Work Text:
It's just coming up to midnight the first time you see him.
The bell chimes as he opens the door, and his head whips up to investigate, his whole body tenses as if he’s ready for someone to jump him. You must admit, the bell is extremely old, and doesn’t make the most pleasant sound. The bell is rusty, and sounds more like nails dragging on a chalkboard than an actual ring, but it's something that your manager simply ‘hasn’t gotten around to fixing yet’. If you had a dollar for every time someone commented on that bell, you certainly wouldn’t be working here.
The 24-hour diner you work at is a nice place, though. It has a retro 90s theme, leather chairs and tables, round stools at the bar where you and your colleagues serve coffees and breakfast items of all kinds. A jukebox sits in the corner that occasionally plays a tune when someone has the spare change for a song. Otherwise it is relatively quiet. But from your experience, most customers (as well as yourself) prefer it that way. Few come to the diner for a shared meal to exchange gossip and catch up over coffee. No, most people come here for its calm atmosphere. Some people work, some people simply sit and nurse their drink, staring out the window for hours upon end. It's a nice little escape from reality, which everyone needs every once in a while. You know it does wonders for your own state of mind. It makes the job a lot less stressful, and customers tend to be very respectful of the peace.
You watch the man carefully with a smile, knowing he clearly hasn’t been here before. He, upon realising the noise was simply the bell, seems to settle slightly. You giggle as you walk towards the front door to hand him a menu.
“Don’t worry, lots of people get startled by the doorbell. Take a seat wherever you like. I’ll come over in a minute or two.”
The man doesn’t reply, but he nods, and sits himself at the end of the bar. Whilst he is busy with the menu, you take in his appearance. He wears a simple black t-shirt and cargo pants, complete with a brown leather jacket. The shirt is intended to be tight-fitting, but you can see from how it sits that it is too big for him. He almost seems to be swallowed by his clothes, as if he is trying to bury himself in them. You study his face and notice his cheeks are slightly hollow, the bags under his eyes. His posture is hunched, and he is biting his thumbnail as he scans the menu.
You aren’t sure why, but you feel some kind of energy radiating off of the man. You can’t quite tell what energy it is, though. Just something feels… not quite right. You make a mental note of it.
When you see he has set his menu down, you make your way back over to him.
“What can I get you today?”
He quickly glances up at you, seeming rather skittish, before looking back down again. He holds out the menu, pointing to one of the items. You look carefully.
“Our chocolate pancake stack? Absolutely no problem. Do you want anything to drink with that?”
He shakes his head, and you jot a quick note down on your notepad.
“Lovely. It’ll be about fifteen minutes. I’ll take your menu for you.”
You hold your hand out for the menu, and he hands it to you. You almost freeze, as for the first time since he came in, you get a look at his eyes.
Bright, vivid, supernatural green.
You swear you almost see the colour of his iris moving, swirling around the pupils like a body of water. The river seems gentle, but you can just about tell there is something chaotic happening beneath the surface, ripples disturbing the surface and direction of the water. You find yourself lost swimming in the chartreuse depths for a moment, before shaking your head to snap yourself out of it. You give him a warm smile.
“Thanks.”
You can’t recall the last time someone was able to pull your attention like that with a simple look. It was a little dizzying, simultaneously magical and disturbing. A kind of dark magic you would warrant.
You try to shelf it as you hand the ticket back to the kitchen, and go around tending to the other customers, but those eyes remain imprinted into the back of your mind. The image is so vivid you can practically see them every time you blink. You don’t think you’ve ever seen eyes as bright as that. It was almost inhuman.
You find yourself so lost in your thoughts you almost miss the kitchen calling for a server, and quickly scurry over to grab the plate stacked with the fluffy chocolate pancakes, and walk over to where the man is, setting the plate down in front of him. He glances at the plate as you snatch a knife and fork for him, setting it down next to the plate.
“Here you go, enjoy!”
He nods, and once again you leave him to his own devices. It's coming towards the end of your shift now, and so you focus on cleaning up for those who work the morning shift. It's your quietest hour, so you're able to take it a little easier. You absentmindedly hum a tune to yourself as you work, wiping down all of the clear tables and taking any dirty dishes back to be washed. You’re just checking some things on the till when you notice the same man has approached. You look up and smile.
“Alright? Your total today is $12.99 please.”
He gives you $20 and you hand him the change. He drops a few in the tip jar, before turning around and begins making his way to the door.
“Thanks darling, have a good morning!”
