Cold Coffee
Word Count: 2.6K
A/N: I hope you like it!! I think I like the ending/rambing a lot and it starts off slow but like realistically I think this is what would be going through his mind so yeah!! I tried making the ending somewhat fluffy but I could only do so much!! xx
Piers sits in a simple decorated cafe, wooden floors, cozy chairs, tables decorated with a doily, circular with intricate designs crocheted onto it. His breath is forced, raspy and feeling as if it’s going down wrong, choking him as if this were his first time breathing. His soft blue eyes can't seem to meet yours, every time you enter his vision, he looks away rapidly and forces himself to look back down at his drink.
There’s a nervous tapping of his leg, bouncing and causing the table to shake and no matter how often he tries to force his leg to stop, to place his hands above his thigh and press down but no matter how hard or often he does it, his leg still jerks back, bouncing making the disposable cups shake in their place. He flashes you an apologetic smile, strained and more of a wince than anything else and immediately pulls it back, swallowing nervously, the apple in the throat feeling heavy as it bobs.
His face burns, a deep shade of red darkening his cheeks with ears that burn as equally as hot, and he regrets ordering a warm drink. Wispy steam rises out of the gap, the stark white lid holds drops of his drink. His lips are incredibly dry, chapped and he wants to reach into his pocket to grab at his chapstick, to fiddle with something other than his hands.
“As much as I enjoy sitting down with you-” he takes a sharp gasp at the sound of your voice, nails tapping against the table in a startled tap- “Woah-” you eyes go wide as your hands dart to his hands- “relax Piers, I just wanted to talk- nothing too serious or anything. I swear by it.” As if to show your honestly, you raise your hand, palm flat against the air. “I’m sure you have a lot of concerns- to be fair, I would to- so is there anything you’d like to address first?”
There’s a lot that he wants to address. Words that spin his mind so fast, passing and forming into a blur before he has the time to process them. Words that scream in his mind for attention, screaming so loud that he can already feel a headache forming at the base of his head and creeping up. His nails scratch at the table, curling and sliding the napkin, small tears ripping it apart. His tongue peeks out and wets his lips, eyes moving around the cafe, watching the patrons scurry along or sit down with their drinks. No one pays attention to him or to you. Someone meets his eyes and offers a welcoming smile and just as soon as it happened, the interaction ends and they return their attention to their phone.
“Piers?” Your voice startles him and his hand goes to his neck, rubbing at the tightness, his hand offering no help as it tightens around him. “Hey, are you okay?” He shoots you a pointed look, nails pointing into him in sharp pricks. “Okay, dumb question,” you nod slowly and your eyes glance down to his drink. “Listen, I get how overwhelming this could be but it was either this or an anonymous email. Frankly, I think this is the least stressful of the options.” Your hand slowly reaches over and grabs at his cup, pulling it close to yours. “Do you want me to speak first?”
“How the fuck did you find out?” His voice comes out in a croak, raspy and too broken to be taken seriously. The curse in his question doesn’t come off threatening, it comes off potable. He cringes at himself, his upper lip curling and his head dips, the hair that rests outside of his ponytail falls and once more, it’s much too hot. His hand falls to his lap and he desperately wishes he were outside.
“Do you want to go outside?” He whips his head to look at you where you clutch your drink in your palms. “You kind of look like you’re about to die so-” you dart your eyes to the outside, and he follows your gaze, the chill wind that brushes outside looks appealing- “outside?” He doesn’t answer and stays silent, still looking longingly at the outdoors, tears pricking in his eyes and he bites on his bottom lip. “If we go outside, there’s a less chance of people listening in on the conversation.” With that sentence, he rises from the table, chair squeaking as it drags across the floor and grabs his drink, not waiting for you to rise.
