Chapter Text
"Next!"
The pretty brunette with light brown eyes (and too much eyeliner) smiles, drops her coin change into the tip jar and hurriedly tries to cram her receipt and cash into her wallet while moving to the bar to wait for her order. The music playing overhead finally — finally — switches over from country to some alternative crap that Chuck still can't stand, but likes notably more than he likes the mournful warbles of a man singing about a pickup truck and his dead dog. He knows this song, even hums a handful of bars while sweeping some danish crumbs off the counter distractedly. He's on autopilot from their rush hour, grabbing every extra second that he has and using it to be productive; to make sure his work station is presentable and restocking what he needs. But his stacked towers of paper travel cups are practically falling over because of how top heavy they are, and even with two of the other baristas on break, Natasha and Joy are still lounging by the espresso machines, idly making coffee while discussing Joy's newest addition to her sleeve tattoos.
Chuck is a little too Spartan to relax like that, though. He's only had this job for two months and his customer service is incredibly lacking — he has a hard time smiling about nothing, for no reason, and at grumpy human beings that can't function until they've had their morning coffee. For what he lacks in gratuitous smiles he makes up for in neatness, in cleanliness, and in diligence when it came to drink orders. The first two months were amateur hour, were the time to make mistakes, and thus far he had only (totally, completely, all-his-fault) messed up three customers orders — statistics that Chuck was personally very proud of. From the way his manager looked at him, he was on the fast track to a key-holder or shift leader position, which... wouldn't mean much in terms of a pay raise, and would mostly just mean more responsibility and more opportunities to be yelled at by everyone. But the title was important, Chuck had decided. There was a good reason he had been hired at the busiest Broadcast Coffee location to begin with, and another reason he was scheduled to open instead of working the closing shift, and his prowess deserved recognition so far as he was concerned.
As it was, his third opening shift in a row was almost over, and Chuck couldn't quite tell if he had to pee or was just really bored, really excited to ditch the apron and name tag, and to get out of here. His left leg is jiggling impatiently, and he looks at the clock as his next patron finally clues in to the fact it's his turn.
He's tall and blond and —...Chuck sees far too many faces each day, too many for anything remarkable to jump out at him about this guy other than he's the last customer in the queue that had significantly thinned out since this morning. That in itself makes it easier to fake a smile and uncap his Sharpie.
"Hi, what can I get for you?"
"Hey, um," the man starts, then... Stops and glances up at the chalkboard menu hanging above their heads. Chuck's dealt with enough of them by now to recognize a first timer, a coffee novice right off the bat. "Can I have a coffee?"
"What kind?"
"Black?"
It takes a lot of self restraint for Chuck not to roll his eyes. There's a huge wall of (mostly decorative) glass containers filled with beans for various house blends behind him, along with six brewers keeping the ready-made coffee warm, and this guy had the audacity to just say coffee. Fine.
"You don't want black coffee, mate," he manages to say instead of barking out something more sarcastic, and considerably more insulting. The blond man looks surprised, but not offended.
"I don't?"
"If you're this chipper right now without already having had any? Nah, you don't." It took Chuck two grande double-shots to get wired, though he suspected his tolerance was growing now that he had pretty much unlimited access to free caffeine. This guy looked like he'd be bouncing off the walls with the two fingers of coffee they gave in sample cups. He still has his Sharpie in hand, and picks a grande cup at random, quickly going down the line of drink customizations and ticking them off with an expect hand. He glances at the guy's face for a moment before marking down 'soy' under milk options, just because it felt right. "You're going to get....a latte with soy milk and two pumps of raspberry syrup. Should be nice and sweet for you."
"Oh, that does sound go — "
"What's your name?"
The blond pauses, and Chuck thinks he might have blanched, but why would anyone blanch when asked their name unless —
...oh.
"Raleigh?"
"Raleigh? Are you asking me a question here, or —"
"No, no — Raleigh." His conviction is exaggerated, and Chuck recognizes the behavior patterns of someone who has never had their name spelled or pronounced correctly when told to a stranger ever. Not that he had any personal experience, but Mako had; especially when she was fresh off the boat, thick-accented and too shy to correct people. And as her best friend, he took it upon himself to be offended for her too. Likewise, he takes pity on the man and jerks his chin toward him.
"How do you spell that, Rah leigh?" Okay, not too much pity.
"R - A - L - E - I - G - H."
"R - A - L - E... " Chuck finishes the rest on the side of the cup in his neat, small, print letters and nods, putting the order on the bar for Joy to begin making.
"Like the city," Raleigh offers absently, with a nonchalant shrug.
"There's a city called Raleigh?"
"Yeah, in North Carolina."
"Were you born there?"
"No."
"So your parents just hate you, then." That's... probably the worst thing to say about someone's name, and Chuck's about to perfunctorily apologize when Raleigh laughs.
"Maybe, maybe — not as much as they hated my brother, then, I guess. His name's Yancy."
"Oh wow, you must be the favorite child by those standards."
"My sister's name is Jazmine."
"Oh, see, that's actually not bad —"
"But with a 'z', not an 's'."
"Oh, well now your mum and dad are just trying too hard. How pretentious."
Raleigh laughed and Chuck smirked a little. Someone came into the shop and he even felt a flicker of disappointment that he was going to have to cut this interaction short, then rejoice when he heard the telltale shuffle of his coworkers coming back from their 20 minute breaks. And sure enough, when Naomi clicks back in to the cashier station next to him, she beckons over the other guest with a pleasant: "I can help you right here, sir."
Chuck rang up the latte (without the additional charge for the soy milk because, after that playful banter, he may or may not have decided to flirt; and Raleigh was probably pretty enough, and got this kind of treatment regularly enough to understand exactly what the implications were) but Raleigh's not looking at the little electric display above the till. He is diligently grabbing eye contact whenever Chuck looks up from the register, and smiling, and has to be told his total before he hands over his debit card. While Chuck swipes the card, he can see Raleigh digging change out of his pocket for the tip jar, and tipping two dollars on a four-fifty purchase (which was more than generous).
"You'll have to let me know how you like that latte, yeah?" Chuck offers as way of parting. More people had begun to trickle through the doors, mostly exhausted, stressed out university students in need of a quick fix, and Naomi has already dealt with two customers and is beckoning forward a third. As much as it suddenly pains him to do his job, he has to.
"Yeah, I'll totally be back!" Raleigh agrees, amicable and trusting, taking back his card and pocketing it.
Before Chuck can say anything else — say goodbye, offer his phone number, greet the next customer — Natasha has loudly called across the store: "Riley? Riley, I have your order!"
And before Raleigh can grin and bear it, pick up his latte and not make any correction (because there was no way he was going to) Chuck calls back:
"It's Rahleigh!"
And when Natasha rolls her eyes, and Raleigh smiles back at him, he adds a little quieter:
"Like the city."