coffee breaks [ Charlie Barber ]

IX

"Long night, Mr. Barber?"

The lecture hall fills with quiet giggles, not helping the excruciating headache pounding away at Charlie's head. He hadn't meant to show up to work so... disheveled looking, but until an hour or two ago he was honestly convinced he'd call in sick and continue mourning in his bed.

He looks up at Alec and gives him a grimace. "Is it that obvious?," he chuckles out dryly, running a hand over his face. Class won't start for another two minutes, so he has time to go along with his students' jokes and jabs.

"I guess we're not the only ones getting drunk the night before class," Alec says between laughs, egging on the rest of the room to laugh along with him. "You could say that, yeah." Charlie chuckles it out painfully this time, squeezing his eyes shut for a good two seconds before taking a deep breath.

God, did he wish it was just a hangover.

Being drunk would've made everything so much easier. He could've smashed his lips against yours carelessly, teeth clashing against each other. Setting a fire in his heart as you moved in sync with him, your hands reaching for his hair because he knows you like his hair. You've joked about his shampoo products more times than he can count, even daring a gentle touch when he offered to let you feel the locks between your fingers.

He wasn't drunk, though. He didn't have liquid courage to push him, nor alcohol to blame it on the morning after to try and fix whatever he may have broken with the kiss. Instead he was a coward. His hands shook that evening as they do now at the memory of your touch. Your hand enveloping his with warmth, stoking a flame in his heart that not even his tears could extinguish.

"Let's just... watch a documentary today or some shit," Charlie says with a careless wave of his hand, chuckling at the mixed sounds of cheers and groans echoing through the room.

As the class quietly watched the documentary, Charlie had time to himself as he sat in the back of the room, which led him down a path of you.

It started innocently. He had recently downloaded Instagram to keep up with his colleagues' lives enough to be able to make good conversation with them. That led him to wondering if the Roasted Coven had an Instagram account.

It did, obviously. Like you had said, the Coven is just as pretentious as any other LA coffee shop. An Instagram account was bound to have been made.

The latest post was of a hot cocoa with marshmallows, paired with some Italian pastry Charlie wouldn't dare to pronounce out loud. While your face wasn't anywhere in the picture, the caption was very obviously written by you.

It took him only a tiny bit of extra scrolling before your face was in front of his. You were smiling brightly, carrying an extreme number of to-go bags. The setting was some kind of... production site?

Charlie's eyes dart around, making sure no one sees him as he swipes to the next photo in the post.

Oh.

It was you again, holding onto an empty coffee tray. An arm was loosely swung around your waist, making sure not to hug your figure but still close enough to surely make you feel the body's heat.

Bill Hader's fucking arm.

How could he have forgotten? You were supposed to bring a large order to that filming site of his. Frustrated, Charlie swipes to the last image-- the whole crew, posing happily with their treats, courtesy of the Roasted Coven. You're in the corner, sitting next to Hader in the director's chairs.