Hey guys! So amid my other angsty fic (SHIELD), I really wanted to write a simple, fluffy Ambreigns-focused AU fic (maybe with some smut later on. :P) Not quite sure where it's going yet, but I wanted to share what I had thus far and get your opinion of it. Starts a bit slow, but I promise it'll pick up. Enjoy! As always, ratings and reviews are highly appreciated!

PS; Wrote this between the hours of three and six in the morning. Apologies for any stupid typos or grammatical errors.

PPS (is that the correct way to do that?); The name of the fic comes from the first song Dean sings at Java Central. "More Than Words" by Extreme. I didn't write those wonderful lyrics myself - they belong to the rock band!

Roman Reigns's favorite day of the week was Thursday.

It was a good business day for Java Central because the little coffeehouse featured an open mic night the first and third Thursday of each month, gaining the cozy shop great business from enthusiastic hipsters and aspiring musicians on top of the multitude of college students the establishment tended to on a daily basis. Roman could appreciate a busy evening at J/C because it made the time fly by. But that wasn't why he especially liked Thursdays—in particular, those two special days of the month. He loved open mic night. Some of the performances were painful to endure, and others weren't too shabby. But one specific performer-slash-customer always managed to snag his attention during his two or three minutes on the makeshift stage, perched on a barstool, acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder. Roman didn't even know why. Something about him was just so…so…he couldn't even find the right word to describe it. Beautiful is the one he'd choose if it didn't sound so lame. Make him sound so pathetic.

But this singer, this guitarist—he never introduced himself by name, usually just sat down and strummed away with a velvety voice accompanying his gentle playing—had been faithful in attending every open mic night for nearly as long as Roman had been working at Java Central. Roman never saw him around campus. He didn't know if this guy was a University of Colorado student, or a college student at all.

But Roman liked him. Loved concentrating on the reticent soloist and his simple yet dexterous musical abilities.

Roman had a textbook open underneath the counter as he dragged a damp washcloth over the tile surface, trying to study and clean up before the evening post-work/post-class rush and open mic night kicked off. Microbiology was tedious but certainly not grueling. He hadn't realized he'd been wiping the same spot of the counter over and over again until he heard someone clear their throat. He lifted his head and met eyes with his roommate Randy.

"Oh," Roman said, slightly embarrassed to be caught so off guard. "Hey."

"Distracted much?" Randy taunted.

"Got a big test tomorrow," Roman said.

"Which class?"

"Microbiology."

Randy imitated the act of gagging. Science was perhaps his worst subject. Roman had always offered to help him study, but it was clear Randy wasn't in college to excel in any of his science courses, or any courses for that matter. College to him was a money-draining, four-year party. Roman took his education a bit more seriously. He planned for a Bachelor's Degree in Health Sciences with a concentration in therapy and rehab. He was halfway there. If he was more motivated, he'd bust his ass to graduate next year instead of waiting two more. Work kept him from concentrating too hard on school. Or any other aspect of his life.

"Hey, what time are you off?"

"I'm closing." Closing shifts kept him hear until at least one in the morning on a guaranteed lively evening such as the one pending.

"'Kay. Just letting you know, I've got a double date with the Bella twins tonight."

"Which one do you get?"

"Both of them. I get two helpings." Randy grinned deviously. Roman pretended to be proud of his manwhoreish ways. He held out a fist in feigned consent and praise, and Randy bumped it with his own. Roman couldn't imagine what Randy would have thought if he knew Roman had what felt an awful lot like a crush on some guy he didn't know.

"Score."

"So yeah. Fair warning if you wander in at any point tonight. Might be a little noisy."

Ugh. Roman wondered if he had anywhere else to crash tonight. He totally wanted to respect Randy's privacy with Nikki and Brie Bella by staying far away from that apartment. "Thanks for the heads-up. Anything else you want while you're here?"

Randy's big brown eyes scanned the handwritten menu on the wall above Roman's head. "Yeah, go ahead and get me a Mt. Vesuvius Panini. Extra meatballs."

Roman rang up his friend's order and punched in his own discount for Randy. Before swiping Randy's credit card, the little golden bell on the door tinkled, and someone walked in lugging a leather guitar case. Roman's heart expanded as he looked over at the incomer, but it was some guy in a Fedora hat with a case much nicer than his musician's. His musician's guitar case was obviously well-used with discoloration on the material, especially near the handle and the latch. His musician also never wore a Fedora hat, and his hair wasn't jet-black and curly. It was dirty blond and disheveled, not in a sullied way but rather blasé and desirable.

Roman liked to think of himself as incredibly observant and not pitiful and besotted.

If Randy noticed the look of disappointment brushing over Roman's face, he didn't say anything. Roman was glad. He didn't feel like composing a lie, or worse, telling the truth. He gave Randy back his card and set to work on his order.

In the five minutes it took to prepare Randy's Panini, more customers surged into the little coffeehouse. The line was nearly to the door, and more musicians were shoving through the mass to find a decent spot to sit and wait for their turn on the mic. Roman knew he wouldn't be here until a few minutes after the performances began. He had a very specific routine. Roman had only caught onto it because of how often he was in here.

Roman bagged Randy's order to go. Randy snatched the bag and gave Roman a wink. "See you later, then? Maybe?"

"Maybe." Most likely though, nah.

When Randy left, Roman jumped onto the second register and filled out order after order after order. He kept to himself, occasionally trading words with his coworkers to get drinks correct and made faster. When seven PM rolled around, the lights dimmed, and the manager welcomed the first open mic performer to the stage. It was Mr. Fedora from earlier. He cranked out Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water" on his electric guitar, AKA the song everyone and their grandmother knew how to play on guitar. Roman didn't know how to play guitar, but he was certain if he picked one up someday he could play it just as effortlessly as Fedora Guy did.

Between his performance and a hippie girl's—she was playing the Beatles' "Let It Be" on the piano in the corner and singing in a strong alto voice—the door pushed open, ushering a chilly draft into the cramped coffee house. Roman's heart rate hastened again, this time for a good reason.

He was here.