Fuck. Coffee. Good Lordy. Sweet jegus. This was fabulous. Almost good enough to make up for that douche working the counter. Almost.

Your fingers gently curl around the hot liquid receptacle, and you lift it once more to sip at the sweetened ambrosia, lounging in the cold iron work chair placed outside the shop facing the street. You feel deep pity (Not that kind. Totally platonic asswipe. Sheesh.) for the saps who drink their coffee black. Bluaghk. Gross.

You shift your weight in the slightly uncomfortable seat, accidentally kicking the tiny table in front of you. Shit. That hurt. Dammit.

After several long moments of hissing and taking healing sips of your steaming beverage, you gain enough control of yourself to take notice of your watch nestled nicely against the inside of your wrist. Oh. Snap. It's been an hour and a half. That fucking douchebag at the fucking counter! If he hadn't been yelling at all of the customers before you and actually bothered to take their orders then this wouldn't have happened! Shit!

Panicking, you lurch out of the chair, balancing your coffee to avoid any messy spills, and dart towards the crosswalk. "Gaaaaah! Comeoncomeoncomeon," you jump from one foot to the other, your scarf fluttering frantically around you, by the stupid little sign that was leering smugly down at you telling you that if you tried to cross the street now your ass is pavement. You make some more weird noises, attracting a couple of looks from other pedestrians and a hearty shout from inside the coffee shop behind you.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT FUCKASS DOING IN FRONT OF MY STORE. HOLY GRUBMUNCHING SHIT. HEY YOU! FUCKASS! HEY!"

You blatantly ignore the insufferable douchebag, scrambling across the street as soon as the little sign flickered, allowing you to pass.

Shitshitshitshit, the guy probably showed up, waited for you to answer the gogdamn door, got pissed, and left. Shit. You needed that fucking computer glubbing fixed dammit. You did NOT want to tangle with the phone lady again. That would just be embarrassing.

In your hurry, you inadvertently knock over a bike by the stair case landing that wasn't there before. This doesn't seem to bother you very much because after you detangle yourself from it you dart up the stairs without righting it. No time for elevators, there is only stairs now.

This does not work out as well as you'd hoped. You are NOT equipped for stair marathons.

You crawl up the last steps before realizing that if the guy was gone why the hell are you glubbing your ass off trying to get back to your fucking apartment when it wouldn't make a difference either way. Heaving a dramatic sigh cut short by your lack of breath, you attempt to fix your posture, holding the coffee receptacle up a little higher (there was no way you were going to drop your fucking coffee) and stroll the last few steps down the hall to your door.

There's no note or anything tacked on it, so you reach for the door knob and turn, lightly pushing it open and stepping into your abode.

You glance around suspiciously for some reason, gaining back enough breath to take a sip of your sugar'd joe before closing the door shut behind you with your other hand. You drop your bag off on the little table by the door and frown. You hear a sharp clacking sound that wasn't there before, and then a soft sniffle. Well. Now you know why you were so damn suspicious! Your instincts are fuck all amazing.

Your tense, eyes squinting dramatically as you glance around your living room. Oh. The computer. Of course you knew that noise was coming from the computer. What else made clicking sounds and sniffle...d... Hmm.

"Wwho the ever lubbing fuck are ya supposed to be? Howw'd ya get in'ta my apartment?"

The slouched over figure sitting at your desk tapping away at your...oh. But how did he get in? Anyways, he didn't even bother swiveling around to reply.

"I'm the thorry ath who wath thent to fix your thorry ath problemth."

The figure sniffled again, slowing down for a moment in his rapid fire computing to actually look over his shoulder to give you a dark look over his glasses, eyebrows raised slightly and a tiny smug smirk pulling at his thin lips before turning back to the demon beast.

"And your door wath unlocked by the way. I athumed that meant you were exthpecting me. Or at leathst at home."

You open your mouth to give the lispy ass what for, but he chooses that moment to lean back and stretch, causing his loose black tee to wrinkle across his back and some joints to pop satisfyingly. He sighs and pushes away from the desk, running a hand through his softly disheveled brown-black hair before standing up and leaning over slightly to brush off his jeans with both hands.

Hmm. Well. That view was certainly unexpected.

You manage to pull your jaw back into place before he turns around, one hand tucking into his front pocket and the other adjusting his glasses, his head tilted at a downward angle do he wouldn't have to lift his arm all the way up. This guy. You were having a hard time figuring out if this prick (you don't know why, but you think he's a dick) knew he was outrageously attractive in a quiet, smoldery-spec guy kind of way, or if he was just being an ass.

"Did you even read the inthstructionth? There wath nothing wrong with your thoftware or your hard drive."

You recover enough to take a haughty sip of your depleting courage, idly carding a hand through your own black and purple (shut the fuck up its natural ok) hair before dropping your coffee hand to your side and responding.

"I don't understand dweeb-inese. The instructions wwere rubbish. All I did wwas turn the fucking thing on, and it spazzed on me. Did ya get it ta wwork?"

He stares at you oddly for a moment, his other hand joining the one already in a pocket.

"Dweeb-ineethe. Really. No wonder there wath nothing wrong with your computer, you didn't even do anything. You didn't thet it up, that'th what wath wrong."

You brandish your coffee as if it might shield you from his snarky words.

"I didn't call your ass dowwn here ta mock me, did you fix it or not?"

Damn this guy was getting on your nerves, worse than when he was just some creeper in your apartment. His look intensified into a glare edged with slight disbelief. Shit. You just noticed his eyes are different colors. One is blue. Daaaaamn.

"How the fuck am I thuppothed to fixth thomething that'th not fucking broken dumbath."

Oop. Ok, he's kinda cute when he's mad. But that doesn't matter, you have something called your dignity/pride to salvage and defend. Which you were getting to when the guy whips a hand out of his pocket to wave it dismissively at you.

"Fuck it, never mind. There'th nothing wrong with your computer. Jutht rethtart it and it thould work jutht fine."

He brushed his hair out of his eyes, dammit, that was distracting, and made to move towards the door. You huff a bit, flustered and more irate than your ogling shows.

"Wwhat the fuck man? I don't knoww howw to do this shit!"

He ignores you and continues to the door, his long thin fingers barely touching the knob, his shoulder brushing it open with barely a touch and then he's gone.

You growl inwardly for a moment, turning to your computer. The blue screen is still there. Frustrated, you drop into the chair and flick the restart button. This better work dammit.

The screen flickers and you hear a weird rumbling noise. Oh shit. You back up out of the chair and dive over the back of the couch, landing like a sack of potatoes on the other side just as your door crashes open. Confused, you crawl on to the couch and peer over the top at the door, where grumpy-pants is standing, his arm outstretched where he'd slammed the door open. He catches sight of you and makes a weird noise, like a cross between a hiss and a wild cat.

"Are you the thad motherfucker who tothed my bike around?"

Oh. Well. Hmm.