Chapter Text
Unlock the front door. Turn on the lights. Flip the sign. Lower the chairs from the tables. Clock in. Count the money in the till. Rinse the coffee machines. Put on an apron. Wait.
Tom kind of hated working the early morning shift. He was way too hungover from copious amounts of consuming strong alcohol and falling off of his bed multiple times the previous late night, and he almost entirely decided to skip his shift today.
Unfortunately for him, he still had rent to pay alongside his roommates, Edd would never let him hear the end of it if he skipped, and money wasn't exactly the most lenient recently; Hence, the barista job, albeit reluctantly— But if he had to make the most obnoxious or diabetes inducing drink at 5 in the fucking morning one more time, he would quit his job immediately and go have an overdose in his shared bathroom. Matt had some low-blood pressure pills stashed away somewhere from 3 years ago, it could work.
His eyelids were drooping closed every five seconds while he was waiting for a customer to inevitably walk in, and what was even more insane than him having to open shop at 5 AM— is the people who would wake up and get ready, just to go out and get coffee this early. It wasn't an impossible scenario, considering the agonizing amount of people that he would regularly see at this time.
There were a couple of regulars that he could pick out. Two blonde girls who always walked in beside each other (who he's also pretty sure that they're dating), two more brown-haired guys wearing weirdly formal clothes (that he's also sure that are dating), a bloke that Edd always seemed to hate talking to that also looked suspiciously similar— green hoodie and all, and some guy that sometimes went along with the Edd lookalike. Though that guy kind of looked like him. Was everybody getting into relationships around him? Why did he have to always witness it this early?
He leisurely fiddled with the strap of his apron, adjusting the little buckle to be higher. It was always a bit big on him, but he's pretty sure that's because he's the shortest out of all of the other employees.. unfortunately. He readjusted the hood on top of his head, pulling it down slightly to cover more of his eyes, and dampen down on his insanely messy hair.
People always looked at him funny when they saw his eyeless sockets, and were frankly weirded out immediately. When kids saw him, they either started crying or were annoyingly amazed and intrigued by his lack of eyes. Parents would usher them away in the end— so being intimidating and having no eyes worked out in his favour anyways. He just wanted to be left alone for the most part.
Of course that never happened, especially in elementary and high school. God, those were awful years. A face flashes into his mind at his little nostalgic trip into the past, one that's burned into his memories, and into the giant gash that still scarred his left arm. Devilish hair prodded into two horns at the top, and a distinct red hoodie. He's been the one out of his three friends to try and forget.. him the most. Edd still had his hopes up, silently waiting for the door to open and for him to show up after all these years. Matt forgets everything within a very short period of time, so he'd obviously wouldn't even know who he was at this point. But that doesn't count, because Matt's dense and didn't even try to forget him.. it just slipped the ginger's mind.
One of the other baristas walked in during his weird disassociation episode, one that their name's suddenly slipping his mind until he spots the little embedded name into their metal tag, displayed onto their apron as they hastily walk by as a blur. Oh, yeah. Some guy named Ethan. He essentially forgot who all of his coworkers were except for Edd and Matt in all honesty. It's not like Ethan seemed to care, because they barely interacted anyways. It was way too early for that, which seemed to be some sort of silent and mutual agreement across the early morning shift employees, though there was one employee that was an exception to this agreement. Tom would only talk when necessary, to the customers. Other than that, he stayed relatively quiet.
He hears the familiar sound of machines churning alive, and the sink running quietly in the background of it all. Another one of his coworkers (he forgets her name as well) stumbles into the building, seeming a bit panicked although a smile soon erupts onto her face. She waved at Tom, as always. Sometimes he waved back, but other times his forehead is glued down to the counter as he tries to fight back falling asleep. Today was a waving-back type of day. It kind of woke him up.
She was also the exception to the silent mutual agreement that the early morning shift people had. Really enthusiastic, loved the job. Tom is really confused on why she loved being a barista so much— he's pretty sure he had tried asking her before, but they were quickly cut off by a customer walking in. Another one of his coworkers immediately follows up, some new teenager hire. She looked like an insomniac to Tom.
