Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The blank email entry is taunting her. It’s a mockery, how it reflects her own angry glare back. The writing cursor blinks like a vindictive chuckle and she wants more than anything to throw her laptop to the ground and be done with it. Except that won’t solve the issue at hand, she recognizes. The email won’t get sent if her computer is shattered into circuit boards and glass, and the email is the key to everything.  

She has a stack of paintings in her private studio to prove that. They’ve sat there for months. They’re begging to be seen, to be sold. To simply be acknowledged.

Their theme is what evades her. She had always just… painted. She never really thought about a loose connective thread through her art, and that’s what the studio needed. An explanation as to why these pieces would be shown together and just saying “because I made them” wasn’t enough for an unknown name.

Her mother has warned her about this. Okay, no, her BROTHER warned her about what her mother might think, and it was proving to be true. She has a job; her cushy life as an executive for Council Firmware has her living in one of Piltover’s nicest penthouses. She has a life; her home was also the perfect place to host parties and events. She has a purpose; the Medarda name would be known as the kind of intelligent, trustworthy family that any major corporation would love to hire on.

But she is lacking a few things. For one, she isn’t happy. There is a fake smile she plasters to her face at 9 AM and tears off at 6 PM. She makes small talk, gets drinks with colleagues, and waters plants in her corner office when she has a free moment. But it’s different from when she comes home. The warm, all-encompassing feeling of petting Filigree as the cat greets her at the door, the calm, the cold rush through her fingers as she picks up her pallet knives, and the overwhelming beating in her chest as she slashes bold strokes onto the prepared canvas was different. It was real.

Another thing lacking, for certain, is close friends. Elora is the closest person she has to one, even as an assistant. Their conversations are less inclined to just be about work, but rather the more interesting things in either of their lives. Mel feels that real joy spark around Elora, but only in the quiet moments in the breakroom or after work at The Last Drop. The dive bar isn’t the nicest spot in town, but it’s away from the usual crowd that work brings. It’s a needed distraction for them both.  

And even then, friends only make-up part of the equation. Mel won’t admit this to anyone, especially not her family, but she’s been single for as long as she can remember. She doesn’t even really know where to begin.

She is at the peak of her proverbial mountain, and it’s the loneliest place she could ever possibly be.

Mel slams the laptop’s screen down. It was unproductive thinking, she’d spiral. That was the last thing she needed. As she sighs and rubs her temples, she begins to problem solve. She already does that every day at work, she could apply it to her life.

Email writing? Not working. Why? Too many thoughts, not enough focus. Why not? Not enough sleep, maybe? Need more energy. Green tea… no. No, not strong enough. Black tea? Maybe… or maybe—

Her memory flicks to the coffee shop that’s in her building. She’s walked past it before when she’s parked on the street or gone to the local grocery market. The smell from inside was never enticing to her—coffee smelt a bit like burnt dirt in her opinion. While this coffee shop did smell considerably better, with mellow caramel notes and a boldness she’d never realized was there, it wasn’t enough to change her path.

She’s never been a coffee person. She had never wanted to be, and until today, she thought she never would. 

She problem-solves: think about what to change. Environment? Sure, the living room is too empty. Too comfy. The noise level? It’s too damn quiet. Music would be too distracting. And… coffee?

Why the hell not.

Mel rises from the couch gently, so as not to disturb sleeping Filigree near her feet. She crosses the room to her discarded laptop bag and places her computer back inside. As she zips it up, she sighs. She’d just come home. She hates to be leaving again, and so soon. Potentially leaving that true kind of happiness for something potentially utterly disappointing.

She understands that a worthwhile venture involves risk. She retrieves her coat and heeled boots. The shop—Hexroasters, if she recalls correctly—calls for her.  

She hopes it will meet her expectations.

Everything about the shop surprises her. The windows in front are frosted over with an icy, stained-glass façade that makes it difficult to peer inside. The sign insinuates the shop will have some sort of… pagan element to it. With a few Nordic runes along with some more magick-y symbolism, Mel believes she knows what she’s walking into.

It exceeds all expectations. The store is tidy and gorgeous, with pristine white marble countertops and a black slate flooring that her heels click against. There are plants hanging from the ceiling of all varieties—some she can name, some she cannot—and an even greater smattering of crystals attached to every surface other than the seating. Quartz, jasper, jade… way too many to name, and even more she’s never seen before. Some are ornately carved while others are left in their natural state. There is a giant geode of amethyst at the corner of the bar, built into the countertop, that almost looks like a chair. There is a small sign warning patrons “Do not sit on the crystals, they’re delicate!” There is a distinctive ass-mark amongst the broken crystals.  

On the back wall, there is a large chalkboard with short lists. One has the names of what Mel assumes are traditional coffee drinks, all foreign to her. The middle list has “specialty” drinks, with whatever flavor palette matches the current season. At the moment, three drinks sport “PSL” within their intricate descriptions. The final list has pastries and foods, and while limited, Mel spots a “vanilla caramel scone” that might as well be calling her name.

The rest of the walls are lined with several paintings, all clearly done by different artists with completely different techniques. There are small placards next to them, for which Mel assumes is for the artist’s name and the running price. One catches her eye; a crazed pink-and-blue frenzy of different animals and distorted faces. It’s childish… but intriguing. The artist clearly put work into depicting something , but the true meaning escapes her.

There are a handful of patrons within the store, with one bunch of rambunctious teens at a far table. Two brightly-colored-haired teenage girls are shouting at two others, who are just staring blankly back. Mel makes a mental note to sit far, far away. At the counter, there is a man bent over behind the dessert display, and another woman behind the cash register. She’s a bit fawnish, with big glasses and an anxious smile as Mel enters the store. Her spackling of freckles and closed shoulders make her look younger than Mel thinks she could be.  

“Welcome!” She squeaks as the door closes behind Mel. As she welcomes her, the man rises from behind the counter.

“Welcome!” A voice as sweet as honey and rich as chocolate follows his co-worker’s greeting.

He’s handsome. It strikes her on impact, like a dazzling shot of light. He’s tan, tawny-colored, with dark brown hair slicked back. There are two baby strands of hair at his widow’s peak that don’t seem to want to stick back, and rather bounce forward. He’s got rich caramel eyes that Mel’s horrified to find herself getting lost in. There’s a scruff shadow around his mouth where he’s smiling so brightly, it's akin to the sun itself. He’s got a slight gap tooth that’s utterly adorable, along with slight dimples on his cheeks.

Mel has to practically slap herself out of it. As he rises further, she’s taken aback again. He’s strong—he’s built . His t-shirt can barely wrap around tight biceps and his apron sits snugly against his broad chest. It takes her more than a second to walk forward.

“How can I help you?” The other worker’s voice brings her attention back.

“Hello,” Mel starts, “I was hoping to order a coffee, for here?”

“Of course!” The girl—Sky, from what Mel can decipher from her nametag—smiles. “What in particular?”

“Oh. Um,” Mel falters, “A regular coffee?”

“Brewed coffee?” The barista urges on.

“Isn’t all coffee… brewed?” Mel asks, truly inquisitive. After all, it was all brewed, right?

“Let me help,” the handsome one steps in, “You’re not a coffee person, are you?” While the question could be pointed, mocking even, he asks it with sincerity.

“Yes. I’m that obvious, aren’t I?”

“No worries!” He smiles. “How about we start you with a pour-over. It’s coffee at its simplest, and you’ll see if you like it or not. You can add cream or sugar if you’d like. It’s good for folks who haven’t had it before.” The female barista has swapped with the guy completely, swiveling back towards the machinery on the far countertop. Mel’s been left alone with the man.  

“That sounds good,” she smiles as she holds out her phone. The barista punches in a few buttons before a charge appears on the receiver in front of her. With one tap, she’s paid.

“I’ll start you with a medium blend since it’s the most average kind of coffee we have. If you find you like it less bold or even bolder, you’re free to try our other roasts!” he chirps.  

“What do you mean?” Mel wants to hear more of his voice.

“Ah. Well, how about you sit at our counter, and I can explain?” He gestures to a seat near an odd contraption of glass. Mel nods and follows his instruction. He gets quickly to work, taking up a paper bag of coffee grounds and adding three spoonfuls to the glass canister. He obtains a kettle from the far counter and turns on his heels with a flourish. A showman.

“So, coffee beans get roasted once they’ve grown to develop their flavor,” he explains as he pours the hot water on top of the grounds. He starts with one pour, a meandering spiral that makes a gentle foam atop the coffee. He pauses until the bubbles settle, then slowly pours the rest. “The lighter the roast, the higher the caffeine but less bold. The darker the roast, the bolder the coffee with less caffeine.”

“Is decaffeinated coffee just dark roast, then?” She knows the phrase “decaf coffee”, and she’s itching for some way to continue the conversation.

“No, decaf is when they extract the caffeine with special processes,” the barista says, “We stock it in the shop, but it’s not a home roast.”

“Your shop roasts its own coffee?”

“I roast my shop’s coffee,” he answers brightly, with a satisfying shimmer in his eye. Pride.

“You’re the owner?” Mel’s surprised. She wouldn’t expect an owner to be working the front counter.

“One of the owners, I work the counter on occasion, and one of my employees is out. But I like working the machines! After all, it'd only make sense for a coffee geek to be running a coffee shop,” he says. The coffee is done siphoning down through the contraption and the man retrieves the full cup from the spout underneath. He places it atop a dish and slides it to Mel.

Mel takes the cup up, blowing the top gently. It won’t do anything, she thinks, but the heavy amount of steam coming off the top scares her a bit. She takes a ginger sip. The heat hits her first, quickly followed by something completely new. Something completely unexpected. It is profoundly different and equally similar to how coffee smells. But by God… it’s delicious. There is a deep bitterness at the very forefront of her tongue that quickly mellows out as the sip follows back down her throat. It’s almost vaguely floral, with hints of fruit and chocolate, she thinks. Very much like a wine, the undertone notes are the most intriguing. However, the overall taste of the coffee completely breaks down her initial understanding of the drink. It’s complex, it’s warming, it’s invigorating. It’s that true kind of happiness.  

“I never got your name,” the barista says. He’s watching her intensely as her surprised eyes resettle.

“Mel,” she answers, swallowing lightly, “and yours?”

“Jayce.” He sticks out his hand to shake hers. She accepts and tries to ignore how large his hands are in comparison to hers. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mel. What do you think?”

“It’s… fantastic.” She smiles back, bringing the cup back to her lips as she keeps her eyes on him.  

She hopes his equally probing gaze means something more. He does eventually leave her to resume her work. She retrieves her laptop and begins her writing. By the time her cup is long since emptied, she has three potential drafts and ideas.

She decides, with a quick confirmation with her own brain, that she will become a regular of this establishment.

Chapter Text

Mel will not admit out loud to anyone that showing up at the café the next day is a bit invigorating. She will not admit that she’s excited to see Jayce behind the counter again. She will not admit that her stomach is full of butterflies, which she’s nearly forgotten the feeling of.

As she steps into the shop, Jayce recognizes her almost immediately and waves. “Welcome back!”

The other girl, Sky, is helping her order today, “Did you like what you got last time?”

“Yes, but I didn’t finish all the work I had. And I liked the boldness but…” She thinks briefly. “Can we do something stronger?”

“Espresso on its own can be really bitter for folks,” Sky explains, “So how about a latte or cappuccino? Both have a shot of espresso and steamed milk, and a cappuccino has milk foam on top. It’s really nice!” Her voice is sweet and she’s clearly knowledgeable, but Mel can’t help but keep looking towards the other barista.  

“Hmm.” Mel eyes the board above as she reads through the specials, “Are the specialty lattes similar?”

“They’re also lattes, they just include other things,” Sky says.

“Then how about the burnt sugar latte?” Mel points to the third listing. She’s curious to how burnt sugar differs from caramel.

“Ah, of course! That’s one of the owner's favorites.”

“Jayce?” Mel asks. 

“The other one,” Sky says, typing in the order in front of her. “Cash or card?

“Electronic,” she responds, holding up her phone. With a ding , she pays for her drink and thanks the female barista as she walks to a table. The counter was nice yesterday, but she’s afraid she’ll get distracted.

She chooses the table closest to the window, as it’s the most well-lit area of the store. She sinks into the plush bench as she retrieves her laptop. As she opens it, she’s greeted to the same sight she had the day before; three daunting emails. Mel has started each the same way, introducing herself with her background in the arts, as well as a small synopsis over everything non-art related. The differences begin with her series:

>> To: [email protected]

>> From: [email protected]

SUBJECT: Re:Studio Showing

Dear Ms. Loyola,

Thank you very much for your swift response, I am honoured that your studio shows interest in my work. I am more than happy to give you better insight on myself and my work.

[ . . . ]

My collection’s name is Scene-age.

         My collection’s name is Memoriam.

                     My collection’s name is Gilded.

All three descriptions vastly differ, but each of her paintings is listed with different connections to their central themes. Growing up; dying; finding the glimmer in the grime. Each email makes a convincing argument, but that’s the problem. They’re all good. They’re all correct with whatever interpretation she’s concocted. They’ll do the trick.

Why, then, do they all feel so disingenuous?

As the question spins through her mind, her attention is pulled to a patron that enters the store. Others have come in since she’s been seated, but the sound of a crutch makes her look up. The man who enters looks like a professor from her university; scholarly. His nose is bridged and crooked along his profile as sunken golden eyes look towards the counter. He has feathery brown hair that cascades from his head in waves, framing against his ears with a delicate swoop. There is a distinctive beauty mark below his leftmost eye, and as he turns his head, Mel sees a matching one just above his lip on the right.

What keeps her attention is the man pausing at the door, waving to Jayce, and walking to the table next to her. No ordering. No exchanged words. A true regular, Mel assumes. Possibly with a plan in place to get him seated as quickly as possible, with his apparent injury or disability. Mel smiles gently at the man as he sits across from her in one of the chairs. He catches her gaze, reciprocating with a weak pull at his lips. Not quite a smile—Mel wants to roll her eyes and chuckle.

Mel doesn’t return to her laptop, as she notices Jayce walking towards her. He is carrying a tray with three drinks. As he approaches, he places one in front of the man who just entered.

“Thank you.” His accent is eastern European, but Mel can’t place where. She’d lived a short period of time in the Netherlands and had traveled with her family into the Eastern Bloc, but she hadn't been there long enough to distinguish the differences.

