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Donuts and coffee.
That was the enduring cop stereotype. Leon Kennedy wasn’t sure he would be a true officer of the law until he’d acclimated to the tradition.
He had one part down. Leon had a sweet tooth, self-confessed, and would never say ‘no’ to a donut; or any sweet treat, for that matter. But drinking coffee was never something he could get behind. Even the smell of the coffee pods being compressed in the office espresso machine at Raccoon Police Department turned his stomach. He alternated between calling it ‘hot bean juice’ and ‘garbage water’, depending on how strongly he felt his aversion that day.
His coworker Marvin insisted that Leon just hadn’t had good coffee before. There was a new coffee shop that had recently opened up, just a few blocks from the station. Marvin and a few of the other officers frequented it as regulars on their way to work. Even a few of the S.T.A.R.S members had picked up a few lunch orders from there, or so the rumours said. The recommendations couldn’t have been higher. Desperate to fit in at his new job and trying to shed the diminutive label of ‘rookie’ once and for all, Leon resolved to at least try it out. If only to say that he had done it.
And he was glad he did, because otherwise, he wouldn’t have met you.
✦✦✦
Resplendent under the fluorescent lights, gliding behind the counter and making drinks into works of art, like an elaborate dance. You wielded the milk pitcher like an extension of your arm, forming the milk atop the coffee into an intricate heart-shape. Sliding between stations, gathering sweet syrups and strong roasts and straws and cream and caramel drizzle. The apron you wore perfectly accentuated your form. You rubbed your hands clean on the surface of the fabric, damp fingers spread and sliding. Flushed redness rose on Leon’s cheeks with inappropriate thoughts that clawed forth from the deepest recesses of his mind.
A businessman nudging past him on the way out of the door shattered Leon from his trance. He cleared his throat. Suddenly, the hooded parka he wore was too warm, clinging to his skin. A sharp intake of breath later, and he was stepping across the busy coffee shop floor to the counter.
The cashier’s eyes bore into him. Leon made a show of scanning the menu behind the employee’s head, as if he had any idea what he wanted. He allowed himself a few chaste glances in your direction. Your coworker said something funny, and you threw back your head in a hearty laugh, right from your chest. Leon wondered if he could ever make you laugh like that. So completely overcome with joy for a fleeting moment, you were the most gorgeous sight he’d ever seen.
“Sir? What can I get for you?”
The cashier spoke with thinly veiled impatience. Leon swallowed the lump that had settled in his throat. He snuck another glance in your direction, which you didn’t seem to notice.
“Uh- uhm,” Leon stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His honey brown hair fell over his eyes and prickled against his eyelashes. “I honestly, uh, don’t know. I’ve never-”
“Never had coffee before? Proper coffee?”
You overheard, and cut in.
You. Leon cleared his hair from his face so as to behold you fully. You tied your cleaning rag to the loop of your apron and grinned at him. His knees felt like they were about to buckle on the spot.
“Uh, yeah-” Leon’s voice cracked to a higher pitch, and he cleared his throat. Reassigning an even deeper tone to his voice, unnatural and unintentionally comedic. “My coworkers told me about this place. Said I had to try it. So here I am.”
There was a queue forming behind him. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Your eyes glided over him, as if assessing him. And what a sight Leon must have looked to you. He was acutely aware of his hunched shoulders, the nervous chewing of his lower lip, the sheen of sweat burgeoning on his face. Meekness made flesh.
“That’s fine!” Your validation stoked the flame inside of him. “That’s totally fine. Y’know what, I’ll just start you on a nice latte, coffee virgin. We don’t need to go too crazy for your first time.”
Those thoughts surfaced again, the implications of the words in a different situation adding another spark to the bonfire crackling in his chest.
You continued as Leon dug in his pocket for his wallet. “No, no. It’s on the house.”
The cashier glanced at you, eyebrows knitted together. Wordlessly communicating a warning, which you pretended not to notice. The customer behind Leon tapped her foot pointedly. Where Leon wanted to protest, the social anxiety rearing its ugly head trumped any decorum he would normally demonstrate.
“If- If you’re sure.”
“I am,” you affirmed, scooping up a to-go cup and holding a sharpie over the outer layer, “now, I just need your name for the order.”
“Oh, yeah it’s- it’s Leon.”
The first sip of the latte you’d prepared felt like it could easily be a turning point for his tastes. Lovingly crafted by your dexterous hands, complete with the heart formed out of crema at the top of the beverage. If anything was going to change his mind about coffee, it had to be this drink. You handed it to him with a soft chime of his name. Expecting you to turn and start preparing subsequent orders, Leon was surprised to see you lingering, waiting. You wanted to watch the moment things all changed for him.
