#10-15k

As he somewhat begrudgingly set about picking up all his property and carried it to the table two metres ahead of him, he allowed himself to have a look at his wristwatch. Normally he would not bother to wear one, but he did when he went to Caesar and Barret’s Book Club and Café. As an outdated coffee bar with a spacious library slash study hall, the place was nice enough, and the staff certainly had a heart for the business. But the building, both on the in- and the outside, was dilapidated; and Brian could not remember that anything broken had ever been fixed during the six years he had come around as a customer. It seemed to him a vicious cycle the bar suffered from - the place looked old and dusty, which caused many potential customers to walk by and search for someplace more fashionable, and thus the bar’s revenue remained low and the staff was unable to carry out the necessary reparations. Brian, however, had never even considered moving elsewhere for his weekly Friday evening study sessions. This bar was cosy, quiet, with a homey feel, the staff was kind as could be, and they served good coffee. Taking all this in mind, what reason had he to complain about a broken lamp?

Once he had moved all of his property towards the table in front of him, Brian looked around to find that the entire area around him had been deserted in his hours of absent-mindedness. He had been absorbed in the coffee-stained pages of the book on the social tensions in the Republic of Ancient Rome he had plucked out of the book shelves hours ago, and the few people around him - an old man and two giggling schoolgirls - had left the bar without him even noticing. Now that he had moved closer towards the edge of the first floor of the building, he could see that the ground floor and the bar slash help desk had also been abandoned, save for an old man he’d seen there numerous times before, and an unknown girl with shoulder length blond tresses who was sitting on one of the high perched bar chairs. Wearing fashionably tight, patched-up blue jeans, pink glitter sneakers, and colourful suspenders over a faded striped shirt, she looked oddly oud of place in the dusty old bar, and Brian wondered what she was doing all alone at a place like this.

The girl, as if she felt she was being stared at from the odd angle of the balcony above her, looked up at Brian, who was then forced to throw half of his assumptions about her out of the window. It was not a woman, but a man - a guy of about his age, who had, from what Brian could see from the second he gave himself to stare back before he looked away, the prettiest face he’d seen in a long, long time, if not in his entire life. Soft, angelic features, slightly rounded cheeks, and ridiculously big eyes of which he could not quite make out from the distance, all of which were surrounded by fluffy locks of honey blond hair. Quite the image of what Brian expected an angel to look like if he had believed in their existence.

He certainly would after that night.

Now, however, he could impossibly allow himself to gape at the man any longer if he did not want him to find out he had been looking at him through the wooden bars of the balustrade. Brian reluctantly forced his eyes down on the pages again, but the emergence of the First Triumvirate in 59  BC suddenly seemed a lot less interesting now that his eyes, mind, and possibly even heart had been captured by the stranger at the other side of the room. Although he never allowed himself to stare into that particular direction for longer than a handful of seconds out of fear he would be caught by the very person he was spying on, the image of the boy had been carved into his brain so deeply that Brian could swear he could see his face in front of him whenever he closed his eyes. Something had been so captivating about the fellow bargoer, and Brian did not know what it was - the sheer innocence of his expression, his fashionable appearance in a bar no fashionable people normally would step inside, or perhaps the way he pulled off the androgynous look so ridiculously well. All he knew was that he felt oddly drawn to the boy who had him questioning his understanding of gender, his judgement, and what he had always thought were his preferences in love interests; and what he did not know is what to do with these feelings that had sprung into existence from out of nowhere but which did not seem to plan on leaving his mind alone anywhere soon.

After having rotated between the illegible letters of his book and the image of the boy sitting motionlessly at the bar for at least ten minutes, Brian decided that he had to do something if he did not want to drive himself out of his mind. He wished he could simply get up from his chair, tread downstairs, and walk up to the stranger to introduce himself, but he knew he would never in a million years have the courage to pull off a move like that. Whoever this person was, he was way out of his league, and never in a million years would he be interested in a socially awkward astrology student like him.

But then again… What was this boy doing here in a library and coffee bar if he did not have any interest in at least one of those concepts? Everyone Brian knew came in here to read, study or do literary research with the help of a fair amount of caffeine, and those people who came in to check out the place without having either of these plans in mind, typically tended to leave just mere minutes after they had entered the building. At first Brian had been assumed the unknown customer would follow the same pattern, but he’d stayed, much to his relief. However, it had been over fifteen minutes and he still had not picked up a book, had not ordered anything to drink and had not taken any interest in anyone around him, leaving Brian to wonder what he was doing here.

Brian wished he could ask. He wished he could simply go towards the man and ask him if he could help him; if he was looking for something, or someone, or if he could help him find his way around the building. Maybe he could even give him recommendations for books he might be interested in; despite the general messiness of the space, the books were always sorted pretty well - or that was, not alphabetically or chronologically or anything, but at least subject per subject and category per category. Brian was sure he could help the boy with whatever sort of literature he was looking for.

The thought of possibly being able to address and guide the lonely visitor around was almost enough to make Brian get up and go for it, but his fear of rejection kept him exactly where he was. What if his victim would brush him off, or worse than that, scoff at him for even approaching him? What would he himself think if a stranger would approach him in a shady bar?

Well, if said stranger was as pretty as this one…

Stop it, Brian. Stick to your work. He’s way out of your league, Brian reproved himself. You’d never make a chance, and especially not with this boy. With a sigh, he turned to his book again; but it was no more than thirty seconds before his eyes had slipped back to the bar again. The boy was still sitting there, one leg bouncing nervously, and a hand threaded through those angelic locks. He looked a bit distressed, and so lonely, just sitting there staring around with nothing to do. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t mind some company..?

