#my shop got autumn coffee syrup sets and i have used the entire bottle of maple spice that we are supposed to use for customer samples for

[watsername]

putting coffee syrups in matcha lattes really can fix all your metal health issues

[adorebughead]

Multitudes - Part 1

Well, hey! I’m back again with a brand new fic! After the lovely response to For Better or Worse, I felt super inspired to continue with my writing - and I am actually really excited about this one. I’m being painfully self critical of my writing as always, but I really hope that you enjoy! The name comes from one of the most well-known poems by Walt Whitman, A Song of Myself. Hopefully that’ll make more sense as the story progresses. Let me know what you think! 

(edit: I also forgot to mention originally that this isn’t just a one shot; there’s lots more to come!)

*Read on AO3*

——————————–

“Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes.”

There was something about the month of October. The amber hue of the afternoon skies, the lingering scent of cinnamon and pumpkin, the scattering of autumn’s colourful leaves leaving fragments of a summer stripped away. A falling, a letting go, an end intertwined with a new beginning.

These were the things that Betty Cooper found herself thinking about every morning as she perched on a bench beside the harbour with her favourite book in hand before heading to work, inhaling the welcomed breeze as the day started to unfold. How beautiful the world seemed as the year began to close.

A few moments of solitude were so warmly welcomed before a six hour shift in the coffee shop. It’s not that she hated it, but she didn’t love it, either. She was indifferent. It was a job. It paid the bills. And that’s about all it did.

“Can I take a name?” She smiled, the pen lingering in the air between her fingers.

“Uh, sure,” he laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s Trev.”

“Nice to meet you, Trev,” she said playfully, scribbling his name with an added love heart and placing the cup to the side. “Pumpkin spiced latte with extra cream, your favourite.”

He smirked then, leaning across the counter to plant a brisk kiss on her lips.

“Are we still on for later?”

Her perfectly slicked back ponytail sprung as she passed the cup over to her colleague and friend a few feet away, currently fighting with the coffee machine.

“Of course,” she replied, returning to her original spot in front of the cash register and smoothing down the front of her navy blue ‘Oakwood Bay Coffee’ t-shirt. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’ve booked dinner reservations at that little seafood restaurant just outside of town.”

Betty winced. She hated seafood. “Sounds great,” she chorused, flashing her most convincing smile. He always bought it.

“But it’s probably best you don’t stay over,” he said quickly, “just because I have to be up so early tomorrow morning for my flight.”

“Yeah,” she said, her gaze momentarily shifting onto a regular customer walking in and mouthing ‘hi’. “I get that. No worries.”

“It’s only a few weeks,” he assured her, “then I’ll be back.”

“Yep,” she smiled. “A few weeks.”

Retrieving his drink with a quiet thanks and taking a sip, he offered her another quick peck and swiftly bounded out of the door, humming an offhand ‘see you later’ as Veronica turned around and crossed her arms. Betty rolled her eyes.

“Don’t.”

“Look,” she started, “I’m your friend so I can tell you things straight.”

Betty raised her eyebrows, grabbing the damp cloth draped over the sink and wiping away the remnants of cinnamon and sugar. Somehow, Veronica saw this as a prompt to continue.

“It’s probably best you don’t stay over?”  She repeated satirically. “Geez, I know you guys have been together for two years now, but do you even ever stay over anymore anyway? And don’t you hate seafood?“

“V,” Betty interjected, “I appreciate you looking out for me, I really do, but I’m fine. He’s fine. We’re fine. Everything’s… fine.”

A brief paused followed, nothing but the sound of plates and glasses clinking along with the hushed tones of an incredibly apt ‘Acoustic Coffee Shop’ Spotify playlist, which both of them had now heard so many times they were slowly losing the will to live.

Veronica huffed, throwing her hands up in defeat.

“Ok,” she muttered, leaning down to grab a bottled water from the small fridge beside them and subsequently taking a swig. “Where’s he going anyway?”

“London,” she sighed. “He’s taken a four week course to build up his business skills, or something.”

