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mapsthewanderer · 2 months ago

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Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb V

Synopsis: The café was supposed to be just another coffee shop. For a law student who enjoys her morning coffee and a shy newbie still learning the ropes, it should have been nothing more than part of the daily routine… But then there’s Caleb.

Details: 2000ish words. Non-MC!Reader as the law student. Expect flirting, a twist on jealousy, and—as always—plenty of banter and all those good vibes with the newbiedoobie. God, this has officially crossed the line into romcom territory

Parts: intial one shot, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

Tags: @gavin3469 @unstablemiss @i-messed-up-big-time @mipov101 @zukini-01

Getaway car | Pt. 5

It’s early.

Too early for your brain to be doing anything beyond standing upright and not missing the bus.

You’re at the stop, earbuds in, clutching your travel mug like it’s life support, the morning chill threading its way through your jacket. Class isn’t for another hour, but study hall opens early, and you’ve convinced yourself that being proactive will keep you from spiraling.

Because you’re supposed to be thinking about contract clauses and international trade standards. Instead, your brain keeps looping back to apples. To charms. To the quiet ache of “when u come back” etched into metal and meaning.

You shake it off. Law first. Feelings… later. Probably. Maybe.

But then.

The scent hits first—aggressively expensive cologne that suggests he either bathed in it or lost a bet at Sephora.

“Morning,” Harv says, dropping in beside you like the sidewalk personally invited him.

Harv’s tall, clean-cut in that pre-law catalog kind of way—messenger bag slung across his chest, coat perfectly tailored, nut-brown hair slicked back like he definitely uses product and probably reads his textbooks for fun. Charming. The kind of handsome that gets approving glances from professors and moms.

You blink. “Hey, Harv.”

With a quick adjustment of his strap, he flashes an easy smile. “Didn’t think I’d catch you this early. Headed to campus?”

“Yeah. Trying to pretend I’m someone with discipline and structure.”

Harv laughs. “Faking it till finals, huh?”

“Something like that.”

The two of you get off the bus together and start walking from the campus stop toward the law building—light conversation, easy pace. The sidewalks are still damp, the morning quiet in that soft, almost-forgiving kind of way.

Harv says something about a practice quiz later this week, and you nod along, half-listening, half-focused on trying to stay awake.

It’s normal. Predictable.

Fine.

Until it isn’t.

Because there—up ahead—someone rounds the corner.

Caleb.

AirPods in, white hoodie layered under his black leather jacket, one strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder, hands shoved in his pockets. That familiar walk—loose, confident, like he always knows exactly where he’s going… and that you’ll be watching him get there.

And you spot him before he spots you.

But the second he looks up, his steps slow—just a little.

His eyes land on you.

Then Harv.

Then back to you.

He pulls one earbud loose. “Didn’t know you were a morning person.”

You smile, adjusting your bag. “I contain multitudes.”

Caleb’s gaze flicks to Harv again, sharp but brief. “Heading to campus?”

The strap of his backpack shifts as he hikes it higher on his shoulder, like he’s about to keep walking—but then he pauses. Looks at you again. Lingers.

You wrap your hands around your travel mug, suddenly very aware of how lukewarm it’s gotten.

And then, smoothly—like it’s a reflex—he steps closer and leans in.

“Is that travel mug betrayal I see?”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He plucks the mug right from your hands with an exaggerated frown, turning it in his palm like he’s inspecting evidence.

“You brought other tea onto my turf,” he says, feigning deep offense.

Caleb gives the string of your sad little store-bought tea bag a flick, the label fluttering like it’s personally offended him. “I’m wounded, Golden Girl.”

“I didn’t know I signed an exclusivity contract,” you say, trying to keep a straight face as you reach out to take the mug back.

Just a fraction closer now, Caleb leans in—fingers brushing a playful tug at your braid as he murmurs, “You didn’t read the fine print?”

You open your mouth—absolutely no thoughts, just spiraling—but Harv laughs lightly beside you, missing the edge.

“She’s got options,” he says, nudging your arm before glancing at Caleb. Then, without missing a beat, he snatches the mug right out of Caleb’s hands. “I’ve seen you at the coffee shop, right? Can’t expect her to stick to just one supplier forever.”

Caleb looks down at his now-empty hand, then back up—smile still there, but it’s taken on a razor-thin edge.

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Caleb says, plucking the mug from Harv’s hand. He hands it back to you, casual as ever, like it weighs nothing. “I’ve got the cookies.”

You squint. “The what?”

“The bribes,” Caleb replies. “You remember. Cinnamon chip? Still undefeated.”

