Chapter Text
ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪᴀᴢ ᴄᴏғғᴇᴇʜᴏᴜsᴇ!
ᴏᴘᴇɴ 7:00 ᴀ.ᴍ. – 11:00 ᴘ.ᴍ ᴍᴏɴᴅᴀʏ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ғʀɪᴅᴀʏ
Working as a barista wasn’t too bad, Marco supposed. It paid relatively well, and didn’t interfere much with his afternoon classes. Marco smiled as he caught the rich scent of coffee from a moka pot behind the bar, humming slightly as he took it off the stove.
Sure, it could be a little boring sometimes - the café was largely deserted in the evenings - but he liked the peace and quiet. The Diazes clientele at this time of day were usually intellectuals - ranging from journalists in threadbare suits, shabby briefcases propped open by their feet, to the occasional college student desperate to finish off a last minute paper.
Marco knew that feeling well. While he might have been impeccably organised during high school, keeping up with the demands of college life on top of a part-time job was proving challenging. The evening shifts he had been forced to take didn’t help his social life either, but Marco didn’t go out all that much anyway so it wasn’t a huge sacrifice.
The Diaz Coffeehouse was located on the fringe of the rougher part of San Diego, rising costs of rent forcing his parents to compromise regarding location. Luckily the coffee was good enough that people from all reaches of the city were starting to take notice, so the family got by. That being said, Marco was still determined to help out around the café, as he knew that his involvement in the family business meant a lot to his parents. Marco also secretly prided himself on knowing exactly which blends worked best for people.
His face took on a fond expression as he recalled Star’s reaction on opening day, the cinnamon whip cappuccino placed in front of her proudly announced to be “the best she’d ever tasted”. Marco had tried explaining that their ground coffee beans were unlikely to be any better than those she got at home, but she merely shrugged him off with a laugh.
Star was the best apartment buddy he could have asked for, without a doubt. They were sophomores now and although people had been skeptical at first (‘That coffee kid’ and Star Butterfly, living together?) the speculation all soon faded when it became clear how close the pair were.
The situation was complex, usually Marco would have opted to room with one of the guys in his criminal psychology class, but Star was a special case.
Her father was the CEO of Mewni enterprises, which were apparently specialists in “eco manufacturing”, and “developing next generation farming solutions”. He had sent her to find a flat to share, at least until Star was old enough to inherit the company, so that she could get some sense of the ‘real world’ and learn the true value of her position.
Luckily for her Marco hadn’t yet managed to find a suitable flat mate, and thus their friendship was sealed. Although Star was loud and excitable she usually burnt off most of this energy during the day, spending her time chucking paints of all different colours at giant canvases and making sculptures.
Star had never been much of an academic, but her art was truly something to behold. She was particularly fond of jumping between her murals using what she called her ‘dimensional scissors’ technique, choosing to work on multiple canvases at once instead of just one. Star said it helped her creative flow or something, but Marco was more into logic and reason and so just nodded along.
▵▿▵▿
Tom scowled, passers-by taking a wary step back as he stormed down the street. Just when he thought he was on the cusp of finally patching things up with Star, she’d gone and gotten herself a new boyfriend. Some guy called Oskar Greason, Brian had said.
Thinking about it, Brian had looked pretty shocked when Tom suddenly stomped out of his office, and so he made a mental note to apologise to his manager later. Brian had merely been relaying some information on ‘Echo Creek’, a rival band that had Greason as a lead singer. Tom shuddered - he hated synthesized music. Although his music taste was actually quite eclectic, the keytar was a step too far. He’d thought that his band falling into relative obscurity was a good thing, but if it meant he had to compete for underground venues with jerks like Greason he’d take a pass.
Tom was just about ready to get on his motorbike and head home, when he caught sight of a faint glow out of the corner of his eye. He glanced over at the wall of what appeared to be some kind of vintage clothing store – no, coffee shop – “Diaz Coffeehouse” scrawled across it in black paint.
“Diaz Coffeehouse”. The title was simple and to the point, just how Tom liked his coffee. Situated just outside the dodgier part of the city, Tom guessed its owners couldn’t be the most affluent. However its bright lights posed a stark contrast with the dingy atmosphere of the shops surrounding it, which made Tom curious. So although it was different to the seedy joints he usually frequented at this time of day, he decided that a quick stop-off couldn’t hurt.
▵▿▵▿
It was a particularly boring shift late one chilly autumn evening, and Marco had resigned to the fact that no more customers were likely to join the drama major in the corner, who sat furiously typing and taking advantage of the Diazes free wifi.
Rearranging the counter meticulously for the 20th time, Marco threw out a half-hearted ‘welcome to Diaz Coffeehouse’ at the sound of the door’s familiar chime. However when he glanced over, the atmosphere in the room lowered considerably.
Great, him again.
Standing by the doorway, an angry expression colouring his face, stood Tom. Star’s ex-boyfriend.
Marco didn’t know much about Tom, they had only met once when he’d all but attacked him for coming onto Star again, but he knew that Star was definitely not interested and the guy just couldn’t seem to take the hint.
The idea of someone messing Star around made Marco’s blood boil. Thanks to his continued Karate lessons, he wasn’t beyond slugging someone in the face if they hurt his best friend. Just as Marco started to think back to the last time Star had rejected Tom at their New Year’s party, the latter turned to the barista and instantly narrowed his eyes.
Marco absently noted Tom’s change in appearance, whilst last time they’d seen each other Tom had been dressed in bright colours to reflect his 'new and improved’ personality, that pretence seemed to have been binned.
The 19 year old staring back at him now, glowering no doubt at the memory of Marco yelling at him to “back off, demon”, was very different to then. He was dressed in all black; faded jeans and a t-shirt paired with a crisp black blazer and scuffed converse.
This was offset by the lurid red of his mussed hair, which partially covered the multiple hoops and cartilage piercings littering his ears. Tom was scruffy but composed, and Marco got the impression that his blazer alone was probably worth more than the Diaz family car.
Marco, on the other hand, usually opted for a standard grey top and red flannel shirt, depending on what he could find lying around the apartment. He figured that as he was forced to wear an apron at work anyway, his appearance didn’t really matter. This was clear to Tom as he sneered, his eyes running up and down Marco’s frame.
As the object of Marco’s scrutiny approached the counter, he had to restrain himself from sniping - a paying customer was a paying customer, after all.
Those thoughts were thrown out of the window as soon as Tom opened his mouth.
“Look, Marcus-”
“It’s Marco!”
“I still don’t know why Starship picked you to live with, but I hope you at least know how to brew a decent coffee.”
Marco bristled, but turned around anyway, immediately setting to work on a Café Americano with a double shot of Espresso to go. He may not have liked the guy, but Marco still made a mean black coffee and something told him that Tom needed it.
“What makes you think I don’t plan on staying?”
Marco jumped slightly at the noise but huffed, moving back to where Tom sat on a barstool.
“I don’t trust you. You’re just going to try and get information out of me about Star.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Marcus-”
“Marco.”
“Marco, if I wanted information on Star I’d just do a Google search. But I’m not a serial killer, and I know she’s got a new boyfriend anyway.”
His expression darkened at that, and Marco frowned. He hadn’t known Star and Oskar had made it official. They’d have to talk about that, house rules on bringing dates home still hadn’t been discussed.
With a shrug, Marco handed him the coffee.
“That’ll be 3 dollars.”
Tom gave a non-committal grunt in response, handed him the cash and turned on his heel.