He freezes as soon as the last word comes out of your mouth, and he doesn’t move for a few beats. When he moves again, he continues making his way to the door, clearly hoping his pause went unnoticed.
You absolutely noticed.
You’re not sure if it was the term of endearment, or wishing him a good morning, or perhaps it wasn’t you at all. But you saw.
You wondered if you would see him again.
Your question was answered a few days later.
You were working the mid-day shift this time. You worked all sorts of hours, really whenever you were needed. And today was just another one of those days. You saw him come in again, wearing the same outfit as before. You greeted him at the door once again (pleased that he wasn’t as startled by the bell this time).
“Nice to see you again. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll come take your order in just a moment.”
You watched as he went and sat in the same seat as before. You noted that he seemed a little paler this time around, and you went and grabbed a glass of water for him. You placed it in front of him when you went to take his order.
“It’s just some tap water. Don’t worry, it's free. Now, what can I get you today?”
He glares at the water for a moment, as if it personally offended him. Before once again holding out the menu to point towards the chocolate pancake stack once again. You smile.
“Chocolate pancakes? No problem at all. It’s one of my favourites too. It’ll be about twenty minutes this time just because we’re a little busier today.”
He nods and passes the menu to you again, which you take from him. You jot down his order and pass the ticket to the back, and work the front of house. You watch him a little more carefully this time, and see him staring at the glass of water. He cautiously reaches for the glass, and turns it left and right, seemingly looking for something. A scientist carefully peering down a microscope, adjusting the dials until the image comes into focus. You couldn’t imagine what he is hoping to find in the water, but from the intense stare he is giving the inanimate object, you hope he doesn’t find it. He raises the glass and subtly sniffs it, before seemingly satisfied with whatever conclusion he reached and takes a small, tiny sip.
When the kitchen calls out that the food is ready, you walk on over and grab the pancake stack, before taking it to the man and setting it down in front of him.
“Here you go, enjoy darling.”
Once again, he pauses at your words, almost as if he was caught in a freeze frame. Someone just grabbed the television remote and pressed pause. The pause was shorter than last time, but when he moves again, he only acknowledges the comment with a nod. You move off to busy yourself with other tasks.
Ever since the last time he came, his eyes still haven’t left your mind. You can see it perfectly in your head, but the image your mind conjures doesn’t quite do them justice. You want to ask him his name, but the signs his body language gives off tells you that is probably not a good idea. The way he acts almost reminds you of a poor, stray dog. One that growls towards any humans that comes close, but silently begs for help with those sweet, bright eyes.
You watch him again, and notice that this time, he stays a little longer after he eats. You aren’t sure what compels him to hang around. He doesn’t seem to be looking around for anything. Instead, he looks lost in thought. Pondering. Wondering.
You wish you knew what was on his mind.
When he approaches the till, you ring him up once more, and he pays for his food. Before he fully turns around to leave, you speak.
“Enjoy the rest of your day, sugar!”
He pauses once again, but this time, you swear you see the tiniest, most miniscule quirk of his lips. He turns and leaves, the rusty bell signaling his exit. When you go to clear up his dishes, you smile to yourself.
The water glass was empty.
He becomes a regular. Almost every day, alternating between midday and midnight visits. According to your colleagues, if you aren’t working, he turns right back around and leaves. They have only ever seen him stay when you’re there. You brush it off as pure coincidence. Even if it wasn’t, you don’t exactly mind. All he does is come in, order the same dish, pay, and leave. Pretty normal customer as far as you’re concerned. Hence, your colleagues let you handle his order when he comes in, as they find his presence somewhat unsettling for reasons they can’t quite articulate.
He has never said a word to you, so you have absolutely no idea what his name is. But over his visits, you can tell he is warming up to you a little bit. He nods in response to you, and every now and again, you throw in a good joke or another pet name just to see the smallest of smiles grace his face.
You hope that you get to see him smile properly one day. He doesn’t look like someone who gets to smile much.
You’ve gotten so used to his routine that if you’re working, and it's approaching midday or midnight, you drop off a ticket for the pancakes so that they’re ready by the time he arrives. The first time you did this and presented the pancakes to him before you took his order, he sat and stared wide-eyed at the plate. You gave a playful wink.
“I must be psychic!”
He doesn’t respond. He never does. But something in his demeanour shifts. It's small, but it's there. You walk away with a cheesy grin on your face. You’re smiling so hard that when one of your colleagues questions what has got you in such a good mood, you simply shake your head.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
The next development comes about two months after he started showing up.