You’re about to make a snarky reply when Harv chuckles again, looking between the two of you.

“Man baking for someone? That’s dangerously close to being whipped.”

The air shifts.

Caleb’s smile freezes. Not dramatically. Just enough for you to notice. “Oh, right,” he says smoothly, voice cool and even. “Because effort is embarrassing.”

Harv blinks. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”

Caleb shrugs, but it’s sharp. “Of course not.”

Harv shifts beside you, clearly picking up on the tension but choosing confidence over retreat. “Well,” he says with a light laugh, “this got a little intense for a sidewalk meetup.”

Caleb doesn’t respond—just watches him, unreadable.

But Harv presses on. “Let’s start over, hm? I’m Harv,” he adds, stretching out a hand like it’s a peace offering. “From class. Future litigator. Occasional morning person.”

Caleb looks at the hand. Doesn’t take it.

Instead, his eyes lift to yours again—no teasing now, no flirt.

Just something quiet. Real.

And then Caleb clicks his tongue, almost like he’s made a decision.

“You deserve better tea,” Caleb says softly. “I’ll see you later, Golden Girl.”

Then he walks away.

You watch his back retreat into the morning light, one shoulder rolling as he pockets his hands—like your body hasn’t caught up to what your heart just did.

Then Harv—oblivious, unfortunately—pipes up:

“So, uh…” He nods toward Caleb’s retreating form. “Is that your boyfriend, or just your very intense barista-slash-personal baker?”

You blink. The answer is so obviously neither, but your brain short-circuits under this kind pressure.

So you do what you do best:

Lie.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say lightly, offering a shrug instead of a full answer. “Maybe he’s just having a weird morning.”

It’s just a stupid joke. A reflex. A weak shield. A small lie.

But Caleb stops.

Way down the block, already near the café entrance, he turns—just slightly—shoulders tight.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just glances back.

And you know he heard.

Harv keeps walking, launching into something about a mock trial and obligation like nothing happened.

But you feel it.

Still.

Behind your ribs.

The look he gave you.

The one that said: “Really?”

Your travel mug suddenly feels heavy in your hands. And for the rest of the walk, your tea tastes like regret.

——————————————————————————

Midday hits, and you’re still off.

You’ve been rereading the same paragraph of your contract law notes for ten minutes—something about standards and WTO frameworks that Professor Litt delivered like a dramatic monologue—and your tea still tastes like guilt. So you do the only thing that makes sense:

You text the newbie.

You: okay. so. caleb accused me of travel mug betrayal this morning. AND flirted. AND walked off like i ran him over with a civic… harv (guy from school) made a whipped joke and caleb left like… dramatically left

The typing bubble pops up instantly.

newbie: okay. first of all. i KNEW he was acting weird!! he’s been reorganizing the bakery shelf in alphabetical order … alphabetically… like a stressed librarian with biceps

You snort. Your heart still isn’t steady, but at least you’ve got the newbie to spiral with—by rapid-fire texting them like it’s a group project.

Until your phone starts ringing.

The newbie. Calling you.

They never call.

You don’t even think—you grab your phone, shoot a whispered “sorry!” toward Professor Litt, and duck out of the lecture hall like it’s on fire.

And you hit answer mid-stride.

“Everything okay—?”

But it’s not the newbie’s voice on the line.

“Hey,” Caleb says.

You freeze.

Outside. Hallway. Cold air. NOW.

“Uh. Hi?”

A pause.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird this morning,” he says, voice low. “But, uh… I have to ask.”

You lean against the wall, trying not to slide down it.

“Ask what?”

“That guy,” he says. “The one you were with. Harvey or Harvest or… something dumb.”

“Harv,” you correct automatically, then regret it immediately.

Caleb doesn’t laugh.

Another pause.

“I just… is that a thing?”

The silence stretches between you like a closing argument waiting for a verdict. But before your brain can spiral any further, your pre-lawyer instincts kick in.

“Wait,” you say, narrowing your eyes even though he can’t see it. “Why are you calling me from the newbie’s phone? Did you steal it?”

There’s a short laugh—low and slightly smug.

“Saw them texting you. Don’t worry, tho. I asked nicely.”

“So theft,” you say. “With a smile. Classic barista distraction tactic.”

“I prefer strategic borrowing,” he replies. “And technically, they handed it over. Under mild protest.”

“TELL HER I SAID YOU’RE A MENACE—” you hear the newbie yelling in the background.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh. “Okay, so you hijacked the phone. For what, exactly?”

Caleb’s voice dips again, back to that careful, unreadable quiet.