And look at that, what a shame - his coffee cup was almost empty. Clearly he could not work without some caffeine (although, he had to say, he’d just spent five hours on a single cup), and even if he didn’t, the cup would have to be brought back to the bar. He wasn’t one of those people who left his trash on the table so the barista could clear it all out after her shift, like the man who had been sitting a few tables away from him and whose empty place was now adorned with two empty cups and a morning newspaper. And speaking of the barista… Didn’t she look terribly bored with the lone customer sitting at the bar, who so far had not seemed to reciprocate any of her attempts at conversations very elaborately? Surely she would not mind having something to do…

When he had eventually collected enough reasons to convince himself he really did need to go down and have a better look at the guy (order a new cup of coffee, he corrected himself mentally), Brian stood up as soundlessly as possible, stacked the three empty cups of coffee on top of each other, and carefully made his way down the creaky stairs that led to the ground floor.

Once he (and the randomly assorted porcelain cups) had safely made it downstairs, Brian tiptoed over to the elongated bar in front of him. The barista, who had been polishing the sink for at least half an hour out of a lack of better things to do, smiled at him invitingly when Brian stopped in front of her workspace, which was two chairs away from the one where the pretty blond boy had settled.

‘I, eh, collected some cups upstairs,’ Brian said as he unloaded the tableware from his arms and placed them onto the bar top. ‘Thought it would save you some work.’

‘Oh, thanks! That’s very kind of you,’ the girl smiled politely as she took them into her hands and placed them in a grey tub at the other side of the bar. Brian knew her a little; or actually, he knew her pretty well. Her name was Millie, the daughter of Richard Barrett, one of the owners of the place. She spent many hours in the bar either reading and making her homework or by bartending to earn a little money; she said she just covered when someone fell ill, but Brian knew that she helped her father out simply because he could not afford hiring permanent staff from the little revenue the bar made, if it made any money at all. Either way, she was a kind girl; not exceptionally pretty but with a very warm smile and an even warmer heart. Courageous, too - she had asked him out a few times about a year ago. They’d gone to see some movies and eat sushi at a nearby restaurant before Brian had figured out he did not swing that way. She had been very cool about it, said it didn’t matter, that it was all part of figuring himself out - and until this day, Brian felt like Millie was the only one who really didn’t care about his sexuality. Of course, others had said the same, that they’d love him no matter what and that he had to follow his heart, but it always sounded a bit off, a bit forced, as if they did not mean it. Millie had for some reason, while Brian had always found she had had all the reason not to be happy about his discovery, as they were practically dating when he confronted her with the news. But instead, she had supported it; she’d old him to go his own way, had even been able to make jokes about ‘three dates with her had been enough to cure Brian of his heterosexuality for the rest of his life’, which was something she herself always laughed about loudest. She was an honest, lively, sweet girl - one Brian definitely would not have minded ending up with if he had not found out he was gay.

Upon Millie’s return from the tub she’d put the cups into, Brian was still standing where he had been before, carefully eyeing the quiet guy next to him, and the barista obviously took it as a sign he had come to ask for something more.

‘Is there anything else I could do for you?’ The smile was still there, yet it seemed a bit forced by now - not out of mean will, but because the muscles around her lips must have gotten tired from excessively smiling at customers all day long. Or well, at the few customers that came in on a daily basis. God, it really was a miracle this place was still open.

‘Uhm, are you still serving coffee?’ Brian asked a bit insecurely, a feeling that only grew when his question seemed to catch the attention of the boy next to him. Surely, he wanted to get in touch with him, but preferably not while he was reinventing the etiquette of ordering a cup of coffee, thank you very much.

‘As long as we’re open, we’re serving coffee,’ Millie told him with a bright smile, one Brian knew was meant to be customer friendly but which he could not help but see as mocking. Because let’s be honest - that had been a dumb question if ever there had been one. Of course a coffee bar served coffee; this wasn’t some kind of bloody neighbourhood pub that had announced its last call thirty minutes ago and was desperately trying to kick out the last remaining part of their clientele. This was a coffee bar - and one that could definitely use all the money they could get, on top of that.

‘In that case I’d like one coffee, please,’ Brian said, still trying to process the stupidity of his previous question and in the meantime figuring out what to do with the eyes of the person sitting next to him, which seemed to be boring right through him. Whereas he had wanted to get closer to- and catch the attention of his chosen one, he suddenly felt utterly uncomfortable now that he had it. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say?

While the barista turned around to the coffee machine to prepare the order, Brian eventually found the courage to glance up at his neighbour, who in the meantime did not seem to have looked away from him. Immediately facing away again, Brian found interest in his shoes; shoes he figured out right away were nearly not as glamorous as those of his counterpart. None of his items of clothing were spectacular, and especially not when compared to those of the boy sitting next to him; his velvet trousers that were a tad too short were nowhere near as fashionable as those tight on top, flare bottom jeans the other guy was wearing, and there was no way in hell Brian’s worn-out pink and purple striped shirt could ever compare to the faded, horizontally lined shirt he was currently looking at.

A faded, horizontally lined shirt with a nearly obscene amount of buttons opened, leaving a pale, slender chest bare between the cotton fabric.

It looked so good on this obnoxiously pretty person that Brian had to look away from it if he wanted to prevent himself from blushing like a schoolgirl right there at the spot.

Brian though he did well by letting his eyes travel up from that half-naked chest so he no longer had to drool over it, but then it turned out that this action - as any other person apart from him in his state of utter stupidity could have imagined - made Brian look at the softest chin, plushest pale pink lips, adorable little nose, and eyes-

Eyes that were simply beyond description. Big and round and the most beautiful baby blue colour Brian had ever beheld. They seemed to be enhanced with mascara or something the like, but when he looked better, he saw that those were just the natural lashes - long and voluminous and soft, almost fanning the skin below his eyes when the boy blinked.

Simply beyond perfection.

‘Hey.’

