#accidentally broke my dad’s coffee filter (turned around and knocked it over)

[show-stoppin-enby]

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[theinvisiblespoon]

Two characters of your choice enjoying hot chocolate together.

Word Count: 1368

Trigger Warnings: rampant anxiety, paranoia, anger, creepster being creepy

Thank you to @ironwoman359 for beta reading this for me! I’ve updated it since you have, lol.

The clouds hung low in the sky, turning the city ashen grey. Humidity stayed static in the air, and the smell of rain foreshadowed the oncoming storm. No sunlight penetrated the dark clouds, but there was just enough light to see clearly. Pedestrians shuffled by, shifty eyes under the brims of hats, and a man stepped out from his one-bedroom apartment and into the street. He finished buttoning his old black jacket, put on a scarf, looked once at the sky, and headed towards his destination. 

He enjoyed watching the people around him go about their day. He was rather inconspicuous (albeit taller than he would have liked) and so most people didn’t notice the stranger walking by. While he passed, he saw a mother trying to soothe her baby. A college student ran by, backpack much too full to be healthy. As he glanced at an employee taking out the trash, a businesswoman bumped into his shoulder and nearly knocked him over. She was talking loudly into a brand new iPhone 7, and didn’t bother to apologize. As he watched her stride away, he saw a flicker out of the corner of his eye. He whirled around, but nothing was there. The crowd filtered around him as a twinge of anxiety gathered in the pit of his stomach. 

“Hey, move outta the way!” someone grumbled as they pushed past him. Heart still pounding, he let himself be dragged back into the flow of the crowd, walking towards his destination a little quicker than usual.

He stopped at the blackboard sign outside — “There is no black or white, only earl grey. Tea 15% off this weekend!” — and opened the door. 

The sounds of the Starbucks relaxed him immediately, and he unconsciously smiled as he stepped into line. He looked over the menu absently, but his thoughts were elsewhere; the music and the murmurs and the whirs of the equipment faded away. 

I can’t pay rent. Maybe everyone is right. I should just give up. I can’t go forward. I can’t go back.

“Welcome to Starbucks, how may I help you?“ 

He snapped out of his reverie at once. "Uh… sorry, I would like a tall hot chocolate with whipped cream." 

"Got it,” replied the barista in a dull monotone. 

He paid and stood over at the other end of the counter to wait for his drink. Looking down, he saw he had been picking at his calluses yet again. 

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. It was then that he spied someone staring at him from the corner of his eye. He didn’t look at whoever it was; he didn’t want to. Instead, he found himself more acutely aware of his own movements and settled on tugging at a stray thread on his scarf. His heart, defying anatomy, rose to somewhere in his throat. 

It took years to get his hot chocolate, but it finally came. He grabbed it anxiously, pivoted and spotted a lone table in the corner of the coffee shop, and carefully picked his way through the crowd. Sitting down, he scanned the people around him but found no one watching him or noticing him in any sense. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding and took a sip from his cup. He didn’t have to worry. It’s alright, he thought to himself, it’s fine. You’re okay.

It was only after another five minutes that the ball of tension in his stomach unwound itself. Content, he lessened his death grip on his beverage and closed his eyes. People talked and laughed; jazz played lightly in the background, and the beginnings of rain offered percussion. All of this he heard, but someone sliding into the seat across from him drowned out all other sounds. 

He jolted up, eyes flying open, and stared at the person across from him. They stared back. The song ended, and the dim light cast menacing shadows across their face. Neither broke eye contact. 

The music began again, and the other figure spoke. “Hello." 

He hesitated. He was unnerved, but he would not say so. Swallowing, he responded, "Can I help you?" 

"I was… was only saying hi." 

"Well then. Hello.” He stood up to leave, but the stranger rose suddenly and blocked his path.

“No, wait, uh, I just wanted to, just, um—” This is not what he would have expected them to sound like. Stuttering and losing your nerve isn’t something you expect in someone so frightening. You don’t anticipate the monsters under your bed being afraid of you. 

“Hey,” he said gently. “Take a breath, okay?" 

The person he had feared a second ago breathed deeply and, in doing so, became more of a weirdo than a menace. "S-sorry. I’m nervous." 

"That’s alright.” His wife always told him he would get killed by his kindness. He firmly shook that memory away and sat down again. “What were you saying?" 

"This will probably sound really weird,” they started. “Like. Super weird. Okay.” The stranger took another breath while he waited. The rain tapped on the roof above the pair. They glanced up at him. “I know you." 

The unease came back as soon as it had vanished. "We’ve never met." 

"I mean, not technically, but—”

“We haven’t met,” he insisted. “I would remember you.” Despite the circumstances, he hated how accusatory he sounded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“You’re a poet, but you really enjoy playing the violin.” He froze. That was… not hard to figure out. Just a little research. Don’t panic.

“You play on street corners, and you love it, but you’re in debt. You can’t pay your rent. You’ve moved away from your wife and your kid.” He inhaled sharply, and his eyes widened, but they continued further. “You still love them. You love your wife, but she doesn’t love you because she figured out you’re bisexual." 

"Stop.” It was barely a whisper. 

“You have a lot of friends, but they barely know you. You’re afraid to be alone, but afraid to open up to anyone. You also hate violence. You can’t stand it, because your dad was a corrupt cop—" 

"Don’t." 

"—who was accidentally shot when you were six. You waited for him in the window, and it was eleven at night before any police officers showed up at your empty house. They caught the mugger and put him in jail, but he was released five years ago for good behavior and you still keep tabs on him. You’re paranoid. You push down your fear and your anger because you hate that you’re so damn angry—”

“I said stop.” When had he stood up? He was shaking. A few customers around him had noticed him. The rain pounded outside.

They opened their mouth, and then closed it. “I’m sorry." 

He glanced at the crowd around him and sat again. He wrapped his hands around his hot chocolate and glared at the intruder in front of him. "Who are you?" 

"My name is… Sebastian. He/him. You don’t need to know anything else about me,” he said quietly.

“Like hell I—" 

"You shouldn’t know anything else about me,” Sebastian urged. “It’s not safe." 

He exhaled slowly. He pushed down his anger collected himself before speaking again. "Why are you here? What do you want?”

Sebastian seemed at a loss. His eyes moved to his hands, clasped on the table between them. “I wanted to say hello." 

"That’s not good enough." 

Sebastian grimaced. "I… wanted to say I’m sorry. You try to be kind. You still do." 

The rain fell in sheets, and the two of them stared at each other again. Sebastian’s eyes sparkled a bright green in the dim light. 

"I’m sorry we couldn’t talk more,” Sebastian continued. “I would have liked to actually know you.” He stood and checked his watch. “I’m not supposed to be here." 

He stood too, staring at Sebastian incredulously. "You can’t just—" 

Sebastian awkwardly reached out and touched his shoulder softly. "I’m so sorry, Adam. I really am. I—” he sighed and looked away, dropping his hand. “So long." 

Sebastian turned and walked out into the pouring rain. Adam watched him until he was long out of sight. 

Adam sipped his hot chocolate. It was cold. 

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