Chapter Text
Oswald hates his job, but he hates the clientele even more. Serving coffee to a bunch of over privileged students who come in with their MacBooks, ask for the WiFi password then proceed to go on Facebook and not actually do any work is a personal hell for Oswald. For these people, it’s all about the appearance and absolutely nothing to do with studying. Oswald loathes all of them passionately.
He works at the campus coffee shop because he has to. He has to support himself and his mother, and pay for his part time course in ornithology. Which pretty much means he has to work around the clock. Unfortunately for him at the moment that means literally. Because finals are coming up, his boss, Miss Mooney, saw a business opportunity in students panicking and cramming, and decided to open 24/7. Good for Oswald’s wages, bad for his health. When he works through the night, he’s sure he probably drinks more of the coffee than he sells to the students. One advantage for him though is that the look he normally goes for is dead goth. These days he has to put considerably less effort into his makeup before he goes out. He’ll take what victories he can get in his mundane existence.
It’s getting on for midnight on Sunday, which is always pretty quiet, even close to finals. The majority of the student body still goes home on weekends, probably disappears somewhere upstate to mommy and daddy’s mansion. This is why weekends are Oswald’s favourite. He brings his text books to work and on the off chance he’s awake enough to take in the information rather than stare at blurring words, he gets a fair amount of studying done. He’s poring over one such text book now. His elbow is on the counter, chin leaning on his hand, brow furrowed in concentration. He’s just had a thirty-minute break in which he slept and set an alarm. He’s feeling slightly less dead, so he’s reading while he can still process and retain information.
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Oswald almost jumps out of his skin and his chin almost slips right off his hand. He didn’t hear the customer come in. This person has an unnatural level of stealth. Either that or Oswald was drifting off standing up again. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Oswald looks up and is momentarily flummoxed. The guy on the other side of the counter sure is a sight to behold. He’s got wild out-of-control hair that slips down in curls over his forehead, retro glasses, and is wearing crisp white shirt under a figure hugging sweater. Oswald can’t see below the counter, but he’d stake money on the rest of his attire being skinny jeans and Chucks. He is essentially every inch the hipster type that Oswald hates. But this guy doesn’t seem to be wearing it with any trace of pretension. There are no obnoxious vibes coming off him. Oswald opens and closes his mouth several times before finally forcing some words out that he hopes sound somewhat normal and don’t betray the belly flops he’s currently experiencing.
“Of course not. They’re not paying me to study.”
The guy looks nervous, hugging some very large text books to his chest. He’s looking around at the array of yesterday's pastries and cakes like they might bite him. In short, he looks about ready to bolt. Oswald takes pity on him. He’s obviously not here by choice, and by the looks of it, probably only rarely comes out to social places.
“What can I get for you, friend?”
“An Americano. With an extra shot. Please,” the guy says in a rush.
“Coming right up!” Oswald says cheerily. He never usually bothers with these barista clichés, preferring to go about his work in silence, glaring and almost daring people to comment on his customer service. But he feels like the stranger before him needs this. And for some reason he wants to ease his nerves, maybe even get a smile out of him.
“So what brings you here at this unholy hour?” Oswald ventures as he fetches a lid while the machine fills the cup.
The customer sighs. “My roommate and his girlfriend are copulating. Loudly. Again.”
Oswald almost drops the cup as he walks back over to the counter. A shocked snort escapes him.
“That bastard.” Oswald tries his best to commiserate.
“Exactly! Sometimes I think about throttling him in his sleep. You know, if he actually ever slept.” He’s saying this angrily at the pile of brownies next to the cash register. He looks harmless enough, but Oswald can sense the frustration coming off him, and more than a little malice. Oswald stares, eyebrows raised, half-unsure, half-impressed. The guy looks up, suddenly nervous again.
“Of course, I would never do that.”
“Of course,” When Oswald smiles, it’s a half-smirk.
There’s a long moment where hipster guy stares at Oswald as if he’s trying to figure him out. His gaze is scrutinising, invasive and a little bit intimidating. It’s a mystery to Oswald how this guy can go from being someone who seems to shrink in on themselves nervously to someone with enough power in their stare to completely unravel and strip bare. Even though his mouth is dry, he eventually manages to say how much the coffee is and to point out where the milk, sugar and sweeteners are.
As his customer searches in his wallet, Oswald grabs a sharpie and writes his phone number on the cup. He has put the pen under the counter and is back to innocently waiting for the money before the stranger looks up again.
“Oh I’ll also need to see your student ID for the discount.”
It’s pretty obvious that the guy is a student, and he’s probably the nerdiest-looking student Oswald has ever seen. And there is of course, no such discount. Miss Mooney would rather gouge out her own eyeballs than give students a discount. But it’s an excuse to find out his name. A five-dollar bill and the requested card are handed to him. Oswald looks at the card as he gets his change. Edward Nygma. E-Nygma. Quite.
“There you go… Ed.” It’s a bold move, it could go either way.
