Chapter Text
“Sorry, sorry!” Shane called. He rummaged under the cabinet for a replacement stack of cup lids, cursing whichever incompetent asshole had closed the afternoon before. Even with his back turned, he always knew someone was there. Not because he had some kind of barista sixth sense for customers, but the glass door of the shop had a bell attached to the top that rang whenever anyone opened it. It actually made Shane’s teeth clench whenever he heard it. Which, in a coffee shop called Beantown Brews due to its prime location in the heart of Boston, was constantly. Shane left each day with a tight jaw and the beginnings of a wicked headache. Standing up and brushing off his black slacks, Shane smiled courteously. “I’ll be right with you- oh, it’s you.” His voice deadpanned.
His brain took a minute to catch up to his mouth, and Shane felt the all-too-familiar frown stretch effortlessly across his lips as his morning was thoroughly disrupted. The sigh leaving his lips was likely heard down the block. He usually smiled politely at the customers, asking what he could get them and other coffee-related questions. But this wasn’t that kind of customer. Tousled blonde curls and an absolutely infuriating smirk met Shane’s glare as the man strolled further into the cafe, dog leashes in either hand. Today he had a small Pomeranian and a Golden Doodle.
“Hello Shane.” Greeted the man, his thickly accented, booming voice breaking the quiet stillness of the shop. It was still early, not even 7 am. Early enough that the work rush hadn’t started to stream in and out the door. The time just before the work rush usually gave Shane some time to catch up on things like restocking or cleaning. However, without fail, Ilya sauntered into Beantown Brews like clockwork at 6:55 am every Tuesday and Thursday. Sometimes, if Shane was really unlucky, he’d even pop in on a Saturday or Sunday. His peaceful routine would be thoroughly disrupted by the completely absurd man for the next 15 or 20 minutes, and Shane would then have to live in fear for the next time Ilya entered his shop.
Ilya. That was his name. Ilya. Ilya, who always ordered his ice cold monstrosity of a vanilla latte with 8 pumps of vanilla syrup and whole milk. Ilya, a dog walker by profession and the most irritating person on planet earth by trade. Shane had never met anyone so absolutely infuriating before. It made him feel exhausted before 9:30 am, which, as someone who also had to go work his shifts at The Kingfisher right after working at the coffee shop every Thursday and Saturday, was really unfortunate.
“The usual?” Shane bit out, his face in a scowl.
“You know, usually coffee shop is happy place. They ask how are you, they ask what coffee you want in nice voice. Not you, Mr. Coffee.” Ilya cleared his throat, contorting his face into a highly exaggerated frown. “This is what greets me.” The thing Shane hated the most about Ilya wasn’t even his grating personality, was the thing. Shane hated the fact that Ilya was stupidly, ridiculously hot. Like a Greek god. He would’ve been a lot in the morning without that fact, but as it was, the Greek god status on top of the abhorrent personality really gave Shane heart palpitations.
It wasn’t like he wasn’t out. Everyone in his life knew he was gay. No one cared. He had queer friends and a supportive community. He knew plenty of other nice, normal, gay men. So why couldn’t he find any of these nice, normal gay men attractive? Was that too much to ask for? He worked in a gay bar, for Christ’s sake. Instead, in the not-so-deep recesses of his mind, Shane had never seen anyone hotter than Ilya the dog walker.
“Fuc-“ he cut himself off, reminding himself that he could not tell the customers to fuck off no matter how much he wanted to, “Well, you are more than welcome to visit any coffee shop on this block. There’s like, 5 others. They also serve coffee. I’m sure they can also ply you with a ridiculous amount of sugar, too.”
“Ah, but none of them have Mr. Coffee glaring at me like angry kitten before 8 o’clock in the morning. How do I start my day without Shane, who is angry with me before I even walk in the door? No. I think I will come to Beantown Brews.” Ilya said sagely, giving the golden doodle a pat on the head. The thing about Ilya as a dog walker, unfortunately, was that he was really good at it. The dogs never bothered any customers. They always stayed by his side. Because of Ilya’s clear competence at his job, that meant Shane couldn’t even say anything to management about him bringing the dogs in, which really sucked because otherwise that would’ve been a perfect way to get Ilya permanently banned from Beantown Brews.
