Coffee and Fruit Snacks 3
Title: How It Started
Series: Rise of the Guardians
Characters/Pairings: Jack Frost/Pitch Black
Genre: Humor, Romance
Rating: T
Comments/Warnings: How someone that used to adulting and someone that unwilling to adult could have met in college.
Pitch was here for his morning cheesecake filled, sugar-coated pastry of choice. It was cheap food and cheaper coffee, but if he wanted anything better, he would have to leave campus and that just wasn’t happening. Not every morning. Not every semester. Frankly, Pitch Black was far too lazy for that. He barely made it here as it was.
"What the fuck is a fancy?"
Testament to his abilities prior to coffee, Pitch had no idea someone had walked up next to him. He looked like an undergrad, but Pitch had been fooled before. He could have been up all night in a lab and didn’t have to teach today. That would explain the rumpled hoodie and severely injured jeans. But undergrad was much more likely. Especially if he was not already fluent in to-go coffee shop menu lingo.
"It's one of the special twisty long ones with cream inside,” Pitch answered, using his fingers to illustrate the shape.
His peer did not seem impressed, "...What the fuck did you just do with your fingers?"
"Gesture?"
A dark eyebrow rose, which struck Pitch as odd and he didn’t know why until he realized the rest of his hair was pale. Maybe he needed an extra shot in his coffee this morning. "That wasn't a gesture. That was a dirty sexual descriptor. But seriously, what the fuck is a fancy?"
Pitch promptly gave up on this conversation. He was not looking to get called a sexual predator this early in the morning, "Anything on the top row."
They fell into silence, pondering the menu anew. Pitch already knew what he was getting, it didn’t change much from day to day, but for some reason beyond his understanding, he wanted to wait and make sure this stranger safely navigated the donuts and didn’t just say fuck it and leave.
"You ever have days where you're like, ‘fuck it, I'm not gonna take in anything today. I should just sleep,’ but you know that even if you only take in, like, fifteen percent of what you hear, you'll still need that fifteen percent more than you need the sleep?"
Pitch was a little weirded out at how accurate his internal thoughts were. Clearly, the rumpled hoodie and injured jeans were not merely fashion. Perhaps he needed the coffee more than Pitch.
"...No, I definitely love my major more than that.” Also, Pitch regularly ditched his classes. If he didn’t feel up to it, he didn’t go. Which wasn’t to say he didn’t miss anything; his professors knew their stuff, they just never minded if he stopped by the office to catch up later. It was a split second, heat of the moment decision that had him saying, “I am going to buy you a fucking fancy."
It made very little sense to Pitch when that declaration was not met with joy, but a sort of tortured, torn look. The pale-haired… teen? looked up at the menu, then tilted his head the rest of the way back and groaned, "...Ugh, God, fuck, I don't even like this place. Why can't I afford a dorm?"
To be fair, Pitch shared the sentiment, except, "How would a dorm make this better?"
The stranger was very forthcoming with his reasoning, "’Cause then I could just make myself pancakes."
Everything within Pitch stopped at those words. Pancakes? Homemade pancakes? "Seriously?” He couldn’t help the tone of incredulity. Who would choose to cook over instant food? But it did re-fuel Pitch’s urge to buy this person breakfast. He stepped up to the counter, “Two large coffees, a Bavarian cream twist, and a strawberry sugar braid and I think I'll keep you,” Pitch said as he turned and faced the stranger again.
"What?” He sounded more perplexed than shocked, “Keep me?"
"Yes,” And it wasn’t strange at all how badly Pitch wanted him to agree. There was the chance he sucked at cooking, but it probably wasn’t any worse than this place and Pitch wouldn’t have to make it here to have his shitty-but-likely-not breakfast, “I have a dorm and you are welcome to it so long as you make enough pancakes for me to have some."
The stranger seemed hesitant, reluctant, but… agreeable, maybe even hopeful? Pitch was hopeful. "Are you for real? You don't even know me."
Pitch gently pressed one of the coffee cups into his hands, a symbol for their deal, ready to be sealed.
