Chapter Text
II is going to kill his manager.
That is, as soon as his limbs aren’t full of lead and he can open his eyes all the way.
“I need this day off,” II had told her several weeks in advance, like he does every month. “I have a class to teach the night before, and I won’t be home until three.”
She’s usually flexible. Gives him any time off he needs. Gives him Mondays off, anyway. However, it must have been National Call In Sick And Inconvenience Your Busy Coworkers Day, because both of his coworkers celebrated in that exact manner. Now, his day off is overtaken by clients and sleep deprivation. Most of the clients had either cancelled or rescheduled, but he’s stuck with any who decided they needed to be taken care of today.
Nevermind. His manager is innocent. He’s going to kill his coworkers.
II reminds himself that he loves his job as he blindly rifles through his closet for the softest t-shirt he can feel.
Even in getting home a few hours before needing to be ready, he didn’t have enough time to sleep. Too much adrenaline. There’s a reason why he never works the day after his classes — too much risk of crashing.
He doesn’t just teach those nights. He commands. He submerges himself. He submerges others. By being the truest form of himself, he allows others to free themselves.
Knives.
II smiles as he pulls his barely soft enough shirt on.
That’s what he had shown to his beloved community from the night to early morning. His friends. His family.
How to reach someone’s lifeforce and hold it dearly in their hands. The tools and methods of slicing into someone’s vulnerability and easing them into safety. How to comfort with the edge of a blade.
Some had been fearful. Some had been curious. All had been fascinated.
With no sleep and barely any time passed, it’s still so vivid in II’s mind. His model — beautiful, eager to please and curiosity-encouraging IV — knelt before him, smiling so sweetly at the crowd of observers as crimson trickled down his chest, his back, his thighs. Even as he shook. Even as tears gathered in his eyes.
He was so brave. He hates blood.
II’s reflective smile falters. He can’t find any decent pants. All this time he’d been awake, and he hadn’t bothered to wash his clothes? He can’t keep wearing oil-stained leggings to work.
He has a couple of hours before he needs to be at the spa, but he’s getting dressed, anyway. He’d laid in bed for a total of 86 minutes, and he only succeeded in rolling over so many times it made him nauseous.
Maybe it’s just hunger. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. Like clockwork, every three Sundays, he has marginally less meals than he’d have on a normal day.
He just gets so excited. Too caught up in the moment to meet his basic needs. Then that moment becomes hours, and suddenly, he’s gone a day without eating.
He looks in disdain at his least favorite pair of leggings. The seams dig into his thighs, but there’s only a small patch of oil on the waistband. He can cover it with his shirt.
Good enough.
Damn. He is starving. And exhausted.
He needs caffeine.
No.
No, he doesn’t.
The second a drop of caffeine enters his bloodstream, he regrets it. Every time.
Does he really need it?
He could just pull the annoying coworker move. Call in sick. On his day off.
It would be a real dick move, though. He’s the only therapist available today.
“Come see me tomorrow,” IV’s sleepy post-demonstration voice rings through II’s head. “You kept me happy. I’ll keep you awake. Win-win.”
If IV can go to work after such a night, and so early in the morning, maybe II can manage it.
Breakfast would be good, too. They probably have food.
No. He’s not calling in. Yes. He does need it.
It’ll be a good morale boost to support his friend, too. He’d promised to stop by IV’s coffee shop more times than he can count, but never actually got around to doing that.
IV deserves a reason to smile and some extra money after he’d done so amazingly for II. After offering to bleed despite being afraid.
Drawing blood isn’t always welcome or expected.
II yelps as tiny daggers dig through thin fabric and into his bare calf.
“Jerry!”
His innocent-looking, menace-behaving cat stares up at him, teeth still stuck into his skin. He nearly blends into his dark leggings. “You scared me.”
He pries the little abyss with eyes off of him, lifting him up in the air. Letting his legs dangle so he feels as pitiful as he looks. “Why are you being a prick first thing in the morning, huh?” he mutters, nothing but love in his tone. “Way too early for that. I didn’t sleep well.”
Jerry stares back at him, not a single thought behind those eyes.
“You don’t care. You sleep 20 hours a day.” II lets him down, watching as he scurries off with an unnecessary speed.
No doubt, he’s going straight to his food bowl.
II breathes a chuckle. What a little shit.
“Hold on, big boy. I’ll feed you in a second,” he calls after the apparently just as starving creature.
He smooths his palms down his shirt, straightening out the wrinkles. Pats his hips — okay, good, there’s pockets there. He knew that. Always smart to check, though. Runs his fingers through his hair, taming short tufts.
He’s ready to go. He just needs his phone and his bag.
Anything else…?
Jerry’s food. A note for his sitter, so she doesn’t knock on the door and wait expectantly for him to answer.
That’s it. Easy.
He takes his phone off the charger and slips it into his pocket. The coolness of the screen seeps through his leggings. Grabs his bag hanging on his closet doorknob.
He gives it a quick look through — extra oil, hand cream, hair clips, sanitizing spray, snacks, first aid, wallet, keys. Everything important. If he needs anything else, it’s not important enough to come to mind.
One strap slung over his shoulder, a quickly scrawled note, and a scoop of cat food later, he’s standing over Jerry as he ravenously munches. It’s like he’d never seen a morsel of food in his life.
“Marina will be here in a couple of hours, okay?” II speaks softly, kneeling down. “You won’t be alone for long.”
Jerry pays him no mind.
“You’ll be good for her, right?”
He’s answered with an extra loud crunch.
“Yeah.” II gives him a little scritch behind his shoulders. “I know you will. You only like hurting me.”
Jerry sits up, craning his neck to look up at II with something amusingly close to offense.
