The holiday season was chaos.
If Roman wasn't in class—he was enrolled in five courses this semester, something he knew he'd appreciate come senior year, but hated himself for presently—he was working. If he wasn't working, he was studying or doing homework or trying to catch up on sleep to gain himself the energy to work/study/do homework. In times like these he was relieved not to be a social butterfly with many friends to see and things to do with them. He'd feel bad for how many people he'd have to blow off, plans he'd end up canceling after making them, because of his schedule.
He didn't see Dean at all.
Roman couldn't blame him. Perhaps Dean had a schedule like his; hopefully not quite as hectic, but the guy had a life. Roman still knew very little about it, about Dean in general. He seemed to be the type people liked to be around. Besides, even if Dean bounced into the shop while Roman was working, Roman certainly didn't have time for a good conversation, let alone a few hours reserved specifically to hang out with him outside his role as a student and a barista.
Still. It would have been nice to see him at some point before the third Thursday night.
Roman was stoked. His fatigue couldn't obstruct his good mood. It was Thursday again, finally Thursday. He could, and would, see Dean tonight. His paranoia tried to set in on him. What if Dean doesn't show up tonight? What if you have to wait even longer to see him?
He exiled those thoughts. Fuck you, anxiety.
"Are you high?" Dolph asked him that afternoon as he and Roman tidied up the empty dining room. Business was dragging today. The weather was nasty, frigid and glacial with four to seven inches of snow predicted in the morning's weather forecast. It was nearly six o'clock, and Colorado seemed intent on meeting the meteorologists' estimates.
Was his gaiety that obvious? "Nah. Just in a really good mood."
"Because your boy's coming back?" the blond goaded.
"Definitely ain't like that." Roman wiped up a puddle of spilt hot chocolate and threw the cup away the patron—most likely an overprivileged college kid—had left behind after overturning the drink.
"Yeah, yeah. You so weren't all over him a couple weeks ago. You're lucky Curtis was preoccupied that night, or else it would have been both our asses for closing so late."
"What was wrong with him?"
"He and his wife had gotten into it earlier that day. Typical married-people crap. Don't try to change the subject on me."
"I'm sorry if I don't feel comfortable driveling on about my personal life."
"Aw, come on, Roman. If you like the guy, you like the guy. You don't have to tell me what he's wearing when you close your eyes and picture him, but respect yourself enough to know that what you want is what you want, and you deserve to be happy, no matter what anyone else thinks."
"Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for life coach Dolph Ziggler."
Dolph grinned. "You know I'm right."
"Speaking of relationships, how are you and Lana doing?"
"We're pretty good. Her ex is kind of a prick who can't get over her, but we deal."
Customers trickled through the door over the next hour. No amount of snow and frost could keep Java Central's most faithful customers, most dedicated of mediocre musicians, away. Roman recognized several of the regulars, but he wasn't too thrilled to see one in particular.
Nikki Bella approached the counter, her chest bulging beneath the fabric of her tight black t-shirt. She was hot, he'd give her that. She offered Roman a Crest-supported smile and greeted him, "Hey, Roman."
His response was flat. "Hey."
"Brie and I missed you the other night." She cast some hair behind her broad shoulder. "Randy got spoiled rotten."
"Yeah, sorry to miss out on that. I was working."
"We'll have do it again sometime. Hate for you to miss out on all the fun."
"What can I get started for you, Nikki?" Nikki and AJ were friends back in the day. Had been, anyway. He wasn't sure what their situation was now.
"Don't be grouchy."
"Just doing my job."
Nikki simpered. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened between you and AJ, but you shouldn't swear off dating just because one bitch decided to screw up something wonderful. There are some stellar women out there. Trust me." She leaned further into the counter, rapping her long nails against the tile.
"I've got a line, Nikki."
"I'll give you a line."
What did that even mean? "Behind you. I have other customers to handle."
Nikki frowned. "Roman. You've gotta let me help you sometime, okay? Don't shut me out."
You've gotta let me serve my customers, woman!
"I'll take a white mocha frappe," she said at last. Her posture seemed to straighten, her chest retracting. "Extra whipped cream."
"You got it." He didn't want to be rude. Nikki wasn't a terrible person. She just came on too strongly towards people she barely knew. Roman didn't care to get to know her on a level past potential friendship. Hardly anyone qualified for that level of care, anyhow. By his choice alone.
He handed the order off to Dolph, then called out, "I can help whoever's next."
