Work Text:
He’d been working at the Voidbucks inside of Ralphs for the past week while the community broadcast center was undergoing renovations.
No one was quite sure what had caused all of the load bearing internal walls to explode simultaneously, but one thing they could be sure of was that whatever it was, it was still inside. So, naturally, all of the Night Vale Radio employees had been told they should seek temporary new jobs.
Fortunately his mother’s ex boyfriend’s uncle’s sister’s first cousin twice removed had a neighbor whose daughter was HR at Voidbucks. And so here he was, wearing a black apron and pouring a triple lizard juice macchiato with no cream.
It wasn’t exactly hard work, per se—he didn’t have to whip people the way intern Jordan, who had found employment at the abandoned mines, did. Nor was he in charge of giving the librarians classes, like Intern Stephanie, bless her patient soul. But morning rushes were almost always awful.
He hurriedly scribbled orders on cups and then jumped to fill as many of them as he could before he cycled back up to the desk to take orders again. It was hectic and he sometimes managed to burn himself in the hurry, but all rushes came to a close, and if he worked quickly and smiled a lot, he managed to rake in a pretty good tip rate.
His coworker, Dana, who had also carried over from the radio station, was equally fun to work with. She was constantly efficient and smiling and genuinely happy to be there, and she didn’t mind chasing after the supplies when they tried to scuttle away. She was a real doll.
And, like any barista worth his weight in caffeine, he had some favorite customers. Old Woman Josie always came in and ordered her coffee black, strong, and blended with ice—just the way she liked her men. He always chuckled, though the joke never changed from one day to the next, and sometimes, if she came between waves, he even had her order half way made before she made it up to the register. She was a sweetheart.
His real favorite, though, was a handsome, sort of shy guy. Gorgeous hair, gorgeous face, beautiful smile—beautiful everything, really. He came in every day, and every day he asked for something different. Something highly specific—so specific, in fact, that he had to order it off of a page in his journal.
It had been at least four visits before Cecil had even seen his eyes. But when he did, oh man. He fell in love instantly. Carlos—he assumed that was the guy’s name; that was what he always had him write on the cup, anyway—had eyes the color of a well brewed shot of espresso—the kind that had warm honey tones in the brown and a warm glow coming off of it that had nothing to do with the radon levels in the water.
In fact, he’d been so lost blissfully drowning in those eyes that he had had to have Carlos repeat his order that day—the first time ever.
But he was very exacting, this Carlos. Things had to have certain ingredients, in a certain order, blended at a certain temperature, and made with certain percentages.
Cecil made sure to make every cup perfectly according to direction, and Carlos made sure to tip him for it well.
Still, Carlos usually only had a sip or two, then pulled out a palm pilot and typed a few words, and threw the rest of the drink away.
Cecil, for his part, made sure to print two copies of every receipt, and, with his nail, record what had gone into that day’s drink. He kept these—personal trophies of having survived his particular customer without a single complaint. Still, it was hard not to feel at least a tiny bit insulted at having his efforts, day after day, thrown out.
Thus it was that he was able to tell exactly how long he’d been working there. Carlos never missed a day. It was on day number forty one that Carlos came in during one of the harder rushes that Cecil had ever been slammed with. There had been a heat wave, and a lot of the town’s AC units were broken, and the pink berry had lost power. So everyone and their mothers wanted a frozen coffee drink. And here he was, alone with Dana, trying to keep up with it all.
The crowd shuffled forward in front of the register, and Carlos was standing there with his journal out and his adorable little smile, looking up at Cecil, waiting for his customary “What have you got for me today?” But…. There had been a heatwave. The AC in the Ralph’s was broken. Cecil had managed to slam his fingers in the freezer less than two minutes ago, and the tarantulas whose job it was to package the creamers had simply refused to show up that day. He was sweaty and already exhausted, and the line behind Carlos had grown past the front of the store, and out the front doors, which meant they couldn’t close and the hot air from outside was gushing in.
None of that made what followed even the slightest bit okay, though. None of it excused what Cecil did next. He snapped at Carlos.
“Look, I really don’t have time for this. Not today. Any other day, fine, come in, order something complex that takes forever to make, and then just throw it away, but not today. Either order from the menu and drink it, or just. Just go.” Cecil stumbled at the end when Carlos lowered his journal to his side and cast quick, panicked eyes up at the board above Cecil’s head.
“I… I’ll have an iced mocha please.” He said, his voice quiet and timid, and Cecil wanted nothing more than to go and slam his head in the freezer door. That sounded more pleasant than actually processing the order.
Still, he did what he needed to, and tried to give it to Carlos free of charge, but the man waved him off. And when he still wouldn’t take money for it, he just dumped a twenty into the tip jar and shuffled off to the other end of the counter to wait for his order.
Cecil watched him go, a frown etching itself onto his face, before he was rudely pulled back into the moment by one of the less happy of Night Vale’s citizens, slamming her fist onto the counter and beginning to rattle off a string of commands for her drink.
Cecil didn’t see if Carlos actually got his drink, or if he just left, but by the time he had finished the next three orders, Carlos was gone.
He didn’t come back the next day, either, and Cecil found himself unable to laugh at Old Woman Josie’s usual joke. He was able to scrape together a weak smile for her, but that was it. She seemed to understand, though, and patted his hand soothingly.
“It’ll get better sweetie. Here.” She handed him a dinner mint and he took it, crooking his eyebrow questioningly.
