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"Avid," he drags the name out, long and slow. Harsh and grating over his tongue; a name he never expected to utter again. The man ahead of him shows no comprehension, nothing but a downturn of the mouth, a pulling of the lips into a sad little pout. It's so disgustingly him that Pyro feels the urge to bare fangs he no longer possesses. To snarl and snap and lunge for the pulse that sits heavy in Avid's neck.
But he values his job. So he restrains himself and fits a tight-lipped smile over the ingrained instinct to flash fang and tries to communicate — mind-to-mind — that he wants Avid dead.
"Um." is all Avid manages, fidgeting with the front of his apron and twisting the ties around his fingers. He doesn't meet Pyro's eyes again. "How do you…know my name?"
Pyro resists the urge to cast his eyes skyward. Evidently, evidenced by the goings-on of his life and his general continued existence and therefore continued suffering and misery, there is no benevolent god up there looking kindly upon him. Instead, he lets his smile cut into something meaner as he leans in.
"Because I'm the one that has been given the pleasure of walking you through how we do things here." He pauses, watches as Avid looks at Liv over his shoulder, probably thinking about how much nicer she was. Tough luck. If Pyro suffers, so does Avid. "It's also on your nametag."
"Oh," Avid laughs, fumbling with the nametag pinned to the front of his apron as though he'd forgotten it was there. Pyro's beginning to wonder how he even got hired in the first place if this is how he's acting. He knew Au Lait was going to the dogs when he managed to get a job here, but hiring Avid of all people? Liv must have lost her goddamn mind.
He thinks this at her back, mildly spitefully. Maybe this is why she wanted him training Avid rather than doing it herself. Maybe she's hoping he'll snap and bitch at Avid enough that the man turns his apron in at the end of the day and never reappears.
"It doesn't matter," Pyro says. Snaps. His voice has a little more bite to it than it usually does — a feat for this time, opening shift just beginning with their most insufferable customers dragging themselves through their doors looking for an overpriced caffeine fix — which is saying something. Liv cuts him a harsh look across the floor, pausing in unlocking the front door, ignoring how it only further aggrieves the elderly couple stood there waiting. As though they don't have anything else better to do on a Monday morning at nine a.m.
They probably don't. Pyro wishes he had something better to do than be rudely reminded of a past life he had done his best to escape nearly a decade ago. When he twigged that the man he saw everyday on the New York subway was not just another commuter, but rather the man that had once sired him and then cast him off just as easily. When he'd picked his whole, pitiful life up, gathered it close in his arms, and fled as far as he could. So, all the way to England.
"Just…" he takes a calming breath. People do that now, apparently. Breathing exercises and mindfulness and everything that keeps your average customer service worker from going insane. "Just watch what I do, yeah? Our system is all kinds of fucked and Liv doesn't want to replace it." She gives him another warning look, just as the lock twists and the bell chimes to announce their first customers of the day. "You have barista training, right?"
Avid stares at him. Pyro stares into those wide, stupid eyes and abruptly loses all hope.
"You know what, nevermind." His hand curls around the edge of the tablet, turning away from Avid and towards the couple standing and passive-aggressively clearing their throats. As though that's going to make him want to help them out any more than if they just waited patiently at the counter for him to finish giving an induction.
He continues to ignore them, beckoning Avid forward. "This is the sign-in screen," he says, slow. Mainly because he wants to irritate the couple — regulars that like to order one coffee, sit in the corner for six hours and steal all their sugar sachets, only to leave all the empty packets strewn all over the table and balled up into little clumps under the chairs — but also because he thinks that Avid might genuinely struggle to understand what he's doing if he doesn't speak to him slowly and with patience, as though he were addressing a small child.
"Yes, I do know how a sign-in works," Avid drawls, all dry amusement colouring his tone. None of that nervous shaking that Pyro had been preparing themself for. They're half turned in his direction, an eyebrow raised to their hairline before they catch themself, turning back to the screen.
"Well, you can never be too sure."
The man in front of them clears his throat again. Louder than before. It's just him, Avid, the annoying couple, and Liv in the shop. Pyro drums his fingers across the countertop, cuts a glance at the couple, before returning his gaze to Avid. Avid and his sudden composure and confidence. He's not sure he likes it. He thinks he hates it a little, actually.
"Once you're signed in, the POS will let you enter whatever the customer buys. And then a barista, or you, will make it to order. This," he taps again, "is the screen for the drinks, cold-" he taps on something different, nail clacking against the screen- "and hot. And this is for the baked goods. Questions?"
Avid leans in close. Close enough that his chin could conceivably rest on Pyro's shoulder. And he's leaning down. It's almost enough to make Pyro bristle, the rude and sudden reminder of how much taller Avid has always been barging to the forefront of his brain. Even as he dug his claws into the flesh of Avid's belly and tore his organs asunder, he'd remained above Pyro's head. All lanky limbs and awkward height. Nothing of substance behind it.
He leans away from the intrusion. Unsubtly.
"No," Avid answers eventually, after far too long staring at the screen. Pyro can see how his lips are twitching, curling in on themselves. Writhing about his face strangely, as though there's something being bitten back, contained behind those teeth. "I think I'm all good."
"Wonderful." Pyro says. "How about you take this couple's order, then?"
"And you'll do the drinks?" Avid twists to face him, even as Pyro steps back out of his space, allowing him to take full control of the tablet. There's something in the smile on his face, a twinkle in his eyes that has half of Pyro rearing back, the other half urging him to lean in close, to push forward until he can set his teeth against the soft flesh of Avid's neck. Trace the pulse beneath that thin skin with his tongue.
He does neither of these. Watches as Avid greets the couple with a smile and an easy geniality that has never come naturally to Pyro and, judging by the way his fingers curl tight around the edges of the tablet, is definitely not coming naturally to Avid.
Then Avid's turning back to them, dragging Pyro's focus away from the slenderness of his fingers. How large his palms are as they wrap around the thin, delicate edge of the tablet. He drums his fingers in a languid little rhythm. It draws his eyes in, makes them focus on how his pale, finely-boned hands curl. How he can see the outline of each knuckle and joint.
He turns away. Tries to think of anything else.
The steam hisses and the milk froths. Snarling at him from its jug as he leans back, watching it boredly. The couple stand at the edge of the bench, despite Avid telling them they can take a seat and he'll bring the drinks over. Despite the numerous times Pyro has repeated the same exact thing, and every time they stand there and complain about how they have to wait and that they're old and frail and not made for standing anymore. As though he controls the rate at which the milk heats. It heats when it fucking heats.
He sighs as he pours the drinks. Fucks the latte art up on purpose. Sets them down onto a tray and waits. Avid lingers awkwardly nearby, eyes flicking between Pyro, the couple, then back again. All of them caught up in this waiting. Pyro's only glad that Liv's made herself scarce, disappeared to some back room so she doesn't have to frown disapprovingly at him when he snarls silently at the bowed head of the wife when she draws her secret weapon from inside her handbag.
Avid makes a small sound. A squeaking, dying sound that has Pyro cocking his head in that direction, though not averting his eyes. Watching as this awful, evil woman slides a thermometer into her drink. It distorts the latte art, pulls it in around the stick as they all stand there is suspense, awaiting the verdict.
"It's not hot enough," she says. There's a slow, drawling quality to her words. A rasp in her voice from a life of complaining. Pyro wouldn't be surprised if the first thing she uttered in the morning was a complaint. Her husband looks tired enough for it to be true. "It's only sixty-degrees."
Pyro sighs.
"That's the correct temperature for a latte."
"No, it's not," she tells him. With all the confidence of a stupid woman that Googled something and looked at the Gemini AI response first and didn't bother reading further. She'd eat at least one small rock a day for the mineral benefits that geologists recommend. "It should be a hundred. At least."
"That's for water. And tea." Pyro says. Slow. "This is a latte. Which is neither."
"I know that," she snaps. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
Pyro inhales, slowly. Reminds themself that they cannot say what it is they wish to say. Watches Avid bristle out the corner of their eye, drawing himself up to his, admittedly, rather impressive height even if there's nothing of substance behind it. Yes, they think, you are stupid. And you're stupid enough to keep having this conversation with me every single morning. So, you're not just stupid, you're insane also. Do you know the definition of insanity?
He doesn't say this. Instead, he plasters on a smile and says, "No, ma'am, I don't think you're stupid."
"Then make it a hundred degrees. Celsius." She punctuates it by shoving her drink back across the counter, thermometer included. Pyro stares down at it. The small bit of foam that's slipped over the lip of the mug and is slowly making its way down to the saucer. He frowns.
"I cannot do that."
"Why not?"
"Because," he breathes again. Mindfulness. Not going crazy in front of the new hire. Not throttling this woman. He's thought of many ways to kill her. Maybe with the thermometer plunged into her neck. Garroting her with his apron. Strangling her with his bare hands. Showing her up close and personal just what a hundred degrees celsius felt like. "Milk separates at around eighty degrees. Ergo, it is not possible for me to make your latte that hot."
She stares at him. Sniffs in through her nose as though she might be able to catch him out in a lie. Like she might be able to smell it on him like a bad smell. Smacks her lips together as her eyes drift away. Her magenta lipstick has smeared over her teeth. Dismissing her completely.
"I want to speak to your manager."
Pyro sighs. "Avid?"
"Yeah?"
"Go find Liv. Tell her…"
"Heather." The old woman says. Her mouth purses, transforming into the wrinkled ass of a lemon as she attempts to look down her nose at him. It doesn't work particularly well, because she's looking up at him, but there's an attempt. Just as there is every other morning.
"Riiiiiiight." Pyro draws it out, just to watch her face twitch. "Heather. Tell Liv Heather's back. And wants to speak to her."
