Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sapnap liked his job. He really, really did. It had been the one he wanted when he moved to New York City, the one he was most excited to hear back from after he applied.

Sapnap liked his job. Maybe even loved it. So why did he suddenly feel so lost?

Maybe it was just the redundancy of it all. A year and a half of making coffee for fast-moving New Yorkers on the second floor of an old bookshop, a year and a half of the same thing almost every day without a real break. Maybe he needed a break. But rent was too high and his wage wasn’t quite enough for him to be skipping shifts, and he did— he really did —like his job.

He didn’t want a break; it was only the knowledge that he maybe, possibly needed to recharge. Recharge on something other than sickly sweet caffeine, something other than the words of old poets stolen off the shelves downstairs. And something that lasted a little longer than naps in old loft apartments when the sun still shone too bright.

So maybe Sapnap needed a break. But that’s not what he had right now—instead, he had a morning spent behind the counter at work with his fingers tapping against the wood. The shop had been empty for what felt like an hour (it had been fifteen minutes) and he was still all alone.

Maybe that was why he felt lost. Sparse customers and all the same people, because not many New Yorkers had enough time or thought to climb the stairs in an old bookstore to get their morning coffee. It was always the same people with the same books by the same authors, and they ordered the same thing and had the same conversations with the same barista behind the counter.

Like George, a glasses-wearing Brit with a shade of brunet hair to match the dark coffee he ordered every day. And he’d sit at the counter in front of Sapnap with a new Richard Siken poem to recite; and if he’d ever repeated himself, Sapnap didn’t know. But he’d always liked listening to George recite them, his voice swirling over the words with clearly practiced ease and a pride that showed in his tone.

Or maybe Dream, the too-tall blond who never quite looked like he belonged in this type of place. Sapnap wasn’t sure what it was about him—maybe it was the long coat, maybe it was the well-shined shoes. But he drank his coffee straight black, swore that no one else made it as well as Sapnap did even if it was the easiest order in the world. 

And Sapnap knew Dream for his love of Agatha Christie, knew because he’d save every new book by her that came into the shop special for Dream. They’d shared a thousand conversations in the time between rushing up stairs and whenever Dream had to run off to his mysterious job, one that Sapnap knew paid too well for him to still come here and made him wear those ridiculous designer belts.

But today, George had already come and gone. Today, Dream was already at work. And it was a little too close to afternoon for anyone to be frequenting a coffee shop, the sun high and people at work or finding other things to do. Occasionally, Sapnap would hear the bell ring for the bookshop downstairs, but it was all a waiting game to see if anyone would come upstairs.

Someone came upstairs.

The footsteps coming up the stairs startled Sapnap into standing straight, folding his hands behind his back like he’d been ready the whole time. And he put on his best customer service smile, ran through the list of regulars in his head with eyes searching for a familiar face.

He didn’t know that boy.

Sapnap blinked, found himself rendered speechless as a pretty, pretty boy approached the counter. The sweater that crept up his neck and the grid-pattern pants he’d tucked it into made him fit every conceivable image of pretty boy in a coffee shop, and there was a jacket slung over his arm with a copy of The Secret History clutched in a ring-clad hand. His eyes looked half-lost when they glazed over the chalkboard hanging from the ceiling, and Sapnap realized he’d failed to introduce himself.

It was probably a tad late for that now.

Instead, Sapnap watched. Perhaps a little weirdly, but he wasn’t quite sure how long he’d been staring. Time had still ceased to exist correctly, though he wasn’t quite sure if it was dragging or running away from him. He let his fingers dance across the counter to find his crumpling little notepad, the one he was meant to write orders in with poorly sharpened pencil.

When the pretty stranger’s eyes fell into his, Sapnap felt all the breath leave his lungs. He swallowed thickly—perhaps audibly—and flicked his pencil against the counter with a hopeless search for words.

“Hi,” he said finally, and he wanted to hit himself he felt so stupid.

But the boy laughed with a pretty twirl of giggles, tucking his book in close to his chest. 

“Hi.”

Sapnap had to swallow again. “What can I get for you?”  

“Iced coffee,” the boy answered, “with vanilla.”

And Sapnap wrote it down quickly, moved his hand as though he was about to run out of time. It wasn’t even very many words, but for some reason he felt like latency would send the stranger running.

“What name is that for?” Sapnap asked, picking his pencil up off the paper with the last stroke of a cursive letter.

“Karl.”

“Is that with a C or a K?”

Karl laughed. “K.”

And Sapnap wrote his name down with the correct starting letter, short and swirly just like the rest of his handwriting. He tore the slip of paper off the little notepad, dropped it back onto the counter beside his pencil in favor of turning to make the coffee.

“For here?” he asked, perhaps a tad bit hopefully. 

Maybe it showed in his raised eyebrows or the grin on his face, but he hoped that if it did, then Karl wouldn’t see it. 

Thankfully, he only nodded with a sun-bright smile. “Yes.”

“Then you can have a seat,” he said casually, though he felt anything but. “Wherever you want, I’ll bring you your drink.”

“Oh,” Karl giggled, “thank you.”

Sapnap hummed in acknowledgement, turned away from Karl fully with widening eyes at no one in particular. He heard one of the stools beside the counter scrape against the hardwood floor, and he wasn’t sure if he loathed the idea of being close to him or welcomed it with open arms.

For now, he only focused on the coffee he was supposed to be making. Tried his best to fumble with lightly shaking hands, tried his best not to let his mind wander to the sound of turning pages where they came from the counter behind him.

Why did he have to be new, and why did he have to be pretty? And why did he have to come stumbling in when Sapnap was already bored of life and about to lose his mind?

There was a light pressure to start casual conversation, seeing how it was something Sapnap did with all his customers. Bantered over nothing while he stirred drinks and wiped down counters, found ways to fill up both their time until they inevitably had to rush back down the stairs. 

And Karl was new, he was new, there was a perfect icebreaker sitting right in front of Sapnap, if only he had the guts to take it. It was with a deep breath that he hoped Karl couldn’t hear, and Sapnap moved to take it.

“Are you…” he hesitated, pausing his hands where they moved. “How long have you been in New York?”

Karl made a sound of confusion, before a startled “oh!” spilled out from behind Sapnap. He couldn’t help but laugh to himself, glancing over his shoulder just in time to see Karl closing his book.

“Not long,” he answered with a quiet laugh. “Just a few months, I’m still figuring things out.”

“Yeah?” Sapnap prompted, spilling vanilla syrup into a cup of iced coffee. “Do you work?”

Karl seemed to hesitate, so Sapnap turned back around in a hope that would help. Maybe a lack of watching eyes would make him less halting, as Sapnap wasn’t someone apt on pushing people verbally.

“Kind of.”

Sapnap hummed, nodding slightly. “Kind of?”

“It’s cliche,” Karl mused, and Sapnap swore he could hear the eye roll.

But he spun around with a drink in his hand, slid up to the counter to place it down in front of Karl. He stood straight but casually, a lopsided smile on his face as Karl reached for the glass. And before he could mutter out his polite “thank you,” Sapnap spoke first.

“I like cliches.”

Karl laughed, stirring his coffee gently with the straw slipped into the glass. “I’m a musician.”

Sapnap’s eyes brightened. “Oh, really?” He leaned forward slightly, one hand pressed against the edge of the counter. “What do you play?”

Karl shook his head with a quiet laugh. “Piano,” he answered, picking up the glass and taking a quick sip of his coffee. “And I sing.”

“So,” Sapnap gestured vaguely, “not kind of.”

Karl scoffed. “Yes, kind of.” His cup made a sound when it hit against the counter again. “I don’t find a lot of gigs.”

“Work in progress.”

“Yeah,” Karl smiled, “work in progress.”

Sapnap turned back around, finding a discarded rag on the counter to wipe down spilled drops of coffee. And with his back turned to Karl, the only indication of his presence besides the knowledge that he was there came in the sound of stirring ice. It was a sound that Sapnap had always enjoyed, the gentle click where they all hit each other and knocked the side of the glass.