“Or something?”

“I kind of tune out at times,” she admitted, biting her lip.

“Well, it sure sounds riveting to me.”

“It’ll be a great opportunity for him.”

Veronica shrugged dispassionately in response.

Betty had met Trev just over two years earlier in their local college. She was studying English Literature at the time, bright-eyed and determined, dreaming of becoming a professional writer. They were introduced to one another during an open evening in which Betty was helping out at, and they hit it off almost instantly. It was all very easy, actually.

They initially went out on a few coffee and movie dates, making their relationship official only a couple of months later, and, as they say, the rest was history. They were pretty settled by this point, so much so that they didn’t need to be around each other at every waking moment. In fact, they often savoured the time alone. That’s what Betty kept telling Veronica anyway. And, as much as she hated to admit it, herself. On more occasions than one.

“Black coffee to go.”

The deep, monotone request pulled her out of her fleeting reminiscences as she shook away thoughts that were much too in depth for three o’clock in the afternoon after running on only one shot of coffee. She instinctively reached to grab a cup and her trusty pen from beside her, removing the lid with a click.

“You got it. Can I take a name?”

“No.”

The abrupt answer made her eyes shoot up in astonishment.

“Excuse me?”

“Not to be rude, but I assume I’m the only person in this something-out-of-a-Nicholas-Sparks-novel town who would even dream of drinking something other than a cup of frothed milk drowning in sugar-drenched syrup, so, no. I don’t see much of a point in giving you my name.”

She blinked, her brows furrowing as she tilted her head, attempting to conjure up a response. He looked back at her, showing no signs of remorse for the fact, despite his initial statement, he had indeed been exceptionally rude. Instead, his face was entirely nonchalant. It infuriated her.

“Right. So, that’s $2.85,” she uttered after a momentary silence, biting her tongue in an attempt to not lose her job, actively choosing to ignore Veronica’s background snigger as she handed her the cup. It only took a few moments before the freshly poured coffee was passed back again.

“Keep the change,” he mumbled, not even bothering to strain himself to look at her again as he chucked the money onto the counter, seizing his drink and stomping back outside.

“Please, come again,” she quipped under her breath, turning to face Veronica who was shaking her head with a smirk. “I should’ve written asshole.”

“Tourists,” she replied with a subsequent eye roll. “Anyway, I need to ask you something.”

Betty leaned up against the counter, taking a moment to relieve the pain that came with standing on her feet all day long. Late Friday afternoons were always pretty chilled, even if the mornings were an overwhelming rush of madness. But by now, people were getting ready to either go out on the town or spend a night in front of the TV with takeout pizza. Betty sure knew which she’d prefer. And it definitely didn’t involve seafood.

“Sure,” she replied.

“So,” Veronica pursed her lips together and raised a brow hopefully, “there’s this party-“

“No.”

“What? Betty-“

“You know I don’t go to those things, V.”

“Oh, come on,” she replied, clasping her hands together. “Trev’s leaving, and this can be a chance to reconnect with that fun, independent woman inside of you.”

Betty ran the cloth under the tap before rinsing it out. “Am I not those things already?”

“Look,” she sighed, “I just think it would be nice to let your hair down once in a while.”

“Veronica, you know that I like my hair well and truly up, secured with ten bobby pins and half a can of hairspray.”

They both chuckled then, Betty folding her arms across her chest and waiting for Veronica’s inevitable persistancy.

“It’s tomorrow night, anyway. I’m kind of crushing on the guy that’s throwing it. A friend’s support would be great.”

“And by that you mean someone to stand outside the door and keep guard as you make out in the downstairs bathroom?” Betty scoffed.

“Hey,” she shrugged, “that was one time. It was a nice bathroom.”

Betty shook her head with a grin, retrieving her pen as the bell on the door sounded. “I’ll think about it, ok?”

-

The evening rolled around relatively quickly, the sun setting just before six o’clock as Betty stood outside of her apartment waiting for Trev to pick her up. A cold breeze brushed over her skin, raising goose bumps as she tightened her black cardigan across her chest.

