Chapter Text
“You can go ahead and get me a medium double shot espresso in a large cup, lite ice with lowfat milk. Not cream, not soy, not whole milk, I only want low fat. I’m gonna need you to make sure it’s stirred gently, and five pumps of hazelnut. Not four, not six, five.”
Mike waited, a frozen smile plastered to his face as he listened to the woman rattle off her order. Mike knew the order, he’d worked at Level Up Latte since it had opened and had the regulars orders memorized. Thing is, he usually just made the drinks, not manned the register. Dustin was typically the sacrificial customer service lamb, not him. Dustin (God bless him), never seemed to run out of patience for them, never let his smile falter or copped an attitude. Mike was trying, but damn if it wasn’t a challenge.
He hated when people talked to him like he was an idiot, as if he hadn’t graduated high school with honors and was scheduled to start his second year of med school in the fall. They were so condescending. Mike gritted his teeth, hoping his smile hadn’t dropped as he keyed her order in, tallying up the total.
“Can I have a name for this order, please?” he asked, preparing to print the ticket.
“It’s Siobhan. And can you hurry, I’m late for a meeting.”
If you’re running so late why did you stop for a coffee during the morning breakfast rush?
“Six seventy five, please,” Mike chirped, typing in Shivaughn, knowing full well that wasn’t how her name was spelled. He’d seen her name printed enough to know how to mangle it just so. Mike couldn’t tell a customer off, but he could be passive aggressive and irritate them, even a little.
“Your prices are ridiculous,” she grumbled, handing him seven dollars.
There’s a Starbucks two blocks over.
Mike smiled, reaching out to hand her the quarter back. She didn’t even acknowledge him, just waved dismissively at the tip jar.
“Have a lovely day!” Mike said, forcing his tone to stay cheerful and upbeat.
What a bitch.
Mike sighed, taking a moment to let his customer service persona slip as he turned to hand the ticket to Lucas who rolled his eyes at Mike. Dustin better never get sick again and leave Mike trapped at the register. Mike raised his eyebrows at Lucas and gave a half hearted shrug before turning back to the seemingly endless line of customers needing their caffeine fix.
“Hi! Welcome to Level Up Latte! Can I take your order?” he asked, settling back into the routine.
It continued like that, droning on and on and on and on. It was so repetitive and mind numbing Mike could have screamed. By the time his shift was over, Mike felt like he needed a coffee himself, an Irish one. He considered if briefly as Lucas slid into the seat across from him, sandwich in hand. Lucas greeted Mike but his eyes drifted over his curly haired friend’s shoulder, watching their shift replacements laughing and chatting behind Mike.
“Can you believe them?” Lucas asked, chewing his food. “Like, I get it. We’re over. Fine, whatever, but do you have to wear her shirt to a place we all work? We need to get some uniforms in here,” he grumbled, taking another bite.
Mike glanced over his shoulder. Eyes falling on his coworkers. The girls were smiling, touching each other’s arms as they talked. It was true about the shirt though. Max was wearing a blouse Mike was sure El had worn maybe a week prior. It definitely wasn’t Max’s style and Mike suspected she’d needed a change of clothes and probably hadn’t gone home the night before. He turned away and rubbed his temples.
He and El had dated pretty seriously for a few years. They got along well most of the time but in the end they’d just been… incompatible. Mike cared about her, thought he might even marry her when the time came, but El, for all her efforts to make it real, was just playing the part she thought she needed to. Fake it till you make it kind of thing. Mike had been hurt of course when El finally got up the nerve to tell him how she really felt. She loved him, she insisted, but she wasn’t attracted to him. Mike hadn’t understood at first. He was conventionally attractive in that eastern european way. He worked out, made sure to take care of himself and his personal hygiene. What was wrong with Mike that El didn’t like? He could change it, he’d been sure of that. When El had looked away, glancing at a pair of girls walking by, Mike understood.
They’d parted on good terms, Mike moving out of her place without much fuss. El had insisted Mike could stay until he found the perfect place for him, but Mike had politely refused. Dustin could use help paying the mortgage on his townhouse anyway since paying the lease for the coffee shop was making it difficult for him to pay the rest of his bills. Helping Dustin out had been a good excuse for him to move out of El’s place without having to take the time to apartment hunt, have credit checks run, and sign leases. Honestly, the sooner he was out the better. Yeah, Mike was as supportive as he could be given the circumstances, but it still hurt.
