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“Please let me express my heartfelt apologies that I was the one who served you today. I strongly recommend that if you choose to visit again, please show up after 3 PM. That’s when Diamant’s shift starts.”
The woman blinked, her polite smile growing taut. “Is that so? I’ll keep that in mind.”
She picked up the heavy drink tray without issue; she was stronger than she looked. There were three teas, one green, one chai, one black. They were for herself and the other two people in the car outside. Alcryst recognized the girl in the backseat – Céline, one of his classmates. They were in the same AP classes, and they often saw each other at the stadium, since their brothers were both on U of E’s football team. So they spoke regularly, and they got along well.
They weren’t friends, of course. Being friends with someone like him was a curse Alcryst would never wish upon anyone.
His stomach churned as he looked at the drinks, or rather, the names written on them in permanent marker. Céline he was confident about. Louis, too. But he had no idea whether it was Chloé or Chloè, and he was certain he’d guessed wrong. The only thing scarier than the name on the cup was its contents. It was a green tea with strawberry syrup, caramel sauce, and three espresso shots. As the woman had cheerfully explained, it was a “delicacy” within certain circles of TikTok.
Alcryst did not have TikTok, and now he promised himself to never allow his dad to get TikTok, either. There were some things he was better off not knowing.
He dipped his head in a polite nod. “Thank you very much for your patronage. I hope that the rest of your day will be pleasant, now that you no longer have to interact with me.”
Chloé, or possibly Chloè, tilted her head to the side. “Um, all right.” Perhaps it hadn’t sunk in yet that he was awful and irredeemable. That was okay. She’d understand soon.
“Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“Thanks, you too.” Chloé-or-possibly-Chloè turned with a swish of long blue curls and strolled out, high heels clicking.
Only when she stepped into the car and closed the passenger door did Alcryst allow himself to relax. He felt a pang of guilt as he recalled her confused expression. She looked like a kind person, and he never liked raining on the parades of kind people. But if Alcryst wasn’t upfront with her, she might’ve come away with the mistaken impression that he was a pleasant and competent person.
No, it was best to nip those misconceptions in the bud as soon as possible.
With a weighty sigh, he looked at the clock above the door. 2:15 PM. There was still forty-five minutes to go until Diamant came home, at which point Alcryst could escape to his room on the second floor and spend the rest of the day chatting online with Citrinne and Lapis. (They were the closest thing Alcryst had to best friends, except for Diamant, but Diamant was his brother so he didn’t really count.)
Forty-five minutes was the same as fifteen minutes, three times. It was also the same as five minutes, nine times. It was also the same as one minute, forty-five times. So Alcryst just had to get through one minute forty-five more times, and then he’d be done for the day.
…And now it was 2:16 PM. That wasn’t so bad. Just forty-four of those to go.
He stepped away from the cash register and pushed open the swing door, emerging into the dining area. It was empty and silent, as it often was on warm afternoons. When the weather was as gorgeous as this, most people preferred to take their drinks to go, sipping on them as they strolled through the Firene district’s many parks.
In general, business was slower in the warmer months of the year, thanks to their competitor across the street: Hyacinth Ice Creamery. Its pink-and-purple awning cast a nefarious black shadow across the sidewalk, luring customers in with the promise of cool shade and frosted delights. In the winter, Morion & Sons Coffeehouse had the edge; “no fool is ordering ice cream cones when there’s snow on the ground,” his dad liked to say. But now it was the end of May, and in the pre-summer heat, Hyacinth Ice Creamery was pulling ahead once more.
Alcryst shot a glare through the window at the ice creamery, more out of obligation than anything.
He’d already swept the floor three times today, but he picked up the broom and was about to start again, when:
“Yo, Alcryst! Working hard or hardly working?”
Alcryst looked up as the door jingled – and he dropped the broom with a clatter.
Through the glass doors adorned with the sword-and-shield logo of Morion & Sons Coffeehouse sashayed the last person on the planet Alcryst wanted to see.
Not because Alcryst hated him. No, Fogado could pick up Sommie, Mayor Lumera’s beloved pet, and drop-kick him into the ocean, and it would still be impossible for Alcryst to hate him. It was the opposite problem.
