Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Most people find the idea of working late nights at a McDonald's unappealing. This is one of the few instances where Charlie is able to relate to most people. ,
“Hi, welcome to Mcdonald’s! What can I get you today?” Recited the slime, adjusting his headset’s microphone and pretending that he wasn’t just melted into a puddle on the floor. The night had been absurdly boring so far. As crazy as it sounds, they don’t get a ton of business this late. It probably doesn’t help that they’re on the “quieter” side of town.
“Si, can I- wait a minute.” The voice crackled through the low quality speaker in his ear. It wasn’t really like he could go anywhere. “No mames, is that you Slime?”
Charlie perked up at that, just starting to process the voice. “Hold on- Roier?” He stood up straight for once, abandoning his ‘leaning on any flat surface’ pose. “Dude, pull up front, come in!” The energy in his customer service voice partially turned genuine as he watched the car drive forward on one of his screens. The dine-in area had technically closed a few minutes ago, but the only other person that worked these hours was a half-enderman teen who was too worried with trying not to forget their address again to care about it. They were wildly understaffed. It was a miracle they hadn’t shut down yet.
“Jesus man, it's been years!” Roier threw his free hand up dramatically as he pushed through the door. He still wore that old Spider-Man hoodie Cellbit bought him. It was the same as Charlie remembered, aside from the now faded colors. He wondered if the pair was still together, faintly recalling his insistence that they should break up. “You should’ve called me, pendejo.”
Slime chuckled and leaned on the register counter. “Sorry man, I’ve been busy. You know how it is.” He watched Roier walk up to it as someone he didn’t recognize trudged along behind him. The guy was a dark brunette, a decent bit taller than Charlie, and had a beautiful pair of white wings sprouting from the back of his yellow hoodie. Charlie looked from his old friend to the stranger who was tagging along with him. “Now, can I get you two something to eat? Or are you just here to hold up the line?” He gestured to the empty store behind him, earning an amused sigh from Roier. He mentally patted himself on the back. Still got it.
“I’ll get uh.. number 2?” Roier looked over his shoulder. “¿Mariana, qué quieres?”
The man, supposedly named Mariana, looked over the menu for much longer than he needed to, looking like he didn’t want to be there in the slightest. He hummed, scrubbing through the various mediocre options again, and again, and again, almost as if he’d realized he forgot to actually read it halfway through, like an insufferable prick. Charlie stared directly into his eyes, now with his overly cheery customer service smile. He would simply have to return the favor. It was without question an overreaction, especially since Mariana was a friend of a friend, but he wasn’t going to pass up a chance to be an ass to an annoying customer. Even if said customer had weirdly beautiful eyes. And that was a normal regular thing to think that was NOT just a shoe-in by the author.
Mariana finally looked at him, after five fucking minutes of standing there deciding on his order. “I want fries.”
Slime blinked. “Is that it?”
Mariana nodded and crossed his arms. Charlie considered shoving him into the deep frier. “Okay. That’ll be 11.40.”

Catching up with Roier was nice. The last time they actually had a conversation was while they were still in college together, before Slime dropped out. (Completely his fault. He just never got around to answering Roier’s messages.) Meeting Mariana, on the other hand. Something about the guy was just infuriating. They didn’t even talk to each other outside of Mariana’s order. The way he sat, the way he grabbed his food, how the salt stuck to his lips, the sound of his voice as he mumbled songs to himself... Mariana was a shoe-in for most annoying idiot on this side of the coast. And yeah, maybe Charlie couldn’t get him out of his head for the rest of his shift, but that didn’t mean anything. Bad customers left bigger marks than good ones. Though, he would admit, he’s never found himself imagining what kissing them would be like before.

The city bus lurched to a stop as it reached its next destination. Charlie pushed himself up from his seat as he heard the squeaky woosh of the doors, then watched quietly from the sidewalk as it drove away, before turning and heading into his apartment building. There is no lobby or elevators. It’s just a staircase and hallways, both covered in ugly carpet and hotel style wallpaper, illuminated by equally ugly yellow lights. He ritually said hello to the weird stain on the floor that recently started sprouting mold before moving up the stairs. Walk through landing one, two, stop at landing three. Four doors down on the left side. He pulled the key out of his uniform pocket and slid it into the lock, twisting its knob as quietly as he could with the rusted hinges. The beginning of morning light creeped through the dirty balcony window that he didn’t have the time nor care to clean, spilling over the rather barren apartment unit.
Charlie tossed his lime green backpack (a gift he got from Phil a long time ago, when the color still matched his hair) down next to the door and slid off his shoes, proceeding across the room and down a short hall to the second room. The cutesy animal stickers plastered along the bottom of the door were beginning to peel off. He should buy her more soon.
He cracked it open slightly, eyes focusing on a small lump in the equally small bed, scrawny blue blanket clutched tightly in her little fists. Juanaflippa, his baby girl, curled up and sleeping peacefully. Glasses on her bedside table and prosthetic leg leaning against the wall plugged in, finally remembering to charge it. Charlie walked in further, trying (and failing) to avoid the markers and paper strewn across the floor. He kneeled down to the height of her bed and set the blanket over her, kissing the top of her head and gently ruffling her hair. The ghost of a smile was written on his face.
Maybe working late nights wasn’t ideal, but they were what let him spend the mornings with his daughter.

