Chapter Text
He was a regular.
They had quite a few regulars, but someone like Ryan stood out. Dylan knew his name just like he knew his order—he came in nearly every day and ordered a large iced hazelnut latte. And then he would go to the same table, open up his laptop, and get to work. If his table wasn’t available, he’d sit somewhere else until it was available.
He was, as Kaitlyn had said, tall, dark, and handsome. And as Dylan said? He was fucking hot. He had that illusive aura, that mysterious distance that made you just want to know more . And hazelnut? That was such an acquired taste. Who was this guy?
It was a Thursday, and Ryan had been sitting at his table now for well over an hour. He was focused entirely on whatever he was working on, and he would come up for air every fifteen minutes or so to have some of his latte. Not that Dylan was obsessively watching him or anything. Of course not.
(And if he was, could you blame him? He had a crush.)
“I don’t like that look on your face.”
He glanced over to where Kaitlyn was frothing milk.
“What look?”
“Like you’re planning something,” she said.
“How do you know I’m not planning something cool?”
“You’re planning on talking to Ryan, aren’t you?”
He glanced back at the customer in question. He lifted one of his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “Maybe. Would it be so bad if I was?”
“Okay, so run it by me—what are you going to say to him?”
“Uh, well, I mean…. I’m gonna introduce myself first. Clearly.”
“Ugh, boring.”
He laughed. But as she finished making her drink and moved to serve the customer who’d ordered it, Dylan looked back at Ryan and tried to think about how he could even break the ice with someone like Ryan. He wore band shirts every now and then that Dylan recognized, but that seemed too easy. Too obvious. Jokes were always good. Well… not Dylan’s.
But he felt like had to talk to him today. Anything could happen, right? Dylan could get hit by a bus on his way home, and he’d regret never shooting his shot. Or worse, someone else could swoop in and ask Ryan out before Dylan had the chance—he’d regret it even more.
“Wish me luck,” he said.
“Wait, what? Oh god , good luck.”
Dylan wandered over under the guise of tidying up. There was always something to clean with the way customers were, but maybe under normal circumstances, he would’ve let these tables go. They were mostly clean, and as he ran the rag soaked in cleaner over the glossy surfaces, it almost didn’t even look like he was doing anything to them. He inched closer to Ryan, who was in his own little world; earbuds in and fingers moving deftly over the keyboard of his laptop. Dylan couldn’t make out what he was writing, but it was a word document and there was a lot of text.
Essay for school? Journal entry? Story?
And maybe everything about Ryan’s appearance said ‘do not bother me,’ but Dylan was growing desperate. It wasn’t just that he was gorgeous and mysterious. He was interesting , and there was this look that came to his eyes when Dylan tried to break the ice and serve up his latte with a joke. It was a look that made Dylan’s stomach clench. Did Ryan ever laugh? What did it take to get him to do it? Dylan was determined to find out.
So he stopped beside the table Ryan sat at, cocked one of his hips out, and looked down at him with a practiced smirk.
Ryan’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. Hesitantly, like he was hoping he was wrong and that Dylan wasn’t trying to get his attention, he slowly turned and looked up at him. And when Dylan pantomimed taking an earbud out, Ryan even complied with that.
“Uh… yeah?”
Dylan took a deep breath. Be cool, be cool, be cool . “If that’s a love letter, you can just say what you’re thinking, dude—I’m right here.”
Ryan stared at him. Dylan’s stupid little smile faltered a little. Why did he say the things he said?
“A love letter?” Ryan echoed.
“Yeah, you know, ‘To Dylan, you make the best iced lattes in town—the perfect amount of ice, just enough pumps of hazelnut syrup—it’s like you get me on a deeper level than anyone else. And you also have cool hair and pretty eyes.’ Something like that.”
“Well…. I guess now I don’t have to say it, since you apparently already know.”
And though it came out dry and sarcastic, Ryan wasn’t technically denying it, right?
Dylan grinned and shrugged. “Never hurts to hear. So if it’s not a love letter, what do you spend your time working on when you’re here? Which is, like… every day, by the way. So it must be kind of important.”
Ryan paused. Deadpan, he said, “It’s a love letter.”
There was a beat. “That was a joke…?”
And that look came to Ryan’s eyes—the little gleam that made it seem like he maybe, almost, possibly wanted to laugh. “Yeah. That was a joke.”
