Work Text:
October 21st, 2017.
Classy glanced out the window as he prepared a drink absentmindedly, hands moving with speed that showed familiarity with his work. Dead leaves blanketed the pavement outside, and those walking about were huddled together for warmth.
Autumn was here. Recently, more and more people had been coming in from the wind, shivering and craving warm drinks. It was good for business, but that meant more burnt fingers, more sweating, more heat in general.
It was bearable, at least.
“Cappuccino for Ezra?” He called, and they got up to retrieve their drink, giving Classy a brisk nod as they chatted away to someone on the phone. He went back to working though a pang shot through him — it’d been so long since Classy’d had someone like that. Someone to talk to on the phone, to text all the time, to walk around aimlessly with, to tell them about his achievements and frustrations.
Classy was only 19, yet sometimes it felt like life would just be like this forever. Bland, colorless.
He sighed, and his coworker, Deny, glanced over at him in concern.
“You good, dude?”
Classy put on a fake smile.
“Yeah, peachy.”
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November 7th, 2017.
Classy was working, as per usual, wiping down the counter, whatever it took to keep his hands busy, when he heard the bell ring, signaling a customer’s entry. The first in a good half-hour.
“Welcome, what can I get started for ya?” Classy said automatically, took a momentary glance up, then had a double take.
Oh my god.
This had to be, like, the cutest guy to walk into the coffee shop by far. This year. Ever.
He had fluffy dark brown hair, glasses that framed his face so fucking perfectly, and a look of bashfulness that made Classy’s heart melt.
“Can I get a...” He stared at the menu, eyes flicking between drink names. “A mocha? W-With caramel.”
His stutter! Classy was going to die listening to his voice and he’d be perfectly content with it.
“Coming right up!” He paused. “Can I get a name for that?”
And yeah, there wasn’t any customers, really, but Classy wanted to put a name to the face. Sue him.
“Y-Yeah! Uhm. Froste. Like Frosty but with an e instead of a y. If that makes sense.”
His name suited him so well. Froste, Froste, Froste, his mind chanted.
“Yep, I’ve gotcha. Five minutes, give or take.”
Froste nodded quickly, before walking off to take a seat.
Classy quickly went to work making the drink, fingers fumbling more than usual. Get it together, he scolded himself. A single cute guy walks in and you’re a mess.
Thankfully he didn’t fuck up the drink, energetic as he was, and scrawled Froste’s name on it. After a moment’s hesitation, he added a small heart after it. If confronted, he could play it off as something he did for all customers.
“Drink for Froste!”
Froste glanced up, scurrying to grab his drink. “Thank you,” he murmured bashfully, and Classy couldn’t help but mess with him, just a little itty bitty bit.
“Anything for a cute boy like you.”
Froste froze. (haha ha get it 😹😹😹😹😹!! Ok.) Classy could literally see his cheeks reddening in real time. He looked at Classy, looked away, stuttered, “Oh! T-Thanks!” and nearly ran out of the shop.
Classy crossed his fingers and just prayed he hadn’t scared him off for good.
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November 9th, 2017.
Merely two days later, when Classy looked up to the chime of the door’s bell, he saw Froste walking in. A grin pulled at his mouth, poorly suppressed.
He came back!
Froste ordered the same thing as last time. However, this time, instead of going to sit down, he lingered around Classy as he made the drink. He seemed hesitant to speak, though, so Classy did him the favor of starting conversation.
“So, do you work around here, or?”
Shrugging, Froste stared at his feet as he responded. “Ehh, no. I do college. For business.”
Interesting. Classy didn’t take him for an aspiring businessman. “You like it?”
“Nah. It’s shitty, but it makes money. Doesn’t make me like it any more, though.” Froste laughed, softly, and Classy smiled.
His laugh was like sugar. Addicting.
“Well, you’re gonna be stuck with it your whole life, no? What’s something you do like doing?”
Froste seemed a little embarrassed, but responded nonetheless. “Streaming. I’ve done it for a while, but…”
“Then go for it! It’s better doing something you enjoy, even if it’s scarier.”
“Mmm.”
Classy snapped the lip onto Froste’s drink, wrote his name, and handed it to him. Though he took it, Froste still pouted.
“W-Where’s the heart?”
Chuckling in surprise, Classy gestured for Froste to give him the cup.
“Aww, you big baby.” He drew one quickly, adding on a winky face for good measure. “Here ya go.”
Froste took it, smiling happily. Classy could feel himself falling deeper in love by the moment.
When he left, Classy gazed after him with a stupid smile on his lips.
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.
.
Froste’s visits grew frequent, something Classy looked forward to, something that got him through the week.
George started teasing Classy about Froste, giggling when Classy tried hiding his blush.
“Your boyfriend’s here~!” Deny would trill when he saw Froste at the door.
Classy liked it, he had to admit.
Classy liked Froste, a lot.
Every Tuesday and Thursday, after class, Froste’d stop by.
They were frequent, until they weren’t.
The first time it happened, Classy brushed it off as him being busy.
The second time, he ignored the uneasiness. Maybe he was sick. That was possible.
When days added up to weeks, then to months, he lost the spark he felt when Froste was around.
His heart was in a constant state of distress, mourning the man it had fallen in love with all too soon.
Life became meaningless. Work returned to its state of being a drag, a bore.
George and Deny could sense the change, and they did their best to make him feel better, but nothing could feel the void that Froste’s absence left.
He’d gotten too attached, and that would be his downfall.
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April 24th, 2018.
Seasons passed. Uneventful, routine seasons..
The bell jingled.
Classy was so tired of hearing it.
He’d lost all hope of the person walking through the door being the one he wished to see again.
“Welcome, what can I get for you?” He asked, eyes trained on the motions his hands were doing, capping drinks, mixing drinks, drinks drinks drinks.
