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virmillion · 5 years

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Coffee’s for Closers

alternative title: lab has absolutely no chill when airing out their dirty laundry

Summary: Virgil is a barista. Logan is a barista. Everyone is gay—it's just that this gayness only occurs at Logan's cafe. Warnings: cursing, rude customers and coworkers, let me know if you think of any more Ships: romantic analogical, romantic royality, platonic LAMP+Remy Words: 22,222

Check it out on ao3!

Grande white mocha latte. Steam milk to the third line, four pumps of syrup, two shots of espresso, put on a sleeve, pour the milk, whipped cream, lid, hand it off, next. Kid’s hot chocolate. Steam milk to the bottom line at one-twenty seven degrees, two pumps mocha, one pump vanilla, pour the milk, whipped cream, lid, hand it off, next. Venti iced caramel macchiato upside down with coconut milk and an extra shot. Pull two shots of espresso into each teacup, six hits of vanilla in the cup, espresso over the vanilla, coconut milk to the top line, ice to the rim, caramel drizzle of seven vertical, seven horizontal, two circles, lid, hand it off, next. This is literally the only thing running through Virgil’s mind anymore.

Alright, maybe not the only thing. There is the odd customer who gets annoyed at receiving a small cup when they asked for a tall, because ‘I thought tall meant large!’ and Virgil has had just about enough of people not understanding the price difference. There’s also a regular here and there that hands off their reusable cup with a grin, so he can fill it with caramel and decaf and nonfat milk for the regular’s wife, and the guy can get a tall pike place roast with caramel syrup in a grande cup, and Virgil can hand it off and feel proud of himself for knowing a regular’s order so precisely. Oh, and lest we not forget the ever-present parents thinking it’s cool to let their toddlers run wild and knock down his signs and spill drinks everywhere because ‘it’s okay, honey, he gets paid to clean that up!’

Okay, so there are several things running through Virgil’s mind right now. At this incredibly specific moment, one of those several things is the fact that he only has to survive twelve. More. Minutes. With the literal worst coworker on the face of the earth. He can’t speak to the quality of workers beneath the earth’s crust—sorry, team members—but for air breathing losers such as he, his buddy here just. Takes the damn cake. Stole the candles. Blew out his wish. On his birthday. Without a birthday gift. Spit on the frosting. Grabbed two chunks with her bare hands. Ate them like a toddler. Complained when she was the only one eating cake. Took the cake anyway.

Virgil doesn’t particularly care for cake.

“Hey, how’re you doing?” Kim asks the next guest, plastering the absolute fakest smile Virgil has ever seen on her face. Like, he’s pretty sure it’s bordering on genuine. That’s how fake it is.

Virgil doesn’t particularly care for Kim, either.

“I’m good, how’re you?” the guest replies, staring up at the trifold menu and holding up a line of seven people behind them because they didn’t have the foresight to decide on a drink during the fifteen minutes they spent in line. “I’ll take a grande salted caramel mocha.” Virgil ignores Kim as she delivers the spiel about the limited supply of whipped cream, instead focusing on the measurements of all the drinks waiting to be finished. Sure, he admires that one lady for getting eight shots of espresso—he could definitely do with some of what she’s having—but her drink is doing a terrible job of holding up the line when their dinky little store only has one mastrena.

Ten minutes.

“Venti double quad for Debra?” Virgil calls, ignoring the line of drinks that haven’t been claimed yet. Seriously, if these people are as intent as they seem to be on getting out of here quickly, you’d think they’d jump at the chance to take their drinks. Virgil doesn’t really care either way, as he only has to survive nine more minutes.

“Hey, we need a milk run before tomorrow,” Virgil tells Kim, shuffling down the line of drinks. To be fair, they’re moving much more quickly now that the whole espresso machine isn’t focused on one drink from five minutes ago. “Want me to do it?”

“Ugh, yeah,” Kim groans, rolling her eyes. She waves off the concerned look from the next guest, eyeing Virgil’s obscenely long queue of drinks. “I’ll finish those up, you go get the milk, peace out in ten?”

“Something like that,” Virgil agrees, topping off the last row of grande hot chocolates. “You know where the button is for extra help?”

“Duh, of course I know where it is.” Rather than give a sarcastic remark to her attitude—which is what he wants more than anything—Virgil smiles brightly, pushing his way past the swinging door and straightening the hat that never sits quite right on his head. In the near back, he pulls out his constantly dying phone to snap a picture of the barren fridge. All the way to the back of the main store and into the freezer, he trundles one of the squeaky-wheeled carts between the aisles, dodging oblivious mothers and manspreading dudes with man-buns and ratty tennis shoes.

“Okay, twenty two blue, five pink, seven red,” Virgil mumbles to himself, double- and triple-checking the picture to reassure himself of what they need. “Maybe just seventeen blue, five pink, five red.” These corrections continue as he sets about pulling every jug he can find from the crates, absently tugging down his sleeves as the cold sends goosebumps skittering over his skin. “Two more red, maybe a few half and half?” Thinking back, he’s pretty sure corporate didn’t ship any half and half this week, either. Sunday’s gonna be a blast. “Still no heavy whipping cream, no surprise there. The rations thin. The plot chickens.” Allowing himself a small laugh at his own nonsense, Virgil backs the cart out of the fridge and deepens his chronic slouch to put more force behind the wheels. They squeal and scream in protest as he shoves the—trolley? Is that what they call it?—back to the front, practically spilling it everywhere as he swerves around a narrow corner to avoid a stray child pinballing off the end cap displays.

Finally at the near back again, Virgil fights with the cart to get it through the doors and over the floor mats covering the little alley, very nearly ramming his head into the sink when the wheels free themselves with no warning. “Okay, freakin’ ow,” he mutters, rubbing the bruise on his side from the impact. “Whatever, just a few more minutes, and I can go somewhere that doesn’t totally suck or drain the life from its patrons.”

True to his word, Virgil eventually succeeds in restocking the rest of the milks, popping his head out to check on Kim’s status in regards to whether she’ll survive the next three minutes. One severely long line that’s steadily trickling out, most of them with drinks in hand, and if the flurry of legs outside the shuttered window is anything to go by, another slam is hot on its heels. Virgil tosses out a flippant farewell to Kim and makes a break for the punch clock, having absolutely no desire to stick around for the hell that awaits.

“Okay, cool, cool, love driving in the rain, favorite part of my Saturday,” Virgil sighs, glancing at the window. If nothing else, should customers not be deterred by the weather? Seriously, just go home. Go home!

Of course, no one is listening to Virgil’s complaints. All too aware of this fact, he rolls his shoulders forward to shrug on a hoodie over his work-mandated black shirt—at least the uniform doesn’t suck, he supposes. Flipping his hood up to protect his hair and tucking in his earbuds, Virgil strolls out into the clogged aisles of people and things, easily blending in with the other loners that would rather be literally anywhere else, were it not for their families dragging them along. Virgil has no such ties, and accordingly escapes from the store with ease.

And no, he won’t lie—Virgil absolutely walks slower in the rain to the beat of the song in his ears, and he absolutely imagines some cheesy pathetic music video happening around him, and he absolutely would deny that if you confronted him with it.

By the time Virgil reaches his car—neon blue, mind you, because it was the cheapest model he could afford—his hoodie is sopping wet, and he has had just about enough of this whole ‘existing’ nonsense for today. But no, no, he wants to go to that new cafe one of the regulars told him about. Stupid stubbornness. Of course, he’s too stubborn to get rid of it. So. On he drives.

You might think this is where the stars align—where Virgil stumbles his way into a warm cafe from a cold car, where he bumps into his soulmate on first sight, where he knows in an instant that this is where he belongs, that this new place is the home he was always meant to find.

You would be wrong.

“Damn broken phone,” Virgil scowls, shaking his phone as the screen refuses to wake up, despite being at a solid seventy percent. He keeps his gaze toward his shoes and the tiled floor beneath them, pressing the home and lock buttons harder than he probably needs to. “If anyone dares to so much as look at me the wrong way, I am chucking you out the window and letting you electrocute yourself like a tiny toaster in the rain.”

“—Upside down, iced, and pick your poison for the milk,” the person waiting at the register is saying, leaning forward as if they have all the time in the world. Virgil’s frown deepens as the person starts to socialize with the barista.

“Ah, Roman? I believe there might be someone waiting behind you,” the barista says, their voice carrying over past the pompous person that’s basically a wall at this point. As the guest scuttles away to wait for his drink, the barista beckons Virgil forward, saying, “sorry about him. Never seems to understand that other people occupy this world besides himself.”

“It certainly would appear that way, wouldn’t it?” Virgil says out of the corner of his mouth, not looking up to meet the barista’s eyes. Regardless of whether they’re the social type, he isn’t about to find out the hard way. The hard way being the only way, of course. Virgil does not want to talk to this person, is what he’s saying. “I’ll just take a small of whatever the cheapest thing you have is that isn’t brewed coffee. Please.”

“Sure, that’ll be one fifty.”

“Keep the change.” Virgil passes over the first crumpled bill he can find in his pocket—a five—and moves for a table around the corner of the bar to wait. According to that regular, the baristas here are competent enough to hunt down the guests when their drinks are done. So. Hiding around the corner. His modus operandi.

The worn chair at a table for two is more than welcoming enough, offering a decent view of the crying clouds outside and the over-soaked flowers decorating the windowsill. Virgil dusts off the plum colored seat, which probably used to be plush when it was new—at this point, it’s so well-loved that there can’t be more than an inch of fabric separating Virgil’s rear from the wooden underside. He tucks one leg beneath himself, propping the other foot along the reddish brown window edge. The beaten-up greys and purples of his sneakers offer a painful contrast to the flowers, shining dull under the relentless rain.

“Hey, haven’t seen you here before,” a new voice says. The same guy that was bugging the barista plonks himself down across from Virgil, pressing his nose to the window. What was his name, Ho Man? “Did the rain scare you away from a main chain trash place like Starbucks?” Rather than dignify him with a response, Virgil holds up the too-small black cap he’s supposed to wear to work. Proudly displayed in white stitches is the Starbucks logo. The way Ho Man’s face turns beet red as he fumbles to cover up the mistake is almost enough to make Virgil laugh. Almost. “Okay, wait, I didn’t mean—it’s not like I wanted to—obviously I don’t disrespect your profession—not that it’s like you have to have it! I mean, unless you like it, but I didn’t want to assume—that’s what they always say about assuming, isn’t it, ass out of you and me, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah, cool! I, uh, I’m just gonna—I’m gonna go sit over there now.” Ho Man jabs his thumb back over his shoulder, loudly scraping his chair back under the table as he stumbles over his own feet in a mad scramble for the front area of the cafe.

“He seems fun,” Virgil mumbles to himself, resting his chin on a knee and pressing his forehead to the window. Out in the parking lot—if you can even call it that, it’s basically just ten rectangles that happen to be outlined in white—his car looks incredibly crowded in. Neon blue trapped by dark greys and flat reds, all of them reduced to shields sending rain shooting to the concrete.

A few tables away, Ho Man has plonked himself at a bigger table, facing off with someone turned away from Virgil. They certainly seem to be in deep conversation about something, but Virgil doesn’t care enough to figure out what, much less elaborate on it. To drown out the light conversation of a considerable amount of quiet patrons around him, he digs his laptop out of his shoulder bag and unfolds it on the table. In any fantasy story he’s ever imagined, this is probably the part where his one true love appears in the vacant chair across from him, reaching out to close the laptop and reveal sparkling blue eyes that dance like the stars on a dark and clear night.

Yeah, no thanks.

“There you go, cheapest thing we’ve got that isn’t brewed coffee,” the barista says, appearing very much in Virgil’s field of view to hand over a ceramic mug decorated with tinier cups in every shade of blue and purple. “Apple cider with cinnamon and caramel.”

“That’s the cheapest thing you’ve got?” Virgil sputters in disbelief. “That’s, like, four bucks at a chain place.”

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized we were on par with a ‘chain place,’” the barista replies, making air quotes around the words. “Anyway, make sure you return the mug when you leave. If you take it with you, bring it back next time for a refill, five cent discount.”

“Seriously? Cool,” Virgil says, reaching for the mug as the barista turns away. “Seems like a good way to encourage people to steal the mug if you ask me, but alright.” The barista hesitates, looking from the bar to Virgil and back. No guests demanding service. Without asking permission or begging forgiveness, the barista slips into the seat across from Virgil. “Yeah, sure, have a seat.” Virgil closes his laptop, bringing the mug to his lips.

“So I’m not even going to ask whether this is your first time, since it’s pretty obvious,” the barista says. “For one, you didn’t even make eye contact when you ordered your drink, which, okay, rude, and for another, you don’t know the system with the mugs, not to mention that you didn’t even say hi to—”

“Yeah, yeah, cool, great, can I just enjoy my cheap drink in peace here?” Virgil interrupts. He certainly wouldn’t admit it if this guy asked, but it’s better than what they make at Starbucks. “Yes, my first time, I don’t like eye contact, I certainly don’t like conversation—actually, come to think of it, I have a long list of dislikes, and you are quickly working your way to the top. Please go away.”

“My name’s Remy.” The barista sticks his hand out, prompting Virgil to merely stare at it with thinly veiled disdain until he retracts it with an awkward laugh. “I run this place with my brother, since he bought the building when the lister needed to move before the taxes got too high, and he pulled me in on the deal for my sparkling charisma—”

“Of which you have none.”

“—and because he likes dealing with the numbers more. He’s actually sitting right over—”

“Don’t care. Why are you sitting here?” Remy wags a finger at Virgil, biting his lower lip and puffing out his cheeks. “Spring a leak much?”

“Mostly ’cause I was bored. You seem interesting, I don’t know. Thought I could educate you on the mystical ways of how we don’t go bankrupt from people stealing our mugs.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, cool. Great. Educate away. Special tip, though? You kind of suck at educating so far. Like, a lot.”

“Noted. We’re small enough that we don’t get many guests, and the ones that come in pretty often usually have their own mugs reserved. Picked yours out for you when I saw you walk in. Brand new, never used. Just for you. So special.”

“Alright, let’s lay off the dramatically short sentences, Mettaton. You still haven’t convinced me why I should care.”

“I mean, I think you’re cute, so there’s that. Anyway, we use the same mugs for our regulars, and we get so few one-timers that we barely ever lose a cup. Even when we do, they normally come back out of guilt for keeping the cup, and get another drink at a crap discount. That’s our motto, you know? Come for the guilt, stay for the five cents you save. Well, not really our motto. We don’t have a motto. I’ve always wanted one, but we never set one in stone, since my brother isn’t exactly into all that stuff. Speaking of which, you wanna meet him? He’s right over—”

“I do not want to meet your brother,” Virgil says. He shakes his head, trying to force his mind to register Remy’s nonstop babbling. “I literally just want to finish my drink in peace.”

“You’ll be back,” Remy replies, tapping out a rhythm on the table. “The cute ones always come back.”

“I have literally never wanted to come back to a place less than I do right now. Please go away.” Finally, miracle of miracles, Remy takes the hint, scraping his chair back and moving for the table where Ho Man is still chatting up whoever it is that probably doesn’t want him there.

Alone once more, Virgil exhales, scraping off part of the dollop of whipped cream on his drink with a finger. Before the caramel drizzle can drip down his hand, he fwips it off with a sharp inhale, pretending like he doesn’t care that he’d probably be drawing thousands of weird looks if anyone were paying attention. Over at Ho Man’s table, Remy slams his fists down on the tiled surface, making the collection of mismatched mugs bounce around dangerously. Ho Man’s friend relaxes their perfect posture by half an inch before straightening again as Remy leans forward to whisper something. Virgil quickly shifts his focus to stare out the window.

While the rain seems to finally be letting up, its aftereffects are long from forgotten. Orange tulips and red roses in the distance are wobbling on thin stems, desperately holding onto the last of their leaves as the wind does everything it can to wrench them away. Even the trees are mourning the early summer storm, their overgrown leaves tearing away and drifting across the streets to stick themselves to windows. Virgil fights back the urge to recoil as a particularly large leaf smacks into the other side of the glass, tiny drops of water peeling away to race for the flowerbed below.

When he lifts the mug to his mouth again, it’s empty. Smalls are always so much smaller than larges. Time to go.

“Hey, uh, where do I, um…?” Virgil calls to Remy as he moves for the door, lifting his empty cup as indication. “Like, do I just leave it on the table, or…?”

“Just keep it,” Remy replies, waving off Virgil’s annoyed sigh. “Seriously, keep it.”

“Seriously, no.” Rather than take the mug and run, which would be immensely gratifying if it were, you know, actually against the rules, he deposits it on the island with cream and sugar for coffee. Dammit, even their carts are nicer than the crappy little nothings that Starbucks has.

“See you later?” Remy yells as Virgil wills the door to close faster behind him.

“Maybe. Probably not, but maybe.” Before the bell over the door frame has even finished chiming, Virgil is already at his car, not bothering to dodge the few remaining raindrops. “Weirdo. Hate to see how much of a disaster his brother is.”

---------------

“How long, exactly, did you talk to that poor guy?” Remy appears none too impressed by the question, much less the implication of how annoying he probably was to said poor guy.

“Look, bro, he looked lonely, I thought I’d just pop in on his day and—”

“And encourage him to leave my cafe without taking the mug for a discount next time? Try harder to cover for yourself. And stop calling me ‘bro,’ it makes you sound like a teenager.”

“Alright, Logan,” Remy retorts, letting the mocking tone dangle in the air, “FYI, I am a teenager, so lay off for a hot sec, why don’t you?”

“I would rather not. Don’t use acronyms out loud, you sound like a preteen. You turned twenty last week. Roman, kindly refrain from displaying the inside of your mouth like that.”

“Dude, what? Happy birthday, man! Why didn’t you tell me?” Roman demands, leaning his elbows on the table and forcefully inserting himself into a conversation where he’s decidedly not welcome.

“I’m having a surprise party for myself,” Remy hisses in a stage whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, Logan thinks I don’t know about it.”

“I am not planning you a surprise party,” Logan says. “There is literally not one person planning you a surprise party, in this cafe or otherwise. Go help that next guest, I never said you could take a break for this long, anyway.”

“You aren’t the boss of me,” Remy grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching lower in his chair.

“Technically, I am, having been the one to buy the place, not to mention that I was born first. Go help the next guest.” Logan rolls his eyes as Remy trudges over to the bar, a completely different demeanor washing over him like a wave as he steps behind the register and turns into a cheerful mannequin. Shifting his focus back to Roman, Logan presses his glasses up higher on his nose and releases a low, steady, frustrated groan.

“Talk to me, man, what’s goin’ on?” Roman asks. “Are you really that mad that what’s-his-nuts didn’t take his mug? You didn’t even pick it out, Remy did.”

“Mmm, no, that’s not it.” Logan rubs his knuckles against a sore spot on his forehead, considering Roman’s earnest look. “We haven’t been doing too well in sales lately, not that many new guests coming in, much less any of them returning for the discount, and I’m still waiting on your list of ideas for how to make myself more welcoming.”

“Well, for one, don’t dump all your emotional baggage on the first person to ask.” Roman waves his hands quickly as Logan moves to get up, trying to fan whatever flames of frustration are boiling in his brain. “Kidding! Kidding, I am totally, completely, legit-ly kidding.”

“Legitimately.”

“Tomato, potato.”

“To-mah-to.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s tomato. Anyways, I did draw up that list for you, which, objectively, is the literal best thing in existence ever to be created. In existence. Ever. Objectively.” To be perfectly frank, Logan is incredibly close to shutting the cafe down and locking himself in the fridge to cool down, both literally and figuratively. Nevertheless, he endures, propping his chin on his fist and sighing heavily as Roman draws a stack of bent and ruffled papers out from who-knows-where. At the very least, if Roman’s antics don’t put him out of business, he’ll be able to end the month with a bang. Maybe.

