#gtnw

PROMPT: I just came up with this last night when I couldn’t sleep: Reader is an immigrant with big dreams who happens to work at the café where Lin crashes during a snowstorm. Disclaimer: this happens in the beginning of 2017, supposing Lin is still in New York

WORD-COUNT: 1,568 (that’s one way to start things) (no regrets tho)

WARNINGS: just cursing really. and numerous mentions of coffee

A/N: this is my first Lin imagine I’ve ever written so I have no idea what I’m doing. But inspiration and frustration just hit me in the head, basically begging me to write this and sell my soul to the HamHell to the point of no return. I hope it doesn’t suck. Enjoy.

A/N2 (IMPORTANT): English isn’t my first language and there might be some mistakes. Also, I had some editing problems, please ignore them if they still exist. Special thanks to @fragmentofmymind who so kindly agreed to check this out and @paintedwingz who listened to my rambling.

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In New York you can be a new man. That was the main idea you have always heard about the City That Never Sleeps.

Everyone you asked, everywhere you looked, this is what you found. New hope for anyone, fresh out of the oven.

Even for small girls with big ambitious dreams.

Especially for small girls who were willing to brave any storm in order to achieve their big ambitious dreams.

Ever since you could remember, NYC fascinated you, with all the risks, and chances, and possibilities. It was what you would have defined as impossible, and what you were most drawn to.

So off the college benches, you took the first plane to New York to start what you always liked to call “a new life”, waiting for your impossible to happen.

~*~*~

The bell above the door sang for the countless time that day, as a new customer made his way in the warm buzzing café. The weather, as beautiful as it was, with fat snowflakes falling from the sky, was however dreadful, the cold biting every inch of skin left uncovered. So there was no surprise that the people caught unprepared on the street by the merciless snowfall were looking for shelter in the cozy local cafe you worked in, now filled with endearing smells and colors.

You were prepared to blurt out the usual “How could I be helping you today?” with the same prerequisite gleeful voice and smile to the man clogged with thick clothes, when he attempted to take off his hood in order to get rid of the snow perched atop of it.

He didn’t manage to finish the move, when you cursed quicker than you could think and louder than you intended.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” You so elegantly exclaimed, staring straight in the eyes of the slightly unnerved man, people now looking curiously your way, when divine inspiration hit you. You glanced at your phone on the counter, and then shouted at your co-worker, who was probably doing her job better than you were.

“GRACE! Have you seen the new trailer for the last episode of Sherlock?”

You didn’t listen to what she exasperatedly grumbled, too content with the fact that the people slowly returned to their conversations. You then turned to the perplexed man sitting in front of you, giving him an apologetic look.

“I’m really really sorry, sir. I just didn’t expect to see you here, and I figured out kinda late that you probably didn’t want your presence to be advertised,“ you whispered, trying hard not to embarrass yourself by completely freaking out in front of one of the people you most admired.

But still.

Lin Manuel Miranda was sitting in front of you. Most probably going to order a coffee. And you just cursed out loud and then shouted nonsense at your friend.

But he just looked at you for a second, and then smiled broadly, saying:

“The only thing wrong here is the tone of voice you used to talk about that Sherlock trailer. How horrendous are Moffat and Gatiss getting this time?”

You blinked at him in surprise, but then chuckled, answering a bit mysteriously. “Even more than usually.”

“Oh, well, I lived a beautiful life,” he answered, humming a laughter.

The corners of your mouth tilted upwards, but you were too deep in the haze of utter thrill to actually laugh.

“Right. Now order,“ he said simply, returning to the subject at hand.

Of course. Lin Manuel Miranda was here to order something, you reminded yourself, doing your best not to gawk at the man.

After he told you his choice of coffee, you were ready to rush to prepare it, more than eager to escape his piercing intelligent eyes, when you remembered he didn’t mention a quite important detail.

“Here or to-go, sir?” You asked him, as he snapped his attention to you. He glanced frowning at the white covered city outside the window, then at the pleasant atmosphere in the café.

