Chapter Text
Chuck wakes to the buzzing of an alert. He rolls over, groggy, rubbing a hand across his face. The buzzing continues. Chuck groans, waving his left hand at the air clumsily until his built-in screen activates. There’s about fifteen texts from Ruby. He groans again, with a little more feeling.
<Hey>
<Hey>
<Are you awake? It’s 10:00 already>
<You promised you’d go outside today>
<You can’t keep sulking forever>
God, he’s not sulking. He’s legitimately depressed. Annoyed, he scrolls to the bottom of the barrage.
<GO OUTSIDE>
<VR doesn’t count>
<ok ok> he texts back, fingers tapping the air. <im up>
At least she didn’t call him. He could not handle her icon popping into his space right now. He drags himself out of bed and resentfully pulls on some clothes, barely even trying to look presentable. Who cares. Not like he's going into the office. Just the thought of KaneCo sends his guts roiling. He'd had to quit, that place was toxic, and the insane demands had given him more than one panic attack. But he still kind of feels like a failure. Like he couldn't hack it. It's demoralizing. He's barely left the house in the two weeks since his last day.
But as much as he hates to admit it, Ruby's right. It would probably be healthy to go somewhere else and be depressed for a change. After all, all he has to do to get to a coffee shop with wifi is go down the block. It’s not that hard. The Burnout Bean is right there. He used to hang out there all the time, before things got insane at the corp.
He notices Blonde Thunder staring at him from across the room. She pads over, purring that purr he named her for, to rub against his leg, leaving long pale hairs behind. He'd like to think she's encouraging him, but she probably just wants food. He obligingly fills her bowl. He brushes his teeth, runs a comb through his unkempt mane of hair. Then he steels himself for the outside world.
He grabs his keys, texts Ruby.
<alright, im going to the coffee shop>
<Yeah! Go get some liquid courage>
Chuck grimaces. <youre thinking of alcohol. its a little early for that>
<Coffee works too, whatever>
Chuck shakes his head, opens the door, and finally, to his great dismay, leaves the house.
***
The Burnout Bean hasn't changed at all; still vaguely hipster, but not offensively so, with a big chalk menu up on the back wall. Just typical coffee shop fare, except for the weird burrito specials the owner makes up for courageous breakfast-seekers. Chuck looks away from the menu and suddenly notices the guy behind the counter.
He immediately wishes he hadn’t, because he can feel his face heating up. The guy is ridiculously good-looking. Dark-skinned, Latino maybe, black hair cut into messy bangs that nearly cover his eyes. His nose is prominent, chin square. Thin, expressive lips… wow, Chuck is really not going to notice that or think about it. He fidgets. He has to order coffee from this guy? Today is already unfairly hard and he’s been outside for three minutes. He should have stuck with his initial plan and stayed in bed. Stupid Ruby. He almost texts her something to that effect, but before he can, the person in front of him steps away and it's his turn to order. He takes a deep breath, regretting how little he'd cared about what he was putting on this morning. Is he really wearing his Lazer Swords 3 t-shirt? Shit, don't look down, that'll only draw attention to it. God.
“Can I get a… large soy latte?” he manages. He hates the way his voice wavers, the hesitation. But Mike—his name tag says Mike, Chuck can’t help but notice—smiles at him with the same smile he’s been giving all the people in line as if he’s not a weirdo, taps in the order on the screen.
“No problem,” he says, “That’ll be $5.75.”
Chuck fumbles out his card, and then, daring for a second, pushes it across the counter with his robotic hand, the left one. The realistic prosthetics had all been a little too Uncanny Valley, and he figured if he had to get a cyberpunk arm, he might as well really go for it. So when he got the permanent install he chose clear bioware that shows off all the internal workings, wires and metallic skeleton. He gets some double takes, but he pointedly doesn’t care. It’s cool.
Mike doesn’t even seem to notice. His attention flickers from screen to card as he scans it quickly under the reader, passes it back. “Thanks, man, it’ll be right out,” he says. He steps away from the counter to make the drink.
Chagrined, Chuck retreats. What did he even think he was trying to do? Show off? He slouches over to the other end of the counter, waits uncomfortably until Mike passes the full mug across.
