Chapter Text
Octavius has made a habit of stopping by in the mornings and afternoons. There's no route he can take to convince himself or his coworkers that it is on the way, but there is no day bad enough to stop him from having coffee at his favorite coffee shop. For years, he's been leaving his apartment early so that he has enough time to enjoy a cup and make it to work punctually. "It's worth it for the coffee," he tells himself every time he's running late. "I'm doing this for the coffee."
It might have a bit to do with the company, as well. A young man named Lawrence Daley claimed the space about a year after Octavius moved to the city. After numerous investments gone south, he'd finally struck gold; a steady job and a place nearby for his son to visit. When Octavius stepped inside for the first time, Larry was behind the register, visibly overwhelmed but sending off not one disappointed customer. Back then, it was only a counter and a coffee machine. These days, every table is full, and the smells emanating from the newly renovated kitchen are intoxicating.
(The baked goods the shop offers aren't bad, by any means — but they do not appeal to him as strongly as the drinks do. Octavius has always preferred the scent of sweets to the taste; and treats at work come free.)
Theodore, an older gentleman with ownership of the bookstore two doors down, often enters carrying fatherly advice for Larry's staff, and exits with a lidded cup of tea. Octavius enjoys Theodore's company, when it lasts longer than the time it takes to place an order and turn someone's day around. There's something familiar about the man. His presence is nothing if not warm, comforting.
Octavius doesn't quite feel as though he fits in with the coffee shop employees, being a. not American, and b. prone to burning every pot of tea or coffee he challenges himself to make, but they have not once made him feel like a stranger. A loyal customer since their first week of business (a work colleague had recommended it), Octavius manages to get along with every staff member. Larry started keeping a table for him by the window, a while back.
+
Today is not Octavius' day. He gets off to a late start, leaves half of his work at his apartment, and steps in a puddle of melted snow crossing the street. He hasn't got enough time to stop for coffee, but his morning has been spectacularly bad thus far, and he refuses to deny himself this one small pleasure before rushing off to do his job. Expecting to be greeted by Larry — as Larry works the early shift — Octavius makes no effort to mask his sour mood. Instead, he sighs, "The usual, quickly, please," and digs around in his bag for the correct change.
He doesn't notice the stranger working the counter, staring at him with an expression stuck somewhere between cocky and confused, waiting for him to explain just what 'the usual' is.
The silence draws Octavius' gaze upwards. Larry would have called him out on his rotten attitude — would have told him to "try again". The new worker's name tag reads "Jed" in scratchy blue lettering. His hair is dirty blond, his nose is crooked, and he looks like someone who wants to look like they know what they are doing.
Octavius points to an item on the board behind the blond's head, and lists the adjustments the man will have to make in order to get it just right. "Why today?" he thinks, grinding his teeth as Jed jots down his order on a pink sticky note. "Why did you have to be gone today, Larry?"
"That ain't it, is it?" A southern drawl that would be charming any other morning. There's confidence there that would draw Octavius in if he weren't in such a rush to get out. He must keep the conversation moving or he'll be down one cup of coffee and caught in traffic.
"Yes, it — I'm sorry, what do you suggest I order?" He lays his money out before Jed and lifts his eyebrows. "Is it really so strange that coffee is all I want?"
"Most folks like somethin' sweet with their joe, is all."
"Well," Octavius says, considering Jed's assessment to be quite an exaggeration ('most' is certainly pushing it). "I do not. And I'm — rather pressed for time. Could you...?" He gestures at the empty cup in the blond's hand and tilts his chin at the coffee machine sat against the wall behind him, as if to say, "Hurry up". He fails to notice the flour dusting his hair and clothes, and in turn, fails to realize that Jed is the new baker, and Octavius has just made him feel positively silly.
It is clear to Octavius, however, that what he's said has rubbed the man the wrong way. He pushes his change further across the counter and says nothing else, hoping he'll take the hint and get him his drink. He wouldn't usually be so rude. He's simply unaccustomed to such hellish mornings.
"You got it, partner." The man sounds crestfallen and a bit defensive, and Octavius feels a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. They've only just met, it's likely Jed's first day, and Octavius is being a brat.
Being possessed of this knowledge does not make him any less late.
He thanks the man for his drink, flashes him an apologetic smile, and heads for the door. The "have a nice one" Jed half-shouts at his back causes him to cringe and hesitate a moment. He doesn't have time to apologize. He isn't invested in this nonexistent relationship — he shouldn't have to apologize.
Without turning around, or even so much as throwing a glance at his shoulder, Octavius lifts a hand in a halfhearted wave and steps outside. He's done an exemplary job alienating another potential friend.
He sips his coffee in the taxi he takes to work, trying not to pay any mind to the unpleasant taste it leaves in his mouth.