Chapter Text
It’s just one of those days, Stede thinks. With both their baristas frantically studying for finals, he’s been left alone behind the coffee shop’s sales counter, feeling slightly out of his depth. The shifting spring weather always makes him light-headed and more clumsy than usual, which is saying something. He can only hope nobody orders anything too complicated while he’s out here on his own.
Stede rolls his shoulders, trying to calm himself. The knot of his apron feels scratchy and off-center against the back of his neck but he can’t fix it, his fingers sticky from rearranging the fresh batch of cupcakes in the display case. He can’t seem to make them look quite right, the line not as neat and evenly spaced as Izzy’s, even on his third try. But Izzy is in the back office, yelling at their oat milk supplier. With a despondent sigh, Stede gives up and wipes his brow without thinking. Shit. Now his face feels sticky too and he’s pretty sure there is a visible glob of coconut whip stuck to his forehead. Of course, that’s when the little bell above the door jingles to announce a new customer.
Stede looks up and freezes in place, hand still half-raised to his face on its way to assess the damage.
The man looks older in the flesh than he does in Stede’s mind. But that makes him no less imposing as he stands there, well-dressed and ramrod straight, surveying the small café with disapproving curiosity. He’s taking up more space than seems humanly possible. His eyes wander over the few young patrons lounging in threadbare velvet chairs, the large pride flag on the far wall, the assortment of photos hanging behind the bar and finally land on Stede, heavy and piercing.
“Father,” Stede says, a tremble in his treacherous voice. His face feels hot, itchy and tacky beneath the layer of cold sweat and whipped cream. His father’s brows are drawn together, an expression like a brewing storm.
“What on earth is this place supposed to be?” The disdain in his voice makes Stede swallow, his entire body fighting the urge to run and hide in the storage closet.
“Um… The Sweet Revenge Café?” he manages. “Best dairy-free cupcakes this side of the river.”
“Ridiculous,” his father hisses. “Don’t tell me this is your ‘investment in a promising new business opportunity’. No man in his right mind would ever leave my company for… for…” He gestures wildly around the room and shakes his head, his face turning a concerning shade of crimson. “-for cupcakes!” A fleck of saliva flies from his lips as he spits the word like a malediction. “You were supposed to make something of yourself, boy. But I should have known, you were always-”
“Anything we can help you with, Sir?” Izzy has appeared from the back room, seemingly out of thin air. And for all Stede can tell, he doesn’t seem to know or care who he’s talking to. He’s just wearing the overly polite expression reserved for any other disrespectful customer - the one immediately preceding threats of rather creative dismemberment. (Stede has learned a lot about the food service industry over these past few months.) Even at half a head shorter than Stede, Izzy is undeniably intimidating like this - and distractingly attractive. His black t-shirt struggles to contain his arms when he folds them above the crossbones logo on his apron, chin raised in a silent challenge. Stede’s father takes a step back, eyes darting between the two men behind the counter. His knuckles have gone white where he’s gripping the handle of his leather briefcase. That thing is worth more than all their furniture combined, Stede knows.
“Coffee. Black. To go,” the old man mutters eventually, clipped and quiet like he can’t wait to be literally anywhere else.
“Right away,” Izzy says, the bloodlust mostly gone from his voice again, and some of the wound-up dread in Stede’s chest relaxes, if only by a fraction. Maybe his father didn’t actually seek him out on purpose just to voice his unfathomable disappointment in his offspring. He might simply have stumbled in here on his way from the airport, struggling to adjust to yet another timezone and desperate for some decent caffeine. They do get a few walk-ins that way every week, thanks to their location and a few excellent online reviews from successfully perked-up patrons. The realization allows Stede to draw his first proper breath in ages. And Izzy’s steady presence at his shoulder helps as well. Still, he remains tense enough to twitch when the shop’s door jingles again.
“Morning, loves!” Ed breezes in, a whirlwind of loose, silver hair and tight leather.
“It’s eleven thirty.” Izzy rolls his eyes but makes room for Ed to slink behind the counter and smack a kiss on top of his husband’s head. When Ed turns to Stede, his face lights up in a smile of pure mischief. He swipes a finger across Stede’s forehead, then licks it, still grinning.
“Mmh. Coconut. Did you remember the sprinkles?”
“Of course we remembered the fucking sprinkles,” Izzy grumbles, pointing at the display case. Him and Stede spent all morning adding them to the cupcake topping, getting tiny white and dark chocolate stars stuck in all possible crevices of the prep kitchen. It was worth the mess, though, because they do look lovely, even Izzy had to admit as much. And maybe they ended up kissing about it until the first impatient customer started knocking at the door.
“Stede, can you get on that coffee?” Izzy snaps his fingers in front of Stede’s face, dragging him back to the - far less romantic - present. But his voice is soft, and the use of his actual first name makes Stede feel like he’s being coddled. Admittedly, he might need a bit of extra coddling today.
“Coffee for who?” Ed interjects, looking over the counter. Stede’s father is gone. Maybe watching the world’s most beautiful man eat non-dairy whip off his son’s face was startling enough to cure his jetlag. Izzy shrugs and gives Stede a questioning look, like he’s supposed to have some sort of explanation for all of it. Stede only shakes his head.