“Thank you,” Edward says, leaning slightly closer to read Oswald’s name tag. He doesn’t seem offended, or anything at all. Just anxious to reciprocate a social norm. ‘Oswald. Sorry to have disturbed you.’ He picks up his coffee and heads over to the sugars and sweeteners. How a person can be so simultaneously endearing and powerful is once again lost on Oswald. He watches Edward, waiting for him to notice the number on the cup. His heart drops when Edward puts a sleeve on the cup, covering the number entirely. He hopes that Edward just didn’t see it, rather than deliberately ignoring it.
Edward seats himself in the corner, away from the windows and opposite Oswald, placing his books and cup of coffee on the table. He then starts to retrieve items from his bag, as Oswald tries to watch discreetly. There’s a clear pencil case full of pens, another full of highlighters, another with pencils, a ruler, and an eraser. Then he pulls out an organiser, an A4 ruled notepad, and some small sticky notes. Wow, Oswald thinks, this guy is really serious about studying. He also notices Edward’s lower half. Yup, skinny jeans and immaculate Chucks. Though there’s no MacBook in sight.
One of Oswald’s mix CDs is playing over the tinny speakers. He kind of wants to ask Edward if the music is okay, but he’s also afraid he’ll say no, or that he doesn’t like it. Music is one of the most important things in the world to Oswald. It gets him through the long shifts he works alone, when Miss Mooney doesn’t force them all to listen to the god awful Gotham University Radio Station. But Edward doesn’t comment or even seem to notice as he settles in. Unbearable Beauty by Ashbury heights plays happily.
Edward stays for a full four hours. In that time, he doesn’t move from his seat. He’s entirely lost in his study bubble. Oswald tries to study his own text books, but his eyes are repeatedly drawn to Edward. He watches Edward worry at his bottom lip, lean his forehead on his hand, subconsciously run his fingers through his hair. Seeing Edward constantly lick and abuse his own lip, has him teasing at own his lip ring. It has him wondering what it would be like if Edward decided to bite at his lip ring, rather than at his own lip. Every little movement is interesting to Oswald. When Ed splays the fingertips of one hand on the table while he moves a capped pen over each of his bullet points, Oswald is captivated. Edward has such long fingers, beautiful artists’ hands. Oswald wonders if he plays an instrument. Those fingers would be perfect working a fretboard. Or running up and down piano keys.
Oswald’s eyes are starting to sting. He’s reaching that stage of tiredness where he feels like he’s floating and everything seems a bit surreal. Sleep deprivation, as he’s discovered in this job, is a powerful narcotic. He turns the page of his book and glances down at it. Yup, the words are blurring. Edward is easier on his eyes, and more likely to keep him awake. That hair though – he bets there isn’t even any product in it. Most hipsters would kill for waves like that, but Edward’s looks soft, shiny and natural. Oswald would love to thread his fingers through it. Maybe give it a tug.
Oswald is shaken out of his thoughts when Edward abruptly gets up and his chair screeches as he does so. He stretches and straightens his clothes, brushing his hands over his sweater as though there are crumbs down it, despite the fact he hasn’t eaten anything. Oswald hurriedly looks down at his open text book lest Edward should look up and catch him staring. He listens as Edward packs up his things and throws the empty cup in the trashcan by the door. For a few moments Oswald thinks he will just leave without saying anything. He can almost feel the uncertainty coming off Edward as he pauses by the door. Nothing can be heard except HIM’s cover of Wicked Game playing over the speakers. Eventually Edward turns back to the counter and says, “what is it that no one ever did see, which never was, but is always to be?”
Oswald looks up at Edward across the cafe and blinks several times in confusion. “Is this – are you asking me a riddle?”
“Do you like riddles?”
“I—” Oswald starts.
“Tomorrow! Will you be here tomorrow?” Edward cuts him off.
“Oh yes, unfortunately I will be here tomorrow.” Oswald yawns. He brushes his bangs out of his eyes. Just four more hours until Ivy will be here to relieve him.
Ed’s hopeful expression suddenly becomes neutral again and he looks down at the floor. He clears his throat. “Well coming here has been very conducive to my studying, and given the likelihood that my roommate and his girlfriend will be giving in to their baser instincts again tomorrow, I will see you then.”
It sort of hurts Oswald’s feelings that Edward was able to focus so hard that he probably forgot Oswald was even there. While Oswald himself couldn’t concentrate because he couldn’t stop staring at this beautiful nerd.
“Alright then, Mister Nygma. See you tomorrow. Hope your roommate and his girlfriend stop ‘copulating’ long enough for you to get some sleep.” He smiles tiredly.
Instead of laughing at the term, like most people would have, Edward gives Oswald a blinding smile, as if he can’t believe someone would wish something so nice for him. His books start to slide out of his hands and he immediately sort of swoops to make sure nothing falls to the floor. His glasses slide down to the end of his nose as he does so. He quickly stands up and casts one more shy glance at Oswald, pushing his glasses back up with his index finger, before heading out the door. Oswald can see him still smiling as he heads past the café windows and down the street. Tomorrow’s another day; he’ll have to think on how to tell Edward he'd like to go home with him without scaring him off.
He looks at the clock. Only four more hours to go.