Title: A Hard Day’s Life
Author: Zanthra 
Challenge #13 – A beverage
Pairings: none
Word count: 433 
Notes: Set after Endless Waltz 

Moving along the sidewalk, following the ever-constant flow of human traffic, he knew he would never sit 
well with society’s current form. He was an ex-soldier; No matter how hard he tried, the mold would not 
fit. For this reason, he stood apart from the masses around him and, as they pushed roughly against him, 
none bothered to acknowledge his presence there or to bestow the common courtesy of ‘excuse me’ upon 
his battered form. 

A green light forced the steady stream of people to stop and they jostled each other, waiting impatiently. 

“Excuse me… Would you be able to tell me where the nearest coffee shop is?” 

The women he had asked turned to him, a slight scowl on her young features. “Up about two blocks that 
way.” She gestured in the direction. 

“Thank you.” She’s already turned from him though, and the words fell upon deaf ears. 


 
The door to the shop was varnished wood and dusty glass. An old fashioned handle was mounted on its left, 
looking tarnished and worn. He grasped it, pausing a moment to feel the warmth and gentle vibrations 
coming from within. A bell chimed when he entered and he squinted his eyes to adjust them to the dim 
light of the interior. 

“What can I get for you, sir?” The older man behind the cash register smiled at him as he waited for an 
answer. It was a lived in _expression- one that reminded him of someone from another time. 

“A medium espresso, please.” He held out a five.  

The man nodded and accepted the money, still smiling. “Just have a seat. It’ll only be a moment.” 

Turning from the counter, he noticed how crowded the place was. Contented regulars occupied most of the 
booths and tables. They talked quietly amongst themselves, sipping from their steaming cups and browsing 
the latest editions of their favorite papers. A short counter and row of stools stemmed from where the cash 
register sat. The burnt-red leather covering the heads of the stools was as worn as the door and its handle. A 
single person sat there, their feet perched on a rung under them rather than on the floor. 

“Is this seat taken?” He asked. The person roused themselves from their coffee, their straight black hair 
falling away from their face. “Wufei?” 

Wufei stared at him for a long moment, his face breaking into a smile as recognition kicked in. “Heero! It’s 
been a while.” 

“Almost a year.” Heero returned the smile, taking a seat next to his friend. “It’s good to see you too.”