He wiped the counter down a little slower than usual, taking too-long breaths through his mouth. Stirring froze for a moment at the same time he did, balling up the rag in his hands like that would do anything except make them smell like coffee.

“I’ve lived in the city for almost two years,” he said with his back still turned, the quiet sound of a glass hitting the counter audible even with distance. “Thought I’d be sick of it by now,” he laughed, “if I’m honest.”

“Oh, yeah?” Karl giggled, returning to stirring his coffee. “Where are you from?”

Sapnap turned around, slinging the rag over his shoulder. “Texas.”

Karl raised an eyebrow, his hand pausing on the straw. “Texas?”

“Yes,” Sapnap laughed, “I’m from Texas,” he gestured vaguely at his throat with two fingers, “can you not hear it?”

“Not really.” Karl shrugged, laughing quietly. “Your accent’s not New York, but it’s not very strong.”

Sapnap laughed as well, and he knew that he was right. He got rid of the dirty rag by tossing it back on the counter space behind him, watching without intent as Karl dipped his head down to take another sip of his coffee. (He hoped that it was good). And he wandered a little closer to where Karl was sitting, close enough to knock his fingers against the edge of the counter again.

“Where are you from?” he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly.

Karl swallowed. “North Carolina.”

“Hey,” Sapnap grinned, “not far!”

Karl laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess not.”

And they fell into a comfortable silence, one a little longer than all their sporadic pauses from before. A silence that Sapnap filled wiping down the coffee machine, a silence that Karl filled by slow-sipping his iced coffee. Sapnap had to really try not to stare, stare at the hair in Karl’s face or his gentle hands where they spun his straw.

He did look like a pianist, like a singer, a musician. Sapnap could picture him up on stage, playing any selection of pieces in any random order. Maybe he’d go home and lay in bed, staring up at his cracked ceiling with piano music playing on loop just to see if he’d think of Karl. And maybe it was weird to think of strangers like that, but Sapnap didn’t really have any friends outside this little coffee shop.

He was alright with that. It was hard to meet people without common ground, and the coffee shop served well as that common place.

“Hey,” Karl said suddenly, “why’d you ask how my name is spelled?”

Sapnap raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“My…” Karl hesitated, “my name.” He gestured at the glass he was still holding, brows furrowed in confusion. “You didn’t have to write it anywhere.”

“Oh,” Sapnap laughed, “I know. I just wanted to make sure I got it right.”

Karl smiled. “That’s very nice of you.”

“I see a lot of the same people every day,” Sapnap shrugged, “I like to know their names right.”

“So is it…” Karl furrowed his eyebrows, “I guess, strange?” And when Sapnap gave him a perplexed look back, his glass hit the counter with an echoed sound. “To see me here, I mean.”

Yes.

“Kind of,” Sapnap said instead. “Breaks the routine, though,” he laughed, “I’m not complaining.”

“Well,” Karl grinned impossibly wider, “I’m glad to break your routine.”

“It was in desperate need of some breaking.”

Raising one eyebrow, Karl prompted with a, “Tired?”

“Very,” Sapnap sighed, shoulders slumping slightly.

Karl scoffed with an air of mirth. “Ironic.”

“I guess so,” Sapnap laughed lightly, “but caffeine’s only a temporary fix, like a lot of other things.”

“True, true,” Karl agreed, spinning the straw in his drink. “Do you drink a lot of coffee?”

Sapnap shrugged. “Not much.”

The straw halted in its stir. “No?”

“I smell it all day, then I go home and all my clothes smell like it, too,” Sapnap complained, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows as if in emphasis. “Makes me a little sick, if I’m honest.”

“Ouch,” Karl grimaced, “that sucks.”

“Little bit,” Sapnap agreed. “I can only drink coffee with all the gross fake stuff in it, like,” he laughed quietly, more to himself than to Karl, “way too much caramel.”

“Caramel’s good!” Karl defended, voice running high when both hands fell against the counter.

And Sapnap laughed again, but this time it was meant for Karl. Intermixed with his own playful giggles, ring-clad fingers lifting back up to grip a still-fallen straw. Sapnap tapped his hand against the counter, shaking his head slightly while he found the words.

“I never said it was bad,” he argued. “Just that maybe my coffee order would make purists out there a little pissy.”

Karl tugged his lips off the straw, swallowing audibly and with haste. “Purists?”

“You’ve never met a coffee purist?”

“I don’t drink much coffee,” Karl admitted, the fluster in his voice a little more than just obvious. “Honestly,” he giggled, “it’s an anomaly that I’m even here at all.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Sapnap said without falsity. “Here and not a coffee purist.”

Karl laughed with more freedom this time. “Tell me more about these so-called purists.”

Sapnap pursed his lips, perhaps only pretending to think when he leaned his elbow against the counter and rested his chin on his palm. And Karl took another slow sip of coffee, clinking ice swirling around the glass when he shifted. The two of them locked gazes over the counter, proximity growing ever-closer as time continued to pass.

Sapnap cleared his throat, dropping his hand against the counter. And he let his eyes follow, tugging away from Karl and the stupid smile on his face that Sapnap would refuse to admit he wanted to kiss away.

“They’re very snobby,” he said, tapping his fingers against the polished wood. “Think that coffee is only right, or,” he grinned, “pure, if it doesn’t have much in it.” He looked back up at Karl, trying his best to look nonchalant as he stood. “Black, usually, but they’ll accept milk or cream. Not sugar though, never sugar.”

“Really?” Karl raised an eyebrow. “Do you get a lot of purists here?”

“Not a lot of vocal purists.” Sapnap shrugged. “But usually it’s just me and one other person in here if anyone at all, so there aren’t many directions to cast judgement in.”

“Probably for the better,” Karl presented. “New Yorkers seem to be judgy.”

Sapnap scoffed. “Couldn’t agree more.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Sapnap looked over toward the door to the stairwell. “They are very judgy.”

When he looked back at Karl, he was holding the base of his cup loosely with two hands. And his eyebrow still seemed to be raised, face etched deep with a look of confusion.

“Are you included?” he asked finally, tapping a finger against his glass.

“I like to think not,” Sapnap admitted, “but really, who knows. It’s hard to judge your own character.”

“Well,” Karl leaned forward, placing his elbows on the counter, “let me judge your character then.”

Sapnap scoffed. “We barely know each other.”

But Karl only shrugged, the grin on his face becoming something a little more like wicked. He was radiant with mirth, shades of playful ease practically glowing where they spilled out from his skin.

“It’s more fun that way,” he defended, tipping his head to the side as if to convince him. “C’mon.”

And Sapnap finally relented. “Okay, then,” he sighed. “Make assumptions about me.”

“Well,” Karl’s rings clicked against the glass, “I already know you’re not a coffee purist. And I think you look like you need some change in your life,” he laughed at Sapnap’s expression, “even if I didn’t know that already. Not judgy, I’ll say—and hates rom-coms despite loving cliches. Thought the book was better than the movie and doesn’t think that makes him lame.” His eyes flicked down to Sapnap’s nametag. “Nick.”

Sapnap almost stumbled backwards when he heard that name on Karl’s lips. In all honesty, no one had called him by his real name in what felt like years—everyone who came in either never bothered with his name, or always called him Sapnap because it’s what he told them to do. He had half the mind to correct Karl, but something in him didn’t want to.

He only sputtered a little at the thought. “That is my name.”

Karl raised an eyebrow at his hesitance. “Do people call you anything different?”

“Not usually,” Sapnap lied, hoping that Karl was blind to the color white.

“Hm,” Karl tapped a finger against his chin, gaze shifting up from where it had paused on Sapnap’s nametag. “Was I accurate?”

