Page 49 of Your Pace or Mine
They exited the tube station together, hands brushing as they climbed the stairs, separating momentarily at the barriers before the gravitational pull brought them back together again. Darius looked around, his brow furrowed as he took in the rows of shops boasting signs in multiple languages and the people bustling down the street crossing every which direction over the road, as cars honked their horns fruitlessly at them. “So… what’s the plan? Is your place near here?”
Jamie nodded, glancing over at him. “Yeah. Just a few streets down.”
“Nice.” Darius wasn’t sure about the area so far, but he’d been in London long enough to know that everywhere had its hidden gems. “How long have you lived here?” Darius asked.
Jamie grimaced. “Around this area, since I moved to London… but this flat, just under a year, I’ve got a few months left on my contract, then I’m out,” he explained. “Our landlord is the worst.”
“Ah.” Darius wasn’t quite sure what to say. Lousy landlords weren’t exactly his area of expertise.
“I love the area, though,” Jamie offered. “Or some things about the area,” he qualified. “Well, there’s the tea shop I told you about.”
Darius was curious about the place. Jamie didn’t strike him as an afternoon tea at Claridge’s kind of person, so there must be something special about it.
“You okay with popping in?” Jamie asked.
Darius nodded. “Do they do food?”
Jamie laughed as though it was the most absurd question he’d ever heard. “God, yes, and we definitely deserve a slice of their homemade cake after that run. It’s to die for. Trust me, I’ve been going there for ages. It’s kind of my thing.”
“You sure you’re okay with taking me there?” Darius asked. He was suddenly conscious that he might be intruding on something private that Jamie wanted to keep to himself. Darius had to remind himself that this wasn’t a real relationship, but the more Jamie revealed to him, the harder it was to remember that.
Jamie laughed again, and the tension in Darius’s chest eased just a little. “I promise, you’re not interrupting my secret tea ceremony,” he smiled. “I think it’d be nice to share it with you.”
“Alright. Lead the way.”
They walked together down the road towards the tea shop. It was a cosy space—small, tucked away between two other shops, with its windows fogged up from the warmth inside. It didn’t seem like a place tourists would go, or one that would cater to the trendy crowd. But somehow it was exactly the type of place Jamie belonged.
They stepped through the door, the scent of herbs and spices wafting over Darius as he entered. The bell on the door chimed softly, and Darius could practically see the tension in Jamie’s shoulders melt away.
“It seems… quiet,” Darius observed, glancing around as they stepped in. Only two tables were occupied, a man was reading a novel in the corner, and two women were chatting quietly over a shared pot of tea. The decor was warm, with mismatched chairs and tables and wooden shelves stacked with jars of loose-leaf tea. The faint sound of a soft jazz track played in the background, adding to the calm atmosphere.
Jamie led Darius to a booth in the back corner. “My favourite spot,” he explained. It was small, tucked away, and the perfect place for a bit of privacy.
Jamie shuffled into the booth next to Darius. “So, this is it, my happy place. I’ve been coming here for years.”
Darius looked around again, taking in the details of the place with curiosity. “I can tell it’s your kind of place. Feels different from the usual spots. It’s full of life, but kind of low-key.”
Jamie looked taken aback at Darius’s assessment. But before he had time to say anything further, the owner came over. She introduced herself as Maria and had a clear fondness for Jamie that Darius loved to see. After a brief chat, she took their orders.
“I’ll take a Darjeeling and a slice of that mocha cake if you’ve got any left.”
“Two forks?” Maria asked, a hint of a smirk in her tone that Jamie seemed to ignore.
“God no, I’m not sharing the good stuff.” He turned to Darius. “If you want cake, order your own slice.”
Darius smiled and requested a flapjack and a cup of their yerba mate peppermint blend. Jamie kicked him under the table. “You’ll regret not getting the mocha cake.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. But I want to lean out a bit before my next training block.”
“Christ, I thought dancers were ridiculous about that shit. You’ve got to be kidding, right? You don’t have an ounce of fat on you.”
Darius shifted uncomfortably. He was fine with his body and had always cared more about performance than aesthetics, but he didn’t live in a vacuum. He knew his body type, especially around major races when he was at his leanest, wasn’t exactly the traditional muscular standard of male beauty society prescribed to.
“Thanks,” he replied, the sarcasm lacing his voice. Jamie winced.
“I didn’t mean, I don’t. I like how you look, Darius. I just... I don’t know, meant that you could probably risk a bite of cake.”
Flustered Jamie was cute as hell.