“Go on.”
With this prompt, your beautiful eyes sparkling in anticipation, Leon brought the cup to his lips. The strong earthy scent of the coffee beans assaulted his nose before it hit his tongue. Hesitation be damned, Leon wanted to see you smile again. He wanted to be the reason.
The brewed smoky beverage, punctured by the creamy slide of the milk, rolled down his throat as he swallowed.
His body immediately wanted to reject it. The taste was repugnant. His skin crawled in indignation. He swallowed again, desperate to rid his mouth of the lingering flavour.
“Mm. Delicious.”
You clapped your hands in glee. And there was that smile. Dazzling in your delight.
Leon resolved to keep up the charade. No matter how much his palate despised him for it.
✦✦✦
The day that faced Leon ahead was a blur of document filing, systems training and lingering on the fringes of the camaraderie of the office. Laughing at jokes he had no part in, tearing at the fringes of being included. The coffee grew colder on his desk, but he made a point of drinking every last drop. He couldn’t even imagine the disappointment on your face if you knew that he had wasted it. Face contorting in disgust, he knocked back another mouthful.
“Hey, rookie - you got that coffee after all?” Marvin paused at the edge of Leon’s desk, nodding his head to the empty polystyrene cup.
“Oh, yeah - it’s super good.”
The lies came more naturally with each attempt.
Elliott leaned back in his chair and cut in, “We told you you’d like it. Beautiful, huh?”
Your smile shone in Leon’s mind, the creases of your cheeks and the sparkle in your eyes warming his chest more than any hot beverage ever could.
“Yeah. Beautiful.”
✦✦✦
The next time Leon entered the coffee shop, he was clad fully in his Raccoon Police Department uniform. Ill-fitting and uncomfortable in some areas, though he was certain he would grow into it. His gym trips would bulk up his muscle, to better pack out the arms. Confidence and experience would make him feel worthy of filling it.
“A man in uniform, huh?” You gestured to his outfit with an approving glance, flourishing a toothpick over the rim of his cup to form your characteristic heart. “Aren’t you kinda young to be a cop?”
That stung. Leon cursed the roundness of his cheeks and the youthful affectation he carried with him.
“And don’t my coworkers love to remind me,” he laughed, sheepishly. “I’m the new guy. Feels like I’ll never shake being the ‘rookie’ .”
The ‘aww’ you loosed from your mouth melted through his melancholy.
“You’ll get there, sweetie. But until then. You have to try my cappuccino.”
He did. He didn’t like it. But he drank every last drop.
✦✦✦
Your interactions became a daily occurrence. The smell of roasting coffee beans became inseparable from thoughts of you, the embrace of the coffee shop spelling another level to his infatuation. Leon looked forward to it, looked forward to you. He even looked forward to how vehemently his taste buds declined the coffee, but how he forced it down anyway. He wanted to make you happy. And if you saw him enjoying your coffee, you were more likely to forget the embarrassing things that tumbled forth from his mouth before he was able to check them at the door.
One early morning, Leon watched your fingers glide over the coffee machine, affixing the grinder and tapping the loose quakers free.
“Damn, you sure know how to steam a mean bean.”
Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.
Leon cursed himself, regretting the fact he even had a voice to spout such mortifying lines. Flirting came so easily to other men; men with marginally more experience than he. Men more deserving of your attention. He was about to turn and leave, possibly never to return - the embarrassment gripped him like a vice. He should never talk to you again-
And then, you laughed. Throwing your head back, exposing your neck. That vivacious laugh, its origins deep in your chest.
“These beans may be mean, but I’m meaner,” you giggled, sliding Leon’s coffee over the counter to him. “Have a good day, Leon.”
You lifted your gaze to meet him, and the eye contact made his heart soar. He laughed, disbelief carrying his levity. Not only had you found him funny, but had responded in kind. He had made you laugh. Leon knew that no matter what was thrown his way at work, no matter how much the imposter syndrome cloyed at him, he would. He would have a good day.
✦✦✦
A stint on the shooting range left him hot and bothered, so before he left work for the day, Leon used the station’s showers. The steam rejuvenated him, hot water rolling off his form. Toned, but not enough - biceps showing signs of development but nowhere near the pistons his colleagues sported. The sporadic moles and freckles emblazoned on his skin at random intervals gave him pause as he looked in the mirror. Did you like a freckled guy? Or maybe you preferred smooth, unmarred skin.
As he tied the towel tight around his waist, the sound of a door closing in the adjacent locker room caused him to jolt. Coworkers who had the same idea, no doubt. He set about drawing his razor across the pathetic stubble along his jawline.
Elliot’s voice. “Yeah, I’ve been thinkin’ about asking out that barista from the coffee shop.”
