Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cold autumn wind whips down the tree-lined street, ruffling the red-orange-gold foliage and cutting through the fabric of Osha’s scrubs. But it’s not enough to lift the exhaustion that hangs over her like a weighted blanket, trying to drag her down.

On days like today, when she has back-to-back shifts because they’re short staffed, and they’re receiving case after case in an endless flood at the ER, there’s only one thing that can help. Which is why she’s out here now in the bright, cold morning, tugging her hand-knit scarf tighter around her neck, her student intern at her side.

Honestly, with how busy things have been, it’s a miracle they managed to take a break at all.

“Why don’t you just send me to get your coffee?” Jecki asks with her usual overabundance of energy, the kind that only a nineteen-year-old could possess.

Or someone who has slept for more than four hours at a time in the last twenty-four hours.

Osha sighs at the thought and reminds herself that she loves her job.

“You’re my student, not my servant,” she replies, trying to keep her teacher voice intact despite the exhaustion.

It might be a novel perspective for a resident with a student intern, because really, it would have been easier to just send the younger girl and use the fifteen minutes for a power nap.

But Jecki is a true wunderkind with incredible potential. She had to have been, to become a med school student at her age. And Osha doesn’t want the girl to think she should be running errands just because she’s so much younger and lower on the food chain.

“Besides,” Osha continues. “It’s good to get out of the hospital on long shifts, even if only for a few minutes. Fresh air, exercise, a break from all the noise and commotion.”

“And it has nothing to do with the hot barista?” Jecki asks.

Osha does a double take at the petite blonde beside her, the words so unexpected. “The—what?”

Sure, the girl is always getting on Osha about her lack of a social life or significant other. Of course, it’s not like Jecki’s dating anyone either, but the girl is nearly ten years Osha’s junior, she has time.

Plus, Jecki had made it clear that her solo status is by choice.

Osha can’t say the same. She’d like to be in a relationship, she’s just too busy, or too exhausted, to meet someone.

The niggling part of her brain reminds her that she’s weaseled out of enough conversations with her fellow resident, Yord, that had looked like they were about to become propositions, for that statement to be entirely true.

But there’s just something about Yord, the way he’s always dogging the heels of their attending, Dr. Sol, the first to answer a question or offer a diagnosis, even when a case requires additional consideration or testing to truly understand its cause.

Maybe, if he was right more often, she could forgive him. But he just isn’t.

“You’re telling me you’ve been going to the same coffee shop for the last two years, and you’ve never noticed how hot the barista is?” Jecki presses.

Osha shrugs. The fact is, she just hasn’t paid that much attention. She only ever goes to the café mid-shift, when she’s overworked and overtired and in desperate need of caffeine. So she hasn’t spent a lot of time admiring the shop’s employees.

And she seriously doubts she and nineteen-year-old Jecki have the same tastes anyway.

Soon enough, they reach the café and step inside, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee immediately greeting them. Need pulses in Osha’s blood at the promise of caffeine so close. She hasn’t had any in six hours because they’d been so busy, not even the gross drip coffee in the break room, and so she is seriously dragging.

People crowd the warm space, with its black-painted walls, gold statement light fixtures, and framed abstract art. Being so close to the hospital means that it’s almost always being patronized, but it’s especially busy now, during the morning rush.

As the two get in line, Osha fights through the drowsiness to survey the team of baristas working behind the counter, trying to determine which one Jecki thinks is so attractive. Maybe the boy with the golden curls? Or the girl with red hair and freckles?

They all look to be about Jecki’s age, so honestly, it could be any one of them.

And none of them are even remotely attractive to Osha.

They shuffle through the line, Osha growing warmer as the minutes pass, which just increases the feeling of tiredness pulling at her. She unwinds the thick, red scarf from around her neck and unzips her jacket to let out some heat, which helps a little. But there’s no point taking it all off, because as soon as they have their coffee they’ll have to head back out into the autumn air.

And then it’s their turn, the previous customer stepping aside to await their order at the other end of the counter, and Osha sees the man standing at the register.

Unlike the rest of the employees, he must be in his early-to-mid thirties, a few years older than Osha herself. He wears a black hoodie with the coffee shop’s logo stitched on the breast, his dark hair is a little long on top, swooping over his forehead, with a light dusting of facial hair above his mouth and in the center of his chin.

There’s something intriguing about him, the sharp lines of his cheeks and jaw, the dark eyes framed by long lashes, the pink mouth that quirks up to one side when he sees her.

Like he’d been waiting.

Like she’s expected.

To be fair, she does come to this café kind of a lot.

