Chapter Text
The alarm blared. The sound of the loud, abrasive honking that haunts one’s nightmares filled the room.
It was the second time now that it had been relegated to snooze. Diego’s face remained buried in his pillow.
Light filtered through the curtains that he had tightly drawn, reminding him that the day had regrettably come. Again. He let a scream out into the pillow before rolling over and very aggressively shutting the alarm off on his phone.
He sat up in bed and squinted his eyes, putting a hand up to his forehead. He had a headache. Already. Perhaps he shouldn’t have polished off that bottle of wine last night while he rewatched The Land Before Time for what may or may not have been his fiftieth viewing. But after the day he had had, he needed some comfort.
Massaging his temples, he made his way to the bathroom. He flicked on the light and leaned in over the sink, removing his retainer and splashing water onto his face. Only after this did he catch a glimpse in the mirror.
A guttural, disgusted ugh escaped his mouth as he tugged at the dark circles around his eyes. He looked like a man who had been beaten and battered by life. He turned from the mirror and made his way out of the bathroom and through his tiny box of an apartment.
Entering the kitchen, he smiled as he saw his beloved resting on the counter.
He could remember a faint dream of her. Maybe it was the alcohol-induced irrationality of the night before, but he had gone to bed lusting for her. She looked especially lovely this morning, the sunlight casting an effervescent glow over her immaculate body. He thanked Jesus or whoever was above that he could wake up to her every morning.
His French press. His saving grace. His tried and true. Producer of his artisanal and integral cup of morning coffee.
As he sauntered over to where she sat, he felt giddy thinking of the wonderfully bitter brew that would be ready in five minutes, give or take.
With a smile plastered on his face, he opened the cabinet directly above. Inside was an impressive array of beans in bags uniformly labeled and organized by Roast first, then Origin, Body, and lastly by his personal preference.
He stood there for a pensive moment, debating which bag would produce the optimal cup of joe for his mood. Deciding that he needed the extra caffeine, he pulled from the top shelf a lovely bag of Blonde roast, single origin beans hailing from Brazil.
Mindlessly, he carried through his morning ritual, grinding the beans by hand as the water boiled in the kettle. He relished in the elegance that was operating a French press. It was a skill reserved only for true connoisseurs. He combined the grounds and hot water and gave them a careful stir before heading back into the bathroom to pass the time as the mixture steeped.
He brushed his teeth hurriedly, styled his hair with a bit more care, and threw on a spot of concealer for good measure.
“Damn. I’m hot.” He said, checking himself out in the mirror when all was finished. The thought of coffee had renewed in him his overwhelming confidence. He threw on a pair of dapper khakis and paired it with a form-fitting black, long-sleeved tee.
Making his way back to the kitchen, he huffed in the sweet, nutty aroma of the finished product. From the drying rack by the sink he grabbed his favorite mug, an oversized trinket from a trip to the Jurassic Park section of Universal Studios on his last spring break in college.
He pressed the plunger down on the press, forcing the grounds to the bottom of the container. With steady hands, he expertly poured the liquid into his mug, filling it to the brim without need for room for cream or sugar.
He breathed the scent in deeply, anxious to take a sip. Having made the mistake of drinking too quickly and burning his entire mouth more than once, he made his way to his bedroom to gather the last of his things: his phone, his shoes, and that hideous green work apron. With these in tow, he hurried back into the kitchen knowing that the drink was now just cool enough to enjoy.
In one swift movement he tossed his shoes and apron on the floor by the door, scooped up the mug, and spun to lean against the counter. He breathed in the heavenly fumes with the energy of a woman in an instant coffee commercial and took a sip. The black liquid gold tickled his taste buds and sent his senses into waves of overwhelming joy. He could cry. Marvelous, he thought.
With the mug in one hand, he used the other to unlock his phone to catch up on what he had missed from the night before. He began with Instagram, opening the app and making a sour face as he began to scroll. Vile, disgusting, why bother showing your face on the internet, ew, interesting… I’ll like that one, ew again.
Taking another large sip, he switched over to Twitter, scrolling through his timeline until he found himself bored. He then took another sip and switched to Facebook, soon reaching the same result. After a few minutes of absentminded app-switching and scrolling, he somehow found himself on Instagram again.
Not long after his phone went dry, his cup did too. He held the mug high above as the last few droplets reached his mouth. He hoped that by some divine miracle more would magically appear.
Alas, this did not happen, and he was forced to wash out the mug and prepare to head out for the day.
He pulled on his shoes and grabbed the disgustingly green uniform before heading out of the apartment without a second look.
The drive to work was unremarkable and the same as any other day. Dread mounted in him as he pulled into the parking lot and unbuckled his seatbelt. He inhaled sharply and exhaled with the same intensity.
