Chapter Text
Anya Forger, a 19-year-old freshman at Eden University with unusual pink hair, hated her job.
Which was funny, as she’d only just started it thirty minutes ago.
"I don’t understand how anyone could drink this stuff raw," she muttered, trying not to pull a face as the black liquid slowly dripped from the portafilter into the cappuccino cup. The smell of coffee started to fill the small café, making her feel deceived by the warm, tangy odor that truly didn’t capture its bitter taste.
Her black-haired instructor, Becky Blackbell, who also happened to be her best friend, scoffed lightly, looking at Anya with a raised eyebrow as she reached for the frothing jug next to the spluttering coffee machine.
"Raw? This isn’t meat, Anya," she tutted, pouring fresh milk into the jug. Anya shrugged, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her right ear as she watched her friend position the milk nozzle inside the jug.
"Now, to froth milk the right way, you need to follow these steps…," Becky explained and guided Anya through the various notions of making the perfectly textured, warm milk. She really tried to listen intently and make a note of all the points Becky was making but she couldn’t help the yawn building in her throat.
It was ass o’clock in the morning. 5:30, to be exact, on a gloomy spring Friday. The world outside of Eden’s Garden, the coffee shop right next to Eden University, was barely awake. A few random businessmen and women stopped by the large window, hopefully staring inside the store only to be let down by a strict Becky who mouthed that they opened at 6:30 sharp.
Anya never had any lessons on Fridays, and she’d taken that opportunity to pick up a side job next to her studies to help her parents pay off her student loan debts. With Eden’s Garden situated right next to the campus, it was the perfect place to get some paid hours in during the week. Just the fact that she could do at least something to lessen the horrendous debt she’d put her parents in by enrolling at Eden was going to help her sleep easier at night. The fees per semester were catastrophically expensive if you weren’t rich.
Like Becky, for example, who was the only daughter of Bernard Blackbell, CEO of Blackbelly Heavy Industries, Ostania’s major military manufacturer.
"Why are you working here? Remind me again," the girl yawned, giving into her tiredness and leaning against the counter a bit too hard, rattling various cups and plates in the process.
Becky huffed, clearly annoyed at her friend's lack of interest in the barista craft early in the morning as she angrily tapped the milk jug against the counter to get rid of the air bubbles. Her upturned, hazel eyes were full of light and Anya couldn’t help the warm feeling of gratitude and joy towards her best friend bubbling in her chest. Becky had been the one to put in a few good words with the manager at Eden Café (a 17-year-old dropout) and gotten Anya this job.
"You know I love coffee. It’s about the experience," she explained, rolling her eyes at Anya when she fake-gagged at the mention of the black liquid. Ignoring the pink-haired girl’s overdramatic antics, she reached for the cup filled with a shot of espresso.
"And I am a firm believer that even rich nepokids like me should know how it’s like to be working class." She sounded very serious and Anya recalled that her best friend wanted to become a great politician, and to be the greatest, she had to know how it was to work hard. The fact that she was here at the café, happily pouring coffee even though her parents and everyone else in her entourage of rich kids thought her to be crazy meant a lot to her.
Also, she only worked about two shifts a week, which probably helped lessen the feeling of being too arsed to work at hellish hours.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re going to be the best first female president of Ostania ever," Anya giggled, paying attention to the way Becky swirled the milk jug in her hand to soften the milk further.
"At least the best at making a proper latte," she winked before pouring the milk into the cup, explaining in great detail how important the ratio of milk and foam was when creating the various coffee specialties the shop had to offer.
The next hour was spent trying to teach the pink-haired girl how to make all the coffee dishes the shop was offering. And although Anya was a total klutz and spilled the milk way more than the both of them would have liked, she got the hang of it quite quickly. Of course, her latte art was shitty at best (her hearts looked more like dangly—) but the coffee tasted good – according to Becky at least.
"You really have to start drinking the good stuff if you plan to survive the early morning shifts," Becky told her with a smirk, flipping the open-sign by the front door and unlocking it. Anya scoffed at that, tiredly drying a cup and placing it on top of the machine to keep it warm. She’d tried coffee, numerous times, with a ton of sugar in it and with more milk than coffee. It had always ended up being a hard no from her.
