Chapter Text
"Carter left out the oat milk overnight again," Steph complains. Vic just hums, sweeping nonexistent crumbs off the floor. The morning rush will start at 6:30, like every day, but they'll see a few familiar faces at six, right as the shop opens. "And I think that the new guy will get here around nine."
"Am I training him, or are you?" Vic asks, the low tenor of his voice, like always, sending shivers up Steph's spine. He does his best to not melt into a puddle of goo.
"That's all you," Steph manages. 5:51 am is too early for crushes on coworkers. 5:51 am is too early to be awake, trying to find the spare oat milk in the fridge up here. He doesn't want to have to go back to the walk-in in the back, mostly because this will be his only uninterrupted time with Vic all day. He wants to cherish it, not suffer because Carter can't put things away.
Luckily, there's a carton in the back of the mini-fridge, and he tosses the one Carter left out on the counter. It lands in the trash with a resounding thunk, and Steph organizes the mini-fridge to his liking. De'Aaron will reorganize it when he comes in for the afternoon shift, and then Carter will leave something else out—almond, walnut, non-fat, 2%, skim, the choices are endless—and tomorrow will be the same as today, with Steph and Vic in the mornings, Steph complaining about the way Carter closes, Vic humming along.
Vic comes back behind the bar after he unlocks the doors, tying his apron in the front instead of just behind his back, the strings of it long enough to encircle his waist two or three times. Steph's thought about it, Vic's waist, the apron, more times than he would like to admit. The bow he does in the front is always cute too, always symmetrical. Steph's own apron comes undone no matter how he ties it. Once, during a rush, Vic had come behind him silently, retying it, his hands lingering on Steph's hips a little too long afterwards. Steph had thought about it for weeks after, was still thinking about it, if he was honest.
The first customer arrives, and Steph takes their order, nodding along as they request vanilla sweet foam and other junk. It's only a matter of time before the rush starts, bringing in haggard regulars trying to get their caffeine fix. For now, he enjoys the two orders they take in fifteen minutes, spending the rest of the time trying to look busy, wiping clean counters and hovering around Vic's orbit.
The rush starts at 6:27, one particularly annoying customer leading the charge. Steph resolutely writes Chet on the largest cup size they have before the man reaches the counter to order some sugary bullshit.
"Venti iced latte," Chet starts, knowing fully well that this isn't a Starbucks and they don't use stupid names for their sizes, "with twelve pumps of caramel, three pumps of vanilla, and six of whatever y'all use for mochas. And I'll get an iced lemon loaf."
"We don't have any iced lemon loafs," Steph tells him.
"They always have them at Starbucks," Chet argues.
"This isn't Starbucks," Steph says half-heartedly. "Everything in the case is what we have." He gestures over to the case where they keep all of the baked goods.
"Well, I don't want any of that," Chet says, quite rudely. Steph decides to ignore this.
"Regular milk okay?" Steph asks, pen pausing as he waits for the answer.
"Obviously not," Chet scoffs. "Oat milk, duh."
"Right," Steph drawls. "Anything else I can get for you?"
"That's it," Chet says, bringing out a shiny Amex to pay, tapping his card before Steph can charge him, and then having the audacity to huff when he has to re-tap his card. Steph passes the cup to Vic, who reads what's written on the cup and shoots him a glance. Steph just shrugs, moving onto the next customer, who orders something normal, asks for a baked good that they actually sell.
Chet resurfaces five minutes later, waving his cup in Vic's face.
"I asked for whipped cream," Chet complains. Steph holds in his sigh, and the line looks over to watch the confrontation. The customer in front of him gives an apologetic smile, and Steph shrugs his shoulders. There's nothing else they can do besides watch this play out. It happens every other morning, their regulars all used to it.
"Alright, I'll add that for you," Vic responds, taking the cup. Chet's lucky Steph's on the register this morning, because he would have thrown the whipped cream canister at his big head. Vic gives Chet a new top for his drink, and a new straw, and Chet slinks away, his morning tantrum over. They're lucky to escape his usual demand for a refund. The store seems to let out a sigh of relief when the door closes behind Chet, but Steph's sure it's just his imagination.