II chuckles. “Bye, buddy. I’ll see you tonight.”
One more rub to his head, and II is standing up and making his way to the front door.
He does not want to go to work. His bed will miss him so much.
He just needs to make it through the day. He can stay in bed until noon tomorrow.
Tomorrow can not come sooner. He sighs as he forces the door open.
II is pretty sure he won’t make it through the day.
Every step is a drag. Thinking about being a functional member of society is getting on his nerves. The barely risen sun is too bright. The air is too cold. The cars passing are too loud. His clothes are both too tight and too loose. His hand is aching with a dull tingle.
He thought walking through the brisk, chilly breezes would help keep him alert and awake. It isn’t too far of a walk from his place to the spa, but it’s too long for someone running on fumes.
He’s got nothing but time and fury, though, and he has to do something to expend it.
It’s almost comforting to see the familiar shops he’d passed by a million times, most of which he’d never gone into. A bakery. A few thrift shops. Novelty and artisanal shops. Nursery. Tattoo parlors. Book store. Bars and restaurants scattered in between all of the above.
He used to take this walk every day, when he needed to distract his mind far more often. When he felt alone. When he felt in need of someone. When he thought he needed someone else to be whole.
He’d think of showing that someone all of these quaint businesses, visiting each of them for the first time. Sharing the experience. Leading them by the small of their back, getting them anything and everything they asked for. Sitting and eating with them, feeding them little bites of what he got. Getting tattoos together, holding their hand through the pain.
That was long enough ago that it only stings a little, returning to the memory. The desire never left. It just got quieter as his days got busier. As he found other means of fulfillment.
He knows he isn’t incomplete without a second half. But his complete entirety still craves a complement. The opposite side of his coin.
Maybe it isn’t a good morning to be walking alone, with sights that stir up feelings he thought he’d successfully repressed. Not with no sleep, no food, a day of work ahead of him he didn’t expect, and the most intense adrenaline crash he’d suffered since he took ownership of the local BDSM club. Of his club.
It’s a good thing he’s coming up on his favorite cluster of white-stone walled businesses. His favorite, despite never going into any of them. He just knows IV inhabits one of the buildings.
He walks past a few doors, looking up at the overhang ceilings until he finds the hanging sign.
Black background. White text. Simple lettering. Where is it?
It’s been too long since he walked down this strip, if he’s having trouble finding it.
There it is.
Eden’s Vices.
He glances over the mini chalkboard menu standing outside the door. It changes all the time, and new additions are usually accompanied by some menu-relevant doodles. He’d wondered, every time he passed, who drew them. They caught his attention more than whatever was featured — overexaggerated and cartoonish. Today, hiding in the lower corner, are two animals cuddled up against each other: a wolf and a lamb.
II sighs with a smile. That’s cute.
He’s separated from the interior by two large windows, covered with thick, dark curtains. The only things visible are plants that look healthier and happier than the ones at the nursery. Definitely IV’s. A matte black metal door. A few matching metal dining tables scattered about, some with chipped paint. All with the chairs tucked in.
It looks more like a bar or club from the outside. Even looking inside on warmer days when the door was open. The brief glances of dark walls and neon lights hadn’t exactly said ‘coffee shop’.
He’s here. The door waits in front of him, decorated with a ‘we’re open!’ sign.
He’s really going in, isn’t he?
He values his heart health and quality of sleep. The act of going inside would betray that value, in and of itself.
He’s so tired. His work room is so damn relaxing. If he doesn’t get some help, he will fall asleep on a client, and subsequently get fired.
Fired for being sleepy?
Caffeine intolerance be damned. It’s a good day for betrayal.
II pushes the door open, and now that he’s actually able to see everything, he scolds himself for taking so long to visit.
This is his kind of place. Dark, moody, ambient, quiet.
A nearly blood red stained wood counter greets him, standing in front of a brick wall painted black. Off to the right, a tiered display of what are unmistakably bags of coffee; beside it, another little chalkboard menu matching the one outside. A doorway and window behind the counter leads to another room, but partially drawn curtains obscure his view. All he can see through them is a fridge. The tiled ceiling shines with nearly reflective gunmetal and dim amber lamps. Not to mention the number of plants — some large and vined, drinking in the sunlight by the door; more smaller flowers and shrubs on every single surface.
It smells amazing. Coffee, as to be expected. But it’s also spicy. A little fruity. Fresh, like dewed on flowers. It’s not what II’s flat smells like, but it smells like home.
Homes tend to teem with people and love. In this home, however, there’s no one.
No customers. No employees. No IV. All of the lights are on, candles are burning, low volume classic punk fills the otherwise silent air. He’d checked their hours several times in the past — he knows they’re open. He saw the sign.
He approaches the counter and leans his arms against the cool, shiny top. They’re probably still getting ready — he hears two hushed voices behind the wall. It’s only been minutes since they opened. He isn’t booked for another few hours. He’s patient.
It’ll give him more time to take in this little sanctuary.
It’s so cozy. Velvet chairs, leather couches, all in some variation of deep red, matching red neon signs scattered on the walls. None in any specific design. Abstract. Glass coffee and accent tables, black metal fixings. Fuzzy black throw pillows and blankets. II takes a seat in one of the armchairs, and damn, if he couldn’t fall asleep right there. He sinks down into the plushness.
He scans the bookshelves against the walls. Mythology, music, history, chemistry, poetry, philosophy, arts and crafts, alchemy. Wow. Some fiction. Stephen King. Edgar Allen Poe. This place must be teeming with scholars.
