Levi yawned and rubbed his eyes, still trying to wake up even as the morning's rays shone through the coffee shop's plate glass front windows. It was far too early for working, and Levi was personally of the opinion that it was criminal to get out of bed and go to work before the sun did. But the sun didn't have a boss (unless one were to believe in Greek or Roman mythology or any form of higher being), and the sun probably didn't have such worldly troubles as money.
"Do you want a side of your coffee with your milk?" Zöe asked, bustling around behind him, wiping down the espresso machines and checking to make sure they had enough filters and cups and lids for the day. She turned, gave him a sunny smile (Levi was also personally of the opinion that she was possessed by some demon; no one in their right mind could be this happy to be up this early, the clock indicated it was just a few minutes past six-thirty), and handed him a paper cup.
He rolled his eyes at her, and stretched, taking a sip of his milky coffee, just the slightest hint of bitterness clinging to the corners of his mouth. He exhaled, sighing, setting the paper cup down by the register. He pressed a few buttons, frowned at the still-stubbornly closed drawer, cursed a bit, slapped it when Zöe was in the storeroom measuring out coffee grounds and opening new boxes of peppermint and oolong tea. Once the drawer finally dislodged itself with a clang that Levi felt sure could have risen the dead, he took out cardboard rolls of coins, new pennies and nickels and dimes and quarters, shiny and smelling of copper and soap, and spilled them into the drawer's slots with a shower of tiny clinks that were supremely satisfying.
He took another sip of his coffee, took another glance at the clock. Six-fifty.
He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck, going out from behind the counter to make sure the sugar packets and straws and canisters of spices were all lined up and neatly arranged on the table just to the side of the espresso machine. He was relatively particular about it, and though Zöe teased him to no end about it, cinnamon had to be in the middle, flanked neatly by the bottle of liquid syrup and the tin of chai spice which released soft scents of cardamom and nutmeg whenever somebody opened it. He uncapped the top now, took a whiff, sending his nose tingling with the giddy scent, something like Christmas and Thanksgiving and the middle of summer all at the same time.
"Levi!" Zöe shouted from the counter, where she was brewing espresso. "Stop snorting the chai and unlock the door! It's seven."
He rolled his eyes at her, vaguely wondered if she knew that injecting nutmeg intravenously was lethal, before going over to the door and unlocking it.
Levi hated mornings. Waking up was always an inconvenience, but this particular morning was particularly bad. He'd burnt his index finger on his toaster that morning (surprisingly, his bread had come out looking as untoasted as it had going in), he hadn't had time to iron his shirt, and it wasn't until he'd gotten on the subway to go to work that he looked down and found that he was wearing two different shoes. He consoled himself with the fact that nobody would notice unless they were doing a very thorough inspection of his footwear, but he'd noticed, and that was just as bad.
He was able to distract himself with work, rote and boring, the high-level executives coming in and ordering the same thing after the same thing. Nonfat lattes, cappuccinos, Americanos with extra shots of espresso, and he strode quickly between the register and the espresso machine and the sinks, pouring cream and froth into the tops of wide-mouthed glass mugs into swirls and leaves and little cats with dots of chocolate syrup for the eyes. If one were to ask about the coffee art (and one would specifically NOT ask, Levi looked frighteningly uninviting in the mornings), he would probably tell you that he was just trying to keep his brain from rotting from work-related monotony through artistic pursuit. At this point, he would glare you down and you would hurry away, your cat-topped coffee clutched in your hands.
It wasn't until after the morning rush ended at half-past nine and Levi's wrist was slightly sore from whipping froth and cream that the very bad, very no-good, very particularly horrendous thing happened.
"I would like a Caffe Medici, please."
Levi looked up from the register where he was sorting out the crumpled bills from the non-crumpled ones specifically for the purpose of smoothing them out later.
"You'd like a what now?" he asked in disbelief. Though listed right up there on the chalkboard menu along with the lattes and mochas, close to nobody ordered it due to a lack of knowledge about what the drink itself was.
"A Caffe Medici," was the reply, and Levi was hard pressed to drag his eyes away from the twinkling blue eyes that looked down at him. He looked quite like that one actor he'd seen on television the other night in some superhero movie or another. "I'm not Captain America, if that's what you're wondering."
Levi tore his gaze away, glowering as the man laughed and he punched buttons furiously on the register, nearly ripping the $5 out of the man's hand (good God he hadn't been aware people could have such big hands, but then again the man himself was practically a giant) and glaring down at Lincoln angrily as though it were the source of all his problems. Abe looked back up at him with a stern look, and Levi frowned disapprovingly at him, noting the creases and rips down the middle and the spots of tape where it had been patched together. There wouldn't be any redemption for that bill, and Levi was seriously considering telling the man that it was positively illegal to accept defaced currency, and could he please provide another bill or another form of payment, but he looked back up and was slightly miffed to find that the man had already gone over to fiddle with the tins of spices. Levi almost gave himself an aneurysm watching the man absentmindedly move the tin of chai to the middle, and he abruptly turned around to brew the double shot of espresso.
He shaved orange peel into the bottom of a glass cup, poured in a generous spoonful of chocolate syrup before reaching out for the espresso. Unfortunately, the metal was frighteningly hot, hotter than usual, and Levi swore as he dropped the double shot on the floor. He didn't even have to look up to know the man was laughing at him, and he ground his teeth together as he placed another cup under the drip.
He finished the drink off with a little dollop of whipped cream and a few gratings of dark chocolate, and holding it firmly in his unburnt hand, walked over to the man and set it down with a satisfying sounding chink of glass on glass.
The man looked up at him, nodded his head a little bit in thanks. Levi was walking back to the register, ready to settle in for a comforting morning of smoothing out crumpled currency, when the man called out, "Did you know you're wearing two different shoes?"
Levi didn't realise he'd been clenching his teeth until he finally stared daggers at the strong lines of the stranger's back as he walked out the door and relaxed an infinitesimal amount, his jaw aching with the sudden release of pressure.
"He was cute," Zöe said from behind him, staring out the plate glass windows dreamily at the stranger's retreating back on the pavement outside. "He looks fantastic."
"He's a monster," Levi snarled viciously, and retreated to the storeroom to count coffee filters for the rest of the morning.
