Bad Liar | JamFilm

3.

"Here you go," the barista extended a black towel with a cat pattern to Film, who accepted it with a hint of confusion, his gaze still fixed on the café employee. A white shirt, a brown apron... The same gloom on the face, and Film couldn't hold back a smirk. The barista let out a restrained sigh – he clearly didn't share in that joy. "I'll bring your coffee."

The barista left without incident, leaving Film alone to figure out the towel. His mocking gaze fell upon the cat pattern, the eyes of which burned yellow as if searing into the soul.

"I was sure he liked dogs more," Film said quietly, still taking off his wet jacket and remaining in just a shirt. Putting a towel over his head, he tried to dry his hair, tousling it in all directions.

"Do you have a hobby of walking in the rain?" a voice came from above, and through the towel, Film met a slightly mocking gaze. The barista's lips were lifted upwards, and Film froze, realizing he was powerless against that smile. "If so, please carry an umbrella with you."

A coffee mug was placed on the table, and Film caught a pleasant vanilla scent. The very aroma for which he was willing to come back here every day.

"And are you getting worried?" he couldn't hold back, noticing how the wrinkles on the forehead returned.

"No, but I'm afraid I'll run out of dry towels soon," the barista replied dryly, but this time Film sensed nervousness. As the man turned away, ready to return to work, Film swiftly grabbed his wrist, causing him to stop and raise a questioning eyebrow. Under that intense gaze, Film felt momentarily lost, his heart racing in his chest. Uncertainty washed over him, and he suddenly wished he could hide under the table. Releasing the other's wrist, Film swallowed a lump in his throat, taking his seat and, as if nothing had happened, picked up the coffee mug, lowering his gaze.

"I wanted to ask your name, because it's not right that I don't even know what to call my knight in shining armor," he tried to play it off as a joke, but it sounded more like a complaint. The barista teasingly smirked in response, attempting to hide the smile behind his palm. Film pouted, glaring at the man across from him, before turning towards the window, gazing at the rain. He himself couldn't understand why he felt the way he did, but he despised appearing vulnerable in the eyes of others.

The barista let out a thoughtful chuckle, closely studying the silhouette of the man.

"Jam, you can call me Jam," he finally said, returning to work. Film, meanwhile, watched him from his seat, enjoying his coffee and forgetting all doubts. He hoped that the rain wouldn't end before tomorrow.

In the morning, he was greeted by bright rays of sunshine that made him squint with displeasure. Closing the curtains, Film tiredly rubbed his face, sitting down on the bed with a creak. It was a day off today; he didn't have to go to the university, so he could have just spent the entire day in bed. However, the thought of seeing the barista again and enjoying the coffee he had come to love drew him out and prompted him to step outside. Consequently, he took his time getting ready, dressing in a simple white shirt and black jeans. He packed a bag and grabbed his laptop, intending to possibly get some work done. With the upcoming exam session, he had a lot of student papers to review.

But at the cafe, disappointment greeted him again — Jam was not there, instead, the same girl stood behind the counter. A bright smile, short dark hair. Concealing his discontent, Film tightened the strap of his bag and approached the girl, asking:

"Can I have a 'White Forest,' please?"

"For here or to go?"

"For here," Film smiled, pulling out his card and paying for the order before making his way to a spot by the window.

He didn't consider himself a creature of habit, being quite adept at adapting to situations. However, in this place, he felt comfort and coziness. Taking out his laptop, he let out a sigh and opened his email, seeing over ten new messages. The students were growing increasingly desperate.

"Your order," the girl said, placing the coffee on the table. Film nodded gratefully, immersing himself in his work. The sun continued to shine brightly through the window, making it easy to forget that just yesterday the streets of Bangkok were submerged in puddles. Film closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing, allowing himself to bask in the warm rays.

The evening was approaching. Film was on his third cup of coffee, feeling his stomach growl with hunger. He had managed to review quite a lot of papers, which was a source of satisfaction. However, his eyelids were slowly drooping from fatigue, and he decided it was time to head home.

He hoped he would be able to see Jam, to talk to him. He himself didn't quite understand why he felt so drawn to this person.

"Please, just leave," a nervous voice of the girl echoed, and Film lifted his eyes, staring at the scene before him. While the barista was trying to calmly usher an irate customer away, the man was waving his hands in anger, shouting something incoherent. Such people annoyed Film, but he didn't like getting involved where there was no benefit. Yet, this time, something felt off. He wanted to leave. Turn around and just walk away, but...

He couldn't...

That strange feeling of shame...

"I don't want to talk to you! Get the manager!" The disgruntled man shouted, pounding his fist on the counter. Without thinking, Film yielded to an impulse, walking quickly over to him and placing his hand on the man's shoulder, causing him to squint and stare at Film. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes emanated from him, and Film grimaced, maintaining his composure.

"You've been asked to leave," he said evenly, tightening his grip on the man's shoulder, eliciting a hiss from him.

"And who do you think you are?" The man growled angrily, and Film couldn't contain his smile. A vile, cruel, merciless smile.

"None of your concern, sir. Please leave the cafe."

"Go to hell!" The angry man swung, attempting to hit Film, but he quickly stepped back, keeping his distance. He wasn't adept at fighting, but he was confident he could handle a drunk man. Unfortunately, he hadn't considered that the man lacked sanity and was being driven purely by anger. Swearing under his breath, Film tried to catch the man by the neck, but he was forcefully shoved into a nearby table. A sharp pain shot through his lower back, cries from several customers echoed in the background, but Film's focus was solely on the man who showed no signs of stopping. He only managed to perceive a swift movement before feeling a heavy blow, and the next moment, he found himself on the floor, trying to make out the scene through black spots.

Great, the last thing he needed was to lose consciousness.

The man intended to strike him again, and Film could only raise his arms, attempting to shield himself from the blow. But it never reached him, and as he looked up, he met Jam's anxious expression, a hint of something resembling anger flashing across his face. Taut lips, sharp gaze, clenched jaw – he was struggling to contain a surge of hatred. And all Film could do was stare in shock at him, witnessing an entirely different side of Jam.

"If you don't leave this place right now, I'll personally escort you to the police station for assaulting a customer," Jam's voice was like the roar of a wolf, ready to pounce at any moment. No tenderness, no care. Just disgust.

For the first time, Film was relieved to see that expression on someone else's face.

P.S. I am writing while I have some time.

English is still hard for me, but I am doing my best!