Jayce turns to her next, placing an identical cup in front of her. “And for the lovely lady!” It catches her off-guard, and she can’t help but chuckle. Jayce stands there, expectantly. Mel takes his cue and brings the mug to her lips. The top is creamy tan, with a white-milk heart etched in. She sips the very edge and sighs; it’s decadent. The “burnt sugar” is not like caramel, but rather more like a crème brulee topping. It’s a little acidic, with the bite from the flavoring, but it adds to a blossoming flavor within the coffee that she hadn’t tasted with the pour-over. It’s not necessarily bolder, but entirely fuller. The rich notes are stronger than wine, more comparable to the body of a whiskey. The milk balances the whole affair, with a striking clarity through the acid that allows for the more subtle flavors to break through. She uses her lower lip to quickly do away with the foam on her upper lip before lowering the cup.  

“So?” Jayce questions. The other patron is also watching, taking a sip of his own drink.

“I think you’ve officially turned me on to coffee,” Mel says, smiling back.

“Look at that!” Jayce cheers, “I got another one!” He puts a heavy hand on the shoulder of the other man. “With your drink, too!”

“Of course you did,” the man says, “because my drink is the best on the menu.” There’s a smirk that appears at the corners of his mouth.

“Your drink?” Mel questions.

“This is Viktor,” Jayce says, “He’s my business partner, the other owner. That drink is one of his own creations!”

Viktor shakes his head. “Oh please. Putting my morning coffee on the menu is not ‘my own creation.’ Don’t fool her.”

“Please!” Jayce exasperatedly shakes his head, patting his partner’s shoulder. He returns to his workstation and Viktor begins pulling stacks of papers from his side bag. Mel takes note to return to her own work.  

The emails present themselves once again. The headache returns. Mel would rather flick a spinner than have to choose. Just as she’s about to pull up some cheap website to choose for her, a loud voice interrupts her train of thought.

“VIKTORRR!” The girl who runs through the front door is young and extremely exuberant. She’s got bright blue hair tied into dual braids that swing close to her hips. She’s wearing a school uniform for the local high school. “DID MY PAINTING SELL YET?” She throws her arms around the man’s neck.  

“Jinx, inside voice,” he reminds her. She pouts, but nods.

“So… any offers?” she mumbles, looking at him with bright blue eyes.

“No, not today, Заяц . I will let you know, first thing.” His voice is mellow with the girl.

“Oh… okay,” she says, disappointment dripping off her voice. “…Can I have a sip?”

“Are either of your fathers around?”

“Nope.”

“Your sister?”

“Nuh-uh.”  

“Your brothers?”

“No idea where they could be.”

“Your sister’s friend? Girlfriend?”

“… Girlfriend . And nope! Anyways, if Caitlyn tried to rat me out, I’d get to her first.” A devilish smirk appears suddenly at the thought of violence. Mel isn’t quite sure if she should be this afraid of a child.  

“Okay then,” Viktor concedes. “Proceed.” The girl swoops forward, drinking so quickly, Mel is surprised half the drink doesn’t go flying.

“Thank you!!~” She sing-songs, “Can I go work in the back?”

“You’re always welcome to,” Viktor replies. The girl unhooks her arms and runs towards the back of the shop; Mel watches until she loses sight of her.

“Is she family?” Mel doesn’t know what spawns the question, but she lets herself ask it. Viktor seems a little surprised at her intrigue.

“I’m sorry if she interrupted your work,” He says. “No, she’s like family, but I just do business with her father.”

“Another coffee shop?” Mel closes her laptop. She hopes he’ll be spurred into a conversation and has to hide her smile when he gently turns towards her.

“No, actually, a bioengineer patent office,” Viktor answers. He lifts one of the documents in front of him. “I am a prosthesis designer.” He hands her the sheet; she’s stunned. The diagram he’s produced is an elegant display of a prosthetic leg. It isn’t just functional, for what she can assume with its accuracy to the form of a real human leg, but it’s beautiful. There are gears around the knee that are totally impractical but are meant to be more aesthetic than functional. The lines within the metal components are masterfully articulate and delicate. It reminds her of a fantasy automobile or some of the first designs for aircraft. Vintage, steam-powered.  

“This is incredible,” Mel muses. She runs her fingers across the paper as if the texture will translate through.  

“Thank you.” His smile becomes more genuine, she could feel his earlier awkwardness chip away.

She returns the page back to him. “So, you just design artistic prosthetics in your free time from the shop?” It’s an odd mix of interests, certainly.

“I design artistic prosthetics and work in the shop during my free time.” He chuckles quietly. It’s a flighty sound, but it makes Mel’s cheeks flush.

“How interesting.” She reaches forward. “I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself; my name is Mel Medarda. I live in the apartment above.”

“Hello Ms. Medarda,” he says. “My name is Viktor. Just Viktor. It’s lovely to meet you.” He takes up her hand and shakes gently. His fingers are nimble and calloused.

They speak briefly in between sips of their twin drinks. As she approaches the bottom of her cup, she starts to realize how overwhelmingly sweet it is. The last sip is almost too much for her to handle; she’ll take note for her next order. Viktor drinks quickly and lavishly. 

He is wildly interesting, from what she can glean. Growing up in Pardubice, Czechia, but originally hailing from a small town in Russia. The name is long and completely foreign to Mel, but he explains where it was approximately to Moscow. It’s beyond her, but she nods and takes the information in strides.

Mel explains her own complicated story of origin, chalking up her accent to her prolonged time living in London at such a young age. Truthfully, she isn’t from one place. She lived everywhere from the Netherlands, the UK, South Africa, Singapore, Canada, and now, the United States. They trade similar stories of learning how the states work and how ridiculous they both find certain aspects, like “supersizing” and the lack of long-distance transportation other than airfare. Mel finds herself drawing more of Viktor’s laughter out with each comment on ridiculous American idealism.

“It’s been lovely talking to you,” Viktor shakes her hand again, but this time, taking his other hand and fully surrounding hers. They’re a bit cold, but she feels secure as he does it.

“I feel the same, I hope to run into you regularly.”

“You plan on coming regularly?”

“Well, as your partner has made me aware of the wonders of coffee, yes.” She smiles, waving goodbye to him as she steps out of the shop.

As she rounds the corner to the entrance of her building, she can’t help but notice the burning blush appearing on her cheeks.

Why did the best coffee shop in town have to be run by two incredibly attractive men? She questions if any work will get done there at all.

Chapter Text

Mel has sent them all at once. All three proposals. She admits openly she isn’t sure which of the three is the right one, but she knows the answer is there. Somewhere.

It’s the wrong decision. Utterly ridiculous and stupid. The coordinator gets back to her as soon as he can, simply stating that “their studio wouldn’t be the right one if she was this uncertain in her work.” It makes her want to scream.

He’s given her another option—she can think of a single theme and give them a convincing argument why this turn of heart should allow her into their space. He reminds her it isn’t cheap to put on a gallery show. He reminds her they have hundreds of artists who contact them daily.

Mel wants to strangle whoever is behind that silly little screen.

The torrential downpour outside matches her mood entirely. As lightning cracks down from the sky, she feels herself thunder with it. She won’t let those emotions crack in front of anyone, but she is on her lonesome. She can throw as many pillows across the room as she likes.

“Ridiculous, pompous FOOLS!” She rages, throwing another pillow. Filigree sits on his cat tower, cleaning his paw with his tongue. “You should be more upset, you king of kings. If mum gets this job, you get all the fancy canned food your little heart desires.” Mel throws another pillow. “Dear Filigree, could you possibly be bothered to visit the studio yourself and give that ridiculous coordinator a good scratching? Make his face something of an art piece!” There are no more pillows to throw. She falls to the couch.

“My god, I think I’m going insane,” Mel whispers to herself. She certainly speaks to Filigree on a regular basis, not that the cat understands her words, but she can feel her mind’s inner mechanisms breaking apart at the seams. “I need to… I need—”

What did she need? She problem solves: What’s productive? What can she do? She can go back into her studio and reexamine all her previous works to try and come up with a new connective thread—like she’s done for the past month and a half. She can email the studio again, coming up with another explanation for why the three themes in tandem ARE the all-encompassing ideas behind her works. She can burn her apartment to the ground and collect the insurance payout.

No. Productive. She needs to be productive. She needs—oh no. She cannot believe the thought of coffee appears in her mind; is this her bridge into caffeine addiction? Will she become one of those “I won’t talk to you until I have my coffee in the morning” kind of people, like her brother?

She must stop this spinning in her head. Even if she is going for coffee, she can also reset at HexRoasters. She can take a mental break. It is productive when everything else is stagnant or destructive to her mental fortitude.

She grabs her boots, her winter coat, her bag, and her sanity. The elevator ride down the building is long, but there’s a sense of pride in waiting. She fiddles with her familial ring as she descends. When the elevator reopens on the bottom floor, she jog-walks to the exit. The rain is still ridiculous, but with her hood pulled tight over her curls and a quick, few steps, she can make it.

The run through the rain is invigorating. She bursts through the shop with a huff, making very little noise against the hustle and bustle. There is a whole crowd within the shop, most likely people escaping the weather. Some are drinking from take-out cups while others stand with their house mugs.

Jayce is behind the counter with Sky and a girl Mel hasn’t met yet. She has a flurry of bright green hair and a pep in her step. They’re flying past one another, trying to keep up with the ridiculous pace orders are coming in. Jayce looks stressed—his usual dazzling smile is replaced with a focused purse of his lips. Mel glances around the rest of the store until she spots eyes on her. 

Viktor waves to her. She barely spots him across the crowd, tucked away into a corner booth only big enough for a few. He’s sprawled out on the table, taking claim of the whole space. A few patrons eye him with a lick of disdain, but he doesn’t seem to care. Mel crosses the room at his beckon.

“Keeping your promise, I see,” he says.

“I needed to escape my apartment,” she admits.

“I understand the feeling. I’m escaping my office, currently.” He gestures to the paperwork in front of him. “However, this crowd is beginning to get on my nerves. I… don’t work well in noisy environments.”

“Neither do I,” she agrees.

“Would you like to join me? We can try to work through the noise together,” he says.

“I would like that.” She smiles and sets down her bag. “Would you like me to get you something to drink?”

“Oh, thank you. Can you ask Jayce for my sweetmilk latte? You can just go to the back of the bar, he’ll stop for you.” Mel tries to ignore whatever insinuation is hiding in Viktor’s words.

She leaves her belongings with him and walks to the back of the roundabout counter. Just like Viktor said, Jayce stops the moment he sees her approach, handing a steaming metal cup of milk to Sky. The stress on his brow breaks as he smiles, walking toward her until they meet halfway at the counter.

“I didn’t see you come in,” Jayce says.

“You were busy,” Mel says, “and I didn’t want to bother you. But your partner and I wanted to bother you for a drink.”

“Mhm. Of course V would have you cut the line to get him his sweet-fix.” It hits her, she really did just cut in front of the fourteen-something people waiting in line. 

She suddenly feels like backing away. “I apologize, I think I’ve been presumptuous–” 

“No!” Jayce cuts her off, “It’s alright! You had the right idea, I’ll tend to you both. What do you guys want?”

“Sweetmilk latte for him and… something new for me,” she answers.

“Something sweet, like last time?”

Mel crinkles her nose at the thought of the sugary latte. She has come here to work, presumably, so she responds, “No, but something strong.”

“You took your coffee black the first time, right? How about something really strong? And if you don’t like it, I can always make you something else.” Mel realizes that Jayce always talks with an air of nervousness, like he’s afraid he’ll mess something up. It’s completely opposite to the confidence in his work that he displayed at their first meeting. It reminds her of Kino when they were children.

“I trust you. Both that you make me something good, and that you’ll keep your word if my palette isn’t… sophisticated enough,” Mel chooses her words carefully. She puts confidence into his ability while also giving him room to err, she hopes. Jayce’s eyes light up. With a quick nod, he runs back into the frenzy.

Mel finds it a bit funny that she’d say that. She’d always thought of her palette in food, art, drink, and lovers as something entirely sophisticated. She could not be so easily won over by the simplest of things. What she had discovered about coffee, more as a category of possible drink rather than a singular entity, was that it was complex within its simplicity. There was such a short range of drinks, but the true range of possibilities came from the additional changes the creator made. Whether it be the grower, the roaster, or the barista. A whole universe had been opened up to her, one she didn’t even know existed.

She finds her way back to Viktor, who’s carved out a spot for her at the table. She settles into the open chair, nodding thankfully in his direction. From her bag, she pulls out her laptop and a small folder of prints. Thankfully, Elora is good with a camera, so she can have good photos of her pieces wherever she goes. Each paper had a smattering of annotations on the backside but stayed clear on the printed side for full visual clarity.

As she lifts her laptop screen, she sees golden irises wandering along her work. “You paint?” Viktor asks.

“I do,” Mel responds.

“You know, we sell local artists’ works in the shop.” He gestures out to the covered walls. “Would you be interested in sponsoring a piece? 100% of the profits go back to you.”

“That’s a very kind offer, Viktor, but I am waiting to sell any of my works,” Mel says.

“Waiting for what?” His lip quirks at the corner; it’s adorable.

“Well, I’ve come to your shop to work on it, so I don’t mind divulging. I am applying to show my work in a local gallery.”

“That’s incredible.” His praise feels genuine, even when his tone doesn’t waver much. “Any luck with your application?”

Mel sighs. “I don’t want to bore you with the details…”

“You can’t bore me more than these books are.” Viktor gestures haphazardly to the documents in front of him. 

She smirks and opens up about her current predicament. Viktor listens to her with an articulate hand draped across his chin. Every once in a while, he nods or lends a minor comment towards her worries. Mel slows her talking at one point, slightly distracted by a strand of his long, brown hair that has fallen to his cheek. She wants to reach forward and tuck it back for him. She restrains herself. As she catches Jayce walking over with their drinks, she wraps up her explanation with the most current email.

“It sounds like you have another opportunity,” he says.

“Indeed I do.” She clears a spot amongst the photos for Jayce to place the drinks. Instead of lowering a cup to the table, Jayce picks up one of the photos.

“Wow,” he says, a little breathlessly. Mel feels her chest seize. “This is… fucking fantastic. What are these?” Mel notices which photo he has, it isn’t one of her favorites: a scenic rendition of the view from her apartment. It focuses on her day job, with the tower that houses the Council office at the very center. It glistens against a bright blue sky.