Dylan laughed a little and bent to pick up a discarded napkin under the table next to Ryan’s. He balled it up his hand and sighed. “I get it. You don’t want to tell me.”
“It’s a… script. Of sorts.”
“Like a movie script?”
“Podcast.”
“Oh. Cool. Podcast. Like… true crime and shit?”
Ryan looked strangely self-conscious. It was only there for a moment, and then it was gone in a flash. But Dylan caught it. And he liked it. It was human.
“You know Bigfoot? The Mothman?”
“I mean, I’ve never met them personally, but sure, they seem like rad dudes,” Dylan said.
That look came to Ryan’s eyes again, but he also pressed his lips together in a way that said he was not impressed with Dylan’s lame jokes—which of course just made Dylan want to make even more lame jokes. He said, “I do the research and writing for a podcast about stuff like that.”
“So you do all the hard work and someone else reads it and takes all the glory?”
“Something like that. I’m okay with it though. I like operating from the shadows.”
Dylan laughed. He caught on to this being a joke quicker than the last one. Ryan’s delivery was different from most people—his tone didn’t change much, he didn’t use inflection the way other people did when they were being goofy—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t funny.
“So what’s this episode about?” he asked.
Ryan hesitated. “You’re not actually interested, are you?”
“Well, I’m interested in you, so… yeah. I’m interested in the stuff you’re into.”
Ryan looked at his computer screen. “You ever hear of the Hag of Hackett’s Quarry?”
“I’m sorry, the what?”
Ryan actually seemed to smile a little at that. Maybe. “You know where Hackett’s Quarry is?”
“I don’t know, somewhere north of here? My mom tried to get me to volunteer to be a counselor at that stupid summer camp a few years ago.”
“The story is that an old woman died in those woods. Burned to death. And they say she’s still there, looking for her lost baby boy.”
“What happened to the baby boy?”
“Guess he died too. Not really finding a lot of concrete stuff about him.”
“So… people claim they’ve seen her? In those woods?”
“Yeah, and there’s supposedly whispers and people see a ghostly figure moving through the trees. Textbook shit.”
“Does she, like, eat you or something? Why is this worth a whole podcast episode?” Dylan asked.
Ryan snorted. That look shone in his eyes, but still, he didn’t quite laugh. “I don’t know. People go missing a lot up towards the quarry though, so… maybe she takes them.”
“To eat.”
“Probably.”
Dylan laughed—because if Ryan wasn’t going to, he’d have to laugh enough for the both of them—but before he could say anything else, he heard Kaitlyn calling his name from the counter. He glanced over and groaned as he took in the small line that had formed in the time he’d been talking to Ryan. From where she was ringing up customers, Kaitlyn gave him a pointed, wide-eyed look.
It said, Don’t make me come over there .
Dylan turned back to Ryan and sighed. “Ah, the old ball and chain.”
Ryan’s brow furrowed. “Oh. Are you… you two…?”
“Oh, no. No way, dude. I don’t know why I said that—I meant this job is the old ball and chain. Barely have any time for pee breaks,” he said, and he forced out an uncomfortable laugh. It was like his mouth had a mind of its own sometimes. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, pointing back towards the front counter. “So yeah, I should probably go and save the day. It’s what I do.”
“Alright, Superman.”
Dylan snapped and pointed at him with one hand, then spun on his heel to leave. But then—
“Dylan?”
He turned back.
“In case you want to look it up—the podcast—it’s called Bizarre Yet Bonafide.”
And he was actually kind of smiling?
Dylan was so distracted by it that he stumbled over his own feet and knocked into a chair that was, thankfully, empty. He waved sheepishly at Ryan before he turned and hurried back to the counter, and he ignored Kaitlyn’s hard eyes on him as he got to work at the line, fixing up drinks.
It was a good day.
It was no surprise that Ryan came back the next day. Normally, Dylan and Kaitlyn would have made fun of someone that came nearly every day and spent hours there. Like, come on, don’t you have a life ? But there was something about Ryan. He had that mysterious artist vibe, and it helped that he was always polite when ordering, and he tipped well.
“He keeps looking up here. At you.”
Dylan glanced up from sprinkling cinnamon onto the foam of a latte. “Huh?”
Kaitlyn poured milk into the drink she was working on. She looked at Dylan flatly and said, “I think you win this one. Asshole.”
“He’s looking at me?”
“He must like tall people. And here I am, cursed to be a hobbit.”
