Chapter Text
Rhys took a step back on the sidewalk, placing a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun so that he could gaze up at the battered, half-scrubbed-off sign that sat above his very own coffee shop. Well, soon-to-be coffee shop. At that precise moment, it was a mere empty shell with leaking pipes and a strange, unidentifiable smell. However, that could be fixed. Rhys was happy. More than happy, in fact; he was ecstatic. Despite everything: the paperwork, the stress, the bartering, the flirting with the agent...he was here. This smelly, soggy empty shell of a building was his and his alone. It sat in the perfect spot. Commuters strolled by morning and night. The sidewalks were never empty. It looked out across the prettiest part of town. Rhys grinned wider and wider and eventually chuckled to himself. It was surely the beginning of something great.
“Alright, lover boy, can you make use of that pert ass and grab a box from the truck?” As Yvette passed him, she bumped him on the hip with her own and tossed him a wink before heading inside.
“Okay so,” Fiona announced, placing the box she was carrying at her feet and staring up at the sign alongside Rhys, “the plumber will be here at eleven. I’m gonna dump this inside and go pick up the paint from the store. You still set on those colours?”
It took her hand on his shoulder to bring him back to reality.
“Oh? Oh! Yeah. Yes. The paints. Those colours are for definite. Thanks, Fiona.”
Fiona nodded and clapped him on the shoulder again. “Yvette’s right. No use standing out here just gaping at it.” She gestured towards the door. “Go! Idiot!”
Following orders, Rhys heaved a box from the truck into his arms and opened the shop door with his foot. He wished he could walk in and breathe in some sort of fresh scent like people did in the movies, but he could only wrinkle his nose and let out a whine of disgust. Yvette was nowhere to be seen, but Sasha sat crossed-legged on the counter, typing away at her tablet and humming to herself.
“Did they confirm that they’re coming today?” he asked warily, praying that her answer was a good one. “Please say they’re coming today.”
Sasha looked up at him and beamed. “When have I ever let you down? They’ll be here at half past twelve. Sound good?”
Rhys dropped the box and squeezed her knees which she’d now allowed to dangle. “You are the absolute best.”
Sasha tossed her hair. “I know.”
“So, I found the source of the smell.” Yvette stepped into the room from the back looking extremely unimpressed. Rhys raised an eyebrow. “There’s about six dead mice under the sink in the kitchen. You might want to make a call.”
“Fuck,” Rhys growled. As if he needed yet another issue to arise from this place. Yet, he reminded himself, breathing slowly, it was perfect. It would be perfect.
Everything would be fine.
*
“Can you pass up the pink,” Rhys asked around the large paintbrush clenched between his teeth. “No, not that pink, that pink.”
Fiona flashed him a glare, folding her arms defiantly. “Well if you hadn’t asked for three different shades of pink then it would be so hard to understand what you want, would it?”
Rhys frowned. “Can you just pass it please?” Balancing himself carefully, he took the brush out of his mouth and gestured his hand down at her. “I don’t have all day for your bitching.”
Yvette made a face and hid her laughter behind her hand, turning away to continue painting the edge of the window frames. Fiona turned as red as the paint on the floor beside her.
“Man, you are on thin ice.”
Rhys flashed her a strained smile. “Fine. I will get it myself.” He climbed down the fairly precarious ladder and grinned up at her as he picked up the paint, dipped a finger in and wiped it across her face quicker than she could process. Her gasp and snarl indicated that he was in for a serious hiding but their petty quarrel was interrupted by a loud, angry voice from behind them.
“What the fuck is this.”
Spinning around, Rhys laid his eyes upon a very attractive, well-built man with heterochromatic eyes like his and a jawline so fine Rhys didn’t really know what to do with himself. However, the man did not look happy. He was looking at the freshly painted sign with what appeared to be the utmost anguish.
“Why the hell is it pink?”
“Um…?”
“I mean look!” The man pointed at the tattoo parlour next door and then back at Rhys’ place. “It’s pink! Freaking pink!”
Rhys bent to place his paintbrush in the tin and as he stood he folded his arms. “What point are you trying to make, sir?”
At the ‘sir’ the man seemed taken aback. The hint of a smile flickered across his lips before it curled back into a grimace. He sighed and rolled his eyes, folding his arms to match Rhys’ stance.
“I mean, who in their right mind paints yellow lettering against a pink background?” The man stalked around and grabbed the paintbrush out of Rhys’ hand. He shook it under his nose. “And who would try and paint both the lettering and the background at the same time.” The man continued to grumble as he gazed back up at the sign. “I’ve been watching you for some time now, kiddo, and I need to tell you that I won’t have such a shit sign next to mine.”
It clicked. This guy ran the tattoo parlour next door. The sleek, black and yellow fronted store with the incredible artwork and five star rating in the windows. Helios, it was called. However, his rude introduction - if it could even be called that - left an unquellable rage bubbling inside of Rhys.
“Don’t,” Rhys snapped, stepping forward and raising a finger. The man stepped back, eyes widening. “Don’t you come marching out here like some self-entitled prick and tell me what to do with my shop. You didn’t even say hello. You just waltz out here like you own the whole fucking street and -”
“The name’s Jack,” Jack interrupted bluntly, sticking out a hand. “And being an artist, I simply couldn’t just let you defile this street with your inability to see in colour.”
