Work Text:
The door to The Hardest Cup opens with a jingle. Taking a deep breath, Pete can finally actually look up—instead of just glancing—from the espresso machine in front of him. He’s about to greet the approaching customer when the breath gets stuck in his throat.
Pete blinks. With the morning rush well and truly gone, he’s never been happier that he can take his time just appreciating.
In walks the most gorgeous man Pete’s ever seen in his entire life—and no, he’s not exaggerating this time, Nick. The man has slicked-back dark blonde hair and a pair of gold-rimmed eyeglasses on. It’s warm outside but he’s fully dressed in a gray three-piece suit with a light blue tie to match. Pete notes with a throb in his chest that it brings out the blue in his eyes behind the glasses, so dazzling that Pete feels an urge to shade his eyes with his hands.
He keeps his hands on the counter, one clasping the other a little too tightly.
Nick coughs from behind him. Right. Pete’s got a customer. Yes, okay.
“What can I get for you today, sir?” Pete says cheerily, putting on his best customer service smile, offering everything and more.
The man—and oh God, with the man standing across from him, Pete notices how tall he is. Granted, he’s not Nick tall, but he’s taller than a lot of men Pete’s been acquainted with. And Pete can work with that. Yeah, he can totally work with that.
Perfect Hair clears his throat, his face neutral. Christ, he realizes he’s been staring.
“Sorry, um. What can I get you?” Pete repeats, a little less sure, a little more apologetic. He hopes the man doesn’t think he’s a fucking idiot now.
“Double espresso-”
“On it,” says Pete’s unfiltered mouth, his hands already moving, before it belatedly occurs to him that he’s just cut a customer off. “Sorry, you were saying?”
The man’s stony expression doesn’t change but Pete feels like he’s being scolded anyway.
“Double espresso over ice,” he says.
And boy, doesn’t that just absolutely obliterate the moment.
“Excuse me?” Pete says, in case he blacked out for a second and totally misheard what the man said.
The first sign of any kind of emotion on Perfect Hair’s face and the man looks at Pete like he’s grown a second head—or really, really stupid. Pete’s not even offended at that honestly, his mind too preoccupied with the man’s order.
“Double shot espresso over ice,” he enunciates.
Oh my God. Pete’s too stunned to say anything for literally three whole seconds. He knows nobody’s perfect but it doesn’t mean that this isn’t heartbreaking. Such is the way of the world.
He’s proud of himself when he doesn’t sigh, and says in a perfectly calm voice, “I can’t do that.”
“Pete!” Nick hisses. Pete ignores him.
There’s a small frown between the man’s brows. “Are you guys out of coffee?”
Pete resists the urge to roll his eyes. “No, sir. We have plenty of coffee. It’s only,” Pete glances at his watch, “a quarter after ten.”
Perfect Hair’s jaw twitches. “What’s the issue then?”
“The espresso will be diluted if you want it over ice,” Pete explains, as patient as a saint. “But if you want it that way, I recommend an iced americano. Less intense. More balanced, if you will.”
Perfect Hair’s brows climb higher and higher the more Pete talks. “Alright,” he says after a few beats of silence, and Pete almost sighs in relief. But then he goes on, “It’s okay. I just want a double shot of espresso. Over ice.”
It’s Pete’s turn to stare at him. “Did you not hear what I said?”
There’s a gasp from somewhere behind him, followed by a quiet mumble that sounds suspiciously like, “Stop,” but Pete isn’t exactly paying attention to Nick so he isn’t sure.
Perfect Hair doesn't answer, but he doesn't look away either. How the man manages to look pissed without even moving a single muscle on his face, Pete doesn't know.
Eventually, Nick grabs his arm and pulls him away, breaking him from the staredown. "He's the customer, Pete," Nick tells him, shaking his arm a bit. "Charlie is going to have your head if she knows you're refusing to make coffee for a customer. Which is what she pays you to do, by the way. If you haven't noticed it yet."
Pete rolls his eyes. But okay, Nick's right. And the mention of Charlie's name has admittedly made Pete shiver a little.
Pete turns back to Perfect Hair, who raises an eyebrow at him.