It’s approaching midnight, and the diner is completely dead. You are the only soul in the building, the chef having gone out for a smoke break. No customers, no other colleagues because they had all gone home.
You’d had a real shitty week. Just one stressor after the other, day after day after day. You were tired, you weren’t sleeping well, you had a migraine, and about a million and one other things on your mind. You knew it was just a rough patch, and that you would be okay eventually. But that doesn’t make the present situation feel any better.
You were clearing up some dirty glasses you had missed earlier and were walking to take them back into the kitchen, when you stepped in a puddle of some spilled drink, causing you to slip and fall, dropping the glasses and sending them crashing to the floor, shards of glass scattering around.
You pull yourself up with a groan, holding your head. The room spins as you do, and when you just about manage to open your eyes you see the mess you made. It takes you a moment to process what just happened, but when you finally do, you break.
The tears begin rolling down your cheeks as your breath catches on your sobs. This was the absolute last thing you needed right now. Sure, dropping the glasses wasn't a big deal on its own. It happens all the time. But it was just another bad thing during a week of bad things and it happened to be the straw that broke the camel's back.
You weren’t sure how long you sat sobbing on the floor for, but your cries blocked out the noise of the bell above the door, causing you to startle when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You glance up and find yourself looking into those same green eyes that haven’t left your mind since the first time you saw them. You sniff and try to wipe away your tears, a shaky smile on your face.
“Oh, hello. Sorry about…”
You gesture vaguely to the mess and yourself and look back to him. He looks very concerned. Not knowing what else to do, you start to ramble.
“You can make yourself comfortable, just be careful of the glass. I’m gonna try and find wherever we put the broom and clean this up, and then sort myself out before I come and take your order. Again I’m so sorry you had to see this. I really didn’t-”
You’re cut off by the man putting a hand on your shoulder. You look back at him, and he gestures wait a second, before moving back towards the door. You see him change the open sign to closed. You go to object, but he simply shakes his head. He crouches down next to you, putting your arm over his shoulders, moving to stand with you. The two of you then make your way over to one of the booths, where he sits you down once more. He rummages through his jacket pockets and grabs a couple of things to put them on the table. You raise your eyebrows when you see antiseptic wipes and bandages.
“Huh? What’s this-”
He quickly swipes on your forehead, and shows the blood on his finger. You frown, and feel your own forehead, blood on your own hand as well.
“Oh. Why don’t I feel it…”
The man looks around for a few beats, before gesturing with his hands. It takes you a moment to figure out what he wants, but you realise he’s asking for a pen and paper. You pull out your notepad and pen from your apron, and pass it to him. He scribbles something down and shows you the notepad.
You’re probably in shock. It won’t need stitches, but that injury needs cleaning. Let me help you.
You look back at him, once again trying to smile.
“Honestly, I can take care of it. You don’t need to-”
He shakes his head, and grabs the antiseptic wipe, opening the small packet before crouching down in front of you, holding out the wipe, waiting. You give a small nod, and he reaches, gently swiping over the cut on your head. You hiss as the antiseptic makes contact, and without thinking grab his free hand to squeeze it. He stills, and you do when it clicks what you just did.
“Shit, I’m so-”
He doesn’t say anything, but he squeezes your hand back in return. He looks awfully conflicted about it, but he doesn’t pull his hand away, and resumes tending to your wound. You close your eyes and decide to just embrace the situation for what it is. You try not to flinch every time he swipes across the cut, but it isn’t the most pleasant experience. It takes what feels like an eternity, but he rises and grabs the bandages, and begins wrapping them around your head. He ties it off, and quickly disposes of the rubbish in the bin, pocketing the roll of bandages. He looks around once more, and walks off and heads into the kitchen. You really shouldn’t let him, but you don’t exactly have the wherewithal to stop him at the moment. He returns with a glass of water which he sets down on the table for you, before sitting across from you, grabbing your notepad and scribbling something else down.
I have tylenol if you want it. Brand new box, unopened. I understand if you don’t, though.
You consider for a moment, before nodding.
“Please.”
He reaches into his jacket pocket once more and produces the tylenol. You open the box and grab two, knocking them back with the water.
“Thank you sugar. I really appreciate you doing this.”
He nods, and the two of you sit in silence for some time. You use this time to really take in the man before you. He looks very different now to when he first came in. His face has filled out more, and his clothes are fitting as they should. He has more colour to his cheeks, and the skin under his eyes is slightly brighter. If you look carefully, you can see some old scarring on his face. He clearly attempted to cover it up with makeup, but you can see where some of them peek through under the layers of concealer.
