Work Text:
No, Michael is not a morning person. No, Michael does not appreciate being at work at 7 a.m. He does, however, appreciate getting off work early enough that he can have a quick, leisurely commute home and still have some daylight to spare. Mostly, though, he likes being in the office alone for the first hour of the day so he can ease into existence without people demanding things from him.
He thought this was a default feature of the type of person who goes into software development and coding—general disdain for interacting with people without the assistance of caffeine. Apparently not, though, since coming in at 8 meant being immediately faced with unrelenting enthusiasm from the rest of his small team. (Or, in Spotify corporate lingo, squad. Michael cringes just thinking about it.)
So he’s become friendly with 7 a.m. The office is dark and quiet, and he can sit at his desk in the middle of the annoyingly open-concept office with complete focus on his work until the sun starts burning through the huge windows and his coworkers amble in with their fancy coffees and loud voices. He gets more done between 7 and 8 than he does the entire rest of the day.
This morning on his way in, the light is already on in the main office area, which is unusual. He’s considering possible reasons for it while he drops his bag by his desk when suddenly a massive shadowy creature pops out from behind the row of lockers framing each edge of the island of desks. “Good morning!”
“What the fuck?” Michael yelps, reeling back and covering his thudding heart with his hand. As the initial shock wears off, Michael realizes the massive creature is actually the least scary thing he could encounter in the office: Luke Hemmings.
“Sorry!” Luke says through squeaky early morning giggles. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I was just excited to see someone else here so early.”
Oh god, he’s one of those. A morning talker. Michael should’ve expected he would be, he has the contagious laugh of the sort of person who rolls out of bed ready to be charismatic.
Michael doesn’t know Luke super well, because even though they’re supporting the same product, they’re not on the same squad. Michael’s team is all about the technical algorithms for the glut of personalized playlists, while Luke’s is behind the creative aspect—coming up with new ways to challenge Michael’s programming skills daily so Random Spotify User #45920 can have a personalized Vampire playlist they probably don’t even know exists.
“Morning,” Michael croaks, using his voice for the first time since waking up. “It’s okay. You only scared me because I’m used to being the only one here at this ungodly hour.”
Luke smiles brightly. His smile is contagious too. Michael finds his lips stretching into a matching smile for no apparent reason. “You’re always here early?” Luke asks, seeming thrilled by the prospect for some reason.
“Yep.” Michael nods sharply. “I like getting to leave early. And I’m more productive when there are no distractions around.”
Luke’s smile falters slightly. “Oh, yeah, totally. I’m, uh—I’m going to be coming in early now too actually. But I promise I won’t throw any 7 a.m. dance parties or anything.”
Shit, Luke thought Michael was being passive aggressive. Michael didn’t mean to make him feel bad. Luke’s probably the best possible option for coworkers to share the space with during the early morning—polite, capable of reading the room and acting accordingly. Michael’s just bad at talking at this hour, his sluggish brain struggling to remember social niceties. “That’s cool,” Michael replies, hoping his smile is reassuring and not bordering on psychopathic. “It’ll be nice to have someone else here. Less apocalyptic.”
Luke laughs at that, seemingly encouraged. “Rad. I was just going to—” He hesitates, biting his lip, uncertainty clouding his eyes. “I have an unfortunate addiction to the fancy coffee place around the corner. I’m gonna go grab a coffee, if you want me to bring you back anything? Or—” He hesitates again, and Michael realizes maybe Luke isn’t actually a morning talker by nature. He’s just friendly to a fault. “—or if you wanted to come along,” he finishes, sighing slightly like he’s disgusted with himself.
It makes Michael laugh, like genuinely laugh, because it’s alarmingly endearing, and Michael’s default reaction to concerning revelations is to laugh. Luke, bless his goddamn heart, laughs along.
And because Michael is so entirely out of his element, shaken from his usual routine and this new discovery that he finds Luke extremely charming before 8 a.m., he agrees. “Yeah, I wanna come. I’ve never been.”
Aghast, Luke’s mouth drops open and his eyebrows draw together in a pained frown. “You’ve never been to the nearest coffee shop to the office you arrive at every day before the sun is done rising?”
“I usually just drink what’s in the kitchen.” They have a pretty elaborate setup of coffee grinders and machines. It’s still just coffee, and it doesn’t thrill Michael, but it’s free and it gets the job done.
“I respect it, but I could never,” Luke replies, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s a real problem, actually. I spend a ridiculous amount on these fuckin’ quad mochas, but it gives me something to look forward to every morning.”
“It’s probably worth it if it makes coming into work every day bearable.”
Luke smiles softly. In fact, the longer Michael looks at him, the more he notices the ways Luke is still soft around the edges in the early morning. His facial expressions are a little lazy, his voice is low and quiet, even his usually exuberant blonde curls are understated, still damp and only just starting to form into fluffy ringlets.
“Exactly,” Luke murmurs gratefully, jerking his head towards the lobby. “Ready to go?”
Pointing for Luke to lead the way, Michael says, “So ready. Do you have any recommendations besides the quad mocha?” His eyes trace over Luke’s long legs making big strides through the office, covered in these grey trousers that seem borderline inappropriate for work, but only because of Luke’s body. They’re ordinary trousers, nothing scandalous about them, but Luke’s endless legs and mind-bending ass elevate them significantly. No complaints from Michael. He appreciates the statement it makes. Stick it to the man! Wear trousers to work that make your ass look pornographic!
“Hmm, depends on what you’re into I guess.” Luke looks over his shoulder, slowing his steps so Michael can catch up. “If you can handle the office coffee, you might not like the decadent shit I’m into.”
Michael shrugs. “Maybe I just don’t know what I’m missing.”
“Stairs or elevator?” Luke asks, doing an awkward little dance between the two.
“Stairs,” Michael replies immediately, because he’s thinking through this little piece of code, and he knows if they take the stairs now, Luke will most likely automatically take them up the stairs on the way back, and then Michael can stare at his ass at eye level.
