Title: A Little Bit of Rain
Warnings: Mention of murder, mild swearing, fluff
Summary: Logan, in a very stressed state, goes to a coffee shop to finish up some things for work. However, he finds himself caught up in the rain with the barista that had made him black coffee after black coffee, listening as, for once, he lets himself talk totally free.
The world was dark and Logan was tired.
Rain fell heavily against the clear coffee shop window, drops leisurely dancing downwards until the dropoff at the bottom. Logan watched them, understanding their purpose in the world.
But he was starting to lose his, the knowledge of why exactly he was here—at this Starbucks but also on Earth at all—slipping through his fingers like those very same drops of water, trickling through his fingers until his palms were dry and only his eyes remained wet.
The coffee cup before him had been refilled six times now, Logan’s eyes wider than they had ever been and the wrinkles beneath them obvious to the barista giving him concerned looks every time he ordered another drink.
“Black,” he would say and the man—Logan’s eyes dipping to see the nametag read “Roman” and then a little passed that before returning back up to the other’s hazel eyes—would give him a sympathetically look.
He had been in this situation before, of course, but never had he hated his job more.
A hand brushed against his shoulder and he shot around, espresso and adrenaline keeping him alert enough to react. But it was the barista, expression warm despite the weather, and his hair was curlier than normal.
Logan, who had never given his real name to a barista in his life, said nothing. “Is there a problem?”
“Then why are you talking to me?”
Roman didn’t falter, not really at least. “I’m on my break, and you look like you could use some company.”
“I don’t,” Logan replied, looking back towards the various papers stretched before him. A police report, witness testimonies, pictures of the murder weapon, and on his computer, the same gruesome video playing over and over of the suspect shooting a man between the eyes.
Logan should have been a prosecutor, should have known that his morals would be sacrificed when he became a public attorney because, really, it wasn’t keeping the innocent from being incarcerated.
It was a way to make money and Logan had been too far in the process—had invested too much money in law school—to back out when the gravity of it hit him.
“Well,” Roman said, hand sliding from Logan’s shoulder down to his wrist, Logan too tired to stop him. “I’m on my break and I-”
“I’m not going to have sex with you.”
Roman’s lips twitched upwards at that, eyes flickering to the computer with the released footage. “Well of course not, that can’t really put you in the mood for a quickie.”
He was damn right about that.
“I just . . . want to talk.”
Roman interrupted him, “You’re on, what? Your seventh cup?”
“Is this in your job description?”
“No, but get up because you’re depressing all the other customers.”
There was no suitable response to that, Logan closing his laptop and shuffling his papers before slipping them into his bag, too tired to argue further. “I’m leaving my things here, don’t want to lose the spot.”
In response, Roman shrugged, an I can’t blame you before motioning for Logan to follow him out the door.
The rain hadn’t stopped for them but at least it was more quiet than the bubbling cafe with its irritatingly bright lights and, in contrast, the dark clouds making three in the afternoon look like dusk.
Roman seemed to know where he was going, Logan following around a corner until they arrived at a park, the trees doing little to shelter them from the rain as they sat on a quiet, wooden bench.
Water made it damn near impossible for Logan to see through his glasses and he had to wipe them on his drenched shirt, looking up to see how it had curled Roman’s hair even more. “So, James, what is stressing you out?”
Logan didn’t think he would say anything, want to or even need to, but it came out naturally. “My client killed a man.”
A pause, Roman waiting for Logan to elaborate and while he could have left it at that, it’s not what he wanted, not really. “And I have to defend a murderer. It’s all there, three solid witnesses, no alibi, and a goddamn video of him in the act. This man is a fascist, racist, homophobic piece of shit and I have to defend him in court because my firm passed the case to me.”
His voice was steady and detached, the way he talked to or about rapists and abusers. People that he knew deserved what they got but didn’t make it any easier for him to try to lighten their sentences.
Because his job was to test the legal system in cases like this and he knew that. But this death felt like it had been his own, Logan more than once shooting up from a nightmare in which the last thing he saw before morning’s light was a pair of hellish-red eyes staring into his own, gun cocked, and a slur on his lips before firing his pistol.
Logan laughed, realizing just how damn illegal this was. But damn attorney-client confidentiality. “His victim was a gay man holding hands with his boyfriend. Guilty only of love.”
The rain fell harder, rolling down their shoulders and spines and dripping into their sneakers. In the distance, a young girl raced across the grass with a red ladybug umbrella in her hand, older brother chasing after her with a grin across his lips. Logan could hear their laughter from the bench, feel it penetrate his skin and threaten to fill the darkness currently reigning inside him with light.
Or maybe that was the hand suddenly atop of his, touch gentle and caring and everything Logan hadn’t realized he needed.
Two words heavier than gold.
Logan said nothing, staring into the translucent veil before them clouding his vision, body cold and shivering but hand warm. Damn near scorching.
“Logan,” he said, lips moving but otherwise remaining still, “my name is Logan.”
“Oh,” Roman said again, hand retreating then but Logan moved, catching the other’s wrist before his hand slipped into his, guided by the rain.
The feeling was unlike any Logan had ever experienced before, so unlike everything he knew.
“Logan,” he said then, eyes set on the scenery before them, redness in his cheeks but refusing to look at their joined hands. “Why does this case stick with you?”
It was a question Logan had been asking himself over and over again, knowing the answer on a subconscious level but not wanting to say it.
Then, after a moment, “Because it could have been me. I don’t have a partner now but I’m not opposed to having one but . . . it could have been me and him.”
Roman squeezed Logan’s hand, and only then did the lawyer pull away, glad that the rain concealed his salty tears, “Come on, I’ll catch a cold if we’re out here any longer. And your break can’t last too much longer, can it?”
Thankfully, the other didn’t mention how much coarser his voice had grown. “They kind of let me do what I want because I make the best coffee,” he said instead, a thrilling grin across his lips that, despite all logical reasoning, made butterflies soar in Logan’s stomach.
“Well, then use that ability to get yourself something to eat or screw one of your coworkers like normal people do.”
Standing up to join Logan, Roman’s shoulder brushed against his as he offered him one last grin, “Maybe another time.”
They returned to the cafe, Roman behind the counter and Logan to his seat. Utterly drenched but feeling a bit better than before. From a few feet away, Logan could hear laughter from one of the employees, turning to see a girl rustling Roman’s hair and telling him how weird he was. The other looked up then, something sparkling in his eyes that Logan couldn’t put his finger on.
Yes, he was odd, but before he left the cafe for the day, he got his number.
prompted by @actlikeiknow