Mike focused on his noodle cup, the pho cold now but still good. Mike shrugged in a non committal manner. He knew the hurt for Lucas was fresher than his own. After all, Lucas and Max had split only a little over a month ago while Mike and El had been broken up for about a year give or take a few weeks. Still, wasn’t it a little soon for Max and El to be spending the night together and swapping clothes? Mike took another bite.
“You need to get that shit covered up, man,” Lucas continued, indicating Mike’s exposed forearm. “It’s been a year, it’s honestly getting pathetic at this point.”
Mike glanced down at his arm where he’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt up. The world ‘Eleanore’ was tattooed there, big letters that spanned most of the skin, artistic vines curling around it. Mike tugged at his sleeve to pull it down, a little self conscious. He knew it was dumb to get someone’s name tattooed on yourself, but he had though he’d marry her someday.
“Yeah, I know,” he conceded to Lucas. “I just haven’t gotten around to it.”
“Why the hell not?” Lucas asked, tapping his fingers against the table in agitation as he continued to watch the girls work.
“I dunno,” Mike said, searching for an excuse. “It’s hard to follow proper hand washing and sterilization procedures with fresh ink,” he muttered.
Lucas shot him a look.
“It’s May. I know you’re not taking summer classes. You wait much longer, you're gonna have to go another year with that thing.”
Lucas had a point. Mike wasn’t hanging onto the tattoo out of hope that El would suddenly change her mind with a ‘Surprise! I’m not gay and I want to spend the rest of my life with you!’ and take him back. Still, addressing it meant, Mike didn’t know, failure of some kind on his part? He shrugged again.
“C’mon, don’t give me that. There’s a tattoo parlor across the street. We should at least check it out, get some ideas going. Hell, maybe I’ll get some ink too so you don’t have to suffer alone,” Lucas said, shoving another bite into his mouth.
Mike chuckled at that. Lucas hated needles. It was a phobia he’d carried over from high school when during a blood drive an overly ambitious nurse had attempted to go for a side vein. He’d ended up sticking Lucas at least four times and it hadn’t helped matters that the nurse had wiggled the needle to get the blood flowing. Yeah, Lucas wasn’t exactly a fan of needles.
“Hey, Lucas, if you want someone to hold your hand while you get a tat, I’m here for you. You don’t have to come up with an excuse to get me inked too. I’ll keep quiet, I promise,” he assured his friend in a very sarcastically concerned tone.
Lucas rolled his eyes and crumpled up his sandwich wrapper, having finished his food.
“C’mon dude. Let’s go check it out. I don’t wanna sit here and watch them flirt anymore,” he said, indicating the pair behind the counter.
Mike was inclined to agree and fifteen minutes later found himself standing outside of the parlor. It had obviously used to be a home before it was a business. There weren’t any of those large windows that let the public look inside. “Stranger Inks” flashed in bright, neon lights above the door, the open sign blinking steadily in one of the small windows. The inside was surprisingly brightly lit and a woman with mousy brown hair and an alarming number of piercings was manning the counter. She looked up, blue grey eyes focusing on the pair as they entered.
“Hey guys, welcome to Stranger Inks. What are you looking to get done today? Some overused Kanji to impress the sorority girls at the bar? A tribal tat to show off what a man you are? Prince Albert?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows at them.
Mike stood motionless, taken aback at how she spoke to customers. If he was being honest, he was a little jealous. How had she not been fired? Certainly someone had levied a complaint against her at some point. Management must not have cared and Mike liked her instantly.
“Prince Albert?” Lucas asked, nudging Mike towards the counter.
“You know, a nice big ring through the urethra. Or maybe you’re into a Magic Cross? That's two, right through the glans,” she said, a cheeky smile starting to form at her lips.
Lucas looked like he was going to pass out and the woman looked like she was loving this.
“Uh, actually,” Mike interjected, stepping forward and saving Lucas. “I’m looking to get a cover up done.”
He laid out his arm wrist up, rolling up the sleeve so the woman could look it over.
“Eleanore, huh? Grandma piss you off?” she asked playfully, chewing her lower lip which was decorated with two studs near the middle, over the chin.
“Ex girlfriend. It uh, didn’t work out.”
The woman sat back with a nod and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, flashing a multicolored bar that decorated it.