Fogado was, in a word, radiant.
Him and his sister, the equally incredible Timerra, were the most popular students at Lythos for good reason. Their mother, Seforia, was the owner of Hagia Sophia Bar & Grill, a bustling steakhouse by day and Somniel City’s rowdiest partying spot by night. In other words, the place of Alcryst’s nightmares. But he would never say such a thing to Seforia’s face. She was smart, talented, and charming – everyone in the community said so – and her children had inherited all of those traits in spades.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Fogado was just as radiant on the outside as on the inside. His dark skin was dazzlingly smooth, his eyes were the color of a warm hug, and his smile… Oh, no, his smile…
Alcryst scrambled to pick up the broom, resisting the urge to lie down next to it and curl up in the fetal position. No, that wasn’t an option. It was his duty to serve everyone who came through the coffeehouse’s doors, even if they were from Hyacinth Ice Creamery. Especially if they were from Hyacinth Ice Creamery, because then they could crush them, utterly, by showing how their pathetic customer service could never compare to Morion & Sons. (Or so his father liked to proclaim at the dinner table, usually when he was two beers in.)
But what could he do, in the face of someone like Fogado? He was like an eagle – noble, majestic, powerful – and Alcryst was a snake, crawling on his belly in the mud like the freak of nature he was.
“So how’s it going? Busy day, or…?”
No, not a snake. A worm, an extra-slimy worm, fit only to be stabbed onto the end of a hook and cast into the fishing pond.
“Alcryst?”
Wait, was there something even more insignificant than a worm?
“Hey, bud, you good?”
Alcryst jumped. He hadn’t realized Fogado was so close by. He’d taken a seat at one of the empty tables, right next to him, and he was looking at Alcryst as if wondering whether to call an ambulance.
Alcryst probably did, in fact, need an ambulance, but more important than seeking medical attention was serving Fogado. He straightened his back, pushed up each of his sleeves, brushed any dust off his crimson apron, and prepared to say something normal and casual.
“Why are you here?”
“Uh, to order some coffee?”
Never mind, he was screwed. He regretted not adopting the fetal position while he still had the chance.
Fogado snorted, but it wasn’t a malicious sound. Alcryst was at least twenty percent sure. “That’s a pretty existential question to hit a guy with out of nowhere.”
“I’m sorry, I- You’re right, I’m sorry, that was rude of-”
Fogado dismissed his words with a wave of his hand. “It’s all good, man. My bad for teasing, haha.”
“Haha,” Alcryst echoed, even though he didn’t understand what was funny. Then again, Fogado was at Morion & Sons Coffeehouse, and he was sitting at a table, and he was smiling, and not only that, but smiling at him, and in light of all this, if Alcryst didn’t laugh, he would probably cry.
Crying was still definitely on the table, though.
Speaking of, Fogado drummed the table, fingers clicking like castanets. His fingernails were long, and he always had them painted in bright colors; today, they were orange, matching the sunset graphic on his t-shirt. Alcryst always cut his nails as short as possible, mostly so he wouldn’t be tempted to bite them. This morning, he’d accidentally cut his left thumbnail shorter than the right, and he prayed Fogado wouldn’t notice.
“To answer your question, though, I’m here ’cause it’s crazy hot out there.” Fogado gestured outside. “Can you believe this heat wave we’re getting? I feel bad for Alfred and Céline, honestly. Bet they’re having hell of a time keeping the garden center plants alive. But seriously, it’s beautiful out there. You gotta hit up the beach when you’re done your shift today. Trust me!”
“Oh,” said Alcryst. He tried to think of something else to say, but his mind refused to generate anything more.
“So I was getting heatstroke out there, right? But I remembered that you guys do some mean iced coffees, so…” Fogado delivered a wink that made at least four of Alcryst’s organs combust. “Here I am.”
“Oh,” said Alcryst again. No, that wasn’t good enough. He kicked himself. “I’m… I’m glad you chose to come here today. Though I know you must be disappointed that I’m the one serving you-”
Fogado cut off the end of his sentence with a laugh. It rang loud in the empty coffeehouse, and Alcryst jumped.
