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Gimli stood in an over-priced smoothie shop, waiting on his drink. He hadn’t meant to stop here but had made the mistake of eating too little before work, and now here he was, at the mercy of some young Uni student, who likely did not have near the time constraints that he did.
Though not nearly as impatient as his father, Gimli was admittedly known to be irritated easily, too. However, he was also kind, and would remain as such, where customer service workers were concerned. Which was why, Gimli stood in the middle of the shop, waiting for his beverage, doing his best not to speak aloud his irritation at the way his order had yet to be handed over in a timely manner.
It was a smoothie he had been recommended that was packed with protein and other nonsense, which was what he needed until returning home that evening. He wouldn’t be able to finish work without something filling.
Eventually, his name and another’s was called out.
Two separate drinks were placed far enough away from each other, and Gimli went to the one where his own name was written in marker on the cup lid. It didn’t exactly look like the picture, but that was quite alright. So long as it tasted less like mud and more like a smoothie, he would manage.
Owing to his absolute hunger, Gimli took a sip of the questionable drink, and nearly spat it out directly after. It did not taste at all how he imagined, and it was at that realisation he heard someone doing much the same as him, to his right.
Gimli glanced over, noticing a taller man, with a look of utter distaste upon his face.
“What on Earth is this?” he asked.
“You’re telling me,” Gimli replied, though he likely wasn’t the one the stranger was speaking with.
Ice blue eyes met his from beneath long, platinum blond hair, and then they found the drink he held.
“That’s mine,” the other man stated.
Gimli passed it over to him, across the counter. “You’re welcome to it. That tastes foul.”
Gimli frowned, as the stranger glanced down at the drink on the counter. “I suppose this is yours then.”
Gimli eyed what he was holding, and eventually nodded.
“Seems our drinks were mixed up,” Gimli replied.
The blond pursed his lips, then said, “Indeed.”
Their gazes remained locked before Gimli was handed what should have been his drink. Once through, he took a sip, and unlike the first, it wasn’t nearly so repulsive.
“That’s much better,” Gimli said.
The stranger’s nose wrinkled in what was clear distaste.
“Did you truly just drink that?” the taller man asked.
Gimli shrugged. “Why not?” Gimli looked him up and down, noting the posh clothing that coupled with his manner of speaking, alongside the briefcase he clutched in one hand. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t have? You seem polished enough, you likely have decent hygiene.” Gimli paused, before he smiled a bit. “This isn’t Primary, so I don’t believe in cooties.”
The taller man balked, his face visibly emoting his shock.
Gimli shook his head. “I don’t have time for this. I do have places to be.”
That seemed to snap his conversation partner out of his strange state, and soon, they were striding towards the door. Gimli noted he clutched the smoothie within his grasp as they went their separate ways.
The short man with the fiery red hair remained in Legolas’ mind for longer than he would care to admit. The shop they had met in was his regular stop on lunch breaks, so each time he went there, he hoped that they might meet again.
No such luck, though, in that regard.
The next time Legolas met the stranger, whose smoothie he did not drink because that was just too much for him, it was in a record store. His lack of consuming the beverage though, had nothing to do with cooties, and was merely the product of a sensible upbringing. What of germs, and spreadable diseases?
Nevertheless, Legolas tried to appear nonchalant as he stepped closer, then somehow ended up tripping into the object of his intrigue. Once he had stood up to his full height, the man’s eyes flashed with recognition.
“You come here, too?” he asked, without any preamble.
Legolas nodded. “When I can.”
The shorter man smiled, and something about it made his stomach twist in a way he was not expecting. There were dimples amongst his beard, which were quite visible. Despite being wholly different than anyone Legolas had ever been interested in, he was attractive, and a straight talker. Legolas appreciated that and felt drawn to him based upon those rather simple qualities, in truth.
“What do you listen to? Please tell me your taste in music is better than that of your taste in smoothies?”
Legolas crossed his arms, miffed.
“My taste is just fine, thank you,” Legolas replied.
“Who told you so?” the shorter man continued.
Legolas snorted, but then noticed what was held within the other man’s grasp - exactly the record he wanted.
“Perhaps, you have agreeable taste,” he said, nodding towards the record.
Brown eyes flicked downwards, and then back to him.
“At least we agree on something,” his companion said.
Legolas nodded.
“That we do….” he trailed off, realising he didn’t know the man’s name, which his companion appeared to notice in his slow answer, because shortly he said, “Gimli,” while holding out his hand towards Legolas.
Cautiously, Legolas took it, shaking it shortly after. The hand had callouses, unlike his.
“This is the part where you tell me yours,” Gimli stated, when silence fell between them, and their hands dropped back to their respective sides.
“My name is Legolas Greenleaf,” he replied.
Gimli and he stared at one another, before the former said, “If we are to suss out your taste, I suppose we should exchange numbers.”
Heart pounding, Legolas nodded. “I believe you’re correct.”