If Brian hadn’t been fairly sure he was dealing with an angel right here, he would have been positive of it the second those pretty pink lips parted to offer a careful yet confident hello to him, after which they curled up into the sweetest smile Brian had seen in ages. Enough to make him blush, and most certainly enough to make him realise right there and right then that he would not be able to push the image, the sound, the overall halo that seemed to surround this individual out of his head.

‘Hi,’ he said back, but the second the monosyllable left his lips, he regretted it and had to look away from the guy as to not make things even more awkward than before. His voice sounded weird and high - and not at all the adorable and pleasant kind of high of his neighbour. It was embarrassing, he wished he could take it back and start over again, so he fumbled for something else to say that would maybe do his voice more justice. He cleared his throat - softly at first, but when this only seemed to make matters worse he had to do it over again, this time loudly enough to make the barista turn around and look if he had meant to catch her attention.

Great. Now I’m surrounded by two people I cannot look in the eyes again.

Brian hoped the man next to him would have lost interest in him - or that was, he didn’t, but it seemed like a better alternative to him than having this ethereal being glance at him now that he had just established himself as teenage awkwardness incarnated. But wen he glanced up he did so right in time with the other boy, and he knew he was doomed.

Come up with something. For the love of God, come up with something. Say something, anything, to distract whoever his perfect person is from that ear scratching hi you just uttered. Ask him how he is, Ask him if he comes here often. Ask him if he’s tasted the espressos at this place yet. For God’s sake, say something, you utter fool-

‘You drink it black, right?’

‘Sorry?’ Brian blinked in confusion when he was distracted from the inner dialogue he was having with himself by a familiar voice. Only having caught the warmth of the voice and not the message it had been trying to carry across, he turned to the person next to him to have him repeat what he’d said. Unfortunately for him (and anyone involved in the situation, for that matter) the stranger gave a nod into the direction of the barista, who had returned to the bar with the cup of coffee she had prepared for him.

‘Your coffee. You don’t use sugar or milk, do you?’ she recalled correctly, and Brian nodded just to prevent having to speak and possibly creating a repeat performance of the last time he opened his mouth. He just couldn’t risk that.

‘Here you go, then. That’ll be thirty pence, please.’

Oh yeah, things cost money these days. Brian’s fingers disappeared into the back pocket of his trousers and he fished out a handful of small coins. Without counting them - out of fear it would look stupid or stingy or whatever - he puts them down on the countertop, right next to the hand his barista is offering him so she wouldn’t have to fumble the pieces of metal back into her grip.

Well, close enough. Close enough to winning the Absolute Idiot Award of the year, that was, Brian though to himself.

‘You can, eh, keep the rest as a tip,’ Brian said, feeling too awkward under the preening gaze of the pretty blond boy who was still eyeing him from the side line to wait until the bar employee had sorted out which part of the money was to pay for the coffee and which part she should hand him back as change.

‘You’re a dear, Brian,’ Millie smiled at him. Brian could see from the corner of his eyes how she swept up the money in the palm of her hand while he left with the cup of coffee in his trembling hands.

Well, at least he’d managed to make one person happy today.

While feeling the stranger’s eyes boring into his back, Brian clumsily ascended the ladder-like stairs and settled down on his chair again. He pushed his chair back a bit so he would not be visible for the only two remaining people inside the restaurant and then covered his face with his hands. He knew he was not the smoothest talker around, but that grabbing a cup of coffee and saying hi to a person his eye had just fallen on had to go this horrendously, was something even he could not have foreseen. Had he known he would forget that coffee bars sold coffee and that he’d mistake Millie’s voice for that of his newly found crush, he never would have gotten himself out there. The only thing he could do now in order not to mess things up even more was sit here and wait until that fascinating but irreproachable boy would leave the place and then find his own way out of the doors ten minutes after that.

Or well, irreproachable… Brian was pretty sure the stranger’s eyes had been on him quite a bit while he had been standing next to him. He’d been the one to smile and say hi to him instead of the other way around - and upon leaving with his cup of coffee, Brian had been positive those liquid blue eyes had been fixated on him. It was almost as if maybe this boy wanted to-

Of course not. He was just being polite by smiling and greeting you, and he looked at you because that’s what people do. At the very best he looked at you because you were the only one providing movement in the entire bar, and in the worst case scenario he stared at your too short trousers and ridiculously childish purple shirt. Get back to work before you make yourself lose your mind over this silly little situation.

Sighing, Brian opened up the book again and started reading a section that dove right into battle descriptions of the Second Roman Civil War. He pretended for a while he was busy reading, but when he had to repeat the same sentence four time before the meaning of it got to him after a number of minutes, he decided to give up. This was not going to work - he would not find rest as long as that gorgeous creature was sitting downstairs and stole all of his attention with his mere presence. It was stupid to drool over someone he’d only seen in closeup for about a minute, but he could not help himself. He had to see him again; he didn’t even have to say anything to him, for this probably only end up in ore embarrassing situations, but he just had to be close to him again. He had to stand next to him again, see those blond locks and pretty eyes and plush lips and that gorgeous chest once again, even if it was just for a minute.

Knowing himself well enough to realise he would not get peace before having carried out this desire, Brian closed his book again and tried to come up with a reason for him to go downstairs again. The toilets were here upstairs, so that was not an option. Asking for the time would be silly; all clocks around this place were broken, and he doubted Millie even knew what time it was herself. He could of course go down and ask for a cloth because he’d ‘spilled some coffee’, but he’d already made himself out as the clumsiest person in Great Britain before, and did not wish to make people think even worse of his life skills. The only logical reason for him to go down and interact with Millie again - and thus having an excuse to get close to the boy that had invaded his mind - would be to ask for another cup of coffee.