"Okay…?" Avid waits another moment, before turning on his heel and disappearing out back. It leaves Pyro alone with his thoughts. And with Heather. And her husband, who always looks vaguely embarrassed to be seen in public with her.
"What kind of name even is Avid anyway," Heather scoffs. She smacks her lips together again, and then looks at Pyro as though he might agree. He raises an eyebrow at her, fingers back to drumming across the countertop, her coffee going cold between the two of them. He watches the moment it twigs in her brain, eyes dropping to find his own nametag. PYRO stares back at her, proudly flashing as he turns, the metal of it catching the light.
She looks like she just stepped in dog shit. He kind of hopes she does, on her way out. Maisie should be getting here soon, and she always leaves her dog outside to shit on the curb even though Au Lait lets dogs inside. They're pet friendly because, according to Liv, that's the hip and trendy thing to do nowadays. He doesn't think hip and trendy is a descriptor that the kids use anymore, but whatever makes her happy.
It takes Liv five minutes to emerge from the back, during which Pyro does nothing but stare off into space. Au Lait isn't doing particularly well for itself, tucked away behind several other buildings and out of the way, meaning they have no other customers for him to attend to. It's a wonder they can afford to hire anyone else. Maybe Avid comes cheap. Maybe Liv's not paying him at all because he's stupid enough to accept a job that pays him in nothing other than hopes, dreams, and exposure.
Avid emerges looking chastened, as though he's just made a visit to the principal's office rather than gone to fetch their boss because their first customer of the day has decided being a cunt is the first thing on her agenda.
"Hi, Heather," Liv says. She does so with a smile, as though they're old friends rather than two foes meeting on the battlefield of milk temperature once again. "I hear your latte isn't quite hot enough?"
"No." She sniffs, haughtily and sneaking Pyro a nasty look from the corner of her eye. As though he cares. "It never is."
"And yet," Pyro mutters, "you always end up back here, old hag."
Avid snickers beside them, which is when they realise he's edged his way closer, the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder. Like they're…friends. Or something equally awful. But, this united front is fun, especially with how it sours Heather's already awful mood even further, eyes narrowing into nasty little slits when she spies the two of them behind Liv. Pyro leans further into Avid, almost tucking themself beneath his arm and into his side, just to watch her face twist.
He almost pulls himself away when Avid stiffens, doing a rather valiant impression of a board of wood beside him. Pyro's moments away from straightening up of his own accord when Avid's arm, awkwardly, strangely, curls around his side. It makes him feel a little sick, stomach twisting in on itself.
Heather's still staring. He smirks back, sharp and mean, too much teeth. His mother always told him, in this life, that he should smile politely. That smiling wide enough to bare the pink flesh of the gums above his teeth is threatening and off-putting. A smaller, younger version of him didn't understand the dormant instinct to show off all his teeth. Now, he itches with the loss of that weapon.
Maybe they can give Heather a heart attack. It'd make his day. Make his fucking life if she stopped coming here. He'd even visit her grave, if only to piss on it. Just the once.
Alas. Liv resolves the issue, as she always does, and Heather and her pathetic husband retreat to their corner for the next four to six hours. Liv turns back to him. And Avid, who had begun to properly relax into into Pyro and now stumbles when he steps away, stealing his armrest.
"Now, Pyro," Liv begins, her voice meant to be sweet and understanding but bordering on sickly and patronising instead. "You know I don't mind dealing with the more difficult customers for you, but you need to learn how to attend to their needs one day. We might be a family here, but I can't always come running to end the disputes happening out here. I've got important business going on in my office."
Yeah, Pyro scoffs, like horse betting. And betting in general.
"You got it Liv." He grins back at her, in that awful way he does that normally has her fleeing back into her office. He's always been told that he looks sickly, like something half-drowned and then resuscitated at the last moment, and the smile doesn't help matters. It'd never been the right time to tell anyone that actually, yeah, that'd happened to him in a previous life; not if he wished to exist outside of a straitjacket and padded room, at least.
Both he and Avid watch Liv retreat, casting him a wary glance over her shoulder.
"A family," Avid spits, unimpressed, the moment she's out of view. Almost immediately withers beneath Pyro's gaze, crumpling over and onto the counter, hands tangling in his hair. The dark nail polish makes his fingers almost blend in, slender appendages weaving through strands of hair before twisting and pulling. "Oh my god, why did I take this job?"
"Why does anyone take a job like this." Pyro leans a hip against the counter. Stares down at Avid, unimpressed. For a moment, he'd almost been fooled into thinking reincarnation had given him a spine. Alas. He remains spineless and about as resistant to others as an éclair. "Rent. Bills. Food."
"Hah." Avid thumps his head against the counter. "Right."
"Well," Pyro claps a hand on Avid's back, right between the shoulder blades and harsh enough to make him startle. He takes a little enjoyment from that. If he has to start working with someone, at least it's someone he can torment. Someone that will make things fun around here. "If you're sticking around, you'll get to meet all our fun regulars."
"Like…Heather?"
"Oh, yes." Pyro grins. "Just like Heather."
He enjoys the small look of terror that crosses Avid's face. The despair that sweeps over it afterwards. Doesn't mention that Heather is the worst of them all, the tyrant in the midst of mildly incovenient customers.
"So," Avid says, drifting over from the coffee machine and towards Pyro. He props his hip against the countertop, arms folding as he looks down at Pyro. Smiling. What the hell's he even got to smile about. "Pyro?"
"Yes," they grunt out, debating the merits of punching Avid so they can go home. Probably not worth the docked pay. Or the chance that Heather will call the police. Nasty bitch. She'd call the police on them just for breathing wrong, they can sense it. They glare at her for that.
"Is that your real name?"
Everything grinds to a halt for a moment. Pyro weighs up the pros and cons of physical violence once more, before heaving a sigh and straightening up from where they were slouched over the countertop. "Yeah, Avid, my parents hated me so much that they called me Pyro."
"Oh," Avid frowns, face transforming. "I'm sorry. Are you not in contact with them anymore?"
"Am I not- I was being sarcastic, Avid. No, of course they didn't call me fucking Pyro."
Avid blinks at them. "Then why's it on your nametag?"
"They let you print them yourself. The joys of a small business."
"Huh." Avid nods. Like he's not got fucking Avid on his own nametag. Names might have gotten more…creative in recent years, but they doubt there's anyone running around out there that would call their child Avid. Or Pyro. They hope not at least.
Pyro stills completely when Avid reaches out, finger tracing around the little metal rectangle declaring PYRO to the world. They hardly move, barely breathe as Avid does one circuit, then two, then a third, head tilting to the side as he considers the badge.
Their face warms when Avid starts toying with it, tugging at it so Pyro sways forward, unwilling to break the safety pin on the back of it. They're slapping Avid's hands away a moment later, taking an abrupt step back to put a nice, comfortable foot of distance between them both.
Avid stares at him. Pyro stares back.
"What the hell was that?" They bite out, careful to keep his voice low when Heather starts glancing in their direction. The last thing they need on top of this embarrassment is her summoning Liv back out here. They might just quit on the spot if Liv appears in the next five minutes, and then they'll be properly fucked.
Avid shrugs, and turns his back. "Where'd you get the nickname, anyway?"
Pyro stews for a moment. Considers telling the truth and telling Avid it came from a past life. Maybe if they act like a crazy conspiracy theorist who believes in past lives and reincarnations Avid will steer clear. Maybe he'll quit, and Pyro can return to their lonely existence behind this godforsaken counter.
"I set a tea towel on fire my first day here," they settle on. It's not untrue. They did do that. Mainly because they were hoping the whole store might catch on fire and take them and Heather out together in a fiery blaze. Nasty old bitch has been haunting them since they first stepped foot in this place. "Nearly burned the place to the ground."
Avid's turned back to face them now, alarm written into the edges of his face. "Um," he says, and then nothing else.
"Um." Pyro mocks. "What were you expecting?"
"Not…that?"
"Tough luck, buttercup."
Avid backs off quickly after that, snatching up a cloth and rounding the counter to wipe the tables down. Pyro lets him go. Very helpfully doesn't point out that they did that before opening and they've had no customers aside from Heather and her pushover of a husband in to dirty them yet.
If it keeps him on the other side of the store for the next twenty minutes, they don't care what Avid does.
Eventually, Avid makes his way back, feet dragging and eyes downcast. He hardly acknowledges Pyro as he dumps the cloth back in its sink, turning on his heel with an impressively tired sigh.
He continues not to break the silence, though the eye contact returns. Pyro can feel it drilling holes into the side of their face, there one second and then gone again, as though lingering too long might give him away. Unfortunately for Avid, Pyro has a sixth-sense for when people are staring at them, so they catch him immediately.
But it means he's not talking. Not yammering on in that way he had once been so fond of. Maybe this Avid is quieter? Less jittery? Less of a nervous breakdown waiting to happen?
Avid starts tapping.
A strange, jerky rhythm made from the back of his nail hitting the glass face of his watch. Pyro allows it to go on for several seconds — several seconds longer than they should have let it go on for — before they're turning to fix Avid with the best withering look they can muster.
Avid stares right back, uncaring, and continues tapping. His foot joins in too.
"Stop." Pyro says. It's not a request and Avid should be able to sense that. Anyone can sense the underlying, silent threat in the measured flatness of their tone. It's the one that normally sends potential hires on their trial shifts running for the hills.
Huh.
Maybe that's why Liv didn't give Avid a trial shift. She's becoming wise to their tricks.
The tapping continues. Pyro feels their eye begin to twitch along to the beat.
