I HAD WRITERS BLOCK BUT NOW I HAVE A BLÅHAJ !!! HE'S HUGE !!! PACING IS PROBABLY OFF CAUSE IM EXCITED THAT I HAVE A METER LONG SHARK
You opened your mouth to retaliate, but No-Face was gone and the conversation was over. There was no point yelling for him to come back, because he was a stubborn bastard and probably wouldn't listen to you.
Wordlessly, you threw your arms around Jack, your head tucked into the crook of his neck as you said: 'God, I fucking missed you.' It hadn't even been that long, but after being separated from him for an entire week, you didn't really want to leave his side ever again.
He laughed, the hand that was holding yours slipping out of your grip so it could be placed on your back as he returned your hug. 'I can't tell,' he replied teasingly. 'Do I get a kiss too?'
'I suppose.' You lifted your head and placed what was supposed to be a quick kiss on his lips, but Jack obviously had other ideas, because when you pulled away, he brought you right back for another, then another, then another.
In what was quite possibly his boldest move yet, he left your lips and planted an innocent and gentle peck on your neck, dragging a contented sigh from your lungs. He took that as a sign to continue, and he trailed up and down your neck and jaw while your forehead rested against his shoulder, eyes shut and mind blank. It was like you were floating on a cloud.
'I love you so much,' he murmured, 'so, so much.'
'I can't tell,' you said, echoing his words from not even a minute earlier. 'I've got something to show you.'
'Hm? What is it?'
'Can't say. Come on.' You pressed a final kiss to his cheeks before gently dragging him towards the car. 'I saw something driving home and had an idea, but I want to show you before I actually tell you what my idea was.'
'Now you're worrying me.'
You grinned as you opened the passenger side door. 'There's nothing to worry about. Trust me.'
Even though the drive wasn't that long, Jack used every second to try and pull the answer out of you, yet you swiftly deflected every advance and refused to give it away. The tiny voice in your brain was telling you that it was a horrible idea, but you knew you had to at least tell him your idea while in the perfect place.
'At least tell me what your idea was,' Jack said, his fingertips tapping against your palm as the anticipation started to eat him alive.
With a shake of your head, you said, 'Nope, cause that will give away the surprise.' Nearly there. 'Though, I do have a question to ask you. Do you remember the woman who drove you around after fighting Chernabog?'
'Marigold?'
'Yeah, her. Did she mention an antique shop to you?' One last corner.
'I don't think so, why?'
'Just wondering,' you said, sitting up a bit straighter as you scanned the street for a parking space that your car could squeeze into. There was one at the end of the road, which wasn't ideal, but it was better than walking all the way from your house. 'Can you manage the walk?' you asked as you helped him stagger out of the car.
'Yep. Thank you for letting me use the cane, by the way. It's a big help.'
'I thought it would be. What finally made you give in and go get it?' Hand in hand, you slowly led him down the street.
With a look that could only attributed to slight embarrassment, he said, 'I couldn't hoover properly. I thought that I'd do you a favour and tidy up a bit.'
'You're far too kind, thank you. You could have waited till I got back—I could have done the hoovering for you.' You frowned, sticking out your bottom lip and pretending to be upset.
'That defeats the purpose of me doing it,' he chided. 'Next time I'll leave it to you, alright? But only if you let me do the smaller things that don't require a heavy piece of machinery.'
'Done.' Your eyes fell on the now empty shop that looked like it had been sat abandoned for years. 'Here we are. I don't know why this place is suddenly abandoned, but I thought you might want to have a look at it. You said you wanted a café, so...' You trailed off, your eyes fixed on Jack as you waited for his reaction. 'I-I don't know how much it is, or what—'
'I can afford it,' Jack said.
'What?'
'I can afford it. My bank accounts weren't touched by my parents while I was missing, so I still have all my money.' He whispered the amount in your ear, smiling when your jaw dropped. 'Whatever we need, we can afford it. Did you have an idea for what we can do with the place?'
'Something small and comfortable. There aren't many cafés here, so we could do something that makes it a safe space for people? It'll be your café, so the decision's yours at the end of the day,' you said with a shrug.