“I had to ask,” he says. “About Harv.”

You pause.

Then your voice sharpens.

“Oh, you get to ask now?”

He goes quiet.

“Because last I checked,” you continue, heat creeping into your voice, “you never answered my question. About the charm. The necklace. The thing you wear every damn day. But I’m supposed to explain a guy who walked me to class?”

Another pause. Then—

“Well,” Caleb says dryly, “my necklace isn’t a six-foot-tall law student with cheekbones and a dick.”

You blink. Stare at a vending machine like it’s responsible for this conversation.

“That’s your defense?” you deadpan.

“I’m just saying,” he mutters. “He looked like a threat.”

“To what?”

“To… the chaos balance we’ve got going.”

You press a hand to your forehead. “Caleb.”

He sighs. “I know.”

And just like that—he sounds softer again.

Like he gets it.

Like he knows he messed up.

Like he’s been spiraling too.

“I just didn’t like seeing you with him,” he says quietly. “Okay?”

You press your back to the wall, head tipped up toward the ceiling like you’re negotiating with the fluorescent lights.

“Caleb,” you murmur, “I can’t promise you anything.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “I know.”

“All we’ve got right now is…” You trail off, trying to find something solid in the emotional soup of your life. “Vibes. Mildly reckless flirting. And maybe a new latte order with zero apple juice involved.”

There’s a beat.

Then—

“I have to give up the juice for you?” he teases, voice low and warm.

“Let’s not get sentimental about it,” you say. “It was a weird drink.”

On the other end, his laugh curls through the line—quiet, wrecking, unfairly good.

“I’m off in like ten minutes,” he says casually. “Was supposed to have… a… a date.”

Your stomach does a little tight twist. “Oh.”

“But…” his voice lowers again, almost sheepish, “I could be around. You know. If you stopped by.”

A pause.

“For the flirting. And the… non-apple-juice latte.”

You exhale slowly, a smile pulling at your mouth despite every warning your brain is flashing.

“I’ll see what I can do,” you say.

Which is law student code for:

I’ll be there.

And I might even stay.

You hang up.

And you swear under your breath.

What.

The.

Hell.

Cheeks burning as you slide down the wall, spine giving out like your body’s just as overwhelmed as your brain.

The tile is cold against your back, Professor Litt’s voice still echoing faintly through the door about GATS and international trade agreements, but it barely registers. You take a breath. Then another. Then—out of nowhere—you laugh. Quiet, disbelieving.

Because after all that? You still don’t even have Caleb’s number.

Eventually, you stand. Wipe your palms on your pants. Pull your expression back into something resembling composure.

Then you open the door and slip back into the lecture hall like nothing happened—like you didn’t just experience a full emotional mistrial in the hallway over a boy who smells like cinnamon and terrible decisions.

You slide into your seat. Professor Litt doesn’t even glance up as he drones on about WTO dispute settlements. And you do what any sane, responsible law student would do.

Pretend your heart isn’t still beating just a little too loud.

Your phone is still in your hand when the buzz comes through.

newbie: caleb is literally humming.

newbie: he just sang a taylor swift song to the steam wand. in falsetto. i don’t know if he’s okay. should i call a priest or just let him finish

You slam your forehead lightly against your laptop case.

From the front of the room, Professor Litt doesn’t even look up from his notes. “Careful with the dramatics,” he says, dry as ever. “Some of us are still pretending this material matters.”

A few students snort quietly. You sit up fast, mutter a half-hearted apology, and open your notes again.

Your phone buzzes. Again.

Time to spiral discreetly.

newbie: he’s got the soft apron fold today. you know the one. you’re doomed

You stare at the screen, cheeks still so warm, and text back with the last shred of dignity you have:

you: shut up i hate everything. i’ll be there in 20. tell the espresso machine to brace itself

Then you slide your phone into your pocket.

… And try very hard not to smile like an idiot the rest of the class.

——————————————————————————

Part 6

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: Okey so confession time: This whole AU is basically built around one very specific arc that’s been itching my brain like a mosquito bite I refuse to stop scratching. I’ll get to it eventually, promise. TS’s Getaway Car is basically the gospel of Caleb’s brain until a certain point… and then—heh—there’s another song that’s like the final boss of inspiration for his arc. That one? That one comes later. And the law student? She might have picked the wrong barista to flirt with. I’ll shut up now lol.

You absolutely lovely, amazing people commenting, reblogging with the funniest tags (@blessdunrest, you crack me up every time), and liking the silly things I write. I appreciate you so much. Truly. You make sharing this chaos feel extra special. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