Coward's Melancholia • Krii7y

Loop 2

"...n—"

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"...ohn—"

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"—John! Jesus Christ, wake up already."

John rubbed his eyes, slowly and lazily. He finds no need for a rush. He blinked a few times, letting his vision clear. He glanced around, expecting to be in bed but, no, he found himself sitting at a table, sleeping, as he was just in the middle of eating lunch with his buddies at a nearby cheap restaurant.

"Oh, good morning."

"Good morning my ass. Bro, how are you sleeping while eating?", Matt—Blarg to the online crowd—raised an eyebrow at John, who wasted no time sinking his teeth into his proudly, handmade creation; a garlic bread, chicken, and omelet sandwich with some greens he'd cobbled together like some Frankenstein meal. Handmade, sure, but more like thrown together from whatever dishes he had ordered prior to sleeping.

"Idunnow", John mumbled as he chewed, slurring his words in the process. The others shrugged, exchanging glances before rolling their eyes and laughing. "Okay, buddy", one of them said.

The doorbell chimed, it was a low but sharp and hollow sound that made the air seem colder than it actually was. Someone had opened the door, stepped inside and the curious ones turned to check who had walked in. Matt sprang up and waved his hands, "My friend! Over here!", he called out, a satisfied grin on his face before sitting back down as soon as someone—one of their countless buddies, for sure—made their way over to their table. John didn't bother to turn his head around, too engrossed in chewing his handmade sandwich.

"Holy shit, sorry guys. Traffic got me."

The words hit John like a cold slap. John came to an abrupt halt, stopping his chewing. He felt his heart plummet into his stomach as it turned. He felt as though the ground had shifted beneath him, just slightly, but enough to know something had changed, and not for the better.

"Hey, no worries, man. There's an empty seat beside John."

A wave of anxiety washed over John.

"Thanks, Matt. Yo, John! Scoot over, will you? Stop hogging all the seats", he lets out a playful laugh, teasing John like they often do to each other. But then he swallowed his laughter, he had to, when he saw John turning towards him—God, his face—slowly, almost painfully, with dread etched on every inch of his face.

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"... Smitty?"

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

Jaren, but his friends got used to his nickname, Smitty looks perplexed, glancing between John and Matt, silently asking what the hell was going on. John's gaze was fixed on him. The strange intensity suggests he was seeing something that remained unclear to the rest. Matt barely shrugged, a tiny lift of his shoulder that screamed, I have no fucking idea.

Puffer, or Chris, he doesn't mind, clears his throat deliberately to disperse the tense awkwardness in the air. "Damn, John. You falling in love with Smitty again or what?", he jokes, the forced humor landing like a dead weight.

John blinked, "...Oh, um...", he fumbled for a second, then quickly refocused on reality, "Yeah, something like that", he turned away from Smitty, his voice sounding distant. He then scooted over to make space for him to sit before acting like nothing had happened.

Smitty takes the seat and places his heavy duffle bag down with a loud thud. John is acting cool but anyone with even just half a brain knows that that was weird. Still, no one pressed him. The vibe was weird, but John clearly wasn't about to talk, so they all just carried on—eating, joking, but with a sliver of unease that no one could quite shake.