Sugarcane and Easy Mornings (Lynn Gunn/Alexa San Roman)

04. alex and brian

***A/N:  This was originally going to be an introduction to cafe life chapter but I wanted to put something out to make up for my lack of updates 

Also:  if it turns out any of the members of PVRIS don't actually like tacos, please let me know so I can correct this chapter***

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They go out for a celebratory dinner (tacos, naturally, because the three of them have an unwritten agreement that pizza is a Birthday Food Only™ or else they'll end up blowing half their rent on pizza), and Lynn and Brian make Alex pay even though they never made a bet, just because Brian's usually the one emptying his wallet whenever they go out and Lynn's just glad to have a little victory to hold over Alex's head.

"You know, gloating isn't very nice," Alex chides her, plucking an especially cheesy nacho off her plate and shoveling the entire thing in his mouth.

Lynn crinkles her nose, the "nyah" going unspoken but heavily implied nonetheless.

"Face it, Babinski," Brian says through a mouthful of carne asada. It's not as gross as it should be, and though that might just be because she's used to it, Lynn's pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that Brian always manages to remain coherent even when he's talking with his mouth full. "Our girl's growing up."

Alex chuckles. "I don't know if you missed the memo, Bri," he says, "but Lynn's always been taller than you."

This time it's Brian's turn to "nyah", and Lynn laughs, loud and barking, as she pulls him closer to her and rests her head on his shoulder. "Rubbing salt in the wound, Alex?" Brian says, plucking a radish off his tray and feeding it to Lynn. "At least I have a girlfriend."

"Ohhhhhhh!" Lynn shouts, punching Alex in the shoulder. "He went there!"

Alex rolls his eyes. "My relationship status is irrelevant," he says, affecting the haughty air of a flannel-wearing hipster who listens to Radiohead and Nirvana on vinyl and thinks everything tastes better when served in a mason jar. (Lynn's not a huge fan of hipsters.) "This is about Lynn, remember, Brian? We've been over this."

"Aren't you just a ray of sunshine," Brian says, offering Lynn a sip of Coke (she accepts, with fervor). "Eat a Snickers, Alex. You're not you when you're hungry."

"You dick. You know we don't have any Snickers."

The boys continue arguing, but by this point Lynn's tuned out, staring off at some far corner of the wall and thinking. She can still visualize the cafe in her head, with its mint-chip walls and black lacquer tables and a couch that looks worn but still every bit as comfortable, and those familiar butterflies are in her stomach again.  She got the job.  She actually got the job.  She didn't screw up the interview, and she got the job, and they want her to start tomorrow.

But oh god, what if she fucks it up, what if she fucks it up?  Yeah, there was that one summer she worked at Hot Topic, but that was two years ago--and teenagers are not the same as grown hipster-y art people--oh god, what if Alex was right?  What if she can't handle the hipster pretentiousness of it all, and what if the orders are too much and she has a nervous breakdown in the middle of rush hour, and what if some asshole starts grilling her for getting his order wrong and she punches him out--or worse, bursts into tears in front of everyone?  What if--

"Hey," Brian says, and she feels his shoulder bump hers lightly, bringing her back to the room.  She looks at him, and the teasing expression on his face has mysteriously vanished, replaced by a look of genuine concern.  It's enough to make her set down her drink and look away, because she's not sure she can handle this level of caring from Brian, but he grabs her chin and makes her focus on him.  "Don't listen to Alex, okay?  I know he's an asshole, and I know you're nervous, but he really does care about you.  He just can't boss his brothers around the way he can with you."

Lynn glances over at the man in question, still eating his taco and scrolling away on his phone looking bored.  She sighs, and she knows that he cares, she really does, but he's just--so overbearing sometimes.

"You can do this," Brian tells her, looking her dead in the eye.  "I believe in you, Lynn."

"You really think so?"

"I know so," Brian says, patting her back reassuringly.

"Thanks, Brian."

"Anytime."  He smiles, then reaches behind her head and yanks her hood down over her eyes.

"Hey!" she shrieks, punching him in the chest, and he gasps and clutches it, Holden Caulfield-style, making out like he's been stabbed.

"H-how dare you w-wound me like this, Lyndsey," he gasps, eyes bulging.  He fakes a cough and reaches one hand across the table to Alex while Lynn fights to hold back tears from the sidelines.  "Alex!  You must avenge my death.  Defend my honor!"

"Oh, but don't you remember?" Alex says, dangling a nacho just out of Brian's reach before shoving it in his mouth and chewing loudly.  "Our girl's growing up, Babinski," he says mockingly, in a terrible approximation of Brian's voice.  "You're on your own, MacDonald."

Brian glares at him, suddenly looking a lot less Shakespearean and a little more Kardashian.  "Go eat a dick."

Lynn laughs about this for the rest of their dinner and the entire car ride home.