Work Text:
if you could see my thoughts, you would see your face
All you wanted was a caramel macchiato. It was a simple endeavour, really, nothing but a little pick-me-up from Just Coffee. After your idiotic groupmate fumbled the bag with the Canva design and you had to cover for his failures, you decided to take a stroll in downtown Central Tala.
Your city is, in other words, alive. It's a melting pot of everyone and everything - by everyone, you mean aliens like Unstoppable, because who can carry a train car like that, right? The bell rings as you push the door open. Your backpack feels heavy on one shoulder, but the wall you run into feels even heavier. You don't even realise the shadow looming over you is not, in fact, a wall.
"Sorry," comes the quiet rasp of this particular stranger's voice, "did I get any on you?"
You look up to see a pair of moss green eyes glancing down at you. In fact, you crane your neck a little just to meet his gaze. You catch the scent of his cologne, but you notice his lanyard too. Huh. You wouldn't have figured he went to your high school.
He chuckles under his breath, cheeks dimpling as he flashes a cordial smile. "You good there?"
"Oh," you finally manage to get out, hands waving frantically in front of you, "no, no, I'm okay, I'm /so/ okay. It's cool."
"Could I at least get you a coffee for your troubles?" The stranger hums. Ice clinks in his plastic cup as he stirs it absently, habitually. It's then that you get a good glance at him: a silver chain visible under his shirt, a Casio G-Shock on his wrist, and a few matching rings to go with.
You don't realise you're staring until you're nodding. He seems nice enough. Startled, you offer up your name, and it rolls off his tongue as easily as dust. Despite his rugged appearance - an eyebrow slit, a few facial scars - you find yourself drawn like a moth to a flame.
He lines up again, and you can feel the gravity of his palm hovering over your back as he guides you in front of him. "Kane, by the way. Amos Kane." He murmurs under his breath. You turn to him, a brow lifted, before nodding a little. His name sounds familiar to you, like a song you've heard in the past but can't remember the title of. (You're sure it'll come back to you later. Not like he'll pop up on a Google search.)
"What'd you get?" You tilt your head down to look at his order. The gradient of his drink is a stark (ey) contrast from a pale white to an earthy brown. (You're betting on a latte. Spanish latte?)
Amos glances down at his drink before turning back to you with a lazy smile. "Spanish latte. Kinda basic, right?" He shrugs lightly. You feel like you've /definitely/ heard that accent before. There's a certain drawl you don't hear in downtown as much as in… Madhon, maybe.
"I mean, it's a best seller here, right?" You grin, bumping your shoulder with his. (It's like bumping against a wall. Really.)
Amos taps your shoulder as you come up to the cashier, placing your order. Should you pay? He did offer. But it's only right. Right? You pull out your wallet instinctively, but he's quick to step in front of you and swipe his card with a pristine, customer service smile.
You gape at him, swatting his shoulder lightly as he snickers. "What was that for?"
"I said it was on me, remember?" He chuckles as he takes the buzzer, placing it into your open palm. (His hands feel callused, if anything.)
Your hand closes around it before you sigh dramatically, waiting at the counter with him.
Your conversation takes you to a table in the corner, unmistakably charmed by your newfound coffee buddy. He comes back with a tray of your caramel macchiato and a-
"You didn't have to get me a chocolate croissant, you know. Or a pain au chocolat." You mutter under your breath. You aren't complaining, really, but you don't feel too good about having a new connection spend on you.
Amos shrugs. "I just redeemed it from my loyalty card. Thought you might want a snack to-go." He nods his head down to your backpack and the lanyard slung around your neck.
"I've never seen you around campus," he drawls, leaning back into his seat as he takes a sip of his drink, "you new or somethin'?"
"Not really. I leave pretty early. I'm in, um, Miss Clemente's class."
His brows lift. The scar on one becomes more noticeable to you, now, so does the one on his lip. "No wonder. You're a few floors above. I'm in Miss Dee's."
"Oh. She's pretty cool." You shrug lightly. "Anyways. What brings you here? There's a few more coffee places nearer to, like, campus."
He mirrors your shrug. "I park my bike near the station, 's all."
Your brows lift at the mention of a bike. "Like, a bike or a bike bike?"
Amos offers you a small nod. "A bike bike. Cheaper parking."
"And you'd rather drop five times the price on two coffees?"
"How am I gonna drive if I'm dozin' off? Gotta obey traffic laws, you know."
Your nose scrunches in disdain. "You have a motorcycle and you… choose to obey traffic laws?"