“Hey! I do not look like an angry kitten!” Shane bristled, crossing his arms over his chest. Based on the expression on Ilya’s face, which was well past amused, Shane feared that he wouldn’t be beating the angry kitten allegations today.
Ilya proceeded to tell him so. “There he is. Mr. Coffee who is also angry kitten.” Ilya smiled teasingly and Shane felt his cheeks color in both anger and embarrassment. There might’ve also been a slight undercurrent of amusement, but Shane ignored it. Ilya tracked the movement of pink across Shane’s freckled cheeks with his eyes, and Shane thought he saw the look in his gaze shift from a teasing lightness to something else. Ilya cleared his throat. “Anyway, yes, same as usual.”
Shane gave a deep, all-suffering sigh as he typed Ilya’s order into the virtual menu and Ilya tapped his card to pay. He always tipped 5 dollars, which was basically a 75% tip. Shane accepted it as though it was some kind of retribution for his morning suffering.
This was their routine. Every Tuesday and Thursday, and sometimes, as an extra special treat for Shane, on a weekend. Ilya teased him. Shane bared his teeth like an angry kitten. Ilya ordered the same insane drink. Ilya left a ridiculous tip. Rinse and repeat. Today was Tuesday. That meant two to three visits this week from Ilya before the cycle started all over again.
Ilya gave him a teasing wave, the Pomeranian’s leash wrapped tightly around his wrist, as he left the shop. Shane didn’t even smile back as he watched him walk out the door. Shane tried to keep his eyes respectfully on his ridiculously wide shoulders, but instead found his traitorous gaze dipping to his jean-clad ass. God. Shane checked the receipt, reading over the first and last initial that stretched across the top of the order ticket. Ilya R.
Ilya R. was an absolute menace.
*******
It was Thursday, and Shane’s day had started off just fine. Better than fine, even. He might even venture to say that his day started out good. He had a great outdoor run, which according to his watch was a PR, immensely enjoyed his protein forward, balanced smoothie afterwards, and had even made it to work early. He was hoping against all hope that this was it. That his day was going to be just fine, no hiccups or bumps in the road. That maybe Ilya decided to take the dogs on a different route, or maybe even decided Shane’s coffee shop wasn’t worth the trip anymore.
Shane very pointedly ignored the discomfort he felt when he sat with that thought for too long. It would be a good thing not to see Ilya. After weeks and weeks of seeing Ilya so consistently, he supposed that the other man had started to become part of his routine. That had to explain the feeling. It had nothing to do with the fact that somewhere deep down Shane enjoyed the banter or looking at him or having him around him. It certainly couldn’t be that.
Unfortunately, before 7:00 am, Shane immediately knew the good start to his morning would be nothing short of a memory. The shop had only just opened at 6:30. And Shane, at 6:55 am, stared into what he knew was about to absolutely dismantle his morning. He felt an immense sense of exhaustion consume him. It was like looking at his own worst nightmare.
From his Patagonia vest, to the Bluetooth speaker in his ear, to the way the man wasn’t even sparing Shane a glance as he barked orders into the phone, Shane knew that his mistaken impression of a blissful, enjoyable morning had been nothing but a fairytale. The businessman type was a common one in Beantown Brews. Although many preferred the “tried and true” Starbucks, some still ventured into his hallowed halls. This man, apparently, was one of them. Shane hadn’t seen him before, but he imagined they all were basically the same.
Shane tried a greeting. He tried to put on his best professional smile. He tried, as he always did, despite everything in him wanting to just go back to bed and try again tomorrow. “Good morning! What can I get start-“
The man fixed him with a flat stare that would’ve been less scathing if it had been a glare. Shane stopped mid sentence, trying not to appear taken aback. Usually, barring the irregular few, people tended to be kind at Beantown Brews. They typically garnered regulars. Shane worked at other coffee shops before where that wasn’t the case, so the good vibes of Beantown really were a plus of working there. It was well managed and attracted a typically pretty benevolent clientele. And fortunately he wasn’t by himself all day, as the owner liked to keep the place well staffed. Usually after he opened, someone would come in to help him at around 8:30-9:00. Shane’s shift would be from 6 am to 1 pm, at which time he’d head home for a bit and finish up some grad school work, and then he’d head out to his second job as a bartender. Both environments he worked in weren’t usually miserable, which was nice for him.
