Chapter Text
It was entirely unfair, Alicent thought, that on this day (a day where she was hungover, had no make-up on, was sweating to the point that she could feel it beading on her temple and upper lip, and her shirt was sticking everywhere) she would come face-to-face with the most gorgeous woman she had ever seen.
“Hi,” the object of Alicent’s frustration said amiably, standing behind the till in the Student Union’s coffee shop. “How are you?”
She looked wholly incongruous with the cosy, slightly run-down cafe she occupied. Like an actress who had been poorly cast and so stood out sharply from her surroundings, like veneers in a period drama. Too perfect. It was not that her slouchy, logoed t-shirt or the mucky, deep-pocketed apron tied around her waist did not suit her. It was that she did not suit them.
Sharp eyes, in a shade of blue that Alicent had never seen before. Pale, silver-gold hair. It was plaited tightly from the scalp, and even so there were no signs of darker roots coming through. Every other person Alicent had seen today had been wearing a sheen of sweat like a badge of solidarity, a signifier of their shared suffering. Not her. The glow of her immaculate skin seemed to come from some divine internal factor instead.
Fuck, she thought, after a brief consideration of what she herself must look like. Subtly as she could, she attempted to smooth her hair back, knowing the humidity would have wreaked havoc. What had she just said to her? Right—she’d asked how Alicent was.
Flustered, thrown off balance by it, Alicent found herself forgetting she was at the counter of a café. That the question was, therefore, almost certainly rhetorical.
“This heatwave is killing me, actually.” It was all she could think to say: an excuse, a truth, a crutch. “I can’t wait for it to break.”
“Honestly!” The barista didn’t seem to mind her initial pleasantries extending into small talk about the weather, smiling and leaning her elbows on the counter. Her voice was a contrast to her relaxed posture. She spoke very crisply, with her vowels rounded. Posh in a way Alicent only rarely encountered, usually via her father’s university connections. Almost never from someone in a customer service role. “I’m lucky this place is about the only building the uni has with air conditioning. Do you know when it will? Break, I mean. I love a storm.”
Me too, Alicent wanted to say. Wanted nothing more than to discuss storm systems and the weather at length with this girl, with her cut-glass voice and perfect face. She was bowled over, knocked silly by her, and all she’d done was stand there and chit-chat. Had it even been a minute? Alicent shuffled her feet, a new, nervous energy poking holes in her ragged exhaustion. She was coated in regret as much as sweat; to have come in here today, in such emotional, physical disarray.
“Day after tomorrow, I read.”
“Lovely,” she said, like it was. With anticipation. “I’ll look forward to it. As will you, I’m guessing.”
“God, yes,” Alicent said, and smiled. A fluttering started in her stomach as the blonde smiled back. It flickered after a while, her eyes glancing sideways, at what Alicent suddenly noticed was a small queue forming behind her. “Shit, sorry.” Idiot. “Iced latte with oat milk to take away, please.”
She received an apologetic grimace in response, a tapping of a sign saying ICE MACHINE BROKEN, NO ICED DRINKS.
“Fuck me. I mean, sorry. Not your fault. Just—” Fuck my life. It’s all she really wanted to say. All morning, the thought of an iced coffee had sustained her. A reward for the mountain of reading she had challenged herself to get through, despite the thudding in her head, despite the heat, despite, despite, despite.
She regretted it now. It was unnecessary, optional reading. Extra reading. Classes didn’t even start for two weeks. She could, should have stayed in bed. Or better yet, spent the day stretched out on her bathroom floor, alternating which cheek she pressed against cold tile. “It’s dead hot out.”
The blonde looked at her and paused, then glanced behind her towards the kitchen door; having seemingly come to some sort of a decision, she nodded to herself. “You know what? Let me see what I can do. Ice… oat milk… latte.”
She sounded out the order as she poked the touch-screen display in front of her, with pristine enunciation. Alicent looked on, fascinated by how her lips curved around each word, unreasonably enraptured by the sight and sound.
“Three pound twenty, please.”
Alicent gestured that she wanted to pay by card, and tapped the machine. “But I thought you said—“
“I said, let me see what I can do. Alright? Drink pick-up is at the end, by the way.”
Alicent knew that already, because Alicent was about to enter her last year of university, and was therefore plenty familiar with the SU, and this coffee shop, even if she did not frequent it. Usually she made do with one of the cafés at the library, but neither of the two there made iced drinks. Although today, apparently, nowhere did. Alicent wondered if this girl was new. She wondered how much of her precious time at university she had wasted getting her coffee elsewhere, if she wasn’t.
