Waiting for the Sunrise

My friend held me at metaphorical gunpoint to write this(Btw, I'm dedicating this work to my IRL friend, they're great.) This is my first work in the Solangelo fandom. Enjoy!

"Welcome to Cafe Parthenos, how can I help you." Nico deadpans. He's only been in customer service for just a few hours and he's already perfectly mentally and physically prepared to commit seppuku. This is horrible, I hate everything. He thinks. Well, not Hazel. But this work uniform, on the other hand, He reiterates in his mind.

The doorbell jingles merrily like the menace it was.

Another lady walks enters and stares at the menu. He recites from the script again and prays it's not a Karen. Nico receives a snotty side-eye for his unusually unfriendly demeanor. 

Remind me to completely and utterly give all customer service workers my respect. Dam they are underappreciated. She keeps staring at the menu behind him, and the people behind her grow impatient.

"Can I have a Caramel Pumpkin Frap please?" she finally asks after a century.

"Okay." He turns around. Sh*t, I forgot to ask what size she wanted. But when he turns around, she's already seated.

Not worth the effort. He shrugged, and the next customer in line moved forward.

The day crawls on like a fish flopping its way toward the water on a beach. Percy would have poked it with his finger.

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It's 3:44 pm. Nico wants to go home and nap.

"Can I get my regula—" the voice cuts itself off. Nico turns around, and there stands a guy with the second worst eyebags Nico's ever seen—number one is the ones he sees in the mirror. Gucci eyebags, His corrupted mind whispers. 

Most importantly, this dude is staring at Nico like a deer in the headlights. It's an odd expression to be aimed at Nico, but Nico is used to getting reactions from people— he's had more than enough practice interacting with the homophobic Christian moms at the local church to be caught off guard by that.

Oh yeah, another thing, this dude dresses like a dad, and a disaster rolled into one; it's an absolute abhorrence to fashion. 

Oh my hades, is that f*cking JEAN SHORTS, JORTS?! And the eye-searing short-sleeved plaid shirt?! No-no-nono why is he wearing more plaid as a jacket it's not making all of it any better, none of those colors coordinate! Nico's in silent dismay, he knows he's going to go blind before he's even twenty.

"How can I help you." He grits out. This blond guy has the audacity to smile at him, it's horrifying how similar it is to the sun. He would have been quite dashing too if it wasn't for the monstrosity he was wearing that was taking up all of Nico's attention and shriveling his poor retinas.

"Where is Hazel?." the guy asks, grin not subsiding(but dampening a little), "She knows my regular, I come by here every week."

Nico stares at him and blinks slowly one time. Nope, this isn't an elaborate nightmare. He blinks again— it's not a hallucination from staying up 72 hours straight either. Please don't throw a tantrum, I won't be able to hold myself back from manslaughter.

The blonde's face remains frozen in that eye-searing grin. Maybe he's dead inside, or an android. Probably both.

"As you can see. My name isn't Hazel." He pronounced slowly and flatly like he was talking to a toddler—or Leo after he broke into the candy stash. I am so extremely dead inside that I've been horrendously impaled and reanimated and then defenestrated again. The guy's grin twitches a little, and his hand glitches—no, it spasms.