“Flippa! Come get breakfast, it’s almost time to go!” Slime grabbed one of her plates off of the drying rack and set a slightly burnt piece of toast down on it, along with a handful of sliced strawberries. Juanalippa gave a protestant squawk from her room. He could ever so slightly hear her tail thumping against the floorboards. “Juanaflippa!” Charlie raised his voice slightly, in a mild effort not to disturb his neighbors more than he already was. The last thing he needed was a noise complaint. “If you’re not out here in two minutes, I’m not braiding your hair!”
That was motivation enough for her, as she threw her door open and stomped out of her room the loudest that she could, which was not very. Her backpack trailed behind her, being dragged along the floor. She sat down in one of the two chairs at the table, holding her bag in her lap as Charlie slid over and set her breakfast down in front of her. “I thought I told you not to stomp. You’ll get papa in a lot of trouble if you don’t cut it out.” He grabbed the dragonette‘s brush from where he set it on the table yesterday morning and started combing through the tangles in her hair while she picked at her food.
“Did you have fun at Tilín’s house yesterday?” Charlie was just finishing tying the knot on Juanaflippa’s ribbons. She nodded as much as she could while her hair was still being styled. She tore another bite off of her toast, and her dad patted her on the shoulder to let her know he was done. “That’s good.” He made a move to grab a strawberry off of her plate before his hand was promptly smacked away by Flippa, who smiled at the antic. Slime made an over-the-top hurt expression, this time earning a giggle from her. He played up his theatrics a bit more until he caught a glimpse of the time. “Oh shit, get your shoes on Flippa, you’re gonna miss the bus.”

Chapter Text

Cleaning out glasses might have been one of Charlie’s favorite things to do as a bartender. Drink making could have been interesting, but nobody in a bar at 4pm on a Wednesday was ordering anything fun. If (more like when, with the way his life has been going) he was an alcoholic, he would make sure to get the frilly drinks. They had way higher alcohol content anyways. Slime set the glass he was drying back with the rest of them when the door swung open, and a familiar, irritating face took a seat directly in front of him.

“I thought you worked at Mcdonald’s.” Mariana adjusted his wings as he got comfortable on the surprisingly nice bar stool.

“Can’t live off minimum wage.” The slime slid over one of the menus that permanently resided on the counter, allowing the frustratingly pretty man to read over it. He pointed to one of the cocktails. “You should try the sidecar, I haven’t made one in a while.”

Mariana gave him a questioning look. “Not because you think I would like it?” He pushed the menu away from himself, and didn’t protest when Charlie grabbed the brandy.

“Why would it be that. We’ve literally never had a conversation before.” He scooped a bit of ice into a shaker along with the brandy, orange liqueur and lemon juice, then twisted the top on tight. Mariana hummed, watching intently as he shook it.

“I don’t know man, I thought bartenders could tell or something like that.” He leaned his elbows on the bar, allowing his chin to rest on his palms as well as giving his wings more room to stretch out behind him. Slime pretended he didn’t find it cute, and started shaking the drink harder.
He reopened the lid of the container (which he absolutely did NOT struggle with, much to Mariana’s amusement) and set it down, turning around to grab a cocktail glass off of its designated rack.

“Some probably can with their regulars. I can’t though, and you aren’t a regular.” Would he get fired for putting slime in Mariana’s drink? He briefly weighed the consequences of doing so, and regrettably chose not to. This was the job that paid well, and he actually quite enjoyed it.

“Okay.” Mariana monitored Charlie as he poured the drink through a strainer and into the glass, slightly judging his technique. “Get better at your job then.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “You sure you wanna say that to the guy making your drink?”

Mariana laughed unsurely and mimicked the expression. “What?”