Roman smooths out the uppermost pages on the tiled table, letting the bottom sheets flare out like a background for the top nonsense. Pointing to each piece of paper as it comes up, he fumbles his way through the chaos, periodically looking up to make sure Logan is paying attention. Against better judgement, he is.

“Okay, so first off, it’s June, right? Pride month, bay-bee! Break out a new collection of mugs—”

“I am not changing the mugs.”

“He is not changing the mugs,” Remy seconds, returning from the last guest.

“Alright, alright, truce, no new mugs. I know you don’t totally go for the pizzazz side of things, but—and hear me out here, just something small—we could put different colors of powder on each drink, like purple sprinkles on a latte can be called a purple drink—”

“We cannot do that, Starbucks already has pink and violet drinks, and I will not associate with them.” Logan straightens his glasses again, pulling one piece of paper out from beneath the rest. “Are all of these ideas centered around pride month?”

“No,” Roman grumbles, scraping about half of the papers off the table. “I do think it would be cool if you did pride stuff, though. Show support to everyone.”

“Me, in particular,” Remy cuts in. “Show some support to my gay ass.”

“Your ass is trans.”

“What’s your point?”

“I guess I don’t have one, Remy. Roman, please, if you would?” Logan gestures with his hand, indicating for Roman to find a new thread of ideas to follow. The watch on his waving wrist boasts of closing time rapidly drawing near, as a solid third of his patrons slowly head for the door, carefully selected mugs clutched between their fingers.

“Right. Okay, so you said no new mugs, and you said no pride stuff, and you said no fun, so let me just jot that down, and we’ll keep going.”

“I said no new mugs, I asked for different pride stuff that wouldn’t infringe on corporate coffee franchises, and fun is a subjective measurement on behalf of our patrons. Drop the attitude, or I’m cutting you off.”

“What? No, I’m your best customer!” Roman whines, wearing a pout for a good few seconds before continuing. “I really do think some nice decorations would probably help the atmosphere, maybe string up some white fairy lights around the ceiling? I know you hate those, but they do wonders for how the interior looks once it’s dark outside. Turn off the main lights, turn on the tiny ones, and bam, you’ve got a fairytale date night. Literally.”

“I don’t think you know what literally means.”

“I also think you should hire me. Not with obscenely high pay, I know how frugal you try to be, but Remy and I are basically your best bets for customer service. Let me cover the shifts when he disappears for clubs and stuff, you can make the drinks as precise as you like, and I’ll chat up the guests to keep the drinks coming. If nothing else, it’ll train me for how I should exist in the real world.”

“You’ve existed in the real world for years without working in a cafe.”

“What’s your point?”

Logan is very well aware by this point that the conversation is going nowhere. A few decent ideas, a few pieces of nonsense, and that’s about it. As such, he snaps the piece of paper he already grabbed, watching the top stand at attention at the peak of its arc.

“I guess I don’t have one. Remy, please, if you would?” Struck by how he’d unintentionally repeated himself, Logan shifts his focus to the paper, blowing a long breath out through puffed cheeks. “We’re supposed to close up soon, and I sincerely do not have the willpower to do it tonight. I have way too many things to deal with behind the scenes, and I can’t just—”

“Say no more,” Remy interrupts, plucking the paper from Logan’s hands. “Sit here, close your eyes, don’t do anything. I’ll teach Roman how to make your usual.”

“Seven extra shots,” Logan murmurs, dropping his head to rest on the table. “Actually, make it eight. Please.”

“Yeah, no, we’re only gonna give him hot tea,” Remy whispers to Roman, dragging him away from the table. A heavy exhale from Logan sends a few more sheets of paper fluttering to the floor. “He doesn’t get caffeine until he can go a full night without waking up to finish whatever piece of work he forgot about.”

“And you think he can’t tell there’s no espresso in that?” Roman asks, watching Remy move as quietly as possible, considering that he’s dealing with the sound of metal on metal.

“Oh, no, he can definitely tell. We’re both lying to each other, it’s kind of our thing, you know?”

“Sounds like a great sibling rivalry.”

“You could say that. Here, put these gloves on, protects from germs and junk when you’re handling the tea bag.” As the last dredges of guests file out of the cafe, most of them pausing to knock gently on the table in lieu of a soft goodbye to Logan, Remy and Roman fall into an amicable silence.

“Maybe the pride powder would be fun?” Logan mumbles to himself, dragging his chin to his chest so only his forehead rests on the tiles. “Or I could get some food coloring, dye the whipped creams? We definitely don’t have the funds for colorful cups or anything like that, but maybe I could put a little colored dot on the bottom of each cup, have random chance dictate what color whip they get? But then I might not meet the demands, we could run out of food coloring, run out of whip, it doesn’t let me appeal to vegans or people who abstain from dairy products, not to mention that the color might leech into the actual drink. Maybe the fairy lights, just as a summer thing for softer lighting, quiet hours once they go on, I could probably get some people to do open mic stuff or something, clear out a couple tables…”

Logan lets his words trail off at the sound of Remy plunking a drink beside his head, and while he knows very well that there’s no caffeine in the cup, he downs the whole thing in one go. Roman appears behind Remy, offering an identical drink in a bigger cup.

“Whoa, try coming up for air bro—brother of mine. Brother. Is what I was going to say. Was brother. And not bro. Brother.” Remy excuses himself to finish dealing with closing up the bar, letting Roman reclaim his seat across from Logan.

“Hey, buddy, you want to maybe get home, get some sleep?”

“Yeah, probably,” Logan mumbles, not lifting his head from the table. “Still got so much to do, though. Barely even touched most of your ideas.”

“Oh, please, you tore them to shreds!” Logan allows himself the smallest of smiles at that, shaking the back of his head and pressing his forehead deeper into the table. There’s probably a pattern of indents appearing on his skin by now. “And we didn’t even get to the best ones, which you can tackle tomorrow, after you get some sleep.”

“Get some sleep!” Remy echoes, flitting between the sinks with every possible piece of dishware in the building. “But not at home. Go hang out at Roman’s.”

Roman splutters indignantly, sending the rest of the papers flying. One lands over Logan’s head like a blanket. He does not remove it. “Why does he have to come to my place?”

Although he can’t see it happening, Logan would wager a good fifty dollars that Remy has positioned himself atop one of the counters that food doesn’t touch in a dramatic pose. “Because he literally lives at work. Like, the next floor up. He needs to get some distance from this place. Plus, I mean, look at him. I’m not putting him up for the night.”

“I’m the one paying your rent,” Logan retorts to the floor, watching his heels and toes click together.

“You’re also the one keeping me awake at three in the morning because you had a sudden idea and are seemingly incapable of restraining yourself from writing with a squeaky marker on a squeaky whiteboard, but no one’s asking me. Just go with Roman. Roman, take him. I am not asking you, I am telling you. Take. Logan.”

“Taking Logan,” Roman confirms. “Come on, Logan. I, Roman, am taking you, Logan. Onward, to my house, owned by a man named Roman, where I am taking Logan!”

“Shut up, you goof.” Remy’s semi-humored tone is accompanied by the sound of what is probably a balled-up napkin punting Roman in the head, but Logan still isn’t paying enough attention to see. When he hears Roman’s chair scraping into place, he forces himself to stand on exhausted legs.

Once he sees Logan steady on his feet, Roman shouts, “dibs on the bed!” and runs for the door. Logan offers a half-hearted wave to Remy before trudging after Roman, wincing against the ringing bell. Sure, the tea was good, but it does absolutely nothing to help his flagging energy.

“Why would I ever want to take your bed over the couch?” Logan mutters, barely stifling a yawn as he slides into Roman’s bright red car. “Moreover, you knew it was supposed to rain today. Why on earth did you not close your windows?”

“Because I like how it looks better with the windows down.”

“I want to make sure that you are aware that we are currently sitting on wet leather, and that your steering wheel is drenched beyond belief. Are you aware that we are currently sitting on wet leather, and that your steering wheel is drenched beyond belief?”

“I am aware of whatever it is you just said. Now be quiet, I can’t have you talking if I want to see the road.” Logan doesn’t bother to explain just how many levels of incorrect that is, instead reclining in the passenger seat and removing his glasses to watch the lights float by in blurry spirals of red and yellow. “So how ’bout that new guy?”

“What, the one that Remy assigned a mug to based on first sight? Yeah, no, just another guest. What about him?”

“Well, super cute, for one, and you’ll never believe this, but he actually works at—” Roman cuts himself off, glancing at a very much asleep Logan. “Alright, fine, I won’t tell you. Let you work it out for yourself.” With that, Roman turns up the radio and hums along quietly, careful to keep the noise low, to let Logan rest. Until tomorrow, at least, when Roman has every intention of screwing with his friends’ love life.

Come on, you’ve gotta let Roman have some fun.

---------------

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, we really don’t have blond espresso beans here, and we don’t have blond roast, and we don’t have decaf roast, as our shipment doesn’t come in ’til tomorrow. Is there anything else we can help you with?” To tell the truth, it is taking every single miniscule last ounce of willpower for Virgil not to vault over this counter and punch the very nice lady in the face.

“Okay, but could you just do a blond pour over?” The very nice lady seems to be getting very agitated, but Virgil very much does not care. “Like, I get that you don’t have blond roast brewed, but I’m willing to wait for a while for a pour over.”

Virgil is incredibly close to having to physically restrain himself from saying you’ll have to wait until tomorrow, since that’s when your stupid shipment will come in. Instead, he continues, “Sorry, no, we can’t do that. No blond roast beans.”

“Yeah, but I’m not asking for blond roast beans. I am asking for a blond pour over.”

“Pour over machine’s broke,” Virgil finally sighs. Yeah, sure, it just takes a small filter and some hot water, but he doesn’t have the patience for this person, much less to find any missing blond beans. So. Broken and nonexistent machine.

“Oh, well that’s perfectly understandable!” the very nice lady says. “I’ll just take a medium blond roast, then.”

Virgil leans over to grab Kim’s shoulder, pulling her closer to hiss in her ear, “if there are any hammers in here, you need to find and hide them immediately, because it will end up inside of this lady’s skull, and it will then find mine in quick succession. Fix her situation, I’ll catch up on the hot bar drinks.” Kim nods quickly, and Virgil is half-convinced that she thinks he’s serious. Maybe he is.

Nonetheless, he moves past her for the mastrena machine, praying for the end of his shift to come quickly and with reckless abandon. It does not.

“Grande affogato vanilla bean frap for Jenna?” he calls, handing off the espresso-drenched smoothie. “Thanks, have a nice day.” She probably says something or other about him having a good one, but Virgil doesn’t even bother pretending to care, already busying himself with the next drink. “Couldn’t’ve possibly picked a better day to start grinding beans slower,” he mutters, wincing against the comparatively louder screams from steaming coconut milk. Of literally all the times for the mastrena to decide that it was being too efficient with the espresso, this is the worst time imaginable—smack dab in the middle of a rush of people, none of whom understand the concept of ‘not having blond espresso.’

“Venti iced americano in a trenta cup with extra ice for Matthias?”

The end of his shift literally cannot come fast enough.

“Okay, dude, I’m really trying here, but I have absolutely no idea what this says,” Virgil informs Kim, showing her the illegible box on the cup. “You need to write the order down, and when you do, you need to make it possible for the most basic computer to decipher.”

“It’s a salted caramel mocha with two extra shots and almond milk instead of two percent for Tommy,” Kim says. It does not slip Virgil’s notice that she has to squint incredibly close at the cup for a solid five seconds to figure out what it says.

“Awesome. Great. Try to write it more neatly next time, yeah?” Finding a rare moment of gratefulness for his constantly cold hands, Virgil presses a frozen finger to his temple as he waits for the machine to finish rinsing. Is his shift over yet?

Miracle of miracles, his boss, Anne, pops her head around the corner of the bar. “Hey, Virge, call for you guys, I’m covering food av, can you take it?” Virgil plasters a fake smile on his face and nods, neglecting to comment on how he never agreed to that nickname as he accepts the phone.

“Gainesville Starbucks north, this is Kim speaking, how can I help you?”

“Breakfast sandwiches.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Breakfast. Sandwiches.”

“I, ah, I apologize, I’m unclear what you’re asking me.”

“Breakfast sandwiches! You got any?”

“Oh! Yes, um, we’ve got tomato mozzarella paninis, sausage egg and cheddar sandwiches, ham and cheese croissants, turkey basil—and they hung up. Cool.” Virgil nods at the dial tone coming from his hand, quirking his mouth to the side. “Just, uh, just gonna stick that right down there.” Dropping the phone on a nearby counter, he returns to the hot bar, where Kim is absolutely drowning in the chaos she caused by sucking so much.

“Virge? Seriously?”

“If you even think about calling me that, I am going to go find that hammer I was talking about and bury it in your spine.” Kim pulls her lips between her teeth and nods, turning back to the register. Sniffing twice, Virgil tops off the next round of drinks. “Salted caramel mocha, two extra shots and almond milk for Tommy?”

“Hey, Virge, over here,” Anne calls again. “Need to see you for a sec.” Virgil bites back a relieved huff for the break from Kim, instead settling for a long exhale through his nose. No, he doesn’t really care for the nickname, but he’ll suffer through it for a brief reprieve like this.

“What’s up?” he asks, leaning over the swinging door. “’Nother phone call?”

“No, it’s just—you’ve got a lot of overtime, you know that?” Virgil glances back at Kim, who is currently occupied with trying to find the serious strawberry frappuccino button.

“Frapp creme, second row, last on the right,” he calls, taking great pride in how he doesn’t roll his eyes at her. Turning back to Anne, he continues, “yeah, I kind of have to have a lot, since she’s kind of, you know…” Virgil trails off, hoping Anne is enough on his page to fill in the blanks.

“Drowning? Yeah, I noticed. You’re doing a great job carrying her, you know that?”

Virgil pokes a tongue against his cheek, unsure how to respond. “I mean, I’ve only been here a couple months.”

“You’re really doing great. Anyway, too much overtime for you, and we aren’t supposed to be letting team members have any overtime. You think you’d be good to head home early?”

“There’s nothing that would make me happier, but are you sure she’ll be okay with this on her own?”

“Definitely not, which is why I’m here. I’ll relieve your position, but you need to get going, like, now.” If Virgil were a more confident person, he would take Anne by both hands and press them to his lips in a show of relieved thankfulness. As it stands, he snaps and offers her a pair of finger guns, skirting the swinging door and making a run for the break room before Anne can change her mind.

“No human has ever existed with a better soul than Anne,” he murmurs, punching out faster than he’d ever done so before. There’s a certain cafe he’s interested in getting to a little earlier today.

In his car, Virgil hisses lightly as he scrapes his bare wrist against the scalding metal of the seat belt buckle. Now safely secured and ready to go, he queues up the route to the cafe on his maps, bopping his head along as a song starts up on the radio. Skip, skip, skip, skip, skip, he chants in his head, getting through a solid twenty songs on shuffle before finding one he likes.

The lights of the streets, not yet bright as they battle the sun for dominance over the mid-afternoon sky, pepper the sidewalks with golden flecks between the cracks of beige and white. Virgil tilts his head to avoid the glare of the light reflecting in his eyes, skipping through his chosen song before it’s over. As he flicks on his indicator to pull into the cafe’s parking lot, he belatedly wonders whether the owners will start to think he’s weird for showing up this often. Especially that Remy guy, what was his deal?

This worry chases him past several traffic lights and more than a few disconcertingly fast drivers, right up to pulling into the same parking spot as yesterday—decently far from the doors, but not so far that it’d be a hassle to get there if he happened to be holding seven cups of coffee. He shifts into reverse, triple-checking that he’s perfectly within the lines before parking the car and sliding out.

A cold breeze swipes over his face, startlingly out of place in the mid-June heat. Were it not for this abnormality giving him pause, maybe he would’ve gotten inside safely without drawing the attention of the silver car careening into the parking lot. It beeps brightly as it pulls into the furthest spot from the door, spitting out a driver dressed in bright blues and pale greys.

“Virge, hey, you made it! I was wondering whether you’d ever listened to my suggestions!” he calls, running over to Virgil and ignoring how his loose sleeves smack against his chin. “Find your way okay?”

“I mean, I’m here, so I guess I did.” Virgil shrugs, electing not to comment on the forbidden nickname that he would punch Kim in the face for using again. “And anyway, I always listen to your suggestions. Come here, try your usual—not a fan, by the way—and call you Pat. I’m not really one for nicknames, either, so I’d rather stick with Patton, if that’s okay with you.”

“Whatever makes you happiest!” Patton replies, taking Virgil by the hand and swinging it violently as he leads the barista inside. “So did you get to meet the owner yet, or is this your first time? I can introduce you to—”

“Pantone!” Remy exclaims, vaulting over the register counter to greet Patton. Virgil steps aside, bumping into someone’s shoulders and muttering his apologies as they leave. “I haven’t seen you around here in forever, what the heck, man? Hanging around with the cutest riffraff in town, I see.” Virgil scowls, moving for the register and scanning his eyes over the menus. Handwritten in white chalk, they look much more personal than the ones at Starbucks. Maybe not very colorful, but nice enough.

“Remy, how many times have I told you not to let any part of your body make contact with that counter? It doesn’t know where you’ve been,” someone scolds from a nearby table. The same person Ho Man and Remy were tormenting yesterday. Remy ignores them, still chatting up a storm with Patton. The person sighs, pushing back from a table covered in loose papers and moving to the register.

Virgil sizes them up as they walk, inspecting their carefully strict gait, the tie cinched perfectly around their neck, the strict khakis with only the most uniform of creases. If Virgil didn’t know better, he’d swear they were going out for a job interview at some craphole like Starbucks.

“Sorry about Remy. Little brothers, what can I do, right? What can I get started for you?” Virgil doesn’t answer, his gaze fixated on a speck of dirt marring their sharp glasses. They blink, waiting patiently and having no idea of where Virgil’s attention is directed.

Ho Man appears from around the corner, where only a few other patrons occupy the tables overlooking the windows. “Hey, it’s you! Logan, buddy, he was the guy here yesterday, the one Remy gave the wrong mug to! Wrong mug guy, this is Logan, he runs this joint!”

“Wrong mug?” Virgil repeats.

“Wrong mug,” the new person—Logan, apparently—confirms. “We carefully select mugs based on the person they go to, rather than selecting one at random like Remy does. He refuses to learn the process behind choosing mugs, so whatever he hands you, it’s probably wrong.”

“Sounds about right,” Virgil agrees, glancing back at Remy and Patton, both of whom are staring at him and giggling.

“So what can I get started for you?” Logan repeats. Virgil cocks his head to the side, considering Logan for a long moment.

“Surprise me.” Logan’s steely expression lightens for the briefest of seconds, revealing a soft grin and bright eyes. It vanishes as quickly as it came.

“I’ll have that right out for you.”

Virgil offers a small smile in return, passing over a five dollar bill and waving off Logan as he tries to hand him his change. “Just keep it.”

“We really don’t do tips—”

“Just. Keep it.” Virgil slips around the bar and moves for his seat from yesterday, tucking his legs under himself and watching Remy nudge Patton repeatedly. After a solid few bumps to the back, Patton stumbles forward, bumping into Ho Man as he curbs around the bar to straighten the creamer cart. Distracted by the way Patton’s hands flutter around his face as he talks to Ho Man, Virgil hardly notices Logan until he’s positioned himself in the empty seat across from him.

