A/N: Also written a couple of months ago.
The koolaid-red-haired Karkles is a reference to Mechanics are the Most Romantic, which is a Dirkkat fanfic by KarkatVantabulous.
(Speaking of which, if you're reading this: if you're not comfortable with me using your headcanon, just tell me and I can remove it).
Anyway, so here it is!
Humanstuck Starbucks Au~
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Your name is Dirk Strider, and you hate your job.

You're just saying, working at Starbucks doesn't exactly pay well, and frankly, serving coffee 24/7 gets really old really quickly.

You think the only thing that keeps you from going insane is the short boy with the messy hair.

Speaking of which, his hair was probably the most entertaining part of his unusual appearance--it changed every week, going from raven black to ginger, then from marshmallow white to Koolaid red, with variations of the colors in-between.

You liked them all, but so far the Koolaid red was your favorite--it really made the candy-red of his eyes stand out.

The second most entertaining thing had to be his outfits--mostly snarky t-shirts or sweaters, always a couple sizes too large, though occasionally he'd wear punk clothes or street fashion.

You'd be lying if you said they didn't look good on him, but something told you he was just a fashion-conscious friend's guinea pig.

You remember the day you first saw him in oddly clear detail: the snowstorm outside had scared off a lot of the other customers, so you'd noticed him as soon as he walked in. At the time, he had black hair, and despite the fact that he was wearing about three turtlenecks, he was shivering.

He'd asked what kinds of warm drinks you had. At the time, you'd assumed his voice was hoarse from the weather, but you later learned it was from his own volume.

You'd raised an eyebrow. "This is Starbucks. Most of our drinks are hot."

"Yeah, well, f*** you. I was asking if you had any recommendations,
@$$wipe."

You were used to people being rude to you, but something about him made it amuse you instead. Maybe it was his height.

"Depends on what you like."

"I like my coffee tongue-scaldingly hot, tooth-rottingly sweet, and with a name under five words long."

"Hot chocolate with a sh**ton of marshmallows?" you'd suggested.

"That's over five words," he snorted playfully.

"Fortunately for you, it's under $5, though."

"That's a f***ing wonder: a reasonably priced drink from Starbucks." He'd handed over a five dollar bill, adding, "Keep the change."

You'd nodded, and as you went to prepare his order, you snarked, "It's the ninth wonder of the world."

You'd worked there long enough that you had his hot chocolate ready in seconds, and you wound up not even asking his name.

You slid the cup over to him, and he asked, "What's the eighth wonder?"

"I dunno. You won't find out 'till you see more of my magic, will you?"

"What magic? Starbucks set the price, not you." He'd said saltily.

You'd leaned against the counter, asking, "If you haven't seen the magic, then you really should, shouldn't you?"

The boy had rolled his eyes and mumbled a "we'll see about that" before walking away to sit down.

You kept looking at him from the corner of your eye--observing how he had huddled up by the window and was using the cup to warm up his hands, and every once in a while, pressing his cheek to the outside of the cup, too.

He left once the snow outside had cleared up a bit.

You hoped he'd come the next day.

He hadn't, but you guessed it wasn't a big deal since you didn't even know him.

He came the day after that, though, and the first thing he'd said was, "I had to buy more marshmallows last time."

You flashed him a grin and asked, "Not sweet enough for you? You weren't kidding about your sweet tooth."

"I thought that was obvious."

"Do you know what you want today?"

"Something with caramel."

"I can add whipped cream and cinnamon to that, if you'd like."

"Is it over five dollars?" he teased.

You took a risk and said, "No, but it comes with a small pastry."

You knew it was coming out of your paycheck, but somehow you thought it'd be worth it if that meant he'd keep coming.

Scratch that, the brief look of happy surprise on his face was enough for you.

"Can I have a mini cinnamon roll?"

"Of course."

"And your name?"

"Karkat. Two K's."

You'd nodded and wrote his name on the cup, and then a few minutes later, you gave him his food.

When he saw how much caramel you'd put on the whipped cream, his eyes lit up, like he was a child being given free access to a candy store, and he hurried to go sit down and eat.