“Okay. Let’s do this. You got this. Just another day. Don’t mind the idiots.” He said to himself as looked in the rearview mirror. Gathering up his necessary belongings in a small bundle, he exited the car and made his way across the lot to the modernly small, but somehow still spacious building.
He tugged the door open, feeling as if it weighed tons. As he stepped inside, he was greeted by the familiar and comforting scent of fresh coffee. But also by the annoying face behind the register.
Johnny sat watching the door with his elbows resting on the counter and one hand under his chin. He glared at Diego as he made his way across the store.
“Morning.” Diego barked. God did he hate that smug little bastard.
Johnny made a face, mocking the faux congeniality.
Diego stared Johnny down as he made his way behind the counter. Johnny refused to break eye contact, returning his gaze with scorn to match.
“Hey.”
Diego was snapped out of their little staring contest by the remark from someone who was oddly close to him. Had he kept up with his staring he would have run headfirst into the person who had just emerged from the back room.
Standing not five inches away from his face was Hot Pants, unflinching. Realizing his folly, Diego stumbled backwards.
“Hey! Morning!” he yipped. Johnny snickered from his position a few feet away.
Diego whipped his head to again shoot Johnny a look.
“Gyro’s late.” Hot Pants said.
“No he’s not!” Johnny said defensively. “He’s got ten minutes still. You can’t say he’s late.”
“Johnny, he’s been late every day this week.”
“So? Give him a break, he’s a busy man.” Diego scoffed at Johnny’s attempt at defending his friend.
“He’s late.” Hot Pants repeated, brushing past Diego to make her way over to the bar area.
Diego walked through the swinging door into the store’s back room. He took his punch card and clocked in, a piece of him dying inside when he saw just how many hours he had spent at work this week alone.
He pulled the apron over his head and tied it at the back. He straightened his name tag, taking care not to smudge the tiny dinosaur that had been drawn in chalk by his name. It was fine work, a lovely miniature Triceratops, if he did say so himself.
Diego returned to the front of the store just as the first customer of the day arrived. He was a regular, and always the first one in the door. It didn’t take long for all of the employees to remember who he was; he wasn’t someone who could be easily forgotten.
It was because of his size. He was a huge man. Larger than most. Larger than anyone Diego had ever met, actually.
“Good morning, Jonathan.” Johnny greeted with only slightly forced excitement.
“Good morning, Johnny.” The man smiled sweetly. “How are you today?”
“Doin’ alright.” Johnny said casually. “How about you?”
Jonathan’s smile stayed plastered on his face, the crew often theorized that it never actually left. They joked that he probably smiled through the whole day and whole night.
“I’m well, Johnny. Thank you for asking.”
“The usual today?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
Johnny grabbed a Grande —sorry, medium— cup and scribbled the order onto it. At the bar, Hot Pants had already queued the espresso shots and was now steaming the milk needed for his Vanilla Latte. She combined the syrup, espresso, and milk, completing the drink just as Jonathan finished up at the register and made his way to the hand-off at the bar’s far counter.
“Thank you, Miss Pants. Have a lovely day.” Jonathan gave a little nod, flashed a brighter smile, and made his way to the door.
Just as he was about to exit, it slammed open with a loud, dramatic bang. A man of nearly Jonathan’s size strode by him, taking a split second to glare at Jonathan who was standing meekly to the side holding his coffee in hand.
Diego, Johnny, and Hot Pants flashed each other a look. This guy. DIO.
Dio, donning a flashy suit and sporting expensive sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, walked up to the register and cleared his throat.
“Give me a half-caff Venti quad shot soy latte no foam extra hot with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla, one pump toffee nut, half a pump of caramel, and cinnamon on top.”
“Right on it.” Johnny said, writing on the cup and biting his tongue to hold back the sarcastic remark he so desperately wanted to let out.
Diego walked over to the bar. Since Hot Pants had made the last drink, he decided to take the bullet for her and make this one.
He felt eyes on him as he began to pour the milk into the pitcher.
Dio hovered by the counter, watching each step of the process with hawk’s eyes.
“That’s soy, right?” He asked in a condescending tone.
Diego bit his lip, turned his head, and flashed a forced smile, “Yep!”
Dio hummed in response, “Make sure it’s extra hot.”
Diego squinted his eyes, still wearing the forced smile, “Yep!”
He steamed the milk making it extra extra hot and added the syrup concoction that the blonde menace had requested. After the four espresso shots had finished, Diego added the milk to the paper cup, careful while he was pouring so that no foam escaped the pitcher lest Karen, sorry Dio, might have a problem and demand the drink be remade.
He topped the finished product off with a sprinkle of cinnamon and pressed the lid on.
“Here you are!” Diego beamed in an attempt to ward off any complaints from the customer in front of him.
