#acraffles

A/N: coffee shop au—for these beautiful people 

-- 

MGS shakes her head at him, but MGS orders a strawberry latte every other afternoon. ACSI, according to some people, could be doing better things with his time. Those have never been things that actually interest him. 

The café is soft and dark, a little too small. He doesn’t see many customers on his shifts—they haven’t had trouble since NY wrote THIS IS NOT A STARBUCKS in large indignant letters across the top of the chalkboard. ACSI is good at any job that requires him to deal with people on a daily basis, and he works the machine like a man possessed. 

This drink is: Triple espresso

For: RGS <3 

HCI comes in, sometimes, to replace the felt-tip pens they keep for takeaways. NY does the latte art: she’s a talent for that, and she’s pretty—but so is her girlfriend, and ACSI is nothing if not a gentleman. People learn. Some don’t. 

‘You’re holding up the queue,’ snaps ACSI, the fourth time it happens. 

This boy raises surprisingly sharp eyes to fix him with a flat stare. ‘There is no queue.’ 

‘I don’t care. You’re wasting my time, hurry up.’ 

He’s already gone back to inspecting the menu. He doesn’t look up. ‘I think you’re wasting mine. Do you have soy milk?’ 

‘No,’ says ACSI. 

‘Yes,’ says NY, materialising out of nowhere. ‘This is my girlfriend’s brother. You two play nice.’ 

‘Oh,’ ACSI says blankly. ‘Didn’t know that.’ 

RI hums, traces a fingernail over the ring-shaped stains. ‘I’ll have—no, I think, you know, I’ll have something sweet.’ 

ACSI shifts his weight on the counter from one elbow to the other. ‘Okay.’ 

‘And cold.’ 

At ACSI’s pleading look NY sweeps past him, all apron and smiles: ‘My shift starts at five. You need to work on your patience.’ 

‘Why don’t you decide for yourself?’ 

RI looks up very slowly. ‘I don’t know what I want yet. Isn’t it your job to give recommendations?’ 

‘I’m going to count to five.’ 

This drink is: CINNAMON FRAPPUCCINO 

For: TAKE YOUR DRINK AND LEAVE 

-- 

RGS talks more, usually. ACSI sees her in the mornings, when she comes by to bring NY breakfast and kick ACSI’s feet off the counter; and in the evenings, when NY takes her home. NY is quieter by nature, doesn’t say much in front of other people, she can hardly keep ACSI under control. But RGS is blunt; ACSI likes her. 

They might just be a proper clique, tightly knitted, except not. There are long hours arguing over drinks and nothing while the place empties around them. NY throws the mop at him when ACSI joins in instead of helping her clean up. 

-- 

‘I didn’t think you had a sweet tooth,’ ACSI is half under the counter, ‘you don’t look like it.’ 

‘I don’t.’ RI sounds almost hesitant. ‘Why do you think I come here and not Starbucks?’ 

This drink is: FRENCH VANILLA WHITE CHOCOLATE ICED MOCHA

For: HOW ABOUT TAKING IT BLACK FOR A CHANGE 

-- 

RGS and RI’s relationship is symbiotic. RI takes her mockery and retaliates hard; RGS is a force of nature. ACSI finds out he’s into boys because RGS is willing to narrate her brother’s entire sexual history with biting comments. 

(NJC in passing, through the door: ‘Look, there’s your attractive counter guy.’ 

‘He is not my counter guy.’) 

-- 

ACSI dresses better than your average barista. NY laughs at him for it, but NY studies in the back when customers are scarce, and ACSI doesn’t, so there’s the difference between them. The cold weight of RI’s gaze on your back would make anyone quail; ACSI turns once, exasperated, to meet RI’s faint smile. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ 

RI is staring in fascination. ‘Your hair’s too long, you should cut it.’ 

This drink is: COFFEE

For: DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE 

-- 

RGS shoves her brother out of the way when he lingers so long over his order everyone is sick of it. He must think they don’t notice ACSI has started giving him a little more of everything than he gives other people. ACSI isn’t subtle. 

-- 

RI comes in one day looking more tired than usual. The dark circles are a little too prominent, and ACSI is in the mood for kindness. On a whim he adds extra whipped cream and a quick squeeze of the fingers. 

‘I,’ RI is blinking down at the cup, at their hands brushing on the counter, ‘what’s this?’ 

