Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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The first time he sees her, it’s fleeting. It's an image that flickers within the frame of his peripheral vision. A flash of blonde and wide smile that beckons one in return. 

The morning rain makes its presence known with the insistent pitter-patter against the diner window. A dozen people wait in line to pick up their morning coffee, ready to jumpstart their monotonous day. They’re vacant, only shells of bodies waiting for some sort of neuro-stimulant to feel anything again. Coffee just happens to fit the budget. 

And he’s no different. John wasn’t absolved from sharing their boredom. Even though he considered himself a career man, when he lied awake at night in a bed he spent months saving for, he felt the dullness settle in and a fading wonder. Each morning it was the same thing, same set of images, same smells and sounds. He eventually stopped perceiving it all, falling into a hypnosis until his first lecture. 

But there was something different this time. A miniscule change, a new light. He doesn’t let himself pay attention to it much until he hears her voice, feminine and thickly effervescent. His gaze drifts towards its source only to lose track. She's fast, quick on her feet as she zips from table to table. Her face is obstructed, providing its undivided attention to the customer. She’s wearing the pale pink uniform all the other server girls wear and just before she turns around, a voice interrupts his train of thought. 

“Sir?” The boy at the register leers at him unsociably. 

“Sorry?” He whips around.

“Look mate, I haven’t got all day.” A man crosses his arms impatiently behind him, and it finally dawns on him. 

“Oh, right, yes–sorry.” He fumbles with his coat pocket, digging out a worn leather wallet. “A medium coffee, black please.”  

The boy is back an instant, handing the warm cup to him with an indifferent glance, quickly moving to the next customer in line. By the time he turns back around to search for her, she’s gone. A smidge of disappointment tugs on his mind but time doesn’t allow for him to ponder it further before he’s out the door and she leaves his thoughts.

Days stretch into weeks. They wax and wane and his disposition oscillates in waves.  January fades as February sets in, bringing buckets of cold rain and frigid breezes with it. Unsurprisingly, his students fail their first exam of the semester. John, unsubscribed from the idea that easy money means an easy degree, used his tenure to challenge his students. Some adapted and some didn’t. It was the month of terrible weather and impudent phone calls from the dean’s office.

The next time he sees her, she’s wearing blue. The gaps between classes this semester allowed for a generous lunch break (not without its healthy dose of work to catch up on, mind you). Naturally, he swings by the Bad Wolf diner for brunch. 

Amidst replying to an email about something that could have easily been answered had the student taken a look in the syllabus, the door opens and the bell above it chimes. It isn’t until he hears that familiar voice from a pair of full lips that he looks up. 

John can see the girl in full colour now. He watches as she hurriedly shakes off her umbrella, the little water droplets falling to the door mat. Her hair is damp and she’s reaching back to tie her apron around an oversized blue band t-shirt with the words “No Hot Ashes”. It looks to be a man’s.

“You’re late!” An American accent calls from beyond the counter, playful and friendly.

“Sorry! Ran into a bit of a situation at home…” she runs behind the counter and rapidly types on the register, clocking in. “Do me a favour and fix that time tonight, yeah?”

“If I keep doing that Richard’s eventually gonna find out, you know.”

“Well, Richard’s not here now, is he?” She grinned.  “Promise it won't happen again. I swear.

“Yeah, not the first time I’ve heard that. What’s with the blue?”

“Don’t even ask.” She rolls her eyes.

“Alright. God knows how many weird get-ups I've worn on the walk back home.” He pauses in thought. “Once I found myself wearing a red leotard on my way back from an orgy in college–don’t know how that happened."

The girl smacks his shoulder, “Jack!” She glances around the shop for prying eyes and their gazes meet for a split second before he quickly looks away. Way to look like a complete creep , he chastises himself. 

“You know it’s not like that.” She starts brewing a pot of coffee, and John can hear her mumble “Couldn’t if I wanted to anyways.” 

