The Vault: Coffee

Something many writers have is a sandbox world. A low pressure world to practice skills in without having to worry about creating new characters or settings for. Mine is set in an AU reality show. 

It's a show where ten indie artists, freelancers, and content creators are brought together in a house. Everyone has their own private office and bedroom suite, but the kitchen, dining, and other living spaces are communal. And cameras are rolling in the communal areas 24/7. 

The challenge is staying in the house, called Indie House, by ranking high in the weekly challenges and viewer polls. 

Each challenge is different, but all of them are based in videogames or anime. The only rules are no doing serious damage, and no extended nudity. 

It gives me a place to try new styles of writing. Lately I've been using it to work on my slow burn skills, because I really struggle with that. My slow burn, cozy romance arc is the one I'm sharing today. It's the first scene of the arc. It's also become my favorite dynamic in this universe.

Without further delay, I present Coffee from Indie House.

Coffee 

I woke up in the morning feeling like I’d spent the day before exerting myself past my normal capabilities. I needed coffee before I could take any medicine for it, the only other alternative was…water.

The idea made me shudder. Water was for healthy people. Not gremlins who were here to traumatize fictional people for a living.

Only one place to get coffee at Indie House. The communal kitchen. So I made sure my tank was over the bra I threw on, put my headphones over my neck. I turned on whatever playlist I’d been listening to the night before just loud enough to hear the bassline over the running dialogue in my head.

All that was left was leaving the sanctuary of my provided cave. Into the world of having every moment recorded for the world to see.

There were only ten people in the house, for one pot that claimed to hold five cups. Realistically there were only three.

And I had to wait with all of them for the next pot.

Half asleep as I was, I found what I initially registered as a high backed chair, the only one in the kitchen. When I laid myself over it I realized it wasn’t a chair. 

Only in the sense that I was aware I was rubbing my nose against a neck, wrapping my arm around a head, and running my fingers through hair. Short, soft, curls that begged to be touched and played with.

It wasn’t until the coffee machine beeped and movement started around me I realized neck plus head plus hair meant a whole ass person. Fuck.

The head I was holding turned towards me. Extra fuck. As I lifted myself up I forced myself to open my eyes. It was Corpse. One of my favorite rappers. Top two really, and not in second place. 

His eyes glowed a Halloween orange for just a moment before I turned away and poured two cups of coffee. He seemed to resign himself to waiting for the next pot. 

I pressed a mug into his hands. “Thanks,” He said. I could swear he smiled under his mask, and embarrassment burned my cheeks. What do you say to someone you just used as a pillow in public? 

He stood and we both went to the coffee bar. I didn’t read what the containers said, hell I didn’t look at what I was doing. I was too busy watching Corpse. Watching me.

Was he creeped out? I couldn’t tell. He didn’t seem like he was uncomfortable but he didn’t say anything and I just needed to get out of there so I clutched my mug and retreated to my suite.

For a few breaths I just stood there with my head leaned back against the door. Took a sip of my awkwardly won prize only to discover things could be worse. Much worse.

I had put some kind of almond milk or something in my coffee, and was pretty sure I accidentally used saccharin instead of sugar because that aftertaste was something. It was fitting punishment.

More punishing was the realization that my headphones were broadcasting what I was listening to. Corpse’s new EP. On repeat. There was no way he hadn’t heard it, no way he wouldn’t think I was some kind of creepy fan who fucking laid on him while waiting for the fucking coffee.

The thought just my luck settled in my stomach when I realized that it had also all been on camera. Viewers would have a field day if it was edited into the final cut of the show.

Whatever. It was time to get to work. I wasn’t used to writing all day and was excited to give it a go. Less excited with how the morning had already gone.

I.

Could.

Not.

Focus.

Not without a real cup of coffee. I wasn’t about to torture myself with whatever was in my mug. Smelled like coffee, but absolutely was not.

It didn’t take long for me to crack and resign myself to going back out. Risking him still being out there eating breakfast, or coming back out for more coffee if he was as much of a fiend as me about it.

I had to risk it. 

A couple people were standing around the coffee bar chatting. I could hear someone starting up a popular MMORPG in the game room. Corpse was nowhere. 

And the pot was empty. I put in a new filter and picked the strongest grounds I could find. I also kept my eyes on the balcony above, lining the doorways to the mens’ suites. Just in case. 

Still, I almost wished I could put my fingers in those curls again. Rub my face into the cotton of his t-shirt. Smell his smell again. 

As I poured my cup and mixed it the right way, I tried to put my finger on what that scent was so I could give it to my secondary love interest. If I had to be mortified I might as well do it productively.