"Stop it," they bite out. The tapping halts for a moment, and Pyro almost cries with relief, only to be disappointed a moment later when the tapping continues on. Relentlessly. Avid is undeterred by the second withering look Pyro fixes him with.
They summon all the patience they have and turn to face Avid fully, leaning back against the countertop to stare at him head-on rather than from the corner of their eye. "Quit it. Seriously."
Avid shrugs and doesn't stop. "I'm just trying to find something to do with myself."
"What, get on my last nerve?"
"No. But I guess it's a happy coincidence."
Pyro bites back the urge to snarl at him. Mainly because it would only make them look demented, without fangs to back the threat up. And Avid might think they're a furry.
They change tacks. "So, Avid," they drag the name out, watches how Avid really does pause this time, something uneasy flashing across his face. "Where'd you get that name, hm?"
Something like relief shines in Avid's eyes before being quickly smothered by a cool, almost apathetic friendliness. Weirdo. "I was in a bunch of sporting societies at uni. I got the nickname there."
"Sporting societies," Pyro says, with the tone that one might say dog shit or explosive diarrhoea. They can't think of anything worse to do with their spare time, and definitely not the precious few moments you would manage to grab at university. "At university."
"Yeah. Sound engineering."
As if their life couldn't get worse. Avid's their new co-worker and he did fucking sound engineering at uni. "Sound…engineering."
"Well, yeah? It's, like, a good degree for music production."
"Hm."
"Means I can help out at open mic nights," Avid continues, oblivious to the distress he's causing Pyro. They can't work with someone that decided yeah, I'm gonna do a sound engineering degree because I love having no future job prospects in my field of study. I want to work at a coffee shop for the rest of my life.
They hate him.
"Open mic nights," Pyro repeats, unable to help it. It's like they've turned into an echo chamber for all the awful, embarrassing shit Avid apparently gets up to in his free time.
"Yeah! Hey, maybe you should come to one? See me sing?"
Pyro can't think of anything they'd rather do less. "I can't think of anything I'd rather do less."
Avid blinks, then frowns. Genuine hurt washes across his face, there and gone again, and Pyro momentarily feels bad. Feels kinda awful for it, actually. They grit their teeth and continue to smile meanly at Avid.
This time, it works. The tapping stops and Avid turns away. Doesn't talk to them for the rest of their shift.
Pyro assumes that is that, that Liv will come out here tomorrow and tell them that, unfortunately, Avid decided not to stick with us. He wanted to explore more avenues elsewhere I suppose! and the hunt for Pyro's co-worker would resume.
Avid does not quit.
He's there before Pyro the next day. Which, sucks to be him because Pyro's the one opening today and also the only one between them with a set of keys, meaning Avid's been left to brave the awful weather. It's raining steadily, sheets cascading down onto the street and burbling along the curb in a merry little stream.
Pyro hates it. Hates the weather and hates that it means barely any customers will be in. Hates that it means he's stuck with nothing but his own company and Avid's for the rest of this eight-hour shift. At least when customers come in, when it's busy, there's no time for downtime, it's just go-go-go.
Like this, Avid might try to start a conversation.
"Pyro!" Avid perks up as Pyro steps into the alcove beside him, already fumbling around in his pockets for the keys. On the two minute walk from where he parked his car to the front door, he's gotten completely soaked, hair hanging in front of his face and t-shirt tight against his skin. "Hey, was wondering when you would show up."
"On time."
"Well, yeah, but I didn't know if you'd show up early, I wanted to be prepared. Better to be early than late, am I right?"
"Sure." The key clicks and the door swings open. The shop is dark beyond that, though only for a moment before Pyro's flicking the lights on. He scuffs his shoes against the welcome mat, dries them off enough that he won't be tracking wet footprints through the store, and then makes his way inside properly.
"Hey, did you know it's rained every day in the UK since the start of the year?" Avid asks. Tells.
"Really," Pyro says. "I didn't notice."
The bite in his tone is enough to have Avid wilting, though not for long. Unfortunately. He's filled with entirely too much energy for this early in the fucking morning. If he keeps on like this, Pyro will have to take drastic measures. Like killing Avid. Or himself.
"I mean, not every single person will have experienced rain every single day, but there's been rain in at least one part of the country since the new year."
"Fascinating," Pyro says, with as little interest as he can manage. "Get the chairs off the tables and start wiping everything down."
"Got it." Avid darts off to do just that. Pyro watches him go, slowly working through bringing the coffee machines to life, listening as they hum and watching Avid move around the seating area in a little whirl of energy.
Does he do three espresso shots in a row before he comes here? A line of coke off his dashboard, perhaps?
Pyro abruptly realises he's been staring, stood still and simply watching as Avid bustles around the shop, not at all getting on with what he's meant to be doing. He jerks back into motion abruptly, turning away from Avid and back towards the coffee machines. As if, by turning his back, Avid might cease to exist.
He does not cease to exist.
He hums. Taps his feet in a strange little tune as he makes his way around the empty store. By the time Pyro's phone goes off with the alarm to remind him to flip the sign on the door he's certain he's lost his mind. Just gone entirely crazy with how every fibre of his being seems to be pointed towards Avid. As though his person is a compass and Avid is true north.
It's humiliating. And uncomfortable.
And he can do nothing but stew in it for the next however-long period of time. It's still chucking it down outside, possibly worse than it was before, and he doubts anyone is going to brave the weather to get their overpriced coffee.
When the front door is unlocked and the sign flipped to cheerily declare them open, he turns around. Finds Avid stood behind the counter, long fingers drumming against the countertop.
He's painted his nails.
It's the first thing Pyro registers. Dark nail varnish adorning the ends of Avid's long, slender fingers. The way it glints off the glossy surface teasingly, winking at him under the awful, artificial lights that Liv insists give the place a cosy vibe. The only thing those lights have ever given anyone is a headache.
Pyro swallows. Drags his eyes away from Avid's hands. Pulls his mind away from what it might feel like that have those hands on him. Those slender digits curled around his wrist, dark nail varnish stark against pale skin. What it might feel like for those hands to slip up, over his arms, his shoulders, encircle his neck and—
Pyro, very abruptly, shakes himself out of it. Pushes that to a dark, decrepit corner of his mind and shoves it all into a box. Mentally padlocks it.
He's fine. Everything is fine. He has eight hours of this shift left and he can get through this.
He can't get through this.
Every time Avid moves his hands he finds his eyes drawn to the motion. Like he's magnetised, being pulled in by that dark little bit of paint on the ends of his hands. Like they're some void, some blackhole, yawning wide and impossibly dark in the distance between them, dragging him in. Swallowing him down. Consuming him whole.
It leaves him feeling warm and uncomfortable. Flustered when Avid brushes up against his side, a small contact that doesn't even involve any skin-on-skin contact, that leaves him blushing like he's back in high school, grappling with the reality of his first ever crush.
It's humiliating. He's never wanted to kill himself more.
The worst part is that Avid remains entirely oblivious. The worst and the best part. Worst, because it means Avid doesn't stop brushing up against him. Best, because Pyro's not sure he wants it to stop.
They're kept in close quarters behind the counter, but there are ways to avoid touching each other if either of them so desires. They'd managed it easily yesterday so why, today, does Avid have to put a hand on Pyro's hip as he slides by? Why does he have to ghost a hand over the side of his ribcage to nudge him out of the way?
Every time it happens Pyro feels the blood rush to his face so fast he feels dizzy. At one point, he gets such an awful headrush his tongue goes a little numb in his mouth. It's embarrassing, and that embarrassment is only compounded by how red he is right now, his heart never calming enough for the flush to dissipate before Avid's leaning back into his space again.
At one point, Pyro swears Avid grins at them while he does it. A slow, curling grin that takes over his face gradually, eyes squinting as he considers Pyro. Pyro can feel his breath on the side of his face. Warm on flushed skin. Smells the chocolate and coffee on his breath.
It means it's a relief when Waterfountain Earl makes an appearance.
Pyro watches him approach the doors, trudging on steadily through the gradually lightening rain. A watery sun is just barely peeking through, and it raises Pyro's hopes for an afternoon rush.
His hopes. For an afternoon rush.
Avid is doing something incredibly evil to his brain.
"Um." Avid says next to him, eyes also fixed on Waterfountain Earl. "Is that…should we call someone?"
"Why would we call someone?" Pyro doesn't turn to look at Avid. Knows already he will find him stood too close. Can feel where their hips brush together as Avid sways. Their thighs pressing against one another before he rocks in the other direction again.
"That guy is soaking wet." Avid tells him, like Pyro doesn't have eyes with which to see.
"I know." Pyro says. "It's Waterfountain Earl."
"Waterfountain Earl."
"Yeah." Pyro smiles, realising then that he's not the one that has to mop up after Waterfountain Earl. He can get Avid to do it instead. Payback, for the psychological warfare being engaged on his psyche this morning via mode of large hands and dark nails. "He dives in the nearby fountains for coins to pay for his coffee."
"Right…" Avid turns a wary eye onto Waterfountain Earl as he comes in, bell chiming cheerily.
"Don't worry," Pyro says. Grows bold enough to clap a hand on Avid's shoulder and squeeze the muscle. Feels a little worse for it when he realises he has to reach up to grab him. Pulls him down instead, makes him hunch his back so Pyro can murmur in his ear, low enough that Waterfountain Earl won't hear him. "Go get the mop."
"Uh, yeah. Yeah," Avid pulls away, flushed high on his cheekbones and down the back of his neck. "I'll…go get the mop. I guess."
"Good boy," Pyro says, and then immediately wants to die. Avid does too, if the choked-off spluttering noise he makes is any indication. Or how quickly he runs to grab the mop from the cupboard. It makes him feel a little better about himself, actually. Less like the shame of calling Avid a good boy in front of a paying customer is going to kill him.