“Drink it first, then tell me what you think it is.” Logan pushes a mug across the table toward Virgil, careful to keep the motion near the bottom so it doesn’t splash. Unlike the cup covered in cups from yesterday, this one is something Virgil might actually consider stealing, if they hadn’t drained the excitement of doing so by explicitly allowing thievery.

Midnight blue and splattered with tiny white dots, this mug looks to be plucked straight from the heavens themselves. The inside offers a pale blue to offset the darkness folding in at the rim, enveloping the top of the drink’s meniscus in hues to rival the sky. Virgil traces a finger over some of the constellations skirting the outside—bright enough against the blue to be recognizable, but not going so far as to connect the dots with garish straight lines. All in all, a good mug. Maybe he will steal it.

Virgil takes a long, slow pull from the cup, pretending to be deep in thought as Logan stares unabashedly into his eyes. He holds the mug over his mouth a few seconds later, waiting for the flush in his cheeks to subside. Why couldn’t Logan have been the one to take his order yesterday?

Virgil lowers the mug, licking away the drink moustache on his upper lid and pulling his tongue back in with a pop. “First guess?”

“First guess.”

“Green tea latte.”

Logan grins, rapping the table three times. “Nailed it.”

“It’s ’cause I’m a genius,” Virgil says, lifting the mug once more. This Logan guy might keep some strange company, but he can make a mean green tea latte. “Eleven out of ten, would order again.”

“That’s an improper fraction,” Logan mutters, but there’s a gleam dancing behind his eyes. The bell chimes over the door, drawing Virgil’s attention to where Ho Man and Patton look to be in a particularly compromising position. With Patton flattened against the door and Ho Man hovering closer than necessary, Virgil can only watch as Remy appears out of nowhere, shoving Ho Man forward without warning. Logan releases a breathy laugh as he watches the debacle—moreover, as he watches Ho Man thrust his hands out to brace himself on the wall, as well as caging Patton in around the shoulders by doing so. If this were a romance movie, they’d probably start kissing right about now.

As it is, Ho Man stammers out some excuse, cheeks almost as red as the roses smattered his white shirt. Patton only smiles back widely, not moving from the wall. If Virgil didn’t know better, he’d swear his eyes were delirious. Maybe he doesn’t know better.

“I see you understand the nonsense I’m forced to endure around here,” Logan says. “With Roman being a flirt and Remy being the charming everyman, I do pretty much everything myself. Any tips on how to better survive it?”

Virgil blinks, unsure why Logan decided to dump all this on him. At least he knows what Ho Man’s actual name is now. Full disclosure, Virgil’s gonna miss calling him Ho Man. “I don’t know that I’m your best bet for help running a small coffee shop.”

Logan huffs something close to a laugh, gnawing on the corner of his lip. “Not a problem, I’m just uncertain where to go from here, and they’re being of little help. All they��ve done is force me to get sleep and toss a couple papers about pride at me, and that’s hardly a reliable way of forming a more successful business.”

“Sleep is important,” Virgil says. “I can’t speak from experience, but I’ve heard a lot of people say so.” Still midway through processing Logan’s words, his mind catches on a certain piece of information. “Did you say papers about pride?”

“Indeed, Roman thinks I ought to spruce the place up for pride month, and he’s even managed to pull Remy into the idea. You’re welcome to help, if you want to, but there’s no obligation on your end.”

“Sounds fun,” Virgil admits, raising the cup again and startling himself as he finds it empty. “I’ll take a look, if you want to show me those papers. Oh, by the way, my name is Virgil, in case I haven’t said that yet.”

“Virgil,” Logan repeats, testing the word and rolling it around his mouth. He peels his lower lip out slowly, savoring the V, puckering his lips out around the R and letting his tongue hesitate against his teeth on the L. “It’s a pleasure. I’m sure one of the other two said it at some point or another, but I’m Logan.”

“Logan,” Virgil confirms. “So, Logan, about those pride papers and this empty mug?”

Logan stands, somehow managing not to scrape his chair as he pushes it back. Virgil attempts a similarly graceful move, wincing at the grating sound of metal on tile. “Let me get that mug from you and I’ll fill you up—do not even think about handing me another five, this one is on the house, and I am returning your three dollars and fifty cents at my first opportunity. These papers, disorganized and chaotic as they are, are the only things we’ve got in the way of ideas to drum up more business.”

Virgil seats himself at the cluttered table, grabbing a sheet at random and letting the distant clanks of Logan behind the bar fill his head. Stuff about colored whipped cream—probably too expensive, not to mention non-vegan friendly, and powdered sugar colors—kind of similar to Starbucks with their colored drink gimmicks, which doesn’t seem like Logan’s style. He pauses on the mention of white fairy lights, glancing around the room and imagining how they might look framing the windows. Maybe a little too winter-holiday for mid June, but the tackiness could very well add to the overall charm of the place. Certainly a warmth that overcrowded Starbucks stores could never hope to have. Or they could line the windows in different colors, if Logan really does want to keep with the whole pride thing, or else—

“Try that, tell me what you think,” Logan says, plunking the blue mug on one of very few clear spaces between the papers. Virgil complies, poking his tongue at a crooked front tooth as he considers the flavor.

“Tastes like cinnamon, but that’s all I’ve got.”

“Cinnamon and almond milk latte, one of our most popular drinks,” Logan confirms.

“You don’t get called out for it being too similar to the one Starbucks does?” Logan goes deathly still, an expression somewhere between fury and shock freezing on his face.

“We are nothing like Starbucks here, and I’m going to pretend you didn’t just compare me to that steaming pile of garbage.” Virgil nods, deciding this probably isn’t the best time to inform Logan about his own line of work. “Anything good come out of that disaster?”

“Maybe.” Virgil takes another swig from his mug, running his tongue over his lips and humming to himself. “The colored powders and whipped creams seem kind of impractical, but the lights and quiet-hour thing doesn’t seem to bad. You could do soft pastels for a warmer tone around the room as a whole, and different colors around each window to fit pride month. I don’t know about open mic, since that’s a lot to organize, but maybe use that empty corner on the other side of the door for some little bookshelves and comfy chairs, have a chill zone when the lights go down and the moon comes up? Oh, and this is definitely just a suggestion, so you don’t, like, have to do it, or anything like that, but it might be cool if you changed up the colors of your menu signs, so they weren’t all just white and plain. You could do one board in blue and purple and pink for bi, and another in purple and yellow and white for nonbinary, and another in pink and yellow and blue for pan, and then do a bunch of little drink drawings on all of them in every color to represent gay pride as a whole?” Virgil bites his lip, suddenly realizing that Logan is staring intently at him. Again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—I mean, I wasn’t trying to—you don’t have to do all that, obviously, and it’s not like I’m forcing you to, and I wasn’t trying to—” Virgil cuts himself off, ducking his head down and hiding his face behind his mug.

“No, no, that’s great, really, I love those ideas,” Logan stammers, waving his hands frantically to shake away Virgil’s hesitation. “They’re splendid, exactly what I was looking for.” Virgil nods quickly, not coming out from behind his mug. Logan places a hesitant hand on Virgil’s shoulder, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. Against his own volition, Virgil leans into the touch, tilting his head toward Logan’s knuckles before he can stop himself. The moment his ear grazes the back of Logan’s hand, he jerks out of the seat, spilling the rest of his mug all over his work-mandated khakis.

“Oh, jeez, oh man, I mean, shoot, crap, okay, I just, I’m just gonna go,” Virgil rambles, stumbling for the door and clutching his unwittingly emptied mug tightly in his shaking fingers. Before Logan can even think about calling after him, he’s behind the wheel of his car and careening out of the parking lot, already berating himself for being such a dork.

---------------

“Where’d Wrong Mug Man go?” Remy asks, popping his head over the bar as he pauses midway through restocking the milk fridge. “Scare him off with your utter lack of charm and cold exterior?”

“A little too on the nose,” Roman calls out from his usual spot in the corner. Well, not ‘usual,’ per se—Roman can barely tolerate staying in the same place for more than a week before moving on for bigger, better seating options. He’s had much the same opinion regarding boys for as long as Logan can remember, and the selection of the week seems to be Patton on the windowsill with the Toy Story clouds mug. Practically a real-life version of Clue, with romantic motives to boot.

Remy finger guns at Roman and ducks back down to finish with the fridge. Logan blinks, the exchange flying past him as he tries to come up with a reason for Virgil’s sudden disappearance. The first person to choose his flatter tones over his brother’s exuberance, and they run away like an owl from a forest fire in the middle of Canada.

Logan has never been one for analogies.

He reaches across the counter, startling Remy in the process as he grabs for a clean rag and sanitizing spray. In no less than five minutes, the spilled latte is gone without a trace. At least Virgil took the mug with him—if nothing else, he’ll come back to return it. Maybe even to use it for that discount—not that Logan would charge him. Virgil doesn’t seem like the type to acquiesce not to pay, but Logan is the owner, so what’s to stop him from making every drink free for the short instances when Virgil shows up?

“Roman,” Logan says, “what are the odds you have some colored chalk you don’t need?”

“Fifteen out of three,” Roman calls back, not looking up from the phone tucked in his lap. Across from him, Patton mirrors the position, curled into the corner of the windowsill—not strictly a real seat, but they both seem to be making do well enough.

“So five?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. I’ve got, like, a whole crate full of art supplies that I can’t use, because someone told me not to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming the next Leonardo Dicaprio.”

“Da Vinci. And I would hardly phrase it like that—I merely suggested that, were you to aim for realism, it might be wise to avoid giving your elephants tails for trunks and trunks for tails.”

“Stop stifling my creative energy!”

“Stop stifling his creative energy,” Patton echoes. Oddly enough, Logan doesn’t feel that familiar urge to roll his eyes as he watches Roman glance up from under a curtain of bangs, staring at an oblivious Patton. He’s never looked at one of his weekly obsessions like that before. Or maybe he has, Logan doesn’t pay very much attention to that sort of thing.

“The point being, you do have colorful chalk, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because I need some. Bring it in with you tomorrow, if you would be so kind.”

For reasons Logan doesn’t care to puzzle out, Roman tumbles off the windowsill, jumping to his feet and brushing off his knees as he rushes to Logan’s side. “Or,” he whispers excitedly, bouncing on his toes and waving his hands around his face, “I could run home and get them now! I could even go out to a store, buy more stuff you didn’t know you needed, spruce the whole place up! Patton could come with me!”

Patton’s head perks up at this revelation, and he pockets his phone before joining the other two. Even Remy leans over the bar, half-intruding on the conversation as he waits for the next guest to decide what they want. Logan crosses his arms, considering Roman’s eagerness.

“You know very well that I don’t trust you to decorate my cafe to your tastes, much less on your own dime.” Glancing at the menus in plain black and white, Logan does have to admit they look, well, plain. Boring. Virgil wasn’t wrong when he said they might look better with more colors. And yes, Logan would greatly prefer having Virgil here to coach him on how to properly execute the pride color schemes—Logan’s never been one for art—but Patton doesn’t seem totally hopeless. “Tell you what. I’ll close up early tonight, and us three can all go out and stock up on decorations. Keep the place closed tomorrow, and we’ll plan out how to make it look best to ramp up business.”

“Excuse you,” Remy cuts in, “but I think you mean us four. Don’t go excluding me from the party.”

“Who said you were invited?” Logan retorts. Roman stifles a snort behind his fist as Patton’s jaw drops in startlingly believable dismay.

“Logan! We have to take Remy with us, he brings half the fun! It wouldn’t be as exciting without him there!”

“Who said I wanted it to be exciting?” Logan mutters to himself, shooting a quick look toward the back of the cafe. Pretty empty, save for a couple patrons here and there nursing at their personal mugs. Casting his eyes to the ceiling, Logan pulls in a long breath through his nose, blowing it out through his lips and wondering why Virgil couldn’t be here to endure this nonsense with him. Immediately thereafter, he wonders why he wonders that. He didn’t even know Virgil’s name yesterday, why is he so set on having him here now?

Remy and Patton’s hopeful expressions drag him back to the moment—specifically, the moment where Logan is being forced to take three overgrown toddlers on a shopping spree to decorate the building that makes up his entire livelihood. No pressure.

“I am definitely going to regret this,” Logan sighs. Pretending as if he hadn’t said that, he continues, “fine, I guess Remy can accompany us. No candy, though—we don’t need to be buying food when we already have some upstairs.”

“Aha, but I have tips!” Remy declares, shaking a paper cup full of coins. “I’m gonna buy so many peanuts with these.”

“Explain how,” Roman says.

“Do not explain how,” Logan says. Not allowing either of them the chance to finish their charade, Logan turns to Patton. “You walked in with Virgil, didn’t you? Do you two know each other?”

“Something like that. I’m a frequent customer where he works.” This catches Logan’s attention. A direct pipeline to the owl that got away.

Again, Logan has never been one for analogies.

“Where does he work?”

A mischievous glint takes residence in Patton’s eye as he nudges Roman’s shoulder. ��The latter snickers quietly, nudging right back as the former gets out between giggles, “that’s just something you’re gonna have to figure out on your own. The answer will shock you.”

“If he works as a clickbait journalist for Buzzfeed, I am banning both you and him from this establishment.”

“He does not work as a clickbait journalist for Buzzfeed, but you’ll never guess what he does instead!” Roman hisses in an action-star voice. “This summer, coming directly to your screens, and coming soon to own on video and DVD—” He drops his tone to an impossibly deep register while ramping up his volume, drawing the attention of pretty much everyone in the room. Patton and Remy join in on the tagline, both yelling at the top of their lungs.

“Are you quite finished?” Logan asks, wholly unimpressed. Having failed to get so much as a huff of acknowledgement, the other three sigh dejectedly and nod. “Good. Remy, finish cleaning up behind the bar. Roman, can you wipe down the tables and start stacking chairs? Patton, I know you don’t work here, but—”

“On it,” Patton interrupts, already moving toward the back to gently rouse the student that fell asleep doing their homework at a table. Morally, Logan has no problem letting people stay as long as they like, even if they don’t buy anything, but it’s a little more difficult to be lenient about that sort of thing when he’s closing up the cafe. He turns his attention back to the papers scattered across the table as the other three flit about their respective tasks, and wonders whether Virgil might try to come back tomorrow. If they close the cafe for renovations, would he even get out of his car? Or would the lack of business and other patrons scare him off? Maybe Logan should position the other three at various seats in the back as he does all the work himself, making it look like he kept the place open so Virgil would still come in, without being terribly obvious about that being his goal all along. Of course, that brings up the inevitable he knows that I know that he knows situation, but it’s not as if—

“Hello? Earth to Logan? Paging alien squadron fleet two K four one nine oh?” Roman waves a hand in front of Logan’s face, pulling him out of his head. Before him is the only unwashed table in the cafe, still littered with papers that have yet to be picked up. The only page that managed to find its way into Logan’s arms is the one Virgil was talking about when he made additional suggestions. Logan blinks, gathers up the rest in a haphazard bundle, and steps back to let Roman finish his cleaning.

“Can I drive?” Remy asks. He slides around the bar, dusting his hands off on his pants and tossing a dirty rag over the lip of the sink.

“We need to get you an apron,” Logan replies absently, eyeing the gathering dirt stains on Remy’s thighs.

“I didn’t hear a no!” Remy singsongs, tilting his head to lean against Logan’s shoulder. The top of the mess of hair tickles along the crook where his jaw meets his earlobe, and Logan blinks as his mind unhelpfully conjures an image of Virgil in the same position under a blanket of stars. Where on Earth did that come from?

“No, you cannot drive. Give me Roman’s car keys.”

Roman emits an unholy shriek, somewhere between miffed and scandalized that Remy had managed to steal the keys to his soccer mom car. Granted, those things basically live in various spots around the cafe as it is, but still. Groaning in a pitiful attempt at getting sympathy, Remy tosses the jingling chain to Logan, who snatches them out of the air with ease. Before the owner of said keys can protest, Logan passes them on to him, biting back a laugh as Roman instinctively ducks.

“Hey! No dangerous projectiles in the house!” Roman whines. The keys hit the door and clatter to the tiles below.

“Not a house, and you don’t make the rules here, anyway.” Logan wisely keeps his gaze elsewhere as Patton makes his way to the door, grabbing the keys to pass them to Roman. Of course, the windows are reflective surfaces—this unfortunate reality fails to protect Logan from having to see how Patton’s hand lingers a moment too long on Roman’s. Honestly, the whole point of looking away was to not have to deal with their nonsense in the first place. “Let’s go.”

Lingering at the back of the group, Logan lets the other three exit before him, double- and triple-checking that everything is off, unplugged, cleaned up, closed, and generally in various states of presentable. The last thing he needs right now is for his life’s savings to literally go up in flames. Well, not his life’s savings. He’s got some common sense—everything he hasn’t spent is carefully accumulating interest in various reputable banks. So. The expendable portion of his life’s savings. That’s what he doesn’t want to go up in flames.

“What happened to ‘let’s go,’ sonny boy?” Roman calls, popping his head back in the door and making the bell chime. Logan tilts his head, wondering if anyone would ever question why he picked that bell in particular to greet his guests.

“I’m older than you.”

“Patton dared me to call you kiddo, but I thought mine was funnier,” Roman admits.

“I’m older than Patton, too.”

“You didn’t even tell me Patton’s name until last week!”

“Ever heard of barista-guest confidentiality?”

“No, because it doesn’t exist. Now hurry up and get in the car, or we’re tying you to the roof and I’m letting Patton use the backseat as his own personal lounge area.”

Tossing a sigh to the ceiling and casting one last glance at the way his cafe was always meant to be—before everyone else barges in to redecorate for him—Logan follows Roman out.

He slides into the back on the passenger’s side, not voicing his apprehension at Patton taking the front seat. That’s Remy’s seat, he thinks. Remy doesn’t seem to mind, though, already pressing his nose to the window and bouncing on the worn cushion.

“Seatbelt,” Logan reminds his brother—and the car as a whole, he supposes, as even Roman jolts to comply. “I am hereby imposing a price limit of one hundred dollars on this excursion. Anything over that will be coming off of your dime.”

“I don’t even—” Roman begins, but Logan isn’t having any of it.

“I know, I know, you don’t even work for me, but if you want to? And you want to help, shall we say, ‘spruce up the place,’ you will refrain from exceeding my budget, lest you pay the overages.”

“If we go to the place on the corner of Eighth and Main, I’ve got an employee discount for ten percent,” Patton offers.

“By the Texaco?” Roman punches the coordinates into the car, tapping his foot impatiently as Siri attempts to connect with his dwindling internet connection.

“You really ought to know your way around the town by now,” Logan opines. “You’ve been to the Texaco more times than Remy’s flirted with my guests.”

“Shut up, Logan!” Remy hisses. Were his face not pressed against the window and his shoulders hunched defensively, Logan is certain his comment would be rewarded with cheeks glittering ruby.

“Got it!” Roman exclaims, punching the roof. “And I refilled the tank a couple days ago, which means no gas money going into this excursion! Can I get a what what?”

“You cannot,” Logan says.

“What what,” Patton agrees.

“Plus,” Roman continues, shifting into drive and doing a mediocre job of backing away from the building, “with the discount, just think of how much more stuff we can get!”

“Yay.” Logan has never known his own voice to be more flat. He glances up just in time to see Patton shoot him an apologetic look, mouthing the word sorry. He smiles as he does it, though, so Logan isn’t completely convinced of Patton’s regret.

The excited conversation of the other three fills up the car as Logan lets his gaze drift out the window, watching the bright greens of summer flash by in bursts between the blemishes of humanity’s invasion upon the world. Traffic lights, street signs, lampposts, telephone lines, couches at curbs, discarded plastic bags, crushed coffee cups, dead patches of grass, cracked squares of concrete, buildings crawling for the skies and stretching to escape the natural world without which they could never dream of existing.

