Chapter Text
It was raining outside, Scott hated it when the weather was like this. It made his hair frizz and the New York traffic was even more impossible than usual, which meant that a taxi to downtown had its fare nearly doubled. The only good thing about the weather was that the dark clouds covered the sun enough for his skin not sizzle.
He took shelter from the rain inside a small coffee shop, his favourite leather jackets seemed to at least be safe from the rain, so that was a small grace, but it’s at times like these he misses having reflection, to ensure his hair looked at least adequate.
Outside the rain poured and Scott was still self-absorbed in his own problems, wondering how he was going to make it home in the rain. Shelby had sent him to run chores downtown as she was too focused on her latest novel to stop writing.
A familiar sound snapped him out his misery.
“Two iced caramel macchiatos coming right up!” The voice said cheerily.
That voice.
It made his cold unbeating heart beat once in his chest.
He scanned the crowd for the familiar face, for white unruly hair that he so badly had wanted to tame with a brush. His search came up empty, of course it had. It’s been well over 200 years and his Avid is long gone, betrayed by his own coven with a stake pierced through the heart.
“Ells, can you go pick the caramel syrup up from the storage? We’ve run out.” The voice called once more.
There it was again. That so very familiar voice. It’s been well over 200 years and he could still hear it at night, when the moon was high. Maybe he was going crazy, hearing voices of the the dead and gone...
He dismissed the sound once again, focusing instead on the menu along the side wall to see if anything seemed tempting.
With the years passing, he found that he could stomach some human foods in smaller quantities. While it didn’t taste nearly as good as fresh blood, and it was nowhere nearly as filling, he did fancy an iced americano as a monthly treat.
He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and frowned at it like it might bite. The thing was far too thin, far too bright, and entirely too eager to demand his attention. Drift and Shelby had insisted—You can’t just not have one—and so here he was, holding a glowing slab of glass that buzzed like an irritated insect every few hours.
He poked at the screen with suspicion, checking for messages. There were none. Good. He disliked how easily the device made him reachable, how it collapsed centuries of distance into something that fit in his palm.
Without lifting his eyes from it, he said, “Iced americano. No sugar. To go.”
“Iced americano, no sugar, to go, coming right up!” Said the same voice from before.
He raised his eyes form his the accursed little rectangle in his hand.
And the most peculiar thing stood before him, he looked like Avid, but not the vampire one he was so fond of.
For starters his hair was all wrong, brown in place of the vampire white. Instead of the vampiric red pupils, he had purple eyes and in favour of his blood red cloak, he wore a dark green apron with a tag with his name scrawled on.
But his Avid was long gone. How could this be?
“Name?”
He didn’t answer.
The barista – Avid, said the tag, – tilted his head to side just a little, his eyes shining bright and his marker hovered over the plastic cup. Up close it was even worse. The face was right. The shape of it, the line of his jaw, the way his tongue poked out when he concentrated on writing “with love” on the plastic cup. But everything else was just ... Wrong.
“Uh,” the barista said again, not knowing how to respond. “Can I get a name? For the cup...”
It took him a moment more to find his words again.
“It’s Scott.” He said.
“Gotcha!” Avid smiled, wide and easy, and wrote it down without ceremony. If he remembered Scott he did not show it. No hesitation. No spark in his eyes of something familiar. Just as a stranger in line...
Scott watched the name appear in blocky handwriting, somehow alike the one he carved onto a tree with Scott so long ago.
Avid turned away to start the coffee machine and Scott found himself rooted in place. He hummed an unfamiliar song as he tapped ground coffee into the portafilter.
“Ells?” He called over his shoulder. “We’re low on the tall cups too.”
“Of course we are,” Said the voice from the storage room, presumably ‘Ells’ “Use the ventis, no one cares.”
“Will do” He said, easily plucking a cup from the pile and filing it with ice. Avid worked with easy confidence, not once glancing back at Scott like something tugged at him. He didn’t feel Scott starring.
“Here you go,” He turned the cup towards him to check the label “Scott, iced americano, no sugar.”
Avid slid the cup across the counter and Scott found himself mourning that he wouldn’t get to touch his fingers to Avid ‘s once more.
‘With love, for Scott’ it read.
Scott couldn't help the grim laugh that escaped his lips.
“Thanks” He muttered.
“Have a good one, Scott.” Avid replied, already turning to the next customer in line.
That was it.
No pause, No second look. No recognition.
Scott took a step toward the door, rain still hammering against the windows, then stopped, checking the coffee machine's metallic body for a reflection, and there it was. So very human, Avid preparing a Vanilla Latte like nothing had happened 200 years ago.
“Something wrong with your drink, Scott?” Avid noticing him standing idly by the door.
“How long,” he asked quietly, “Have you worked here?”
“Uh, couple months, I think?” Avid glanced back, always polite but still distant. “Anything else I can get you?”
Scott shook his head. “No, that’s all.”
He left before his resolve would crack. The rain swallowed him immediately, cold and relentless. The city pressed in on all sides, loud and alive and indifferent – not unlike this Avid. Scott stood under small coffee shop’s awning for a moment, starring through the glass.
Inside, Avid laughed at something Elle said.
Scott turned way.
Two hundred year ago in Oakhurst, he had built a grave for him. Now, in the middle of New York city, he had just ordered coffee from him.
And Avid hadn’t recognised him at all.
Hey, maybe he really was going crazy...