And the thing is, she knows she’s seen him before. He’s probably made coffee for her a hundred times, two hundred, three hundred. She’s just never really seen him, never really looked at him properly.

Well, she’s looking now.

In fact, she’s staring.

Standing there at the front of the line, with a solid two feet of space between her and the register—and the man behind the register—Osha suddenly finds it hard to move.

But then Jecki elbows her in the side, a sharp stab of pain because the girl is bony as fuck, and she realizes half a dozen people are waiting behind them, and they need to get moving.

God, she needs her coffee.

Quickly, she closes the distance to the counter.

“Large vanilla latte with an extra shot?” the barista asks before she can open her mouth.

Osha knows that she’s easily what one would call a regular, so it shouldn’t be a surprise. Still, for some reason, seeing him like it’s the first time, it feels somehow meaningful that he’s repeating her usual order to her while looking at her like that.

But no, he’s not looking at her any special way. Why would he? She’s just a random customer. It’s probably just her over-tired brain seeing things that aren’t there.

This whole experience is just a product of her exhaustion.

“Uh—yeah,” she manages, blinking through the heavy fog clouding her mind, because the room is so warm and she needs to get some caffeine in her system.

“You know,” he says slowly, his mouth somehow still quirked to one side as he speaks, his dark eyes gleaming. “We have this great seasonal cinnamon latte, if you want to try it. I think you’d like it. With the extra shot, of course.”

A cinnamon latte? Why does he think she would like that? Not that she has anything against cinnamon. Honestly, she’s just never really thought about it in the context of coffee before.

But cinnamon has anti-inflammatory properties and is good for digestion, blood pressure, and brain health. And, well, it is autumn, the wind dancing through the branches of the trees outside the big bay window, sending vibrantly colored leaves floating through the air.

And caffeine is caffeine.

Maybe she should try it.

“Okay,” she ventures. “Sure.”

He grins like she just made his day, which is a little disorienting, but maybe they have some kind of quota they’re supposed to fill on selling the new flavor? Or maybe the man just really loves cinnamon.

He types the order into the register. And then he takes Jecki’s order, not making any particular suggestions to the younger girl who orders a pumpkin spice latte as Osha fishes out her credit card to pay. But as soon as they’re done, he grabs one of the other baristas to take over at the register, and moves down the counter to start making their drinks himself.

Exhaustion still weighs on Osha as they wait, her eyelids feeling heavy. But the scent of freshly ground coffee beans promises rejuvenation. And she likes that he’d decided to make their drinks himself. Maybe the cinnamon latte is new and he hasn’t taught the younger baristas how to make it? He must be some kind of team lead here, or something, since he’s so much older. Which means the drink will probably be better, right?

Soon, the dark-haired hoodie-wearing barista appears with two large paper cups, one in each equally large hand.

“Here you go,” he says, pushing one toward Jecki, but holding the other close so Osha has to stand directly across the counter from him to grab it.

Only once she’s in place does he push the drink toward her, along with a plastic lid, the weight of his eyes heavy as he looks at her. Osha almost knocks the lidless cup over when she reaches for it because she can’t seem to look away from him, or the way his head tilts as he considers her.

“Try it,” he says when she finally manages to wrap her fingers around the cup. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you your usual.”

Osha’s brow furrows. “You won’t get in trouble for that?”

It can’t be good business to offer customers free replacement beverages.

The sideways quirk of his mouth lifts into a full-on grin. “No, I won’t get in trouble,” he says, and it sounds like something between an inside joke and a promise.

But Osha can’t fathom the deeper meaning.

Still, she blushes at the sight of that grin. Which is stupid, he’s just offering good customer service. She lifts the paper cup to her lips, still holding his gaze, blows to make sure she doesn’t burn herself, and then takes a sip.

The sweet, spicy flavor explodes across her tongue, her eyes widening in surprise because it’s far better than she expected.

“Mm,” she manages, taking another sip, the complex flavor rolling around in her mouth.

The barista stands there across the counter, watching her, his arms folded over his chest. “Good?”

“So good,” Osha gushes, the warmth of the drink spreading through her torso.

His grin returns. “That’s what I thought,” he says, and is it just her imagination, or are the words somehow darker, lower?

Before she can really process it, one of the other baristas calls out, seemingly to him.

“Qimir.”

The man—presumably Qimir, but he isn’t wearing a nametag or anything, so she can’t be sure—glance over his shoulder to find out what they want.

At that moment, Jecki nudges Osha, and God, was the girl standing right there the whole time? But they should get going, their fifteen minutes are nearly up, and they need to get back to the hospital.

