mango boba | unOrdinary

02

familiar faces & hazelnut coffee

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two
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JOHN COULD BARELY stay awake as he worked the register.

It wasn't unlike John to have nightmares — in fact, he could barely remember the last time he had a long, decent night of sleep. Regardless, seeing Seraphina and Wellston last night inspired a toxic concoction of memories that served as perfect nightmare fuel. Every time he tried to fall asleep, all he could see was Seraphina's crestfallen face as he called her a cripple, and the memory was so vivid that he could almost feel the slap that came next, the feeling of his hand closing around her wrist, his heart sinking as Arlo walked into the room, and the icy metal cuffs around his wrists as Keon forced him to relive that moment again, and again, and again.

The sound of shuffling footsteps nearly made John flinch, successfully jolting him out of his sleepy trance. He turned to see Milo, a coworker who he was briefly acquainted with.

"Do you need help up here?" Milo asked, his voice a little shaky. John stared at him blankly for a few seconds before his tired brain registered the question.

John shook his head, turning back to the register. "The shop isn't busy right now."

Milo nodded lamely, but he stayed where he was standing. Though he was wondering what Milo was still doing here, John made no effort to continue the conversation, and a glance at Milo told him that Milo was too shy to tell him why he hadn't left yet.

John really didn't know Milo at all, but his nervous demeanor — the way he fidgeted as he awkwardly stood an uncomfortable distance away from John, pushing up his glasses, fiddling with his sleeves, glancing toward the other register but not knowing if he should take the initiative to stand up there — reminded him of the low tiers back at Wellston and New Bostin, how they would just sit there and take a beating, not even trying to save themselves.

The thought pissed him off more than it should have.

"What do you want, Milo?" The question came out just as aggressive as it sounded in his head, but John found that a part of him felt a little guilty as Milo's face dropped in response.

"I, um..." Milo took a deep breath and let it all out in one dejected sigh. "Sorry. I just... Donna was talking about how business hasn't been as good as it used to be lately and that she might have to cut our paychecks. I was just feeling really, um, I don't know, overwhelmed, I guess, so I left."

Huh. John hadn't really thought about it, but it was true. Woaba Boba hadn't had many customers lately. Even now, John only counted three people in the shop: a boy and a girl sat in a booth drinking out of the same cup from two straws, and a woman sat by the window in the back, presumably waiting for her order.

"I really can't afford to get paid less," Milo continued in a small voice, wringing his hands. "I don't think I'd be able to get a better job because of my level, and if I get a pay cut I won't be able to afford my rent anymore. I'm just —"

"Hey," John interrupted, finally bothering to look Milo in the eye. "I doubt it'll come to that." He wasn't sure if he said that so Milo would shut up or if he actually felt sorry for him. It was an interesting situation, though. Obviously, he hoped that Donna didn't end up cutting their pay. He and Corinna could barely afford rent together as it was, and relying on his ability to get a job clearly wasn't an option if the events at both New Bostin and Wellston were evidence enough. If his ability was alcohol, John knew fully well that he was an addict. There was no way he'd be able to take a sip without downing the entire bottle and smashing it over somebody else's head.