I'm too young for my back to hurt like this, Crowley thought. He shifted on his aching feet and tried to keep the grimace out of his smile. Yesterday was a delivery day at the greenhouse, and he'd spent hours unloading bags of soil and peat from the back of a truck. And of course, one just had to break and his boss had to yell at him about it. And take it out of his damn check. There was still black under his fingernails even though he'd scrubbed them last night and this morning.
He had thought working in a greenhouse around plants would be fun. Turns out he liked being a barista better. Days spent at Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death were generally more relaxing than days spent at the greenhouse.
Nina flipped the rest of the lights on and turned the sign to 'open'. Crowley secretly chugged his first three espressos of the day while she was busy putting down the chairs. Nina didn't like it when he drank this much caffeine.
Why did he have to be on the first shift today? Why hadn't he asked if Lilith would swap with him, then he could have taken the afternoon- Oh, wait. He was already on afternoon. It was Wednesday, also known as double shift day.
God, I wanna step into traffic, Crowley thought, as the first few customers trickled in. Did this to myself, I put too much on my plate.
He'd been putting too much on his plate for months now. Ever since he moved away. It wasn't enough for him to miss before.
An involuntary shiver ran down Crowley's spine and his wrist ached. Yeah, all things considered, he would rather be here, making little latte art ducks in people's cups and doodling little ducks on to-go cups. He had ducks on his mind today.
Water rolled off them. The ducks in Saint James Park probably weren't bothered very much by the rain today.
Crowley wished he could afford to go feed them more often. He refused to make them sick by giving them his stale bread. Frozen vegetables like peas were healthier for them. He wished he could go sit in the park with a bag of frozen peas right now.
The morning went by in a haze of ducks and the gray drizzle of the rain and people in a hurry to get where they were going.
"You should take your break soon," Nina suggested at some point. Crowley thought about it, and then a gaggle of Ms. Sandwich's girls came in, raincoats and umbrellas dripping, and he had to grab the mop again. After the girls had settled at a table by the window with their coffees and baked goods and the floor was no longer a slipping hazard, Crowley went to the bathroom to take off his gloves and tighten his wrist brace. His stupid bones hurt. Or was it the nerves? He wasn't a damn doctor.
He took a quick smoke break to take his mind off it.
When he came back in, a line was forming of touristy-looking people. Crowley got busy brewing more chai and Nina stayed up at the cash register and by the dessert case. The steady rhythm of the day continued. Warm drinks, cold drinks, conversation. Wipe the counter. Wipe the counter. He made himself another espresso. Wiped the counter again. Newt stopped by on his lunch break, and Crowley had his usual ready for him. Occasionally he would hear coins hit the bottom of the tip jar. A writer settled in at a table with their laptop and notebook. He wiped down the counter again. The rain came and went, and came and went, acting like it was granting everyone reprieve only to begin as soon as all the umbrellas on the street were closed, the people holding them having been lulled into a false sense of security.
The bell at the door chimed again. "Hello, Mr. Fell!"
Crowley dropped the mug he was holding but caught it before it hit the floor. He checked the time. The bookseller from across the street was late, he didn't think he would be seeing him today.
"Good afternoon, Nina! Good afternoon, Anthony," Mr. Fell waved. There were raindrops on his glasses, in his beard and hair, soaked into the shoulders of his coat.
Crowley waved back, not trusting his voice to respond. He felt lightheaded all of a sudden. That was a new symptom of a crush that he hadn't experienced before.
"I was just about to take my break, Crowley will take your order when you're ready," Nina said.
What?
Nina shot Crowley a look as she headed to the back, pulling off her apron as she went. He gave her a look back. She rolled her eyes. He tried to silently plead with her. She winked and was gone.
Goddammit.
Crowley turned back to Mr. Fell, who was cleaning his glasses on his sleeve. A side profile that attractive should be illegal, Crowley decided. Illegal.
"Hi," he finally managed words. A word. It was a start.
"Hello dear, how has your day been so far?"
"Good. You?" Two more words. He would work on complete sentences later, he supposed.
"Just fine, thank you. Some weather we're having, hm?"
Crowley nodded. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.
"Perfect day for a hot drink."
Crowley nodded again. "What can I get for you?" There was a complete sentence. Progress.
"Are you the one who does the adorable latte art?" Mr. Fell asked.
A wave of heat traveled up Crowley's neck into his face. "Huh?"
"The cute little pictures in the coffee. Someone who stopped in the bookshop showed me a picture of theirs, it was a bird."
"Ducks. I- yeah, that's me." Back to sentence fragments. The use of the words 'adorable' and 'cute' were throwing him off. Ridiculous. It wasn't as if Mr. Fell was using them in regards to Crowley himself. Wish he would. Oh, shut up, he's saying something!
