Chapter Text
Waking up at 5:00 am wasn’t on Alex’s wish list of things to be doing in mid-September. It was decidedly even more firmly placed on his list of things to not be doing when he had to trek a mile and a half through the suburbs at 5:30 am. All in the name of coffee. Coffee that wasn’t even for him.
It was the life of a struggling musician, though, he supposes.
He doesn’t think they’ll be struggling for long—he’s confident in their music. They’re already making noise, they’re already climbing their way up YouTube and Spotify’s charts even without the help of a label. But the sudden loss of Bobby and even more sudden addition of Julie had rocked their band, leaving them reeling and struggling to find their footing. Where Sunset Curve had labels actively pursuing them, Julie and the Phantoms are a nobody to these labels. So, Alex understands that it’s just going to take time.
Time means jobs.
Alex thinks he’s one of the lucky ones. Julie is probably the luckiest of all—working as a music tutor to younger children at a community center just down the street from their apartment. Luke seems to have drawn the short end of the stick—working in fast food where he comes home with horror stories of customers every day. And Alex, Reggie, and Flynn—they’ve landed themselves at Can Brew Café.
Can Brew isn’t so bad, Alex thinks. Now that he’s got the orders down, and knows how to work the register, it’s really just mindless work. There are some things he’s got to focus more on, like latte art, but beyond that, he’s given free reign to let his mind wander as he pleases. So, he’ll often come home with new song ideas, new marketing ideas, new places to ask for gigs. Surprisingly, Can Brew has been beneficial for their music career. They’ve even gotten to play there twice, and have another performance coming up in a month’s time.
And Alex doesn’t love making coffee or taking orders or dealing with people—but he’s got a good thing going, and he’s positive that his customers at Can Brew are better than the ones he would have gotten had he applied at Starbucks.
Well, except for the Starbucks employees.
Often times on their breaks, or before or after a shift, the employees from the Starbucks just around the block will stop in Can Brew. They drop condescending comments about Can Brew’s wait times (which are fine), and their service (which is up to and beyond standard), and their clientele (which are standing right there!), before they ride out of the café on their high horse. Alex has yet to ask why they’re getting Can Brew instead of their superior Starbucks if Can Brew sucks so much. One day, though.
So, like, Alex doesn’t like the Starbucks employees. They’ve left such an impact on him that he doesn’t even like Starbucks anymore, and he used to love Starbucks. He may be a little heartbroken over losing his white chocolate mocha.
He’s nearly to the store, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his keys, when he hears a small rumbling. He doesn’t think much of it, and steps out past the corner he’s on and—
“Whoof!”
“Aowh!”
“What—“
“Shit,” a voice says, and scrambles above Alex. “I’m so—so sorry dude! Can’t be late, though!”
“Wh—“ He looks up and sees the telltale forest green apron rustling in the wind as the person skates across the street, away from Alex. Alex prepares to yell, but he turns back and Alex chokes on the breath he’s breathing in. Fuck, he’s pretty.
“Sorry, dude!”
Not that pretty. “Asshole!” Alex calls after him, shoving himself to his feet.
He brushes the grit and gravel off his khakis and hands, and swipes to rid his arm of it but flinches, hissing when his hand brushes the skin. He looks down and finds that he skinned his forearm and elbow, and now that he’s aware of it, he can feel a dull stinging. Shit.
He cradles his arm to his chest and crosses the street. Slipping his keys from his pocket, he makes his way to the first door and shoves the key in, unlocking it and heading inside. He flips the lights on and sneaks behind the counter, turning on all the appliances and starting up the morning brews of regular and decaf coffee, and then heads to the back room to clean his arm.
The cool water feels nice on the burning, and once he’s sure there’s no dirt left in the cut, he dabs it dry and grabs gauze and tape to cover the wound—knowing that it can’t be uncovered during work.
Alex does his best to shove Starbucks Shithead to the back of his head as he preps for the day. When Flynn shows up ten minutes late, like always, she doesn’t comment on his bandage, and instead pours herself a cup of coffee that she stashes in the break room. She does end up helping him load the display case, so by 6:30, they’re ready to go.
The first hour is slow, but around 7:30, things start picking up. Can Brew Café is just outside of UCLA’s campus, and students and professors driving in are split between stopping at Can Brew or Starbucks. With UCLA being full of hipsters, 7:30 to 11:00 shows a massive rush, which is when the rest of the openers come in.
Reggie trails in at 7:28, and Alex doesn’t get so lucky with him as he did with Flynn.
“Dude, what happened to your arm?” Reggie asks after he clocks in. He doesn’t even manage to get in a hello.
“Starbucks Shithead,” Alex grumbles, flicking the steamer on. He listens as it screams, grateful that he doesn’t have to answer any more questions from Reggie as he’s pulled away to the register.
He glances down at the tape and gauze covering the abrasion on his arm and frowns. Try as he might, he can’t get Starbucks Shithead out of his head. He blames the wound left from their encounter—a constant reminder of their collision, a constant reminder of Shithead’s quick departure. It just solidifies his knowledge the Starbucks workers are self-centered and uncaring and rude and inconsiderate and—
Alex draws in a deep breath and turns, calling out the name for the order as he fits a lid on the cup.
So, Starbucks Shithead has maybe gotten to him more than he usually lets things get to him. It’s fine, he’s dealing, things will be fine, he’s handling it. He doesn’t need Reggie pressing for information about why he’s so upset when he doesn’t know why he’s so upset.
Alex got knocked down. Yeah, that happens in LA sometimes. Shithead had at least apologized, even if it was half-assed.
Shithead works at Starbucks. Yeah, they see a lot of Starbucks employees throughout the day. None of them leave him with as bitter a taste in his mouth as this, and that’s including when they insult him.
He was pretty—
He was pretty?
Alex scoffs and picks up the next cup, starting on the order and chiding himself as he does. He was pretty. As if that’s a reason to be upset. Sure, this is a pretty person that Alex immediately has to cast to the side, but there are more pretty people out there.
More pretty people as in, there are more people who are also pretty out there.
Alex isn’t sure if there’s anyone more pretty than Starbucks Shithead.
Oh for fuck’s sake, he thinks, slamming his hand down on the flavor pump, annoyed, he’s not that pretty.
“Did the pistachio syrup call you out on that early entrance at practice last night?”
Alex turns to his right and sees Flynn working next to him, loading a shot of espresso into a cup.
“Ha, ha,” Alex deadpans. “You’re hilarious.”
“And you’re a danger to flavor pumps everywhere, Blondie,” Flynn shoots back. “What’s up with you this morning?”
