Chapter Text
That weird junkie guy was back, Seth noticed. He crouched down to pull the last rack from the display, trying to ignore the shouting outside the coffee house. He didn't particularly want to have to get involved with the guy again, he just wanted to finish closing and go home.
He sighed and dropped his rag when the bell over the door jangled, standing up behind the counter and putting on his customer service expression. Oh. Great. Junkie guy was standing in the doorway, scowling up at the bell like it had personally affronted him. Seth cleared his throat.
“Help you? We’re closing up, so we don’t really have a whole lot-”
“Just need coffee,” the guy replied, grinning at… well, something over Seth’s right shoulder, his eyes completely unfocused. His tongue was working itself nervously against his bottom lip, and Seth schooled his gaze to not look directly at it. “Black, like my soul and big like my d-”
“I can do that,” Seth interrupted, before the guy could finish that sentence. He snagged a large cup off the stack and moved to the coffee pots, watching the guy out the corner of his eye. He was drumming on the counter with one hand, tapping his fingers on his leg with the other, and still staring at the space Seth had just vacated. He sure didn’t look like a typical junkie, Seth thought, although he’d caught the guy smoking…. something in the alley, with a little glass pipe, so one couldn’t always count on appearance. He was tall, broad shoulders and lean, tapered waist, with strong arms and long legs; Seth wondered if he had a gym membership to go along with his dirty shirt and jeans and increasing twitchiness.
“Name?”
“Hmm?” Blue eyes moved to stare at him, his tongue still working at his lip and Seth thought that junkie guy was spacing bad- he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, no fucking wonder- and that maybe he didn’t really want to know his name anyway.
“I need your name. For the cup.”
Junkie guy let out a shrill, brittle laugh. “I’m the only one here, dude.”
Seth shrugged, sheepish. “Yeah, but it’s policy.”
“Policy? You sure y’ain’t just after it for nefarious purposes?” Junkie guy’s tongue slipped out the side of his mouth and Seth bit the inside of his cheek. The guy’s clothes were filthy, he was clearly on something, and he wasn’t particularly pleasant to deal with, so why did that tongue interest him so much? He marshalled himself and took another stab at it.
“I’m guessing they want to know who screwed up the order if someone complains.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to put your name on it, then? Fuck’s your name, anyway?” Junkie guy moved closer and squinted at Seth’s nametag. “Kinda dumbass name is Seth?”
“It’s my name,” Seth snapped back. He brandished his sharpie at junkie guy, like maybe that would save him if this guy decided to jump over the counter. Junkie guy barked out another one of those brittle laughs, his red-rimmed eyes shining as he stepped back and put his hands up.
“Alright, okay, my name is Dean.”
Seth slapped a lid on the coffee and scribbled Dean in the angriest way he could. Fuck but this guy had him flustered. Wasn’t the first time a dickhead had mocked him, and it wouldn’t be the last, but being made fun of by someone who looked like he hadn’t had a bath in a month was a little much at midnight. “Large black coffee’s gonna be a buck eighty.” And Jesus, did he ever hope this guy actually had a dollar and eighty cents, although he’d be more than happy to dip into his own tips just to get the guy out the door.
“Alright.” Junkie guy gave him an easy grin and jammed his hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a fistful of whatever was in there and scattering it over the counter. “Gotta count, hang on.”
Seth set the cup down on the counter- that coffee was going to be stone damn cold by the time they finished this- and moved to help, but junkie guy’s hand whipped out and grabbed his wrist, squeezing. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough. “I’ll do it m’self.”
That was just fine with Seth; he could see little wads of what looked like burnt foil and god only knew what else mixed in with the coins, and realized he didn’t really want to stick his fingers in junkie guy’s pocket debris.
“Forty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five- I only got a buck sixty two.” Junkie guy appeared to be chewing his own tongue for a few seconds, then started methodically emptying his pockets onto the counter Seth had just wiped off ten minutes before. Seth bit back a sigh and waited, wondering how anyone could have that much shit in their pockets.
So far, he counted one crumpled pack of cigarettes, more burnt foil, a condom, a dog biscuit, three nails, some kind of glass pipe- great, drug paraphernalia on his counter- several small shredded pieces of paper and- “Is that a fucking goldfish cracker?” He'd been startled into speech by just how ludicrous that was. It was in one of those bubble containers you got from those shitty quarter machines, even. Seth guessed it was to keep it from crumbling.
Dean looked up from his inventory and grinned- one of his front teeth was crooked, Seth noticed, but he still seemed to have roughly the correct amount. “That’s Jeremy. He’s my buddy.”
“Oookay. Look, I can cover the rest of your coffee if you haven’t got the fifteen cents or whatever it is, it’s not a big deal. Probably cold by now anyway.”
Dean scowled at him, and Seth realized that this guy apparently had some pride. “I can pay for my own fuckin coffee, bro. Just wait.”
Seth’s eye flicked to the clock over the door- what the hell, might as well shove the entire stick into the hornet’s nest he’d inadvertently poked- and he shrugged. “Not saying you can’t, but we close in one minute. I’ve still got a bunch of things to do before I can leave.”
Junkie- no, Dean- snarled and slammed his fist into the small collection of coins he’d produced, sending a dime flying off the counter and Seth took a half-step back. “Okay, okay. Uh, take your time.” He crouched to pick up the dime and gingerly slid it back toward the guy. The guy who was clearly violently unstable and that Seth apparently had a talent for irritating.
“Here. Buck eighty. Told you I could pay for it.” Dean shoved the coins toward him and started refilling his pockets as Seth swept the tobacco-flecked coins into his hand and dumped them directly into the till without bothering to count.
“Thanks. Come again,” Seth replied, mentally cursing his managers for making them say that stupid shit. He’d be more than happy if Dean walked out the door and off the edge of the planet, really, him with his pet cracker and his rage and his twitching and his pretty eyes.
Did I really just think that? Seth wondered, stepping out behind the counter as the door closed behind Dean. He flipped over the Fuck Off We’re Closed sign- it really had said that once, under the old manager, an original hippie who always smelled vaguely of pot and patchouli- and locked the door. He could see Dean standing across the street, not looking his way, just standing there under the streetlight, and he shook his head.
It wasn’t like dealing with drunks and junkies was exactly unusual, not in this area, with this job, and with these shifts, and at least this one actually had enough money to pay for his drink, albeit barely. But Seth had never met a junkie who was so well built, or who flipped from asshole to easy going to rage so quickly. He wondered if that was the drugs or if the guy was actually mentally ill or what as he finished breaking down the bakery display and cleaning up before cashing out his till- which balanced, by the way, so at least Dean could count change, even if he did carry around a goldfish cracker named Jeremy.