“So your breath is good when you kiss and make up.” She told him, nodding sagely while she moved to the other end of the counter, taking her flickering friend with her.
Cecil shook his head. He wished there would be kissing involved. Instead, he was afraid he’d chased Carlos off for good.
The next day only ground that fear in deeper.
“Don’t worry so much, Cecil. Maybe he’s just sick.” Dana told him. He shrugged.
“Whatever.” He told her, and entered the rest of the orders on his shift with his chin propped in his hand, and no smilie faces drawn on any cups. At all.
Day three without Carlos was like a rash—he’d worked himself into thinking that maybe this would be it. Maybe Carlos would come back today—and he waited expectantly, until lunch hour came and went and there was no sign of him. Then he went back to moping around the coffee shop.
By day four, he realized people were pity-tipping. Which, hey, that was neat, but not as neat as, say, Carlos smiling. He gave some of his portion of the tips to Dana, anyway, for having to put up with him.
Day five, he was almost normal. He wasn’t as energetic, but he was smiling. Even if it was the same smile. All day. And his face hurt by the end of it.
Day six was his day off. He considered going by work and just hanging out, maybe browsing the internet while sipping on something, but Dana had expressly forbidden it. And it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like Carlos was coming back any way.
So he started by searching the white pages of Night Vale for anyone named Carlos.
He either went by Last name, C, or was unlisted.
So Cecil sat back on his couch and considered leaving Voidbucks cups on the door of every Last name, C in town that said “you can come back, I’ll quit, I’m sorry.” But then again that would involve stealing cups from work, and that would be bad. So. Maybe not that.
Finally, bored and out of options, he spread out Carlos’s receipts and started going through them.
After rereading them in order, he started seeing a little bit of a pattern. He wrote down recurring order parts, and shuffled them around the way experience told him would work best.
He wrote out the finalized recipe and stared at it for a long few minutes before wrinkling it up and throwing it away.
Then, he took a nap. As one does, when one has offended their crush so heinously.
Day seven he had no hope for at all. He was actually late showing up to work—something that had never happened before in his life.
And then, half way through his shift, Carlos came in.
Cecil panicked.
“Uh Dana, take the counter. I have to um. Laundry.”
Which, of course, made no sense. They didn’t even have laundry at Voidbucks.
Dana grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Ohh no you don’t. You march over there, Cecil, and you apologize. I am going to the little girls room.” She waved at him as she passed behind Carlos, and mouthed ‘good luck’ and gave him two thumbs up.
His eyes fell helplessly to the other man.
“I’m sorry.” They chorused. Cecil grimaced and Carlos grinned awkwardly, a hand on the nape of his neck. No one spoke for a moment out of sheer embarrassment and finally Cecil said,
“No, really. It’s all my fault—I don’t mind making your orders. In fact, I look forward to it. It was just… I was having a bad day.”
“Yeah.” Carlos said, his mouth still hiked up on one side a little. “After that, I had kind of a bad day, too.”
“Let me tell you, Carlos. This last week has been nothing but bad days.” Cecil shook his head, then offered his hand.
“Let me make you a drink, on me, and we can call it even?” He asked, aware how desperately hopeful he sounded.
“Sounds more than fair.” Carlos agreed. He took a deep breath. “Ready?”
“What have you got for me today?” Cecil asked, and Carlos went ahead and rattled it off.
Glad that it was a quiet day, and he could spend all the time he needed making sure that this one was absolutely perfect, Cecil decided to break their unwritten rule of silence, and chat with Carlos while he worked.
“So, why so many variations on a coffee, anyway?” He asked, sheer curiosity egging him on.
“My tía used to make the very best coffees… but I’ve never been able to find anything even close. So I figured out the recipe as best as I could, and I’ve been trying ever since.”
Cecil stared at him, then looked back down at the cup in his hand—nearly finished, and upended it over the tray that caught excess spills.
Carlos spluttered indignantly and Cecil turned his back to him, his hands flying as he called up the recipe he’d written. He hummed under his breath as he worked, and when he turned around, Carlos was gone again.
He felt a sinking feeling in his gut and turned the corner of the coffee kiosk only to see Dana storming back, looking disappointed.
“Green Prius, second spot from the front door. Hurry, Cecil!” She said, and he did, trusting her not to tell their superiors about how he’d left the Voidbucks counter unmanned.
He ran outside, just as Carlos started backing the car out of the spot. He had actual tears on his face, and when Cecil tapped on his window, he jumped about a foot in surprise.
He stopped backing out, though, and quickly wiped his face with the sleeve of his labcoat before rolling the window down.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“I came up with this based on all of your past orders, when you weren’t coming in. I’m really sorry. Here.” Cecil all but shoved it into Carlos’s hand and fled back inside the glass doors.
He stood there, just out of the range of the motion detector, and watched as the man in the car took a drink. He could see, even from here, the way his eyes widened, and he watched him take another. Then another. Carlos actually closed his eyes and slowly drank the whole thing.
Cecil saw, too, when Carlos turned the cup and saw the writing on the side of it. No smilie faces. No hearts. Just Cecil’s name and cell phone number.
That night, after he got off work and while he was waiting for his dinner to come out of the microwave, he felt his phone buzz against his hip.
He answered it, then held his breath.
“Hello, Cecil?” The voice said. “This is Carlos. I’m calling for personal reasons. I know this is a little sudden, but… would you like to go out for dinner?”
Cecil agreed and hung up, put his coat back on, and tucked Old Woman Josie’s mint into his pants pocket—just in case.