“Our new ‘daily’ is an artist,” Viktor says.

“You painted these?” Jayce's surprise is not out of disbelief in her ability, but more like he’s meeting a movie star or a famous musician. 

“Indeed I did.” Mel finds no reason to hide her abilities from either of them, even when the thought of showing any of her colleagues her work sends a cold shiver down her spine. She will never take claim to the painting hanging in her office, no matter how many compliments and offers to buy it come her way. She’s grateful her art signature is more akin to a scribble than a name.

Jayce places the drinks on the table, but instead of returning back to his station, he pulls out one of the chairs and sits with the backrest in front of him. He drapes his strong arms over the top and leans his chest into the wood. Mel looks down at the drink he’s presented–it's pitch black and steaming. A teeny cup, compared to the bowl Viktor has begun to drink out of. His drink is completely opposite to hers, almost blank-white except for the gentle spackling of spices along the foam.

“Jayce, the store?” His partner prompts.

“Mylo just clocked in, I’m taking my fifteen,” Jayce responds. He looks at the drink, then at Mel.

Mel follows his prompting and takes a sip. If the last two drinks were a wave over her mouth, this is a bullet. It pops across her teeth and singes the tip of her tongue with such a sharp, bitter flavor. Then it opens up, and her eyes fly open as the taste fills her mouth. It's earthy, bold, rich, and oddly creamy, even without dairy. The liquid feels heavy in her mouth as it sparks fires across the muscles in her face. She feels it travel further, sending full shivers down her body. It’s electrifying. She swallows her sip.

“How’s that?” Jayce watches her intensely. “It’s a double shot of espresso, a doppio, for those who want to ‘get shit done’.”

Mel lets her silly, giddy smile talk for her as she takes a longer sip out of the tiny cup. It makes her feel invincible.

Chapter Text

Mel sits in her car and sighs. She’s already made several trips of bags to her car, all filled with documents that need to be filed this weekend. It is an exercise on its own, but in high heels, it is a test of her balance and ankle-strength she doesn’t need. Luckily this is the end of her day. She already confirmed with her team that she can take the rest of Friday off in lieu of this tedious busy-work. Now, she is catching her breath in her car as it warms up from the chill November air.

She takes out her phone, flipping through the front screen as the camera recognizes her face. She first checks her email out of habit, then flips to Twitter when there are no new messages in her inbox. Mel isn’t a big social media person, as she feels restrained by word-limits and dissatisfied by like counts, but it’s nice to scroll through on occasion. A few of her colleagues, mostly being Elora, shared interesting news articles or opinions. Her brother also catches her attention—with wickedly funny snapshots of his life. His most recent status, only twenty minutes old, is a comment on some difference between diaper brands.

Mel flicks over to her messaging app, pulling up her brother’s number. She hasn’t talked to him in a while.

Mel: How’s baby?

Kino texts back immediately.

Kino: Look for yourself--

Mel smiles broadly as a picture of her niece appears. She’s only six weeks and still so tiny. Her small fist is wrapped around one of Kino’s fingers as she soundly sleeps.

Mel: How adorable!! How has she been outside of the house?

Kino: A gem, actually. She hardly fusses and she sleeps well. Doc warned us that may change when we get to her toddler years.

Mel: I can only hope the best for you two <3 How’s Aliyah?

Kino: Good as well, she’ll be going back to work in a few weeks.

Mel ponders for a second; she hasn’t seen either of them since the birth. She’s been meaning to reach out, to meet up, but with work and the studio—it slipped her mind. Mel types a quick response.

Mel: Would you like to meet up for breakfast before then? There is a coffee shop near my apartment that I’ve found to be quite lovely. 

Kino: Coffee shop? Since when do you drink coffee?

Kino: Who are you and what have you done with my sister?

Mel: Ha ha. Very funny. I’m serious, it’s really quaint and quiet in the early afternoon, and I have next Wednesday off, if you're available?

Kino: Let me talk to Ali and I’ll let you know. Consider it a yes for now. Maya needs to know her aunt!

Mel: Well, I might just steal baby all for myself, who knows?

Kino: You wouldn’t dare

Kino: I know where you live

Mel: I hope you do, because the coffee shop is right below my apartment. HexRoasters. Let’s say noon for now, and if Ali has any issue, we’ll reschedule.

Kino: Sounds great. Look who’s saying goodbye!

Kino sends a video of him gently moving little Maya’s hand in a wave. Mel chuckles and waves back at her phone. Kino’s daughter has been such a blessing, but a subtle curse as well. She’s adorable and Mel is so happy for her brother and sister-in-law. Except her mother has become all the more vocal on how Mel isn’t seeing anyone steadily and, frankly, if Mel hears one more comment about “continuing the Medarda bloodline”, she might just renounce her familial name entirely and just become Mel . As Viktor has, she recalls. She might have to ask him how he did that and what legal jumps were ahead of her to make that change.

Mel pulls into her parking spot in the lot below her building, one of the very first. There are only a few spots at the very entrance of the lot, nearest to the elevators, for handicap individuals and penthouse owners. Mel often finds other residents of her building gawking at her as she exits her custom Porsche Taycan, fit with a crème white exterior and gold accents. It was gaudy, but hell—it was her 30th birthday present to herself. She’d only just finished paying it off. They could gawk all they wanted. She is relieved to find the lot empty, if not just to avoid eye contact.

She eyes the bags in the back, filled to the brim with papers. She could struggle and haul them back to her apartment, or… Her gaze drifts towards the door next to the lot’s exit. The papers could wait until she returned from a quick coffee break. No one would break into her car for those . Mel reaches into her pocket and clicks the lock button on her key fob. With a few steps, she exits out onto the street. For a moment, she has to shield her eyes from the bright sun after coming from the dark lot.

Going to HexRoasters feels almost as good as arriving back home, she realizes as she opens the heavy glass door. The same kind of immediate relaxation she revels in after work.

There aren’t many people in the shop, right in between the breakfast and mid-afternoon rush. A few tables are filled, including Mel’s regular spot. It’s disappointing, but not as disappointing as the fact that neither Jayce nor Viktor is here. Sky and the two younger baristas are behind the counter.

She’s become aware of the whole team at HexRoasters in the way that one could with people they see daily, yet not talk to outside of a customer/server relationship. Sky is still shy, Mel assumes she naturally is, but is also incredibly levelheaded. When things get too busy, she’s the delegator of the team. Out of them all, she’s clearly most suited to be more of a manager than a regular barista. Zeri and Mylo both look up to her as somewhat of an older sister.

Zeri is a ball of energy. She’s zippy to speak to, and she’s the quickest with preparing a drink. Mel wonders if the girl has substituted water with energy drinks entirely. Mylo is a bit more complicated, Mel thinks. He’s a high schooler and Jinx’s older brother. There are a few more siblings in their family, from what she can glean, but Mylo and Jinx have a… rocky relationship. Mylo is a bit braggadocio with no evidence to support his claims of superiority. He doesn’t necessarily talk to Mel or other customers in the kindest way, and he often forgets certain parts of her drinks. Sky looks a bit too reserved to correct him, but Zeri does so on the regular. They don’t fight, but they often bark at each other when they step on each other’s toes. He audibly becomes more annoyed when Jinx enters the store.

At the moment, there is a calm between the three. Zeri is on her phone at the back of the counter while Mylo and Sky tend the front. Mylo looks to be arranging the pastries for the hundredth time, correcting their position by the millimeter. Sky is wiping out a mug when she catches Mel walking up.

“Hey!” She places the mug back down on the counter and takes her place in front of the register. Mel smiles and waves as she walks forward.

“How are you?” Sky asks. Every time they interact, Mel can feel Sky open a tiny bit more.

“I’m good, thank you for asking. And you?” Mel usually doesn’t like to small talk while in line, afraid she’ll be holding up other customers. With no one else behind her, however, she doesn’t see the issue today.

“Good! Jayce and Viktor are out for the day, if you were wondering. Something about the printer producing the wrong takeout cups … well, they’re trying to fix the problem.”

Mel smiles in response, nodding knowingly at the plight of running a business. She can’t help but focus on Sky mentioning ‘in case she was wondering about them’. Is she really that obvious? “No worries. I usually ask Jayce for a recommendation. What can you help me to, today?”

“Hmm.” Sky taps her chin, before turning behind her. “Do either of you have something to recommend?” Mylo shrugs, a mildly annoyed look in his eye from interrupting his very important pastry placing. Zeri perks up from her phone.

“Oh! I made something new recently if you want to try something unique!” Her smile flashes broad across her face as she puts her phone away.

Mel doesn’t really have to think too hard about it, she hasn’t been disappointed in a drink from HexRoasters yet. “Sure. Could I get it for here?”

“No problem!” Zeri hops across the floor, scooching next to Sky and punching in the order. Mel reads the monitor facing her in curiosity, but all that flashes is “Spec. Cappuccino”.

“How sweet do you like your drinks?” Zeri asks as Mel pays.

“Not as sweet as Viktor’s drinks, certainly.” She smirks.

“I can do that, and I agree. I also don’t like feeling my teeth rot when I drink something.” Zeri swings over to the espresso machine as she leaves Mel with a chuckle. Mel takes her receipt from the receiver and walks over to the counter.

“Oh!” Mylo pipes up from below the counter, “V just texted. They’re coming back shortly.” This is not a conversation for Mel, but she can’t help but listen.

“Oh my god—they’re fighting in the group chat,” Mylo adds, rising from his kneel. He shows the phone to Sky and Zeri.

“Jeez! Ten bucks that Jayce is in the print shop and Viktor is waiting in the car.” Zeri starts steaming a carafe of milk.

“Uhh… I can’t tell. All I’m seeing here is that someone didn’t send an email they were supposed to. It’s not normal for your bosses to fight like this in front of your employees, right?” Mylo looks up from his phone towards Mel. She doesn’t expect his attention—she stutters.

“Well—no.” It’s also not normal to divulge that type of information to a customer, but she won’t say that.

“Mylo, don’t worry about it. They’ll work through it, just ignore it.” Sky is sorting through her cashbox when she sends Mylo a worried look.

“I know! But you can’t say I’m not interested. I swear, they act like an old married couple. They just need to finally seal the deal and get it over with, they already live together…”

Mel flinches—finally ? “Are they dating? I wasn’t aware.”

Zeri guffaws, “Oh god, NO! We’ve been trying to get them to admit their feelings for YEARS—at least Sky and I have. They’re clearly in love with one another.”

“Zeri ,” Sky warns, before turning to Mel. “I am so sorry, we really shouldn’t be talking about—just… Mylo, go count the number of roast bags in the back. Zeri, could you please check the bathrooms before you clock out?” Her delegation works like magic. With a sigh, Mylo wraps up and starts walking towards the back. Zeri quickly finishes off Mel’s drink, swirling the milk into an intricate plant design.

“It’s lavender and honey flavored! A ‘ccino. I usually do mine iced, but it’s cold out.” Zeri waves quickly before hopping off to do her own task.

Sky returns to her cash counting, failing to hide the discomfort on her face. Mel takes up the cup, allowing the other woman some reprise from the awkward conversation. She takes a deep sip, having learned that a shallow one would only catch the foam.

She doesn’t quite know what to expect. Lavender is a flavor she rarely finds outside of the occasional pastry, of which she usually gets in a flavor she prefers like almond or vanilla. Some floral flavors, rose in particular, remind her of perfume more than dessert. Lavender isn’t the foremost flavor, rather it’s the coffee mixed with honey. It’s a bit confusing, especially with the fact that Mel doesn’t like her tea with honey—it often overpowers some of the more subtle notes of her favorite blends and she doesn’t need the added sweetness. They don’t clash as opposites, like she supposed they would, but fight for dominance on her palate with very similar notes. Her distraction from the battle subsides with the aftertaste, where it finally rounds itself out into one thought: lavender. It isn’t for her, but like an excellent painter with impeccable intent and technique, she respects the product even though the style isn’t her favorite. Not something she will order again, but not something she’ll stop drinking or send back.

As she lowers the cup, she feels the line of milk foam on her upper lip. She takes the napkin from beneath the cup, but finds it wet with condensation. Quickly, she covers her mouth and turns to Sky. “So sorry to bother, but could I get a napkin?”

Sky, very poorly hiding how her focus is still set on Mel, is too quick to respond, “Of course!” She places the single dollars back into the box and sanitizes her hands before slipping Mel a few fresh napkins. Mel dabs at her upper lip. She notices Sky hovering, not quite returning to her station.

“I uh… don’t want to impose, but—” her voice quivers, “but I want you to know that you’re not intruding on anything.”

Mel quirks her eyebrow. “What?”

She grabs at her own hands, unsure what to do with them. “Umm… I don’t want those two to give you the wrong impression, if you’re interested in Viktor, he’s not dating Jayce…”

Mel’s heart stops. Viktor? Out of the two men, she insinuates Viktor ?

Not that she doesn’t think Viktor is attractive, no, her mind has wandered that path before. He reminds her of her university days when she would crush on her attractive TAs and assistant professors. He’s kind to her, he’s clearly interested in her work, and he’s honest when he says—no. No no, Viktor is attractive, but she’s quick to remember that Jayce is literally the reason she shows up at the café so often.

The coffee is one thing, but the man behind it is ten-fold more addicting. Honesty springs forth from Jayce’s words and his actions. He is incredibly kind and ridiculously caring, even having helped Mel bring a box of work documents from the shop back to her apartment last week. He’s the kind of guy Mel crushes on in romance novels and television, imagining herself in the role of the protagonist.

But most of all, she feels his respect for her. He doesn’t even know what she does for a living, why she lives in a penthouse, or why she dresses to the nines almost every day. Regardless, he treats her like a person. He stays sensitive to her likes and dislikes and doesn’t shy away from cracking a joke or engaging in an easy conversation. Other people seem too quick to spring into “customer service mode” and do their best to remove their more human qualities to “meet her standards”.  Jayce smiles at her like an old friend, and it’s only been a month since she’s first met him.

She’s wondered about how to ask this man out on a date. She doesn’t know if he’ll ask her, as he’s still constantly over-cautious about his actions around her, but she can’t help but feel like he might take her up on the offer. The worst-case scenario is that she’s been misreading what’s between them and risk the possibility of never coming back to HexRoasters again. Her mind flies back to Sky, who’s watching for her reaction, twiddling her apron through her thumbs.

“What makes you think of me and Viktor?” Mel asks, carefully.

