Chapter Text
“Give me an Americano, and one of those breakfast sandwiches again. The Lash needs a little more fuel before he starts his day.”
Pocket blinked at him, tired and unimpressed. “Why are you still talking in third person?” they muttered while tapping his order into the PoS, fingers moving on autopilot.
Lash leaned in with a grin. “If you want the Lash’s attention, you’ll have to speak up.” He slipped his card from his wallet with a showy flick, spinning with between his fingers like he expected the overhead lights to sparkle off it.
Pocket didn’t bother indulging him. “Is that everything?”
“Hmm.” Lash shot them a slow, exaggerated once-over. “Are you for sale, pretty?” he purred, flashing a smile that had gotten him punched more than once.
Pocket stared back. “Unfortunately for you, no. Your total comes to 7.50.”
Pocket held out the card reader, waiting. Lash tapped his card, then drummed his fingers on the counter as the machine processed. The receipt printed. Pocket tore it free and slid it toward him. “Pick-up will be at the end of the counter.”
Lash didn’t move, just leaned his elbows onto the counter like he planned to settle in. “You always this lively in the morning, Pocket? Or am I just special?”
“You’re loud,” Pocket replied, already turning to start the Americano. “That’s not the same thing.”
Lash chuckled, clearly delighted. “Loud, charming, devastatingly handsome… Lines blur when you’re this good.”
Pocket ignored him, focusing on the steaming machine instead. They liked mornings quiet and predictable. Lash was neither. But he kept showing up, same time, same grin, as if determined to wedge himself into their routine.
They started the machine. Lash took the opportunity to slide along the counter until he was closer to the espresso station.
“You know,” he started “Most baristas smile at me by the third visit.”
“You’re on visit 23.” Pocket replied.
Lash lit up. “So you have been counting.”
Pocket skipped a beat, then deadpanned, “Because you keep telling me. Every time.”
When the Americano finished, Pocket set the cup on the pickup counter. “Drink’s ready.”
Lash pushed off the counter and wandered over, but not before giving Pocket one last, lingering look. He paused beside the cup, lowering his voice again. “One of these days, Pocket, you’re going to smile at me. A real one. Bet it’s real cute.”
Pocket stared at him, deadpan. “Your sandwich’s getting cold. Take your food, Lash.”
“You’re always welcome to watch me in the ring,” Lash laughed again, too bright for the hour, and took his food. “See you tomorrow, pretty.”
Pocket exhaled once he was out the door, the shop quiet again. But they couldn’t help the tiny, traitorous thought that he probably would be back tomorrow… and the next day after that.