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The moment he sees the ticket pop up on the digital kitchen screen, Zanka is almost tempted to quit on the spot.
It's the same kind of bullshit order that he knows comes from a particular customer, because there's only one guy that orders the craziest drinks. He always places a mobile order, too, because even though he can come up with the most sinister concoctions to ever exist, he never places the order in person. Like a coward.
Today's order is an iced coffee with twelve shots of espresso. …Seriously, does he want to have a heart attack? Letting out a heavy sigh, Zanka gets to work on pulling the shots anyway.
Even though this order is ridiculous, the guy has done way worse. Once, he placed a mobile order for a black coffee. Zanka hardly gave it a second glance until he saw the name the order was under, and he immediately became suspicious. Of course, the regular—who always places orders under the name Jabberwocky—came in, picked up his coffee, poured hot sauce into it, and chugged it.
Thing is, the dude doesn't even look the kind of crazy that would order these kinds of drinks. He's tall, probably around Zanka's age, and always dressed stylishly. He's got these really cool rings, too, that Zanka can't help but admire.
Of course, all of this is usually shoved to the back of his mind whenever the Jabberwocky guy picks up his order. Like now, for instance.
When he walks in, there are a few things that immediately throw Zanka off. For one, the Jabberwocky guy looks positively exhausted, wearing a simple baggy hoodie and sweatpants. He rubs his eyes and nearly stumbles over his feet as he walks up to the counter, grumbling something under his breath.
Okay, look. Zanka is allowed to judge the guy severely on his drinks of choice, but now he's a bit concerned about his well-being. It's been almost six months since he started visiting the café, and not once has he looked so… drained of life.
Also, he isn't smiling. Every time he picks up his order, he flashes Zanka a smile and offers a cheery "thanks, man" before practically skipping away with his fuckass drink of the day. When he's in a particularly good mood, he even hangs around to ask Zanka about his day.
Hence, the alarm bells that ring in his head.
As he hands over the drink, the words escape Zanka before he can help it. "It's, uh, on the house. Are you… okay?"
The guy pauses. He opens his mouth, then closes it, visibly caught off guard. "Oh. Yeah, I'm good. 'S just… finals week, you know? Everyone's going through it."
Zanka's eyebrows fly up. So he's a college student? That… makes more sense. "I feel you, man. What's your major?"
He brightens up a little bit. "I'm a chemistry major. It's real fun, but when finals come around, it's rough. Don't love it any less, though. What about you?"
"Environmental science," he replies, leaning against the counter. "My finals were projects and presentations, so I have nothin' left. I wouldn't be working this shift if I did."
"You're a barista part-time, then?"
"During the semester, yeah, but full-time during my breaks. Gotta pay tuition somehow," Zanka says lightly.
It hits him, then, the reality of his situation. From internally cursing the guy's existence to chatting without a care in the world… what the hell. Despite all odds, he's seriously, ridiculously normal. In fact, he's the kind of guy Zanka might like being friends with.
What happened to the plague on society Jabberwocky, with the butter latte (i.e., six ounces of butter with a double espresso shot) or the lemonade with a double espresso shot in it? Was it seriously just a college student going through it the entire time?
"I gotta go study for my P-Chem final, but it was nice talking with you, man," he says cheerily. "Thanks for the free coffee!"
And of course, because nothing is ever truly normal with this dude, he snatches, like, ten sugar packets from the counter and starts to dump them in his iced coffee.
Unfortunately, Zanka can't hold back the genuine bewilderment on his face, because mister twelve-shots-and-ten-sugar-packets looks up at him with a haunted expression and follows up with, "It's P-Chem. Only the strong survive."
…What.
He starts to turn and walk away, but abruptly whirls back around. "Oh, shit, I almost forgot. The name's Jabber! See ya later!"
So many of Zanka's thoughts are begging to be said out loud, such as what the hell is your problem and are you deadass suicidal; but, miraculously, Zanka manages to keep his mouth shut, instead staring dumbly at Jabber's retreating figure.
"So, this is the guy that ordered the butter latte that one time, right?"
Zanka runs a hand through his hair, sighing exasperatedly. "Yes! Y'know, I was actually gonna give him the benefit of the doubt 'til he dumped ten fucking sugar packets into his iced coffee! Ten! What the hell's his issue?"
"Well," Riyo muses, "he said it himself, right? It's finals week. Like, anything goes. Mood, honestly."
Zanka scowls at her. "You're not even in college yet, and your finals are in… what, two weeks? What do you know?"
"Mhmm. I have my AP tests for environmental science and AP chem in a few days, so I think that counts. If I don't get at least a three on both of them, Tomme will literally kill me! I kept asking her to help me study, and she is sick of me."
"So that's why you randomly asked me to help you study," Zanka says dryly. "Happy to know I'm just a backup."
"Zanka, the multiple-choice is going to murder me," Riyo sighs, leaning back in her chair. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Even if you complain about it the entire time, you're not half bad at teaching things."
"Yeah, whatever," Zanka mutters. "What did ya want me to help with?"
"Units 7 and 8. Here, I have the questions. Quiz me?"
Abruptly, Zanka hears a distant ding, and he rolls his eyes, glaring at the lit-up screen like it personally offended him. "Ugh, a mobile order? Seriously, who's ordering something at eight thirty at night? We close, in, like, thirty minutes!"
