Little bonus chapter from Raven's perspective.
Funny, how quickly reactive thoughts can change. When Raven first saw him, she didn't take too much of a note. She noticed that, objectively, he was attractive. His smile was nice, not that she ever cared much for those. His gaze struck her most, catching quickly on her out of everyone in the room, bright green and inquisitive.
She's not sure what prompted her to do it, even now. Something deep within her, some demon in the back of her mind, egged her on. Egged her to call him George.
Garfield, he'd told her, grin easy and friendly. Garfield. Maybe it was the name itself. She's never met a Garfield before, in her entire career as a barista. She's encountered some ah… unique names. But Garfield was, somehow, a first. Pressing the sharpie to cup, she curved the shape of a 'G,' and from there her hand went rogue.
When she called out for a George, it took him a while and a staredown to realize it was for him. She met his surprised stare, until he grinned, thanked her, and took the drink to go.
The next time he came in, she immediately recognized his grin and gaze, and the demon reemerged. Gibson, Godfrey, Giovanni. He never corrects her, just comes in the next time and states again that his name is Garfield, eventually coming to expect that she'll never get it right. She can tell in his expression when he gives his name, can tell in the pause before he does so. He knows that she knows his name, but her demon doesn't seem to care.
Her reactive thoughts take only a few interactions to somehow appreciate that smile. Despite her messing with him, despite him knowing every time he comes in that she will do so again, he's never any less happy to engage with her. Smiles, which never meant much to her before, are suddenly the first thing she cares to notice when he walks in. And the first thing she notices are gone during the holidays.
Due to a recession in customer service surveys, her boss makes everyone wear name tags when the next semester starts up. She waits for Garfield to notice when he shows back up, green gaze lighting up when it lands on her. He doesn't, though, just repeats his name and the order she knows by heart. At some point during the day–at any of the many moments that she catches him staring–he must have noticed, though, because he calls her by name the next time he comes in.
Talk about reactive.
She blinks at the way her chest feels a little fuzzy the first time he says it, confused and, frankly, annoyed. Garfield is the only customer she's allowed to make a game out of, she's absolutely freaking not growing attached.
Unwillingly, reactively, that warmth in her chest returns every time he comes in.
It surprises the heck out of her that he's one of Dick's friends, and it surprises her even further when, despite a rocky start, she begins to consider him a friend of her own. Through it all, the coffee shop orders and the group hangouts and the moments when they're all alone, nothing but wind tugging between them, the reactive warmth she gets around him burns hotter and hotter.
She can't fathom why. She shouldn't like him. He's loud, and moronic, and his smiles are too big for his stupid face. But when that smile grows soft, and his eyes lower to look at her like she's the most intriguing thing in the room, and when his voice somehow curves around her name. She almost has to press her hand to her chest to make sure her heart's still where it belongs.
On impulse when he comes back from the holidays and she makes him that new drink he likes so much, she tries to push him away. It's something she excels at. She's not good with feelings, but getting people to leave? She's a proven professional, whether she wants to be or not. Except, when his inviting smile taints and he turns away, something in her aches. "I was supposed to work the closing shift today." The sentence blurts itself out against her will, the urge to draw him back strong enough to physically force her forward, hands on the counter. His gaze is inquisitive, and she swallows against the nerves bubbling up in her stomach. "Victor told me you'd be back this morning."
His grin is slow, but it's enough to pull her breath away. She scoffs, finding him ridiculous for smiling so easily, and finding herself twice as ridiculous for the way it affects her. He trips on the way out to the door, and it makes her laugh for the first time in… well. She's not even sure. If she didn't know before that she's doomed, she does now. She has a complicated relationship with fate, but perhaps it isn't such a coincidence that the little demon in the back of her mind forced her to call him George that day.