“Well, y’know, he’s a great guy and… I see you two working together sometimes. I only see him that, uh, ‘smiley’ around Jayce.”

That’s ‘smiley’ ? Mel thinks incredulously. The best she’d seen Viktor smile was the subtle quirk of his lips from their first encounter. Sky is blushing and it hits her.

Sky may have a crush on her boss. Maybe one that’s not reciprocated, or one that hasn’t been brought up with him before. Whatever the situation, there’s suddenly a tension between them. It breaks when Sky lets out a languid breath.

“I’m sorry again, it’s totally not my place to say anything,” she says.

Mel hums, trying to break the awkwardness herself, “You don’t have to apologize, I… I don’t know my feelings yet, but I appreciate you telling me. For now, I’m just here to relax from work.”

Sky nods, stepping back to her station. While Mel can tell there is still a weariness about her, she doesn’t sense any hostility towards herself. Sky is just nervous, either for herself or for them both.

Mel finishes her drink quickly, not taking much time to savor it. Something has come back to her, a comment from before. Even if they aren’t dating, they’ve been trying to get them to admit their feelings for years . They’re already living together. Maybe she’s encroaching on something she shouldn’t be. Maybe there was a kindling relationship she’s stumbled upon.

She’s quick to do away with the thought as she places the cup back down—the gossip of teenagers and college students, like her own from when she was younger, usually don’t hold much footing. She remembers similar conversations with her friends and brother about her history teachers or coaches. There was a resounding disappointment amongst her friend group when any of them showed up with their actual partners to school dances and events. It was unhealthy back then as much as it is now.

Sky walks by to retrieve the cup. “How was it? Zeri has been trying to get this one added to the menu for a while.”

“It’s okay, but definitely not for me. It’ll appeal to an audience, though. Maybe during spring, when the flavors make more sense?” Mel says, nodding thankfully as the barista takes the cup away.

Sky’s eyes light up. “Oh! That’s a really good idea, I’ll make sure to pass that along! And if you ever don’t like a drink in the future, just let us know. We’re more than happy to make you something new.” She takes the mug towards the back sink, rinsing it out.

“Thank you,” Mel calls back, rising from the seat. She remembers the boxes in her car and the work waiting for her. As she walks away from the counter, she hears the two other employees return from their chores.

“—they texted for like… another five minutes non-stop,” Mylo comments.

Mel only catches one more piece of dialogue before she leaves. Zeri sighs and says, “I feel like there’s a Brooklyn 99 joke I can make here…”

The door clamors behind her as she walks back to the parking lot. It stings, she can’t stop it. She tries to wipe away the thought as she did before. She tries to ignore it. She tries to focus on nothing else but the feel of the early-winter air nip at her fingertips.

Mel opens the door to the garage and enters back into her regular life.

Chapter Text

The weekend came fast and blissfully for Mel. If there is one thing to appreciate about her corporate nine-to-five, even as an executive officer, it's that she had the weekends to herself. Other members of the board change their schedules to match their breaks, with Hoskel and Salo changing their days whenever they felt like golfing and Shoola saving her days off for when Fashion Week began. They all had their quirks, and Mel’s was having a regular refuge away from work.

She learned that Jayce worked the weekend in Sky’s stead, to her bemusement. Zeri and Mylo also work the weekend, free from their class schedules, but often stay out of Jayce’s way and let him tend the store almost entirely on his lonesome. As Mel sits at the counter, she watches Jayce command the space for himself. If Zeri or Mylo tried to enter in and help, they would easily be trampled. She recalls the rainy day she worked with Viktor and how Jayce had swung around them in a controlled frenzy. It might be Sky’s presence that keeps the machine well-oiled, as now it seems near impossible for collaboration behind the counter.

She likes the pace he’s keeping; she’s using it to keep busy herself. The photos are strewn out in front of her, with a thin line of red ribbon connecting them in one continuous arc. A few that don’t fit are placed beneath the others. Mel is sick of looking at them, how they stick out like sore thumbs compared to the others. They fit, somehow, she’s sure of it. And yet—it evades her.

Jayce places a new drink in front of her between the photos, welcomingly recommended not a few minutes earlier, in a teeny espresso cup with a mountain of whipped cream. He smiles, that goofy, not-a-care-in-the-world kind, quickly slung to her as he approaches a new customer. Mel smiles back, gently wiggling her fingers in greeting. They could barely speak in line, with quite a few patrons waiting to order. The shop is always busy on the weekend.

Mel warily eyes the photos as she brings the cup to her mouth. The whipped cream melts against her upper lip, breaking the sharp espresso with a delicate sweetness and overwhelming decadence. Jayce had recommended the drink with the excitement of finally having whipped cream canisters. The homemade topping was ten times better than the store-bought kind, he explained giddily. She quite likes how the two polar opposites complement each other and quickly thinks to remember ordering her espresso like this in the future. Invigorating and delicious.

The last customer is being helped by Jayce, who’s talking up a sell on one of the specialties. “We don’t do things like Starbucks or Dunkin', we use a really nice peppermint syrup and chocolate base. I promise you—if you like your usual peppermint mocha, you’ll love this.” His award-winning smile catches the patron off-guard and giggles to herself. Lady-killer. A bit of a flirt. Mel’s chest catches a bit. Is she just caught up in his charm and nothing more than another customer? She’s asked herself this before, just in passing, but it dwindles with his lingering gaze on the other customer. Once she’s ordered and taken a seat at a booth, Jayce swings back towards Mel and starts preparing the last few drinks. Zeri slips into his place, taking the register in his stead.

“How is it?” Mel doesn’t register him speaking at first until Jayce is watching her with intrigue.

She lowers the cup, smiling back at him. The unsure feeling is still there, but it mutes itself. “It’s really good, the investment is paying off.”

“Right? V seems to like it, too. Especially when like—what—he takes his drinks one half whipped cream?” He snickers to himself as he pulls two espresso shots.

Mel chuckles, settling into her drink once more. “You seem to know him like the back of your hand… how long have you two known each other?”

“Since college, actually! We met in our undergraduate, somehow tagged along into the same Master’s program together, and—well—I didn’t do a Ph.D. but followed V to the city to help him get his.” He pours the shots into waiting cups of milk and mocha base.

“The same… do you have a Master’s in orthotics as well?” Mel asks. The origin of the coffee shop profounds her further.

Jayce snrks, pumping flavoured syrups into the cups. “Whoops—slip of the tongue, no. Same school, different program. I have a master’s in mechanical engineering. V and I met with our engineering courses at Berkeley.”

Internally, Mel’s jaw drops. She doesn’t want to display her surprise; she doesn’t want to look like she’s been contemplating his answer and doesn’t want him to assume anything by her reaction. She thanks her younger self for mastering the art of mild reaction, although where that habit stems from, she’d rather not think on. “That’s incredible.”

Jayce finishes the drinks and slides them towards Mylo. The teenager takes them to be delivered, leaving them alone.

“Where did you study? If you don’t mind me asking,” Jayce wipes his hands with his apron, leaning against the back counter. Mel eyes between the store and the idling man—he was stopping to talk to her. She wonders if this is her chance if he says long enough.

“Oxford, then I transferred to Harvard to follow my family to the States,” she answers, candidly. She remembers the first half of her undergrad fondly, mostly having to do with the location. She’s travelled to a handful of campuses in the past few years to give talks to prospective management and business students, but none compared to the beauty of the Oxford grounds.

Jayce’s breath hitches. “Does Harvard have a fine arts program?”

Mel chuckles. “No, I didn’t go to school for art. I have a BBA and did my minor in political science.”

“Wow!” His eyes fly to the photos again, “Then this is all you? No fancy, prestigious art degree under your wings? That’s incredible!”

“Oh please.” She bats the air, trying to hide her growing smile. “You’re too kind, this is just a hobby.”

“A hobby that gets you into a studio? I think you can call that more than a hobby.”

“You’re not wrong.” Mel shrugs and leans forward, studying his body language. He’s so relaxed and candid with her, it’s almost like she’s an old friend, as he’s treated her since day one. His toned arms are crossed against his apron, extenuating the strength he carries throughout his body. “And what about you? With arms like those, I can only imagine you spending your days off at the gym.”

“Haha.” He shuffles a little, like the sudden attention to his physique makes him proud, but uncomfortable that he’s suddenly the focus. “Not really.”

“Then how does one gain that much muscle? Sports? Volunteer work? Carrying mountains for fun?” She urges him on.

Jayce rubs the back of his neck. “Metalwork, actually.”

This surprises her. “Really!”

“I took up a lot of hobbies when I was younger, only a few stuck.” Jayce undoes his crossed arms. “To my mother’s discomfort, specifically the ones that dealt with an open flame or a literal forge. I even tried painting, at one point. My main realization from that endeavour?” He leans forward to meet her attention, pointing at the painting he found intriguing before. “I have a lot of respect for y’all. No matter the medium, I never… got it.” He reaches out for the air like he’s grasping for something.

“Sometimes, I know how you feel.” Mel drags her fingers across the photos, tangling the string between her manicured nails. “Most days… painting frees me.”

“How so?” Jayce looks up. She’s never noticed it—his eyes are rich and glimmering in the mellow orange light of the coffee shop. They are swirled with a hazy brown near the middle, glimmering with flecks of brightness along his pupils. She almost expects to catch steam off them and smell the inviting notes of a fresh brew. How fitting, coffee eyes. Framed by surprisingly long lashes and fully set on hers.

Mel feels the answer formulate in her mind, like definite slashes of paint across a prepared canvas. She says, “I live a life where numbers upon numbers build upon themselves in boxes of spreadsheets filling my apartment. I have to review paper after paper of reports and complaints and at some point… they’re no longer numbers or letters. They’ve all melted into this blob of—” she sighs, “—helplessness. I enjoy the bureaucracy. I enjoy coordinating something larger than myself and working with others to create something that matters. But there’s this endlessness to it—I need to do something for myself…” She pauses. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to vent to you like this—”

“Go on,” he urges.

“What?”

“You were right there!” His smile is a bit wild and there’s a sparkle in his eyes. “What else?”

Mel stutters. What else? “It grounds me. It’s physical; I work with paint knives and egg tempera, there’s a uniqueness to it. I get to touch everything I work with and make the changes I need to. I am the only person who knows exactly what texture I need. I spend so much money on eggs every week, I rival kids looking to egg houses on Halloween. And I paint. I just—paint. It’s freeing. I disappear for a few hours and reappear in the evening.”

“It shuts your brain off, right?” His words ache with understanding.

“Exactly,” she says, her voice a bit misty. That’s exactly what it does.

“When I’m roasting, I feel the same exact way,” Jayce explains. “I got really good with it, one month, and it never went away. Most of the time, they go away. My brain is almost constantly a—uh—” His hands shoot up to his ears, wiggling his fingers and makes a long buzzing noise with his mouth. Mel chuckles.

“It grounds you, then?”

“Almost entirely.”

“Almost?” Mel places her hand a bit too close to Jayce’s arm; she doesn’t notice until he looks down to spot it.

“Your ring is really pretty,” he comments. She looks down, her familial crest shining back at her.

“Thank you.” Mel flexes her ring finger, letting the light dance along the ridges. She focuses back on him, “What else grounds you?”

There’s a meek blush along his cheeks. “Um. Well, I’ve got Forge. He’s a rottie, big smiler. Lovey boy.” He flips out his phone, showing that the background is a photo of himself, Viktor, and a large Rottweiler between them. Jayce is smiling as widely as the dog, who truly looks like he’s smiling himself. Viktor has a gentle quirk to his lips, reserved, but his arms are linked around the dog in an affectionate hug. At least, one of his arms is. The other slinks off behind Jayce and Jayce’s hand is placed firmly on Viktor’s shoulder.

“He’s cute.” Mel won’t admit who she refers to in that photo.

“And V. He’s been really good to me.”

Mel’s eyes shoot up, “So you are dating?”

Jayce flounders, his phone slips from his hand and he jumps back, “What?” Zeri snorts as she takes the next order. “Who… what… how did you come to that?”

Mel decides quickly not to oust his young employees, “Well, I assumed from how you two interact. I’m sorry, it wasn’t my place to assume.”

His discomfort settles easily, “No, it’s okay! A lot of people assume. He’s… well, he’s really close to me. My second half. But we’re not dating.”

Something stirs in her chest; this would be the moment. Her hands twitch, drawing back towards herself as she steadies herself. “Are you dating anyone?”

She peers up, meeting his gaze again. The flush is back on his cheeks and a goofy smirk crosses his face. “I’m… not, actually. Why do you ask?”

“Well, seeing as I’ve already been on what feels like a few impromptu coffee dates with you, I don’t think I’m too far off by asking for a real one?” Her heart starts fluttering; she’s almost forgotten what that feels like.

It turns into a rapid thump as his gaze sets. He doesn’t seem surprised. He doesn’t even seem upset, having a customer breach whatever contract is made when they enter the store. The same nonsensical, open, trusting smile crosses his face as he looks at her, moving his hands to his hips.

“I don’t think you are at all, no. I’d love to take you out sometime,” his voice lowers a little, just to avoid any lingering ears. “Can I get your number?”

The beating doesn’t stop. Mel reaches forward with a steady hand, taking up the photo of the painting Jayce has been set on. The view of her office disappears as she flips over the photo. There’s barely any room along the annotations, both in hers and Elora’s handwriting, but she finds and edge and grabs her monogrammed pen. She scribbles her number and slides the photo across the table. Calloused, warm fingers pick it up.

“I’ll be expecting your message,” Mel chimes, gathering up her photos from the table, spinning the red string around her finger. Jayce is still staring at the painting.

“It really is incredible,” he answers, before looking up and doubling back, “I will. I’ll let you know first thing that it’s me.”

“Please do, I get lots of texts from colleagues and while I try to catch most of them with contact names, it gets a bit hectic.” She rises from her seat, slipping the photos back into her bag.

“Hold me to it,” he jokes. “If you get a random text that’s just a smiley face and a dog photo, I can imagine you’ll know it’s me, but… you never know.”

“I’ll text Viktor if you don’t.” She knows it’s a tease, but she can’t help it. He guffaws.

“How—how did you get his?” He tries to keep his voice steady, but the surprise in his eyes is tell-tale.

“He gave it to me in case I wanted to host a painting in the shop, a couple days ago.” She chuckles, “Just text me. I’m free on the weekends and Thursday evenings.”