"Double shot espresso over ice, coming right up." Pete busies himself with the espresso machine, shoving a cup right below the portafilter, so he doesn't have to look at the smug expression on the man's face. He hears Nick ringing the man up while trying to apologize. For what, Pete doesn't know. He tunes the rest of the conversation out.
When he's done with the order, Pete hovers the marker over the plastic cup, hesitating. In his indignant haste to get this over with, Pete's totally forgotten to ask for the man’s name.
And then a brilliant idea strikes.
He writes the word in big, bold letters, making sure it's neat and easy to read. Isn't he just the best barista ever?
Pete puts the cup down on the counter, and says, "Double shot espresso over ice. Iceman."
Despite the otherwise empty shop, it takes a few moments for Perfect Hair—Iceman, Pete dubs in his head—to understand that the owner of the double shot espresso over ice Pete's put on the counter is actually him.
Iceman—hah—takes his coffee, and leaves without saying anything else.
Charlie might kill him later, but he counts that as a solid win.
And if Pete secretly mourns the loss of a perfectly climbable body and a perfectly sculpted ass, that's no one else's business but his own. Surely there's plenty of other fish in the sea.
Sighing, Pete expects not to see the man ever again.
***
"Double espresso over ice."
It’s the fifth day in a row that Iceman walks into The Hardest Cup and orders his ridiculous coffee. It’s also the fifth day in a row that Pete writes ‘ICEMAN’ in all caps on his cup, refuses to call him anything else, and watches him leave. Pete doesn’t call him anything else partly because he actually doesn’t know the man’s name, but that’s beside the point.
Also, they haven’t communicated any further than ‘Double espresso over ice’ (along with its variation) and ‘Double espresso over ice, Iceman ’ so Pete doesn’t see the need to learn the man’s name. Other than the inescapable fact that the man is still very hot and very much Pete’s type despite how he prefers his drinks. Which doesn’t really mean anything. At all.
Besides, it’s not like the man stays very long after getting his coffee anyway. He always leaves as soon as he secures his choice of caffeinated drink of the day. And it’s not like Pete is busy thinking of some lame conversation starters and looking for a perfect opening to talk to him if he decides to stay longer than five minutes at a time.
“Just keep telling yourself that,” Nick tells him without looking up from his phone. Pete can tell from the goofy grin on his friend’s face that he’s texting Carole. Probably making plans about their evening date or something.
“I’m serious,” Pete insists, feeling life is a little unfair that while Nick has a lovely, understanding girlfriend, Pete is stuck here thirsting after a fine specimen with no taste.
“Of course, you are, dear.” Nick pockets his phone and smiles at Pete, walking to the door. “You sure you don’t wanna come hang out with Carole and me tonight? She adores you, you know?”
“That’s why I can’t go,” Pete says solemnly. “I don’t want you to feel left out, darling.”
“Asshole,” Nick laughs. “Just call me if you need anything.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go spend your evening with your girlfriend, Mother Goose.” Pete waves at him with a grin.
Once Nick’s left, the coffee shop falls into its usual hushed atmosphere. It’s almost eight; the evening rush has come and gone, so it’s only Pete and a few students studying quietly with their earbuds in. He likes it better when Nick’s here to keep him company, but the quiet is nice too.
He’s bending over the display cases, counting the remaining snacks, when Iceman walks in.
The man pauses when he spots Pete, slowing down his strides. His suit is still as crisp as this morning, but a few strands of dark blonde hair have come loose and are hanging over his eyes, which have dark circles under them. The glasses are nowhere to be found.
Pete circles back behind the counter while taking all that in and decides to take pity on the man. “The usual?”
Iceman nods tightly, leaning against the counter, and doesn’t say anything else.
“Rough night?” Pete asks him, measuring the coffee grind. At the other man’s nod, he goes on, “Can you even sleep with four shots of espresso a day?”
This is the longest conversation he’s ever had with Ice, and it surprises Pete that it comes more naturally than he expected. For some reason, Pete feels like this version of Iceman is easier to talk to. Less controlled, more human, in a way.
“I can’t,” he answers, swaying a little on his feet. “That’s the whole point.”
Ugh, poor bastard. “Man, I don’t envy you,” Pete comments as he waits for the coffee to brew. The longer he looks, the more certain Pete becomes that Iceman is still standing here because of sheer will alone.
