Not only that, it’s a common name with traditional spelling. (Ryan may or may not have checked one of those baby name sites to see just how popular it is.)
Notes: I was playing around with this prompt generator and one of the prompts it gave me was this one:
Person A is a barista at a coffee shop and always screws up Person B's name on purpose.
(Read on AO3)
It’s four letters.
Four.
Not only that, it’s a common name with traditional spelling. (Ryan may or may not have checked one of those baby name sites to see just how popular it is.)
How anyone can consistently get his name wrong is beyond Ryan, and yet this one barista has done it every damn time since Ryan started coming here.
“You’re, uh,” Jeremy says, dropping his sunglasses off the top of his head to cover his eyes as though he thinks Ryan won’t see him laughing at him. “You’re kind of taking this a little too seriously, Ryan.”
Ryan scowls at Jeremy, and then down at the paper cup in his hand.
Looking back at him in black marker is Weasley, which.
“How the hell did he get that from my name?” Ryan demands, scowling harder when Jeremy giggles into his coffee. “That’s. It’s not even close!”
Jeremy coughs as he gestures at Ryan's hair, dyed an unfortunate shade of red thanks to Lindsay and Gavin and the prank war they inadvertently dragged Ryan into.
“I mean,” Jeremy says, head cocked. “It makes sense.”
The hell it does.
“Hey, whoa,” Jeremy says grabbing at Ryan’s arm as he strides towards the counter. “Ryan – what are you doing?”
Ryan glances at him, sees the frown on his face, the oh shit, please no, not today, look on his face and sighs, lets him pull him to a stop.
“Sugar.”
Jeremy’s frown deepens and he says like it’s simple reflex or a word association game they’re playing, “Honey?”
Ryan sighs, because no.
“No, Jeremy,” he says, because it’s not Jeremy’s fault his brain is fried this close to finals and gives his coffee a little shake. “It needs more sugar.”
Jeremy’s expression clears and he lets got of Ryan.
“Oh,” he says. “Right. Yeah.”
Ryan snorts, and goes to get a packet of sugar for his coffee, maybe two. (Three? No. That would be overkill even for him. Probably.)
He’s so focused on what he’s doing he doesn’t realize someone’s moved up next to him until he hears an amused,” Excuse me,” and looks up to see the bane of his existence smirking at him.
“What?” Ryan says stupidly.
It’s the The Barista.
Bane of Ryan’s existence the last few weeks with finals upon him and his brain dying a slow, miserable death, coffee his last resort and this. This asshole who keeps deliberately getting his name wrong.
Mass of curly hair pulled back into a ponytail and these dimples Ryan failed to notice before, and freckles?
Freckles.
He has freckles.
Ryan’s never seen him up close, Jeremy giving their orders or one of the other baristas handing them off to Ryan when they’re done. Just sees the guy from a distance, that damnable smirk on his face and marker hooked onto his apron.
He’s never seen him up close, and he realizes it’s probably for the best he hasn’t because -
“Just need to restock some of this stuff, don’t meant o get in your way,” the barista says, so damn amused about something.
“Oh,” Ryan says, echoing Jeremy as he tears his gaze away from the barista’s face and back to the mess he’s making of his coffee. “Right. Okay.”
Ryan moves aside to give him room. Sweeps the sugar he spilled while he was staring like an idiot into his hand to dump into the trash and blinks when he turns back and realizes his coffee is nowhere to be found.
“What - “
There’s a laugh, quiet little chuckle, and Ryan finds himself looking back at the barista. Pale skin flushed and smirk gone a little crooked, wry.
He's holding Ryan’s coffee and is writing something on it Ryan can’t see with the way he’s holding it close to himself.
“Uh,” Ryan says, glancing around because what the hell is happening right now? He doesn’t know what the proper response is here, and his brain is too slow to offer suggestions. “What are you doing?”
The barista hunches down a little, draws Ryan’s coffee closer to him as he finishes whatever he’s writing with a flourish. Frowns at the coffee and darts a quick look at Ryan, oddly nervous.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t punch me if I’m being an asshole about this,” the barista says, somehow unaware that stealing a man’s coffee like this is already an asshole move. “So, uh. Yeah.”
He pushes Ryan’s coffee at him and gives him this odd little smile. Still crooked, nervous, but there’s this little hopeful look on his face – and then one of the other barista calls him back to the counter with an edge of desperation to their voice as another group comes through the coffee shop door.
Ryan stares after him, not sure if he hallucinated that due to sleep deprivation or not, and looks down at his coffee. Tuns it around to read whatever the barista added to it and stares. (And stares and stares and stares.)
“Oh,” he says, eyes widening, mouth dropping open in surprise. “<i>Oh</i>.”
He's vaguely aware of Jeremy elbowing his way through the crowd to reach him. The familiar flash of pain when said elbow digs into his own side.
“Hey, buddy,” Jeremy says, cautious tone to his voice. “You alright there? You’re looking kind of pale.”
Ryan’s always pale, but that’s beside the point.