“Will do.” He waves lightly as she picks up to leave. She leaves him with a glance across her shoulder and may or may not try to walk as pristinely as she can towards the exit.

As the door closes behind her and she makes her way towards her building, she can’t help smiling widely as she feels her phone vibrate against her hip.

Chapter Text

In the same way that one could attribute their mastery to the number of hours spent in their craft, Mel likens the amount of time she’s spent in the shop to a true regular. There are certain milestones she’s hit while coming into the shop that has established her in this role; the main one being the decision on a “regular” drink. It’s no longer a flat white, it’s her flat white. In fact, the shop doesn’t even advertise a flat white—its similarity to a latte makes the listing obsolete, but after one afternoon and an hour later, Mel feels she has the general handle on the different “espresso + milk + foam” drinks. For her, the flat white is a double shot of espresso topped with steamed whole milk and foam. Jayce makes it a job to design something new in the milk. Today’s is a smiley face with a single baby hair—he’s tried to imitate Maya, who sits next to her on the booth in her carrier.

“This place is adorable,” Aliyah chimes, sipping her own cup while tracking her eyes over the walls. The shop really is visual eye candy—there’s barely a blank space to be seen. Mel catches Aliyah staring at Jinx’s painting, completely entranced.

“Isn’t it?” Mel hums back, enjoying how her brother and sister-in-law have settled in. Kino is between bites of his pastry, a danish smothered with bubbly cream cheese and blackberry preserves. They both look a bit tired, ragged, but are glowing in the way that new parents are before things start to get difficult. Mel glances down at Maya, whose big, bright green eyes are staring at her. Full wonder, tracking the glimmer from her earrings. Mel easily decides that Maya is the cutest thing she’s ever laid her eyes on.

“God, she’s enamoured with you!” Kino chuckles through his bite.

“She has your eyes.” Mel reaches her hand forward and Maya immediately reaches forward to grab her finger. Her heart swells—she thinks it might explode.

“And her mum’s nose!” Kino adds, nudging his shoulder into Aliyah.

“She’s perfect,” Mel muses, letting the little one squeeze her finger. Her hand is so tiny, it barely wraps around one of her digits. The baby fever is profound. Mel thinks she might drown in it.

“So how is work?” Aliyah asks. They never miss the question when they spend time together, so it’s nice to ask it early and get it out of the way.

“Work is good. It’s stable. There are some big changes happening, but nothing that upsets my position. Lots of busywork.” Mel feels like she’s reading off a script.

“Mhm. I get it. Kino’s warned me about what the office is like right now, for when I get back.” She sighs. “Apparently some new appointee on one of the social media committees has completely uprooted our advertisement plan. It’s a good plan!” She laughs. “I just don’t want to have to deal with it.”

Kino glances knowingly at her. They were that perfect workplace romance turned power-couple of the office, from what Mel could glean. Their mother, in her all-seeing wiseness, hadn’t initially approved of the relationship, citing that workplace relationships would only serve to jeopardise what reputation he had amongst his peers. Kino simply kept seeing her, and after so many years—Mel watched her mother begrudgingly attend their wedding. Although now, her mother had definitely softened towards Aliyah, as was proved in the clearly Ambessa-esque outfit the baby was wearing. Purely functional, draped in dark red, soft fabric. Silver embroidery lined the edges where Maya tested her mobility.

If anything, from Mel’s perspective, Kino was representative of what would come in her life. She knew what her experience applying to university would be like from Kino’s. She knew how her mother would react to her artistic endeavours from how she acted towards Kino’s philanthropic ones. She could guess how her mother would react to her dating, especially when she was dating a coffee shop owner of all people.

She stopped herself, they weren’t dating. Not yet. In fact—she found herself stealing glances towards the bar every-so-often. Jayce had told her he wouldn’t be here over text just yesterday. There was something worrying about him meeting part of her family so soon, even later that evening, they’d be going on their first official date. And yet, Jayce was the one to take their orders and serve them. Mel had watched him, confusedly, as he had them pay. He gave an empathetic grin, maybe a promise of an explanation later. If anything—she doesn’t have to say anything now and her brother is none the wiser—

“What are you looking at?” Kino swerves in front of her vision, chuckling to himself.

“Oh! Sorry.” Fuck .

Kino looks over his shoulder and back at Mel, “Are you looking at the hot barista? Please tell me it’s the hot barista and not the woman in line who looks like she might kill everyone in this place.”

Mel leans more prominently over to see what he’s talking about before answering, and he’s right. There’s a woman who is second in line and absolutely boiling. Her face is an odd shade of red and her foot is literally angrily tapping the floor.

“I mean, the barista, but now I’m curious about her.” She looks back at her brother. Kino has the world’s most shit-eating grin and has the gall to wiggle his eyebrows.

“Have you been coming in here to see him? Is that what finally made you, the world’s pickiest, a coffee person?” He’s half-whispering and fumbling over his words as he chuckles.

“I am not picky. I’m just particular,” she insists.

“And the guy?” Aliyah is now watching her with the same intensity.

“… We have a date later tonight.”

Kino shouts, “HA! I’m so happy for you!”

Mel breaks into a smile, rubbing one of her temples before replying, “Thank you, I’m very excited.”

Before Mel can divulge too much, she asks about everything else. How well is Maya sleeping? Have you finished the house renovations? Does Kino keep up with fencing and will he find time to spar with Mel sometime soon? The soft chatter of practically nothing is soothing, even with how mundane small talk can be—Kino still entwines some of his more knowledgeable tidbits of advice. In every experience, there is a lesson. Most Mel has heard before, but some new ones here and there.

“And that’s the thing!” He explains, finishing his pastry. “Too many people just give up on the first rejection. Or the second. Or the third. By the time they get to our company and pitch their idea, they could be coming off any number of rejections and their enthusiasm is non-existent. Why should we invest in something you’re no longer passionate about?”

“Even false enthusiasm helps sometimes,” Aliyah agrees. “By putting up that façade, I have no idea how many rejections you’ve gotten, unless you tell me outright or my colleagues in the industry let me know. That happens so rarely, and yet, people assume that I can see right through them, and they’ll get rejected again!”

 Mel nods along, the idea still washing around in her mind. “You know… I understand how they feel. I got rejected from a studio not too long ago.”

“A studio?” Kino asks. “Like… painting?”

“Yes, I’ve been trying to show my paintings, but I made a mistake and now I just…” Mel sighs, “I don’t know.”

“Well, there you go!” Aliyah taps Mel’s hand, encouraging her to look up, “From our perspective—the investors, at least—we don’t care, or we don’t know; we just need to see you confident in your product!”

“That’s less the problem, I’m more than confident—” She begins, but before she can divulge further, a loud shout rises above the chatter of the café.

“I have been waiting TWENTY MINUTES!” Kino jumps in his chair and poor Maya begins to whine. Mel shuffles in her seat while Kino turns to catch the angry woman from before shouting, “I have places to be, and you’ve got employees behind the counter doing nothing!” She points a finger at Mylo, who stands a few paces behind Jayce. He has an assortment of metal canisters in front of him and a sharpie in his hand.

Jayce is saying something, but it’s too quiet for any of them to hear.

The woman retorts, “That’s no excuse. Do better, I’m a paying customer and I shouldn’t have to wait so long.” 

Jayce looks apologetic and says something that seems to quell the woman’s temper for the moment.

Kino turns back around and sighs, “I don’t know what’s gotten into people lately.”

“Well, for one, they’re American—but you’re right. It is hard to listen and to see happen,” Aliyah replies. Maya is still fussing, so Aliyah rises from her chair and sits on the booth beside her, swivelling the carrier around to check on her.

Mel returns her attention back to Jayce. He’s making a few drinks now, substituted by Sky at the counter, and he’s clearly upset. There’s an irritated edge to his workflow, with sharper movements than usual, and a crease in his brow Mel’s never seen. At one point, Sky even offers a gentle pat on his shoulder, which seems to quell him briefly.

From the corner of her eye, she spots a door near the back open. Viktor walks out of the management office, looking over the café with a concerned gaze. He must’ve heard the commotion and came out to investigate. He sits at his usual table, keeping a watchful eye over the cafe.

“So,” Kino redirects Mel’s attention, “The barista! Tell me about him. Was it love at first sight? Or did he win you over with coffee and muscles?” He’s never really stopped teasing Mel since he was old enough to understand what teasing was.

She rolls her eyes, butting his hand with her own in a weak punch. “I came in here to work on my studio proposal and he was… sweet. And I find I get a lot of work done here, so I’ve been coming in rather regularly. It doesn’t help when the café is connected to my building, for sure.”

“Well, I’m happy you’re getting out there. Now maybe mum will stop asking me if any of my colleagues are single…”

“Mum’s been trying to set me up through you?” It’s not a surprise, but it’s absolutely not what Mel wants to hear.

“Well…” Kino rubs the back of his neck. Before he can continue, there’s another shout.

“This isn’t my drink!” It’s the same woman. Mel watches her angrily shake around the iced drink in her hand. Words are exchanged too fast for Mel to catch. Maya begins to cry and the rest of the café goes silent. She sees Viktor rise from his spot at the back of the Café. Jayce begins to say something but is interrupted.

The drink is thrown. Mel gasps. In a long cascade, the liquid flies over the counter and barely catches Jayce’s shoulder. He recoils hard, his eyes wide open and absolutely flabbergasted at what’s just happened.

An eerie lull grips the café. The usually excitable conversation and the sound clink of cups against saucers are completely missing. Only Maya’s cries and Aliyah’s shushes fill the space.

In the stunned quiet, Aliyah picks her daughter from the crib and rises from the booth. “We’re just going to step out for a second,” she whispers anxiously, eyeing between Mel and her husband. Kino nods and Mel gulps. She looks back towards the commotion.

“ OUT .” Viktor’s already crossed halfway across the store, an angry snap to his voice. He’s walking as fast as he can, the crutch hitting the tile in powerful thunks . He gets as close as he can to the woman, while still being at an arm’s length distance, and barks again, “GET OUT .”

The woman chuffs, “You have no right to speak to me that—”

Viktor steps a little closer. Mel has thought him an incredibly timid man until now, no—there is a fire burning behind his eyes. His brow is creased, and his eyes are dark and dangerous. He’s scowling so hard, it almost looks like his lip is quivering. He spits something under his breath, and the woman backs up. She says something, turns with an angry glare in her eye, and storms out.

It takes a whole minute for the café to resume even the smallest conversation. Mel has her eyes trained on Jayce; she’s looking for… anything. Jayce has stood still for the past few minutes staring deep into space. Finally, Sky walks over to him—maybe waiting for her own sign of his consciousness before approaching him. She dabs a towel at his shirt, but he doesn’t notice. Viktor coughs a few times into his elbow before approaching him as well.

“Wow, uh—” Kino stutters, “That was… something. Is he all right?”

“I do not know.” She can only be candid.

Kino’s phone on the table buzzes. They both look down, and Kino turns to the windows in front of the restaurant. Aliyah is rocking the baby in one arm while holding her phone in the other.

“Is she asking for you?” Mel asks. Kino nods, but instead of leaving right away, he begins to reply on his phone. Mel takes the opportunity to look back over.

Jayce and Viktor are gone. Sky is cleaning the counter and Mylo is mopping behind her. She glances around the café to just notice the management office door close.

“She’s coming back in,” Kino replies, putting his phone away, “She was just worried it would get too loud again. I don’t think it will.”

“Me neither…” Mel taps her chin. “This has never happened before, at least, not while I was here.”

“I hate to say it, but I’ve seen it so much recently,” Kino sneers. “Although I haven’t seen anyone throw anything… I’d have half a mind to call the police.”

Mel shuffles, resting her head on her perched hands. “I don’t know what they’re thinking. Maybe they will, I don’t know.” More pressing in her mind is if Jayce is okay. She’s wondering if this happens often if they have a routine. If Jayce and Viktor have a method to keep his mind off potentially upsetting things. If it works and if she’ll ever get to know more. Her heart begins to thump as she thinks, will he be okay for later this evening? Mel pulls out her phone and decides to send a quick text.

         Mel: Are you okay? I saw what happened.

Aliyah must have come back into the café at some point, as she sits back down next to Kino with Maya’s carrier secured back into the walker it was detached from. The poor girl is sound asleep.

“I’m sorry, Mel! She got quite worked up… I think it’s best if we take our leave soon. I don’t mean to cut it short,” Aliyah whispers.

Mel smiles at her. As disappointing as it is to only get so much time with them, she can understand. “Don’t apologize. There will be plenty of times in the future. She’s so young, she shouldn’t be stressed when she does not need to be.”

“I’ll make sure of it; I want to know more about Barista Boy.” Kino wiggles his eyebrows again and Mel snorts.

“You’ll be the first one to know.”

“I better be.”

“Dork.”

They’re quick to pack up, finishing what’s left of their drinks and packing what little things there are for Maya. Mel looks at her niece one last time, waving her fingers even though she’s still asleep. She breathes so serenely, without a care in the world. Mel hopes that baby fever is a short affliction.

Just as Kino and Aliyah begin to leave, Mel feels her phone buzz in her pocket.

         Jayce: I’m sorry, it happens sometimes. I’m fine, thanks for checking in :-) Viktor helped me cool off, I should be back shortly.

         Jayce: How was brunch? Family?

Mel smiles, peering back towards the management office.

         Mel: Yes, that was my brother, his wife, and my niece.

She hovers over the keyboard.

         Mel: Are you sure you’re fine? If you want to reschedule tonight, I would be more than happy to. You shouldn’t stress yourself!

         Jayce: No, no, you’d be surprised how often this happens, I’m sincerely all right!

         Jayce: And I would absolutely not call tonight stressful. Very stress-free.

         Mel: Oh yeah? What are our plans for this evening?

         Jayce: How does getting dinner and seeing a local band play sound? I’ve heard them a couple of times, they’re really good!

Out of everything Jayce would have suggested, this is completely out of Mel’s usual zone. While she hasn’t dated in forever, her dates usually consisted of some rooftop restaurant or exclusive club, even a theatre show. Something where a man or woman could flaunt their wealth while entertaining her. This was entirely different; it was perfect.

         Mel: Sounds wonderful <3

Just as she sends the text, the management office opens. Jayce walks out, considerably happier, with a fresh shirt and apron. He looks over at her as he crosses the entrance to the counter and just smiles—big, bright, and honest.