She didn’t seem like a fresh hire; she held herself with the air of a ship captain, and though it was crowded behind the counter, her colleagues seemed to naturally, thoughtlessly make space for her as she approached one of the machines, like a rippling through water. She put a hand on the shoulder of a barista at one of the machines. Whatever she said to him made him roll his eyes at her, but he left his post to take over on the tills after a brief back and forth. She pulled a couple of shots and then disappeared into the kitchen with a plastic cup. When she returned it was almost full of milk, presumably oat, and rattled with ice cubes. She flicked her plait over from one shoulder to the other as she poured in the coffee, and Alicent wondered if it was a habit.
“Voila,” she said, approaching with the finished drink. She slid it over the counter to Alicent, dark espresso marbling through the milk. “One iced oat milk latte. Straws and lids to the left.”
“You said you were out of ice,” said the girl waiting next to Alicent.
“We were. And are, again. Sorry.” The blonde didn’t look very sorry, and the girl took her steaming cup with a huff when another barista dropped it over.
“God, you’re a saint,” Alicent said, sweaty palms closing gratefully over the plastic. Touching her wrists to the cold condensation, what remained of her bad mood dissipated in an instant. “Where’d the ice come from?’
“We stashed what was left in the machine in the kitchen freezer when it broke,” she said, conspiratorially, to Alicent. “For personal use. These are the dregs, so sorry if it’s not as much as you’d normally get.”
“Don’t apologise.” Alicent could kiss her in gratitude. She could kiss her in its absence, too, probably. (Thinking about it, she supposed the gratitude would probably arise naturally from the very existence of the opportunity to kiss her.) “Thank you for—taking pity on me?”
“Well,” she said, with a devastating smile. There was something in it that made it seem like she was sharing a secret with Alicent, like she’d been deemed worthy of something. It was as though she was not being smiled at—she was having a smile bestowed upon her, delivered like a gift. “You do look very hot.” Alicent blinked, trying not to read into it. She wiped a knuckle over her eyebrow, before the sweat caught in it could drip. She looked actually, physically, literally overheated. She did not look hot, like she would like to look hot in front of this woman. “I hope the weather cools down for you soon. I better get back to it.”
“Much nicer out there now,” Alicent said a few days later, like an idiot, presuming the hot barista she’d spoken to once would remember her. “Since the rain.”
“Oh, it’s you!” she said, and smiled brightly, beautifully. “Hi. Isn’t it? I thought of you when the storm broke.”
And why was that the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her? I thought of you when the storm broke, like Alicent was some kind of tragic heroine in a classic novel. Just casually, in an interaction over the coffee shop counter. Alicent felt insane. Was it allowed? Should it be allowed? For someone you met once, in passing, to think of you during a storm, in the moment the heavens open, and then tell you that they did. It had been a beautiful storm too, the unstable atmosphere giving way to absolutely towering cumulonimbus clouds, stained blood orange by the sun and split repeatedly open by long arcs of lightning. Alicent had watched from her attic window for hours, looking out at the hills.
Alicent made a sound, something that she hoped could be passed off as a hum of agreement, but was in truth a rather more helpless thing. She swallowed, and hoped her smile looked normal. Civil and polite, like one should share with an acquaintance slash hospitality worker, rather than mad-eyed and wanting. “Did you enjoy it? You said you liked them. Storms.”
“God, it was glorious. Sat out on the balcony until I was drenched.”
Alicent imagined it, with a detail she didn’t know she was capable of. Once, drunk with her friends, they’d gotten into a heated debate about the mind’s eye and its limitations. Think of an apple—what do you see? Alicent could tell you, well, an apple, obviously. Green, probably a Granny Smith, or something so similar as to not be worth differentiating. It would not have a background or setting, but be formed vaguely in a plane just beyond her grasp and only viewable from the periphery; ask her to take a closer look, and it would vanish. Somehow, the image of her soaked to the bone in a storm was crystal clear: on an imagined balcony, in an imagined dressing gown, holding an imagined glass of wine. It was vivid like a Monet, a canvas bright and broad enough to step into. She could almost smell the ozone. She—and God, how Alicent wished she knew her name (should she ask? would it be strange if she did?)—looked lovely, in the storm.
“What can I get for you?” she asked, lovely here in this coffee shop, too.
“Oat latte, please, to take away.”
“Not iced this time?” A raised eyebrow, darker than the platinum of her hair. Closer to her eyelashes, soft and brown. No make-up, Alicent realised, despairingly. She just looked like this. “We’re back in action.”