Dio raised the drink to his lips. Time seemed to stop as he took a sip, never once breaking eye contact with Diego. Johnny and Hot Pants kept their distance, fear for their coworker taking rise.
Dio slowly lowered the cup and nodded. “Good day.”
The crew sighed in relief as the man turned and exited the shop, taking the menacing aura that had filled the air along with him.
“Man, I hate that guy.” Johnny said as soon as he was certain there was no chance Dio could hear.
“Tell me about it. He’s always got a stick up his ass. Who does he think he’s better than?” Diego complained.
Hot Pants laughed quietly while she leaned up against the counter. Diego smiled.
It was rather quiet for a Tuesday morning. Their location wasn’t the busiest in the city as it was a bit out of the way of major traffic. Their customers consisted mostly of the same characters in rotation. The Jonathans, the Dios, and everyone in between.
The three passed the morning chatting mindlessly as coworkers often do, Johnny sitting on his phone at the register, Hot Pants busying herself with little tasks, and Diego treating himself to more than his fair share of complementary coffee for employees. Only a few customers disturbed them, no one all that interesting.
That’s right, the morning was not especially interesting until…
“Holy shit.” Johnny perked up, a juvenile smile spreading across his face. “Holy shit, holy shit.” He leaned over the register, looking out of the windows directly in front that provided a clear view of the parking lot.
Hot Pants emerged from the back room and followed Johnny’s line of sight, her eyes growing wide as she saw what he did.
Diego, who was pouring himself yet another cup coffee, turned as he heard Johnny mutter his tenth “holy shit.” When he himself looked out of the window, his jaw dropped, and so did his piping hot cup of dark roast.
Gyro had arrived. Finally. On a horse. In the parking lot.
He parked the horse in the spot nearest to the front entrance, securing it with a shabby rope to the bike rack near the door. He flashed a grin through the windows at the spectators inside and pointed at the horse, clearly excited to show it off. Het pet the horse’s mane a few times before strolling inside the store.
“Morning everyone.” He said with another grin, making sure to show off his last ridiculous purchase from the week before— a custom gold grill adorned with his name. Diego and Hot Pants stood speechless. Johnny, however, was quick to excite.
“Dude, is that yours?”
“Yep.”
“No fucking way. Where’d you get it?”
“Oh y’know. The horse store.” Gyro chuckled his familiar laugh. Diego and Hot Pants shared a spaced-out look, only slowly coming back to reality.
“Gyro, you can’t just keep a horse out there?” He said, using the statement to question the state of mind of the man newly arrived.
“Why not?” Gyro said as he walked to the back room.
Flustered, Diego waved his hands around in the air, “We’re in the middle of a city? This is a Starbucks?”
Returning from the back room, Gyro tied his apron and bent over the sink to wash his hands (thankfully, at least he was washing his hands).
“So. What’s the difference between Valkyrie and your car?” He shook his hands dry in Diego’s direction, splattering the man with water droplets just as a paper towel finished being automatically dispensed above the sink.
“I don’t know, it’s a fucking horse. Gyro what the hell?”
“Yeah, this might be one of the craziest things you’ve done.” Hot Pants chimed in to Diego’s defense. “Plus, you’re late again.”
“But! I’m here. And that’s all that matters.” Gyro said in a singsong voice, giving Johnny a high-five at the same time.
“That’s so awesome, dude.” Johnny said, still excitedly looking out at the horse who had now wandered onto the sidewalk in front of the store to stand under the awning’s shade.
“I know. You should get one.” Gyro said, staring out at Valkyrie with hands on his hips like a proud father.
“Dude, I should. When did you get it?”
“Like an hour ago.” Gyro said, turning to the industrial percolators behind him to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Oh, woah guys, what’s with this mess on the floor? Are you guys even doing your jobs?”
Diego stared at the man in disbelief. He had thought yesterday’s workday was bad, but this one might call for two bottles of wine for recovery.
Hot Pants had disappeared again into the back room, returning now with a mop in hand. She shoved it into Diego’s chest, as if to say silently here, clean.
Diego shook his head as he began to mop the floor, the other three watching him from comfortable positions leaned up against respective edges of the counter. Not a single customer had come in during this exchange. Maybe the horse was driving them away.
“Oh,” Hot Pants perked up, “Do you guys know who’s coming tomorrow?”
Diego turned his head to face her, the words catching his attention in the worst possible way.
Johnny and Gyro exchanged a glance before looking to her.
“The district manager.”
All three men groaned.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Diego complained.
“I fucking hate that guy. He thinks he’s so important.” Johnny added.
“He always comes in here all fake cheery, with his stupid blonde curls and pink suit. What a douche.” Gyro spit out.
Ah, yes. Diego would most certainly be enjoying two bottles of wine tonight elegantly paired with The Land Before Time 2.