With the way Mel’s chest is ricocheting, she only knows one thing at this moment.

She is entirely fucked.

Chapter Text

Jayce is meeting her in her lobby. Mel usually wouldn’t ask one of her dates to meet her anywhere near her home, for safety, but she reasons that it’s fine with him. He even admits over text that he’s never stepped foot into the residential side of the building. Mel teases that there is a first for everything and it’s only a few steps from the café. She sends one final text, that she’s in her descent, before eyeing herself in the elevator mirror.

It’s odd. Mel has chosen an event-appropriate outfit, she thinks, and yet she can’t help but fidget with her jacket anxiously. It’s an awkward mix of too-nice, yet too-informal. Unless she’s overthinking it. But she can’t be overthinking it—it’s fashion! This is one of her many artistic domains. And yet, her mind races.

She’s chosen a cream-coloured blouse with barrel sleeves and a long oval neck cut. It opens space for her to layer some delicate gold necklaces, just a few, with the longest sporting a small medallion with her initials. Over that is something Elora goaded her into buying—a sleek leather jacket. It’s not too rugged, rather chic with intricate lines carving her sides, but it’s still far away from her usual attire of work blouses and pencil skirts. She’s done her hair up as she does for work but clips a handful of gold clasps along her faux locs. She sports a pair of black, straight pants that she’s stolen from her work closet. Finally, a new addition—a pair of heeled ankle boots that add to the “biker chic” aesthetic. Even in the few pieces she wears regularly, Mel fiddles with her ring as she feels… different. She has yet to decide if it’s her.

As the elevator door opens, she takes one final glance and breathes deeply. It’s going to be fun. You’ve already impressed, and now you can have fun. The bag of nerves pestering her feels like it’s anchoring her shoulders down, but then she sees him.

Jayce is dressed-up, at least moreso than what he wears to work, with a slightly open, maroon button-down top with cropped sleeves and tighter-fitting dark jeans. He’s staring into space and fiddling his thumbs until he notices the click of her shoes and finds her eyes. It’s like something clicks into place and he’s beaming—bright and honest.

“Hi,” he says as she comes closer. “You look incredible.”

She smiles, dipping her head as she feels her face flush, “Thank you. It’s strange to see you out of an apron, but you look great yourself.” She can’t help but peak between the opening in his shirt to catch his definition of muscle before meeting his gaze again.

“Ha—thanks.” He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, shall we?” He holds out his arm. Mel links hers with his—it’s electric. It’s their first contact and he’s warm. He’s strong. It’s all a little too much, but it has undone the stress clinging to her back.

She nods in his direction. “Lead the way.”

Dinner is at a restaurant just within walking distance. Mel is grateful that her shoes are comfortable, thanking the designer for making them bearable compared to some of the nicer heels she owns for galas and other prestigious events. Her feet would’ve been aching if she was wearing any of them.

Jayce leads her into a small, Italian restaurant, just teetering the balance of mom-and-pop to more upscale dining. One that still has the charm of a restaurant that’s been there forever, with signed photos on the walls, but is heavy-set on the ambiance of a dining experience. The lights are low, there’s a candle on every table, and there’s a pianist playing live music on the other side of the dining room.

“Have you been here before?” Mel asks as they are seated at a tiny booth near the music.

“Nope, but I’ve been recommended by a friend.” He sits in the booth across from her, scootching in until there’s about a person’s worth of space between them. “It’s close to the bar, where the band is playing.”

Mel doesn’t know much of the neighbourhood they’re in, save for a few spots. “It wouldn’t happen to be at the bar at the end of the street, would it? The Last Drop?”

Jayce’s eyebrows shoot up, “Yeah, actually! Family friends own the place, you know about it?”

“Hilariously, I think we might run into some of my colleagues there. We often go out on Wednesdays for the music.” Mel explains. In fact, it’s almost for certain that Jayce will meet Elora and her girlfriend. As for the others, Mel hopes the few folks who join them occasionally decide to stay back. Elora can keep a secret; the others will certainly spawn workplace gossip. With workplace gossip, she runs the gambit of having that information find its way back to her mother.

“Oh, hah!” Jayce chuckles. “Well, so long as you’re okay with them meeting me.”

“More than,” she replies honestly. Kino and Aliyah helped to establish this thought in her mind: to hell with what her mother thinks. This is the easiest date she’s been on in a long time, and it hasn’t even really started. If they gossip, they gossip. So be it. Courage is one hell of a drug, and she hasn’t even cracked open the wine menu yet.

Between bites, Mel finds herself snickering to the point that her lungs hurt. It turns out that once you’ve stopped Jayce from needing to multitask on working and talking, he overflows with things to say. With that, he’s chockfull of opinions, anecdotes, and jokes. He is charisma incarnate.

In previous dates, Mel felt like she would be run over by busy-mouths or had to pull nails trying to start any interesting conversation. It had surprised her, at first, how easily Jayce pulls conversation from her, but now it feels set. It would’ve been overwhelming if this was the first time they’d met, Mel thinks, but now it’s just easy. Deliciously and invigoratingly easy.

She takes another bite of her pasta. It’s delicious—more flavourful than she’s had at Michelin star restaurants, although it does lack the flare of fine dining she’s so used to. Her portion would’ve been a quarter of what it is now but presented in a truly innovative way. Possibly on fire, or deconstructed, or foamed. With a much more relaxed environment than her usual dates, Mel finds herself focused and engrossed in everything Jayce is saying.

And Jayce is speaking a mile a minute.

“I got him when I was going through a particularly rough point in my life.” Jayce rubs the back of his neck. “And he does help. A lot. He knows how to do deep compression and alerts me to a high heart rate, but he’s not a service dog. I don’t need active work, and he doesn’t have any formal training. He stays home, and when I need him—he’s there.”

“That’s nice,” Mel smiles. “Filigree isn’t more than a house cat. Maybe a pain in my ass…” They both snicker. “I got him when I first moved into my apartment. It was my first time living on my own… he’s my little roommate. Although, he certainly acts like the king of the castle.”

Jayce takes a sip of his wine. The pianist at the end of the room starts up a new song, one Mel has absolutely heard before, but cannot name. Jayce’s eyebrows shoot up. He turns quickly, eyeing the piano as the man plays the intro. Other patrons have turned as well, their smiles apparent as a few others start to sway.

“What’s this?” Mel asks, dipping her head forward. Jayce swings back, bringing them closer together than they’ve ever been. His face is framed so clearly in her vision, his cologne strong off his collar—it’s dizzying. He grins.

“Piano Man. Billy Joel.”

“You looked surprised, one of your favourites?”

“Just nostalgic. One of my dad’s favourites.” He leans back, seemingly unfazed by their closeness as Mel feels herself blush.

“Ah.” Mel nods. Some part of her tells her to divert the conversation here, not wanting to go down the awkward path that is ‘my father died when I was too young to remember him, and I’d rather not talk about it’.

Jayce is faster than her, though, “Sorry—I didn’t mean to derail us. It just surprises me every time I hear it; makes me remember him.”

Oh. “Oh, I’m sorry.” The awkwardness is still there, but it’s different being on the receiving end rather than the giving.

Jayce shakes his head, grinning, “Don’t be. Happy remembering.” They dip into a well-needed lull; Mel finishes her last few bites of dinner before feeling full and begins to sip on her wine as she eyes him. There’s an odd question on her lips, but she’s not quite sure why it’s there.

“Can I ask you something?” She asks. Jayce meets her gaze.

“Of course.”

“If you could do one thing for the rest of your life, what would you do? No limits; money, time… anything.” Mel lowers her glass to the table.

Jayce pauses, twiddling his fork back and forth in his fingers. He’s gently swaying to the music—at some point, someone from the staff has started playing harmonica to the song—but his focus is set firmly on her.

“Well, if we’re talking career… I wouldn’t change a thing.” Jayce answers.

“You wouldn’t want to go bigger?” Mel questions, “What if—let’s say I’m an investor. A venture capitalist. I offer to make your shop and your roasts as big as Starbucks, would you take it?” Mel knows plenty about investing, half of her job is keeping investors happy, and it’s not too out of her scope of income to even consider doing something for the shop… but it’s purely hypothetical. Maybe in another life. Jayce’s reaction is immediate.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t be at more than one store.” He shrugs. “The shop isn’t just like—it’s not the store itself. It’s not ‘Hex Roasters’. It’s my place to roost and do what I love with coffee. Why… were you looking to invest?”

Mel chuckles. “No, I wasn’t. I just wanted to see what you’d say.”

He smirks. “It’s my baby, but it’s more than that, now. It’s Viktor and I’s pet project. It’s where we can help undercity kids get a good-paying job while they’re in school. It’s a spot to help artists—the painters—get off the ground. It’s a community.”

Mel feels her chest flutter around that word, something so oddly devout in her life as of late. Becoming a regular in a coffee shop of all places wasn’t something she’d planned, but a search for community felt different. Being surrounded by like-minded peers, or at least interested individuals. Everyone in the store met that in some way—whether it was the small conversations she’d share with Sky and Zeri behind the counter, when she caught Viktor on a good day and they could work side-by-side, or when Jayce took over for one of his baristas and they could divulge each other in whatever conversation overtook them.

“And now I get to ask you… if you could do anything right now—the same idea as what you asked me, what would you do?” Jayce pushes his own plate in and almost absentmindedly moves in a bit closer. Mel feels a shiver down her spine.

“Where to start?” The question bounces everywhere; she would be painting, seeing the world, and spending quality time with the people she truly wanted to do so with, not out of obligation or work. She would still work, she thinks, but not to the degree she’s doing now—where she’s taking home boxes of papers to be digitized or filed or shredded, just because she’s eaten into her hours at the office getting impromptu meetings from investors and colleagues.

“I think, in the end—” She rounds off, their plates already taken away and a dessert menu placed between them, “—I just want more me-time. Like now.”

“This is ‘me-time’? Do I get to participate in your ‘me-time’?” Jayce smirks, opening the dessert menu.

“More than. I’ve been having more fun just talking to you than I’ve had in ages.” She follows his action and scans the pages. “Were you thinking of getting something?”

“Well, I actually… uh… I may have chosen this place for another reason, too.” Jayce says, pointing, “It’s a bit unorthodox, but can I give you a new coffee recommendation?”

“Now?” Mel responds. She finds where he’s pointing, to a dessert listed on the menu. “Tiramisu? I don’t think I’ve had it before.”

“Well, I think you’re going to love it,” he proclaims, shutting the menu firm with a smile.

Perfect.

Almost perfect.

So close to perfect, it almost hurts.

It wouldn’t be a day with Jayce without something new, and her expectations have been completely shot through the roof. The cake is somehow just the right balance of decadent and light. Mascarpone cream fighting the bitter tones of the espresso and rum, all soaked delectably within layers of ladyfingers and dusted in the thinnest layer of cocoa. The first taste, bless him, is even served off his own spoon for her to try.

With the bill paid and the restaurant left far behind, the bar is next. Mel assumes she won’t be there long as the bar stops playing live music past midnight. With their late end at dinner, there isn’t much time to stay.

As they enter The Last Drop, Mel realizes that the bar has never seems to change. She’s gone there regularly for a handful of years now and the same clientele, schedule, and warm, friendly barkeeper have stayed exactly the same. The barkeep, a man named Vander, kindly welcomes her as usual. He doesn’t know her name, just her face, but he recognizes Jayce and huffs. Suddenly, Jayce is pulled into an awkward side-hug over the bar as friendly teases are exchanged.

She stays on the outskirts of their conversation, only interjecting with her drink order until familiar faces catch her eye. Elora and her girlfriend are sitting in their usual booth, with a few others that usually tag along to their weekly outings. To Mel’s luck, none of them seem to notice her at the bar.

With drinks in hand, Jayce leads her to their own table on the other side of the bar, just as the next act begins.

“How do you know the bartender?” Mel asks quietly as the musicians test their instruments and the sound quality.

“You know Mylo and his siblings that come in every once in a while, after school hours?” Mel nods. “Yeah, that’s one of their dads.”

“Really!” Mel exclaims.

“I hired Mylo off his dad. Technically, it’s not legal to have minors working in a bar, no matter what they’re doing, and he wanted something he could put on his CV.” Jayce says. “He’s a great worker, if not a little cocky.”

“He’s a teenager,” Mel agrees. “He’s going to be.”

The music begins shortly after. Some patrons in the bar can sing along and dance to the music, but Mel comes to realize she nor Jayce knows anything that’s being played. The best they can do is sway and chat as the room fills with music and overwhelms their senses. Elora and the others never do spot her. At least, if they did, none of them came over to interrupt. Come tomorrow, she’d know if they saw or not.

In the end, Mel is right, they only stay there for so long—after a few drinks, the music gets wrapped up and she yawns. She tries to hide it, but Jayce nudges her and asks, “You ready to head out?”

She nods, and with a strong hand around her shoulders, they go to pay out and leave.

The night has turned brisk by the time they’re walking back down the street. Jayce is keeping pace with her, staying close without making direct contact. She tries to keep her steps levelled and paced, but the alcohol and the drunkenness of how Jayce is making her feel make her teeter slightly. Soon, they’re both meandering in an odd squiggle down the sidewalk.

Across the street from the bar, on the opposite side of the block, is a park. Gently illuminated by street lamps throughout. Even though Mel can see clearly through, she’s always avoided it whilst walking through the neighbourhood at night. It just wasn’t safe.

Jayce paused at the sidewalk crossing, peering into the park. “Hey, you wanna cut through? It’ll be shorter this way, yes?”

“Yes, but—it’s dark, is it not?” She still turns towards the entrance, looking at how the lights from within gently illuminate Jayce’s features.

“Only if you want to, I’ve never walked through here before. It looks pretty.”

“… So long as we stay in the illuminated spots, sure. But at the first sign of trouble—”

“Book it?” He meets her gaze, smirking.

She snickers, “I can barely ‘book it’ in these shoes.”

“Okay so, pick you up and THEN book it?” The thought of Jayce being able to pick her up effortlessly makes her grin a bit too wide.

“It’s a deal.”

The park during the daytime is usually buzzing with activity. With a large population of young kids in the surrounding apartments, there are usually several nannies lining the park benches as kids sprint through the grass and climb the trees. There is a children’s playground not too far away from the center, but the kids seem to flock around the fountain more often than not. Mel has had too many kicked easels while she tried to paint to know otherwise. Sometimes she will include them in her warm-ups, small blurs of brightly coloured clothing bounding up and off the many ledges the fountain’s edge has.