Rhys opened his mouth to respond.
“No but I see his point,” Yvette mused, finger on her chin. Rhys turned to her and flashed her a warning glare, shaking his head. “I mean, when you really think about it...it’s super ugly.”
Sasha chewed her lip. “Didn’t want to say it, but…”
“I was totally waiting till you finished to say it,” Fiona added with a smirk, “but it’s goddamn awful.”
Rhys didn’t really remember the next few moments. He was so blinded with anger that he couldn’t quite muster words, huffed instead and stormed inside and up to his room.
Why did he always have to surround himself with assholes.
*
Rhys hadn’t intended to fall asleep. He only realised he had in fact dozed off when he awoke, blinking bleary eyes into clarity and sitting up. He would have taken more time to adjust but when he spotted a familiar face outside of his second floor bedroom window, he couldn’t help but shriek. Jack, the asshole tattoo artist from next door, was painting his fucking sign. Or at least Rhys preferred that idea to him potentially defiling it with graffiti. Neither one was favorable. He jumped from the bed and threw the window open, shocking the man on the other side so much that he almost lost his balance.
“What are you doing?” Rhys hissed, trying to lean out of the window to see. “Who gave you permission to paint on my sign?”
Jack was silent for a moment. “Like...all of your friends?”
Yes, Rhys was definitely going to murder every single one of them.
“Fuck me,” he groaned, stalking out of the room and down the stairs, mentally preparing himself for what diabolical shiny black scrawl would have been plastered across his shop front. He tore past his treacherous “friends” and out through the front door.
“If you even think for a second that I’ll be keeping your stupid design then-” He stopped short. His jaw dropped, eyes like saucers. The sign was wonderfully, beautiful perfect. It was still pink, with reds tucked up into the four corners, blended out seamlessly. ‘Pandora’s Box’, the name of the cafe, was swirled across in white text, outlined in black. A rose was painted at the end, in incredible detail.
“Holy shit,” he announced with a gasp, fingers touching at his chest and then at his throat. He could have cried with how much better a job Jack had done. “It’s…” Yet he wouldn’t give the rude man the satisfaction of a thank you. “Don’t you have like, clients? A job? To do?”
Jack laughed as he stepped off of the ladder and dusted his hands on his pants.
“I’ll take that holy shit as a thanks. Tuesdays are quiet for us. I didn’t have anyone to tat so…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “So I thought I’d do you a favor.”
Rhys bit his lip. The guy was really hot. He hated himself. He wanted to not find the guy hot whatsoever. He wanted to hate every inch of him but he also wanted to touch every inch of him because damn the muscles on the guy were -
“Hey kiddo, are you going to reply or are you going to keep staring at me?”
Rhys balked at Jack’s expression, catching himself and pulling a face in return.
“Yeah well, thanks. Anything else you want to stick your nose in before I open my doors to the public?”
Jack smirked. “As long as you let your friends pick the colours, I think you’ll be just fine, pumpkin.”
Rhys poked out his tongue. “Do you even know my name?”
“I was guessing Pandora,” Jack quipped, jerking his thumb back towards the sign. He grinned at his own joke.
“Wow, no.” Rhys stepped forward, determined to try and be the bigger person from that moment on. “My name is Rhys.”
“Heh, I know. Your very good best pals told me. They also told me that you have tatts.” Jack stretched. “Maybe come to me with a design sometime.” He looked up at the shop sign. “Perhaps something to symbolise this new adventure of yours.”
With that, he turned and left, disappearing into the parlour. Rhys simply remained on the sidewalk, not quite sure how to understand the hot tattooist next door, but secretly, desperately wanting to understand him all the same.
*
“All of you are fired.” Rhys locked the door behind him and turned to face his friends. They were sitting on a freshly laid wooden floor which Rhys had no recollection of seeing before. He slid down beside Fiona. “Christ, how long did I nap?”
Fiona leant back on her elbows. “About five hours. It’s three, dumbo.”
“Woah.”
Sasha leant her head against his shoulder. “You obviously needed it, bubs.”
“Mmm.”
Yvette yawned. “The furniture is getting delivered at five. I called pest control and they should be here in a half hour. Jack did a good job on the sign, huh?”
“He’s gorgeous,” Sasha swooned, biting her lip. “He kept talking about you when he was painting, Rhys.”
“Mmm.” Rhys was beginning to doze off when something hit him. “Wait did you say five hours? I was asleep for five hours?
“...Yes?”
“Jack was out there for five hours painting my sign?” He sat up suddenly, eyes blown wide. “Five hours?!”
“He took his time. Said he wanted it to be perfect for you.” Yvette winked at him as Rhys bounded to his feet and unlocked the door. He hurried round to the parlour and peered in through the window, spying Jack chatting to a tall, dark haired woman. Jack had...spent five hours? Of his life? Painting Rhys’ sign? He wrenched open the door. Jack and the lady turned to regard him, Jack raising an eyebrow and offering a smile.
“A lifetime supply of coffee. Just for you.” Rhys pointed. “As a thank you.” Rhys was back in the café in under thirty seconds, breathing hard. He hadn’t even registered if he’d looked Jack in the eye. All he knew as his breathing slowed was that he must have come across like an absolute moron.