"Aw, damn. Hey, if you're already going behind the counter, can you make me something, too?" Riyo asks, smiling sweetly.
Zanka sighs, moving to go check the digital kitchen screen. "As long as it's not some stupid… oh, you've got to be kidding me."
Riyo jumps up from her chair, delighted at the prospect of a distraction. "What is it?"
"It's that guy again, Jabber! You wanna know what he just ordered?"
"Another coffee with a crazy amount of shots?" Riyo tries.
"Worse," Zanka emphasizes, feeling like ten years of his life just got shaved off his lifespan. "I wish I were making this up. He ordered a drip coffee, which is fine, sure. But he also ordered a hot Americano with blueberry cold foam, caramel syrup, and vanilla syrup. Get this—because it wasn't horrible enough already—he added a scoop of matcha powder."
"Ew," Riyo says, with feeling.
"Right? I don't get paid enough for this! That Americano is gonna taste like shit. No way it tastes good. That caramel is gonna immediately clash with the matcha, too."
"Okay, jeez. Now I feel bad about asking you to make me something if you have to brew those monstrosities… Good luck, I guess?" Riyo offers, a bit hesitantly. Which is fair. Zanka wouldn't know what to say in her position, either.
"Nah, I don't mind. I'll make you something after I'm done with this bullshit. You cool with a vanilla latte?"
"With twelve shots of espresso?" Riyo jokes.
"Ha, ha, very funny. You want that coffee or not?" Zanka grumbles. "Or do you want me to sneak some of that Americano into your drink?"
"Ooh, harsh!" Riyo grins, raising her hands in surrender. "Okay, mister barista, go do your thing. I'll go over the questions myself till you're done."
Very begrudgingly, Zanka prepares the drinks, wanting to wither away and crawl into a hole as he mixes everything for the Americano together. It ends up as a swamp-green color that looks like straight-up vomit. I thought the butter latte and twelve shots were bad enough… but this is a different level. Fuck my life.
When he sets the drinks on the counter, Riyo cranes her neck from where she sits at her table and winces. "Oh, that's nasty. There's no way he drinks that with a straight face."
"Riyo, if he's ordered the things he already has, this is nothing to him," Zanka replies, feeling a rush of profound exhaustion at the thought of his previous… concoctions.
The door opens, and in walks Jabber. He looks more relaxed than he did a few hours ago, like a visible weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He's wearing a different outfit, too, fitting more in the realm of how he usually dresses in terms of style.
"What's up, man? Didn't know I'd catch you this late. Working a double?" Jabber greets, raising a hand. "Appreciate you making my stuff last minute."
"No worries," Zanka replies. He's half-turned the other way, pulling decaf shots for Riyo's coffee. He's not about to give her a highly caffeinated drink when she still has school the next day, thank you very much. Enjin and Tomme would kill him.
"You actually made it, huh? Damn. I'm surprised." Jabber picks up the abomination of an Americano, eyeing it contemplatively. The rings on his hands glint due to the fluorescent lights, and wow, he's got nice hands. I mean, what?
"It's corporate policy," Zanka mutters, steaming the milk for Riyo's latte. "But I really wish I didn't have to make that horrible excuse for a drink."
Jabber lets out a low chuckle, a sound that makes Zanka's chest tighten strangely. He takes a slow, deliberate sip of the drink and freezes. For a second, it's like his soul visibly leaves his body.
"See?" Zanka bursts out, pointing a milk pitcher at him. "It's horrible, isn't it?"
He swallows hard, clearing his throat, but nothing is able to mask the sheer regret on his face. "…Yeah, that shit is foul. I think the cold foam curdled."
From across the room, Riyo snorts loudly, ducking her head.
Pointedly ignoring her, Zanka leans his hands on the counter, crossing his arms. The café is quiet now, save for the low hum of the espresso machine cooling down. "Seriously, why do you do this? Every week it's something worse. Are you trying to kill me or just yourself?"
Jabber wraps his hands around the sleeve of his styrofoam cup of coffee, or rather, the actual normal one, and looks up. The look in his eyes softens into something warmer, more genuine.
"Well," he begins, "for the first few months, I just wanted to see if anything would break the customer service persona of yours. But for the last few?" He rubs the back of his neck, looking away. "I think I just liked finding excuses to talk. Even if I had to drink something crazy."
Zanka blinks. His planned retort dies on his tongue, and he nearly stutters as he manages, "You… what?"
"I'm just saying," Jabber murmurs. He slides a small piece of paper across the counter, a phone number scrawled on it in neat handwriting. "Next time, maybe I can ask you out for a good coffee when you're off the clock?"
Zanka stares at the paper, then up at Jabber's hopeful grin. The profound exhaustion from earlier vanishes, replaced by a strange warmth. He grabs the paper, letting out a soft huff. "If you order something stupid, I won't hesitate to walk out."
"Deal," Jabber says immediately. "See you around~!"
And then he simply… leaves. Zanka goes through the motions of finishing Riyo's coffee, but the entire time, his mind is a complete storm of what-the-fuck-just-happened. By the point he walks out from behind the counter to give her the coffee, he's utterly speechless.
"Wow. Guy's got game," Riyo says appreciatively, breaking the silence. "And style, too. Who would've thought! Say, Zanka, you should really give it a shot."
"If you keep up the coffee jokes, I'm never making you a drink again," Zanka retorts, unable to hide the furious blush on his face.
"Sorry…"