"Sorry, I’m sticking with the sodas and cream cakes," Anya answered, happily pointing to the fridges behind her that housed all of the cold lemonades, sparkling drinks, and tasty cakes the café sold. All incredibly sugary, of course.
Becky sighed, shaking her head. "You will die an early death with all the Red Bulls you consume." Anya shrugged. "So be it."
Becky giggled, quickly checking if the café was all set for the day and nodded appreciatively at Anya. The shop was rather cozy, with only a few tables for guests to sit down. Most of the customers preferred take-out anyway but here and there, a few students worked on papers and homework at the café during the afternoon.
It’s how Anya had ended up here as well when she’d moved to the capital to study Astronomy at Eden University. It was here where she’d met Becky and gotten to know her one afternoon through ordering so many energy drinks that the girl had gotten seriously concerned for her well-being and refused to sell her more.
One thing led to another, and Anya’d found out that Becky also studied at Eden, her major being politics. They’d ended up becoming best friends as naturally and quickly as it could get, with both having the same sense of humor and outlook on life even though they came from vastly different backgrounds.
Anya smiled, fondly reminiscing about the way Becky had helped her become accustomed to the new city and university, inviting her to parties and gatherings as a newcomer the past few months. She’d done a lot to make her feel comfortable here, away from her parents.
"Thanks, Becky. For teaching me and getting me this job. Really," Anya pointed out as Becky circled the counter to join her behind the bar. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up.
"Oh, well, you’re very welcome!" Her cheeks flushed a little as she smiled eagerly at her best friend. "It’s going to be so fun working with you, I can feel it!"
It was not fun.
The morning went by in a flurry, with many stressed customers entering the café and getting mostly take-out.
It had started to rain at one point, so many guests were pissed and wet, muttering their orders to Anya who worked the cash register. Since the newbie didn’t understand all of the orders, she’d have to ask them to repeat it which had often earned her an annoyed glare and a sigh.
As midday was approaching, the café got a bit quieter and Anya turned towards Becky who was happily cleaning the coffee machine after the morning rush.
"What the fuck!" Anya mouthed silently after one particularly irritated guest had left the store with their stupid ass latte macchiato with only one-fourth of a pump of syrup and half oat and half cow’s milk (what the hell kind of mix?). Becky laughed at her friend’s expression, seemingly not bothered at all by the stupid request.
"Get used to it, people like weird stuff," she answered, picking up a mop and handing it over to Anya. "Could you please mop the entrance, I fear it’s gotten quite slippery."
Anya sighed, grabbing the handle and moving towards the front door. The rain was pattering loudly against the windows and tuned out the light conversations the few guests at the café were having. As she started to mop, she wondered if customers were always this sour first thing in the morning. She couldn’t imagine having to keep her tongue (and fists, to be honest) still if everyone was constantly rude to her.
Midday passed quickly and after Anya had taken her lunch break, the shop started to fill up once more as the afternoon hit. The rain had stopped and been replaced by the sun that warmed up the damp city and turned up the humidity by quite a notch.
Becky fanned herself, silently cursing the fact that there wasn’t an A/C installed, as Anya tried her hand at an order for "Mischa", a caramel Frappuccino to go, no added sugar. As she handed it over, the boy gave her a kind smile and even dropped some change into the tip jar before turning to leave the café. Happy about the nice interaction, she faced her sweating friend leaning against the cash register and shot her a thumbs up.
"My first tip!" Anya beamed and Becky gave her a lopsided grin. "See, people can be nice," she answered, looking to the front door when the familiar chime of someone entering the café reached her ears. Anya kept smiling to herself as she turned towards the freshly washed dishes, picking up a glass and reaching for the polishing cloth. Humming to herself, she didn’t even notice the shift in the atmosphere at first but all of a sudden, it felt 20 degrees colder in the shop.
"Hello, Blackbell." A deep voice startled Anya, making her put the glass down and glance over her shoulder towards the cash register. Holding back a surprised gasp at Becky’s expression, she wondered why she looked at the new customer with a look exclusively reserved for people she truly disliked. As she returned the greeting, there were icicles in her voice:
"Damian. Welcome."
