Orange Espresso | MorkSun
Summary: Sun injures himself so can’t participate in the latest barista competition. Lucky for him, Mork is willing to step in and take his place. Based on THIS prompt for @dadamnerio.
Genre: Stressed!Mork. Injured!Sun. Fluff. Hurt/Comfort.
Warnings: None?
A/N: Huge special thanks to @kdramama for her medical knowledge and listening to me whine a lot :)
Sun wakes to a dark room and an empty bed. The sheets in the space next to him cold and undisturbed.
He wonders for a moment if he failed to convince Mork to stay the night but quickly remembers he hasn’t had to do that for months now. Not since he cleared out two out of the three drawers in his dresser and Mork officially moved in.
Now that took some convincing.
The door to Sun’s room is ajar, the light from downstairs faintly shining through the gap. If he listens closely, he can hear the clink and clank of the coffee machine.
Sun throws the covers off with his good hand and scoots to the edge of the bed. He stands gingerly, arm held close to his chest. His sling is hung on the headboard where he left it but it’s excruciating putting it on alone when his pain meds have worn off so he doesn’t bother. He just hopes he won’t regret it when he gets downstairs.
Deep breaths, Sun reminds himself, taking one step at a time down to the shop. Trying his best not jolt his injury.
It’s ridiculous, really. The cause. No doubt Rain will be telling the tale to his grandchildren. Kids, gather round, because this is the story of how your Great Uncle Sun convinced your Great Uncle Mork to a bicycle date in the park and ended up with a bruised coccyx and a broken collarbone.
As if no sex and a sweaty sling weren’t bad enough, Sun has had to pull out of the latest barista competition. He’s managed to downplay his disappointment with his brother and boyfriend. In truth, he’s a little heartbroken. Especially given how proud he is of the drink he created for it.
Lucky for him, he has an understudy willing to take his place. And a pretty remarkable one at that.
Sun stands at the top step above the coffee shop kitchen, smiling at the sight in front of him.
Mork in his loose sleep shirt and boxer shorts. Cheeks flushed with frustration. His forehead smeared with coffee grounds. Long hair in disarray. He started growing it out around the time he moved in. It looks good on him. Makes him look more youthful and carefree. Less like the boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Sun makes a point of telling him how much he likes it when they’re alone. He knows if he says anything in front of Rain or Kitty, or any of their other friends, Mork would mutter in embarrassment and run the nearest barbers to cut it.
“Stupid fucking coffee,” Mork grumbles, half-empty glasses clinking against one another as he slams the latest one down on the counter like he’s creating an assembly line.
He grips the edge of the counter with both hands and groans with his head dipped to his chest.
“I thought you were coming to bed?”
Mork flinches, head whipping around and body ready for an attack. He may have promised to never get into another fight if he can help it. But subconsciously, old habits die hard.
Mork’s shoulders relax when he notices Sun. “P’, what are you doing down here?” he asks, brow furrowing deeply.
“I asked first,” Sun remarks from above. He steps down into the kitchen, doing his best to keep the pain from his face as the movement makes his eyes water and his breath hitch in his throat.
Mork narrows his eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
Sun’s eyes trail over the mess in his kitchen. Coffee grounds over every surface, spilled milk on the floor, used glasses scattered on what looks to be every tray they have.
“I’ll clean this up, before you complain,” Mork sniggers, not making eye contact.
“I didn’t say anything,” Sun replies softly, taking in the dark smudges under Mork’s eyes. “Why are you still down here?”
Sun doesn’t mention the fact that he knows this is the third night in a row. The previous two he’s heard Rain arguing with Mork in the middle of the night until eventually Mork storms upstairs and Rain slams his bedroom door.
“The competition is tomorrow.”
“Mh, and?” he asks, voice a little shaky. He should have taken the time for his sling after all.
“And I can’t make your stupid drink how it’s supposed to be made.”
“You made it perfectly fine yesterday,” Sun says. “And the day before. And the day before that.”
Mork drags a hand over his face and pushes his hair back from his forehead. “Perfectly fine won’t win you the competition, P’Sun.”
“Neither will your exhaustion.”
Mork stays silent for a long moment, weighing up his thoughts like he always does. “I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong,” he admits. “I do everything exactly as you do.”
“So what do you think is missing?”
“If I knew that it wouldn’t be missing would it?” Mork almost shouts. He shakes his head, “Forget it, P’. Just go back upstairs, before you give yourself another injury.”
Sun smiles carefully. “If you’re not going to bed, neither am I,” he tells Mork pointedly.