There’s barely a space on the walls not covered by some tapestry, painting, or photo. A celestial tapestry takes up the largest part of the wall, surrounded by warm fairy lights and paintings of sea creatures. Unfortunately, none of them are signed, because II would love to know who did them. They’re somehow both eldritch and realistic. Detailed.
On the other walls, posters of concerts hang. All of them, II knows, are ones IV had gone to, because IV had excitedly told him about each of them.
The photos by the back room doorway catch II’s attention. He forces himself up to get a closer look.
There’s a lot of them. IV is in most of them. In one, he and a platinum blond man press their cheeks together with their tongues out. Another, he and someone hidden beneath the collar of their shirt. II smiles when he notices one in particular: it’s the two of them, IV upside-down and wrapped in a blanket with II beside him. They’re both grinning.
II remembers that. He’d just taken IV out of ropes, and they were laying on the floor, laughing about how sore IV was. IV had whipped out his phone — ‘I wanna remember this.’
He needs to tie IV again soon. It’s such a release for both of them.
Metal scrapes against metal.
II glances over to his right, where the sound came from. The first thing — or person, rather — he sees is an apron. He has to tilt his chin up to see the face above the apron. It’s an incredibly friendly face — framed with bright red, slightly frizzy hair, dimples on either side of a wide grin, a comically large mustache that screams cartoon villain.
He recognizes him. He has a few pictures with IV.
II doesn’t even need to try to return that smile. Despite exhaustion weighing him down, the corners of his lips are featherlight.
“Oh, shit!” this incredibly tall individual laughs. He spins around and holds onto the sides of the doorway, leaning in. “Ivy! This guy has been standing here for 20 minutes!”
Muffled from the back room, a familiar voice calls back, “We haven’t been open for 20 minutes!”
“Door was unlocked!” Tall-bright-stranger slides his hands off the frame and lets the momentum carry him into the room. “Never stopped anyone!”
“Sorry!” IV calls, slightly louder. “I’ll be right with you!”
II chuckles lightly.
He starts heading back over to the front counter. As he passes the now visible room, he sees their stock — so many bottles and bags of candy — a few more fridges, a stainless steel counter. IV hurrying to stand out of a barstool, giving his friend a playful shove to the arm, and someone else. He can’t see them very well; sitting in another barstool, back turned and hidden inside of a hoodie, slouched over the counter. It looks like they’re putting stickers on little bags.
He fights the instinct to lecture a stranger on how much their back is going to hurt, if they don’t fix their posture.
As soon as IV turns toward the doorway, he grins.
“There you are!” he greets, stopping II before he can actually make it to the counter. He pulls II into a tight hug, which honestly, II needed. Warmth and familiarity. He smells like coconuts, for some reason. IV doesn’t like coconuts. “It’s about time.”
Jovial-still-tall-stranger had followed him out, attached at his heels. “You two know each other?”
Has almost-fried-hair-stranger never seen the picture IV has with him?
“Yeah.” IV pulls away from the hug, giving II a smile before turning to his friend. “We’re business associates.”
Something like that.
“That’s vague. Okay.” With this person now in front of II, there’s a new concern: how much he has to look down to speak to II. Talking to him will not be good for his neck. “I’m Three. Yeah, like the number.”
II huffs a laugh. He knows that incredibly specific struggle. II wonders if III had chosen his name, or if it had been given to him.
He holds out his hand, which III takes in a strong grip. Offers probably the most enthusiastic handshake II had experienced. “I’m Two.”
“Hah! No shit!” III chuckles. “Hopefully we aren’t secretly brothers, ‘cause you’re hot.”
Direct. II appreciates that.
IV, however, does not. “Stop harassing my customers before I kick you out.”
“Hey,” III scolds. He points to a glass display case to the left of the register counter — it’s full of baked goods. “You see that? Kick me out, and your customers will go hungry. I’ll never bake for you again.”
“I’ll just break in and steal from the stash you keep for yourself.”
III gasps in offense. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You don’t know where it is.”
“In the drinks fridge, behind the kid’s juices.”
“Fuck!” III snaps his fingers. “Not anymore, it isn’t.”
II watches the exchange with amusement. It’s clear that they’ve known each other a while.
“You better wait until later to move it,” IV says, nudging III’s shoulder with a fist. “You’re late.”
“Huh?” III tugs up his buttoned sleeve. He doesn’t have a watch. He looks back up at IV with what can only be described as despair. “What time is it?”
“Ten minutes past opening.” IV shows him the watch that he does have. “You’re gonna face the breakfast crowd’s wrath again.”
If IV and III open up at the same time, it’s hard to believe III had no idea he was late. Moreso if this is a regular occurrence — ‘again’?
II will have to ask IV for that story. Or III. He seems to like II.
“Shit! Damn, okay.” III straightens up his sleeves, his apron. Pulls his hair into a ponytail quicker than II had ever seen anyone do. Twists the ends of his already perfect mustache. Turns to II. “Listen. I’m right next door. Come eat my food.”
Next door. That’s a restaurant. Makes sense, if he bakes for IV.
“I will,” II says.
Might as well. It would probably make III’s day, and he does have a contagious smile.
“Hell yeah.” III grins. “Bye, Ivy!” he says, waving right in IV’s face. Slightly louder, cupping his hand around his mouth, he calls, “Bye, V!” With a lowered voice and a wiggly-fingered wave, he hums to II, “Bye, handsome.”
III definitely likes him. He’s an interesting character — II can’t say that he isn’t intrigued. And he’s certainly not one to turn down a chance to flirt if it’s openly welcomed.
“I’ll see you later, beautiful.”
“Oh!” III fans himself with a hand as turns on his heel and waltzes out of the door. “Whew!”
Okay. II likes him, too. A little eccentric, a little flirty, with fantastic energy.
