Chapter Text
Monday
It felt wrong– sort of like Andrew was an actor in a film– to stand behind a counter and do a job that he never imagined he’d do.
Survival does that to you. It cuts out all aspects of life but your own. At some moments, Andrew felt like he was the only person in the world. He stopped thinking about what was beyond his bedroom; never paused to wonder where his food came from or the authors behind the books he read. He was wrapped up in his mind, and when not his mind, his forms of escapism: a cigarette, a stranger’s pair of lips.
Time did its job of graduating him from high school, and his mindless homework did its job of getting him into college, and soon his brother and cousin got them an apartment with a lock on his bedroom door, and eventually, he got himself a job to pass the time he spent not studying.
And soon he discovered there was an art behind everything, and therefore, a world that was waiting for him, just past his front door.
At first, Andrew thought working at a coffee shop would be just another job. But then he learned the many variables to a perfectly brewed cup: water temperature, steeping time, measurements; steps that had been perfected over hundreds of years by countless amounts of coffee-loving experts. People had been doing this long before Andrew existed, and they’d been doing it while he was going through what he was going through, and they would be doing it long after he expired.
As bone-chilling one could take that thought, Andrew found it comforting. It somehow made his thoughts feel small compared to this giant blueprint laid out for something as small as a caffeinated drink. It was strange, but Andrew felt as though the world was a library, with infinite books, countless pages, and an endless amount of words he could learn. He’d been dropped into a small college town, given the history that he was given, and had the world to explore. For the first time in his life, he could take point one percent of a step toward figuring out what he wanted to do with the rest of it. He didn’t shine a light too brightly on this realization, with the fear that it may not be real, but he still held on to the feeling that it brought and summoned it when he felt like everything else was too much.
Andrew does have to fake it most of the time. There’s still that out-of-place, overly aware feeling, as though he’s in an open-world, sandbox video game, but he has no choice but to hope that the particles of his new life will fall into place eventually. No choice but to hope that time oils his movements, so they one day feel right and purposeful.
Anyway, the thoughts are enough. And the coffee is still flowing. The espresso stream comes to a spurting end, splashing brown foam against the inside of the white paper cup.
Andrew’s attention came back to in front of his eyelashes, versus the darkness in his head, and he poured the steamed milk into the cup before lidding it and handing it off.
It goes like that for a while: adding water to americanos, whipped cream to hot chocolates. The buzzing of the cafe and its customers take up most of his senses. It’s only been three months since Andrew started here, at the small, indie coffee shop right off-campus, but he is a fast learner and quick on the bar, so he’s trusted to handle the morning rush of drinks alone.
His shift supervisor, a quiet upperclassman named Renee, is on the register. Her smooth voice is low as she takes orders, hidden behind the music that is too upbeat for this early in the morning. Unfortunately, Andrew knows the tune by now, and can’t help but internally follow along with the words as he works.
His coworker Matt’s voice, on the other hand, is booming, doing a wonderful job at waking up the groggy college students shuffling in line. He greets his regulars and heats their breakfast croissants and berry scones, handing off the paper bags so quickly they’re chewing before they even reach Renee.
Andrew doesn’t mind the two of them. Caution is engraved in his bones at this point, after years of fear and the inability to trust somebody, but he thinks he got lucky to be working with these two.
Matt seemed to be a genuinely decent guy. It was suspicious at first, and Andrew immediately tried to figure out his problem, as the hard truth was that those he felt even slightly at ease around typically had some sort of damage. He figured it out on his second shift when he caught the evidence on Matt’s inner arms. The older man didn’t try to hide the track marks from Andrew and Renee when they’d charge up on coffee and breakfast before opening, but he did pull on a cardigan before the front doors were unlocked. He made light conversation with everyone he met and he liked eye contact, which made Andrew weary at first, but then appreciative at how easy it was to read him.
Renee was more reserved. She hired Andrew at the end of his interview, and not because he knew how to manipulate his way past a hard question. He thought maybe she saw past that, that maybe the armbands he won't take off or cigarette breaks he required held a little more weight in her heart because of the cross necklace she wore. He didn’t mind being liked by her, didn’t mind that she considered him her friend. It wasn’t pity that he saw on her face, but like with Matt, it was understanding. When Andrew got quiet while stocking the fridges or when his hands shook when he gave her a drink to hand off, she only gave him a small smile and never mentioned anything.
