#alton

Track and Field Week was coming, and Coach Stone had made one thing clear at morning drills.

“Required times are required for a reason, boys.”

Wells and Alton nodded like they understood. Then Wells missed his sprint time. Alton missed his turn split. By the final relay exchange, both of them were sweating, breathing hard, and staring at Coach’s stopwatch like it had personally betrayed them.

Coach Stone lowered it slowly.

“Close gets you second place,” he said. “And second place gets reassigned.”

Wells blinked. “Reassigned to what?”

Coach smiled. “Golden Chalice. Patio shift.”

By afternoon, the Golden Chalice Pub Patio was packed for Cinco de Mayo, since renovations were still on going inside the pub. Sunlight hit the tables, margaritas glittered with salt and lime, and festive decorations swayed above the patio.

Then Wells and Alton stepped out.

Chili-pepper swim briefs. Striped athletic socks. Black sneakers. Huge black-and-gold sombreros. Trays of margaritas in hand.

The patio went quiet.

Wells leaned toward Alton. “Bro. This is worse than burpees.”

Alton kept smiling for the customers. “At least burpees don’t come with drink specials.”

Coach Stone stood near the pub entrance in his metallic gold shirt, jeans, black cap, sneakers, and sunglasses, looking far too pleased.

“Trays up. Shoulders back,” he called. “If you’re going to miss your times, you can at least serve with proper form.”

Wells groaned. “Coach, people are staring.”

Coach looked them both over and grinned.

“Good. Maybe the attention will help you remember your pace targets.” He lifted his margarita. “Besides, I’m enjoying the view of two athletes learning accountability.”

The nearby Golden Bros burst out laughing.

For the next hour, Wells and Alton served margaritas across the patio, half embarrassed, half showing off, and entirely aware that Coach was still training them. Every pass became posture. Every tray became balance work. Every step became a reminder.

At sunset, Coach walked over.

“Better,” he said.

Alton narrowed his eyes. “So we’re done?”

“For today.” Coach smiled. “Tomorrow morning, same track. Hit your times, and you train like champions.”

He glanced at their outfits.

“Miss them, and the Golden Chalice has a brunch shift.”

Wells and Alton looked at each other.

“We’re hitting those times,” Wells said.

“Absolutely,” Alton agreed.

Coach turned away, still smiling.

Behind him, Wells adjusted his sombrero and muttered, “Still think we looked good, though.”

Coach did not even turn around.

“I know you did, Gold.”

Smile for the overworked police officer who can't be arsed with your bullshit (✿◡‿◡)

thank you @zosa95 for this amazing ask! sorry it's so late lmaooo.. here's a handful of miscreants for you and their naughty crimes!! honestly if it weren't for Arturo a bunch of these guys (including Oscar) would've deffo ended up in prison or had a longer sentence so ig at least he was useful for something 😅