Anya’s gaze shifted towards the person she was speaking to, a tall, quite lanky but still broad-shouldered boy with dark, almost black curls falling into his nicely shaped, tanned face. He wore the uniform of Eden University, his backpack lazily hanging from his right shoulder. There was the smuggest of grins plastered on his face, one that made the fine hairs on the nape of Anya’s neck stand up. To his left and right side, two equally smug-looking boys flanked him, both blonde with stupid hairdos.
The tall boy irked her, somehow. She couldn’t say why, but she felt like she had seen him before but couldn’t really figure out when or where that’d been.
Spellbound, Anya watched the interaction between Becky and the familiar stranger play out.
"Always a pleasure seeing you here," he smiled and there was nothing warm to it, "how’s it like, oh hardworking future politician?"
Becky’s eyes turned to small slits as Damian’s entourage started giggling in unison which annoyed Anya even more. They were making fun of her.
Her best friend shrugged, clearly not insulted. "It’s alright, keeps me grounded. Not everyone can risk oxygen deprivation like you with their noses so high up in the air."
Damian’s expression faltered for a second at the insult, an angry glint entering his amber eyes. Anya had to look away or she’d have snorted loudly. Quickly, she picked up a glass once more, pretending to dry it while eavesdropping on the conversation.
"Very funny," he sighed lazily, reaching for his backpack and fishing out a stupidly expensive-looking leather wallet.
"Anyway, I’d actually like to order something, if you so please," he grumbled, never breaking eye contact with Becky who now sported an amused smile at having won the previous altercation.
"Of course, Desmond, anything," she quipped and at the mention of his last name it finally clicked for Anya. She almost dropped the glass in her hand when she realized just to whom Becky was talking so snarkily. With another confirming glance over her shoulder, Anya gulped as she eyed the handsome but annoying boy. No doubt, she’d seen his face on TV and newspapers before.
This was Damian Desmond, second son of Donovan Desmond, the leading politician of the ruling party in Ostania. His father was highly controversial and the way he led the country often a topic of heated discussions at dinner tables all over the country.
And Becky knew him. Knew him well enough to not like him which meant he went to class with her.
Anya couldn’t recall any time she’d seen him in the halls of Eden University. Then again, the institution was huge with almost 20 thousand students enrolled at the moment. Still, Anya was so going to argue with Becky for not telling her that she was going to class with the scion of someone as infamous as Donovan Desmond.
"A doppio, to go," Damian said, tone nonchalant and Becky rolled her eyes at him. "Please," he added, equally as annoyed as she was.
"Was that so hard?" Becky tutted, typing in his order and ringing him up. Meanwhile, Anya was left dumbfounded, looking between Becky and Damian, hoping that some kind of God would strike her with the knowledge of what the hell a goddamn doppio was. Did Becky teach her that this morning? She had no idea.
Her friend turned towards her and Anya started sweating.
"One doppio for Damian to go, please," she repeated, practically spitting his name as she dropped the change Damian had given her into the register.
"Sure thing," Anya responded almost immediately which made her friend’s eyebrows shoot up in mild confusion. The pink-haired girl turned towards the coffee machine, staring at it as if it was going to give her an answer to the question of life.
Meanwhile, Damian and his entourage lazily swaggered towards the pick-up counter, the three of them idly chatting with each other as they leaned against it. As Anya briefly glanced at them, her gaze met that of Damian for the first time. He shot her a smug grin, crossing his arms over his chest and it looked like he was bolstering up like a bird right before its mating dance. It weirded Anya the hell out as she grabbed the portafilter, emptying the old coffee grounds.
"You’re new here," Damian remarked, leaning over the counter to look at her entirely. "Aren’t you?" Anya nodded idly, trying to move as slowly as possible since she still had no clue what a doppio was. She shot Becky a desperate glance which she sadly didn’t catch as she was busy with another customer.
"Tell me your name." Damian’s voice brought her back and she turned towards him, portafilter still in hand. His grin faded a bit as he inspected her from head to toe, his gaze lingering on the long braid that fell over her left shoulder. She felt extremely exposed, surely looking completely disheveled, what with her being awake since 5 o’clock.
"Anya, it’s Anya," she responded hoarsely as Damian blinked at her, his eyes now coming to a rest on the portafilter still in her hand, realization lighting up his face.
"Well, Anya, it seems like you have no idea what a doppio is," he laughed and she could hear the mockery in his voice which made her cheeks turn into fire.