“Why, um, why are you laughing?”
“’Cause you’re funny.”
Alcryst’s heart exploded, and probably his stomach as well, from the way it was churning. “What?”
Chuckling, Fogado rested his chin on his hand. “Man. Here I was, trying to be all cool, but now you’re making me come right out and say it.”
“I’m very sorry-”
“Have you considered that maybe I came here because I wanted to see you?”
In all his seventeen years of living, Alcryst had never heard a more miraculous sentence. If it were a jewel, it would be more precious than any ore yet discovered. If it were a flower, it would be more stunning than any plant in any garden in any part of the world. If it were a person, wars would be fought over them.
Like all miracles, it was beautiful, and incomprehensible, and terrifying.
“You…” Alcryst could barely remember how to speak. “You came here because you wanted to see… me?”
“Uh-huh,” said Fogado, like he was talking about something rather ordinary. “We never get to chat in archery club, since Etie’s such a drill sergeant. Like, I’m not trying to shade Etie, I love her to death, but would it kill her to let people make some conversation while they’re shooting? Plus, you never stick around when practice ends – as soon as Etie says we’re done for the day, you’re gone! So I figure, if I wanna get to know you better, this is the place to be, right?”
Alcryst couldn’t comprehend a single word he was saying. “But…” He wrung the hem of his apron like an old rag. “I… I…! I am terribly sorry!”
“For what?”
“My dad always says not to question a customer’s judgement, because the customer is always right, so I am very, very sorry for what I’m about to say, but… Are you absolutely sure you’re not mistaken?”
“Yeah, pretty damn. Why do you ask?”
“I’m asking because… there’s no possible way that someone would come to Morion & Sons Coffeehouse to see me. To see Diamant, sure, but me? It… I don’t- That can’t be right-”
“Well, it’s the truth.” Fogado leaned forward in his chair, holding Alcryst’s gaze. “Is it really so hard to believe that?”
It was. Yet, there was something in Fogado’s stare that swallowed up Alcryst's gut reaction, made the constant voice in his head grow dull and muted. He searched the darkness of Fogado's eyes for the mockery that should surely be there, and saw nothing.
Was it so well hidden that he couldn’t spot it? Or… was it truly not there?
Alcryst swallowed. “I… May I…” With his remaining strength, he tried to drag the conversation to a new topic. “May I take your order, then?”
All at once, the serious glint in Fogado’s eyes vanished, and his smile returned in full force. “Sure thing! What do you recommend?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. What kinda iced coffee do you like most?”
“Um…” Alcryst couldn’t fathom why he’d ask such a question, but his father’s voice boomed in his ears: When a customer asks a question, you answer. “If you’d like something cold but not too sweet, I think the iced macchiato is good. Especially with cinnamon and…”
No, what was he saying? How dare he just assume that Fogado liked cinnamon? Like a unicyclist about to be hit by a truck, he frantically backpedaled. “Not that my taste in coffee is very refined. If anything, it’s horrendous. You should definitely not-”
“Iced macchiato with cinnamon? Sounds tasty. I’ll have that.”
The truck smashed into Alcryst’s unicycle without mercy. Okay, somewhere along the way he’d lost track of where that metaphor was going, but it didn’t matter.
He flipped open his notebook, both to scribble the order down and to avoid all further eye contact. “What size would you like?”
“Grande. I’m feeling daring today.” Fogado sat up suddenly, as if remembering something important. “Oh, I probably should’ve asked sooner, but do you guys have any milk that’s lactose-free?”
Ah, that question. Alcryst answered it at least five times a day, so he wasn’t nervous at all. “We do. They’re not listed on the menu officially, but we carry soy milk and almond milk in addition to our regular milks and creamers.”
“Gotcha. How come they’re not on the menu, though?”
