Can’t teach an old dog new tricks…
After decades of drinking intense, instant black coffee, with four table spoons of coffee grounds - absolutely no cream or sugar - the last thing Leon expected to be doing on a Monday was trying something he could only equate to the drink equivalent of grass.
He grimaced.
“Mmph, jesus.” Stifling a cough, he inspected the plastic cup as if it was some sort of new virus strain. Eyes scanning over the branded logo with fancy calligraphy.
He swirled the drink around another few times. Taking another sip.
“Why are you still trying it if you don’t like it?” You laughed, greatly amused by watching your senior officer struggle his way through a white chocolate matcha with extra vanilla syrup.
“I never said I don’t like it.” He huffed, his large gloved hand engulfing the small cup with a rounded lid. A comical image as he sat across from you, seemingly regretting agreeing to try the drink you quietly nursed in the staff room moments before.
“I fear your face tells a different story, Leon.” You chuckled, crossing off the last box on the file you were swiftly making your way through. Albeit the process probably would have been a little quicker had it not been for the huffing across from you.
His eyes narrowed, staring at the drink like it was a sworn enemy of the past.
“It’s too sweet, but also tastes like weeds.”
“It does not taste like weeds.” You slid a hand down your face. This wasn’t exactly what you signed on for when you took the job at the DSO, that’s for sure.
He cocked an eyebrow at you.
“It’s sweet weeds.”
“Leon, no.”
He took another sip.
“Stop drinking all of it if you don’t like it!” You leaned over the table, swiping the drink out of his hand.
“Honestly, you come in here like a storm some days and other days it’s like watching a toddler.” You groaned, sipping the last of your drink.
The older man across from you let out a sigh, stretching out his arms, those muscles you couldn’t peel your eyes away from bulging against his navy shirt. That you were convinced, was a size too small.
His arms finally fell, his palms smoothing out his shirt and tucking the hem that rode up during his stretch into his utility belt.
“Just black coffee for me.” He smiled, finally getting up from the table, ruffling your hair as he walked past. “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, huh?”
That was definitely true. Leon never faltered in his drink of choice. Always opting for the strongest, boldest, pungent smelling black coffee imaginable. You couldn’t teach him anything new, or get him to try much for that matter.
But every day since then, there was always a White chocolate matcha waiting for you on your desk.
Dividers by @/uzmacchiatto
@cagesofgold
