Note: Currently a one-shot, but who knows? I may write more. Inspired by a lot of jumbled ideas. Any names used are purely for artistic purposes, and do not reflect the personalities, decisions, or opinions of said individuals. Some research is used for real places, but again, all of the functions of these places are fictionalized. All other characters are fictional, and any resemblance to real people is just a figment of your schizophrenia. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Eventual Harry/Draco. Don't like? Then you don't need to read it. Simple.
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Rubbing his left hand between his jacket and chest in an attempt to re-circulate blood flow, while his other hand clenched addictively to his coffee cup, he decided to take a gander at his watch.
8:56am. He was late. Again.
Bollocks, now Mr. Regulus will really be on my arse for the entire duration of the next full moon, he thought, rubbing his temple and quickening his pace on this brilliantly chilled London morning. Although, in his mind, it wasn't his fault that his automobile had garnished a reputation for having the largest amount of motor-vehicle collisions while continuing to stay parked. That was another matter; he was currently cold, late, and in for a rather long lecture from his superior at any given time of his arrival to Foster & Partners architecture firm.
As he continued taking larger strides than seemed possible for a man of his small frame, he noticed there was an absence of steam coming from his cup. "Bollocks," he groaned, tossing the full cup into a bin that was close by. Knowing full well how he needed his daily intake of caffeine, he quickly stepped into the corner Starbucks that as on his way and grabbed a soy latte.
I'm going to be late anyway, might as well have my coffee while I get chewed and spit out before the weekend commences.
Burying his hands deeply into his pockets, the young man halted to a stop and absently continued to glare at the streetlight to change so he could all-but-run to Hester road and pray no one had noticed his lack of appearance at his empty desk. Lighting a fag, he inhaled precariously, enjoying every drag of the cigarette. Come on. Just change from that sodding red hand already. Come on. Bugger. Nothing. This light was changing unusually slow for 9 o'clock in the morning.
"But of course not unexpected since it's just my luck lately," he mumbled aloud, exhaling smoke.
"Sorry?" piped the well-dressed business man to his left. He jerked his head towards the sound, reality finally setting in.
"Err....nothing, sorry - wrong number" the younger replied with a forced smile, as he pointed to the ear out of sight to the stranger. Fortunately the other man recognized the now universal sign of hands-free cellular technology.
"Ah right, I suppose that's what all the younger generation is using these days? Well, cheerio son," quipped the man as he began to walk across the street with the 'please walk' sign now in place.
Rolling his eyes, the bleached blonde continued the daily trek to his employer. It was only a few more blocks, and he could see the 'Foster + Partners' sign from here.
Taking a quick glance, it was now 9:06am. I'm surprised the entire fire brigade isn't waiting for me at the next intersection for an assassination assignment, he thought sarcastically. Whatever the reason, it seemed he was in the clear. Until....
"Oof!" His cheeks flushed at the sudden disruption of walking. Or was it from the cold? It didn't matter.
The blonde opened his eyes from atop the stranger he had just collided with. He noticed the man had short messy ebony haired, was tall and fit from what he could feel, and that his eyes were covered by a pair of oval-tinted glasses.
Bit strange since the weather has been cast over all morning, he thought to himself.
However, the dark haired man now had a growing fermented brown stain on the abdomen of his white button-up shirt. The now empty coffee cup that lay spilled on the ground beside them answered the question of where the stain originated from.
"Ah, bollocks....I'm so sorry – are you okay?" inquired the man underneath, trying to sit up.
There goes my coffee for the second time this morning, he frowned.
"Hmm? I uh.....yeah, I'm fine. Sorry....er....." he spurted, lifting himself off of the man below and offering a hand to help who he had unfortunately run over. His hand went unnoticed as the man lifted himself up and brushed the gravel off his dress pants. Fighting with the urge to scowl at the decline to his offer of hospitality, which seldomly occurred these days, he reached out as if to wipe at the stain on the stranger's shirt, but then retreated his hand as the thought that any attempt to wipe would only be in vain.
