𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚝: 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝙾𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜

𝙿𝚎𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝙼𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗 | 𝙶𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗 𝚁𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

~Next up: Gavin x Reader ~

Requested by no one. It's healthy to self indulge from time to time :)

Warnings: None. Just pure, precious fluff.

⭕️BEWARE OF SPOILERS⭕️

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It seems rainy days are always the kindest to him. It's almost as if the cool gloom washes his worries away- or maybe it's just that it forces away the people. Gavin has never been fond of people; they're loud, and judgmental, and bossy. He feels hypocritical for saying that, but he brushes it off as he scribbles a name on a coffee cup, setting it on the counter and calling for the one other customer in the restaurant. As most customers do, they pass him a glance, a tight smile, and then they go and sit in the far corner, leaving him to soak in the sound of the rain. It's calmer today than it was just about a month ago, but he still thinks of that one evening where he met you. As he leans his elbows on the counter, feeling tacky to the touch, he pulls out his phone and glances briefly at the screen. There is no text from you as he had so foolishly hoped, and he almost convinces himself to text you first before dismissing the idea with a huff. His phone finds itself back in his pocket and he takes in the warm familiarity.

Winter had hit Detroit hard, and he was rather surprised to see rain rather than snow. The last three weeks he had seen nothing but the crisp white, the falling flakes reminding him over and over that Christmas was well on its way. He disliked Christmas for too many reasons to count. Another thing that reminded him of this dreaded time of year were the decorations donning themselves proudly everywhere he looked. A Christmas tree speckled with small, glowing lights stood proud in the center of the coffeehouse, basking in the thought of being the center of attention, flaunting it's monotone ornaments. The glimmering star atop its head shone brightly in the gloom, and this time, rather than the Lo-Fi he was used to, an ancient Christmas tune danced merrily towards his ears. He thought of you again, sitting at one of these tables, nose buried in a book or your phone or your drink. Gavin had begun to consider you... a friend, and maybe even more, though he would never admit that. He told himself he didn't need someone to love, but in all honesty he was afraid. He had managed to hide his flaws from you until now. He felt normal, acceptable, like a good person. You made him into a good person. The thought of you and the repetitive jingling of the music finally drove him to pluck his phone form it's place again, opening the content so adorably named 'My Coffee'.

Hey

You mind stopping by the shop after work?

Shift is slow. Need someone's voice to drown out this shitty music.

He clicked his phone off and slipped it into his back pocket, telling himself time and time again that he wouldn't check it until it buzzed, until he was certain you had messaged him back. He held onto that promise for about twenty seconds before he was checking again to see nothing, and letting himself fall back into the tacky music with a sigh. A sort of sluggishness tugged at his eyelids, bringing them to a gentle close. He propped an elbow up on the counter, chin resting in his hand as the time slipped by. He heard the scrape of a chair being pushed against the soft chestnut floor, having fulfilled its purpose. He imagined what the chair must feel, and then smiled lightly at the thought of it feeling proud. It seems the winter was driving him mad. Footsteps, light yet loud and clipped in the near silence travel in front of him, though his eyes remained lightly closed. He mumbled something along the lines of a farewell, and hears the ring of the bell above the door before it clicks shut again. He had a love-hate relationship with that bell. The bell meant customers, customers who were, more often than not, not you. Basking in the silence for another quick few seconds, he feels at peace enough to hold his light grin on his face until that bell jingles again. It sends hope, which he quickly suppresses, sparking momentarily through his veins. He doesn't bother opening his eyes until more footsteps approach, passing right by the counter and towards his right. The bar stools, he assumes, and his thoughts are confirmed at the scraping of the metal stool legs on the ground. He's about to abandon the peace and treat his customer when they beat him to it with a greeting that he recognizes immediately.