Leon froze. Suddenly dizzy, he placed the razor down and gripped the edges of the sink for support.
The conversation continued, echoing from the other room.
“Which one?” Neil’s voice asked.
“You know the one. The one that does all that latte art. Always smiling. Pretty sure I’m their type.”
Elaborate hearts and looping flower petals meticulously drawn with slow-pouring milk and cocktail sticks. A flash of teeth, your smile reaching your eyes and imparting sunshine onto your surroundings, even on rainy days like today.
Leon’s heart pounded in his ears. He raised his eyes to look at himself in the mirror once more. Inexperience softened his eyes, nerves dampened his voice. His face was too boyish, his stance too unsure.
But the thought of you dating someone else was something he couldn’t abide. He had to try, even when weighed down by his insecurities. Your laughter rang like sweet music through every fibre of his body. With each drop of your coffee ingested, he drank in more of you.
Adrenaline injected itself into his veins, a surge of determination snagging his clothes from his locker and pulling them on.
“Hey, Leon-”
The greeting fell on deaf ears as the locker room door banged closed behind him. He stumbled a little on the stairs in his eagerness. His ankle rolled, but he gritted his teeth and took the stairs two at a time down to the ground floor of the RPD.
✦✦✦
Rain soaked his hair. He pulled the hood of his jacket up against it as the weather threatened to undo the shower’s effects. His boots pounded the pavement as he rounded the corner. Raccoon City’s rush hour traffic beeped their horns in discontent as Leon cut in front of bumpers, strafing between cars stalled by bottlenecks at crosswalks.
It was only when the flickering neon sign of the coffee shop came into view that he realised, in all his fervour, he hadn’t even thought of what he was going to say.
Your shift was finished. When Leon approached the coffee shop, he watched you through the street-facing window. You pulled on your hoodie, slinging your bag over your shoulder and waving a muted farewell to your colleagues. Face partially shaded from his hood, Leon pushed open the door. The bell chimed his entrance, and you turned to face him.
“Sir, we’re actually just about to cl- Leon?”
You stopped in your tracks. Leon lowered his hood, the dampened strands of his fringe hanging over his wide eyes. He was conscious of how much he resembled a wet puppy sheltering from the rain.
“Hey,” he breathed, chest heaving from the exertion of his run.
“Hey.”
You dropped your bag on a nearby seat, gesturing for him to sit down.
✦✦✦
Behind you, the espresso machines were shut off. Disinfectant spray mingled with cleaning wipes coursed over the counter as your coworkers shut up shop. All the tables lay empty, except for one.
The coffee in front of Leon was an equal mix of espresso and steamed milk. A cortado. You had one for yourself, too, which you sipped with delicate lips.
He wondered how your mouth would feel on his. If your taste would repress the coffee-related corrosion of his taste buds. He thought it would. Your sweetness would override it all, make it all worth it.
“You don’t have to drink it, Leon.”
Your bluntness startled him.
“Wh-”
You searched his face with keen eyes. “You don’t have to keep lying, either.”
Leon shifted, disconcerted. “Am I that obvious?”
“After the first day, yeah.” Your eyebrows knit together in sympathy, tilting your head as you took him in.
Leon scoffed in spite of himself, pushing his wet bangs off his forehead. “Y’know, I’m of Italian descent. Feels like it should be, like, in my blood to like coffee. And yet.”
“And yet,” you parroted with a nod. Your shoulders rose and fell with your sigh, tracing the rim of your cup with your fingertip. “Leon, you don’t have to pretend to like coffee just to fit in at the station.”
He almost laughed.
Yes, that was how it had begun. Talking about that new coffee shop and their many roasts and syrups with his colleagues, an ‘in’ to make himself feel like part of the team. An attempt to scrub the ‘rookie’ off his name, to start to feel like he belonged. He realised it’s futility quickly, and besides, his focus no longer lay with relating to his coworkers. Not after he saw you, a warm beacon of light crafting drinks with every inch of your heart. Leon still disliked coffee, despised the ritual of drinking it, and he doubted that would ever change. But what coffee symbolised to him went beyond that. The cute designs in the froth, the proud smile on your face, the bounce in your step. Coffee meant you.
“It’s not about that,” he said with a shake of his head, “not anymore.”
To his surprise and relief, the anxious tremor was gone from his voice. He fixed his gaze on you, rather than letting it flit awkwardly around the closing cafe. Your expression softened, the insinuation in his words settling on you like sweet syrup.
“Leon…”
“Will you go out with me?”
You leaned across the table, chair legs scraping along the linoleum. Your answer came in the form of a kiss. The cortado’s sweet tang lingered on your lips, and for once, Leon loved the taste.