“Lance, buddy.” Hunk nudges his best friend gently, who is currently dead to the world, somehow using his own shoulder as a headrest. “We’re here. Up you get.” Lance makes a noise that sounds vaguely like a mix of muffled yelling and sobbing, then testily uncurls himself, opening bleary brown eyes just to glare through the windshield.
“You’ll be fine, you drama queen,” Hunk admonishes. “You’re always fine once your brain kicks in.”
Lance only grunts, shifting his gaze to the door and opening it.
Well, trying to. It takes him four tries before Hunk takes pity on him, turning off the car before getting out of his own seat and walking to the other side to open Lance’s door for him. He sighs slightly to himself — he’d been planning on dropping Lance off at work and then jetting, but he should’ve known that wasn’t happening.
“C’mon, out you get,” he says, opening the door. He has to stop Lance from faceplanting on the pavement when he trips over nothing.
“Yeesh,” comes a voice from behind them, “what alien came down in the night and sucked out his brains? Or whatever’s left of them, anyways.”
Pidge stands by the rear door of the cafe holding three bags of coffee beans in her arms, glasses gleaming in the moonlight and smirk making her look impish. Her poofy dandelion hair is more of a mess than usual, as if a brush was a distant thought.
“He’s on low power mode,” Hunk explains. He slips an arm around Lance’s shoulders, patting him delicately and perhaps a bit patronizingly on the cheek. Lance responds only by groaning again and flopping his head back to rest on Hunk. “Lance is very big on beauty sleep, you see. So this is kind of a nightmare for him.”
Pidge’s smirk only gets wider. “I do see.”
Somehow, she makes a simple phrase of acknowledgment sound like she has just formed several evil plans in her head and is about to commence Lance’s downfall. She makes no attempt to hide this, which speaks to her power.
“Pidge? Everything okay out there?” calls a voice from inside the cafe.
“All good, Shiro! Just harassing Lance!”
This makes Lance pull away from Hunk in pure indignation, jaw dropped and eyes furrowed on betrayal.
Hunk bursts out laughing.
“I think you’re good now, dude,” he says, patting Lance’s back one last time before waving goodbye and heading back to his car. Lance watches him go, then stomps into the cafe, putting his apron on as aggressively as he can possibly manage and scowling at a gleeful Pidge.
“Hello, Zombie Lance,” greets an amused Shiro. He looks impossibly normal for a man who has to be awake and working at Three In The Goddamn Morning. “Thanks for coming in, kiddo. I appreciate it.”
Lance shoots him a tired thumbs up and then heads to the kitchen.
“Never in my life have I seen him like this,” Pidge remarks. She is practically bouncing off the walls.
Shiro raises an eyebrow at her. “He’s the only one here who can bake. You’re not allowed to make him quit.”
“Can I make him consider it?”
Pidge pouts. “Aw, Shiro, come on! You’re not here on the afternoon shifts! He and Allura gang up on me, Shiro. I am a victim. They do that weirdo thing where they communicate with eyebrow wiggles and Looks Of Judgement and then suddenly they know every embarrassing thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
Shiro snorts, but shakes his head again. “Still no, Pidge. You’re all an asset to this team. Besides, Lance is the only one who doesn’t hate interacting with customers during rush. Do you want to start doing that? Because that’s what you’ll be doing if you annoy him into quitting.”
“Fine,” Pidge grouches. “I’ll only torment him a little. Until he gets his voice back. Fair’s fair.”
She sprints off before Shiro can stop her.
Chuckling to himself, Shiro continues unpacking the supply shipment, stacking sacks of flour in the store room and bringing boxes of teabags up front. They’ll probably be fine. They’ve worked here for years and managed to not kill each other. Sure, Shiro has never had three of his early-morning bakers and stockers quit at the same time, nor has he ever had to panic-text his best employees to get them to work outside their usual shift in the dead of night, but he’ll…manage. Hopefully.
“I’m here! I’m here! I’m not late, I’m —” Allura stumbles into the storeroom, frantically trying to tie her thick, kinky hair out of her face and shove it into her visor. She gives up very quickly, tossing the visor on a random surface and smiling sheepishly at her boss. “I’m a little late. But in my defense, Uncle Coran is trying to build a flux capacitor again so all the clocks were behind.”
“Grab a sack of flour, you walking mess,” Shiro says fondly. Smiling back at him, Allura does, picking up three sacks with complete ease and stacking them neatly.
“What do we have to do to open?” she asks. “I’ve done it a couple times, I think, but never this early, and —”
She’s interrupted by screeching, followed by cackling, and then the sound of several things clanging together as they fall to the floor.
