Monday afternoons were always slow at Doc's. A few customers here and there, but nowhere near the lunch or breakfast rush. Mostly, there was a handful or two of students, dropping in for a shake or a quick game of pinball before heading home.
Most of the kids at the local schools were regulars at Doc's. They liked it all, from the arcade machines in the corner to the younger wait staff—there were next to no adults on the payroll.
On this particular Monday, the diner was actually a little crowded, but comfortably. Even the round tables by the front window, only two chairs each, were occupied, and the place was a quiet cacophony of voices.
But I didn't have to pay attention to them, or to their noise, or their complaints, or their weird Human vs. Troll cliques. In fact, I didn't have to pay attention to anyone, unless they came to my counter. And since no one had, I occupied myself with watching the group by the large side window, the one with the fancy paint job I'd done myself, the one that read DOC'S DINER in green and white.
The afternoon sunlight shone down through the glass, reflecting brightly off the white Formica tabletop and making their cheeks glow.
There were four at that booth, though it could easily have seated six, eight at the most. Two I knew well and two I'd seen only from afar.
Dave and John—best friends; I envied them (and from what I'd heard, I wasn't the only one)—and two of their school friends, Karkat and Sollux. Recognizable by their horns, though from the back they looked nearly identical. But even though I had never met either of them, it was obvious who they were.
Karkat was the one wearing ragged blacks and bright reds, Doc Martins and week-old hairspray. Sollux, however, was wearing pink and yellow and blue, and a pair of paper 3-D glasses. Usually I'd abhor those childish things, but somehow this kid made them work.
John. What a dork. Blue argyle and brown corduroy with a collared shirt and brown loafers. Who did he think he was, Beaver Cleaver? And Dave, form-fitting white sweater with a big red D on the front. Practically a billboard, the little slut.
That's my brother for you.
They were missing a few of their usual crew, though. Jade and Rose—where were they? Probably still at school—Jade at a flute lesson, maybe, and Rose… I'd bet anything Rose was prepping the teachers on the next English unit. Or maybe she'd been hired on as a teacher herself—Troll Sex 101. She was basically an expert. At least, that's what I heard. I couldn't tell you who from. I can't keep all Dave's little friends straight. All Trolls look more or less the same, to me.
I watched the four of them talk and laugh and throw sugar packets at each other as I absently wiped down my counter. They were all such good friends. I'd never had friends like that. At home, Dave barely talked to me, always shutting himself in his room to pester John or whoever. Lil' Cal was pretty much my only real friend in the whole world.
Dave penned something on the tabletop. John turned like a sunflower to catch the sunbeams on his face. Sollux and Karkat took turns inventing vulgar phrases indicating the act of falling down stairs—I could hear them clearly from three tables away.
An average Monday afternoon at Doc's.
But wait—something was wrong. Dave was coolly flipping Karkat off. John was cleaning a smudge off his glasses. But beneath the table… I spied Dave's red trainer entwining with John's loafer. And… were John's cheeks pinker than usual? And was that a smirk tugging at my bro's mouth?
I had to investigate. Make sure I wasn't just seeing things.
I could head over and... and ask Dave if he had any homework. No. Wait. Better to keep my distance. Maybe mop up an imaginary spill? Get under the table for good measure? God damn it, why was raising a kid so much harder than raising robots? If Dave had been made of titanium or iron or steel or whatever, if his heart had been plutonium or something, I would know how to fix him, make him more manageable. At the very least I'd understand him. As it was, the best I could do was constantly try to head him off at the pass.
I reached for the mop. Took two steps-
"Hey, Dirk!"
Oh. God.
Not him. Not now.
I turned slowly, and there he was, in all his ridiculous glory.
Was it really that late? A glance at the clock over by the ancient jukebox confirmed-4:13, right on the dot. God, he was cute when he was punctual. Which was always.
"Nice bowtie," he said, smirking, as if he would ever have the stones to wear one himself. As it was, he was all dolled up in his usual style; a polo shirt the color of a mocha mint milkshake, jeans more green than blue, and a pair of Chucks, well-worn and complete with a few blades of grass poking out from the soles. I would have hardly been surprised if the guy had brought Bambi in with him, he looked so... "outdoors-y".
"The usual?" I asked him, all business, all class, as he sat at my counter and stared at me encouragingly, ready for me to perform my daily magic trick, as I always did.
I shot a glance at my bro-was that his hand I saw slipping down to grip John's?-before turning around to busy myself with making a cup of tea for my (boy)friend.
Tea wasn't really a popular beverage at Doc's; most of the kids frequenting the place preferred sodas and shakes. But Doc was a fan, so he insisted we offer it, and insisted the soda jerk-namely, me-be the one to make it.
I'm sure he knew Jake was pretty much the only customer to ever order it, and I'm sure he knew about our romcom excuse for a relationship, too.
That Doc Scratch, he was a meddler. Not as bad as Andrew, but still.
Speaking of Andrew, I noticed the guy finally get around to taking his shift while I waited for the water to boil. That loser is so lazy, it's a wonder Doc ever hired him. Other than Doc himself, he was the oldest employee we had, and no one liked him. And I mean no one. I'm pretty sure the only reason anyone put up with him is because he wore the girls' uniform for some reason, and he looked ridiculous in it, which, in this case, is synonymous with hilarious.
