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The glasses were going to actually kill him.
Leonard could deal with the plaid shirt, the stupid, floppy hair, and even the fact that the kid was wearing flip flops with shoe laces tattooed onto his feet (Seriously, what the fuck?)
But the glasses. Never before had Leonard McCoy been so offended by an accessory (because there was no way the kid actually needed the damned glasses to see, that was too mainstream), and his daughter owned a pair of pink My Little Pony suspenders that she liked to wear with a red tutu and orange top. That was pretty freaking offensive offensive.
Leonard had half a mind to not serve the kid, but then he’d get his ass handed to him by Pike and that would make his day a helluva lot worse than any hipster in stupid glasses could even aspire so manage so Leonard didn't tell him to go find a sense of fashion, “Let me guess,” he said instead, “one cup plain coffee as black as your soul?”
The kid raised an eyebrow, insanely blue eyes flashing behind the damned glasses. “Close, but no. Hazelnut macchiato, please. As sweet as you can make it.”
“This shit will kill you one day, kid.” Leonard grumped as he went about making the drink.
“Slower than cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, or basically anything else I could have chosen to get addicted to.” The kid shot back, crossing his arms over the counter in front of him and studying Leonard carefully.
“But faster than if you hadn’t gotten addicted to anything at all.” Leonard pointed out.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” The kid had a cryptic smile on his face as he handed Leonard his credit card. There was a compass, inside of a rose, on the inside of his wrist. “But I do know that you have some sick ink, Bones.”
Leonard’s eyebrows made a valiant effort to meet his hairline. “Don’t call me that.” His hand, the one covered with the intricate tattoo detailing human skeletal and musculature, clenched and unclenched sporadically as he ran the kids card through the machine.
“Whatever, Bones.” The kid took the receipt as Leonard handed it back to him with the card. He signed it with a flourish, but didn't hand it back right away, his hand still scribbling over the paper.
"You don't have to write me an essay," Leonard said, "just sign your name and give it back."
"Relax." The kid finally handed the receipt back, letting his fingers drag across Leonard's palm as he did, "I'll see you around, Bones."
Leonard watched the kid leave, the receipt hanging limply from his inked fingers. There was a bird in a cage on the back of the kid’s neck. ”The next time that kid comes in here I’m hiding in the back.” he grumbled to no one as he finally moved to shove the receipt into the jar. Except, a scribble of ink on the back caught his attention.
I’m Jim, in case you were wondering.
4353434938
I’d like to get addicted to you Let’s have dinner?
There was a poorly drawn face next to the number. A face wearing stupid, fucking, hipster glasses.
So that's what the kid had been doing.
“Dammit, Jim.”
The receipt never actually made it to the jar.