He can’t quite place the relationship between the two of them. He’s not sure why he even wants to. He came here to get work done, not stalk some random server girl. Returning his attention to the mind-numbingly boring email, he finishes it. 

Occasionally, there were a few golden students that truly impressed him with brilliant writing and well derived commentary. Even on the first day of class, he could pick apart those who wanted to learn from those that took his class for the credit. It was what drove him to continue teaching.  Midway through a half decent paper on “The French Revolution and Facilitating Modern Societal Dynamics”, a student sits down at the table adjacent to his. Not one of his, but certainly one from the university. He sips his coffee and a breeze of honey scented air wafts his way. Without will, his heart pace picks up a little as he realises she’s standing right next to him.

“What can I get ya.” He watches her reach for her notepad, scribbling down his order of chips and a burger. Her nails are bitten short and her fingers are still flushed from the cold outside. She bites her lip as the boy describes his ridiculously extravagant coffee, making sure to catalogue every uselessly delicate detail he throws her way. 

“Extra large order of chips with a bacon burger, an iced white mocha latte with two pumps of vanilla, one pump of caramel, vanilla cold cream, and butterscotch drizzle.” She repeats back with perfect accuracy. 

“With less ice this time. This place always puts too much in." The boy sneers, and John struggles to hide his indignance beside her.

“Sure thing. Anything else?” She asks politely, completely unphased by the man’s rudeness. 

“No.” He doesn’t look away from his mobile. 

“I’ll be right back then.” She beams, and John feels as though he’s the only one to appreciate it. When she turns around, he quickly fixes his gaze on his computer, pretending to read the words on the screen. 

“More coffee?” She asks, and he looks up at the girl. Her eyes are kind and doe-like as they peer at him. She’s pretty, like a flower , he thinks. He glances at his cup, almost empty.

“Err, yes, please.” He offers a smile at her, but she doesn’t register it, not really.

“Any cream, sugar…?” 

“Nah, just black will do.” 

She swiftly takes the cup back behind the counter and sticks the order up on the kitchen window. Her attention is fixed on making sure every order gets to its destination, completely enraptured in the job. She worked as if it were a distraction, never stopping for whatever chased her. Minutes later, she drops off a warm cup and the sod’s milkshake. 

“There you are.” She sets it down on the table and before he can thank her she’s gone. 

Lifting up his sleeve to glance at his watch revealed only 20 more minutes before he needed to be back on campus. Finishing the cup quickly, he grabs his satchel and leaves without another look. It wasn’t important, why would he? Perhaps next time he would get more work done.

As February neared its end, John found himself going to that little diner on the street corner more and more. Whether it was coffee in the morning or lunch between classes, it was convenient and delicious. Occasionally, on Wednesdays, he would see her. She rarely worked lunch hours, only breakfast and supper. If he stayed long enough he would catch her, all smiles and laughs as she walked through the door. Not that he waited on purpose. Not that it was any of his business.

When the first flowers of March began to blossom, John saw the girl once again. This time though, neither of them were in the diner. 

It was the weekend and he decided to pay a visit to Clara's bookshop to return some rentals. He had been searching for a particular book about the Achaemenid Empire, running his fingers along the spines, when the door opened, carrying a familiar scent in its breeze. Through a gap in the shelves, he peeked through to find the girl with a bloke he’d never seen before, practically dragging him behind her. He wasn’t the American from the diner, no–this one was more grungy. 

“Why are we here again?” He adjusts his jacket, littered with poorly sewn patches.

“I wanted to look around, I hardly ever get to bring you to these places.” She’s surveying the book selection, two shelves ahead of him. 

“I call off a night with my mates and this is where you bring me?” 

“You can’t tell me it’s not just a little bit romantic…” she teases, but it's lost on him. 

So, a boyfriend , he thinks. They move down a row and he quickly pulls out a book and flips to a random page, hoping she doesn’t see him. If he didn’t look like a stalker before, he certainly would now. 

“Yeah, but you don’t read.” He hears the boy say, uninterested in the place.