"I'm about to know you."
Series: Rise of the Guardians
Characters/Pairings: Jack Frost/Pitch Black
Genre: Humor, Romance
Rating: T
Comments/Warnings: How someone that used to adulting and someone that unwilling to adult could have met in college.
Pitch was here for his morning cheesecake filled, sugar-coated pastry of choice. It was cheap food and cheaper coffee, but if he wanted anything better, he would have to leave campus and that just wasn’t happening. Not every morning. Not every semester. Frankly, Pitch Black was far too lazy for that. He barely made it here as it was.
"What the fuck is a fancy?"
Testament to his abilities prior to coffee, Pitch had no idea someone had walked up next to him. He looked like an undergrad, but Pitch had been fooled before. He could have been up all night in a lab and didn’t have to teach today. That would explain the rumpled hoodie and severely injured jeans. But undergrad was much more likely. Especially if he was not already fluent in to-go coffee shop menu lingo.
"It's one of the special twisty long ones with cream inside,” Pitch answered, using his fingers to illustrate the shape.
His peer did not seem impressed, "...What the fuck did you just do with your fingers?"
"Gesture?"
A dark eyebrow rose, which struck Pitch as odd and he didn’t know why until he realized the rest of his hair was pale. Maybe he needed an extra shot in his coffee this morning. "That wasn't a gesture. That was a dirty sexual descriptor. But seriously, what the fuck is a fancy?"
Pitch promptly gave up on this conversation. He was not looking to get called a sexual predator this early in the morning, "Anything on the top row."
They fell into silence, pondering the menu anew. Pitch already knew what he was getting, it didn’t change much from day to day, but for some reason beyond his understanding, he wanted to wait and make sure this stranger safely navigated the donuts and didn’t just say fuck it and leave.
"You ever have days where you're like, ‘fuck it, I'm not gonna take in anything today. I should just sleep,’ but you know that even if you only take in, like, fifteen percent of what you hear, you'll still need that fifteen percent more than you need the sleep?"
Pitch was a little weirded out at how accurate his internal thoughts were. Clearly, the rumpled hoodie and injured jeans were not merely fashion. Perhaps he needed the coffee more than Pitch.
"...No, I definitely love my major more than that.” Also, Pitch regularly ditched his classes. If he didn’t feel up to it, he didn’t go. Which wasn’t to say he didn’t miss anything; his professors knew their stuff, they just never minded if he stopped by the office to catch up later. It was a split second, heat of the moment decision that had him saying, “I am going to buy you a fucking fancy."
It made very little sense to Pitch when that declaration was not met with joy, but a sort of tortured, torn look. The pale-haired… teen? looked up at the menu, then tilted his head the rest of the way back and groaned, "...Ugh, God, fuck, I don't even like this place. Why can't I afford a dorm?"
To be fair, Pitch shared the sentiment, except, "How would a dorm make this better?"
The stranger was very forthcoming with his reasoning, "’Cause then I could just make myself pancakes."
Everything within Pitch stopped at those words. Pancakes? Homemade pancakes? "Seriously?” He couldn’t help the tone of incredulity. Who would choose to cook over instant food? But it did re-fuel Pitch’s urge to buy this person breakfast. He stepped up to the counter, “Two large coffees, a Bavarian cream twist, and a strawberry sugar braid and I think I'll keep you,” Pitch said as he turned and faced the stranger again.
"What?” He sounded more perplexed than shocked, “Keep me?"
"Yes,” And it wasn’t strange at all how badly Pitch wanted him to agree. There was the chance he sucked at cooking, but it probably wasn’t any worse than this place and Pitch wouldn’t have to make it here to have his shitty-but-likely-not breakfast, “I have a dorm and you are welcome to it so long as you make enough pancakes for me to have some."
The stranger seemed hesitant, reluctant, but… agreeable, maybe even hopeful? Pitch was hopeful. "Are you for real? You don't even know me."
Pitch gently pressed one of the coffee cups into his hands, a symbol for their deal, ready to be sealed.
"I'm about to know you."