"I think I'll have a latte then. With a duck, if you don't mind. And one of those delicious lemon bars." Mr. Fell took out his wallet and Crowley remembered that he was supposed to be ringing him up.
"For- for here or to go?"
"For here."
Oh no. He would be here a while. How long was Nina going to be on her break? Crowley wasn't sure how long he could keep up a normal conversation with this man. If he had one more smile directed at him he might melt into the floor. Embarrassing. His hands shook as he handed the other man his change. Change that was immediately dropped into the tip jar.
"Thanks," Crowley said.
"Don't mention it, dear."
Mr. Fell took a seat at a nearby table and pulled out a book. Crowley willed his hands to stop shaking and started on his order. He messed up the first duck and tried not to huff in frustration. The second was still a little wobbly, but it would do. Now for the other thing. The other thing. The lemon bar. Right. Lemons. Crowley grabbed a small plate from the shelf, and turned, and there were little fuzzy spots in his vision now. He hadn't stopped shaking. Maybe these weren't crush symptoms after all. Someone said something. About Nina? Maybe he should go get Nina. His feet wouldn't move. He felt very warm. Something was moving. Oh, that was him, toward the floor, very fast.
Aziraphale had liked the redheaded barista since Nina had hired him back in February.
Beyond being good at his job and making excellent coffee, he was fascinating.
The first time Aziraphale saw him, he was tearing some man a new one for making a teenage girl feel uncomfortable by standing over her table and pestering her. His tone was harsh and sarcastic, his hair up in a messy bun, and he had positioned himself between the weird man and the girl. The redhead could sling some very creative (and ruthless) insults. Aziraphale understood immediately why Nina had hired him. After the weird man had left, Aziraphale learned a second fact about the redheaded barista. He blushed very easily.
All it took was a compliment and the man's ears were bright pink. He didn't know what to do with positive feedback. He remained unfazed by the curses muttered at him and the death glares as the weird man left the shop, but couldn't quite make eye contact when thanked, brushing it off with a shrug and a 'no problem'. Aziraphale told him he was very kind and the redhead had stammered.
He was very odd. And very good at mixing up an iced coffee. His name was Anthony.
Aziraphale found himself popping across the street more often during lunchtime. The redhead was very easy to spot. Pretty, wavy hair, always in black, pale skin with freckles that Aziraphale wanted to count. (Did he have more in the summertime?) He liked Anthony's absentminded humming when the shop was quiet, his sarcasm, and his raspy laugh. Nina said he was a riot. And sometimes a nuisance. But she said 'nuisance' with so much fondness that it seemed like another positive attribute.
However, he couldn't figure out for the life of him whether Anthony liked him or not. He seemed quieter around Aziraphale but didn't seem to dislike him either. Compliments flustered him, sometimes so badly that he left for the restroom shortly after, and after returning his umbrella to him the one time, Anthony never initiated conversations with Aziraphale. But he often caught the other man looking- when he was sitting in the coffee shop and Anthony would hang around that area, wiping down a table that seemed clean already. Walking past the bookshop and glancing in the big windows but never coming in.
Aziraphale wanted to figure him out.
Today, Nina had left for her break after he came in, and they had their longest conversation to date. Anthony's wavy hair was pulled up into a bun, a few copper strands escaping to frame his face. He wore a loose black sweater that kept sliding to the side to expose a freckled shoulder.
And his hands shook.
What did that mean? Was he cold? He was wearing black fingerless gloves. Or did Aziraphale make him nervous? Why would he make Anthony nervous, he'd seen the man fearlessly place himself between a creep and a teenage girl and stare down what Muriel called 'Karens' unflinchingly?
Must be the cold then.
Or…
Aziraphale watched Anthony out of the corner of his eye as he started on his order. The younger man was looking quite pale actually. He seemed to pause for breath and sort of swayed. He set down the latte (with an adorable wobbly duck) on the counter, then paused as he turned back, swaying again.
"Anthony?" Aziraphale approached the counter, but there was no response. His brown eyes were looking a little glazed over now. That wasn't good. "Are you feeling alright? Should I go get Nina?"
Anthony made a mumbled noise that might have been an attempted response, then slumped to the floor.
"Oh my god," the writer a few tables away leapt to their feet. "What should-"
"Knock on that door there, get the owner," Aziraphale instructed as he rushed behind the counter. He pressed two fingers to Anthony's neck and felt a strong pulse. He was breathing fine. He must have just passed out. Hopefully, this wasn't some sort of seizure. Aziraphale dragged an empty crate closer to prop Anthony's feet up and to get the blood back to his head.
"What happened?" Nina was back, trying her apron on.
"He passed out. He looked fine, then he didn't, and there wasn't time for him to do anything about it. Just passed right out."
Nina was already soaking a clean rag in cold water. She squeezed it out and handed it over. "Put this on his face. I'll grab something even colder."