“Nothing,” he grumbles.
“What’s this I hear about a Starbucks Shithead?”
Alex sets the cup down and throws his hands up dramatically. “If you knew, why did you ask?”
“Because I don’t know, dumbass. Starbucks Shithead isn’t a lot to go off of,” she reminds him, which. Fair.
He sighs, picking the cup back up and getting back to work. “Someone ran me over on my way in today. He barely even stopped to say sorry.”
“Starbucks Shithead,” Flynn guesses.
“Yeah,” Alex confirms, and lids up his drink before calling out the name. He turns and grabs another order before returning to Flynn’s side. “I don’t know—I just. I know that Starbucks employees suck, but I thought that was just them being elitist about their jobs, not that they were actual dicks.”
Flynn nods, then calls out her own order, and grabs another. She moves back to his side. “Well, if you think about it, the people working there, being elitist about their jobs—that elitist attitude doesn’t come from the job.”
“I guess,” Alex says. “I was kind of hoping it did. You know, put the green apron on, turn into a dick. Take it off, you’re chill again. Makes me feel better about humanity as a whole.”
“You still have hope for humanity?” she teases.
Alex rolls his eyes. He finishes his drink and turns to the counter, calling out the name before picking up another order.
It keeps going this way, virtually non-stop until quarter after 11:00. When the rush finally dies down, Alex sends himself and one of their other employees on break, with Flynn and Reggie lined up to take the next breaks. He makes himself an iced coffee and grabs a muffin, strips his apron off, and sneaks his way over to an empty table near the front of the café. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through the endless bullshit on his instagram feed, ending up back at the top mere minutes later out of boredom.
The bells over the door chime several times while he’s on his break, but he doesn’t bother looking up—he knows that his team has it handled. If they need him they’ll come get him. So he’s free to just fuck around, texting Julie and Luke memes that he finds, working on drafting up an email to the manager at the Orpheum who had contacted them yesterday about a showcase, and texting his sister back about her crush.
It’s all going fine until a shadow falls across his table.
He prepares himself to end his break early, and shuts his phone off before lifting his head, expecting to see Reggie. But—it’s not.
“Hey, uh, that’s from me, isn’t it?” the person standing at the edge of his table asks, pointing at the gauze wrapped around his arm.
Alex looks down at his injury and back up at the person and frowns. He’s still in his Starbucks apron—so it wasn’t something he had made up. He’s also still very pretty. Something else Alex had not made up. “You didn’t seem too concerned this morning,” Alex shrugs.
Pretty Boy raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, I—I’m sorry about that, I was in a rush—“
“I could tell,” Alex says.
He huffs out a breath. “Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry, man. I really, really didn’t mean to—I’m just—I’m never late, and my phone died because I forgot to plug it in last night, and my hands were killing me, and—“
Alex glances at Pretty Boy’s hands and sees band-aids and gauze covering his fingers and palms, where he must have fallen on his hands when they collided. “It’s fine,” Alex cuts him off. He lifts up a hand up in surrender and puts on what he hopes is an apologetic face. “You did say sorry, after all, but. I get being in a rush. Hell, I hate being late, too.”
“Yeah?” Pretty Boy smirks. “Well, uh, I’m Willie.”
“Alex.”
“You know there’s a Starbucks right around the corner?” Willie offers, motioning at his apron. “I could have apologized sooner if you were our customer instead of this place’s.”
Oh, fuck. Fuck, it had been going well for a moment. Alex narrows his eyes. “Do you know there’s a Starbucks around the corner?”
Willie frowns, hand still up, showing off the Starbucks logo on his chest. “Considering I work there…”
“And you choose Can Brew Café—I’m sorry, this place—for your break?”
Willie twists his hand, holding it up in protest as he opens his mouth to defend himself, and then closes it, furrowing his eyebrows. “It’s a change of scenery for me and Brandon.”
“Starbucks is so boring you can’t stay there all day?” Alex hums. “So, why would I want to spend my time there?”
Willie scowls. “You like to make things really complicated, huh?”
“Just trying to figure out why you seem to think Starbucks is better when you don’t even choose it for yourself.”
“Can’t a guy flirt and still buy coffee from his place of not-employment anymore?” Willie moans, clutching a hand at his heart.
Alex rolls his eyes. “Did your flirting start before or after you ran into me with barely an apology?” he asks. And then pauses. And then widens his eyes because—what the fuck. Who is flirting with who now?
“Don’t you count sweeping someone off their feet as flirting?”
“Wh—I—that—you—“
Willie smirks and reaches out a hesitant hand. “You good?” he asks, and to his credit his voice is more teasing than condescending, but Alex doesn’t care about that. “You need to switch to decaf?”
“No!” Alex shouts, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I think it might be a strategic move to make,” Willie presses.
Alex grabs his phone off the table and shoves it in his pocket. He collects his coffee and his muffin and stands up. “My caffeine intake is fine. I’ve got to get back to work.”
“I was going to ask you to go get coffee but I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”
Alex scoffs. “What gave you that idea?”
“So what about the movies instead?” Willie grins.
Narrowing his eyes, Alex pushes past Willie and makes his way towards the counter. He slips behind the counter and back into the staff room, away from Willie. He polishes off the last few bites of his muffin, sets his coffee to the side, and fits his apron back on before stepping back out behind the counter. As he does, his eyes are immediately drawn to the pick-up counter.
He scowls. “Your drink should have been done long ago,” Alex says.
“Not if I just only ordered it when you left me,” Willie says with a tilt of his head. He nods at Alex’s apron. “Can Brew employee. Should have known.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Willie grins, but says nothing.
Flynn steps up beside Alex and passes Willie his drink, and a guy with red hair comes up behind Willie, also in a Starbucks apron. Alex figures that must be Brandon.
“Enough flirting with the house divided, Romeo,” Brandon says, clapping a hand on Willie’s shoulder. “You wasted half our break. C’mon.”
“Sure,” Willie nods. “See’ya, Decaf.”
“Decaf?” Brandon snorts, asking Willie as they walk away, “What the fuck kind of name is Decaf, dumbass?”
Alex watches them go. He reaches under the counter for a rag to wipe down the surface for something to do, but he stares at them through the window until they’re out of sight. When he finally can’t see them anymore, he bunches up the rag in his fist and throws it in the bucket with more force than necessary.
It’s just his luck, of course, that the first guy who shows interest in him openly since his junior year of high school is Willie. Starbucks-employee, skateboard-riding, Can Brew-mocking Willie. Not that Willie isn’t fucking gorgeous—because Alex is most definitely not blind. And not that looks are the most important thing either—because Alex is most definitely not that conceited. But—why couldn’t someone sweet and not working at Starbucks be interested in him?
