“No-” Shit. Shit shit shit. “I didn’t mean-”

The expression on Leon’s face was awful. Pure, fucking awful. The words rewinding themselves in the span of a heartbeat– yeah, he could see how Leon had taken it that way, fuck. “I’m sorry,” Rick rushed out, eyes wide. It wasn’t– He hadn’t meant it like that! “It’s just—CeeCee.” There was a lot of feeling put behind her name, years and years and years of a younger brother’s suffering caused at an interfering, if well-meaning, older sister’s whim. “It’s not that you, you’ve been doing me a freaking service all this time-” because he wasn’t ungrateful, hell no; if anything, that was some of the best damn coffee he ever had, and even now he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. If anything- “I don’t get my coffee anywhere else.”

But that wasn’t what Leon meant, and Rick knew it. It– Leon was right, that while being a barista was a perfectly respectable job, it wasn’t the same as the jobs Rick had done, that unless one was aiming to climb the ranks in management it still wasn’t something one could make a career out of. Rick understood, but only to an extent; without personal experience, he could only imagine understanding the rest of it. And he knew it, too.

That was part of the problem, even. The disparity was still there, whether or not he chose to acknowledge it.

It wasn’t enough, however, and so Rick plowed on, stubbornly ignoring the trickle of desperation snaking its way down his spine. He had to make him understand. “CeeCee, she’s…” Where to even begin? Rick’s fists curled in frustration. “She’s the only family I have around here, and she’s great, I love her, but. She meddles all the time.” Every fundraiser he’d been shoved into, every blind date he’d been set up for– it had been her fault. Granted, he’d met some of his best friends that way (odd, wasn’t it, how things worked out?), but the point still stood: meddling was meddling.

That said…

“The coffee was the one thing she hadn’t meddled in.” He’d accused her of it once, of course– had given the sixth cup a dirty look before turning that look on her, asking if she was up to something– but her answer had been no. And Rick – for all their sibling bickering, his bitching about her nagging – was inclined to trust her. She’d never lied to him. On that note, she never let him down, either. Then, he had been relieved.

What an idiot he’d been.

But now? “I wished she had,” Rick muttered, dropping his gaze to the table, unable to meet Leon’s any longer. He’d screwed up, he’d really screwed up big time. Was it even worth trying anymore? “This one time, I wish she had,” and his eyes found Leon’s again, once more before he leaned back in his seat and looked away. At this point he’d be walking out the door, but– that was Leon’s prerogative, in this case, and the werewolf had pretty much resigned himself to it.

The problem with saying I didn’t mean it like that was that it made people wonder what you had meant, and why you couldn’t have said that in the first place and saved everyone a lot of frustration. And, if Rick’s apology didn’t improve, a shirt.

“It’s just—CeeCee.”

He sounded emotional enough to be sincere,  and Leon nodded, “Right,” indicating that he was prepared to listen to an explanation before upending the glass on Rick’s head. Of course, he’d still said it in the first place, so Leon expected the apology to be a good one.

“It’s not that you, you’ve been doing me a freaking service all this time. I don’t get my coffee anywhere else.”

That was a crap apology, and judging by the look on his face, Rick knew it. Who cared where he got his coffee from? Well – Leon sort of did, because if he went to Alohomocha then it meant he would have an opportunity to throw it in his face. Which he deserved. Well, not hot coffee, but there was always cold coffee, along with other non-coffee drinks. But that wasn’t the bit that Leon wanted an apology for. “That’s sort of the point,” he replied, the tone as condescending as if Rick were a small child. If circumstances were different, maybe Leon would be able to be happy that someone liked his coffee – coffee was awesome, he loved coffee and it was nice to know people liked the coffee he made – but they weren’t, and the words just made Leon feel inadequate, reduced to a function.

