Chapter Text
"Shit!" Vessel exclaims as he drops the steaming milk pitcher in surprise as he feels a hand on his arm. The perfectly foamed milk explodes out onto the floor and counters as the loud clash of the metal pitcher against the floor disrupts the peace of the quiet cafe.
"Woah, sorry mate!" Vessel turns and lets out a shaky breath as his eyes meet Sam's. Sam is the store manager and probably the person Vessel would most likely be able to refer to as a friend. He holds his hands up non-threateningly. "I was just trying to squeeze past you. Didn't want to interrupt you," he gestures to the minimal walking space they have between counters behind the bar.
"I'm sorry," Vessel apologizes. "You startled me. I'll start getting this cleaned up immediately."
Vessel ducks his head and hurries off into the kitchen to get the mop and a couple of rags to clean the floor and counters before the milk dries into a big sticky mess. By the time he has the necessary supplies to clean and brings it to the bar, Sam is just finishing up remaking the drink for a customer that Vessel was in the process of making when the incident happened.
Sam tilts the cup towards Vessel to show off a perfectly poured rosetta in the foam of the latte, the perfectly clean separation between the crema of the espresso and the white milk. "Not bad, eh?" Sam teases, knowing that Vessel has been attempting to master the rosetta for months. The two were in an unofficial latte art competition, where each shift they would see who could pour the best drink, which gave Vessel a much needed place to figuratively and literally pour out some of his creativity into making art, even if it is just art that will vanish in seconds as soon as the customer stirs a sugar packet into it. The rosetta in theory is a very simple design. Vessel just can't seem to get it right. However, Vessel is able to pour a swan which Sam is clearly jealous of, even though he would never admit it.
Vessel rolls his eyes, not wanting to give Sam the satisfaction of a compliment to his art, and he starts to wipe up the mess. "Are you okay?" Sam asks as soon as the customer walks off with her drink. "I swear I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to let you know that I was going behind you so you wouldn't hit into me if you moved. It's just that you haven't jumped like that in a long time. Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. Fine," Vessel attempts to shut this down immediately. "I just wasn't expecting you there. It looked a lot more dramatic with the exploding milk than it actually was."
He doesn't miss the suspicious look that he gives him, but Sam knows him well. He knows that he is not going to get anything out of Vessel by pressing, so he moves on. Sam starts chatting about upcoming news for the cafe as Vessel cleans the spill and Sam cleans the necessary equipment after he made the last drink. Spring specialty drinks will be starting soon, according to Sam. Hopefully that is going to actually encourage spring to show up, as everyone is ready to be done with the weeks and weeks of bitter cold they have been experiencing. But, no one ever said that London was the place to move if you are looking for enjoyable weather.
"Corporate is talking about doing a lavender vanilla latte. Yes, that will be good, but how boring, right?" Sam rambles. "Having the floral flavor in there is a great idea for spring, but just adding vanilla? We could do so much better than that. I pitched the idea of a pistachio rose latte. I think that would be so much better for a specialty drink. There's not much special about vanilla."
Vessel crinkles his nose. "Gross. I will never understand the people who want rose in their coffee," he shakes his head at the thought. "You'd be better off doing a lavender and rose matcha or something like that. The floral and fruity flavors clearly belong in teas, not in coffee."
"Yeah, well we are not going to make any money on specials that are straight shots of espresso with nothing in it. That's why no one asks you for your input," Sam shoots back.
Out of spite, Vessel drops the mop and makes his way over to the espresso machine. He grinds and pulls himself a double shot and holds direct eye contact with Sam as he downs it without flinching. "Delicious," he deadpans. "We should be forcing all of the customers to do exactly this."
"This is why you have not been promoted to manager. How many of those have you had today."
Vessel pauses for a second to think, but realizes that he doesn't know. He has a habit of drinking any spare espresso shots throughout the day. Their machine pulls double shots, so if there is a customer who wants just one extra shot, the other half of the double shot would go to waste. Vessel would hate to be wasting coffee like that, so he will drink the shot straight or add it to whatever coffee or latte he made himself as a shift drink. Those will usually end up being some sort of concoction of too many shots and cold coffee that had been sitting around and forgotten for too long during a rush. "You don't want to know," he finally answers Sam.
Sam nods with a look of understanding in his eyes, like he has come to a genius realization. "I bet that's what is making you so jumpy today. You should cut back on the caffeine."
Vessel rolls his eyes and grabs the mop again. Sam knows just as well as he does that this is not going to happen. Just as he is just getting the last of the spill, the unmistakable jingle of a bell alerts the arrival of a new customer. Sam places down the pitcher he was cleaning next to the sink to dry and turns to Vessel. "I'll finish up here and put those away. Why don't you take this order?" He suggests.
Vessel nods his head and passes the mop handle over to Sam, not wanting to argue with his boss. He quickly washes his hands at the sink before making his way over to the cash register. He hears the soft impact of the customer's footsteps approach, but he doesn't look up just yet.
