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1. Food
His food was wrong .
It was such a small thing, barely a blip on most people’s minds besides some brief annoyance.
But not to him.
Coffee had had this specific order for over ten years. No matter where he went, he ordered the same thing. And everywhere he went, he would watch closely to ensure they did it right. He didn’t mean to be annoying, it was just important to him.
Normally, he would have been watching and could have caught the mistake. But he hadn’t, he’d been distracted by his phone, and the worker behind the counter was new and didn’t know his order the way the older employees did. He’d been receiving texts from his datemate about meeting that night and had gotten distracted in excitement.
So he didn’t see the error.
And once the food was wrapped up, he didn’t think much about it, just paid and left. He was so happy he would get to see his datemate that night. He didn’t think it would be an issue.
But it was.
He arrived at his datemate’s apartment safely, only bending space a little bit to shorten the walk. Being greeted by a wide smile and a slow hug always seemed to soothe him, helping him feel safe. People and objects moving too fast gave him anxiety, so the fact that they would make sure to broadcast their movements clearly, checking in first before touching him…it meant a lot.
It didn’t take long for them to be sitting side by side in front of the t.v., with them encouraging him to eat, as they had eaten before he came. So, a little nervously, he unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite.
And froze.
There were pickles in his sandwich.
Now, food was a difficult thing. Some things tasted good but felt awful. Some things had good texture but tasted horrible. Pickles were both awful texture and taste. He hated them. He hated their sour-salty taste, hated the awful crunch noise they made, just. Ugh. No.
Now, if he had simply seen the things, he would have been annoyed and tried picking them off as best he could (probably ending in him giving the sandwich to his datemate because, pickle juice, ew .) It would have been a little upsetting, but whatever.
Being assaulted by the overwhelming taste and loud crunch, with no warning?
He froze.
Teeth clenched hard, he felt himself drop the sandwich, unable to move to catch it or spit out the disgusting mouthful. The idea of swallowing the bite was making him nauseous, adding on top of nausea and alarm sounds in his skull that the sensations were causing.
Vaguely, he heard his datemate saying his name, concerned. But he couldn’t seem to respond because that would require opening his mouth, which meant the food moving, and the taste touching another part of his tongue and starting it all over again, and--
“Coffee, sweetheart, listen to my voice.” They requested, voice steady and calm and reassuring and warm and familiar. He had listened to this voice for hours almost daily since you had started dating, and also for months before that when you were just friends. “I have a bowl in my hand, it’s in front of you. I need you to form your eyelights and spit out what’s in your mouth, okay?”
Coffee felt a high-pitched whine in the back of his throat because oh stars this was so embarrassing, they were going to be so grossed out, why was he like this--
“Coffee.” Their voice brought him back again. “I know it’s gross, but it’s better than trying to keep it in. Spit it out, please.” Their voice had gotten a tiny bit more insistent, but was still that warm, comforting anchor for him to cling to.
With zero choices, in the end, he knew he had to do it. So, like setting a bone, he did it as fast as he could. Eyelights formed, and with tears in his sockets, he located the bowl being held right in front of him and quickly opened his jaw with a ‘pop’ and spat out the food.
“Great job, thank you.” Their voice stayed steady, and the offending bit of food was removed from his line of vision, a plastic cup replacing it. “I got you some chocolate milk to replace the taste with.”
In a flash, he had the cup in hand and was drinking it. He tried to do it slowly, to make sure it got all the gross taste out. It was only when he drained the entire cup that he even realized it had helped, immensely.
“Take a deep breath, hun. Feel okay?” They asked, carefully removing the cup from his hand.
He followed the prompt, breathing in deeply, and blowing out as much of the tension as he could, just like his therapist taught him. It helped.
“Are you feeling up to words?”
A head shake no, then yes.
“th-thanks…” He whispered, a few of the tears that had been hovering in his sockets slipping out.