Damn, he was adorable.

You realized the extra caramel was also probably coming out of someone's paycheck, but at the moment, you sure as hell didn't care about that, either.

To your relief, he became a regular customer after that.

You quickly learned that as long as you fulfilled his 3 coffee requirements--hot, sweet, and under the five word limit--he was open to buying just about anything.

You began going out of your way to come up with more and more combinations for him, often giving the concoction a name like "Spice on a Sugar High" or "Gay Coffee", which was named for its rainbow marshmallows and sprinkles (and which led to a discussion on lgbt flags once).

On rare occasions, the names would make him laugh.

His laugh was quiet and only lasted a few seconds, but you couldn't help but smile every time, and it motivated you like hell.

Sometimes you'd send him subtle hints--whipped cream shaped like a heart, a quick sketch on the coffee sleeve, a sudden discount for "being such a frequent customer".

He'd turn faintly pink and say, "This coffee is the single anchor in my life that keeps me from spiraling into complete and utter insanity. That's all it is."

Other than that, you couldn't tell if he noticed.

You wished you could talk to him more than in 5-minute intervals, but even on slow days, he was always on his phone when he sat down.

One time, you asked him if he had a job, or if he was a student.

That was the day he told you he wanted to be an actor.

You smiled slightly and asked, "What kind of roles would you like to play?"

He'd looked away and muttered, "It's none of your f***ing business."

He left not long after that, but the next day, the first thing he'd said was, "A romcom protagonist. I want to be an actor in romantic movies."

"When you become a world-famous actor, be sure to still come and visit me every once in a while," you told him, tilting your shades down just long enough for him to see you wink.

"Of course. I mean, no-one makes coffee like you do." he'd replied, smiling awkwardly before walking off, as usual.

Not long after that, he'd finally asked you what your name was.

"Dirk Strider." you answered. "Speaking of which, I've always wanted to ask--what language is your name from?"

"It comes from a long line of ancestry, but they think they've traced down its origins to the I-Couldn't-Give-Less-F***s-If-I-Tried people."

"Interesting. And where did they live?" you smirked.

"Back then, I believe it was called You're-A-Nosy-@$$hole Country."

"Hm. Is that anywhere near B**chin-Swag Country? Modern-day Strider Country."

"No, I don't think so."

The lady behind Karkat was tapping her foot angrily, so he nodded and left.

Months later, you consulted Roxy on what to do for the millionth time.

For the millionth time, she exclaimed, "Omg Dirky, just ask him out! You'll do great, I swear."

"You sure?"

"I pinky swear on my rights as the matchmakin' bomb."

The two of you jokingly linked pinkies, and you promised yourself you'd do it.

You wanted to start off subtle, as usual, so you decided to test his memory.

"I call this The Coffee From Heaven. It's also being nominated for the tenth wonder of the world,"

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling ever-so-slightly--a triumph, coming from him.

"You never did tell me what the eighth wonder was," he pointed out.

"Do you really want to know?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I didn't."

"Are you sure?"

He sighed and asked, "Are you deaf or just a f***ing tease?"

"Alright, alright, let me get my phone. I'll show you in a second."

You take your phone out and snap some pictures of Karkat, right then and there.

He looks confused as f***, but then you show him one of the pictures and comment, "I've never seen anything like him."

His face is turning cherry-red, and he asks, "Are you serious?"

"Extremely. I've been wondering if you'd be interested in talking over dessert with me. Maybe watching a movie," you add coolly.

He exhaled a half-laugh, half-sigh of relief, and he smiled. As if to make up for his irritatable facade slipping up yet again, he warned, "I don't date just anyone."

"If you like your men like you like your coffee, I think I can meet your expectations."

"Who the f*** has five names?"

"Maybe someone descended from Nosy-@$$hole Country," you grin.

"Maybe," he snorts.

He gives you his number and asks if tonight is good.

You tease him for picking a date so soon, but agree.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you have never been so glad that you work at Starbucks.