Chuck picks it up, and Mike says, “Cool arm,” offhandedly like he’s talking about the weather. Startled, Chuck nearly drops the latte. “T-thanks?” he stutters.
“Sorry, was that rude?” Mike is looking at him a little concerned. “It’s neat, though.”
“Y-yeah, I guess I thought that… “ Chuck stops. This guy does not want his life story. “I thought it would be cool,” he finishes weakly.
Someone else walks up to the counter and Mike tilts his head away. “Totally. Well, later.” He smiles at Chuck, then turns to the new customer.
Flustered, Chuck hurries to the nearest table, sets down the latte, throws himself into the chair, pulls up a screen, and buries himself behind it, turning the opacity to maximum. He knows he gets crushes easily, but this is ridiculous. Don’t get weird, he tells himself. Ruby had to knock some sense into him about that in high school when he was following Claire around. He cringes, shaking his head to dismiss the memory and pulling up his current project. He at least made enough connections during his time at KaneCo to get some freelance work. As usual, he quickly gets pulled into the code, and the rest of the world falls away for a blessed interval.
After what feels like the blink of an eye, but was actually two hours, Chuck reaches a stopping point and looks up from the screen. He rolls his neck, stretches his arms overhead, looks around a little, surfacing from the sea of code. His eyes are pulled, magnetically, to Mike. He’s alone behind the counter, looking bored. His t-shirt really shows off his shoulders, and the way his apron is tied accentuates his slim waist… Geez. Chuck decides he needs backup. He pulls up a chat window. Ruby and Thurman are both online, he drags their icons into a group chat.
LordVanquisher <help im like a 12 on the kinsey scale today>
Darkslayer <You don’t need our help with that>
TheMagnificent <LOLOLOLOL>
LordVanquisher <no you dont understand>
Chuck glances at Mike, standing behind the counter tapping his fingers, and blinks, taking a snap. Then he looks to the left, sending the snap to his screen. He drags it into the chat.
Darkslayer <Whoa>
TheMagnificent <This is a cursed image, I’m gay now>
Darkslayer <You really left the house? That’s awesome>
LordVanquisher <leaving the house is now the least of my worries>
He's distracted from the texts when someone he recognizes comes in; an old guy with muttonchops and long grey hair back in a bandana, Chuck is pretty sure he's the owner of the Bean. He and Mike greet each other familiarly and talk for a bit. Mike takes his apron off, folds it up neatly, and stashes it behind the counter. The old guy gets out an apron of his own, pulls it over his head, and starts tying it around his waist, absently nodding to Mike as he heads out the door.
Chuck half-watches him through the window as he waits on the curb. He's only out there for a few minutes before he perks up and waves to someone in the street; it’s a slender girl, pulling up on a yellow moped with “Nine Lives” stenciled in bold dark letters across the side. Her long, reddish-brown hair cascades from her helmet in a straight fall nearly to her waist. She waves back. She stops at the curb, unfastening another helmet strapped to her rear seat as he walks up to her. They talk for a second, smiling at each other, before she hands him the helmet. Mike pulls it on, gets on the back of the moped, and puts his arms around her in a way that’s so casual, so close, that Chuck’s heart sinks down into his shoes. She pulls away from the curb, they merge with traffic and speed off, and they look so cool that Chuck almost isn’t jealous. Almost.
***
Chuck nearly doesn’t go back.
But just because Mike has a cute moped-riding girlfriend, that doesn’t mean… well, Chuck’s not sure what it doesn’t mean, but it shouldn’t keep him from going to his favorite coffee shop!
It sure as hell is disappointing, though. He tries to squash the feeling—You don’t even know the guy!—but it tastes like acid in his throat.
But, if he doesn’t go back, Ruby will annoy him forever. And he can’t let a stupid crush get in the way of progress, both with work and with leaving the house. He doesn’t think he could handle finding a whole new place to hang out, it’s already hard enough just getting to the Bean. So the next day he steels himself and goes back.
Mike isn't working, which is a relief; it’s the older man with the muttonchops. Chuck gets a lot done, and leaves with a feeling of accomplishment.
The next day, Mike is working, but they just exchange smiles when Chuck orders, and he feels like he’s doing well, not getting his hopes up or anything. And so he keeps going back, despite his reservations. Even if all he’ll ever get is a smile and a few customer-service pleasantries, it’s kind of nice to see Mike when he’s working, and he gets a lot more done when he’s not at home with other, more depressing distractions. He can have a little crush and not get all caught up in it. It’s fine. And if he maybe watches Mike a little too much during his work breaks, well, the guy’s not hard on the eyes.