Right now, though, he truly felt like he was looking into the belly of the beast. He hardly heard the tingle of the bell on the door as another customer came in. “Sorry, sir, I’m just trying-“
“Are you stupid?” The man responded, pressing a button on his Bluetooth so the other end couldn’t misinterpret that he was talking to them. He wanted to ensure that the barista knew the entirety of his ire was directed at him. Shane tried to school his face into a neutral expression, but the sudden aggression wasn’t expected. Or, actually, warranted.
“Uh n-no, I’m not?” Shane’s voice rose at the end, like a question. His anxiety spiked uncomfortably. Usually, he could handle the discomfort and frustration of dealing with an unpleasant customer. This morning, however, something with the major shift in trajectory for the path of his morning had him feeling increasingly anxious. The man flared his nostrils, as though he was sniffing for any weakness. Shane tried to maintain eye contact, but the grooves in the wooden counter were suddenly very interesting and much safer than making eye contact with an actual demon.
“Yeah? You sure? Can’t you tell I’m on the phone?” The man’s tone was mocking. Not laced with the humor of Ilya’s mocking, but genuinely condescending and cruel.
“Y-yes but I-“
“Y-y-you better listen to the customer when they tell you something, Shane.” He mocked, his name feeling like ice on the man’s tongue.
“I was just trying to take your order.” Shane said quietly.
“‘I was just trying to’ blah blah blah. Yeah whatever. I don’t care what you were trying to do. You-“ the man leaned over the counter menacingly and Shane felt himself shift back, shrinking in on himself.
“Others are trying to order.” A voice cut through the man’s tirade, the thick accent cold and familiar. Shane relaxed infinitesimally. He could place that voice anywhere. He had never, not once, been relieved to see that Ilya was in the shop. Right now, though, as he looked around the head of the absolutely irate customer, he felt a small, relieved smile stretch across his lips. At the sight of the familiar, gigantic form of Ilya, he felt safe. If he had any time to think about whatever that was, he would probably feel disappointed in himself for his feelings. As it was, at present Ilya was the lesser of two evils. And also? A witness in case this escalated. Shane chose not to think too much further into it.
“I’m sorry, sir, I’ll be right-“
“He was getting my order, actually. And I’ll take as long as I want.” The man responded, turning around and facing Ilya. He clearly intended to use the same intimidation tactics he was using on Shane. When he saw the blonde, whose huge arms were crossed in front of his wide chest, and the way that Ilya was well over 6’ 3” and…well, huge, Shane could have almost laughed at the immediate change in approach. “I’ll just wrap this up and be out of your way.” His voice was smaller, suddenly losing that cockiness.
“Hm.” Ilya said unkindly, fixing the man with a cocked eyebrow. The man, who was 5’ 8” at best, continued to stare. “Well? Go. Order. You threw enough of a tantrum, yes?” Ilya frowned.
The rest of the transaction, with Ilya and a Dalmatian, the Pomeranian, and some kind of terrier looking on, was seamless. The man said nothing else besides his order, which was a black Americana, and hurried out the door with what might as well have been his tail between his legs. He left no tip, but that was to be expected.
When he was sure the man was gone, Shane busied himself with organizing the counter. His hands were shaking just a little from the adrenaline of the encounter. He wasn’t sure why he had such a strong reaction to this absolute waste of space, but he had. Wanting something to do, he noticed napkins had somehow spread across the countertop during the encounter. If cleaning was also serving as a way to avoid looking at Ilya, well, who was he to say?
Ilya would surely think that Shane- well, that Shane couldn’t take care of himself. Shane blushed as Ilya stepped up in line, the change in shadow causing the brunette to look up. There wasn’t a line, just Ilya, but he approached the counter slowly. Shane felt his cheeks color further as he looked up at him through his lashes, feeling exposed and embarrassed. “Thank you. You, um, didn’t have to do that.” Shane tried to diffuse the tenseness of the situation with a laugh. “You really scared him. Have you considered giving up dog walking and taking up bouncing?”
