Chapter Text
•John•
"Yeah, yeah, yeah.." He grumbled as he tugged the dark blue apron on over his head, the neck strap ruffling his dark brown mohawk on the way down.
He reached behind him to wrap the strings to his front to knot them there as his boss lectured him for what was probably the hundredth time about being late. It was five minutes.
Okay, maybe fifteen.
In John's defense, he had a long night the night before and struggled to get out of bed this morning. When he saw the time on his phone he cursed and scrambled to get ready, throwing on the closest clothes he grabbed, tugging one of his shoes on as he stumbled out the door, keys in his teeth and still cursing under his breath.
He was still exhausted, especially having nearly jogged the whole way here. The walk from his flat was only about ten minutes on an average day, but he was in a hurry this morning. It wasn't unusual for him to be a couple minutes late, but fifteen wasn't as common.
The morning rush was in full swing by now and the front counter was swamped with orders. He washed up and trotted to the front, earning a quirked brow from Megan at the register as she penned a name onto a hot cup and passed it down the line.
"Oi! What are you lookin' at?" He was smiling at her in faux disbelief as she shook her head and smirked.
He loved sharing a shift with her. They'd become good friends since he started at the coffee shop a few months ago, immediately hitting it off on their shared interests in music, often teasingly complaining about what the shop owner played. They got along well with the man who ran the place, he was like a father figure. Despite chewing John's ass about being late (he guessed he couldn't blame him) John still gave the man a light jab on the shoulder and flashed a huge, lopsided grin at him on his way to the front.
He took his place on the line, relieving another guy of running two stations as he started working on espresso grinds.
"Late again Mr. MacTavish." Megan tsk'd at him, still smirking, "Late night with Tiffany?"
John shifted a little, dropping his gaze and stammering out, "Uh.. Kind of. I guess."
Megan started to say something but John just focused harder on his work, shutting down the conversation. He felt her eyes on him here and there through the rest of the morning rush, thankful for the constant flow of customers to keep her from picking the conversation back up, not ready to tackle it yet.
He let his mind empty as he worked, zoning out and drifting to help other stations when he had a lull, trying to keep his hands busy. He was trying, unsuccessfully, not to dwell on the massive blow up he and Tiffany had had the night before. They'd been dating for just over a year and things were.. okay.
An old friend had set them up, insisting it would be a great match. John wasn't nearly as enthusiastic at first, but he agreed to take her out and see what happened. No harm in trying, right?
He hadn't had a ton of luck dating. He was outgoing enough and he formed friendships easily, but romantically? It was like he was fumbling in the dark and trying to find something without knowing what the hell he was looking for. It never felt quite right at the end of the day.
Somehow Tiffany stuck around, though. She had seemed almost endeared by his clumsy efforts, patient as he navigated a relationship that was beginning to last beyond a couple of weeks, something foreign to him. Six months in, she invited herself to meet his parents when he was going home for a weekend visit. Said it would be a romantic getaway for the two of them.
His parents were over the moon with her, and with good reason he supposed. Tiffany was pretty and nice enough. She had long dark hair that was often worn in soft waves down her shoulders. She dressed well and carried herself confidently, especially around others. All of this made her very easy for people to like and he got regular comments from friends about how lucky he was that she settled for a guy like him. It was always said with a light and teasing tone, but he often wondered if she could do better.
He felt like he wasn't living up to what she wanted from a relationship. Scratch that. He knew he wasn't after last night. He had gone out with a friend who was in town for the night on his way out of the country to have a drink and catch the game at a local pub. He came home to her seething.
"Did I do something?" He asked, tentatively as he closed the door to the flat softly behind him."What do you think?" She slammed the TV remote onto the coffee table as she stood up, staring hard at him.
He hesitated in the entry, "I'm.. I'm honestly not sure what I did, Tiffany. I'm sorry, though. I-"
"You're always sorry, John. Sorry that you never invite me out? That I always have to invite myself? Sorry that you never plan dates for us anymore? Sorry that you don't seem to give a shit about us? Christ sake, we barely have sex lately, John! Doesn't that bother you?" Her voice had steadily raised to a near shout by now.
He worried his keys in his hand, unsure how to respond for a moment, "Can we sit and talk about it? I'm sorry, really. I.. I know you don't want to hear that. I don't know what to say.." He trailed off as she glared at him.
"You never do. You never know what to say. Monica got engaged last weekend. Did you know that? Trevor asked her on holiday." Her lips were tense, thin lines, her face flushed.
He creased his brow for a second, confused, "Tiff, what does that have to do wi-"
"Everything!" She cut him off again, "I've been throwing hints at your head for months! Showing you rings I liked, romantic places for holidays, I even pointed out a wedding venue, John. How are you not seeing it?"
"You're upset because I haven't proposed to you?" It clicked at last.
"Yes! It's been over a year and you won't even talk to me about it! Every one of our friends is getting engaged, getting married, having a baby, but here we are, stuck. You act like you aren't interested in this relationship anymore." She blew out a sharp breath, "Every time we fuck lately it's because I start it and you look miserable the whole damn time, like you want to get it over with. Is there something wrong with me?"
His eyes were starting to swim now. He felt overwhelmed and confused about how this night went to shit so fast.
"No, Tiff. There's nothing wrong with you.. I.. Hell, I don't know. I don't know what's gotten into me lately, I think I'm just stressed maybe. I'm sorry, truly." His words were wavering. He couldn't process this right now. It was late and he was still feeling the buzz from the alcohol he'd had, even though this confrontation burned a lot of the tipsy haze away.
She continued to stare holes into him for another minute before letting out a loud, "Fuck!" And storming to the bedroom. He heard her shuffling around in the closet and he followed her in.
She had an overnight bag pulled out, throwing whatever clothes she grabbed first into it before checking her shoulder against him on the way to the bathroom to shove more things in on top.
"Tiffany, wait.. Let's just ca-"
"Don't you dare tell me to calm down, John. I'm done with this. I'm going to Monica's for tonight. I'll come pick up the rest of my things this week." She snapped at him as she slammed the front door behind her on her way out.
He stood in the doorway to their bedroom, not sure what to feel but empty.
"Um.. Hello?" The voice was deep and rough, it shook him out of the reflection he had gotten sucked into.
Megan had left the register and wasn't around, he was the closest person now that the rush had died and a customer was trying to get his attention as he stood with his back to the door.
"Yes, Sir! I'm sorry about that." He finished drying the glass he held onto, bending over to put it behind the counter in its designated spot before painting his customer service smile into place as he turned, "What can I get for you?"
His words started strong, but drifted a little at the end as he looked at the stranger in front of him. He was tall. Really tall. John wasn't small, 6'2" and pretty broadly built thanks to a healthy gym habit, but this man still seemed to tower over him a bit and he was definitely dedicated to the gym as well, or he worked a very physical job at the least. He wore a hooded jumper, unzipped to show a fitted tee beneath that hugged the muscles in his chest. A set of headphones rested around his neck. The lower half of his face was obscured with a mask looped over his ears, black with a cheeky pattern of the bottom of a skull printed on it. He had tousled blonde hair, a little longer on top and deep brown eyes.
He realized those eyes stared at him expectantly. Oh shit! He missed the order.
John let out a little laugh and blinked a few times, "Sorry about that, I missed it. Can you repeat it?"
The man's eyes crinkled up in an assumed smile back, "Can I get a.. Earl Grey with no sugar."
"S-Sure thing. I'll get it going. What's the name?" He held the marker to the cup in his hand.
"Simon. Thanks." He stared at John for another second, eyes warm, handed some folded bills over and walked to the end of the counter to wait.
John swallowed hard.