Chapter Text
Paul sits and looks at the stars that have been out for hours. They are the only thing that can placate him right now. For a moment he manages to imagine that he can even see Earth from here. There’s a mug of coffee in front of him even though it’s decidedly too late for caffeine. But he couldn’t care less. There’s no chance he’ll sleep anyway. And holding on to the mug is the only thing that keeps his hands occupied. The only thing that keeps him from reaching for his PADD and checking his messages for the millionth time within the last few hours.
He knows it’s ridiculous. Starfleet might take days to even so much as read his appeal to fund his research on the mycelial network that is spanning all of time and space – that’s what Paul believes anyway. They could take weeks or even months to evaluate if they want to invest in his ideas. Or they could send him a solid no within the next two minutes. Why would anyone believe in the findings of a crazy mushroom guy thinking he could revolutionise space travel? The fact that he’s brilliant doesn’t count for anything, probably.
Waiting is almost worse than that prospect for Paul. A no is an answer at least. He can deal with failure, with rejection. He’s done that hundreds of times. It’s this that’s eating away at him – this pointless waiting. He doesn’t allow himself to hope. Still, there is no way he’ll accept defeat before it’s truly hit him.
So waiting and staring at the stars it is.
Paul is just taking another sip of coffee when the awful sound behind him starts. He almost spits the liquid back in surprise. Someone is humming – slightly off key, but that wouldn’t be so bad if the piece of music weren’t so complicated by design. Paul has never heard anyone trying to hum the melodies of multiple instruments and singing voices at once. Unsurprisingly, it comes out as a messy cacophony of hideousness.
He tries to ignore it at first. He really does. But something about the sound is beyond annoying. On the one hand it keeps Paul from concentrating on his stargazing. That’s bad enough because it also keeps him from pushing away his thoughts of Starfleet and impending failure. Never mind that it hasn’t really been working so far. Paul is more than willing to blame his own anxiety on the humming rather than examining why he is so nervous about this when he knows that he’s brilliant.
On the other hand the tone of the humming is unnerving because it sounds so goddamn cheerful. Nobody has the right to be this cheerful around Paul while he is so despondent and tired and overall willing to hit his head against the top of the table. How dare this individual? Can’t he see the dark cloud of gloom that must surely be hanging above Paul’s head?!
So it takes all of five minutes for Paul to turn around to the source of all this hideousness. “Could you kindly shut up? Or go elsewhere, please?” The please is just a formality, tagged on and dripping with disdain. The humming stops. The perpetrator, a man roughly Paul’s age, looks up from a book. A real analogue book! Who even still has those? As the stranger’s warm brown eyes meet Paul’s icy blue gaze, it feels like the floor has vanished from beneath his feet. Oh shit! He’s cute.
Paul can feel the heat creep up to his cheeks. It only intensifies when the man doesn’t look annoyed or insulted but smiles, showing brilliantly white teeth that are a beautiful contrast to his brown skin. Paul scrambles to turn back to his coffee. He doesn’t know what to make of this reaction, and he needs to hide his blushing face. It’s very possible that the gorgeous stranger is laughing at him.
Paul hears the scraping of a chair against the floor. Good. Maybe the guy is leaving. But the steps he can make out aren’t going away. In fact they’re coming closer. Paul wants to hide his burning face against the table. He’s too tired to deal with an altercation, too tired to be witty and keep cool. Should have thought of that before he antagonised a stranger, probably!
He manages to grab his mug and hide at least half his face behind it, before that other man reaches his table. Instead of standing in front of Paul, looming over him, he pulls out the chair opposite him and plops down onto it. Still smiling. Looking so relaxed that Paul feels out of place somehow in his defensive stance.
“Sorry I disturbed you." He doesn’t look sorry. His voice sounds soft and genuine though, not mocking at all. “The book just made me think of a specific scene from my favourite opera. I guess I got carried away a bit.”
That’s more information than Paul can process at the moment. How is this guy even more stunning up close? What does he want if it’s not mocking Paul or arguing with him? And less importantly, but no less curious, who the hell tries to hum opera music? In lieu of a response Paul downs the rest of his coffee. At least it feels like his blush is fading.
The other man has no problem filling the silence it seems. “Did I interrupt you doing anything important?”
Paul is still waiting for the shoe to drop. He expected insults, intimidation – not nice conversation with a handsome stranger. It has him flustered enough to answer without his usual sarcasm. “No, not really.”
“Can I make it up to you by buying you a drink then?” And there’s that smile again that makes something in Paul’s chest constrict. It’s suddenly hard to breathe.
He looks into his empty mug, still unsure what’s happening. But a free drink is a free drink. So he looks up and nods. “Another coffee, please.”