Hah, take that. It's not just Avid that can act weird around him, Pyro can do it too.
"Hey, Earl." He pivots, smiling at Earl. The smile tightens into a grimace as Waterfountain Earl, basically the only stable person in Pyro's life, begins to count soaking wet coins out onto the counter. "The usual?"
"Yes, please." Earl smiles back at him, pausing in his counting. Pyro kinda likes Earl. He's polite and never kicks up a fuss, even if Pyro has to go around the store with a mop and a wet floor sign after all his visits. He normally times it before anyone else is here, at least. "Thanks, man," he says, when Pyro's turned away to the coffee machine.
Decaf flat white. The same as every morning. Pyro doesn't really understand the point of it, but Earl likes it. And so he makes it.
"New boy around here, I see?" Earl says, talking at Pyro's back. Pyro hums. He really could not give less of a shit about Avid right now, especially when he's in one of those brief moments of respite where he doesn't have to see his dumb face. "What's going on with him?"
"Going on?" Pyro steams the milk. Winces as it shrieks right in their ear. Earl waits. Pyro can feel his gaze heavy on their back, weighing him down with something like…judgement? "I don't think there's anything going on."
"Uh-huh." Earl raises an eyebrow. "So the weird shoulder-gripping and whispering in his ear is normal, then?"
Pyro grits his teeth and smiles. "Yes. Very."
"How platonic of you," Earl says, and then laughs. Like it's a joke.
Pyro likes him a little less now.
Likes him even less when his presence means Avid following him around with the mop, apologising when he gets too close to Earl but not actually stopping. Pyro leaves him to it. Mainly because he can't stand to look over at Avid and see the way his hands are curled around the mop handle. How his forearms flex whenever he's draining the mop back into the bucket. How he rests, for a moment, one hand braced on the top of the handle and all his weight leaned onto one leg as he chats with Earl.
Pyro desperately needs to kill him. It's not even a want anymore it is a genuine need. If he doesn't get to strangle Avid in the next ten minutes he's going to spontaneously combust.
He starts day three of hell with a stupidly positive outlook. Sure, the nails had haunted him yesterday, dark little spots of paint on an expanse of milky pale skin. Pyro had wanted to bite those fingers off every time they curled around a cup before handing it over. Every time he had drummed his fingers across the countertop; every smart little twist of the wrist.
Pyro had wanted to bite them off at the knuckle, work his way down them. Take those fingers into his mouth, have them press down over his tongue. See how that nail varnish might taste against the back of his throat.
He had been normal about it, in summary.
He will continue to be normal about it today, because he had processed and compartmentalised all the strange emotions he had been feeling about Avid and Avid's hands and Avid's hands having nail varnish on them yesterday. Calmly and rationally.
He opens on his own that morning, just getting to wiping down the tables when the door opens with its signature chime. Boots scuff against the welcome mat, drying off from the wet street outside, before Avid's bounding into his periphery, once again far too awake for how early it is in the morning. Another point to the does crack off his dashboard every morning theory.
"Good morning!" he chirps, bright and happy and cheery, and Pyro wants to tell him just where he can stick that sunshine attitude. Is turning to face him to do just that when it feels like his whole world stutters to a halt.
Avid smiles at him, none the wiser to the utter distress coursing through every inch of Pyro's being. It only makes it worse, because it draws attention to how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles with his whole face, which brings attention to the fucking eyeliner he's wearing.
Pyro allows himself one, singular moment to let his entire world crash down around his shoulders. Because this is the nightmare scenario. This is the moment where he stares into Avid's stupid face and doesn't see the man he once killed. Instead, he sees someone that he would actually really, really like to makeout with.
He opens his mouth. Possibly to say something intelligent. Possibly to make good on his promise of biting Avid's fingers off and swallowing them whole.
"You're wearing eyeliner," is what emerges instead.
Avid pauses, evidently not expecting that. "…Yes?"
"Hm." Pyro resists the urge to lean in closer. Maybe admire how well Avid had done it, the edges artistically smudged. Dark against his pale, slightly flushed skin. Considers what to say. What he can say without it immediately revealing that he desperately wants to take Avid to the stockroom and press him up against the shelves there. "It looks awful."
Not that.
Pyro despairs internally. This is why he's currently spending his twenty-fourth new year on this god-forsaken earth without a Valentine. He hadn't even been lucky enough in his previous life to romantically hold hands, let alone kiss someone. He doubts there's many people out there that can make a claim like that: I'm one of the biggest losers to walk this planet, in this life and the previous one.
Pyro clears his throat and looks away. Steps back from how close they are; the sensation of inhaling and his chest brushing against Avid's was becoming painful.
"Can you finish up out here?" he asks, though he's already turning, retreating towards the stockroom without a backwards glance. "I need to run through the stock for Liv. Thanks!"
They shut the door behind themself. Slam it, really. Lean back against and slide down it like some distressed love interest in a romcom. They tip their head into their hands, a long, drawn-out groan echoing into the small stockroom.
They debate the merits of just up and disappearing. Not even quitting the job, just vanishing off the face of the planet. They did it once before, ditching New York for some fuckass Northern English city. Maybe he could hit up Australia next? Everyone always asks when they moved from there, and they have to awkwardly skirt around the topic until everyone moves on.
He'd be just lucky enough to find someone else there. Some other shmuck from his past would pop up just as he's getting settled again and wreck everything, he can sense it. And then he'd have to pick up and go elsewhere, and he doesn't really have any ideas for a fourth location yet. …He needs to get on that.
There's a timid knock at the door.
"Pyro?" Avid calls through.
"What," he grits out. He's barely had five minutes of peace to himself and Avid is already bothering him? Should he just cuff the two of them together so Avid can learn to love the space Pyro is attempting to place between them and stop his clinging, or…would that only encourage it?
"Um." There's a pause. A shuffling of feet. "I…can't operate the tills until you open them up for the morning. And there's some people here asking about stuff." Another pause. "Stuff…I don't know how to make?"
Pyro raises his head from his hands, just to slam it back into the door behind him. It makes his head ache, but it also clears all thoughts of Avid's hands and mouth and eyes and stupid fucking face from his head too. So it serves its purpose.
He heaves himself to his feet, swinging the door back open. Avid stands on the other side, visibly startled.
"What's wrong?"
"Um." Avid stares at him, the stupid fucking eyeliner just makes his eyes look all the larger. All the more doe-. "Are you…okay? Did you fall into the door?"
"I did not fall into the door." Pyro hisses. "Just- let's just help the customer, yeah?"
"Um, yeah. That's why I came and got you?"
"Fantastic." He brushes past Avid, only slowing his roll when he realises who it is.
James.
She's here with her weaselly-looking boyfriend today. Yesterday, she was here with her weird, drama student boyfriend. The one that would sweep around in a dramatic cape and speak in the most awful, nonsensical accent. It was reminiscent of Renhardt, but Pyro had double and then triple checked that it wasn't him. The resemblance was uncanny, though.
"Good morning," he greets, lacking all the typical cheer you're meant to have when you greet a customer. "What can I get for you today?"
James senses the lack of enthusiasm, giving him a small, wrinkled-nose look that perfectly conveys all of her distaste. She's forgone her typical religious embellishments — she'd been training to be a priest at some point? Maybe? Pyro had tuned her out as much as he could whenever she would preach at him, meaning he doesn't know when that dream crashed and burned — as she always does when spending time with the weaselly boyfriend.
Possibly because said weaselly boyfriend has sticky fingers and she likes to be able to look the other way. Pretend she can't see it happening because if she can't see it happening then it's not happening. Pyro fucking hates her boyfriend.
"He'll get uh," she glances back at said awful fucking boyfriend, who leans in close and murmurs in her ear. Pyro notes, with no small glee, how he has to rock up onto his tiptoes to do so (and even then she still has to lean down), murmuring in James' ear. As though he's too good to speak to Pyro. "A decaf mocha, thanks."
Just get a fucking hot chocolate at this point. Decaf mocha.
"You got that?" He leans to the side just slightly, casting a look back at Avid. Not at too much of Avid because then he might start thinking of his dark nail varnish and dark eyeliner and darker eyes and- yeah. Nothing good will come of that. He'll probably end up strangling James' awful boyfriend.
He doesn't even care that the guy's probably getting cheated on. He probably deserves it. What self-respecting guy is five-foot-nothing.
"Uh, yeah?"
"Sound a little more certain about it, please." Use the expired milk, he says silent. Give this guy food poisoning so he never comes back and steals our biscuits again. He turns back to James. "Anything else?"
"Yes." She grimaces, "Black coffee for me, please."
Pyro sighs. Punches it in anyway. "Six pounds thirty, please." Avid slides the decaf mocha onto a tray, turns away to start on James' black coffee. Coffee that Pyro's going to have to stand and watch her grimace into for the next thirty minutes to an hour.
He doesn't understand why she gets it. Is it some kind of punishment for spending time with this boyfriend? He could understand that, but surely it's punishment enough to just be spending time with him at all, especially in a public space. And if that were the case, she wouldnt buy it when she was here with her other boyfriend.
The second mug hits the tray and they're gone from his immediate field of vision. Thank fucking god.
"So," Avid sidles up next to him. "There was some…tension there?"
"No tension." Pyro sighs and lets his shoulders drop. "Just- frustration."
"O…kay?" Avid leans a little closer, like he's trying to get Pyro to look at him. Invades his space, too, leaning close and pressing up against him, a solid line of warmth against his side that he really, really, can't think about right now.