“I’m gonna poison you.” He cut a slice of orange halfway down its center and placed it on the rim, setting the drink in front of his patron and doing a little jazz hand motion. He was rewarded with an eye roll, accompanied by a scoff.

“Ah.” The angel took a sip of his sidecar. It was bitter and kind of terrible. The drink itself was smooth, but it tasted almost like eating an orange peel that had been soaked in lemon and booze for three weeks. He made a face, and Slime quietly snickered. The way he smiled was pretty in a way Marina couldn’t exactly pinpoint. It made him feel fuzzy. Maybe he was more of a lightweight than he remembered.

For the next three hours, Mariana sat at the bar and sipped on his (very bad) drink, just kind of observing how things ran. He hadn’t meant to stay that long, butIt seemed like a nice place. He would probably be coming back soon. For a good while, things were slow. A few of what he assumed were regulars wandered in and ranted about their problems for a bit as Charlie would nod along with a mildly sympathetic look and give vague condolences. It was very clear that he did not care in the slightest. Even so, the customers were too sad and wasted to give a damn.
Once things picked up, the slime seemed to be in his element, doing his thing as people talked at him and left tips that were probably too generous for what he was actually doing. It wasn’t remotely close the busiest one Mariana had been in, though. Now was when Slime bothered with a charming server act, plastering a gentle smirk on his face and sort of bothering with small talk. Somehow, it got folks swooning. An older tipsy woman flirted at him to no avail. A small group of girls left their numbers on a napkin. Both times, the digits were promptly thrown in the trash.
Each interaction that went on seemed like a routine. How long had he been doing this?

“How long are you gonna stare at me like that, dude?” Mariana was snapped out of his observing when Charlie spoke up, leaning on the bar in front of him, face vexingly close to his own.

“Oh- fuck.” He looked at the front window. The sky was fading from the yellow of a sunset to a cold nighttime indigo. “I didn’t- uh, cuenta. Realize?”

Slime nodded as he chuckled. “It’s fine. I know how hard it is to look away from this perfection~” He stood up and exaggeratedly flexed one of his arms, doing the stupid fuckboy lip bite.

“Mhm. Sure.” His build wasn’t actually that bad- but Mariana wasn’t going to tell him that. He lifted his glass to his lips and took a swig, finishing off what was possibly the worst cocktail he’d ever had.

“I’ll guess you’re ready for your tab?” It was almost intimidating how fast he was able to produce a receipt and a pen.
Mariana scribbled down the necessary details on the paper, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn-down wallet. He flipped it open and grabbed a card, handing it over to the bartender. Charlie gingerly picked it up, moving to swipe it through the reader. As he did, Mariana stared at the pen in his hand, then at a blank spot on his bill. Slime seemed like a fun guy. He probably wouldn’t have a shot, and getting rejected would make coming back here awkward. But, writing his number couldn’t hurt. He sighed. No real reason not to go for it. Slowburns were not his style.
Once Mariana’s card was returned to him, he was quick to the exit. His nerves wasted no time catching up to him. He could feel his hands trembling as he pushed the door open, and when he caught a glimpse of himself in his car’s window, he realized he was blushing. Mariana felt like a highschool girl leaving a love letter in her crush’s locker, and it sucked. Jesus. He saw this guy for the first time yesterday. If this is love, then love is fucking stupid.

Charlie gave a slight wave as Mariana hustled out, though it didn’t look like the other man caught it. He grabbed the now empty glass and receipt left on the counter, movement stuttering as he took note of a set of numbers written at the bottom. Over his few years of bartending, he’d earned his fair share of phone numbers. Usually they went straight to the bin. The only ones he ever considered pocketing were the ones with wealthy owners, far too lonely for their own good. When he did, they would get blocked after he got paid for his handiwork. But, for whatever reason, something compelled Slime to keep it. Being the impulsive idiot he is, there was no hesitation as he attempted to neatly fold the slip of paper. He pretended the crease wasn’t crooked when he shoved it into a pocket on his little black apron thing. Who knows, this time could be different. And if it’s not? He might be able to afford a day off. Flippa’s been pestering him about going camping for a while now.
Either way, the worst-case scenario was losing what little dignity he had left. Mariana didn’t seem like he was in for a serious relationship. They’d met literally yesterday- It would be weirder if he was. Charlie shook himself out of his thoughts, suddenly remembering that he was employed and on the clock. The angel’s empty glass was still in his hands. Patrons were waiting. He could think about his new situationship (???) when there wasn’t stuff that needed to be taken care of. You know what they say: bartending before insufferable bitches.