▊▅ r u m i b l a c k w e l l This had been going for a while. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about it. On one hand, he found it irritating this stranger had invaded his space. Well, yeah, it was a public cafe, but he had been coming here for the past year and a half, and he couldn't help feeling territorial over it. This shop was his escape. The one place where he felt he could relax and not think about work or family or the myriad of problems he had to deal with on a daily basis. When he walked through the door, he turned his phone on silent, and ordered his usual (just a black coffee with a teaspoon of sugar).
He always sat at the table furthest away from the window on the east side. He didn't need to draw attention to himself here. With a book in one hand, hot coffee in the other, and rain softly pattering against the window, he was at home here. The baristas all knew him, had his order ready before he even reached the counter.
And then he showed up.
The first day was no big deal. He was just another passerby, stopping into the shop. The Rumi caught his eye as he sat down. He'd never seen eyes so blue before. Whatever. He didn't have time to ponder a stranger sitting at the table across from him, he had the Trojan War to read about today. Then he came in the next day. Coffee, book, seat. And he was there again. At the next table over. His ebony eyes held on to deep pools the color of a late morning sky. Briefly. Quietly.
Flustered, he turned back to Achilles and Hector. Whatever.
Odysseus. Lycurgus. Draco and Solon. Pisistratus the Tyrant. Miltiades. Leonidas. Pericles. Socrates. Philip of Macedonia. Alexander the Great. He trudged through the lives of eleven men of Greece. Everyday before he flipped through the pages of their legacies, he would meet the eyes of one, nameless, storyless, voiceless man. And eventually he didn't see those blue eyes just at the coffee shop. This is where he truly began to be frustrated. He was haunted by them. He'd see them in the faces of cashiers, clients, coworkers, cargo, and in the faces of the characters on the pages of his books. Crystalline eyes, looking at him only briefly, and turning away.
He hated it. This was supposed to be his place of peace and solitude. And this stranger ruined it. And he was slowly ruining him too. Whatever.
Now today, Rumi couldn't say he was in a particularly good mood. His job last night was a bust, this morning he found his car (his beloved car), with the back tires slashed (no doubt a rival crime), and he forgot his book on the kitchen counter, and had to settle for a newspaper. The barista that served him was new and put too much sugar in his coffee, and as he turned to sit at his table, he found it occupied but some crusty old man in an expensive suit. He had half a mind to take his coffee to go, but instead he turned around to go sit on the west side instead.
But as his unfortunate luck would have it, he turned and collided with another person. He felt scalding hot coffee soaking his white shirt and newspaper, half the contents of his own cup had been slopped on the floor. He shouldn't have left his house today. He really shouldn't have. He felt white hot rage building in his chest (magnified of course by the sensation of hot coffee). He felt his eyebrow twitch, his lips peeling back into a grimace, his muscles tensing. It was an accident, but he was going to hurt this person. Simply because it was the wrong day to spill a burning beverage all over him, but looking down, he met blue eyes.
He took a tentative step backwards, suddenly unsure of himself. The source of his frustration, those persistent eyes, framed by dark hair, pale skin. His eyes narrowed, but he didn't move to hit the other man, or do much of anything really. He was stuck in a limbo of his own design, floating between irritation and curiosity.
Reflett
I Hoooooope that was acceptable. Sorry it took a million years!
phantom-wired
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Reflett
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Posted: Thu Oct 12, 2017 7:38 pm
Running over fields, swimming in the river- it was you, me, and that monster. I talked endlessly with you, backed by an unforgettable sunset sky.
Something was off about this guy.
Lance didn’t know what, but he wasn’t going to stop until he figured this guy out.
The first day, he arrived rather early, earlier than most people. Only a few half-awake customers were really there in the shop as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Lance had been looking for a place like this for awhile, quiet, laidback, good coffee… Free wifi. What more could he ask for? To put a cherry on top, this place actually got his order right; a disgustingly sweet mocha with whipped cream on top, truly to die for in Lance’s eyes. He had picked up his order and sat down where he’d set up his laptop, but his eyes met someone else’s. He hadn’t noticed that man when he originally entered, but the first look sent his gut aflutter. He didn’t realize eyes could be so dark. It was like looking into shadows, but on someone’s face. The man then returned his attention to his book, and Lance followed suit, sticking his nose into his messages. It didn’t stop the feeling in his gut.
Every day from then on, Lance went to the coffee shop, partially because of their coffee, and the quiet place to look through his mail, but also to catch a glimpse of the man who’d caught his eye. He started sitting at the table next to his, trying to figure out all the secrets of this man through peeks and awkward eye contact.
The man was taller than Lance, dark eyes, dark hair, and somewhat of a dark aura around him, if that made sense. Like a sort of black hole that drew in Lance’s attention even when he didn’t realize it.
No matter how hard Lance tried to figure it out, he couldn’t seem to place the strange feeling he got just looking at him. He sat at the same place every day, always with the same coffee, and some sort of reading material. It was getting hard to focus on his actual work now.
He’d have to figure out how to deal with this, and soon.
Lance considered just going to a different Cafe, but felt like that’d be akin to admitting defeat… Or something like that. He didn’t know what he’d be surrendering to, but he’d be damned if he let that happen.
It was in the midst of this internal debate he made the greatest mistake of his life.
It all happened rather quickly, one second he was walking towards his table, the next, his coffee, whipped cream and all, was spilled unceremoniously over someone. Lance’s cheeks flared up with embarrassment, and he started off with an apology,
“Oh god, I’m so sorry, si-”
As soon as Lance looked up, his cheeks flared up. It was the mystery man. Lance’s first instinct was to run. He’d noticed the guy’s mood hadn’t seemed all too jubilant when he walked in, but running would probably; no, definitely make it worse. So instead of booking a flight to the farthest reaches of the globe, he did the next thing he could think of. Shoving as many napkins as his hands could fit into the guy’s chest.
“R-really! I must’ve been zoned out or something there...” He then noticed the man’s drink in his hand, also half on the floor. Great. This seemed to give Lance the moment of clarity he needed, the chance to get closer to the guy, learn just what was causing this feeling.
“Can I get you a new drink, try and make up for it?”
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