“Well, I specialize in piercings but I’ve got a guy who can probably help you out. Let me grab his portfolio so you can look it over, see if it’s your style,” she said, searching beneath the counter. After a moment she pulled out a large black binder decorated with various stickers and handed it over.
“Take a seat, look it over and let me know if you want to get set up with a consultation.”
“Consultation? I can’t get it done today?”
The woman looked at Mike like he'd grown a second head and let out an offended laugh.
“Today? Seriously? Look, the artist is gonna need to meet you, find out what it is you’re looking for, you know? He’s gotta see if he can even make it happen. Some tats are too dark or too thick to really cover and then you’re just SOL. Once you’ve discussed your options with the artist, he’s gonna wanna do a workup of possible designs for the piece, probably a lot of them. He’s gotta make sure you like what you end up with, it’s gonna be on your body forever you troglodyte. This is gonna take time,” she finished, leaning back. “Today,” she mumbled under her breath, still unable to believe Mike had said that.
Mike looked over to Lucas, widening his eyes as he picked up the binder. Mike didn’t know it had been such an unreasonable question. When he’d gotten the piece done in the first place it had only taken the span of an afternoon. Lucas just shrugged, still looking a little green around the gills from the genital piercing discussion earlier. The two of them settled into a cushy couch and laid the binder out on the glass coffee table and began flipping through the pages.
They were neatly laminated and organized, displaying various drawings and the finished results on skin. It was organized by style, black and whites up front, colors in the back. Even those were broken down into further categories. Realistic, cartoon, and the like. It was a lot to take in but based on the range the artist had shown in his portfolio, Mike figured he’d be fine, do a good enough job. Mike closed the binder and returned to the front desk where the woman sat, flipping through a magazine.
“Want an appointment set up?” she asked, glancing up at him.
“Yeah, yeah the soonest available,” he said, just wanting this to be done and put behind him.
The woman reached out her hand, palm up and nodded. Mike looked at her curiously.
“ID?” she finally said when Mike remained motionless.
“Oh, uh, okay,” he said, fumbling with his wallet to extract the hard plastic driver’s license.
He handed it over and the woman pushed her swivel chair back and towards the copy machine. It whirred to life, lighting up and spitting out a paper. When she returned, she handed the original ID back and put the paper copy of Mike’s ID on the counter.
“Wheeler, huh?” she asked, clicking her tongue again. “Any relation to Nancy?”
“She’s my sister,” he said, returning the ID to his wallet.
“Hmmm,” she said, clicking open what looked like a calendar app on the computer and started typing. “I remember her. My business partner used to date her back in the day.”
Well, that explained her cavalier attitude towards customers. You couldn’t exactly fire the owner for mouthing off.
Mike shrugged.
“She doesn’t keep me up to date on her love life.”
“Yeah well, it was like ten years ago, so I’m surprised I even remember her. Honestly, most of high school has been pushed back into that part of the brain where trauma goes to die,” she said, clicking through a few boxes before settling on one. “Quickest consultation appointment is on Wednesday. Should I pencil you in?”
Mike hesitated. He had to work the dinner shift Wednesday. “What time?”
“Three work for you?” she asked, hands hovering over the keyboard.
“How long do consultations usually take?” Mike had to be into work as four thirty to relieve Max.
“Depends. This is art, you know?” she said, eyeing him. “Maybe an hour or so? If you settle on a subject the artist can sketch up a few designs on the spot and work out the kinks later. If you can’t decide that slows the whole process down. I think the longest consultation phase we had lasted a few weeks. Client kept changing his mind and wanted edit after edit, which takes time.”
Weeks? That seemed a little excessive. Mike didn’t think he’d have a hard time deciding, especially if he put thought into overnight the day before.
“Yeah, three works.”
The woman nodded, typing away.
“Oooooooookay. You’re booked. We’ll see ya then,” she finished, looking up.
Her eyes wandered to Lucas who’d been standing back, quietly looking around at the body jewelry displays.
“What about you? I can get that Prince Albert in you today, right now if you want,” she offered, waggling her eyebrows again.
Lucas paled, looking a little weak at the thought.
“That’s okay,” he said, raising his hands in a ‘no thank you’ gesture and stepping back.
She sighed and flicked her hair.
“Your loss.”