Iceman squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his sharp nose. “It’s only a few more days anyway,” he exhales. “And then I’m going to sleep for the whole week.”
Pete chuckles, “Well, good luck. And here’s your coffee, Mister Iceman.” He puts the cup on the counter between them along with two chocolate chip cookies in plastic wrap.
Iceman narrows his eyes down at the cookie like it’s offending him. “I didn’t order the cookies.”
“They’re on the house.” Pete shrugs. “We’re closing soon anyway so you’d better take them. Drinking coffee on an empty stomach isn’t good for you, you know?”
The blonde man stares at the cookies and his coffee, his eyes going a bit distant. Pete considers waving a hand in front of him when Iceman seems to snap back to himself. “Right. Thanks,” he says, grabbing the cookies and lifting the cup to his lips. “It’s good.”
Pete blinks, fighting with an urge to grin and losing. “Yeah? Thanks. Good luck with whatever you’re drinking that coffee for.”
Iceman nods again; something that almost looks like a smile softens his face a little.
Pete seriously hopes the other man doesn’t hear the thundering sound of Pete’s heart when he finally turns around and leaves.
***
Pete’s days off are Saturdays and Sundays, so when he comes in on Monday morning and greets Nick, the first thing his best friend says is, “Your man came here on the weekend too.”
“He’s not my man,” Pete says, trying not to blush and feeling himself failing.
Nick grins. “So you know exactly who I’m talking about then?”
Pete groans and ducks into the back room to store his bag in the locker, buying himself some time. It’s really too early for Pete’s brain to come up with a good reply though, so when he reappears behind the counter, he just says, defeated, “You’re talking about Ice. Doesn’t mean he’s my anything.”
But it seems like Nick isn’t done tormenting him this early on a Monday morning. “He asked about you, by the way.”
Pete regrets how fast his head whips towards Nick when he sees the smirk on his friend's face. Nick is definitely getting back at him for what Pete did when his best friend was pining after Carole all those years ago. Ignoring the blush heating up his own cheeks, he swallows his pride. “He did?”
Nick’s grin widens. “Yeah. He came in, same time as usual, ordered his iced espresso, and asked if you weren’t working on weekends. He looked real disappointed too after I told him it was your day off.”
After that, Pete can’t stop his mind from straying towards the thoughts about a certain someone, and can’t help but turn his head to the door every time he hears the bell rings. His fingers itch, wanting to make that cursed espresso of the day, and he keeps wiping the same spot on the counter even when it simply can’t get any cleaner.
The thing Iceman said on Friday comes back to him at around five p.m. and it suddenly occurs to Pete that maybe the man is actually taking the whole week off for his much-needed rest. He sighs, disappointed that he won’t get to make Ice’s silly cup of iced espresso this week—and a little alarmed that he genuinely thinks that.
***
Iceman strolls into The Hardest Cup on a Wednesday in a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck sweater. It’s almost five and Pete doesn’t expect him to show up at all, so excuse him if it takes a full minute for his brain to restart.
Iceman smiles—an honest-to-God smile—and says, “One shot of espresso, over ice, please.”
Pete stares at him; his hands are already moving but his brain still hasn’t quite caught up with the situation. He pinches himself to make sure it’s not a dream and he’s not actually napping in the back room. Ow. Okay, real enough then.
“It’ll be even more diluted,” Pete says on autopilot.
Iceman just hums, walking over to the glass display cases. “I’ll have one cookie too. Someone told me I shouldn’t have coffee on an empty stomach.”
“Sure,” Pete replies, heart racing and mind blank. He’s not prepared for a casual Iceman in a soft black turtleneck. Is it his imagination or does the blonde man seem even hotter today? Pete didn’t think that was possible. It certainly isn’t good for Pete’s little heart.
He takes the cookie out—it’s red velvet today—and puts it on the counter. “Here you go.”
Iceman looks at him expectantly, a small, amused smile tugging at a corner of his mouth.
Pete waits, staring back, feeling quite lost. “Would you like anything else?”
Iceman’s smile widens. “My coffee.”