The insomniac is Ethel. Oh, yeah. The other's name is Destiny, he finally remembers. What fitting names for both of them. He hears Destiny talking in the back, as she always does to try and lighten the mood. The mood is lightened, but it doesn't make mornings any less awkward. Tom mentally apologized to her.
Ethel throws her bag into a secluded booth, before disappearing off into the back. He's pretty sure they're supposed to put their bags onto the little hooks in the employee area, but who is he to judge? He didn't bring anything to work anyways. Most of the time. He doesn't have time for that anyways.
Tom pries his eyes off of the floor in front of him and glances up at the fancy clock that the care had up on the wall. It's barely readable, not just because of the distance and his shitty eyesight— it used roman numerals and it was gold-accented as well. The lights bounced off all of the shiny parts of the clock, and the glass as well, making it barely visible from where he was standing. Plus, roman numerals. Why couldn't they just have a normal-ass clock? He's sure that the customers would also appreciate a more readable clock so they would know when to rush out of the shop on time.
Through refracted light, way-too bright colours, half-lidded eyes and roman numerals, he could barely make out the current time: 5:34 AM. Ah, the cafe opened up four minutes ago. (Open officially, anyways. He still had to flip the sign half an hour ago)
People usually begin to show up at 5:50, so he had some time to spare, if 16 minutes was enough for a tiny nap. He would probably fall asleep and not wake up for a loong time at this point though, so he refrained from even thinking about sleeping right now. Destiny wasn't talking anymore, so it was a bit quiet— save for the sounds of coffee machines running, water rushing through faucets, and footsteps. Well, it was ambience sound to him at this point, so it was basically quiet. He shoved his hand into his pocket and fished out his phone, ready to doom-scroll on Instagram for his remaining short break.
Unfortunately, the world hated him and wanted him to die. The doorbell rung loudly, and he heard footsteps quietly enter the building before the door harshly shut closed. He quietly sighed, eyes shut harshly as he mentally prepared himself. He hadn't expected anybody to come in this early, and his break was cut insanely short.
Just from the sound of the person's footsteps alone, he could vaguely tell what kind of person he was about to deal with. They were confident in every step, although painfully slow, like they were admiring the shop and the menu while walking in. Either a promiscuous asshole, or somebody who really liked architecture and was a big over thinker.
He stared at his phone, password half-typed into his lock screen, before hurriedly stuffing it back into his pants pocket and craning his body to face the counter— subconsciously slouching a bit forwards in fatigue. He really wanted to throw up right now.. fuck, he should've done that before his shift had even started. All he did was down 3 painkillers and water before leaving the apartment.
The guy standing in front of him was tall. Well, anybody was tall compared to him, painfully. Curse his height. His eyes were barely open, so he couldn't really see what the person actually looked like, and the weird light flare from the ceiling lights covering their face didn't help either— all he saw was a blur of a weird red outfit and dark blonde hair. Who even wore that much red? Well, except for..
"..Tom?"
..him. The Norwegian accent was painfully familiar to him, and he almost fell forwards in whiplash after hearing the person speak his name that way. The light flare slowly disappeared from the person's face, and his eyes were wide-open at this point and staring intently, because he could see every feature of the person. Recognition hit him like a truck, and he felt his body tense up.
"..T-Tord?"
This cannot be happening, right? The hangover was not helping, looking at Tord's face was definitely not helping, seeing so much red paired with the eccentric deviled hair style was not helping. He felt a pit slowly form at the bottom of his stomach the more he looked at Tord, his intense urge to throw up increasing every second. The two of them had just stared at each other for a little while, neither of them saying anything to each other. What was there to even say? Tom could feel his hand shake against his thigh, anxiously tapping up and down.
Tord looked the same from all of those years ago, although he was now sporting a giant scarred gash on the left side of his face, as well as a little black eye patch covering his left eye. Must have been from.. that. His outfit was still the same bright red colour infecting mostly every article of clothing (although a scrappy blue jacket covered most of it), and there was still the same shitty hairstyle. Nothing had changed.