Luke makes a sharp turn for the stairs and Michael grins to himself as he follows Luke down. He didn’t realize going down would have perks too, but it does—Luke’s long legs navigate the shallow stairs in wide steps, almost like he’s in a permanent half-squat all the way down. “I always say the best test of a coffee shop is a plain latte,” Luke says, unaware that Michael is currently wildly charmed by his stair-descent technique. “You could start there and see how it goes. Maybe get something sweeter or more intense next time depending on how you feel about it.”
Next time. Michael could be doing this every morning if he wanted.
“Sounds like a logical plan to me,” Michael says, slipping out the door of the building as Luke holds it open for him. “You could be doing my job. Do you want to join my squad? Switch with Ashton, maybe, so I don’t have to sit through his morning meetings to set our intention for the day?”
Luke laughs loudly, suddenly so much more now that they’re outside in the fledgling sun. More present, more concerningly magnetic. “There’s no way I could do what you do. It makes my head spin every time we have a meeting where someone from your squad presents anything remotely technical.”
“I bet you could figure it out with a little training,” Michael teases, trying not to stare at the way Luke’s eyes sparkle in the sun. “1989 Taylor’s Version,” he blurts, causing Luke to shoot him a confused frown. “Your eyes,” Michael explains, feeling his skin heat, probably blushing deep pink. “They’re blue like the cover of 1989 Taylor’s Version.”
After a brief pause, Luke’s 1989 blue eyes light up and a giant, wide grin takes over his face. “You think in album covers?”
The sidewalk is starting to get busier as the morning rush kicks into full swing, and Michael sticks close to Luke’s side. “I spend more time looking at them than you’d realize,” Michael says, trying to play it off as a casual thing. Like he frequently labels his acquaintances’ eye color based on album covers. It’s just a fun party trick! Nothing to see here! “Sorry to be basic about it. I’d probably have said something else if 1989 wasn’t so fresh.”
Luke bites his lip over his smile, seemingly trying to contain his enthusiasm for the subject. Tragically cute. “Really?”
“No,” Michael admits, laughing to himself. “That’s a straight up lie. I’m totally a Swiftie. I just don’t usually advertise it around the office so I can maintain my reputation as the office emo.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” Luke smiles conspiratorially at Michael, dimples pressing deeply into his cheeks, emphasized by the sunlight hitting his cheekbones and the shadows carving underneath. “We’re here.”
“We’re—what?” They’ve walked maybe fifty feet. But sure enough, they’re standing in front of the door to Uptempo, literally two doors down from the entrance to their office, the strong scent of coffee wafting out the open windows. “I didn’t realize it was this close. This is almost easier to get to than the office kitchen.”
Luke nods knowingly. “You see my problem.”
“I’m starting to.” Michael follows Luke inside the bustling coffee shop and they join the back of a line that wraps around half the store. “Popular spot.”
“It’s really good,” Luke says yearningly, stuffing his fingers in his pockets. This is when Michael realizes that his trousers are so tight there’s a completely clear outline of his phone in one pocket and his wallet in the other. Just perfect rectangles protruding from his hips. His fingertips are all that will fit in the remaining space. Fucking hell. Why is Michael so captivated by this? It’s not like he’s never seen a man in tight pants before.
“This is actually a lot quieter than I’m used to.” Luke smiles sweetly, nudging Michael’s foot with the toe of his messily tied Converse. “Another perk of coming into work earlier.”
What’s this then? Why is Luke so good at making Michael feel important? And why is he just now noticing this, after ten minutes together in the morning, when they’ve spent the last two years in close proximity every single weekday?
“A necessary trade-off,” Michael says. “The earlier you’re awake, the more important it is to be able to get your hands on caffeine quickly.” He doesn’t really know what he’s saying. It’s because it’s so hard for him to look into Luke’s eyes at such close range with no distractions. It tosses Michael’s brain in a washing machine and makes it impossible for him to keep up his end of the conversation.
“Any other perks I should know about?” Luke prompts, warm eyes still trained on Michael. He certainly doesn’t seem to have the same issue with eye contact.
Michael contemplates that one, narrowing his eyes and considering some of the less obvious benefits to arriving at the office so early. “A really nice view of the sunrise when the days are on the shorter side,” he says, remembering a specific morning a couple weeks ago when he looked up from his work to see stripes of pink and orange stretching across the sky, filling the space of every window on the side of the building.
“That’s cute,” Luke says, seeming to actually really mean it. He’s smiling to himself dreamily as they shuffle forward in the line. “What would a Daylist call that vibe? Invigorating Cafe Sunrise Early Morning?”
“Not random enough,” Michael says, happily badmouthing his own product. He knows it needs work. It’s a new feature, it always takes time to perfect things. “Probably something more like Nervous Sour City Early Morning or Dancing Dawn Velvet Pop Early Morning.”
“Do you come up with those?” Luke probes, eyes wide with intense curiosity. “Like, I know you don’t name every individual playlist, but the different words that get tossed together?”
“Not just me, but yeah, our squad does most of the detailed taxonomy. And right now the classification names are pretty chaotic, but there is logic behind the combinations.”
“How does it make you feel knowing there are probably thousands of people around the world who start their day by looking to see what bizarre bullshit Spotify has come up with to name their Daylist? That’s a lot of power.”
“Probably too much,” Michael says with a shrug. “I dunno, it’s kind of fun. It’s one of the few places in our work where we get to be a little silly without it really disrupting anything. I’m still trying to improve it though. Get it to the point where you can at least see the connection to the songs on the playlist. Right now the playlists tend to be pretty similar for most users regardless of what they’re called.”
“I’ve noticed,” Luke says, peering up at the menu board as they approach the counter, even though he clearly knows exactly what he wants. It’s okay. It gives Michael a chance to gaze at his profile. It’s scientific perfection. The proportions, the distribution of his features, the way it somehow makes his eyes even bluer to look at them from this angle. “Doesn’t stop me from listening every morning, though. I like how it’s familiar but with a hint of unpredictability to keep me on my toes.”
