1.2 | Breakup Formula | ONGOING

01 | destroy

0 1

d e s t r o y

MORNING SHIFTS AT Savvy's diner was always the same. The hustle bustle of activity; nonstop coffee orders; impatient workers trying to beat the morning rush hour. On weekends, however, it was a different matter altogether. The usual crowd was there, just less demanding, more relaxed. And at seven-thirty in the morning, all I had were the regulars - old people who woke up early and ordered the same breakfast sets every morning.

I was manning Savvy's alone the day Joey Addison walked into the diner. Mikel, the chef, was in the kitchen. I was leaning against the long counter, sipping my first cup of tea for the day.

Just as I was about to head back into the kitchen, the bell attached to the main door jingled, the light tinkling sound making me look up. Two guys stumbled in. One of them, a boy with an unruly mop of dark curls, had his arm wrapped around the waist of the other, and both seemed equally exhausted.

It was unusual to have guys my age at the diner so early in the morning, and I couldn't help but stare at them. The two boys made their way to the counter, and the curly-haired boy pushed the other onto the stool before leaning against the counter to speak to me.

"I need tea. Or coffee, either one would do. Make it lukewarm, if possible," he reached into his leather jacket and brought out a packet of Marlboro cigarettes, along with a lighter. He was just about to light a stick when I stopped him.

"No smoking in here."

Hastily, he set the cigarette down. "Sorry," he sounded rather sheepish. "I quit awhile back, but I had to stay up all night and needed something to keep me awake."

I raised an eyebrow and surveyed his friend critically. "He's drunk, huh?"

"Completely hammered," The curly-haired boy said, slanting an annoyed scowl at his friend. "Joey here just went through a breakup. He thought it'd be wise to pull an all-nighter drinking and getting himself shite-faced."

I smirked. "That's clever."

The boy called Joey raised his head from his arms to glare at his friend. "Don't publicise the affairs of my love-life to strangers," he snapped, before turning to face me. "Where's my bloody tea?"

I rolled my eyes. Drunken people were never fun to deal with. Reaching for a cup, I placed it on a porcelain platter, before pouring coffee until the cup was full to its brim. "Drink up."

Joey frowned and sniffed at the drink. "That's coffee," he grimaced, "I asked for tea."

"He hates coffee," his friend added, looking at me rather apologetically, as if he was embarrassed by Joey's grumpiness.

"I don't care," I replied, flatly. Joey glanced up at me, his eyes widening in slight surprise. "Coffee's good for a hangover, so drink up. Or I'll get your friend to shove it down your throat."

His friend grinned, and I stiffened the urge to break into a wide smile as Joey stared angrily back at me. I met his gaze evenly and, begrudgingly, he lowered his head to take a slurp of the coffee.

"You're pretty good at this," his friend commented, giving me an appraising look. "Have you been working here long?"

"Sort of," I shrugged, beginning to wipe the counter with a damp cloth, in case Mikel came out and saw me lazing around doing absolutely nothing but talking. "For more than a year."

"We haven't seen you around before."

"Well, when do you eat here?"

"Generally nights," he grinned, "The pasta here is pretty good."