Mike chuckled and turned to go, Lucas taking the lead, pushing through the tinted door and gulping down fresh air.
“Do people actually do that? Get a dick piercing?” he asked Mike who shrugged. “God, can you believe her? She was really pushing it wasn’t she? You think she’s into me?” Lucas asked, glancing back at the shop.
“Yeah, right,” Mike laughed. “She just liked watching you squirm.”
“Hey man, I didn’t see her pushing to get your pants off,” Lucas insisted, punching Mike on the shoulder.
“Yeah well, you can ask her the next time you see her,” he said, still laughing to himself. “C’mon, let’s grab a drink. I’ve gotta think about what I’m gonna get to cover this up,” he said indicating his arm.
Lucas agreed and they headed back to the coffee shop to retrieve their cars.
**
Wednesday came faster than Mike expected and to be honest, he didn’t really feel prepared. This all felt so formal, like he was interviewing (or being interviewed by) the tattoo artist. Yeah, Mike had a couple of ideas about what would look good as a cover up but didn’t have any experience in the matter. It was probably better to just trust the professional on this.
Mike had parked near Level Up Latte and had just walked across the street to Stranger Inks. He pushed the door open and walked in, glancing at the counter. The pierced woman was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a man with the biggest hair Mike had ever seen was clicking away at the computer, looking bored as he browsed the internet. The man looked up as Mike approached, clearing his throat.
“Hey uh, I’ve got an appointment?”
“Oh hey! Yeah Robin said you’d be coming in!” the man said, rising from his seat and extending a hand. “It’s been a while Mike, how ya been?”
Mike paused, taking a moment to look the other man over. It had been what, ten years since he’d seen Steve? But yeah, behind all the piercings and ink, there he was. Steve fucking Harrington, in the flesh. Mike grinned, clasping his hand firmly and giving it a shake. Steve looked good, happy. Different than he had looked, certainly, but good. On his arm was a sailor moon style tattoo that’s face looked suspiciously similar to Steve’s own. What was that about?
“Hey man, it’s been a minute. You own this place?” Mike asked, gesturing around.
Steve grinned goofily.
“Oh yeah, Robin and I bought it a few years ago,” he explained, stepping out from behind the counter.
“Your parents were okay with that?” Mike asked, a little confused. He knew Steve hadn’t gone straight to college after high school but he’d assumed with all that money that Steve would have ended up there eventually.
“Ha, not really. But they control the trust funds, not the inheritance and I got a good chunk a while back. Robin and I were living together at the time and it was always a dream of hers so, you know,” he said, motioning around again. “Here we are.”
“Oh, are you two, you know,” Mike made a vague gesture. “Together?”
Lucas would be disappointed.
Steve laughed, a surprised sound.
“Robin and me? Nah, no way. She doesn’t go for that, ya know?” Steve said, indicating himself and Mike. “Not that I didn’t go for it once, but uh, she shot me down like a dog.”
Yeah, Mike knew all about that. Lucas was gonna be even more disappointed.
“So, you need a cover up?” Steve asked, leading Mike away from the lobby area towards the back.
“Yeah, you the artist? I didn’t know you could draw, that’s awesome,” Mike replied, impressed.
Steve laughed again.
“No, not me. I’m the books guy, accounting, you know. Nah, Will’s gonna be working on you. Unless you want a piercing done, then Robin’s your girl. We’re a small operation right now but Robin’s got her eye on a second location downtown. She’s got big plans for the future,” Steve grinned. “Here we go,” he said, pulling a curtain back and exposing a private area of the house turned store. “I’ll let Will know you’re here,” he said, stepping away.
Mike watched him go before settling in to look around. There was a rolling stool pulled close to a desk where a sketchpad and several pens lay in a neat orderly line, a laptop humming nearby. There was also a black leather chair that took up the majority of the work space and looked as though it could recline or fold in multiple ways. Currently, it was adjusted to a simple seated position and Mike sat down, still looking around the room. It was well lit but the art decorating the walls was surprisingly dark. Animals that looked like mutated dogs prowled in a pack, a humanoid creature taller than a man watched from a treeline, and a monster that seemed to have no real solid form and was bigger than Hawkins High rose up, blotting out the sun.
“That’s creepy,” he whispered to himself, jerking a little when the curtain pulled back again.
