Originally written in March of 2013.

Coffee shop AUs are a hit on Tumblr, so when it caught on with AssCreed fandom, I couldn't resist participating.

Malik stepped into the small, cozy coffee shop with an all-too-visible frown. He was far from happy. Normally he strayed away from shops such as this because he had a wonderful coffee maker of his own at home – a coffee maker that could make regular, black coffee just the way he liked it. Who needed extra, unnecessary additions such as milk, cream, or sugar? So many ways to ruin perfectly good coffee!

But today his coffee maker was broken, and until he could fix or replace it, Malik was out of luck. He was forced to go to the place he usually adamantly avoided. But without his coffee, Malik's mood was more sour than normal; and so for the sake of his brother and coworkers who had to deal with him later in the day, he stepped inside with gritted teeth.

The line was relatively short, which came as a small surprise, and soon it was Malik's turn. His eyes fell upon the cashier – a thin, lean man roughly about his age. He had a head of medium brown hair, jagged bangs resting lightly on his forehead. His eyes moved from the previous customer to Malik, and his dark, golden eyes glimmered as his thin lips spread into a grin. That's when Malik noticed the scar across the right side of his mouth, and Malik found himself wondering how he came across it. How such a handsome man had the fate to bear such a blemish. Wait – had he considered this cashier handsome?

"What would you like to order… sir?"

Malik blinked; he had momentarily forgotten to appear dissatisfied, and thus corrected his mistake instantly. "One medium black coffee," he said simply, waiting for the other man to laugh, waiting for him to question as to why he had come in at all for such a simple drink. Are you sure? they usually asked. No whip cream on that? No cream?

But the cashier simply grinned, ringing up his order. Malik found he couldn't ignore those shining, golden eyes. "That'll be one dollar and seventy-five cents."

Malik paid and went to wait in the corner. As he left the counter, though, he noticed in his peripheral vision one of the cashier's coworkers – a young lad with brunet hair tied back in a short ponytail – sidle up to Malik's cashier and subtly nudge his side with his elbow, nodding in Malik's direction. Whatever. Malik didn't care. He had no time for such thoughts. Perhaps he had just misinterpreted the gesture anyway.

The third man behind the counter – a large, but youthful man with dark skin and a genuine smile – handed him his coffee in due time and Malik turned to leave. Something compelled him to look back however, and as he did so, he noticed the golden-eyed cashier glancing his way. Catching Malik's eye, he flashed a smile and waved a hand that revealed half a finger missing. Malik stared dumbly until another customer kindly tapped his shoulder and asked him to move.

A week passed and Malik had plenty more cups of black coffee in the safety and comfort his own home. His coffee maker had been repaired and his mood improved considerably. And yet… it wasn't the same. Ever since he had tasted that coffee shop's coffee…

Malik growled, crumpling the paper he had been reviewing and shoving it into the trash. The coffee he had made sat untouched beside him on the desk, slowly growing cold. He had been considering returning, but no, he couldn't. He couldn't, because he knew it wasn't just their coffee he craved.

Everywhere he went, a pair of golden eyes followed him. Not literally, but it seemed that every time he closed his eyes, Malik could picture those eyes perfectly – even that smirk with the scar. It was maddening and every time he tried complaining to Kadar, his little brother, the boy would just look at him quizzically.

And so it was with gritted teeth once more that Malik made his way to the coffee shop again. Sure enough, there was his – when did he exactly become his? – cashier, head slightly tilted to one side, wearing the same grin and black apron Malik remembered, and oh look, a nametag. Attempting to be as surreptitious as possible, Malik glanced at it. Altaïr. It was interesting enough.

"You're the one who likes his coffee black, am I right?"

Malik snapped out of his reverie, gazing upwards. "Ah – yes." How he had remembered that, Malik was intensely curious, but he wasn't about to risk embarrassing himself further. He cleared his throat, reaching into his pocket for the money. "Dollar seventy-five, right?"