“I’m afraid I’ve been spoiled by the secret, staff-only ice.” Was it desperate, to call back to it? No, the barista had first: this time. It was all they had to draw from, Alicent supposed—talk of storms and a random act of kindness. “Hot, please.”
“Of course, as you like. Three pounds, please.”
“Thanks. The markup on ice is insane, by the way.” Alicent didn’t know why she said it, lingering after she paid. Just to extend the conversation, she supposed, in the hope of extracting one more sentence from the woman. She hadn’t known she was so into posh girls. She’d thought she was a posh girl, until she heard her speak.
“Twenty whole pence more and we don’t even steam the milk. Daylight robbery.” She gave Alicent a sly look. “If you ever want one, I’ll put it through the regular price.”
Why would you do that? Alicent wanted to ask. Is it because you’re in love with me? Say yes.
“Rhaenyra, you have to take your break soon or you’re going to throw everyone’s schedule off.”
Rhaenyra, then. Alicent sounded it out in her head. The name was unfamiliar. She would have to google later how it was spelt.
“Laenor, I am clearly with a customer,” said Rhaenyra, even though Alicent was already paid up, which—okay. Okay.
Alicent took her leave anyway, tilting her head towards the pick-up counter with a little wave, figuring she’d take the opportunity to escape before she found a way to embarrass herself. She could feel it, bubbling in her chest, the risk of accidentally saying aloud something that must remain an inside thought, if she was ever going to return here and see Rhaenyra again.
“There’s a killer breeze today,” Alicent said, the next time she reached the front of the queue, and found Rhaenyra waiting for her. Whatever she had wanted to say before swiftly exited her head, and left her with only the weather. A classic, at least. “Looks nice, but I’m glad I had my jacket.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when I go out for a cig,” Rhaenyra said, as though she genuinely valued the unasked-for information. Alicent tucked the new fact away: she was a smoker. Alicent too, though she tried to keep it to social occasions.
Rhaenyra: barista, gorgeous, generous with ice rations, thought of Alicent when a storm broke, smoker. Alicent was unable to quite recall, but reckoned the file she was putting together must just about match the shape of the ‘dream husband’ checklist she painstakingly wrote out as a twelve year old. Probably.
“I just got caught in a hailstorm.” It was true, though hardly irrelevant to Rhaenyra’s job, which was to take her coffee order. “Oat latte, please.”
“To take away?” Alicent nodded. “Shame,” Rhaenyra said, which… Alicent wondered if she should change her order, though she had a lecture in a building a ten-minute walk away in less than twenty, and she was already feeling itchy about not being on her way there. “That massively ups your chances of getting caught in another, you know.”
“The journey to the Beesbury building is not often as hazardous as actually spending time there, but today might be the exception. It was perfectly nice out, and suddenly I’m getting pelted with ice. Ridiculous country we live in, by the way. It’s sunny again, now.”
Rhaenyra laughed, and then looked up from where she was tapping at the till, right through her eyelashes; it promptly landed a spot on Alicent’s ever growing list of Things That Should Be Illegal. “Physics, then?”
“Yes.”
“Smart girl,” she murmured appreciatively. A heat curled in Alicent’s stomach. “I never could with the—maths of it all. At least not the mechanics. I didn’t mind stats so much.”
“You’re crazy,” Alicent said, though she quite liked all maths, because that’s what you were obliged to say as a loyal physics student.
“Probably,” Rhaenyra said. “Hang on, we’re quiet, let me jump on the machine and make this for you. Everyone else is always burning the oat milk.”
Alicent pulled a face. “I didn’t want to say anything.”
“You can say what you like, you’re the customer. And a regular at that—you must’ve ordered a dozen just from me.”
“To be fair, everywhere around here burns it.”
“Not here, not when I’m on the machine,” Rhaenyra protested. “Give me two minutes, best coffee of your life.”
“I don’t actually have time to give you a verdict,” Alicent said, once the cup was in her hands, the steaming drink too hot to sip at yet. “I have to run.”
“Well. The next time I see you, then,” Rhaenyra replied, with a certain slow deliberateness. It caused Alicent to stumble slightly as she stepped back from the counter. “I’m working tomorrow, by the way.”
It’s a date. It’sadate. It’s a date?
Alicent just about managed to hold it back.
“Oh. Yeah?” she said, instead, with a giggle that could not possibly be as high pitched as it sounded to her ears. “Cool, good to know,” she said, at a more reasonable frequency. She waved back at Rhaenyra, still leaning by the collection counter and watching Alicent’s exit, already mentally reworking her plans for the next day. She could probably make time to stop by.
