Page 33 of Nine-Tenths

"Joke," he echoes, but it's strangled. Dav shutters up, like I've pulled the cord on his emotional blinds. He sets down his own mug on the metal worktop with a clatter.

Oooooooh, fuck, what have I done?

"Dav, uh—"

I'm not sure what I was actually going to say just there, but it's fine, because I don't get the chance to get it out, anyway. He’s already retreated to the front, slow and calm like he hasn't a care in the world.

I’ve offended him,I think.He's having a freak out. Shit.

I didn't mean it!

I did mean it.

Shit.

Before I can screw up my courage to face Dav—to say what, apologize? Be honest? Oh, fuck—the electronic door-chime goes off.

I can hear Dav speaking to the customer. I curl my fingers around the edge of the worktop, arms rigid, claw wounds twinging. I let myself take ten whole seconds to bite my tongue hard enough that it begins to hurt, to punish myself for my stupid mouth.

Then I straighten up, stick on my Customer Service smile, and go out to make coffee.

I don’t work Saturdays. So when my phone rings at 11am, Hadi’s name jangling obnoxiously across my screen, I'm already halfway into my jeans before I answer.

"Y'ello," I say, struggling to hold my phone against my head and pull on a shirt.

"We're slammed and your dragon won't let us into the kitchen."

"He's not mine," I repeat, jamming my feet into my chucks.

"Colin!"

"I'm already out the door," I reassure her, and jingle my keys next to the mic. She hangs up on me without saying bye, like she's some character on TV or something. It bugs me, and Hadi knows it.

Someone tries to give me guff when I slip through the door ahead of the line, but I toss "Man, I work here," over my shoulder at him. I offer a wave to Min-soo at the cash, snag up the bin of dirty cups, and shoulder into the kitchen.

Okay, so the other reason I wanted to come in was that I didn’t like how I left things with Dav yesterday. He’d spent the rest of the day avoiding me. Not keeping his distance from me like we were opposite ends of a magnet, but emotionally. Like a life-sized model decoy of Dav.

It sucked, and it was my fault. I had hurt or offended him, though I wasn't sure how, and it had something to do with jokingly professing my love. He'd clammed up when I'd teased about getting married too, and yeah, okay, I'm an asshole because I’m just realizing that there's a pattern there.

Clearly not into me.

Maybe he’s even the kind of rigidly straight that can't even handle queer teasing.

So I had to make sure he was okay, and find a way to be his friend again.

He looks up as I slam in the door, red-faced and disheveled, waistcoat and pocket watch missing and wearing only a slightly sweaty tank top—holy fuck, shoulders!—and scowling.

"I believe I asked you to knock before—Colin," he says, surprise making his eyebrows bounce once before that painful non-expression slaps into place.

"Hi," I say, which is both inadequate and stupid.

I set the bin down, swap out the clean mugs in the industrial dishwasher and return them to the front, then knock before I come back to start grinding beans. Seeing him standing there, hair floppy, exhausted, tight lines around his eyes, another wave of guilt slams into me.

"You know you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"I want to," Dav says, chin lifted, jaw set.

"You don't actually owe us." I turn away to start filling the big grinder.

---