I watched him bumble through his various chores. Sweeping, dusting, washing, cleaning, and all in that stupid skirt with the cap sleeves, black bowtie, and matching apron.
Watching Andrew, I suspected, was a lot like watching a gangly seahorse learn how to walk.
The water was ready. I steeped a bag of tea in it as I prepared the cup-a little white one with a green rim and handle, and a saucer to match. That Doc, he was one consistent man. Uh... thing. Man? Anyway, he was consistent. Pretty much everything in the diner was green and white; striped walls, checkered floors, white and green chairs, tables, dishes, silverware...
Luckily, I happened to be a fan of green.
I gave Jake his tea, and watched him take a sip. Two sips.
"Have you done something different?" He asked, looking like a puppy who'd lost his bone. "This tastes..."
"It's pumpkin," I told him. So cute. So clueless. Behind him, Dave's tongue was practically in John's ear, and both Trolls had managed to absorb themselves with staring out the window.
Good friends. Wish I had some. Wish my real family-my robots-could work, too. As it is, I'm not allowed to let them out of the apartment much, except on the roof, and if it were me (aw, who am I kidding, they are me) I would have been going crazy, cooped up all the time.
"Pumpkin tea? Kind of out of season, isn't it?"
Sometimes I think Jake revels in being impertinent.
I said something about it being refreshing, or I thought I did. I'm not sure. My ears were hearing Derse and my head was full of the green smell of him and my eyes were on Dave, who chose that moment to get up, pulling John after him, and make a beeline for the bathroom.
I was all on Earth then. No time for distractions when there's a Bro-related disaster to avert. I pushed away from my counter, away from my perfect idiot, and headed around, bracing myself for whatever was to come. There was no time to plan; I'd just have to improvise.
Oblivious to me, Dave neared, John's sleeve pinched in his grasp, John himself looking excited and confused. Dave kind of had that effect on people; sweet-talking them into doing things without telling them anything at all. Maybe that was how he had so many friends.
I was four steps away from them. Three. One.
I stepped in front of them, and Dave looked up, noticing me for the first time. The ignorant bastard, he probably hadn't even noticed I was working that day.
And he wonders why he can never best me in a fight.
"Bro," he said, sounding irritated, which I knew was his way of masking confusion. "I'm not-"
I said something-I don't even know what-but it was drowned out by the sound of a boor banging open, and a high-pitched shriek.
The noise level in the diner went from moderate to low, low, low as everyone turned to look. I thought it would be the people renting out the rooms above the diner. I had no idea what they used them for-some sort of detective agency, I guess. Those guys were constantly running around and freaking out, throwing keys and lipstick around.
But it wasn't them, it was Jane, bursting from the kitchen, hair messier than usual, glasses askew, eyes wide in panic.
"Dirk," she gasped, spotting me. "Something's on fire!"
I sighed inwardly. Not because she was always catching things on fire, but because everyone seemed to think I was the guy to call in the event of an emergency, even though all I knew how to do was make shakes and zone out on Derse and build friends out of spare parts. Pathetic, really.
But, yeah, you'd think a direct descendant of Betty Crocker herself would know how to put out a fire.
I shot a glance at Andrew-can't he help?-but he was just standing there, leaning on the jukebox, which was creakily emitting something vaguely resembling music.
Can't you put it out yourself?" I snapped at Jane, after Andrew's unblinking stare creeped me out and made me look away. She shook her head woefully.
"I tried," she moaned, "But water only made it worse!"
Ugh. I motioned to Dave-stay- before heading in. On the bright side, playing hero for innocent little Janey was sure to win me some points with Jake.
The kitchen was nice... for a diner. No chickens or apples. But, strangely enough, everything in it was either red or blue, without a hint of green anywhere. Weird.
The fire was billowing in a pan on the stove. A grease fire-just as I'd suspected. A lid clamped over it snuffed it right out, and the Diner was saved.
Although it had only taken a second or two, I hurried back out, sure I'd have to chase Dave down again. That, or find he'd found and broken into my condom stash again at home. Maybe it would have been better to just let them have it out in the bathroom at Doc's. At least that way I could keep an eye on them, more or less.
To my utter amazement, he was still there, right where I'd left him.
Well... almost. He had one arm hooked around John-the catch of the day-and the rest of him was engaged in the fine art of woman-catching. I came out just in time to see John give his sister(-ish thing) a feeble wave.
Seriously-HOW DOES THIS GUY HAVE FRIENDS?
Once the whole ordeal was over, once I'd pried my drooling brother(-ish thing) off of our chef and explained to her how to deal with grease fires, I was finally able to abscond back behind my counter, where Jake made me promise to keep making him pumpkin tea (yesss). Dave and John returned to their Troll friends, and the four of them left soon after.
Once they had gone, Meenah, one of our newest waitresses, brought me a note Dave had left behind.
"Rustblood pointyface," she called me. At least it was better than the previous "Triangle sight spheres".
"Your genetically identical bucket slimespawn left you this," she said, handing me the note, which read BRO in big block letters on the front.
Refraining from trying to work out weather she had just called Dave the Troll equivalent of my son, I opened the note.
Dude. Is she single?
Wow. What class, Dave. What a total fucking whore you are.
When I got home, I found he'd ravaged my condoms anyway.