She’d decided to keep her hair up, twisting her signature ponytail into a neat, perfectly sculpted bun, and running a light pink gloss over her lips. She’d thrown on her slightly worn black jeans and a short-sleeved white lace vest, placing her heart-shaped necklace neatly over the top. When he finally pulled up, he was ten minutes late, not that she was keeping tabs.

Luckily, the drive to the restaurant was a short one at that.

“Are you all packed?” Betty questioned once they were seated at their table and served their food, picking at her salmon and taking small bites every so often. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he replied, covering his mouth as he swallowed his coconut shrimp, the sight in itself making Betty feel a little queasy. “I just need to sort out my hand luggage when I get home later.”

She nodded, gently stabbing her fork into a cherry tomato and popping it into her mouth. “Well, it’ll be weird not having you around.”

“It’ll fly by,” he replied.

“Yeah,” she agreed half-heartedly, studying his features that she had grown so used to. She knew his face better than anyone’s. She threw him a faint smile, something inside of her shifting. She ignored it.

“I guess that brings me onto my next point,” he uttered after a few moments.

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?

“I know we’ve been together for two years now, and they’ve honestly been amazing,” he began, “I just think that maybe we need a change.”

She placed her hand down beside her plate, still clutching onto her fork, and sat back a little in her seat.

Oh shit, she thought. He’s breaking up with me.

She guessed that she had seen it coming for a while. The both of them were close, very much so, but there was always something a little out of place. She was in a constant battle with her thoughts, because she knew they were supposed to be together.

She loved Trev. She really did. She felt a familiarity and safety with him that she had never felt quite ready to let go of. He had been there when her parents had split and he had supported her whenever she needed him. They leant on one another and had done for so long that they’d almost forgotten what it was like not to do so.

They were comfortable.

She shifted in her seat, placing her hands in her lap and softening her eyes. “Look, Trev-“

“I think we should get married.”

There were few things that had shocked Betty Cooper in her life so far. Everything had always been rather predictable, a simple, perfect life plan for the perfect girl next door. She had always excelled in school, running the school paper and involving herself in every after school activity she could find, she had gone off and gotten her first class degree, and she was now training to be a teacher; temporarily working in the coffee shop for a steady-ish income. She was only twenty-two, but her whole life had practically already been mapped out for her. Trev included.

That was why, in that precise moment, in front of her utterly untouched salmon, she was speechless. Of course it made sense for her long-term boyfriend to propose to her. Her parents were married at twenty-one, ignoring the fact said marriage had gone to shit, so surely she should’ve seen it coming. Nobody in Oakwood Bay would expect a Cooper to be unmarried in anything other than a white picket fenced house past the age of twenty-five. Despite of this, she couldn’t quite put her finger on why, but she had not once even thought about it during the past two years.

For once in her life, she was completely unprepared. Her fork fell onto the table with a loud clink.

“Wow,” was all she could manage, her eyes widening at the large diamond ring he had retrieved from his jacket pocket. He hadn’t gotten down on one knee, which Betty was actually quite thankful for, seeing as the few eyes that were already watching them were making her uncomfortable enough. She was embarrassed, suddenly. Anticipating a feeling in the pit of her stomach; the one they always write about in songs and in poems. It never came.

She looked back up at him and expected to see fireworks in his eyes, but there were none. Only the smell of dead fish.

“Is that a yes?”

-

Veronica inspected the ring for a good ten minutes, her jaw practically wedged open as the large, sparkling diamond got lost in her dark, brown eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” she declared.

“Yeah, it is.”

“So, remind me why you’re not wearing it?”

Betty sighed, plonking herself down onto her bed beside Veronica and pulling her legs into her chest. “I told him I’d think about it.”

Veronica raised a brow, carefully placing the ring back onto the bedside table. “What’s there to think about?”

“I’ll tell you when I figure it out,” she replied, sinking back onto her pile of cushions.