“Classy?”
His heart stopped. Skipped a beat, two beats, before resuming. Classy didn’t dare to hope.
Then he looked up, and there he was.
Froste, cheeks pink from the sun, was standing in front of him. Froste.
After all this time.
Eyes bright like he hadn’t caused Classy so much motherfucking pain. Like Classy hadn’t cried for weeks over losing him.
As if the last few months hadn’t happened.
Like everything was normal.
He was crying, Classy registered faintly. The burden of missing someone for so goddamned long, unleashed on a random Tuesday.
God, he was a mess. A fucking mess.
Froste’s face fell. “Are you okay?” He asked, voice devoid of the usual stutter it held. A newfound confidence.
“You’re back,” Classy croaked, and he saw understanding spread across Froste’s face.
Understanding, and underneath it, guilt.
“I’m back.” Froste whispered softly. He rounded the counter to embrace Classy, and Classy cried into his shirt.
God, Froste’d grown. He was about an inch taller than Classy now. He’d missed so much. So much time had passed.
“Do you know how much I fucking missed you?!” Classy cried, voice cracking pathetically. “You just fucking disappeared, and I didn’t know why. You didn’t goddamn tell me!”
“I’m sorry.” Froste whispered. It wasn’t enough, a simple apology for everything he’d caused. Classy pushed Froste off of him, cheeks streaked with tears. “Go away,” he whispered, soul broken in a way he didn’t think could be patched.
He didn’t wait to see if Froste did. Classy ran to the backroom, startling George, who gave him a single glance before pulling him into a hug.
George didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
Deny came over, too. Wrapped his arms around the both of him.
The dam had been broken, he was broken, everything was broken.
He was nothing but a mess, for god’s sake.
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Froste didn’t give up. He dropped by every Tuesday and Thursday without fail, constant in a way that hurt.
Classy would run off whenever he saw Froste walking in, beg George or Deny, whoever was least busy, to take Froste. And they would, they’d do anything to protect him.
It still hurt.
“You should give him a chance,” Deny murmured, as Classy fixed up a latte for the customer standing at the counter. Classy hummed, didn’t answer, but he considered it.
“Let him explain why he was gone, at least. Maybe he has an excuse.”
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May 17th, 2018.
Classy took Deny’s advice the next time Froste stopped by.
He stood firm as Froste came closer, though every nerve in his body screamed for him to run, in fear of being hurt again.
Froste hid his surprise, though not well. He approached Classy like a cat approaches a mouse, almost hesitant in his steps.
The familiar feeling of tears pricked at Classy’s eyes, but he blinked them away. He wouldn’t break, not now.
“Why were you gone?” Classy demanded, trying his best to convey anger in his tone. Froste seemed rather unaffected, however, eyes soft.
“My friend was in the hospital, and I had to go take care of him.”
Wait.
What?
“What?” He echoed his thoughts, distrust quickly fading into shame.
Classy was so inconsiderate. God. What was wrong with him?
He hadn’t even considered that Froste had disappeared for good reason.
Looking away, Froste smiled, though it was tight-lipped. Classy got the feeling that whoever his friend was, whatever had happened, it’d been bad. “He’s better now, at least, so I returned. I had to stop college while I was gone, too.”
He was silent a beat.
“I dropped out.
“Decided to take your advice, and start streaming to make money. It works, that’s for sure. And it’s pretty fun.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’d never gotten your number, and it was sudden.”
“It’s okay,”Classy murmured. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain.”
“Dude, no, I get it. I didn’t consider how you’d feel, I thought that maybe, I don’t know.” Froste swallowed. “That I was just another customer to you.”
Classy laughed sharply. “Yeah, I wish.” He didn’t mean it, and he knew that Froste could tell.
This would be the beginning of his recovery. His trust had been broken, but Froste would do his best to fix it. Fix the cracks he’d left in his wake.
Maybe he’d be okay.
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May 31st, 2018.
“I brought you flowers!” Froste grinned, and Classy couldn’t help but smile back. His eyes caught on the roses in Froste’s arms; Christ, they were beautiful.
“I love them,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
“Anything for my favorite barista,” Froste said, and Classy blushed. He was so easy, even he could tell.
“Shut up,” he shot back, effect of the words diminished by the blush undoubtedly coloring his cheeks.
Froste was confident. Too goddamned confident, Classy was losing his mind over him and his words. It made his tongue feel all tied up, got him feeling giddy, all blushy, like a crush. Like he was in middle school, for god’s sake.
He’d taken classes for public speaking while he was gone, Classy learned. He didn’t really mind. Froste’d been cute when he was all flustered, but Classy liked this version of him, too. Classy liked Froste, still.
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November 6th, 2018.
“It’s almost been a year since we met, you know,” Froste mused, stirring his drink with the straw.
Classy froze. “You remember that?”
“Of course I do.” Froste smiled his charming grin, and Classy’s stomach fluttered.
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December 4th, 2018.
“I want you to move in with me.”
Classy wasn’t sure he’d heard him right. “Sorry, what?”
“Move in with me. I have space, I could take care of you.”
It was hard to say no to those eyes, not that Classy would ever want to.
“Alright.” Classy hid a grin as Froste squealed, rushing over to hug him in excitement. George and Deny watched on in amusement, before turning away to finish their individual tasks.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” He added lightheartedly, just for good measure. Froste ruffled his hair, then buried his nose into it.
“You know, actually, I think I’ll take a brew...”
“Don’t fucking say it.”
“With a side of you~”
Classy groaned dramatically, feigning exasperation. Froste just laughed, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.
Classy was so happy.
He loved Froste, and Froste loved him.
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“Congrats,” Deny sang, and George snickered.
“Aw, shut up.”