Ilya’s eyes were careful as he regarded Shane, who had decided that maybe he liked someone caring about him. Maybe not Ilya necessarily, and he wasn’t trying to say that Ilya did really care about him, but it was nice that someone had stepped in. Ilya returned the chuckle and shook his head. “No one should talk to you like that, especially ugly businessman asshole. Made me mad.” Ilya shrugged, a small hint of his usual teasing smirk returning to his lips, “Keeping me from my vanilla latte is bad thing to do. You know this.” Ilya looked Shane over, as though checking to see if he was physically hurt. Shane gave him a tentative smile.
“Yes, I do know this.” Without the banter and the aggressive teasing of their interactions, Shane saw another side to Ilya: he was kind. The realization was an unfortunate one for Shane. It would make it harder for him to dislike the other man. “The usual?” Shane asked, his voice quiet and lacking the usual bite.
Ilya nodded. He looked like he wanted to say more, but seemed to decide against it. “Yes, Shane. The usual.” They went through their routine, a little more somber than usual, but still with some light teasing. Shane threw in an apple pastry, one that Ilya had ordered a few weeks ago. He never got food, except that one time he said he was starving and that he really loved apple pastries. He had followed it up with some joke about Shane that the barista couldn’t remember, but he remembered him enjoying the sweet treat. “I didn’t order this.” Ilya argued.
Shane gave him a shy smile, his cheeks tinting with pink. He had to stop doing that. He seemed to be doing this around Ilya a lot lately. Maybe too much. “I know. It’s on the house. For saving me from the fire breathing dragon.”
Ilya’s face split into a smile. Not a smirk, or even a smile tinged with his usual teasing personality, but a genuine smile. “Thank you. I didn’t realize you were such a- oh, what is word? Like princess, yes? But trapped in tower?” Ilya joked at Shane’s expense, looking at him to complete the punchline that was at his own expense.
“A damsel in distress.” Shane deadpanned, the blush spreading down his neck. Ilya’s eyes traced it blatantly, tracking the movement of the spread, before his blue eyes met Shane’s brown. Shane looked away, not sure what to do with the sudden onslaught of emotions. Was Ilya flirting with him? Surely not. That would be insane.
“Hm, yes. A pretty damsel princess needs saving every once in a while, hm?” Ilya asked. Shane glanced up at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Shane nodded. He felt his heart beating hard in his ears and his stomach fluttered with nerves. This time it was a different kind of nerves. Not the kind he had had when he was being berated by that man. He wasn’t frightened of Ilya, not even close. Shane refused to even think that it was butterflies. More like bats bouncing off the inside of his stomach, their sharp talons scratching the lining. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you again. I’m sure these guys need to be out and walking.” He gestured widely to the dogs. Ilya looked even more amused. “Thank you. Again. Well, again again. Anyway, enjoy the apple pastry. I’ll probably see you soon.”
Ilya, who seemed to remember exactly at moment that he had three dogs with him, gave Shane a slow smirk. “You’re right. Always so nice, Mr. Coffee. The dogs will build statue in your honor.”
“Whatever, Ilya.”
“Goodbye, pomidor.”
******
“Hollander! Look alive!” Kyle, the other bartender on shift with him, snapped. Shane gave him a sheepish grin.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m just tired today. And I have that fucking essay due next Thursday that I was telling you about for my final. And-“ Shane cut himself off mid ramble as a customer approached the bar. Thursdays at The Kingfisher were busy. Busier than most other bars in Boston, anyway. They had an open mic night that was always filled with regulars, and they also had deals on martinis on Thursdays from 6:30-8:30 before the show got started. Which, if you wanted Shane’s opinion? Was absolutely ridiculous. It was too much for one night, regardless of the tips he came home with. Thursdays and Saturdays were usually Shane’s on nights at the bar. Sometimes he would work a Monday here or there, but that was his set schedule.
“What can I get you?” Shane asked. The man, shorter than Shane with a shock of red hair, pondered the martini menu. Shane resisted the urge to sigh. Martinis were fine. One or two martinis were incredibly uncomplicated, actually. But the nearly 12 speciality ones they carried, and on sale for the busiest night of the week besides the weekend, usually had Shane feeling like it was okay if he skipped arm day the next day. The red haired man smiled at Shane and asked for a Lemondrop. Shane smiled and nodded his assent, stepping over to gather his ingredients and the cocktail shaker that gave him the least amount of problems with getting it open.