“You listen to your Daylist every morning?” Michael doesn’t know why this flatters him so deeply when they literally work at Spotify on the team that’s responsible for Daylists. It just makes him proud knowing something he’s made is a part of Luke’s daily routine.
Luke nods eagerly, his drying curls starting to spring upwards into bouncy tendrils over his forehead. “Every morning,” he confirms. “Except the occasional Friday when there’s a new album out that I’m excited about.”
“You should tell me the names of your Daylist every morning,” Michael says. “It’ll be a fun experiment. And you can tell me how well the title matches the vibes.” Can he just look up this information on his own? Absolutely. But he likes the idea of it coming directly from Luke, with Luke’s added commentary. And he might still indulge in a little legal and probably-ethical snooping on Luke’s listening habits for the sake of research. Luke can be his guinea pig, the real world use case.
“That sounds fun,” Luke agrees happily, then he immediately shifts into the dry tone Michael is used to encountering any time he eavesdrops on Luke’s squad. “Early morning crew bonding.”
“Can two be a crew?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Luke’s right.” Michael is momentarily taken aback when they get to the front of the line and the woman behind the counter casually drops into the middle of their conversation. “It’s just me and Diego here on Monday and Tuesday mornings before 7 and we still call it a crew.”
Luke shoots Michael a smug look and then smiles at the cashier. “Thank you, Savannah! This is Michael. I’m trying to get him hooked on the goods.”
“Nice to meet you, Michael.” Savannah grabs a cup to write Luke’s name and order on it, apparently used to him getting the same thing every day. “You’re smart to get in with Luke. He’s one of our favorites, so sometimes we give him free pastries to encourage good behavior.”
“That’s why you do that?” Luke squeaks, offended. “Training me like a dog?”
“Rewarding you for being a good boy,” Savannah corrects swiftly, which makes Michael snort, followed by a choked laugh. Michael has never been a regular anywhere. He’s never earned any sort of special treatment, and it’s amusingly novel for him to see what he thought was just a fictional sitcom scenario playing out in real life.
“This is all very Gilmore Girls,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “When is the part where you two realize you’re in love?”
“Believe me, I’ve tried,” Savannah says, shaking her head sadly. “Luke’s immune to my wiles.”
Luke smiles at her fondly. “But not to your charm,” he says. “Add a latte to my order, please? For Michael.”
“Oh, I can get it, you don’t—”
“First one’s on me since I talked you into it,” Luke interrupts, tapping his card while Savannah scribbles Michael’s name on a cup with a little heart next to it. “Besides, if this goes the way I hope it does, you’ll be paying for them every day for the rest of your life after today.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Michael says through a smile, following Luke down toward the pick-up counter. “Nice to meet you, Savannah.”
She looks up from tapping in the next customer’s order and grins. “See you tomorrow, Michael.”
“Wow, she’s confident,” Michael murmurs at Luke’s back. Before, Michael had been so caught up in the majesty of Luke’s ass that he hadn’t even realized how incredible Luke’s back is as well. Being just a few inches behind him, it makes it obvious how incredibly broad his shoulders are, and how fucking tall he is, towering a few inches over Michael, who more than qualifies as tall himself.
Luke looks back at Michael ominously and repeats, “It’s really good.”
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
Luke was right. Michael is desperate for another fancy coffee the next morning when he walks into the office. The jury is out on whether it’s because of the coffee or because of the Luke. Probably both. Definitely both.
“Bittersweet Quad Mocha Tuesday Morning!” Luke announces as soon as he spots Michael, voice early morning raspy, but filled with excitement. “This feels like a callout.” He joins Michael next to his locker, leaning against it while Michael shoves his backpack inside.
“It absolutely is,” Michael returns easily. “That’s one of the new title options we released last night. I didn’t expect you’d wind up with it so fast, though.”
Luke giggles delightedly, that rasp cracking through in low rumbles. “I’m just that predictable. Or you’re just that good at algorithms.”
“Nah, I’m really not. This was pure luck. The Daylist algorithm is shit. It always takes time to iron out a new custom playlist feature, but Daylists have really been a bitch to figure out.”
Coughing gently to clear his throat, Luke scratches at the underside of his chin and asks, “Is there a specific reason why it’s been so hard?” The sound of his fingernails against his stubble is oddly soothing for Michael, gently zapping his brain into wakefulness.
“Part of it is because most people listen to basically the same selection of music all day long,” Michael explains. “Most people don’t mainly listen to, like, screamo just in the morning, 90s pop just in the afternoon, classic rock just in the evening, that kind of thing. They listen to all three all throughout the day equally. So it’s hard to write an algorithm that will differentiate one Daylist from another for the same user, but also work for the people who do have wildly different listening habits depending on the time of day.”
“Kinda makes the whole concept of the Daylist seem pretty silly.”
“It is pretty silly,” Michael agrees, slamming his locker shut. “But from a marketing perspective it’s fantastic. People love shit like this. It’s a great idea, we just need to figure out how to make it unique enough that people have a reason to pick it over a daily mix or something.”
“Besides the incredible titles?”
Michael smiles warmly and nods. “Besides the incredible titles.”
There’s a beat of silence between them, and Michael debates whether he should mention the coffee thing. He doesn’t want to intrude on Luke’s routine. Even if Luke seemed happy to have Michael along yesterday, he can’t be certain Luke still feels that way today.
While Michael’s thinking it through, Luke’s fidgeting, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth and pushing his hand through his hair. Slightly anxious, maybe, but he’s staying put, which Michael takes as encouragement. He opens his mouth to inform Luke he could really go for a fancy latte when he’s suddenly assaulted by a warm, sweet scent tickling his nose. He subconsciously leans into it, searching for the source, which leads his nose dangerously close to Luke’s hair before he realizes what he’s doing and retreats carefully.
“Sorry,” he says, noticing the look on Luke’s face. Confused, but intrigued, blue eyes narrowed and trained on Michael’s…mouth? Why is he looking at Michael’s mouth? “I just smelled something nice, I think it might be your shampoo or something.”
