(Please send in requests! They're open, so send away!)
Scene: You serve him in a diner.
It was... odd.
You would watch him and you just knew something was wrong. The way he held himself, let his head hang just a fraction, the way his eyes darted to every possible exit before entering a room; they were all off. Working at a New York diner had its perks. You learned to... people watch. It was an asset. You learned the little mannerisms that everybody had; what intricate details set them apart from everyone else. It could be the way they pronounced their l's to the way they would tap their forks to the rhythm of a long-forgotten melody.
He had many. More than you would notice on a regular person. It started from the minute he stepped on the sidewalk in front.
1. He stops to make sure no one goes in front of or behind him within five feet.
2. He opens the door with his right hand.
3. His eyes search for every possible exit and make sure that at least two of them are unblocked.
4. He searches for a seat (most preferably the booth in the back corner with the ever-dimming lightbulb) at least four feet from any other person.
5. He walks in stiffly, almost as if a rod had been shoved up his spine.
6. He sits at his predetermined seat and picks up a menu.
(The odd thing about this is what is observed next.)
7. When you walk up to him, he orders the same thing every time: pancakes with maple syrup and a cup of black coffee.
8. As his order is being made, he chooses one spot to stare at. (With his preferred seat, it's usually the Marilyn Monroe signed photograph near the entrance.)
9. When his order is brought out, (by you) he mumbles a quiet, "thank you" and begins to cut up the pancake into exactly four pieces. (Approximately two inches across)
10. He chews each bite slowly and roughly, not quite "tasting" but more "feeling" the food in his mouth.
11. He takes about two bites, then a sip of coffee, two bites, coffee.
12. This continues until his plate is empty and he has finished his first fill of coffee.
13. He orders one refill and nurses it until it has probably gone cold.
14. He leaves a generous tip and leaves quickly, taking one of his predetermined exits briskly.
15. He turns right, instead of left, which is the opposite of the direction he came from.
The thing is, this isn't normal. You notice even the regulars do things differently. They say different things to you, or style their hair differently, or sit at different seats. Sometimes their mannerisms change. But him, no.
Mr. Barnes was never different. He was always the same. Same thing, same time of day, exactly. It almost disturbed you. He was purely mechanical, robotic. His facial expression never changed. He even wore the same type of clothing everyday: gray shirt under a black jacket, dark jeans over black combat boots, and part of his hair held captive under a dark Yankees cap.
It gave you chills to see him almost the exact same everyday. He was handsome. He was handsome the way any guy was with a watch: oddly and subtly sophisticated. He had the look that only experience could give a person. But what really saddened you was what you realized also gave a person that look: loss.
So, you decided to stop it. You were going to break the loop. You were going to pull him out of the frozen time he was consumed in. And you knew exactly how.
He followed steps one through eight, and you began Phase One. As you handed him his coffee, you set it down and hovered. "So, is black coffee all you drink, or is blood another favorite?" You joked as you nodded to the mug cradled in his gloved hands. He removed his view from Marilyn to look up to you. Something flashed in his eyes. You weren't sure if it was anger, condescension, amusement, or a mixture of all three.
He waited a moment before he stared back at the flirty smile Marilyn aimed at him. But, he still opened his mouth. "Why are you talking to me?"
It wasn't rude. It was more like he was asking, "How do I interest you enough that you are actually speaking to me?" To which you replied, "I just feel like it. Is it making you uncomfortable?" You grinned jokingly at him. He drew his attention back to your bright eyes. "Yes."
Your smile faltered. You turned as Kevin, the "chef", called out for an order for table three. As you began to walk away, you felt a hand grab your arm. You turned to see Mr. Barnes with the ghost of a smile on his face. "But I don't mind."
Your smile picked up again. "Well, I have to work, but if you meet me outside at..." You checked the Mickey Mouse clock on the wall. "Six, then I would be happy to continue."
This was it. This was where he either broke out of the loop or took a chance. You could tell this was completely outside of his comfort zone. Little did you know, deep in his memory, he could see the old brick buildings and flashing lights, hear the laughter and the music. No, this wasn't outside his comfort zone at all, it was his playground. Only, the memory is a faint silhouette against the backdrop of his mind, and it's slowly resurfacing in the light.
A slow smile spread across his face, barely turning into his long-forgotten lady killer smirk. "Sure, I'd love that, Doll."
This was only one of the many details you added to his list. Except, he used it for you, and you only.
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A/N: Hey guys! I'm sorry I've been totally MIA. I just couldn't think of what to write about. I really need requests, so send 'em in!
Goodbye, beauts!
~Sports_books_1816