Staring at the damp coming off the cup he’d ordered a mere ten minutes ago, Brian wondered if this was something he could do. Wouldn’t it be a bit too much to order two coffees within the time span of fifteen minutes? But if he waited, then perhaps the boy would leave in the meantime. He had not ordered anything or read a book or talked to anyone as far as Brian had been concerned, and he feared that he could walk out any moment. If he wanted another glance of him, he had to do it now.

Brian, now determined to go downstairs again and ask for another coffee, just had one more problem in mind; what was he going to do with the one he’d just ordered? He could swallow it all down, but just one sip of it proved that it was still too hot drink it, let alone down the whole substance at once. Another option would be to throw it down the drain in the men’s bathroom, but this would be a waste; he had paid for it after all, and Millie had taken effort to make it for him. He began regretting having taken all the remaining cups downstairs - if he’d left only just one he could have switched them and take the empty cup back to the bar with him. The last remaining option he had - emptying the contents of his cup out in the fake palm tree a few metres to his right - was also not ideal. However, after having taken a few painfully hot swigs of coffee that managed to put his tongue, throat, and stomach on fire, Brian decided he had no other choice. In one swift moment, he moved over to the side, dumped the contents on the sand in which the tree was standing (which also turned out to be fake, for it did not absorb the liquid; this might not have been that good of an idea) and leapt back to his place.

Once he had established that neither of the two people present had seen his little coffee escapade, Brian took a deep breath of air and stood up from his table for the second time in fifteen minutes. It was silly what he was doing, so bloody silly, but the moment he descended the stairs and felt two pairs of eyes turning to him, he knew there was no way back.

‘That was fast,’ Millie smiled at him when he approached the bar on which Brian placed the empty cup. He hardly dared to look in her eyes, or ever come back here if she would find our what had happened to the previous cup of coffee while he set about for ordering a new one.

‘Yes, I, eh… I was thirsty,’ Brian shrugged, a slight blush adorning his cheeks. Millie didn’t notice, luckily - and if she did, she was kind enough not to remark on it.

‘That’s fair. And you’ve been here for quite a while - I figure you need coffee to keep your eyes open and on your homework.’

‘Yeah, you’re totally right about that,’ Brian lied. ‘And, well, speaking of which… Mind if I order another coffee? Or would you rather have me leave so you can close off and go home?’ He added the second sentence quickly after the first when he felt the gaze of the person next to him drawing towards him again, suddenly not knowing what to do anymore.

‘No, of course not. You know Richard doesn’t want me to close the doors before twelve anyway.’

‘Alright then, one more coffee,’ Brian blurted out, and Millie nodded in approval.

Whether she saw that her two customers were eyeing each other constantly or if she just preferred some company during her scandalously boring shift, was something Brian guessed he’d never find out. All he knew was that she surprised him when she said: ‘I can also make you something a bit more fancy, if you’d like. A cappuccino or a latte macchiato. You can have a seat here at the bar in the meantime.’

‘I… I’m not sure…’ Brian uttered, but Millie insisted - desperate to get her hands something to do and to make him stay.

‘Same price as the coffee. You can have whatever you like.’

‘Well, a cappuccino sounds good,’ Brian gave in. It apparently was something Millie would appreciate, for she eagerly got to work, and perhaps it was not too bad sitting here and getting some more views of this extraterrestially attractive guy next to him. 

Or perhaps it was a bit bad, after all. Sure, the big eyes blinking into his direction and the pretty smile he was even offered was enough to make Brian’s heart melt, but it was all at the cost of his own self-esteem - if he still had any left after having been put in the same space as this boy. He felt terribly insecure about his empty eye colour, the nose he’d always found a tad too large, the vampire-like fangs that were supposed to represent his canine teeth; not to even mention how he felt about his outfit choice for the day. It was not as if it was usually any better, but he wished he could have gone with actual fitting clothes this morning, or clothes that were at least more appropriate for his age. His hand tangled itself into his untameable curls (oh yes, he almost forgot about those, but they could also be added to the list of reasons he felt insecure) and his left foot started copying the bouncy movements his neighbour had started pulling off. It almost seemed to Brian as if he was nervous, too, although he had no idea what reason the boy would have for this. Perhaps because he was being stared at, fair enough; but in his own defence, the blond boy was keeping his eye on him just as much, if not more, than Brian himself did the other way around. Even though his neighbour tried pulling it off by glancing at the crumpled piece of paper lying in front of him on the bar top, Brian knew he was looking at him. Neither of them spoke, however, and the sound of the milk foamer was the only thing sound in the bar.

‘Here you go, Brian.’

The silent tension what clung in the air between them was shattered when Millie placed a cup of cappuccino in front of Brian, who pulled his eyes away from that gorgeous, gorgeous half visible chest of his neighbour and smiled at the employee instead.

‘Thanks, Millie,’ he said. Just as he started wondering whether he was expected to now move back upstairs - and if not, how he was supposed to sit and drink his coffee without fucking up next to the prettiest person in existence - a soft voice called out to him, and this time he was positive it was not the one of the barista.

‘You come here often, then?’

Brian looked up into those baby blue eyes that held an entire ocean, and felt his heart skip a beat. The person he had been captivated by ever since first laying his eyes on him was talking to him - asking a question - as to start a dialogue. Brian had to search the depths of his currently overwhelmed brain to find a decent reply to this opening line that would have felt like a cliché if anyone else than this man would have spoken it.

‘How did you figure?’ he managed to ask eventually, cursing the squeaky tone of his voice.

The response of his neighbour was flawlessly confident, however. ‘The staff knows you by name,’ the stranger said with a short nod towards the bartender, who had resumed brushing up some glasses in an attempt to amuse herself for the remainder of her shift.

‘I mean…’ Brian swallowed a bit awkwardly; yes, he did come here often, but what would this gorgeous individual say if he admitted he spend three nights a week a this dying old bar to make homework for electromagnetism and thermodynamics of the universe? For what must be the first time ever, Brian wished he had chosen something else to study; something more normal; something he could explain to an obnoxiously attractive stranger he met at a bar on a random blue Monday like without feeling ashamed.