“Oh,” Luke laughs timidly, grabbing ahold of one of his curls and stretching it towards his nose to sniff. “Maybe. Last time I went to get highlights my stylist sold me on some fancy curl cream shit. I’m too lazy to use it every day, but I went for it this morning.”
“It’s nice. Makes me hungry.”
Luke’s laugh is stronger now, throat bobbing as he chuckles loudly. “Sounds like we should get you to Uptempo for a latte and a pastry, then.”
“Are the pastries as good as the coffee?”
“Mmm,” Luke murmurs, eyes widening longingly. “I’m afraid they are.”
“This is a very dangerous habit you’ve peer pressured me into,” Michael says, grinning.
“It is, but I think we could do with a little danger around here, don’t you?” Luke zips up his leather jacket and raises his eyebrows hopefully, lips pinching together to display his dimples. Cute, cute, unbearably cute. Nothing this cute can really be dangerous, can it?
And even if it is…maybe Luke’s right. Maybe he could do with a little danger.
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
It becomes a daily thing. Every morning they meet in the office, then immediately walk over to Uptempo together.
At first they mostly talk about work-related things. Common ground. Complaints about projects and gossip about coworkers, and Luke asks Michael loads of questions about his work. They’re interesting, insightful questions, and Michael always returns to his desk with his latte (and, once or twice a week, an accompanying pastry) and a head full of new ideas he’s excited to test out.
But after a couple weeks, the conversation starts to expand beyond the boundaries of work chit chat. Things like movies or TV shows they watched over the weekend and random life task annoyances start creeping into their discussions until Michael knows the names of all of Luke’s brothers and Luke knows exactly how many hours Michael spent playing his current videogame of choice the night before.
Or, if Michael’s really lucky, Luke will tell him a story about something that happened to him recently. Michael loves the way Luke tells stories. He’s not overly detailed or elaborate with it, but he gives just enough to make it worth telling, and he’s funny, the perfect mix of self-deprecating and boisterous. It also feels like an insight into Luke and what he’s like beyond the walls of the Spotify office. Every story is a scrap Michael can use to piece together the vibrant and colorful quilt of Luke in his mind.
Frequently, the scraps clash with each other. At first it stymied Michael a bit, his logic-and-code-oriented brain struggling to understand how two seemingly opposite things could exist in Luke simultaneously. Now, though, it’s happened enough that Michael has given up trying to make it make sense and just accepted it.
As a result of that, there’s an incredible freedom in being around Luke. An escape for Michael from the normal confines of his brain. There’s no problem to solve, no point in thinking through every aspect of the interaction, because it won’t do him any good. Luke will continue to exist in front of him, defying logic with every breath he takes.
And that includes Luke’s music taste. Michael’s been watching.
He watched Luke listen to his Girl Power Anthems That Namedrop playlist on Monday afternoon. He watched Luke loop the same Radiohead song all day Tuesday while he had his head down working hard on something or other, keeping to himself and staying unusually quiet. He logged in Thursday morning to discover Luke had listened to his curated Cozy Baking Mix for several hours the night before. And, on Friday morning, Luke listened to his Expensive Coffee with Office Emo playlist on the way to work.
That one shook Michael to the core. He has a playlist for it. For them.
Of course Michael looks at it. It’s full of songs they’ve talked to each other about—songs Michael has recommended, unexpected songs they discovered they both love, and yeah, even some Taylor.
The playlist is probably what did it. The thing that tipped Michael from fond intrigue to devout obsession over Luke Hemmings.
Because it’s sentimental, but not in a sickly-sweet way. In a real, tangible way. It shows that their morning coffee trips are important enough to Luke to make a playlist for them. And maybe even more than that, it shows that Luke is really listening to Michael. Remembering what he says and integrating it into his life.
It’s just strange, knowing that Luke thinks about him at all, really. And it changes things. Suddenly, there are possibilities.
And those possibilities are creating several challenges for Michael. First and foremost, there’s the challenge of Luke being incredibly beautiful.
Michael has always known Luke is pretty. It’s kind of unavoidable. He’s just never really actively thought about it. Never concerned himself with it. Because it wasn’t relevant to him that Luke is pretty. It never occurred to him it could be relevant to him that Luke is pretty.
But now it’s extremely fucking relevant, and Michael is losing hours of each work day just looking at Luke. Sometimes it’s just, like, Luke’s hand, barely visible clicking his mouse from inside the meeting room across from Michael’s desk. Sometimes it’s the details of his face, moles sprinkled beneath his stubble and the cute little marks life has left on him in the form of barely visible forehead scars and a fleck of stark white on his front tooth.
No matter what it is, Michael isn’t merely looking. He’s studying. Reveling. Contemplating. Finding and deeply feeling the beauty in whatever slice of Luke he can currently see.
At the moment, it’s his chest. Because the thing is, he’s standing right in front of Michael, and he’s enough taller that his chest is exactly where Michael’s eyes land when he’s avoiding making eye contact. Which Michael’s doing most of the time, because he’s always a little awkward around Luke now that there are possibilities.
He’s also tired. It’s early Thursday morning, and it’s been a rough week. Michael needs several years of sleep, and Luke’s chest looks perfect for him to rest his head against and take a little nap.
“Today’s a Rage Pixie Thursday Early Morning, which I think is pretty appropriate given how things have been going this week.”
“Huh?” Michael snaps his eyes up from Luke’s chest and they land on his mouth. That’s not any fucking better! “Oh, yeah. It’s been insane around here. We’re all turning into rage pixies.”
Luke starts walking toward the door, because that’s what they always do first thing in the morning. First, a brief Daylist discussion. Then, seek coffee. Michael follows in a slight daze.
Always better at early morning small talk than Michael, Luke inquires, “You gonna be able to relax this weekend? Get your mind off work?”
Michael shrugs. “Hard to say. No plans, which is good for relaxing, but bad for getting my mind off work.”
“You need a relaxing distraction.”
What he needs is to stop watching Luke’s ass going up and down these steps every morning. That’s certainly not doing anything to help him relax. “Something like that,” Michael agrees, chewing at the inside of his lip.