The hours bleed into each other as he takes orders and helps Vic with drinks, both of them squeezing in their break, and before he knows it, Sean, one of their managers, is pointing the new guy over to them. Steph gives him a smile, but he's too tired to be excited.
"Guys, this is Devin," Sean says. "Be nice to him."
"We will," Vic says, like the suck-up he is, and Steph nods.
Devin is tall, like all of the workers here, slimmer than Steph is, but he wears his locs all tied back, instead of the half-up style Steph himself is fond of. He has almost an innocent look about him, like he's never done anything wrong. Steph glances over at Vic, who seems almost enchanted with him, or maybe Steph's imagining it. He hopes he's imagining it.
"Hey," Devin says, and Vic smiles, his genuine smile, not the one he gives customers. It makes Steph's stomach turn.
"I'm Victor, and this is Stephon," Vic says. "Everyone calls us Vic and Steph, though."
"Cool," Devin says. "Good to meet y'all."
"You too," Steph says quietly.
"C'mon, I'll show you the ropes," Vic says. "Man, you're lucky Sean didn't have you show up at 5:30 your first day."
"Guessin' he didn't wanna scare me," Devin jokes, and Vic laughs. Steph imagines himself turning tomato-red, steam coming out of his ears, the sound of a train horn filling the shop.
"Lemme help you with your apron," Vic says, with his stupid French accent. "They never stay tied."
"Thanks, man," Devin says. Steph can't even look at them, can't watch as Vic ties Devin's apron, maybe lingers on his hips. Why don't they just go straight to making out, if Vic's gonna fucking help him with his apron? Might as well skip the public foreplay.
A customer comes in, a girl around their age who flashes him a pretty smile, and he takes her order, a white mocha with no whip, regular milk.
"This is Steph's favorite drink," he hears Vic tell Devin, and the customer lingers around the cash register before she loses her nerve. Steph's glad for it, too irritated with how close Vic and Devin are standing to focus on her. She leaves, but he doesn't watch her go, staring down at the register instead and wondering how he got himself in this situation, liking a boy so much he can't even appreciate a beautiful woman anymore.
He looks over just in time to see Devin burn himself on something, just the tip of his finger, but Vic acts like he's almost lost the digit, blowing carefully on the little burn, and then bringing Devin over to the sink to run his hand under water. Vic's never blown on one of his little burns before, Steph thinks. He watches as Devin smiles up at Vic, and then the mid-morning crowd comes in, distracting them until noon.
Devin takes his break at noon, giving Steph and Vic thirty minutes of alone time. Steph huffs after Devin leaves, unable to hold in his feelings any longer. He can sense Vic's frown, but doesn't have the energy to care.
"What's wrong?" Vic asks, coming over to him, standing too close.
"Nothing," Steph tells him, but he knows he isn't very convincing. "Just tired."
"Devin's a nice guy," Vic says, resting his forearms on Steph's shoulders from behind. More than once, they've both been called into the manager's office about displays of affection. Vic always argued that he's just like this, that if Mitch was behind the bar he'd stand with him like this too. Steph always held his tongue in these meetings, watching Vic play them off as platonic, wondering how he truly felt.
"Yeah," Steph says. "He's something."
"I think you guys will be good friends," Vic tells him, resting his chin on Steph's hair, gently enough that there's no pressure on his up-do. Some days, he wonders if Vic will kiss him. Other days, he wonders if he should just quit, start over somewhere else, try to get over him.
"Maybe," Steph says listlessly. "What are you doing after work?"
"Going to HB's for book club," Vic tells him. "Bed by nine. The usual."
"You are such a nerd," Steph teases, Vic alleviating his bad mood. He lets himself enjoy Vic's embrace, until a customer comes in and it's back to work. The last hour, like usual, drags on, and when Devin comes back from his break Vic is all smiles. It's infuriating. Vic and Devin make every drink together, like they can't be more than two feet apart, and Steph suffers through it.
Carter comes in at one, right on time, and Steph doesn't have the energy to scold him about the left-out oat milk, just logs out of the register and glances over at Vic and Steph, who are giggling like a couple of lovebirds. Dyland and De'Aaron are both late, so Steph leaves before Vic does, getting in his car to drive home with only a quick goodbye.
It'd be better to just get over Vic, he thinks. Easier on the heart.