So, Osha shoves the plastic cap onto her cup, and turns toward the door.

“Come on Jecki,” she says, like she’s not the one who had to be nudged back to reality. “Time to go.”

She heads toward the entrance with her deliciously spiced coffee in hand, resisting the urge to look back, which is way stronger than it has any right to be.

Even so, she feels the weight of eyes on her back. But it must just be her imagination. There's no way he's watching her.

…right?

Chapter Text

A blast of cold air hits Osha when she steps outside, followed closely by her intern Jecki. She reaches to wrap her scarf around her as the door falls shut behind them, and they head down the sidewalk to the looming glass and steel building just ahead.

“So you do think he’s hot,” Jecki practically preens

Osha almost trips over her own feet. “What? No, I—”

But out here with the frosty air like a shock straight to her nervous system, her brain suddenly processes everything that just happened. The hot—no, not just hot, astonishingly gorgeous—man who’d taken her order, made her drink, and then waited to see if she liked it.

She recalls the heavy weight of his consideration, those fathomless dark eyes like crowning jewels in an already remarkable face.

She opens her mouth to deny it again, but she simply can’t.

“I knew it.” Jecki cackles.

Osha forces herself to continue walking, the bright sun of midmorning on a clear day fighting against the autumn chill. The Lina Soh Medical Center beckons, a stately structure that glitters in the ample light, the glass panels reflecting the multi-colored foliage like so many framed paintings.

But then a thought occurs to her, and she sneaks a sidelong glance at her intern. “You’re nineteen. Don’t tell me you think he’s hot too?”

Jecki just lifts her PSL to her lips nonchalantly. “It’s not like I’m interested in a man that old, but my eyesight is fully functional. I can see that he’s objectively attractive. And he seems like he would be a good fit for you.”

Osha’s heart races in her chest. Because it’s so ridiculous, she tells herself. That’s all. Because why would she take anything her nineteen-year-old intern says about dating seriously?

Not that she’s thinking about dating him, that’s getting way ahead of herself.

Still, she can’t help probing as they approach the automatic doors of the hospital’s side entrance. “What makes you say that?”

“You mean besides the fact that he’s hot and obviously into you?”

Again, Osha doesn’t know what to make of those words. It’s like someone replaced her usual studious intern with a little chaos gremlin.

And yet, she can’t help asking, as they pass through the doors and into the pristine hospital lobby, the sharp scent of antiseptic immediately filling her nose. “What makes you think he’s interested?”

Their shoes squeak on the highly polished vinyl flooring as they approach the set of doors that will let them back into the restricted part of the hospital.

“Well, firstly, there’s the way he lights up every time you walk into the shop, and then there’s the fact he always wants to make your drink himself,” Jecki ticks off, lifting a finger for each point. “And I mean, have you ever even looked at your art?”

“Jecki, what are you talking about?” Osha asks, fishing out her badge from beneath her scarf and pressing it against the reader beside the painted hollow metal doors.

“Your latte art,” Jecki responds, as the scanner beeps and the magnetic lock clicks overhead. “You know, in the foam?”

Jecki reaches for the door, holding it open. Beyond, the chaos of the ER beckons, the sounds of voices calling to one another and machines beeping and hurried footsteps.

When Osha just blinks at her, Jecki sighs. “He gives you the cup with the lid off so you can look at the latte art,” she explains.

Admittedly, Osha had thought it was a little strange that her drinks always came with the lid off, but she’d just assumed it was a peculiarity of that particular coffee shop. But she was always in such a rush, she just shoved the cap on and hurried out the door.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that he’s interested in Osha. A man that good looking could have anyone he wants, and she’s… well, she’s not exactly at her most polished when she patronizes the café.

“He probably does that for everyone,” she dismisses.

“Yeah, no,” Jecki says. “I’ve been there plenty of times without you, Osh, and he only does it when you’re there.”

Jecki’s University campus is right next to the hospital, the two partnering together, which is how Jecki ended up Osha’s intern. So she doesn’t doubt that the girl has been to the café many times—maybe even more than Osha has.

And if he really doesn’t do the art when Osha’s not there…

She doesn’t know what to make of that.

But right now, she doesn’t really have time to process it all. They’re back at the hospital, break time is over, and they need to get to work. Their patients aren’t going to wait for her existential crisis to resolve.

Still, the lingering question dogs Osha’s footsteps throughout the rest of her shift.

Jecki has always been perceptive. It’s one of the major contributing factors to her getting a placement as an intern at such a young age. Osha wishes she could say that she’s the same, but she’d had to fight her way through med school using every trick in the book to keep herself afloat.

