Chapter Text
Phil
As my alarm on my phone blares “Toxic” by Britney Spears, I stretch my arms to the ceiling and get out of bed. I walk over to my window and find fresh snow littering the streets of Manchester, the sparkling precipitation bringing life to dull pavement.
The smell of pancakes fills my nostrils. One of my best friends, PJ, stands in my kitchen, wearing a Totoro apron, smiling, and gesturing to my little dining room.
“Happy Birthday, Phil!” PJ exclaims, and I run over to the table.
“Strawberries? Whipped cream? Chocolate?” I glance over at my favorite Jake mug, filled nearly to the brim and covered in caramel drizzle and foam. “You even made coffee for me!”
“Caramel macchiato, your favorite,” PJ smiles. I jump up from my chair to give him a hug.
“Thank you so much, Peej! None of this was necessary—“
“Nonsense! I only want the best for my best friend!” I grin.
“You can stay for pancakes, right?” PJ nods enthusiastically, already reaching for the golden syrup.
“So, what are you doing for your birthday, then?” He asks.
I shrug my shoulders.
“I think I’m just looking after the shop, I guess. I might keep it open later…”
“Phil, why would you do that?” I blush.
“I kind of want to see someone after the rush,” I mumble.
“What!?” His response is muffled by the pancake in his mouth. He swallows. “Tell me all about it!”
I shrug. “His name is Dan, he works at the Starbucks just a few blocks down, and he comes to the shop every Saturday night. He enjoys playing Halo in his spare time, and he’s crazy good at Mario Kart. He seems really cynical at first, but he’s a really cool guy. I know that he’s really busy, and by the time I close up shop, he’s still at work. So this time, I’m going to try keeping the store open later,” PJ shakes his head.
“You don’t need the sleep or anything?” I sigh.
“It won’t matter in the end. I just want to see what he’s really like, when he’s not in a rush,” My best friend nods.
“I know the feeling. I say you should go for it! You deserve to feel that kind of happiness with someone,” I take another bite of the golden pancake.
“Thanks, PJ,” I look over at the clock. “Crap! I lost track of time!” I scramble to rinse off the dishes and utensils and leave them in the sink. PJ sighs heavily.
“Right, I’ll see you tomorrow night for a round of Tokaido. Let me know how the ‘keeping the store open for Dan’ thing goes!” I nod.
“Thank you again, PJ,” He shakes his head and smiles.
“It’s your birthday, Phil. You deserve a break.” He slides on his winter coat and boots. I take an eight minute shower, blow-dry my hair, style it, and find my favorite blue sweater, white pants, and Converse. You can’t dawdle, Phil,I remind myself. You have something special planned today.
“Goodbye, Ultimitheus!” I call out to my pet cactus. (Yes, my life is that exciting.)
Dan
There are no words for how much I do not want to go to work today. There’s so much chaos at Starbucks, and of course, I’m always stuck in the middle of it. One of my co-workers and my reason for even staying at Starbucks, Louise, came down with a cold yesterday, and she can’t come in for work for a few days. The night before when she was leaving work early, I offered to stay with her after my shift and make chicken soup, but she wouldn’t have it.
“I don’t want to you getting sick,” She explained, coughing to accentuate her point, and I nodded.
“I’ll check on you later,” I promised. “I hope you feel better soon!” I called out to her as I left Starbucks.
Now, I’m stuck. No one can cover for me, and I know I can’t call in sick. So here I am.
I reluctantly get out of bed and straighten out the sheets. As usual, I put on my khaki pants, shoes, and black polo. Here we observe the Howell, taking another dreaded step into the awaiting void. Only about twenty years left in you, buddy.
“Shut up,” I mumble to myself, grabbing a banana from the kitchen and consuming it at lightning speed. After a ten-minute shower, I put on my uniform and blow-dry my hair. It looks like a freaking Hobbit, and I hate it. The customers will just have to deal today. “Bye,” I call out to no one in particular, locking my flat door and heading to work.
The walk to and from work is almost unbearable enough to hail a taxi rather than save the money… Almost.
“Good morning, Dan,” A girl around my age with brunette hair, Sara, says in a cheerful tone. I smile weakly and pin my nametag to my green apron.
“Morning, Sa-aah-ra,” I yawn as I say her name.