Alex can’t deny that he likes the attention that Willie was giving him when he was in here, but that’s it. He doesn’t like Willie, or the idea of Willie, or anything about Willie.
He turns, meaning to go start on dishes. Immediately, he stutters to a stop, nearly running into Flynn, who is watching him with her hands on her hips.
Oh, god.
“What?” he asks cautiously.
“Flirting?” she smirks.
“Fuck off.”
Her laughter follows him to the backroom.
(*)
Alex typically gets home around four in the afternoon, when Luke and Reggie are both still at work. Not even Julie or Flynn are at their own house, three doors down from Alex, Luke, and Reggie’s. And this has never been a problem, and Alex never thought it would be, but when he gets home today, he finds there is a problem.
Bobby is sitting at the end of their driveway, watching Alex walk towards him with a blank expression on his face.
Alex sighs and thinks fuck, this day can’t get any fucking longer, but then Bobby stands up and starts towards him and Alex feels the minutes stretch into hours in front of him.
“Hey,” Bobby calls.
Alex sighs. “Hi.” He walks past Bobby and to the front door.
“Can we talk?”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Alex digs in his pocket for his keys. “Does it have to be right now?”
“Yes,” Bobby says, “because you’ve been ignoring my texts and calls, I know there’s no chance you’ll talk to me when Luke is around, and—“
“What?” Alex snaps. “And what? And you’re sorry? Yeah, you’ve said that. Thing is, Bobby, you keep saying sorry but you’re not acting like it.”
Bobby throws his hands up. “The fuck am I supposed to do, Alex? Get down on my knees? Beg?”
“Turn back the fucking clocks, Bob,” Alex sighs, suddenly feeling so, so tired. “Don’t do what you did.”
“Well I can’t do that—“
“Well maybe you’re asking something of us that we can’t do, either,” Alex murmurs. He pulls his keys out and turns to the door again. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Then when—“
Alex glances at him. “I never said ‘now.’ I said I don’t want to do this.” He unlocks the door and slips inside, barricading himself from Bobby. When the lock clicks into place, he doesn’t even feel calmed, he just feels overwhelmed and tired.
After the day he’s had, when he gets to his room, he falls into bed and curls into his blankets, shutting his eyes to the world.
When he wakes up, he’ll convince himself he didn’t dream of mocha toned hair and coffee colored eyes, with a laugh that brewed warmth in Alex’s chest.
(*)
Alex doesn’t see Willie for two days.
He can’t say he doesn’t think of him, because Willie has been frustratingly memorable and found a space into the shallows of Alex's mind. He’s always right at the surface, waiting for a stall in Alex’s day so he can rear his head and turn Alex’s thoughts to his… everything. Because Alex can’t get his smile, or his frown, or his laugh, or his eyes, or his voice, or him out of his head. And it’s ridiculous because Alex has already dealt with enough Starbucks employees. He knows all of them by name, knows most of their schedules, even. But Willie—
Alex doesn’t want to say Willie is different, but Willie is more complex.
Because Alex can’t deny that he’s attracted to Willie. It’s just that he doesn’t like Willie. Willie is the prettiest guy Alex has ever seen, and he wants to run his fingers through his hair, but, like, he doesn’t want to have stimulating conversation with him. Because he’s an asshole.
The frustrating thing is that Flynn heard Willie’s friend call their interaction flirting, and now Flynn has it in her head that Alex has a crush. Which he decidedly does not. Alex is entirely against Willie, and all they’ve done is argue.
When he does see Willie, that only continues.
“What are you doing here?” Alex asks as Willie walks up to pick up his drink that Friday. “Where’s your apron?”
Willie looks down at his casual clothes and back up at Alex. “What, I’m not allowed to come here on my days off, Decaf?”
“No,” Alex answers simply. “Not sure why we let you in here the days you work, either.”
“Ouch,” Willie says, but its effect is cut by his grin. “Hey, aren’t you meant to have a better counter-side manner? I mean at Starbucks,” he smirks, “customers come first.”
“Good thing I don’t work at Starbucks,” Alex says. “I’d hardly call you a customer, anyways—“
“Oh?” Willie perks up, leaning on the counter. “What’d you call me?”
“A pest,” he huffs, sliding Willie’s cup until it’s against his hand. Alex’s fingers brush against Willie’s as he pulls away and he doesn’t focus on the feeling of Willie’s skin—he doesn’t. “Really, if you’re just here to annoy me—“
Willie laughs, picking up his drink. “You think pretty high of yourself, don’t you?” he asks. “I’m here to study, actually.”
“Study?” Alex blinks. “You’re at UCLA?”
“Was it the grey hair or wrinkles that gave me away as a college student?”
Rolling his eyes, Alex shakes his head. “You don’t look old, just… not young.”
“You trying to butter me up, Decaf? Talk sweet to me?”
“No,” Alex grumbles. “Why can’t you study at home?”
Willie looks around the coffee shop. He turns back to Alex and shrugs. “I’m a psych major. I like watching people.”
“That’s called stalking,” Alex quips. “What about Starbucks?”
Willie shifts on his feet and looks down at his cup, looking uncomfortable, but a moment later he lifts his eyes back to Alex’s, and Alex is sure he imagined the discomfort. “There are more outlets here than at Starbucks,” he says.
Alex narrows his eyes. That—he doesn’t know how accurate that is, but he’s willing to accept it for now. “Sure,” he says.
“Hey, see, you didn’t yell at me. There’s hope for us yet,” Willie grins.
“No,” Alex monotones.
Willie grins. “Sure, Decaf. I’ll see you in an hour for a refill.”
Alex rolls his eyes, and then frowns—he’s still going to be here in an hour?
An hour later he is still there, but he hasn’t come up for a refill. He’s hunched over his laptop and a textbook, tapping away at the keyboard with a look of concentration on his face. Every minute or so he’ll lift a hand from the laptop to swipe his hair and tuck it behind his ears and Alex wants to scream—he has hairbands on his wrist, just tie it back! But he doesn’t. He keeps brushing it back, and every time the light catches high on his cheekbones and Alex has to turn away. Willie is like something to be admired from afar—a model, a painting, a movie. Too close though, you find out the model’s personality is a dud, the painting has a cruel background, and the movie has elitist undertones.
He does this because he just wants this to end, and he thinks maybe a push will help Willie leave, or at least get a refill. So, he wanders over to Willie’s table and taps his fingers on the edge. He waits for Willie to look up. He doesn’t.
“Hey?” he says, clearing his throat.