And his eyes were too big and too curious, too bright beneath yellowed light cast off brown walls. Sapnap smiled, tilting his head slightly just as Karl had earlier, though he wasn’t really trying to convince anyone of anything.

“Maybe,” he acknowledged, ”I’m not telling you too much.”

Karl’s lips dropped away from his straw again. “You’re not?”

“Maybe then you’ll come back,” Sapnap admitted despite himself, “talk to me more. Figure it out for yourself.”

Karl smirked. “Coy.”

“I try,” Sapnap said with a casual tone, though on the inside he was screaming.

It was only hope and dumb luck that Karl didn’t seem to notice his internal panic. Sapnap felt transparent standing behind the counter, felt like his face was burning red and his eyes told a thousand unwanted stories. But Karl was much more interested in the swirl of his vanilla-flavored coffee, in the sound it made when he slid his glass across the wood counter.

“Okay,” he looked up at Sapnap, “my turn. Make assumptions about me.”

Sapnap blinked at him, wracking his brain in search of something to say. And though his head had never felt emptier, he really did try his best. What was he even supposed to say? It would’ve been difficult even if Karl hadn’t read him so well, hadn’t seemed to only speak truths despite talking about a stranger.

“Alright.” Sapnap cleared his throat. “I bet you’re good with piano, and I bet your voice is nice too. It’s nice talking, so I doubt it’s any different singing.”

“I said assume,” Karl complained when his cheeks turned pink, “not compliment!”

“Yes,” Sapnap laughed, “okay. True crime novels, doesn’t like poetry as much as you look like you do. You’d pick an energy drink before coffee when you need to stay up,” Karl’s startled expression made him grin, “and I bet you stay up a lot. Writing music or screaming at the moon or whatever it is you do when you dress you like that.”

Karl stuttered over a laugh. “Judging my clothes?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap agreed without hesitance, “I like them.” And he pointed vaguely in Karl’s direction. “Your belt’s nice.”

“Thank you,” Karl said with a smile. “And I refuse to confirm or deny anything, because I do plan on coming back.”

Sapnap raised both his eyebrows. “You do?”

“Well, of course,” Karl said like it was obvious, because maybe, it was. “You’ve already practically invited me, haven’t you?”

Sapnap shrugged. “I just didn’t know you’d take it.”

“See this as me taking it.”

And Sapnap watched Karl take another sip from his coffee, watched him knock the ice against his glass with the straw still caught between his teeth. Maybe he was grinning a little too wide, maybe he was staring a little too obviously. And maybe the boundaries of near-strangers were better kept more distant, but Sapnap spoke with raw admittance.

“I’m glad.”

The straw dropped from Karl’s teeth. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” he turned away, but that didn’t do much to cover his pink-turning cheeks, “how much was it for the coffee?”

Sapnap didn’t even have to think about it. “Four dollars.”

And Karl was tugging his wallet out from his back pocket in no time, pulling a ten dollar bill out and placing it on the counter. He took his last sip of coffee and got up from the stool, still grinning widely with every glow of gold.

“Thank you, Nick,” he said cheerfully, already backing away toward the stairs. “I’ll see you soon.”

Sapnap nodded, picking the money up off the counter. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“Me too.”

And he disappeared down the stairs before Sapnap even had the time to think about getting him change from the register, left with a little too much money in his hand to not feel bad. But he was already thinking about the time that Karl would return, thinking about new conversations and if he’d order the same thing again.

Maybe he liked his job a little bit more now.

There was always another day of smelling coffee and waiting for familiar faces. Sapnap would be lying if he said he wasn’t on the lookout for anyone specific, anyone still new and warm-feeling. But, as always, George was one of the first people to come in.

He rushed up the stairs with empty hands and a well-ironed sweater, beige always bleak but such a good color on him. And Sapnap was brewing his coffee before he could even sit down, the motion of it practically muscle memory at this point.

“Good morning, George,” he called over his shoulder, voice washed out slightly by the rush of a coffee machine.

He heard the scrape of a stool against the hardwood floor, a light laugh coming from the space behind him. Sapnap glanced over his shoulder just in time to see George fixing his glasses, eyes flicking up to meet dull viridian across the way.

“Morning, Sap.”

Sapnap hummed, and he finished making George’s drink in silence. Spun around with the warm cup balanced carefully in his hand, found that George had already left the money he owed set in front of him on the counter. And he slid the cup closer to himself after Sapnap had set it down with a quiet “thank you,” lifting it up towards his mouth but only to blow on it carefully.

“Do you have any poems for me?” Sapnap prompted, hearing the cup click against the saucer when he turned around to find his rag.

And George seemed to laugh, the motion of his hand pushing through his hair barely visible from Sapnap’s angle. But he knew that was what he was doing all the same, wiped up a barely-there spill that was nothing more than a few drops of dark coffee. He spun back around to see George staring intently down at his nails, eyebrows knitted in deep thought.

Sapnap made a quiet noise of expectation, pulling George’s gaze back up to his face.

“Oh, yeah,” he laughed, “I have one.”

“Siken?”

George scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Who else?”

“Okay,” Sapnap pressed the heels of his palms against the counter, “let’s hear it.”

George cleared his throat, eyes slipping shut with two hands caught around his warm cup. The concentration was evident on his face, and though Sapnap couldn’t see the thought behind his eyes, he knew that it was there. So he waited with held breath for the first word, wondered if he’d recognize it though he doubted he would.

And George started without any more hesitation, with a quiet breath that nearly caught in his throat before he got any words past his lips.

“Sunlight pouring across your skin, your shadow,” his pause felt deafeningly intentional, “flat on the wall. / The dawn was breaking the bones of your heart like twigs. / You had not expected this, / the bedroom gone white, the astronomical light pummeling / you in a stream of fists.” 

And he paused, took a slightly-shaking breath through parted lips while Sapnap waited. Watched the dancing reflection in George’s lenses as his head moved, watched his fingers tighten around the cup as his drink cooled slowly. There was not yet finality to George’s words, only a halting pause with the promise of more.

More came.

“You raised your hand as if / to hide it, the pink fingers gone gold as the light / streamed straight to the bone, / as if you were the small room closed in glass / With every speck of dust illuminated. / The light is no mystery, / the mystery is that there is something to keep the light / From passing through.”

George opened his eyes with that calmed breath of completion, sighing carefully as he lifted the cup to his lips. And peace turned into laughter when Sapnap began clapping quietly in recognition, watching George’s cheeks turn pink as he grinned at him.

“I like that one,” Sapnap mused, tapping his hands against the counter when he finally stopped clapping.

“I do too,” George answered, setting his cup back against the saucer with a quiet sound. “It’s always been one of my favorites.”

Sapnap nodded, watching George’s eyes where they gazed down into the swirl of coffee within his cup. 

“What’s it called?”

“Visible World.” George answered quickly, the grin on his face too wide to be anything but cocky. “You should read it yourself, I think poems feel different in writing.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sapnap sighed, a twirling sense of defeat embedded somewhere in his words. “I think I like the bit about pink fingers and gold the best.”

George furrowed his eyebrows. “Pink fingers gone gold as the light?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap answered. “I don’t know if I understand it, but it’s pretty.”

A smile spread across George’s pink lips. “You don’t have to understand it.”

“I know.” Sapnap tapped his fingers against the counter with a lack of organized tempo. “Makes me think of someone, though.”

“Just the one line?” George questioned. “Or the poem in general?”

And Sapnap had to think for a moment. Let his hand fall still as he stood in silence, eyes losing focus where they were directed at George. He instead found interest in the far wall, where framed pictures of the city they were in hung against the wallpaper.

George’s voice rang back through his head, drawls of unknown poetry spun clever in his lilted tone. Sapnap remembered it as best as he could, and he surprised himself with believable accuracy.

“Maybe the whole poem.”

“Oh yeah?” Sapnap found focus just in time to catch George’s smirk when it spread like smooth butter. “Who is it?”

Sapnap shook his head. “You’ll laugh at me.”