When II looks back at IV, he’s shaking his head with an irritated smile, complete with his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Does he flirt with all of your customers?” II asks, the amusement he feels reaching his tone.
IV humphs. “Only the ones who look like they could kill him.”
II furrows his eyebrows. He couldn’t kill anyone. Does he actually give that impression?
How?
His whole thing is comforting others. He’s good at greeting people with a smile, isn’t he?
II doesn’t have a chance to voice his confusion aloud, as IV slings an arm around his shoulders.
“It’s early for you,” IV says, sympathetic already. He rubs his thumb along II’s bicep. “Couldn’t sleep?”
II huffs, only a little annoyed at the reminder. “No. It’s hard after…”
He doesn’t know how thick the walls are. The person in the back might be able to hear.
“After.” IV nods in understanding. “You really have to work today?”
Automatically, II’s hand reaches to rub his eyes as he sighs.
“Damn. I’m sorry,” IV says. “You hate when your routine gets interrupted.”
That isn’t even the beginning of it. He still feels far heavier than usual.
“It’s worth it.”
Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.
“Wanna take a nap on our couch?” IV nods to the mockingly plush leather couch draped with a soft blanket. “ I’ll lock the door right now.”
“It’s okay.” It’s very tempting, but if he lays down, he won’t wake up until evening. “I’ll rely on coffee like everyone else.”
“Isn’t it bad practice to massage with shaky hands?”
That’s a good point.
II shrugs. “It’ll be alright. If anyone asks, I’ll blame it on exhaustion.”
“Because you are exhausted.” IV tilts his head at II. “And you’re about to be overcaffeinated.”
“Yeah.” It’ll be the only thing keeping II functional. “They don’t need to know that.”
II gives another look around. Exposed dark brick, books, art, dim lights. Very easy on the senses. He really does love it here already — it’s starting to ease all the discomfort he felt on the way here.
“You have a good thing going on here,” II says. “I’m sorry I didn’t come by sooner.”
“Oh, no worries at all.” IV swings his arm from around II’s shoulders. “You’re here now, right?”
“I’m happy to be.”
With his granted freedom, II turns his focus to the bags stacked on the dark wooden rack. He points with intrigue. “Is this your coffee?”
“Yeah! We’re partnered with a roaster. Our bean-bearer.” IV grins. “Awesome lady. Brings in extra batches so we can flavor them.”
“That’s cool.”
II doesn’t really understand why someone would want flavored coffee, but seeing IV excited makes it okay.
Maybe it’s extra revenue. Running a business is expensive work.
“You know what? We might have something you’d like.” IV looks over his shoulder to the covered window. “Hey, do we have any Amaretto Butterscotch back there?”
II assumes IV is talking to whoever is back there, but they don’t answer.
He’s starting to wonder if this mystery person does speak. No words, but he does hear shuffling and metallic crinkling.
“That sounds good,” II says.
Maybe there is something to flavored coffee.
“It is,” IV nods enthusiastically. “It’s just for you, too.”
Leave it to IV to have II in mind without letting him know. Without knowing if or when he’d ever stop by. It’s heart-warming.
“Is it?”
“Sure is! It’s one of our darker roasts.”
If II is going to torture himself, his go-to is a boiling hot dark roast. And…
Reading II’s mind, IV adds, “And you love butterscotch.”
II is used to being the one mentally documenting everything someone loves. Something so refreshing about IV? He does the same for him, consistently surprising him with little details he’d remembered.
It’s been quite a while since II told him about his affinity for butterscotch.
The window curtain opens with a little swish. Only just enough so the shake of the hooded figure’s head is visible.
II doesn’t see much of a face — mostly a round nose and pale skin — but he does see a singular long, wavy strand of brown hair. It bounces with their movement.
“Damn.” IV frowns. “Could you whip up a batch real quick?”
The head nods, and the curtain closes.
“Thank you, lovely,” IV calls after them. “Should only take a minute,” he says to II.
So, maybe this is normal for silent-stranger. IV doesn’t seem fazed.
“You don’t have to, if it’s inconvenient,” II says. It has to take a while to flavor coffee, hasn’t it? “It’s alright.”
There’s something being shaken around in the back.
“Nah. You’re gonna make us some money,” IV says. “Besides, my pal back there likes having something to busy his hands. Helps him warm up for the day.”
Everyone has their ways of warming up. If anyone understands the need to work with their hands, it’s II.
The more he sees of this silent individual, the more curious he gets. Who is he?
“Is he your behind-the-scenes guy?”
IV hums thoughtfully. “He would be if he could be. He’s more comfy back there. I need his help out here when we get busy, though.”
Some kind of mechanical humming.
“He’s not much of a people person, is he?” II asks.
“Eh. It’s complicated,” IV says. “He likes people. He’d just rather focus on keeping us running.” He shrugs. “Behind-the-scenes stuff.”
Hands-on instead of social. Something else II understands. He loves people, too. But if he can be there for them with minimal speaking, it’s perfect.
Something crinkles.
“Honestly,” IV continues, “I don’t know what I’d do without him. He keeps us alive.”
“He does that much?”
“Yeah.” IV gestures to the bean shelves. “Flavors our coffee. Packages it. Keeps track of everything. Helps with our menu, which obviously, is very important.”
II nods attentively.
“If we have any new ideas, they come from him,” IV says. There’s admiration in his words. “Sometimes I feel like he does more for the shop than I do.”
IV sings such high praises for this person. II wonders when he’ll be able to actually meet him.
It might be a bit of a challenge, if he’s so busy. If he’s so focused on the intricate details that seem to come with running a coffee shop.
II had no idea there was so much to it. It’s more than just pouring coffee and making lattes.