“Um,” he says, and after a brief moment of internal debate – Jeremy will give him shit for this for the next forever either way – shows Jeremy the barista’s message.
A ten-digit string of numbers along with the words Call me, and the name Michael.
Summary: The two of them are, as the youths would say, fuddy-duddies.
Notes: Another prompt from this prompt generator: Person A is about to leave for work. Person B asks then if they've forgotten anything, and Person A gives them a kiss. Person B turns red and opens their hand to real Person A's keys/wallet/etc., saying "I meant this, but thanks."
Takes place in the Devil’s Brew AU along with Coffee Break.
(Read on AO3)
The two of them are, as the youths would say, fuddy-duddies.
Twenty-somethings and already stodgy as hell, what with their set schedules and daily routines.
Why, nary a wild weekend of partying and getting down on the dance floor for either of them these days with all the schoolin’ and learnin’ they’re doing. Not to mention their jobs at the coffee shop, all nice and quaint and perfect practice for the day they’ll be called in to negotiate a tense hostage negotiation with some of the customers they get.
Also, they both drive sensible cars.
(The horror.)
Also, also?
They split the rent on a quaint little house in a quaint little suburb because it was the sensible thing to do. Just like the sensible thing to do when it comes to deciding whose turn it is to mow the lawn or take the trash out is a riveting game of rock–paper–scissors.
Because adults.
Trevor’s got the day off, which is fantastic as it will give him time to finish bullshitting yet another essay for his humanities class.
Alfredo, however, is running late for work at the coffee shop.
Another long night of terrorizing terrorists in his favorite video game with his favorite team of idiots and no damn sense at all as he scurries hither and yon getting ready for his morning shift.
Trevor smothers a smile as Alfredo stumbles over that hideous little sculpture-thing their landlord insists is part of the quaint little house’s décor (and best not go missing or there will be hell to pay) yet again. Clattering and low swearing and the charming idiot himself tripping around the corner and into view.
Alfredo waves at him as he undoes the locks o the front door and yanks it open, freezing with one foot out the door when Trevor clears his throat pointedly. Leans back to frown at him, all adorable confused dead-eyed zombie about it.
“Trevor?”
Trevor grins at him. “Forget something, Fredo?”
It’s usually like this, morning after one of Alfredo’s serious gaming sessions. Brain slow and foggy and body fueled with the sort of shit, shit, shit, why didn’t I set my alarm panic of accidentally sleeping in.
Alfredo frowns at him, cocks his head. Thinking, and thinking, and thinking in a way Trevor can sear the gears in his head turning, little hamster straining to get things going.
And then!
Oh, and then that frown zips right on off his face as Alfredo laughs, smile brightening up his face and -
He kisses Trevor.
Just leans right on into his personal space and pecks him on the lips, all nice and familiar like as though that’s a thing they do (not yet, but maybe one day Trevor had thought, hoped) and now!
“Shit,” Alfredo murmurs, jerking away from him, that tiny little hamster finally getting that wheel to go round and round in his head.
He stares at Trevor, eyes wide and this awful look of oh, God, what did I just do? on his face.
Trevor manages a laugh, stiff, stilted, and brings his hands out from behind his back to show Alfredo what he’s holding.
A set of keys.
A wallet.
An energy bar for the road because heaven knows Alfredo didn’t have time for breakfast this morning with the way he was rushing around.
“I meant this, but thanks,” Trevor says, and laughs again.
He’s blushing, he knows. Fair skin and all that and oh, good lord, he’d thought the first two years of college had beaten that out of him, given his friend circle.
Trevor stares at Alfredo who stares back and thinks in moment of madness or just youthful indiscretion, fuck it, as he leans in and kisses Alfredo a second time. (First? Whatever.)
When he pulls back, heart beating like it’s trying to break free of his chest Alfredo’s eyes have gone even wider, but!
But.
That awful look of dread – fear? - on his face has changed to this thoughtful frown, something that looks like it wants to be a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Yeah?” Alfredo asks, and it’s a layered kind of ‘yeah‘, deeper meaning to it.
Trevor feels himself smile, small, tentative thing.
“Yeah,” he says, and goodness, that's quite the vocabulary they have between them.
Alfredo snorts, and there, there, a tiny little smile growing wide, wider, widest.
“Okay,” he says, and glances at the door he’s half hanging on to, the sensible little car of his with its engine running as it warms up waiting to whisk him off to work. “Uh. I’ll call you? Later? We’ll talk about it?”
So many question marks there, but yes, and yes, and yes.
“Okay,” Trevor says, and turns that tentative little smile of his into a smirk when Alfredo huffs at him, big wide grin and this blooming sort of joy lighting him up from the inside out.
“Jesus - “ Alfredo sighs, and goes in for another kiss before he darts off for with with a hasty apology, and there’s something to it this time than simple absentmindedness or a case of the nerves.
Not quite perfect, but Trevor thinks they can work their way towards that given time.
#project hail mary
#lana del rey