“I-I do! Or I did at least. Haven't had much time recently.” They make their way down the shelf, and he glances up every few seconds. 

“I’ve never seen you with a book since I met you.” 

When she ignores him, he whines, “C’mon sugar, let's get out of here and go to the pub or something.” She flips through the pages of a book he can't see and he seizes her arm. “This shithole is reminding me of school.” 

John grimaces at his words, and silently wonders why she would ever date such a tosser.

“I wanna stay, Jimmy.” She shrugs him off and he groans. 

“So what, you want me to just stand here?” 

“You know, you might try broadening your horizons as well.” 

“No thanks.” He shuffles around a bit before coming to a breaking point. “Can we go now?”

“ No , I’m not done yet.” She grits out, irritated at his childish moaning. 

“Fine. You wanna stay here and read some stupid book, go ahead, Rose. I’m going out for a smoke.”

Rose , that was her name. It suited her. John watched Rose scoff at Jimmy as he left the store, lighting a cigarette, and walking around the corner. She shakes her head and turns back to her book. Seemingly no longer engaged by it, she shuts it with a sigh and continues her search. When she reaches the end of the row and rounds the third, only a thin metal shelf separates them. He should move, put the book back and leave, but he can’t. It was as if something possessed him to stay. When she reaches the fourth row, it comes as a relief when she doesn’t immediately notice him. Instead, she simply continues looking. She’s dressed in a green sundress that fits her form well, most likely meant for the date she was currently on. A look of satisfaction fills her face when she finds the history section, and John’s intrigue grows tenfold. 

Her fingers graze across a book titled ‘A Comprehensive History of Oriental Society’, written by a moron, and pulls it out. Unable to help himself, he speaks out. “If it's general history you’re looking for, try Raymond Stokes.”

“Sorry?” She turns to him and her gaze fills with vague recognition. 

He turns towards the shelf, hastily searching for a specific yellow hardback titled ‘The Craft of East Asia’ before handing it to her. “Raymond Stokes. Try his books, they’re quite good.”

“I see…and why is,” she looks down in search of the author of the book she originally selected, “Geroge Milwow–Milwaukee not?” 

“Well, for one, he’s an idiot. His opinions are incredibly outdated. He white washes the entire thing and sprinkles in a bit of racist commentary in between, and anyone who likes his stuff is an idiot too–not to say that you’re an idiot, that is. I just mean that in the broad, general sense, his fans are idiots–and you wouldn’t be an idiot if you still decided to read it. I suppose it’s just a matter of opinion. What was I saying? Raymond Stokes. Much better author.”

A smirk tugs on her lips and she steps closer. “If it is just a matter of opinion, who’s to say Raymond Stokes isn’t an idiot either?”

“If it’s a matter of opinion, I guess you’ll have to read him to find out.” 

“I guess so.”

Teetering on the edge of playful banter and flirting, his gaze trudges over her form again. How old was she? Couldn’t be a student as he’d never seen her around campus before, although he’d suppose she was more than qualified. Not even his own students paid any mind to the local book shops. 

“What’s your name?” She asks with a tongue-touched grin.

“John.”

“Then I’ll let you know if this Raymond bloke’s an idiot or not next time I catch you at the diner, John.” She pivots and quickly checks out with both books before walking out the door.

She did know who he was. 

“Do you know her? Rose.” Clara asks, appearing from the back office of the store. 

“Her? Nah. Not really.” He shelves the book he was holding. “Does she come here often?”

“Sometimes. Seemed like you did.” 

“I know of her.” He corrects, and he certainly did now.

A ray of sunshine escapes from the clouds above and all the puddles glimmer on the sidewalk. He almost misses it when he sees it, and he can’t stop himself from backtracking to peek down the alleyway next to Clara’s shop. Tiny muffled sounds escape her as Jimmy pins Rose up against the grimey brick wall. Unable to tear his eyes away, the boy snakes a hand up her side and she tries to shove him off. Unsuccessful, she eventually gives in, weakly responding until he’s satisfied. He feels paralysed, unable to move. His mind screams to stomp over and tear off the boy but he just can’t . 