“At least he’s leaving in the morning so you can avoid any awkward run-ins.”

“We’re still together,” Betty defended, closing her eyes as she ran everything over in her head, “I think.”

“Well, you did just say no to his marriage proposal.”

“I didn’t say no.”

“But you didn’t say yes.”

Betty grabbed a pillow and proceeded to face plant it, turning over onto her stomach. She’d lost count of how many times she’d screamed into this thing.

“Hey,” Veronica said leaning over to gently place a hand on her shoulder, “you know what will make you feel better?”

“Binge-watching Gilmore Girls and eating ten gallons of ice-cream?”

“Ok,” she replied, “aside from that.”

Betty propped herself up onto her elbows, turning her head and wrinkling her brows.

“Buying a puppy?”

Veronica laughed, sticking out her bottom lip and nodding. “I was actually referring to the party, but yeah now that you mention it…”

“Oh, V,” she rolled her eyes, hopping back up off the bed and pushing her hair out of her face. “Does it really mean that much to you? All for this random guy?”

“I really like him.”

“Have you ever even talked to him?”

“I blurted out this really weird high-pitched laugh when I accidentally bumped into him in the store the other day. We did that thing where you both go to walk the same way about three times over. I think he thought I was having some sort of stroke.”

“So, it’s getting serious then?”

Veronica threw her head into her hands, her shoulder-length black hair veiling her inevitable expression of both mortification and disappointment.

“Ok,” Betty said softly with a sigh, smirking faintly. She’d never seen her best friend so dejected over a guy she’d never even spoken to before. Weird creature-esque laugh aside.

Her head shot back up in delight. “Ok?”

“I’ll go.”

Veronica squealed, heaving Betty into a rather abrupt embrace before hopping up off of the bed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cried. “Ok, so let’s talk outfits. I’m thinking sexy, but still classy, something simple but not so simple that it’s boring. Is red lipstick too much? What am I saying, red lipstick is never too much.”

As Veronica started to trail off into a debate with herself over the appropriate height of her heels, Betty lay back down and pulled her phone out of her pocket. No new messages. She turned her head to catch another glimpse of the ring lying beside a photo of the two of them holding ice-creams in a floral printed frame and sighed.

Why didn’t she say yes?

-

Betty allowed herself to awake much earlier than usual the following morning. Saturday shifts were her least favourite, and the truth was that she hadn’t slept at all. Trev had texted her not long after she’d gotten dressed to tell her that he was boarding his flight. It was a little cold and a little awkward, but at least he was still associating with her after she’d basically publicly humiliated him in his favourite seafood restaurant, of all places. She knew going there was a bad idea. When was seafood ever a good idea, anyway?

She loved visiting the harbour when the majority of the town were still asleep; watching the boats leave and allowing her anxieties to leave with them. Not only this, but the autumn sunrise was always the most beautiful, somehow. She found a comfort in this place, one that she had never quite found anywhere else

Taking a sip of her morning coffee before placing it onto the ground beside a small gathering of colourful fallen leaves, she propped her feet up on the bench and opened up her book to where she had last finished off. She exhaled, savouring the satisfaction of a peaceful morning paired with her favourite poet. Somehow, his words ignited something inside of her that she often worried was slipping away. These strings of sentences, masked by hidden meanings, were sometimes all that kept her sane.

‘There is that in me—I do not know what it is—but I know it is in me.

Wrench’d and sweaty—calm and cool then my body becomes,

I sleep—I sleep long.

I do not know it—it is without name—it is a word unsaid,

It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol.

Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on,

To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me.’  

“Whitman?” A voice sounded a few centimetres away from her, prompting a loud gasp.

“Jesus,” she cried, sitting up abruptly and clutching the book which had almost fallen to the ground.

“Nope,” he said dryly, “pretty sure it’s Whitman.”

