Mercury Retrograde
Who: Concordia and Miguel de la Paz Where: Mickey's dank-chic apartment in Seattle When: 5-ish months prior to arrival at Destruction What: "If you could do that the whole fucking time, then why did I just go all the way to fucking Never Never Land for fucking coffee?"
Every time he blinked, it seemed like the price for a basic cup of bullshit coffee skyrocketed. Miguel squinted at the menu, and then at the barista loudly popping her gum, her septum piercing glinting in the overhead lighting.
"It was three dollars for a medium yesterday," he said. He began rummaging through the pockets of his laptop bag for the previous day's receipt, as if that would somehow alleviate the whole situation. The flat look the barista gave him spoke of the supreme indifference of minimum wage workers who weren't paid enough to give a fuck.
"And now it's four-fifteen. New policy." She cracked her gum between her teeth, making Miguel cringe. "Must be another civil war in Colombia over coffee beans or something, I dunno, I haven't watched CNN today." Miguel stared at her, affronted.
"That," he began, "is so goddamn rude--"
"Your total is eight-eighty four," she interrupted, monotone. Miguel pursed his lips, loaded his two zealously overpriced coffees into a carrying tray, capped the lids with splash sticks, and took his sweet time counting out exactly six ones, a two dollar bill, and eighty four cents (with as many pennies as possible). He dropped them on the counter, each metallic chime music to his ears as he stared the cashier down.
“I’m never coming back here again,” he said. The cashier gave him her best candy-floss smile, unswayed by his dire promise and knowing the siren song of free wifi, open outlets, and as much caffeine as he had spare change for would inevitably lure him back. But for the sake of their collectively sinking dignity and the growing line behind him, she sent him on his way to the bus stop with a “have a great day” that just sounded like a cheery “fuck you and your ugly shoes” to Miguel’s ears.
Time seemed to slow as he trudged his way to the crosswalk to await the next bus. The summer sun beat down on the back of his neck for a brief moment before it was obscured by Seattle’s near-constant blanket of clouds; he braced his cheek against a metal post, sighing at the cooling relief it brought to his pounding head. Playing summer catch-up classes at the uni was a move of desperation at best, and profound idiocy at worst. Either way, he had a full summer course load, too little sleep, too much caffeine, and too massive a headache to really have any desire to hold himself fully upright.
(With that last thought, he shifted just enough so that his bag was pressed between his thigh and the pole, to discourage the more opportunity-minded who might think his wallet fair game. As if he had money. Ha.)
“Fuck,” he told the post feelingly, probably garnering a few odd looks that he didn’t care to think too much about. He already looked next-to-hungover and that much closer to being unceremoniously tossed into whatever mass grave they kept open for failed undergrads and the temptation to drink Dia’s coffee that he, as a kind and considerate younger brother had braved the hellish humidity of August Seattle for was getting to be too much to resist. He drifted in that odd mental haze between awake and absence for a long moment, snapping back to awareness when the familiar red and yellow bus roared up to the stop and he shuffled forward to join the small queue of people boarding. He claimed a seat quickly, expertly juggling his bag onto his lap and the coffee tray on top of his bag and let out a small, tired sigh.
Only four stops, a short walk to his apartment and the sister inside it, and then he could sleep until Monday inevitably happened again.
His eyes fell on another boy across the aisle, thumbing through what looked like a brochure for...something. Miguel blinked rapidly to try to get his vision to focus, but exhaustion won out; defeated, he contented himself by letting his gaze idly rest on the other boy, tracing his outlined profile in brief bursts of passing sunlight with absent-minded serenity, admiring the way his hair shone with hidden bronze strands when the light hit it right.
(“God, I’m gay,” he muttered under his breath. The bald man sitting next to him nodded in silent commiseration. Great.)
The city streets outside were becoming familiar, marking his stop as the next one. A handful of people started standing up as the bus slowed. Miguel adjusted his grip on the coffee tray; his eyes caught on the boy across the aisle one last time and he flinched to see the boy looking back, some ominous voice in back of his mind tolling like a bell.
Oh no. Oh NO. He has FRECKLES, Miguel thought desperately. I’m fucking DOOMED.
He opened his mouth to say something when the bus lurched to a hard stop, sending him stumbling forward and his coffees to the floor with a horror-inducing splash. Miguel stared down for one dizzying moment at the new coffee Rorschach Blot splattered across his chest, stray droplets sliding from his hair to drip onto his shirt as well. Miguel felt the heat rising in his cheeks as the bus went silent, staring at him; he darted a look to his left and saw the boy staring at him as well, eyebrows raised. Without another word, he adjusted his bag, stepped over the sodden tray, took a running leap down the bus stairs and moved at a fast clip down the street until he turned a corner and the bus was no longer visible.
His energy reserves now irreparable tapped and his self-confidence destroyed forever, he trudged his way down two more city blocks until he arrived at his apartment complex, with its cracked plaster facade, faded sign, and rusting door hinges. Safe, finally. After all of that completely pointless bullshit and the brain death of what little remained of his dignity. He rode the creaking elevator up three stories, and had to force his eyes open when the door opened with a low ding. At last, he was standing in front of his door, keys in hand, and staring down at them dumbly.
(He did eventually remember that keys were for unlocking doors.)
”Aqui estoy,” he mumbled as he inched the door open. His dog Lilo perked up from her place next to Concordia on the couch and sped straight for him, tail wagging. He picked her up, despite her size, and carried her back to the sofa, dropping a perfunctory kiss to Dia’s cheek.
“I want to die,” he said seriously. He sat down next to his sister and tightened his arms around Lilo almost imperceptibly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been mortally humiliated three times in a row in a twenty minute period without your interference before and I crave the peace of the grave.”