Tonight, the park is completely empty, save for a few racoons Mel spots sprinting across the quad with their approach. It’s too cold for crickets, and soon, it’ll be too cold for the birds and small animals living throughout the park. It gets even quieter with the snow, but for now, the sound of wind fills her ears as it dances through the branches and leaves. A particularly strong gust of wind knocks into them both, sending them into a fit of giggles as Jayce braces her against his shoulder.

They cross around the fountain, walking in tandem. Not saying anything but keeping close. Mel almost thinks she dreams it, but Jayce’s fingers just barely graze her own. She reaches out, seeing if she can confirm what’s only been imagined, and finds Jayce’s hand open. Inviting. She links their hands, keeping her eyes off him and set along the park. He just barely squeezes her hand in recognition.

Before the end of the lit area, Jayce pauses and takes a deep breath in. Mel pauses with him, taking in the sweet scent of the park in fall. She can see her building from here, along with the shop’s sign illuminated by street lamps. It’s almost a little sad to see the shop closed, but it’s illogical. It’s past midnight and the store owner is with her—why would it be open? It’s just the sight of the building without lights on, warm and inviting as usual, that pangs with melancholy. Mel almost forgets she’s holding Jayce’s hand until he squeezes it once more.

“Looks like we didn’t need to book it, huh?” He teases. Mel scrunches her nose, barely biting back a chuckle.

“I guess not,” she says. He turns gently towards her, almost imperceptibly, but Mel follows in kind. His eyes are barely finding hers, flicking across her face, between their hands, and deep into the park behind her. He’s waiting for something. Or better yet, he’s waiting for himself, she thinks. He’s waiting for himself to make a move, because he’s not focused on what she’s doing but focused intensely on himself.

“So…” Mel prompts, “Is this goodnight?” Jayce finally looks up.

“Can I kiss you?”

Mel’s eyes fly open. She thinks it’ll just come. She thinks he’ll just lean in, and she’ll meet him in the middle, and that will be enough.  Or maybe he’ll be bolder and just rush in to meet her. She did not expect him to ask; no one’s ever asked before.

“Yes.” It’s easy to answer. So delectably easy.

Jayce leans in and she meets him; it’s chaste at first, but as soon as their lips brush, something sparks in her brain. It was like one of the fireworks she had seen her brother set off in secret, during boring holidays they’d snuck off from. It was bright, whistling, spinning, sparking, electric—she chased forward to meet him more, and he, too, responded in kind.

Jayce’s lips are a bit rough, probably chapped by the growing cold weather. He is so close that dark, roasted notes waft from his breath. His stubble scratches along her chin, and as she pulls away, she finds her skin stinging with pleasure.

Mel opens her eyes to find his wide open. Starstruck, in awe. It’s adorable, she thinks, as her smile reforms. It takes him longer to recover, but that same, bright, honest grin breaks across his face.

“Shall we?” He offers, nudging them back towards her apartment.

“Lead the way,” she replies, keeping their hands taught together.

Chapter Text

Rich, full-bodied, fulfilling, sweet, and satisfying.  Mel sips deep from the large mug and hums. A fluttering thought passes her mind: she could so easily be talking about her drink and Jayce in the same way.

It is one of the best dates she’s been on in forever, but that isn’t saying much. It has paled in comparison to her previous dates, the ones set up by her mother. Even the dates Mel procured seemingly without her mother’s influence, she knows Ambessa Medarda was almost always involved somehow. It can be the only explanation as to why these men and women were asking her questions about her business ventures so blatantly, even when they aren’t involved in her industry.

Mel doesn’t know how Ambessa does it, but she’d be damned if she ever let it happen to her again.

Mel is delightfully giddy, then, with this new venture. It is hers; wholly and truly.

She licks the chocolate notes from her teeth in a slow, languid motion as she refocuses on her work. It is nearing the end of the quarter, and she needs to double check (and check once more, for her own sanity) that her reports are in order. For good measure, Mel thinks, she’ll have Elora do the final look over tomorrow. If there is one person Mel can trust to straighten her arrow, it’s Elora.

It is exactly why Mel texted her last night about her date. Elora had seen them but didn’t want to interrupt. While their playful banter was nice to revel in while still coming down from the high of a well spent evening, Mel had questions to ask. Elora’s opinion on the matter of dating a coffee shop owner was short and sweet:

If he makes you happy, that is all that truly matters.

Mel smiles into her final sip of her drink. She doesn’t know if this will turn out to be anything more—she refuses to get too hopeful—but for now, it does make her happy. And that, apparently, is all that truly mattered.

When her drink is finally finished, Mel rolls the mug on the surface of the table to watch the last drops of dark, alluring liquid circle the bottom. She wishes she’d savoured it more. Except, she has been working on the same drink for the past twenty minutes. It is the taste, still strong on her tongue, and the warmth the drink provides that made her sit with such an odd sense of longing.

Once more, Mel isn’t sure if she is thinking about the drink or Jayce.

She diverts her attention quickly. It’s a quieter day in the shop, which tracks with the time and season. The cold whip of winter air has finally hit Piltover and the snow will be quick to follow. At this early hour, it’s already become dark, which Mel assumes would draw in more patronage as people try to stay awake and keep their sleep schedules on track. But it seems it has done the exact opposite: the only other people in the café are patrons Mel has come to recognize as other regulars and Viktor.

Viktor has been there since she first arrived, but has been deeply entrenched in his work. Surrounding him on the booth were boxes upon boxes of files. He had seemed devoutly focused on whatever he was doing, and as Mel had come to learn: when Viktor was busy, he was dead to the world. It was better to give him his space and say hello later when he returned to a more social disposition.

The bell of the front door chimes and rouses Mel from her stupor. She realizes, with a startle, she’s been staring at Viktor. He’s none-the-wiser, still nose deep in a, frankly, comedically large ledger. She looks to the door with a passing glance to see even more regulars, the teens, make their entrance.

Jinx leads the way, as she normally does, with a hop and skip across the tile. Behind her are the others: Vi, the rough-hewn older sister and peacekeeper; Caitlyn, the snippy-yet-endearing girlfriend of Vi; and Claggor, the level-headed and constantly challenged eldest brother. The kids are almost always quiet, which Mel is appreciative of.

“Don’t talk about my family like that!” Caitlyn shouts at Jinx’s back. Jinx twirls on her heels and sticks out her tongue with bravado.

Alright, so… today? Not quiet. Not in the slightest.

“Knock it off, Powder,” Vi exclaims. Mel sees Jinx’s shoulders drop immediately at her full name drop. From what Mel can garner, Jinx is a nickname turned personal identity of the girl’s. She’s only ever heard Jinx referred to as Powder by Vi, and only during especially turbulent moments.

The teens walk up to the bar where the last sibling stands. Mylo crosses his arms as they approach him. They’ve begun to talk, but Mel can no longer hear them as they return to normal speaking voices. She pulls her attention away from them and back to her work. She’s nearly able to make it through her first revision until the next best thing happens: the teens sit at the table next to her. She sighs.

It doesn’t matter how much they modulated their voices next to her, she knew her work would be disrupted. However, with her drink already done and an antsy-ness to return home and pet her cat, she decides to stay where she is and quickly check through less important work before heading upstairs. It also gives her a chance to covertly listen in on the happenings of the teenagers who ran rampant in Piltover and Zaun’s streets.

“So wait, what does Mr. Heimerdinger want from us?” Claggor asks. Mel hears the shuffling of notebooks and pencil cases.

“I think it’s just the introduction, materials, and procedure. We haven’t gone over how to write the results yet,” Caitlyn replies. Her accent has piqued Mel’s interest in the past—was she from overseas?

“Results? Easy.” Jinx kicks back in her chair far enough that Mel can catch her expression. She’s snarky—her grin says it all. “Nothing exploded.”

“J, we did a titration,” Claggor says exhaustedly.

“Surprised you didn’t find a way to make it explode anyways,” says Caitlyn.

The group besides her suddenly explodes. Mel’s head flies to the side to see Jinx reaching diagonally across the table to grab at Caitlyn’s hair. Caitlyn, in turn, is doing the same. The two tussle as Claggor tries to pry Jinx away with his full strength (watching a high schooler who’s fit to be a linebacker struggle to restrain his acrobatic sister is amusing) and Vi tries to calm Caitlyn down (it is like watching a box of matches trying to put out a fire). Mel’s eyes are wide as the two continue to tussle and spit insults across the table. She has no idea what to do in this situation.

Viktor certainly does, though. A loud thunk of his cane across the store and a disapproving tsk stops the teenagers in their tracks. They hover above the table, still with fistfuls of the other’s clothes and hair, before slowly detangling themselves. As they part, Mel sees Viktor’s expression. It is a look Mel feared in her childhood more than anything. He is disappointed in them.

Mel is too wrapped up in what just occurred; she realizes that she’s been staring too long at Viktor. Before she can look away, they make eye contact.

Viktor’s expression changes quickly to one of an apologetic smirk. He shrugs his shoulders and returns to his work. Mel takes that as her cue to return as well, even if her work is browsing Instagram while waiting for emails to roll in. The end of the working day is approaching steadily, and she always seems to have a few stragglers sending her questions right before she closes her laptop for the evening.

As she works away, she takes note of one of the teens leaving the table besides her. She looks up to spot Jinx walking towards Viktor’s table, swaying from side to side.

Mel closes the browser window with a satisfying click. Now, truly, there was nothing left to do but pack up and go back home to her cat.

As she closes her laptop, Mel hears a groan.

“They’re STILL doing work in there,” Jinx laments as she returns to her table. “I’m going to go crazy if I can’t throw some paint on something.”

“Please just don’t tag any buildings. Cleaning duty is embarrassing.” Vi drops her head onto the table with an exasperated thunk.

“I’m not! I promised dad.”

“Just like you promised him no more stealing uncrustables from Ms. Amara?”

“…she owes me. She only serves me half portions.”

“Because you keep stealing uncrustables.”

Mel chuckles under her breath at the teen’s antics as she packs up. She stands from her table and starts to walk for the door but pauses. She told herself she would say a quick hello to Viktor before leaving.

She turns on her heel and walks towards his table. He is still engrossed in work, but once she stops in front of him, he looks up. He gives her the same meek smile he’s been giving her since day one—one Mel has come to learn is hardly earned by anyone.

“What was today’s order?” Viktor asks. It’s their usual greeting.

“A mocha. I fear my tolerance for sweet things is still quite low, and a mocha is just the right balance.” She smiles brightly back at him, her eyes crinkling.

“I hope the mad hatter’s tea party over there didn’t bother you too much.”

“No, I was already done for the day. But do those girls fight… often? They got quite handsy.”

Viktor sighs and hangs his head. “I won’t try to fool you with understanding myself, but according to Jinx’s father, that’s just how they function. Jinx is also spectacularly on edge as of late, so it might have been worse today than usual.”

“How do you figure?” Mel asks. Before responding, Viktor extends a hand and gestures to the booth across from him. She follows his lead and sits.

“You know by now the girl is an artist, but she’s also a force of nature. There is something uniquely… explosive about her work,” Viktor explains. “She lives with her two brothers and sister in a rather small house. There isn’t any place there for her to ‘do her thing’, as you might say. Or at least, her father has banned it because of too many… incidents.”

He continues, “I’ve given her a place to work for a few years now: the shop’s office. But right now, while I try to parse through all of this:” He gestures to the various documents in front of him. On closer inspection, they’re invoices and paystubs. Mel catches a glimpse at one of the years. Either she’s misread or Viktor has been reviewing documents from the very beginning of the coffee shop. “She’s got nowhere to work. I can tell her creative bug is itching, but I keep telling her that is what her school’s art room is for.”

Mel considers that for a long moment. “I understand, but… sometimes, even if they’re made to be, some spaces just do not conduit creativity like others.” She thinks of her own studio upstairs.

Viktor nods. “She’s made herself a little space in that office, but it’s been occupied by even more boxes of… eh… all of this.”

Mel looks back towards the teenagers. The three oldest are engrossed in their work while Jinx types away at her phone. She has her chin planted on the table and her arms extended as far as they can go, taking lots of space away from her sister to work. Vi doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’m trying to convince either of her fathers to get her one of those cheap plastic gardening sheds for their backyard, so she has a place to work, but logistics keep getting in the way.” Viktor waves his hand dismissively.

Mel thinks about working in such confined quarters and shivers. She thinks again of her own studio when a thought dawns upon her. It’s a reach, but maybe…

“I don’t want to overstep or make anyone uncomfortable, but… if her fathers were okay with it, she could always work in my studio?”

Viktor’s eyes shoot open. It surprises Mel.

“Absolutely not. It’s too much of a risk. Not for her, but for you.”

Mel chuckles at the sudden seriousness, but her brow is laced with worry. Viktor’s reaction was instantaneous. “What could the poor girl do that I already haven’t? My work tends to be explosive as well.” Mel recalls one of her pieces, titled “Venture”, being splattered with gold paint to obscure a landscape of a distant shore. She had started the piece as an exercise in drawing one of her many childhood homes, but ended up becoming one of her more visceral pieces about her upbringing.

“I doubt you purposefully puncture paint cans and throw them for your art, Mel.”

Mel bit her lip. Yes, that was a new one. But it wasn’t the end of the world. “My studio is easily converted into a space where I am allowed to get messy, Viktor. I have canvas curtains splattered with paint hanging from rods attached to the ceiling. I could easily roll out the floor mat and put away anything lying around.” She leans in. “I’m being dead serious. The girl’s art is a marvel to look at.” Mel nods to the side, towards one of Jinx’s paintings on the wall. “I would love to see the process that made that.”

Viktor studies her face with uncertainty, but after seeing her unrelenting resolve on the matter, he softens. “For liability sake—”

“No one would be liable. I’d take full responsibility.”

“You know I couldn’t agree to that. Not with your serious art career potentially impeded.”

“Art career? Viktor, you flatter me. I’m simply one artist willing to help another.”

“Yes, and while I appreciate the sentiment, this is Jinx we are talking about.”

“Precisely why I am talking about it.”

Viktor pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’d… have to be chaperoned by someone who can keep her from doing anything stupid. That means one of her fathers, most likely Silco, myself, or Jayce. Jayce isn’t here today—” Mel knows they are both fully aware of that fact, “—Silco is working, and I…” Viktor pauses. He takes a deep breath and lets his shoulders drop. “If I have to look at one more expense report from the past few years that doesn’t make any sense, I will go insane.”