“Anytime, hun.” They said, reaching out slowly and waiting for a nod before using their long sleeve to catch his tears. “Wanna cuddle and watch a comfort show?”
Stars, he loved them.
2. Texture
Coffee liked craft stores. All the colors could sometimes be overwhelming, but otherwise, they were always quiet. Just calm pockets of inspiration.
And, he would admit, he also liked them because it made his datemates eyes light up.
“You’re sure you have the spoons to come in with me? I know I can sometimes take a long time…” They sounded uncertain, almost embarrassed. He knew they could spend hours looking at things and planning out projects.
“I’m sure.” He reassured them, grinning a little at them. He was certain that, if he had said no, they would have either rushed or decided to go another day.
Stars , he loved them.
It progressed like any other visit, which means he happily carried the handbasket and followed behind his datemate as they muttered and asked his opinion on colors for different projects.
“I was thinking of doing washcloths, but I’m not sure if I should go for cotton or this scratchy stuff. What do you think?” They asked while holding out two very different types of yarn. One looked like the usual if just a bit paler in color. The other looked like it was covered in soft fuzz.
Curious, he reached out to touch the fuzzy one. With one finger stretched out, he felt the yarn.
His eyelights guttered out.
That was awful . He didn’t know what the fuck it was made of, but it was not soft. It was prickly, like plastic, and scratched against the bone of his finger like it was trying to dig into it. Instinctively, he flinched back a step, arm coming up against his chest. He could still feel it, scraping on his hand, what the-
“--ere hun, touch this.” Their voice filtered in finally, grabbing his attention.
Blinking his sockets hard, his eyelights were back when he opened them again. His hand was still tucked against his chest and it felt weirdly itchy . Upset, he looked at his hand, half expecting to see the awful yarn still touching him.
A flash of color alerted him to his datemate holding out another kind of yarn, offered up to him. He hesitated at touching it, now nervous in a way he hadn’t been before.
“Trust me, hun. Please.” They encouraged. And he did trust them. So he slowly reached out and touched it.
‘Soft .’
This yarn was much, much nicer. It felt almost silky to the touch and immediately seemed to soothe the itchy feeling that had lingered.
“Is that better?” They asked, voice filled with concern.
He nodded quickly, continuing to brush his phalanges against the softness. Tension he hadn’t noticed in his panic seemed to drain out of his datemate’s shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, Coffee.” They said, guiltily. “I should have thought about your dislike of certain textures.” Their gaze dropped to the floor, upset.
Alarmed, Coffee quickly shook his head, then reached out to wrap long phalanges around their wrist. “No, no. it’s okay, really. It’s not your fault.” He said softly. He didn’t want them to feel bad! He waited until they looked up, and smiled softly. “Can we get this one? I like it.”
Their eyes lit up. “Sure! I could make you something with it!” And quick as flicking a switch, they began searching for colors in the same style.
And when, two weeks later, they presented a multicolored blanket made of the silky soft yarn, Coffee was ecstatic.
3. Noise
It was a bad day.
Not the “bad shit keeps happening” kind of day. It was more that everything seems to have been turned up to eleven.
Lights were too bright, sounds too loud, smells too smelly . It was just too much.
But Coffee had made plans with his datemate days ago and didn’t want to cancel. There was a marathon of terrible black and white horror movies tonight, and they had both been excited about it.
So it was with sunglasses and his hood pulled up, a backpack with snacks on his shoulder, that he set off. Thankfully, he had been to the area enough that he could bend space closer to the apartment and speed up the walk.
Arriving at the door, he hesitated to knock. He didn’t want the loud noise of his bone hitting wood, but he didn’t want to be presumptive and walk in. Although, they had mentioned before that he could….
Holding his breath, he walked in without knocking, locking the door behind him. Before he could call out their name, he saw their head pop out from the kitchen area.
“Hey, hun, glad you made it safe! I’m just making popcorn, any preference on butter amount?” They asked warmly, a bright grin on their face.