“Well…”
The truth was, Alcryst’s dad despised “fake milk” with a fury so extreme it almost looped back around to being admirable. He seemed to regard lactose-intolerant people the same way he regarded nonbinary people – which is to say, he didn’t really think they existed, but he at least refrained from saying so aloud in polite company. This stance was confusing, given how supportive he was of Diamant being celiac and Alcryst being trans, but “confusing” was his dad’s constant state of being. Alcryst loved him, but it was the truth.
Despite that, they did have a couple cartons of soy and almond milk, tucked away in the very back of the walk-in fridge. Alcryst bought them himself, out of his own pocket. If he had to subject their customers to interacting with him, the least he could do was make sure their favorite kind of milk was always in stock.
Fortunately, before he had to explain all of that, Fogado shook his head. “Eh, I guess it doesn’t matter. Almond sounds good.”
Alcryst made a mental note to buy extra almond milk in case Fogado visited again. Then he furiously erased that mental note, because there was no reason why Fogado would ever come back to Morion & Sons Coffeehouse, now that he had seen Alcryst do such a miserable job of serving him.
…Then, against his better judgement, he penciled the mental note back in, in letters so small and light they were almost invisible.
“So, one iced macchiato with cinnamon and almond milk. Is that to have in, or to go?”
Fogado looked up and to the right, pondering.
Please say to go. Please say to go. Please say to go. Please say to go. Please say-
“To go, please.”
Alcryst started. So on top of everything else, Fogado could read minds? No, that was stupid. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that those warm-hug eyes could look past skin, muscle, blood, and bone and see straight into his brain.
Oh, well. Stupid as Alcryst was, it wasn’t like there was much to see.
“I’ll make that for you right… away…” Alcryst’s voice faltered as, once again, he fell under the full force of Fogado’s smile. “In the meantime, please don’t look at me. And if you do happen to look at me by accident, please don’t smile-”
“Sorry, but no can do,” Fogado said breezily.
“What? Why not?”
“How’s it possible to look at you and NOT smile?”
It was a critical hit, an absolute fatality. Alcryst staggered backwards like he’d been struck by a flaming arrow. The fire burned beneath his skin, intoxicatingly hot. He could hardly speak past the smoke.
“I'm so sorry, I’ll… I’ll be right back!” he shouted – for shouting was the only way to get the words out – and he turned and all but sprinted behind the counter.
Despite his plea, he felt Fogado’s eyes – those damn eyes – boring into the back of his head as he crafted the drink. After so many years of practice under his father’s strict watch, he could perform every motion in his sleep. There was no chance of him spilling something or forgetting a step. But this did nothing to alleviate the feverish pounding of his heart in his ears, loud as thunder.
Every sound seemed louder, in fact – from the clacking of the ice machine to the soft hiss of the milk and espresso swirling together. And, loudest of all, the screech as Fogado pushed back his chair, followed by the rhythmic slap-slapping of his sandals as he migrated to the counter.
In regular time, it took Alcryst three minutes to make the drink. But when trapped in the Fogado Dimension, three minutes was an eternity.
Only when he finished did he finally sense no more eyes on his back. Fogado’s gaze was pointed at the window, almost deliberately so. The moment Alcryst approached, his warm eyes slid back over, capturing him in an instant. The cold of the iced macchiato bit into his fingertips, but he barely felt it.
He set it on the counter. “Is there… Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Fogado pointed to the display case. “Are the cinnamon buns any good?”
“Yes,” said Alcryst honestly. Diamant was in charge of today’s batch, as evidenced by each bun’s perfect shape and color.
“I’ll try one, then.” Fogado winked. “You’ve got me in a cinnamon mood.”
Alcryst gulped so hard he almost swallowed his own tongue. “Glgh,” he said.
“What? Didn’t catch that.”
“Please, please wait a moment!” Hurriedly, Alcryst ducked behind the counter to retrieve a paper bag. He scanned the cinnamon buns, looking for the most flawless, radiant one. There were two ideal candidates. One of them was a bit smaller, but the cinnamon swirl was more symmetrical than-
Fogado’s nails drummed the counter, and Alcryst realized he was taking too long. Setting his jaw, he took the tongs and picked up both buns, sliding them into the paper bag one after the other.
