On Romance and Lattés

The soft hiss of the espresso machines and background noise of the café’s blenders filled the café, accompanied by the quiet hum of conversation from what few customers were inside.

Lyall was seated in a small corner booth directly beneath one of the air vents—his favorite spot that kept both him and his coffee warm. He could very well do the same exact thing at home, but Beanny made his lattés far better than he could.

His hooves cradled said steaming latté, letting the warmth seep into his cold fur with a blissful sigh. It had been a long night at the club the night prior and the quiet solitude of the café was his primary morning after refuge.

He stared out the window, glancing up at the sky, which was a dull gray, choked with clouds and threatening rain, but Lyall didn’t mind. The weather report had only called for a sprinkle and possible light drizzles throughout some parts of the city, which he always found peaceful to walk in, since any damp fur would dry within a few minutes or so.

He opened the book he had brought, which was the one that Dorian—a local librarian and recent acquaintance—had gifted to him. Over the past number of days, he’d gotten about a quarter of the way through on his breaks at work, and was glad to have a moment to actually sit down to read it. He tried to focus on the words, but at the thought of Dorian, his mind wandered.

He couldn’t seem to keep his thoughts from the way Dorian had looked at him with those damnably striking golden eyes. He let out another sigh, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of the thought, and turned the page.

“Is the book to your liking?”

The voice was unmistakable, even before Lyall looked up. Smooth, mellow, and with that same gentle amusement that made his pulse quicken. Lyall’s hooves froze against the pages mid-turn. He didn’t even have to look up to know who it was, but slowly, he lifted his eyes—and there Dorian was.

Dorian stood, a coffee cup in one hoof, the other hand moving to rest lightly on the back of the chair across from Lyall. His crimson fur caught the soft, pale yellow light of the café, contrasting beautifully with the golden warmth of his eyes, which regarded him with a disarming familiarity.

Lyall was practically starstruck.

“I—yes, it’s lovely. The book is lovely,” he stammered. “I’ve been chipping away at it.”

Dorian’s smile deepened. “Would you mind if I joined you?” he asked, already pulling out the chair across from him as if already expecting Lyall to let him. “Unless this seat is taken?”

Lyall thought for a second, but he had no real reason to refuse, and Dorian had been polite enough, though he knew the tone and implication hidden in Dorian’s words. Dorian might as well have asked if Lyall was involved with anyone, though his question was more politely phrased than an, ‘Are you single,’ would have been.

Besides, a part of him was interested in Dorian’s apparent fascination with him.

“Please,” Lyall allowed, motioning to the chair. “It’s all yours.”

Dorian set his cup of coffee on the table and settled into the chair with the grace of someone who knew they belonged everywhere. Lyall was keenly aware of every inch that separated them, and, as his gaze drifted to Dorian’s hooves, which were folded just over halfway across the table, every inch that didn’t.

“I hope I’m not intruding.” Dorian inclined his head. “I saw you while I ordered, and thought it would be nice to say hello.”

“No,” Lyall replied too quickly. “You’re not intruding.”

“That’s good, then,” Dorian said, leaning back slightly. “I seem to keep running into you. I closed up early at the library and decided to get myself some coffee.” His smile warmed. “I certainly can’t complain now.”

Lyall looked down at his cup, the foam suddenly the most interesting thing in the world as he tried to think of a response. Compliments always unsettled him, especially when they felt genuine. But, before he could come up with a reply, Dorian was already rescuing him.

“I didn’t peg you for someone who enjoys crowded places, you know,” Dorian remarked. “Granted it’s not busy now, but this coffee shop is fairly packed most days.”

Lyall gave a wry chuckle. “I’m accustomed to fast-paced and crowded places,” he said simply. “Something quieter might be nice, I suppose. With customers that aren’t constantly eating each other’s faces during Matentines—last time I was here it was nearly too awkward to sit and read.” He smiled up at him. “I imagine that it must be very peaceful for you at your library, though. You probably have plenty of free time to read.”

Dorian leaned back in his chair, studying him curiously. “Well, that’s due to having the luxury of being the owner, but it’s peaceful, yes.”

