Work Text:
It starts out simply enough. Bellamy comes in to open on Thursday morning and there’s a post-it on the cash register that says “Kid just ordered an extra large black coffee at 8:59 PM and also looked on the verge of tears. Someone has been procrastinating.”
He reads it, laughs a little to himself, and then moves it off the cash register. He’s going to throw it out, but instead, he sticks it up on the counter, out of sight of the patrons.
Later, after he tells the third person of the morning that their coffees just come in regular sizes, he writes his own note, sticking it next to the first.
“Can people stop ordering like we’re a Starbucks? We are not a Starbucks. Just tell me you want a large goddamn coffee.”
Miller rolls his eyes when he reads it and tells Bellamy that he’s a dork. Bellamy checks to make sure nobody is paying attention and sprays whipped cream at Miller.
The notes stay up there with no additions for a few days, and then on Monday: “Dude talking loudly on the phone and holding up the whole line instead of ordering – do NOT hold your finger up at me to wait for you. I will jump over this counter.”
Nothing interesting happens on Bellamy’s shift that day, but a few days later some guy comes through the drive-thru wearing a horse mask, because the age of the internet has made everyone assholes.
Miller’s at the window and he calls Bellamy over. “Look at this fucker,” he says.
Bellamy peers around Miller to see and he’s not even surprised that Horse Guy has someone in the passenger seat recording the whole thing. They’ve been through a few times before, some low-grade prank channel on YouTube that Bellamy is slowly starting to hate because their pranks are annoying as hell. So far, he’s been on shift for their Most Complicated Coffee Order Ever and How Many Shots of Caramel Will They Put In My Drink videos and he’s not a fan.
Before Bellamy’s shift ends, he leaves a note that says, “Today, the prank YouTube channel guy came through the drive-thru wearing a horse mask. Honestly, what the fuck? Who watches this shit?”
Soon, the counter is filled with post-its. “There was just a flash mob in our store? I didn’t even know flash mobs were still a thing? Also FUCK YOUTUBE CHANNEL GUY HE’S THE WORST.” “Flash mobs are so five years ago. This guy just requested that a male employee make his drink because he ‘doesn’t want it tainted’ I think Harper is gonna fight him.” “Someone just asked for 25 Equals in his tea. TWENTY-FIVE. Then he told me not to judge him, but I’m definitely judging tbh.”
Bellamy’s writing “How could that even taste good? Miller almost set the shop on fire today.” when Miller punches his shoulder.
“You’re such a loser,” he says, leaning against the counter, his back to the near-empty shop. “Why don’t you just find out who you’re talking to?”
“Because this is fun,” Bellamy says, sticking the note next to the others. “It’s like having a pen pal.”
Miller rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. You could just write your number on one of the post-its. Or ask for their number.”
“That would be weird.”
“Because this isn’t.” Miller says. “You’re writing post-it notes to a random coworker and you don’t know who it is.”
“I know it’s not you or Harper,” Bellamy says. “You’re always on shift with me.”
“So you have wondered who it is,” Miller says, triumphant, like he caught Bellamy in something.
Bellamy busies himself with cleaning the counter and says, “Not really. I don’t care, honestly.”
The bell above the door sounds and Bellamy looks up with a smile plastered on his face. It’s replaced with a smirk when he sees who came in. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Nice to see you, too, Bellamy,” Clarke says.
“Sorry. It’s great to see that you’ve come to torment me at my place of work, in addition to in class,” Bellamy says. Clarke sticks out her tongue at him and orders.
“Don’t act like you don’t love getting to spend some quality time with me,” she says, watching Miller make her drink, a friendly smile on her face. “I’ll even let you argue with me about our reading from yesterday.”
“You really know the way to my heart, Princess,” Bellamy says, rolling his eyes. Miller hands her a drink and when Bellamy’s break comes around he finds her at a table and sits in the chair across from her, chatting for the entire fifteen minutes.
“You really don’t care?” Miller asks once more, when Bellamy’s getting ready to leave. His expression is contemplative and he looks like he knows something that Bellamy doesn’t.
“I really don’t care,” Bellamy confirms.
And he didn’t care, until Miller brought it up, and now he’s curious. He only works mornings and he guesses that whoever’s writing notes to him only works afternoons because the notes are always there when he comes in to open. He doesn’t know anyone on the afternoon shifts and he feels weird asking around.
