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“Hey, Blorgon! I’d like your hottest caffeinated liquid beans. Will 5 credits cover it?”
The barista sighs heavily into his hands. “First, kindly refer to me by the name on my name tag. It says Miles Edgeworth, in case you can’t read. Secondly, do you perhaps mean a coffee? And third, yes, five /dollars/ will be just fine.”
Miles Edgeworth hands the drink to the customer and shakes his head once the other man leaves. As more and more costumed patrons lounge around his cafe, dropping their bags of goods and their weapon props on the tables and countertops and every conceivable surface, Miles again laments running the only cafe in the convention center on the day of a massive Science Fiction convention. It is so very crowded and unpleasant; so much fuss, and for what? It’s a Sci-Fi convention. It’s not as if the con celebrates anything important, like tea parties (they are not just for little girls, there is an entire set of manners and etiquette involved, thank you very much) and fantasy conventions (particularly ones featuring the Steel Samurai fandom).
And, as luck would have it, when Miles thinks the day cannot get any worse, two customers seated at the counter adjacent to the cash register begin arguing.
The dark-haired one, boyishly handsome even under Klingon face makeup, smiles teasingly at the man next to him. “Think you could go five minutes without shouting or complaining?”
In an unnaturally loud voice, the man beside him, his hair oddly styled as if into two alien antennae (this /is/ a Sci-Fi convention, Miles supposes), bristles at the insult. “What, so I’m a buzzkill? You’re the one acting like a little kid!”
Miles approaches them cautiously and clears his throat to halt their bickering. “Gentlemen, I can reseat you if you are unhappy being next to one another.”
The antennae’d brunette blinks a couple times. “Oh. Oh, no need! I’m with him, unfortunately.”
The man in cosplay rests his head on top of the brunette’s. “You got that right, ‘Pollo! You’re stuck with me!”
“Pollo” rolls his eyes, then chides, “Not like the TV remote. You’ve lost that thing more times than I can count. It’s probably freed itself from the apartment entirely by now.”
His companion mimes tears. “Are we having a lovers’ dispute? Are you leaving me over some hunk of junk piece of technology?” The black-haired man breaks out his phaser prop. “I swear I’ll make you come back to me, or my name isn’t Clay Terran!”
Miles listens to their squabble, wondering if the duo even remember he is here. Hearing the boys talk about each other and be disgustingly domestic doesn’t bother Miles as much as he thinks it would. In fact, it’s a welcome break from the ruder customers, and they’re pretty cute together. They almost remind him of his own relationship. The two in front of him, Clay and… Apollo, Miles learns the brunette’s real name to be, seem to have a very strange relationship, but lovey-dovey nonetheless.
Eventually, the customers leave, bickering all the while. Miles is a bit sad to see them go. Though he finds himself smiling along a little bit as they exit, when Clay again says something stupid (with a cheeky, endearing grin on his face), and Apollo tries to look stern but descends into laughter.
---
Clay returns to the cafe an hour later and looks around the con from the cafe’s entrance. Miles raises hand to greet him, though willingly striking up conversation with a patron is almost unheard of for Miles. But the past hour, filled with serving entitled hotel residents and smelly con-goers who haven’t showered, has exhausted him, with only the memory of the sweet boyfriends and their home-y romance to bring a spring to his step. However, as his mouth forms around the only syllable in Clay’s name, an attractive blonde man approaches Clay.
Clay throws his arms around the man’s neck and kisses him deeply. Miles’ heart sinks.
Poor Apollo. /Poor./ /Apollo./ Clay and the blonde take a seat on the other corner of the cafe, and Miles glares holes into the sides of their heads. He eavesdrops on their conversation under the guise of cleaning tables.
“You are going to owe me so much when we get home, ja? Washing the dishes, baking cookies…”
Miles furrows his eyebrows. “Home”? Clay even stays with the blonde in his house? But Miles could’ve sworn he and Apollo share an apartment. How much of a double life is Clay living under that innocent smile? Miles feels his insides twist.