In turn, Lyall studied him back, searching for any potential hidden ulterior motive. “I don’t mean to sound rude by asking this, Dorian,” he began, “but why are you doing this?”

“What do you mean?” Dorian asked, though the impish glimmer in his eyes suggested he knew exactly what Lyall meant.

“Bothering with me, that’s what I mean,” Lyall said quietly, feeling almost foolish. “Honestly, I don’t understand it,” he continued. “I don’t think of myself as special.”

Dorian’s expression softened. “You are,” he replied gently. “At least, to me.”

Lyall bit down on his lip. Here Dorian was, attempting to dismantle the carefully constructed walls Lyall had built with his stuffy and closed-off personality. “I… I should go,” he whispered, suddenly feeling exposed.

“Stay,” Dorian said softly, and reached out to touch Lyall’s hoof, holding it in a manner that fit far too perfectly against him. “Please?" he insisted, and sounded genuinely apologetic. "I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable—it wasn’t my intention.”

Lyall wracked his brain, searching for something—anything his mental rolodex of polite verbiage that had been ingrained in him. He wanted to reassure Dorian that no, he hadn’t made Lyall uncomfortable, Lyall was just socially inept and thoroughly romantically stunted.

“You haven’t,” he said. “I’m just not used to things like this."

Lyall cleared his throat, glancing out of the window beside them. The grey clouds that had been there before had visibly darkened even further, and the first few drops of rain were already tapping against the glass. Lyall’s eyes widened at the sheer amount of it as it began to wet the pavement.

“Oh, wonderful. It’s starting to rain already,” he grumbled, not fond of the thought of having to walk home in something that was most definitely not a drizzle, and he shifted his attention back to Dorian. “I—I really should go before it gets worse. Not that I don’t appreciate your company, but I don’t have an umbrella with me.”

Dorian rose from his seat, inclining his head towards the door. “Let me see you out then, at least?”

Against all logic, Lyall found himself standing too, slipping his book into the canvas bag beside his chair before lifting it up and following after Dorian, the little bell above the door chiming softly as the door shut beside them. 

The rain immediately worsened. It wasn’t the light drizzle that had been in the weather report, and had escalated into a full-blown downpour, drumming against the pavement, practically turning the streets into a giant mirror with how much water there was.

Lyall hazarded a guess that the rain wouldn’t take very long to get to the point where it would come halfway up his legs.

They stood together under the awning of the café in shock, the occasional gust of wind flinging scattered droplets against his hooves. Lyall felt a dampness starting to wet the lower parts of his fur, and groaned. He supposed he could wait it out back inside, or run through it, but he’d really prefer not to have to—he'd arrive back at his apartment looking like a drowned remil.

Dorian cleared his throat from beside him, interrupting his train of thought. Just as Lyall turned to face him again, Dorian had begun to unfurl an umbrella, and was looking at Lyall with a winning smile.

“I came prepared,” he said, a little smugly.

“I didn’t expect rain this bad,” Lyall admitted.

Dorian hummed in understanding, stepping closer. “Neither do most. That’s why I brought an umbrella with me.” He extended the umbrella slightly. “I’d be happy to walk with you.”

Lyall hesitated. It would be polite to refuse, and insist he could manage—he really could; the rain wouldn’t kill him. Although, with Lyall already starting to shiver, and with the rain showing no sign of stopping anytime soon, Lyall decided it would be best to swallow his pride.

“I would really appreciate it.”

“Think nothing of it," Dorian eased, and stepped closer to Lyall’s side to hold the umbrella over him, leaving Dorian over halfway exposed.

Lyall glanced up at him, ready to insist that if he didn't cover himself, he'd end up with a cold, but the words died in his throat as he realized just how close Dorian was to him, his mind drawing a complete verbal blank. He caught the bun's scent, though faint with the smell of rain. It was rich, and fragrant; a sort of warm and woodsy smell, like aged paper with a hint of spiced rum and some floral notes.

Much to Lyall's dismay, he found it intoxicating.

