➾ cc + coffee shop au. // for @abbadons-little-witch, on the day of her birth. xo
Maine is unreasonably cold all year round. Not especially helped by the fact of their chosen professions. Killian Jones is a fisherman, out at sea for days at a time—it feels like it takes weeks to re-warm the blood in his veins. The tips of his fingers and toes an unattractive purple color. It’s part of the reason why he drinks all that coffee.
When he’s not running a farm all by his lonesome, David Nolan drives back and forth across the county after stray pets and sick wildlife. He manages to rehabilitate some, only he seems to have a problem with the part where he lets them go afterwards. The heat in his truck doesn’t work very well. And he doesn’t sleep all that great anymore. Hence the mild caffeine addiction.
“Maybe you’d like to come out on the boat some time,” sliding a hot mug of black sludge across the counter, “change of scenery might do you good.”
He can smell the salt on his skin from here. The stool he’s sitting on feels like it’s rocking underneath him like he’s adrift at sea already. There are no tall pines in the distance, no broken heater in his broken truck.
“I’d like that,” David answers, savoring the bitter taste on his tongue, “just say when.”