No Rhaenyra today, which was a double disappointment because well, no Rhaenyra for one, but also because it meant her latte would be burnt. It turned out she wasn’t lying when she told Alicent she’d do a better job. Alicent had taken the lid off to get it to cool, and the surface was barely bubbly at all, painted neatly with a leaf. Normally now, if Rhaenyra was on till, she’d take Alicent’s order and then switch with whoever was making coffees so she could do both. Alicent sighed, missing her.
“Can I get a name for that?”
“Since when? I mean. It’s Alicent.”
“New thing, we’ve been so busy lately, with the freshers and all that, and the orders have been getting mixed up—out of order, you know.”
“Sure.”
Alicent paid up, and waited at the end of the counter for the inevitable, which arrived in due course: “Oat milk latte for Alison?”
Rhaenyra was on the machine the next time Alicent came in, heading over to the crowded pick-up counter once she’d made the order. She looked at the side of the cup before passing it across to her with a wide smile.
“So it’s Alison, then?” No, Alicent was ready to say, to nip this quickly in the bud, except just then Rhaenyra’s name was called with some desperation; it was her agitated co-worker, his eyes panicked and arms full with a spool of order tickets connected at the corners, with more still churning out from the printer. Rhaenyra swore under her breath, and Alicent resisted the urge to ask her to say it again, and louder. “God, the printer must’ve been out of paper, I’ve got to—help deal with that. That’s me by the way. If you heard. Rhaenyra. I’ll see you soon?”
And then Rhaenyra was back working, and Alicent was Alison, clutching a cup that proclaimed it. At least she didn’t have to act like she didn’t know Rhaenyra’s name anymore. Small victories.
Sometimes, though her name was called correctly—well, actually it wasn’t, since they all thought she was called Alison—it wasn’t written on the order.
“Why WG?” Alicent asked once, when Rhaenyra had handed her a drink with the initials on the side.
“I don’t know,” Rhaenyra said, though she very clearly did, turning to scowl at one of the other baristas, who was laughing somewhere behind a machine, and then over at the tills. “Who took your order? Him? Yes, well. He’s weird. I wouldn’t read into it. Enjoy the sunshine for me, will you? You made it sound so lovely out.”
“Hiya. Chilly today,” Alicent said. There was a bite to the air, even though it had been sunny and kind of muggy just last week. September had been, as ever, unable to decide whether it wanted to be summer or autumn. They’d crept into October now, and it was making its firmer stance known. “But kind of nice, really crisp. Proper autumnal.”
“It’s Alicent?” Rhaenyra wasn’t looking at her thin scarf, Alicent realised, but peering at the peeling name sticker on her chest peeking out from behind it, leftover from the networking coffee morning she’d just been at with course alumni. Close to vibrating already from the several cups she’d had just to have something to do with her hands, she should not really have been ordering another one. But spotting Rhaenyra through the wide glass windows, she found herself walking through the door before she’d even really registered her change of direction.
“Haha,” Alicent said, kind of pleased Rhaenyra now actually knew her name, kind of mortified that her failure to correct the initial mistake, a while ago now, was exposed. “Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? I’m so embarrassed!”
“I’m used to it in coffee shops. You must be used to it too, no? Rhaenyra.” She uttered the name with relish. It was so lovely to say, to hear said, and Alicent so rarely had the occasion for it.
“I always spell it out, actually.”
“Who has the time?”
“Me, apparently.” Rhaenyra laughed, shook her head. Alicent watched the fine hairs at her temple, the ones that had escaped her tight braid, sway. “Well, I’m glad I know now. Alicent.”
“Rhaenyra,” Alicent echoed, because she hadn’t gotten enough of it the first time, and reckoned she could get away with it again. A show of unusual name solidarity.
When her name was called, and she collected her cup, Alicent was spelt correctly on the side, the last four characters heavily underlined.
The coffee shop was packed, and Rhaenyra was stuck on one of the machines, and Alicent knew she wouldn’t be able to chat with her. But she did smile at Alicent when she spotted her in the queue, and when someone called out Alison to announce her drink was ready, she issued a correction, audible across the din. “I told you, Joff, it’s Alicent.”
Sipping her latte she knew that Rhaenyra was not the one to make it—it was predictably burnt. Even still, she managed to be the one responsible for the warmth flooding through Alicent’s chest.
“Hey, you.”