The customer stands back for a minute, eyes scanning the menu and the flavor list that are hung up on the wall behind Vessel's head. Once they approach the register, Vessel glances up to greet them, still not meeting their eyes. "Welcome in," he starts. "What can I get for you today?" Vessel puts on the best customer service facade he can pull.
"Can I do one of those chocolate raspberry specialty lattes? Extra sweet, please, like with enough syrup in it that you think it's way too much syrup," he starts, his voice strikingly smooth and comforting. "And do you happen to have oat or almond milk?"
"Hm, yeah we have both. Soy too, if you're into that," Vessel replies.
"Perfect, let's do oat then. Can I also get a matcha latte made with almond milk? And can that one be iced? Even though its cold enough to give me frostbite outside."
"Yes, of course. You'd be surprised by how many people are still ordering iced drinks when it's freezing out. Or hot drinks during a heatwave. I guess people really have their preferences, don't they?" Vessel chuckles a little a he punches the drinks into his tablet. "Anything else?"
"Yeah, I think I'll just get a black coffee. And maybe a couple of those cheese danishes."
"No problem. Is that all for today? Can I get a name for the order?" Vessel finally looks up from his tablet and is almost taken aback as he meets the most beautiful blue eyes he has ever seen piercing into him. The man's soft eyes and bright smile are balanced perfectly by the edges of a tattoo that Vessel can spot peaking out underneath the hand knitted scarf around his neck. Vessel can't make out what the tattoo is, but judging by the placement he can only assume that is not the man's only tattoo. Most people don't just have one bold tattoo on their neck. It is more likely than not that his entire body is covered. Vessel can't help but imagining it, but unfortunately he can't see behind the layers of warm clothing the man was wearing to protect against the bitter cold of the winter day.
"The name is II, like the roman numeral," the man, II, says, breaking Vessel out of his brief fixation.
Vessel drops his eyes back down to the counter, not wanting to be caught looking for too long. Best to just get back to focusing on doing his job. That's what II is here for. He is here to get some coffees, not for Vessel to ogle at him. "You can tap or insert your card down there," he gestures to the card reader on the other side of the tablet. "I'll have your drinks up in just a minute. Did you want a tray to carry them?"
"That would be great! Thanks so much!" II smiles as he taps his card and watches Vessel scurry away to put the pastries in a bag, which he places on the counter in front of II.
Vessel can't help but notice the slight shake in his well practiced hands as he prepares the drinks for II. Why is this customer affecting him so much? He must help a hundred customers every single day and although he will never be great at the whole talking to people thing, he has never felt jittery or flustered by a customer like this. He has been doing this for seven years. His hands should not be shaking this much. It's not like it was even an unusual interaction. It was a very average order with minimal small talk. It is just those damn blue eyes that have caught him off guard. Vessel hasn't noticed anything like that in a long time, hasn't felt drawn to someone like this in years. II, what an interesting name. Vessel can't help but to wonder the story behind that.
He is again broken out of his daze by the feeling of hot milk spilling on his hand as he realizes that he has the milk pitcher tilted slightly too much and the swirling vortex of milk from the steam wand has allowed a little to breach over the top and spill onto the counter. He swears under his breath and shuts off the steam wand before grabbing a rag to wipe his hand off.
"Seriously, what's up with you today, Vess?" Sam asks, returning to behind the counter. Vessel hadn't even noticed he returned from the back. "You alright?" Vessel doesn't miss the slight concern in his voice. Sam has known him for a long time, it has been over three years that they have worked together. That was right after Vessel moved to London after his life fell apart. Sam doesn't know most of the details, but knows enough to keep an eye out to make sure Vessel isn't slipping again. Vessel understands why Sam is worried, even though he wishes he wouldn't.
"Yeah just distracted, I guess. Maybe I did drink too much espresso this morning," Vessel mutters as he pours a decent but slightly shaky layered heart. He caps the drink and puts it with the two others in the carrier that he had already finished making.
"I bet those extra couple shots you just downed are helping so much," Sam teases.
Vessel ignores him as he brings the drink tray over to the counter and calls II's name to get his attention from where he was smiling down at his phone.
II walks over and grabs the black coffee and takes a big gulp from it. He smiles at Vessel and Sam before thanking them and heading towards the door.
"Your shift is over in 30. Why don't you take a few minutes to get your close outs done and then get out of here? It's slow enough that I can handle it just fine by myself," Sam suggests. He holds his hand up as Vessel starts to protest. "I'll clock you out when your shift is supposed to end, don't worry about it. You won't miss out on the pay. Just make sure your station is cleaned and stocked enough and I'll take care of the rest. You're opening tomorrow morning anyway so I can always leave you something to finish up tomorrow morning if I can't get everything done myself."
Knowing how pointless it is to argue with his manager, Vessel nods in agreement and heads back to the kitchen to get what he needs to restock and clean the bar.
