Chapter Text
Sasha was choking, the coffee rushing blocking her throat as tears streamed down her face. Her grin almost split her face in two as she finally managed to cough out a “Eliass Buttchard” before dissolving into laughter again. Tim beamed, he didn’t normally make her laugh, certainly never to the point of her actually rolling on the floor, and looked at Martin, who’s entire face was bright red and shook with laughter. “You’re such a child, Sasha.”
“Eliass Buttchard” was the whispered reply.
“You know, that floor is probably really grimy. I think I spilled a frappe there yesterday.” She stopped laughing.
“Please tell me you cleaned it up.”
“Mayhaps.” When she tried to sit up, her shirt stuck to the floor, and yanked her back down. Gingerly, she started to sit up again, and unstuck the shirt as she went. She stood and turned to Tim. “I thought I told you to mop that up.”
“Well, sometimes it’s hard to remember, besides I was deep in thought for Elias’ new name after he chewed me out for wearing booty shorts to work.”
“You must admit, it wasn’t very professional.”
“Professional be damned, it’s our coffee shop Sasha. Maybe he just liked what he saw.”
“Please stop.”
“Just saying, I got voted ‘most likely to have hella cake’ in college.” Tim wiggled his eyebrows, and sat on the counter. He turned, and was about to ask Martin why he looked so shook when he heard...music? and rotated fully, ignoring Sasha, who was bemoaning the health standards. When he saw what Martin was gaping at, his jaw dropped too. About 20 feet from the shop, someone was killing it on the piano, sitting there, completely relaxed as the entertainer fell from his fingers. It was hypnotizing, watching them skip across the keys. What was more interesting was the fact that someone was playing the piano, which Tim would swear up and down had not been there a second ago. Tim drew his eyes away, and smirked at Martin. “Know him?”
“No,” he said dreamily. “But I want to.”
“I could…”
“NO.”
“Ok, damn no need to get so mean. I was just trying to set up my best buddy Marto.” Sasha smacked him.
“Get down from the counter you fool, I suspect Eliass is here to settle his beef with the name.” And then he was there, the man of the hour. He looked like a dusty crusty vampire, and all said and done he was the scourge of their odd little section of the mall. His slicked back hair glistened in the warm glow of the shop lights. Bastard. Everyone hated him, even the owners of the shops in the main part of the mall because he was that annoying.
“Hello Elias,” said Sasha, a glint of mirth in her eye. Tim didn’t bother to point out that she dragged the ‘s’ just a little too long. Elias grimaced, and held up the papers he had brought with him.
“Mind telling me how a second ‘s’ found it’s way into my name?”
“Listen, I’m so sorry Mr. Elias sir, I promise it won’t happen again.” Sasha mumbled something to herself, but went to the back.
“Fine. Don’t let it happen again though, I’ll be watching.” He tapped his temple, and then looked directly at the camera in the corner.
“Stop sitting on the counters, that violates the health code.” Sasha emerged from the back, her face red.
“Told you. Wonder if he cracks down on the poor bastards at mcdonalds that hard?”
“Knowing him, he probably just likes to sit in his office and spy on us. Having cctv all over the place can’t possibly as legal as he makes it out to be.”
“And what, exactly, are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing, because we clawed and grasped for this shop.”
“Good boy.” Sasha condescendingly patted him on the head and then got to work as the evening-ish rush of people came through the doors. Tim spared a glance out of the window, and the piano was gone. Perhaps the dark academia piano player was just another “shared hallucination” from the “claustrophobia” of the smaller section of the mall. “Hey, Sash, uh...the piano is gone.”
“Sure it is, Tim.”
“Whatever.”
Jon grumbled as he walked out of the bookstore. Not only had someone reorganized random books overnight, Melanie and Georgie were both annoyingly sweet and had been getting on his nerves all day as he combed through each section of the damn shop for the 1-2 books that were out of place. To make matters worse, that same someone had knocked down the twilight poster. For the third time this week. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree, per se, but it was super hard to keep putting it back up. Of course it was too high up to just stick it back on, so he had to trudge behind the counter, grab the stepladder, walk all the way back and put it back up. He had asked Melanie if they could put it somewhere else, or even just not have it up.
“Seriously, it’s not even a good book. Hell, I’ve read better fanfics th-never mind.”
“What was that, Jon?”