Mel perks up. “You’re saying you need a break.”

“I’m saying… a distraction wouldn’t hurt.” Viktor pulls out his phone. He is still eyeing Mel wearily as he says, “I can ask her fathers if they would be okay with this. Frankly, if you were just any customer, this conversation would be a nonstarter but…”

But Mel wasn’t any customer. Not at this point, at least. Just yesterday she’d been kissed by the owner and her whole world went topsy turvy, to the point she was thinking about him while drinking her coffee. Coffee that he had roasted by hand.

Viktor smiles. “It might even give us a chance to talk about non-work-related things. I’ve missed our chats.” It has been a while since the two have been able to properly talk to each other on things other than their current work. “Let me call Silco.”

“Please tell him it’s of no imposition,” Mel comments. Viktor gives her a quick ‘okay’ symbol with his free hand as his other lifts the phone to his ear. Mel decides to take out her own phone and scroll absentmindedly as to not stare down Viktor the whole time.

Viktor talks into the phone quietly enough for the kids not to overhear, but Mel hears it crystal. At first, the girl’s father is convinced she’s done something destructive to the shop and Viktor is covering her, but Viktor clarifies the situation. The conversation tunes out and Mel finds herself watching Viktor’s brow knit and unknit itself.

“…sure thing. And I promise you, I’ll keep her in check. Alright, yes. Goodbye.” Viktor puts his phone down. He looks towards Mel again. “As long as you don’t want to bow out now…”

Mel laughs. “I promise you, I would tell you if I had a sudden change of heart, but I haven’t.”

There’s an uproar of laughter behind them. Mel turns and follows Viktor’s gaze to the teenagers. All four are buckled over; Vi slaps the table with emphasis and Caitlyn forces out a cough from laughing so hard.

“Jinx,” Viktor calls out. The laughter stops immediately.

“Sorry, we’ll quiet down,” Caitlyn replies instantly. Jinx shoots her a dirty look.

“No, no, I have to ask her something.” Viktor gestures with his hand for her to come over.

The table lets out a jeering “oooooh,” as if Jinx had just been called to the headmistress’s office. Jinx exasperatedly throws herself from her chair and walks over in laboured steps. She groans as she stands next to their table.

“Yessss, V?” She asks, punctuating the ‘v’ with a pouted lip.

“Meet my good friend here, Ms. Medarda,” Viktor says. Mel turns to Jinx, who’s attention perks up.

“Just Mel, please.” Mel outstretches her hand. Jinx takes it, a little too firmly, and gives it a quick shake.

“I’ve seen you before. You come around a lot,” Jinx surmises. “Can’t find anywhere better?”

Mel chuckles. “I like this place just fine. I’ve actually got a proposition for you; I’ve heard you’re an artist in need of a studio. I’ve seen your work.” She nods towards Jinx’s painting. “You’re very talented.”

Jinx’s face quickly shifts between several expressions: surprise, elated shock, and finally, disbelief. Her grin feels faulty as she says, “Aww nah, that old piece? You should see some of my recent stuff.”

“That’s why I have a proposition for you. Viktor?” Mel looks to him to explain, as he’s the one who obtained permission in the first place.

“Заяц, if you so wish, Mel has been kind enough to offer her art studio in the building for you to work in today. You’re not getting picked up for another hour, correct?”

Jinx’s eyes blow open. “Wait, for real? Like a real-life art studio? Like, for real for real?” She completely ignores the question.

Viktor sighs. “I just talked to your father, you have permission SO LONG as you promise to respect her space, clean up after yourself, and not cause ANY damage.”

Jinx stands up quickly from her chair and bounces in place. “Done, dusted, all the words. YES.” She turns towards Mel. “Thank you, thank you!!”

Mel smiles at her brightly. “Of course. Like I said, I’d love to see your more recent work.”

Viktor turns to the girl and points a finger towards the office. “Why don’t you go grab your supplies and we’ll head up together?”

Jinx is already running off, faster than a speeding bullet.

The ride up the elevator is electric. Jinx is unable to stand still with a box full of paint cans and what appears to be jars of watered down acrylics. She is excitedly babbling to Viktor about her day, rife with high school drama, and Viktor is nodding along knowingly. Mel asks a few questions about Jinx (“What’s your favourite subject? Do you do anything besides art? How did you start making art?”) but Jinx’s answers are only half explained before she diverts into another passing thought.

The elevator finally stops at the top floor, to which both Jinx and Viktor look surprised. They hadn’t seen Mel touch any button but use her key fob instead to hail the elevator.

“No. Way.” Jinx says as the doors open to reveal her foyer. “Are you the only person on the floor?”

Mel nods and steps out, guiding Viktor and Jinx inwards. Jinx looks likes she wants to shoot off and explore, but an invisible tether keeps her close to Viktor, who is letting his eyes roll over the apartment in awe. His lips are parted just slightly in a stunted gasp.

“The studio is down the hall,” Mel says, gesturing for them to follow. She leads them into the living room, through the dining room, and to the hallway. Before they can make it to the doorway, she hears a meow come from behind her, then a quiet thud, and a confused squawk.

“Oh Janna,” Jinx says. Mel turns around.

Filigree must have been perched above them on the cupboard, one of her favourite places to lounge. But she is no longer watching from above. She is instead looking Mel directly in the eye. On Viktor’s shoulder. She is nuzzling deep into his cheek and Viktor is entirely still, his eyes blown wide open.

“Oh—Viktor, I’m so sorry,” Mel says and reaches forward to grab the mischievous cat. Viktor stops her by putting up his hand.

“I have been chosen,” he says matter-of-factly.

Mel giggles, her expression breaking into relief. “You don’t mind? She normally isn’t this… in your face.”

“Then I am even more flattered.” Viktor reaches up and scratches the bottom of Fil’s chin. The cat closes her eyes and lets out a deep purr.

Viktor keeps Filigree firmly planted on his shoulder as they continue to the studio. The walk is longer than usual as the two pause to marvel at artworks hung in her hallway. Only one is her own—one piece she isn’t the proudest of, but the one that matches her décor the closest. The rest are from peers of her or artists she found while travelling the globe. Viktor gets particularly entranced with a piece she’d bought in Croatia.

Mel gestures inwards to her studio. The pair walk through with bated breaths. “Holy shit…” Jinx murmurs under her breath.

“Language,” Viktor warns.

Jinx skips around the studio, taking in the wide-open space. All of Mel’s pieces are currently on her canvas stand or wrapped pristinely in parchment for the gallery. Her main easel stands tall and proud in the center of the room atop a linen mat. The colour of the linen has nearly entirely disappeared under layers of tempera.

“Which bank did you steal from and how did you do it?” Viktor asks, turning to Mel. She laughs, gesturing him inwards.

Mel walks over to the side of the room and clears the only chair free from papers and spare brushes. She carefully takes it and places it close to the workstation. She turns to Viktor, “If you need it.”

Viktor nods appreciatively and takes a seat. His attention, however, has been firmly planted on Jinx since she entered the space. Mel watches his eyes dart wherever the girl goes, no doubt making sure she doesn’t do anything reckless.

“I’ve got some canvas for you to use, some stuff I bought in the past that will never get used.” Mel steps forward, pulling the canvas curtains closed to protect the walls of the space. It blocks out some of the light from the large windows, but it is quickly replaced with the daylight bright overhead lights she flicks on. Jinx is only half listening, still puttering about the space.

Mel pulls out a large pre-pulled canvas from her storage shelves and places it on the easel. She locks it into place and takes a step back. Once she is fully clear of the splash zone, she clears her throat. Jinx looks towards her.

“It’s all yours,” Mel says.

Viktor had described Jinx’s process as ‘explosive’, but it wasn’t entirely accurate. Explosive could describe anything from short and violent like a grenade or quick and controlled like a firework. Jinx was explosive in the way an enraged animal was. She is quick with her strokes in a way that should look messy, but there is a coordination in how she attacks the canvas. It starts with a pop art-ish drawing of a monkey in neon pink paint, then turns into carving the canvas with similarly violent strokes of purple, teal, and cyan.

Mel stands close to Viktor, letting idle chatter flow between them. They haven’t talked about the date—not yet—and Mel can’t figure out if Viktor is privy to or not. Instead, they discuss how his and Jayce’s apartment caught a leak from the side panelling of the building and how Jayce’s dog, Forge, had discovered it in the early morning and drank from the puddle. Viktor talks about Jayce very briefly, but every time he does, he stiffens. Mel can feel it radiating off of him every time. She’s just not sure what to make of it.

“15 more minutes, Jinx,” Viktor calls out. The girl gives the world’s fastest thumbs up and continues her attack. “How was last night?”

Mel does not register that he is now talking to her until an uncomfortable beat of silence passes between them.

“You don’t have to say, but I assume with your attitude today and willingness to even enter the shop—it went well?” Viktor continues.

“Jayce hasn’t talked to you about it?” Mel asks, avoiding her own feelings on the matter.

“Very briefly. He ran out the door this morning to the roastery shouting something about running through a park with you.” Viktor looks up at her, his eyes mostly hidden by hooded lids. Just from under his eyelashes, Mel is shocked by the bright gold that shines back at her.

She bites the bullet, better to understand now his feelings on the matter than further down the line. “It was lovely, truly lovely.”

“So, you’ll be seeing him again?”

“I would love to, if he would.”

“He would.” There is a starkness in Viktor’s next words. “Don’t break his heart.”

Mel feels a shiver run up her back. Those golden irises suddenly feel like embers. She knows the two are close, but the protectiveness is something she’s only seen the once—when that one belligerent woman threw her drink at Jayce yesterday. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Viktor’s expression changes instantly, like he was never burning holes into her in the first place. “I am happy to hear it. He deserves someone like you in his life.” Mel internally sighs with relief and their conversation moves on to other things. “How has the gallery application been going?”

“Going?” Mel asks with a sneer. “It hasn’t been, but that’s all of my fault. I am still… stuck on the theme of all things.” Mel reaches over to the counter next to them and gathers her photocopies of the paintings. They’ve been pinpricked with pins so many times, the edges look like they’ve been chewed by Filigree.

Viktor reaches out, asking without words, ‘may I?’ Mel hands the cards over and he flips through them. “You said a lot of these were about your childhood, no?”

“Most if not all, but the ones that aren’t are centered around the city—around what I can see and what they represent to me.”

“And everything is accented by gold because… it is your favourite precious metal?” Viktor asks.

Mel smirks. “It’s because, for all of my life, I have been… a gilded ‘little thing’.” The words are her mother’s. “At first, I felt like a doll. Like ones that old women put on display dressed in their perfect little dresses behind plexiglass for all the world to see and covet. I resented it, but I learned to make it my own.” Mel looks down at her crest ring. “Or at least, I am still learning to make it my own.”
“Gilded,” Viktor says. One of her thematic ideas she’d shared with him months ago. “I see. But that’s not it—”

“That’s not it, because it’s more than that. It’s…” Mel waves her arms about, flailing for the right thing to say. It’s what she is missing. It’s what has eluded her all this time.

“Sounds to me like it’s freedom,” Viktor says.

Mel’s begins to speak, but the words don’t come. She puts up a finger, puts it down, and puts it back up again. Her body is resistant to thinking about her artwork at all at this moment, but there’s something in the word—freedom—that has a certain element that wasn’t there in her previous themes. It’s not complete, though.

“If it was just freedom, then there would be no work behind it. Is this freedom granted to me? Or is this freedom I’ve fought for?” Mel asks into the air.

Viktor pulls her back down from space with a single sentence. “Clearly, you’ve fought for it, you’ve evolved beyond all expectations set upon you and arrived at a self that you can control.”

“Evolved,” Mel repeats. “No, not evolved, but close. I didn’t evolve, that would mean it was random the choices I’ve made over the years. Random change leading to forward progress. These choices were things I forged.” She looks down at Viktor; their eyes meet. “Forged.”

“Like the gold in your paintings,” Viktor offers. “But the accents aren’t the focus, like “Gilded”, it’s the—"

“Progress.” Mel cuts him off. “It’s progress.”

“Progress…” Viktor smiles, bright as the sun. He picks up Mel’s hand with his own and squeezes. “From the moment you told me of your quandary, I knew you’d get there.”

Mel’s eyes are wide, he’s right. It’s right there. Her heart starts to race. Her palms feel hot and before she can think, she leans down quickly and kisses Viktor’s knuckles chastely before pulling away.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Okaaay—I’m all done!” Jinx interrupts with a shout, clearly none-the-wiser to the conversation being had behind her. Mel’s attention is grabbed for the solitary moment, but after it passes and she looks back at the man sitting next to her, she sees his eyes blown wide and his expression unreadable. She sees her dark wine lipstick stained against his pale skin and her heart skips a beat.

She opens her mouth to apologize, but Viktor beats her to it. He smiles in his usual, comforting way and takes up her hand again. “I’m glad I could help.” His voice is laced with a new emotion—something closer to that of two old friends reminiscing about heartfelt memories.

Jinx wraps up and her canvas is set to dry. Mel escorts the pair through her home again towards the elevator. Both adults listen to Jinx’s quick conversation of what she illustrated and how excited she is to draw her next piece. Mel and Viktor share a few comforted looks until the reach the foyer once more.

“Jinx?” Viktor looks at the girl knowingly.

It takes Jinx a second to figure out what Viktor is prompting her to do before she lets out a meek, “Thank you.” Her eyes look softer than before, her body holding less tension than it did an hour before. She recognizes it with a smile—an artist who’s allowed a moment of catharsis.

Mel offers them few words before they leave to send the girl off with her parents. Mel watches the elevator doors close. She sighs deep and heavy, letting her shoulders sink to her frame.

An artists’ catharsis. Progress. She finally has a path forward. She finds her way to her laptop later in the day, typing away at a proposal that previously felt like she was pulling out her own teeth. Now, her fingers glide effortlessly across the keyboard and the email nearly writes itself.

She hesitates above the send button. She doesn’t need to send it now—she should sleep on it first before committing once again to this expression of her own work. Instead, she closes her laptop and replaces it with a purring Filigree. Petting her cat and watching a graceful snowfall spawn just outside her window, her mind turns back to a single image from the moments prior.

Mel thinks of her wine red lipstick on Viktor’s skin, and her heart breaks just a little.