Logan does not particularly care for the overdevelopment of what used to be a homey nook of nature around his cafe. He can hardly see the stars at night anymore, what with all the city lights pulling his eyes to the ground.

“Beep beep!” Roman announces, punching the roof again before slipping out of the car. Logan blinks, suddenly realizing they’d already arrived at the store. Time to suffer.

“One hundred dollars,” he reminds the others. His words fall on deaf ears as they all sprint for the doors, chattering excitedly amongst themselves about color schemes and bargaining and how to make the most of spending every last dime they can squeeze out of Logan’s pockets. More to himself than anyone else, he murmurs, “I bet Virgil would understand the significance of imposing a spending limit before getting surprised with an obscenely high total crowning the receipt.”

“Come on,” Remy groans, doubling back to grab Logan’s wrist. Patton and Roman have already vanished, probably traipsing through the birthday party aisles for decoration ideas. “At least pretend you’re having fun, yeah? Show some enthusiasm for Virgil’s ideas, I bet he’d love that.”

“When did he tell you his name?”

“He didn’t. You used it when you asked Patton where he worked.”

“Where does he work?”

“If you push the price limit up to two fifty, maybe I’ll tell you.”

“Maybe I’ll stop letting you accept tips.”

Remy’s eyes widen slightly at that, and he wobbles on his toes before running the rest of the way to the door, waving his hands over his head. “La la la, I can’t hear you, I’m too fast for the sound barrier to keep up!”

“That’s not how—oh, whatever,” Logan mutters. Hands in his pockets, he dips a chin to the greeters just inside the door and maintains a leisurely pace, waiting for his friends to reveal themselves. Admittedly, he’s a little impressed when he sees them next—they’ve managed to avoid getting covered in streamers and sparkles. So far, at least. Unfortunately for Logan, the night is still young.

“Hey, what about these?” Patton asks, grabbing a pack of pride-themed playing cards from an end cap display.

“How are those supposed to drum up business?”

Patton shrugs, turning the cards over in his hand. “I dunno, they just look neat.”

“Make it a puzzle,” Roman suggests, picking up a matching set. “Have different fun facts about pride history written on cards from one set, but keep out a piece of important information. Someone finds a card and can tell you the answer without having to look it up, they get a card from the deck you didn’t write on. Get a full suit, get a prize. Maybe they get all the diamonds, then they get to name a drink after themselves. Get all the hearts, they can save ten cents instead of five.”

Logan has to admit, it isn’t the worst idea Roman’s ever come up with. The worst was probably that time with the stuffed sheep, the empty ramen cup, and the half-eaten ring pop. He shudders at the memory before relenting. “How much for a pack?”

Patton glances at the sticker on the side, sucks a sharp inhale through his teeth, and sets the deck back where he found it. “More than it’s worth, even with the discount. Come on, I know where the shelf is for stuff we’re trying to get rid of. It’s hidden in the back so we can make more money, but who ever had fun paying full price?”

“I did, back when it meant doing less damage to my cafe,” Logan grumbles. Nevertheless, he follows dutifully behind, stifling a snort as Roman grabs Patton’s hand and they skip—literally skip—down the aisles. Every few steps, one yanks the other to a stop, cooing over some toy or game meant to catch the eye of passing toddlers. Remy’s eyes sparkle, and he leans over to Logan when he thinks the other two aren’t listening.

“You know,” he whispers, “I like this one a lot more than Roman’s other flings.”

“They’ve barely been talking for more than a few days,” Logan retorts, careful to keep his voice low. “You cannot place all your eggs in the basket when the eggs don’t even exist yet.”

“You lost me, but seriously, bro, look at them.” Tutting to himself, Logan watches the way Roman’s eyes catch on Patton more often than they catch on bargain bin attractions. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe you don’t see it.”

“That’s hardly any of my business. All I care about is how much they’re making me spend. And what did I tell you about that ridiculous nickname? It isn’t even original.”

“Nothing’s original, not even originality,” Remy fires back. “A redux of something that already exists is way more fun than not doing it in the first place. Or would you rather have me tell Virgil the real reason you opened up the cafe?”

Logan yanks Remy to a stop by the neck of his shirt, balling the fabric up in his fists. “If you do that, then so help me, I will have you shipped back home faster than you can spit out that infernal nickname, and you will never set foot in my cafe again.” Remy blinks, laughs, and bops Logan’s nose.

“I bet Virgil would think you’re cute when you get all angry like that.”

“That’s not—I don’t—shut up!” Logan sputters. The epitome of elegance.

When Logan’s first instinct upon releasing Remy is to wonder whether Virgil would think he looked cute like that, he knows he is well and truly screwed.

Elegance, indeed.

---------------

Virgil’s current favorite shift is opening. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he shows up at the ass crack of dawn for work. A solid hour by himself to get the bar set up to his liking, to work in silence without worrying about angry guests, and the knowledge that he’ll be out by noon. The turning stomach of too little sleep is certainly less than ideal, but he’s lying to himself about liking being here this early. Cut him some slack.

“Just fire her already,” he mutters to himself, moving faster than he’d like to as he restocks the pastries. Not for the first time, Natalia closed last night, and she never does any of the shift’s duties right. Case in point, the expired pastries still being in the serving zone. The milk fridge being barren. Having less than three whips. Forgetting the refresher shaker lid in the washing machine—still dirty, mind you. Not wiping down the tables before stacking the chairs. Not washing the half and half from the little cart. A quick sniff reveals the insides to be well past curdled.

You know, maybe Virgil just wants to gripe in general about the incompetence of his fellow team members, and it really has nothing to do with the quality of his workplace experience.

Or it could be that he’s still reeling from the ridiculous note he left Logan on yesterday. That is a very strong possibility.

Glancing at the clock on the register he has yet to open, Virgil weighs his options. He can either sprint for the milk fridge and pray there’s enough left to restock, or he can stay up here and try to straighten up the place for the off chance that corporate shows up and tears Anne a new one. Though he likes Anne well enough, he’d rather face the consequences of corporate’s wrath than deal with pissed-off customers who can’t have their precious two percent milk.

Just his luck—the stock fridge is empty. This is the moment Virgil’s mind chooses to remind him that today is Monday, and that they’re supposed to be getting a shipment in later. So no half and half, no two percent, no heavy whipping cream, and an insatiable desire to go home before the whole ‘interacting with the public’ part of his shift has even started.

As the clock ticks over to eight, his boss’s boss’s boss, Stephen, walks over with his usual fistful of crumpled singles. Virgil doesn’t even bother asking for his numbers, already keying in the discount and punching the order into the register. In the amount of time it takes him to start lingering on yesterday’s disaster, Stephen’s usual—grande mocha, no whip—is already done and gone. Whether this is because Virgil is fast with making drinks or because he’s very adamant about the masochism of reliving embarrassment is open for debate.

Seriously, what was that? Logan puts a hand on his shoulder and gravity decides to be a little bitch, dragging Virgil’s head to the side to lean on a basic stranger? Naturally followed by the most logical reaction—dumping his entire drink all over himself. Yesterday was the first day he wore those pants after their wash, too; he can usually get three or four days out of a pair before they need to be cleaned. What a waste.

One singular glimmer of positivity in the hellscape that is the opening shift, though, is how much faster it seems to go by on Mondays. When the mid shows up, they vanish to the back to take care of the order, so Virgil basically has the bar to himself for four hours, then the fifteen minutes of dealing with the other mid. All the better to suffer through his own blunders in peace.

At least it’s a slower stream of guests.

“I’ll take a trenta very berry, but with all the kinds of berries in it,” some guy with a greasy man bun says, strolling up and scrolling through his phone. Virgil nods, keying it in and going through the usual polite spiel while he waits for him to pay.

“Anything else for you?”

Man Bun glances up from texting, raking his eyes over the purple fading from Virgil’s bangs. “Yeah, can I also get extra blackberries—”

“Sure.”

“—and your number?”

“No. Five twenty-nine.” Virgil turns his back to the register as Man Bun sets about dealing with his credit card, and wonders whether this guy’ll be a nuisance for him as he finishes the drink. “Trenta very berry, extra blackberries, have a good one.”

Man Bun takes the cup, tearing off the straw wrapper and throwing it on the floor. Literally, the garbage can is, like, right there, dude. Don’t be an ass. “So I seriously don’t have a chance with you?”

“Definitely not.”

“What, are you not gay? I mean, with the hair, and with—”

“I’m gay, just not for you. Have a good one.” To escape any further annoying questions, Virgil vanishes into the near back, organizing the drying dishes to wait out Man Bun. Once the coast is finally clear, Virgil returns to the bar, where Patton awaits with a bright grin. Fantastic.

“Hi, Virge!” Patton calls, bouncing on his toes. He does a twirl to make sure no one else is in line behind him before propping his elbows on the counter and leaning in as if he were sharing a secret. “I’ll take a venti iced caramel mach-yeet-ato with an extra shot of eek-spresso, if you please.” With another spin, Patton nearly crashes to the floor, the weight of the bag on his back yanking him faster than he can recover from.

“I got the yeet, but you’re gonna have to explain the eek bit.”

“I want you to pull three shots like normal, but scream at the fourth one. Scare it into submission. Then I’ll drink it, and get the scared bean energy.”

Virgil blinks, his pen hovering over the boxes on the side of the cup. “You. Want me. To scream at your espresso?”

“Only the fourth one! I need the other three to be brave, so I can have the bravery in addition to the terror.”

Virgil opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and shakes his head. “Okay. Five thirty five.” Patton presses a ten across the counter, refusing as Virgil tries to pass back the change, and slides to the end of the bar before Virgil can force him to take his money. True to form, Patton leans over the counter to watch Virgil making the drink, scrutinizing the pouring shots. “You know,” Virgil remarks, “it’s faster to pull two and two shots than two and one and one.”

“Yeah, but then my drink would be half scared, and we can’t have that, now, can we?”

“I guess not. What if I just pull the last two into two separate cups, and apologize to one to get rid of the scared emotions?”

Patton quirks his mouth to the side and hums. “I guess that could work. Make sure the apology’s genuine though, so I can have some empathy in my drink, too. And you don’t have to actually scream at it, either—just rile it up a bit. Scare it into submission however you see fit.”

This was one of the worst possible things Patton could have told Virgil to do. The barista leans in as the second round of shots pours, putting his mouth as close to the cup as he dares. “I’m going to stand outside your house and chant ominously about your sins while pouring expired coffee grounds on your sidewalk, then I’m going to hack into your sims account, give everyone full autonomy, and age them up to the maximum elderly age possible. Sorry, other espresso—I promise your sims are safe and your sidewalk is clean. For now.”

Patton looks understandably disconcerted by the time Virgil has finished, although the latter isn’t completely convinced that what he said was necessarily scary. He hands off the drink, drenching it in far more caramel than necessary and leaving the lid off. With an unholy grin on his face, Patton brings the cup to his lips and swallows half the caramel drizzle before the scared espresso even has a chance to settle.

“So hey, are you coming by Logan’s cafe today?” Patton asks. Virgil glances at the clock—five more minutes, and no line to be seen. He swings around the bar to sit at one of the guest tables, pulling out a sharpie and setting about dating the pastries. Whoever the mid is, they didn’t bother to show up on time, so they certainly can’t be trusted to do something literally in their job description. “You kind of left in a hurry yesterday.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t need a repeat of that embarrassment. I’m just gonna go home and hide under a blanket.”

“What embarrassment? I think Logan liked talking to you, I bet he’d like to have you come back.”

“Definitely. I’m sure he’d adore talking to the guy who couldn’t even keep his drink in his mug, much less remember to leave the mug there.”

“Virge, that’s the point of the mug system. You weren’t supposed to leave the mug there.”

“It’s not the point of my system, though. Now I’m basically, like, obligated to go back and return the cup, if not use it for that discount. Not to mention—which I already did—how I literally dumped my drink all over myself. I do not want that to happen again.”

“So just don’t drop your drink, and it won’t happen again! Simple.”

“Oh, and I bet you’ll just go ahead and police Logan so he doesn’t touch my shoulder again, prompting the situation that drove me to run out in the first place.” At the way Patton’s eyes sparkle, Virgil rushes to backtrack. “Not that it meant anything! It just startled me, so I shook my hand and my drink spilled.” Virgil glances at the bar, but there’s still no guests appearing to save him from this disaster of his conversation. All the pastries are dated, too, so he doesn’t even have the excuse of occupying his hands. “I do not want to go back.”

Patton grins. “So you’re going back?”

Virgil throws his hands in the air and groans. “I’m going back.”

“Promise?” Holding back a sigh as Patton thrusts out a pinky, Virgil links it with his own.

“Promise.”

“Great! Because your shift just ended, and Logan’s keeping it closed for the day so he can do renovations. Just you, him, and a few other people for as long as we’re there, doing decorations and generally engaging in close teamwork. Forming bonds to last a lifetime.”

“You tricked me,” Virgil hisses. “You scheming snot.”

“But it worked, didn’t it? And oh, look, there’s your mid! Let’s leave.”

Virgil glares behind him, where Natalia is tying her impeccably clean apron around her waist and fastening the hat on her hair. The only reason her stupid apron is so clean is because she’s impossibly slow, so as not to get anything dirty. The one time he could use her tardiness to his advantage, too.

“Fine, whatever, give me five minutes to clock out and I’ll meet you back here.”

Patton takes another sip from his quarter-scared drink and nods. “But if you aren’t back within those five minutes, I’m gonna find your boss and file a missing team member report.”

“You don’t even work here.”

“You don’t even understand the extent of my relentless matchmaking skills.”

“Nor do I want to. See you in five.”

“Make it four.”

This is how Virgil finds himself begrudgingly driving toward Logan’s cafe, with Patton’s car hot on his heels. Clever enough, he supposes, since now there’s a literal heavy piece of machinery holding him accountable for reaching the destination he pinky promised to attend. Virgil would rather be hiding under the covers at home.

Swinging into the parking lot and taking his normal spot, Virgil wonders whether Patton would notice if he just hid out in the bathroom until everyone went home. He glances at the mug nestled in the passenger seat—secured with a seatbelt, of course—and decides against it. If nothing else, Logan would probably get suspicious about the goings-on in there, not to mention he’d be the one to have to clean it. Patton’s cheerful honk rings through the air as he locks his car, scooting over to press his nose to Virgil’s window.

Virgil raps the glass lightly, jolting Patton into taking a few steps back before he not-so-discreetly points at the door and dances on his toes. To tell the truth, Virgil is procrastinating, because he absolutely does not want to go inside and see Logan.

“Hi, Logan!” Patton calls, bursting through the door with Virgil in tow. “We’ve been waiting all day to see you!”

“We?” Virgil repeats skeptically.

“Oh, right, right, my bad,” Patton says, waving his hands sheepishly. “Virgil has been waiting all day to see you!”

“That is not better,” Virgil mutters. He lifts a hand to his shoulder, massaging a sore spot along the slope of his neck and wishing he could be literally anywhere else right now. In an effort to diffuse the awkwardness that Logan hasn’t bothered to notice, he continues, “looks nice in here with the lights down. Kind of home-y.”

“Indeed,” Logan agrees, balanced precariously on the second-highest rung of an unreasonably tall ladder. At its base, Roman holds the legs steady, grinning as Patton slings his backpack onto a nearby table. “Patton, I assume you brought more decorations I never greenlit?”

“You know it.” Patton grins, upending the bag and watching every manner of rainbow trinket spill over the tabletop and onto the floor. “Okay, so see these? They look like normal food coloring, but they actually—”

“If they sparkle or make the drink behave like pop rocks, I do not want them.”

Patton pouts before tossing the food coloring stuff back in the bag. “Alright, well how about this one? It’s like a DIY mug for—”

“Don’t use acronyms out loud, and I am not having mugs that guests design themselves. That defeats the purpose of my system.” Patton puts the mugs away.

“Fine, so I also found these little mythical creature trinkets that—”

“No.” Patton puts the trinkets away.

“Or these things that look like scratch off tickets, but instead of the lottery, you can—”

“No.” Patton puts the tickets away.

“I found this book of stickers that has—”

“No.” Patton puts the stickers away.

“You know, I’m beginning to think you didn’t want me to bring all this stuff.”

“I did not want you to bring all that stuff.”

“Well, fine! I’ll just take it back home, then!”

“Good! I do not want it here! Please remove it from my establishment!” Virgil cocks his head to the side, his thoughts catching on the mock enthusiasm in Logan’s voice. If anyone could possibly be the breathing personification of a sarcastic exclamation point, it’s Logan.

“Can I help you up there?” Virgil offers. Logan glances down, still precariously balanced on his ladder and stretching out an arm to toss a strand of string lights over the menu boards. “You know, it might be more effective to pull the signs down and write the menu first, then tape some lights to the top, then hang them back up.”

Thrusting out a hand for stability on the top rung, Logan lowers the spool of lights waiting to be thrown. “You may have a point. Roman, if you even think about shaking this ladder, I am going to ban you from helping any further with the decorations.”

“Come on, dude, it’s pride month! Show some spirit!” Roman whines. Regardless, he holds the ladder steady as Logan descends.

“I’ve already shown my spirit by deigning to allow you in my cafe while it’s closed. Don’t push your luck.” At the sound of a yelp and something crashing near the seats around the corner, Logan presses his middle finger to his glabella and groans deeply. “Remy, if you broke one of my windows, I am legally obligated to inform our parents that you are unfit to be an adult, and that I am sending you back to them, effective immediately.”

“No, nope, everything is totally fine back here. You aren’t legally obligated to do anything whatsoever.” Remy pops his head into view, his cheeks flushed and his hair flopping into his eyes. Taking one look at Logan’s stern face and Virgil’s reserved one, he jerks his head at Roman. “Hey, wanna give me a hand back here? Your boyfriend can come too, I guess.”

“He’s not my—” Roman begins, but Patton barrels right through it.

“Sounds fun!” he declares, grabbing Roman by the elbow and dragging him toward whatever chaos Remy already caused. With a quick pause to point from his eyes to Virgil’s and back, Patton winks and vanishes from sight. In their absence, silence reigns supreme.

“So,” Logan says.

“So,” Virgil agrees.

“How’s your handwriting?” Logan asks, clearly just as desperate to fill the awkward silence as Virgil.

Virgil shrugs, grabbing one of many pens spilling from Patton’s abandoned backpack and twirling it between his fingers. “Not terrible, I guess. I do most of the boards where I work.” For a brief moment, Virgil wonders whether he’s ever mentioned to Logan where he works, but ultimately decides it’s not important just yet. He watches the pen spins for another few moments before continuing, “I have this style of super straight lines, though. Not exactly bubbly and inviting for your guests.”

“My guests know I own this place. They aren’t expecting any manner of bubbliness, inviting or otherwise. Help me pull down the signs?” Allowing himself the smallest laugh at Logan’s matter-of-factness, Virgil moves for the lower right corner of the trifold board, hoisting it off the wall in tandem with Logan. “I suppose we ought to erase it first, before we go about ruining it.”

“Do you know what kind of scheme you’re going for?” Virgil asks, shifting into decoration mode as he starts wiping off the first section. He shoves aside any lingering thoughts of yesterday’s fiasco in favor of focusing on the task at hand. Maybe if he pretends to have forgotten, it’ll be like it never happened in the first place.

“Scheme? I was simply going to write the drink options in various colors,” Logan admits. He scrapes together a pile of chalk from a children’s craft box leaning against the bar, grimacing as he rubs the dust from between his fingers. “Unless you know of a better idea.”