There’s the night crew, too. Andrew hasn’t had the displeasure of working with them: a guy named Seth who always had his headphones in and a blonde girl named Allison that looked like she could buy the place. Andrew had only seen them from the windows when he happened to be walking past at night, but he thinks they might be sleeping together. He also thinks there’s a running theme with those who work here, because they don’t seem to add up, either. Allison’s hair and makeup are done for every shift, and her boots cost more money than they’d make in two paychecks. And Seth, with his buzzed head, stretched ears and many dark tattoos fit in with the cafe’s fairy lights and hanging plants as much as Andrew did.
The mid-shift, the woman who holds the cafe up on her back, was their manager, Dan, who Andrew found to be the most unapologetically real of them all. She’s the only one who would dare to criticize his mistakes. She trained him, told him about pour-overs and different bean acidities, and even taught him how to put the perfect amount of pleasant-condescendingness into his voice when a customer was being a complete fuckwad. He’s yet to try it out. Despite her harsh teachings, she also gave a truckload of praise when he perfected his latte art. The compliments made Andrew feel prickly and wobbly, though, so now he usually tries to leave before she gets in.
He’s just made his third chai tea latte in a row, a drink which Andrew has a love-hate relationship with. They smell like autumn and are easy to make, but he’s deemed their drinkers weak for not trying something bolder. The girl he hands it off to has bright red lips that wash her out, and Andrew watches her attempt to shove the drinks into a cardboard holder, only to make sure she doesn’t spill one of them. He decides against helping her after ten seconds of her struggling and goes to finish off the cinnamon latte that followed behind.
Andrew knows he acts in a manner that doesn’t prioritize other people’s comfort. A barely-there, empathetic part of him wants to fill silences or hold his facial features in a nicer way, but he can never bring himself to. He doesn’t have the capacity to care and doesn’t mind feeling that way. Self-preservation is something he’s seen too many people lack and struggle to learn. Most are too sensitive and think the world will end if he doesn’t respond to their “How are you?”s with “Good, thanks. You?” Still, it’s not professional, according to Dan, to ignore them, or say “Do you actually want to know?” so he’ll shrug, or say what most take as a joke, “Depends, do you mean today, or in general?”
A new, growing part of him that showed up in the last three months, that is difficult not to cringe at by the rest of him, wants to get better at his job. At life. He asks Renee and Matt questions about things he doesn’t know. He remembers the regular's orders and has them ready before they pay. He goes to the gym with his pre-med brother and eats less sugar. He’s trying, secretly hoping the routines will stick. His coworkers are patient. His family is consistent. His classes don’t require him to open his mouth too much. His professors spend most of their lessons on lectures, debates, note-taking, or reading. Studying is an act mostly done alone in the library, or in the dim light of his desk lamp, late into the night. Andrew doesn’t do much else. He eats on his prepaid credits, goes to his therapist every Wednesday, and works.
Again– it’s a script he’s acting out, but a weird part of him, (maybe the Andrew that’s standing in the coffee shop right now) is a bit broken, or really broken, and feels some sort of self-sympathy for this inner part of him that’s young. That’s another symptom of survival: dividing yourself up into little parts to understand better because as a whole, it’s a train wreck.
Andrew wants to try for that little part, the one that is so small they can only look up.
Then his throat feels like it’s tightening, and Andrew realizes he’s stopped moving on the bar when Renee says a small, “Hey,” to his left. She keeps her distance, but Andrew still feels crowded in the tight space. Renee must read it on his face. “Wanna head to register for a bit? I got this.”
Andrew wants to head home, actually, but his behavioral therapy shit would tell him to work through it, despite, that panic wasn’t the end of the world and shouldn’t be treated that way. The morning rush must be over because there are no more customers at the register, so Andrew nods.
He steps back to the storeroom to drink some water. Matt’s busy warming what’s left for those waiting, so he only sings the lyrics of the song playing a little louder when Andrew walks by. Thankfully, no one ever asks, “Are you okay?”
They must have been sick of hearing it, themselves.
After reading the warning label on a disinfectant bottle, when the thoughts of a younger Andrew fade from his mind, the cinch around Andrew’s throat finally opens. Air enters his chest easier.