“Jesus,” Willie hisses, snapping his head around to Alex. “I—shit, sorry. Sorry, man. I zoned out.”
Alex wants to point out that he wasn’t zoned out, he was quite the opposite. He was zoned in on his work so severely that he didn’t notice Alex coming up to his table. But that would involve more conversation than Alex cares to have, so he nods in answer instead. “I just wanted to see if I could take this for you or get you a refill.”
Willie looks up at him, a smirk stretching across his lips. “You working on your counter-side manner, Decaf?”
“No,” Alex huffs. “I was hoping you’d say I could take it and then you’d leave.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “If you can get started on a refill I’ll be up in a second to pay.”
Alex nods, takes the cup, and heads back to the counter. He drops the used mug into the dirty dishes bin and picks up a new one, and starts on Willie’s drink. He goes through the motions that he does dozens of times a day, and when he’s finally pouring the milk, Willie slips up to the counter.
“Have you ever heard of hyper fixation?” Willie asks, pulling his wallet out of his pocket.
Alex glances up. “No.”
“I guessed,” Willie grinned, but there’s something in his eyes that’s reluctant, that’s hesitant. He digs around in his wallet for his money, and as he’s doing that, starts talking. “I’ve got ADHD, you know? Or, well, you don’t, but just like. Y’know? And, like, one of the symptoms, or rather traits, of ADHD is hyper fixation. Which is when you… get hyper fixated. So, like, you know when you’re reading a really good book and you can’t put it down and before you know it, it’s like, it’s three in the morning? Or when you’re doing something that comes so easy to you, like, like—what do you like to do?”
Walking over to the register with Willie’s now completed drink, Alex shrugs. “I like music,” he says, keeping it vague. He won’t tell Willie he’s in a band.
“Right, like, with music. When you’re listening to a good band and you get really into their music and two hours pass before you even realize what’s really happened, you know?” He hands over the payment and picks up his drink. Alex rings him out, and he keeps going. “And just—I get like that with psychology sometimes, I guess. And I don’t mean to shut you or the world out, it’s just, like. I get so… so…”
“Fixated?” Alex suggests with a raised brow.
“Yes!” Willie shouts, laughing. “So fixated on it and it’s so hard to break myself out of it. It’s—that’s part of why I don’t study at home. Because if I do, I’ll study for hours uninterrupted, and I’ve missed things, like work or class because of it before.”
“What about alarms?” Alex asks, not trying to get sucked into Willie’s words, but he can’t help it.
Willie shakes his head. “I never know when I’m going to hyper fixate, so I never know when to set alarms.”
Alex frowns. “Set them… anyway?”
“… What?”
Alex crosses his arms across his chest and leans his hip against the side counter. “If you have somewhere to be, set an alarm, just in case. Like, for classes you can set alarms that repeat. Say you have a class at three every Monday. So, set an alarm for quarter ‘til three every Monday.” Willie stares at him blankly. Alex continues. “And when you get your work schedule for the week, set an alarm for before you need to leave. And if you make plans—“
“Holy shit.”
Alex cocks his head to the side. “Have you never considered this?”
“N-no!” Willie cries. “No one ever gave me any tips for how to handle this shit when I was younger, and I’ve had to figure it all out on my own, and alarms have always been set for when you know you’re going to need them, and I don’t usually need them for class and—“
“Well, maybe make alarms for when you might need them,” Alex suggests.
“… Yeah.”
Hesitating, Alex looks from Willie, over to his table of things. He bites down on his lip and sighs, figuring that he should probably ask. “Is there… Is there, like, a certain way to help you come out of hyper fixation without scaring the shit out of both of us?”
Willie smiles bashfully. “Yeah, sorry about that.” He takes his drink and takes a sip, and shrugs. “Usually taking whatever I’m focusing on out of my eye line brings me out pretty easily.”
“Okay… All right,” Alex nods. “I’ll do that next time, then.”
Willie blinks at him, and curls the cup into his chest. “I appreciate it,” he says in a small voice. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”
“It’s fine,” he promises. He glances at Willie’s laptop again and frowns. “You… uh. You should get back to work.” He picks up a towel and looks at Willie. “Set an alarm.”
Willie smiles at him, and moves to return back to his table. He picks up his phone and taps the screen a few times, and then sets it back down.
An hour later, Alex hears the alarm going off.
Willie is shaking himself out of his fixation and Alex—he almost wishes that Willie weren’t an asshole.
(*)
Band meetings are few and far between. If they have something to discuss, they usually talk about it at practice during their downtime. It doesn’t make sense to call a meeting separate from practice when they can be productive and work on their music between discussion.
Flynn calls them sometimes, though, when there’s something important they need to discuss. Alex has been expecting one for a while, ever since they’ve been in contact with the Orpheum. He and Flynn have been the two that have been on top of it the most, but Flynn definitely has taken the point on it. So he’s not surprised when she texts the group chat to meet at Alex, Luke, and Reggie’s house at the beginning of October.
“All right,” Flynn says, standing at the front of the room, holding all of their attention. “The Orpheum got back to us and our showcase is booked for March twenty-fifth. That’s a Saturday, which is good for us, and UCLA finishes exams that week, which, again, is good for us. It’s the week after USC’s spring break, too, which is perfect.”
“Won’t students already be going home from UCLA if they’ve finished exams?” Julie asks, frowning.
“Yes,” Flynn agrees, “but our break is only four days. Some people aren’t even going home. Even if they are, around 40% of UCLA are commuters. We see hundreds of commuters in Can Brew every day. We’ll be allowed to advertise there, and with that, we can bring in some of those commuters.”
Julie looks at Alex and Reggie. Reggie nods. “Our managers are super laid back about advertising, and they love us. Love Alex in particular. If he asks they’ll let us, for sure. And we see enough of them that we’ll be able to sell some tickets.”
“And USC?” Luke asks.
“There are a few coffee shops around USC that I’m going to try to target, and we’ll be hoping to target the commuters there too,” Flynn sighs.
Luke frowns. “What about people… other than college students?”
Flynn nods. “We’re posting on social media, we’ll have two posts a month on the Orpheum’s instagram leading up to the performance, and we’ll be playing small and busking until then, like always, but with fliers for the Orpheum performance.”
“Sooo…” Julie drawls, looking around at the group. “We’ve got until March to nail down a set list, figure out which labels we want to go for, and make our sound the best that it can be.”
“We already know a few labels that we want, we just need to see if they’ll be there,” Alex points out. “And we have a pretty solid set list, we’ll only need to make a few tweaks.”
Julie looks at him, nodding. “But practice, definitely.”