Ten minutes later, Sam is wishing Vessel a good evening as Vessel pulls on his coat and heads to the door. Luckily, Vessel only lives about a fifteen minute walk from the cafe. Unfortunately for him today, the below-freezing temperature is bitter against his skin so the walk is not very enjoyable.
As he walks, he can't stop thinking about that man, II. There was something about those beautiful blue eyes that Vessel can't pull from his mind. They just seem like eyes that he is supposed to know, as if there is something or someone drawing him to them.
Vessel tries to push II from his mind, there is a good chance he will never see him again anyway. Even if he does, it's not like anything is going to come from Vessel just being the guy who makes him a few coffees. He also was clearly getting drinks to bring back to other people. Of course Vessel has no way of knowing if it was for a partner, or a friend, or a family member. He could tell that it was for people that II is extremely close to, though. He wouldn't have the confidence in choosing drinks for them if he wasn't close enough to know all of their preferences.
Vessel doesn't even understand why he is even thinking about this. It doesn't matter if II is buying drinks for a partner. He doesn't do relationships, not anymore. It had been roughly three and a half years since his last relationship, and he doesn't want to do anything like that ever again. Odds are the guy is straight anyway, and even if he's not, it's very unlikely that he is interested in Vessel. They had a two minute interaction where Vessel made drinks for him and was probably too awkward about it. He will probably never see the guy again anyways. Vessel has finally found a quiet and peaceful life. Is he really willing to let that slip over some silly infatuation with a pair of beautiful blue eyes?
Once Vessel finally makes it to his flat, he knows that he is going to need some help winding down tonight. He would love a shower to warm up after his freezing walk, but definitely needs to quiet his brain first.
Tucked away in one of his kitchen cabinets is a small baggie of weed. Vessel keeps it around for days when he is feeling particularly anxious or overwhelmed, but likes to keep it out of view in case his landlord has to come by. No one else frequents his flat.
One joint, Vessel promises himself. One joint, then a shower, then dinner. If he still needs anything after that, he can have a couple of beers. That should be sufficient to allow him to relax for the night, but not get too fucked up. He does have work again in the morning and listening to the sound of grinding coffee with a hangover is not a pleasant experience. Vessel knows from experience.
First, Vessel cracks open the window in a futile attempt to keep the flat from smelling like pot but not wanting to let too much cold air in and crank up his electric bill. Then, he sits down at his keyboard as he smokes, using his free hand to play a pattern of notes. He starts to hum along, eyes scanning the journal propped up next to him. Composing has always been a hobby of his, although he took a break from it for multiple years. It has been only recently that Vessel has found the courage to pick up a pen and begin to write again. It has been very therapeutic to him.
Vessel has always been a writer. Not believing it was practical for him to make a living that way, he double majored during university, doing both English literature and chemistry, which he believes gives him the power to put together words in unique but beautiful manners. His long fingers grace across the keyboard, not missing a single note. The one advantage of not having much of a life outside of work is the amount of time he is able to spend with his instruments, familiarizing himself with them and making beautiful music.
By the time Vessel's joint burns out, he feels ready to take a break from his keyboard to clean up. The weed has warmed him from the inside, but Vessel is not too high to recognize that he does still need to warm his body up too.
He takes his time in the shower, basking in the stream of hot water against his skin. He makes the shower quick, as he had already showered earlier in the day at the gym before work. This shower is more for the sake of warmth than cleanliness.
After the shower, he makes his way back into the kitchen to grab a beer out of the fridge. He is about halfway through it when he realizes that he hasn't eaten yet. Knowing from experience that it's not his best idea to use the stove or oven when he's slightly stoned, he decides on a frozen dinner that has resided in the back of his freezer for who knows how long. He pops it in the microwave and impatiently taps his fingers against the counter as he waits for it to heat up.
As he eats, he drinks the second beer he decided he'd allow himself tonight, appreciating the buzz he is feeling. He is not sure what happened today, why he was feeling more anxious than usual. He can't recall anything in specific that happened. This must just be his body sensing that something is coming and he does not know how to be prepared for it. He has spent a long time in his life in flight or fight mode.
Vessel cleans up his dishes and pours himself a glass of water to take to bed with him. As he makes his way to the bedroom, he stops by the living space to shut the window and close the notebook that he left open. Not that anyone will be in his flat any time soon, but it makes him feel better to have his deepest and most personal thoughts closed off to the world. He feels too exposed leaving it open.
After he climbs into bed, he spends a while staring at the ceiling, specifically the line of light on his wall from where the streetlights outside shine through a crack in his blackout curtains. He stares at the wall as he counts his breaths, breathing in for every count of four, holding the breath for four seconds, and then breathing out for another count of four. This was a grounding technique a therapist taught him years ago, when the panic and anxiety crept up on him every single night. He still has to use it most nights. Although the weed and booze have lessened his anxiety of the day, there is still just enough lingering in the back of his head.
In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.
The pattern repeats over and over again until sleep begins to take over his body. As he finally drifts off, the last thing he remembers seeing is those damn blue eyes.