The corners of Tord's mouth curled into a sly smirk soon after, and any feelings that Tom had been experiencing was soon turned into a deep anger. "Well hello there, old friend!" Tord's voice spoke, laced with fake sincerity and malice. His shaking hand soon morphed into a clenched fist against his thigh, and he resisted to punch the stupid grin off of Tord's face on the spot. "How's it been, then? I see you still haven't laid off that blue hoodie, Jehovah."
Here goes the nicknames again. It seemed so unfamiliar, yet painfully comforting to him. He grit his teeth at Tord, who stood there smiling innocently. "Fuck off." Tom muttered, straightening up his posture to look up at him more clearly. It just made him want to punch Tord even more. Sure, he still had been wearing blue hoodies since 6th grade, but Tord was also wearing an insanely red outfit right now!
"Fuck off?" Tord repeated, putting on a fake pout. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Aw, come on, Thomas. I just want some good ol' coffee from an old friend!—"
"I am not your friend." Tom butted in quickly, glaring at Tord who only grinned. He wanted to punch him. He really did. "Go somewhere else to get your shitty coffee."
Tord frowned, batting his eyelashes at him like a fucking idiot. "I'm giving you one-star on yelp!"
As if those words seemed to summon Destiny to materialize behind him, he heard the door creak open and a single footstep forwards, before hearing her voice. "Tom are you— Oh, Hi!"
Tord side-stepped to wave at her, the same fake grin on his face. He heard Destiny laugh quietly from behind him and that somehow made him even more mad. "Did you get his order already, Tom? It doesn't usually take this long." She asked.
Tom groaned. "Yeah, yeah. On it." He muttered, tapping absentmindedly onto the cash register in front of him with random inputs. He heard the door close behind him shortly after, and a contempt sigh from in front of him. "Thanks, Thomas! Wow, she's nice. You should try and be more like her, you know."
"Fuck you."
Tord dryly chuckled. "Yeah, I know, Jehovah." He grinned, before looking off to the side somewhere. "Anyways, you know what I want, right?" He waved his hand around.
What the fuck? How was he supposed to know Tord's coffee order? He didn't read minds. "No, I don't." He slowly said, rolling his eyes. Oddly, that seemed to make Tord freeze up on the spot.
He could see Tord bite at his lower lip, something that he used to do back as a teenager when he got nervous or something. Guess that habit hasn't died down yet. "You know what I want." He had repeated, more sternly— or desperately this time.
Tom sighed. "No? I don't, Tord. You're supposed to tell me your order." What an entitled asshole.
"You.. You don't remember?" Tord had said, but the tone of his voice sounded sadder than he had ever heard before in a long time. Why the fuck was Tord moping about this? What was he supposed to remember? "Seriously?" Tord stated exasperatedly.
Tom grunted. "..Seriously." He said back. He had no idea what Tord was on. "Can't you just fucking tell me your order?"
"You really don't remember?"
This was going to go in circles. "Tord, you.. you.. why would I remember anything to do with you after what you did to us!" He spoke as quietly but exasperatedly as he could, and seeing Tord's blank expression made it all worth it. Oddly, it seemed like he wasn't going to say anything else. It was always difficult to try and silence Tord back then.
Tom huffed at the silent treatment he was getting. "Whatever. You're getting a decaf." He tapped onto the screen of the register. "$3.49, cash or credit."
"..."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "..Cash or credit."
"..."
"Cash or.. Fuck, seriously Tord."
"—Cash."
Finally. Once he gave this man his shitty decaf coffee, Tom would never have to see Tord ever again in his life. Ever. Tord shoved a hand into his jacket pocket, before pulling out a crisp fiver and handing it over to him in a single motion.
He snatched it from his hand as fast as he could, but of course their hands had to brush against each other momentarily, because the world did hate him.
Tord felt cold. It was -2° C outside so maybe that contributed to the fact. Their hands retracted from each other immediately though, and Tord looked like he just touched hot coals from the way he jolted backwards.
Yeah, fuck you. Tom deposited his change of $1.05 onto the counter before swiftly turning around and slamming the door open with unnecessary force. He could hear another long sigh from behind him, and the shuffling of footsteps followed by a chair scrapping against the floor.