“I mean, we could do something like cold drinks here, and hot ones here, and you could have some people personalize based on this third one over here? And then, like, each third can be a different pride flag, like how I was saying yesterday—maybe make the miscellaneous board the pan flag, since it’s basically everything? Unless you don’t like the pun side of that, of course, then we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. Or we could do the whole rainbow there, again with the ‘everything’ deal, but it might not look so cohesive as being strictly separated thirds of the menu. We don’t even have to separate by themes, if you wanted the whole menu to be just one section. Maybe we could do the bi flag for the cold drinks—if you decide to go for the cold, hot, miscellaneous boards, I mean—just because the blues and purples could go well with cold drinks, color theory and all? Or I guess there’s also the possibility of stuff like the transgender flag, or the polyamorous flag—maybe you could have a pastry menu, and put it there for a sort of pie-pi pun? I don’t know how well that one would go over, but if it sticks out to you well enough…”

---------------

Logan props his chin on a fist, his legs crossed beneath him and his knee supporting his elbow. All of Virgil’s words are floating straight over his head, and he doesn’t even pretend to hide it, so entranced is he by Virgil’s enthusiasm. In all honesty, Logan stopped listening by the third sentence, more focused on how Virgil’s pale lips formed the soundless words, washing the cafe in an ocean of rolling tones and low asides. Not ten seconds into his rambling, Logan is certain he saw Virgil’s eyes light up, ever so slightly, at the prospect of having creative control over something so simple as menu theming.

“Does that work for you?”

Shit. Logan forgot he was supposed to be listening.

“Er, I’m actually somewhat unclear on what you meant. Do you mind rewording your suggestion?”

Virgil blinks at him, and Logan feels his soul melt—no human has a right to look that much like a confused puppy. “I don’t really know how you expect me to reword ‘I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick while you think about which theme you like,’ but I’m certainly willing to try if you need me to.”

“Yes, no, I mean—of course, absolutely. Go right ahead, second door on the right in the back.” Logan waves a flippant hand as Virgil pushes off from his knees, tossing a two-fingered salute to the other three working in the back. Logan has no idea what they’re doing back there anymore, nor does he really care. He’s slightly more concerned with that complete social blunder between Virgil and him. Could he have come across any more ridiculous?

“So what do you think of Virgil, hm?” Patton asks, appearing over Logan’s shoulder. Logan flinches, sitting up straighter and nearly slamming his head into Patton’s chin. “Think he’s got a cute butt?”

Pausing to absorb the second question, Logan wonders whether he doesn’t look too dissimilar to a computer rebooting itself. “He certainly has an ass.”

“Do you know any other swear words?” Remy groans, trudging over and draping himself across the bar. Meanwhile, Patton is spluttering in disgust at Logan for daring to use a more crude synonym for the word ‘butt.’

“You should be proud that he even knows that one,” Roman chimes in. “Why, when I first met Logan—”

“We are not doing emotional history montages,” Logan declares, getting to his feet and waving a hand at Roman. “We are here only to improve the environment in and around my cafe, so that is what we are going to do.”

“Actually,” Remy corrects, “I’m mostly here because I want to set you up with Virgil. He was a dick from the moment he walked in that first time, which is exactly your type.” Pointing at Logan with a wink, Remy moves to lean against the wall.

Logan doesn’t bother to question his motives, and pretends he didn’t hear the first half of Remy’s statement. He does, however, hear the general motivation behind the words, and responds accordingly. The sly grin on his face makes Roman take a subconscious step back.

“Oh, and you aren’t here to set Roman up with Patton?” Turning his focus on them, Logan wonders in the back of his mind whether Virgil might walk in on this. “Of course, everyone’s talking about it, Remy. Don’t you want to be the first trendsetter with the newest, hottest couple?”

“Since when does he know what ‘hottest’ means?” Roman hisses in a stage whisper. Patton shrugs, pressing his lips together as his cheeks stay annoyingly neutral, not at all embarrassed by Logan’s tirade. “Do you think he doesn’t know?”

“I think he doesn’t know,” Patton replies. He doesn’t even bother to lower his voice, which serves only to further infuriate Logan.

“What don’t I know?”

“He definitely doesn’t know,” Remy agrees, peeling himself away from the wall. “It’s almost pity full, really.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word. You don’t even know the pronunciation.”

“But I know you use it on me, like, all the time, which is only that much more pity full for you.”

“Pitiful. Like your tenuous grasp of the English language.” At the sound of the sink faucet turning on around the corner, Logan glances back at Roman and Patton, who are still whispering together intently. Patton is barely hiding his giggles. “So, tell me; what is it, exactly, that I don’t know?”

“Should we tell him?” Roman whispers. Patton shrugs, pushing his glasses up by pressing his finger directly against the lens. Logan can feel something shattering, deep inside his innermost soul.

“Oh, tell him, you dorks,” Remy groans. “It’s literally, like, so obvious, it’s almost sad that he hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“Figured out what?” Virgil asks, materializing around the corner.

“That me ‘n Patton are dating,” Roman says.

“Duh, everybody knows that.” Glancing around, a look of concern grows on Virgil’s face. “Was I not supposed to know that?”

“Well, actually, Logan here—” Remy begins, but with a swift smack to the arm from Logan, he cuts himself off. “Nope, yep, totally justified in knowing that. Seven out of three. Good job. So smart. We stan a clever icon.”

“Please stop talking,” Logan says. “Can we just get back to decorating?”

“Way ahead of you.” Virgil drops to his knees, gathering up scattered pieces of chalk and positioning the blank slates in front of him. “Did you decide which theme you liked?”

Logan very much did not do that. “I like both the gender flags and the sexuality flags. What do you think?”

Virgil, clearly not prepared to be in control, blinks twice. “Um. Well. Maybe we could make the first board sexualities, and the second one genders, and have each drink be a different flag based on which menu theme they’re under? And Remy likes making up drinks, yeah?”

“Yes,” Remy unnecessarily confirms. Logan scowls at him until he disappears around the corner with Patton and Roman.

“Cool,” Virgil continues, “So that way we can do a little of everything on the menus, and then the lights can just look nice in general, and they don’t strictly have to coordinate with the menus.”

“Where do you work, some interior design place?” Logan asks, raising an eyebrow at Virgil’s confidence, which rapidly grows the more he talks himself through ideas. “You really seem to know what you’re talking about.”

“Not exactly,” Virgil admits. “Where I work doesn’t really matter, though, does it?”

“Want to work here?” Logan blurts, before immediately clapping his hands over his mouth. “Sorry, that was probably too forward. I don’t even know why I said it, I mean, look at this place, I can barely pay Remy, let alone add another hire, not to mention—”

“You’re fine,” Virgil says absently, more focused on the menu spread. “Anyway, so the flags. Do you want to start listing off some drinks you serve, and I’ll write them on my phone, and we can just go from there to decide which drink goes with which flag?”

Logan swallows thickly and nods, launching into his perfectly memorized list of everything he makes on a day-to-day basis. At least Virgil elected to ignore his outburst.

As the sun makes its trek toward the horizon, shooting beams of light through floating bits of dust in the air, Logan sits back on his haunches to admire Virgil’s handiwork. For how consistently they’d been working all day, he has to admit some small amount of pride in the outcome.

The first board, comprised of iced and frozen drinks, proudly bears all manner of gender orientation flags that Logan could find, both common and obscure. Each in bright pastels, of course, as neither Roman nor Patton had the foresight to bring darker colored chalk. The second board boasts hot drinks and sexuality flags, and despite himself, Logan quite likes the soft brightness of the middle menu. The third is still blank, with an added wooden board at the bottom to hold chalk.

“That way,” Virgil explained, “whoever makes the custom drink of the day can draw it there, and write the ingredients without having to hunt for the chalk.” Although Logan doesn’t particularly care for letting guests take control of the menu, he begrudgingly agreed that it was a good idea.

“You guys took, like, forever to do basically nothing,” Remy complains, now sprawled out across a table.

“Guests eat off those,” Logan remarks, still more focused on the menus than his brother’s antics. “And you only managed to string up a few sets of lights between the three of you. I would hardly call that an achievement.”

“Among,” Virgil corrects.

“What?”

“You said between the three of them. Since it’s more than two, it’s among the three of them.” Logan can’t decide whether to be horrified or enchanted by how Virgil managed to catch his own grammar mistake.

“Roman?” Logan calls, drawing attention away from his flub. “What, exactly, might you be doing?”

Roman merely grins in response, precariously balanced on one of the tables near the front. He lowers his hands from the upper frame of the window and jumps to the floor, trying to duck into a somersault and failing miserably. Patton giggles before helping him up and glancing at what he’d been messing with.

“This is my cafe,” Logan reminds them, “so I believe I ought to know what you’ve done to it.”

Offering a shrug and a wince, Roman follows Patton’s gaze to the window. “Mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe,” Logan repeats.

“Mistletoe!” Patton agrees.

“Mistletoe,” Remy choruses. At Logan’s glare, he raises his hands defensively. “Sorry, I just wanted to feel included.”

“Why, pray tell, is there mistletoe in my cafe?” Logan sighs.

“Bitchmas in July,” Roman replies. Logan can’t decide whether to throttle him or to simply scream.

“Roman?”

“Yes, my dearest friend and barista?”

“It is June.”

“Yes.”

“Bitchmas, as you say, is in July.”

“Yes.”

“June is not July.”

“You lost me.”

“Actually,” Patton cuts in, “I think I know why Roman put mistletoe there.”

“Why might that be?” Logan is extremely close to tossing one of the people in this room out the window, and based solely on proximity, it very well might be Virgil.

“For this.” With no further warning, Patton grabs Roman by the neck of his shirt and yanks him to stand behind the chair he’d been using as a stepstool. Logan hardly has the chance to blink before Patton is pulling Roman in, closing his eyes, and—

“Yep, nope, super cool, very much did not need to see that,” Virgil announces, mercifully drawing Logan’s eyes away from the scene. “Besides that nonsense, did you guys get the lights all finished? I need to peace out pretty soon here, but I want to see the cafe in its full glory before the guests come and destroy it by existing in its presence.”

Roman hesitates to answer, still breathless beside a beaming Patton. Remy cuts in first, allowing the other two to regain their composure.

“We got everything done, so if you wanted to pack up whatever stuff you brought, I’ll get the last of the connections and cords all set up, so you can bask in the splendor before you go.” Leaning in close enough to whisper so that Virgil can’t hear, Remy’s breath tickles Logan’s ear. “His mug is on the side pocket of his bag. Sneak it away while I distract him, and make him a personalized drink. It’ll be totally endearing, I know it.”

“I am not doing that.”

Remy dangles the mug from his fingers with a smirk, thrusting it at Logan when Virgil isn’t looking. “You are doing that.”

Logan frowns and reluctantly takes the mug. “I am doing that.”

“Unless you want to be doing—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” Logan hisses, snapping his head around to cast the entirety of his glare at Remy. “If you swear, in this moment, to shut your damn mouth, I will make him a drink.”

“That’s all I want,” Remy says, dusting his hands off and tugging Virgil to stand in front of the door. The mistletoe dangles a few ominous feet away. Logan’s scowl melts into a vague feeling of contentedness as he watches Virgil taking in the unlit decorations. His hands work on autopilot, making an old favorite of his that has long since outgrown its recipe. When Remy clicks the lights on and Logan catches Virgil’s face in the light, the barista is pretty convinced he might just collapse right then and there, coffee and all.

Framed in the soft blues and yellows of twinkling artificial lights, Virgil’s pale skin almost seems to glow against his jet black hair, a silhouette of ethereal splendor captured oh-so-perfectly for a split second, before the illusion shatters. Virgil turns to look at Logan as the latter absently slides the full mug across the counter, so entranced is he by the former.

“You good?” Virgil asks. Logan can only manage the smallest of nods, barely capable of closing his stunned mouth as he watches the way the moonlight flicks off the purple tips of Virgil’s hair. “Dude, you didn’t have to go and make me anything!”

“It’s one of his oldest favorites,” Remy cuts in, rescuing Logan from himself. “No, no, put your money away, this one’s on the house for helping us remodel.”

“All I really did was draw on a couple menus,” Virgil protests. Nevertheless, he pockets his wallet and takes a hesitant sip from the mug. A beauty to rival that of his shape against the night sky lights in his eyes as he tips the mug, draining the rest as fast as he can manage.

“Good, right?” Remy asks. Logan wonders whether his own mouth will decide to start functioning properly any time soon.

“So good,” Virgil murmurs, still holding the rim of the mug to his nose and inhaling deeply. “Smells amazing, too.”

With a swift elbow jab to the side from Remy, Logan manages to choke out a broken “thanks,” his voice cracking on the vowel. Miracle of miracles, Virgil doesn’t notice. Or, if he does, he pretends not to, which only makes it worse—or better, Logan isn’t sure.

“Well, uh, thank you too,” Virgil mumbles. He clutches the mug as tight as he can manage, shouldering his way out the door. Not two feet beyond the threshold of the door, he absently raises his shoulders toward his ears against a cool summer breeze.

“Logan, close your mouth,” Roman calls. Logan moves his jaw up, realizing all too late that he’d been staring open-mouthed at Virgil for no reason. Turning his face toward Patton’s neck, Roman giggles and whispers, “he’s so head over heels.”

“That’s an understatement,” Patton replies. “If his head is where it is now, you’d need a cinderblock and the Mariana Trench to get to his heels.”

“That was a bit of a stretch,” Remy says. “I know you’re trying, hon, but maybe try more puns, fewer metaphors?”

“Puns,” Patton echoes, rolling the word between his lips and chewing the n. “Pun pun pun.”

“Now look what you’ve done,” Roman groans.

“Pun,” Patton repeats, pointing up and nudging Roman to the side. Roman blinks and follows his finger to the mistletoe, which is wobbling dangerously. “Don’t think you used enough tape there, Crumb cake.”

“Maybe not,” Roman agrees. As he reaches up to adjust the decoration, Logan’s hand thrusts out of its own volition.

“Do you maybe want to move that over the door instead? Maybe? I mean, you don’t have to, I just—”

“Logan’s rambling,” Remy announces. “Better do what he wants before he short circuits entirely.” Roman and Patton titter at this before the former pulls down the mistletoe, removing the old tape and producing a new roll from his pocket.

“Thanks,” Logan sighs, watching Roman stick the mistletoe just to the right of the bell. What he wouldn’t give to be under that with—

“Closing time!” Logan shouts suddenly, ignoring how the other three flinch. “It was all very fun and nice, but it is time for everyone to go home. Right now. Please leave. This very second. Immediately. Get out.”

Remy exits first, followed quickly by Patton and Roman, none of whom bother trying to hide their laughter. Logan is the last to leave, still focused on that mistletoe. Still focused on who he wants to see beneath it.

---------------

Virgil is having a bad day.

He woke up with only two minutes to spare before having to leave for work. He stepped on poop from his neighbor’s dog when he went outside. He found a smear of mocha syrup along the seam of his pants in a very conspicuous pattern. He didn’t have any other clean pants ready. His car wouldn’t start fast enough. His USB cord to his phone wouldn’t connect, no matter how many times he turned it. His throat ached, but without a fever, he was still legally allowed to work with food. His voice was all but gone.

Virgil wants nothing more than to go back home, crawl under a mountain of blankets, and stay there until the sun goes away.

This would be a task much more easily achieved if Natalia would bother to show up on time. Virgil forces a tight smile onto his face as he mindlessly nods along to the latest guest’s conversation. Ten more minutes and he’ll hit compliance, which means a stern talking-to between Anne and her boss, which means a stern talking-to between Anne and him, which is basically the last thing keeping Virgil from walking out of the store right now.

Virgil wants to go home.

“Have you seen Natalia?” Anne asks, appearing on the other side of the bar once the line dribbles down to nothing. Virgil shakes his head, already halfway through making her usual order as she groans. “Okay, well, you’re gonna hit compliance in a second here.”

“I know that,” Virgil snaps. “There’s not exactly a whole lot I can do about it.”

“Mind your tone,” Anne chides lightly, and though Virgil can tell she’s kidding, he really isn’t in the mood for it today.

“Yeah, sorry. Do you mind, uh, you know?” He tilts his chin to the next guest, as well as the cluster of families preparing to queue up behind them. Anne nods and apologizes with a laugh, scurrying off to do whatever it is she deems more important than helping Virgil to keep this line in check.

This is the part where Virgil is supposed to launch into a spiel of every drink he makes, as well as the struggles that accompany calling out complete orders with a voice that basically doesn’t exist, but based on the morning he’s had so far? He has absolutely zero desire to get into it. Guests are rude, baby boomers are impatient, the sky is blue, Virgil is in hell, next question.

“Hey, um, excuse me?” Some dude leans over the counter, shaking his empty cold cup at Virgil. Evidently, he did not notice the line waiting to be helped. “Barista boy?”

Virgil glances where his name tag should be, shrugs at its absence, and nods. Yeah, that’s a fair nickname. “What’s up?”

“You made my drink wrong.” His empty drink, that is.

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that, did you want me to remake it for you?”

“No, I want you to give me a refund.”

“Sir, I—you already finished your—by store policy, I can only make you a new drink, I can’t give you a refund if there’s no drink to take back in return for the money, sorry.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t like it.”

“Then why did you—never mind, would you like me to make you a new one?”

“No, I want compensation for a miserable drinking experience.”

This goes on for some time, and while Virgil is largely skilled at keeping his composure when he has to, that’s much more easily said than done when the guest is flinging curse words at him left and right.

“Sir, I’m sorry, it’s—there’s a long line, so unless you want to have me remake your drink for you, there’s really nothing I can do.” Angry Guest Man rips out a few more choice words before storming off, shouldering patiently waiting customers out of the way. Virgil rolls his shoulders back and moves on to the next guest, relieved when all they want is a grande mocha.

Virgil.

Wants.

To.

Go.

Home.

“Hey, I’m here to cover for Natalia!” Kim announces, prancing behind the bar without a hat on, as if she doesn’t notice the hold up Virgil’s dealing with.

“Awesome. Get here sooner next time. Put on a hat—or a hairnet, I don’t care which—and start taking orders while I catch up on hot bar. We’re almost out of skim milk, and the almond milk shipment is behind today, so only offer coconut and soy milk.” Virgil tosses out orders almost as fast as he hands off drinks, waving off Kim’s bewildered demands. “I don’t care how or why Natalia got you to show up late—better than not at all—but I need you to kick into gear. I’ll get you as caught up as I can, but I’m gonna hit compliance, so savor this partnership before you’re on your own.”

Kim bites back whatever protests she might’ve had, instead nodding and moving for the register. She plasters a welcoming smile on her face and starts chatting up the next guest as Virgil slowly but surely picks apart his backlog of orders.

Virgil does not want to be here.

Another guest complaining about their cappuccino not having enough foam is incredibly close to being the straw that shatters his back. Virgil bites back a groan as he gingerly takes the unlidded cup from her, nodding his apologies and profusely assuring her he’d remake it. She scowls and mutters something about hurrying up.

“There you go, sorry ’bout that,” Virgil says, passing off the new cup.

She removes the lid, glaring at the drink and completely ignoring the swarm of people behind her that would very much like to get their orders. “There isn’t enough foam for the caramel to sit on top.”

“Yeah, that’s how physics—I mean, yes, my bad, do you want more caramel drizzle?”

“No, I want you to make it right.” With no further warning, she scrapes off the top layer of foam and flicks it at Virgil, cocking her head to the side as it plops across the bridge of his nose.

He might just scream.

“So you’ll have me remake it, then?” Virgil forces himself to smile as she nods with a harrumph. “Right, okay, just give me a minute here, aaand—there you go.” He pushes the latest creation over the bar and comforts his shot nerves with the mental image of throwing the drink in her face.