And when he got an explanation, it didn’t make sense. Figured. Leon wasn’t a stranger to siblings interfering in his affairs – and on top of his siblings, he also had Irina, who was worse than the lot of them put together – but he didn’t see why Rick would have wanted CeeCee to have meddled in this. Did he want it to be some kind of trick played on him? And that was without the question of how on earth she’d meddled in their previous meeting. He stayed quiet, trying to puzzle out an answer – and okay, he sort of wanted to make Rick wait for a response, but that wasn’t something he’d be admitting to any time soon.

He made little headway, ending up being frustrated that they’d ended up at an impasse at all, if that was the right word – it was more like a stand-off, or maybe putting someone in front of the firing squad, if you went by Rick’s expression. If he hadn’t mentioned Alohomocha, everything would have been okay. Well, if Rick hadn’t been an arse about him working in Alohomocha, everything would be fine. “Why?” he demanded, but there was curiosity there as well, “Isn’t it good that she hadn’t meddled?”

He managed a smile – not a particularly amused one, but a smile – “I still haven’t given up on throwing my water at you, by the way.”

With every jab Rick cringed, resisted the urge to sink down in his seat– childishly, and cowed. It wasn’t a feeling he was familiar with, outside the realm of his family, nor did he want to be, and it took more effort to do so than he’d ever admit. He deserved that, he knew– and would deserve that, too, but– ouch.

The smile Rick offered him was strained, but wry. “Thanks,” he snarked, unable to help himself.

But the false moment of bravado died quickly enough, and he sobered; the wry twist to his lips turned uncomfortably contrite. It was a bitter relief from his frustration with himself and his inability to express emotional sincerity, the way normal people did. Or just cope with it, even, because why should that be easy for him? “I mean- I deserve that,” he scrubbed his face, on a sharp huff of humorless laughter. Because the first step was acceptance.

Or something.

Dropping his hand from his face, Rick let it fall to the table with a thunk, slowly lifting his gaze from a nearby table to meet Leon’s again, peering up through long, dark lashes. What he found in it wasn’t encouraging. But he took a breath anyway, exhaling sharply - bracingly - through his nose. “No, it isn’t,” he replied firmly, forcing himself to hold Leon’s gaze.

Because they could have met sooner if she’d had, he felt– and, most likely, under better circumstances, ones where he might not’ve been caught so badly off guard. (Or at least, made less of an ass of himself.) Granted, it wasn’t exactly what anyone would rational, but… That was feelings for you.

Rick, though, wasn’t about to share this. He had tried to explain once already, and look how well that turned out.

But he did mean it, what he said, and in what he hoped was a way that conveyed it would have been a good thing. “I don’t care if you’re a barista,” he said, his voice even, though his eyes were– not gentle, per se, but there was nothing of the accusatory glare from earlier, either. It was… open– patient, even, in a way it usually wasn’t. (Except when he knew he fubared, of course.) “I only care that you’ve been making coffee for me because it- I feel like-” He swallowed, because ugh, feelings. “I feel like I should’ve gone out of my way to. Get to know you.”

Because Leon was something, the werewolf could say, plain as the nose on his face. Perhaps he couldn’t explain why in so many words, now, but– even then, when they’d first met, he could tell the other (younger?) man had been something. Most people would have stormed off when Rick had spilled his drink on them like that, or straight up given in (it had happened)—not retaliated, much less in the same fashion.

Anyway, Leon was– gorgeous, but not just gorgeous, that was the thing. He had eyes the color of a drink Rick was fond of drowning himself in; a mouth Rick could just want all day; and long, clever fingers Rick still wanted to put into his own mouth—but he was also sharp and witty, and had an exasperated fondness for meddling family Rick could sympathize with (–wanted to sympathize with), as well as a passion for something he obviously wanted to make a career of –much like Rick himself. He was even willing to hold other jobs in the meantime, too, so he could continue doing what he loved. Rick… liked that—admired it, even.

