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Jonathan Sims liked three things: Coffee, The Admiral, and quiet coffee shops. He did not like going to the Starbucks on main street, being poisoned, or supernatural occurances.
He particularly did not like being ambushed by weird men with glowing red eyes on his way home from work, however that had been happening more and more as of late. This madman in question - whose scruffy appearance was not hot, at all - kept telling Jonathan that he was, "in danger," and that he was, "being hunted down by a very dangerous person."
The dangerous man in question was probably just Jon's landlord looking for overdue rent, or perhaps Elias wondering why Jon had taken to staring out of windows muttering about spiders, so Jonathan didn't pay the strangers words much mind.
Jon was now starting to wonder, as he stared at the cheery Starbucks barista, if he should've asked the guy more questions.
You see, it all started on a Tuesday, as very few things do. For several months, Jon had frequented a local coffee shop, that was in a dead end area and tended to have very few customers. Every Tuesday, Thursday, and the occasional shitty Wednesday, Jon would stroll over and enjoy a nice cup of… something. Jonathan wasn't actually sure that it was coffee they served, but it was cheap, and kept him sane through Elias's budget meetings.
Yet, on that one Tuesday, Jon ran into a problem - the shop was closed, and there was a sign. Now, the coffee shop was never closed. Rain or shine, robbery or suspiciously hairy guy who was most likely an actual wolf in disguise, it was always open. According to the sign, though, it was now permanently closed, as the shop owner had been caught embezzling money for a local brony convention. It was, quite frankly, a shock - Jon had thought that he and the owner had been on relatively good terms, so to find out that he hadn't been invited to this brony convention was a tad disappointing. Either way, this posed a large problem - if the local, quiet, and reasonably priced coffee shop was permanently closed, where would Jon go to get the drug that enabled him to live through experiences like spiders in the bathroom, uncomprehensible cosmic horrors, and homosexuality?
If you guessed the Starbucks? You'd be right, of course. But Jon did all he could to avoid going there. Looking for other shops? He could not find one. Swearing off of coffee and coffee like substances? He could not last a single meeting called by Elias in relation to the archives "work ethic issues." Buying a coffee maker and making his own coffee? The local grocer got closed down because they failed their health inspection, and Jonathan seemed to run into the scruffy madman more when he went there.
That leads us now to a Wednesday afternoon. Not a nice one, no, but a dreary one. The sky had been threatening rain all day, the wind sharp and cold on Jon's cheeks when he went outside, and howling when he was indoors.
And Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, had given in. He stood, shifting under the gaze of the relentlessly smiling barista, and glanced up at the Starbucks menu. Pop music, censored and covered by random people so corporate could avoid legal issues, blared loudly, but failed to drown out the screaming children not fifteen feet behind him.
Clearing his throat, he went to order. "May I have a large black coffee, please?"
The barista shook his head, long hair flowing with the motion, and frowned.
"Ah… a venti? A venti black coffee."
Jon had faced worms, mannequins, the HR department, and death itself, yet a distinct terror fell over him as the barista smiled wide, with just a few too many teeth to be correct.
"Thank you," the barista said, voice a soothing sing-songy tone, "what's your name today?"
The terror must've shown on his face, as the barista tilted his head, crown staying perfectly in place, and clarified.
"For your order… to call out?"
"Ah. Ah yes, it's Jon." Jonathan hesitantly responded.
He didn't have to wait long in the shop, Jon noted with some relief. The pop music had somehow grown louder in the few minutes Jon had been in the store, and now that he tried to listen to it… He wasn't sure that the lyrics were words at all. It all sounded just slightly off, and listening too hard started to make his head pound.
"For Jeremiah!" The barista called, staring at Jon. "Excuse me, Archivist! Your coffee!"
Not wanting to argue about his name and mildly disconcerted about the fact that the barista knew he was an archivist, Jon grabbed his coffee - and like a smart man, which he often wasn't - ran, not even paying attention to the brush of his arm against a man passing by outside the Starbucks, or the strange tingling sensation.
