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Gastronomically Gastronomic's coffee was subpar. Their danishes weren't anything extraordinary, just chunks of over-sweetened jams inside greasy pastry coated with squiggles of grainy frosting. The touted special, the Bowler Hat, was special only in form with its curved brim and upside-down dome, both made of sourdough; the soup that filled it reminded one of cardboard and plastic wrap coated with pepper and basil. Flamingo-inspired wallpaper was smeared on the café walls, unsettling orbs of orange-yellow and pips of black that followed customers unrelentingly, while the glaring hot-pink threatened to cause temporary blindness.

Xar frequented this establishment far more than he cared to admit, and this was for one reason only: a certain barista. He'd yet to work up the courage to utter more than a few pleasantries and orders to the kaaraa, however.

He'd begged Gathrok to tag along just this once. Usually, the scarlet-scaled bulk of a dragoid was too busy with repairs at Otto's Autos. Xar knew that was a half-truth, the other being that he enjoyed entertaining a lot of those visitors, sporting unbuttoned polo shirts and working up more of a sweat than necessary. It'd certainly net him a lot of tips - as would sympathy (and swooning) over his blind eye - none of which would happen while sharing advice to his inept, lovelorn friend.

"I mean," Gathrok said, shrugging, "have you tried just telling Nhen you think he's handsome?"

Xar grunted. "Not everyone's as direct as you."

"Then try something more subtle. Compliment his earrings. Say his glasses look cool."

"That involves courage."

"You gotta start somewhere." He leaned in close and whispered, "Or did you want to appear like a stalker?"

"Do I?"

Gathrok shifted back upright and rubbed his wispy beard. "You show up almost every day and do nothing but stare. I'd say that qualifies."

Xar glanced at Nhen bussing a table. "All the more reason you help me."

"By doing what?"

"I don't know, something. Turn on your charm."

"He'd fall for me instead."

"You know what I mean."

"Okay." Gathrok waved a weathered hand at the big-eared barista when he turned around. "We're ready to order."

Nhen shoved his rectangular frames back up his pointed muzzle and made his way to where they sat, a full tray hugged between chest and arm. A few tufts of tan fur peeked out from the collar of his charcoal suit, an off-white apron snug against his slim yet toned figure. He smiled gently. "What would you like?"

"I'll have an espresso, triple shot. And this looker with the shale scales, well, he'll tell you."

Xar instantly regretted everything. "A-a mocha, please."

"Will that be all?" the kaaraa asked, grin widening. Xar guessed it was because of his flustered speech and increasingly flushed cheeks.

"Y-yes."

Gathrok interrupted. "Actually, I also wanted to say I love those earrings. Where'd you get them?"

Nhen traced a free finger along the angular, silver jewellery pressed on the side of his ear and down to the earlobe. "They're actually an heirloom passed down from my mom and from her father. One-of-a-kind, crafted as a wedding present."

"That's cute. Don't you think so, Xar?"

Xar tried not to let his gaze linger, though he thought the earrings were a perfect accompaniment to the subdued grey-blue of the barista's eyes. Not that he could tell him that. "Cute, yeah."

"Well, thank you," Nhen replied. "Anyway, I'll go get your drinks prepped. If you think of anything else you'd like to get, please let me know."

Gathrok lifted a hand in thanks, and waited until Nhen was out of earshot to say, "I'm sorry, who's the one trying to get a date here?"

"I'm socially inept. So sue me."

"For a big guy like yourself, you sure shrink a lot."

He'd gotten that quite often. Xar wasn't remarkably tall or wide, but he was large enough in both respects to stand out, and strangers would draw the decidedly incorrect conclusion that he had a backbone. That misconception led to unfortunate situations, one of which involved a brawl at a bar that he'd been forced into as a physical mediator. The end result wasn't pretty and caused a night or five of wallowing under his bedsheets. "Can we move on to a different strategy?"

"Like?"

"Ask him out on my behalf."

Gathrok guffawed. "Uh-uh. Either you do it or I do it for myself."

"You already get all the guys, girls, and everyone in between. Can't you let me have this one?"

"Well, don't drag your damn feet, then."

Nhen returned with two garish cups that were unbelievably louder than the wallpaper. "Here you go, one triple espresso, and a mocha with a little extra sugar."

Xar blinked. "I didn't ask for sugar."