“Dwarf, actually. Hobbits were around three-to-four feet, dwarves could be as tall as five feet. I think Thorin was actually considered the tallest at five-two.”
Kaitlyn groaned and rolled her eyes. “I was being hyperbolic. I didn’t actually need to know a hobbit’s real size—nor did I need to know that I’m literally the same height as a dwarf!”
“I thought only short dudes had weird complexes about height.”
“Eat me, Dylan. I’ll show you a weird complex.”
They finished with their drinks and got them out to the waiting customers. Dylan looked at the table where Ryan always sat, where he was dutifully typing away on his laptop. He normally sat with his back facing the counter, but today he’d sat on the opposite side of the table. And sure enough, Dylan caught him glancing up towards the counter.
Their eyes met. Dylan’s heart fluttered, he was sure of it.
And now that Dylan and Kaitlyn had managed to get rid of the line of customers, Ryan stood and made his way towards the counter. Kaitlyn exchanged a look with him—she was clearly disappointed, but she moved past him to start cleaning up the mess he’d made. He always made a mess. He was like a bull in a china shop when he got behind the counter.
“I’ll let you handle this,” she said on an undertone.
“You’re so good to me.”
“More than you know.”
Dylan stepped up to the register and offered up a grin at Ryan, who was looking effortlessly cool in a gray Henley with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows and the top few buttons undone.
“Another iced hazelnut latte?” Dylan asked.
“Something new. What’s your favorite drink here?”
Dylan hesitated. “Oh, uh, I don’t know. I like it all.”
“Copout answer.”
“I would literally drink anything here, dude. Well, except for maybe that green smoothie we have. Humans aren’t supposed to drink spinach.” Dylan grimaced and shuddered in disgust.
Ryan’s eyes took on that almost humored look. Dylan wanted to kiss him.
Ryan said, “What’s your favorite flavor, then?”
“Peppermint mocha.”
“Ew, really?”
“Hey, this is a judgement-free zone.”
“What’s your second favorite flavor?” Ryan asked. “And I swear to god, if you say pumpkin spice….”
Dylan grinned. “Well now I just want to say pumpkin spice to spite you.”
“Are you always so…?”
“Fun? Flirty? Free? Yes to all three.”
Ryan actually smirked a little. “Difficult.”
“That too, sure.” Dylan shrugged. “I don’t know, man, the raspberry syrup is pretty killer.”
“Raspberry?”
“Blows blueberry coffee out of the fucking water, I promise.”
“Alright. Small iced raspberry latte, then. Please.”
As he rang him up, Dylan caught sight of Ryan’s rewards account in their system. He laughed and said, “Uh, dude, you know you have enough points here to get like… a free latte every day for the rest of your life, right?”
“They don’t expire.”
“So you’re just going to hold onto them until you die ?”
“Maybe.”
Dylan laughed again, but then he was getting to work on Ryan’s drink. Ryan lingered, waiting patiently and playing on his phone as Dylan worked. Lattes were easy—or maybe they were his favorite thing to make because they were Ryan’s favorite thing to order—and Dylan was passing the plastic cup over the counter in no time.
As Ryan took it, he said, “Can you take a break?”
“Uh, a break?”
“You’ve been working nonstop for the past four hours.”
“I mean, yeah, uh, I’m due for a fifteen any minute,” Dylan said, stammering slightly and trying to keep his cool.
“Maybe you can come and sit with me then.”
“Oh.”
Ryan shrugged. “If you want.”
And then he was turning on his heel and stalking across the coffee shop, back towards his table. Dylan stared after him, feeling stupidly breathless and excited—like he was back in high school and his crush had just said hi to him.
Kaitlyn came over and she looked at Ryan briefly, before turning back to Dylan. She smiled at him—it was catlike and knowing—and she reached up and patted him on the shoulder. “See you in fifteen minutes, buddy.”
Dylan took off his apron and stowed it under the counter, and then he grabbed a cookie from the display case. As he made his way towards where Ryan sat, he took a few quick deep breaths. He could do this. He could be cool. He could handle fifteen minutes with Ryan.
It wasn’t like this was a date or anything.
He threw himself into the chair across from Ryan. He held up the cookie he’d grabbed. “Halfsies?”
“What is it?”
“Chocolate chip. I think. Oatmeal chocolate chip.”
“Those better not be raisins.”
“Nah, trust me.”