The air outside nips at his skin, the tip of his nose turning a soft shade of red, cheeks that bloom and make it easier to hide that it’s due to cold rather than his discomfort from the whole ordeal. He gives a glance to the door where you come through, shouldering it open with your drink in one hand. He watches as you hold the door open for a group of friends, giving a polite nod at their thanks. When you meet his eyes, the corner of his lips twitch and he turns on his heel walking through the thin crowd, ignoring the wandering eyes that linger on him a bit too long and immediately go for their phones. He hears your steps quicken, trying to keep up with his pace.
“So,” you trail, bringing the lid up to your lips.
“Quit the small talk,” he snaps, regretting bringing the drink along as he holds it tight in his grip. “How did you find out?” He narrows his eyes, brows furrowed into points with a scowl twisting his face.
You take a deep sigh and he can feel irritation nip at him, poisoning his words and wanting him to scream out of frustration. But instead he fumes as he walks, taking a sip of the warm drink, wishing that it would burn his throat to give him a reason to cry out.
“Well for starters, I haven’t told anyone.” He blinks owlishly at you and stops in his place. You take a few steps forward until you realize he isn’t following you and your turn around, gesturing with a nod of your head for him to follow. When he catches up to you, you continue speaking. “I’m not going to. I mean, as much as I would love to geek out with my friends about this- it isn’t my place.” He walks next to you in silence as you take another sip of your drink. “Second, I found out because well,” you chuckle nervously and now your face darkens, a hesitant smile on your lips and when you meet his eyes, you look away nervously, “I visited your old gym a while ago and uh, I heard you talking and I wasn’t looking at you and my mind put the voice together and when I saw you well,” you start to ramble, taking another sip of your drink, “it kind of put two and two together. I swear, I wasn’t actively looking for you but yeah. That’s how I knew and I’m guessing by your reaction, I was right and listen, I’m sorry about coming to you in public and just asking you about it- I definitely could have done that better but I wasn’t thinking and-”
“Okay, okay,” he interrupts, shaking his hand and taking another sip of his drink, his chest starting to feel light and anxiety slowly drifting. “Just- Why didn’t you keep it to yourself?”
“Oh-” you seem to shrink in on yourself and you both take a turn, the already thin crowd now dispersing only until a few people remain- “I watched your uh, stream,” you emphasize the word, tilting your head and pulling out a grimace, “and it- look, great work- really, I mean I pay for a reason and wow that sure is awkward to say out loud-” you laugh nervously taking a long sip from your drink and he can feel his face burn at the compliment- “but you know that stream where you got a donation to uh-” your eyes dart around the sidewalk and you lower your voice into a whisper- “jerk yourself and it- you said some mean things and-”
“Holy fuck,” he sighs, “you aren’t the one who should be nervous.” There’s a nervous tone that lingers on his voice, straining the words and even with the promise of you not spilling the fact of who he is to the public, there’s no trust that he has with you. “I’m the one whose livelihood can be ruined.”
“I’m not telling anyone.” You clear your throat. “I know you don’t have any reason to believe me and if I were in your shoes I don’t think I’d believe me either but I won’t tell.” You hold the drink and he watches through the corner of his eyes as you hesitantly bring it up to your lips, giving a small sip and pulling away the cup, nails digging into the material of the cup. “Look, the only reason I’m here now- oh! Think we can sit down? I’m getting a bit tired.” You point to an empty bench and right now he can’t deny you- he has to accept whatever you want to do. He nods and you give him a smile, walking alongside him towards the bench.
He sits next you with a sigh and watches as you fiddle with the- what he presumes- empty cup. You tilt it around, your index tracing along the logo. He has to admit- now that you rambled and even if the promise of not telling someone about his secret side gig is only based on your word- you don’t seem as intimidating as you did in the cafe. He isn’t as nervous, his body cooling down and even if the drink is now cold, he still drinks it, slow sips as you both sit in silence.
“Can I ask- Wait.” You look up at him with doe eyes. “Are you my biggest fan?”
You laugh and shake your head. “No, no. That isn’t to say I don’t enjoy your- uh, shows but I just got into you recently. Decided to splurge myself. I just happened to watch that show-”
“That one?” he asks, squinting his eyes at you.
