Ever After

My Cup Of Tea

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This chapter is in Jack's perspective.

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I tried not to stare him down more than I did the paper before me, my messy handwriting somehow becoming messier and messier with every look up from it (as if that were even possible). I just couldn't take me eyes off of him: for whatever reason, those brown, almond-shaped eyes, his dark, almost-a-beard moving with every grin flashed a customer's way. For some odd reason, I couldn't keep myself from hoping that his grins would be brought to my attention, that he would wink at me from afar, giving me the irresistible smile that customers had come to love. I shrugged that bit of hope off my shoulder, though, within seconds - I had enough thoughts as it was, and Mark definitely didn't need to be one of them.

It'd been a full three hours since I'd grabbed my coffee, which I hadn't even taken a sip out of since. It was now freezing, and yet I took a swig, not picking up on the fact that Mark was finally coming over. He didn't seem to give back the grin I'd offered to him, for his face was pale and expressionless. He took a seat in the chair opposite of me as I placed my papers back in my binder, appreciative that I'd managed to do so before he got the chance to sit down, seeing as it'd be embarrassing for him to see my sketches of him in a Juliet gown.

"Hey," he said, exasperated. He placed his coffee down on the table, knocking it down a second later as he shifted himself into the seat, causing me to let out a small laugh as he struggled to run for towels. When he came back, I'd somehow managed to plaster on a serious expression, the one I often found to be an easy look to wear - but now, for some reason, it felt more difficult, as if I had to clench my teeth and my fists to get my mouth into a straight line.

Mark, tossing the towels into the garbage bin behind him, smiled at me, clearly uneasy. I, however, pulled off a sly look as I leaned back into my chair, crossing my arms over my chest while bouncing my leg up and down. I gave him the usual once-over, taking in his Coffee House visor, name tag, and dark blue apron. His lips twitched as I rose from his name tag to his face, his eyes reflecting the sunset surrounding the Coffee House - despite it only being five o'clock in the afternoon, the sky had a funny way of making it look as if it were nine o'clock.

"Is spilling coffee gonna be a new thing for us or what?" I asked, raising both eyebrows.

He blushed, giving only a physical response - he clasped his hands in his lap and bit on his lower lip, staring out the window.

"That's my thing," I said.

He, caught off-guard, turned to face me again, his eyes wider than a lost dog's. I had to resist the urge to smile, to have that same, warm feeling rise up from my heart and pump throughout my veins, to puff out my chest and lean forward - no, I couldn't show how intrigued I was in this conversation. I had to make this look as if it were no biggie, as if I couldn't care less about what he was going to say next. Physically, I was leaning back casually, absentmindedly watching the crowd inside of the Coffee House while having a half-minded conversation with an absolute outcast, but, on the inside, I was on the edge of my seat, wanting to stare into his mocha-flavoured eyes, to stare down the different shades of brown like cream in coffee.

"So, about your backpack," I said, not knowing exactly where things were going. "Why is it here? Where's your new one?"

"That one was Felix's," Mark implied, as if honesty was key. "My dad didn't think stealing was right and made me give it to him."

"Then why's it covered in shite?"

"Fell."

"I think we've specified already that you didn't fall, Mark," I said, referring back to our conversation at the counter. "Tell me what happened or I'll ask Felix myself."

"Don't!" he called out abruptly. "I mean - don't. Killian would -"

"Killian? What's that son of a bitch got to do with this?"

Mark, flustered, seemed as if he'd shrunk an entire size, as if he were melting into his seat. He took a large gulp of coffee, managing to place it down without tipping it over, before turning to me, his eyes hollow with nervousness, fear, and anxiousness all tied into one. I recognized that look all too much - it was the same look that I saw in everybody when I spoke to them this way, especially when I talked to the dumbass in the mirror, struggling to give him a pep talk. It was a look of true worry, one that could be sensed from a mile away.

"Jack, please don't do anything about it," he stuttered, running a nervous hand through his strands of hair.

"'Don't do anythin' about it?' What do you think I am, a lil' bitch!? Now, tell me what happened before I run over to Felix's and kick his Swedish ass."

He shook his head, to which I repeated myself, only a little firmer. It took me two repetitions and a few small, additional threats before he finally caved in, tearing off his apron as he spoke, pulling it over his head, ruffling his splendid hair in the process.

"Okay," he sighed, folding his uniform in front of me. "It was after school yesterday, and Felix and I had arranged a meeting to exchange our backpacks, but I didn't know that that 'meeting' also involved Killian and Will. They threw all of my crap into the mud and left it at that."

"Did they hurt you?" I asked, wishing I could've sounded a little less desperate when doing so.

Mark paused, clearly not accustomed to my being nervous for him. "No - they would never... would they?"

"I don't know, to be honest," I shrugged, my back still propped up against the wooden stool. My ears then heard a disturbing sound, a ringing of some sort, a voice that I knew all too well. I turned over my shoulder, amazed, baffled, and disgusted at what I saw.

It was Felix, walking in with his new backpack on, strapped over one shoulder, Naomi snugly cuddled into the other. I watched as he stepped towards the back of the line, glancing around as Naomi stared into her bright phone screen, which illuminated the pale beauty of her face. Felix, his eyes soon locking with mine, grinned at the sight of me, as if I were an old friend (which, technically, I was). He strode over as if he owned the place, close enough for me to feel his bodily presence pressed up against my personal air, his hand clutching at the wooden table dividing Mark and I.

"Hello, gentlemen," he said. "Were you talking about me?"

"Yes," I said glumly. "You can go now."

Felix shrugged. "Why should I? I just got here - although, I assume you're not used to making good first impressions, Jack. Remember how we first met?"

Ignoring his snide comment, I pointed to Naomi, not bothering for common courtesy. "What's that?"

Mark's eyes followed my finger, an inch away from Naomi's small nose, so, so close to her eyes. How badly I wished to touch her right then and there I cannot say - some may have seen what I was doing as rude and impolite (pointing my finger at a random girl), but I was really just trying to get my mind off of pummelling the Swedish boy's face into the tiles below.

"This," Felix said, "is my girlfriend."

The Swedish motherfucker continued to speak, his voice nagging on and on about how sweet their relationship has been for the past day, but I wasn't paying attention. I was too busy staring blindly into the blank space before me, my eyes hypnotized by nothing in particular. For some reason, for some strange, stupid reason, this relationship between him and Naomi seemed miraculous - something about it was awfully suspicious, especially seeing as it'd blossomed just two days before our plays would be presented.

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Hey, guys! I'm so sorry if this chapter was boring - I have to go to bed early because we're leaving for my cottage tomorrow, and I need to get out another chapter (of a different story!). Thank you all so much for being so supportive and so amazing - to any of you reading this, I love you and can't wait for the play!

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