Kleinsen Oneshots

we keep trying (to talk about us)

Back with musicals content—how could I not? This is rather long for a oneshot, really, but it didn't have any natural breaks in the story so I couldn't break it into acceptable chapters.

Title from Lorde's "Supercut"

"Um," says Evan, acutely aware that he's late, "um. What—uh... what do you think I should have?"

The barista shrugs. Which makes total sense—this is a coffee shop! What kind of recommendation was Evan expecting, anyway? But, of course, the answer is that he wasn't really thinking of what kind of drink to expect, only hoping that the barista would say some drink or other and he'd say yeah give me that, and that would be it.

Instead, the barista shrugged.

"Um." Evan had an order—the same one he's always had since... since forever—before he got to the front of the line and he knows it, but it's not coming to his mouth. His watch is on his wrist, and it's ticking. "Can I get coffee?"

"Yes," the barista says. They look like they're getting impatient, even though there's no one behind Evan in line—odd for the middle of the day in a coffee shop in San Francisco, but Evan's not going to complain. They have pink-and-green dyed hair and many piercings. They look so much cooler than Evan could hope to be. "We serve that here. Peet's. Coffee."

"Yeah, yeah, uh. Yeah, let me just get your, your..."

""A tall Americano, hot.... room for milk," comes a voice that is both familiar and unfamiliar. Male, but not too deep.

That was my order, Evan thinks dumbly.

"Wait your turn," says the barista reluctantly, as if they are resisting the urge to let the guy just cut.

Evan turns.

"You," he says.

It's Jared. Brown-almost-black hair, round glasses like Harry Potter, but with thick, black rims. Unbuttoned flannel, showing the same kind of nerdy-clever T-shirt Jared used to wear, seven years ago in high school when they knew each other. Hi Wiz, it says, with the dragon from the D&D logo peeking out from under the right side of the flannel. The Hi, Wiz is a play on high wisdom.

Does Jared know flannel is, like, a really GayTM thing now, or is he just wearing flannel because he's weird and San Francisco-ian, now, apparently?

"I," says Jared.

He's still got that air about him—a little cheeky, a lot sure. He knows he's a little weird; he's kind of proud he's a little weird. He was always a bit above all the other kids in school, even though all the other kids probably thought they were above him. Except Evan. Obviously.

Jared turns to the barista, clearly not as obsessed with drinking New Evan in the way Evan is obsessed with drinking in New Jared. "That's his order, not mine."

He hasn't changed one bit. He doesn't even look much older, not as much as Evan thinks he should after seven years. A bit sexier, maybe? That's what age will do to a face, at least when age is specifically going from seventeen to twenty-four. The new thing is the beanie. Jared's never really been one for hats before; a big percent of body heat leaves through your head, he'd said, and Evan's forgotten the percentage, but he remembers being impressed.

"Uh, yeah." Evan nods emphatically. "He's—yeah."

Evan still looks young, too. Too young. Still looks like a child, really, and if he ever tried to go to a bar or something, which he would never do, he'd definitely get carded. That's half the reason he doesn't go—even though he's old enough, that's an interaction he does not want to have.