“There’s not enough foam.” Before Virgil can even pretend to be sympathetic to her first world problems, she dips her finger into the foam.

And flicks this one square at his chest.

“Anne?” Virgil’s voice is sugary sweet as Anne drifts lazily over from across the seating area, moving as if she had all the time in the world. “I’m going to hit compliance in less than two minutes, so I am going to clock out. I will not be coming in tomorrow, as I have a backlog of sick days, and I will be using one to figure out whether I want to come in the day after that. Good luck getting someone to cover for me, since it was obviously such a difficult task for Natalia.”

“Virgil, if you don’t come in tomorrow, you can kiss this job goodbye,” Anne snaps.

Virgil considers this, removes his hat, and places it squarely on her head. “If you want me to stay away, I’ll do so happily. In case you haven’t noticed, there isn’t a whole lot of qualified backup for you here.” Anne can only manage bewildered sputters in response as Virgil unties his apron, drapes it over a chair, and strolls off to the break room.

Virgil is leaving this hellscape.

“I really wanna leave this stupid town,” he sings to himself in the car, ignoring his blatantly wrong lyrics as he tears out of the parking lot. “And today, the time has come.” Ramping up his voice to little less than a furious scream, he pounds the steering wheel to the rhythm, and feels an odd lightness when he sees the empty passenger seat. For once, he doesn’t have to have the ever-present company of that obnoxious apron, wrapped up and tucked inside that ridiculous hat.

Virgil is going home.

At least, Virgil thought he was going home.

No one could be more surprised than him when he finds his hands steering the car toward Logan’s cafe of their own volition.

“Hey, Virgil, what’s going—wait, hey, you walked under the mistletoe!” Roman whines from the counter, where Remy is closely monitoring his work behind the bar. “You can’t just walk past mistletoe without a kiss-letoe!”

“Stop talking, or that mistletoe is going up your ass-letoe,” Virgil mutters, making a beeline for the mound of bean bag chairs in the corner. A nice touch of comfort amidst the soft lighting and colorful menus they’d added yesterday. Probably Patton’s idea.

He falls to his knees before he knows what he’s doing, shoving his face into the plasticky surface and letting the rustling beans consume his senses. He’d barely bothered to notice how loudly his pulse was thrumming through his head until it stopped, overpowered by the artificial cushion beneath him. At the sound of footsteps drawing near his head, Virgil briefly considers sweeping out a leg and knocking them to the floor. An action movie sequence fantasy at best.

He feels them speak before any words come out, and has never felt closer to cussing out someone he met mere days ago.

“Hey. Rough day?” By some merciful chance, it’s not Roman, or Remy, or even Patton. Logan continues, careful to keep his voice low and measured, “I get that. I had the lights turned down temporarily to test the environment in direct sunlight, but I’ll leave them down for your sake. We also received several compliments on the new menus—all your handiwork, of course.

“Remy’s training Roman on how to make drinks right now, since I’ve heard many guests discussing how to get their friends to join them on trips here. With that kind of increase in business, I could really use his extra set of hands, no matter how inexperienced. I see you brought your mug, as well—if it doesn’t upset you too terribly, I’ve already had Remy begin teaching Roman how to make up drinks, so you might get an odd flavor combination, what with the steep learning curve and all. Roman is creative, I’ll give him that, but he’s never truly been one for understanding the intricacies of taste and texture among our staple ingredients.”

With every word out of Logan’s mouth, Virgil can feel his mounting headache slowly, ever so slowly, draining away. In the wake of Anne and Kim’s nonsense, he hadn’t cared to notice the exhaustion, much less how severely it hurt. Even now, his pulse is pounding like a jackhammer against the roof of his skull.

“When Remy first picked out that mug covered in cups for you, I have to say, I was horrified. As far as I could tell, it was just the first thing he grabbed, which is about as basic a tactic as any other. Your current one, with all the constellations and the blues, just felt right, if you know what I mean. Not exactly a logical way to select your mug, but I can’t really explain it.”

“I like to call them mug-mates!” Roman announces. “You know, mug, soulmate, mug-mate?” An image crosses Virgil’s mind of throwing his current mug at Roman’s head, and he laughs. “See, Remy, told you I was funny.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Remy says gently, “but Patton was only lying about you being funny because you suck at everything else.”

“Shut up,” Logan singsongs, his voice achingly calm against their raising tones. In a voice that somehow manages to be even more soothing than before, almost dulcet, he continues, “most of my guests have a particular piece of clothing or accessory that stands out, matching their immediate mug. You just felt, well, different, somehow.”

Virgil fights the instinct to flinch as he feels something come to rest against his head. A moment passes, two, before it starts to move, lightly combing through his matted hair and gently scratching at his aching head beneath. Against his own volition, a contented sigh escapes his lips. The scratching continues unaffected.

If it were possible, Virgil would stay here, just like this, forever. Motionless in a pile of bean bags, with only Logan’s presence to remind him he still exists. Naturally, this isn’t possible, as a gentle set of three raps against the wall over his head jerks him out of his half-conscious state.

Logan nods with a smile as a guest lowers their hand, moving for the door and stashing their mug in their bag. At Virgil’s questioning gaze, Logan raises his hands and explains, “that’s how my best guests say goodbye. The first few regulars I had liked the peaceful silence, so instead of cutting through the air with words, they’d just knock on the tables. It sort of became habit, I suppose.” Virgil glances from Logan’s mouth to his shoulder and back, releasing another sigh as the scratching shifts down to his back.

“Feel any better?” Logan asks. His eyes are filled with a warmth that Virgil swears wasn’t there yesterday.

“Little bit,” Virgil mumbles. “Work sucks.”

“And where, exactly, do you work?”

“Starbucks north.”

The shock in Logan’s expression is almost laughable. “I have never been more disgusted with a single human being in all my life than I am right now.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. I think I just kind of quit, though. Not exactly a ceremonious end to my shift, if you know what I mean.”

“Rude guests?”

“Try obscene and pathetic. One flicked her foam at me.”

“Wait, don’t you get free drinks when you work there? Why buy my drinks when you can get stuff without paying for it at all?”

“We aren’t, like, a chain place, since we’re owned by the department store we’re in, so we kind of follow different rules than the regular stores. I only get one grande drink per shift, and it has to be while I’m on the clock.”

“Okay, but you can still get those drinks. Just make them on your last five minutes and walk out with them. Why bother spending money on what could be free?”

“I’m not funneling the money I get from that place directly back into it. They are a capitalist regime based on the basic downfall of the foremost man empowering story, and I refuse to fuel their fire.”

“How closely did you analyze Moby Dick?”

“Sparknotes.” Virgil pushes himself onto his elbows, still savoring the feeling of Logan’s fingers gently scraping along his back. “Hey, what was that you were saying yesterday about offering for me to work here?”

Logan’s face colors immediately, flush with about as much red as is humanly safe. “I didn’t mean to impose—I mean, er, I didn’t want you to feel like—”

“It’s cool,” Virgil interrupts. “Anyway, were you even a little bit serious? Because I don’t really have a reference from my last place, but if you’re willing to accept a new hire with a shady history who knows how to run a coffee bar, I’m your guy.”

Logan nods quickly, glancing back to where Roman is struggling considerably under Remy’s watch. “You’re hired. You start today.”

“Actually, I know this is probably a bad first impression on my new boss, but do you mind if I start tomorrow? I’m not really feeling it today.”

“Indeed, I should probably draw up the paperwork, as well.”

The finality of this tenuous agreement hangs in the air, an oddly relaxed cloud of, well, something that can only wait to be shattered.

Roman does a perfectly fine job of carrying out this task.

“Logan, you’re gonna be so proud of me in a second here—I made my very first drink! Remy said I have to give it to Virgil, since you won’t take it.” Roman passes the constellation-covered mug over to Virgil, who glances warily at the murky substance rippling within. “Relax, it’s literally the easiest drink I can make.”

“Earl grey tea,” Remy calls over. “Two tea bags, hot water, and honey. I promise he didn’t poison it.” Only after Remy’s reassurance does Virgil take a hesitant sip, admiring the flavor as soon as it hits his tongue.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Logan exclaims, raising a finger in the air. It takes everything in Virgil not to whine at the loss of the reassuring hand against his back. “I got something as a thank you for helping us with the decorations yesterday—it’s right upstairs, actually. Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll have it right back down here for you.” As Logan rises, something jingles and clatters to the floor, escaping his notice as he moves for the door. A keyring, covered in at least ten keys and even more keychains.

“Hey, wait, you dropped these,” Virgil says, grabbing the keys and following Logan to the door. Logan lifts his chin slightly, taking the keys and shoving them in his pocket—careful enough that they won’t fall out this time.

“Oh, look at that,” Roman coos. Virgil raises an eyebrow, turning to see where Roman and Remy are excitedly elbowing each other and giggling. Even Patton appears from around the corner and smiles along with them—probably leaving the bathroom.

“Look at what?” Logan asks, obviously quite finished with their nonsense. Rather than dignify him with an answer, Roman merely points above their heads. Virgil follows the motion to see the last decoration he could’ve expected in June.

Mistletoe.

To the tune of the other three quietly chanting, “kiss, kiss, kiss,” Virgil swallows an annoyed moan and glances at Logan, whose face somehow managed to turn an even deeper shade of pink.

“If you don’t want to, I mean, if you didn’t, you know, feel comfortable with—” Logan stammers, every word darkening his cheeks, but Virgil cuts him off with a laugh.

“Maybe I do want to. Kiss you, that is. I mean, if you want to.”

“No, yeah, I mean—yes. I would like that. To kiss you, I mean.”

Virgil’s face glows like a rose on fire. “Okay, cool, because I also want to do that. Also.”

So he does.

228 notes · View notes

rebelwith0utacause · 4 years

Note

I need help with eating better/ healthier. I struggle so much! Especially with PCOS, I wanna do nothing but stress eat 😕 I did pretty good today with not eating out for once

This is gonna be a long one sorry :/

Tbh I eat like shit. I don’t have issues with eating out because that was never my thing, but I tend to stress eat a lot of sugar, like my comfort food are endless amounts of chocolate bars and coffee/cocoa loaded with sugar. And the issue with this is that it’s a vicious cycle (dare I say addiction?) of sugar highs and lows that require even more sugar. Not to mention that I don’t really eat fruit & veggies.

I’ve wanted to clean up my diet for a while now (mainly because of PCOS) because I’ve realized that it really affects my mental health as well. I won’t say that I wouldn’t mind getting slimmer, but basically a healthier body leads to a healthier mind, so that’s my priority. This is like really important whenever you start because you need to be in the right mindset and honest with yourself about why you’re doing things. If I said that it was only because of how I look and how others perceive me, than I’d achieve nothing (because I honestly don’t care), but if I told myself that it was because I actually wanna have normal periods after 10 years of not having regular flow/wondering what tf did I did wrong to deserve this, then I actually have a clear and strong goal ahead of me.

It all started right before NYE 2018 (?) where I stumbled upon a Buzzfeed video about PCOS. I don’t really care much about these videos tbh, but something made me see the whole thing. I took it with a grain of salt, mainly because I don’t think you need to get out of your way with pills/exotic food etc to get better. But there was one part where one of them said something along the lines of “you can’t expect your body to produce enough lining and shed it if you don’t have enough nutrients in you” (don’t take my word on it, I only watched it once but it started a long process of realization). So basically there I was, stressing out about work and eating straight up sugar, no nutritional value whatsoever, just enough to help me fuel my body, wishing I could finally get my period. It’s been 3 months without one by that point.

Needless to say, 2018 came and passed, I didn’t do much, just let that info stew in my head. I stumbled upon 2 other videos about food intake and Native American diet, which further shed light on how my body processes food and how genes could have a lot to do with how my body processes certain foods. So that’s the most important part, educating yourself about how food works. I’m a major sucker for biology, so I realized that this was very important to me, to explain to myself and rationalize why I should eat sth and not eat another thing.

Late last summer was a weird time for me. Work was kicking my butt and my mental state was a mess because of it. I’d resort to sugar for literally anything, and when even that didn’t help, I reached out to cigarettes again (I’ve been clean for 3.5 years by then). My body desperately needed a change, and it wasn’t only about PCOS this time. Once again, I stumbled upon a video about some homesteaders starting up a diet (which for the life of me I can’t remember the name of) to “cleanse” their bodies from shitty food. Of course, I scoffed at this and to this day I think that that was a load of shit. What’s the point of doing something short term when you know you’re gonna be back on your bullshit in a month?

But it got me thinking; I have a lot of allergies and the reason why I don’t eat too many fruits and veggies is because I have mild allergic reactions to them. I’ve had the thought that maybe some of those reactions were due to the combo of the vegetable + food preservatives in other items, it’s happened in the past, so there was a chance. The thing about oral allergy syndrome is that you don't actually have a food allergy, but your body confuses the proteins (?) in some of those foods (especially when it’s picking season) as allergens of something you already have an allergy on because of their chemical structure and triggers a reaction. For example, I’m extremely allergic to birch, and (according to my doctor) my brain confuses nuts, tomatoes and onions as allergens, making my windpipe feel as if it’s closing up. Now I don’t know the science behind this, but eating tomatoes + pâté, or sometimes even those chocolate bars I’ve been having triggers the same reaction.

The culmination of 2 years of thinking about this, made me decide to eliminate anything that might be considered an allergen or a trigger for a month, and then slowly add them back into my life, one by one, so I can finally find out what works for me and what doesn’t. I quit sugar (all sorts, processed, honey, honey substitutes and sugar substitutes, I only allowed myself fruit), gluten (because I’ve read so many stories about PCOS and gluten being worst enemies so why the hell not), lactose (same as gluten), nuts (except cashews because I know that they don’t cause a reaction for me) and all processed foods (so no spreads, no ketchup & mayo, none of that vegan/vegetarian food because in most cases it had gluten, no chocolate).

I thought it would be so hard, because what will I do without sugar?? Turns out I really shouldn’t have worried. 2 days into eating greens and lean meat, a handful of roasted cashews along with a glass of OJ and a couple of apples, I got my first proper period after 4 months. 25 days later - same, 28, then 30, then, 31 days later too. I had completely reset my metabolism.

I thought I wouldn’t have energy, but it turns out, my caloric intake was below the line, and instead of storing all of those calories in the form of fat for the off chance I might need them, as it always does whenever you start eating less than normal, it actually turned towards the fat storage in my body and used it up. The difference is that in the first case, your body eats up muscle to get energy, and in the second it uses the fat. Fat is basically energy, so you can see why I was no longer feeling lethargic or why I could actually have the brain capacity to perform daily tasks.

After about a month and a half, I started reintroducing foods in my diet (because no matter how great I felt, I knew that I had a goal), basically telling me everything I already thought was true. Gluten & lactose are a no-no for PCOS, sugar should be out of the question, and processed food needs to be taken in small quantities.

If there’s anything you take away from my experience, I’d say that you should educate yourself on food and why we need it and what it does to our body. Once you see it from that perspective, it might help you make better food decisions. But don’t start before you’re mentally ready for it. Also, try to find a solution that works for you (I can’t stress enough how what works for me or someone else might not work for you, don’t be discouraged if it doesn’t), take everything you read/hear with a grain of salt, be a curious skeptic and whenever you have even the smallest indication that what you’re doing isn’t right, stop it altogether. The scale tips both ways and it’s so easy to go from one extreme to the other. Work with what you have, you don’t need to spend money on organic food or some exotic fruits or whatever. Get the cheapest fruits and veggies but make sure you reach for them instead of sweets and processed food. You don’t even have to make gourmet meals. You’re gonna stumble a few times, but trying is better than not doing anything (when it comes to PCOS). Hope this helps in any way. Good luck 💜

#i hope i'm making any sense because it took me hours again to write this #kept getting distracted by videos lol #tw food #tw ed #pcos #atlcalm #asks

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whiskyconsidered · 7 years

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Collecting Whisky

About six months ago, I hosted a whisky tasting among a handful of friends, all of them intermittent readers of my writings on whisky. One of them suggested that I write a piece about collecting whisky—how should one make a start toward building a whisky collection? That’s something I’ve wanted to address for a while, and now seemed like a good time!

First, a little bit my own collecting. I’ve been a single malt Scotch drinker since shortly before my 19th birthday. I started buying the occasional bottle here or there when I was about 20, and I started trying to keep more than one bottle in my personal bar when I was about 24. I started collecting in earnest when I was around 27 or 28 and had just started grad school. A little less than 10 years on, I have around 200 different varieties of single malt Scotch spanning most of the extant distilleries—and even a few of the closed distilleries—in Scotland. My long-time girlfriend has been a huge help—she’s a very generous person, and she’s been especially generous in indulging my fondness for whisky. I can pretty well count on her to make some pretty significant additions to my collection every time my birthday or Christmas rolls around. But I’ve also done a lot of the work myself which, given that I’ve had anywhere from a meager to a modest salary so far has meant forgoing some other material goods that people often like to get their hands on. I’ve also been able to amass lots of bottles by not drinking any of them terribly fast—I don’t dip into my Scotch every day, or even every week, and even when I am drinking Scotch, I don’t usually drink vast quantities of it. The point here is that if you really fancy a sizable Scotch collection of your own, you don’t necessarily have to be rich; but, if you’re not rich and you really want to collect Scotch, you may need to forgo the latest iPhone or car payments on a Mercedes.

So, assuming that you fancy building a substantial Scotch collection, where should you begin? The answer largely depends on you—how much money are you willing to spend, how much space do you have, what do you like, and what do you want to prioritize? I’ll assume that a collection is, at minimum, 5 different bottles (which works well, since there are 5 traditional distilling regions in Scotland—the Lowlands, the Highlands, Speyside, Campbeltown, and Islay) so we’ll start by considering different ways you could build a basic collection out of 5 bottles.

The Bargain Basement Collection (~$125)

Suppose you just want to lay hands on the 5 cheapest bottles of single malt Scotch that you can get, aiming for some regional variation while you’re at it. There are several ranges of sourced whisky (i.e. you don’t know exactly which distillery it comes from even though the region is probably specified) that have a selection for at least four out of the five legally defined whisky regions (Lowlands, Highlands, Speyside, and Islay) for about $25 a pop including McClelland’s, Grangestone, and Hamilton’s. You can round things out with an inexpensive brand name Speysider like a Speyburn 10 ($20-25), Glenfiddich 12 ($25-30), Glenlivet 12 ($30), or spring instead for Bowmore Legend ($25-30, from Islay) or Glenmorangie Original ($30-35, Highlands).

The Bargain Brand Collection (~$140)

Suppose you don’t want to break the bank, but do want to make sure you at least know which distillery your whisky is coming from. Go with Speyburn 10 ($20-25, Speyside), Glenfiddich 12 ($25-30, Speyside), Glenlivet 12 ($30, Speyside), Bowmore Legend ($25-30, from Islay) or substitute Glenmorangie Original ($30-35, Highlands) or Aberfeldy 12 ($30-35, Highlands).

The Bargain Region Collection ($200-260)

You can either cover most of the regions with sourced bottlings (discussed above) and then add in a Springbank 10 ($65-70) to cover Campbeltown, or you can go with some reasonably priced brands to round out your regions: Auchentoshan Select ($30-35, Lowlands), Glenmorangie Original or Aberfeldy 12 (both $30-35, both from the Highlands), Glenfiddich 12 ($25-30, Speyside), and Bowmore Legend ($25-30, Islay). If you want, you can even throw in a sixth bottle to cover the unofficial Island region, perhaps a Highland Park 12 ($40-55).

