Chapter Text
Rocinante was under some sort of a spell. That gloomy barista had to be a psychic or whatever was popular in spiritual circles nowadays. But he wasn't a regular man ; he certainly put a spell on Rocinante or even cursed him because there was no other explanation for why he found himself in front of the now familiar coffee shop again .
Ir certainly wasn't because he craved a disgusting espresso. It may have to be connected to the stupid Monday laziness that stopped Rocinante from getting off the tube one stop earlier. He set the alarm for a quarter to six and even managed to wake up on time. But then the familiar Monday laziness came into its own, and Rocinante was getting ready way slower than usual. And then the tube carriage was so packed that Rocinante decided it would be futile to edge his way through a crowd for him to get off earlier.
And then he found himself in front of the coffee shop again . It had to be some sort of a spell, for sure.
Rocinante carefully stuck his head at the door, noticing the barista at his usual Monday morning place. The young man was dealing with all those boxes as always, and Rocinante instantly felt something was wrong with him.
The gloomy-looking and utterly uneducated in the art of a proper coffee-making barista was smiling . He was crossing out something of the delivery note, and a smile hid in the corner of his lips. Combined with those black circles under his eyes, and his tattoos, and his mussed hair, it looked fucking creepy , but nevertheless, Rocinante was weirdly astonished.
Apparently, his throat had betrayed him and made some surprised sound - the barista tore himself away from the papers and boxes, and the ghost of a smile had instantly disappeared.
“It’s you,” he cleared his throat, looking gloomy as always. Rocinante heaved a sigh of relief - now, when the young man was back to his familiar self, everything looked right . Perhaps that smile was a part of his vivid imagination after he spent most of the weekend entertaining his former manager’s grandson.
“It’s me,” Rocinante made a helpless gesture. Maybe he had to buy ten espressos, get a loyalty card and finally be freed from the spell. Or the curse.
The barista put away his pen and reached for an apron on the counter. “A usual one?” he asked in a toneless voice, and Rocinante felt his eyes widening. He nodded, staring at the young man who had just put on a bloody apron and walked towards the sink to wash his hands. He had never bothered himself with such a petty step before; something was clearly wrong .
Today his movements were way more confident than the last week. The coffee machine was puffing happily, and at some point, Rocinante realised his eyes still were glued to the young barista’s hands. Not his tattoos, just hands - as if he was trying to figure out how exactly he had made that shitty espresso earlier. He shook his head and cleared his throat, realising that his order was almost done, and he still didn’t pull out his wallet.
"A quid, as always?" "e asked, scraping together all the pence he had. The barista nodded, not even turning around. Rocinante finally collected the necessary amount and clenched his fist so none of the coins would try to take advantage of his clumsiness and hide somewhere under the counter.
The barista poured the coffee into the paper cup and turned off the machine. He slowly turned around, burying his right hand in the apron's pocket and putting the cup on the counter.
"Ready," he announced without any enthusiasm, but at the same time, an almost inconspicuous sparkle of something happy had flashed in his dark eyes. Rocinante shook his head in confusion and extended his hand.
"I'm sorry I don't have a single coin today," he apologised. The barista nodded and reached out his palm, allowing Rocinante to pour the coins. He didn't count them, pocketing them straight away as if he considered Rocinante unable to lie .
"Remember, no complaints," he grumbled, folding his arms on his chest and not moving as if he was expecting something from Rocinante. Perhaps he wanted him to make an oath, maybe even a blood one.
He tried hiding his right hand under his left arm, but Rocinante immediately noticed the red burn mark on the barista’s wrist. It had to be an old one - at least two or three days old, and Rocinante decided to stay quiet about it. After all, there was absolutely no reason for him to be nosy regarding whatever was happening to the man he saw only for the third time in his life. Instead, he took the paper cup and nodded gratefully. And took a sip straight away.
It was an
acceptable
drink. Not as good as Rocinante would expect a standard espresso to be, but at the same time, it didn’t resemble the
liquid shit
from the previous weeks. It was hotter than Rocinante usually had his coffee, and the beans were roasted too long - but otherwise, it was
drinkable
. Almost
good
.
Rocinante took another sip and smiled . “It’s actually not a bad one,” he gave the barista a thumbs-up. “Thanks for making it.”
“Fine,” the young man muttered, shrugging and turning around, clearly hinting that it was time for Rocinante to leave. His ears were a little bit pinkier than usual.
*
Bell-mère was one of the most straight-talking people in Rocinante's life, holding a solid second place right after Monkey D. Garp. “What’s wrong with you, man?” she sighed, waving her hand in front of Rocinante’s nose.
“Nothing?” he blinked, shifting his gaze to the laptop screen. It’s been precisely fifteen minutes since he decided to take a short break, and somehow Rocinante spent them staring into space, not thinking about anything in particular.
“It’s Thursday,” his colleague shook her head disapprovingly. “You keep spacing out way more often than usual since Tuesday. Is there something wrong at the other branch?”
“I don’t think so,” Rocinante shrugged. Perhaps Belle-mère was way too dramatic. It was Thursday, almost the end of the working week - he had become too tired, especially after finishing one of his ongoing projects earlier than scheduled. Rocinante stretched himself and wished he could have a cup of a proper coffee - and a better one than he had on Monday. Rocinante remembered the weird feeling of satisfaction when he sipped that almost standard espresso and thought about the spell. Maybe it was already starting to fade, which meant he could have the normal drink he craved at some point.
“Your smile looks creepy,” Belle-mère shivered exaggeratedly. “No, there’s certainly something going on with you.”