"Don't fret about it too much. Although I find it rather ironic that the day I finally decide to put on something more formal I bump into someone and spill their drink everywhere," grinned the man. "Although by the smell you must drink a fairly strong cinnamon-caramel soy latte which I guess I'll have to kee on my person in the future," he smiled.
Christ, if I wasn't such a ponce I wouldn't ---wait, that's exactly what I ordered. How the in the bloody hell can he tell that?
"It is, yeah. Can't say I've ever met anyone that could even vaguely remember my choice of liquid life in the morning; let alone by first impression," he stated rather frankly.
"Well I've always had an interest for coffee, which is why owning the same place you purchased your drink from does come in handy. I'm not aware of any other coffeeshops putting a dash of lemon into the mix - which is why I figured you got it at Nero. Do remember to stop by for another coffee sometime though, it's the least I could do," the stranger chuckled trying to air out his shirt. He then started moving around, dragging his feet as if he had lost something and was hoping his feet would locate it for him
"So you own the cafe? I'm in there all the time and haven't seen you before. Though the majority of the cafes I've been to appear to be run by completely absent-minded....."
"....wankers. Believe me, I agree with you on that one. All the more reason to open something less severe in hindering one's intellect while drinking coffee, I thought. And I can't say I've seen you either, but that wouldn't be a stretch for a blind man to say," replied the man amiably, suddenly directing his face from the ground to where he presumed the lighter-haired individual was.
"I'm Paul Harris, by the way," he said, holding his hand out further than normal for a handshake.
He's blind. I'm an arse. I just can't win today. Shaking the hand in return, the blonde answered "I'm Alex......Alex Richards. Pleasure," he commented smoothly.
"Can I ask what you're uh...kicking around for? I can assure you that the coffee isn't salvageable, what with all of it now on your shirt. Which by the way I'm fully willing to pay for," he finished hurriedly.
Paul half-heartedly smiled and said "You seem in a hurry so I'm not about to hold you up any longer. I'll be able to find it, it's not the first time I've lost it. I'm sorry again about your coffee."
He's looking for his cane.
"Here you are," Alex sighed, immediately spotting the silver cane that had only rolled a few feet to the end of the sidewalk, and placing it into Paul's outstretched hand.
As if to reassure the man, (as well as myself) Alex spoke, "I couldn't possibly walk off knowing I had been the one that knocked you over. I feel daft enough as it is that I didn't notice you were...." He paused, thinking of how to continue without offending this genuinely friendly man.
".......Blind? Impaired? Handicapped? I don't mind. I've been blind enough years to have gotten used to it by now. And believe me, those are nowhere near being the worst I've heard," he laughed.
Alex smiled, "My apologies again," and reached into his bag for a scrap of paper and pen. Wait, he can't read something on a piece of paper. "Would it be daft of me to give you my number so we can arrange something over coffee sometime? I mean, I know you may not be able to see what's written on it, but I figured that's what seeing eye dog's are for..." he chuckled.
"No, it's no problem. Thankfully I do have friends who are able to read non-brail writing. As for Benji, he's at the clinic getting a check-up" he quipped smirking. "And hopefully it's static coffee this time," Paul spoke with a grin.
"Unless you would prefer owning two shirts with brown spots on them," replied Alex teasingly. "But I've gotta get going, ring me later!" he yelled over his shoulder as he sped up to make it to work before 9:30am.
It was 9:27am. Damn.
"Take care," remarked Paul, waving at the spot he thought Alex would've run to by now. Oddly enough he was spot on.
It'll be interesting if he does call, he mused, kicking his shoes off on the mat, and opening the front door of F&P.
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There is a possibility of more chapters, depends on whether or not reviews want another chapter - as stories are written for an audience. This is Harry/Draco. You shall see (if you're not already catching on to some of the hints).