The Original Classic Malts Collection ($385-490)

Diageo owns so many distilleries that they can easily provide a collection that spans every region (except Campbeltown), and in fact, even before they became Diageo, they did just that with the six whiskies that made up the original Classic Malts range: from the Lowlands, Glenkinchie 12 (it used to be a 10 year old) for $60-70; from the Highlands, Dalwhinnie 15 ($65-75) and Oban 14 ($70-80); from Speyside, Cragganmore 12 ($55-65); from the Islands, Talisker 10 ($65-75); and from Islay, the magnificent Lagavulin 16 ($70-110). It’s starting to get pretty dear, but it’s also a pretty great selection.

The Expanded Classic Malts Collection ($905-1,135)

If you really want to get ambitious, you can dig into Diageo’s expanded range of offerings, which has alternately been billed as including “hidden malts” or as an extended Classic Malts range. This collection includes the entire “original” Classic Malts along with the exceptional Clynelish 14 ($50-65) and Royal Lochnagar 12 ($45-50) from the Highlands, Cardhu 12 ($40-50), Glen Elgin 12 ($40-50), Knockando 12 ($35-45) from Speyside, and Caol Ila 12 ($60-65) from Islay. If you’re really feeling ambitious, you can throw in an entry level bottling from each whisky in The Singleton sub-range (from Dufftown and Glendullan on Speyside, and Glen Ord in the Highlands) for around $40 a piece, and a bottle of Mortlach Rare Old (a whopping $130-200).

The “Light and Fresh” Collection ($270-350)

Suppose you prefer your whisky on the lighter side and want a handful of bottles that provide subtle variations on the lighter side of Scotland’s spirit. Go with a Glenkinchie 12 ($60-70) from the Lowlands, an Arran 10 or 14 ($45-80), from the eponymous island, a Tobermory 10 ($50-60) from Mull, a Bruichladdich 10 ($50-60) from Islay, along with a Glenfiddich 12 ($25-30) and a Tomintoul 10 ($40-50) from Speyside.

The “Fruity and Sweet” Collection ($235-340)

Suppose you prefer a dram with a little more sweetness or some noticeable fruit notes of some kind. Try a honeyed Balvenie (anything from the younger end of the range will do; depending on exactly what you pick it will set you back between $50 and $80), a Glenlivet 12 ($25-30, all apples and pears), a Glen Elgin 12 ($40-50) a Tomintoul 16 ($50-70) and a Glencadam 10 ($40-50), or maybe a Glenmorangie Original ($30-35) or a younger Balblair (the most recent vintage usually fetches $40-60).

The “Rich and Sherried” Collection ($400-615)

If you like your dram with some heft to it, and perhaps a healthy dose of sherry, grab a Glenfarclas 17 ($85-100), a Macallan 18 ($160-190), a Glendronach 12 ($45-55), an Aberlour a’bunadh ($60-70); if you can find it, round things out with sherry matured Mortlach such as the old Flora and Fauna bottling ($150-200, nowadays) or the Gordon and Macphail Mortlach 15 ($55-80). If you can’t find a suitable Mortlach, go with a Glengoyne 21 ($120-150) or a Bunnahabhain 18 ($120-140) or even a Ben Nevis 10 ($50).

The “Smoky and Peaty” Collection ($295-485)

If you’re a peat head, it’s a great time to be a Scotch drinker, since distillers are tripping over themselves trying to see who can pack the heaviest peat attack. You can find peated whisky from almost anywhere in Scotland, nowadays, but if you want to explore different variations on the theme, try the following: Lagavulin 16 ($70-110), Laphroaig 10 ($40-50), Talisker 10 ($65-75), Highland Park 18 ($85-120) and just to mix things up, something from the mainland like Ardmore Legacy ($35-45) or one of BenRiach’s peated expressions, preferably one with a wood finish (in the $45-130 range, depending on the expression), or maybe a younger Benromach like the 10 or the “Traditional” ($45-65).

The “Complex” Collection ($415-535)

Although many good whiskies (including some of those mentioned above) could be described as “complex”, some are certainly more so than others. If you want to emphasize whiskies that bring a barrage of different flavors to the fore, here are a handful you might especially appreciate: Lagavulin 16 ($70-110), Highland Park 18 ($85-120), Clynelish 14 ($50-65), Glenfiddich 18 ($75-90), Ben Nevis 10 ($50) or Glenfarclas 17 ($85-100).

The Flavor Variety Collection ($340-490)

You might want to get whiskies that hit as many different flavors as you can find. I’d go for something on the far light side of Speyside like a Tomintoul 10 ($35-45), something with some sherry influence like a Glenfarclas 17 or 21 ($85-160, depending) or a Glendronach 12 or 15 ($45-80), something fruity and sweet like a Balvenie 12 or 15 ($45-80) or a Glenmorangie Original ($30-35), something light with more of a tart orchard fruit profile like Glenfiddich 12 ($25-30) or Glenlivet 12 ($25-30), something peaty like Lagavulin 16 ($70-110) or Laphroaig 10 ($40-50) or Ardbeg 10 or Uigeadail ($45-70), and finally something complex like Clynelish 14 ($50-65).

Ten Essential Whiskies ($540-700)

Ask ten different whisky enthusiasts to name ten essential whiskies on which to build a collection and you might well get ten completely different answers. My personal take would be to buy ten excellent whiskies that you can find quite easily and that won’t put you too deeply in debt and that represent a pretty broad variety of different flavors. To that end, I’d avoid anything that you couldn’t hope to find in the US or anything that costs much north of $150 for a bottle, and I’d try not to pack on too much in the same general flavor profile. My picks would be: Arran 14 ($65-85), Glenfarclas 12 ($50-60), Clynelish 14 ($50-65), Old Pulteney 12 ($35-50), Lagavulin 16 ($70-110), Glenfiddich 12 ($25-30), Springbank 10 ($55-75), Bunnahabhain 18 ($120-140), Laphroaig 10 ($40-50) and Glenmorangie Original ($30-35). This gets you representatives from 10 different distilleries, a taste of every major flavor profile, and representation from every distilling region save the Lowlands, which have been a little quiet lately. Ask me another day and my recommendations might vary slightly, but core elements would always be on there.

The “Different Flavors, Different Regions” Collection (>$1,000)

This will be the most ambitious collection I’ll outline in detail. You could try to get a bottle for each different twist on regional style. To really dig into this approach, you’ll need noticeably deeper pockets than any of the above collections demanded, and you’ll need the patience and desire to search online whisky retailers and auctions. Starting in the Lowlands, pick up the woody and fruity Auchentoshan Three Wood ($55-75) and the light but complex Bladnoch 10 from the Flora and Fauna range ($90-150). Moving into the Highlands, get a Glengoyne (any one will do; personally, I’m partial to the now-defunct 17 or the 21, and depending on what you pick it will be anywhere from $40-160); then pick up a nutty Edradour 10 ($50-60), a wonderfully complex Clynelish 14 ($50-60) and the maritime Old Pulteney 12 ($35-50). Go to the Isle of Islay and pick up a wonderfully smoky Lagavulin 16 ($70-110), a more aggressively peaty Laphroaig 10 ($40-50) or Ardbeg 10 ($40-55), and pick between Islay’s unpeated representatives--the light Bruichladdich 10 ($50-60) or the richer Bunnahabhain 12 ($50-65). Swing through the other islands for the wonderfully light, breezy and citric Arran 14 ($65-85), the brooding Talisker 10 ($65-75) and the balanced Highland Park 18 ($85-120), and consider throwing on a Scapa 14 ($100-150), if you can find it. Go back to the mainland at Campbeltown and add a Springbank 10 ($55-75). Finally, head back to Scotland’s distilling heartland in Speyside. Since neither is especially expensive, pick up bottles of Glenfiddich 12 and Glenlivet 12 ($25-30 each) for the lighter, orchard-fruit side of Speyside. Grab a Tomintoul 10 ($35-45) or a Glenrothes Select Reserve ($40) or perhaps a young Allt-a-bhainne or Tamnavulin to taste Speyside in its driest, maltiest guise. Pick up a Glenfarclas 12 ($50-60), an Aberlour 12 ($45-55), or a Macallan 12 ($45, if you can still find it) for the richer, middle weight sherry style. For the full on sherry assault go for an older Glenfarclas, or Benrinnes 15 in the Flora and Fauna range ($60-70), or Macallan 18 ($160-190), or if you can find it, the old Mortlach 16 from the Flora and Fauna range ($150 or more). Finally, for a Speysider with a dash of peat, go for a peated BenRiach ($35-85, depending on which one you spring for), Benromach Traditional or 10 ($55-65), or Tomintoul with a Peaty Tang ($35-45).

Other things you can do with whisky collections

All of the above suggested collections are just starting points, and there are many directions you can go from there. Here are some other general suggestions:

For a long time, I had a goal of at least trying a whisky from every active distillery in Scotland, and that meant that I ended up with at least one bottle from almost all of Scotland’s distilleries. You can try doing that. There are somewhere in the ballpark of 100 active distilleries in Scotland, with probably another 20 or 30 expected to have mature stock within the next 10 years. Getting a bottle from every one is a somewhat daunting task, but it is doable (I’m not far off that myself).

You can collect whiskies from a specific region. Maybe you love the romantic seaishness of Islay and its famously smoky, maritime whiskies. Or maybe you love the tremendous variety and quality of Speyside. Whatever your preference, you can build a collection around a particular region you love.

Now that most distilleries have a range of expressions, you can try to collect all the available expressions from a given distillery. Size and expense will depend a lot on which distillery you chose. Lagavulin’s core range is rather small, with only the standard 16 year old, a distiller’s edition, and a vintage 12 year old that is usually released annually; beyond that, there are multiple special bottlings, most of them quite limited and quite expensive. Macallan used to have two separate ranges that were unbelievably expensive in anything over 18, as well as lots of more limited expressions. BenRiach has a regular range, and wood finish range, a peated range (some of which also have wood finishes), and a vintage range, almost all of them quite reasonably priced (for example, the 35 year old runs around $500, which is about half the price of a 25 year old Macallan).

If you have rather deep pockets, you can collect whisky from distilleries that have closed. Distilleries that have been defunct for upwards of 50 years generally don’t have extant bottlings, but the raft of distilleries that closed during the lean years of the early 1980s (Port Ellen, Convalmore and Glenury, among them) still have fairly abundant bottlings that you can find at Whisky Exchange, Master of Malt, or the various auctions. In most cases, a taste of whisky history is going to put a sizable dent in your finances (good luck digging up any Port Ellen for less than $450 per bottle), but if you can afford it, it’s fun to get a taste of a lost whisky.

You can collect nice looking bottles. Increasingly, the marketing departments at big drinks firms are finding exciting new ways to present whisky in visually appealing ways. You can find colorful bottles, elegant bottles, clever bottles, charmingly old timey bottles, and even ostentatiously “fine” bottles.

You can branch out into different kinds of whisky/whiskey or even other spirits. Brown spirits are booming. American classics like bourbon and rye have seen a tremendous renaissance over the last decade or so, and American craft distilling is on the rise, as well. Japan makes superior whisky that is well worth trying. Ireland is expanding its distilling industry as well. Countries from Sweden to Taiwan to India to Australia now produce quality whiskies. If casting a wider net, geographically, is your thing, there has never been a better time to collect.

You can even collect as an investment. Right now, at least, whisky prices are booming and whisky auction houses trading in rare bottles are a growing business. If you’re willing to buy your whisky and let it molder away on your shelf unopened, you might be able to make a handsome return on it, down the road. I emphasize the *might* part of the equation, since the market for rare bottles (like the market for whisky, overall) is not completely predictable. In fact, even with the industry booming overall, there are funny quirks. For example, if you had the foresight to buy an official bottling of 10 year old whisky from the now-defunct Lochside distillery, you could sell it at auction for over $100, probably several times what it originally cost. If you had the perspicacity to acquire one of the earlier special releases of Port Ellen, you could probably now make a profit of $1,000 or more off your purchase. But not everything catches on with equal zest. Last year, I got an older bottling of Tamnavulin 12 year old at auction for about $30, which is probably about what it cost originally, perhaps a little less. Point being: if you can afford to pick up the odd spare bottle here or there to set aside, you might have something that collectors are itching to get their hands on years from now, or you might have more Tamnavulin than you ever knew you wanted.

So, happy collecting to you, whatever sort of collection you decide to build. At some point, I’ll try to add further tips on collecting in shorter posts.

#scotch #whisky #whiskey #single malt #liquor #collectibles

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kennethherrerablog · 4 years

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Top 7 Cheap Hobbies and 40 More You Will Need to Try

Looking for some fun cheap hobbies?

Just to make sure we are on the same page, let’s take a look at the definition of the word “hobby”:

Hobby: may include almost any regular activity one does for pleasure – typically during one’s own free time.

Now, what are some of the best cheap hobbies people are doing right now?

This list is for you. Yes, there are hobbies out there that aren’t going to cost you an arm and a leg. Actually, we found some fun little hobbies that actually help you make money!

In fact, this very blog you are reading right now started as an online hobby for me before turning into a blogging business. With that said, let’s start off with fun inexpensive online hobbies.

The Top 7 Cheap Hobbies

Here are the best hobbies on the cheap. Most of these literally don’t cost any money at all.

1. Reading

This is pretty much the ultimate frugal hobby. Almost every community has a library you can use for free as long as you follow the rules and return your books on time. You can also start a book club, or swap books with friends to find more reading material.

2. Running

Running is probably the cheapest form of exercise out there. All you need to get started is a decent pair of shoes.

3. Cooking

For some cooking is truly a hobby. Even if you don’t love to cook, it’s definitely a good skill to have because cooking and eating at home is way cheaper than going out to eat. If you need some ideas for cooking, try out Erin Chase’s $5 Dinners – the site dedicated to helping you make each meal a $5 total…not five dollars per person.

4. Home Brewing

There are lots of online resources that can teach you how to get started brewing your own beer, wine, or cider at home. It might a little equipment to get started, but if you regularly enjoy these beverages instead of buying them at the liquor store you’ll definitely save money in the long run.

5. Garage Sale-ing

I love this hobby because you get out of the house, you meet people, and you can make money. I have a friend who started with $30 and a few months later she was making $1,000 per month garage sale-ing. She would buy things for cheap at the garage sale and re-sell online and make a profit. Her first buy was buying a Little Tikes playhouse for $30 which she cleaned up and resold for $200!

6. Explore Your Genealogy

Ask your family members for help with this project, or start looking online. When I put together my family genealogy, I was surprised at how much information I could find online.

7. Start a Blog

Since my hobby was and still is blogging, I’m going to open up with blogging to start.

Do you happen to love writing? If so, wouldn’t it be cool to start your own blog where you are free to write about whatever you want and put it out there for the world to see?

Here’s the secret to blogging as a hobby: write about whatever makes you happy.

Your mind is swirling with ideas and things you want to say, so say them through a blog.

Do you love being a mom? Then blog about it.

Do you love woodworking? Then you should blog about it.

Do you love coaching your kid’s sports? Then start a blog about it.

Or, do you love something no one has ever heard of? Then yes, you should definitely blog about that as well.

If you are ready (and I hope you are) to start you very own blog, I have personally put together a step-by-step guide so you can easily get started writing today for about $5 per month. I even included screenshots of the process to walk you through it step-by-step so you don’t have to worry about any of the tech issues.

In fact, if you can post something to social media or even ask Siri to call Grandma, then you can definitely start a blog.

Okay, I’m ready to start my blog now.

The Online Hobbies

We start with online hobbies since you’re actually online right now. These are hobbies you can start today from the same device you are reading this right now.

8. Fill Out Online Surveys

There are dozens of these sites popping up that claim to pay you money for taking surveys online. Some of them are sketchy, however some of them are legitimate and will actually pay you in cash via PayPal or in gift cards. You can see our full review of all the different survey sites we have researched here Best Online Surveys right now.

Survey Junkie has been around since 2005 and is the most trusted in the survey industry with a Trustpilot Rating of 4.4/5.

If you’re going to spend your time on a free hobby, start out with Survey Junkie and they will send you cash to your PayPal, Amazon or Target gift card for taking surveys on your time!

9. Buy and Re-sell Things Online

There are so many re-selling websites to choose from these days, which can help you get the best prices for your “treasures”. OfferuUp, eBay, Craigslist, Facebook buy/sell/trade groups, Facebook Marketplace and Poshmark more are just a few that I’ve used to sell stuff in the past.

We have a full list of the 21 best apps to sell stuff online here.

10. Listen to a New Podcast

There are podcasts about every topic under the sun. Surely you can find one that interests you.

You can start listening to the Money Peach Podcast in your car, at the gym, or on the go right here.

11. Watch Cat Videos

There are some pretty funny cat videos on YouTube that can keep you entertained for hours. (Or maybe that’s just me?)

Let the record show that Peach does NOT watch cat videos on YouTube.

6. Play Free Games Online

You may be surprised to learn that there are health benefits to be had from playing video games. There are so many websites where you can play games online and there are tons of different kinds of games to choose from too. There are even some sites that will actually pay you to play their online games.

The Financial Hobbies

What’s better than making money? How about a hobby that actually pays from extra pocket money all the way to full-time income.

12. Become a Landlord

You can start renting out a portion of your house on a site like Airbnb. If you find out you like being a landlord, you could always expand into owning rental properties.

13. Investing

Learning about investing and then actually doing it are two things that could almost be separate hobbies in and of themselves. Investing is a smart hobby to take up once you have a little extra income to put toward your investments. If you are already there and want to get started, here is our updated investing for dummies guide.

14. Thrift Shopping and Garage Sale-ing

When I lived in a bigger community I loved going to thrift stores and garage sales on the weekend. This is a fun activity, especially if you go with a friend. You can also save money as long as you avoid buying things you don’t really need.

15. Couponing

Again, couponing can be fun but you might end up spending more than you planned on if you aren’t careful with your purchases. One of our favorite couponing tricks is using the Honey browser extension. Instead of searching the internet for promo codes, Honey searches for you in real time and automatically applies the promo code for you at checkout.

Install Free Honey Browser Extension

16. Volunteering

That’s kind of financial since time is money, right? Give some of your time to your favorite charities, or join a group or board in your town to give back to civic organizations.

17. Start a Business

I’ve kind of touched on this before, but almost anything on this list can actually be turned into some kind of a money-making business or side hustle idea. Starting a business is fun and it’s a good way to make some extra money.

18. Budgeting Cash Flow Planning (that sounds better)

How to Start a Cash Flow Plan

What list of hobbies on a personal finance blog would be complete without listing budgeting? It may not sound fun at first, but I actually love working on my projected budgets for future months now that I’ve gotten good at budgeting.

And if you would like to get started with your own budget, you can get started with the Cash Flow Formula for FREE.

The Cash Flow Formula is the #1 tool to start saving more money and stop overspending each month…and it’s a GREAT hobby!

Outside Hobbies

Let’s move our fun inexpensive hobbies away from the computer and out inside the fresh air. Here’s a list of the top (and often free) hobbies that get you outside.

19. Gardening

Depending on how you go about it, gardening can be a pretty inexpensive hobby to try. If you get good enough at it, you might even be able to lower your grocery bill by growing more of your own food.

20. Camping

Camping is another cheap hobby than doesn’t have to be as expensive as you may think. I truly enjoy camping and waking up to a brisk morning. It’s almost like a vacation, only cheaper.

21. Become a Master BBQer

There are actually whole weekends devoted to BBQ competitions in my neck of the woods. If you are good with a grill, this might be a fun hobby to consider.

22. Geocaching

Geocaching is basically a high-tech treasure hunt. Find out how to get started here.

23. Rock Collecting

Pick up all those shiny things. If you call it a “collection” no one will judge you for bringing home random rocks anymore. 😉

24. Bird Watching

Just don’t become a crazy bird lady (or guy)!