“Won’t,” George insisted. “Promise.”

The scoff felt inevitable, already falling past Sapnap’s lips without enough time to think. He stepped away from the counter, let his hand slip away from the wood to hang heavy at his side. And George looked a little too smug for someone being honest, a little too smug for Sapnap to find believability. 

“I know you don’t mean that.”

George pouted. “When have I ever broken a promise?”

“You break promises like that all the time,” Sapnap defended, and he knew that George knew it was the truth.

But even still, George was rolling his eyes. Fingers tapped against ceramic before a cup came up to meet his lips, pinkie finger flipped up off the surface with intentional propriety.

“Just tell me, Sap,” he pleaded, setting his cup back down with no indication that he’d even drank from it at all.

Unfortunately, Sapnap knew from experience just how stubborn George was. Knew that it was better to quit while he was ahead, save his ears from the high-pitched whining that spun out into helpless begs. It was always a little shrill, a little too ear-piercing for Sapnap to ever find himself thinking fondly of it.

So he relented. “Fine!” Raised his hands up in surrendered defeat. “His name’s Karl, he just came in yesterday.”

George raised an eyebrow. “A new customer?”

“Yes.”

Then he laughed, gentle hand lifting up to cover his mouth. The fingers on his other hand tapped softly on white ceramic, the sound just barely loud enough for Sapnap to hear from the other side of the counter. George was giving him an accusatory look, settling his other hand back on the coffee cup to lift it up toward his lips.

“And you already have a crush on him?”

“Shut up,” Sapnap said quickly, “I do not have a crush on him!”

George rolled his eyes, sipping his coffee slowly. “Sure.”

“See,” Sapnap gestured with flail at the brunet, “this is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Too late,” George said through laughter, setting his cup back down on the saucer. “Is he at least cute?”

“Deadly so.”

George grinned up at him. “Yeah?”

“Probably the prettiest man I’ve ever seen,” Sapnap mused, perhaps a little too wistfully.

But all George seemed to do was scoff, all he seemed to do was think of himself without any attention paid to how pathetic Sapnap was being. “Prettier than me?”

“Oh,” Sapnap spoke like it was obvious, “hundred percent.”

George narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re mean.”

“Only to you.”

And George rolled his eyes properly, let the flashes of white stare back at Sapnap through heavy lids and long lashes. Sapnap only laughed, pacing away from the counter for a fleeting moment. He pretended to look at something, but truly all he’d felt was a need to move around. 

He could feel himself getting nervous, could feel where his face was burning red and his hands were starting to quiver. Distraction, distraction. George didn’t seem too keen on letting Sapnap grow distracted.

“What’s he like?” George questioned, and Sapnap saw him lean forward when he spun back around. “Tell me more,” his finger circled the rim of his coffee cup, “I want to hear.”

“No,” Sapnap shook his head, “I feel bad talking about myself. Don’t you have—”

“No,” George interrupted firmly. “Whatever it is, I don’t have it. You listen to me recite nonsense poems every morning,” he laughed beneath his breath, “the least I can do is let you talk about your crush.”

“I don’t have a crush on him!”

“Yeah.” George gave him an accusatory look. “Okay.”

“Oh my god,” Sapnap groaned in annoyance, “whatever.” 

It was almost pathetic that he had to take a breath before he said anything, had to pause and collect himself before his desperate mind ran away with thoughts of Karl. It took his eyes off of George and drew them back to the wall again, back to the hanging pictures of New York—pictures of places he recognized too easily.

“He drinks his coffee with vanilla,” he said finally, “got it iced. And apparently, he hasn’t been in New York very long, I think he said a few months?” Sapnap pursed his lips. “I don’t remember.”

“Interesting, interesting,” George nodded, drawing Sapnap’s attention back to his face. “What does he do for work?”

“He’s a musician.”

George huffed out a laugh. “How cliche.”

“He said the same thing,” Sapnap remembered. “But I like cliches.”

“Don’t we all?” George mused, his smile lopsided and comfortable.

It made Sapnap smile back at him. “I hope so.”

“If anyone says they hate cliches, they’re lying,” George insisted. “Either to you, to themselves, or both—but they’re definitely lying.”

“This is true,” Sapnap agreed with a nod. “In fact, I think I told you that.”

“I believe you did,” George confirmed warmly. “Wise words, you know.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes slightly. “Shut up.”

“You’re very smart, Sap,” George insisted. “Don’t discredit yourself.”

Sapnap narrowed his eyes instead of thanking George, crossing arms over his chest with a need to be defensive. George’s smile had gone crooked through his compliments, and maybe in the less comforting way—but it still felt undeniably George.  

“Where is this coming from?”

George smiled with a sense of sarcasm. “The heart.”

Sapnap made an exaggerated gagging sound as he turned away. “Gross.”

“I hate you,” George deadpanned, setting his cup down for the final time. “I’m never coming back here again, I’ll start going somewhere else.”

“Aw,” Sapnap cooed mockingly, “I’ll miss you, Georgie.”

George rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face gave him away. “I won’t miss you.”

And he got up from his seat, stool scraping against the hardwood floor again. Sapnap watched him head for the door, fixing his glasses before he reached the stairwell. And Sapnap smiled when the brunet could no longer see him, kept the mock in his tone when he moved to speak again.

“Fall down on the stairs on your way out,” he called, “and break your nose or something. It’s too perfect.”

“Okay,” George threw him a look over his shoulder, “then you should break yours when you knock heads with your pretty boy.”

“George—”

“Bye, Sappy!” he interrupted. “Thanks for the coffee!”  

And he was rushing down the stairs before Sapnap had the chance to get another word in. He shook his head with a fond laugh, wondering just how much of an idiot George could be before he grew too tired of him. Not that he thought he would grow tired of George—especially not when his voice was so perfect for reciting poems.

And his absence left the shop empty again, left Sapnap alone behind the counter without much thought on what to do. So he moved, left his place at the coffee machines to put all the chairs in line as if someone was going to sit in them. Wandered out to the terrace he hadn’t seen anyone use in far too long, found the rush of passing cars to be the reason why that was the case.

But the iron-frame tables were still all set up, fresh tulips that needed to be watered left in the centers of all of them. Sapnap did take it upon himself to add water to those flowers, careful and intentional when he missed all the stems. 

And he only went back inside out of obligation, found that the abrasive sound of rushing cars was a little more comforting than he’d initially thought. But it was also true that he couldn’t hear anything inside from where he stood on the outside, so he forced himself back because he had a responsibility. A responsibility and a job.

It was a good thing he found his way back behind the counter, because a certain blond was stumbling up the stairs mere moments after. He looked too clean and too proper, his clothes painfully smooth and without wrinkle. He carried a book in his hand just as he always did, a golden logo at his waist staring Sapnap down with promises of lined pockets.

“Hey, Dream,” he greeted, once again finding himself already making his drink.

And Dream—like George—was quick to find a place to sit, sighing as he placed himself down at the counter. Sapnap was making a point of working fast; fast but not rushed. He heard flitting pages in the space behind him, recognized the noise as a nervous habit.

“Good morning, Sap.”

Sapnap hummed, brewing straight black coffee with a mindless kind of ease. He was spinning around with a full, steaming cup before long, setting it down in front of Dream with a grin on his face. He looked down at the book Dream was playing with, a familiar title staring up at him.

“Murder on the Orient Express?” he questioned. “Haven’t you already read that one?”

Dream smiled sheepishly, but he nodded nonetheless. He let go of the paperback cover and curling pages before they could get too ruined, flipped the book over cautiously as if to press them down flat. He looked up at Sapnap with his big green eyes, different shades of emerald locking from across the counter.

“I’m annotating it,” he said with a fleeting glance back toward the book. “It’s a gift for someone.”

“Oh?” Sapnap prompted with a quiet laugh. “For who?”

Dream’s eyes slipped away toward the door. “None of your business.”