So he does the logical thing and comes in the next day, after picking Octavia up from school.
“Jesus Christ,” Miller says, a shark-like grin on his face. “You fucking stalker.”
“Language,” Bellamy chides.
Octavia and Miller share a look. “I’m almost eighteen, Bell, I drop the f-bomb regularly.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know that you do it,” he says. He tells her to go find them a table and then gives their order to Miller. “Why didn’t you tell me you were working tonight?”
“Because you didn’t ask, babe.” Miller says. There’s no one in line behind Bellamy, so after passing on the order, he leans over the counter, pitching his voice low like he’s sharing a secret. “Someone called in a favor from me.”
Bellamy opens his mouth, but before he can even ask, Miller shakes his head, “Don’t ask. That would be cheating.”
“I wouldn’t even be wondering who it was if you hadn’t brought it up,” Bellamy says, rolling his eyes. “I was perfectly happy not knowing.”
“You’re never happy,” Miller says, his response immediate. “You run on bitterness and spite and repressed emotions. That’s why you’re so fucked up about this.”
“I’m not fucked up about it! I didn’t care about it until you started asking who it was and ruined my life.”
Miller scoffs. “And you say I’m the dramatic one. Do you hear yourself right now?”
“You’re the worst friend in the entire world,” Bellamy says, voice flat.
The young, dark-haired girl that Bellamy has never seen before calls his name, but before he goes, Miller grabs his arm, a grin on his face. “The person you’re talking to wants to know who you are too,” he says.
Bellamy flips him off before going to get his drinks.
When he sits down across from Octavia she says, “So.”
“Not you, too.”
She takes the hot chocolate that he slides across the table to her and says, “You’re aware that you’re being ridiculous, right?”
Bellamy sighs. “In general or about something specific?”
“The post-it note thing,” Octavia says, taking a sip of her drink. When Bellamy just stared at her she rolls her eyes. “Miller told me about it when he came over yesterday. He thinks you’re ridiculous, too.”
“So he’s said,” Bellamy says.
“You could just ask Miller who it is.”
“He doesn’t know.”
The look that Octavia gives him is pitying. “Bell. He’s working the afternoon shift today. If he doesn’t already know who you’re writing notes with, he’s totally gonna gossip all shift and find out who it is. He’s probably covering for them.”
The next day, there’s a note that says, “Miller is a douchecanoe. Some lady just came in and ordered a latte for her ten-year-old.”
“You know who it is,” Bellamy says when Miller comes behind the counter.
Miller mimes zipping his lips and puts on his apron.
“You know and you’re not gonna tell me. You really are the worst.”
“I’m trying to help you,” Miller says. “I won’t always be around to wingman for you. Just ask for their number."
“I’m not gonna do that,” Bellamy says. He grabs a post-it and scribbles something down, Miller peering over his shoulder.
“Miller is definitely the worst. You should meet me at close today and tell me more about the lady that ordered a latte for her ten-year-old,” he reads. “Yeah, okay, I approve.”
Bellamy sticks the note up next to the others and when he leaves, Miller claps him on the back and says, “Trust me, you’re gonna be really, really happy you did this.”
When Bellamy comes back that night at 9:00, he recognizes the blonde sitting on the curb in front of the shop and his voice is incredulous when he says, “Clarke?”
She looks up at her name and cocks her head to the side, confused. “Hey, Bellamy, what’s up?”
“Uh, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here,” he says.
Clarke’s eyes clear and she stands. “You’re the one who’s been writing notes back to me?” she asks. And then, “God, now it makes so much more sense. Miller got all weird after I came in the other day and started asking me about the post-its and I was confused about how he even knew I was writing them.”
“You know Miller?” Bellamy asks. “Wait, you work here? How did I not know any of that?”
“I guess this kind of stuff just doesn’t come up when you’re antagonizing each other all the time,” Clarke teases. She pauses, shifting her weight. “How come you asked to meet me?”
“It was Miller,” Bellamy says. “He started asking if I wanted to know who was writing the post-its and it started bothering me that I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you know,” Clarke says, grinning at him. “Wanna go get – I don’t know, anything except coffee?”
Bellamy grins back. “Sure.”