“Oh, please. You can’t be hating the convention that much.”
“True. People have been taking pictures with me, even though I am not in cosplay. As a celebrity, I humbly accepted.” He tosses his hair to one side. “Though no one could be as excited to be here as you, Liebling.” His hand darts across the table to entwine with Clay’s.
Clay gazes back into his company’s blue, blue eyes. Despite himself, Miles finds the exchange cute. The two are obviously very into each other, and Miles’ heart wavers. Then, he pictures Apollo pretending to be annoyed with his lover (the man currently flirting up a storm with another), acting so very much like Miles himself, and Miles is glaring again.
The duo leave when Miles’ back is turned, and he thinks, ‘Good riddance.’ He has no business with this drama. He’s here to work. And if he handles the cleaning rag a little rougher than before, he pretends to ignore it.
---
Miles is looking forward to closing up. The afternoon rush is over, and only a few stragglers are still taking up space in his establishment. He wants to go home, flip to a law drama, and not think about romantic entanglements or cheaters.
A brunette with familiar antennae sidles into a chair by the countertop. Blast it all.
Miles feels a lump in his throat as he observes the man sitting alone, fiddling with his cell. It doesn’t seem like his business to divulge… but, shouldn’t the kid know? Is it Miles’ duty to let the kid know? Though, Miles really doesn’t know how to say something like that- he’s never been good with people, or with comfort.
Apollo looks so excited, too. He takes out a bag and empties its contents on the countertop. Smiling, he makes eye contact with Miles. Miles startles, and Apollo pauses and squeezes his own wrist, but then the moment is over and Apollo continues as if nothing happened. “I got Clay a bunch of merchandise from the shows he likes. He thinks I’m such a grouch, but I’ll show him. I know he loves this goofy stuff.”
Apollo may as well have punched Miles in the gut. He’s about to blurt out something - maybe /everything/- when a good-looking blonde man swaggers through the entranceway in Miles’ direction. Miles opens and closes his mouth a few times- it’s him! The homewrecker! Er… rather, the man Clay is cheating with. Miles should watch less trashy television; he does NOT want it to affect his daily vocabulary.
The blonde man taps Apollo on the shoulder, and Miles is steeled for a confrontation (oh goodness, what does one even do when a fight breaks out in their establishment?!) when he suddenly embraces the seated man.
“Klavier, there you are! Where’ve you been all this time?” Apollo’s hand lingers on Klavier’s shoulder.
Klavier lifts a bag of his own.
“I guess we had the same idea, getting stuff for Clay, then?”
“Nein, not just for Clay.” Klavier waggles his eyebrows suggestively. He reaches into his bag and extracts a pair of chainless handcuffs, cheaply painted to look futuristic. “I went to this one stand, and knowing your fondness for, how you say, bondage-”
Apolo squawks and pushes Klavier’s shoulder. “Shut up!” Then, in a smaller voice, “...Not in public.”
Miles stands there, baffled, but the sick feeling in his stomach is being replaced by a calmer, though still somewhat fluttery, feeling.
“Wasn’t he supposed to meet us here already?” Apollo checks his watch.
“You know how excited he gets about these things. He probably lost track of time while at a panel.”
Apollo crosses his arms. “He gets to sit in the back of the car this time. He caused all this trouble for us.”
“Ach, as long as I don’t have to drive that dingy contraption.”
“Believe me, we don’t want you driving either.”
Miles turns around to hide the quirk of his lips. A breath escapes him, barely a chuckle- He certainly hadn’t imagined this. But he supposes it’s the best outcome.
Although Miles had been planning on closing up shop, he supposes he can elongate his shift a little more to accommodate the young boyfriends waiting for their other boyfriend. After all, they did make his day a little brighter.
When Clay finally joins him, his partners greet him with hugs and scolding. As cutesy and lovey-dovey as before, the three say a polite goodbye to Miles, the unwitting witness to their PDA. And they begin heading home.