"James and…her boyfriend." He stares at the weaselly guy. "You know, I'm gonna be so real with you they've been coming in here for the past year and I still don't know his name. He looks like a weasel so I've just been…calling him Weasel."
"That's…that's not nice, Pyro."
Pyro shrugs. "If you squint at him for long enough you can kinda see it."
"I…" Avid trails off. Squints. It makes something disgusting worm around affectionately in Pyro's chest. "You know what, I can kinda see it. Huh."
"Anyway, she brings Weasel in on some days of the week, and then on other days she'll bring her…other boyfriend in."
"Her other boyfriend," Avid repeats.
"Yeah." Pyro sighs. "It's like they have set days to come in here. Never overlapping between the two of them. Like, she's been doing it for months. I've thought several times about telling them, but I don't like Weasel enough to do that."
"But- bringing them to the same place?!" Avid's voice reaches a pitch yet unheard by dogs. It has Weasel's head swivelling in their direction, James following soon after. Her mouth is still pinched from her most recent sip of coffee, or maybe the fact that Weasel's hand is laying on top of hers.
"Hey," Pyro interrupts, before Avid can give the game away to Weasel, "didnt you say something about not knowing how to make something?"
"Oh, yeah." Avid pauses. "James was asking about our Valentine's hot chocolate? But I guess me not knowing meant she didn't order it…"
"That's not why she didn't order it," Pyro says, and then offers no further explanation. She can keep her weird, self-flagellating coffee order to herself. Weirdo.
"Um. Okay?"
"Oh, you're just such a lucky little creature, starting here just before Valentine's." Pyro claps his hands together in false cheer, grins at how it makes Avid jump. "You get to learn how to make our super special Valentine's hot chocolate. Designed to be shared!"
Avid shudders, a strange look overtaking his face before distaste smooths it back out. "I don't think you can call me a creature."
Pyro cocks an eyebrow. Opens his mouth to say I could not give less of a shit—
"You couldn't give less of a shit," Avid interrupts. "Yes, I'm aware." He pauses. "Do you have the sales pitch for the hot chocolate memorised?"
"Don't you?
"Uh, no." Avid gives him a strange look. Like he thinks Pyro's going crazy. He feels a little like he's going crazy. Like he should just walk out into the ocean and never return. Allow the waters to consume him. "I only just found out it existed. When James asked about it."
"We can work on improving that later!"
"Can we…stop the enthusiasm?" Avid asks. "You're freaking me out."
"Sure." He nudges Avid away from the bartop, towards the machines at the back. "Honestly, it's a pretty simple drink. It's a white hot chocolate we add strawberry syrup to. Makes it a little bit pink. People go crazy for it. People like to share it with their dates, be sickening in the corner and then go make out in the disabled toilet like I don't know what's going on in there."
"Right…"
"C'mon, I'll show you how to make it." He offers, and then immediately wants to die. Avid knows how to make a hot chocolate, he's probably made nearly a hundred in just the past couple of days at this place. He's about to open his mouth and retract the offer when Avid looks up at him.
Looks up at him. From beneath his lashes.
He feels the flush crawling from the depths of his chest, dragging itself upwards and plastering over his face. He's probably red as anything right now, and there's nothing he can do about it because Avid's staring up at him with thick, smudged eyeliner beneath his eyes and dark, soulful eyes that are basically begging for Pyro to press him back and-
Place of work. He is at his place of work and there are cameras that Liv regularly looks through. He cannot. He will not.
There's no way Avid's not doing this on purpose. He has to know, surely. But then…Avid hadn't realised anything until it was too late. He had followed them down into that pit so willingly, so happily. He hardly noticed as the two of them watched him from above, sharpening their claws and exchanging grim smiles.
Maybe he's just a fucking idiot.
"Just…start on the hot chocolate. We keep the white powder up there," he gestures, and then crouches down to rummage around under the countertop. He'd stashed the freeze-dried strawberries somewhere back here, confident that he'd remember to pull them out before Liv started advertisting their Valentine's specials. More fool him.
He's just managed to get a hand around the right bag when something presses up against the base of his spine. And then the rest of his back, a hot line of solid person pressing down against him, keeping him pinned in place.
He freezes, going so still you'd think he'd turned to stone. A knee presses against the top of his spine.
This is it. This is how he dies. Executed by the warmth of a pretty man pressed up against him, basically using him as a step-stool to get something from the top shelf. He feels himself flush all the way to the roots of his hair, burning hot and staring at the mildly grubby floor beneath him, wondering if it might swallow him whole. If he even wants it to swallow him whole.
(He doesn't. That's the worst fucking part. He doesn't.)
The knee moves away. He tilts his head to the side, squinting up at Avid. He's haloed by one of their shitty LEDs. He looks unfairly pretty like this and Pyro wants to sink his teeth in and never let go. "Oh, oops." Avid grins down at him, boyish and charming and fucking disgusting. "Was I leaning on you?"
"No," his voice cracks on the singular syllable of the word. He wants to kill himself. Change the trajectory of Avid's life. "You're…all good."
"Oh, okay." Avid looks away. "If you say so."
"Got the strawberries," he offers, heaving himself to his feet and resenting how his knees pop with the motion. He's not that old. Not old enough to be biting back a groan at standing up straight after crouching for a bit. "Um, Avid?"
"Yes?" Avid blinks back to himself, blankly holding the white hot chocolate container.
"You gonna…make that? Or just stand there and wait for one to drop from the sky?"
"Oh, um, yeah. I'll make it now." Pyro turns away, though he catches Avid frowning at him from the corner of his eye, before he too turns his back. He mutters something, though it's too quiet for Pyro to pick up on, even with his sharp ears.
"Good," Pyro says, instead of any of the million stupid things his mind conjures.
"Great."
The silence that falls between them is awkward. Pyro finds himself making prolonged eye contact with both James and Weasel, the pair of them turned to watch him and Avid now, for some reason. They're not even saying anything, just watching them, and typing on their phones. Giggling intermittently.
Texting, he realises. Texting each other. While they're both sat right fucking next to each other. He stares at them both for a little longer, fights the urge to jump the counter and lose his job just to strangle Weasel when the snarky little cunt smirks at him.
He doesn't, because Avid calls his attention away the moment he plants his hands on the counter, ready and willing to do it. James would probably thank him for it at the end of the day. She has another boyfriend, it's fine. Weasel's probably just the backup boyfriend.
"Is there, like, a specific way to present it?"
"Uh," Pyro spins on his heel, "yes! Yes, there is, let me show you."
Avid steps back, hands raised as Pyro nudges into the space by the machine. Pyro allows himself to relax a little — a moment to breathe, if you will — which proves to be a fucking mistake less than a second later as Avid's pressing back in, chin hooking over his shoulder to watch as Pyro pulls the mug in front of him.
He can feel the way the point of his chin digs into the soft muscle there. Nestles its way in as though his shoulder was made to cradle his head.
His fingers shake when he reaches for the whipped cream, hand trembling around the metal canister. It's cool under the warmth of his palm and Avid's breath is hot against the side of his face. He can feel the dampness of Avid's mouth against the back of his ear.
It's torture. It is cruel and unusual fucking torture.
His hands continue their tremulous journey to the freeze-dried strawberries. He has to bite back a noise when Avid's hand comes out to steady his wrist, long, slender, painted fingers wrapping around the bone and holding on.
Pyro feels the way Avid's fingerprints burn into his skin. Maybe he should just ask for his prints and get them tattooed on, ask him to keep wrapping his fingers around him until the brand is permanently seared into his skin.
He thinks there's something deeply wrong with him.
"And that's it," he finishes. His voice trembles, and he has to bite his tongue when Avid's thumb swipes back over his skin, setting all his hairs on end. "Just-" he slips out from Avid's hold, backing up a step, and then another two-
Feels jittery, as though his bones are trying to shake apart, tendons and ligaments falling loose around them until there's nothing holding him together.
"Enjoy the drink. You can have it, I'm just gonna be in the breakroom. I'll see you in ten."
"But- you- we literally just started?"
"Don't care!" He snaps, already striding away. "See you in ten!"
They emerge twenty minutes later, because they like to be contrarian like that. Avid's stood behind the till, wringing his hands and eyeing James and Weasel anxiously. Pyro worries, for a moment, that Weasel might have tried to make a move on James and James has subsequently thrown up without making it to the bathroom.
They look over to check their corner and feel their heart drop out of their fucking ass.
Boyfriend number two is stood over the table, speaking quietly with James and Weasel.
They all but sprint back behind the counter, grabbing Avid by the shoulders and wheeling him around. Avid stares at them wide-eyed, and the eyeliner isn't even doing anything for them anymore, he just feels an awful sense of panic taking over as he resists looking back at that corner and whatever the hell is about to unfold there.
"Why didn't you come get me?" they hiss, gripping onto Avid's shoulders tight. Like he's their last safe port in a storm. For all they know, he is. For all they know, there's about to be a beating in the corner of this stupid cafe and they're not going to be able to do anything but watch Weasel get reduced to a bloody pulp.
…Would it be frowned upon to ask if they can join in?
Probably. They'll shelve that one for later. No need to kick a dying man while he's down.
"I, um. Didn't want to leave them unsupervised?"
Pyro sighs. They can't even be mad about that one. If Liv knew either of them had walked away when there was about to, potentially-definitely, be a fight in the middle of the cafe she'd kill both of them. And then fire them.
Avid gasps. Pyro braces themself, preparing for the sound of flesh hitting flesh. The pained squeal that Weasel is inevitably going to make. The subsequent 9-9-9 call that they're gonna have to make to report it. Liv is gonna kill them. Both of them. He's dragging Avid down with him if it's the last thing they do.