The sudden voice, close to her ear, made Alicent jump half out of her skin. When she flinched, her laptop (its screen gone dark from disuse, secured only by a limp, forgotten hand) nearly tumbled from her thighs. Alicent was yet to pull her wits about her when it was quickly caught by a neatly manicured hand. Rhaenyra stood straight, holding out apologetically, and Alicent spiralled through a tumult of emotions that the warm breath on the shell of her ear had been Rhaenyra's, and she hadn’t even known to appreciate it.
“Oh,” Alicent said, dumbly. She looked at the other hand, curled casually over the back of her chair. If she shifted, just slightly, her shoulder would brush the back of Rhaenyra’s nails. “Hi.”
“I’m so sorry.” Rhaenyra sounded undeniably apologetic, but there was something—a glint in her eye, perhaps—that gave her away, made it obvious she was holding back a laugh. “I just wanted to see what you were so focused on, I didn’t realise you were off on another planet entirely.” She paused, and then her lips quirked upwards. “That was quite a yelp.”
Alicent took her laptop, closed the lid, and put it down on the low coffee table that was the reason she had needed to balance it in her lap to work anyway. “You know it’s rude to sneak up on people.”
“I didn’t sneak. I was waving at you in the window all my way in and through the shop. Begging for your attention, practically.”
“Well,” Alicent griped, despite a giddiness taking hold of her like a hot air balloon. She tucked her feet back under the body of her chair before they could give her away. She worried they’d do something stupid, like start to swing. “You have it.”
Understatement of the century, Alicent thought, as she said it, with a snippiness that belied its honesty. Truthfully, Rhaenyra occupied Alicent’s mind to the point of near constant distraction, in a way that she had never actually experienced before.
“What were you staring at then? Just a black laptop screen?”
“The rain,” Alicent said absently, gaze fixing once again on the stream down the glass windows, steamy from the warmth of the café. She loved how it raced in rivulets down the panes, splitting and converging again. “You should be drenched, if you just came in,” she commented, frowning at Rhaenyra’s perfectly dry state. She could half believe that Rhaenyra was immune to the downpour, that the rain coming down in sheets would cleave to her, leaving her untouched. It struck Alicent that she had never seen Rhaenyra in full before. She was perpetually cut off at the waist by the counter between them—now, Alicent would only have to swivel in her seat, and their knees would touch.
“There’s this brilliant invention—it’s called an umbrella.” Rhaenyra jogged hers with her knee. Alicent hadn’t noticed it leaning against the side of her chair. It was sodden and gleaming, over-large and heavy looking, with a polished wooden handle. It was the kind of umbrella which looked terribly inconvenient to carry, but it had evidently served its purpose. Alicent was rendered despairing by her own conveniently portable one earlier, the flimsy frame turning inside out and only serving to annoy, flicking water back in her face as it bowed to the wind. “I don’t like coming to work soggy.”
“I don’t imagine anyone would.”
“No,” Rhaenyra agreed, and smiled at her. “You aren’t cross with me are you? For scaring you. I did save your laptop.”
“I suppose I’ll let it slide this time.”
“Let me clock in and I’ll bring you another coffee. To say sorry.”
“If you like,” Alicent said, nonchalantly, turning her cheek and hiding her blush behind a curl.
Alicent entered the café one evening, an hour or so before close. Her eyes fell quickly to the counter. There was no sign of Rhaenyra—she wasn’t slouched behind the till, there was no blonde crown poking over the top of a coffee machine, there was nobody prowling the shop floor looking for tables to clear.
All of the baristas knew her now, at least by sight. The one at the till waved, and then turned and yelled over his shoulder, loud enough that Alicent could hear.
“Oi, Rhaenyra—your weather girl’s here.”
Weather girl, she realised. WG. Weather girl. She was—God, she was such a fucking loser. Weather girl? Because it was all she could ever bloody come up with to say, when she came in from the outside to be confronted with Rhaenyra, in all her perfect, stupidly stunning glory.
“Alicent! How are you?” Rhaenyra asked, appearing from the kitchen. Her face was red from the heat of it, lovely pale hair trapped inside a net. She managed to pull the look off somehow, to Alicent’s great distress. “Bit late for coffee, isn’t it? Not that it isn’t always nice to see you.
“Alright, yeah! It was just”—God help me, she thought, as she heard herself saying it—“starting to rain, so I thought I’d duck inside.”
“Makes sense. The usual, then?”
“No, I’ll have a tea. To drink in.”
“A normal one?” Alicent nodded to the question. “Oat milk?”
“Regular, actually, please.”
“So you’re not vegan? I’ve been meaning to ask.”