"No, but I always see you adding some after the first sip, so I figured I'd save you the trouble. Or am I wrong?"

"I, uh…" Gathrok was beaming and mouthed a few words of encouragement. "No, you're right. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Did you two want anything else?"

He felt the words dance on the tip of his tongue before dissolving into saliva. Instead, he asked for a bear claw. Or tried to. He sprayed spit at the first letter, and the rest of the request was muffled as he hastily covered his mouth. Talk about embarrassing.

Gathrok quickly covered for him. "I think we're good for now, thank you." Nhen gave a slight bow, somehow unfazed, and left them alone. "That could have gone better, huh?"

Xar wiped his palm on his jeans. It felt dry, but he did it a couple more times to be certain. "This is why I don't interact with people."

"Shit like that happens. Remember when I was talking to my boss last week?"

"And you accidentally elbowed him in the face while reaching for a binder. Yeah, you've told me that."

"Then you know it's part of life." Gathrok sipped his espresso. He recoiled from the strength and, squinting, said, "I'm pretty sure he's still into you, anyway."

Still? "After that display? And didn't you equate me to a stalker?"

"Bah, mountain out of a grennhill."

He wasn't so sure. "Why do you say he'd be interested?"

"You're going to make me go down the list again? We did this last time."

"I wasn't trying to - "

"Well, I won't." Gathrok set his cup down on the yellow vinyl tablecloth with a certain heft. "Although, I will say you're plump in the right places." He accompanied the statement with pats on his person, two of which were inappropriate and drew a stare from another patron. Xar shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, no doubt in part due to the stunning lack of chair ergonomics. "You know you have more going for you, so maybe don't blow it this time."

Xar followed Gathrok's outstretched finger and found Nhen approaching yet again. The kaaraa cleared his throat. "Sorry to bother you, but the manager wanted me to notify you that your drinks are on the house."

"Oh?" Gathrok craned his head. A slender, jade dragoid leaned rather seductively in the doorway to the employee break room, toying with a braided necklace over her uniform. "Looks I'll have to go thank her personally." He ignored Xar's signs about not leaving him alone. "Back in a minute."

Nhen chuckled and sighed. "I'm glad she's getting out there again, but if we keep giving things away we'll go broke."

"Not the best business practice," Xar replied.

"Nope. Anywho, I should get back to work. The espresso machine won't clean itself. But I'll see you around, uraann," he said with a wink.

Xar wanted to ask what that meant, though by the time he finished racking his brain for the select few kaarii words he knew, in hopes that one would match, Nhen had left.

"You were gone awhile."

"She had a big itch to scratch."

Xar cringed when Gathrok imitated an indecent gesture. "Gross, Gath."

Gathrok laughed. "You could have left without me."

"I could've, yeah, but you're the one with the umbrella."

He held out a hand and let the pale cyan droplets coat his hand briefly before shaking it off vigorously. Phosphorescent rain was a somewhat common phenomenon and took on the pigment indicating the highest mineral concentration in the soil on a given day. Cyan was indicative of saphizomium, while a colour like magenta was tied to ambyrillium. When concentrations were equal, rain could flash about the whole colour spectrum, making for a wonderfully photogenic event, albeit exceedingly rare. Still, to a majority of species, phosphorain was harmful with prolonged exposure.

So it was that Xar forgot to bring his specially coated repellent umbrella, relying on Gathrok's goodwill - although his timing could have been improved.

"Actually, I wanted to know how much kaarii you speak," Xar continued, getting under the safety of Gathrok's newly popped-open transparent cover. The steady downpour pattered above their heads and trailed down the arched partitions, softly illuminating their faces and arms as they proceeded down the sidewalk. It was a tight fit for the two of them, so Xar allowed himself to get closer to Gathrok, whose scales radiated a delicate warmth against the growing chill of the wind.

"Kaarii?" Gathrok hummed. "Not as much as I'd like."

"Maybe you'd know what uraann means?"

"Well, I know that much." He grinned devilishly. "Did he say that?"

"I guess that's what he said," Xar said sheepishly. He watched two spola children splashing around uncontrollably in puddles, covered from head to toe in bright yellow rain gear. Their rounded snouts and splotched amphibian faces were well protected with a breathable, clear plastic film, though that did little to ease the discomfort of their spectating mothers. "And?"

"And what?"

"What does it mean?" Xar said with a small shove.

"Give me your best guess."

