Chapter Text
“Have a great day,” Leo droned to the back of the customer who hadn’t even bothered to say thank you. He watched the man hurry out of the coffee shop with his drink in hand, the bell on the door jingling with his exit, and then the place fell silent.
Leo leaned against the counter and huffed out a breath of air. He hated being on front cash. He wasn’t much of a people person—everyone often said he was too loud, too arrogant, too much of a smart-ass. Even his ex-wife. Well, that was back when they actually spoke to each other. Before Leo went to prison and Linda moved to the other side of the country, taking Alex with her.
But Leo was over that by now.
“Slow day,” commented Fred, leaning over Leo’s shoulder.
Leo angled away. “Hey, man, personal space.”
“Sorry.” Fred didn’t sound so sorry, and neither did he look it with his grin.
“You told me it’s always slow on Wednesdays,” Leo went on. “‘specially in the early afternoon.”
“Until it hits four. Then everyone comes in lookin’ for their pick-me-up after work.” Fred raised an eyebrow. “Including you-know-who.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Through the glass window, Leo watched a woman approach the shop and enter.
“I’ll leave you alone now,” said Fred, pulling away.
“You better,” Leo mumbled.
He took the woman’s order and her money, gave her back her change, while Fred began making her coffee. It was just them and Jordan in the store today, but Michael was set to come in around three-thirty for the afternoon rush. Leo’s shifted ended at eight.
He’d only been working here a couple weeks and he already hated it. But ex-felons couldn’t be picky about which jobs they chose. Most others went into manual labour, but all the nearby construction places said they were full, and the others were too far to commute. So when he’d found this place, he took the job as soon as it was offered. Even if it was a role more for a teenager or something.
They got a decent amount of business for a place staffed entirely by ex-convicts, too. They were no chain coffee shop, but they were one of the only decent places around, or so went the rumour.
And, hell, maybe people in this town were more trusting than Leo gave them credit for. Maybe he was just cynical and had been burned too many times to think the best of people.
But that was a bullshit philosophy better suited for a therapist to spout. And Leo didn’t see therapists. They were a waste of money, and he was already struggling enough. Living in a shabby mould-ridden apartment in the worst part of town because no one else wanted to rent to a criminal.
Woe is him. Suck it up, fucking crybaby, he told himself.
Fred finished making the woman’s coffee and handed it to Leo to give to her. She took it, and at least she uttered a thank you before taking her leave.
“Have a nice day,” Leo told her in the same fake artificial tone that made him sick to hear himself.
They had a sporadic handful of customers for the next two hours until Michael came in, and the rush started soon after. Leo swapped with Fred, thankful that he didn’t have to put up with putting on a fake face anymore. Coffee-making was way easier than being so fucking cheerful all the time.
Leo worked fast, but they still got complaints. Wrong coffee. Spillages. Too slow. It all pissed him off, but he somehow managed to keep a level head in the face of these ridiculous entitled people, merely apologising and correcting his mistakes.
Finally, they got through the rush, and once the last customer had been served, Michael and Leo swapped once more so Michael could sweep and mop.
Leo glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven, which meant he was due to arrive soon. It also meant Leo was nearly off his shift, thank god.
He stood at the front counter counting the till just to look busy, when Fred suddenly nudged him.
“Hey, Leo,” Fred hissed. “The pig’s here.”
Leo lifted his head just in time to see the familiar man walk up to the counter. He was wearing the same brown leather jacket he often wore over top of a white shirt. He had brown hair and a goatee, narrow eyes, and a mole on his upper cheek.
Leo didn’t know his name, but he came in twice a day—once in the very early morning, and once in the afternoon after the rush, as he’d come in now. Leo couldn’t help but wonder why he couldn’t just make his own goddamn coffee if he needed it that often. And surely it would take less time than driving all the way here and waiting in line. But some people’s motivations were different and strange and often didn’t make sense.
And this man sure as hell didn’t make any sense. Because this man in this brown leather jacket with the mole on his cheek was a cop.
As far as Leo could tell, no one had any clue why he came in here. No one had dared ask. Sometimes, they’d even resort to rock-paper-scissors to determine which unlucky soul would serve him. And when Leo looked around at his coworkers now, they’d all either vanished or were pretending to look busy.
He rolled his eyes. Great.
The man reached the counter, his expression blank yet expectant.
“What can I get for you?” Leo asked stiffly through gritted teeth, but he already knew what the answer was going to be. The man never ordered anything but…
“Medium black coffee, one sugar,” he said, pulling out his wallet. He leaned to the side to peer into the display case that held the pastries and sweet treats as well. “And… hell, I’ll take a croissant as well. Treat myself.”
“Alright.” Leo tapped in his order. “Anything else?”
“No, thanks.”
“That’ll be five thirty-five.”
The man whistled. “Getting expensive.”
Go to a chain if you want cheaper options, Leo thought, but he merely ground his teeth and didn’t say this out loud as he took the man’s money and grabbed his croissant out of the display case.
The man nibbled on it carefully as Fred prepared his coffee. It took less than a minute, and soon Leo was handing the hot cup to the man over the counter.
“Thank you very much,” the man said. He dug around in his pocket and dropped a dollar in the tip jar, then turned and left.
Leo glared after at him. He didn’t even bother to tell him to have a good day. It was what little defiance and dislike he could afford to show.
“You know, he came in uniform one day,” Jordan said then, leaning over. “I think his nametag read Vincent or something.”
“Vincent, huh?” Leo muttered.
He didn’t trust cops, especially ones that were so comfortable around what he surely had to know where ex-prisoners. What was his deal? Sighing to himself, Leo supposed he’d never know.
Before long, Leo’s shift had ended. He took off his apron and carried it under his arm as he walked out to the bus stop. He caught the same bus he always did, sitting near the back of the empty vehicle and ignoring the occasional look that was shot his way.
He got off at his stop and walked down the street towards his apartment block. He got inside, took the elevator up, and dug around in his pocket for his door key.
The apartment was exactly as he’d left it. Messy as fuck. He hadn’t bothered to clean it. He had the time, sure, but the motivation? He just couldn’t be bothered.
He grabbed a beer from the fridge and collapsed on the small worn couch in front of the television and switched it on. The news. Boring, and also too tragic sometimes. He began to channel flip, never staying on one channel for very long, until he got bored and turned the TV off entirely.
He sat there in his messy, silent apartment. He could hear some strange thumping from the apartment next over, followed by an angered shout. His neighbours were fighting—they always were.
Leo took a sip of his beer. Not his problem. He lived for himself now, and himself only.
He shoved away the faint loneliness that panged in his chest.
He didn’t need anyone else. Not anymore.