Aziraphale folded the cloth over twice and laid it on Anthony's forehead. He was starting to blink, but his eyes still looked dull. "If you can hear me just try to keep your eyes open, alright dear?" Aziraphale said.
Nina returned as Anthony's vision was beginning to focus. "I'm going to put this under your shirt," she said, before unceremoniously shoving an ice pack under Anthony's sweater.
Anthony's golden brown eyes went wide and he made a noise best transcribed as 'ngk'. Before Aziraphale could do anything about it, he was pushing himself up. "Don't try to sit up," he tried to gently lay a hand on Anthony's shoulder but the poor man's eyes were already rolling back in his head again and he slumped back to the floor.
"Dumbass," Nina muttered.
"Is he okay?" The writer peered over the counter.
"He will be."
The second time Anthony blinked awake, Aziraphale kept a hand on his sternum. "Stay right there, dear, let yourself recover. How does your head feel? Did you hit it hard?"
"I don't think so," Anthony mumbled. "Sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry."
"Maybe he does," Nina cut in. "What did you do after I told you to take your break? Did you eat anything? Drink any water?"
"I- I've been drinking plenty."
"Water?"
Anthony didn't answer. His jaw stiffened.
Nina sighed. "You didn't have lunch, did you? You aren't taking care of yourself."
"I forgot."
"Do I need to call a doctor?"
"No!" Anthony sputtered, and Aziraphale had to press gently to keep him lying down. "No, no doctor, won't happen again, I won't forget next time."
"I won't let you do double shifts if you can't handle them."
"I can handle them. Swear. Won't happen again."
"You're going to drink some fucking water, Six Shots, and choose something from the case. Think you can sit up now?" Nina's tone softened.
Anthony went slower this time, and Aziraphale kept a steady hand on his back in case he blacked out again. "I'm okay. I'm fine. You know, I think I'll eat when I get home."
Nina grabbed a blueberry muffin from the dessert case and tossed it to Anthony, who caught it and glared. "Seriously?"
"Seriously." She opened the fridge and chucked a water bottle at him next. "And you'll quit complaining if you don't want your hours cut." Nina glanced at Aziraphale, eyebrows slightly raised, and the man nodded.
"Yes ma'am," Anthony responded, the threat of fewer hours seemingly enough to scare him into the bare minimum of self-care. He slowly got his legs back underneath him and eased himself up. Then he realized that he was clutching Aziraphale's shoulder for support, and flushed all the way down his neck. "I'm sorry."
"You're alright. Come sit, dear, take Nina's advice."
Mortified, Crowley allowed himself to be steered over to the small table Mr. Fell was sitting at. The older man pulled out his chair for him. Like some sort of date. Not like a date, he's just being polite, don't be stupid.
"So, Six Shots? Where did that nickname come from?" Mr. Fell changed the subject, settling back into his seat.
Crowley heard an honest-to-god giggle escape him. He inwardly cringed. What was he, some smitten teenage girl? "Um… Nina caught me drinking six shots of espresso once. I'm not allowed to do that anymore. Most I can sneak nowadays is like four."
Mr. Fell raised his eyebrows. "That can't be good for your heart."
"I'm here for a good time, not a long time," Crowley said, picking some of the blueberries out of his muffin. "Shit, I didn't grab your- thing. What was it?"
"Later. You eat. You scared us, passing out like that."
"Sorry."
"You really don't have to keep apologizing."
"S- okay."
Mr. Fell took a sip of his (probably now lukewarm) latte. Crowley took a bite- even though the muffin tasted like wet cardboard to him in his nervous state- to hopefully avoid more conversation for a while. Any hope of remaining cool in front of Mr. Fell was dashed now. Nothing less sexy and alluring than passing out because he forgot to eat. Like he was stupid or something. And now the man was peering at him over his glasses with something like- was that concern? Something like concern in his expression. Like Crowley might collapse again any minute now.
"Feeling better?" Mr. Fell broke the silence and Crowley startled slightly.
"Mmhm. Fine."
Crowley hated to admit it- he liked to think he could thrive in any condition- but he did feel much better when the muffin was gone and the water bottle was empty. When he was sure that Crowley was eating, Mr. Fell had picked his book back up. When he heard Crowley's chair scoot back, he glanced over the book and Crowley felt his face heat up. He didn't say anything though, or ask him again how he was feeling, which was appreciated.
—
Anthony quietly left the table, taking his trash with him to deposit behind the counter.
Well, the chances of Aziraphale getting to know him better had probably dwindled. The awkwardness of today might taint their interactions, at least for a while.
Aziraphale tried to not be bothered by the possibility. Probably for the best anyway, at least he wouldn't have to risk the mortifying ordeal of being too boring and watching the potential friend distance themself when he wasn't enough.