Maybe it was the weather, gloomy and grey, that made this day feel weird from the start, made Andrew more on edge. The register is slow for a while– by now most people are in morning class or at work. Renee heads to the back to do inventory, and Andrew hops between bar and register, taking care of the stray customer, wiping down counters and machines as he prepares for the end of his shift.
Matt’s in the middle of telling him about a show he’s watching, something corny regarding an apocalypse from nuclear bombs when the front door chimes. Andrew’s on his knees, stocking the milk fridge that’s tucked under the bar with plant and dairy products. Matt cheers as he does whenever a regular walks in, and his energy is matched in enthusiasm by the customer, whose voice is muffled from Andrew’s current position.
“Kevin! How’s it going?” Matt asks.
Andrew hears the deep voice move to the register. He gets up and washes his hands, taking his time to mentally prepare for an obviously extroverted person. When he turns around, he sees said Kevin, an unfamiliar face to be so acquainted with Matt. He’s a good-looking guy: tall, heavy brows, light eyes, athletic build. Andrew thinks that if he were looking for a hookup, he may have tried a little. He’s not. Kevin doesn’t seem to be his type, either.
Andrew stands behind the register and waits for the two to finish talking, or for Matt to tell him Kevin’s usual order, which his coworkers usually do when Andrew is still unfamiliar with someone.
“Practice this morning was a shit show. I don’t know why it’s so difficult for the team to work together. It’s like they’re trying to be morons–” Kevin says, further supporting the not-Andrew’s-type ideology he’s settled on. He’s a jock, likes to complain, is impatient, and inconsiderate.
Andrew sighs, settling to ignore him, as well. “Matt, does he order anything? Or does he just like having someone to listen to him speak?”
Maybe that wasn’t appropriate, but Dan wasn’t here to tell him that. Kevin does seem the type to leave a bad review, though, so maybe Andrew would hear from her anyway. Both men turn to look at him, and Matt laughs. Not in an awkward way, either. “Yeah, Kevin spend your money or get out.”
Kevin blinks at Andrew. “You’re new.”
Something about Kevin must really piss Andrew off. That, or he’s just having a shittier day than he realized. Andrew replies, “Great observation.”
For some reason, Kevin smiles. “I’m Matt’s roommate.”
“That’s great,” Andrew says, not liking where this is going, but not surprised at the same time. Apparently, working at Fox Beans or being affiliated with someone who does means Andrew will constantly be unable to control the conversation.
“I’ll have a matcha latte,” Kevin says. “With almond milk.”
Andrew goes to ring him up, “Let me guess, unsweetened?”
Matt laughs, “Bingo. Don’t charge him, I’ll comp it.”
The two keep talking as Matt cleans the pastry case and oven, and Andrew steams the almond milk, aerating the liquid for longer than usual, the loud ripping noise drowning them out. Kevin comes over to get his drink eventually.
“Thanks. What’s your name?” Kevin asks, but it doesn’t seem to carry the usual, “Because I’m going to report you to your manager,” that Andrew used to get when he first started. It just seems genuine. Kevin tries his drink and hums.
“Andrew. I’m new. You’re Kevin, Matt’s roommate.” Andrew says, with a tone saying, “We’ve been over this.” Maybe Andrew should let Renee give him one of those fancy nametags she writes out, to avoid future unnecessary conversations.
Kevin seems to have dropped the arrogant jock act. Andrew is starting to believe maybe his first impression was incorrect. The raven-haired man nods, “Nice to meet you. Thanks for the drink.”
And that doesn’t really require a response, so Andrew goes back to wiping up splattered syrups, and tries not to feel weird about being rude to Matt’s friend. Kevin says bye to Matt, and thankfully the current song playing is a quieter one because Andrew catches a bit of their exchange.
“...reminds me of Neil… going to bring him in tomorrow… see their conversation…”
Matt laughs, “...actually really cool…”
Andrew typically doesn’t care what people have to say about him, but to hear two people plan to introduce him to someone is a bit alarming. Still, he doesn’t react, not quite trusting himself to be a decent human being at the moment. His shift is minutes from over. Soon another completed workday will be forgotten along with the rest, and he can skip the gym, go home, and nap on the couch to make up for his missing sleep. Getting up at four am doesn’t mix well with staying up late.
