Work Text:
Jon closes up the shop the same way that he's done for the past few years. While he likes his job, and the pay is pretty good, the mundane routine wears on him. He feels like he should be doing something greater than making and cleaning up drinks, but it's not like being a barista isn't a noble pursuit. As he looks at the people in his life and the amazing things they've accomplished, a sense of inferiority nags at him. These feelings pop up every now and then, and they always go away, but Jon wishes he could shake them away all together. He's found the best way to temporarily solve this is to make himself a really good cup of coffee. His family and friends appreciate this new coping mechanism for his various insecurities too.
As he's about to leave, Jon notices an unassuming notebook left on one of the booth seats. He thought it was one of the shop's books, but it seems more like it fell out of someone's bag on closer inspection. He picks it up so he can put it in the lost and found. When he takes it into his hands, some loose leaf papers fall out onto the wooden floor. Intent on making sure this person doesn't lose anything else, he gathers the fallen papers, but his eye catches what's written on them.
It's stanzas and scribbles of poetry. The writing isn't exactly amazing, but for some reason, he can't stop reading. He reads all of the detached pages and begins reading the journal itself, but he slams it shut when he realizes what he's doing. He's completely breached some random person's privacy, and now he knows what could be the deepest and most hidden parts of this stranger. He would say he regrets reading it, but the only thing stopping him from reading more is guilt. Something about the poetry compels him. Who is this person? Could he read more of their work? After this, would they allow him to? Would they let him watch them grow as a poet?
Jon glances up at the clock and sees he should've left an hour ago. While that's embarrassing enough, more importantly, he needs to find out who this book belongs to. He remembers what he should've done first and flips to the front. The cursive is somehow harder to read than this person's scribbling in the margins, but he can read the name 'M.K. Blackwood.' There's even a phone number written underneath. He pulls out his phone.
Jon (9:32PM): Hello. I'm a barista from the coffee shop you were at today. You left your poetry journal here. Please come by and pick it up at some point or send your address so I can mail it to you.
He locks up the shop while he's waiting for a response, and he decides to sit in a booth in case the person insists on coming by tonight. A few minutes go by before his phone vibrates.
M.K. Blackwood (9:37PM): jshdfsgdjfsdfjhskjgnsk
Okay. Not what he expected. How this person has managed to fall asleep at their keyboard talking to someone they don't know is beyond him. He has no idea how to reply to this.
Jon (9:39PM): Sorry?
The little typing dots taunt him for about a minute before the person replies.
M.K. Blackwood (9:41PM): did you read my journal?????
He breaks out into a sweat. There's no way they could know. How do they know??
Jon (9:42PM): No, I did not.
M.K. Blackwood (9:42PM): how did you know it was a poetry journal then?
Jon (9:42PM): Oh
This is so unprofessional. He just wanted to give them back their notebook.
Jon (9:44PM): Yes, I read your poetry. I'm sorry for breaching your privacy like that, but once I started reading it, I couldn't stop. I'm not sure how to make this up to you. If you want, I could give you a free drink or pastry?
God, he feels stupid. How did he out himself like that within a matter of minutes? The worn leather book stares at him from the table. This journal has seen years of use, and he read it without a single thought. He might've made the shop lose a customer. Before he spirals any more, his phone buzzes again.
M.K. Blackwood (9:46PM): oh wow i didn't expect you to be so nice about it. other times i've had people read my poetry and immediately make fun of me for it, i'm a little flattered really
M.K. Blackwood (9:47PM): so thanks :,)
M.K. Blackwood (9:47PM): still embarrassed though...
Jon (9:47PM): So am I.
He lets the conversation sit for a moment in case M.K. Blackwood wants to say anything else. Minutes tick by.
Jon (9:50PM): How do you want me to give this back to you?
M.K. Blackwood (9:50PM): well, depends. are you a guy or a girl?
What.
M.K. Blackwood (9:50PM): because if you're a girl, we could meet up and talk about poetry
Jon realizes he never said his name. He can't help his curiosity around this person (woman?) asking for his gender before his name.
Jon (9:51PM): And if I'm a guy?
M.K. Blackwood (9:51PM): then
M.K. Blackwood (9:51PM): you owe me a date :3c
His face flushes immediately.
Jon (9:51PM): .
M.K. Blackwood (9:52PM): is that your way of keysmashing lmao
Jon (9:52PM): Accident
Jon (9:52PM): Shut up
M.K. Blackwood (9:53PM): i didn't even say anything!
M.K. Blackwood (9:53PM): you're being mean to a customer, i should tell the manager about this :(
Jon (9:54PM): ...I work later in the day, how does tomorrow morning sound?
M.K. Blackwood (9:54PM): :D
M.K. Blackwood (9:54PM): and you get me a free pastry
Jon (9:54PM): Deal.
M.K. Blackwood (9:55PM): btw, my name is martin! excited to meet you tomorrow, mystery barista :)
Oh. That's why he asked. He would've been fine with a woman too, but it's been awhile since he went on a date with a man. Giddiness rises in his chest.
Jon (9:55PM): My name is Jon. See you then. :-)
Jon feels a little awkward coming to the shop in normal clothes, but it's sort of nice too. He orders a flat white while waiting for Martin. After picking up his drink, he sees a tall man in a sweater walk in. His whole aura is soft and welcoming, and he's really—
"Cute." Oh god he said that out loud.
Martin notices the journal in his hand and waves at Jon.
"Hi!"