Altaïr's lips parted into a smile, revealing a row of white teeth. "You're good." He accepted the exact change, his hands working deftly. The hands with nine fingers total. As Malik turned to wait for his order, images of that smile lingered in his mind's eye and didn't leave him for the rest of the week.

And so it became a weekly ritual. Malik only allowed himself to visit once a week – else Kadar and everyone else he knew would grow suspicious – and before he was aware, he came to know Altaïr's coworkers as they came to know him. There was Ezio, the flirty Italian whom Malik had seen nudge Altaïr that very first day; he introduced himself the third week, blue-grey eyes flashing with understanding. "Altaïr's got good taste," he said to which Malik replied with a deep frown.

Then there was Connor, a bear of a man only in appearance. He was quiet but kind, and shrugged his shoulders apologetically every time Ezio spewed strange words. "He's like that with everybody," he said, placing a lid on Malik's cup. "Women and men alike. He likes to believe his friends' love lives are his business."

Malik would never willingly admit it, but he was coming to look forward to and even enjoy his visits. Sure, Ezio rubbed him the wrong way more often than not, but the atmosphere was friendly enough. He found himself staying longer and longer each week, bringing his work along to review there in the shop. At times Connor would sometimes join him during his breaks, sometimes Ezio, but it was Altaïr who joined him the most, and it was Altaïr's company he liked best. But remember, he'd never admit it.

He came to know Altaïr had lost his finger while preparing onions. "Pretty sad, right?" Altaïr waved the fingers on his left hand in emphasis, grinning despite himself. "You're the first person I've told the truth to about it, though. When I first worked here and met Ezio, I told him I lost it while surfing during a shark attack. For Connor, I made up a story about wrestling a crocodile." When Malik raised his eyebrows, Altaïr laughed. It was a short, light one, but Malik had to look away to conceal his burning cheeks.

A couple months passed. Small facts were exchanged back and forth as well as phone numbers, but Malik refused to give anything more than that or visit more often. Already he was noticing that Kadar was catching on how he was missing every Monday morning and afternoon, and knowing his brother, word was traveling fast. His coworkers were giving him funny looks.

Every week Altaïr would have his coffee ready and waiting. Every week he would take his break at the same time, swinging around the counter to take a seat with Malik in their favorite, reserved table. Every week for the past three months this had been happening, once a week, until one particular morning in late November.

Altaïr had the black coffee ready behind the counter, steaming beside him. The customers came and went, but as his golden eyes continued to scan the moving crowd, they failed to find their target. Altaïr began to worry when Malik was over an hour late from his usual appointed time; even Ezio and Connor exchanged curious looks.

"Ah, don't worry, Al!" Ezio clapped him on the back, grinning widely. "He'll show up. I mean, come on; he's not me, so it's not like he replaced you with some hot chick already or anything. Hey, don't look at me like that; we all know you were thinking it!"

Altaïr chewed the inside of his cheek. He liked to think Ezio was right. Malik was his friend – only a friend – but the thought of him spending his Monday mornings with a woman – or even another man, if Malik swung that way – put Altaïr on edge. He couldn't explain this odd protectiveness he was developing for his one-armed companion, but he knew he couldn't deny it either.

At that moment, a man about Altaïr's age rushed in, out of breath. Since there was no line at the moment, he made his way immediately to the counter. "Are you Altaïr?" he huffed.

Altaïr blinked. Ezio and Connor watched from behind him. "Yes?"

The man sighed heavily in relief, catching his breath. "Ah. Good." He took a few more big lungfuls of air before continuing. "My name's Rauf. I didn't come here for coffee, but I have a message for you." He straightened a little. "Malik can't come in today. He has a killer migraine headache and can't even get out of bed."

Altaïr's expression was puzzled. Why had this man, Rauf, come all this way to tell him this? "I…" What was he supposed to say. "That's… that's terrible. Tell him I that I hope he—"

"No, I can't tell him anything, I have to hurry to work after this, but you—" He pointed at Altaïr "—you can go tell him yourself. Oh, and bring the coffee. He needs it."