25. Hunting

The equipment can be expensive if you don’t already own it, but you may also be able to borrow from a friend or family member to try out this hobby if you’re a beginner. Most hunters enjoy sharing their hobby with newbies to keep the sport alive.

26. Fishing

Same goes here! Most avid fishermen are more than willing to take along new people who don’t have their own equipment. Just don’t wear out your welcome if you fall in love with this hobby.

Intellectual Hobbies

After exercising your body in the fresh air, here are the best fun inexpensive hobbies that only require brain power.

27. Writing

Writing can be a fun hobby and it doesn’t have to turn into more than that. You can write in a diary, write short stories for fun, or write even write to make money like I mentioned earlier. If you love writing and actually want to get paid for it, there’s currently a shortage of freelance writers. If this interests you, check out this post on getting paid to be a freelance writer.

28. Drawing

A pencil and paper is all you need to get started with this frugal hobby. Even if you expand your artist supplies later on, this hobby shouldn’t be too costly.

29. Learn a New Language

Is there a language you’ve been dying to learn? There are lots of resources online and books at your library that you can use to learn a new language.

30. Learn to Play an Instrument

Learning to play a musical instrument doesn’t mean you have to take expensive lessons. Many instruments can be self-taught, especially now that you can learn almost everything you need to know on YouTube.

31. Learn to Sew

Learning basic sewing skills is a good idea. Knowing how to sew has actually saved me money. For example, my sewing skills have helped me save my clothes from being thrown in the rag bin a few times when they only needed minor repairs.

32. Learn a New Game

Playing games is one of my family’s favorite hobbies, especially is the weather is crappy outside. We don’t discriminate, we like to play board games and card games. They can also be a good way to meet new people if you go to community game nights. You might be able to find some at your local library, churches, or on meetup.com.

33. Read the News

Doesn’t sound very exciting, but you might be surprised what you can learn when you start reading the news regularly. Don’t just keep up on local news either, the world is bigger than that. Make sure you find out what’s going on elsewhere in the world too.

Exercise Hobbies

First we started online, then we started making money with your hobby, then we moved outside and after that we started using our brain power for our hobbies. This next list is the best fun inexpensive hobbies that will also burn a few calories.

34. Biking

Most people have a bike sitting in their garage or storage shed. If you have an old unused bike, it won’t cost you much to give it a tune-up so you can start riding it again. Biking around your neighborhood is free.

35. Get in Shape with Body Weight Exercises

Some you know that Peach is a Crossfit enthusiast. I’m a former Crossfiter myself, but I cut it from my budget to pay off my debt faster. One good habit I picked up from there that I still continue in my home workouts is doing bodyweight exercises. Like running, all you need for bodyweight exercises are good shoes and maybe a few standard household items. You can do things like air squats, pushups, situps, lunges, etc. without spending money.

36. Dance

I’m not talking about paying money and going to a dance studio – those things can be very expensive. Instead I’m talking about turning on your favorite music and using it to make up your own workout routine.

37. Swimming

If you live near a public beach, lake, etc. you can probably swim there for free. Swimming is a great cardiovascular exercise and it’s fun!

38. Join a Club Sports Team

Most communities have a Recreation Department that hosts sports leagues for kids and adults. They’re usually fairly inexpensive to join and offer lots of different sports to choose from.

39. Try Yoga

There are lots of free yoga video on YouTube. All you need to get started is a mat.

40. Practice Meditation

Exercise for your brain.

Skilled Hobbies

Lastly, it’s time to apply your skills to your hobby list. From cooking, to home-brewing, and even woodworking, we have you covered with this last bunch of fun inexpensive hobbies.

41. Canning and Food Preservation

This old-fashioned skill can actually help you save money, especially if you are preserving food from your garden bounty to eat later on.

42. Furniture Restoration

I know several people who’ve taken up furniture restoration as a frugal hobby and they’ve also managed to furnish their homes with one-of-a-kind pieces they re-did themselves. You can also sell your restored furniture as a great side hustle hobby!

44. Animal Husbandry

Growing up we raised many different kinds of animals on my parents’ farm. I still love animals and taking care of them today and it’s definitely a good skill to have.

45. Carpentry

Even if you don’t learn how to make fancy things, basic carpentry skills can be good to have as they can save you money when you know how to fix things around the house.

The Not-So-Cheap Fun Hobbies

Maybe you’re just curios about the expensive hobbies? If so, here are a list of the top 10 hobbies that will absolutely break the bank.

46. Scuba Diving

Not only is scuba extremely fun, but it’s also extremely expensive. You can plan on $300 – $400 every time you throw the tank on and dive in and don’t forget it’s also extremely dangerous.

In fact, you will even have a hard time getting life insurance if you scuba dive on a regular basis.

47. Sky Diving

Technically their are statistics to prove you’re more likely to die in the car on the way to skydiving than actually jumping out of an airplane. As much as that is supposed to make me feel better, I still don’t like the $300 – $400 fee to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.

However, if you have the extra coin to take part in this extremely intense hobby, then let us know how it goes in the comments below.

48. Flying

I don’t know if I need to go into a huge explanation here: flying as a hobby is expensive.

To even be certified as a pilot to fly your own plane will cost you $7,000 – $10,000. Then once you are certified, you then need to buy a plane or rent one at the starting cost of $125/hour. Then add on fuel and maintenance costs and you have an extremely expensive hobby.

49. Mountain Climbing

Where I live (Phoenix), mountain climbing is a very popular hobby. While getting started in this hobby is not extremely expensive, it will be eventually.

From the people I have talked to, you start off climbing the mountain near your home. After you climb that one, you start to travel to the next thriller of a mountain. Sooner than later you find yourself booking a trip to hike Mt. Kilimanjaro at a cost of about $4,000 not including travel expenses.

50. Ballroom Dancing

My wife and I actually looked into ballroom dancing lessons because we were told it was a fun inexpensive hobby. We were told wrong.

Thanks to Dancing with the Stars, this once inexpensive hobby will now set you back about $150 – $200 for each lesson. My wife and I went into ballroom dancing as something to bring us closer together. However, after seeing the cost we both realized it would only push us further apart (kidding).

Final Thoughts

Yes, you can always sit on the couch and Netflix and chill as a hobby. But, chances are since you’re reading this far down the page, you’ve been there and done that.

So what’s it going to be? Blogging, sewing, running, couponing, or are you going to dive into a more expensive hobby and jump out of an airplane?

Whatever you decide to do, please let us know about your new fun hobby in the comments below.

Top 7 Cheap Hobbies and 40 More You Will Need to Try published first on https://justinbetreviews.tumblr.com/

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darcyfarber · 4 years

Text

Top 7 Cheap Hobbies and 40 More You Will Need to Try

Looking for some fun cheap hobbies?

Just to make sure we are on the same page, let’s take a look at the definition of the word “hobby”:

Hobby: may include almost any regular activity one does for pleasure – typically during one’s own free time.

Now, what are some of the best cheap hobbies people are doing right now?

This list is for you. Yes, there are hobbies out there that aren’t going to cost you an arm and a leg. Actually, we found some fun little hobbies that actually help you make money!

In fact, this very blog you are reading right now started as an online hobby for me before turning into a blogging business. With that said, let’s start off with fun inexpensive online hobbies.

The Top 7 Cheap Hobbies

Here are the best hobbies on the cheap. Most of these literally don’t cost any money at all.

1. Reading

2. Running

Running is probably the cheapest form of exercise out there. All you need to get started is a decent pair of shoes.

3. Cooking

4. Home Brewing

5. Garage Sale-ing

6. Explore Your Genealogy

Ask your family members for help with this project, or start looking online. When I put together my family genealogy, I was surprised at how much information I could find online.

7. Start a Blog

Since my hobby was and still is blogging, I’m going to open up with blogging to start.

Do you happen to love writing? If so, wouldn’t it be cool to start your own blog where you are free to write about whatever you want and put it out there for the world to see?

Here’s the secret to blogging as a hobby: write about whatever makes you happy.

Your mind is swirling with ideas and things you want to say, so say them through a blog.

Do you love being a mom? Then blog about it.

Do you love woodworking? Then you should blog about it.

Do you love coaching your kid’s sports? Then start a blog about it.

Or, do you love something no one has ever heard of? Then yes, you should definitely blog about that as well.

In fact, if you can post something to social media or even ask Siri to call Grandma, then you can definitely start a blog.

Okay, I’m ready to start my blog now.

The Online Hobbies

We start with online hobbies since you’re actually online right now. These are hobbies you can start today from the same device you are reading this right now.

8. Fill Out Online Surveys

Survey Junkie has been around since 2005 and is the most trusted in the survey industry with a Trustpilot Rating of 4.4/5.

If you’re going to spend your time on a free hobby, start out with Survey Junkie and they will send you cash to your PayPal, Amazon or Target gift card for taking surveys on your time!

9. Buy and Re-sell Things Online

We have a full list of the 21 best apps to sell stuff online here.

10. Listen to a New Podcast

There are podcasts about every topic under the sun. Surely you can find one that interests you.

You can start listening to the Money Peach Podcast in your car, at the gym, or on the go right here.

11. Watch Cat Videos

There are some pretty funny cat videos on YouTube that can keep you entertained for hours. (Or maybe that’s just me?)

Let the record show that Peach does NOT watch cat videos on YouTube.

6. Play Free Games Online

The Financial Hobbies

What’s better than making money? How about a hobby that actually pays from extra pocket money all the way to full-time income.

12. Become a Landlord

You can start renting out a portion of your house on a site like Airbnb. If you find out you like being a landlord, you could always expand into owning rental properties.

13. Investing

14. Thrift Shopping and Garage Sale-ing

15. Couponing

Install Free Honey Browser Extension

16. Volunteering

That’s kind of financial since time is money, right? Give some of your time to your favorite charities, or join a group or board in your town to give back to civic organizations.

17. Start a Business

18. Budgeting Cash Flow Planning (that sounds better)

How to Start a Cash Flow Plan

And if you would like to get started with your own budget, you can get started with the Cash Flow Formula for FREE.

The Cash Flow Formula is the #1 tool to start saving more money and stop overspending each month…and it’s a GREAT hobby!

Outside Hobbies

Let’s move our fun inexpensive hobbies away from the computer and out inside the fresh air. Here’s a list of the top (and often free) hobbies that get you outside.

19. Gardening

Depending on how you go about it, gardening can be a pretty inexpensive hobby to try. If you get good enough at it, you might even be able to lower your grocery bill by growing more of your own food.

20. Camping

Camping is another cheap hobby than doesn’t have to be as expensive as you may think. I truly enjoy camping and waking up to a brisk morning. It’s almost like a vacation, only cheaper.

21. Become a Master BBQer

There are actually whole weekends devoted to BBQ competitions in my neck of the woods. If you are good with a grill, this might be a fun hobby to consider.

22. Geocaching

Geocaching is basically a high-tech treasure hunt. Find out how to get started here.

23. Rock Collecting

Pick up all those shiny things. If you call it a “collection” no one will judge you for bringing home random rocks anymore. 😉

24. Bird Watching

Just don’t become a crazy bird lady (or guy)!

25. Hunting

26. Fishing

Same goes here! Most avid fishermen are more than willing to take along new people who don’t have their own equipment. Just don’t wear out your welcome if you fall in love with this hobby.

Intellectual Hobbies

After exercising your body in the fresh air, here are the best fun inexpensive hobbies that only require brain power.

27. Writing

28. Drawing

A pencil and paper is all you need to get started with this frugal hobby. Even if you expand your artist supplies later on, this hobby shouldn’t be too costly.

29. Learn a New Language

Is there a language you’ve been dying to learn? There are lots of resources online and books at your library that you can use to learn a new language.

30. Learn to Play an Instrument

31. Learn to Sew

32. Learn a New Game

33. Read the News

Exercise Hobbies

34. Biking

35. Get in Shape with Body Weight Exercises

36. Dance

37. Swimming

If you live near a public beach, lake, etc. you can probably swim there for free. Swimming is a great cardiovascular exercise and it’s fun!

38. Join a Club Sports Team

Most communities have a Recreation Department that hosts sports leagues for kids and adults. They’re usually fairly inexpensive to join and offer lots of different sports to choose from.

39. Try Yoga

There are lots of free yoga video on YouTube. All you need to get started is a mat.

40. Practice Meditation

Exercise for your brain.

Skilled Hobbies

Lastly, it’s time to apply your skills to your hobby list. From cooking, to home-brewing, and even woodworking, we have you covered with this last bunch of fun inexpensive hobbies.

41. Canning and Food Preservation

This old-fashioned skill can actually help you save money, especially if you are preserving food from your garden bounty to eat later on.

42. Furniture Restoration

44. Animal Husbandry

Growing up we raised many different kinds of animals on my parents’ farm. I still love animals and taking care of them today and it’s definitely a good skill to have.

45. Carpentry

Even if you don’t learn how to make fancy things, basic carpentry skills can be good to have as they can save you money when you know how to fix things around the house.

The Not-So-Cheap Fun Hobbies

Maybe you’re just curios about the expensive hobbies? If so, here are a list of the top 10 hobbies that will absolutely break the bank.

46. Scuba Diving

Not only is scuba extremely fun, but it’s also extremely expensive. You can plan on $300 – $400 every time you throw the tank on and dive in and don’t forget it’s also extremely dangerous.

In fact, you will even have a hard time getting life insurance if you scuba dive on a regular basis.

47. Sky Diving

However, if you have the extra coin to take part in this extremely intense hobby, then let us know how it goes in the comments below.

48. Flying

I don’t know if I need to go into a huge explanation here: flying as a hobby is expensive.

49. Mountain Climbing

Where I live (Phoenix), mountain climbing is a very popular hobby. While getting started in this hobby is not extremely expensive, it will be eventually.

50. Ballroom Dancing

My wife and I actually looked into ballroom dancing lessons because we were told it was a fun inexpensive hobby. We were told wrong.

Final Thoughts

Yes, you can always sit on the couch and Netflix and chill as a hobby. But, chances are since you’re reading this far down the page, you’ve been there and done that.

So what’s it going to be? Blogging, sewing, running, couponing, or are you going to dive into a more expensive hobby and jump out of an airplane?

Whatever you decide to do, please let us know about your new fun hobby in the comments below.

Top 7 Cheap Hobbies and 40 More You Will Need to Try published first on https://mysingaporepools.weebly.com/

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twdih · 6 years

Text

Pizza! Episode 1: Daddy Green’s

Welcome to the first episode of “Pizza!” which will introduce you to my favorite location for ... well, you guessed right, pizza!

In the heart of Töölo, close to the center of Helsinki, pizza lovers now find some of the best pizza in town: Daddy Green’s.

I’ve sat down with Eero and Dave, co-founders of Daddy Green’s, asked them a bunch of questions about their “baby” and previously sampled their product - more often than a health conscious human probably should. ;)

Dave, who grew up in New York (USA), left a career in academic publishing behind, went to cooking school and worked in a list of restaurants, first in New York, later in Helsinki. Eero, after a stint in a pizza bar, also attended to cooking school and later on worked in restaurants around town, before taking a break and eventually founding Daddy Green’s with Dave.

The Pizzeria

Located in Humalistonkatu, Daddy Green’s is easy to reach by public transport, while still being a bit off the beaten path. The place is relatively small with about 20′ish seats. It has a rugged, almost industrial charm to it: some of the brickwork of the walls is visible, the furniture, lamps and other decorative items fit the theme, a frequently changing assortment of art on the walls.

It is a genuinely unpretentious place, with a focus on the product, and that’s it. This fits Dave’s comment when we talked about pizza as a food:

"It’s kind of a great food. It’s very equalized - no matter how rich or poor, everyone eats pizza. For some people our prices are not the cheapest in town, for sure. But for the quality we are doing ... really, we are trying to get the best ingredients we can and save money on some of the things: we don’t have waiter service, we don’t have some of the things which cost a lot of money so we can kind of expend the money on the important things.”

Asked about the inspiration for the interior “design” of the place, Dave mentions the gritty look of the bars and cafes in the Lower East-Side (New York) or in Berlin; a look defined by items and furniture coming from thrift stores and whatever other sources, making it look as cool as possible with what you have access to, or as Eero puts it: “On a shoelace budget.”

The art on the walls rotates. There is no system or process in place, it all happens very organically. People, sometimes guests, reach out and ask if they can exhibit their pieces and if Eero and Dave think it fits, the pieces go on the wall.

The (tiny) kitchen is dominated by the gas oven, it offers the 1-2 people working in it just enough space to get the job done. Besides a basic list of soft drinks, wine and craft beer on tap, curious customers can find the only non-pizza dish on the menu: Tiramisu, available in limited quantities. While it definitely qualifies as good tiramisu, it doesn’t impress me as much as their pizzas and a small voice in my head would wish they offered a crazy-ass dessert pizza instead ...

Also worth pointing out: Daddy Green’s doesn’t take reservations. Just walk in, order your pizza, sit down on a free table. From my personal experience, it always works out, even though sometimes you have to come with a bit of patience. This being said, I recall at least one evening where we arrived with a group of 12 people on a Friday or Saturday night and we somehow managed to fit in. ;)

The Pizza

While the menu changes quite regularly, some basic pizzas (like Margherita) are always on the menu. The pizza itself is quite unique and it exhibits characteristics of typical Naples style pizza, while deviating in other areas. The dough itself has more crunch to it, ingredients vary a lot and go - sometimes far - away from what would be deemed acceptable by any upstanding Neapolitan.

My favorite pizza at Daddy’s: the Bee Sting; a pizza originating from Roberta’s in Brooklyn, New York. It is a divine thing, with spicy Italian sausage and sweet honey; a winning combination for my taste buds.

When asked directly what kind of pizza they prefer, and despite what the menu says, both of them surprised me by naming an Italian classic first: the Margherita. Even though Dave quickly added that he sometimes likes more “interesting” pizzas, mixing sweet and savory.

Following this conversation, I couldn’t help myself from asking the most daring question I could come up with: “What about pineapple on pizza?”

Eeru:

“I love it!” <laughter>

Dave:

“I’m not a big fan. I tolerate it, my kids like it! First, I was like ... awwww ... man! My kids come here, his kids come here, families come here, I’m like OK - we put up a pineapple pizza ... and other people like pineapple pizza, too. It’s not a big deal. We’ve had it before, the kids got me. My taste is my taste, I would put pizzas on the menu even if I am not a big fan of them, if they taste good ... yes, even if I don’t like it. I can tell if it tastes good. It’s not for me, but it’s f***ing good pizza. If we came up with something which doesn’t work, it wouldn’t be on the menu ... but as long as it works. I personally wouldn’t go that far.”

Most ingredients for the pizzas are sourced locally from local farmers like Yrrti Ahlberg, if possible that is - which means during the winter months quite a few items are coming from abroad.

Where does the name come from?

Oh yes, I couldn’t get either of them off the hook without explaining me where this curious name is coming from ...

“It’s from a ... there is this 1980′s kind of martial arts film called ‘The Last Dragon’ - and it’s a pretty funny film and everybody in the NY area is familiar with it and there’s a pizza place called Daddy Green’s pizza in Harlem and it’s kind of a funny name.”

There you got it. Turns out the movie, which is also often listed as “Berry Gordy’s The Last Dragon” is from 1985 and features a pretty crazy plot around martial artist Leroy Green a.k.a. “Bruce Leroy”, in which the Green’s family (pizza) restaurant gets destroyed by Sho’nuff, “The Shogun of Harlem”. No, I am not making this up ...

Ratings:

Restaurant: 10.0/10.0 (100%)

Food: 9.0/9.0 (90%)

Website: https://www.daddygreens.fi/

#helsinki #pizza #new york style #naples #pineapple

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foulfurywombat-blog · 6 years

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