Confrontation

The barista had gotten Percy's name wrong...again. The redhead sighed, adjusted his glasses on his nose, and made his way back to the front of the queue. This girl wasn't new, but she could never seem to write the proper name on his cup and he didn't know why. He'd been "Peter" and "Patrick" and even "Perseus," but never "Percy."

That was why he was going to make sure that she got his name right today, even if he had to make a scene to do it. But when he finally stepped up to the counter and looked at the barista, whose bright red name tag read "Pansy," he couldn't seem to find the words to communicate his displeasure with her.

"Er, hello," he began, inwardly cursing himself for sounding so awkward. "I…" He held his cup out to her—today, she had written "Pearson" on it. "My name isn't Pearson. Nor is it Perseus, or Peter, or Patrick. It's Percy. P-E-R-C-Y. It's not that complicated."

He'd imagined that Pansy might look flustered, or perhaps even irritated, but she appeared to be neither of those things. Her lip merely curled up in a smirk.

"I wondered when you'd finally confront me."

Percy blinked. Had she been writing his name wrong on purpose? It kind of sounded as though she had.

"Wh—what?" he finally managed, ignoring the impatient huff of the woman behind him. "Why would you want—"

She shrugged and looked him over. "The glasses, the red hair...I thought you were kind of cute. So I figured if I 'messed up' enough times, you'd eventually talk to me about more than just your coffee order."

"Oh." Percy felt his cheeks heat up. "I didn't realise you...felt that way."

Pansy splayed her hands on the counter and leaned forward. "Well, now that you know, what are you going to do about it?"

"I could"—Percy racked his brains for a moment before settling on a safe reply—"ask you to dinner?"

Pansy's smirk widened. "I think that would be an excellent idea."


WC: 342