Kevin leaves, and Matt keeps talking about his show as though nothing happened, and Renee finally comes back to the floor when she’s done with her shift supervisor duties, tapping Andrew out for the day.
He ends up going to the gym anyway because naps throw him off and he needs to expel some of the negative energy he’s feeling. Afternoon classes pass by and soon he’s waiting outside of his apartment for Nicky and Aaron to grab dinner.
They’re the two people in the world that know Andrew the best, which isn’t really saying much. No one knows everything that Andrew has been through, and because of this fact, the family that he admittedly likes having around ends up making him feel even more isolated.
And maybe, it wasn’t the overcast sky causing Andrew to be more on edge, but the underlying fact that he was quite alone. It crept along in his peripheral vision. The one thing time didn’t seem to be helping.
He’d tried to attempt intimacy in the past when he first started college, but hookups had started to feel more like a brief high than something sustainable. It was difficult to find someone who understood Andrew’s boundaries and respected them. And during sex, it was as it should be; his instincts took over, the need for a release aided mechanical movements, but after it was like waking up from a dream, dropped back into a grey-tinted reality. With no person consistent, it got old. The self-awareness that came with being Andrew showed that one-night stands took more than they gave. He couldn’t think of seeing someone consistently, either, which was the weight at the other end of the seesaw.
His brother and cousin come out of the glass entrance to their apartment building. Aaron fills the car ride with complaints about his job that gives him patient-contact hours for school. Nicky talks about clubs he partakes in and the events he’s in charge of planning. Andrew listens and hums and turns up his music when he can’t pretend anymore. They know he’s trying, and he knows they know, and it’s exhausting.
At dinner, he briefly thinks of moving out and causing less trouble for them. The waitress is too friendly. The sun is setting through the diner windows, and the sky is a mess of clouds in streaking golds, purples, and pinks. Andrew can’t look at it directly, but he wonders if his hair is lighting up the same way his twins is.
“There’s a party the lacrosse team is hosting this weekend. Would you guys want to go? This guy I tutor invited me.” Nicky says.
Aaron shrugs, “Sure, I’ll go.”
“You’ll go, get blackout drunk, regret your life choices, swear off parties, and repeat the cycle next week,” Andrew adds.
Nicky’s mouth pulls into a smile. He says, “So is the life of the overworked student. What about you, Andrew? You coming?”
And because he is Aaron’s brother, Andrew shrugs, too. “If only to make sure Aaron doesn’t get punched.”
“I’m not going over this again.” Aaron sighs, before contradicting himself. “The guy was an asshole. I didn’t hit on his girlfriend.”
Andrew remembers the girl’s face as clear as day. Aaron may not have been flirting, but she definitely was. Andrew would think her a sneak if she didn’t announce to the whole party during the fight that she and Aaron’s assaulter had broken up.
“We know,” Andrew said, shooting a look at Nicky. “I’m going.”
His cousin did that overly fond smile that he always tried to hide and picked at what was left of his french fries. Andrew supposed the easiest thing that he did was feel a protective urge over the two of them. It was something that lined up with his morals and was easy to do, so he didn’t mind it. He’d knocked the douchebag who punched Aaron on his ass before upending his drink on him. Only when the guy got back up did Andrew discreetly pull out a knife, sneakily enough for the guy to feel just pressed against his side. Aaron and Nicky didn’t know about that part. The douchebag had backed off, then.
-
Later that night, Andrew finished assigned chapters and outlined an essay before he opened the window in his bedroom and climbed out onto the fire escape. He’d never been on one until they moved into the prewar building, and the first time he came out, he thought the black, metal bars would give out under him. They didn’t. His stomach still felt like it would drop out of his body whenever he looked down the four stories. The window next to his own had the curtains drawn, but Andrew saw Aaron’s lights were peaking out: studying late, per usual. Nicky’s music was quiet from across the hall, but Andrew enjoyed it when it subtly flooded out the window and into his ears. He tapped a cigarette and lighter from the pack he kept on his desk and sat back against the wall of the building. Their street was quiet, the road lamps yellow, the stars barely visible. The flicker of the lighter was familiar, and the pull and puff grounded Andrew, though he was many feet above it.