"Me?" Altaïr furrowed his brow. "I – I can't! I'm working, I can't just leave—"

"Nah, we'll cover for you!" Ezio winked. "C'mon, Al. This will score you major points with Malik!"

Altaïr pouted. "But I… I don't even know where he lives."

"Oh! Here." Rauf reached for a nearby napkin and a pen, scribbling quickly. When finished, he placed the napkin in Altaïr's hands. "That's his address, it's not far from here. Just head up the street, you'll get there in less than ten minutes." He was already heading out the door. "Hurry; he's not a happy camper without his coffee, and he'll be glad to see you! He won't speak of anyone else." And then he was gone.

Altaïr stood there, at a loss, napkin still in hand. He stared at the door for a long while before staring at the napkin for an equally long amount of time. Then he looked to his friends.

"Would you just go already?" Ezio grabbed Altaïr's wrist, already pulling him towards the exit. He practically shoved Altaïr out the door, watching satisfyingly as he ran to his car and sped off. Ezio glanced over his shoulder at Connor, giving him a thumbs up. "Just you wait. He won't be single for long."

Altaïr stepped up to the house, checking the address at least twice to make sure he had the correct place. He stuffed the napkin into his apron pocket – wow, he had been in such a hurry he had forgotten to take it and his nametag off – coffee in his other hand. Taking a deep breath, Altaïr raised his hand to rap his knuckles in quick succession against the door.

Almost instantly, the door cracks open just a sliver. A bright, blue eye peered out at him, widening at the sight of him. "Oh, so you're Altaïr!" The door opened fully to reveal what appeared to be an exact copy of Malik – except this boy was slightly younger, a young teen at most, with shockingly blue eyes. His hair was an inch or two longer as well, and he was missing the strip of facial hair on his chin. This must be Kadar; Malik often spoke fondly of him. "Thank god you're here! Malik won't stop complaining and I don't know how to work the coffee maker and he can't get up to show me how and—"

"Alright, alright," soothed Altaïr, raising his hands. "Slow down. I have the coffee here." He held it up. "Why don't you take this to him—"

Kadar shook his head firmly. "No, you better take it. It's you he wants to see."

Altaïr's brow furrowed. "Why would he—"

"Just trust me." Kadar issued Altaïr inside, closing the door behind him. "Go on! It's just down that hall to the left, but make sure you knock first or else he may hurl something at your head. Then again, he has a bad headache and you're Altaïr, he really really likes you, so—"

"What—?"

"Just go!"

Altaïr made his way down the designated corridor, heart rate quickening. Kadar had abandoned him to tend to some other chore, so he had to bear this alone. He reached the door and remembered to knock. Hearing nothing, Altaïr swallowed and palmed the doorknob, allowing himself in.

He found Malik immediately, lying buried in sheets upon his bed. The room was simple – modern, clean, and modest – and smelled just like Malik. Altaïr found himself relaxing somehow as he made his way, quietly, to Malik's bedside. The black-haired man was sleeping soundly, eyelids fluttering occasionally. His expression was slightly pained and Altaïr wanted to wake him so he could ease his discomfort, but decided against it. Instead, he set the cup of coffee on Malik's bedside table and turned to leave.

"What're you doing in my house?"

Altaïr froze upon hearing Malik's voice, turning to see Malik gazing dazedly his direction. He attempted to sit up but did so too quickly, wincing and holding his head in his hand. Altaïr rushed back to his bedside, easing him back down gently.

"Your friend Rauf came to me at work," Altaïr began. "Told me about your migraine and gave me your address. Then Kadar let me in, and here I am." Altaïr bit his lip before remembering why he had come. "I have your coffee here."

Malik sighed, rolling his eyes. "I can't believe those two actually got you to come here. I was just going to have Rauf pick up the coffee and bring it back—"

"He mentioned something about being late for work."