‘You must be blind,’ ACSI replies through the espresso machine. ‘On the house.’ 

‘I don’t like whipped cream,’ says RI hopelessly. For once he’s thrown off balance. ‘I mean, thanks. But. I’ll just. I’ll—‘ and he’s scooping the cream gingerly into a napkin, ‘—yeah.’ 

ACSI looks at him. RI barely flinches. ‘See you,’ over his shoulder, cup in hand, and ACSI stares at the door swinging open; RI never says goodbye. The napkin is a sodden mess on the counter. It shrivels under his glare. 

-- 

‘My brother doesn’t give people his number,’ RGS says. Nearby, NY is wiping down the tables, and the air between them thrums with affection. ‘He thinks it’s forward.’ 

ACSI smacks his head on the underside of the counter. ‘Come again?’ 

‘Apparently, it’s rude to give your phone number to strangers.’ The inflection of RGS’ voice is very definitely sardonic, sharper than her brother’s, but familiar. NY sweeps the rag past RGS’ elbows, and RGS shifts to make room. When their eyes meet the corners of RGS’ mouth turn upwards. ‘It’s like you’re forcing your own interest on them.’ She does the accent and everything. 

Rude is fine. ACSI can handle rude. ‘That’s the whole point of social interaction.’

‘And,’ NY is nearly done and RGS stands up, pushing her chair in, ‘he hates the idea of other people having ways to contact him. People are supposed to give him their phone numbers, he says.’

‘Probably never happens,’ says ACSI viciously. 

‘Never happens,’ RGS agrees. She gazes at him with detached sympathy. ‘Look, I could tell you more if you want, but I’ve got more interesting things to talk about.’ 

‘I know,’ ACSI tells her quite sincerely. RGS tilts her head, waiting. NY toes up for a kiss as she passes; ACSI is well-bred enough to look away. 

‘Sorry to disappoint.’ 

‘Not like I care.’ 

-- 

‘Half an hour for one drink. That’s your new record.’ ACSI slides the cup over the counter with its receipt. ‘I’m proud of you, call this number when you feel like it.’ 

RI looks down at the slip of paper. He turns it over in his fingers. ‘What’s this?’ 

‘The price of your coffee,’ replies ACSI, ‘obviously. What do you think.’ 

‘I never liked coffee,’ RI says absently. ‘You make horrible coffee anyway, it’s too sweet.’

A/N: scholarshipping is based on stereotypes and headcanons about schools. i don't quite know who started it but it's a pretty big thing now, and also something we've never meant to be offensive.

aside from being personifications of real-life institutions, of course, everything is ours, and none of this should be taken to reflect in any way on the schools themselves.

i don't like to warn just for same-sex pairings, but this is acsi/ri—1800+ words of silly fictional boys. with art by the lovely capitalhatter!

--

Both RI and RGS use their words like a whiplash. Their heads jerk up when he approaches—still in uniform, the two of them, green and white and black.

‘You’re interrupting,’ RGS tells him, speaking first. RI has crossed one leg over the other, and scowls into his cup; they’re arguing, as always, and as always RI is losing.

‘Sorry,’ says ACSI easily, not caring much. He drops into the seat opposite them. ‘Just saying hello, you know, don’t mind me.’

RI is softer than his sister, less forceful, but sharper around the edges. He and RGS exchange glances across the table. ‘Shouldn’t you be at the match?’

‘I don’t have to. You’ll lose.’

RGS laughs while her brother splutters. The cold light isn’t kind to him; he is an assortment of bony knees and elbows, one ankle propped on his thigh, radiating all over a kind of steely self-consciousness. ACSI’s tie is askew, and RI’s gaze lingers on his collarbone.

‘You’re on our school grounds,’ RI says, cool, clipped vowels and perfect accent. A little jerk of his head, all condescending: ‘Go away, why don’t you.’

‘You can stay,’ snaps RGS immediately. ‘He’s being pissy.’ RI gives her a filthy look.

ACSI pays for both their drinks. RI elbows him in the ribs for this when RGS isn’t looking, and stalks off with the remains of his dignity.

(ACSI doesn’t want RI’s number but RGS gives it to him anyway.)

--

ACSI [01:03]: sup

ACSI [01:03]: guess who

ACSI [01:05]: ‘s handing your ass to you next week

ACSI [01:05]: hahaha

RI [01:10]: How did you get my number?