Then he sighed and turned towards you one more time.

“I came in intending to run from the cold and snow. But unless you have a free booth, I’ll take it to-go. And please, stop calling me sir. It makes me feel really old for some reason, especially compared to you. And basically most people here,” he added in the end, smiling again in a way that made you flush a little.

You looked around the space, luckily spotting a free place in front of the computer in the rear of the room.

“We do have a secluded place, actually,“ you pointed out, showing him the seat.

“Oh, great. Awesome. Amazing.” He rambled, grinning. “How much do I have to pay for using to Internet?”

“Nothing, it’s from the house,” you shrugged, borrowing his contagious smile.

“Nice,“ he nodded.

You finished preparing the coffee and handed it to the man. He gave you the cash and before he left, you said amused:

“But if ‘sir’ makes you feel old and uncomfortable, why do you keep calling yourself Old Man Miranda?”

Miranda laughed heartily and you decided that his laughter sounded much more beautiful live then recorded. And it had sounded astonishing in all the videos you had watched.

~*~*~

The rest of the day passed without any notable events, aside from you humming in a loop “Helpless” (to your co-worker'a despair) and staring shamelessly at Lin’s back while he was aggresively scribbling something in a notebook, occasionally looking for various things on the computer in front of him. His reputation didn’t fail him. He did write like he was running out of time.

As it was expected, some people noticed him, and didn’t back off from the possibility of asking him for autographs or pictures. He so kindly responded, smiling warmly, and treating every one of them as if they were the most important people in the world.

A few times you or Grace went to ask him if he wanted another drink. You were accustomed to doing this to any client who stayed more than an hour, but you had to admit you paid extra attention to him. Your friend and co-worker, on the other hand, was less than impressed. She did listen to some songs from Hamilton, but she wasn’t exactly into it. You simply couldn’t understand how it didn’t move her to tears.

When the time to close the café came, most of the clients vanished, the only people left being you and Miranda. Grace had already left since you were the one assigned with cleaning duty that day.

So you headed over where the man was seated and tapped him on the shoulder to gain his attention.

“Yes?” He asked turning around, and pausing the music.

“Well, I’m sorry to tell you, but we’re closing in 10 minutes. But-” you started to say, hands in the pocket of your apron.

He jumped from the chair, closing the opened tabs and starting to gather his stuff.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize what time it is. I’ll be leaving immediately,” he told you half-heartedly, while looking on the window at the snow storm still raging on.

“Wait, just let me finish.” You raised a hand as you talked, and he stopped, raising his eyebrows.

You took a deep breath, as if trying to gather enough strength to make the proposition you so thoroughly prepared.

“It is still a frightful weather outside, to the point of barely being some cars on the street, not talking about people. So if you don’t have anywhere else to be in an hour, you could stay here until I finish cleaning the place before I leave. Hopefully, the snowing will dim till then.” you suggested, trying not to stare at him dubiously or dart your eyes around like a madman.

You crossed your arms over your chest and added bashfully “You can also get some free beverage with this occasion. My boss lets me and some other workers who stay until late to help ourselves with whatever food we’d like.”

The man stared at you for a moment with a look you couldn’t quite place. Then he plastered back that wide smile of his that made his eyes wrinkle slightly.

“Bahahaha, you’re trying to bribe me with coffee. I think I’d rather like that. Even if I already have had like 4 of them today,” he said amused, tilting his head to one side. “So, since your offer is so tempting, I think I have no other choice than let you imprison me here with you and your devilishly good coffee.”

You were probably radiating like a pregnant woman in the seventh month when you heard his words.

“Make yourself at home,” you told him, grinning lightly.

As you were ready to return to your duty, he grabbed your shoulder gingerly and you stopped with a halt.

“I just realized I haven’t asked the name of my winter-coffee-savior.”

You turned to him with a hopefully-faded blush, and smiled, extending your hand.

“Name’s Y/N L/N. Call me Y/N or any deviation of this name.” You said, cringing a little at how lame that was.