Nikki stepped off to the side, defeated.
Roman plowed through the rest of the customers. Most of them had claimed spots in the dining room by now, occupying most chairs and surrounding nearly all the tables. Dean's usual table was still empty, as was his backup spot near the counter. Roman couldn't stop watching the door.
Curtis tapped the microphone just as the lights subdued. "Hey, everybody, thanks for coming out tonight in spite of this terrible weather. We really appreciate you all."
Meaning "we really appreciate your money", Roman thought.
A young guy in a blue UC hoodie, glasses and a green beanie took the first slot. He told the audience he'd written this song for his fiancee and their unborn baby. The crowd swooned over him. What a romantic gesture, writing her a song.
Not a shabby idea.
Roman wondered if he should take a crack at it. How hard could it have been?
He looked towards the door as Beanie Man cleared his throat and kicked off his jovial melody.
Stop staring. He won't get here any faster if you're constantly watching.
If he gets here tonight.
Roman made one more order himself during the song. Cleaned an already fairly tidy counter. Leaned against the counter, listened to the song. Pretty standard romantic baby-I-love-you lyrics. Rhyming "girl" and "world", "heart" and "apart", "right" and "tonight." Roman rocked his head to the beat. Even if he did write a song, he'd have no way of playing it—or singing it. He couldn't stand his own singing voice.
Still. It'd be fun to try.
Roman grabbed a napkin from behind the counter and fished a pen from the cup near the receipt printer. So far he had a couple of lines in mind that he wanted to work with.
Watching, waiting, wondering, weakening
For the things that might not be
For the things I've yet to see
Hoping, hurting, hurrying, handling
The feelings that rise
Feeling buried alive
It was…alright. Maybe a punk song, heavy metal. He didn't want it to sound too emo nor too pathetic. He spun the pen around his thumb, debating the next verse.
"Hey, Superman, where's my caramel?"
Roman's head raised. Dean was on the other side of the counter, smiling in an almost baleful way. But Roman knew by now Dean was probably not antagonistic. Deranged, perhaps, but not depraved.
"Dean."
"Hey, you."
"Hey yourself." They had to keep their voices low. This song was going on forever, much like the love the singer expressed for his family within the lyrics.
"Whatcha got there?" Dean asked.
"Oh, nothing." Suddenly gauche and awkward, Roman slid the napkin under the counter and replaced the pen in the cup. If he ever showed this song to Dean, it would be completed and edited six or seven times first. "Glad you made it."
Dean scoffed. "Takes more than nearly a foot of snow to keep me out of this place." Tonight he wore a black vest over a plain white t-shirt, blue jeans and his tennis shoes, like he was rebelling against the weather. No jacket, no boots. Not even gloves. This crazy guy…
"Want your usual, bud?"
"You know it." The song ended. People clapped. Their voices rose to a normal volume.
Roman rang up the salted caramel mocha. "Anything else?"
Dean stroked his chin as he considered his options written in dry erase marker. "Hmm. I'm feeling a little adventurous tonight. Hook me up with a blueberry muffin."
"You got it. I made those myself this afternoon."
"Really?"
It wasn't really something to be proud of, but Roman smiled with a nod. "Yep."
"In that case, cancel that order. You might have poisoned it or something."
"Curses. Batman foiled my plan to eliminate all my customers tonight."
Dean poked his tongue between his teeth. Holy Lord have mercy. "Actually, I'll take two of 'em."
"Why? Are you expecting someone?" Please say no.
"Nah. I'm a growing boy."
Phew. Roman typed the order into the computer. "So I've got two blueberry muffins, and a bottle of caramel, add coffee."
Dean laughed heartily. That was something to be proud of. Roman beamed. "Comes to $10.74."
Dean handed him a twenty. "You been keeping busy around here?"
"Yeah, around here, around school." Roman dropped Dean's change into his waiting hand, which he immediately turned over, dropping all of it into the tip jar. "This time of year gets to be pretty hectic."
"Sorry to hear that. At least you get a break soon, right? Thanksgiving and all?"
"Sorta. School's out, but I'll probably be here all week." He turned away for a moment to fix Dean's drink. "Except that Thursday, obviously."
"Got any fun Thanksgiving plans? Or is it the standard friends and family?"
"No, and actually, no."
"No?" Dean gasped. "How come?"