But, as always, your attention returns to his eyes. You just can’t stop looking at them. They are so vivid, so expressive, even when the rest of his face gives absolutely nothing else away. It’s as if there is an entire story to be found in those eyes, if one were to go looking for it. Yet, you can also tell that they are a pair of eyes that have seen too much for a man his age. You almost wonder if the single white streak in his hair is an aesthetic choice or the result of extreme stress.
Once the tylenol kicks in and you feel more composed, you sigh and finish the glass of water.
“Thank you again, for all of this. You’re really kind. I need to clean up that mess, but you’re welcome to sit here for as long as you like. The chef should be back in a few minutes from his break, and then I can put your order in.”
He scans you over carefully for a moment, looking for something. You aren’t sure what, but you keep still to let him look. His gaze is overwhelming, similar to how he was staring at that water glass the first time you gave him one. Yet, you don’t feel unsettled by his gaze. It's not threatening, simply careful. Gathering information, and doing so in a way that leaves no stone unturned. It's a lot, but it's comfortable.
Whatever he was searching for, he clearly finds, as he nods at you. You give him another smile, and you head towards the back to find the broom to sweep up your mess. When you come back, you find him with toilet paper trying to dry the spillage on the floor.
“Please be careful you don’t cut yourself on the glass!”
He shows you his gloves, which seem pretty thick. You aren’t sure how you didn’t notice them before, but you understand his point. The gloves will protect his hands.
“Alright alright. I know I’m a worry wart. But you don’t have to do this. You’ve already helped more than enough. Where did you learn to patch up injuries like that? You handled that like a pro.”
He pauses momentarily, and you watch as his vivid eyes dull. You’ve never seen that happen to him before. You didn’t even know such bright eyes could be dulled in such a way. You’d almost call it an eclipse of sorts, the light fading like when the moon covers the sun. You frown and back-pedal as best as you can.
“It- it’s okay! That was probably a really insensitive thing to ask. Don’t worry about answering.”
You try to move past the awkwardness by busying yourself with sweeping up the glass, pushing it all into a tidy pile before swapping your broom for a dustpan and brush, collecting it all and throwing it all away in the glass bin outside. The chef sees you and acknowledges your presence with a nod, before both of you head back inside. You ask him to cook up an order of pancakes, and you head back out to the front of house to turn the sign on the door back around. You notice that the man has moved back to his regular spot at the end of the bar, and you smile, grabbing another glass of water and passing it to him.
“I hope you do occasionally eat something other than pancakes darling. It won’t have all the nutrients you need.”
You hear him exhale, a little sharper than normal. At your best guess, it's his version of a laugh. You decide to continue on.
“I mean, I know what I’m like though. Sometimes I just get stuck on a certain food and it's all I want to eat for a while until I’m sick of it.”
You don’t really have anything to do whilst you’re waiting for customers, but you try to make yourself look busy. You don’t want to freak this guy out by being too chatty, not after he went out of his way to help you. That tylenol was really a life saver, your head barely hurt at all. When the chef finally calls out that the food is ready you grab it and set the food down in front of him.
“I hope you enjoy it! Although I have a good feeling you will sweetie.”
He nods, and you lean forward to rest on the counter. Not directly in front of him, but one seat to the side. You glance at him, and you can’t be sure, but you think you see a slight blush dusting his cheeks. You turn your head towards the door to hide your smile. You didn’t mean to embarrass the poor man (you call all customers things like ‘sweetie’ or ‘darling’. It was just the usual here). But there is something sincerely heart-warming about his reaction.
He takes his time finishing his meal, and when he approaches you at the till, you smile and shake your head.
“It’s on us, today. Consider it a thank you for all your help.”
He pauses briefly, before shaking his head, and sliding a $20 across to you.
“Are you sure? I really would like to thank you. You really went out of your way to help a total stranger.”
He only pushes the bill closer, and you sigh.
“Alright, alright. But if there is anything I can do, please let me know?”
He doesn’t nod, but he tilts his head. You can’t quite figure out what that means, but you hope he takes your words seriously.
“Have a great night darling. Hopefully see you soon?”
He nods, and that same, grating bell sounds when he leaves once more. You go to clear his plate and glass away, and you notice your notepad and pen next to them. You must’ve forgotten to take it back from him. You reach for your notepad, only to notice something new written on top.
Take care.
~Jason