And Sapnap knew better than to push, so he only laughed and shook his head. Tried not to think too hard about the shades of pink covering Dream’s freckled cheeks, or the way he was fidgeting in a way he never had before. He settled on watching Dream sip his coffee, watching him jolt slightly when it was still a little too hot.

Sapnap laughed a little louder. “Careful, dude.”

Dream frowned at him, setting his cup down with intentional loudness. “Shut up.”

Their barely-there conversation was soon interrupted when Sapnap heard footsteps rushing up the stairs. Dream gave him an incredulous look, and Sapnap could do nothing but return it—Dream tended to be the only customer around at this time of morning, with his hands wrapped around a steaming cup and an eye for things well-known.

It all made sense when Karl came stumbling up to the counter. 

Sapnap looked at Dream with too-wide eyes, though Dream had no idea why. His questioning look only deepened on his features, watching carefully as Sapnap approached the counter with a giddy smile on his face.

“Hey, Nick,” Karl greeted with a matching grin, pushing his bangs away from his eyes with his ring-wearing hand.

“Hey, Karl,” Sapnap returned in a half-loss for words. “Iced with vanilla?”

Karl somehow managed to smile wider. “If you would.”

Sapnap turned around and left Karl at the counter, locked eyes with Dream briefly in their distance. The blond looked at him with sick accusation, sipped his coffee slowly in observance. And Sapnap returned the widened eyes before he had to turn his back and start making Karl’s drink, the pretty boy in question still standing idly by the counter.

Even though it wasn’t nearly as practiced and Dream and George’s drinks were, Sapnap still had no trouble making Karl’s. There was an ease that came with all coffee, even the things he didn’t make as often.

And Karl was humming with wandering eyes, the sound of it barely noticeable unless Sapnap really listened for it—and he was listening. It was a tune he didn’t know, one bright and giddy like the grin on Sapnap’s face.

“Oh,” Karl said suddenly, “you have a terrace?”

“We do,” Sapnap acknowledged, dripping vanilla into Karl’s iced coffee. “I was even just out there earlier, thinking about how no one sits there anymore.”

When he approached the register with a finished drink, Karl was already handing him the same ten dollar bill he had yesterday. And once again, before Sapnap could prompt him about change, he was already stepping away from the counter.

“Then I think I’ll go sit out there,” he beamed. “You two seemed to be talking anyways, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“Oh—” Sapnap hesitated, glancing at Dream, who gave him a look of we need to talk . “Well, it is a nice day.”  

Karl giggled. “A little better now.”

It took Sapnap a minute, but by the time he got it, Karl was already outside on the terrace. So he turned back to Dream, who’d set his coffee down fully and was giving him a wild look. Sapnap opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was that Dream wanted to hear.

“Nick?”

Sapnap nearly winced when that name came out in Dream’s voice. He wondered why, wondered why it sounded so sweet and melodic when Karl said it but so abrasive when it was Dream. It had nothing to do with attachment, because he’d known Dream far longer than he had Karl.

“Shut up.”

Dream wheezed out a laugh, shaking his head in disagreement. “No, you’re going to tell me who that guy is and why you were acting so weird.”

“He’s no one.” Sapnap narrowed his eyes, but that couldn’t hide the pink tint on his cheeks. “Just Karl.”

Dream raised an eyebrow. “Just Karl?”

“Yes,” Sapnap insisted, “just Karl.”

“He called you Nick,” Dream scoffed slightly, “you don’t let anyone do that.”

“It just felt right, okay?” Sapnap knew his defense was weak, but he also knew it was the only truth he had. “I don’t know, he read my nametag yesterday and I didn’t have it in me to correct him.”

“Wait, yesterday?” Dream practically sputtered. “Is he a stranger or something?”

“Well,” Sapnap looked at the wall, “yeah, basically.”

“Dude,” Dream laughed between his words, “you’re so weird.”

“Shut up,” Sapnap looked back at Dream, frowning, “I hate you. I wasn’t even going to tell you about him because I knew you’d do this.”

Dream shrugged, taking a careful sip of his coffee. “The gods work in mysterious ways.”

“No,” Sapnap disagreed, “you’re just annoying.”

Dream rolled his eyes with intentional drama. “I was talking about your little crush showing up at the same time I was here.”

“He is not—” Sapnap sighed in defeat. “Okay.” He crossed his arms. “Whatever, I’m over it.”

Dream only laughed—because clearly he was not over it—but he didn’t say anything more. Only took another pathetically slow sip from his coffee, giving Sapnap eyes that were both accusatory and kind in some strange mix.

Sapnap leaned his back against the counter behind him, crossing his ankles with lax ease. He engaged in Dream’s little staring contest, viridian meeting emerald over the edge of a pale ceramic mug. Dream cocked an eyebrow when he set his cup down with a clink; but neither of them blinked, neither of them tore their gazes away.

Not until there was a swirling voice spilling in from the terrace, not until it was musical and distant with how far away they were. Dream glanced over his shoulder at the same time Sapnap looked up, effectively ending their little competition with no clear winner.

“Make no mistake, she’d wipe the smile from right upon your face.”

Sapnap blinked, the pretty voice still filling his ears. “Is that Karl?”

Dream scoffed. “Who else would it be?”

“I don’t know,” Sapnap sputtered, “shut up.”

“Dude,” Dream wheezed pathetically, but it was still contagious enough to make Sapnap smile, “you’re so whipped.”

He tried to frown despite himself. “Do not say that word.”

“But it’s true!” Dream defended, gesturing largely with his hands.

Sapanp could only roll his eyes and shake his head, pulling his back up off the counter to stand properly. And in their newfound silence, he listened to all the words again, felt them where they settled in gold against his skin with quiet echoes of the sun.

“That she’s my little honeybee, overlooking New York City. Singing off a balcony, hoping, praying, that she won’t let me go.”

Dream was looking over his shoulder again, listening to the words with what may have been a similar amount of interest to Sapnap. But he looked back to speak, settled with the fact that he wasn’t going to get a returned gaze.

“Do you know that song?”

“No,” Sapnap shook his head, “I’ve never heard it before.”

“Y’know,” Dream started, “maybe Karl’s your honeybee.”

Finally, Sapnap looked back at him directly. Returned his verdant gaze with something hinting accusation, with something piercing and quiet. “What does that mean?”

“Good things, I promise,” Dream said with a laugh. “Do you know what honeybees, like,” he furrowed his eyebrows, “mean?”

Sapnap shook his head no again. “I’m not good with that type of stuff.”

“Okay.” Dream sat up a little straighter. “So, remember when you were telling me about how tired you were?” Sapnap nodded in answer. “And that everything felt the same and your apartment was too small and you just wanted something new?”

“Uh,” he furrowed his eyebrows, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dream repeated. “So, like, life is pretty sweet, yeah? Like honey. And maybe you lost all your honey, because life is also very boring and empty sometimes. But then you found your—as Karl keeps singing about—little honeybee.” Dream made another wide gesture with his hands, the smile on his face just a touch too prideful. “He’ll bring you change and good fortune. Remind you of all the sweet things you’re missing.”

It made an unfortunate amount of sense. So much sense that Sapnap was pretty sure he’d rather just hit Dream than listen to his nonsense (even if he had asked, even if it was sweet).

“You’re reading too much into this,” Sapnap insisted. “I literally met him yesterday.”

Dream raised an eyebrow. “And when was the last time this place got a new customer?”

Sapnap didn’t answer, silence filled by nothing but Karl’s swirling voice.

“No, that she won’t ever let me go.”

“Exactly.”

“Why do you even know that?” Sapnap accused, a hopeless attempt to spin their conversation.

Maybe it had worked, because Dream’s taunt fell away. “I love stuff like that.”

Sapnap narrowed his eyes. “Bees?”

“No,” Dream laughed, “symbolism.”

“I was kidding,” he tried, but he could already feel his face flushing red.