Your lips pull into a frown and he raises a brow. “The one where you said bad things about yourself.”
“Oh,” he says in a whisper.
You nod. “Yeah, that one. So uh- yeah.” You look at him and move the empty cup upright. “Anything else?”
“Why’d you come up to me?” He asks quickly, words rushing out faster than he can process. “To get an autograph?” His tone becomes rougher. “Get to brag about it in the chat?” There’s a sharp edge to his words, cutting at his throat and past his lips. “The satisfaction to see me squirm?” He starts to spit the words out, his stomach a churning mess as his hand curls around the cup. “So you get to jerk off later about how you saw the guy behind the camera bitch and-”
“No,” you say in a defiant voice, your lips in a frown and a concerned look on your face. “I don’t-” you sigh and lean against the back of the bench- “I just- I didn’t like what you said to yourself that time.” He regards you with interest, raising a brow. “It wasn’t nice.” You turn to face him, your knee touching his and he’s still, shoulders hunching and drink held tight. “You might think or maybe that you just said it because you were getting paid for it but- there were mean comments that day and lately they seem to be getting er, louder or at least more apparent and like- listen, I just wanted you to know-” you look away from him, a hint of red dusting at your cheeks- “that I think you’re great. I uh, listen a bit to your music-” that gets his full attention on you, eyes that look at your nervous patter of your fingers drumming along the empty cup- “and I think you have a great voice and whether you meant it as a joke or for the topic at hand, there are like a bunch of people who would want to date you because in your earlier streams you seemed like a genuine guy and I saw you talk to the younger trainers and you were so nice to them and you’re a good guy and you probably don’t want like praise from a stranger but you’re a good person Piers. You’re a strong trainer and you have a good voice and you’re really handsome and yeah.” You clear your throat, and meet his eyes for a brief second before looking away. “I just thought you should hear something nice. You know, from a fan.” There’s a ghost of a smile that frames your face in a cute way.
He stares at you and he can feel warmth flood his face. Cyan eles glance down to where your knee meets his. The grip on the cup tightens and there’s a deep silence that surrounds the both of you. He wants to clear his throat and rise and walk away. The more that he talked to you the more that he realized that you pose no threat to him. Your rambling and nervous laughter showed your true colors and even if he didn’t want to hear the praise from a stranger, it is not unwelcomed. The words settle in his chest, making his chest hiccup and he scratches absentmindedly above his jacket.
“Thanks,” he mutters, dipping his head down to avoid looking at you, eyes darting to watch as your hands scratch at the logo only to soften into a soft grip. “I uh, appreciate the words.”
You don’t reply for a minute, your foot tapping above a crack on the sidewalk. “Just thought it would be nice for you to hear something good about yourself.” There's another pause and it’s broken when you rise from the bench with a groan. He startles and looks up at you. “I’ll uh, see you at your next show? I doubt I can but if you do another bet- maybe this time it could be praise?” You give him a soft smile and his apple bobs in his throat.
“Yeah, no, uh,” he clears his throat. “Yeah.” He clicks his tongue and brings the drink close to him. “I’ll see you then.”
You bounce on your heels and hold the drink at your side. “Uh, listen, if you ever want to talk again, I uh,” you rummage around your bag and pull out a pen and old receipt, writing on the back of you, you hand him the receipt, a set of numbers written on the back in neat handwriting. “You don’t have to obviously but yeah. Whatever you want.” You give him a wave of your hand, fingers curling into your palm. “See you later, Piers.”
He holds the receipt tight in his hand and gives you a soft wave. “Yeah, I’ll see you- or you’ll see me then.” His eyes dart and he spots a couple walking towards the both of you. The receipt crinkles in his fist and he clears his throat. “I’ll think about it.” he gives a raise of the hand that holds the receipt.
You shrug and smile encouragingly at him. “Do whatever you have to do.” You raise your hand, waving him goodbye and with a final smile, you look both ways before crossing the street and Piers is left alone watching as you quickly jog across the street disappear down the sidewalk on the other side.