***
About a week into Chuck’s new routine, he’s startled out of a deep coding trance when the door opens a little more forcefully than normal. Mike, behind the counter looking bored as usual, suddenly perks up. Chuck looks over to see what caught his attention; it’s an Asian guy, short and muscular, striding up to the register. Chuck’s looking at the embodiment of the phrase “built like a fireplug.” The guy doesn’t waste any time on pleasantries, just snaps his fingers and says loudly, “Whip me up a double espresso, Tiny, and make it snappy!”
Chuck almost gets mad, but Mike laughs, reaches across the counter and punches the short guy on the shoulder, and says, “I’ll whip you,” and oh. They know each other. Of course they do.
“I’d like to see you TRY, HU-WAH!” He drops into some sort of martial arts pose.
Mike rolls his eyes. “Simmer down, Texas. You really want a double or did you just come in here to give me a hard time?”
“HECK YES Texas wants a double, gimme that sweet powerhouse MAMMA CAFFEINE, put it in my FACE!”
“Like you need it,” Mike says, but he starts grinding the beans. Chuck turns back to his line of code. So Mike has fun friends. And a cute girlfriend. So he makes it seem easy. That’s fine, that’s cool, Mike deserves everything good in the world. That obviously doesn’t include Chuck, so. Alright. He tries to concentrate on debugging.
He looks back up, though, when Texas snags Mike’s apron strap as Mike hands him his drink. Texas pulls Mike over the counter and says something right in his ear, and Mike snorts with laughter, pushes him away and says, “Get outta here! You’re gonna get me fired!”
“Just think about it!” Texas says, walking out the door, to-go cup in hand.
“I’ll put it in my back pocket,” Mike calls after him, shaking his head. He turns to wipe down the counter, almost glancing in Chuck’s direction. Chuck looks hurriedly back at his screens.
He frowns to himself. That was… weirdly intimate. If he didn’t know about moped girl, he’d be jealous of this guy. Well. Whatever. It doesn’t really matter who he's got to be jealous of. Mike’s out of his league anyway. Chuck shrugs to himself, and puts it firmly out of his mind.
***
The next day, Chuck is staring off into space in the general direction of the door, trying to clear his mind and get a fresh angle on a snarl of code, when the doorframe is filled by a massive figure. Chuck starts as the newcomer slams the door open. The guy is huge, he looks like a wrestler gone to seed. His shoulders are nearly bursting out of his polo shirt. Chuck tries not to make snap judgements about people, but between the way he walks in like he owns the place and the way Mike stiffens when he sees him, Chuck concludes this guy is a jerk. He strides up to the counter. Mike glares at him.
"What can I do for you, Abe," he says coldly. The man sniffs, looks around appraisingly, turns to Mike with an exaggerated shrug.
“So, this is what you’ve come to, Chilton,” the man says. “Serving coffee in a two-bit roastery.”
“I’m happy,” Mike says stiffly.
"Are you?" the man says snidely. Mike crosses his arms, mumbles something that Chuck doesn't catch. They start talking over the counter in low voices. Mike looks... furious, and hurt, and some other things that Chuck can't decipher. It's... not good. And it’s also really not Chuck's business. He looks away, starts to turn his screen opacity up.
But... Mike looks so uncomfortable, and he’s just stuck there. Chuck hesitates for a long moment, then shuts down his screens, steels himself, and goes up to the counter.
"...can't believe you'd even..." Mike is saying. He cuts off the words when Chuck approaches.
“Hi, uh, guys, excuse me?” Chuck says deferentially. Oh, great start. He mentally rolls his eyes. He presses on though. “Uh, can I get a refill?” Mike smiles at him, but it’s his forced customer-service smile.
“Sure thing, man. Another latte?”
“Yeah. Soy latte. Thanks.”
Mike takes the excuse and pointedly ignores the other man at the counter, packing the portafilter with Chuck’s espresso and clicking it into the machine. The man, in turn, ignores Chuck. “Chilton, this is beneath you. You shouldn’t be slumming it in this… insignificant little operation. I thought you were better than this.”