“Sure.” Dream laughed, setting his cup down with empty finality. “Well, I have to go to work. I’ll leave you alone with your honeybee.”

Sapnap groaned. “Please don’t keep calling him that.”

“No,” Dream stood up from his seat, “I think it’s cute.”

“Dream.” Sapnap complained, but the blond in question was already at the stairwell.

“Bye-bye!”

And just like that, he was gone. Had left just as quick as he’d arrived, left Sapnap with a dirty cup on the counter and a spinning voice outside on the terrace. He stood silently behind the counter and let the pretty voice hypnotize him for a long moment, washed Dream’s cup slowly with intent to do nothing but listen.

But all good things must come to an end. And eventually, Karl came in with his empty cup and a smile that said he didn’t care if Sapnap could hear him. He thanked him with the use of his real name again, waved by the door with promises to return tomorrow. Sapnap realized that he was already waiting for then. 

Maybe Dream was right, maybe he was whipped.

It rained the next day. And poor weather was long overdue, the past weeks having been a little too sunny for it to stay. Sapnap had known that it was inevitable, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little upset about it.

Though there had been a time—when he was first starting out—that Sapnap had figured rain meant more customers (on a search for hot drinks in the cold downpour), that assumption was startlingly wrong. If anything, he saw far fewer people on the days of torrential rain than he did when the sun was out.

For starters, he already knew that he wouldn’t be seeing Dream. When it rained, he didn’t walk to work and stop for coffee on the way, he drove and made his own. Sapnap still remembered the way he’d said it on a day with wet pavement, when the air still smelled of petrichor and it was still just a little bit chilly.

But he still saw George. With closed terrace doors and the rain beating down on every window, George came stumbling up the stairs with his hair damp and stuck to his forehead. He’d lifted a dark brown jacket up over his head to spare himself from the rain, but it was evident that such efforts had been fruitless.

Sapnap was already making his coffee, trying his best not to laugh at the way George shook the water from his hair by the door. And he sat down with a sigh, tugging his glasses off to dry the rain from the lenses.

“It’s coming down pretty hard out there,” Sapnap remarked, spilling the smallest touch of cream into the coffee and watching it spread.

“Tell me about it.”

Sapnap spun around, setting the drink down in front of George. And the brunet seemed eager to take it, wrapping small hands around a warm cup with huffed-out breath. He muttered a “thank you,” and Sapnap only hummed, taking the money left on the counter and wiping down his workstation before it could ever get sticky.

“You have work today?”

George sighed. “Unfortunately.”

“Yeah,” Sapnap stood straight again, “today feels a little too gloomy to be at work.”

He gestured vaguely at the coffee shop they were in, tossing the rag to the side so he could focus on George. On the way he sipped hot coffee with careful slowness, still wincing when the bitter drink scorched his tongue. It fogged up his glasses just a touch, temperature difference blooming condensation on the lenses.

He set the cup down, knocking against the saucer with ceramic intent.

“At least it’s nice in here,” he flicked his eyes across the walls, “my job is very bleak. Cream-colored walls, or so I’m told.”

Sapnap laughed, shaking his head slightly. And George’s strings of amusement were hiding beneath his, a wide grin on his face that splayed ivory across pale cheeks. He was tapping his index finger against the white of his cup, slow when he picked it up from the saucer again with pinkies extended absentmindedly.

“This place is only nice when you don’t stand waiting for hours every day.”

George raised his eyebrows, warm cup pressed up to his lips. “Slow?”

Sapnap sighed. “Pathetically.”

George took another careful sip, but his coffee was clearly still a little too hot. Sapnap tried not to grin when the brunet set his cup down, shaking his head and pulling his glasses off to wipe away the steam.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, wiping his shirt against cloudy lenses with eyes flicked between them.

“Don’t be.”

George smiled, slipping his glasses back over his face. Gentle hands returned to the cup as soon as they were free, wrapping around the shade of white with a slight quiver where the water still clung to his skin.

Sapnap swayed where he stood, waited for words without prompting when George started tapping his fingers again. When his nails knocked against the ceramic, the sound was barely loud enough to hear over the pouring rain.

“I’ve been trying to memorize all of Little Beast,” George said suddenly. “Would you like to hear some?”

Sapnap smiled. “Recite, Georgie.”

He earned a quiet scoff for the nickname, but George’s eyes slipped shut nonetheless. And Sapnap watched the concentration on his face with interest, watched him sit up straighter with a deep breath huffed through his lips.

Sapnap took a step back, avoidance as if the words could touch him. George cleared his throat.

“History repeats itself. Somebody says this. / History throws its shadow over the beginning, over the desktop,” he breathed in quiver, “over the sock drawer with its socks, its hidden letters. / History is a little man in a brown suit / trying to define a room he is outside of. / I know history. There are many names in history,” and his eyes opened to meet Sapnap’s across the counter, “but none of them are ours.”

Sapnap had to stand for a minute, watch pale cheeks turn pink when eyes flicked away. And he didn’t find himself clapping this time, leaving their comfortable silence scored by nothing but the rain. He only stared in silence with a feeling of awe for just a moment longer, found the words behind pleasant startle before it dragged out too long.

“You said that’s only part of the poem?”

George found his eyes again, shrugging with a smile. “It’s quite long.”

“I don’t doubt you.”

“I recited some of it a few days ago,” George said, tipping his head to the side with careful concentration. “An all-night barbeque. A dance on the courthouse lawn.”

“That sounds familiar.” Sapnap nodded, lifting his eyes up toward the ceiling when he thought about then. “And the radio is singing about the night thinking love?”

George smiled, but the focus never left his eyes, “The radio aches a little tune that tells the story of what the night / is thinking. It’s thinking of love.”

“Yes!” Sapnap clapped suddenly, startled by his own recognition. “I liked that one.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“And the night wants to kill us, right?” Sapnap tried, knowing full well he was missing a few things, or maybe a little more. “And there’s whiskey and kisses?”

George nodded. “A man is eating fruit pie with a buckknife.”

“And he carves his lover’s face into the wall.”

“I want to be like him,” George looked down at his cup, “my hands no longer an afterthought.”

Sapnap sighed, shaking his head slightly. “I still don’t think I understand it.”

George swallowed a sip of coffee that Sapnap hadn’t seen him take, cup hitting saucer with the same familiar sound.

“And you still don’t have to,” George said with honest reassurance. “I’m surprised you even remember anything at all.”

Both of Sapnap’s brows lifted. “Really?”

“I mean,” George fumbled over fluster, “I figured it was all in one ear and out the other.”

“No, of course not,” Sapnap insisted kindly. “I love listening to you, and Siken always picks nice words.”

“Well,” George laughed nervously to fill the air, “thank you.”

“Anytime.”

The sound of rain came back into focus, the visual of George sipping idly at his coffee when his shoulders slumped down again. They merely existed in the same place for a moment, caught away from each other’s eyes and beneath the strong scent of coffee. George hummed softly to himself, but it never became much of a tune.

When George set his cup down with intentional loudness—louder than it had been this whole time—it drew Sapnap’s eyes back quickly. He looked at him inquisitively, waiting for words that seemed to sit on George’s tongue.

“Did that boy come back?”

Oh. Really, he should've known. “He did.”

Nails clicked against white ceramic with idle intent. “What was his name again?”

“Karl.”

George nodded. “Right.”

“He came yesterday in the late morning,” Sapnap mentioned, crossing his arms just as something to do. “He was here at the same time as Dream, but he sat outside and sang a song I’ve never heard.”

George furrowed his brows. “Who’s Dream?”

“Oh,” Sapnap laughed, “sorry. Just a regular, he usually comes in a little bit after you.” And he shrugged, watching George’s face morph into understanding when a cup reached his lips. “Not today, though, he doesn’t come in the rain.”

“Oh,” George nodded, “well, was the song good?”