“Nobody,” he says.
He excuses himself to the bathroom to wash his face. There’s hardly any whipped cream left, but his cheeks look red and splotchy, like he’s been crying. A bit of cold water feels nice on his skin and will surely make the redness go down. He just needs a few more minutes for his hands to stop shaking.
When he returns, Izzy has gone back to yelling on the phone. Ed is frothing up a jug of almond milk - since they’re tragically out of oat, hence all the yelling. A purple-haired patron is waiting for their refill and asks about the day’s cupcake special. Stede takes a deep breath and gets back to work.
It’s only that evening after dinner that the scattered unease condenses into a tangible emotion again. He’s sitting on the couch in Ed and Izzy’s apartment, fidgeting with the corner of a cushion and listening to his partners’ usual bickering about the correct way to load the dishwasher. Suddenly his throat feels hot and tight, like he’s swallowed something living that’s now clawing its way back up from his chest cavity. He tries to focus on the familiar voices drifting over from the kitchen.
“-keep telling you, the fucking bowls trap all the water if you put them down there.”
“Iz, c’mon, I always do it that way and it always comes out clean!”
“Yeah, because I go back and rinse everything by hand after-”
A loud, broken sob makes its way out of Stede’s mouth before he can stifle it in his palm. The argument about correct bowl placement ends abruptly.
“Bonnet?” Izzy calls over, his voice laced with alarm.
“You alright?” Ed is next to him in an instant, perched on the sofa’s armrest to pull Stede into a sideways hug. But Stede can’t respond, can only whimper pathetically into his own fist as his eyes go blurry with wetness. Izzy’s solid little form quietly settles in on his other side.
“You’ve been jumpy ever since the condescending old twat at the shop today. Could swear I’ve seen his face somewhere before...” Stede just nods and sniffs, grateful for Izzy’s subtle prodding. There’s a faded family portrait hung up in the foyer of Stede’s house - four generations of Bonnets, Stede in a scratchy school uniform, his father’s palm like lead on his shoulder. He’s been meaning to take it down. But maybe it’s good that he hasn’t yet, because Izzy makes a noise of angry realization. “Fuck me. Bonnet Senior?”
Stede nods again.
“Ah,” Ed says, then holds him tighter and kisses his temple. He doesn’t say anything else but he doesn’t have to. Stede knows Ed’s childhood was at least as difficult as his own, if not worse. Izzy squeezes his thigh and their combined affections force another shuddering sob out of his body.
“I tried, I really did,” Stede manages, his voice all wet and crackling. “Got married, had children, damn near killed myself for the family business. But it was never enough.” The words are like shards of broken glass in his throat but Stede knows them to be true. “I’m just not the son he wanted.”
“Good,” says Izzy. “It’s not your job, making yourself fucking miserable just to avoid disappointing your parents. Life’s far too short for that.” His hand on Stede’s leg feels warm and stable. Ed wipes a tear off Stede’s cheek with his thumb, his own voice sounding a bit choked up when he speaks.
“That’s what he keeps telling me, too. Took me a few decades but I’m almost starting to believe him.”
Izzy laughs dryly on Stede’s other side. “Give me a few more and I might even start taking my own advice.”
Stede remembers the last time Izzy’s mother visited the shop, only a week ago. How Izzy tripped over the carpet and nearly fell on his face, hurrying to pull out her favorite armchair. They have a lot left to learn, all three of them. Still, Stede smiles through the cooling tears on his cheeks.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. One of his hands finds Izzy’s on his leg, and Ed interlaces their finger on his other side.
His eyes burn from crying, his trousers have at least three whipped cream stains, and he doesn’t even remember the last time he carried a briefcase. It’s true, he’s utterly failed at becoming the man his father expected him to be. And Stede knows it will hurt for a little while longer, the burning shame of it, the sting of unfulfilled destiny. But it’s the kind of ache that comes with growth, he knows that too.
“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” Izzy says. Ed squeezes Stede’s hand.
“You wanna sleep in the middle tonight?”
“Since when is your spot up for grabs?” Izzy’s incredulity matches Stede’s own surprise but Ed just shrugs, the picture of innocence.
“It’s for whoever has the worst case of daddy issues. Just usually happens to be me.”
“Right. Like that makes any fucking sense.” Izzy shakes his head, managing to look exasperated right until he breaks and starts laughing. Stede can’t help but laugh along because he can hardly stand it. He’s so absolutely, stupidly in love with both of these lunatics, he might just burst from the feeling if he doesn’t let it out.
Ed and Izzy are still snickering helplessly as they fall into bed, and even Stede can’t tell anymore if his eyes are wet from laughing or crying. Eventually, all their giddy little noises fade into soft bursts of breath and then gentle snoring until Stede is the last one left awake. It makes him feel lonely sometimes, but not tonight - held and protected by a warm body on either side, with Izzy curled around his back and the buttery scent of Ed’s hair oil in his nose. Stede hopes he won’t need to request this particular sleeping arrangement all that often in the future. But it helps to know the offer stands, if he ever does.