As he started what was basically an automatic process at this point and lifted the shaker to begin to mix, Shane heard a surprised laugh at the bar behind him. Not thinking much of it, as laughs were fairly commonplace in bars and he recognized many of the laughs of the regulars, Shane kept working. He poured the drink into a chilled martini glass and presented it to the man at the bar who wanted to open a tab. That was fine by Shane. Taking his card and scanning it, Shane handed it back to him and moved to the next customer on autopilot. “Hi, what can I get you?”
“Is making drinks favorite activity for you?” Shane looked up quickly, his brain coming back online. No fucking way. “You must do it at two jobs? You like it this much?”
Shane fought the grin that wanted to trickle onto his lips. There was absolutely no way that Ilya R., who was slowly turning out to not be that bad, was in his bar. In his very gay bar. In yet another place that employed Shane on staff. Ilya loomed above the bar in front of Shane with an expression reminiscent of a cat who got the cream. Shane cocked his head to the side as he tried to piece this puzzle together.
Well, Shane was nearly certain he was straight, so this wasn’t adding up. But between the possible flirting and the whole being in this gay bar on a Thursday night, he was experiencing some serious doubts with his theory.
“Ha ha, Ilya. Very funny. Are you stalking me?” Shane asked, cocking an eye brow. Ilya laughed, placing a gigantic palm on the bar and leaning towards Shane.
“Would you like that?” Ilya asked. Something about his voice maintained that playfulness from earlier, but beneath the teasing tone was something a little different. His undertone was heavier. Shane felt his ears flush, thankfully better hidden by the bar lighting, but still noticed the moment Ilya clocked his response. “Oh, there we are, pomidor. Not as good lighting here, but I still see.”
Shane rolled his eyes as he wiped his hands off on his jeans. “The bar is for paying customers only, Rozanov.” A voice said from beside him. Shane looked towards Kyle to see who he was talking to. When he traced his gaze towards Ilya, Shane felt a little buzz of jealousy under his skin. He tampered it down quickly but not before he felt some weird possessiveness over the fact that Ilya was only supposed to be his secret. Which really made no sense. Ilya only crossed paths with him a few times a week. Of course he would have interacted with other people outside of the coffee shop. Shane was actually insane.
Ilya smiled at Kyle. Shane fought off a sudden urge to glare at his friend.
“Sorry Kyle, Shane is new favorite bartender. Do not worry too much that I have new favorite bartender. He is also barista, did you know this? So he is already better.” Ilya said to Kyle. Shane’s entire face lit up bright red. Kyle raised his eyebrows and looked between the two of them.
“Shane, there’s absolutely no way you’re fucking Ilya Rozanov.” Kyle said, voice colored in shock.
“You would be correct. There is not. I am most definitely not and am just a barista at his favorite coffee shop.” Shane over-explained. Kyle groaned.
“Jesus Christ! That’s so much worse.”
“Kyle, he is not just barista. He is also distress damsel.”
“Ilya, fuck off!” Shane reached over the bar and pushed on Ilya’s shoulder. The gesture was good natured, but the feeling of Ilya’s biceps under Shane’s fingertips was too much. Ilya looked down at Shane with a wild grin. “Also, it’s damsel in distress.” He grumbled.
“I like bartender Shane. Much more free.”
Kyle rolled his eyes and sighed, turning to the customer next to Ilya.
“Whatever, Ilya. What can I get you?”
“Here we go again! This time the drink options are much more fun, yes? I will get vodka.” Ilya ordered. Shane frowned.
“Vodka? Not a martini? No rocks?” Shane fought the urge to gag. Shane didn’t drink. He hadn’t for a long time. It didn’t make him feel the best. He preferred a ginger ale or a water, sometimes an unsweetened iced tea if he was really feeling crazy. Vodka in a cup was possibly the least appetizing drink he’d ever had anyone order from him. If he thought about it more he would probably be able to find a strong contender, but vodka in a glass was pretty close to the top. Ilya wasn’t the first to order that and he wouldn’t be the last, but every time Shane fought the urge to gag.
“Yes. Just vodka in rocks glass, no ice. You work at bar, yes? You make drinks at bar?”