“Oh, Christ, yeah.” Pete goes to get him his drink. “Yeah, here. Your iced espresso.”
“Thanks,” he says, picks up his coffee and cookie, and—goes to sit at one of the tables near the wall instead of leaving. He only notices the sleek silver laptop now that Ice has opened the lid and started to type something on it.
Nick puts the glass he’s drying down and comes to where Pete is standing. Leaning closer, he whispers, “He didn’t order a sweetened coffee, so stop with the sugary eyes.”
Pete smacks his arm. “Shut it, Bradshaw.”
His friend sniggers. “Someone’s down bad.”
“I’ll pour syrup over your phone,” Pete threatens.
The taller man laughs, wheezing out, “Sure, you will, sweetheart.”
When Pete just looks at him, Nick’s laughter gradually quiets. He goes back to drying more glasses like nothing happened. Although Pete still catches him checking his jeans’ pocket a few times after that.
Life at the coffee shop goes on. Customers come and go, Pete makes them their desired beverages, Nick refills the cookies and muffins, and Iceman is still there, sitting at his table, seeming lost in thought at whatever he’s working on in that laptop of his.
Pete watches the man reach for his empty cup of coffee for the third time before he breaks and walks over to the blonde’s table. “Would you like me to refill your coffee?” He gestures to the cup.
Ice’s eyes snap up to his immediately, the intensity inside them catching Pete off guard. They’re mostly blue but Pete can also detect a hint of green in them too. He wildly wonders whether he’ll be able to catalog all the colors inside them one day, and quickly tells himself to stop daydreaming.
The blonde purses his lips, eyes glimmering with something Pete can’t place. “Nah, I’m hoping to have dinner with someone after this."
“Oh, okay,” Pete says, hating the way his stomach sinks at the realization that of course, someone like Ice will never be single. “I see.”
He’s about to turn back to the counter, feeling like a deflated balloon, when Ice says, “Not gonna ask me who it is?”
“Who is it?” Pete asks, and grimaces. It’s part reflex, part curiosity, the speed with which Pete repeats the question back at the man. Pete mentally kicks himself at how pathetic that sounds. He actually doesn’t want to know who that lucky person is, already feeling the hot coal of jealousy burning red inside him.
“That depends,” Iceman hums. And despite being fine with not knowing the man’s real name before, now Pete can only think about how Ice’s date will call him when they’re having dinner together later. Pete doesn’t even have the privilege of learning the man’s name. And it’s all his childish ass’s fault.
Pete is too busy feeling hurt and jealous and angry at himself that he only catches the tail end of Iceman’s next question.
“...end today?”
“What?”
“When does your shift end today?” Ice repeats for him, a small hopeful smile on his face.
“At six,” Pete answers dazedly, and mentally backtracks. What. “What?”
Ice watches him, and then says, slowly, “That dinner I said I’d have later? I’m hoping I can have it with you.”
Pete gapes at him.
“If you’re not against it?” Ice adds, a hint of insecurity creeping into his voice after being met with Pete’s silent shock. That snaps Pete right out of it.
“Of course!” Pete says, quickly; hurries to fix his mistake. “I’d love to. Have dinner with you, that is.”
The satisfied little smile on Ice's face is blinding. Pete is so happy he feels like he’s going to faint.
“Yeah?” Iceman looks at him, a playful glint in his eyes. “Maybe it’s time I introduce myself. My name’s Tom Kazansky. But Iceman’s fine too. The name kinda grows on me.”
“I’m Pete Mitchell. And uh, you can call me whatever,” Pete finishes lamely. Way to go, Mitchell.
“I think I have quite a list,” Ice—Tom tells him coolly and Pete tries his best not to think of what that might mean.
“Nice,” Pete says, and in his attempt to find something smart to say, he suddenly blurts out, “I wanna kiss you.”
Nick yells from behind the counter, “You are not kissing in here.”
Unfortunately for Pete’s best friend, except for them, the shop is empty. Pete’s heart beats loudly when Tom’s hand touches the side of his face, and he leans the rest of the way down.
Unsurprisingly, Tom tastes like a diluted shot of espresso.
Surprisingly (or not), Pete goes in again, realizing that he doesn't hate the flavor as much as he thought.