#prompt three

The apron he is wearing right now is a gift from Lydia, one that she got him for his twenty-fifth birthday when she finally realized that this was it, that Stiles had gone to four years of university to get a Major in Criminology and a Minor in Languages only to end up as the owner of Moon Bites. Stiles had been offended that she had taken more than a year to realize that, but given her and Jackson's turbulent relationship status at the time which had her attention torn to bits, he had forgiven her right that instant, lips quirking up in a smile at her approval.

The apron is a sign of her blessing, and Stiles takes great care of it, wears it only on the best of occasions or when he needs some extra luck. Like today.

Today is the first day of a new semester, and these are the hardest, even now; Stiles has had numerous dealings with frantic college kids who don't know their schedule or their way to their next class, all of them stumbling inside his not-so-little coffee shop to ask for help, and he still doesn't know the best way to approach them. He tries his best though; The kids who are rude in the morning warm up just like the sun rays falling through the floor to ceiling windows of his shop by the time afternoon rolls around, and he makes friendly with them every time, talks to them and eases their worries and fears. The Freshman kids especially, because Stiles knows how hard it is to be away from home for the first time ever, even if he could (and did) drive back to his dad in under three hours when he was in college. It's rewarding to make the kids smile, though, and he thinks he is doing an okay job with them.

Now he knows how Satomi Ito had felt, almost a decade ago, when Stiles, barely eighteen, had stumbled in this very same shop and she had practically adopted him. He'd been not easy to tame, as she likes to say fondly, but he is definitely her favorite.

Stiles sighs, nostalgia hitting him hard, and wishes that Satomi had never moved away; he misses her, but he knows the move was important. But then the bell jingles, announcing his first customer of the day and this semester, and he remains nothing but grateful that Satomi saw him worthy enough of her legacy.

Straightening his apron, he walks out to the front.

--

Scott McCall. A few weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday, the kid is charming, and Stiles instantly likes him. He is not frantic though, or even late for his classes. Moon Bites opens at six in the morning, and it's not even seven right now, and yet, Scott looks ready to tackle more than a few feet of books.

Literally, apparently.

Scott groans around the large black coffee he'd ordered. Scott had assured him it's not his favorite, but if he doesn't want to fall asleep in class, he needs this bitter elixir.

Stiles had asked what class this could possibly be, and that's how he found one puppy-eyed Scott looking up at him, groaning like he is in pain, and complaining about his stupid professor Scott hasn't even met.

"I mean," Scott sips at his straw, makes a face, and Stiles tries to hide his grin behind the desserts display case. "It's literally the first day! He could have waited, I dunno, a day or two or seven before dumping the whole semester's reading list on us?"

Stiles wipes down an already cleaned part of the counter. "But isn't this good? Your Professor sent you the whole semester's reading list. This way you can plan ahead, and if some parties throw a wrench in your plans," Scott snorts, "You can always make a new plan, because you already know what you have to read." Seriously, this Professor knows what he is doing. Stiles would have loved this man as his Professor, he definitely sounds better than the one he had for English during his time.

Scott shrugs. "I dunno, it's just overwhelming?"

"Ah." That, Stiles gets. "You'll do good buddy, I am sure." Scott beams. Stiles smiles back. "You're literally my first customer, so you're obviously taking this whole College thing like a champ,"

"Yeah," Scott sips at the rest of his coffee, and Stiles looks at him for a minute before he realizes that Scott's done talking. Awkwardly he shuffles backwards, and for lack of anything better to do, takes out his phone from the pocket of his apron. There's nothing of note in his notifications, so he simply scrolls through his phone for a minute before an idea tumbles into mind.

> Jerk Douchemore [06:57]

i hope your dream is filled with lizards

The reply comes instantly.

< Jerk Douchemore [06:57]

i sincerely wish your day is filled with crying children

Stiles grins down at his phone.

"Wow, what a douche," Stiles does not jump three feet in the air, he does not.