The door chooses that moment to chime merrily, announcing more people about to witness whatever crime is about to occur. He hopes not a double homicide. James might be a little strange but he's found himself growing fond of her.
He drags his eyes over to the door, surprising himself when he recognises the first person in through the door. Finds himself turning away from his death-grip on Avid as they trot up to the counter, giving the scene in the corner nothing more than a passing glance before turning back to him.
He finds himself reaching for the scones container, the one that he always, inevitably, has to fetch whenever this regular comes in. He didn't know their name, only that they could never remember if they charged more for alternative milks and always got a scone to go with whatever drink she settled on that day.
Only…Scone isn't alone today. They're followed through the door by two others, all of them chatting together, one of which is steadfastly refusing to stare at the scene in the corner — the voices have begun to raise, but nowhere near shouting yet; he probably doesn't have to intervene yet — and the other openly staring.
Scone…& Co.? He wasn't aware Scone came with Co.
He gets a better look at the & Co. and immediately wishes he hadn't. He finds his face souring before he can help it, mouth turning downwards. Makes sense that they'd all know each other. Makes even more sense that they'd band together to make his shift even worse than it already is.
"Do we…know them?" He jolts, turning to stare at Avid and his uncomfortable closeness. When the fuck did he and Avid become a unit that was referred to as 'we'? He doesn't pay that any mind, turning half his focus to Scone in front of him and keeping half an eye on the triad in the back corner.
Theatre boyfriend has begun to gesticulate widely, voice pitching up dramatically. Pyro is just waiting for that particular pot to boil over at this point.
"They're all regulars," Pyro confirms. "I just wasn't aware they all knew each other."
Avid's still watching him, waiting for more information on the regulars stood right in fucking front of them. He feels himself begin to crack beneath the pressure almost immediately, taking a moment to despair and wonder where his impenetrable walls went that sent new hires running for the hills after just a few hours in close proximity to him.
"They're not even that bad. Just…loud. And annoying." And probably about to be even louder and more annoying in each other's company, he doesn't add.
"You think everyone's annoying, Pyro." Avid pats him on the arm, fingers curling tight for a moment before he's stepping away. It leaves Pyro feeling strangely bereft, a stark cold patch lingering on his bicep before his brain catches up and starts snarling about the fact that Avid just touched him.
He didn't know how to react to this, wasn't accustomed to anyone brushing up against him. Casual touches, ones that lingered. Bumping him out of the way with his hip rather than asking, verbally, that he move. Y'know, like a normal human being. And each and every time it leaves Pyro feeling cold and shivery and confused and irritated in his wake, his immunity to the sensation not growing with each occurrence, no, it's worsening.
He doesn't like it. But he doesn't know how to get it to stop either. …He's not even sure if he wants it to stop, really, or if he just wants for it to never end. For that warmth to continue pouring into his soul, leaving him untouched by the void he's carefully constructed around his being.
"What can I get for you?" Avid asks, leaning over to chat with Scone. Awful-Housemate stares diligently at the board above Avid's head, fiddling with the hem of their trenchoat. Snail is watching him carefully, hand resting against the ita bag at their hip. Pyro knows for a fact that that stupid thing is going to end up behind the counter the second they leave, forgetting it for the umpteenth time.
He should just let the dumb thing get stolen, but they'd dragged him into conversation a grand total of one time (an impressive feat, if you ask literally anyone else) and had gone through all the charms and pins so enthusiastically…he couldn't bear to see it stolen.
"Yeah, no, we don't charge extra for alternative milks, which one were you feeling today?"
"Soya," they grin back at him. "I'm broke right now and it's your cheapest option."
"Like I just said…we don't charge extra for alternative milk options…"
Scone pauses. "I'll still have soya milk if that's all right with you."
"Sure! Is that everything for you today?"
"Scone also, please." They point to the display, "A cherry one, thanks."
"I'll get that plated up for you, if you could just tap your card there…? Perfect, I'll get your drink ready for you now."
"Huzzah!" Avid blinks at the proclamation before, very visibly, deciding to just take it and move on. Awful-Housemate snickers behind Scone, Snail nudging them with a small frown. Scone doesn't bat an eye, sliding over a spot and letting Snail put their order in with Pyro — a second hot chocolate — before Awful-Housemate is sidling up.
"Hiya," they say, and then stop and stare at him. He stares back, only mildly uncomfortable. He's long used to the song and dance of dealing with this one and simply waits them out as they lean against the counter, still contemplating the board. "Soo…you got a seasonal hot chocolate in here?"
"Yep." Pyro lets the p pop. "You got someone to share it with all of a sudden or…?"
They give him a flat look over the edge of their glasses. "No. Can I not just want a strawberry hot chocolate with freeze-dried strawberries?"
"You can." Pyro smiles a little at them, kinda mean. "Little sad to be doing it on your own. No date this year?"
"Ugh, no. And happy about it." They lean on the counter even further. "You know, my housemate is bitching and moaning about this, too. Oh, I don't have a date again this year I've never had a date ever in my life, you know," they make their voice nasally and obnoxious. Pyro has to stifle a laugh. "I've never even kissed anyone. Ignore the fact that I never go out and never speak to anyone outside of the people I live with. Everyone's awful and sucks and women should be throwing themselves at me."
"…Did he…really say all that?" Pyro, unfortunately, knows far more about thsi guy's housemate than he ever wished to. It's entertaining, sure, but this guy is skilled at beating a dead horse and will continue to do so even after the horse has been cremated and its ashes scattered to the wind.
"Eh, mostly." They tap their card when Pyro tells them to. "There was a bit more of a kitchen knife being waved around that time." They give him a tight smile. "Called him an incel. My bad."
Pyro briefly wonders if he should report this to someone. Realises he doesn't even know this guy's name and moves on. "Well, have a nice rest of your day?"
"Hah! I will. It's better than his will be anyway." They move away, joining the small Scone & Co. (singular) gaggle at the end of the counter, all of them waiting on Avid to make their drinks.
Avid, who has paused everything he's doing as the argument in the corner raises to a volume that means it can no longer be ignored. Pyro turns towards it in-sync with Scone & Co.
"Just-!" Theatre boyfriend cuts himself off, throwing his arms out wide. "You could have told me!" Oh, okay, they're getting towards the end of it. Weasel is looking guilty, slumped down in his seat as though he might be able to slide beneath the table and escape that way. Only the death-grip James has on his upper arm is keeping him in place.
"We didn't want to tell you, Rennie," Weasel pipes up, looking meek beneath Theatre boyfriend's — Rennie??? — gaze. Which. Again. Rennie?? Did they know each other? That makes this all so much worse. And also so much better, holy shit.
Pyro looks over at Avid, just to make sure he's getting all this too.
"Yeah, we…we didn't want to hurt your feelings, Reynolds."
"You still could have told me!"
"Oh, what," Weasel sits up, growing defiant despite the fact that both his partner and Reynolds have, like, a decent half-foot of height on him, not to mention how James is gripping his arm tight enough to cut circulation off. "You wanted us to tell you that your improv was bad? How are you gonna improve it, huh? More improvisation? We just…we didn't make an effort to get tickets to your show this time, okay, I just. We don't want to go."
"You're…you're so good at acting, Reynolds. You just need a script for it," James adds, voice soothing. It's doing wonders to settle Reynolds ruffled feathers- which, what? What the hell? How is this working out? "You don't…cope well with the unexpected."
"But…you guys like my comedy…" Reynolds wilts, slumping down into the chair set across from the pair. Pyro exchanges another baffled glance with Avid. "I thought you guys liked my comedy?" Horrifyingly, there's a sniffling sound coming from that corner now. Pyro's gonna end it all if he starts crying.
"We do!" Weasel lurches forward, and James releases him to go grip Reynold's hands. "Rennie, you're so funny, your scenemates are just…not." He pauses, looks at James, and lowers his voice marginally. Which doesn't really do anything because Weasel can apparently be really fucking loud when he wants to be. "Rennie they're fucking awful. I've never found them funny, ever."
"But…you laugh at my shows?"
"Yeah, because you're funny. I couldn't give less of a shit about those guys. Just…ditch the improv, yeah? Go back to opera if that's what your heart desires."
Reynolds sniffles again. "You hated when I did opera."
"We hated when you did opera at three in the morning," James corrects. "Weasel might not care but I do. I work during normal people hours."
"This is why I'm always telling you guys we just have to talk about things," Weasel says, long-sufferingly. "By the way." Pyro almost pulls a James and vomits right then and there when Weasel presses a kiss to the back of Reynold's hand, smiling up at him sickeningly.
He turns away then, done with whatever soppy mess this whole drama has turned into. he comes face to face with Avid, who's still watching the happy couple (throuple?) get along.
"Oh," Avid says. "Huh."
"Huh," Pyro echoes, unsure what else to say while they watch theatre boyfriend press a kiss to both James and Weasel's mouths, settling into the last open seat crowded around the small table. They'd been hoping for a little more drama. Not enough that it'd require them to actually, like, clean up or call the police. But maybe a little domestic spat? A dramatic reveal?
Pyro has to stifle a laugh as, half a moment later, James shoots up from her seat and bee-lines to the bathroom, already looking a little green around the gills. Her boyfriends have no such reservations, tittering about it and leaning in towards each other.
"I forgot people could do that now," Avid says. "Hey, did you ever consider that-" he turns.
Pyro stares back at him, watches as his face goes impressively bright, flushing all the way up to his hairline and down his neck. It makes the eyeliner he's wearing today even more obvious, and Pyro's first thought is about pulling the collar of his shirt down to track how far that flush reaches. Maybe with their tongue.
Their second thought is that they've spent too much time around Avid and that it's inducing some kind of strange, Avid-related psychosis.