“Yes but- Ilya, you start your day with more sugar than I’ve ever seen anyone consume and you end it with straight liquor.”
“Hm, yes. I am man of mystery.” Ilya smirked. Shane sighed as he went about preparing the drink. Or, more aptly, pouring chilled vodka in a glass and handing it to Ilya. Ilya started a tab. “How have I never seen you here before?”
Shane shrugged, “I don’t know, really. I work Thursday and Saturday nights. So I’m here pretty much on all of our busiest nights.”
Ilya thought about this. “I normally come in on Sundays. Sometimes Friday. I don’t walk any dogs that day, but I try to catch up on classes. Works with schedule.” Shane watched Ilya ponder his schedule and noticed, not for the first time, that his jaw could cut glass. He wanted to taste it. Which was an insane thought to think about a customer at your job, and Hollander had to look away quickly. He swore Ilya noticed, but didn’t say anything.
“That would make sense. What are you in school for?”
Ilya smiled, “Law. I am here on visa for school at Harvard.” Shane nodded, impressed. He could see Ilya as a lawyer. He was probably scary in a court room, actually. Shane felt heat pool in his stomach at the thought of Ilya in a suit.
“Wow, okay. That’s super impressive!” Shane commended.
“And what about you, Mr. Coffee? Or Mr. Bartender now?” Ilya asked, leaning his chin on his palm. Ilya thought about what he said and stood up straight, “Not that you have to be doing anything more, Shane. You are smart and fun. That’s okay if those are your jobs. I’m sorry if I-“
“Oh, I’m not- I’m a barista and a bartender to pay for life while I’m in grad school.” Shane wasn’t embarrassed by his current professions. Not at all. They paid the bills. He had a full ride to grad school at Boston College, and dual citizenship through his father. He hadn’t had much growing up but he loved Boston and he did really love his life, even if it wasn’t always easy. “I’m uh, working through a program in Biology.”
“Hm, okay Mr. Science.” Ilya smiled slowly, “Biology. You teach me about this?” Ilya took a sip of the vodka in his hands. Shane blushed again. Ilya’s smirk deepened as he watched Shane with dark eyes. The bar around them was busy and loud. Kyle was swamped and Shane was beginning to feel the stress of patrons lining up for drinks. Shane was certain Ilya was flirting with him, now. The straight theory had been so thoroughly blown out of the water.
“I’m not the best teacher. I’m a better researcher.” Shane gave Ilya an apologetic smile. He did actually have to work. He was getting paid, and he needed the tips to pay rent. “Sorry, Ilya, but I actually have to go do my job.”
Ilya frowned. Shane turned to go to the next customer. “What time do you get off?”
Shane turned to look at Ilya again, not sure if he heard right. “Sorry?” He asked.
“What time are you finished shift?” Ilya asked again. He couldn’t possibly have been any clearer. Shane was still confused.
“On a Thursday? Probably not until like 1.” Shane regarded him curiously. “Why?”
Ilya waved a hand. “Okay, so I watch open mic night and wait for you. I take you to 24 hour diner. You tell me about boring Biology and I make you blush.” Ilya explained like it was easy. And Shane supposed, maybe it was. He knew a diner not too far away from here that they could go to. He actually found himself enjoying Ilya’s conversation. He was funny, and a little bit mean, and very kind.
“Um, okay. But why?” Shane asked. Ilya rolled his eyes.
“You make me curious. I am tired of only seeing you behind a counter. I must know if you have legs. It’s keeping me up at night.” Ilya smirked, taking another sip of the vodka in his hands. God, he was trouble. If you had told Shane 24 hours ago that he was going on date with Ilya R., he would’ve laughed in your face. But now?
Shane smiled shyly, ducking his head. “Well, if you don’t mind waiting? I would be okay with getting some food.”
Ilya made himself comfortable at the bar as he took a seat in one of the stools. People normally filled out the tables on open mic nights. For whatever reason, they weren’t so interested in getting seated at the bar. “It’s very important to me to know if you have legs, pomidor. So yes, I’ll wait.” Maybe, at some point, Shane could ask him what that meant. But for now he was going to try to avoid Kyle’s ire and attempt to ignore Ilya’s eyes on him instead of the stage for the next several hours.
He knew that would be easier said than done.