‘Well, yes, I tend to come here at times, when I want some peace and quiet,’ he said, hoping this would not sound all too ridiculous. Then, to shift the focus away from himself, Brian added:

‘I’ve never seen you around here,’ which he came to regret the second after the words left his lips. It sounded like a poorly disguised attempt of telling the stranger he did not belong here, and that his presence was unwanted by him and other regulars who frequented the place. As if he formed a tightly knit group with a bunch of other boring research-over-coffee-fanatics who saw all other customers of the bar as a potential threat to their favourite hangout.

Luckily, the other guy did not seem to take offence against what Brian said; if anything he seemed amused, probably realising all too well that he looked out of place as could be in his pink glitter shoes and colourful suspenders over that way too far unbuttoned shirt Brian couldn’t help staring at…

‘No, this isn’t the sort of place I would usually go to,’ the stranger laughed, running a hand through honey blond hair. ‘It’s just that I met up with a date here tonight.’

A date. Those words made Brian’s heart sink in a little, but he still tried his best to remain positive nevertheless. ‘A date, then!’ he repeated, noticing the slight crack in his quasi-enthusiastic voice, and wishing he could disappear into thin air. ‘What time should she be here?’

‘At ten.’ The sleeve of the right hand was yanked up to reveal a metal-coloured watch adorning the thin wrist. Its pointers announced that it was ten to eleven, meaning that whoever he had an appointment with tonight, was fifty minutes late. Although Brian had to admit he did not know too much of dating culture, he could tell that fifty minutes was too much to be fashionable late, and that if his date had gotten lost on her way, she would have found someone to give her directions by now. Neither of them wanted to admit it out loud, but Brian knew they were both thinking the same thought - he had been stood up.

‘I don’t think she’s coming anymore,’ the boy eventually mumbled when Brian remained quiet, crumbling the paper with the address into a ball in his hand. Brian felt a tinge of both relief and sadness run through him; relief that he would not have to watch this gorgeous boy walk off with a girl he knew he could never live up to, but sad for him that he had gotten himself all dressed up, dragged himself over to this weird place he normally never would have placed a step inside of, and wait for nearly an hour only to be abandoned by whoever found it fit to get up someone’s hopes and then leave them all on their own on a Friday night.

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Brian allowed quietly. ‘I couldn’t imagine someone letting go of a chance to sit here and get to know you better.’ The words escaped him before he knew it, and he had to oppress the tendency to cover his mouth with his hand when a pair of confused looking eyes stared right into his.

‘Sorry?’

‘Eh, nothing. Something silly,’ Brian shook his head in an attempt to get rid of the mental image of what he had said. It did not work, and he realised right there right then that that very line would come back to haunt him for the rest of the month. Luckily however, the stranger had not seemed to hear him, so Brian collected all his courage to ask a question he’d never asked anyone before, but which he figured was the only thing he could say now to turn around the topic. ‘But, eh, since you’re here now, we might as well make the best of it. Could I… buy you a drink?’

A second of silence before his neighbour replied. ‘A drink?’

‘Yes, a drink. Just to try and make the best of the evening,’ Brian said with an innocent smile, hoping that his cheeks would not have turned beet red just yet. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

‘I don’t usually drink coffee,’ the blond man replied.

‘Tea is also fine. The fresh mint tea is really good here,’ Brian said in earnest, but the growing smile of the man next to him let him know that this was not what he meant when he’d admitted he didn’t usually drink coffee.

‘I mean that I usually drink something stronger on a Friday night,’ he said, and Brian was sure that if his cheeks had not already resembled the colour of scarlet before, they certainly did now.

‘Oh. Oh yeah, of course. Eh, yes, I’m sorry, I don’t know if they have any… Millie, do you have any alcoholic drinks here?’ Brian called out to the bartender, who looked up with a pensive expression.

‘I’m afraid not - we don’t have a liquor licence. But I can run upstairs and see if my dad has anything in his cupboard?’ she offered, pointing a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the stairs towards the apartment she and her family lived at, right above the bar.

‘No, no, don’t trouble yourself,’ the man bade her. ‘I’ll have the mint tea that… Brian, right? That Brian recommended.’

‘Sure! I’ll get right to it.’ Millie immediately set out for the fridge to collect the herbs, but Brian could not pay attention to anything she did - not now that the stranger had called his name.

Brian. Brian. One never thought about one’s own name that much until someone spoke it in a significant situation, or in a manner that was not used very often. He remembered having hated his own name with a burning passion whenever his father used to yell at him to come inside at eight o’clock while all the children in the neighbourhood were allowed to stay up at nine, and how odd his own name had sounded when the principal had pronounced it through the microphone for an audience of classmates and family members the day he received his high school diploma. But right now, it did not sound off, it did not sound weird or out of place or any of those things; it sounded sweet and strangely familiar, almost homey for some reason, when spoken by this stranger with an angelic face and apparently an even more angelic voice. Brian wished he could listen to it forever.

It soon turned out, however, that hearing the guy speaking his own name was even more mesmerising than having him pronounce Brian’s.

‘I’m Roger, by the way,’ the man, who by disclosing his name really was starting to become more and more real to Brian, reached out a hand to him, which Brian somewhat shakily accepted. The milky white skin of Roger’s hand felt soft, warm, but a lot less moist than his own clammy palms - which was a detail Brian hoped Roger would not mind too much.

‘Roger. It’s nice to meet you,’ Brian told him, not realising exactly how long he had clung onto the hand he had been given to shake until Roger eventually carefully tried to release it from his grip again. Brian let go and faced away, but not enough to not see how Roger discreetly wiped his hand on the fabric of his jeans.