The person who entered was surprisingly clean cut and well… normal looking, maybe even a little nondescript. Slight build, straight brown hair tucked neatly behind his ears and an unusual lack of piercings compared to the other employees Mike had seen, only sporting a single bar through the eyebrow and two thin rings on the left side of his lower lip. He pulled the curtain closed behind him and extended a hand to shake Mike’s.
“Mr. Wheeler? I’m Will, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Mike stood, taking the smaller hand in his and giving it a short, almost tentative squeeze.
“Nice to meet you too,” he said, settling back down to sit as the man, Will, he reminded himself, pulled out the rolling stool and took a seat of his own.
“So I hear you need a cover up,” Will started, turning on his desk light. “Can I see what we’re working with?” he asked politely.
“Yeah, sure,” Mike said, rolling up his sleeve and holding out his arm, palm up, for Will to examine.
Will bent over, adjusting his lamp so it illuminated the tattooed portion of skin. He looked at it for a moment before taking Mike gently by the wrist, startling him, and drew Mike’s arm closer to his face. Mike sat still, watching the other man examine the tattoo. He resisted the urge to jerk away when Will ran a finger lightly over the ink and clicked his tongue. Will moved his fingers from the tattoo to bare skin, pressing down on it, almost testing it. What was he looking for? Mike’s fingers twitched at the contact and he focused on watching the other man’s face.
Will was looking at him, well, at the tattoo with intensity. His brown eyes were dilated from the light and they shifted as he turned Mike’s arm over, now looking at the bare skin on the back of Mike’s forearm. Mike had never thought of himself as particularly tan, but he was a bronzed god compared to Will, who’s pale fingers stood out in stark contrast. This whole experience felt a lot like going to the doctor’s office. Will had a soft, unreadable expression as he looked Mike over; he was clinical, detached. The artist finally let him go, sitting back and pulling his sketchbook off the table and settling it into his lap.
“Okay, I can work with this,” he said, opening the book and tapping his pen against it. “So tell me, Mr. Wheeler, what were you thinking of as a cover up? Whatever it is is going to have to be big, bigger than the original piece which is quite sizable in and of itself. I was thinking of something that could wrap around,” he said, indicating the bare portion of Mike’s skin. “It’ll either have to be darker than the original or very very bright so the colors drown out the piece beneath.”
Mike listened, considering.
“What do you think?” Will asked again, gently prodding. “How would you like to go with this?”
“Oh, uh, I don’t know. Maybe a tiger or something?”
“A tiger? You don’t sound sure,” Will said, soft brown eyes meeting Mike’s in a steady, unfaltering way.
It made Mike a little uncomfortable and he looked away.
“What would you suggest?” he asked, motioning to Will. “You’ve got experience, what would work?”
Will thought about it, chewing the cap of his pen.
“Flowers are a very popular choice. Lots of curves and flows that can be easily incorporated into existing designs. They can be bright and beautiful or black and white, subdued and quiet. Either way, easy to work with.”
Mike frowned a little. Flowers? Didn’t that seem a little… effeminate?
Will seemed to sense his uneasiness and offered another suggestion.
“Landscapes work well too. They have a lot of the same qualities as flowers that can be interwoven into existing pieces but they don’t stand out so much. Animals can work too if you really want the tiger.”
“Well I’m not like, super attached to the tiger, I could go another direction.”
Will nodded, tapping the pen against his chin. “Do you prefer animals? What’s your favorite kind?”
Mike thought about it.
“Crows are kinda neat,” he said after a moment.
“Crows?”
“Yeah, you know, they’re pretty cool. Like, they can recognize human faces and remember if you were nice or cruel to them. If you’re nice, they might even bring you gifts. I read an article about someone who had a group of crows bring them anything shiny including money. Also, a group of crows is called a ‘murder’ so that's pretty cool. They also have funerals for each other. A crow will stand vigil over another for days sometimes. Plus, they can use and even make rudimentary tools to help them solve problems and get food. So yeah, they’re pretty cool,” Mike said, realizing he’d been rambling.
Will smiled at him, opening the sketch pad. “Sounds like you know a lot about them.”
Mike flushed.
“Yeah, a little. I mean, I did a report on them for school.”
No way was he going to admit he’d spent the better part of the summer between freshman and sophomore year trying to befriend the crows behind the soccer field (to varying degrees of success).
Will nodded, pen scratching against the paper.
