Everything I Never Told You ( Conan Gray )

XXXIX. The Usual Cafe

The usual cafe was literally called The Usual Cafe. Heath didn't understand whether that made the founder of it a literary genius or a dumbass who was low on ideas and creativity. He sat in one of the corner booths, not wanting to be overheard when they talked to Alina. It had only been five minutes and a girl had handed him her number while 'putting away' napkins. He was determined to not touch the napkin holder.  

A waiter had arrived back at his table, looking exhausted, running a minimum wage job. He had worked in his mother's store before moving out and understood the boredom that came with such jobs. The same faces to stare at, meeting someone interesting once in blue moon but you never slip them your number. 

"My friend is just arriving,"  he told him, glancing at the clock on the wall across the server. It was 4:56 and Conan would be here any minute. 

The waiter gave him an extremely dramatic eye roll and walked past his booth as if pretending he had never even meant to ask him what he wanted. 

The bell on the door jingled, startling him and knocking life into his bored soul. It was Conan, just a meter away from him. He was wearing a black tank top and a purposefully shredded t-shirt over it that exposed the inner muscles of chest and his collarbone. He was also wearing a pair of loose black trousers that did justice to his waist and thighs. Sometimes he looked like an emo prince straight out of a disney movie but he guessed he had his own reasons for that. 

"Hi," he said, sliding into the booth beside him. 

"Hi," Heath said nervously. He let a tuft of dark black fall onto his left eye so he wouldn't have to look at him directly. 

"Hi," he repeated, sliding his humerus on the table and placing his head on it to look at him directly. He looked like a seductive flirt and he almost kissed the mischievous smile tugging at his lips. He was convinced Conan liked him. He had been convinced for a while now. And couldn't deny that he was attracted to him too. But he didn't believe anything could ever transpire between them. Maybe it was his prejudice natural prejudice against him and his boyfriend's memories.

He wanted to look away but he had learnt that it was useless. He would stare at him with his hurt eyes and then he would feel guilty. 

"Hi," he said, wondering if it was too late to back out. "Again..."

"Would like to get something?" the waitress asked. She glanced at the napkin holder, probably praying that one of them touched it. 

"A monkey spit coffee?"

Heath looked at him with a bizarre expression his face. Monkey spit coffee sounded illegal to him. Fuck illegal, it sounded like an abomination. 

"Just a caramel latte with whipped cream," he said. When the waiter was out of earshot, he twisted his face towards him, judging him hard. 

"Monkey spit coffee is good," Conan said grinning at him. 

"A good monkey spit coffee is contradiction in terms," he said. "You don't seem like someone who would have that kind of coffee."

"What coffee is best suited to me then?" he said leaning forward. Heath's eyes dilated as he saw the edge of his lean waist and his chest. He tore his eyes off of him only to stare at his deep brown ones that pulled him in with a certain force. 

"You're always full of energy, like an atom in it's excited state, so I would say you like Robusta beans, put out in the form of a latte. A latte because you seem to enjoy the your coffee thick."

Conan must have asked that question playfully because to Heath he seemed taken aback. 

I shouldn't have compared him to coffee, he thought, cheeks burning.