He shook his head no, and they went back to making the popcorn.
The rest of the night went mostly well. They seemed to notice he was quieter, and adopted the same, speaking softer and keeping the volume lower than usual. It was nice.
The first and second movies went by, both hilariously bad, and darkness fell completely.
And that’s when a loud BANG, followed by a high-pitched squeal going off, echoed in from the open window.
With a loud clack , his hands covered his acoustic meatus on both sides of his skull, trying to muffle the noise. The squealing wouldn’t stop , it just kept going and going and going --
Gentle hands moved his away from his skull, the noise making him flinch. Before he could return them to their place, something soft-yet-firm was placed over his skull, covering the holes that served as his ears.
The silence was wonderful .
Blinking a few times, he looked up at his worried datemate. Without breaking eye contact, they signed the letters for ‘ok’. He nodded, then reached up to prod at what they had put on him.
It was headphones, the big kind that cut off sound completely. Without thinking, he reached out and hugged his datemate tightly. They happily returned the hug, letting him hold on for as long as he wanted.
When they finally parted, they sat next to him and grabbed the remote, turning the closed captions on the tv. He leaned against them, happy when they snuggled close in return.
He was so lucky.
4. Job Stress
Something was wrong with his datemate.
It wasn’t anything big, just little things he had noticed. They weren’t smiling as big, seemed tired a lot, and had even stopped working on their main craft projects.
Wine had suggested they might be stressed or suffering burnout, which Coffee definitely understood, having dealt with it himself. And he suspected it had something to do with their job, but couldn’t be certain until they told him. He didn’t want to push and bother them though, so he chose to be there as much as he could for them. Help with little things, or encourage them to create something.
He just wanted them to be happy.
He thought it was going well, they had seemed appreciative of his little things like helping clean their apartment and bringing movies over to relax with. Until one afternoon he got a call.
“C-Coffee. Are you, um. Are you busy right now?” Their voice was thick and stuttering, They were…crying?
“What’s wrong?” He asked, the handheld game he had been playing being set aside instantly. Wine, who had been sitting at his small desk working on something, looked up at his tone.
“I just, um. Could, could you come over? I’m sorry, I just- it’s been a really bad day and I just, um-”
“I’m on my way.” He reassured them, moving faster than normal to get up and grab his bag, grabbing a few things to stuff into the backpack while holding the phone up with blue magic.
“thank you…” They whispered, voice catching on another sob, before hanging up the call.
Coffee looked over at Wine, excuses for leaving on a day that they were supposed to have dinner together, but Wine waved his hand dismissively.
“Go. Take Care Of Your Datemate. I Hope They Are Alright.” Nodding in thanks, Coffee didn’t bother to wait, immediately bending space until he was standing outside their door.
Walking in, he assessed the room. Sitting, curled up into a ball on the couch, was his crying datemate. They had their knees pulled up, arms wrapped around their legs, face hiding while shoulders shook silently.
In a blink he was in front of them, crouching down to try to get their attention. Reaching out, he brushed his phalanges over their soft hair. The surprised flinch made him frown, but all it took was one glance up for them to unfold from their tight hold and reach out, asking for a hug.
Moving to the couch beside them, he tugged them into his side, holding them tightly. They tucked their head under his chin, huddling against him for comfort.
Using blue magic, he opened the backpack he had dropped next to the couch and pulled out the thick, super soft blanket they had made him months ago. Carefully, he wrapped the blanket around both of them, mostly focused on his slowly calming datemate.
Next came the sound canceling headphones, a copy of the ones he had first used here a few weeks ago, set to the side with his phone, ready for music to be connected.
He left the few comfort food snacks in the bag for right now, focusing instead on rubbing their back slowly until they relaxed against him.
He wasn’t sure what had caused the crying, but he would certainly find out.
And someone would be added to his Black Book.
Until then, he would help his datemate destress and relax as best he could.
Stars, he loved them.