"Just 'cause I have a motorcycle doesn't mean I speed, you know."
"Really?"
Amos stares at you. He blinks once, twice, before his shoulders sag in faux defeat. "Oh, fine, you got me. Can you blame me? Have you seen the streets when it's rush hour? 'specially coming from Madhon."
"The train queue isn't that much better either, yanno."
"I mean, I could save you from the line at the station." Amos shrugs. "It's a cloudy day, it's gonna start pourin' anytime now."
You give him a quizzical look. "How do you know that?"
"Born and raised, 's all." Amos shrugs. (Something about him does make you feel like he's made a home out of the whole city and its boroughs, carrion and all.)
All you offer is a hum. There's a certain gravitas that his admission adds to the conversation. It doesn't feel heavy, but it definitely isn't the lighthearted chat you two were sharing.
You wonder out loud. "Where were you born?"
He leans forward, elbows propped on the table. (You catch a hint of something aromatic that just spells out what green would be.)
His answer snaps you out of your momentary stupor. "Madhon, actually."
"Oh. I was born in Donorow." You smile sheepishly. "Haven't been to Madhon much."
"I was gonna pass by there, actually. Was thinking of hitting up Benny's, or maybe Dampa." Amos hums.
"Are you sure? It's really out of your way." You rub the back of your neck. He responds with a light shrug again, leaning into his seat as his arm hangs over the back of the chair.
"Meh. 's no problem to me. Getting caught in the rain sucks."
"If you say so, Amos."
By the time the two of you head out of the establishment, the clouds obscure the sun. You're standing outside Just Coffee as Amos comes back into your line of sight. Well, except now he's mounted on a motorcycle.
"What… model?" You ask as you step closer. A gloved hand tilts your head up as he gently fits the helmet onto your head.
His voice cuts in through static in what you now realize is a built-in communications device. "Ducati Panigale."
You're staring at the bike as he adjusts its balance, holding out one hand for you to take. Your palm meets the fabric of his glove as you steady yourself.
"I can take your bag, c'mon." Amos opens his palm again as he looks at you over his shoulder.
"Why? You're already-"
"Please?"
You grumble under your breath, pouting a little as you sling your backpack off of your shoulder.
"Don't pout." You swear you hear a smile even through his voice.
"Not pouting." The engine rumbles under the two of you, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his waist. (Jeez, what is his workout split?)
He laughs, and you can feel it reverberate against your arms. "Not your first time on a bike?"
"You just started it without telling me."
"Sorry, I'll make it up to you." Amos chuckles. "Ready to go?"
"Mmhm."
"Hold on, then." He turns back to the front, and he's quick to take off.
The ride from downtown Central Tala to Donorow is scenic, to say the least. It's different seeing the city from the train line versus down here on the ground. The city passes through you in hues. At a red light, you see a group of four girls laughing as they rush down the sidewalk, backpacks slung over their shoulders as they hail a bus heading for Talavera Heights.
You eye the traffic signs as you enter Donorow Bay. He's gone slow this whole trip—which you appreciate—and you hold onto his waist as he makes the turn to your apartment complex. The engine grumbles quietly as he, again, holds out his hand to help you down. He hands you your backpack as you take off the borrowed helmet. He flips up his visor as he gives you a dismissive wave.
"What? Bye?" You tilt your head as you wave back.
You can hear him chuckle as he takes off his helmet, running a hand through dark hair and pushing it away from his eyes.
"No, no, keep the helmet." He shrugs lightly, gaze lidded as he looks back at you. (For a moment, you notice how long his lashes are. Cute.) "If you wanna, I mean."
You blink. "Oh. Oh. I'll.. yeah." (You understand the underlying meaning, what he leaves unsaid.) "I wanna see you again, Amos."
He gives you a relieved smile, cheeks dimpling as he rests his helmet on the seat. You hold out your phone as you smile sheepishly. "I'm happy to hear that."
"Me too." You murmur, watching him save his contact in your phone. "Maybe more coffee this time? Thanks for the pain au chocolat again."
"No worries, pretty." Amos smiles, giving you a small wave again as he slides his helmet back on. At the threshold heading into your building, you give him a wave as you step in. You hear the sound of an engine revving once, twice before finally taking off into the distance.
You're giddy as you step into your place, kicking your shoes off into the rack by the door as your cat promptly follows you into your room. Your eyes are glued to your phone as you set your backpack down by your bed.
[amos k.]
wanna have breakfast tomorrow?
my treat.
Sent at 07:12 PM