I have no affiliation with the Starbucks chain, nor do I have any license to Mitch or Scott's lives. This is purely a work of fiction.

I thought it'd be fun to portray the queens as how they'd likely turn out without the influence of fame and fortune in their lives.

xxx

It was another bland, boring day. Scott was caught on the last remaining fragments of a dream his motherfucker of an alarm clock had pulled him from as he pulled the seats from the tables and set them not-so-gently on the tiled floor. It was amazing. He'd been a rockstar or something, singing on a stage, surrounded by screaming fans and close friends. He'd traveled the world, shared a tour bus with faceless bandmates, and eaten food he'd never known existed. Maybe it was his subconscious telling him he lived a lame life. Well, you're not wrong. He told himself.

He couldn't remember much of it anymore, but he remembered something about living in his dream location, with enough money to not have to worry about getting through college. He didn't have to work… Here. He glanced around the coffee shop and dumped another chair to the floor. Well, it wasn't exactly terrible. In fact, he enjoyed the rush of customers and the hurry of mixing drinks. He was just crabby he had to live in reality again. He wasn't in LA, lounging in his bachelor pad. He wasn't in some fancy European restaurant or singing to fans with his imagined best friends. He was in Arlington, Texas.

"Hey, Scott," Angel's voice was gurgly because her chin touched her chest as she fastened her green apron around her neck. She was a spunky kid, for lack of a better word, and her hazel eyes told the tale of one who wished more than anything that she didn't have to work this morning. Especially not at 4:30 AM.

"Hey. Happy birthday," He commented, knowing she'd give him hell if he didn't remember.

"Seventeen," She nodded, and Scott could tell how pleased she was. She had a kind of smug smirk on her pixie-features.

Scott liked her well enough. She was fun, loud, and outgoing, with a shock of dyed purple hair that screamed her personality. Too many piercings than he cared to count ringed both ears, and her lashes were always thick with jet black mascara. An upturned nose carried another glittery rhinestone, and it made him think of a modern, more obnoxious, emo tinkerbell. She was fine to get along with. Just so damn obvious.

Her crush was evident as she attempted to engage him in conversation, once again bringing up her favorite subject: his height. "You know you're almost as tall as Andy Biersack?"

"Who the fuck is Andy Biersack?" He asked, though immediately regretted it. It sent the teen into her other favorite subject: her weird, obscure artists. He let her talk, and let his mind wander back to what he could retrieve of the dream, his arms routinely putting down the chairs without him.

There had been a person, someone he'd cared about, and it left a hollow feeling in his chest. He didn't know who was missing, nor how he'd known them, but there was definitely a hole where a relationship should be. Maybe a friend? Weird.

Angel was still talking. Why was she so fucking giggly? It was too early.

"Hey, you know I'm twenty four?" He attempted.

"Yeah. You told me." She smiled, not getting the hint. Of course she didn't. Scott forgot that Angel was perfectly fine with dating guys who were older than her; her last boyfriend was in his upper twenties.

So Scott just returned to his work and tried to numb his brain. Maybe it would make time go by faster.

Xxx

After twelve PM everything tended to slow down. Scott was settling back into the groove of being okay with his life again, and the dream had completely dissolved into nothing. It was a rough day, his shift starting with a slow hour, then the usual rush as caffeine-seeking soccer moms or bitchy business women blasted through the drive through. He was working at such a backbreaking pace, shooting drinks out with the speed of lightning, that he didn't have time to notice how exhausted he was. Now though, the long shift and late night were catching up to him. College classes were ramping up to midterms, and every professor seemed to decide it was a good idea to dump a shit-ton of work on the students during the last week before crunch-time. Scott hated it. He'd stayed up 'till eleven writing his thesis, and of course had to roll out of bed at three thirty.

So here he was, crashing from the redbull, waiting for the last two hours of his shift to end so he could go home. He was making plans to lounge on the couch, maybe eat some Cheezits or something, and wrap up that damn assignment. Trouble was, he was so exhausted, he doubted his mind would work the way he wanted it to anyway, at least not without a nap.

The bell rang, alerting him of a new customer. He left his work of cleaning the espresso machine and moved to the register, rolling his sleeves past his elbows, and plastered that rehearsed smile on his features.

A man stood there, rubbing his sneakers on the doormat. He was wearing sporty shorts and a black hoodie, though he didn't look particularly athletic. He was thin, a little on the small side, and his mannerisms were strange. No, adorable. His nose wrinkled as he approached the menu and read his options. Clearly, he needed glasses, but probably didn't care for them. His face was angular, kind of boyish, with thick dark lashes and arched brows. Scott was intrigued. He seemed so familiar, and he didn't know why. He had dark hair that was shaved at the sides, the top maybe an inch long and swept to the left, and his eyes matched the deep, almost black color. Like dark chocolate. A tiny septum ring glistened in his nose, and two matching ones adorned his ears.

"I'll have…" he began, but then fell into silence again, straight, bright white teeth biting his lower lip.

Scott was surprised by the voice that came out. He didn't know what he expected, but the pure, high pitch that emanated from him instead, wasn't it.

"Made up your mind?" Scott's smile turned real as the brown eyes met his and the customer's face lit up in a smile. He seemed so damn familiar, though he knew he'd never seen him before. He found himself wondering what the man would look like in some thick frames.

"Hi! I'll have a grande triple-shot iced latte?" He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, and his wrist was bent at an angle that looked almost feminine. The other hand was rubbing at his collarbone, which bore tiny tattooed lettering that labeled the pronounced clavicle. He seemed shy. Quiet. He chewed on his lip again. Maybe it was a nervous tick?

"Sure! Anything else?" Scott punched his order into the register, feeling Angel's movement behind him as the purple wonder began to run the espresso for the drink.

"Umm," He gave the menu one last look, "Nope. That'll be it."

He was damn cute. "Can I get a name on that?" He requested, poising a sharpie over an empty cup.

"Yeah, Uh. It's Coby."

"Coby. Kay, that'll be ready in a sec."

"Thanks."