John moves lighting fast when he sees her glance in his direction, hoping– praying she didn’t see him.

He moves at a brisk pace away from the alleyway without looking back, trying to expel the images of the two from his mind. What compelled to watch was a question he had no answer for. It was none of his business. He felt dirty, soiled with guilt. God, he hoped she didn’t catch him.

Weeks pass and John avoids the diner. Unable to work up the confidence to look her in the eyes, he opted for cafeteria food. He holds his midterm mid-March. The averages are negligible but better than the first exam. He takes it as a win. The air is thick with pollen and the campus is flourishing. He passes by a tree with pale pink blossoms that catches his eye. 

Perhaps he will get lunch today. 

His heart skips a beat when he spots her through the window, writing down orders and serving as fast as she can. The place is packed, students and regular folk alike fill nearly every seat. He sits himself at an available table next to the window, picking up a menu. Not that he even needed one.

“Took you long enough.” She says as she sits across from him. 

“Hello’ also works.” He smiles, setting the menu down and adjusting his specs. It quickly fades as he realises how busy the other server girls are. “Are you allowed to be sitting here right now?”

“I’m on break. What do you want?” She gestures at the menu. 

“Oh I can’t, if you’re on break. I’ll let someone else take it. I’m sure you’ve been busy enough.”

“That’s nice, but one more won't kill me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely positive–wait, let me guess.” She closes her eyes, racking her brain for his usual. “English breakfast with a black coffee?” 

“Molto Bene!” 

“You speak Italian?” She asks incredulously. 

“You knew that was Italian?” 

“Do you always answer a question with another question? And yes, it's quite basic.” 

“Do you?”

She giggles, and he finds himself captivated by her vibrance. The pink collared shirt beneath her apron masterfly compliments her complexion and she seems to glow in the sunlight. When she returns from the counter, she brings him his coffee. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” He takes a sip and hums approvingly. 

“I wanted to. You used to come in pretty frequently. It's the least you deserve for putting up with Jack and I. Why’d you stop?” 

John nearly chokes on his coffee as images of her in the alleyway flare to life in his mind again. “Err, just busy, I suppose.” He swallows thickly, forever thankful she didn’t see him that day. “Did you get around to reading the book?"

“A bit.” She shrugs.

“And?”

“I suppose George Milwaukee is a bit of a moron.” 

“Told you.” He smirks, and she rolls her eyes. 

“So what are you, some kind of professional book connoisseur?”

“I’m a professor, thanks.”

“Same thing– wait , a professor as in you teach down the street?” 

“That’s the one.” He sips his coffee as her eyes widen. “You seem surprised.” 

“I just didn’t expect it, that's all.” She fidgets with the hem of the smock. “What’s it like?”

“Why, you interested in applying?” 

“ No, goodness no. Just curious.” She stammers, not allowing herself to give the idea any thought. 

“It’s not what it's cracked up to be. The students are all rich arseholes and so are the professors.”

“I guess I should have expected that.” 

“No. It's good you didn’t. I wish more people had faith like that–especially on the staff.”

“So you hate it?” 

“Not necessarily. I do love to teach. I could’ve had it worse.” 

“Just a job, then.” 

“Pretty much.” 

“Listen, I’m sorry you had to see that the other day–or week, now.” She says after a moment.

“W-what?” his voice cracks, terrified she really did see him.

“What my boyfriend said about the shop. It’s not a ‘shithole’. I just wanted to apologise for that.”

“Oh,” he sighs, “it's quite alright. They weren’t your words.”

“I still feel bad though. Jimmy can be a bit…” she trails off, and a shadow of resentment casts over her face before she discards the line of thought. “Anyways. I should be getting back.”

“Right.” 

“It was nice meeting you, John.”

“Likewise.”

“Come by more often, yeah? It’s nice to see a familiar face.”

Oh , he would.