Alicent pulled a face. “No—I just don’t really like the taste of the real stuff. In coffee, anyway.”
“Good to know. Sugar?”
“What?”
“In your tea.”
“Isn’t it just on the tables?” Alicent looked back behind her, confirming the fact—two sugar shakers on each, white and brown.
“Can’t a girl be curious about how her favourite customer takes her tea? It’s practically my job. Important hospitality information.”
Alicent’s tongue felt unreasonably fat in her mouth, stuck on being Rhaenyra’s favourite anything. “No sugar. Unless I’m hungover, or it’s”—her eye twitched—“super cold out.”
Rhaenyra hummed at that, a spark of humour on her face. “Well, I’ll remember that come winter.”
“Rhaenyra, the boss says you have got to get back in the kitchen and have your—”
“Alright, I’m coming,” she yelled back over her shoulder. “They’re training me on back of house. Never order a sundae during the lunch rush, it’s so anti-social,” she said, like Alicent ever got food here, and nudged past the other barista—Alicent thought this one was called Laenor—who was emerging from the back. “Breakfast tea, normal milk for Alicent. To have in.”
“Isn’t there a ticket?”
Rhaenyra gave her colleague a sharp look, which he shrugged at. As Rhaenyra headed for the kitchen, Alicent could see more of her. For some reason, she had her left hand wrapped in a damp cloth.
“Sit down, then, I’ll bring it over.”
“I haven’t paid…?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Laenor told her. “It’s on the house.”
There was a period where Alicent knew immediately whether Rhaenyra had been the one to make her drink (before the first lovely, unburnt sip), because the spelling on the cup would be crossed out and corrected. Sometimes she got to watch her do it: Rhaenyra would reach for a pen and look over to Alicent where she stood at the end of the counter, widening her eyes when they made contact, like they were in on something together. She’d roll them, then, and shake her head, flicking her plait over her shoulder as she rewrote the name. If the pen had a lid, she’d hold it between her teeth. Maybe Alicent should be embarrassed that any time Rhaenyra sought her out she was already looking, but trying to be coy was not worth the prospect of missing a second of Rhaenyra’s eyes on her.
Eventually, the rest of the staff caught on, and then nobody even bothered to ask her name on ordering anymore. They all knew it. Still, sometimes, an infuriating WG on the side of the cup.
“I hate that we’ve been so busy lately,” Rhaenyra told her one day, having abandoned Laenor at the machine, despite the fact Alicent could see him struggling with the mountain of tickets, more inching out of the printer what seemed like every second. “I miss our chats.”
“Well, I understand why. It’s so cosy in here when it’s miserable out.” Alicent tugged at the collar of her raincoat, aware she had flipped her hood up a little too late on stepping outside, knowing she must be a frizzy mess, resenting the fact that today was the day Rhaenyra came over to speak to her, instead of tossing her an apologetic look mid-task.
“Ugh, well. I suppose. Tell me it’ll clear up soon.”
“It’s meant to.” Alicent wondered if she should be embarrassed that she knew it off the cuff. “Clear skies come Monday.”
“Thank God,” Rhaenyra said. “I can’t wait.”
“Oh heeey, it’s our weather girl.” One of Rhaenyra’s colleagues—the one she hip-checked into the counter all the time, who always watched with raised eyebrows while Alicent took far too long ordering her coffee—is slouched at the till. “Rhaenyra isn’t working today.”
Alicent bit back the I know that almost escaped her mouth, unwilling to admit she more or less had Rhaenyra’s shift patterns down at this point. Just by osmosis, not through any deliberate memorisation. She was just aware. Of the time, and the day of the week, and whether she got to see her when she came by for a coffee. “Regular oat latte, please.”
“What? Not going to let me know if it’s raining or not?”
“Look out the window,” she told him, and tapped her phone against the card reader.
Alicent did not let her embarrassment show on her face until she had her coffee in hand and was out of the door, where she immediately felt it heat up. She swore to herself then that she would get a grip. She didn’t want to be weather girl. She wanted to be Alicent. She wanted—well. She wanted Rhaenyra.
“It’s really windy,” she said, the next time she saw Rhaenyra, only meaning to explain why her hair was such a disaster, but—fuck—
She heard the barista from before, that smug one, snicker from where he was restocking the bakery display. He had enough nerve to wink at her when she shot him a look, but Rhaenyra’s face did not change, gave no indication that she heard him.
“I like it for you,” Rhaenyra said, “the windswept look.”
Alicent forgot all about her enemy behind the cakes.
“Thank you.”
