"Wait, wait, wait." Chuck stirred his coffee and leaned back in his chair. "You do what now?"

Michael sipped at his Americano before answering, "I'm a firefighter." He smirked into his cup.

Chuck didn't know what to say so he just stared at Michael for a few seconds. He shook his head, smiling to himself, and used his spoon to eat some of the whipped cream off of his mocha. He hummed, almost thoughtfully, but more likely distractedly. "So you put on all that gear and then save people from dying in fires? And then you... what? Rescue kittens from trees?" He had to admit, the image of Michael halfway up a tree with a baby cat in his arms was... appealing.

With a snort, Michael set his coffee aside. "I don't know about rescuing kittens, but I have thrown a mattress out of a window because it was smoldering. Put a sprinkler on it." He laughed quietly. "It kept trying to catch fire, but eventually it was alright. Lesson the be learned—don't fall asleep with a lit cigarette in your hand." He grinned.

"Ah, good to know." Chuck sucked on his spoon and looked down at the tabletop. He decided that Michael was a little too dazzling to look at, and took his glasses off, shoving them unceremoniously into his pocket—scratches decorated the lenses already, so one more set wouldn't hurt. Much better, without them on his face though. He could still see well enough to navigate but Michael's face had gone just blurry enough to be almost unrecognizable. Okay, maybe Chuck needed to look into laser surgery if his eyesight was that bad. (What kind of 43 year old needed bifocals, anyway?! Geez.)

Silence fell between them. Chuck cleared his throat, once, and tried to take a drink from his cup. He ended up burning his tongue a little and getting whipped cream on his face. He wiped it off with a hand and stuck his tongue out, nose wrinkling. "This always happens." He rolled his eyes. "When will I learn?" He set about trying to stir the rest of the whipped cream into his mocha so it would maybe help cool the coffee down, and said, "So, other than being a hero, what do you like to do?"

Michael huffed. "I'm not a hero. I just put out fires." He stared into his Americano, thinking about what he wanted to say. Eventually, "I like plants. I have a lot of potted plants in our house, and I like to take care of them." Again with that liquid shrug inherited from his brother. (Body language was totally genetic.) "Nick teases me about it, but I caught him talking to the ficus tree in the living room once." He chuckled, softly.

Chuck let out a snort, and laughed as he said, "Professor Milton is not as mean as he'd like to think, hm?" He tapped his spoon against the table. "You know... He's kind of a hardass and his students all hate him for it, but... He seems okay, to me. Honestly. Passive-aggressive, but kind of... adorable? In a creepy way."

"Well, I'll tell him you said so." Michael grinned. "He'll probably turn red and go punch the garage door to regain his harsh self-image."

"Sounds like someone is insecure in his masculinity."

Michael just continued to grin, sipping at his coffee.

They spent an hour talking about small things. Inconsequential things. Like the time one of Chuck's students filled out a test in red pen, or the time Michael went to order a tangerine Italian soda from Starbucks only to find out they'd run out of seltzer water. It was nice. Chuck actually forgot about his mocha until it was half cold. Decided to drink it anyway, before it got any colder, while he listened to Michael tell a story about an old church that had burned down in the middle of January.

"I ended up carrying this big metal cross—crucial to save, according to just about everyone—out through the front doors, and right when I got outside into the half-melted snow the entire roof caved in and sent up this big shower of splinters and sparks. There was a news van nearby, so I ended up seeing a picture of myself on the television while Lucifer—sorry, Nick—was watching that night, and it was... surreal?" Michael paused. Tilted his empty cup in one scarred hand. "Silhouette of myself and this supposedly priceless cross, lit from behind by flames, with snow and ash falling all around and a lot of steam. Felt strange." He almost laughed, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Looked up, and smiled at Chuck, and asked, "Have you ever been to an abandoned building?" Something mischievous sparked in his eyes.

Chuck glanced to either side, suddenly moderately concerned. "Uh... no?"

A grin, and Michael stood. "You will today." He gathered up both of their cups and hurried over to the bucket for dirty dishes. Practically skipped back to Chuck, and took his arm, suddenly more boyish and excited than Chuck had ever seen. "Come on, Professor." He led Chuck out of the coffee shop.

Inexplicably, Chuck felt himself blush at being called "Professor." Maybe because Michael was older than a lot of his students, or maybe for some other reason he couldn't quite figure out. He pushed it to the back of his head and followed Michael to his black pickup truck. Michael opened the door for him and even helped him up into the truck—it was much higher up than Chuck normally had to deal with. Chuck felt very small inside the cab.

Once in his own seat, Michael asked, "Ready to go?"

"Um." Chuck folded his hands in his lap. "I guess?"

Michael shot him a big grin and started the engine.