Chapter Text
Leaning against the counter of the Halo Café, bathed in the short yellow rays of light coming off the fluorescent light strips overhead, Tommy yawned. It had been a long day. He’d been working for the whole day, dealt with not only one but two Karens, and had had to suffer over ten hours of having his wings bound to his back. Which was neither safe nor fun.
The young man gave a small curse as the bell over the door jingled to notify him of a new customer. Ten minutes from closing. Who does that??
The dude was tall, probably a good three or four inches taller than him, dressed in a stupidly long overcoat that was obviously expensive and a really ugly-looking mustard yellow sweater. And a fucking beanie? It was summer, who even dressed like that? To set off the whole look of ‘theatre nerd/rich ass prick’, he wore a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles that were way too large and round to be anything other than useless accessories.
Sighing, Tommy pushed himself up from the counter, putting on his customer service smile (not without pulling a short frown fist). “How can I help you tonight, sir?”
A small grin made its way onto the stranger’s face at the question as if he was amused by something. Prick. “A strawberry and basil London fog and an iced caramel latte with eight espresso shots. To go. And it’s Wilbur, please. Not ‘sir’.”
“Who the fuck orders coffee at this time of night?? ” Tommy questioned, too tired to bother biting his tongue and just making the order.
“I do.” The du – Wilbur – shot back, that weird smile growing bigger.
“That was a rhetoric question, dumbass.” Tommy turned from the conversation he didn’t want in the first place, starting on making the drinks. London fogs were the worst, so he left it for last. Well, they weren’t really that bad, but Tommy didn’t like the artificial strawberry flavour that accompanied the ones he dealt and therefore everyone else had to. Except apparently this Wilbur dude, who hadn’t got the memo and also apparently liked his coffee cold and at night.
After a few short minutes, he returned to the counter with the two drinks, pushing them unceremoniously towards the idiot who interrupted his perfectly okay evening. “The total is §7.80. Pay up, bitch.” And just for the fun of it, he held his hand out, making a small grabby motion.
The guy Wilbur laughed, handing him the money after counting it out, and Tommy sorted the coins into their respective parts of the till.
“Hope you choke on them or drown or whatever.”
“Thank you so much, I’ll take that to heart. See you around, Tommy.” was all Wilbur offered in response. And with that, he left, leaving the pissed-off and sleep-deprived Tommy to puzzle over how the heck he’d known his name without him having to tell it.