“It sounds like he should be the owner, then,” II says. A light tease that IV agrees with, if the way he laughs says anything.
“We’re co-owners, pretty much,” IV says. “It isn’t his official title, but he loves it here. He’s so passionate.”
Passionate? II respects and adores passion.
Who is he?
For the second time, metal scrapes on metal. Both IV and II look to the doorway.
II almost can’t believe his eyes.
Yet another ridiculously tall individual slinks out from behind the curtain. He’s huge, towering over IV even from a distance. Broad shoulders and long limbs. The small bag he carries is completely encompassed by his hands. Physically, he’s beyond intimidating.
Everything else about him tells a different story.
He holds the bag close to his body, like it’s a beloved comfort item protecting him. A beanie sits on his head underneath the hood, with a few more of his curls visible and escaping its confines. A tiny pout-like frown shapes his lips. There’s a brown dust lightly speckling across his nose, presumably coffee grounds. How it got there, II is unsure, but it makes him smile. He stares at IV blearily, blinking with weighted eyelids, like he woke up seconds ago. Maybe that’s why he’s avoiding interaction at all costs.
His eyes. II recognizes them — he was the one hiding behind his hoodie in the photo.
He stretches his arms out, offering the bag to IV, still unspeaking. There’s really no good reason for him to be holding it with both hands.
The one thing that strikes II the most:
He's cute.
“Thanks.” IV takes the bag from the source of II’s heart palpitations with one hand, passes it to II, gestures to him with the other hand. “Remember I told you about Two?”
Sleepy-stranger — V, III had called him? — nods his head.
“This is him.”
V turns his attention to II.
II needs to know him. Or, at least, make the first move in doing so.
He moves in closer and offers his hand. He has to crane his neck to try to meet V's lowered eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.”
V looks down at his open hand, but doesn’t take it. His deep, near whisper is almost drowned out by his hoodie — Alpha Wolf, a man of taste — as he speaks. He does speak. He speaks, and it’s quite an endearing sound. “You, too.”
Apparently, he doesn’t shake hands, though. II drops his arm to his side. “I appreciate you making this.”
II is only answered with a nod. He didn’t think he’d want to hear anyone say more words this morning, but he would do absolutely anything to hear that lovely little voice one more time.
“Your name is V?”
“Vessel,” V — Vessel — says. He brings his covered-by-sleeves hands together, clasping them underneath the fabric. Movement shuffles underneath, presumably his thumbs fighting to comfort him. He’s looking down at the floor.
It goes without question that he’s nervous.
It seems like he’s going to need some encouragement, if II wants to keep talking to him.
“Ivy’s been bugging me to stop by for a while,” II tries. “Is your coffee really that good?”
Vessel shrugs. “Yeah.”
II may be overanalyzing, but he can almost convince himself a little smile tugs at Vessel’s lips. At the very least, he isn’t frowning anymore.
Maybe now, II has the chance to see the extent of his passion.
“What do you recommend?” he asks.
“Um…” Vessel glances between II and the front counter. Perhaps debating whether or not he wants to take on the task of taking an order he knows is coming.
Something does convince him to brave his apparent discomfort. He makes his way to the register, drawing II along with him. He stares at the screen standing in front of him. “It depends.”
II barely notices IV squeezing through the small space between Vessel and the wall behind him to ready himself in front of the espresso machine.
“What’s your favorite?” II asks, entirely entranced by this man of few words.
He needs more words. Maybe more than he needs energy.
That’s when Vessel looks back up at II. “Mine?”
He’s surprised, as if no one had ever asked him that before. There’s no way that’s the truth.
“Yes,” II says. A gentle coax with an equally gentle smile. “Yours.”
“Mm…” Vessel narrows his eyes, furrows his eyebrows in consideration. Yeah. Cute. “Blood Sport is good.”
IV hums, clearly pleased at his choice. “Oh, yeah. Cherry and rum-flavored mocha. Super sweet, if you’re into that.”
He’s into it, just not necessarily with what he consumes. It’s a little step towards getting to know Vessel, though, and he does love cherries. And rum.
And blood.
“I’ll take it.”
Vessel taps on the screen, and he squints as a bright white glow lights him up. Highlights the sharpness of his jawline, the stressed creases, the bags beneath his eyes. Tired eyes with an artificial lively sparkle. Cheesy as it is, II finds the color comparable to a smooth dark roast. “Size?” he asks.
“A small.”
II doesn’t feel much in the mood for a heart attack. The less, the better.
“Hot or iced?”
II is grateful he wasn’t specific with his order. Vessel will have to ask for one detail at a time.
“Which is better?”
Vessel keeps his eyes on the screen. “Iced.”
II isn’t an iced coffee guy, but he can put that aside for the time being.
“Iced it is, then.”
Vessel taps a few times. “Full fat milk?”
“That’s perfect.”
II doesn’t care. However Vessel recommends it is good.
A few more taps. A long look at one side of the screen. “Anything else?”
IV pipes up, “Three will be pissed if you don’t try his snacks.”
Oh, yeah. II wanted to get something to eat.
“I’ll have one.”
“Which one?” Vessel asks.
He’s still so quiet. Is he always this soft-spoken, or is it just because II is unfamiliar?
II glances over the racks of sweets. He could get something he knows he’d like — the chocolate torte is incredibly inviting — but maybe, something new would be better. Something he probably wouldn’t pick for himself.
Getting to know someone else through what they like eating or drinking isn’t efficient, but it’s subtle.
Besides, these treats are a part of Vessel’s everyday life. It could say a lot more about him than II thinks.
Even if Vessel isn’t looking at him, II can’t tear his gaze away.
