Chapter Text
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I said, can I get a grande iced skinny hazelnut macchiato with sugar-free syrup, an extra shot of espresso, light ice, and no whip?”
Virgil blinked twice.
What the actual fuck.
As he typed in the order, he had to remind himself—at least twice—that it was just another customer, just another customer. They are not out to get with you, they’re just really picky. It’s okay, you can do this.
Working at a coffee shop hadn’t been Virgil’s first choice for a job—he didn’t really like having to put on a friendly face and greet customers like he wasn’t dying inside (besides, he was pretty sure they all knew he was, anyway. Why did he have to pretend like he wasn’t a tired college student just trying to pay the bills?)—but he did appreciate the perks on some days. Like the smell of coffee. And discounts on drinks. And being able to pay for tuition.
But it was days like these—days where his coworkers decided not to show up and he was completely on his own and someone just ordered the most complicated drink in the existence of complicated drinks—when his soul seemed to wither and crack and he really just wanted to curl up in a ball in the breakroom until he disappeared.
Which he couldn’t do because Remy just decided not to show up. AGAIN.
Not that he was upset, or anything.
“Could I get a name for the order, please?” Virgil said, trying to sound cheery. If it came off as forced as it felt, the man across from him didn’t seem to notice.
“Roman,” He responded with a grin.
“Alright, Roman, your order will be ready in just a minute.” Or two. Or three. Or…
Making the drink was immeasurably difficult. Yeah, Virgil had experience with making customized coffee orders. But it’d never gotten this bad. This was his worst nightmare customer to date.
About halfway through the order, he remembered one of the rare pieces of advice that his coworker had given him:
“Well, I’ve gotten a few horrible customers myself. Whenever that happens, just spell their name wrong on the cup. It’s a little silent bit of protest that they can’t call you out on unless they really want to be seen as an asshole. Always works, without fail. Sure, it’s petty as hell, but it’s really satisfying.”
A small smirk formed on Virgil’s lip. He shot a glance at the curly-haired man waiting at the counter and, with the sharpie he kept in his apron pocket, scribbled Ramen on the side of the cup.
It was perfect.
Virgil could already feel the petty satisfaction creeping into his chest. Was it supposed to feel this good?
Roman didn’t even give the cup a second glance when Virgil gave it to him, which caused Virgil to feel happier than he had in weeks.
That’s a weird thing to feel happy about, but hey, if it works, it works…
“Bye, Virgil!” Roman said with a diva-like wave of his hand. Virgil stared back, suddenly paralyzed and wondering how the man knew his name.
I didn’t tell him, did I? I don’t remember telling him that. Shouldn’t I remem—
Oh, yeah. Name tag.
Virgil didn’t have time to recover from his moment of paranoia before Roman had turned on his heel and left the shop, unaffected by the barista’s lack of response. Virgil could only blink twice, shake his head, and get back to the next customer.
Well, at least I’ll probably never have to see him again.