“We should stay at Uptempo for a while this morning. Sit down and enjoy our coffee. We’ve earned a little break.”
Michael considers this, running the data on how it will impact his work day if he spends an extra thirty minutes at the coffee shop with Luke. The result is irrelevant. He’s going to agree to it, because Luke suggested it, but he can’t stop his brain from automatically crunching through the logic.
“Sure,” he says gamely, wondering if they’re friendly enough now that he can tuck Luke’s tag back into his shirt without it being weird. It’s just flapping away in the morning breeze as they move briskly down the sidewalk. “You can give me some feedback on your Daylists. They should be improving.”
“They are improving,” Luke says, lips twitching to fight a smile. “But maybe we could also, like, not talk about work when we’re taking a break from work.” His voice is playful and he lets the smile escape, pulling the corner of his lips into a lopsided smirk.
This is another one of Michael’s new challenges. He reads into everything Luke says. Every smile Luke gives him. Every possible hint that Luke is also aware of the possibilities. It’s making Michael crazy, mind spinning in circles trying to keep up.
Like right now—Luke’s smirk could be his usual wry humor, or it could be flirty, but maybe it only feels flirty because Michael wants it to feel flirty? And if Michael responds in a flirty way, will that make Luke uncomfortable? But if he doesn’t, will that fuck things up if Luke did mean for it to be flirty? And on and on it goes, an endless churn that Michael can’t get a grip on because there’s not enough empirical data to come to a logical conclusion.
“What am I meant to talk about if I can’t talk about work?” Michael jokes, giving in and reaching for Luke’s tag. Feeling Michael’s fingers against the back of his neck, Luke shudders slightly, whipping his head over to look at Michael. When he realizes what’s happening, he smiles. That fucking smile.
Mischief glittering in his eyes, Luke shrugs and says, “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
“Do you go out for coffee on weekends too?” Luke wonders, sunlight turning his eyes bright clear blue while he rips into a croissant. “Or is it strictly a weekday indulgence?”
“Bold of you to ask that when you’re the one who got me hooked in the first place.”
Luke grins, tongue poking between his teeth for a quick moment before he jams a chunk of croissant in his mouth. Michael shakes his head, trying not to smile at Luke smiling around his croissant. “I do now that you’ve gotten me addicted to having caffeine first thing in the morning.” And also a little bit because it makes him think of Luke.
“You don’t come here, though.” Luke swipes at a flake of croissant stuck in the corner of his lips and licks it off his fingertip. Michael internally screams very loudly.
“Nah, I go to a place in my neighborhood. It’s not as good, but it gets the job done.”
“Your neighborhood.”
Luke has this way of asking questions without actually asking questions that makes Michael significantly more likely to say things he wouldn’t normally say. It’s all in Luke’s eyes. A hopefulness, a desire to know, and Michael is powerless against it.
“Chelsea,” Michael says, cocking his head when Luke’s eyes go wide. “What? Do I not seem like the Chelsea type?”
“No, you totally do,” Luke says, shaking his head rapidly. “But that’s not why I’m surprised. I just—this is going to sound insane.” He rolls his eyes and licks his lips anxiously, shifting in his chair.
“A long time ago—like months ago—I saw this guy at Once Over, that hipster coffee shop in Chelsea? I noticed him because he was really conspicuous, but inconspicuous at the same time. Dressed in all black but in a cool way, you know? Like he could hack into the matrix or spin a dope DJ set at an underground club. He had this big, baggy jacket and a hat. I could barely see his face from where I was sitting.”
Michael watches Luke’s face, animated as he tells his tale, hands getting involved during the parts where he pauses to consider his words. “Anyway, I saw this guy, and he sat down at the table in front of me, so I could kind of see over his shoulder. His phone screen was just right there, I wasn’t trying to snoop.”
“Sure you weren’t,” Michael interjects, needling Luke because he knows it will make Luke smile.
And it does. “I wasn’t!” Luke protests through a wide, open-mouthed grin. “It would’ve been harder for me not to see it!” Michael levels him with a playfully skeptical look and Luke presses on, a hint of the smile still stuck on his lips. “I saw him texting his mom. Ordering cookies. Browsing Amazon for a dog sweater. Listening to Number One Hits of the 90s.”
As Luke lists things off, Michael’s skin starts to get hot and clammy, an irrational feeling of being caught, even though he’s done nothing wrong. Because Michael remembers that morning. Luke's talking about him. He has to be, the list is too specific. Luke clearly notices that Michael has caught on, most likely because his cheeks are blushing pink. No matter how much Michael plays it cool on the outside, his blushing cheeks always give him away.
Eyes flickering with excitement, Luke continues, “I was fascinated by this guy. Everything about him was just so interesting and appealing, and I wanted to know more. And I kept thinking about him afterwards. Like, to the point where every time I go to Once Over, I hope he’ll be there so I can say something to him.”
“What would you say to him?” Michael asks, the warmth on his skin neutralizing into a numb tingle, heart rate slowing, mouth fighting a teasing smile.
“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Luke returns, looking at Michael like he’s insane for even asking. “I’m sure it would be weird and awkward. But I don’t know. I just wanted an opportunity to know the guy. I thought maybe if I said something, it would just…happen naturally. We’d vibe.”
“Right.” Michael can feel laughter brewing, the uncontrollable kind that makes his chest shudder until it forces its way out of him.
“The point,” Luke says emphatically, “Is that there was a little part of me that thought it might be you. Once we started going for coffee, talking more often. It seemed completely improbable, like I was reaching for connections where there weren’t any. But it was like…the way it was—is—with you is how I imagined it would be with the coffee shop guy if we ever spoke. And you wear a lot of black and have a dog and bring cookies into the office a lot.” Luke stops abruptly, eyes searching Michael’s, mouth opening, then closing, then opening again. “I made some leaps.”
Now Michael is just fully losing it, laughter rolling through him in giggly squeaks. “How the fuck is that real?” he gasps out, eyes watering. “Like seriously. How is that a real thing that happened, and you were fuckin’...right?”