Something on their face must be communicating how little they want to continue this conversation because Avid's jaw snaps shut so hard that they hear his teeth clack together. The grimace that twists Avid's face a moment later doesn't even give him the usual satisfaction they derive from seeing the other man suffer.
Avid averts his eyes quite quickly after that, cheeks softening into a faint pink that lingers through the next several customers. It leaves a strange chasm between them. Avid doesn't linger close, doesn't brush up against them, doesn't lean over them when he could just as easily walk around.
All those excuses he had been making to press himself close just…gone. For some reason.
Pyro tries not to miss it. Tells themself they don't miss it. That they can't miss it, because that would mean they liked it in the first place. Fails miserably at all of the above because, yeah, they'd liked it. They'd enjoyed how Avid looked at him like they were worth looking at like that, brushing up against them so casually, not leaping back with a look of disgust as though they might have some awful, incurable disease that could be transferred via skin-to-skin contact.
It means the brush of a knuckle against the base of their spine is like an electric shock straight into their skull. They straighten up so quickly that they bash their head into the underside of a cupboard, leaning back and away from the offending object with a chain of muttered curses, biting their tongue when they threaten to grow louder and their head continues to throb.
"Oh, Pyro!" There's hands on their shoulders, tugging them backwards, pulling them away from the cupboards that they were this close to from ripping free of the walls. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," they grit out. Feels the sharp line of pain they've bitten into the centre of their tongue. Their jaw aches with how tight they clench it, sending a fresh wave of dizzying pain through their skull. "Peachy."
Avid hums, leaning in close. His hands land on Pyro's jaw, one on each side of their face and he tilts their head side to side, taking control of it completely. They go a little slack-jawed, suprised at how fucking audacious Avid is being. At how he so easily runs a thumb along the edge of their jaw, coming to settle just in front of their ear.
It's an intimate touch, one that Pyro really, really doesn't want any of their customers witnessing. Not one they want Liv to see on the cameras, either. She'd asked them to play nice with the new hire, but this is probably playing it a little bit too nice for her standards.
"You don't have to lie to me," Avid says. His eyes are sympathetic, wide and pitying as he leans back, giving Pyro just that smidge more breathing room that they didn't have before. He sighs. "Shame we don't heal as good as we used to, hm?"
Avid says it, Pyro registers it, and both of them stiffen at the same time.
Avid's fingers curl tighter around their jaw, short fingernails biting into the skin there until he abruptly releases them, pushing back and attempting to turn towards the till. There's no-one there, Pyro doesn't really know what he thinks that's going to achieve.
He doesn't get far. Pyro's hand closes around Avid's wrist before he even makes it two steps, catching and reeling him back in, spinning him around to face them again. Close, still, heads bowed together.
"What does that mean?" he snarls. He's holding too tight, he knows it. Can see the fear glow in Avid's eyes for a long, drawn-out moment, before it's abruptly snuffed out. Avid yanks his wrist back, the motion so sudden that Pyro finds his hand loosening, allowing Avid to slip free.
"Oh, you know," he starts, fake casualness setting Pyro's teeth on edge. "I miss being young! When you're a teenager you bounce back from stuff so easily, concussion one day perfect bill of health the next."
"No. That's not what you meant." He steps closer, catching Avid's eye even as the taller man tries to duck his head and avoid it. "You know. You remember."
Avid frowns. Looks away. "So what?"
"So what?" Pyro hisses. He feels like he might shake apart from anger. Is this some kind of sick joke? What, should he start looking round the corners for the rest of the vampires to jump out and yell SURPRISE? He snorts, ignoring the worried look Avid shoots him. Scott would love that. "Oh, hi again person I knew in a previous life. I'm going to pretend I remember nothing now!"
"That's- that is not what happened."
"Oh, yeah?" Pyro bites the words out, rips through them like each syllable is a particularly tough piece of flesh. "Tell me then, Avid, when did you start remembering?"
"Um," Avid shrugs, looking away. "Like, the second shift we worked together? I mean, even on the first one you looked sort of familiar? But I assumed it was in the 'oh I've seen that guy around here before' kind of familiarity not the 'he killed me in a past life' familiarity, you know?"
Pyro wonders if Avid remembers the agony of his final moments in that pit. If he remembers the way Pyro had dug their claws in until they could feel them tangling amongst the ribbons of his flesh and guts. If he could remember how they had twisted, torn through those hollow organs and spilled them on the ground between them.
They remembered. They had picked those guts out from beneath their nails carefully. Painstakingly. The glide of a singular canine beneath the bed of his nail to work the gore free and — when no-one else was watching — swallowing it down. A tiny little delicacy, just for him. The last scraps of Avid's pathetic little existence.
"So you decided to flirt with me?" Maybe Pyro should show him again. Take him out back and stab him, or something. The cake knives are plenty sharp, and he can just plead that he had been driven to insanity by the incessant Avid-ness of everything in this job. Really, Liv should have seen it coming, she could've saved his poor soul.
"Is that what you'd call it?" Avid grins at him, all too innocent and far too smug. "I wasn't aware you thought of me like that, Pyro. If you'd told me sooner we could've taken this conversation…elsewhere."
"I killed you." Pyro says. He feels like he's actively losing his mind. Like he's reaching out for something that is continuously moving just out of his reach. Avid's cocky, self-assured little smirk is not helping matters. It's making everything worse, actually. He can hear his blood in his ears. "I- I buried my claws in your guts and you have the gall to stand there and- and joke?"
"I could be convinced to let your hands rearrange my guts again," Avid says, coy, looking at him from beneath his lashes.
"That is absolutely not what I mean."
"Oh, really?" Avid cocks his head to the side, confidence coming out in full-force in a way that Pyro resents. "You got someone waiting at home for you?"
"…No."
"Hm. Didn't think so."
"Didn't- didn't think so?" Pyro leans in close, uncaring of how that little trio in the corner titters at them. "What the hell does that mean?"
"You never kissed anyone before, I assumed it'd be the same in this life. You're rather…unchanged."
"Oh, like you've ever kissed anyone," he scoffs. "You followed Scott around like a puppy-dog, but he never got the chance to give you what you wanted, did he? You died too soon for that to happen."
"Maybe then." Avid's still smiling. "I had a little more opportunity to…explore in this life. You should try it some time. Being appealing, that is."
"And yet you're still single. So much for that exploration." Pyro laughs, a little mean. Watches as Avid's face twists through a series of complex emotions, before ending up on pleased once again. "Let me guess, subpar kisser?"
Avid pouts. Honest to god pouts. "You think I'd be a bad kisser?" He leans closer, swaying into Pyro's orbit, head tilted at a fun little angle. Close enough that Pyro could close the distance. Someone laughs behind him, but he can hardly bear to breathe, let alone move away. "Think about kissing me often, Pyro?"
"No." He denies. His eyes betray him anyway, glancing down when Avid's tongue pokes out, swiping across his lips in an innocent little gesture. The way Avid grins at him after is much less innocent, lips shining with spit and eyes hooded. Pyro feels his heart give a little jump.
Avid hums. Long and low and pleased. It…does something for Pyro. "Well, it is Valentine's Day…would you be opposed to a little treat? A gift, from me to you on this wonderful holiday?"
"A…gift."
"Mm." Avid wets his lips again. Pyro is helpless to do anything but watch. "You know…" Avid sways back on his heels. "I think we're running low on hot chocolate powder. I'll be in the back looking for more if you need anything, pretty boy."
Pyro watches Avid leave, frozen in place like his feet have decided to put down roots and fix him to the tile. He stares at the very full tin of hot chocolate powder, then at where the door to the back still swings on its hinges.
He turns, slowly. Finds Scone & Co. staring back at him, all of them grinning and doing a really awful job of hiding it. Awful-Roomate gives him an overenthusiastic thumbs up.
He groans, burying his head in his hands for a long, long moment. Considers curling up on the floor and dying. Then turns on his heel and marches through to the stock room, ignoring the little whoop from the table in the corner. Resists the urge to stick his middle finger up at them, because he knows Liv has security cameras here that will catch him. And that will be a whole thing he doesn't want to deal with.
He shoves his way through the door, aggressive enough that they bounce back into the walls and then slam shut behind him. Squeak a little as they settle back into their hinges.
Avid doesn't flinch from the corner, tucked cosily where the walls converge, leaning back like he's about to pull a cig from his pocket and offer it out. Pyro half expects there to be one hanging from his lips already — all of this is far too reminiscent of far too many people that enjoy hanging out outside of clubs and bars and pubs and filling the air with smoke and the stench of candy-flavoured vapes.
Rather, Avid raises a single eyebrow. Drags his eyes up and down Pyro's body, slow enough that it feels like he's being undressed. Slow and methodical, item by item, until he's been laid bare beneath that gaze. Avid looks upon him and…doesn't find him wanting?
At least, Pyro assumes so. Avid's eyes are darker than before when he looks up from beneath his lashes, colour creeping over his cheeks as he smiles; his canines catching against his bottom lip, and Pyro watches as the colour blanches from the cherry red of them. Imagines doing that with his own teeth; imagines biting deep and harsh, enough for blood to spring forth for Pyro to paint his lips anew.
"You gonna do something with all that energy or do you just want to keep staring at me like you're gonna eat me?" Avid slumps further against the wall, which just about puts him at eye-level with Pyro, all those long, graceless limbs spilling out, head tilted to the side just enough that he can see how Avid's pulse thrums, slow and steady.
He doesn't think. Doesn't do anything but move forward on instinct, spillover from both this life and the last pushing him towards Avid, hands reaching out and grasping, pulling him close. There's fury somewhere in there, but, undeniably, there is attraction too. Something which rears its ugly, senseless, emotional head and has his mouth closing over Avid's own.