She purses her lips, clearly fighting back a giggle. “Pidge and Lance in the kitchen?”
Shiro sighs. “Unfortunately.”
They follow the sounds of destruction, pulling the two fools away from each other, Allura dragging Pidge to go help her with the unloading and Shiro staying to help Lance. Between the four of them they manage to get the cafe stocked and prepped for the day, supplies out where they belong and enough goodies baked for the morning rush.
“Thanks again,” Shiro tells them, when six rolls around and they get ready to open.
Lance grins at him, having woken up fully sometimes around four. “All good! Opening shift is kinda nice, actually. You get to see the sunrise.”
Shiro smiles back, somewhat nervously. “It’s great that you feel that way, buddy.”
“Oh no,” Pidge says, sensing his tone.
Shiro pushes on. “—because Stephanie, Tyler, and Lou all quit. So. I am completely out of an opening shift.”
“Have you been opening on your own every morning?” Allura asks, concerned.
“No, this just happened,” Shiro assures. “That’s why I called you guys in. I know it’s frustrating, but I was hoping you guys would be willing to take this shift for a while, at least until I can get new hires. You guys like working together, so I pulled all three of you, but you don’t all have to say yes. I can definitely ask the late afternoon or evening shifts.”
“I never said anything about liking to work with the gremlin,” Lance grumbles, but he’s resting his elbow on Pidge’s head and his tone is nothing but fond.
“Yeah, and who says I want to work with two beanstalks?” Pidge complains. “If you move these two knuckleheads to this shift then maybe I can go back to my regular shift and work with appropriately sized people!”
“Oh, darling, I don’t believe any of our coworkers are preschoolers.” Allura bends down to Pidge’s height, face exaggeratedly sympathetic. “Child labour is illegal, you see.”
Pidge scowls as Allura and Lance burst into cackles, high-fiving each other. “You see?” she demands, gesturing between them and Shiro. “They gang up on me! Workplace harassment! I can’t believe you’re making me take the morning shift with these two doodooheads!”
“This is the best gift you could have possibly given me, Shiro,” Lance says, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “I’m eternally grateful for this opportunity.”
Allura sniggers. “As am I.”
“Alright, alright,” Shiro says, rolling his eyes. He shrugs on his jacket, tossing the keys to Allura — the most trustworthy of the bunch (Pidge will most definitely make copies for nefarious purposes and the one and only time Lance was trusted with the keys, they ended up accidentally baked into a banana loaf). “I’m gonna sort some things out and see what I can do to get some newbies hired. No killing each other while I’m out, and no making each other quit either. Play nice, children.”
The three of them call out some derivative of “will do, father!” and wave him goodbye, watching him unchain his bike from the side of the building and pedal off.
The second he’s out of eyesight, Lance turns towards the other two, hand flying to his nose. “Dibs on first pick of breakfast! And on not unlocking the doors!”
“You only get to dibs one, you cheater!”
Usually, Lance works from ten to five, so he gets the second wave of breakfast rush and both waves of lunch rush. Early dinner rush too, but only if he’s working on weekends.
Early morning rush, though, is a whole different ballpark. There are way more people, somehow, and a lot of them are ruder. Possibly the lack of coffee, but still. Pidge intentionally makes decaf after notices several people be much meaner than Lance than usual.
Not that she thinks Lance notices she does this. But she’s not very subtle, and every time she does it makes Lance smile.
“Whew,” Allura huffs, slumping over the counter. “That was rough.”
“Was it ever,” Lance grumbles. The cafe has been quiet for five whole minutes, signalling an end to the dreaded mass of customers who’ve yet to caffeinate themselves.
Pidge is very scowly. “That one guy was such a prick. He was so mean to Lance for no reason, and then he called you hotcheeks, Allura! Ugh. He’s going to be so miserable when he gets caffeine withdrawals. I hope they’re particularly bad for him.”
“Careful there, Pidgey,” Allura says, sharing a grin with Lance. “It almost sounds like you care about us.”
“That has nothing — I do not! I’m just —” She flounders, ears going red. There’s no bleeding heart like Pidge, but God forbid she ever admit it. “I’m going on break! Fuck you guys!”
She stomps off to the back, throwing her apron at Lance’s head as she turns the corner. Allura and Lance look at each other, and last approximately four seconds before cracking up.
“Payback,” Lance says between giggles. “She was a total shit this morning. I considered throwing eggs at her.”
“You didn’t consider shit. You did throw an egg at her.”
“Yeah, but she dodged, so it doesn’t count.”