Dylan split the cookie in half and passed one side of it to Ryan. As Ryan took it with one hand, he closed his laptop with the other and pushed it aside slightly. And well, it kind of felt like a date.
“I think this is the first time I’m trying any food here,” Ryan remarked. He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.
“I mean, who goes to a coffee shop to eat?” Dylan asked.
“Plenty of people. Or else you guys wouldn’t offer it.”
“Touché. So how goes the podcast script?”
“Slow. Wish I hadn’t picked such an obscure subject.”
“How far is Hackett’s Quarry?”
“I don’t know. Couple of hours? Why?”
“You could always go up there and ask some of the locals about it. Get some firsthand accounts to include,” Dylan said.
“That’s… actually kind of a good idea.”
Dylan winked at him. “First one’s free.”
Ryan stared at him. His dark eyes were intense and piercing. Dylan couldn’t look at them for too long—it was like trying to look at the sun. His neck felt a little warm and he was feeling stupidly anxious. He didn’t know where to go from here. He hadn’t ever anticipated he’d actually have time alone with Ryan like this.
“So what are you about?” Ryan asked.
Dylan went with the safest answer first, like he always did with new people. “I like music. I mean, I don’t play or anything, I’m too uncoordinated for that, but I like going to shows and blogging about it.”
“You blog?”
“Album reviews, mostly. Breakdowns of songs. Dumb shit like that.”
“It’s not dumb.”
Dylan flushed.
Ryan went on. “If something interests you, it’s not dumb. People shouldn’t be embarrassed about what they like.”
Dylan’s mouth was dry. He wished he’d made himself something to drink before he’d joined Ryan—or even just grabbed some water. He snorted and said, “Yeah, well, that’s definitely something someone who likes Bigfoot would say.”
A huff of laughter left Ryan. And it was everything Dylan had ever wanted to see and hear. Ryan’s eyes went soft and he shook his head a little, but when his eyes met Dylan’s again, he looked totally endeared by him. Dylan could feel it in his bones—this meant something.
Maybe that’s why he added, “I’m also into sciencey shit. Quantum mechanics, Quantum Field Theory—”
“Just a whole bunch of quantum stuff?”
“Basically. I’m actually saving up to go to school for it, but… been saving a while, because, you know—” he shrugged and threw his hands up a little, “—we live in a capitalistic hellscape and all.”
“That’s really cool, Dylan.”
He blushed again, but it felt nice this time somehow. Ryan was looking at him seriously, the faint, faint hint of a smirk on his lips, the intensity of his eyes—he was looking at Dylan, seeing him, and liking him.
And somehow, fifteen minutes seemed to go by in the blink of an eye.
“You were right, by the way,” Ryan said as Dylan stood.
“I usually am, but what about this time?”
Ryan pointed at his cup. “Raspberry is leagues better than blueberry.”
“You’re welcome.”
Dylan didn’t know what to expect after that, but he felt like he was walking on air as he returned to his station behind the counter. And Kaitlyn seemed to notice, because she kept tossing him little smiles throughout the afternoon as they worked. Ryan didn’t stay much longer. After he’d finished most of his latte, he started packing up his things into his messenger bag, and then he stood and pulled on his black hoodie.
The most Dylan expected from him was a nod, or maybe even a wave, before Ryan left. Instead, Ryan came up to the counter as Dylan worked on fixing a chai tea latte. He had his phone out, and he looked expectant as he stopped in front of Dylan.
“What’s your number?” he asked.
Dylan almost dropped the pitcher of steamed milk in his hand, and he stuttered a little. “Oh, uh, you—you want my number?”
“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
Dylan grinned. And happily gave his number.
After programming it into his phone, Ryan offered up a cool smirk and said, simply, “See you around, Dylan.”
And there were practically hearts in Dylan’s eyes as he watched Ryan walk out of the coffee shop.
He finished up with the chai tea latte and got it off to the patiently waiting customer. He looked towards the door, but Ryan was long gone by now. He jumped a little, startled, as Kaitlyn appeared beside him, throwing an arm around his waist.
“Did that happen, or did I imagine it?” he asked.
“That totally happened and I am green with envy,” she said.
“How in the hell did I trick him into thinking I’m cool enough to get my number?”
“You’re asking me? Hell if I know. Just don’t fuck it up, yeah?”
Sure. Easy. He could do that.
He was so going to fuck it up.