She twisted her head then, meeting with a set of unfamiliar, vacant green eyes. His hair was tucked inside a grey beanie, a couple of dark curls peeking out of the front. It took him a few moments, but he smirked. Betty’s face was that of utter disgust as she reached down, realising she had seemingly instantly kicked over her coffee, cursing aloud at the realisation.

“I know you,” she spat, sitting upright and perching on the edge of the bench, narrowing her eyes. “You’re the asshole from yesterday.”

He folded his arms, taking a small bite out of a half-eaten, red apple. “You’ll have to elaborate on that.”

“Really?” She laughed sarcastically. “In the coffee shop? Your weird and incredibly rude speech when I asked for your name?”

He shrugged. “Oh, yeah.”

“Oh, yeah?” She repeated, expecting another snarky response which he suddenly held back on, something boiling up inside of her as a result of his inability to converse like a decent human being. Shaking her head, she tucked her book back into her bag and threw it over her shoulder, standing up and tightening her pony tail. He wasn’t even worth it.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked after a few seconds, folding her arms as he stood in front of her, much taller than she’d originally anticipated, showing no intention of moving out of the way.

“Actually, you’re in my spot.”

“I’m sorry, your spot?”

He nodded, squeezing past her and sitting down in the exact place she had previously been, finishing his apple with one more large bite and chucking the core onto the ground. The simple action made her cringe.

“Well, you were. Thanks.”

She furrowed her brows, glancing around in disbelief, her ponytail bouncing at the brisk movement. “I come here and read every single morning. I have never seen you. Not once. Are you just trying to irritate me?”

“Potentially,” he replied, prompting her to roll her eyes and drop her jaw ever so slightly. “But no, you’d have had a job seeing as I only actually moved here yesterday afternoon. Tell me, is your town slogan ‘the place people come to die?’ Because, if not, that was really a missed opportunity. I’d like credit for that one.”

Betty was speechless, this stranger who she had never met before yesterday already pushing buttons she didn’t even know that she had. He stretched his legs out, his scuffed combat boots perching on the concrete as he retrieved a pen and a notepad from his bag before throwing it onto the ground. He opened up to a page which had already been half-scribbled on and paused, craning his head to see that she was still standing, staring at him. He raised an eyebrow.

“Can I help you with something?”

She groaned, abruptly turning on her heel and storming away as far out of sight as she could possibly get, shoving her hands into her pockets. How could someone possibly be so rude and self-entitled?  She’d be damned if she let him take her morning spot away from her again. Once she had made it back towards the main road, she felt a text buzz through the material of her gloves, startling her ever so slightly as she began to lose herself in mental re-runs of her previous infuriating conversation.

Veronica: Party starts at 8 tonight. I’ll come over at 6 to get ready?

Betty: Ok. Enjoy your Saturday off. Think of me slaving away.

Veronica: Ha ha. Hopefully you won’t be serving any more black coffee today.

Betty: Funny you should say that. Guess who I just bumped into?

Veronica: What? I-refuse-to-conform-to-society-and-give-you-my-name-for-a-damn-cup-of-coffee guy?

Betty: That’s the one.

Veronica: Is he hot? I can’t remember.

Betty: Oh, god. I’ll talk to you later.

Veronica: So that’s a yes.

Betty: He’s a total dick.

Veronica: So that’s a yes.

Betty: Bye.

Veronica: So that’s a yes.

Locking her phone and rolling her eyes, she picked up the pace as a few raindrops started to bounce off of her cheeks. Her morning had already started off so horrendously, so, naturally, why wouldn’t the heavens open and make it just that little bit worse? She was still pretty riled up from her previous encounter with black-coffee-guy, whose name she still did not know, and had no interest in knowing, but when she made it into work, she painted on her favourite fake smile as she greeted Ethel and Kevin waiting for her behind the counter. All she knew was that she needed to shift her attention to serving customers and cleaning tables in order to take her mind off of not only that, but of Trev’s dead-fish-scented proposal, suddenly grateful for the busy Saturday shift that she usually so desperately despised.

Because her perfect plan was already faltering.

And because it was most definitely a yes.