Requested on Tumblr
Reader: genderfluid
Word count: 1 219
You had known Brendon for a good while now. Every day he strode into the small café you were working at, just after the morning rush of caffeine addicted people needing their first fix of the day was over, and strode up a conversation with you. The first time he had done so, you thought he was just someone needing a little company, someone to open up to. There were often people like that, heartbroken teenagers, lonely elderly men, cat ladies who contemplated buying their twentieth cat, people who had just been fired, dumped, gotten promoted... lots of people told you their stories, some macabre, some funny, some sad. You listened while preparing their coffee and if they kept talking after that, and there was no other customer, you listened while cleaning a little and told them your opinion if asked. But rarely any of those people ever came back to chat with you a second time.
Brendon was different. He had ordered a cup of coffee and taken a seat at the counter, watching you clean the coffee machine so it was ready for the next customer. He told you he was a musician and about how he was clueless about this new album of his, not sure what he wanted to do with it. Should it be a concept album? Should it be random songs that he had written out of a specific mood to give more insight into his emotions? Should it sound happy, carefree or rather dark? You had listened and when you had moved to cleaning the counter, whipping it clean of stains of coffee and crumbs of muffins or cookies, he asked what you thought. You had looked up at him, taken off guard by the dark brown eyes that waited expectantly for your answer. You had told him about your current preference in music, what you liked when put on an album. He had nodded thoughtfully, emptied his cup and pushed a ten-dollar note into your tip-jar, then he had said a polite good bye, and left.
Much to your surprise he returned the next day. He entered the shop just as the last hurried businessman stormed out of the door, paper cup in hand and tie flying in the wind. Brendon had told you a little about his dogs, but soon started asking if you had pets. You exchanged strangely intimate childhood memories about favorite animals, and when you had finished the conversation, he tipped you another ten dollars and left with a smile on his lips.
The pattern repeated, day after day he appeared just when the last customer of the morning rush left the shop, every day having a new topic to talk about. And then he started pointing out what must have been confusing him all the time.
"If you don't mind me asking, is there a reason between you changing... styles," he asked, his voice velvet as always, but more careful, as if scared he could offend you.
You nervously tucked on the short red skirt that you wore. Never had anyone asked why one day you came in wearing obviously female clothes, then the other day wearing something only men would wear and then the day after something that was absolutely neutral. To some people the concept of being genderfluid seemed strange. For you it was just normal life. You put on and behaved what you felt like. Most people did not pay close enough attention to the barista to notice that the cute girl the one day and the young man the other day were the same persons as the cocky barista in the day in between. But Brendon had noticed.
"I'm genderfluid," you answered, your voice clear and confident, but your gaze fixed on the floor.
"Okay," Brendon nodded and continued sipping his coffee.
That was not how most people reacted to this revelation. Most people started asking questions, some made stupid and unhelpful comments about deciding for one gender. Hardly anyone had ever said 'okay' and continued their day as if nothing had happened.
You shrugged, wondering if this conversation had really just played out like this, and turned away from Brendon to refill the cookies on the display.
A few days went by, nothing changed. Brendon came to the shop every morning, continuing his conversations with you as if nothing had ever happened, then his behavior changed. It was slow and in the beginning almost unnoticeable but you started to pick up on the nicknames he called you and the little compliments he paid you every now and then. Sometimes he complimented the color of your shirt or that you looked incredibly sexy in the new dress. Sometimes his compliments were more subtle or he stole the cap you wore and put it on, refusing to return it to you until he left almost two hours later. You started slipping compliments in too. He had shown you some of his music and honestly? You loved it. Soon the innocent conversations turned into a real flirt battle. You noticed how his approach towards you changed depending on the way you were dressed and behaved. Sometimes he was obvious, made clear statements how attractive he thought you were, sometimes it was almost unnoticeable, sometimes it was cheeky and sassy. You loved how he did not mind that one day you used they/them and the next day he/him or she/her. He just continued flirting unashamedly and you felt yourself being drawn in by his charm more and more every day.
Sometimes he rested his hand on the counter as if he expected you to take it, but you were not confident enough to do that, so it surprised you a little when you were done with cleaning one day and stood opposite him at the counter, leaning a little closer than normal friends, if that was what you were, would, and Brendon placed his hand over yours. His skin was warm and dry, a little chapped maybe, but if felt nice. You did not draw back and instead carefully intertwined your finger with his, until he gently started playing with yours. It was nice and you realized that over the months he had visited the shop you had gotten a lot closer to you than most of your friends. Well, most of your friends were not flirting with you and never made a mistake with your pronouns while at it. And hell, he was not only attentive and kind, he was also seemed like a pretty decent human being while at it, with a tight set of morals and a good idea about what he expected other people to behave like.
Sometimes you wondered how long Brendon would have tried to get you make a move at him if you would not one day have leant in a little closer to him while he was playing with your hands absentmindedly, and pressed your lips against his gently. You had felt his surprise, but he had kissed back quickly, grinning against your lips. You did not know how long you had been standing there, kissing each other slowly, exploring each other's boundaries over the counter, but what you now knew was that it had been the kiss that had started the best relationship of your life.