“Shall we?” Dorian prompted.

Lyall gave a tentative, almost dumbfounded nod, and together, they stepped out into the rain.

“I—um—I don’t live very far from your library, actually. It's only a few minutes of a walk, give or take,” he said after a moment of silence, having finally managed to gather his composure. “So I can manage by myself once we reach it.”

Dorian chuckled at that. “I’d be more than happy to see you home. I'm not busy at all, so it's no trouble.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Lyall said.

“I consider it a pleasure.” Dorian began to move towards the sidewalk, and Lyall saw him glance down at the bag at Lyall’s side. “I find it charming, you know. Your liking for romance novels, I mean,” Dorian added softly.

Lyall blinked, unsure how to respond. “It’s… silly, really,” he said. “I don’t exactly have the time nor capacity for it in the real world, I think. I read them for comfort, mostly.”

“Is it silly?” Dorian asked, his gaze steady. “I’ve known several workaholics who make time for each other and live quite beautiful lives. I’ve seen some of them around your job.”

Lyall wanted to argue, to insist that he didn’t think romance wasn’t really meant for people like him, people who worked late hours and weren’t dazzling or extraordinary—and really, he didn’t even have to take this line of questioning from someone he’d only met twice now.

“You say that as if it’s that simple,” Lyall murmured.

“Sometimes it is,” Dorian replied in a softer tone. “Life’s a mystery, and romance is a risk worth taking. It is Matentines, after all.”

Lyall raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “And you consider yourself a risk taker?”

“I do.”

Those words alone sent Lyall’s heart pounding so loudly in his ears that he was almost certain even Dorian could hear it. He paused then, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, his brows furrowing. “Hold on—you said something about seeing people at my job,” he said. “I... never told you where I work.”

Dorian stiffened, evidently realizing he'd made a mistake. “You've caught me,” he said, and sucked in a breath before sighing heavily. “Really, it's not what it sounds like. If you must know,” he murmured, suddenly bashful, “I… once had a bit too many drinks at Sin City, and you very valiantly held both myself and my ears back as I, er… forfeit said drinks to the toilet. I wouldn’t blame you for not remembering.”

“I—what?”

The latter gave an awkward cough. “You… stroked my face so tenderly, and whispered such soft and gentle reassurances to me—I was taken with you.”

Lyall was at a genuine loss for words. Thinking back on it, he could remember something that matched the occasion that Dorian was referring to. A month or so ago, his manager had noticed a concerningly drunk customer desperately stumbling their way towards the bathrooms, and had asked Lyall to follow after him to make sure that everything was alright.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Lyall asked, tilting his head. “I wouldn’t have thought less of you.”

“I was having a really awful night when we met,” Dorian confessed. “I was going through a few personal life issues, so I was distracted.”

“A victim of Sin City’s bottomless bar refills?” Lyall guessed. "Or am I wrong?"

“Unfortunately, you're exactly on the mark," Dorian said with a nod. "The bartender kept refilling my glass, and I’m a terrible lightweight.” Dorian grimaced. “It was a very low point for me, and I thought it might be better for you to have thought we met someplace other than in a nightclub bathroom... over a literal toilet.”

“Yeah, I definitely see your reasoning.” Lyall sighed. “I’m sorry,  Dorian, I really didn’t mean to make it sound like I thought you were some sort of stalker.”

“Honestly, I wouldn't blame you if you had,” Dorian laughed, and his smile returned, though a bit more sly than before. “Though… if you're really eager to make it up to me, would you consider doing me a favor?”

“What sort of favor would that be?” Lyall asked, taking the bait.

“Come in with me when we get to the library?” Dorian asked softly. “My home is on the top floor. I could treat you to lunch? But I won't be offended if you tell me no.”

Lyall, for once, chose not to be too self conscious. Truthfully, he’d gone without breakfast that morning, and after not finishing his latté, he was feeling a bit hungry. That, and Dorian was making for very intriguing company.

“You know…” Lyall began, drawing in a breath, and he smiled up at him. “Why not?”