It's a little awful. Their teeth collide in a way that has both of them wincing, and it becomes immediately obvious that, yeah, Pyro's never kissed anyone before. He's only ever considered what it might be like, thought of what that light, pale hair might feel like between his fingers. How he could twist the longer strands around his fingers and tug.
Avid's hair is not white. Fangs don't ghost along his bottom lip. His hair isn't long enough for Pyro to really tangle his hand in there and yank, but he makes it work anyway. Avid makes it work, too.
(Mostly, it's Avid making it work and Pyro following his lead, honestly.)
His hair is soft beneath his fingers, shorter hairs coarse and prickling at the back of his neck where Pyro settles his hand, pulling Avid closer, closer, so that he might never part from him again. So that they might pass the air between their mouths and exist on nothing more for the rest of time.
He groans, low and embarrassed, when Avid sucks at his lip, pulling it into his mouth and rolling it over his teeth. Teasingly, awfully gentle, handling him like he's something that might be broken. His tongue presses against it next, a slick feeling of spit-slicked lips against spit-slicked lips that leave Pyro a little uncomfortable. He's not sure what to make of the sensation, whether he hates it or loves it. Whether he wants it to stop or never end.
Avid doesn't really give him a choice, his own hands wandering, ghosting over his sides and up the back of his head. He groans again when those fingers curl, hand bunched into his hair and pulling hard enough to have his head tipping to the side.
He goes pliant, leaning with Avid's guiding hand, even as it tugs him away from Avid's lips. Both of them ignore the low whine that comes from him — thank god, because Pyro would just have to kill himself if Avid pointed it out.
He blinks his eyes open, a little dazed when he comes face-to-face with a long expanse of pale skin, exposed just for his benefit.
"C'mon," Avid coaxes, the hand in his hair relaxing. "I know you want to. I've seen you looking," his voice lilts at the end with a teasing tone, but Pyro really doesn't care. Not when he can see Avid's pulse thumping beneath the skin, rabbit-fast, heightened with the emotion that drags them together with all the graceful tact of a crashing tide on an open shore.
He presses a small kiss to the pulse, feels the way it jumps beneath his mouth. Hears Avid hum appreciatively; feels it rumble through his lips, leaving them tingling and his breath shuddering more than before.
He presses another, then another, slowly working his way down then across, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss over the tendons at the front of Avid's neck. Pauses, considers the hollow of Avid's throat, watches how it jumps with his heartbeat.
Doesn't let himself think for a moment longer. Leans in and licks a long stripe over the dip in his skin, presses himself close, nose nearly tucked beneath Avid's jaw as he breathes him in. Imagines the taste of his blood on his tongue — even after all these years, he's not forgotten that. Could never forget that.
Avid whimpers.
Pyro grins into the skin there, feeling the vibration of Avid's throat as he muffles whatever the hell is trying to break free of his chest so valiantly. His inexperience seems to be doing something for Avid's enjoyment, that hand never leaving the back of his head though he's no longer guiding, merely…holding. Monitoring.
He pants there for a moment, hot breath sweeping over Avid's skin and raising little goosebumps in its wake. He bites a moment later, teeth sinking into the flesh and sucking. He might not have the fangs of old, but if the second whimper he manages to wring out of Avid is any indication, the lack of them isn't ruining this moment for either of them.
Avid lets him sit there for a moment, tongue working over the skin as he tugs it into his mouth. Drags it over the bottom row of his teeth. The stockroom is full of the quiet, heaving sounds of Avid's breath and the quieter, more subtle, sounds of Pyro's tongue against wet flesh.
Avid gives a ragged inhale as Pyro repeats the motion, the hand in his hair tightening to yank him away from his prize and back to his lips. He doesn't complain, smirking against Avid's mouth, nipping at his lips as Avid presses them close, legs slotting back together so perfectly, it's like they were meant to be a single being.
He can feel Avid's chest pressed to his, the steadying hand he's placed on Avid's hip pulling them closer, intertwining them further. Like this, Avid's hand in his hair, Pyro gripping desperately at him, no-one could separate them even if they wanted to. Not even the threat of Liv and his job on the line could make him withdraw now.
Except…
"C'mon, c'mon," Avid's laugh is breathy as he pulls back, refusing Pyro when they attempt to draw him back in. It only registers then that Pyro is struggling for air too, their chest tight and heaving. Every inhale has them pressing close, ribcages slotting together. "Relax, cowboy," there's a palm against their chest, flat and splayed, nudging them back just a little. They wish for their ribs to grow teeth and hook into flesh, to seal them together irreversibly. They want to crawl inside Avid and never emerge. "You can take me for a ride later, I promise."
"You promise." Pyro repeats, breathless words falling from his lips catastrophic in the silence. He can sense the aching loneliness, the desperation, lurking beneath his voice, something sour and abandoned and trembling emerging from hiding, disguise stripped back in this awful moment of intimacy that he has found himself entrapped within. "Do you really?"
"I- yeah?" Avid blinks, visibly startled at the sudden venom is Pyro's voice, the way his fingers have begun to tighten over his arms. The eyeliner only makes the whites of his eyes stand out more, growing wide as Pyro digs his claws in, refuses to allow himself to be unhooked as he presses them together again, ribs slotting together neatly and staying. "I promise? Pyro," he does an aborted little half-movement, arms raising, fingers ghosting along the bottom of his chin, before falling away again as Pyro refuses to loosen his grip.
They leave little imprints of heat. Blistering hot, and Pyro can picture welts raising in the wake of those feather-light touches. Red and angry. Marks to allow all those around him to know that he has been touched, that he has been claimed.
"Pyro," Avid repeats, and he realises then that his eyes have dipped, his eyelids drooping until they're half-lidded. He blinks. Re-opens them. Watches Avid's mouth. His neck. Wants to press himself back against the hollow of his throat, trace the blooming red mark over the pulse there, tease at the edge of that imprint — that proof that he was there — until he could draw it in his sleep. "Hey, hey. What's wrong?"
"You." He hisses it out between one breath and the next, low and whistling. Avid flinches back as though it was a physical blow, attempts to tug his wrists free from Pyro's bruising grip. "You- you promise these things. Say that- what? You're gonna let me stick around. And you expect me to believe that?!"
"Uh," Avid blinks at him. "I feel like there's a bigger issue here right now."
"You think?" Pyro bites. Snaps his teeth. "You think?"
"Hm." Is all Avid says. It makes something ugly and writhing and awful snap loose. He presses forward, pushing all up into Avid's space until they're nose-to-nose. He can smell the chocolate on Avid's breath. Can feel the warmth of him, alive and breathing and thrumming beneath his palms. Can feel how Avid's heart thumps against his ribcage, how their ribs slide against one another, not quite aligning, not quite joining together so harmoniously.
"This is- this is it," Pyro says. Wants to die a little as his tongue twists in his mouth, words stumbling over one another. "You've found me again, somehow. You've remembered me, some-fucking-how. I'm planted here now, do you get that? Do you grasp what it is that this has done to me?"
Avid stares at him. Silent and awfully pretty, eyes no longer widened in fear but heavy-lidded, watching him with something resembling a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
Pyro snarls wordlessly. "If you turn somewhere else, start looking at someone else, I'll kill you. I'll bury my hands in your flesh again and pull you apart until there is no piece of you untouched by me. And then I'll kill you. And I'll find you again, I'll hunt you down in whatever life comes next, whenever that is — I would find you a millennia later, I swear it. I swear to god, Avid, I will find you and ensure that your hands do not touch another."
Avid stares at him. He doesn't tense in the hold Pyro has him caught in, still relaxed and pliant against him, but his pupils have blown, black eating up the warm brown until nothing but darkness remains. Pyro wants that darkness to swallow him whole; leans forward so that it might.
Pulls back a little as Avid starts laughing. A breathy little thing, hardly there at all except for the exhalation of air and shake of his shoulders. It makes something hot and shameful and awful curl low in Pyro's belly, jaws threatening to snap at Avid.
"Sorry, sorry." Avid strokes a hand over Pyro's shoulder, down the length of his arm. It soothes him more than he wants to admit. Stills that spiteful little creature resting low in his gut. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise."
"Then what are you laughing at?" he bites.
"Just- just the fact that I found that kinda attractive?" Avid tilts his head to the side, hair flopping over part of his face. His smile is a little shy, a little stupid looking. Pyro finds it disgustingly endearing. Endearing. What the fuck is happening to him. "C'mon, don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like- like you're embarrassed about me already." Despite his tone, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, "I haven't even had the chance to embarrass you in public yet."
"I'm not embarrassed," Pyro lies.
"Mm, whatever you say, handsome." Avid takes a moment to stare at him, then, probably relishing in whatever shade of red his face is currently turning. He can feel how it burns at his skin, threatens to eat through to the bone beneath. "Hey, whaddya say about the two of us getting out of here? Blow this joint?"
Pyro grins and takes pleasure in the news he delivers then. "Can't. We're on the clock 'til closing."
"I- ugh." Avid's forehead thumps against Pyro's shoulder. A pause, then, quietly, "What about afterwards?"
"Sure. There's a McDonald's round the corner near here." He slides himself away from Avid, ignoring how he grasps on and complains, voice pitching higher as he processes that Pyro just suggested McDonald's as worthy first-date material.
He swings the door shut on Avid's continued protests, sidling back up to the till and punching his code in. The grin he looks up with is probably a little too manic, too much teeth and pink gum-flesh that makes the first customer in line flinch back from him.
"Apologies," he tells her, and the several other people in queue behind her. "Few issues in the back. You know how it is."