“Yeah, it was pretty,” Sapnap said, a tad bit too much awe caught in the words he spoke. “His voice is nice.”

George scoffed with playful mirth. “Whipped.”

“Shut the hell up.” Sapnap complained, earning a string of laughter from George. 

And he joined in despite himself, shook his head when he remembered Dream using the same word. It was light, it was fond, and Sapnap momentarily forgot about the rain pouring hell down on his windows.

“Dream called him a honeybee,” Sapnap spoke with tints of rose. “Do you know anything about that type of symbolism?”

George quirked a brow. “Didn’t your friend explain it?”

“He did,” Sapnap shrugged, “but you’re smart, I want to hear what you know.”

George cleared his throat, the placement of his cup on the saucer nothing if not intentional. And he stared down at the swirling umber of his drink, watched it shift where it sat with the feeling of Sapnap’s eyes on him.

There was patience between them, there was patience in the rain.

“Buzzing change when you need it most,” he started, “good fortune. Some interpretations call yellow stripes the sun, but it’s the setting you free part that’s most important.”

“Yeah,” Sapnap nodded thoughtfully, “Dream said similar things.”

George laughed quietly as if he’d been expecting that, took another sip from his coffee before he opened his mouth to speak again.

“It’s all good stuff,” he smiled, “never bad. I think it’d be cute to call your boy a honeybee.”

“He’s not my boy,” Sapnap scoffed. “And what about the stings? Don’t those mean something?”

“Well, yeah.” George shrugged. “Good things coming your way.”

Despite having told himself that he lacked expectations, Sapnap found that answer missing the mark he’d set.

So he frowned. “Bee stings hurt.”

“So does life,” George spoke without hesitance, without filter. “Sometimes, it has to get worse before it gets better.”

It made so much sense that Sapnap almost wanted to hit him. He settled for gripping his forearms just a little bit tighter, blunt nails etching against the sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt.

And he grinned. “Wise words for a boy running through the rain with no umbrella.”

George rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“You can have mine,” Sapnap said with the warmest smile he could muster. “It’s at the top of the stairs, I don’t need it.”

“No,” Georg shook his head, “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine.”

“Just take it,” Sapnap insisted. “You can give it back to me tomorrow, I seriously don’t need it.”

George frowned, but the look on his face still beamed with appreciation. “Sapnap.”

“You’re going to work, George,” he defended, “I don’t want your clothes to be all wet. Just take it, I seriously don’t care.”

“Alright,” but he was still frowning, “fine. You’ve convinced me.”

Sapnap smiled wider somehow. “I’m glad.”

George stood up from his seat carefully, but the scrape of stool legs against the hardwood floor was inevitable. And he pushed his dirty cup a little closer to Sapnap, made his reach a little easier when he moved to pick it up.

Sapnap was already running the sink when George got to the stairwell. He pointed at the black umbrella leaning against the wall, the nylon still a little wet from when Sapnap had walked over this morning. And he nodded in answer to the questioning look on George’s face, stopped the faucet when the cup was filled with soapy water in the sink.

He wandered closer to where the register sat, closer to the door and the stairwell. George was shaking the umbrella slightly as if to get the water off, but it would just be getting wetter the moment he went outside.

“Have a nice day, George,” Sapnap said, leaning forward to press his palms against the counter. “Rain can be nice sometimes.”

George nodded in agreement. “It’s different,” he let the umbrella drag against the floor, “and different is good.”

Sapnap smiled warmly. “I know.”

“I hope your honeybee comes back,” George said in earnest, “they do fly in the rain you know.” Sapnap’s questioning look earned a laugh in response. “When there’s something to fly for, they do.”

Sapnap scoffed and shook his head, but no amount of feigned annoyance could erase the blush on his cheeks. He tried his best to wave off the brunet, hand pointed vaguely in the direction of a rain-covered window.

“Go to work, George.”

George laughed quietly, more polite than amused. “Thanks for the umbrella.”

“Just trying to keep you looking nice.”

George nodded with a silent second thank you, taking his first step down the stairs. But before he could get any farther, he looked back up with the light shining off his glasses.

“You mean a lot to me, Sap.”

And he was gone before Sapnap had the chance to say it back.

There was a moment of reprieve, time to stare down at the dirty cup where it still waited in the sink. Amongst other things, Sapnap felt alone—perhaps akin to a dirty coffee cup filled with water in the sink; solitary but filled to the brim, filled with what may have been objectively the wrong thing.

He waited in silence besides the rain, waited with the tap of his fingers against polished wood counters. He hadn’t seen Karl enough yet to know if he went out in the rain, didn’t know if he was close or far to this little coffee shop and if proximity would send him somewhere else.

Instead of dwelling too long on trivial matters, Sapnap washed a dirty cup. And he wiped down all the tables just as something to do, even if he hadn’t seen anyone sit at them in what felt like forever. But it was only a want to kill time, only a desire to be busy until someone came inside and occupied him.

The shop stayed empty until both hands on his analog clock were nearing 12. Then there was the ring of a bell downstairs, the heavy weight of footsteps where they ran up with rushed intent.

Sapnap looked toward the entryway and found that it was Karl.

He looked a right mess, with his long hair wet and sticking out in all directions. The dark jacket he was wearing dripped water on the floor, drops of rain cascading down his face. Despite his current state of disaster, Sapnap still found him devastatingly pretty.

So much so that he couldn’t find a single word, stuck frozen behind the counter with his hands hanging useless at his sides.

“Could I get a hot coffee today?” Karl asked meekly, his voice high and struck by nerves.

Sapnap nodded, the quickness in his movements enough to make him flinch. “Of course.” But before he turned around, he cast one final look at Karl. “Still vanilla?”

“Yes,” he sputtered, “please.”

Sapnap got to making his drink immediately, back turned to Karl as he quietly approached the counter. His shoes sounded wet and uncomfortable, and he certainly didn’t look any better. The rain was still hitting against the windows on every wall but Karl never said anything about his trip over.

Instead, he apologized.

“Sorry for getting water all over your floors.”

Sapnap glanced over his shoulder in the midst of brewing coffee, tried his best to smile where Karl could see it and with the right amount of earnest. Karl was still standing, seeming hesitant to sit down at all when his clothes were dripping wet.

“It’s fine,” Sapnap reassured, “it’s only water.”

Karl nodded, but he didn’t say anything else. Only started to spin the surely wet rings on his fingers, distracted as Sapnap turned back around to finish his drink. It was quick as it always was, a hot cup of vanilla-imbued coffee held in Sapnap’s hands. He turned around and set it gently on the counter, the warm smile still on his face and competing with the steam.

“Careful,” he warned, stepping away from the counter, “it’s very hot.”

Karl giggled, pulling the cup in closer to him. “I assumed.”

“Just don’t want you to burn yourself,” Sapnap shrugged with casual ease, but his face was spread with pink. “Might damage your voice.”

Karl giggled loosely, wrapping hands around his cup. “Nothing that won’t pass.”

“But you sing,” Sapnap insisted, “so I’d like to think that time would be unfavorable.”

“Maybe.” Karl smiled, the tint of pink in his face a matching shade to Sapnap’s. “I barely sing, though. More of a pianist, if anything.”

“Your voice is nice, though.”

Karl’s eyes widened. “You’ve heard it?”

“Yesterday,” Sapnap said in a sigh. “Your song about honeybees.”

“Oh!” Karl said in surprise, eyes staying wider than normal. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, finally bringing his cup up toward his lips. “I didn’t think you were listening.”

Sapnao furrowed his eyebrows, watching Karl take a slow sip of still-piping coffee. “Did you not want me to?”

“Well,” he looked down at the floor, “I wasn’t trying to hide it, I just figured you were busy talking to your friend.”

Sapnap huffed out a laugh. “Not too busy to listen.”

Karl looked back up at him, the grin on his face as warm as his coffee. And he held the ceramic with two hands, stray raindrops still glistening on his face where they fell from his hair with ease. They shared a quiet moment of eye contact, left in silence aside from the sound of rain beating down on windows.

