“I think I just met the happiest person in the world!”

“That guy looks like he is about to pummel your face into the nearest trash can, Zayn,” Charles retorts tersely, staring incredulously towards his best friend as Zayn offers an lopsided grin, his shaggy mop of brown hair almost covering his eyes as they scurry away from the coffee shop and fuming barista.

“Yeah, with joy!” Zayn replies, craning his head over his shoulder to wave sporadically in the direction of the red-faced barista. “Bye now! I liked your service a-latte!”

Charles groans, shoving his friend hard enough that Zayn nearly kisses the pavement as they shuffle out the door and into the quiet night. “More like he will joyfully kill you if you don’t shut the hell up with the coffee puns,” he mutters, snagging the hood of Zayn’s leather jacket to tug him in the direction of their university and shared dorm room. “Did you have to almost get us kicked out of my favorite coffee shop, which consequently also is the only one that is open 24 hours?”

Zayn manages to regain his balance, clambering back to his Pikachu slippers that squeak pathetically against the pavement. They are ridiculously out of place amongst his ensemble of leather and black, but Charles supposes that’s just a part of Zayn’s charm. Or his insanity. Whichever.

A devilish grin twitches as Zayn’s lips as he snags a straw from his pocket and stuffs in his coffee cup. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but I did nothing wrong!”

Charles casts him an unamused stare, huddling further within university jacket. “You literally opened up the line of conversation with ‘what do you call a sad cup of coffee? A depresso’. I think that warrants grounds for murder considering it’s three a.m. in the morning.”

The streets are completely empty, which is probably a good thing because they probably look half-mad cradling their coffee in their hands as if plotting some gruesome murder. The streetlights cast a pallid glow as they pass, wearily glancing around them as they stride back towards their dorms.

“What does the time have to do with anything?”

“I can’t barely handle your puns at noon on a good day,” Charles says, “but at three a.m? If the barista doesn’t kill you, then maybe I will.”

Zayn cackles, downing his coffee in one long drink. “You both must be the happiest people in the world then!”

Charles eyes him wearily, inching slightly away from him as if terrified he is going to implode. Or sprout coffee beans. “How much coffee have you drank tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn replies, shrugging. “I lost track after the third cup.”