“You’ve got a—” Rhaenyra gestured at the side of her head, where a few strands were excluded from her high ponytail. Alicent mirrored the movement, fingers landing on and then plucking a dry red leaf from her own, left loose and made wild by the weather.
“Oh—thanks.” She stood awkwardly for a moment, not wanting to just drop it, when Rhaenyra or one of her colleagues would have to sweep it up.
“Here, I’ll throw it away for you.” Their fingers brushed when Rhaenyra took it, and Alicent, who had always been sensible, and had never believed in cliches, felt electricity where they touched. Rhaenyra met her eyes, and lingered there. “Sorry,” she said. “I was just reloading the receipt paper. Makes me all staticky.”
Right, Alicent thought. Right, of course. That was all. The static.
Today, Alicent had decided, would be different. Today she would walk into the coffee shop, and approach Rhaenyra—or she’d approach Rhaenyra’s colleague and ask for her, if she was in the back, and she wouldn’t say anything about how she thought it might start raining soon from how thick the blanket of cloud was looking, but she would find something else to say. A compliment. Maybe Rhaenyra would be wearing lovely earrings again, and she could mention those, or maybe she would have her hair in, well, any style, really, and Alicent could say it looked nice like that. And then she would ask Rhaenyra how her weekend had been, and Rhaenyra might linger with her over the counter, and she would wait for her coffee and leave, without ever mentioning the fucking weather. Maybe she would even summon the courage to ask her out.
She walked in. Sunday afternoon right ahead of a reading week, the cafe was as empty as she’d hoped. There were a couple of people dotted around the tables talking or studying, but no queue at the counter, no frantic buzz in the air. Rhaenyra was laughing with a colleague behind the counter, threatening him with a spray bottle full of pink liquid, and Alicent lingered in the doorway a moment to watch the scene. He saw her first, nudging Rhaenyra. Alicent started walking again, unwilling to be caught in her blatant staring. Curving in close, he said something in Rhaenyra’s ear that made her roll her eyes and grin and throw the rag she was holding into his face. Alicent watched him lift his hands placatingly and disappear into the kitchen, Rhaenyra coming to the till to wait for her.
She smiled so invitingly, chin tilting sideways, looking so genuinely glad to see her, that it winded Alicent a bit. Every time Alicent started to worry that she was a nuisance, an imposition on Rhaenyra while she was at work, that this weird facsimile of an acquaintanceship they had developed was one-sided, she’d step back in the shop, and Rhaenyra would knock the notion right out of her hands.
“Alicent,” Rhaenyra said, each syllable enunciated. “Hello.”
“Hey.”
“I don’t often get to see you on a Sunday.”
“I was at the library—so you know, close by. Caffeine fix needed.”
Rhaenyra smiled, slowly (knowingly?). “There’s two coffee shops in the library.”
“Only one is open on a Sunday,” Alicent argued. “The worse one.”
“Right. So true. I hear the baristas are terrible there. Always burning the oat milk, can you imagine?”
“Exactly,” Alicent said. “The horror.” She took a breath. Compliment. “I like your nails.”
Rhaenyra waggled her fingers, short but perfectly rounded, gelled in dark red. “Thank you! Had them done for Halloween.”
Perfect. Talking about the weekend. She hadn’t even needed to ask. “What did you go as?”
“It was like—a sexy demon situation. I don’t know, there were horns, and wings. Red dress.”
“Cool,” Alicent said, feeling very hot.
“Did you go to a party?”
“Yes. Just as a very low effort witch, honestly. I had a hat.”
“I bet you looked great. Did you have a good night?”
Alicent shrugged, and floundered a bit. She wanted to say—it was alright, but I should have brought a jacket, it was so cold out. But that was the weather, and she was not allowed to talk about the weather—
“I love that scarf.” Rhaenyra dipped her head towards Alicent in gesture. “It looks very soft.”
“Yeah.” Alicent tugged at it. It was soft, but suddenly felt very constricting.
Rhaenyra looked at her for a little while, like she was waiting for something. The corners of her lips quirked up. “And warm?”
“I suppose.”
“Oh, come on, Alicent. Please. Put me out of my misery, how many layers am I going to need when I go out for my smoke break?”
Alicent broke her promise to herself, Rhaenyra’s prodding enough to snap it in two, and all the instinctual weather-based small talk she’d been keeping back flooded out of her like stormwater through a collapsed dam. “It’s warm enough, actually, at least in the sun. A bit chilly when the wind picks up—and I think it might rain. It’s cloudy—all grey, so ominous over the hills at the moment, but—”
Rhaenyra starts laughing. “There she is.”