"What the fuck! Scott!" He looks at the kid with surprise, hand resting on his chest where his heart jackrabbiting inside. The kid just shrugs, like he hadn't just given Stiles a heart attack. "Don't do that again,"

Scott sips the last of his coffee, if the hollow vacuum noise is anything to go by, and looks at him like he doesn't get why what he did is wrong.

Kids are fucking weird, seriously.

Stiles just shrugs it off, sends Jackson a proper goodnight text,  and engages with Scott, who seems bored. He learns that Scott's mom is a nurse, and Stiles has, apparently, crossed paths with her numerous times; not surprising, given that Beacon Hills is a small town. Melissa McCall has a tenuous schedule, and so Scott is used to waking up early to make himself breakfast and do other chores to help out his mom. But here he has nothing to do.

"You can always take up jogging. I did that in my second year. I hear it is good for your health."

Scott makes a face. "Ugh,"

The bell jingles, signaling other customers. Stiles pats Scott's right shoulder and looks up to see one of the two people who made him start jogging in the first place.

The second one isn't here, and Stiles isn't yet sure how he feels about that.

"Great timing," he says, and watches as Isaac Lahey grins slowly and winks at Scott in greeting, sweat covered body clashing with his shining face and curly blonde hair. "We were just talking about Scott taking up jogging,"

Isaac waves at Scott, who looks dumbstruck—Isaac has that effect on people—and then moves towards Stiles' side of the counter. "You, Stiles 'I can't fucking walk another step' Stilinski—"

Stiles puts his hand on Isaac's mouth. Isaac, very maturely, licks it.

"Ew, very mature,"

His friend just smirks and walks towards the backroom, where he'll change into his work clothes.

"Ass,"

"He does have a great one," Scott murmurs, and Stiles is not too proud to say he'd forgotten the kid was still here. "He works here?"

Stiles internally sighs. Another heart, broken. Or it's going to be. "Yup, he is my manager, and painfully taken,"

Scott's olive skin darkens. "Wha- I- I didn't- I thought you were the manager!"

Stiles chuckles and shakes his head. The bell rings again, and this time, it is a group of three kids. He looks back at Scott. "I'm the owner."

--

It becomes a routine after that day. Scott comes in every morning, sometimes to study, sometimes to just talk, but mostly to ogle Isaac as he works. Isaac doesn't mind, but he also doesn't talk to Scott much, afraid of leading him on. Stiles just watches, and works, and listens as Scott complains: about his luck in love life, which is non-existent; about how he misses home and his mom; about his enthusiasm for animals, and how he hates that English is something he has to take; and finally, about how much he hates Professor Hale.

It's been a month of this, and still, all Stiles knows of this Hale is that he is stuck-up, rude, and a know-it-all who picks on Scott. Stiles doesn't know the Professor, he must be a new one, but he knows that Isaac gets increasingly agitated whenever Scott badmouths the Professor. Isaac hasn't said anything yet, or told Scott to stop, but Stiles knows he wants to.

So it's not surprising when during this rant, which is probably the worst they've heard yet, Isaac walks over from his perch on the other corner of the counters with a determined set to his jaw. Stiles scrambles for anything to distract him so there's no bloodshed, metamorphically speaking.

"Oh!" He says loudly, and the students in the shop all look at him like they want him gone. Even Scott startles. Oops. He lowers his voice considerably. "Um, Isaac, weren't you telling me about Cora? She did that thing, um, what do you—she and her team won the states!"

Isaac completely melts at the mention of his girlfriend, and talks about how she led her basketball team to win the State Championship. Scott deflates, but hey, in Stiles' book a little heartbreak is better than hearing your crush say mean things to you. And Isaac can be mean when he wants to.  

Stiles sighs in relief when his plan works, and walks over to one of the customers who wants a refill of his coffee. He wonders, though, how Isaac knows Professor Hale. Isaac and him have been friends since their junior year in high school, when his dad brought Isaac home after the horrible part of Isaac's life came to light, but still Isaac is a private person. Stiles doesn't push him to answer anything, ever, because he knows Isaac would come to him if it's important. Or if he thinks Stiles absolutely needs to know something, like how Cora has an older brother who knits and gave Isaac a Star Wars themed scarf for his and Cora's first Christmas with Cora’s family.