Now, her focus is reserved for her work, where it’s most needed. Which means the rest of the time, she can be a little… unobservant.

Because of that, she really doesn’t have any idea whether Jecki’s assertions are true.

Is it really possible that the barista could be interested in her?

Qimir, the other employee had called him.

Part of her wants to go back, to see him again, to try and get a sense of whether he might actually have some kind of interest in her. How could she not, with a man that attractive?

And yet, the idea of facing him fills her with mortification. She’d been so dumbstruck by him earlier, and what if Jecki’s wrong? What if he’s just a nice man who sometimes enjoys doing latte art and sometimes doesn’t feel like it?

Still, she wishes that she’d looked at the art today—and every day before that—wondering what he’d drawn for her.

She hates that she doesn’t know.

Eventually the shift ends, and Osha drags herself home, where she promptly crashes and sleeps like the dead.

But in her dreams, she sees a pair of gorgeous dark eyes, plush lips, big hands, and a disarming smile.

Her heart races as she steps into the coffee shop on the morning of her next shift.

It’s earlier than she would normally come. Usually at this point, she’s still making do with the offerings of the industrial-size drip coffee machine in the staff lounge. But the shift has actually been fairly quiet so far, which typically means it’s going to get crazy later, so she’s taking the opportunity to get the good stuff while she can.

And okay, maybe part of her is anxious to see Qimir again, even as part of her feels like she’s bound to do something utterly stupid when she does.

But maybe coming earlier will help. She’s not totally worn out this time, still in possession of most of her faculties. Maybe she’ll even find a way to make conversation like a normal person.

Because it’s so early, Jecki isn’t with her, the younger girl still in class. Nerves eat at Osha’s stomach, which is ridiculous. It’s just a coffee shop. Worst case scenario, she just orders her coffee, gets it, and leaves. She doesn’t actually have to talk to him.

He might not even be there yet. She doesn’t know his schedule, hadn’t paid enough attention during her previous visits to get a sense of when he usually works.

The scent of the coffee shop inundates her the moment she steps inside. And really, there must be something going around, because it’s less busy than usual as well, with only two people in line.

Osha unwinds her scarf, scanning the prep area behind the counter, but she doesn’t see Qimir. A little twinge of disappointment flares. Maybe she should leave and come back later—but that would be weird, one of the young baristas had already spotted her, eyes going wide as Osha gets in line.

The customer at the register clears out of the way, heading down to the other end of the counter to await their drink. The person in front of Osha steps up to the cashier at the same time, providing Osha with a clear view of the way the barista who’d seen her moves over to a cracked doorway, calling out to someone within.

A moment later, he appears, wearing the usual jeans and dark hoodie with the café’s logo on the chest.

He scans the space and quickly spots her, smiling at the sight.

Firstly, there’s the way he lights up every time you walk into the shop.

Osha’s heart rate picks up speed, her face flushing, because that’s not a normal response to seeing a customer, right? Even a regular. And yeah, she’s a good tipper, but she’d have to be passing out hundred-dollar bills with each coffee to warrant a reaction like that, right?

And then there’s the fact he always wants to make your drink himself.

The other barista had clearly gone to tell him that she was here, had pulled him away from whatever work he was doing in the back, just because she arrived.

Was Jecki right after all?

When the other customer departs, Qimir nudges the barista away from the register and takes their place, waiting for Osha.

Suddenly she can’t breathe.

She forces herself to walk forward, but it feels like the world is spinning around her. Like there’s some gravitational force drawing her to him, and yet every step feels too heavy.

Don’t fuck this up, she tells herself.

“Hi,” Qimir says once she stands before him, flashing her that grin that makes her knees go weak.

“Hi,” she manages, feeling like her body is about to combust, or take flight, or any number of things that, as a medical professional, she knows are implausible.

And yet the feelings won’t go away.

He waits for a moment, like he’s giving her the opportunity to speak. When she doesn’t, he tilts his head, considering her with those glittering dark eyes. “Do you want the cinnamon again, or back to your usual?”

Fuck, coffee. She’s here for coffee. Or at least, that’s the pretense. And yet, she honestly hadn’t even been thinking about her order.

“Um—I don’t—I don’t know,” she stutters, because suddenly she can’t remember a single item on the menu.

“Do you want me to pick for you?” he offers, and Osha nods eagerly.

He smiles a small, catlike smile that screams of satisfaction, typing something into the register. Osha pulls out her card and pays for whatever it is that she just ordered. But she had liked the cinnamon latte he suggested, and he knows her tastes. And the fact is, she’s not really here for coffee. If she dislikes whatever he makes, she’ll just dump it.