Tuesday
Multiple alarms at four am never got any easier. It felt as though Andrew had just closed his eyes, and he very well might have. His laptop was still shining into his still room. He’d left his desk lamp on. The apartment was quiet between Aaron’s knocks on the wall to get him to turn off the annoying chiming from his phone. The morning ritual.
Matt got to the cafe on his bike at the same time Andrew pulled his car into the small lot in the back. Matt’s beanie was pulled over his ears, but Andrew knew earbuds were blasting the usual heavy beats the curly-haired man played to wake up. He smiled sleepily at Andrew as he unlocked the door. Andrew didn’t have any capacity to reply. Mentally, he was in bed. He’d be awake in an hour or two.
They flicked on the lights and clocked in at five sixteen and Andrew went right to the espresso machine, warming it up before running a cleansing tablet through it. When it was ready, Matt met him at the bar and Andrew brewed them two espresso shots each. They let them sit for thirty seconds and then downed the dead shots, because according to Dan, espresso had a life span, and Fox Beans openers had a necessary ritual that needed to be completed in order to have a good shift. It woke them up well enough. Andrew tried to find the caramel notes that everyone with a coffee palate seemed to find in espresso, but all he found on his tongue was bitterness.
They did their opening duties, and then Renee arrived, counted the register money, and turned on her playlist as Andrew put the stools and chairs back on the floor from the tables. Then he flipped on the neon sign of white fox paws, which he still found obnoxious, and unlocked the front doors.
Insert shift at the cafe. Early risers, those headed to their jobs, and zombie-brained students flooded in, one after another. Andrew got a direct tip of two dollars for a latte art leaf. Renee spilled hot tea on her hand. Matt dropped a breakfast sandwich. Andrew wasn’t in a shitty mood. He realized that one’s feelings affect one’s worldview a little too late in life. He tries to remember that when it feels like the sky is falling. It’s hard. Renee laughs over her red hand and Matt groans at the sandwich like it played a prank on him and Andrew feels a lot more mindful and a little less snappy. He remakes a drink for someone after they dislike the first and doesn’t even mind. He doesn’t mentally call people wimps for getting decaf, skim milk lattes. He tries to engrain this feeling of ease in his mind to fall back on tomorrow, all whilst trying to not think about anything too long.
The morning rush is absurd. The line folds in half on one of the rare occasions that it does. The three of them handle it with no sweat off their backs, not even taking their ten-minute food breaks when they usually do. Andrew’s lost count of the number of cold brews he’s poured. And then in a flash, it’s over, and suddenly, it’s nine-thirty.
Matt says, “Andrew, when is your birthday?”
“Why?” Andrew asks. It sounds suspicious, and Renee snorts from the sink, where she’s emptying old carafes of room-temperature milk.
Matt laughs. “Because we have to put it on the calendar! Don’t tell me it’s passed since you started here.”
“It didn’t,” Andrew says.
“Can we guess?” Renee asks.
Andrew raises an eyebrow at her, but she looks excited, so he says, “Go for it.”
Her eyes squint in a smile. Andrew watches her rainbow hair, pulled into two buns, bob as she bounces on her feet. “Okay! Well, I have a theory you’re an earth sign, but you don’t seem like a Capricorn, so, maybe a Virgo. September?”
Andrew feels amused. His chest does a weird, flippy thing. “No.”
From the other end of the counter, Matt yells a random date. It’s wrong. Renee acts as though that would have been ridiculous anyway. Andrew doesn’t give her any help.
She gasps at her own train of thought. “Don’t tell me you're a fire sign…?”
“Have you accurately guessed someone’s birthday before?” Andrew asks, instead.
Renee gapes at him. “Excuse me, most people just say their birthday outright when I ask. You’re being difficult. What are you, a Sagittarius?”
Andrew pauses as he stocks the straws and shoots her a glare. “No.”
“I don’t know anything about horoscopes–” Matt says.
“Zodiacs,” Renee corrects.
Matt continues, “But which one is unapologetic and mysterious?”
Something electrifies Renee. A realization. “Scorpio?”
That erupts a half-an-hour-long conversation. It’s entertaining enough. According to Renee, there were coincidences within sun signs, but it was difficult to always get it right. It was still fun for her to try. Andrew didn’t mind it, either, even though he was being analyzed. Customers joined in and offered up their own signs. Andrew didn’t care and made their drinks in silence. An iced coffee for the Capricorn in the suit. A green tea for the Gemini with a yoga mat. On his break, Andrew looked up what it meant to be a Scorpio, and the answer sort of ripped him apart, so he locked his phone and ate his breakfast with the spiteful bites of one being known.