When Karl glanced back down at his coffee, Sapnap looked away, too.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

Sapnap looked back, and Karl was still staring down at the swirl of vanilla coffee. “Dream.”

He looked up finally. “Dream?”

“Not his real name,” Sapnap laughed, “but he won’t tell me what that is.”

“He looked very…” Karl hesitated, pursing his lips slightly, “expensive.”

Sapnap laughed again, low and in mirth. “I think he is.”

Karl hummed in acknowledgement, taking another slow sip from his coffee. He didn’t seem to be drinking much at once—perhaps to spare his mouth from burn—but in that moment, Sapnap was a little caught up on the way Karl swayed between his feet.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Why aren’t you sitting down?”

Karl glanced down at the seats lining the counter. “My jeans are wet.”

Sapnap tilted his head to the side. “Doesn’t mean you can’t sit down.”

“But your—”

“Karl,” he interrupted, “sit down.”

Karl shifted slightly, but the grin on his face was a tad too wicked for it to end there. “Sit with me, then.”

“What about…” Sapnap hesitated, gesturing at his workstation behind him, “I don’t know, responsibility?”

Karl shrugged “If anyone comes in you can just get up.”

“No one will come in.”

He grinned pridefully. “See?”

Sapnap sighed with defeat, already wandering around the counter to find himself at Karl’s side.

“Fine,” he huffed, tugging out one of the seats at the same time Karl did.

They both sat down at the same time, pitted right beside each other with hands set close on the counter. Karl was laughing under his breath, tapping rings against ceramic hard enough to make a sound.

“Don’t act so insolent, Nick.”

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Sapnap sputtered suddenly, “I do want to sit with you, I just…” he hesitated when he couldn’t find the words, “worry, I guess.”

“Don’t worry.” Karl giggled. “Be free, or something.”

Sapnap turned his head rather sharply, looking straight at Karl and the cup pressed to his lips. He’d furrowed his eyebrows given Sapnap’s startled gaze, clearly waiting for a word from his mouth.

“Free?”

Karl set his drink down. “Free.”

“Is it you?” Sapnap questioned without thought. “Are you going to set me free?”

Karl shrugged with a sun-shaming smile. “If that’s what you want.”

“Sorry,” Sapnap shook his head, “it just reminded me of something Dream said.”

Leaning in closer, Karl practically whispered the words, “tell me.”

The quiet moment of hesitance was distilled by the rain. And Karl had put his face close enough that Sapnap could hear his breath, the entire rest of the world blurring out of focus. He thought for a moment, wondered if it would be better to lie—but he couldn’t have thought of a falsity even if he’d tried.

“Said you’re a honeybee.”

Karl smiled brighter despite himself. “I like honeybees.”

“I do too.”

“And that’s sweet.” Karl leaned away, and Sapnap mourned the loss of proximity. “Honeybees,” he tapped his fingers on ceramic, “they mean a lot, you know.”

“I know,” Sapnap answered. “Got an earful from Dream and another from George.”

Quizzical eyes returned a lost gaze, fingers halting where they lay against a still-warm cup. “George?”

“Just another regular.”

Karl lacked hesitance when he shifted in his seat. “Is that what you tell people about me?”

Sapnap’s eyebrows furrowed. “Huh?”

“Just another regular,” Karl echoed. “If it is, I’m not offended. Just curious, is all.”

“Oh.” Sapnap blinked, considered honesty. “Well,” he considered lies, “uh,” he picked honesty, “no.”

Karl spun his legs out from beneath the counter, knees hitting against Sapnap’s thigh. “Then what do you say about me?”

Sapnap had to consider things again. Had to weigh options on scales and watch the results carefully, had to watch in tandem with an immobile stare on Karl’s waiting face. He figured it best to be vague, best to keep bitter lies out of his mouth in favor of the smallest information.

“That you’re Karl. And you’re a musician who…” he hesitated, “I don’t know.” With a sigh, he met Karl’s wide eyes from not that far away. “But I don’t say you’re just a regular,” there was truth in his admittance, “maybe you’re a little bit more.”

Unexpectedly, Karl’s eyes seemed to brighten. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap repeated.

“How much more?”

Sapnap hesitated. “Honesty or safety?”

“I’ll always pick honesty.”

Sapnap couldn’t say he hadn’t expected that to be his answer. But even still, he had to prepare himself, had to make sure he picked the right words. And he ran through a hundred million options in the span of fifteen seconds, found the best words hidden beneath all the rejects.

“Typically,” Sapnap wished to hold his breath, “I don’t think about kissing my regulars.”

Wide, vulnerable shock covered Karl’s pink-turning face. “And you think about kissing me?”

There was the smallest echo of but you’ve only known me for three days, and maybe Sapnap would say that was for the better. Strangers and not friends, blank slates to be scratched on first in kisses. His chalkboard of Karl lacked a last name, but he’d like to write mine on it even still.

“There’s just something about you,” he spilled, “your lips need to be kissed, I think. And maybe I want to be the one who kisses them.”

“Well,” Karl pulled his hand away from the cup, folded them together in his lap, “I don’t typically think about kissing my baristas.”

Sapnap felt the grin on his lips before he registered it. “And?”

“And I think about kissing you.”

An out-of-focus world blended with surrealism, harsh rain hitting against the window with greater fervor. Sapnap wondered briefly if terrible weather could keep Karl stuck inside with him, if they’d watch out the window and wait for it all to go away.

“Any reason?”

Karl rolled his eyes, but flashes of white were rich with mirth. “You're as arrogant as ever.”

Sapnap shrugged. “The rain makes me bold.” And it was true.

Karl looked away for a moment, face burning red with a heat Sapnap swore he could feel. And he looked back up at him with the widest eyes, flicked his well-painted nails against a ceramic coffee cup with a resounding ding.

“Because you’re hotter than this stupid cup of coffee, Nick.”

Breath caught in his throat.

“Then I can kiss you,” it felt like a plea, “I can kiss you, right?”

Karl laughed, and he was already leaning forward. “Shut the hell up.”

Their lips collided when Karl fell off his stool. And Sapnap caught him by the forearms, tugged their bodies together when he stood up intentionally to get himself closer to Karl. It started off a little clumsy, huffed out laughter between lips when teeth knocked together unfavorably. But it was fond, and it was Karl, and Sapnap wouldn’t have had it any other way.

His lips were echoes of slim rainwater, of cascading droplets down the sides of his face like hands lacing through wet hair. He tipped his head to the side and tasted weather off the surface of Karl’s lips, tasted honey and sweetness in the brightest cry of spring.

Karl whimpered when a tongue slipped between his lips, when splits were edged wider and slick lips got slicker. They practically devoured each other—perhaps a tad unprofessional for still being within Sapnap’s place of work—but no one else was there to tell them off. No one but the rain as it hammered against windows, no one but the two of them and their out-of-focus world.

Sapnap broke off with a gasping breath, knocked their foreheads together with hands still on his face and no intention to ever let go. Karl was a sputtering mess, too, eyes wider than before with pools of raven swallowing irises. Sapnap was sure he didn’t look much better, sure that the glows of pink on their cheeks matched in shade.

“I want to kiss you,” Sapnap whispered, “until the end of time as we know it.”

Karl giggled, quiet and spilled against Sapnap’s lips. “Please do.”

And they fell into each other again, meshing together with bright perfection beneath yellow-tinted lights. The analog clock on the wall seemed to freeze in tandem with time itself, frozen cars on the street where raindrops lay suspended in the air.

In record, unfrozen time, Sapnap found that he liked his job. A room full of all the same people and a boyfriend he’d met over hot drinks and casual conversation; he wouldn’t trade any of his long hours for the world if it meant he got to end up here. 

And he was glad that Karl stole every piece of clothing he owned, because coffee started to smell a little less like work and a lot more like home.