He straightened up, took a moment to confirm that his heart was, in fact, still beating, and briskly added one cinnamon bun to the order. “With tax, your total is $7.76.”
“That’s pretty reasonable, in this day and age.” Fogado retrieved a ten-dollar bill from his pocket with a single, smooth flick of the wrist. “How much do I owe you for the almond milk?”
“Oh, um, no charge.” Alcryst never charged people for “fake milk.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah." And…” As he handed Fogado his change, he gathered all of his courage. He pushed the paper bag towards him. “And… here’s an extra cinnamon bun. On the house.”
Fogado raised his eyebrows. “For real? Won’t you get in trouble for that?”
“Please, I insist. Think of it as an apology, for-”
“Ah-ah. Stop right there.”
Alcryst’s heart thudded to a halt. “Pardon?”
“Sorry, but I can’t accept it if it’s an apology gift.” Fogado’s words were firmer than they had been a moment ago, but his tone was kind as ever. “If you’re gonna give me something for free, you need a better reason than that.”
“A… better reason?”
“Yeah. So what you got?”
Alcryst racked his brain. “In that case, um… think of it as a thank-you.”
“A thank-you for what?”
“For putting up with me serving you today.”
Fogado blew a puff of air out his nose – a half-laugh. Alcryst’s heart did a backflip. “That’s still not quite what I meant, but…”
“But?”
“It’s a start.” Fogado accepted the cinnamon buns at last. “Thanks, Alcryst.”
“It’s nothing, really-”
“Hey, I mean it.” Fogado scrunched up his eyes as he beamed – a smile that was almost childish in its sincerity. “You’re a real sweetheart, dude.”
Alcryst wasn’t sure which word was more lethal, sweetheart or dude. Either way, his lungs, which had only just sputtered back to life, promptly stopped functioning again.
“A… A s-sweetheart?” he stammered.
Fogado’s grin widened. “People don’t call you that often, huh?”
“Never! People don’t call me at all. Which is only fair, since I’m awful at socializing-”
“Well, yeah, I won’t debate you on that.”
It was a sentence so blunt it threw Alcryst for a loop. “I beg your pardon?”
“But if anything, that just makes me like you more.”
As he spoke, Fogado plucked his drink and his cinnamon buns from the counter. Transferring the bag to his teeth, he rummaged through one of his pockets and pulled out a second ten-dollar bill. He pressed it into Alcryst’s dumbfounded palm.
Their hands touched for only a heartbeat, but it was enough to make every nerve in Alcryst’s body sing.
“I…” Alcryst gaped at the bill. “What’s this?”
“An extra tip for the extra-cute barista.” Fogado winked. “See ya in archery club.”
And with one last smile tossed over his shoulder, Fogado sauntered through the glass doors to the sound of jingling chimes.
Alcryst could do nothing but watch him go, returning to the sunkissed world where he belonged. Yes, that’s where people like Fogado belonged: in the blue-sky afternoon, surrounded by sunshine and laughter. Not in Morion & Sons Coffeehouse, where the lights were dim and everything smelled bitter and the espresso machine crapped out every other day because a certain father refused to admit that maybe, just maybe, it was time to retire the equipment from 1979.
In other words, people like Fogado belonged as far away from him as possible. Fogado himself didn’t seem to realize this. That was okay. He’d understand soon.
…Was what the voice in Alcryst’s brain would usually say. But right now, it was stunned into silence, just like the rest of him.
He looked at the ten-dollar bill in his hand. It was crumpled and dotted with lint from being shoved in a pocket for so long. Alcryst brushed the crinkles with his finger, feeling the ridges. If he concentrated, he could still feel the warmth of Fogado’s hand, the sting of his long, painted thumbnail that had accidentally scratched his skin.
Even in Alcryst’s head, it sounded utterly deranged, but he didn’t care.
He would never, ever spend it, he promised himself. Not for as long as he lived. He folded it in half and slid it into his apron like he was handling a precious jewel.
“…See you in archery club,” he murmured to the empty coffeehouse.
And as he swept the floor and wiped down the tables and restocked the shelves, those were the words he repeated to himself until Diamant came home to bring his shift to an end.