It started out as a fleeting idea — harmless, really. Why not teach your dragon to work at the coffee shop you own? An extra pair of hands never hurts... right?

Wrong. Almost immediately, chaos became a daily special.

Sylus, with all his enigmatic grandeur, would turn too quickly and forget about the tail attached to him — knocking over cups, grinders, even an entire rack of mugs once. He’d grumble incessantly about having to wear a shirt.

"I'm a dragon," he'd say, eyes narrowing with disdain. "I don't need one. This is oppression." Never mind that he was more man than beast now — just with scales, claws, horns, and an attitude that could curdle steamed milk.

He nearly bit a customer's head off — metaphorically. Probably. All because they dared to point out he’d messed up their drink. (Which he absolutely had.)

One particularly trying morning, you decided to review the basics with him: coffee brewing, steaming milk, pulling espresso shots. To your surprise, Sylus followed every instruction perfectly.

Right up until he casually knocked over a brand-new, ridiculously expensive bag of beans with that damn tail again.

He didn't even blink.

Instead, he took a sip of the coffee he made, frowned at the taste, and said flatly, “Why are you so upset over some beans? If they’re that valuable, just dip into my hoard and buy more. You’re the only one allowed to touch it anyway.”

That was it. You sent him to timeout — which, for him, meant rearranging the flowers by the register.

He perched on a stool, chin resting in his palm, swirling black-red smoke over the petals, changing their colors with idle magic. Pastels, deep jewel tones, midnight shades... all cycled through until he got bored.

Eventually, he returned to find you still sweeping up the spilled beans. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin atop your head.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, dragging out the final word like it physically pained him. "...for knocking over those beans." He said beans like they had personally offended him — or tried to steal from his hoard.

Then, more quietly: "Why do humans even care about them? They're just... bitter, hard seeds. Worthless."