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"One caffe mocha for Fred!"
The barista's pointing to the cup while looking at him, but Red is still staring rather apathetically at it, eyes scanning the messy scrawl on the cup. Fred? Sure, Red wasn't always the most wordy customer, but surely he'd said his name while ordering today. His gaze shifts to the brown-haired barista who looks like he shouldn't be working in customer service. The barista clearly doesn't get his message (or is choosing to ignore it), because now he's gotten to shoving the cup of coffee into his face. "Yo, you deaf or something? It's yours."
Red's about to open his mouth to say that he's not Fred, but the barista's already walking off to take the next order, so he takes his drink and walks back into the frigid autum air.
---
He's not really the coffee type, but that doesn't discourage him from walking into Starbucks again. Red somehow has the dumb luck of getting the same barista fill his order. Not that he minds terribly; maybe they'll get his name right this time.
After five minutes of tapping away at his phone to pass the time, he realizes that he'd spoken too soon.
Red's giving the barely legible writing on his cup another look, but it doesn't change much. He can't quite imagine himself with a ridiculous name like Ted, but he shrugs it off, and silently hopes that the third time's the charm. Well, props to the sour-faced barista for fucking up his name twice in a row, that's for sure. Red makes sure to memorize his nametag, and on his way out, he spots the guy taking a girl's order. Red can't really tell if she's blushing from the heated room or something else, but he does remember Green's smile, as brief as it had lasted.
The coffee tastes a little bitter on his tongue, and Red makes a note to himself to not order Americano again.
---
"One caffe latte for Rhet!"
Red's stare seems to go past the cup that the barista just placed on the counter, hands at his sides but otherwise silent. Green's staring at Red (not his tight jeans, that's for sure), and Red wonders how long the two of them manage to stay like that before he looks up into bright green eyes at last.
"I'm Red."
The brown-haired barista's eyes narrow in a rather annoyed manner, but Red can't see much sincerity in the gesture, since his ears begin turning red after that. "That's what I said." Green's figeting, and Red finds the way he's trying to salvage his pride to be rather endearing. Though, perhaps, not as endearing as the guy's habit of running his hand through his hair when he's trying to hide his "I fucked up" expression.
"You said Rhet. It's Red."
"Fine, Red. I'll get it next time. Now take your stupid drink and go." Green's mouth is open, as if he's got more to say, but it snaps shut before Red can open his mouth to ask. As Green walks off to take the next order, Red can't help wondering why he was blushing. It's only a name, after all. Other people have said his name before. It's not a big deal.
The coffee tastes intoxicatingly sweet, but Red can't bring himself to mind as he sits in a corner of the shop with his laptop and notes. The laws of thermodynamics seems to pale in comparison to Green's broad shoulders, and Red only hopes that the barista doesn't catch him staring (too much).
---
Green's smile seems almost a little too cocky the next time they see each other. Red doesn't notice it, but he does notice the phone number written next to his (correctly spelled) name on the cardboard sleeve of the cup he's holding. His face turns two shades darker as he catches Green's eye, and the brunette mouths something that can only be call me over the noise of the blender.
---
They're holding hands underneath the table of a restaurant a few days later, and Red can't say that it's a terrible feeling.