“But I still shouldn’t have gone off on you like that,” he continued, and his hand clutched at the table cloth, briefly curling into a fist. “It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t CeeCee’s fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault—just my own oversight. It’s not your problem I’m shit with surprises, obviously,” and he slanted Leon a wan, crooked, self-deprecating smile, one totally- uncharacteristically– devoid of tease or guile. “I really am sorry.”

The vestiges of the smile on Leon’s face disappeared, his hand tensing around the glass of water, and – relaxing. Apparently, Rick really was going to apologise. Hopefully with more success than before, this time, and acknowledging that yeah, he deserved to have water chucked in his face for freaking out over Leon working at the same place as his sister was a pretty good start.

Better than last time, at least.

“Oh,” he said, sounding more surprised than he wanted to – but then, he’d gone from thinking that Rick was an elitist asshole to being given a more comprehensive apology than he’d hoped for, let alone expected, and Rick apparently wanted to get to know him. Or at least, that was what he was inferring from what Rick had said, and he hoped it was more than just wishful thinking. It was a nice sentiment, but if Leon was honest, not necessarily one that meant a lot. People’s lives were full of people who made coffee, or who you brought stuff from at a newsagents, or whatever, and while you knew that if you met them time and time again (or not, as in Rick’s case) you should get to know them, it just never happened. And if he’d really felt like that, then he could have talked to Leon himself – that was on him, even if CeeCee could have introduced them it wasn’t like not doing so was something that she could be blamed for.

“But I still shouldn’t have gone off on you like that. It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t CeeCee’s fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault—just my own oversight. It’s not your problem I’m shit with surprises, obviously. I really am sorry.”

Leon wasn’t smiling, not quite, but there was definitely something to the set of his mouth that suggested he might, in the near future. That while he hadn’t forgotten what Rick had said, and likely wouldn’t for a while, he was mostly forgiven for it. “Thanks,” he said, “it’s sort of a touchy subject for me. If you hadn’t guessed,” Leon rubbed at his neck as he spoke, a sign of nerves – although he still held that he had been in the right, and since he hadn’t chucked his water at Rick, he was actually behaving in a downright saintly manner. Yep. Saintly thoughts only. The kind of saint who was close friends with Pope Alexander VI.

He’d got his apology, but now he didn’t know what to say. It would probably be polite to offer more acknowledgement of the apology, but he didn’t feel charitable enough to do so. Mostly, he felt drained. He’d tried, hadn’t he? And it had ended up like this. At least storming out would have offered a definitive conclusion, but then… Rick had apologised, and sure, everyone would have been happier if he hadn’t offended Leon in the first place, but he’d done it, and he appreciated that. It was enough – more than enough, if he factored in that it had been fun before it really hadn’t – to get him to try and think of something.

“So,” he started, index finger circling the rim of the glass while he stared at Rick’s reflection in it, “you like coffee, you go to clubs – how about movies? Or is that too muggle?” He’d had time to adapt to the differences between the wizarding world and the one he’d grown up in, but there were still times when the disparities seemed more significant than others. It was weird thinking that some people had never realised that the popcorn was even more money than they’d expected, or watched the wrong film and enjoyed it, or gone to a midnight premier.  Well, he’d taken CeeCee to one, but she was the exception who proved the rule, or something.

Rick relaxed– not enough to openly appreciate Leon’s finger as it circled the glass or anything like that, but enough for those shoulders to slump a bit, and to have him stare cautiously– hopefully– at the man sitting across from. He could regret that later; he wasn’t the clear just yet, but it was a start.

Fingers twitched against the table cloth. He was determined not to fuck this up. more

The question– surprising him just enough to make him blink –drew another laugh, albeit a smaller one—directed at himself. Movies. CeeCee loved movies, wouldn’t stop going on about them once she got started—was of the firm, very loud opinion that they were a stroke of genius that the wizarding world should get behind, stat, and any opinions to the contrary were neither welcome nor valid. She’d go on for hours if you let her, and Rick…

Wouldn’t be surprised, come to think of it, if it turned out he had Leon to thank for that—not that he thought it a bad thing. Granted, at least half of stuff he’d seen had been animated cartoons (particularly ones of talking animals), but he’d been impressed, to say the least, that such fluidity and range of emotion had all been done by hand. And Rick wasn’t easily impressed, least of all by “muggle magic”.