The stranger gets up and leaves for the counter. Paul desperately tries not to notice that he looks just as stunning from behind as from the front. Hopefully this is not just some elaborate prank. At least in the last two minutes he hasn’t thought of Starfleet or checking his messages even once. That must be a record. So maybe it’s a good idea to just roll with the situation and see what happens.
The stranger returns with two steaming mugs. After putting them on the table, he holds out his hand and waits for Paul to take it. He has to wait quite a while, but his confident posture doesn’t falter.
“I’m Hugh, by the way.”
“Stamets. Ensign Paul Stamets.” It would be strange to give his full name without his rank. Nobody has called him Paul since he left home for Starfleet Academy. Even his best friend Straal mostly calls him Stamets.
“Nice to meet you, Paul. Or would you rather I address you by your rank, Ensign Stamets?” Hugh’s eyes sparkle with mirth and something that could be fondness. Somehow his rank and the name of his parents sound wrong when he says them. Paul can’t tell if it’s something the other man does on purpose of if he’s just imagining things.
“You may call me Paul.” He takes a sip of his coffee in an attempt to hide that he’s blushing again – over something as innocent as the sound of his name rolling so easily off a stranger’s tongue. The coffee is still hot though. He almost spits it back into the mug, but prefers to burn his mouth rather than humiliating himself like that. He still doesn’t know what to make of Hugh’s presence at his table and doesn’t want to risk providing him with ammunition.
Hugh mostly ignores that little stunt. Paul isn’t quite sure if that’s a sympathetic wince on his face before he asks, “Are you on shore leave then? I thought the Republic was the only Starfleet ship in orbit.”
“I’m not on shore leave. I work at the research centre in the city.” Paul’s brows furrow. “You’re in Starfleet?”
“You sound like that’s unbelievable! Do I not look like a Starfleet officer?” Hugh looks amused. “Probably because I’m a doctor. I finished the Academy last year and now I’m earning my space legs on the Republic. This is my first extended shore leave since I’ve been assigned that post.”
So a spacefaring handsome stranger with a rudimentary understanding of biology – must be Paul’s lucky day. He’s mildly impressed with Hugh. If nothing else he is a convenient distraction from all the waiting. Paul is by no means opposed to killing some time flirting and possibly even between the sheets with the cute doctor. If he should be so lucky.
He blows on his coffee before he takes a few gulps. Still, he can’t fight a big yawn from escaping his mouth. Paul groans, “This stuff isn’t working.”
“Might be because it’s decaf.” Hugh’s tone is dry as the desert.
“Excuse me. What?” Paul’s eyes grow wide. “Who the hell even drinks decaf coffee?”
“Well, not you, by the looks of it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You look terrible, to be honest. Like you haven’t slept in days.” It sounds genuinely worried, and that’s about the last thing Paul knows how to handle. A little flirting and a one night stand are totally within the realm of his experience. Someone – a stranger at that – really caring about him and his wellbeing decidedly isn’t. The fact that Hugh is spot on with his assessment doesn’t help one bit.
So he tries to get out of that deep water. “And here I was, thinking you were flirting with me. Instead, it seems like all you want is to insult me.” Paul cranks up the drama in his voice to make it clear that he’s not even half serious. To top it off he looks up from under nearly transparent lashes in mock scandal.
Hugh chuckles. It sounds warm and smooth and dark, just like that coffee Paul is craving. “I was indeed flirting with you.” That sparkle is back in Hugh’s eyes. Good. That’s something Paul can handle.
“Then the only way you could save that statement from being an insufferable insult is to offer that you’d take me to your hotel room and give me a nice relaxing massage so that I’ll feel better and hence look better too.” Paul is really proud of that comeback. And his pride only swells when he’s rewarded with a small chuckle and that wide grin that reveals perfect teeth. It’s gorgeous.
“That’s exactly what I was about to offer.”
Wow. This is actually working. Most of his flirting so far has taken place online. All his one night stands or short lived affairs have been arranged via one dating app or another. Because usually Paul can’t flirt for the life of him. But if this beautiful man is willing to give him the time of day, like hell he will question it.
“My hotel’s just around the corner. But take your time with your coffee.”
Hugh hasn’t even finished talking when Paul gulps down the rest of the warm beverage. No need to give this stunning stranger time to change his mind. Appearing so eager makes Paul blush again, but he doesn’t care now. Soon Hugh’s going to see a lot more of his flushed skin.
They leave the café in short order. Hugh actually takes Paul’s hand to guide him over to the hotel building. It feels nice in a way Paul has no words for. For a second he wonders if it’s reckless to follow a stranger to his room in the middle of the night. But he’s too tired and strung up to really care. He needs to let off some steam. And so far Hugh has proven very effective at keeping his mind off Starfleet and his empty inbox. A lot more effective than the stars.
Right. The stars. Paul gives them a last look as Hugh softly pulls him into the hotel.