shake your head incredulously and start to make your way to the checkout counter as well.
——
You both stand outside the crafts store doorway, off to the side so that you don’t block the entrance. Ryland is thoughtfully standing between you and the street. What a gentleman.
“So, um… pie, huh?” You murmur, looking up at him through your lashes with intent. Ryland stares at you uncomprehending for a second as the gears turn in his memory. You know the exact second he remembers what he said because his eyes go incredibly wide and his face bursts into pink. Even his ears are tinged red.
“I—what I meant was—I don’t mean to assume—” He stammers. You fight back a big smile at his floundering. He’s practically waving his arms around like a cartoon.
“Ryland,” you interrupt him and he quiets down, looking terribly flustered. He probably feels like he just made the social miscalculation of the century; he seems like the type to be anxious over that sort of thing. “I would really like to get pie with you soon.”
You smile warmly at him, feeling brave. He stares at you again, uncertain. He swallows, seeming to be building his courage up for something.
“Like, uh—like, as in—” His face is still glowing bright pink as he stumbles over his reply. “—like, you mean a date? Like a food date? With me? Even though we just met today and I nearly broke your phone and was kinda weird the whole time?”
You can’t hold back a laugh this time and you reach out to put a hand on his shoulder, steadying yourself as you giggle. He shivers faintly under your touch and laughs along with you weakly.
“Yes, Ryland, even though I ran into you and then made you show me the way here and then took up your whole afternoon.” He lets out a huge exhale. Poor guy.
“Okie dokie then. Right. Okay. It's a date!” He grins excitedly and claps his hands together, jostling the plastic bag of paint he’s holding the straps of. “Pie. I can do pie. Let’s do pie, yeah. So there’s a bank holiday next week that would give me two days off—” You put up one finger to ask him to pause.
“Hold on—let’s exchange numbers first, before we forget.” He blinks with his mouth still slightly open in the shape of the last words he said before smiling and nodding.
“That’s… probably a good idea. Yeah.” You swap phones and put your names into each. When he hands you back your phone, you see the contact name he chose—“Ryland Grace (pie guy from craft store).” You pocket your phone with a grin and warm cheeks.
“Okay. Now, why don’t we continue planning this at that diner? We don’t have to get pie, after all.” He grins too and offers you his arm once more.
“I’d really like that.” He holds you close to him once you’ve taken his arm and excitedly launches back into explaining the logistics of teacher holidays. You start to walk down the sidewalk in the direction you were originally heading earlier today.
You listen contentedly, offering commentary and laughs, and think about how amazing that pie is going to be next week.