Coffee corner

White lights shone against the surface of spotless tiled flooring. A man, young in age, sat in dark clothes staring intently at the range of paintings that covered each wall. His hair was tangled in a mass of red that fell down just above his jawline, whilst his tight trousers remained black in contrast to the surrounding setting. The eyebrows he had were messy like his hair, but somehow remained well shaped as they creased down into the corner of his eyes. As well as this, his lips were pursed, and he sat tapping against the edge of a floral printed tablecloth. He remained in this position for a while, unaware of anything else going on, until the waiter came over. "Hey, can I take your orders?"
Being in mid-thought, the man turned his head towards the guy in front of him slowly. "Sorry, can you repeat that please?"
The waiter sighed, rolling his eyes as he tipped his head back. "Orders," was the only word spoke out of annoyance. Despite waiters having to put up with any shit from customers, it seemed these rules didn't oblige towards this certain character. He stood there, pen in one hand, notepad in the other, glancing miserably towards his customer.
"I'll have a regular coffee thanks," the red head spoke, intimidated.
With a devious, fake smile, the waiter asked another question while he still grasped the attention of the startled guy. "I can draw you a little heart in the foam, something tacky to match your hair?" He raised an eyebrow that (let's face it) were too neatly shaped to be natural.
"Want a poor tip to match those tattoos?" The waiter flashed a cocky smile before disappearing again from the customer's view. His arms were embellished in tattoos that, despite snark comments, weren't poor. It was unknown how such frowned upon artwork had got him a job at all. His attitude was careless; from the clothes he wore to the scruffy shoes, there was nothing compelling him towards his job (it seemed) other than money. Somehow the money side of it didn't seem too important.
When he came back over, there was a small, round mug in his hands. It was placed down delicately, although his vision was distracted trying to figure out what was so interesting about one single painting. To him, it was nothing more than a painting, either. There were colors and lines and details that made up an image. It wasn't even of anything exiting, but I guess his only sense of art culture came down to what was on his own body.
"Excuse me, what's your name?"
"My name, why?"
"It doesn't say on your apron -or- non uniform, whatever."
His expression led to being confused, he didn't even seem too confident when sharing the simple information. "Frank."
"Well, uh, Frank? You got me a small coffee, not a regular." Without hesitance in speaking his mind, the customer leaned back in his single, wooden chair awaiting the reply.
Frank looked relieved for some reason, as if his pursued action was deliberate. "Well, maybe you're gonna have to order another," he spoke in a cocky tone.
"Who says I wanted another one?"
"Your lover, the painting, does. Seriously man you're gonna burn a hole in it by staring so much. You look like you're about to have sex with it you're so starry eyed." Frank, with his sarcastic, arrogant phrases and side shaved hair looked proud with his own ability to not stutter the reply. The pride soon tuned down though.
"And who says I was looking starry eyed at the painting?" The response turned Frank startled, so he walked back to the small area that made up a cafe bar as quickly as humanly possible.
"Gay," he whispered to himself, "I knew it." The uncomfortable tension from before had gone in a flash of a second. A smile grew on Frank's face. "Perfect."
~
The following day, the same customer returned, expectant to annoy Frank. To his disappointment, he wasn't there. It wasn't that his usual Starbucks coffee wasn't good enough, but a working guy had loans to pay off and art supplies to purchase. That was why he'd took a walk. Initially, the plans he'd set out for that day had been to avoid coffee, instead exploring the local area for the limited time he had on dinner break. Of course that plan had gone down the drain.
Considering the weekend had approached so fast, it meant some final days off. The coffee shop, with it's pastel colors and vintage design, showed no sign of him. Only regular attendants of middle-aged couples or the odd group of young women left the deserted place to feel alive. The setting fit will the presence of people there, all apart from Frank, that was.
A girl, not too much older than Frank, greeted him with a provoking sentence as soon as she smelt the wave of musky air nearby. "Your artist friend came in yesterday."
"What artist? I don't know any fucking artists?" He urged for her to answer.
"Red hair?"
"Tight pants?" The question he spoke was rushed; almost like an impulse, it caused his work associate to raise an eyebrow.
"Has he got soft lips, too?" The waitress continued to pout her lips until realizing Frank was unable to give a response that quickly again. With her sarcastic victory, she walked away, swishing her pleated, denim skirt behind her.
The counters had little mess, therefore leaving Frank to the job of taking down chairs from their stance on the minuscule table's they were placed on. Where he approached last, was a seat that was never occupied until two days beforehand. It's positioning stayed opposite paintings framed in gold that still seemed tiresome to Frank.
He thought of what could be so great in the atmosphere he was surrounded in 5 days out of 7 a week. It was still baffling.
He thought of the strange customer. The way he joked and threatened to tell the boss of Frank's unsatisfactory service, but still, did nothing. His genuine attitude and ability to put up with it all certainly swooned the other waitress, when she'd been the one to wait on him, there were flirtatious remarks indeed. Somehow, the guy showed no interest. As a girl with rouge blush and bright lipstick highlighting the best (most attractive) features of her face, she certainly gained a lot of attention. From this certain person, however, none was established.
This didn't stop her telling lies about his 'misleading smile' and 'intelligent pick up lines that no other guys had with her' to Frank, though. The waitress watched as his seemingly pleasant attitude grew more annoyed with every exaggerated word she spoke.
Out of the two of them, he wished her to be the one struck with jealousy. It was clear in his mind that if someone pissed him off, they were gonna pay-and hell, was she gonna envy him.