Not out of embarrassment, no. Out of rage.
His lackeys chimed into the laughter and Anya felt the weird urge to smash the whole coffee machine into their faces.
"Seems like it, yes," she pressed out, her knuckles turning white when they continued giggling. Becky suddenly appeared at her side and the aura she was giving off was frightening.
"Rebecca, why do you guys always hire people with no idea? They’re just going to make a fool of themselves," the dark-haired boy wailed dramatically and he almost made it sound like he actually cared for Anya’s pride. It made her rage boil even hotter, restricting her throat as she now felt truly humiliated.
"It’s okay, ignore him, he’s an idiot," Becky muttered next to her, "a doppio is a doubled espresso in a small take-out cup," she finished and gave the small of her back an encouraging squeeze before facing the next customer.
Sweating and enraged, Anya turned to the grinder, ignoring the amused looks Damian kept shooting her as she prepared the so-called doppio. She had to admit, it truly fit him. A double shot of espresso sounded awfully bitter, just as he was, and she hoped he’d choke on it.
As the liquid dripped into the cup she turned towards the idiot, hellbent on making him feel as stupid as he’d made her. Her father had taught her that revenge wasn’t the right way to go but sometimes, it was the only one.
"I’m sorry, what’s your name again?" she asked, all prettily and nicely, picking up the steaming cup in one hand and a pen in the other.
Damian’s smile fell for a second.
"Damian," he answered before cocking a dark eyebrow at her faked confusion. "As in Damian Desmond, son of Donovan Desmond."
Of course, he was the kind of guy to mention why he should be known.
"Whoops, sorry, of course," Anya laughed ditzily, batting her eyelashes before writing down his name and popping a plastic lid onto the cup. She threw her braid over her shoulder, noting how his eyes followed the movement and took her chances by quickly pressing the cup into his hands, her fingers lingering on his and acting as if his humiliating words hadn’t bothered her at all.
"Thank you for helping me there," Anya smiled, the fake grin spreading to her eyes and she nearly gagged when he shot her a wink in response, dropping a few coins into the tip jar. At least he seemed somewhat decent when it came to that.
Watching as he turned, his friends following him, she couldn’t help but smile to herself in victory. As he neared the door, he shot her one quick, almost flirty glance over his shoulder before finally, finally looking down at his cup. Lifting it to his face, his forehead wrinkled as he tried to decipher the letters written on it. As soon as he did, however, his stupid, shit-eating grin was wiped from his face in an instant.
Oh, glorious, glorious revenge.
He stopped dead in his tracks, swirling around to face her, his face now ablaze with embarrassment and Anya nearly squealed with joy at the sight. She could feel Becky’s bewildered gaze on her and the boy nearly exploding out of his skin. His two friends looked equally puzzled, the one with the stupider hairdo putting a hand on Damian’s shoulder which he immediately shrugged off.
Taking two long strides, he was before her in an instant, staring down at her and slamming the cup onto the counter
"Jinan?!" he hissed, silently enough that nobody could hear them but loudly enough to lace venom into his voice. His amber eyes were glowing, the red tinting his face almost turning a deep crimson. Anya had to admit that he looked way more endearing when he was embarrassed, the way his straight nose wrinkled adding a nice touch to his face. Really, what a waste of beauty.
She kept on acting stupid, tilting her head to the side.
"Well, aren’t you? Scion-boy?" she asked and the added insult made him gasp audibly. Shoulders shaking, he turned once more, stomping away and leaving his stupid doppio behind.
"D-Damian?" his friends asked but he silenced them with a wave of his hand as he pulled the door to the café open before practically storming out.
His lackeys shot her a look that bordered between hostility and fear. Anya gladly took it, staring back and refusing the urge to stick her tongue out at them. With no more words, they turned to leave the store as well. Anya watched them frantically trying to catch up with Damian and she dared to let out the breath she’d been holding for way too long.
Sorry, Papa, revenge was the only way in this case, she thought.
Becky came to her, list of orders in hand and looking extremely confused.
"What the hell just happened there?" she asked and Anya sighed happily, stretching her limbs like a cat before throwing one arm over her friend’s shoulders.
"You know, I think I’m going to love working here!"