Renee left to take inventory when he got back. Matt carried the conversation about his dog over from her to Andrew. No, Andrew didn’t have any pets. Yes, cats were superior. Admittedly, Weasley was a good name for Matt’s Goldendoodle. Andrew was almost done for the day and began his end-of-shift tasks as they talked. When he got back from grabbing milk from the storage fridge, Matt was talking to Kevin again.
Andrew forgot about Kevin, which was easy to do, but a mistake, because Matt and Kevin had mentioned bringing in a Neil to meet Andrew, which is who the person standing next to Kevin had to be.
Apparently, Neil was extremely attractive.
It wasn’t a quick acknowledgment either, no. Andrew stopped in place when he came around the corner and stared for a good three seconds before he managed to collect himself. Neil was talking with Matt and Kevin about something, so Andrew bypassed them and finished putting things away and hoped he could clock out before Kevin’s big mouth finally stopped moving. He did not want to be set up to have a conversation with someone. Even more so, someone so good-looking. It was almost irritating. Yesterday it would have been infuriating.
Andrew looked up from the coffee bar.
Neil was looking at him.
Normally Andrew would care when he found someone staring; he would scowl or raise a brow, but he couldn’t. He was struck dumb. Andrew didn’t know where to land his eyes, every feature on Neil’s stupid face was striking. He wasn’t every day pretty, no, he was someone that Andrew couldn’t possibly make up. Neil had disheveled, reddish-brown hair that flipped this way and that. A nose that would be too perfect if it didn’t have a slight crick from an obvious past fracture. Eyes a haunting blue that a poisonous creature would use as a warning. It was all a messed up sort of beautiful– down to the pale skin that was disrupted with marks– a blade, a burn, or maybe both. Andrew hadn’t caught those the first time. Interesting. When his eyes landed on the scarred cheek, Neil smiled. It was the smile of a cocky jerk, and unfortunately, it did nothing but tug at Andrew further. He walked over to Matt and stopped behind the touch screen register.
“Hey, Andrew,” Matt said, “This is my other roommate, Neil.”
“Hey,” Andrew said, keeping his expression blank. Neil still had that annoying look on his face (it was just his face) so Andrew turned his attention towards Kevin, “I’m not interested in a room if that’s what you’re trying to do here.”
“Well no, but now that you mention it…” Kevin trailed off.
“No,” Andrew cut off the thought. “What do you want to drink?”
Kevin sucked his teeth. “The usual. I don’t drink coffee.”
Lots of sarcastic potential replies filled Andrew’s head, begging to leap off his tongue, but, “Okay. What was that again?” was what he settled with. Andrew did remember Kevin’s order, but no one needed to know that. He unnecessarily wrote it on the paper cup as Kevin spoke, and then looked at Neil, expectant.
Neil frowned. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll have whatever.”
“Whatever?” Andrew raised a brow.
Neil shrugged, “I don’t really care. Just nothing sweet.”
Andrew looked at Matt. For some reason, he looked delighted as he leaned over the top of the pastry case. All tall and irritating and of no help. Andrew was just about very done with this interaction.
“Okay,” was all Andrew said. Again. He scribbled something on the cup and walked over to the bar to prepare Kevin’s almond milk. The cafe was pretty empty– a few people scattered around the sparse tables, one or two people outside, bearing the early spring cold. Matt was cleaning his station, still listening to Kevin talk. Kevin moved his hands a lot when he explained something. Even when the person he was talking to wasn’t looking at him.
When Andrew looked back at the coffee bar, Neil was standing on the other side of it.
“Hi,” Neil said, elbows resting on the wood. Andrew pretended to work on the drink to avoid taking in any more of his appearance. “Whatcha making me?”
“I’m not making you anything,” Andrew said.
“Why not?” Neil asked.
There was something teasing in his tone Andrew did not like. If Neil could stand like, ten feet away and not open his mouth, maybe Andrew would appreciate his face more. Likely not. He didn’t know how to act, so he pretended Neil was just another person (because he was) and tried his best to be normal. Himself. He scooped matcha powder into a cup and added some hot water. As he whisked the two, he leaned against the bar. “Because you didn’t give me an order, and I’m not going to waste time thinking about what you may want.”