He had yet to see the comic book-based ones, though. He’d seen one, about a school for strange kids that had been taken over by some kind of racist bastard, that had a girl who ran through walls and a bald man in a wheelchair, but he’d been less than amused when CeeCee had drawn comparisons between him and the angry clawed one with the stupid hair.

The guy had muttonchops, for chrissake.

“I like movies,” Rick assured him, latching onto the opening with relief. “I don’t watch them often-” nor by himself, without prompting, “-but what I have seen are pretty good. Nothing recent, though—the ones CeeCee made me watch with her for ‘inspiration’-” He made a soft, rude noise, “-looked pretty old.” Thoughtfully, he licked his upper lip. “The one about the blue alien dog was fun.”

At Leon, Rick tilted his head curiously. A small, tentative smile tugged at his lips. “Do you have any recommendations?”

---

Leon frowned, trying to work out what blue alien dog was supposed to mean. E.T. wasn’t blue, by any leap of the imagination, which meant… Sully? No, Sully was more like a bear than a dog. “Blue – oh. Stitch! Lilo and Stitch,” Leon realised with a grin, proud that he’d managed to work that one out. Really, it was only because he knew that C.C. had seen it that he’d been able to make the leap. It was a crap description, “How is Stitch a dog? You should have stuck with blue alien.”

Rick would probably be hilariously bad if he played charades.

“Loads,” he replied, smiling in return. It wasn’t confidence that buoyed it, more the security of familiar territory, and the knowledge that he had the edge. It wasn’t the nicest reason to be more relaxed, but it wasn’t that bad. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a lover of Lilo and Stitch, but if you liked that then you’d probably like Monsters Inc. I could list hundreds of films that you might like.” It might be an exaggeration, but it was only a slight one – and assuming that Rick had seen very few films, that left entire genres unexplored. Anyway, there were hundreds of films that Rick might like, including ones that Leon hadn’t seen yet.

His hands faltered at the same time as he realised he had nothing to say, pausing and then twisting together before he grinned, expression suspiciously free of guile, “you might like Brokeback Mountain.” And now he was thinking of another type of what could loosely be called film, one that featured people doing the same thing that shepherds got onto on Brokeback Mountain.

He was almost certain, despite a relatively short period of acquaintance, that Rick would like it.

Oh yeah. Films. “I’m guessing you didn’t go to the cinema, though?” Which was completely different to watching things at home, not just because of the size and the quality of the sound system. It probably had something to do with the extortionate price of cinema tickets in central London.

If Rick had even a clue that his like for fictional family films was a source of entertainment in and of itself (–and he did, thanks; CeeCee’s irrepressible laughter saw to that), he probably, probably would be embarrassed– not so much that what he liked were essentially kid stuff in the first place, but that he obviously knew little about the culture of it all. In hindsight, “blue alien dog” was a shit description, and so Rick’s smile had appropriately, sheepishly deepened.

Still, Rick was hard-pressed to feel that embarrassed. Leon was smiling again and that… That was good. Even if it was at his expense, it was good Leon was smiling again.

Storing the title to the back of his mind– he’d check it out later– Rick huffed lightly, the coy smile relaxing into a grin. “Not for lack of trying on CeeCee’s part,” he shook his head, still grinning– looking all too pleased, perhaps, about this shortcoming, but his sister’s frustration would always be a ray of sunshine for him. She got the upper hand waaaaay too many times as it was, and a change of pace was always welcome. “I run the shop myself, mostly,” he explained, the grin fading, but leaving behind that hint of humor in his eyes, “and when I don’t, I’m usually working on something. It doesn’t leave a lot of free time, so it’s just been… dee-vee-dees? For me.”