ACSI [01:12]: so

ACSI [01:13]: whatre you doin up so late

RI [01:13]: How did you get my number?

ACSI [01:13]: wait i know

ACSI [01:14]: studying

ACSI [01:14]: haha

ACSI [01:15]: hahahahaha

RI [01:15]: How did you get my number?

--

‘Stop being childish,’ RI hisses.

ACSI, peering out from behind the podium, barely looks at him. ‘Shut it.’

‘I—you are so—’ RI fumes, chokes on nothing, and is silent. After a moment ACSI retreats, ducking back under the heavy curtain, to find him spread-eagled there. Here everything smells like cobwebs and musty wood. RI has dirt stains on his uniform when he sits up.

‘How long before they find us?’

‘Never,’ says ACSI flippantly, and topples him again. They’re backstage, listening to the murmur of crowds outside. RI doesn’t often do this, or at least he picks his hideouts wisely. But they had a game earlier and ACSI beat him twice and lost once which is good enough for a truce. Now he watches ACSI stretch, a whisper of tanned limbs.

‘This place stinks,’ RI remarks to the curtains. Something stirs within them, scuttles and squeaks and he twists to look at ACSI. ‘What’s that?’

‘Insects. Sounds like your choir.’

RI’s foot slams into him. In the scuffle that follows, a glance sideways tells ACSI they are really very close. RI pulls himself up into a sitting position, arms over his knees. His breathing is loud and harsh in the quiet—he’s warm, so near it tingles, smelling of clean uniform and boy. Freshly washed. He looks bored.

ACSI presses his face into the curtain. Yeah, it stinks.

‘You can stay here,’ ACSI offers. RI blinks at him and ACSI doesn’t look long enough to notice RI is staring at his mouth. ‘Think I’m gonna go off and, you know, actually talk to people, have a life.’

RI bristles, like ACSI knew he would. ‘Suit yourself, I have better things to do.’

‘Sure you do.’

‘Maybe you don’t realise—’ RI’s head is up now and he’s glaring, ‘—I have a reputation and the brains to keep it.’ Then he does that thing again, narrows his eyes and speaks with sophisticated contempt: ‘It’s a little different from you and your less intelligent brother—’

‘You are a dick,’ ACSI snarls and they end up wrestling half behind the curtain and half out, they aren’t sure who hits who first. RI blames him for the scolding they get when his principal drags them both out, and ACSI doesn’t even pretend to care.

--

RGS [14:11]: Hey

RGS [14:11]: You’re cool and everything

RGS [14:11]: I don’t mind you

RGS [14:12]: But as a sister I feel it’s my duty to warn you not to provoke my brother

ACSI [14:12]: whoa hold up

ACSI [14:13]: this is our thing

ACSI [14:13]: i insult him, he insults me

RGS [14:13]: Ugh you guys are so childish

ACSI [14:14]: and wtf!

ACSI [14:15]: i don’t provoke him! he provokes me!

ACSI [14:15]: i don’t even like him!

RGS [14:20]: Really

RGS [14:30]: What don’t you like about my brother

ACSI [14:35]: you know the part where he’s a douchebag? yeah that part

RGS [14:39]: Funny, that’s what he said about you.

--

There’s a moment when they’re in the same place at the wrong time. ACSI has his feet up on the table, homework in his lap, he never spreads out his worksheets so his handwriting’s worse than it already is; the others are with him and he’s making fun of how HCI curses in Chinese. Next to him, MGS is eating a cucumber sandwich, and their laughter carries everywhere. They wave RI over. RI drops his bag on a chair and sits, with the rigid poise ACSI would never master (it isn’t his style).

‘I can’t do this,’ ACSI declares to the rest of them, and gives up. ACSI is smart but doesn’t like to do as he’s told; RI likes to think he’s smarter when he isn’t. This is one of the reasons ACSI would like to kill him. It’s not why he can’t concentrate when RI is around. Trigonometry can go hang itself.

RI is laughing and coming over to help, so pretentious, and he nearly misses how ACSI jolts in his seat when RI traps his fingers. RI removes the pen with excruciating care, bends to guide him through the equations, and midway realises he’s leaning in a bit closer than he needs to. ACSI isn’t even trying to make out RI’s awful chicken-scratch. Familiarity breeds contempt. He squints at the paper for a few seconds but that’s it.