“How do you feel about a half sleeve piece?”
“I mean, I don’t know. I’d have to like the art enough to consider doing something that big.”
“Fair enough,” Will agreed, pen still working frantically.
Mike watched the other man work. He was small, unassuming as he curled up over his sketch pad. His straight brown hair lay neatly and his thin hands flexed as he moved the pen across paper, brown eyes focused on his work. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt so as not to smear ink on it, exposing pale, surprisingly tattoo free skin. Mike watched him for a long time, answering all the innocuous questions Will asked.
‘What do you do for a living? Any hobbies? Favorite movie? Color?’
Mike finally shifted.
“So uh, what’s with the third degree?” he asked, offering a smile.
Will glanced up, soft eyes focusing on Mike.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, looking embarrassed. “I’ve been told I can make people uncomfortable,” he finished, a pale red starting to color his face as he averted his eyes back to the sketch pad.
Mike quickly shook his head.
“It’s not that, I’m just curious. Is it like, part of your process or something?”
Will glanced back up, a relieved look on his still flushed face.
“Yeah, something like that. I mean, when I’m doing a pre-rendered piece I don’t talk so much. But for a custom piece, I want the work to have some personality. If I don’t talk to my clients, find out more about them, then the only personality that comes through is mine,” he explained, hunching forward again, a loose strand of hair falling into his eyes.
Mike looked around the room again at the creepy artwork. Had Will drawn these? Were they showing his ‘personality’? It seemed weird that someone so soft spoken and unassuming would have such a dark imagination.
After a few more minutes, Will set down his pen and handed the book to Mike for him to look over. He’d filled five pages with various drawings of birds. Some were flying, a flock moving together. Others were cartoonish with massive talons and eyes. A few sat alone, solitary and watching. Mike examined them, Will's eyes on him waiting for a reaction. Finally, Mike pointed to one of a crow rearing back, extending it’s wings to take flight, talons releasing a branch as it lifted away from the tree.
“I like this one,” he said, handing the book back to the other man who looked at the chosen sketch and nodded approvingly.
“Okay. I can do a detailed workup of this and we can schedule a placement and basic inking,” he said, sitting the book on his desk and standing.
“Basic inking?” Mike asked, also rising to his feet.
“I’d like to do the piece over a few sessions, probably two if that works for you. I want you to have time to heal between sessions. Here, look,” he said, taking Mike’s arm again without asking permission. He ran a finger over the inked skin. “The person who did this was in a hurry. Feel how the skin’s raised? Like it didn’t heal quite right? If I’m gonna do a big piece on you, I want it to be quality. It should add something beautiful, not damage the canvass.”
Mike didn’t know how he felt about being referred to as a canvass, like he was an object, but he supposed it was accurate. Will let his hand drop from Mike’s wrist and stepped past him, brushing against him with a soft ‘Excuse me, Mr. Wheeler,’ and ducked out behind the curtain. Mike followed as Will rounded the corner and stepped behind the desk, tapping Steve on the shoulder. Steve looked up and pushed his chair back, giving the tattoo artist room to lean over and pull up the digital appointment book and tap away at the keys.
“Coming back for more, huh?” Steve asked, leaning to the side to see around Will’s form and look at Mike.
“Yeah, Will made a great design and we’re gonna go from there,” he replied, grinning.
“Awesome! That’s what I like to hear!” Steve said enthusiastically slapping Will on the back, nearly toppling the slight man.
Will steadied himself and cleared his throat and Mike wondered if the slap had knocked the wind out of the smaller man. After a moment, Will looked up, his brown eyes meeting Mike’s own.
“Mr. Wheeler, I’m going to need a few days to complete the workups. I’d like to do a few different color schemes so we can see what works best with your style and skin tone. Can we say… the 28th?” he asked.
Mike nodded, making a mental note to request the day off. Will started typing again.
“Is eight thirty in the morning too early for you?” he asked, glancing up.
Mike considered. No, not really. If he did an opening shift at the cafe he had to be in at 4:30 to grind the beans and bake the bagels that Dustin had (overly) ambitiously added to the menu. Eight thirty was downright indulgent as far as sleeping in went.
“Yeah, I’ll bring the coffee,” he said with a nod.
Will cracked a smile. “One cream, two sugars,” he joked, typing again.
“It’s a date,” Mike replied, grinning back.