And to be honest, the idea of cinema was as unappealing as it wasn’t. The idea of a big screen –slightly concave for that panoramic effect, he supposed– in a room kept dark to increase focus, with dozens of others present for a similar reason… and exorbitantly priced sweets, and pizza of questionable quality…

Rick wouldn’t say no to the idea straight away, but he’d need a better reason to find out what the big deal was other than simple curiosity. “I know what it is, I’ve just never been,” he clarified hastily, easing back a bit. “Our family–” He jerked his head CeeCee’s way. “Has been pretty relaxed about muggle things.” Absentmindedly fingers danced on the tablecloth. “We had cars and appliances–” altered, of course, to do more than they’d been made for, “–and phones, even, for trips, but… We never really got electronics, most of us.” There were ways to get around the usual impairments, but in the end it had just been too troublesome to deal with.

Though… there was an appeal, now, that hadn’t been there before. If cinema would live up to the hype, than Rick was inclined to believe Leon. Actually– “hey,” he began, the easy confidence cracking, letting some of the hesitation from earlier shine through, “Leon…”

But then a loud, jarring BZZZZT! cut through the room, rattling both cutlery and dates alike, and Rick fell silent. He glared, nearly, over at CeeCee, whose hand hovered over the buzzer, but she was shaking her head apologetically; their time was up.

Dammit.

“You should go with her some time,” Leon advised, “but make sure it’s something which makes it worthwhile, lots of special effects sort of thing.” If Rick even knew what they were. It was easy to forget how much of what he took for granted was alien to Rick, but Leon didn’t bother to explain. Listening to Rick talk about his family was much more interesting anyway.

The contrast between Rick thinking his family was relaxed about muggle things (as if they were a banned substance, and while Leon was fully aware that you weren’t allowed to expose muggles to magical objects, there was nothing preventing wizards from using muggle ones) and his unfamiliarity with saying DVD had Leon’s mouth curling upwards slightly. Even wizards who considered themselves well informed about muggle culture were often behind the times, and got confused about the simplest concepts. It wasn’t like it was new information, but the amusement of encountering it still hadn’t worn off.

The final admission – we never really got it – seemed much more on the mark. “Sounds like my grandfather,” Leon said instead. Technology was hard to adjust to, and its constant mutation made it even more difficult for people who weren’t familiar with it to get used to. It was hardly surprising that wizards, who mostly likely wouldn’t ever need to use any of it, weren’t comfortable with it.

The sudden change in tone made Leon stiffen, fingers curling up into his palm as he straightened in his seat. 
He was going to have to do this all over again, but that was fine because it would bring an end to what had to be a strong contender to the most awkward speed date in the history of speed dating. He was sure that the others would be easier to get through, even if this one had ruined his attitude and although he hadn’t really come with intent, he had definitely been more receptive than he was now.

He wasn’t enthusiastic, per se, about getting up and leaving – Rick was attractive, and he knew he was touchy about his job. It didn’t make him less touchy, but it made him slightly more able to accept that he had been overreacting. He still moved quickly. Since the bell had sounded, Leon’s interest in what Rick had been about to say had ebbed, and he preferred to leave and get it over with.

But he wasn’t a complete asshole, and when his chair was pushed safely under the table, he paused. A hand lifted to rub at the back of his neck, and his weight shifted as he tried to work out what to say. All the polite phrases that sprung to mind were too blatantly lies. “See you round?” Leon tried, not surrounding particularly hopeful that they would, “if you want.” Rick knew where he worked, he could decide whether or not he wanted to meet Leon again. Perhaps in a different setting, where things were less contrived and Leon was less agitated, things would go better, but he wasn’t so hopeful of that, given how things had gone tonight, that he wanted a second meeting. He didn’t wait to see Rick’s response before he moved on.