"Damn it, Gath," he sighed, "just tell me."

"Okay, fine." Gathrok swung his free arm around and landed it on Xar's shoulder. He wiggled his fingers, bunching up the loose fabric of Xar's forest-green T-shirt and tickling his lower pectoral. "It's what I might call you. If I were a karraa."

Xar attempted to shrug the fingers away. Instead, they flattened together and went to work on rubbing a larger surface area. "That's not helping."

"Maybe you should ask him next time, then."

"That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. But no, I..." He trailed off. Part of him wanted to get Gathrok to stop massaging his chest. Another part thought his friend's fingers were comfortably warm, and another felt protected. And then there was one last part that wanted those fingers to reach under the fabric and...

He hoisted Gathrok's arm up. Cold air rushed past his face. "You really can't just tell me directly?" Gathrok stopped walking for a second, throwing Xar off-balance as he tried to readjust back into the cover of the umbrella. Gathrok let his arm hang in the air briefly before retracting it to his side and shoving his hand into his jeans pocket. Xar turned to see what happened and was met with a soft smile. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," Gathrok replied. He motioned for Xar to follow again. "Just thought I saw someone I knew."

"One of your coworkers?"

"Nah. An old friend."

They'd taken the long way back to Xar's apartment, though he wasn't aware of that fact until they passed the old mechanical standing clock at the edge of Disemat Park. Its black hands vertically bisected its bright white face, and six repeated chimes echoed past oxidized copper benches and towering silver lampposts. A stray cat watched the dragoids intently from underneath the branches of a deep-maroon topiary, its ears perking when their faintly luminescent shoes sporadically snapped twigs on concrete. The phosphorain was slowly subsiding, and with it the temperature nestled snugly in the threads of their clothes.

By the time they reached the apartment complex, the sky had cleared completely, though Gathrok was intent on walking Xar to his door as a courtesy. He slid his umbrella closed, shook it away from the two of them, at arm's length, and tapped the tip on the ground for good measure. "If you need a wingman again, Xar, you know where to find me."

Xar fumbled in his pocket for his keys. The contents of the key ring jangled together noisily as he thumbed through each one. "I appreciate today, but I really don't want to be a bother."

Gathrok harrumphed. "You know I'd tell you if you were."

"You say that," Xar replied, sliding the right key into the lock, "but I basically forced you into this." The lock clicked and the swung the door open, its hinges squeaking against the weight. He reached to the side and flipped the light switch. It clacked, revealing a rather unorderly entryway illuminated by a dimming conical light bulb. He stepped inside, but was abruptly heaved backwards into a tight embrace.

Gathrok leaned in and pressed his head against the crook of Xar's neck. "You're never a bother," he said firmly. He let his hands slide down from chest to belly, breathing slowly. "Please don't think that."

Xar laid a hand on Gathrok's arm with the intent to remove it again, but let it sit there. He stood unmoving for a few seconds, listening to his friend's breath and feeling its warmth brush across his scales. "You always say no when I ask to do something."

Gathrok sighed deeply. Xar felt his deep voice vibrate through his body. "I'm sorry. You have a habit of asking right when I get busy."

There was more to it than that. He would see Gathrok about town with other friends, laughing with them. That'd happen not soon after Xar would extend an invitation to the movies or a bookstore, one that Gathrok would politely decline each time. And how come Xar was always the one to ask? Why not the other way around? What if...

"You have that face again."

"Huh?"

Gathrok released his grip and bent back upright. "Whenever you're brooding, you get that weird-ass zombified look."

Xar wedged his sneakers off and set them in the lowest compartment of the shoe cabinet. A loose flap of paint on the cabinet bounced up and back down, sending droplets of phosphorain flying in all directions. "I'm not brooding."

"You really don't think I'm busy?"

Xar slammed an open palm against the door. The sound reverberated for what seemed like miles. "I don't know! It's just... convenient."

Gathrok scoffed. "So I'm pretending so I can avoid you?" He was met with a boundless silence. "Got it."

"That's not what I - "

"Fuck you, too." Gathrok took his umbrella and flung it against the wall, jamming several of its poles askew on impact. He stomped as loud as he possibly could, not once looking back.

Xar sunk to his knees and clasped them in his arms, staring at the broken umbrella. If he didn't know better, he'd say it stared back with judgement, the depths of which clawed at his insides with an unyielding fervor.