ACSI looks at him, eyebrows raised, and RI thinks oh.

--

If it were anyone else—anyone without their history—RI would write him off with icy logic, just another boy who caught his interest, another nighttime fantasy. But ACSI is rival and ally and friend. RI doesn’t like him but he could fall for him (is falling).

They meet at a debate. ACSI is somewhere in the audience, with the supporters, and halfway through he catches RI’s eye and smirks. Even from this distance it’s wide, careless, and infectious. It makes something stick in RI’s throat. RI loses his train of thought—stammers, and sees his opponent’s eyebrows go up and up. Opposite, ACSI is watching him with an odd expression.

ACSI’s team doesn’t make it to the finals and for once RI doesn’t gloat, just ducks out of reach when ACSI makes a halfhearted swipe at him.

--

RI avoids him for a month and then visits his campus on a whim, spends an hour learning the shape of it, mapping the long corridors. Just when he thinks he’s gotten away safe, ACSI catches him wandering somewhere near the squash courts. RI whirls around, expecting to be chased off, but ACSI only laughs and walks past—he’s filthy from playing, looks like he’s in a rush—slaps his bottom and throws a last grin over his shoulder. RI swears he sees the mad flush that burns RI’s cheeks and doesn’t even care.

--

ACSI [16:45]: WHAT

ACSI [16:46]: WHAT THE

ACSI [16:46]: WHAT WAS THAT

ACSI [16:47]: YOU SON OF A

ACSI [16:48]: omfg

ACSI [16:48]: THAT WAS NOT A GOAL

ACSI [16:49]: yOU CHEATING SCUM

RI [16:53]: I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of my sports teams beating yours.

--

It takes him a while to figure things out.

The rain forces them to seek shelter at the same bus stop. ACSI hasn’t got an umbrella, and laughs it off; RI has one and refuses to share. ACSI is texting someone, paying him no attention, and because RI is RI he steels himself and takes the first step.

‘I’ve never told you,’ he begins, ‘but I, I—er, I mean, you’re really quite attractive.’

He’s been trained to be confident, but so has ACSI and both of them hate to lose.

‘I know,’ replies ACSI without missing a beat, like he hears this every single day. RI wants to smash his head against a pillar. Instead he grits his teeth and forges on bravely.

‘Put your phone away and listen.’

‘Trying to tell me what to do?’ but he does it anyway. This should be the first hint—RI is too nervous to register it.

‘And, and I think you’re,’ he hopes ACSI will take his stumbling hesitation for sincerity, ‘you’re at least worth something—no don’t look at me that way I’m sorry—I, right, yeah, and if you don’t like me back I’ll just—piss off, to use your unrefined—’

‘What the hell,’ says ACSI right in his ear, and RI almost drops his bag. The bus stop is deserted. The roads are cloaked in sheets of rain. ACSI’s more athletic than he is and if ACSI kills him now no one will ever find his body.

‘I’m sorry,’ he bites out. ACSI gives him another incredulous stare because RI hardly apologises, not to him. ‘Did you understand all of that?’

‘I am not stupid,’ says ACSI furiously. ‘What do I have to do to tell you.’

RI blinks—stares fearlessly—takes a moment to collect himself. ‘Oh,’ he says at last, having found nothing else to say, and feels ACSI’s irritation like a burn. ‘I see.’

ACSI holds their stunned silence for an instant before he apparently makes up his mind. ‘That’s enough, okay, come here,’ dragging him closer by the wrist, eyes wide and sharp, ‘you think you’re so clever—’

‘Oh, but I am,’ RI says, just because he can. He smiles a little. It’s like this, see—ACSI’s fingers tight on his collar, up close in their shared space, swallowing each other’s air. ACSI is very good at this. There’s an old lady at the bus stop opposite who’ll click her tongue at their uniforms, but nobody knows their faces.

The bus comes both too soon and not soon enough.

--

RI [17:05]: What time do you finish today?

ACSI [17:11]: idk prob around 7+

RI [17:13]: Why?

ACSI [17:14]: training

ACSI [17:14]: why dyou ask

ACSI [17:15]: actually why are you using your phone at all don’t you have comps

RI [17:18]: Yeah I guess

ACSI [17:19]: what’s that supposed to mean

ACSI [17:23]: dinner?