Chapter Text
Egg had come to the conclusion—somewhere between spilling oat milk on his own shoe and mislabeling three orders in a row—that minimum wage jobs were just a long test of endurance.
And he was failing with style. If you asked him anyway.
He adjusted his apron for the fourth time that morning, mostly out of habit and partially because it made him feel like he had to look professional so he wouldn’t lose whatever remaining “aura” he had left. Also, it was just one of those nervous fidget habits that refused to die.
The café smelled like burnt espresso, vanilla syrup, and stress—specifically the kind that came from understaffing and customers who said “surprise me” and then got surprised when they didn’t like it.
“Excuse me,” a customer called from the other side of the counter, “I’d like a refill before I go.”
“One moment, Ms—” Egg said automatically, fully on autopilot.
He grabbed the pot, turned too fast, bumped the counter, and immediately sloshed a bit of coffee onto his hand.
“…Bro.”
He stared at it for half a second like it had personally betrayed him, then wiped it on a towel like nothing happened. Nonchalant. Professional.
While internally screaming WHY AM I LIKE THIS.
He walked over to the counter anyway.
“Here you go,” he said, placing the cup down carefully.
The customer didn’t even look at him. “Sugar too.”
Egg nodded like this was normal human interaction and not a personal attack on his soul.
As he walked away, he muttered under his breath, “Bro thinks I’m a bot… 💔”
A second later, the bell above the café door rang.
Egg didn’t look up immediately.
People usually didn’t come in at this time. Normal people didn’t, at least. Predictable people didn’t. People who radiated “main character energy” definitely did though and unfortunately so.
Then he looked up.
And immediately regretted it.
The guy who walked in looked like he had stepped out of a completely different world—too calm, too confident, like the café was something he owned… or something he could burn down depending on his mood.
Fancy frilly white dress shirt. Purple sapphire in the center. Black coat with gold detailing that looked way too expensive for a place that sold $5 coffee. Dark purple corset. Black dress pants with matching adornments. Long purple hair in a half-up style with braids woven through it. Demon horns—slightly chipped, still intimidating. And a crown with jewels that absolutely did not belong in a café with sticky tables.
Egg blinked slowly.
“…Bro,” he whispered to himself in disbelief. “Why am I seeing one of the most wanted villains in the city? I’m either sleep-deprived or I’ve already died.”
The man scanned the menu for maybe two seconds before walking straight to the counter.
Egg, unfortunately, was the one working register.
Of course.
Because life hated him personally.
“Hi,” Egg said politely, switching into customer-service mode like it was armor. A shield. A very fragile shield.
“What can I get you?” he added with a slightly too-fake smile.
The smile earned him a look that immediately made him regret trying out facial expressions.
Major aura loss. He physically felt it.
The man glanced at him.
Just a glance—but it lingered a little too long, like he was actually registering him.
Egg suddenly became aware of his posture, his apron, his existence as a whole.
Then the man spoke.
“An iced coffee.”
Egg nodded. And when nothing else followed, he asked, slightly flat in his deadpan tone, “Yeah, we’ve got like… a lot of those. Any specifics?”
A pause.
The man blinked once, like he had only just realized he was actually gonna have his order taken
Then he straightened slightly. “Caramel iced coffee.”
Egg nodded again. “Cool, cool. Caramel iced coffee then—villain… sir?”
The man’s eyes narrowed slightly.
And slowly—way too slowly—a grin appeared, like he was enjoying the struggle. And he snorted at that
Egg immediately fake-coughed into his hand like that would reset this.
“I mean—nice choice. Uh… Sir.”
WHY IS THIS MY LIFE. WHY IS HE LAUGHING AT MY SUFFERING. WHY IS THIS CHUGIE ENJOYING THIS…
The coffee started brewing while Egg turned back to the machine like it had personally saved him from social death.
Behind him, the man—Gambit—didn’t move much.
No phone. No fidgeting. Just standing there watching. And surprisingly patiently waiting
Egg refused to look directly at him again.
Did he think I was going to poison it?
I’m literally too broke to afford poison. Where would I even get that?
Still, Gambit stood there like he was waiting for something more than coffee. Like Egg was going to suddenly flip the counter and reveal he was secretly a trained assassin.
“Bit of an ego,” Egg muttered under his breath. “I’m a café worker, bro. Relax.”
He leaned slightly toward the espresso machine and whispered, “If this dude tries to kill me over caramel syrup I swear I did my best.”
The machine did not respond.
Rude.
When the coffee finished, Egg poured it carefully and walked back over.
“Here you… uh go. Sorry for the wait,” he said, setting it down.
Gambit took it.
No stabbing. No immediate violence. Already a win.
He just stared at the cup for a second like it was unexpectedly real.
Then he tilted his head. “You know who I am, right? Or are you one of those who lives under a rock?”
Egg blinked. “Uh—yeah. Unfortunately. I mean yes. It’s kind of hard not to when you’re all over the news.”
A pause.
Egg suddenly found the clock extremely interesting. Very important clock. Life-saving clock.
He risked a glance back.
Gambit was looking at him properly now.
Like actually seeing him. With a tilt of his head that screamed curiosity
Egg immediately felt like a bug under a microscope.
“Huh,” Gambit said, like he was thinking about something Egg would very much prefer he didn’t think about.
“…Right,” Egg said carefully. Then, because his brain was actively short-circuiting, he added, “Yo, bro, you should probably take your coffee—I need to clock out soon, so if you wouldn’t mind…”
He gestured vaguely at existence itself.
Gambit finally moved, picking up the cup. Not without snorting and saying
“Hah. You’re a weird guy,” he said, then paused.
His eyes dropped to Egg’s name tag.
He read it like he was testing it.
“Egg,” he said slowly. Like remembeing it
Egg died internally.
Then Gambit grinned again. “I’ll stop by again then Egg. Thanks for the coffee.”
He flicked a crumpled hundred-dollar bill onto the counter like it meant nothing.
“Coffee’s good,” he added mumbling, already walking out. His fancy high heal shoes clicking softly as he left.
The bell jingled as he left.
And then he was gone.
Silence.
Egg just stood there.
Then immediately leaned over the counter like he had to recover from reality.
“Bro,” he whispered urgently to absolutely no one. “That was not a normal person interaction. That was… I don’t even know what that was. I think I hallucinated.”
The espresso machine hissed.
Egg took it as agreement.
Over the next few minutes, Egg didn’t move much.
Didn’t clean.
Didn’t breathe correctly.
Just stared at the counter like it might explain what just happened.
His brain tried to suggest calling the hero association.
He ignored it immediately.
Worst case scenario, he thought while wiping the counter too aggressively, is he never comes back. Best case is he never comes back. Actually both of those are the same thing and I prefer both.
He glanced at the clock.
11:02.
“…Bro,” Egg muttered. “I should’ve closed already.”
The clock did not respond.
But somehow, it felt like it agreed.
That night, Egg locked up the café under flickering streetlights and tried to convince himself it was just another weird customer.
Just another day.
Just another face he would never see again.
But even as he reached his apartment door, one thought stuck in the back of his mind like glue.
That interaction was not normal. Not even close.
And worse—
Egg had a feeling he was going to see Gambit again.