It’s getting to Michael because it’s more of the thing. The thing where Luke thinks about him. Even when he doesn’t know for sure it’s Michael he’s thinking about. And right now, that feeling is manifesting as maniacal laughter.
Luke’s laughing now too, a low chuckle, more controlled than Michael’s, but it slips out in between his words. “What can I say? I’m incredibly perceptive.”
He’s stunning, actually. Freckles glowing in the morning sun, a smug smile on his lips and pride in his eyes. And something else too. Something Michael can’t quite place. Excitement? Anticipation? Or maybe just amused disbelief. Whatever it is, it makes Michael feel electric, every glance into Luke’s eyes a shock against his skin. Zapping him into action.
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
On Saturday, Michael goes to Once Over with the intention of working. Off the clock, which is insane, but he really wants to see his idea through, and he knows he’ll have a better shot at focusing if he’s not at home.
It’s sort of weird and confusing to Michael’s habit-oriented mind to order coffee from someone who’s not Savannah. He’s already discombobulated when he snags his drink off the counter, and then he comes face-to-face with Luke and yelps.
“Sorry,” Luke says with a wide, pleased grin. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Just wanted to say hi.”
“Oh. Hi!” Michael gapes at Luke for a second, gathering his thoughts. This isn’t just Luke. This is Weekend Luke. He’s wearing this tiny T-shirt that’s so thin it’s basically sheer, covered in little holes and stains, a raw him at the bottom where it seems to have been cut off to hit right at the waistband of Michael’s favorite incredibly tight grey trousers. There are these stray flecks of glitter shimmering around his eyes along with a shadow of smudged black, turning his eyes even more devastatingly blue. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here. It’s your coffee shop too.”
“I guess it is,” Luke replies, smirking, looking Michael over curiously. There’s not much to see. Weekend Michael isn’t really any different from Work Michael. “But I might’ve had some ulterior motives for coming now that I know it’s where you go on the weekend.”
“What ulterior motives?”
Luke’s eyes narrow and his brow furrows in this adorably asymmetrical way. “To try to see you?”
“Oh. Right.” Really? That’s fantastic. That’s also something Michael is completely unprepared to hear and therefore completely unequipped to handle. “Well. You’ve seen me! What’s next on the to-do list?”
This really seems to throw Luke for a loop—good, now they’re both fucking useless—and he chuckles nervously. “Uh, well…I’d ask if you wanted to get coffee together but we do that all the time, so…”
“Not here,” Michael says, probably too quickly. “And not when you’re Weekend Luke.”
Luke’s perfect, freckly nose twitches with interest. “Weekend Luke?”
“You know, Luke off the clock. Luke in a holey T-shirt. Luke who can do and say whatever he wants because his boss isn’t ten feet away.”
“Right,” Luke says, eyes lighting up and mouth curving into a smile while he nods enthusiastically. “I get you. So then you’re also Weekend Michael. So technically we are two completely different people at a completely different coffee shop, therefore we’ve never done this before.”
“Something like that,” Michael says with an easy shrug.
“So if I asked you if you wanted to get coffee with me right now—”
“I’d say yes, obviously. Although I might give you shit for not being more creative now that we’ve got all the freedom of the weekend at our fingertips.”
Luke’s eyebrows raise dramatically. “Oh!” Then, a quick recovery, mouth sliding smoothly into a tilted smirk. “Well, see, I just figured we’d want to make sure to get some caffeine in us before taking on any creative weekend adventures.”
“Right.” Michael’s lips purse into a tiny smile. He raises his coffee cup in the air and says, “Totally makes sense. Coffee first. Then creative adventures such as…” He looks at Luke expectantly and Luke’s eyes get wide and panicked. It’s fucking adorable.
“Such as…walking around. Outside. While we drink our coffee.” The barista places Luke’s coffee on the pickup counter and Luke swipes it up, then just keeps moving, trotting toward the door and expecting Michael will just follow him.
Of course he does, leveling a sarcastic comment at Luke’s massive back. “Wow, that is wild. I’m not sure I’m brave enough for that.”
Luke holds the door open for Michael and as Michael passes by he says, “Sorry I don’t have a full itinerary. Sort of a last minute thing. It’s not like I can just magically conjure up a Pitbull concert for us to go to.”
“A Pitbull concert?” It’s early enough there’s not much foot traffic on the sidewalk, so Michael walks shoulder-to-shoulder with Luke, no idea where they’re headed, but it doesn’t matter.
“He’s an amazing entertainer! The prince of Calle Ocho. Wordsmith extraordinaire. Connoisseur of beaches and hotels. I love Pitbull. I aspire to be more like Pitbull. Dale, and whatnot.” Luke says of this all in an impossibly serious tone, and Michael’s choking on his coffee by the time dale is uttered.
“I’m not at all surprised you like Pitbull,” he says, attempting to be smug about it. But it’s hard to be smug when you’re coughing around a mouthful of coffee. Luke takes a corner quickly and Michael skids at the unexpected change of direction while he’s still coughing around his latte.
Luke’s free hand darts out and catches Michael by the elbow to steady him and he says, unimpressed with Michael’s assessment, “And I know you do too.” There’s a wicked little smile on his lips while he watches Michael struggle. “You’re not fooling me with the black clothes. You’re one of the nicest and smiliest people in the office. Obviously someone who appreciates Mr. Worldwide’s infectious positive energy.”
It’s so absurd hearing Luke say this about him that Michael bursts into laughter again, still coughing through it. “Nicest and smiliest? No one has ever said that about me. Ever. You’re the nice and smiley one.”
“I just said it about you. And I meant it,” Luke defends, but Michael notices the way he ducks his head a little, lips twitching in the corners. Flattered by Michael returning the compliment. It sort of makes Michael want to whip out every single nice thought he’s ever had about Luke, just to keep Luke smiling like that. But Michael’s not that brave, and it would probably take all day to work through the whole list.