After a few blocks, Jon ducked into an alleyway and bent down, breathless. Running is not generally a requirement of being an archivist or going on an afternoon coffee run, but he seemed to do it enough that he was slowly improving his cardio skills.
He froze, though, as a familiar pair of black work-boots and black jumpsuit pants came into view. Slowly looking up, he saw the (admittedly handsome) face of the madman, who might not actually be so mad.
His red eyes seemed to stare into Jon's very soul as he spoke.
"What do you know about soulmates?"
"That they're a fictional concept primarily used as a way to advance the relationship of two characters who otherwise have little written chemistry?"
"Well, yes," the man said, pausing, "except soulmates are real, and I believe that you're my - that we are soulmates."
Jonathan frowned, opening his mouth to speak, before cutting himself off as The Eye shared it's benevolent knowledge with him. How he'd missed the concept of soulmates entirely was beyond him, but Jon supposed that it could be because of his childhood trauma.
"Well then. What's your name?" Jon stood up as he asked the question, brushing off his jacket and pants, and going to take a sip of his coffee.
"Shouta," Shouta said, blinking for the first time this conversation, "but most people call me Eraserhead. Also, the Starbucks barista from main street has been following you for weeks."
Jon scoffed. "If he'd been following me I would've noticed."
"Are you sure?"
"No. Want the rest of my coffee? It tastes weird."
Shouta didn't respond and simply took the coffee, downing it in one go before tossing the cup on the ground. Jon was almost in awe. As it was, he had planned to visit The Admiral that evening, so he turned around to walk away.
"Wait-!" Exclaimed Shouta, who reached out towards Jon.
Instead of the entrance to the alleyway there was a door. And not a headache inducing door reminiscent of Micheal or Helen, but a clear glass one with a bell, and a singular sticker of a Starbucks logo. Looking through the glass was the barista, who raised a hand and beckoned Jon in.
The barista had changed, though. Instead of legs, he had two long tails, and as he shifted his body it became quickly apparent that he was somehow two-dimensional.
I'm sure you've realised already, but Jon had a dawning moment of clarity as he looked upon the ever smiling face of the barista - unrelated to any wisdom granted by The Eye - followed by a quick realisation of how screwed he was, because he forgot one important thing. Perhaps it is not important to most, but to the underpaid customer service workers, it is their life, blood, and soul.
Jonathan Sims forgot to tip.
"I have no change, I can't tip you!" He said, backing away from the door, which was now opening on its own.
Unluckily, the coffee cup that Shouta had just thrown away was right in his path, and Jon, reminiscent of a terribly cliche romcom, slipped and fell right into Shouta, who fell down in turn, leaving them both sitting on the dirty ground of an alleyway.
The Starbucks barista, now frowning once again, started to move towards the door, his luscious long hair flowing in a way that made Jon jealous, before he remembered that the barista was most likely about to murder him and Shouta.
Swearing, Jon scrambled up, and pulled Shouta up with him.
"We've got to run!" He cried, desperately looking around for an exit, of which there was none, unless Jon suddenly learned how to scale buildings.
Shouta placed his hand on Jon's cheek, his red eyes staring unblinkingly into Jon's.
"Don't worry, Jon, I can handle this."
With a grace that, had anyone other than Jon seen it, would inspire them to go into ballet, Shouta whipped his wallet out of his pocket, his capture weapon flinging it straight into the barista's face. As the barista stumbled backwards, the wallet fell onto the Starbucks floor, revealing several £20 bank notes.
"There's your tip," huffed Shouta, "and don't come back for more. Your coffee sucked."
If it weren't for the rapidly collapsing Starbucks shop, the barista probably would've killed Shouta for daring to insult his coffee, but as it was, he was busy sobbing over the change that would pay for his weekly groceries. Turning towards Jon, Shouta made a motion with his face that might've been a smile.
Jon didn't care, though, as he pulled Shouta close and leaned in to kiss him, awkwardly at first, but soft nonetheless.
Shouta hummed, and broke away only to lean his forehead against Jon's.
"Be my boyfriend?" Jon asked.
"Buy me non-Starbucks coffee?" Shouta asked in return.
Smiling, Jon only reached to kiss Shouta again.