coup de foudre | jercy

one: coffee from a knocked-over cup

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it's 3 in the morning, and i'm not quite sure how far i've wandered, but i think that maybe i should stop now. there's a string of snack bars and restaurants, their signs plain like dull stones now that the lights are off. only two places are open, LED-letters glaring at me from where they're pasted onto the front door. both are cafés. the lights of the further one shuts off, so i decide i can stop at the other one for a coffee. it reads cafe: 24/7. clearly, a well-thought name.

i used to hate coffee, i muse as i gently push the glass door—so slight that it doesn't ring the bell attached. there's no one else here, which makes sense because it's a monday night. only the barista, a man slumped over the counter with his head buried in his arms. all i can catch sight of is a dark green jacket that's falling off at the shoulders, a white t-shirt underneath, and black, messy hair.

i hesitate. the menu is spread out on the counter, and there are a few cheesecakes left in a glass display case. i already know what i want, but as i step closer to the counter i'm not sure if i should wake him up; i've worked night-shift before, and i know how shitty it is.

"um." my voice is quiet, and i cringe at the sound of it. a moment passes, and as i expected, nothing stirs.

then, he raises his head, so that only his eyes are visible. they're startlingly green, and widen upon seeing me. "oh, shit," the man mumbles, straightening himself. "my bad—how long have you been waiting for?" he rubs the corner of his eyes with his index fingers, trying to get rid of the sleep written on his face.

"i just got here," i assure him, trying for a polite smile.

"i hope so," he pushes his hair out of his eyes, and says, "so. what's your order?"

"a flat white. medium. i'll have it here."

"anything else?"

a shake of my head. there's pins on the front of his jacket, which he doesn't bother pulling up around his shoulders. some bands that i recognise—green day, nirvana—and then a smiley face, and one that's just the rainbow colours of the pride flag.

he turns around, and i watch him take out a styrofoam cup, press a few buttons in the coffee machine. he takes a jug of milk and, with his back still turned to me, pours some of it in the cup. there's a soft, pleasant sound as the metal jug is set down onto the granite counter. he asks if i want a lid and i shake my head no, despite sort of wanting one. he senses my hesitation, grins, and puts one on anyway. i try to not look at his eyes too much, but they remind me of a murky sea, except a little greener and brighter. like there's an emerald trapped beneath the water and it's just caught the sunlight.

"your name?" he finally asks. he takes the cap out of a sharpie with his teeth—his teeth are long, oval-shaped. it's an odd detail that sticks in my mind.

i smile. "i'm the only one here."

he stares at me for a moment, surprise flickering across his face. i don't know why, but i don't want to say my name; i feel like that would make myself too real. to be here, 3am on a random weekday, just to have a coffee and go—it makes me feel, somehow, a little insignificant, forgettable. i want it to stay that way.

the sharpie closes itself with a click, the cap still kept in place by his mouth. with two fingers, as if it's a cigarette, he holds the marker and sets it down. he leans over the counter. "i'm percy. what's your name? not for the coffee cup."

the question of decision lingers in my head for a few seconds. i respond as quietly as i've been speaking this whole time: "jason."

percy's mouth splits into a slanted grin. "great!" he says, with energy that doesn't belong to this hour, not unless it's a saturday and you've already downed a few shots. he slides the cup across the counter. i take it in my hands. "i'm hoping you don't have a job or something to get to tomorrow, because that would really suck."