He can manage one or two though. “Would you still think I’m nice if I told you I stare at your ass every morning when we go up and down the stairs on the way to get coffee?”
Luke’s eyes absolutely light up. “Do you stare at it because you think it’s hot?” He looks expectantly at Michael over his cup as he takes a drink.
Not exactly the response Michael expected, but he’s delighted by it nevertheless. “Obviously. When you wear those grey pants? Your ass could pull as many tourists as Times Square.”
Grinning so wide his teeth pull apart and his tongue pokes in between them, Luke says, “Then yeah. I still think you’re nice. Would you still think I’m nice if I told you my favorite thing to do at work is to see how many bottles of tomato juice I can get into the fridge at once before someone questions it?”
“What the fuck, Luke? I’ve always wondered what was going on with the tomato juice in the fridge. I was starting to think we had a vampire in the office smuggling in blood inside V8 bottles.”
“So what you're saying is no, you don’t think I’m nice.”
“Depends. If being a tomato juice terrorist is your favorite thing about work, what’s your least favorite?”
Luke’s reply is instant. “My least favorite thing is the fact that your desk is so far away from mine.” He swings them around another sharp corner, and Michael stumbles again. This time, Luke catches him by the side of his shirt, keeping it in his grasp as they continue down the sidewalk, like he’s leading Michael on a leash.
“My desk is, like, ten feet away from yours.”
“Yeah, but I want it to be next to mine, or across from mine. So we can gossip and give each other meaningful looks when someone is doing something stupid.” Luke tosses out an incredible staring into the camera like he’s on The Office face to emphasize his point.
Michael comes very close to saying, but then you would be able to see when I’m creeping on what you’re listening to, but manages to catch himself. “I would love that, but I’m not sure I’d ever get any actual work done. You’d be too distracting.”
“Would I? Hmm.” Luke seems pleased about it, mouth flattening into a close-lipped smile. “I’m already distracted by you when you’re ten feet away.”
“Is it my loud typing?” Michael asks, wiggling his fingers out in front of him like they’re zooming over a keyboard. He has one of those keyboards that’s loud and clacky on purpose, because he likes the satisfaction of actually hearing his code come to life. It makes him feel like he’s being productive and accomplishing something. It also apparently annoys a lot of his coworkers, but he can’t be bothered to care when most of his coworkers have their own annoying habits. It’s nothing compared to hoarding tomato juice.
“Your loud typing is definitely distracting,” Luke says. “But that’s not the only thing. And on that note, prepare yourself. I’m about to take some stairs.” His eyebrows bounce mischievously, leading Michael to the staircase up to The High Line. He grins and lets go of Michael’s shirt, bounding up the stairs with some extra zest for Michael’s benefit.
Michael follows behind a bit more slowly, calling out encouragement. “Pretend I’m doing one of those creepy whistles right now! I don’t know how so you’re just going to have to imagine it.”
Luke laughs, glancing back over his shoulder to share his laughter with Michael. His mouth is open in the most adorable smile Michael has ever seen, sheepish and exuberant and proud all at once, curls bouncing against his forehead while he takes the last few steps.
Looking up at Luke, Michael has never felt such an intense desire to kiss someone. Not just kiss. Grab him and absolutely smother him with kisses until neither of them can breathe. His body is shaking from it, hands trembling and breath shuddering.
When he gets to the top of the stairs, Luke is still grinning, holding a hand out to Michael. “It’s early enough we might be able to snag one of the chaise lounges.”
“Amazing idea,” Michael says, grabbing onto Luke’s hand before he can second guess it, squinting into the sun. “I don’t think I’ve ever managed that.”
Luke pulls them along, aiming for the cluster of wooden lounge chairs off to the side of the main path. “Sometimes I do, if I get out early to go for a jog. But I’ve always had a little fantasy of sharing one with a cute guy. Having a cliche romantic New York moment.” He glances at Michael, mirroring his squint against the bright sunlight. The clear blue of his eyes still sneaks through, glittering and hypnotizing. “Now there’s a Daylist title for you. Cliche Romantic New York Moment Morning.”
Oh. In just a few sentences from Luke, all the possibilities come crashing together. Michael’s head starts to spin. He’s floating out of his body. Everything feels just a little fuzzy around the edges, like he’s in a dream.
“What Pitbull song would you put on that Daylist?” Michael asks, still dazed, but in a way that makes him feel brave. Like this isn’t real, so nothing matters. He can’t fuck it up if it’s not really happening.
Luke laughs, throwing his head back and then immediately tripping over the edge of one of the crisscrossing wooden beams under his feet when he loses sight of the path. Michael tightens his grip on Luke’s hand and keeps him steady until he can get his balance back.
“Thanks,” Luke says, still wheezing, but looking at Michael with this secret smile and this look in his eyes that makes Michael’s stomach flip. “I just got so flustered at the idea of having to pick the one single most romantic Pitbull song when they’re all so dreamy.”
“Fair,” Michael replies, grinning uncontrollably. “But that’s why it’s such a good question.”
“Bojangles is definitely a contender,” Luke says thoughtfully, steering them off the path to an empty chaise lounge. “But I think I might have to go with Come n Go.” His body bends in ways that don’t seem possible for his length of limb as he climbs onto the chaise and settles in, looking up at Michael sweetly with his coffee cup perched on his thigh. “Because you’re the internet, Mike, and I’m looking for a download.” He cocks a smug eyebrow, patting the empty space next to him.
Michael shakes his head, lips pressed together and nose scrunching. “Are you just saying that because I write code?”
“I’m saying it because I mean it,” Luke says, watching with an amused smile while Michael carefully sits down next to him. The chaise lounges are big, but feel a lot smaller when two over-six-foot men are attempting to share one, pressed together from shoulder to thigh. “Pitbull found the perfect words for me to tell you how I feel.”
It’s almost impossible for Michael to look at Luke like this, his face just inches away. It doesn’t matter that he’s teasing Michael with Pitbull lyrics, and actually that might just make it even harder to look at him. He’s exquisitely beautiful, exquisitely silly, and Michael is exquisitely fucked up by all of it. Everything about him.