Apparently, this big brother is a real softie. Stiles would love to meet this man, and Cora too; they haven't met yet but according to Isaac, she is like a slightly taller Lydia.

Stiles really, really wants to meet them. But for now, he just watches as the various students mingle around in his shop, smiles on their faces, ridiculous stories falling from their mouths, frustration from the day’s classes melting from their bodies as the pastries and drinks make it into their stomach.  

“I will not allow you to go through with this.” He snarled. “You’re coming back and I swear you’re going to regret pulling this stunt.”

“And let them drag some other kid into the fight in my place?” He shook his head and tried to push Day’s hand from his shirt with no success. “I will do no such thing!”

“How dare you speak to me like that! You ungrateful little—”He drew his hand back to hit him but a hand closed around his wrist.

Darren stood at his side, holding Day back. His dog ears, soft and tawny, pinned back ever so slightly until Day stood down. He glared still, seething but held back by Darren’s presence. Moraine shook himself out and sat back down. He wasn’t leaving. He’d made his choice.

“Are you sure about this?” Darren didn’t look right at him when he spoke, eyes wandering over the empty walls.

Moraine nodded.

Day huffed. “This is ridiculous, there is no way that I—“

“He can make his own choices.” Darren cut him off. “Be they good or bad.”

“Fine.” Day spat. “But don’t expect any help. You’re on your own Moraine.”

He nodded, but he didn’t believe a word he said. Once he calmed down he’d probably sent Harmony, or maybe even Ripar. Whether to try and convince him to change his mind or to help him in the arena wasn’t as certain.

The door opened and Willow slipped in. She didn’t seem to notice the two gods until she closed the door and turned around with a surprised squeak. “Sorry, sorry, I can go.” She reached to grab the door.

“No, it’s fine.” Day waved her back into the room. “Are you a friend of Moraine’s?”

She nodded, keeping her head down.

Day watched her, looking her up and down. “Kind of you to see him off.”

“The others, they wanted to come too but the peacekeepers wouldn’t let us all in so we decided I would come for all of us.” She peeked up at him, then relaxed a little when he didn’t react. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“We were done talking anyway.” He glanced at Moraine with a barely hidden scowl before looking back to Willow. “I won’t take any more of his time here so you can say your goodbyes.” He gave her a nod and vanished.

Darren remained, moving to stand by the wall without a word. He kept his eye to the door. Willow paused a moment with a cautious look at the god of life and death before taking a seat with Moraine.

“Nick wanted me to thank you for him.” She folded her hands in her lap, picking at her fingernails.

So that was his name. “I couldn’t let him go, not when I could help.” One day maybe he’d be strong enough, smart enough, to do something to end this all but for now the least he could do was save one life.

Willow didn’t respond right away and when she did it was barely a whisper. “Are you going to be okay? I… I don’t want to see you die again Mica.”

“Don’t worry about me.” He knew that was easier said then done. Willow had been there for him in his last days. She’d fed him, kept him warm and comfortable as she could while he faded in and out of consciousness until his injuries got the best of him. “I’ll be okay.” For all his anger, Day wouldn’t just let him die out on his own.

Probably.

“I sure hope you’re right.” She leaned forward and threw her arms around him, holding him tight. “Good luck Mica.”

She didn’t let go until a warning knock echoed from the door. Time was almost up. She drew back and stood, trying her best to hide the way her lips pressed together and fear hardened her eyes.

“Until we meet again.” She tried to manage a smile.

Moraine returned it as best he could. “And we will.”

She lingered a moment longer and then she was gone. Quiet returned to the room even as Darren remained. He slowly turned his gaze to Moraine with an unreadable expression.

“You can’t be surprised about this, right?” He asked, looking up at him through the corner of his eye. Darren knew him better than Day. He knew he would be here today.

“I’m not.” He pushed off from the wall and took something from his pocket.