Chuck stiffens. Before he can stop himself he’s speaking.
“Hey, you can’t…” The man turns the full force of his glare on Chuck and Chuck wilts. He finishes the sentence anyway. “…you can’t talk to him like that.”
“And who are you?” the man says disdainfully.
“He’s one of my regulars, leave him alone.” Mike looks pissed. He slams the spent portafilter on the bin that catches the grounds, and knocks the whole thing off the counter. Espresso grounds scatter across the floor. “Shoot!” Mike almost-swears.
The man laughs. It’s a mean sound.
“Well,” he says. “I guess you’d better clean that up. That’s the sort of thing you’re paid to do now, isn’t it?”
Chuck doesn’t know where the words come from. “I, I think y-you should leave,” he says, then immediately flinches. The man rakes his gaze across Chuck. Chuck’s gut twists and a shock of adrenaline makes his extremities tingle, but the man just snorts dismissively.
“Nothing would please me more,” he says acidly. “Think about it, Chilton,” he says, turning back to Mike. “My door is open, but the offer won’t last much longer. Especially if you don’t stay away from my daughter.” Mike glares.
“She’s not yours, you don’t own her, she can do what she wants,” he says.
“Oh,” the man says, turning to leave, “I think you’ll find she’s very much mine, Mike.”
His exit isn’t dramatic; he just shuts the door firmly behind him and strides off. Mike and Chuck stare after him. Then Chuck lets out a huge breath and slumps at the counter.
“Oh my GOD,” he says, shaking with nerves. “That guy is TERRIFYING!”
Mike bursts out laughing. “He totally IS!” He reaches over the counter and grips Chuck’s shoulder, chortling. “He’s the WORST!” He laughs harder. Chuck starts giggling nervously and then they look at each other and it spirals out of control. Every time Mike looks at Chuck he starts laughing again, and Chuck can’t stop laughing because Mike’s laughing, and it takes them both a while to calm down but that’s okay with Chuck because Mike is touching him.
“Wow,” Mike says, when he has his breath back. “You straight up told him to leave.”
Chuck still feels faint. “I… I think he was going to leave anyway?” he says weakly.
“Still,” Mike says, “that took guts,” and Chuck gets a little lightheaded from the compliment.
Before he can recover, Mike holds out a hand. “I see you in here all the time but I’ve never gotten your name. I’m Mike.”
Chuck has to stop himself from saying I know. “Chuck,” he says instead, taking the offered hand. Mike’s grip is strong and warm.
“Who WAS that guy?” Chuck asks a little breathlessly, just for something to say.
“He was my old…” Mike makes a face. “Employer.” He loads the word with so much venom that it drips. “Needless to say, I quit. When you say he’s terrifying, you don’t know the half of it. That was the CEO of KaneCo.” Chuck startles.
“KaneCo? I used to work for them too! I…” couldn’t handle the pressure and completely had a nervous breakdown? He can’t say that. “I also quit,” he finishes weakly. “That’s their CEO? Man, I’m so glad I don’t work there anymore.” Mike grins and holds up a hand for a high-five. Chuck obliges.
He’s confused, though. “So the CEO of the biggest MegaCorp in Detroit came all the way down here to give you a hard time?” he asks. “You must be kind of a big deal.”
A weird combination of expressions flashes across Mike’s face. Discomfort, regret, anger. He ends up scowling. “It’s a long story,” he says. “Let’s just say he has a special interest in me.”
That sounds… complicated. Chuck’s curious, but he doesn’t want to pry. He bites his tongue. There’s a moment of silence.
“Ugh,” Mike groans, looking down at the floor. “I better get this cleaned up. Lemme finish your drink first.”
“I can help!”
“No, man,” Mike says, grinning at him, “you’re a customer. Only staff is allowed back here. You sit tight for a second.” Mike grabs a carton of soy milk out of the mini fridge under the counter and pours some into a metal pitcher. He deftly froths the soy milk and adds it to the espresso already in the cup, doing a few flourishes with the pitcher, then hands it to Chuck. He’s drawn a little smiley face in the foam.
“Soy latte. On the house. Thanks, man. I mean it.”
Chuck’s hands are still shaking while he drinks it, but it’s the best latte he’s ever had.