Neil cocked his head. “You don’t look like the type to take orders.”
It made Andrew’s eyes meet his. Neil went on, “I’ll have… a latte.”
A safe choice for an obvious non-coffee-drinker, but Neil didn’t need to know that. Andrew added the steaming milk into the matcha and topped it off with a foam flower. It was muscle memory at this point, something he did every day, but it stood out to obvious cafe-virgin Neil.
“Can you do that on a latte?” He asked.
Andrew tried not to sound like a snob. “Yes.”
He left Kevin’s drink on the bar (Kevin could come to get it himself because Andrew was definitely not going to call him over here) and started Neil’s.
“So how long have you been working here?” Neil asked.
Andrew replied, “Three months.”
“Do you like it?”
Andrew thought about the never-ending coffee experts. He thought about his coworkers. He thought about handcrafting something for someone else. How even though he had to get up at four am, he got to see the sunrise through the storefront. His days are longer. The customers could be entitled. His legs got tired. Things were good and bad. Not black or white, not grey, but black and white. That was life, his therapist would say, and that’s okay. “Yes.”
Neil hummed. Andrew couldn’t tell if he was making customer small talk or mutual-friend small talk. They were silent as the espresso brewed. Neil played with one of the plants on the bar. Andrew got a look at the scars on his cheek as he did. Then he spotted the hoodie he was wearing.
Andrew almost scoffed, “You don’t seem like a jock.”
Neil smiled. Andrew got another view of his canines. “No? What’s a jock seem like to you?”
Andrew finished off the latte with one of the best flowers he’d done so far. There was an accidental little heart at the top. He handed it to Neil and said, “Kevin.”
“Understandable,” Neil said, staring down at Andrew’s work. “And what do I seem like?”
Neil turned his head a little. A smirk was on his lips. For a moment, Andrew thought Neil might be flirting, and his body betrayed him, pulse speeding up.
“A problem,” Andrew managed.
Neil’s eyes stayed on his as he grabbed a stirring stick and stuck it in the latte, right in Andrew’s art. He replied, “You’d be right.”
And then he mixed the drink, the art lost, messed into nothing but brown foam.
It pissed Andrew off a bit.
Kevin called for Neil, now at the front door, and Neil lidded both of their drinks.
“Thank you,” Neil said. He winked before turning away, but Andrew was so caught up in his irritation he hadn’t processed it until after Neil was gone.
Neil had been flirting with him.
Andrew turned to Matt, who was watching him. Renee chose that moment to come back out on the floor, so Andrew dropped the rag he’d been using to sanitize the countertop and left.
On the way past Matt, he said, “Not a word.”
“Uh-huh,” Matt instantly agreed.
-
Andrew was laying on the couch, scrolling on Instagram, trying to steal time to accomplish nothing productive. His stressed-out brother lay on the carpet next to him, doing the same. Their books sat open and discarded on the coffee table. Aaron held up his phone, a stray arm from nowhere, and showed Andrew a video of one cat smacking another from a hiding spot in a cabinet. Absolutely superior to dogs.
“That’s me and you,” Aaron said. Andrew snorted.
Nicky decided to cook dinner that night. The smell of sauteing onions and garlic did nothing for Andrew’s empty stomach. He hadn’t eaten since he’d gotten off work, and a quick gym session and an afternoon of classes did not help. Aaron asked Nicky how much longer until the dinner was ready. Nicky gave a noncommittal response from the kitchen.
Andrew’s thoughts, less cooperative due to his hunger, boomeranged back to Neil. Andrew could appreciate when someone was attractive– his red blood made sure of that– but unfortunately, Neil was also interesting. Interesting was harder to shake off. Usually, Andrew could fit people into cookie-cutter holes in his mind. Everyone was a certain type of person that fell into a certain slot. Not Neil. At least, not yet. Andrew couldn’t figure out how to sort him. Neil was a college student that didn’t know what drink to order at a coffee shop. Maybe he was an alien, who’d just crash-landed from outer space? His words had an implacable inflection. His smile looked as though he wasn’t comfortable using it. He’d somehow managed to have an attitude while flirting–
Before he knew what he was doing, Andrew was searching for Neil on his Instagram. Surprisingly, without even a last name, he came up. Neil Josten. Followed by Matt and…
“Nicky,” Andrew called.