“We’ll start today—we need to practice for our Can Brew gig anyway,” Luke says.
Flynn nods. “Thank you, Luke, for the segue.”
Luke beams. “Welcome.”
“We’ve got the set list nailed down for Can Brew, right?” Flynn asks.
“Yeah,” Julie nods. She gets up and walks over to her bag and pulls out a sheet of paper, handing it to Flynn. “Here,” she says.
Flynn glances down at it and gives a hum of approval. “Good, I like this.” She folds up the list, moves over to a folder sitting on the piano, and sticks it in one of the pockets. “I’ll copy it down and make a list for each of you for the show.” She closes the folder and looks at them. “I’ve been posting on instagram and the Can Brew gig has been getting a lot of attention, so we… I think we’re going to have to ask to do tickets—free, of course—for seating, otherwise we’re going to go over the fire safety limit.”
“I’ll talk to them about it tomorrow,” Alex says. Reggie isn’t lying when he says that the owners and managers like Alex in particular.
“Thanks,” she smiles. “I’ll get the van arranged for transport again, you guys don’t have to worry about that.”
“Is that all then?” Reggie asks.
Flynn looks at him. “Oh, honey, no,” she says, and opens her folder again, pulling out a stack of papers. She hands out a stapled pile to each of them, and grins.
“The Orpheum has some ground rules for their venue, I have some marketing rules, and Julie has some music rules. To begin!”
Alex sinks into the couch. The next hour and a half stretch on for what feels like forever. He makes it through, in the end.
(*)
Can Brew seems to become Willie’s place to study Wednesday and Friday afternoons. And get coffee on break Tuesdays mornings. And occasionally drop in early in the morning on Saturday.
Willie never stops pestering him, always with a smirk painted on his face, and Alex can at least admit it’s something to pass the time. So he indulges Willie, listens to him ramble while Alex makes his drink, shoots witty retorts back at him, and rolls his eyes more than he ever has in his life. Every time Willie makes a comment about Starbucks or Can Brew, Alex’s feelings are affirmed. And even though his arm is healed now, he still remembers their first meeting. Yeah—Willie is an asshole. No matter how pretty he is and how satisfying his laugh is.
He learns things about Willie during the times he’s in Can Brew, not that he’s trying to—Willie just reveals these things and Alex has to just know them now. Like, he was raised in Lincoln Heights and he has an older sister, Taylor, and a younger sister, Jamie. He started skateboarding when he was seven and it’s his favorite form of stress relief. He also likes drawing and painting though, and when he has the time and the supplies he’ll sit down and create art. He’s going to school for psychology because he’s got ADHD and no one helped him when he was younger, so he wants to make a difference in kids’ lives where others let him down. His best friends are Brandon and Micah, both of whom have been in the café with him at least once, and they’ve known each other since preschool. His favorite color is teal and coincidentally it’s the color he thinks Alex looks best in. He works at the Starbucks near Lincoln Heights when school is out, but they transferred him to this Starbucks so he could keep working during school. He’s never seen snow.
It—it’s not like Alex goes out of his way to remember these things. They’re just fresh in his mind, and Willie talks so much, it’s hard not to pick things up.
Alex does wonder what Willie has picked up about him.
Does he remember when Alex mentioned his younger siblings? Or that he moved out of his parents’ house as soon as he could? Does he wonder why? Will he remember that Alex lives in a house with two roommates now? What about that Alex got promoted to manager after two months because of his need to impress higher ups? Can he guess that Alex is a drummer—or at least a musician—from all the times he’s tapping out beats when they talk? Does he remember Alex complaining about doing the dishes? Or how exhausting it is to make latte art during rushes? Does he remember things about Alex that Alex has given to him?
Alex thinks maybe he does.
Willie always waits for the line to die down before he comes up, which Alex doesn’t understand. Sometimes he has to wait fifteen or twenty minutes, but it always gives them time to talk after, so Alex is torn between hating it and appreciating it. Appreciating it solely because if Willie weren’t here to distract him, he’d have to go start other tasks like wiping tables down or dishes.
Alex listens as Willie tells him about his classes. He’s in his junior year so he’s getting into the upper level courses, and—“they’re kicking my ass,” Willie admits.
“Where can I send my thank you letter to?” Alex asks, pulling Willie’s scone from the case and handing it over before grabbing his mug and starting on his latte.
Willie smirks, following Alex down the counter. “UCLA Psych Department,” he hums. “Hey—can I ask a bit of a personal question?”
Narrowing his eyes, Alex gives a small nod. “I guess.”
“Why aren’t you in college?”
“Who says I’m not?” Alex asks.
Willie quirks a brow. “You. Last week. When you said you were glad you weren’t in college.”
Oh.
All right then. “Huh,” Alex exhales, and looks at the mug in his hands. “I—it wasn’t a huge decision for me to not go to college, it was never really in the cards for me. I’ve got career plans that don’t involve college. My parents didn’t like that, though,” Alex snorts. “Though, not sure there was really anything about me my parents did like.”
“That’s shit, dude,” Willie frowns. He leans on the counter, and Alex opens his mouth to defend himself but Willie’s eyes widen. “Your parents! Your parents are shit! It’s totally valid to not go to college, dude.”
“Yeah, well, they didn’t agree. With that choice or my career plans.”
“What are your career plans?”
Alex hums. “That is something I don’t care to tell you.”
Willie clutches at his chest. “I thought what we had was special, Decaf.”
“Yeah, well, I hear enough shit from people that I like about my career plans, I’m not giving you any ammo.”
“Oh, but you did,” Willie says, clutching tighter where he’s holding on to his chest. “That’s a bullet straight to the heart.”
Alex rolls his eyes and picks up the steamed milk, tipping it into the mug.
Apparently, the bullet to his chest is now forgotten. Willie puts his hands on the counter and leans in to watch what Alex is doing. “Well, you’re not in a rush. You gonna make me something pretty?”
Alex looks up, carefully, slowing the pour. He turns away so Willie can’t see him, and finishes pouring, shaping the design into a heart. He reaches for his granule pen and, in careful cursive, writes ‘no.’
Setting the pen back down, he turns to Willie and presents him with his latte wordlessly. When Willie looks down and sees the latte art, he throws his head back and laughs. Alex has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.
“I think you played yourself, Decaf,” Willie teases, reaching for the cup and picking it up, “this is the most beautiful latte I’ve ever gotten.”
“That’s because your bar is set by Starbucks.”
Willie laughs again, and takes a sip. He comes away with a frothy mustache. “Good thing I’ve got you to raise that bar.”
“It’s not very heavy.”