“Why don’t you pick for me?”
Vessel finally looks back up at II, meeting his eyes with an expression that could mean one of two things: one, he’s confused, or two, he’s already sick of customers for the day.
II can’t blame him. Customer service is a special kind of exhausting. Especially when the first one you talk to, at 6 in the morning no less, starts hounding you for no — apparent — reason.
He’ll apologize later.
Vessel has to crouch down to reach into the display. He isn’t a complete stranger anymore, but II still opts for not voicing his muscle-related concerns. He instantly goes for the wrapped in plastic pale yellow and pink muffins — labeled lemon and raspberry. His favorite?
II briefly catches the raised brow, little grin IV is pointing his direction.
Vessel stands up and, rather than setting it on the counter like II expects from a barista probably ready to go home, holds it out directly to II. He still wears that odd look, only mellowed out.
It softens further when II accepts his colorful breakfast.
II glances at the coffee grounds on his nose again.
Really cute.
II smiles at him. He hopes it’s reassuring. “Thank you.”
“Mhm.”
Surely, II’s smile isn’t reassuring anymore. It has to be outright dopey, hearing Vessel’s softly hummed answer. A little thing he’s come to love: unspoken but still vocalized communication.
Common in both sides of his life.
Does…
Does II have a new side of his life now? A cute guy in his best friend’s coffee shop?
That’s something to ruminate on later.
Vessel keeps his eyes on II. It takes far too long for II to realize he’s expecting something. “That’s all I’m getting,” II says.
“Don’t worry about paying,” IV says. II almost forgot he was there. “I got it.”
II doesn’t want to take advantage. Part of the reason he came in the first place was to support IV’s business. “I thought I was supposed to be ‘making you some money’?”
“I was kidding.”
“Hm.” II slips his bag off of his shoulder, trading the muffin in his hand for his wallet. If he can’t support the business, he can support the people — he drops 15 into the tip jar. “Thank you, Ivy.”
IV watches in what II hopes is faux dismay as II offers money anyway. “Shit. Thank you.” He can’t keep up the act for long. He grins. “You just bought Vessel lunch.”
Buying Vessel lunch sounds appealing. Doing it himself would be perfect, but contributing is good enough.
“Let me know how the coffee is,” IV says, pointing to the bag in II’s hand. “That’ll be payment enough.”
Only then does II notice he’s still holding the tiny bag of coffee like it’s become his comfort item, glued between his fingers. He tucks it into his pocket — it’s a perfect fit.
“I will,” II says. “Thank you.”
“No need. You can always buy more later.”
II knows IV is looking at him with his signature cocky grin, just in his periphery, but II can’t take his eyes off of Vessel. Standing, looking anywhere that isn’t II’s eyes, fidgeting with his sleeves. Swaying lightly, back and forth, on his feet.
Only cuter by the second.
IV must notice Vessel’s unease, because out of the corner of II’s attention, he fixes Vessel with a sympathetic smile.
“You mind finishing up inventory?” he says. Giving Vessel a way out.
A sense of relief floods Vessel’s features. Before he can even finish nodding, he turns and disappears behind the curtains.
IV watches with that smile, more fond now, as he hurries away. Then he turns to II and lowers his voice. “He’s shy.”
II likes shy, which could be a problem. Might already be a problem.
“I can tell,” II says, matching IV’s low volume. It’s rude to talk about someone who is still somewhat present, but II really wants to talk about him.
“It’s part of why we started up a shop in the first place,” IV says. He grabs a plastic cup from beneath the counter. “We thought it’d help him out. He’s gotten way better. Just a little tough first thing in the morning, and with someone new.”
That’s admirable. It takes a lot to work through something that permeates your entire being, facing it head on for hours at a time. Making a job out of it.
Vessel is brave.
“Were you friends before you opened up?”
“Shit, yeah.” IV decorates the rim with some kind of red syrup. “We met when we were kids.”
Childhood friends. They probably tell each other everything.
…IV had mentioned II to him before.
II furrows his eyebrows, leaning further over the counter. Dropping his voice further. “You mentioned me to him?”
“Yeah. Nothing scandalous.” IV chuckles. Pours more syrup into the cup. “Just that you’re a massage therapist. Wanted to try to get him to see you.”
Suddenly, II remembers he has to work. Today. He doesn’t let it sour his mood. Very much.
“He’s never complained,” IV says, elbow-deep in an ice cooler, “but I know he’s hurting, standing all day? He rubs at his back any chance he gets. Stressed as fuck all, too.”
Those are some of II’s favorites, people he can work out internal tension from the outside in. Being a moment of quiet in a stressful world to those who seek him out, the ones who usually need it most.
“I’m just saying.” IV stirs in espresso and milk. “He could really use you.”
Vessel is more than welcome to use him. II has several openings in his schedule. Everything would be better if Vessel claimed one of them.
Especially if he’s in pain. Especially if he’s stressed. II could fix that. II wants to fix that.
He could feel the nerves radiating off of Vessel. He wants to be the one to silence them. Wean off his worry. Let him melt under his hands, let him…
II just met this man. He needs to slow it down a little.
He gives himself a brief lecture on ethics before speaking.
“I have a card. I’ll give it to him.”
IV breathes a sigh. “That would be great.” Swirls on some whipped topping. “I’ll probably have to twist his arm to get him to just think about booking.”
“Don’t force him.” II frowns. “It won’t help him if he’s uncomfortable.”
The relieved smile IV wears quirks up further. “I won’t.”
A cherry on top, then a lid. With a certain finality, IV sets the cup in front of II. It looks like a damn pastry. “There you go.”
“Thanks.”