Tom breezed past all of his coworkers, who oddly glanced at him when he walked by. Weird. Especially Destiny, she was looking at him like his family had just died. Did something happen?
Oh well. He got started making the stupid decaf coffee, in all honesty it's the worst drink to ever serve to a customer and that's also why he chose it for Tord. He didn't seem to mind the predetermined order, even if it's fucking decaf. Maybe he should just spit in the drink at this point— Wait, no. That's actually disgusting. He's not a monster.
He always seemed to burn his hand on the machines at least once per shift, and of course it's on this order too. Tom flapped his hand around mildly at the hot temperature, huffing in annoyance.
Once he grabbed the cup off of the machine, he turned around only to immediately be met by Destiny standing at his path with a curious face. "Hi Tom." She quietly spoke.
He mentally sighed. "Hi.."
"Uh.. like, do you.. know that guy out there? The walls aren't exactly the thickest.. you know that we can hear you, right?" She whispered, relatively close to his ear. Tom frowned at her implication.
"Nope. I don't." He lied through his teeth, the grip on the coffee cup in his hand tightening ever so slightly. Tom knows that none of his coworkers would believe him. "Just a shitty customer, okay bye."
He promptly walked away as quickly as he could, grabbing a marker on his way out from a random table and scribbling onto the cup. Should I actually write Tord? Or Bitch? Maybe Commie.. no, he's not gonna use nicknames with this man again. Okay, just Tord. Obviously, Tom. You should've wrote that from the start.
Tord was sitting at one of the lone tables near the counter facing away from him, typing something onto his phone. He bit the inside of his mouth, placing the cup onto the counter in front of him.
Tord didn't get up from his seat, so much as so turn around to even look at Tom. He knows that Tord heard him enter the room.
Is he seriously gonna make him say it? "..Tord." He borderline whispered. It was quiet enough anyways.
He didn't move. Just kept scrolling. "Tord."
Fuck. He hated this. He really wished that he had skipped this shift and thrown up somewhere right now, anything to get out of this situation. Anything to stop seeing him.
He leaned slightly over to the side, catching a glance at Tord's phone screen— he was just scrolling on his home screen endlessly. Tom grit his teeth against each other, picking up the cup with unnecessary force.
"Tord, I'm going to fucking—" Tom started, about to leave the counter before Tord suddenly shot up from his seat, pocketing his phone before turning around to look at him with an earthy grin.
Tord yanked the cup from him, and smiled. "—Oh, hey, Thomas!" He chirped while eyeing the cup curiously, swooshing the liquid around. "Thanks, old friend. You didn't spit in this or anything, right?"
Well, he thought about it. "No, I just put cyanide in it." Tom deadpanned back. Tord grinned at him, before laughing like a maniac.
"Oh, classic stupid Tom!" Tord spoke, thick Norwegian accent layering through each word. He felt a finger press against his cheek, and before he could swat Tord's hand away from his face— the finger was retracted with a sly smirk. He was almost missing how weirdly timid Tord had been acting a couple minutes ago. "Thanks for the coffee. See you tomorrow, Jehovah!"
Wait. "—What?!"
Tord was out the door before he could continue loudly yelling at him, the jingle of the doorbell tauntingly ringing across the room. He's also pretty sure his coworkers were spying on him from the back now.
I need to throw up.
Tom took a break from working the register after 45 minutes. He then promptly threw up in the employee's bathroom immediately after; he's also pretty sure that all he threw up was alcohol and the 3 painkillers from this morning. Tom shot Edd a text asking to bring lunch when he came in for his shift, but it's 6:30 AM and he doubted Edd was even up yet.
He also debated telling Edd about Tord coming in. His fingers hovered over the tiny phone keyboard, but in the end he just shoved his phone back into his pocket and sighed loudly. That was probably something that shouldn't be told over text.
After his 10 minute break of more doom-scrolling on Instagram, he returned to the till at the front. Usually he stays there the whole shift, with either Destiny or Ethan filling in during his breaks. Ethel always preferred to stay in the back and never interact with the customers, which he couldn't really blame her for. Destiny also worked the afternoon shift, Ethel working all three morning, afternoon and night shifts because she somehow managed to stay motivated to get through the job for an entire day. He could never— he just leaves after it hits 12 PM, like Ethan.
