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The first morning that Peter meets Wade, he finds himself being oogled by the guy with a messy blonde mop of hair from across the counter and makes his order as short as he can.
Wade still gets it wrong.
But Peter likes the little coffee shop around the corner from his campus. It’s good coffee, at least when the barista is anyone but the blonde guy who talks too much, and Peter likes to support local establishments instead of contributing further to the evil that is Starbucks. So he goes back the following morning, only to be met with Wade at the counter who misunderstands two pumps of vanilla to be somewhere around six.
Complaining would be easy, and in fact he has because Wade is a bit of an asshole who should know that he can’t take simple orders, but it never seems to help much. Even after Peter had casually mentioned to Logan, the owner of the tiny shop who really doesn’t look like his life goal had been to set up a coffee shop frequented by college hipsters, Logan had only agreed with him about the “Wade is the worst barista in the world” remark.
Peter becomes something of a regular nonetheless though. He walks through the door about the same time every morning, when the sky is still sleepy with indigo and the chill in the air settles on his skin. He has his biochem class an hour from then, but he enjoys being able to take his often times poorly made coffee to the back corner and study.
Within the four months that he has made coming to the coffee shop every morning a ritual, Wade has managed to spill at least three drinks on him, written his phone number under Peter’s name on his cup in bold sharpie scrawl countless times, drawn dicks in the foam of his latte more than once, and used every pickup line known to man. All to no avail, although Peter has started to find it almost endearing if not amusing as hell.
Wade talks to him, which isn’t a surprise because Wade never stops talking, but he talks about himself and how he knew Logan from their army days together. How Logan gave him a job after Wade was dishonorably discharged (he never says for what and Peter doesn’t ask) even though he threatens to slam his face into a counter daily. He tells him about the Mexican joint he practically lives at and how he actually abhors coffee.
He doesn’t tell him about the red scars that blossom over his skin in uneven patches but Peter wonders if it has something to do with his discharge from the army.
Peter, reluctantly at first, tells him about his studies and his hopes to balance his love of science and genetics with his love for photography. His camera sways from its place around his neck when he moves, not all graceful, but it knocks against his chest like a reminder.
.
.
“So Peter,” Wade says to him one morning, flashing him a wicked grin as he leans over the counter. Peter stares at him unamused, the crumpled dollar bills still in his palm as he waits for him to take his money.
“No,” Peter supplies before Wade can move on from smouldering eyes to propositioning him.
“Oh my god, no, this is not how these coffee shop tropes are supposed to work, you’re doing it wrong!” Wade flails and actually pouts a little.
“If you don’t want my money I’ll just take my coffee now,” Peter comments casually, grinning back at the blonde who grumbles and takes his money.
He should really be used to rejection by now but Peter still finds a phone number on the side of his cup—like it matters because he’s already memorized the digits they show up on his coffee cups so frequently. He never calls.
.
.
The first time that Peter realizes that he has made his morning routine a habit for a reason other than the coffee is when he brings Harry with him one morning. Harry who turns his nose up immediately at the place because it lacks everything expensive and doesn’t pass his standard for quality.
Peter rolls his eyes and orders coffee for him anyways.
“He’ll just take a caramel macchiato,” Peter tells Wade who is frowning like someone has personally offended him. His face is scrunched up, eyes narrowed and the brunette realizes that he’s not even looking at him but over his head. At Harry.
He’s pretty sure they haven’t met before?
“You alright?” Peter asks, mildly amused.
“Oh yeah, totally,” Wade says, his voice forced like he’s trying not to rant, “Just peachy. Grand. Awesometastic. Swell. Is that your boyfriend?”
He almost laughs—because Harry? Really?—before it dawns on him that Wade is trying to destroy the object of competition with imaginary lasers in his eyes like he’s acquired venomous glares. Because Wade is actually jealous of Harry. And as incredibly hilarious as that is, because really, he would have never guessed that Wade would wear jealousy so well.
“Maybe,” Peter says, just to fuck with him. Wade’s glare intensifies something awful. “Jealous?”
“Yes,” Wade admits unabashed, “He looks at you like he owns you and I want to punch him in his smug throat.”
He’s not sure it really works like that, and he’s more sure than he should be distressed by the confession.
“He’s my best friend,” Peter explains, watching the relief flood Wade’s face, “And absolutely not my type. Though you’re cute when you’re jealous. No, that does not make you my type,” Peter teases, not wondering until much later when he had gotten comfortable enough to play flirt with Wade.
.
.
“This is the worst coffee in the world,” Harry tells him when they’re sitting in the back corner. Wade is watching them, or Harry more specifically, with an unwavering gaze that only Harry could be completely unnerved by.
Peter laughs. “Yeah, it really is when Wade makes it.”
Harry pauses, eyeing him skeptically from over the rim of his coffee cup. “You sound like you know him well.”
“I’ve been coming here for almost a year,” Peter responds dryly, holding his cup to him almost protectively like that will defend the honor of the shop.
“I wonder why, if the coffee sucks.” Harry sounds like he knows something that Peter doesn’t. It takes all of about five seconds of reevaluating his routine for Peter to pick out the subtle changes in his priorities. How he lingers a little more at the counter and jokes with Wade. How he drinks all of the too sweet coffee everyday so he can still come in.
To see him.
No wonder Wade is frustrated.
.
.
“So, Peter,” Wade starts, the same way that he usually does when he’s about to ask Peter out. He leans against the counter, but he doesn’t grin wide and arrogant like he had at first. There’s almost a tentative curiousity to it like he might as well try.
Might as well try, Peter thinks.
“Nonfat black and white mocha, with whip,” Peter hums and adds, “And yes.”
“Oh my god, you never even let me finish I can’t—” Wade rants, tapping in his order on the screen before dropping the cup between writing the first two letters of his name. Peter thinks about raising the camera around his neck to capture his expression, completely shocked with bright blue eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “What?”
“Nonfat black and white mocha with whip,” Peter repeats with a curl of his lips because he’s really not that nice of a person and may like to see Wade squirm a bit.
“The other part,” Wade says with hurried exasperation, “I swear I heard a yes in there.”
“I think you’re hearing things,” Peter says innocently, dropping some spare change into the tip jar before sauntering off to his usual spot before his name is called for his coffee.
He can’t help but grin a bit when he gets his cup, like an army of sharpies had attacked the white surface with Wade’s stream of consciousness.
‘I know you said yes!!!!!’
‘Too late now, you said it!’
‘Wanna go out for coffee?’
‘Ha no jk pls no. How about a movie?’
‘Or my apartment? ;) ‘
‘Actually call me this time, you dick!!!!’