IV reaches under the counter, presenting II with a straw. He doesn’t let II take it; instead, unwraps it and drops it into the lid himself.
“V, come back here!” he calls over his shoulder. “He’s gonna try it.”
Why Vessel needs to watch II drink coffee, II doesn’t know, but he also doesn’t care. It’s a good excuse to see him again.
After a moment, Vessel pokes his head out of the doorway curtain.
II takes a sip, and it requires active effort to not grimace. He could start sweating. “That is sweet.”
Vessel furrows his eyebrows, almost apologetically, like he feels guilty for recommending something he likes. The sight makes II’s chest hurt.
“Tasty, though.” It isn’t an empty reassurance — once he’s over the initial sugar shock, II greatly enjoys it. Rich chocolate complimented by spiced rum, tooth-rotting cherry balanced out with bitter espresso.
He'd rather eat it than drink it, though. When II thinks coffee, he doesn't think dessert.
“You can thank Vessel for that one.” IV beams over at his friend. “He’s our drink designer.”
So maybe there is an understandable reason why Vessel would want to watch him drink coffee.
II gives Vessel a nod. “It’s amazing. You’re an artist.”
Vessel shrugs, and II doesn’t have to convince himself this time — he is smiling. Barely curling the corners of his lips, but enough to be visible to someone observing so closely. Damn. Cute and pretty. “Thanks.”
“Thank you.”
“Before you disappear again,” IV says to Vessel, “take his card.”
“Card?”
Vessel emerges from his hiding place behind the curtain.
“Yeah.” II frees up his hands to fish in his bag for his wallet, taking out a business card. It’s his last one. He’ll have to pick up some more. “Here. Ivy told me you could use some destressing.”
Actually, he’d told II that Vessel could use him, but II can’t just say that.
Vessel takes his card and examines it. He somehow manages to look more unsettled. “Um… Thanks.”
He shifts his weight on his feet, still tense posture making him seem out of place where he supposedly loves so much.
“Come on,” IV urges. “It would be good for you. You slouch so damn much.”
Vessel directs a glare at IV so intense it makes II chuckle. At least II didn’t have to be the one to point it out.
“If you aren’t sure, but you’re interested, we can consult over a call.” II points to his card. “Our office number is there. I’m there Wednesday to Sunday. Just ask for me, and we’ll set you up.”
Is he being pushy? Is he offering a helping hand? It’s hard to tell the difference.
“Maybe,” Vessel says in such a way that tells II it probably means ‘no way, I just met this strange man’.
“I’ll give you a day off if you set up an appointment.”
That sounds like pressure.
“Ivy,” II warns.
“But,” IV says, holding his hands up in self defense, “I’m not forcing you. Just think you need to relax a bit.”
II really needs Vessel to stop glancing between the two of them, looking horribly lost, because he’s also looking horribly sweet. At least he isn’t giving II a headache. Far from it, actually.
“Okay…?” Vessel says slowly. Probably trying to assess their exchange.
“Think about it,” IV says. Encourages. Hopefully, doesn’t pressure.
“I will.”
Vessel doesn’t sound certain, but IV seems satisfied.
“You good if I step out for a few?” IV asks. “Wanna talk to Two for a sec.”
Vessel nods.
II wants to talk to IV, too. Check in on him.
He’s just not entirely ready to let Vessel out of his sight yet. There’s so much he wants to know about him — he’s so reserved. What kind of person is hiding beneath that standoffish exterior? Hobbies? Dreams? Interests? Favorite things, places, parts of life?
What does he get excited about? What makes him smile? What makes him laugh? What could he go on about for hours?
“Two.”
II looks to IV. He’s halfway to the door, holding his hand out, wiggling his fingers in II’s direction.
How long had he been doing that?
Vessel looks mildly more uncomfortable than he did last time II was aware. Tightly clasped hands, tense shoulders. A small, nervous smile that’s next to impossible to look away from.
How long had II been staring at him?
Another thing to apologize for later.
“Oh.” II slings his bag back over his shoulder, grabs his drink from the counter. Meets IV in the middle, intertwining their fingers with his unoccupied hand. “Sorry.”
“Mm.” IV grins at him. “You’re fine.”
IV looks past II’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
II follows his gaze, looking over his shoulder, as well. “Bye, Vessel. I’ll be seeing you.”
Vessel blinks at him. He lifts his hand and gives a little wave.
It’s decided, then. II has no choice but to be a regular coffee drinker. He’ll find a cardiologist if he needs to.
With II in tow, IV heads outside. Privacy. They can discuss what they need to. Their hands remain locked together as they sit across from each other at one of the tables.
The metal digs into II’s thighs, but with a hand full of IV and a mind full of Vessel, it’s tolerable.
IV’s free hand reaches into his pocket once — cigarette pack — and twice — lighter. There’s something soothing about watching him go through the same motions II had seen so many times before, even if concern about IV’s health nags in the back of his mind.
“How are you?” II asks as IV flicks his lighter to life.
IV smiles around a smoky exhale, directing it away from II. “I’m amazing.”
“Does it hurt too much?”
“You’ve done worse.”
“You changed your bandages this morning?”
“Yep. Only got a little dizzy.” Slightly exasperatedly, he adds, “And I cleaned everything. And ate. And drank water, and took painkillers.”
II starts to say something.
“And no,” IV answers before II can ask, “nothing’s irritating me, and I’m not overthinking.” There’s a little squeeze to II’s hand. “I’m good.”
At least IV hasn’t dropped. Small favors.
“Good.” II returns that squeeze, drifting his thumb over IV’s knuckles. “You did very well for me last night. I know it was hard for you.”
IV shrugs, a bashful grin finding him. “It wasn’t too bad. Always easier when you’re there.”