'If we're starting a business like this, I want your input as much as possible. It'll be our café, not just mine. We're a team, remember?' The fondness in his eyes sent flips to your stomach, and you couldn't help but think about how lucky you were.
'I know, I know. So? What do you think?'
'I think it's perfect.'
<><><>
Sat around your kitchen table, Greg and Gabby listened intently as Jack explained the plan that he finally had the opportunity to enact. Papers were scattered all over the tabletop, covered in excited scribbles and rough sketches.
You and Jack had spent the majority of the evening before and that morning discussing everything that the two of you could think of, from the wall colour to the type of crockery, and there was about fifteen different tabs open on your laptop about starting up a food-related business/café.
It had been your idea to invite Greg and Gabby round. They both had talents when it came to interior design, and getting their opinion on things would massively speed up the planning process. You were good when it came to colour psychology, but your combination choices weren't good enough for a professional setting.
'Have you been inside the building to see what the lighting is like?' Gabby asked. 'Cause you could choose the best colours in the world but have them ruined by the amount of light you get.'
'I haven't seen it empty, but when it was an antique shop it got a decent amount of light,' you replied. 'Like, average, I think. Not blinding, but not too dull either.'
'Average, huh...?' Gabby took your laptop and swirled it around so she could use it, chewing her lip as she searched for something. 'I think there's about five colour schemes that could work with that...? Yeah, five.' She turned the laptop around so you, Jack, and Greg could see the schemes she had found: light, dark, warm, earthy, and pastel.
Greg frowned and said, 'Definitely not earthy. Too boring.'
'Boring how?' Gabby challenged with a raised eyebrow. 'Earthy schemes have good meanings, they're popular—'
'Reason number one: they're popular. I don't think using the same colours as literally everyone else will make it unique. I mean, we could steal come of the colours from it, but using the entire scheme sounds like a bad move.'
'Maybe not brown,' Jack piped up. 'All the places like Costa and Starbucks have brown somewhere in their shops.'
'That's fine—brown is gone.'
Resting your chin on your palm, you hummed quietly to yourself as you thought. 'I'm not vibing with dark orange, either,' you said. 'Not sure why.'
'It looks a little like the brown, to me,' Jack agreed. 'So no dark orange and no brown.'
'You do realise that orange and brown are recommended for cafés?' Gabby asked. 'There's only four colours on the list I found, and you just got rid of two of them.'
'What're the other two?'
'Blue and yellow—which is on the pastel scheme, by the way. I'm not gonna lie and say it's my favourite, cause the green looks radioactive, but it's your choice.'
'Thank God someone else thinks the green looks weird,' Jack said.
Greg sniggered into his hand as he said, 'Looks more like some weird snot.'
'And now you've made it gross.' Gabby flicked his shoulder, biting back her own laugh. 'Moving on from that disgusting comparison, I've just had an idea.'
'Oh? Do tell.'
'Mix and match. Like one colour but not the scheme? Match it with something else. Obviously the tone or shade might have to change, but the base colour can stay.'
The conversation slowly faded away, and you only gave your thoughts or opinions when it went quiet or you were asked a question. It wasn't that you didn't want to get involved, because you did, but you were far happier to sit and watch as Jack got more and more animated as his interest and excitement grew.
You didn't want to interfere too much with his dream. You wanted to help him wherever you could, but seeing his eyes light up while he came up with ideas or even talked about the final product was enough to make you sit back and listen, giving him the support he deserved. You knew he wouldn't fail, but if there was that tiny, one percent chance that he would, you were determined to eradicate that single percentage. He'd gone through enough, and failing this would destroy him.
But any negative thoughts were worthless. As the conversation turned from interior design, to menu design, to branding, you discovered that Jack had a flair for entrepreneurship and coming up with ideas. It was amazing to see how fast thoughts bounced around the kitchen—some making their way onto paper, others fizzling out.
By the time Greg and Gabby left, there was almost an entire, rough business plan sat on your kitchen table.
'I'd say that was pretty productive,' Jack said, his head resting on your shoulder as you curled up on the sofa. 'What do you think?'
'I think you should've studied business instead of going to med school,' you replied. 'Smarty pants.'