“Or you’re just very strong,” Willie challenges, dropping his eyes to Alex’s biceps. Alex snorts, crossing his arms over his chest self-consciously. He does take his physical health very seriously but no one has ever commented on it before, no matter how much of a throw away the comment was. Willie’s eyes shift, roaming over Alex’s face before a frown flicks across his face, but it’s quickly replaced by a smile. “I might have to get you to make me all my lattes from now on,” he says, jumping past the comment on Alex’s strength, “if you’re going to make them so pretty.”
“Only for you,” Alex pokes mockingly, and he tells himself it’s out of boredom. He’s bored, and Willie is his entertainment.
“You do like me!” Willie gasps, grinning wide.
“No,” Alex snaps, immediately regretting his decision. “I’m seven hours into a ten hour shift.”
“And your defenses are down and you can’t act like you hate me anymore,” Willie sings, leaning over the counter. “You like me.”
“No,” Alex says, and turns away. He’s sure there are dishes to be done.
“Have fun doing those dishes,” Willie calls mockingly. He tells himself he ignores Willie’s laughter as he walks away, though he replays it in his head for the rest of his shift.
(*)
It’s been a few weeks since Alex first met Willie, and he’s used to his presence now. He expects it, even. He counts on Willie to walk through the door with a wide grin on his face—trailed by Micah or Brandon occasionally, but occasionally just on his own as well. Alex trusts these parts of his days in a way that he doesn’t trust much else. When you’re living paycheck to paycheck, it’s hard to have any semblance of certainty to your life, but Willie’s visits provide him with at least a bit.
The band is one of his only other sources of certainty in his life at the moment, and while that stings sometimes, it’s something he’s thankful for. But he’s not thankful for Willie—he’s not. Willie was something he just put up with over time and appreciated the normalcy of. He appreciated the routine that Willie gave him, the time frame that he put to Alex’s long days in the café. If he doesn’t have moments to mark his days, they all start to blend together because—
“You’re working a twelve-hour today?” Flynn asks, walking out from the back room. She sounds upset, and Alex gets it. He chooses to work four tens instead of five eights, but the weeks where he has to cover and ends up working twelve or fourteen hour shifts are hell. He’s always grumpy after them, no matter how well or poorly they go.
“Yeah,” Alex nods, pouring Willie’s latte, forming the art on top carefully—but not too carefully.
Flynn crosses her arms and glares at him. “Are you going to be too pissy to eat Chinese and watch movies when you get home?”
“I’m not—”
She narrows her eyes.
“No,” he mumbles. “I’ll do whatever, it’s fine, okay?”
“Yeah,” she says skeptically. She pauses, frowning. “I don’t know why you do this shit.”
“They needed someone to cover the gap—”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t need to be you,” she points out. “Whatever. Just don’t be a bitch when you get home.”
Alex laughs. “Deal.”
She turns, nods at Willie. “Hey, Starbucks Shithead.”
“Flynn—” Alex yelps, but he hears Willie let out a loud, carefree laugh.
“It’s not the worst nickname I’ve ever had,” Willie admits, and Flynn raises her eyebrows, intrigued.
“Oh?”
They spend the next five minutes going over embarrassing nicknames from their pasts, and Alex has to admit—Willie absolutely does win. Skid mark—and not the kind that comes from a skateboard—has stuck with him in his family for years, still coming up to haunt him when they need to take him down a peg. It gives Alex secondhand embarrassment, but Willie seems to take it full in stride. Once Flynn takes her leave, Willie turns to him with interest.
“So you live with Reggie and Flynn?”
“No,” Alex shakes his head, “Reggie and Luke. Flynn lives with our other friend, Julie. They’re over a lot though.”
“It sounds like it,” Willie says. “Flynn called your house home.”
“Yeah, it’s kinda like… we have a few homes. Like, our house—mine, Reg, and Luke’s—and Flynn and Julie’s, and then Julie’s childhood home has a studio that Luke and I lived in for a few months.”
“A studio? Like a whole apartment?”
“No, no—“ He picks up the rag again and twists it in his hands. “It was like—“ Oh, god. Should he tell Willie? Will Willie ridicule him? Having lived out of what was essentially a garage for months on end, Alex knows people who are less of an asshole than Willie who would still look down on him for that. But—what does he care what Willie thinks? “It’s kind of their garage, but it’s really nice, I guess,” he says. “We had a bathroom, we each had our own beds—we had a couch, we could keep our ins—stuff there… it was good.”
“Oh,” Willie says, and Alex doesn’t look at him—doesn’t care to see the expression on his face. He turns away and starts wiping down the counter behind him. “Did—your parents didn’t kick you out, did they?”
“No,” Alex snaps, whirling to face Willie. “I left as soon as I could. They weren’t big on the whole no college thing at first, and then I told them I was gay, and they weren’t big on that, and the house was—it was suffocating. I couldn’t live there. Anything but the streets would have been better than living in that house.”
Willie nods. “How are they now? Now that you don’t have to live with them?”
“I haven’t talked to them since the day before I left,” he shrugs. “Sometimes my siblings will give me updates and—I—I—I—“
Fuck.
He turns away again, and walks away, ending the conversation.
Willie disappears to his table, and Alex is left with silence for an hour or so before he hears the telltale sound of Willie’s alarm going off across the café. He moves to start on Willie’s next latte while Willie collects his mug and brings it up to the counter.
“Have you ever thought of reconciling?” Willie suggests rather than greeting him. Alex tilts his head at him. “With your parents?”
“What?” Alex frowns. “No. Why would I?”
Willie shrugs, leaning down onto the counter on his elbows. “You seem pretty torn up about it. If there’s a chance you can have a relationship with them, even if it’s just talking at the holidays and catching up, I think you should go for it.”
Alex furrows his eyebrows and shuts the steamer off. He walks over to the counter and leans on it, getting close to Willie, but still keeping his distance. “So, you think I should contact my disproving parents, give them the benefit of the doubt, offer them an olive branch—“
“Dude, I’m not saying you have to,” Willie sighs. “I’m asking if you’ve ever thought of it.”
“What kind of person would do that?”
“One with too big of a heart,” Willie murmurs. “Someone who misses their parents, despite all the shit they’ve been through with them. Someone who values family. Someone who wants a relationship with the people who are supposed to love them above everything and anything else.”
Alex stares at Willie for a long moment, and then turns away, returning to the steamer. He wants to immediately shove Willie’s words away, put them in a box, bury that box, and then cover the ground that the box is buried in with cement. But he also wants to listen to the suggestion, to reach out to his mom with the offer of meeting up for coffee. Offer to bring over a steak to grill with his dad. Tell them that he’ll come to Sunday night family dinners.