His cousin stuck his head out of the kitchen. It wasn’t the response that Aaron got earlier. Andrew disliked the attention he got when it was the rare occasion he spoke up. He ignored it. “Do you know someone named Neil?”
That really got Nicky’s attention. His mouth spread into a grin before he disappeared again. “Yes!” Nicky said, and Andrew heard pans rearrange and utensils being set down before Nicky came out to the living room, standing by Andrew’s feet. “He’s one of the people I tutor in Spanish, the one who invited us to the party on Saturday.”
Andrew documented the Spanish fact for later and muttered, “Of course, they’re fucking lacrosse players…”
“Huh?” Nicky beamed.
“Nothing. Nevermind.”
“Why? How do you know him?” Nicky said. It was a mistake to bring up a guy, and a good-looking one at that. Nicky had mellowed out since meeting his boyfriend, Erik, but if there was someone even vaguely attractive in the room, Nicky would be aware of it.
“I don’t,” Andrew said. And then he thought of his therapist flattening her lips at his lack of honesty, so he added, “he’s my coworker’s roommate.”
“Oh, who? Kevin? Matt?” Nicky asked. His tone was all high and excited as it usually was, incredibly parallel to the discomfort Andrew felt at talking boys with his cousin. Wait, is that what he was doing? No–
“Kevin Day is a douchebag,” Aaron said. Yes, he was, at first, and then not at second, but then at third, because he introduced Andrew to Neil.
Andrew frowned, “How do you know Kevin?”
“I don’t,” Aaron said, because brothers, except Aaron didn’t have an angel sitting on his shoulder to urge him on. Sometimes, he made Andrew feel less difficult. Apparently, there would be no talking about Kevin or Neil, tonight.
Nicky sighed. “Sometimes when I feel overwhelmed or insecure, I remind myself that if I can take care of you two, I can do anything.”
With that, he walked back into the kitchen. A year ago, Nicky would have prodded Andrew for an explanation. Maybe later Andrew could ask how Erik was doing and let his cousin gush over him for twenty minutes as a thank you.
Back on his phone, Neil’s private profile had a follow request sent.
Andrew’s heart fully lurched.
It was such an unfamiliar feeling that he sucked in a breath loud enough to alert his brother. The blond sat up from his lying position on the floor and looked at Andrew.
He’d just accidentally requested to follow Neil on Instagram.
He hadn’t even had a chance to squint at his small profile picture yet.
Aaron angled his head to look at Andrew’s phone. He laughed, “Did you mean to do that?”
Andrew hid the screen against his chest. He felt like a child. His voice went monotone, “No.”
“Too late now.” Aaron exhaled. Andrew shoved his brother’s forehead back, so he was laying out of sight once more.
Was it too late? He could cancel the request, unless Neil had already seen it—
When he lifted his phone again, Neil’s profile was visible.
Following. NeilJos10 wants to follow you.
How this had managed to happen in the span of fewer than two minutes was absurd. Andrew for a moment wanted to deactivate his account, delete the app, and write a memoir about how social media has negatively impacted his life.
Instead of being dramatic, he locked his phone and tossed it on the other end of the couch. He decided to ask Nicky about Erik now, to get it over with. To fill his mind with someone else’s chatter. Nicky talked until they were done eating.
-
Andrew waited until later to go through Neil’s pictures. There were only three, posted months apart. No backstory, no family, no hometown. His teammates flooded the comments of his posts: the most recent was a mirror selfie with Kevin, the second a photo of Matt asleep on a couch, and the first, the view from the window of an airplane. Neil’s profile picture was a candid shot, too small for Andrew to appreciate fully.
He tried not to feel weird about following someone he’d just met that day, even if it was an accident. He had to keep a tight grip on his overthinking or else it’d run wild. And to have it running towards Neil, a potential problem, was dangerous. Not an option. No.
Andrew accepted Neil’s request, and instead of checking his own posts with a stranger’s eye, he climbed out onto the fire escape and smoked. He listened to Nicky’s music while watching Aaron’s monitor flick colors against his curtains. He took in nicotine and hoped it would fill up so much of him there was no space to think about beautiful, scarred strangers in coffee shops.