“I wouldn’t let anyone else make you bleed.”
That grin turns into one more playful. “You don’t own me.”
“No.” They’d talked about it before. The power exchange chemistry just doesn’t exist — IV can’t submit completely like II needs, and that’s okay. Their equality is a comforting constant in each of their lives. “But I don’t trust anyone else to look out for you the way I do.”
“Neither do I.” IV extinguishes his smoke on the bottom of his boot, tossing the remains into a nearby pot that certainly housed a plant at some point. “How are you?”
The teasing lilt in IV’s tone tells II he’s insinuating something. He hopes it isn’t what he thinks it is.
“Tired. I’m pretty sure I crashed hours ago.” It’s a good thing he has a sugar-packed coffee in his hand — two sources of energy in one. “The party was incredible, though.”
“They always are.” On his elbows, IV leans in closer. “And?”
“‘And’?”
IV’s usually just as quick to make sure II’s needs are met if he’s dropped. Not this time.
“And you met someone new.”
Because there’s a higher priority in the forefront of his mind.
II tries to keep any trace of annoyance from seeping into his tone. “Yes, I did.”
That someone did unknowingly stave off the post-adrenaline blues. Perhaps started that adrenaline right back up, just enough to keep II going.
“And he’s your type,” IV presses, like this is a well-known fact that II is entirely oblivious to.
He’s not oblivious.
“Ivy…”
He’s also not succeeding in not sounding annoyed.
“Don’t ‘Ivy’ me. I saw how you were looking at him.”
Was he that obvious?
“How was I looking at him?”
“The same way you look at me after a scene.”
Shit. He was obvious.
That holds a lot of weight, both the statement and II’s supposed gaze. After grueling physical and emotional exertion, II loves nothing more than taking care of IV. Making sure he’s safe, happy, and okay. Easing him back to reality. Admiring how beautifully undone he always looks.
He can’t imagine what was going through Vessel’s head while II pointed that gaze at him.
“Two,” IV says knowingly. “He’s a big guy. He’s quiet. He’s shy.” He makes a show of glancing around, then leaning in close to II and hiding a whisper behind the back of his free hand. “He’s freaky.”
Hopefully, II’s over-exhausted brain won’t be latched onto that all day.
IV knows better than to share something like that with anyone, not without talking to the person in question about it first. It really is a good day for betrayal, because II finds himself not minding that much.
“You and I both know there’s no way I could have been aware of that.”
Then again, if someone is friends with IV, chances are they’re some flavor of kinky. Maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised.
But quiet, timid Vessel?
Well…
Actually, yeah. It’s always the quiet ones.
“You’re aware of it now,” IV says, shrugging nonchalantly.
Which is just another problem. A big one.
“I shouldn’t be. It’s none of my business.”
“Oh, but now you’re curious,” IV says with a smile way too big, way too amused, and way too self-satisfied. He knows he’s right.
And he is.
II had wondered what kind of person hides beneath Vessel’s distant, near-silent, near-scared exterior. If that’s what’s there…
If there’s someone who…
No.
No, II silently scolds himself. You don’t know him. It’s none of your business. Respect his privacy.
But Vessel could…
Stop it. Stop thinking.
If II had the chance…
Relax. Slow down.
Two voices amidst IV’s laughter break II out of his combined concern, overthinking, and over eagerness.
“Hi, Ivy!”
IV glances over his shoulder to the dead-on-their-feet but somehow still happy gentlemen smiling at him. They’re standing midway in the open door, letting cold air in. “Mornin’, fellas,” he says through a mirthful sigh. “Your roasts are waiting for you.”
The two strangers enthuse amongst themselves as they walk in.
Before the door swings shut, II leans to look in. Vessel is leaning on his arms against the counter, looking out, too, past the gentlemen’s shoulders. Right at him. Still nervous. More uncomfortable.
Is… Vessel looking for him, like II was? Or is it just a coincidence?
II wishes he’d had time to smile at him, by way of saying ‘good luck with the people’. Or ‘sorry for accidentally learning too much about you, Ivy overshares.’
Or, ‘you’re really cute, I hope you overshare soon so I feel better about thinking these things about you.’
IV certainly notices where he’s looking. He’s got the affectionate, know-it-all head tilt going on when II faces him again.
He carries on, like no interruption had happened. Like II isn’t entirely caught up in his head on something he really shouldn’t know. “You’re protective of him.”
Is he? II didn’t think he’d outwardly expressed it.
“Am I?”
“‘Don’t force him’.” IV’s overly firm, almost accurately demanding impression makes II roll his eyes. “I know that voice. He’s got you wrapped around his finger, hasn’t he?”
Only a little bit. He just wants to make sure Vessel, dropdead gorgeous and full of anxiety, feels alright. Wants to help him feel better, if he can.
He knows he can.
“I just met him.”
“Exactly! You just met him, and you already want to hold him and tell him everything will be okay.”
IV’s right. He does. Twice-his-size, nervous guys with little smiles and trouble with words and eye contact have that effect on him. It doesn’t help that this one holds a mythical level of beauty and a syrupy sweet voice.
And several sources of muscle aches II could very easily take care of.
“I’m interested,” II says. “That’s all.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
II scoffs and pulls his hand from IV’s. “I’m going to work.”
He doesn’t even know what time it is. What he does know is that he needs a chance to process everything that just happened. Everything he’s feeling.
It’s a lot.
“I’ll tell V you said you love him.”
The chair scrapes against the concrete below as II stands, half-empty cup in hand. “Goodbye, Ivy.”
“See ya, lover boy.”
IV blows him a kiss. II catches it in the air and hands it right back to him.