He doesn’t get it—doesn’t get why Willie is even talking to him about this. What possessed Willie to bring this up? They’re not friends, Willie doesn’t have anything to gain by Alex reconciling with his parents.
“Yeah, well, I’m also someone who had to deal with them for the first eighteen years of my life, so I’m not in any rush to go back to dealing with them,” he snips.
Willie raises his hands in front of himself in defense. “I was just thinking out loud,” he says. “There’s no reason you have to do anything I suggest, ever. I just… thought maybe you missed them.”
Of course Alex fucking missed them. But he wasn’t about to admit that to Starbucks fucking Shithead. He could deal well enough with this one on his own.
Alex turns away and starts towards the back room, and Willie takes it for the dismissal that it is.
(*)
Alex flops onto his bed and buries his face into his hands.
Fuck.
Alex didn’t want Willie to know he was in a band. Because like, okay, he gets it, all right, all the skeptical glances from people when they hear that he’s pursuing music. He lives in LA. He’s not an idiot, he knows you can’t just play an instrument and get famous. But, like, Luke always says their band is an energy, and Alex can’t deny that he might be on to something. Because people like them, and the room is never still when they’re playing. There’s something about their band that is special, that makes them worth it, and Alex knows this. He knows this.
Willie doesn’t know this. He’s sure that when Flynn told Willie that Alex was playing this week that his first instinct was to laugh, and then maybe feel pity. Because he knows Willie, and Willie may be an asshole, but he’s not a dick.
It’s just… Willie is a successful college student. He’s applying for grad school. He’s going to be a psychiatrist. He’s going to help people and change lives. And Alex feels a little off balance standing next to him when all he’s got to offer is some lyrics and a drum beat. And it’s not that he doesn’t think his music is important, it’s that Willie is so smart and well-spoken (well… sometimes) and genuinely good. And he’s good in a way that frustrates Alex so much, because like he said—he’s an asshole, but he’s not a dick.
Willie will tease Alex and pick on him and mock away until the sun sets, but the moment he hears about something that upset Alex, he’s softening and checking in on him. When Alex talks about his parents Willie listens with a scowl, and always has something wise to say, though Alex thinks he wants to say more. And the one time he mentioned Bobby—not that he gave any specifics, just mentioned a falling out with a friend—Willie had gone on and on about Alex protecting himself and choosing himself and putting himself first.
It pisses Alex off.
He doesn’t understand how Willie can flip a switch so easily—how he can be so rude one moment and be genuinely invested the next. He almost doesn’t trust it. Maybe it’s something that Willie’s psychology textbooks can explain away, but Alex doesn’t have the time or mental ability to go through all of those.
But it’s fine that he doesn’t trust it, because he doesn’t trust Willie. Not—not in a friend sense. Like, he trusts that Willie will be at Can Brew at his normal times. And he trusts that Willie will slip a dollar into the tip jar each time he’s at the counter. And he trusts that Willie will pester Alex while Alex is making his order. And he trusts that Willie will eat a whole entire cantaloupe in one sitting—he’d seen all the proof he needed for that one. But he doesn’t trust Willie to keep his secrets, or support him when he needs it, or believe in his fucking band.
Alex depends on music to keep him going. It’s part of him, down to his very core. There’s no fooling anyone that the people closest to him are the band, because they know him, wholly and fully—through beats, through melodies and harmonies, and lyrics. They understand each other on another level—play to the beat of the same drum, if you will. And there’s nothing like baring your soul through music, and being vulnerable creating it, and doing it around people day in and day out. They’re his family, through and through, and it’s the music that has formed those bonds.
But his parents, Bobby. Music wasn’t enough for them. Music was—is—so much of what Alex is, and it wasn’t enough for them. Even when Bobby lived and breathed music too, Alex’s music wasn’t enough. And he always wonders—if Bobby left… can’t Julie? can’t Luke? can’t Reggie? can’t Flynn? They all can. And that’s terrifying. To have someone know you entirely and still be able to leave your life on a whim, exactly as Bobby did. All because he wasn’t enough.
And maybe the problem is he can’t be enough. Maybe it’s that his music isn’t ever good enough. Because people leave him whether they know him fully or not.
And—sharing his music means vulnerability because he’s opening himself up to the risk of people leaving.
He can do that with strangers. He can do that with crowds of people he doesn’t know, who buy tickets to see them and who come to see them perform. He can do that even when he talks to them after shows because he doesn’t know them. They’re not meaningful to him.
And—and maybe Willie isn’t meaningful to him either, because they’re not friends, but Alex isn’t prepared to be vulnerable with him. He isn’t prepared to open this door, to go down this road. Showing Willie his music is a vulnerability that gives Willie the opportunity to use his music against him. It gives Willie the opportunity to tear Alex down by the one thing that matters to him. Willie would see who Alex truly is, and he’d have the opportunity to completely reject it.
And—that last part doesn’t bother Alex. It doesn’t. He doesn’t care if Willie rejects him, he doesn’t. They’re not friends, it’d be fine if Willie left his life. But—but—but—
He lies in his bed and ignores the panic building in his chest.
It keeps building over the next few days, though. By the time Saturday arrives, Alex feels like his chest is going to burst from the pressure. It’s hard to take in a full breath, and despite the breathing exercises he’s been doing all day, the anxiety still swims in his head. He does everything he’s supposed to—meditate, read, shower, talk to Julie—not that he tells her the specifics.
By the time they’re ready to perform, the anxiety has only diminished minimally. So, can he really be blamed when they’re in the middle of Flying Solo and Alex nearly misses a beat when his eyes meet Willie’s in the crowd?
He turns away as fast as he can and keeps going, and keeps his eyes away from Willie for the rest of the set, but he knows—he knows, and he feels like he’s baring his heart.
And his heart is raw by the end of the show, beating harsh and fast. He’s not used to exposing it like that—it’s always strangers, it’s always faceless, nameless crowds.
As he loosens the screw on his hi hat, he hears a familiar burst of laughter come from his right. He glances over, searching for the noise, and spots Willie standing with Luke and Reggie at their cases. Willie is holding a water bottle, passing it back and forth between his hands. Alex might mistake this for a nervous habit on someone else, but he knows Willie well enough now to know he’s just restless, to know he just needs to be doing something with his hands. He’s completely at ease with Luke and Reggie.
Anger wells up in Alex’s stomach, and he twists away to finish working on his kit.