"That idiot!" At Altaïr's questioning look, Malik shook his head. "Rauf works the night shift."

"Oh." Altaïr drummed his fingers along the side of Malik's cup. "Well… what about Kadar?"

"Trusting Kadar with my car?" Malik chuckled softly. "He has yet to get his license, and even so, I fear for all drivers and pedestrians alike when he gets on the road. But then there's me, a one-armed driver, so who am I to complain." Malik closed his eyes momentarily before regarding Altaïr. "So, about that coffee."

Altaïr nodded, handing it over. He helped Malik into a comfortable sitting position and watched as he raised the cup to his lips. His hand shook unsteadily, so Altaïr instinctively reached out to help, hands wrapping around Malik's fingers. They both took a sharp intake of breath at the close contact, but taking Malik's silence as compliance, Altaïr didn't recoil.

"Thanks, for that," Malik manages, sinking back into the pillow as Altaïr sets the coffee back down on the stand. Malik's eyes already appeared a little brighter. "And… thanks for coming. It… it means a lot." Suddenly Malik frowned. "You're not going to get into trouble for this, are you?"

Altaïr smiled, tilting his head slightly. "No, Ezio promised to cover for me."

"Well, he's good for something."

Altaïr laughed at that. "True. Ezio's… special, but he really is helpful when he wants to be."

Malik nodded absently with a small smile, closing his eyes briefly. Altaïr was sitting so close, he could feel Malik's hip resting against his own.

"You tired?"

"Yeah… just a bit."

Altaïr hummed in response, resting his hand briefly on Malik's. "You should rest then. I'll come visit again later."

Malik opened his eyes to look at Altaïr, and for a moment he looked like he was about to say something. Then, at the last moment, decided against it and nodded in affirmation. "Alright. I'll be counting on you."

"You can always count on me."

Then Malik slept. Altaïr watched as Malik's breathing slowed to a lulling, steady rhythm, his features relaxing as he rested. Altaïr knew he had promised to go but found himself unable to move. It was terribly rude to stay, but Malik looked so peaceful… the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the way his eyelashes brushed against his cheekbones, the way his lips were parted ever so slightly…

Malik's lips. Altaïr involuntarily licked his own, leaning forward. A strange desire suddenly rose in his chest, causing his pulse to quicken. Perhaps, if he was fast… then Malik would never know… Altaïr was so close, just mere inches away; it was either now or never.

But no… no, he couldn't. It wouldn't be right. And if Malik caught him, he might never forgive him and there was a chance their friendship would be ruined. No, the risk was too great.

Just as he was about to pull away, Malik's eyes snapped open. Altaïr gasped lightly, heart leaping into his throat. Though Altaïr hadn't gone through with the kiss, it was obvious what he had been planning to do; there was no excuses that would pardon him now.

He awaited Malik's wrath, a slap or harsh words, but they never came. Brown eyes gazed into gold, unsaid words passing between them. It was then that Altaïr felt Malik's hand snake up the back of his neck and, before Altaïr could comprehend the situation, pulled him forward into a kiss.

Altaïr was so shocked, he nearly forgot to return the gesture. He had to let Malik know he wanted this equally as much, and therefore recovered quickly, angling his mouth just slightly so that their lips fit together perfectly. Their noses bumped together and Altaïr smiled against Malik's mouth, high on happiness. Soon Altaïr was granted silent permission to use his tongue, and he jumped to the opportunity immediately. Malik tasted wonderful, like black coffee and headache medicine. Altaïr subconsciously brought up his hands to cradle Malik's jaw, allowing him further access. They continued to explore one another, hands roaming across one another's bodies, until the need to breathe became too demanding.

They broke apart reluctantly, each panting slightly. Their eyes locked and they looked at each other until they both dissolved into embarrassed smiles.

"That'll be one dollar and seventy-five cents," Altaïr said, which earned him a nudge in the ribs as he laughed. He figured he deserved that.