#johnnyutah

“Hot coffee—no ice, none of that baby shit,” Ash says, slapping his hand emphatically on the counter. “Black. You know what that means, right? No sugar, sugar.”

“Um,” the coffee shop employee starts, before carefully considering her options. “Okay. What size?”

“I don’t know. Medium size. Regular size for a regular guy.”

“For a what?” Ace asks, equal parts amused and horrified. He would be perfectly content in his schadenfreude if he wasn’t party to this. Maybe, in another life, he would be able to contentedly view this scene from some table on the other side of the store and laugh about what an unlikeable chud this creep is. Unfortunately, in this life, he’s connected to said creep through a mix of extreme shared psychological torment, blackmail, and illegal matrimony. Maybe he’ll have to get an illegal annulment. Better than a legal one.

“For a regular guy.” Ash jerks a thumb at himself, proud.

“You’re not a regular guy.” 

“I am! Look at me.”

“So a grande, sir?” the barista asks, hopeful to get this over with.

“No—fuck do you mean? I said medium.”

“That’s what—”

“What, you think a guy like me doesn’t know my Spanish?” Ash huffs like a displeased dog, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ typical. Stere-o-typical, really. Grande’s big. I said medium.”

“Right, but that’s just—”

“It isn’t called the Medium goddamn River.”

Ash contemplates whether or not he can still get away with pretending he doesn’t know this guy despite standing directly next to him, conversing with him, and grimacing knowingly at everything he says, but the barista, in an attempt to get a glimmer of control back in this conversation, focuses her attention on him instead.

“And for you, sir?”

He didn’t get this far. Fortunately, Ash has him covered.

“He’ll also have a non-baby non-grande black coffee,” Ash says, patting Ace’s shoulder with his prosthetic hand. It’s a nice, comfortable weight, and Ace has a Pavlovian relaxation response to it before it kicks in that he’s not actually all that happy with the situation.

“Actually, I’ll take a caramel latte,” Ace corrects, lazily pointing at the specials sign. It isn’t like he really cares. Mostly, he’s being an asshole. As always, it works.

“What?” Ash blurts out, somehow offended by this turn of events. “Really? Is there even any coffee in that?”

“It’s a—do you not know what a latte is?” Ace asks. Wonders never cease, he thinks.

“Well, it’s some pussy shit,” Ash answers, matter-of-factly.

“Good thing I’m not sharing.” Ace reaches up to flick Ash’s forehead, grinning at the way his nose turns up in irritation. If Ash doesn’t like being annoyed, maybe it’d be in his best interests to stop being cute about it. And to stop being annoying himself, but that’s always going to be an uphill battle.

“What size?” the barista asks, politely ignoring this display.

“Medium.”

She opens her mouth, and then closes it, nodding as she fiddles with her computer.

“The total’s on the till,” she says brightly. “Cash or card?”

“Cash or card?” Ash echoes, glancing over at Ace.