He had definitely noticed how sweaty Brian’s hands had turned upon meeting him. Amazing. Just what he needed to feel even more awkward.

‘So you go to this place voluntarily, and not in order to be stood up?’ Roger picked up the conversation again. Brian looked up to see a glint of amusement in his eyes and in that sweet, sickly sweet smile of his, and he was unsure if his counterpart had meant for this question to be serious, or if he was trying to poke fun at him for hanging out at a place like this.

‘I, eh… Yes, I guess I do. I’m a regular here,’ Brian replied when he’d decided he’d better answer the question sincerely, not willing to risk being sarcastic when Roger had not intended this tone. ‘I mean, it’s not exactly…’ Brian paused for a moment to see if Millie wasn’t paying attention to them -he didn’t want to insult her or her father, after all - and then continued: ‘not exactly cool, but it’s peaceful and the staff are nice. There’s plenty of space and room to hang out, and it gives me a break from school and home. This is my way of going, I guess.’

‘Really?’ Roger asked, but he did not sound as bemused as he had done before; in fact, he seemed interested in what Brian had just told him, and looked around as if he could actually imagine people liking to come over to this spot to a certain extent, which his words confirmed. ‘I mean, it looks cosy enough. You’re not much of a going out type of guy, then? Like, actually go out to… clubs or discos or such?’

Brian was relieved beyond words that Roger, who seemed so slick and cool with every word he spoke, also seemed to have a moment of struggling to come up with a proper sequence of words; it made him feel like he wasn’t that far out of his league that he could hardly imagine him being a human being, for one. ‘I mean, sometimes my friends will convince me to go with them, but it’s not really something I’d do for myself.’

‘Friends only?’ Roger looked quasi-disappointed, but the look in his eyes was too bright for Brian to believe he was really beaten down by this confession. ‘Not if a ditsy stranger you met at a coffee bar like me would ask you out to a club?’

Brian stared at the man with big, surprised eyes as he attempted to take in what he’d just said - or more specifically, what the meaning behind his words were. Would he go to a club if a ditsy stranger, as Roger had described himself, asked him to? Was this meant to test whether Brian could see his polar opposite as a friend, to try out if Roger could stretch up his boundaries and get Brian to go to a club sometime, or was it meant to be an actual invitation to go out together? To go on a date together, if you will?

‘Here’s your tea, dear.’

The barista interrupted their conversation at both the best and the worst possible moment, leaving Brian to drown in the myriad of possible underlying motives of Roger’s words while the other guy could light-heartedly turn to Millie and the order she’d prepared for him.

‘Thanks a lot, sweetie,’ Roger said with a wink towards Millie that left Brian both relieved to have the attention shifting away from him and jealous for the exact same reason. He could curse himself for all of these dubious feelings that were running through him at the speed of a freight train - why did he feel so wronged when Roger thanked their barista in a more flirty way than he’d have he courage for, and why was he overanalysing an obviously playful comment to the point where he’d made it look like a revelation of love?

‘How much is it, Millie?’ Brian asked in an attempt to get his mind off the matter - and, secretly, to make sure Roger wouldn’t run off with the bartender during his mental absence.

Roger glanced at Brian with a mixture of adoration and doubtfulness. For a second he looked as if he wanted to protest and pay for the drink himself, but he did not get the chance - neither of them did, that was.

‘You’ll have it on the house. You just gave us a two pound tip for your first coffee, remember?’ Millie smiled at Brian, who was positive he was blushing from head to toe by now. The worst part of it was that Brian did not remember; or, that was, he remembered having dropped a handful of change on the bar top, but until this very moment he’d had no idea how much money he’d flung towards the bartender in his moment of awkwardness. That it had been two pounds - his entire weekly allowance - was something he had not expected, but what could one do? Ask back the ridiculously high tip he had accidentally given, in the presence of the prettiest boy he’d ever seen? No, it was better that Millie keep it; Brian could bear the financial gap, and the bar could probably use it better than he did.

Brian planned on telling Millie that she was too sweet for this world, but worried it would sound sarcastic some way or another. Besides, how was he supposed to focus on the bartender when the guy next to him was grinning like an idiot for a reason that had obviously gone over his head?

He shot Roger a bit of a curious glance, but when the boy didn’t look u from the cup of tea of which he was twirling a strand of mint around between his thumb- and index finger, he instead looked up to find an answer in Millie. The bartender had obviously noticed the smirk on her customer’s face, too, but seemed to have missed out on the cause of his joy as well, for she shrugged as a form of silent reply in response to Brian’s unasked question.

Brian gathered all the courage he could find in his body to ask the question directly. He could no longer oppress the idea that gnarled at his confidence that Roger was laughing about him, and decided that hearing the reason behind the smirk from his company himself was better than having to beat himself up over it for the rest of the night because he’d never found out what it had been he’d said or done to have made Roger grin quite like that.

‘What’s so funny?’ Brian managed quietly, and Roger didn’t look at him while responding - now with a softening smile on his face, as if he had been found out but didn’t mind too much.

‘Nothing, really. Just… I didn’t expect my night to turn out like this,’ he shrugged. ‘To agree to meet up with a girl and hit the club but end up with a guy and a cup of mint tea at an outdated coffee bar.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Brian blushed, not knowing why exactly he was apologising; it was after all not his fault that Roger had been stood up and left in this place he would normally never put a foot inside of.

‘Don’t be. I like it this way better anyway,’ Roger said, which caught Brian by surprise.

‘You do?’

‘Yeah, I do. I mean, partying and hanging out with a bunch of pretty guys and girls all night is fun, but it gets old after a while,’ Roger explained, again twirling a strand of mint leaf around. ‘Especially when one gets the opportunity to meet someone who cannot be equalled in terms of looks and charms by the whole lot of them.’