Well, at least the other man seemed okay now. His eyes had cleared, not clouded over the way they had been before he fell. The tremors of his hands weren't as noticeable. He was probably alright now that he was running on something besides coffee. Maybe the obvious embarrassment he had experienced would encourage him to remember to take better care of himself.
On that slightly positive note, Aziraphale finished his latte, placed the bookmark back in his book, tucked the volume into his coat, and headed back across the street.
—
Crowley found the box of lemon bars and finally exited the fridge. The last one in the case had been in there a while and looked all crumbly, and he didn't want to bring it to Mr. Fell after… everything. Having to worry about him. The lukewarm latte. The least Crowley could manage was a decent dessert.
When he had ripped the tape off the box, pulled it open, and arranged a perfect square of the dessert on a plate, he scraped together the last of his courage and sauntered toward-
The empty table.
Fuck.
Mr. Fell was gone.
—
Around six o'clock, there was a soft knock at the door to the bookshop. Aziraphale looked up from the old Bible he was restoring for a family way out in South Virginia. He waited. Maybe whoever it was would read the sign. All the closing times for the whole week were different, the confusion was purposeful, but maybe they would double-check and realize they were half an hour too late.
Another knock.
"We're closed," Aziraphale yelled, keeping his tone cheerful. His desk for restoration was out of the way, unable to be seen from the windows, but hopefully, they heard him.
Maybe they didn't, because they knocked one more time. Aziraphale sighed, standing up and tucking his reading glasses into his shirt pocket.
He opened the door to find no one there. Irritation welled up, then he spotted a brown paper bag sitting on the step. Whoever was knocking had fled before he could open the door, but had left this. Hesitantly, Aziraphale picked it up. It wasn't very heavy. Good sign? Who knew, honestly? Pulling the bag open revealed a to-go container with the Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death logo on the top. A message scrawled in Sharpie read: thanks for being nice to me, sorry I forgot your dessert (xtra on the house)
The handwriting was shaky and hard to read, but the message made Aziraphale smile. There were two squares of lemon bar in the box. After dinner, Aziraphale plated both of them. He enjoyed one, Muriel enjoyed the other, and they watched The Sound of Music.
He still didn't know what to make of the redheaded barista Nina had hired. The young man could be sarcastic, stubborn, and flighty. He could be very brave. Reportedly, he could also be a nuisance.
He could also be endearingly sweet.
—
Crowley sunk lower in the front seat of his car. He was pretty sure Mr. Fell hadn't seen him leave.
Goddammit, worked up all that courage for nothing! You swore you would talk to him, maybe get his number, but you had to be a fucking coward and run away like a weirdo.
The knowing look Nina had given him when she found out where he was going sure hadn't helped. Was his crush that obvious to everyone? Was it obvious to Mr. Fell?
God, the thought made Crowley's ears heat up. What if he did know and he thought it was stupid? Or worse, what if he liked Crowley back?
Nonononono. He wouldn't even entertain those thoughts. Mr. Fell had his shit together, and Crowley did not. Crowley still had boxes to unpack from the move here that had happened months ago. He still had medical issues from his wrist fracture. Not to mention a fuckton of baggage. No, he was just doing the polite thing and dropping off the dessert that Mr. Fell had already paid for. It was polite. It was neighborly. It wasn't indicative of a crush at all.
His phone pinged. It was a notification from Nina.
He doesn't bite, you know
Were you watching that?!
Just looking out the window of my shop. Not my fault there was some idiot on the street ding dong ditching his crush.
Fuck you
Not a crush
What are you talking about
No doorbell anyway, I knocked
Denial is a river in Egypt, toni
He is gay by the way
And very single
Cool
Not that that has anything to do with me
Not important
Whatever
Whatever
Also, I mean it about the double shifts, you do that to yourself one more time and your hours are getting cut
I won't
Don't test me
I woooooon't
Pinky promise
Crowley could practically hear Nina's exasperated sigh.
See you tomorrow toni
And when mr fell comes back you're taking his order again
Cya
F you
—
Maggie's phone pinged with a notification from a contact labeled 'Future Wife' with six hearts after.
Swear to god
Can't handle all the gay pining
Because it reminds you too much of yourself five years ago?
I resent that remark
You had a crush on me
We're literally engaged
A huge crush
Thai for dinner tonight?
Changing the subject
But yes 3
You know, maybe they just need a little push in the right direction
I'm sure Mr. Fell could like Toni
Toni sure likes him
Are you suggesting we meddle
Perhaps
Idk
What's your idea? Mine failed
Think we need to be real subtle
Maggie smiled. She could already see it now. A cute coffee shop romance. A few off-handed remarks to Mr. Fell to plant the idea in his head- or maybe a blind date! Yes, a blind date, where the couple find common ground, look into each other's eyes, and realize they're made for each other!
What could possibly go wrong?
