street
“Regulus! Your boyfriend is here!” Barty sings, popping his head into the back of the shop and grinning at him.
“Shut the fuck up, Barty,” Regulus hisses, shoving the dirty blender into Barty’s gut as he moves past him. Regulus smooths out his apron and fluffs his curls a bit before reaching the register. He spots James immediately, third in line behind a middle aged man in a suit and a goth teenager with platform docs. Regulus quickly takes their orders of a flat white and a lavender oat milk latte, respectively, then, as he makes the drinks, watches James approach the counter out of the corner of his eye.
The first time Regulus saw him, he overfilled the mug he was holding, resulting in two casualties (his shoes) caught in the line of fire (the spilled matcha latte). Here he was minding his business, the coffee shop full of the usual Tuesday afternoon crowd, and there he was: 6’ 2” Adonis, loose black tank displaying two full sleeves of tattoos contrasting against golden brown skin, curly hair falling into eyes hidden behind round gold-rimmed glasses, and - was that a nose ring? He shot Regulus an easy grin as he breezed his way to the front. He had asked Regulus for a recommendation and then added that he was the owner of the new tattoo studio across the street (“So I think we’ll be seeing each other a lot,” he’d said with a wink). Regulus ducked his head pretending to look for something behind the counter to hide whatever was happening on his face. He finally grabbed a cup, uncapped his sharpie, and asked for the name for the order. James gave him his name accompanied by an overconfident smirk. When Regulus handed him a to-go cup with their strongest drip coffee, James took a sip and held back his wince with a valiant effort.
And James wasn’t lying when he said they’d see each other often. He came in every day for almost a month, at the exact same time, and each time he’d ask for a recommendation with the same cocky grin, like it was an inside joke between them. Regulus would make him a different drink every time.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Regulus finds that James is already at the counter, looking at him with an amused expression.
“What do you want?” Regulus says in a rush, his face heating under the attention.
James pretends to scan the menu for a moment before, same as always, he replies with “What do you recommend?”
“Well, you’ve tried practically the whole menu at this point,” Regulus tells him.
“Okay then,” James responds and his expression spells trouble. “How about your number?”
Regulus grabs a cup, fills it with black coffee, and hands it over to James (and if the cup has ten extra digits written on it, that’s no one's business but his own).