Brian knew he was bad at hints, but he could tell from a mile away that this was supposed to be one; and if the previous one had left him in doubt as to whether it was mean to be taken as an attempt at flirting, this one most definitely left no room for interpretation. So what else could Brian do than - be it in his own awkward way - try to let Roger know that his shots at flirting with him had no gone unnoticed not unappreciated?

‘That certainly means something coming from someone as lovely as you,’ Brian said before he could give himself the time to overthink this statement. He was positive that had he allowed himself to think twice about it, he never would have uttered the same sentence - but then he also never would have gotten the same reaction as the one he’d gotten by letting himself go for what must have been the first time in his love life.

‘Lovely, I like the sound of that, but I think it’s more fitting for yourself. Has anyone ever told you how sweet those long curls look on you?’

Brian thought he had been nervous before, but he was positive his heart rate went up to at least two hundred beats a minute the second Roger reached out to take a loose curl of hair between his fingers, watching with an appreciative smile when he let go of it and saw it bounce bang into its place. Usually spoken Brian was not a big fan of people touching his hair, or any part of him for that matter, but now he found himself wondering whether it would be weird to tell Roger to do that again, to take his hair between his fingers and play with it all he liked. Concluding that this would be strange (if not a bit creepy) to tell a stranger he’d just met, Brian decided against it.

‘Not really. Most people told me to crop it off again, but I think I like it better like this,’ he settled with, something that was met with an affirmative nod from Roger.

‘Absolutely! You should keep it like this, it fits you. It makes you look so unique; not like anyone else I’ve seen in a long time.’ Blue eyes gleamed in appreciation, and Brian couldn’t help a shy smile as he went on to tell his company the backstory of his haircut.

‘It was supposed to look a bit like Jimi Hendrix and Ginger Baker from the Jimi Hendrix Experience, but I’m afraid I went a bit overboard…’ His right hand buried itself in the pile of curls halfway through the sentence; he had no idea why he was telling Roger this, or what on earth the other man could possibly reply with. Tonight, however, seemed to be the best night he and his socially awkward generic comments had ever had, because he could swear Roger’s eyes widened at the mere mentioning of the band name, and he was quick to latch on to this new subject.

‘Jimi Hendrix! You like him, then?’

‘I suppose I do. I’ve got all of his albums,’ Brian said reservedly in an attempt not to immediately betray how much of silly fanboy he was, fawning over Jimi Hendrix every time one of his songs was played on the radio. ‘And I’ve seen him live last summer.’

‘You’re kidding!’ Roger’s voice was close to a squeal by now; enough to make Millie and the other one remaining customer turn around. Neither of them minded, though, now that they had found a new topic of mutual interest. Roger turned his barstool around and laid his hands on his knee to show he was all ears before urging Brian to tell him ‘all about it, from the first to the last second.’

And so Brian did. He had no idea how much time had passed, how many cups of mint tea and cappuccino were ordered, and how many cups, glasses, menu signs, and tables had been cleaned off by Millie by the time he had gotten around to tell the finest details he remembered of Jimi Hendrix’ specific rendition of Love or Confusion that specific night he had gone to see him roughly half a year before. All he remembered was one of the main sources of overhead lighting at the place being shut off and Millie, upon seeing their confused looks, telling them with a smile they had been too deeply engaged in conversation to have heard the last call she had announced twenty minutes earlier, and her having decided to just clean up everything around her already so they could have a bit more time together before she would inevitably have to kick them out of the bar.

The couple, the both of them red with shame (which Brian decided looked very cute on Roger) apologised to Millie, made an attempt at paying for the beverages (which was once again turned down), and helped the girl cleaning their side of the bar top and dimming the last lights around them. While Brian collected his long-forgotten books and notepads on the firs floor of the building, Roger managed to have her accept some coins as a thankyou for having managed to ‘say alive with two dorks right in front of her’ as he called it so accurately. Millie in turn thanked him for their coming, seemed to whisper something at Roger, and showed them out. Brian could swear he could see her flash him a wink when she closed the door behind her and started working on the lock.

Oh, Millie. Brian made a mental note to himself to buy the girl flowers for her indirect support to him, both that evening and ever since he had told her the truth he’d discovered about himself - or maybe two bouquets if whatever had started to unfold between Roger and him would actually blossom into more than just the daydreams he knew for a fact he’d have for the upcoming weeks.

The December wind was cold when compared to the cosy warmth of the bar, and Brian found himself burying his hands a bit deeper into the pockets of his coat. Roger seemed equally cold, if not more; he wasn’t wearing anything to protect him against the cold besides a coat, of which Brian doubted it was winter proof. Would it be silly to offer him his scarf?

Brian thought about it for a moment, but the words left his mouth on their own account when a particularly powerful gust of wind caused his company to shiver and bury his lower face into the collar of his coat, for what it was worth. ‘You want my scarf?’

‘No, it’s fine,’ Roger brushed him off while Brian was already busy unwrapping the long piece of woolly fabric from his neck. It had Brian looking at the garment for a moment to determine whether it was too unstylish for anyone but him to wear - something Roger obviously noticed to, for he laughed and reassured him.

‘It’s a very pretty scarf; I love the blue and green texture. But I live very close by. I’ll be home in just a few minutes.’

‘I’m glad. It’s not nice having to cross half through town at this hour and in this weather,’ Brian said.

‘I hope you don’t have to go too far either?’ Roger inquired.

‘Twenty minutes or so,’ Brian said. Then, when Roger pulled a bit of a face, he added: ‘It’s okay. I don’t mind walking. It’s quite calming actually.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ Roger smiled, although he himself seemed happy enough not to have to cross the distance Brian still had to go. Then, when a bit of a silence fell between the pair of them, Roger followed Brian’s example of hiding his hands in his pockets, leant against the door of the now closed Caesar and Barret’s Book Club and Cafe, and said with a much less cool voice than he had probably intended: ‘I enjoyed myself a lot tonight.’

