UPDATES WEDS & SAT -
Twenty-four is one year too young for a quarter-life crisis, but hey, Colin's always been an overachiever. He's got a degree in Sustainable Tourism, which he's wasting as a barista, an annoying anxiety disorder, and no freaking...
Hadi invites Dav behind the counter, offering him a nickel-tour. She hands him the binder of nifty laminated infographics that show how to layer the drinks.
"There's no caffe tobio," Dav says, flipping the book back to the front to search again.
"Colin learned that one special for you," Hadi says, the nosy wench. I thought she was supposed to be on my side. Whatever happened to bloody Rule One?
Dav makes that uncomfortable clicky noise. "I didn't mean to put you out."
"Not a problem," Hadi assures him, and slaps his shoulder chummily. He flinches so slightly that I don't think Hadi notices. He stares at her hand, befuddled, then down at his arm where she'd touched him. "I'mma leave you to it. Don't let Colin bully you."
Dav draws himself up like an affronted pigeon. "He would never—"
"He would," Hadi assures him, sliding out from behind the counter. She eels out the door with a "Lock up after me!", the conniving bitch.
I lock up after her. Dav's still at the espresso machine, his lower lip rolled in and pinched between his teeth.
"This is, ah, a role reversal, wouldn't you say?" he asks softly, gesturing between us with one finger.
He is trying so hard.
And it is so cute.
Dammit.
Not ready to pack into the pokey kitchen just yet, I sit at his usual table. I perch one ankle on my knee, and mime opening a newspaper and peering over the top.
"Yes, I can see how that'd seem creepy," he berates himself.
"Why do it, then?" I ask, dropping my hands. "Don't you have somewhere better to be?"
Ha, I applaud myself, I remembered my mental note. Good job, self.
Instead of answering, Dav turns to put away the binder. The line of his back is tense, his shoulders practically up to his ears.
"Dav?"
He winces again, like my voice is a gunshot. From this angle, the freckles on his neck shine like golden ink on vellum.
"Hey." I slide behind the counter to touch his sleeve. He jerks as if I'd pinched him. I step back, palms out, nonthreatening. "Sorry."
"No, I—"
"I should have asked."
"It's me, I—" He makes that throaty click-spark noise and screws his eyes shut. A curl of smoke trickles out of the side of his mouth.
"Am I stressing you out?" I step further back. "Because I can—"
"No, please!" His hand shoots out, claw-free, to snatch my wrist. It's the arm with the still-healing punctures. I try not to make a face as it's pulled straight, but fail. He drops my wrist in horror. "Oh, Colin, I'm so sorry—"
"Okay, stop, shhh, stop!" I say, forcefully, but not unkindly.
Dav scrubs his hands over his face. Before he can push them through his hair I say, gently, "Don't."
He freezes and looks up at me.
"I like your hair. Don't muss it up."
He looks at me with an expression that twists so quickly, I can only parse the surprise and self-recrimination. There's just something so lost about him.
"Let's go roast some beans, eh?" I ask, and Dav nods miserably. "And from now on, I won't touch you if you can't see me coming, how about that?"
"And I'll mind your arm," he says softly.
"Thanks."
"How's it healing?"
"Just fine. Barely hurts any more." I shove my hand back into my pocket to support it all the same.
His mouth twists to one side. "You needn't lie to me, Colin."
"I'm not."
He looks at me like he can read the truth on my skin, but leads the way all the same.
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