But she doesn’t think she’s going to dislike it.

Once the payment completes, he moves down the counter to work on her drink, abandoning the register to one of the other employees without a word.

Osha walks down to the end of the counter to wait. Qimir moves to the espresso machine right next to where she stands, glancing sidelong at her as he gets started.

“You’re early today,” he says, the question inherent.

“Um, quiet morning so far,” she manages, leaning against the counter in an attempt to make herself feel less awkward about hovering next to him. But all it does is give her a clearer view of his hands and forearms as he works, since he’d pushed the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows.

The sight is… distracting, to say the least. Fuck, his veins are so prominent.

“For us too,” he replies easily, pouring some milk into a metal carafe and then placing it under the steamer, the movements easy and practiced. “Which is kind of nice because I have a ton of paperwork to catch up on.”

If he’s doing paperwork, he’s definitely not just a normal barista, right? But also more than just a team lead. So maybe he’s the manager? Which makes sense, now that she spends more than two seconds thinking about it, because all the other baristas wear aprons, and he doesn’t.

And he’d still come out here to make her coffee, despite having other work he needs to catch up on, and there being plenty of other employees who could take care of her order.

Her body buzzes with the implications.

“Do you have to do a lot of paperwork at the hospital?” he prompts, and Osha realizes she’d been so distracted by his hands and the implications of his words that she hadn’t noticed it was her turn to talk.

“Oh, yes,” she says. “Constantly. There never seems to be enough time in the day.”

It’s a real issue, actually, with how understaffed the medical fields are these days, but Osha does the best she can and she’s fortunate to have the most competent intern on the face of the planet to help keep her on top of things.

And then Qimir finishes her drink, shifting so that he’s facing her, grabbing a plastic lid off a stack to the side.

Osha abruptly straightens, making sure there’s enough room for him to set the paper coffee cup down between them.

And when he does, holding the cup in one hand and the lid in the other, she looks down at the cup’s contents and her lips part in awe.

“Oh,” she breathes, looking at the shape he’d somehow managed to create with just milk foam and espresso. “It’s a cat. That’s so cute.”

It’s more than cute, it’s downright adorable. The cat has two front paws, the sweetest little face with closed eyes and perfect little whiskers, and a tail disappearing at the edge of the circle.

Have all of her drinks had such intricate art in them?

“I remember you talking to your—she’s your intern, right?”

Osha looks up in surprise and nods her confirmation, so he continues.

“I remember you talking to her about your cat. I have one too.”

Before Osha can process the fact that he remembers her talking to Jecki about Pip—and when was the last time they’d even discussed her cat?—he reaches into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone. He holds it out to her in his big, veined hand, showing her his lockscreen, which is a picture of a sleek black cat, wearing an expression of contentment as a big-fingered hand scratches behind its ears.

“This is Cortana,” he says.

“Like… the digital assistant?” Osha asks, brow furrowing.

He gives her a sheepish grin. “Like the Halo character.”

“Oh.” Osha’s flush deepens. So he’s a gamer, then. “Um, mine’s named Pip. Pippin, really. Like the Lord of the Rings character. Not that there are that many characters named Pippin—”

Fuck, now she’s babbling, and she slams her mouth shut before she starts waxing poetic about her love for Tolkein’s work.

And yet, his smile never falters. “Nice. Books or movies?”

“Both,” Osha offers.

“Did you watch the new show?” he presses. “Rings of Power?”

“Yeah. I—uh—I enjoyed it.” Osha sucks in a breath, because she knows there’s a lot of controversy around the show, and she’s not sure what he’s going to say.

“Me too,” Qimir agrees, and Osha breathes out in relief. “Honestly, I feel like Galadriel and Sauron should hook up, is that weird? They just have such great chemistry.”

The relief within Osha grows, the corners of her mouth tipping up. “Actually, I completely agree. I wish we’d gotten more of them together in season two.”

His eyes sparkle with amusement, and then he tips his head, considering her. It makes Osha’s breath catch in her chest. What is it about this man that causes her respiratory system to suddenly refuse to function properly?

(The fact that he’s obscenely, incandescently hot, probably.)

“Since I have my phone out,” he says slowly, carefully, Osha’s heart racing because those dark eyes are just so intense. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d let me put your number in it?”

She lets out the breath, unable to keep the smile off her lips. “Yes,” she says. “Yes I would.”

A grin splits his face.

All at once, it seems like her social life is about to get a lot more interesting.