The peak of midday left the sun shining high in the sky, leaving a once-again-pissed-off-Frank.
All he wanted to do was light his fucking cigarette, so he stood with a fag hanging out his mouth, pressed up against the side wall of his workplace and a spark erupting from the lighter he held so tightly. Stress levels were relaxed by the first drag; there was nothing more enjoyable to Frank than smoking (other than getting into someone's pants, that is). His boss called it 'wasting time'. He called it 'better than being a waiter'.
It was when he'd managed to turn around, slamming his eyes shut immediately at the blinding sun, that he heard a voice call his name. He still squinted, but the alarming bright red said it all. It was that weird, artist customer. Finally. He was back.
"So, I take it you got bored of harassing customers?" The guy had a smile scrunched up to the side of his face; one of his eyes was clasped shut, avoiding the same thing that was pissing Frank off even more with each growing minute.
Frank, who never put out a half-finished cigarette, put out his half-finished cigarette. Flinging it to the floor, he proceeded to head into the cafe. The door wasn't left open for the still unknown character, but he followed, running to keep the door open for himself as clearly some people were too careless.
This led to him slamming down a portfolio (with brightly drawn comic sketches and a couple other drawings) onto the counter. The small catch of wind from the slowly-closing door caught a piece to drift to the ground. The customer rushed to pick it up, but when about to gather all his personal work together, he noticed Frank staring at a piece dramatically.
Frank sighed. "Gerard W, dammit. I was hoping your real name was actually flame boy if i'm honest."
"Flame boy, huh. Why, am I too hot to handle?" Gerard wiggled his eyebrows before leaving his glance to scope the menu to the left of Frank.
"Nah, I just thought it might be your stripper name-" It was at that point the other waitress came over with a tray full of collected dirty mugs Frank had forgotten to wash. She planned on humiliating her associate as payback for not doing his job properly. She knew that, as the bosses son, he wasn't going to get fired; the least she could do though, was wind him up.
"According to Frank, his stripper name would be' flustered for flame-boy.' Isn't that right Frank?"
"I heard yours was 'rejected slut.'" Frank didn't like to bring up the fact he'd rejected her around a month ago -in fact- he was uncomfortable bringing up the topic. It had just been the first thing that came to mind when looking at her. The rejection had stuck with both of them from that very day and had meant they couldn't interact functionally again.
When she leaned over the counter (she had been on her way over to a table when Frank had spoke those particular, irritating words) you could finally see her name-tag she hidden so well under the apron that started half way down her chest. It read Amelia, but it was hidden because the birth name that was assigned didn't suit her; Frank knew her as Amy.
Amy rested her chin in the palm of her hand, showing false interest as she spoke, "You know what, I'd quite like to hear more about how those leather pants really showed of his ass." She smiled and then continued her job, unlike Frank, who scowled at the floor, awaiting Gerard to mock him.
He didn't though. There was a smile there -sure- but no comments were flung his way, just the same simple request of his regular coffee with a wink to top it off.
"I know you were joking," Gerard started, "but I was actually looking forward to that tacky love heart."

Notes

i thought of this and spent like an hour planning/writing it and don't know whether it's going anywhere
so,,,,,,,,have a random chapter yolo