Chapter Text
Dave Strider was not a man of grace. He was a man of waking up at 3 pm and still needing a cup (or three) of coffee. The night before, he had been trying to get ahead on shitty webcomic updates before finals and he was debating quitting one or the other. So far, it wasn’t gonna be the webcomic. So he dragged himself out of bed, put on his sunglasses, and decided he was not going to bother fucking with his hair for another hour. The coffee shop was just a few blocks away. He'd throw on some shitty concert hoodie and feel like everyone was looking at him the whole time and never see anyone in there again. He barely left his apartment, it's not like they really had a chance to.
He got all the way to the elevator at the end of the hall when he realized he only had socks on. Grumbling something for the benefit of any neighbor that could possibly hear him through their walls, he headed back to his apartment to try that again. This time he made sure he also had his keys, phone, wallet, sunglasses, earbuds, and a cool emotional support rock. It had a fossilized shell in it. The coffeeshop was really only just down the street, but he liked having everything just in case. He got in the elevator, still feeling like something was missing and knowing yet praying that there wasn’t. It was always too bright in that elevator, even with his glasses. Some days it was worse than others.
He spent the whole walk trying to decide if it was worth it to listen to music on the way or if it was too short of a trip. If the trip had been a bit longer, maybe he could’ve decided. He resolved for the walk back. He pushed the door open, bells jangling, feeling stupid for not bringing a jacket but appreciating the warmth of the building even more. He squinted like he was thinking about what he was going to order for the benefit of anyone who cared to try and see past his glasses, which he wore so he wouldn't be looked at. He knew what he wanted, he just had to rehearse it in his head a couple times before he said it. Just to make sure it came out right and all. Luckily the guy in front of him was in a hurry, and gave him a solid 15 seconds to do so.
Karkat took a deep breath as the next customer came forward, even though he knew the day would pass faster if he started acting like he felt a bit better than he did. Fake it till you make it. The guy didn't notice, he was looking at the menu as if anyone really made a fucking choice when it came to their coffee. You just order the thing you know you like, and you get through it. He wished the dumbass would just get it over with an order. There was really no point in making everyone, especially Karkat, wait this goddamn long.
“ill have a large black coffee,” Dave looked at the guy across the counter and almost stumbled halfway through his sentence. Now he was really upset that he’d left the house without fixing his hair. What time and what day is it? He'd think about that later. Fuck, did he say something?
“UH-HUH, IS THAT ALL,” Karkat said flatly as he keyed in Dave's order, staring at the screen below and not looking at him.
Yeesh. Doesn’t seem like he’s a fan of you. Maybe he’s having a bad day. “uhh, and a cinnamon roll.” Dave blurted out without thinking about it. It sounded different from the rest of what he said. Did it seem like he was unprepared? Could anyone tell?
Karkat told him his total, and rolled his eyes when he turned to get the cinnamon roll. Who buys a cinnamon roll with a black coffee? Though, this guy seems like the type to use and abuse the free cream and sugar at the pickup counter. Maybe he dips it. Maybe that doesn't sound so bad. When he turned back around, the guy was rummaging through his pockets with his wallet on the counter.
“YOU ALREADY GOT IT OUT.” Karkat pointed at the wallet.
“oh. yeah, i know. uhm, do you have a pen i could borrow?” he pulled out some cash from his wallet, giving up on his pockets.
Karkat gave the pen a small flick across the counter. This dude was a disaster. Here he was buying coffee at three in the after fucking noon, his hair looked all shitty (he needed a shower and a comb and a lot of toner for that bleach blonde mess), his clothes were wrinkled like they'd been crumpled up on the floor for weeks, and based on looks alone it’d be a miracle if he’d brushed his teeth that morning. It looked like he was scrawling a note on the paper bag of the cinnamon roll.
Dave gave the pen back and thanked the barista, waiting awkwardly to the side to pick up his coffee, cinnamon roll clutched close to him with the note hidden facing inwards. He never knew where to stand and always felt out of place, but he kinda realized one day that probably the only thing that made him look out of place was his thorough belief in such. He didn’t know how to fix it though, so he just thought about it every time it came up.
After a couple minutes of trying very hard not to look too much at the barista and getting more than a few side-eyes after being caught, his coffee was slid across to him with a weird look. Dave hesitated, holding the bag close but firmly deciding to slide it across the counter. The guy looked back at him, expression unchanged.
Dave smiled nervously and shrugged. “read the note,” he added quickly, practically scrambling out of the coffeeshop.
Karkat flipped the bag around to face him. you seem like youd like cinnamon things. also i looked like shit today. youre gonna have to forgive me, its not actually a choice. heres my number (im dave btw) (xxx)-xxx-xxxx he mumbled along while reading. Well.
Dave rocketed down the street. The adrenaline was still flooding through his veins and he was thinking maybe he wouldn’t need that coffee after all. He walked faster until he just decided to start running and made it almost all the way back to his building without breaking. He wished he could’ve made it. He probably could’ve. His lungs hurt.
He went inside and took off his hoodie, immediately flopping down on the couch. Holy fucking shit. That's not what he expected from today. He breathed heavily, one hand behind his head and one leg off the couch, practically falling off. He couldn’t care less. His anxiety getting the better of him, he took out his phone to turn the ringer on to wait for the cute barista’s message. If he texted him.
Karkat stared at the bag for a moment longer. The shop was fairly empty, just some scattered people with laptops or whatever to work on. The point is, no one in line to order. Obviously the cinnamon roll is for him too, it wasn’t just a fucking note. He’d almost forgotten.
He never asked if customers wanted their food warmed, he only did it if they asked first. He wanted to put as little effort into his job as he could get away with, to preserve his sanity. He stuck his cinnamon roll into the warmer and waited in the back. He’d hear if someone came in, and they could fucking wait a minute or two.
He pulled apart the spiral, careful not to get frosting on his hands. He hated things on his hands and skin, especially if they were sticky. So, the guy wasn’t going to dip his cinnamon roll. And he didn’t end up using the cream and sugar either, he was in such a hurry. Karkat almost felt bad for judging him. Almost.