In that moment, Alicent must have set a record for how quickly a face could go scarlet. She knew already that it was a thing for the staff that she would come in here and say something inane to Rhaenyra about the weather. It was different being called out on it by the woman herself.
“Oh God—” Alicent gave herself the relief of pressing one of her cold hands against a flaming cheek. “I don’t know why I always do that—come in here and start talking about—I mean, this place is all windows, anyway—”
“Alicent,” Rhaenyra said.
“I just can’t—think, I think you’re so…”Gorgeous, but she couldn’t say that, Rhaenyra would think she was flirting, which—well—
“Alicent.”
“Gorgeous,” she powered through, bravely. “And you’re lovely to me, but every time we speak all I can think to say is—”
“Alicent!’ Rhaenyra laughed, and reached out across the counter, leaning over so she could lay her hands on top of hers where they fretted at the edge of it. It left her face very close, the closest it had ever been, maybe, and Alicent was left silenced and staring, heart thudding against her chest like it wanted a closer look too. “I actually really quite like talking about the weather. Especially when it’s with you.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
Rhaenyra’s smile was like an old spotlight, from before the dawn of LEDs. Blisteringly warm, it made Alicent feel like she was the only person in the world. She wondered if she was visibly sweating under it, like she used to in primary school nativities, always forced to play the narrator because the other kids were shit at reading. Her drama teacher went to the same church as her, was always very impressed with her clarity of speech when she recited the bidding prayers from the lectern. She wished that composure would find her now, that she could stop tripping over her words like an idiot.
Realising she was taking too long to respond, Alicent felt her face getting hotter, though surely it must have reached its maximum colour a while ago. “Would you…”
“Would I…?”
“Would you maybe want to—hang out sometime? Properly?”
“To discuss the weather at greater length?” Alicent winced when her laugh came out a little strangled, still embarrassed despite Rhaenyra’s reassurances, her gilded grin, the warm press of her hands. “I’d love to, really.”
“Oh. Good.” Alicent shook her head, trying to pull herself out of her fluster. Rhaenyra seemed, well—thrilled. Like maybe she had been hoping for this as much as Alicent. “Perhaps if we have time, we could even branch out to another topic or two—queuing etiquette, maybe.“
“Our favourite brands of tea.”
“What’s to discuss? Yorkshire.”
Rhaenyra grinned at her answer; Alicent’s own grew to match it. She imagined walking through the aisle of a big Tesco with Rhaenyra, their hands brushing each time they reached for the same box, perfectly aligned. Perhaps they would bicker over which wine to have with their dinner. Alicent could be quite particular.
Drawing back, Rhaenyra let go of her hands. Alicent thanked God that she managed to swallow the immediate feeling of discontent that rose in her throat, along with whatever sound that might have accompanied it. She watched Rhaenyra grab a cardboard sleeve and a pen from below the till. Ridiculous—Alicent was ridiculous, she knew, but she held her breath watching Rhaenyra write her number, like she was unlocking something about her, even though she’d seen her name written on the side of a cup dozens of times. But these were new shapes, ones she hadn’t seen before. The digits were tall and thin and sloped forward, and Rhaenyra underlined them with a zig-zagged flourish.
“I should probably get back to work.” Rhaenyra pulled a face as the bell at the door rang. “But text me. Anyway—you want your usual?”
“Right, yes.” Alicent fumbled at the zip of her bag to find her purse, but Rhaenyra interrupted her, holding out the little sleeve instead.
“On me.”
“Oh, that’s—okay.” Alicent bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from letting out a breathless giggle, threatening to float up from the cloud of butterflies in her stomach. “Thank you.”
She waited at the pick-up end of the counter, clutching Rhaenyra’s number to her chest like a rosary, and promised herself she wouldn’t read anything into whatever shape Rhaenyra was painting into the top of her latte, looking at Alicent instead of the jug she was pouring from. Something simple. It didn’t take her very long.
Two hearts, Alicent discovered once the cup was warming her hands: one tucked inside the other. She slipped the papery-smooth cup into the sleeve she was holding.
“Don’t throw that away,” Rhaenyra said, pointing at it, walking backwards back to the till, stumbling slightly over a broom propped against the wall. A man waited there in some frustration. He shot Alicent a dirty look, presumably for holding Rhaenyra’s attention for too long. She smiled back, something fiercely smug burning through her, and looked at the number on the coffee sleeve.
“I won’t,” Alicent promised, calling out a little too loudly across the near empty coffee shop. “I’ll text you."