But Michael forces himself to look, because he doesn’t want to miss a single second of it. And the longer Michael stares at him, the more anxious Luke gets, narrowing his eyes while they flick over Michael’s face. They dip to Michael’s lips and linger there, and Michael can’t fucking take it anymore. “Hold on to your coffee,” he murmurs, covering Luke’s hand to help keep the cup steady. Luke’s lips part, forehead wrinkling in confusion, but before he can say anything, Michael kisses him.
His lips are so soft, sunshine and mocha latte warmed, and perhaps best of all—relaxed and receptive. Luke may have been confused before, but he doesn’t seem at all surprised now, ready and willing to let Michael kiss him to his heart’s content. He’s not in any hurry, gently gripping Michael’s jaw to hold him in place, lips lingering against Michael’s for a moment before they pull apart.
It was just a couple seconds. Barely a kiss at all, really. That doesn’t stop Michael’s heart from swooping through his chest like a comet.
“Wow,” Luke says incredulously, a wide smile on his face. “I can’t believe that line worked.”
He’s even closer now than he was before, and Michael wants nothing more than to kiss him again. “What can I say? I’m powerless against the poetry of Pitbull and 1989 blue eyes.”
“Are you really?”
“That’s the logical conclusion based on the available data.”
Luke smirks, eyes glinting in the sun while the gears turn in his head. Then, with one eyebrow raised and a flirty drawl, “So if I said, for example, I wanna take you to the boom boom room so we could do it like boom boom boom boom, would you have to kiss me again?”
Michael struggles mightily not to burst into laughter, pressing his lips together tightly and forcing out, “I’m afraid so.”
“Huh.” Luke tips his head back to take a drink of his coffee, eyeing Michael as he swallows. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
It takes Michael until the following Friday to finish working out the code to hatch his stupid plan. He arrives at the office with pep in his step, knowing that overnight, his hard work was sent out into the Spotify universe, and Luke should already be seeing the results this morning.
As soon as Michael walks in, Luke calls out from across the office, “Did you do this?”
Michael tries to tamp down his smile, backpack bumping against his shoulder as he makes his way over to his locker. “Did I do what?”
“My Daylist. Cliche Romantic New York Moment Morning. Did you do this? How did you do this?” He’s talking a mile a minute and his hair is sticking up like he’s been shoving his hand through it aggressively, eyes sparkling but on the edge of maniacal. His vibe is really reminding Michael of himself when he was younger, standing in line for amusement park rides or waiting to open Christmas presents. Uncontainable nervous excitement.
“How are the songs?” Michael asks, lips twitching up at the corner. “Are they Cliche Romantic New York Moment-y enough? Are they songs you like and want to listen to?”
“They’re so fuckin’ Cliche Romantic New York Moment-y,” Luke confirms with an enthusiastic nod that makes his mop of still slightly shower damp curls bounce around his head. “This is the best Daylist I’ve ever seen.” He leans against the lockers and levels Michael with an accusatory glare, but his lips are fighting the same battle against a smile. “What did you do? Did you fuck with my account to customize my Daylist or something?”
“I didn’t fuck with your account,” Michael defends, dumping his backpack in his locker and slamming it shut. “It’s the algorithm.” Luke stares at Michael dubiously. Casually, Michael adds, “It’s just that the algorithm might possibly have been programmed specifically for you.”
Luke’s eyes go wide and his mouth splits into a grin. “Seriously?” Michael shrugs. “How the fuck did you do that? Are you allowed to do that? Is everyone else getting a shitty Daylist because of me?”
“The opposite, really. Making the edits based on you improved the algorithm for everyone, even if you’re the only one getting a perfect Daylist.”
“And the title?” Luke prompts, nudging Michael with his elbow.
“I may have coded that specifically,” Michael admits.
“Am I going to keep getting a perfect Daylist forever now? Is it always going to be a Cliche Romantic New York City Moment?”
This is something Michael loves about Luke—his curiosity, his questions, his general desire to know. But at this particular moment, it’s making him a little insane. He doesn’t want to talk about his code. He wants to kiss Luke again.
“The titles will switch back to the algorithm-generated ones after this morning,” he says, hands jittery at his sides while he tries to be normal. “But your Daylist is going to be perfect forever. Or at least as long as I’m alive and working at Spotify.”
“Oh my god. This might be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” Luke looks genuinely touched. Michael knew he would be, because that’s the kind of person he is, but it’s still hard to believe it’s because of anything Michael did.
“I had some ulterior motives,” Michael admits, head slowly tilting back to keep his gaze steady on Luke’s face as Luke comes closer.
Luke smiles devilishly. “Did you?”
“It worked so well when you did it. So I wanted to try. I wanted to engineer another cliche romantic New York city moment.” Michael gestures out the window to the view of the sun rising over the skyline. “For you.”
“Oh, that’s…” Luke pauses, blinking at Michael while he chews on the corner of his lip. Finally, he comes even closer, nodding knowingly. “Figures you’d find a way to use hundreds of lines of code to do this instead of just taking five seconds to ask me out.”
Michael opens his mouth to argue, but Luke cuts him off, grabbing Michael’s hands. “Shut up, that’s a compliment. Now, can I treat you to a Bittersweet Quad Mocha Morning at Uptempo?”
“Yes, but…”
“But what?” A sweet, hopeful smile tugs at Luke’s mouth. His eyes are literally sparkling, almost blindingly blue in the sunlight.
The plan is to actually ask Luke out. To be clear and obvious with his intentions and make sure they‘re on the same page. The plan is not to blurt, “You're like the sun in California. Where there's no you, there's no euphoria,” but that’s exactly what Michael does.
It’s worth it. Luke shakes his head, lips pursed and eyes dancing with laughter. “I get it now,” he says in a low, quiet voice, flicking his eyes to meet Michael’s. “Pitbull poetry. The Young and the Hopeless green eyes. I gotta kiss you.”
And he does, right in the middle of the office, where the green glow of the Spotify logo meets the cloudless blue sky.