Brian cracked a smile at his partner of the evening. ‘Me too. It’s been a pleasure meeting you,’ he said, hoping the crack of his voice wasn’t all too audible. He had only met Roger mere hours ago, had not even said his goodbyes to him, and he already missed him. Already wished he could give him his number, ask him to meet up again, perhaps meet up at this bar or any other place that might be more to Roger’s liking. It didn’t matter much to Brian when or where it would be, as long as it would be with Roger. He wished he could ask him-

And then it suddenly struck him - why exactly couldn’t he ask him? What else but his own crippling insecurity was there to hold him back? Roger had obviously enjoyed his presence, or else he would not have sat there for hours on end listening to his endless descriptions of Jimi Hendrix records, concerts, and performances. The flirty comments Roger had made throughout the evening had given Brian the idea that maybe, just maybe, he’d have a chance with him. What did he have to lose?

‘I wish I could see you again.’ It escaped Brian before he knew it, just as much he had said that evening had done, and it brought a smile to Roger’s face that told Brian he was doing something right. That he had done something right throughout the evening, and that he’d soon be given another chance to do things right again with Roger.

‘I want to see you again, too. So… shall we do this again sometimes? Same time, same place next Friday?’ Roger stared at his feet while making the proposal, but was quick to look up to gauge Brian’s reaction to his offer.

Brian’s first instinct was to say yes, of course I can, because it’s impossible that there would be anything more important to me than meeting up with you as soon as possible again. But just as he was about to answer in the affirmative, It dawned on him that he had agreed to perform at an afterschool party for the science department the upcoming week, and that Friday night was the only time next weekend he was not available.

‘I’d love to, but I’m afraid I can’t that evening,’ Brian said. ‘I’ve, eh… got a gig with my band.’

Brian had expected for Roger to be disappointed to have his proposal denied, but his company did not seem to mind at all; and if he did, it did not show, for the word ‘band’ had stolen all of his attention away. ‘A band, then! We talk for two hours but don’t even talk about you being in a band!’ Roger cried. ‘What do you play?’

‘I play guitar and do vocals,’ Brian said, but deciding that this sounded cooler than he felt his actual position in the band was, he was quick to add: ‘Well, background vocals, that is. We have a singer for the real thing. Tim Staffel, have you heard of him? He’s pretty good, he’s been around in the music scene for a while.’ He hoped it didn’t show too much that he was starting to blabber out details that were hardly related to the question Roger had asked, which it seemed it didn’t.

‘No, but I guess I soon will,’ Roger smiled. ‘Where’s it gonna be?’

‘London Imperial. You want to come over and see him perform?’ Brian asked with a touch of surprise in his voice. Sure, he would love for Roger to come and see his band, but he hadn’t expected him to jump onto the opportunity as quickly as he did. Brian wasn’t sure if Roger revealing that seeing Tim wasn’t his incentive to attend their show mad things even better or even worse for him. It did make Roger all the more admirable, at any rate.

‘Not him, silly. I want to see you. If that won’t make you too nervous,’ Roger grinned.

I’ll probably be unable to sleep three nights in advance and be weak in the knees all day long.

‘It won’t,’ Brian told him, which might not even be a lie. Sure, he would be nervous for a show he knew would be attended by he prettiest boy he’d ever laid eyes on, but he also knew he would be motivated to give it all he could with Roger in the audience.

‘What’s the band called, anyway?’ Roger asked, and Brian felt the confidence he’d managed to gather since Roger had expressed interest in coming to see him and his band disappearing as snow on a warn day in July. The name of their band suddenly sounded stupid and childish as could be, and Brian wished he could get away with making up a new name and convincing Tim and Mike and the rest to change it before next Friday. However, when he could not come up with a better name right there on the spot and doubted if his band mates were willing to throw away the flags and signs with their logo and start all over again, Brian decided he’d have to tell Roger the truth.

‘Smile. I know, it’s a bit silly, I’ve proposed…’

‘Don’t change it,’ Roger interrupted him before he could finish his apology. ‘It’s only appropriate for a band with a guitarist with the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen.’

Even though Roger had made multiple flirty and appreciative comments throughout the night, this one hit Brian hardest. He did not know whether it was because Roger was complimenting one of he features he had been insecure about for as long as he could remember, or because it was the sweetest, most innocent, most endearing compliment he remembered ever having received. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they were standing outside in the December cold at one or two AM or whatever time it was, with only the poor glow of a single streetlight allowing them to see each other. Not that Brian needed any more light than this; the sparkle in Roger’s eyes shone brighter than any streetlighting could ever do.

Brian saw how Roger looked at him with an expression he could not describe as anything else but ‘drunk on appreciation’- if not drunk on love, or infatuation, even. He told himself to snap out of it, reminding himself that no one could ever fall for someone else that quickly, but just his own feelings towards the person he’d only met mere hours ago disproved the very thing he was trying to convince himself of. If love was an arrow, then he’d been struck through his heart more violently than he’d ever thought was possible in his life.

‘You’ve got a pen and paper at hand?’

Brian was brought out of his daydreams and considerations by the seemingly random question Roger asked. Because it took him a few seconds to get back to earth, he decided to get straight to the task instead of asking what he needed it for first; he landed his school bag on the floor, crouched next to it, and produced his notebook and a blunt pencil that he hoped would do the job. Roger took the items gratefully, and it was not until Brian was given back his notebook that he came to find out why Roger had needed it in the first place.

‘Here’s my number,’ Roger told him. ‘Call me if you feel like hanging out. Or if you need a new drummer for your band. In either case I’m your man.’

With those words and the most endearing, hopeful smile Brian had ever witnessed, Roger turned around and strode down the pavement with quick, light steps.