“Then we’re evenly matches because so is stressing over a drink.”
“Like you weren’t so much worse when you entered the first time,” Mork grunts under his breath, wiping his hands on a nearby cloth. He huffs and throws it in the sink when he’s done with it.
Sun looks at him fondly. It still astounds him how much Mork puts into the things that are important to him. The boy spent so much time pretending not to give a damn, and yet he cares more than anyone Sun has ever met when something truly matters to him or the people around him.
“P’Sun, what are you doing?” Mork grumbles.
Sun passes him and walks up to the counter. “You can’t work with all this mess.” He picks up two glasses from the side with his good hand and carefully puts them into the sink. “Come on. Help me clear this up and we’ll work it out together.” He takes a shuddering breath, reaching for another glass, which is harder than it looks in his silly state.
“Give me that,” Mork grunts, taking the glass from him. “Do you want your bones to heal? Keep this up and you'll have to get the surgery the doctor talked about.” He sets the glass down in the sink next to the others. “Where is your sling?”
“Upstairs. You weren’t there to help me put it on,” Sun pouts.
He receives absolutely zero sympathies for his troubles as Mork huffs and disappears from the kitchen.
It’s not often Sun is the one being nagged at. It’s not entirely pleasant, he’ll give Mork that. Still, it’s nice that he cares.
A moment later Mork re-appears with a padded chair from the cafe, one of the ones without armrests. They learned the horrors of those two days after Sun had his arm pinned and he caught his elbow on the corner. He spent the next half hour trying not to throw up while Mork sat across from him, hands on his knees, helping him breathe through it.
Mork places the chair down and points for Sun to sit. He does so without argument and watches Mork clear away the used glasses and spilled coffee. Methodically wiping down every surface and mopping up the milk from the floor.
“I’ll tell Rain to wash those tomorrow,” Sun says of the glasses and trays piled into the sink. He makes a mental note to buy Rain a stockpile of the potato chips he’s obsessed with as a thank you for the trouble this week.
Mork huffs in response and Sun takes is as an okay.
“Show me how you make the drink.”
“So you can nag me on all the ways I’m actually doing it wrong?”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“So was I, and that’s how I ended up in this mess,” Mork chunters.
“It’s just a coffee competition,” Sun reminds him. “We already won the award. And it’s not like the prize is actual money.”
“Then why did you enter if its so pointless, P’?” Mork leans with his back against the counter, eyes studying the floor. “I said I’d do it.”
Mork purses his lips then gets to work making the iced orange espresso. There’s tension in the way he holds his shoulders and a constant unwavering line etched in between his squinted eyes. He pours the freshly squeezed orange juice into the glass with expert precision, places the perfect amount of ice cubes into the glass and carefully pours the espresso he just made over the top with a sprig of rosemary to garnish. It’s perfect, exactly right, save for one thing.
“You’re pouring the espresso too slowly,” Sun tells him plainly.
“You told me to pour slow, P’,” Mork barks in response. “You said it would sink to the bottom if I didn’t.”
“Not that slow. Your hand is shaking.”
Mork frowns and looks down at his trembling hand. That’s what you get when you haven’t slept much in three days.
“Make it again and I’ll help you pour.”
Mork makes another espresso shot and pours another half glass of fresh orange juice. He picks out the rosemary sprig from the previous drink and tosses a handful of ice into the orange juice.
Sun carefully rises from the chair and stands behind Mork, head over his shoulder, injured arm tucked to his chest. He places his fingers over Mork’s around the espresso cup with his good hand, the scent of coffee and mint shampoo lingering.
“Relax,” Sun says, moving Mork’s hand over to the glass of orange juice, tipping the espresso slowly but deliberately until the dark almost black liquid suspends on top of the orange, blending every so slightly in the middle. “See, perfect.”
“Will you be there to help me pour at the competition, P’Sun?” Mork tuts over his shoulder.
Sun smirks. “I think that’s probably against the rules.” He places a kiss on Mork’s neck, just below his ear. “You know you don’t have to compete if you don’t want to.”
“Shut up already, P’. I want to,” Mork quickly says. “For the cafe.”
“Why else would I be slaving away at this time?”
Sun grins, dropping his chin to Mork’s shoulder. “So you admit you love this cafe?”
“No,” Mork grumbles. “I like money, and the last time you entered a competition it brought a lot of wealthy customers. They tip me a lot better than cheap college students.”
“You’re a college student,” Sun points out.