"My family's in Florida. And it's tough financially to get out there just for one day, especially with my schedule." His cousin Dwayne was on vacation in Bermuda, so a Thanksgiving dinner with him was out too.
"Damn, dude, that really blows. What are you gonna do then?"
Roman shrugged a shoulder. "Hang out. Play games. Eat some food." He imagined Randy wouldn't be at home much that day.
"By yourself?"
"It's nothing I'm not used to." He reached for the bottle of caramel. He'd made sure he had a full one ready to go for Dean's arrival.
"Nuh-uh. Nope. I refuse to accept that. If you don't have anything else going on that day, you're spending Thanksgiving with me."
Roman's heart fluttered. "Oh, is that so?"
"Yup. Me and Seth. You can come with me to his family's house. My clan all live in California, so I don't have anywhere else to be, either. But Seth's parents are really cool."
Roman liked the idea of seeing Dean on the holiday. Even if he had to share Dean's attention with others. It sure beat being alone. He was flattered by the gesture. "That's really nice of you, Dean. We'll see, okay?"
"Seeing is believing, my friend."
"The hell does that have to do with anything?"
Dean shrugged, outstretching his arms. "I dunno. Hurry up with that coffee, would ya? I have a show soon."
"One cup of caramel, coming up."
"Many thanks, good sir." Dean snatched the cup and took a drink as he lugged his guitar towards the table by the window. Roman had hoped he'd choose the seat near the counter, near him.
Ah well. At least he's here.
Once again, Dean was the last performance of the night. He plopped onto the barstool and, incredibly, spoke into the microphone. "I'm Dean and this is Annie." He stroked the top of the guitar. "She's my baby."
He'd name it? That was endearing.
Dean cleared his throat and strummed the intro to a song Roman immediately recognized. The Eagles' "Hotel California." Roman loved the few times he actually knew what Dean was playing.
He wondered if this had anything to do with their bonding over classic rock the other night.
"On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway;
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself
This could be Heaven or this could be hell
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say…"
Roman couldn't resist singing along quietly to himself. Dean's vigor was contagious. He was having a blast with it. Self-assurance powered his voice. The notes carried through the entire shop.
Wonder what it's like to be that confident.
Dean grinned, tongue out, at the end of the song. Roman clapped louder and harder and longer than anybody else. He tipped an invisible hat, then jumped off the stage.
"That was killer, dude," Roman said, borrowing one of Dean's favorite words as Dean approached the counter.
"You thought so?"
"Of course. That one's one of my favorites."
"Mine too. Do you know what the lyrics mean?"
"No clue. You?"
"Nah. I don't think anyone does. The band itself said something like, it's about a journey from innocence to experience."
"Hmm. Well, if that's what they say."
"Listen, you wanna get out of here?"
Roman's breath snagged in his throat. "Where to?"
"I know just the place. Cozy little locale. Assuming you're not sick to death of coffee yet."
"Sure, that sounds great." Reality reintroduced itself once the avidity wore off. "I have to close up here, though. Might be a while," he noted, grimacing.
"That's no problem. I can wait."
"You will?"
"Sure, I will. I've got Annie with me. Can't be bored."
Wow. Maybe I was wrong. He's sounding pretty perfect about now. "Where will you wait?"
"In here if I'm allowed. Out there if I'm not." He bent his neck in the direction of the door.
Roman frowned. "Do you have a coat?"
"Yeah. Oh, wait, do you mean do I own one, or do I have one on me right now?"
"Do you have one with you, smart-ass."
Dean snickered. "Just the vest."
Roman sighed. It was apparent then he'd never fully understand how Dean's mind worked. "I'll try to get you permission to chill in here. Wait here."
Roman disappeared into the back. He knocked on Curtis's open door.
"What's up?" his manager asked.
"Hey, I was wondering if my buddy could chill in the dining room while he waits for me. He doesn't have a coat, so I hate making him wait outside."
Curtis looked up at Roman from his paperwork, eyebrow arched. Was this really the craziest demand in the world?
"He won't make a mess," Roman promised. Maybe.
"I…guess? But tell him next time to come prepared, alright?"
"I will. Thanks, Curtis."
"Would this buddy happen to be your boy?" Dolph called from the dish area. Roman pretended he hadn't heard him. He wanted to power through tonight's close, and Dolph's jabs wouldn't slow him down. He had a date with Dean.
Was it a date? It sure felt like a date.
He humored himself for the time being. Yes, it sure was.