It’s just fucking like Bobby—Julie and the Phantoms is picking up traction, so of course he wants in with them. Of course Willie wants in with them. Was Alex just a pawn to get to Luke, Reggie, and Julie? Fuck—is Willie using Flynn, too? Flynn is the one who invited him, she’s the one who put them on this path. Alex has got to find a way out of these woods before they get too thick, but he’s already lost, already wandering, and he wanders right into—
“You guys were incredible,” Willie breathes, his eyes wide and bright. He’s caught Alex off guard as Alex was making his way through the store towards the counter to get a drink. He had known Willie had been sitting over here, but he figured he’d still be with Luke and Reggie. And… Alex doesn’t doubt that Willie believes what he’s saying, but he does want to laugh at the fact that Willie is saying it to him. Like they’re friends.
“Thanks,” Alex shrugs, and glances over at where Reggie is with Flynn, talking to two familiar people. He narrows his eyes as he struggles to place them, before it clicks. Brandon and Micah. Willie’s co-workers. “Did you suck up to Luke and Reggie, too?”
“What?” Willie frowns. He glances behind him and then back at Alex. “I was just talking to them. Reg was telling me you guys are playing the Orpheum in March—“
“And you’re so excited for us?” Alex guesses.
“Well, yeah?” Willie takes a step back, and the water bottle comes to a standstill in his hands. “I just—you guys are great. You’re going to go far.”
“Did you think that before or after you heard us?” Alex asks, because it’s always after they hear them. It’s always oh that’s a cute dream until they realize they’re actually talented, and then they want in with them, because they think they have a real shot at something. And like, listen, Willie has been around since before he knew about Julie and the Phantoms, but Alex recognizes the rush in his voice—the awe on his face from watching their band perform. It’s how it always starts.
Willie blinks, and some of that awe fades. “I thought it as soon as Flynn told me that you were in a band,” Willie says, question in his voice. The water bottle twists, but it sticks in one hand. “You wouldn’t be pursuing music if you didn’t really want it, if you didn’t think you could get there, Alex. I know that much about you.”
Alex hums. “I guess,” he says, “though I don’t know how much you really know about me.”
There’s a moment of silence between them, though the noise in the coffee shop still carries on around them. Willie shifts. “You really don’t like me, do you?”
He laughs, and picks up his drink. Quirking an eyebrow, he asks, “What gave you that idea?”
Willie smiles, and it looks a little odd. It doesn’t reach his eyes like all his smiles in the past have. “A few things,” he says. “But I’m sure you know all about them, so I won’t bore you with my list.” He slips his jacket off the back of the chair he was standing next to and looks around the room, his shoulders relaxing when he spots Brandon and Micah speaking with Flynn and Reggie. But, like—when did his shoulders get so tense? Alex bites down the urge to ask if he’s okay, because he doesn’t really care, he’s just confused about this shift in their relationship. Willie looks back at him and nods. “Well, I’ll let you hang out with your band. Don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
Alex waits for his departing words of “I’ll catch you later, Decaf,” but they never come. Instead, Willie goes, without a word, and Alex is left standing alone, feeling off balance.
He doesn’t go looking for the band, opting to get another drink instead. He fills a cup with water and uses his employee discount for a smoothie. While the workers on shift make his order, he looks around, hoping to find the rest of the band so he can hang out with them until it’s time to pack up and head out. He finds Julie and Luke easily enough, talking to fans right at the base of the stage, and his eyes drift to where Flynn and Reggie were just a few minutes earlier. The spot is empty though, and, as he looks around the room, he realizes neither of them are here. Nor are Brandon, Micah, or Willie.
He gets his smoothie and joins Julie and Luke, talking with the fans about their upcoming Orpheum performance and their newest songs that they debuted tonight. He recognizes a few of the people in the semi-circle, fans that have been to gigs of theirs across the city, but none of whom he really knows that well. He feels a bit guilty about that, as Julie calls one of them by their name, and Luke asks another how their dog is doing, and Alex… can’t do that. Because he doesn’t know them.
Being in the public eye comes so naturally to Julie and Luke, and even Reggie and Flynn, but Alex still struggles with it. Even when he gets messages on Instagram he hesitates to answer them because what is he even supposed to say? How is he meant to interact with these complete strangers who don’t know him, and who he doesn’t know either?
He stutters over his words at that, because that’s always been a problem of his—interacting with strangers. People he doesn’t know and that don’t know him. And yet, hasn’t he been talking with Willie for just over a month now, freely and openly? Sure, he’s not revealing his deepest darkest secrets, but he’s not stammering over his words and struggling with what to say. And Willie always seems to know what to say, what to ask.
So maybe he was a little harsh on Willie this evening. If Alex knows Willie would do anything to achieve his dream of becoming a psychiatrist, why wouldn’t Willie realize the same about Alex achieving his dream of being a musician?
Suddenly he wishes it were Willie he were talking to, because he knows Willie, knows how Willie will respond. Willie knows Alex, knows what he’s comfortable with and won’t push like some fans do. Even if Alex doesn’t like Willie, he’s comfortable with Willie, and he longs for that easy communication right now.
But, as he looks around the room again, Willie is still no where to be seen. Reggie and Flynn are back out on the floor, surrounded by another group of fans, but the three Starbucks employees are missing.
Alex doesn’t care, he tells himself. It’d be rude to excuse himself from the fans right now anyway, so it’s not as if he could ditch them.
But, he thinks, Willie might know him well enough to read the discomfort he’s giving off, and he’d swoop in and save him. Joke about how if he were as good at making lattes as he were at playing the drums, maybe he’d have a shot at a Starbucks career. Ask him to teach him how to play the drums only to have Alex give him a deadpan stare and Willie grin back at him innocently. Tell him that his favorite part of the show was when Alex’s hat flew off, crashing into the cymbal and giving their song and extra oomph.
He’d take away this tension that’s resting in Alex’s shoulders now, except—except Willie had tension, too. Now that he’s thinking about it, Willie was tense during their conversation up until he found Brandon and Micah, and then he seemed to relax, and Alex has never seen him tense before. Willie is always relaxed—never caring about what’s going on around him, only caring about the current moment. But something in that moment had made him tense. Alex can’t help but wonder if it was himself that made Willie react that way, and if so, what triggered it.
He replays their conversation in his head, but no red flags come up. They were doing bits of back and forth like usual, but maybe Alex got a bit snappier than typical when Willie said that he knew Alex. And, okay, Alex had been wrong about that, but surely that wasn’t enough to hurt Willie, to make him shut down? It was just part of their relationship—it wasn’t that Alex was being cruel, he was just being realistic.
He’s sure things will be back to normal by Tuesday. Alex isn’t worried about it.