Mork turns so they’re facing. “And I’m cheap, P’. What’s your point?” He asks, eyebrows raised.
Sun sighs dramatically, the motion pulling on his throbbing shoulder and chest. “Can we go to bed now? I’m tired and sore.”
“And who’s fault is that?” Mork narrows his eyes into a glare but there’s a hint of worry underneath. His hands hovering like he’s scared to touch. Sun is starting to miss his pushes and shoves.
“Stop worrying, I’m fine,” Sun tells him, rubbing his thumb in between Mork’s eyes at the frown line that is starting to become a permanent feature on his face. “Come on, come to bed.”
Mork huffs, placing his hands around Sun’s waist. “If you try to work in the cafe tomorrow while I’m not here I’m moving out.”
“I mean it, P’Sun. I asked P’Kitty to cover for me and keep an eye on you.”
Sun rolls his eyes, heart-swelling. “I’m not an invalid,” he complains lightly, letting Mork put a hand around his back and guide him towards the stairs.
“No, you’re an idiot.” He looks down at Sun’s swelling and the yellow bruising that stubbornly refuses to fade while they walk. “I’m not being your nurse if you need surgery.”
Sun laughs carefully. “You love being my nurse.”
“Do not,” Mork turns his nose up, a smile tugging on the sides of his mouth. “You’re a nag even when you’re medicated.”
“And you’re a grump when you’re stressed.” Sun moves up the steps, Mork by his good side, arm wrapped around his back to steady him.
“You’re the one who gives me stress, P’.”
It’s slow going. Up is always harder than down.
“Liar,” Sun grunts, breathless from the exertion. “You love me.”
“Hence the stress, idiot.”
Sun keeps his lips pressed tightly together to keep from grinning. They make it to the top, Sun clammy and pale, Mork frowning and hovering.
Mork helps him take another dose of painkillers and get back into bed, adjusting the pillows against the headboard for the right amount of support. He’s been vigilant since the doctor explained in great detail the best ways to help his recovery.
Sun wouldn’t say he loves being in constant pain and discomfort, but he’s seen another new side of Mork since he got hurt and it’s made his heart swell with pride each day.
Mork goes to wash his hands in the bathroom down the hall then carefully gets under the covers himself, perching on the edge of the bed as far away from Sun as possible.
Sun huffs at the distance. “I’m cold,” he complains, despite his long sleeve sleep shirt.
“Do you want another blanket?” Mork asks, resting against the headboard.
“No, I want a cuddle,” Sun pouts.
“Shut up, P’. I’m not falling for that.”
Mork grumbles. “I’m literally right here.”
“Mork. Come cuddle me, please? Mork.”
Mork folds his arms over his chest, looking away. “If you don’t shut up I’m sleeping in Rain’s room.”
Sun smirks, “He installed a lock on his door after the last time we argued.”
“Then I’m sleeping on the floor.” Mork shuffles down until his head is on his pillow. “Go to sleep, P’Sun.”
“Mooork.” Sun’s bottom lip almost touches his chin. “Come here. Please?”
Mork grumbles something unintelligible under his breath then sighs heavily. He shuffles closer, only a few inches, then a few more when Sun continues to pout. His face remains drooped until they’re shoulders almost touch and he can feel Mork’s warmth.
“Happy now?” Mork asks rhetorically, turning on his side to face Sun.
Sun smiles, wishing he could face Mork too. “Mhh, very.”
He isn’t just talking about their sleeping positions.
“What?” Mork blinks at him. “Do you need anything, P’?” he asks when he doesn’t get a reply.
Sun smiles, shaking his head. “Thank you.”
“The competition,” Sun says, body starting to feel heavy. “Asking Kitty to cover. Helping me. Everything.”
Mork turns to lie on his back, hand behind his head, tired eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Mh, sure, P’.”
“You’re good,” Sun smiles, the medication melting into his system making his lips blissfully numb. “You’re so good.”
Sun smiles dopily. “It’s nice.”
“P’Sun.” Mork is quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry in advance for screwing up the competition.”
Sun shakes his head. “You won’t.”
“I’m not as good as you, P’. I’m bound to ruin it for you.”
“You could come last and you wouldn’t ruin it for me,” Sun whispers. “I already got the best prize anyway.”
“Corney.” There’s a faint smile on Mork’s face despite his words. “G’night, P’Sun.”
Sun watches his eyes slowly flutter, exhaustion winning over his stubbornness for the first time in three days.
As far as Sun is concerned, he’s won the best competition of them all.