Allura rolls her eyes. “If I put you in a chokehold but you don’t die, it still —”
She cuts herself off at the sound of the windchimes hanging from the door, looking over to see a guy walk in, their age, wearing a cropped leather jacket, fingerless gloves, big emo boots, and —
“Is that a mullet?” Lance mutters, aghast. “In this day and age? Unironically?”
Allura bites her lip, hurriedly turning towards the espresso machine. “I’ll get started on a coffee as black as his soul,” she teases under her breath.
Lance has the bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, and even then he can’t stop his smile. He turns to the guy. “Welcome to Starbrews. What can I get for you?” he asks, voice shaking with mirth. He glances at the man’s gloves, and then back at his face. “A pink drink?”
Is he being a little mean? Yeah, probably. Can he kiss any tip goodbye? Most definitely.
The man scoffs. “Is that your idea of being funny?”
Lance shrugs, very much amused even if the beloved customer isn’t. “What’re you gonna get, then?”
The man hesitates for a beat, still glaring at Lance, then mutters, “A pink drink.”
Lance does his absolute best to keep his smirk at a reasonable level. He sees Allura’s shoulders shaking out of the corner of his eye.
“What size?” he asks pleasantly, tapping the register.
“A medium,” the man says, with no small amount of attitude.
Without waiting for the man to finish, Lance shakes his head.
Oh, he is delighting in this.
“Sorry,” he hums. “I don’t know what that is.”
The man looks a hair’s breadth away from reaching over to strangle Lance, which is excellent. Instead he places his hands on the counter very gently, in a way that tells you he is physically holding himself back from slamming them, and leans in close. He hums, mocking the way Lance did earlier, condescending smirk on his face. “It’s, like, in between a small and a lar—”
“Shh,” Lance interrupts, matching the man’s position, leaning so close he can see the freckles that dot his nose, and the faint scar on his cheek. “We go by tall, grande, and venti here? Most people know that.”
Most people don’t know that, actually. This is a privately owned cafe. This isn’t a Starbucks. Shiro just has an all-encompassing loathing for Starbucks and anything associated with it, and expresses this loathing with as much copyright as he can get away with, which is a lot. (Aside from the sizing, they even have two menus, labelled ‘Our Menu’ and ‘The Starbucks Menu’. How Shiro has not yet received a cease and desist, Lance does not know, but the pettiness as a whole brings him great joy.)
But for whatever reason, Lance appears to be set on being as annoying as possible to this random man today. Perhaps it’s because he is personally offended by the mullet. Perhaps it’s because Lance is neurotic and the man is objectively very attractive. No one will ever know exactly how Lance’s mind works, least of all himself.
The man’s eyebrows narrow, and something shifts in his expression. He smirks widely, tilting his head at Lance and putting his hand to his heart in a false show of genuineness.
“Aw,” he coos, as patronizing as Lance was seconds ago. “Do I look like most people, sweetheart?”
The mocking pet name only emboldens Lance further. He straightens, punching in the order — not that he needs to, there’s no way Allura isn’t paying full and complete attention, but still — and grinning.
“Absolutely not,” he chirps, as preppily as he can.
The man huffs, straightening up as well. “Hm. That was a little condescending, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” the man says flatly.
“Interesting,” Lance dismisses. “Can I get a name for the order? Or does Billy Ray Cyrus work for you?”
Allura can’t tamp down her laugh at that one, clamping her hand over her mouth as soon as the sound escapes and hurriedly reaching for the coconut milk.
“Keith is fine,” Keith grouches.
“Sure thing,” Lance assures, writing Billy Ray Cyrus on the cup, and then a heart just to be annoying. He slides the cup over to Allura, who fills it up and walks it over to the counter.
“Pink drink for Billy Ray Cyrus?” she calls, because she may pretend to be more mature than Lance but deep down she is just as much of a shit disturber.
Keith scowls. “Not my name.” He takes the offered drink and then — to Lance and Allura’s great surprise — drops some money into the tip jar, before leaving the cafe in a huff.
“You are going to get your dumb ass fired,” Allura says once he’s gone.
“Nah,” Lance dismisses, grinning cheekily at her. “Shiro likes me too much. Plus, how would he ever find out?”
Allura grabs a rag and stars wiping the machines down, shaking her head. “You’d be surprised.”
“Oh, come on. What’s Mr. Emo gonna do? Tell Shiro? It’s not like they know each other. That would be romcom levels of ridiculous plot hangering. Not happening.”
“Whatever you say, Lance. When this comes back to bite you in the ass, I am going to point and laugh.”
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