“Nothing. I’ll go and put the poster back.” And so he did, he put the books in their right places, and fielded questions about the odd noises, and ignored the fact that sometimes doors were still open when he knew that he had closed them. So after putting the stepladder away (again), he wandered out of the shop. It was his lunch break, but he wasn’t really feeling hungry, and although he had been at the shop for almost a month now, he hadn’t tried out the coffee shop directly across from it. In fact, he was so embroiled in his thoughts that he walked directly into the...piano? That’s odd. He would have sworn that there wasn’t a piano there earlier that morning. But hey, you know the saying, never look a gift piano in the mouth.
He had taken lessons at his grandmother’s insistence in his childhood, intending to quit but never really stopping. There was something so reassuring about being able to sit down at an instrument and knowing that he could play a piece perfectly. An island in a sea of calm, he supposed. One thing that he didn’t need to worry about. So he pulled out the bench, and played. He felt his shoulders untense as he pressed the keys, and it felt almost exactly like the one in his childhood home. So much, that he swore he could hear his old piano teacher’s voice in his head as he played. When he pulled his fingers off the keys and opened his eyes, he almost expected to see the flowered wallpaper of the den. He didn’t notice the people looking at him through the glass front of the coffee shop.
As he returned to the bookshop, still attempting to collect his thoughts, he realized that there was a door. The book shop certainly didn’t have a door, so why in the world was there one? Looking up, glowing neon letters covered the faded bank sign, spelling out “The Wayward Tea Shop.” He’d never seen any signs of construction, but hell, if they could get a whole piano in without him noticing they could probably sneak an entire shop past him...right? He took one last glance behind him, grasped the knob, and entered.
The inside was so simultaneously bright and dark it hurt. The neon (was that bowling alley?) carpet seemed to swirl and Jon clutched at one of the nearby shelves for support. He was greeted with a jarring voice, which he assumed was further into the shop, but couldn’t figure out the exact location. It seemed to echo and distort, coming from every direction at once. His head swam, but as he walked further it quieted, and he found himself walking through a dizzying maze of shelves, until he reached a counter. Behind it, a man with long, curly hair idly played paddle ball but jumped up with a start and dropped it when Jon walked up to the counter.
“Hello there,” he said brightly. If Jon noticed that it maybe had a tad too many teeth, he didn’t mention it.
“Um-hi. Store popped up rather quickly, eh?”
“Oh, I’ll be gone just as quick. What can I do you for, sir?” His grin really unsettled Jon now, but he vowed to ignore it.
“Tea, I suppose? I was just intrigued.”
“Right-o. Hmm, Jon, Jon. Sims, you said?”
“Um, yes, I suppose-wait. How do you know my name?”
“Your vibes.”
“My...what?”
“Your vibes, dude.”
“Alright, I’m done, I’m out, adios.”
“But wait, what’s about your tea?”
“I DIDN’T BUY ANY TEA.”
“No, you didn’t, but here it is anyways. It even has your name on it, Jonny boy. Would you like a bag?”
“Sure, fine.” Oh well, free tea, he supposed. As long as he was able to find the way out.
Eventually, he did, and the fluorescents hurt his eyes in a different sort of way. Kind of like stepping out of a movie theater into daylight, a different kind of bright. The piano wasn't there anymore, but he was even more dazed than when he had walked into the shop behind him, so he simply ignored it. As he walked into the bookshop, the bloody twilight poster hit the floor. Again. Leaving his bag on the counter, he ducked behind to grab the ladder (again) but was stopped by Georgie.
“Where the hell were you?”
“What do you mean? I’ve been gone 20 minutes.”
“Jon, it’s been 2 hours. I was worried sick.”
“Well, I played the piano out there, and then I went into the tea shop. Not the one across the way, this one sells just the leaves and stuff. Right beside us,” he explained hurriedly.
“Piano?” He gestured behind him.
“You know, in the plaza.”
“Jon, there isn’t a piano out there.”
“Yes there-“ he turned.
“Wait, what? I saw it, I played music.” He stopped. “Well, at very least I can show you the shop. Very bright.” So very bright, his thoughts still felt a little muddled.
He pulled Georgie out of the bookshop, almost dragging her, only to stop, shocked, in front of the place where he knew the tea shop had been. The barred glass windows taunted him, and the absence of a yellow door was not in his favor.
“I know it was there...I-’’
“-you need to go home. Seeing things that aren’t there can’t be good. Perhaps some rest will help. I’m sure Melanie and I can take turns rehanging the twilight poster without you here.” Jon sputtered in protest, but his words fell on deaf ears as she hustled him out of the shop and told him what would happen if he tried to come back in no uncertain terms.
When he got back to his flat, he carried in the bag. Inside was a plain cardboard box, with a simple, written label that had his name on it. Underneath, there was a message that read: “Not for use at home, how about you try the coffee shop across the way. Someone there makes very good tea ;).”