Tom saw the regulars walk in, as usual. The two blonde girls first at 5:57, then the two brown-haired guys at 10:00 after, the Edd look-alike at 11:12, then the Tom (him) look-alike at 11:13. There were a few other customers he either never saw before, or saw maybe once or twice in a blue moon. Once he glanced at the confusing clock and saw that it was 11:57 (or maybe a few minutes later or early), he fumbled to yank off his apron and hang it on the hook near the break room door before calling Destiny over to the register and speed-walking out of the building.
"Hey, Tom!" A nearby voice beckoned, as he craned his head around and spotted Edd walking his direction. He paused in his stride, before tiredly waving back. Edd stared down at him for a moment before frowning. "Wow, you look.. terrible." He stated blankly, as Tom laughed emptily.
"Thanks, Edd. Did you bring any food by chance?" He said, with slight desperation clear in his voice.
Edd blinked, and he almost slammed his head into the concrete sidewalk until Edd stuck out a brown paper bag towards him. "Uh.. I got you a burger from that shitty restaurant around the corner." Tom grabbed it from Edd's hands. "I'm pretty sure that it tastes bad. Like, really bad."
Tom shrugged, taking a small peak into the paper bag and seeing the decently sized burger sealed in a wrapper at the bottom. "It's fine. I'll probably just throw it up later anyways." He murmured, seeing Edd tilt his head to the side slightly.
Edd smacked the back of his head as lightly as he could, as Tom yelped at the impact. "Go ask Matt for the rest of the painkillers, okay? Bye Tom!"
"Edd w— Edd!" He yelled, seeing Edd yank the door open and run into the building within 3 seconds. "Fuck, man." Anytime he was left alone with Matt, it was either painfully quiet, or Matt would drag him around the city and make the both of them do random shit together.
Tom groaned, already preparing for another headache ahead of time. He needed to get any memory of meeting Tord today out of his head, especially his shitty hair and stupidly red outfit, and stupid face. The pit in his stomach churned, having still hadn't gone away and seemingly sunk even deeper into a pool of ultimate dread. He was really starting to feel the effects of throwing up and drinking right about now. It didn't really matter though, anyways. He was still going to drink more alcohol later that night.
Edd and Matt had previously tried to hide the alcohol bottles from him a couple months back. The plan failed immediately, because he came home with a new flask and 2 bottles of beer. They said it was killing him; well, obviously it was. He started when he was 15, and it's a bit hard to stop drinking at this point, and Tom was pretty sure they didn't know how hard it was to quit an addiction.
He had subconsciously started ripping into the burger, which was pretty shitty, but food is still food. There were pickles which he immediately spat out from his mouth, and picked out the rest which were unfortunately stuck to the rest of the burger. The cafe wasn't far from their shared apartment, about 15 minutes away by foot and 4 by taxi. Walking back home could make him feel less shitty about life right now he decided, so he slugged forwards to the (probably) general direction.
"Hey, Tim!" Matt smiled and waved happily. Could the ginger ever get his name right? He crumpled up the burger wrapper and threw it into the bin near the entrance, before kicking off his shoes at the floor mat.
"Hi Matt. It's Tom." Tom reminded him, as Matt blinked and looked slightly lost. He raised an eyebrow towards him. "Not Tim?.. Whatever, I'm going to bed."
Matt blinked again, before his face quickly morphed into a grin. "Okay, goodnight Tim!" He cheerily said.
Tom sighed loudly, which Matt could've definitely heard but whatever. He was tired. He just wanted to flop into his bed and sink further into the earth or something. Tord didn't leave his mind for the entire shift, or when he was eating, AND the walk back home— just when he was slowly starting to forget the man's face at all. He was hit in the face with a giant reminder of everything that had happened, what he did.
He removed his alcohol scented blue hoodie and threw it on a chair somewhere in his room, before flopping onto his bed pathetically face-first. As he was about to be put at the mercy of falling asleep, he suddenly thought back to what Tord had said to him before leaving.
Tom would have to see Tord again tomorrow.
..Maybe Edd would let him skip the next shift.