Chapter Text
Long, pale fingers drummed against the countertop, glossy, black-painted nails drilling out a quick tempo that spoke of irritation. A whole sixty seconds had already been lost just listening to the latest beverage order, the description of which was neither on the menu nor should it be.
That didn’t stop Mrs. Stick-Up-Her-Ass from rattling off her desired beverage and fixing the barista with a look that sat begrudgingly between expectant and condescending, like the woman expected to have to repeat her order.
But no, she would not have to repeat it. There was no way in hell that Levi Ackerman, said put upon barista, would be forgetting a request for both decaf and regular shots in the same drink with not one but two types of milk because apparently this lady really needed skim and low fat. What was the difference again? Was there some new diet promoting the consumption of a fuck tonne of different milk types? Did they even have low fat milk here?
Levi checked, eyes skittering over to the fridge along the wall to his right, and nope. That was a definite no. Not a single trace of low fat or two percent or whatever the fuck. Just skim and…well milk. Milk was milk, right? Why were there more than two types? Hell, why was there more than one type?
Fuck the world could be a confusing place.
Mrs. What’s-her-face-queen-of-the-frown-lines cleared her throat and Levi figured he should probably say something. Maybe try and deal with this customer in a calm and professional fashion so that he could get to the other customers waiting in line behind her.
It wouldn’t be that hard to tell the lady that they didn’t have the milk she wanted. Levi could compromise. Just use skim milk and hope she didn’t notice. For God’s sake talk! Just be civil.
“Do I look like a fairy god mother to you?” Levi said instead, tone flat.
The question seemed to take the woman by surprise and honestly, Levi wasn’t shocked by this. He raised a slender eyebrow when his ears were suddenly assaulted by a loud and indignant query, calcium’s number one fan asking whether or not they had heard their requested drink.
Oh he’d heard it alright. Wished he hadn’t heard it. Repeated the whole fucking mess of words back to the now-scowling woman just to wipe the look of doubt off her makeup-smothered face. You call that eyeliner? That’s eye-drowner right there. What was she going for, Ancient Egyptian? Was this a reincarnation of Cleopatra come to collect enough hot milk to bathe in? Just go to the store, snake lover. Seven-eleven. Two blocks down, right on the corner.
Her Majesty was still. Talking. Christ, where was she keeping all that air? She just kept going and going with her unhelpful criticism of his service skills.
And Levi had had enough.
“Okay. That’s enough. See that board up there?” One finger swivelled to point over the raven’s shoulder and he gave a single nod. “We call it a menu. Take a good look and pick something. Pick ten somethings if you want. But don’t come in here with your fucking ‘oh I need one third decaf and two thirds regular with one packet of raw sugar and three packets of artificial sweetener’ bullshit.”
There was something so gratifying about the sharpness of that word. Probably something to do with the soft “sh” meeting with the harsh “t” sound, but that was wading into English territory and it had never been a particularly strong subject for the raven.
“And who needs two different types of milk in their coffee anyway?” Levi continued, amazed that he could have forgotten the milk tangent for even a moment. “Nobody, that’s who.”
Apparently that was not the right thing to say. Unsurprising, really. Levi watched with eyes hooded in a glare balanced perfectly on the line between venomous and indifference (a tricky expression to master but what could he say, he had the bone structure for resting bitch face) as Cleopatra’s bitchy, forty-something manifestation started lecturing him.
Bad service this, horrible attitude that, blah blah blah where’s my coffee? Don’t you know who you’re talking to?
Hate to break it to you lady…
“Listen I really don’t give a fuck who you are; if you want your weird-ass combo drink then you’d better make it yourself or give me something I can work with here. No you cannot speak to the manager, they’re not in, so you can either order something real or get your prissy ass out of here.”
A few shades of purple and some interesting expressions later and the surly lady turned on her heel, muttering what was probably meant to be under her breath but actually came out quite clearly in the quiet of the café.
Levi was unimpressed with the quality of her insults.
“Oh you’re offended? Well. You’re not the one that had to listen to your nasally voice rattle off that shopping list of directions. Yes, bye now, ma’am. Bye bye. Au revoir. Good fucking riddance.”
The barista bared his teeth in a sneer as the café door closed, punctuated with the all-too-cheery tinkling of the store bell that was one hundred percent out of place and hilarious against the contrast of silent rage as the fuming customer took her leave. Levi watched her go with rising satisfaction, his gaze following stomping steps until he could no longer see the viper of a woman, and grey eyes flicked over to the next in line.
Round two. Ding ding.
“Come on then. Make my day.”
The customer, a man in his late twenties, swallowed audibly in the sudden quiet of the café, but managed to speak at last.
“I-I’ll have a flat white.” He stammered out, fidgeting with a briefcase and swallowing again before hastening to add, “Large. N-No sugar. Please,” before Levi could snap anything back at him.
Well Mr. Shitting-Himself was at least polite enough to order a reasonable drink. And even a please on the end. That’s more like it.
“That it?” Levi asked, arching an eyebrow to emphasise the question.
He would lose his shit if the guy changed his mind or forgot something once his drink was halfway made. It happened more often than the raven would like.
The man nodded, however, and his next words had the ghost of a smirk edging its way onto Levi’s mouth.
“Y-Yes, Sir.”
A chuckle left the raven and he cast the man a teasing glance.
“Sir? I like the sound of that.”
Wow. Probably several years between them and this guy was calling Levi Sir? Really? At twenty-four it seemed a bit early (and a bit kinky if he thought about it) to be addressed with such a title. Wasn’t this guy a little old to be intimidated by moody employees? Well fuck it; Levi would take what he could get.
And hopefully that little incident would brighten the remainder of his day.
Ha. Promises, promises. Levi finished making the man’s drink and he almost, almost smiled when the guy handed him the exact money for his purchase. God Bless. Off went Nervous-But-Helpful, using his shoulder to open the café door and brave the chilling wind of the outdoor world, briefcase clutched in one hand and coffee in the other. Come and gone, just another routine.
And onto the next customer. Take order. Remember to be civil. Promptly fail at being civil but make up for it with damned good coffee. Payment. Done, finished. Rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat. How much are they paying me again? Is it really enough for all this forced human interaction to be worth it?
Only just. He would have to remember to ask for a raise. And by ask he meant straight up demand.
In the politest manner of course, with as few curse words as humanly possible.
Still, with four hours to go until his shift ended and a sudden lack of middle-aged harpies trying to make his job a living hell, Levi figured he could survive interacting with people for a little longer.
A jingle rang out, the sound abruptly lost to a child’s loud squeal and her father’s hushed reprimand, and Levi’s previous optimism vanished quicker than he could scowl.
Turning and pretending to look for something (a miracle, maybe?), Levi made a face at the ceiling.
Why me?