“Any news on that mystery baker?” She winks, and I laugh.
“You mean Phil? No, not really,” I reply, and Sara giggles.
“Oh, come on, Dan! You’ve been in love with him ever since you started working here!” I blush.
“It’s his birthday today,” I mumble.
“What? I didn’t hear that. What’d you say, Romeo?”
“It’s Phil Lester’s bloody birthday!” I shout-whisper.
“Did you get him anything?” I shake my head.
“I don’t have the money,” Sara’s green eyes widen to the size of bowling balls.
“Daniel Howell! You’ve got to get him something! What does he like? What does he enjoy doing?”
“Sometimes he plays cards with his friends," I trail off.
“Perfect! I have pancake playing cards from Japan. He’ll love them—“
“But they’re yours, right? You should keep them. You don’t have to waste them on me,” I protest, and she clicks her tongue.
“Dan, when it’s love, you dare.” She presses the pack of cards in my hand, and I shove them in the pocket of my apron.
“But I don’t even know if it’s love,” I sigh.
“We’ll come back to that. What else does he like?” I smile.
“He loves lions, and he destroys his friends at Mario Kart. He’s told me about how he plays with his friend PJ when they don’t have work. His favorite band is Muse, and, um,” I stop myself there before I reveal all of the nuggets of information I’ve been collecting for nearly three years.
“What is it?” Sara wonders. “You can tell me. My lips are sealed,”
“His favorite drink from Starbucks is a piping-hot, soy caramel macchiato,” She gasps.
“Make one for him before you leave, and give it to him! You’ve got to write something adorable on it, though. He’ll get the hint. He has to,” Sara squeals. I swear she lives vicariously through my nonexistent love life.
“Decadence is never open when I leave for work, though,” I counter.
“Maybe he’ll keep it open for you?”
“I highly doubt that,”
“It’s a chance you have to take.”
With that, the conversation ends and customers pour in before their nine-to-five jobs begin. Vanilla frappuccinos, mocha soy lattes, and all kinds of ridiculous drinks are served. Half of the customers go to Starbucks for their muffins, the other half head for Decadence after they grab their complicated coffee.
“Have a great day,” I say after they pay, and some of the businessmen and women respond politely. Others give me a dirty look. I’m used to it.
I look back at the clock. Only a million more hours to go…
Phil
Just like every morning, the rush of muffin men (as I call my customers that come in for morning muffins) arrives around seven in the morning. It’s a repetitive streak of, “What kind of muffin would you like? That will be two pounds. Have a good day!” That goes on for at least an hour. Ring-ting-ting! The bell rings, signaling a customer. An older woman and regular, Mrs. Collins, walks into the shop, looking a bit frazzled.“Hello, ma’am. How may I help you?”
“Um, yes, I’m here for my daughter’s birthday cake?”
“The mermaid cove cake, right? It’s in the back, I’ll get it row quick,” I smile, and she looks relieved.
“Thank God, I was hoping that it would be done in time today,”
“Is her birthday today?”
“Yes, actually,”
“That’s funny; your daughter and I share the same birthday,” I laugh. The older woman looks a bit taken aback.
“Well, happy birthday, Mr. Lester,”
“Thank you, Mrs. Collins,” I grin, carrying the box. “One mermaid cove cake!” She opens the box.
“Oh, goodness! Phillip, you’ve outdone yourself once again! Riley is going to lovethis!”
“It’s no trouble at all! I love baking cakes for Riley and the boys,” I answer honestly.
“They’re always a hit at their parties,” Mrs. Collins gushes. “Well, I better get this home. Riley is going to be so happy! Thank you very much, Mr. Lester,”
“Anytime! Do you need help getting that to your car?” She nods, and I put on my winter coat. I open the door and lead her to her car, prying the door open, slick from the ice.
“Have a good day!” I call out to her, and Mrs. Collins grins.
“You too, Phillip! Happy birthday!” She drives away, and my teeth begin to chatter.
It’s freezing outside! I better get inside.
After her visit, it gets fairly quiet around the bakery, so in an effort to eliminate the silence, I turn on “Sugar We’re Going Down” by Fall Out Boy over the speakers.
Maybe Dan will hear his favorite song if he stops by later tonight.