sh•mg | oneshots

Firefly 💡

Prompt: The intro to the Firefly series! Comment whether I should make a separate book or continue listing it as Firefly in this one.

Setting: AU Different Personality

Words: 1067
•••••

The bell sounds as Mitch steps through the door or the corner cafe. Holding his phone in hand, he peers around, looking for something, or perhaps, someone.

The shop is full and crowded as it should be; a few chairs available. Lots of couples and housewives having brunch. A couple businessmen talking numbers over a salad, but nothing fascinating.

He makes his way to the back of the shop. A small nook, that was previously hidden by the wall, catches his eye.

In the nook were two available tables, and only one is taken by a man and his suit.

Mitch observes the man from afar before approaching him.

The entire cafe was full of people, yet this man had chosen the corner table.

Isolated.

And, no one should be alone. At least, not on a Saturday afternoon.

His giant body hovers over what looks like a computer.

Maybe he's working on something important...

Mitch walks closer, remembering what his mom said about strangers.

He looks over the man's shoulder.

"What's that?"

"Fucking hell!" The man jumps, slamming his laptop shut.

"That's a dirty word." Mitch giggles, sitting across from him.

"What were you doing?"

The man ignores him, huffing and opening back up his computer.

"Hey..." He looks around, finally spotting the briefcase resting on the windowsill. It had gold letters embroidered onto the corner

S.H.

"S...H? Are those your initials?"

The man reaches for the briefcase and shoves it underneath his chair, not even lifting his eyes.

"Hey," he picks up a straw to prod the man's elbow, "why are you ignoring me? Don't you know it's rude to ignore someone's questions?"

"Don't you know it's rude to snoop around? Run along, kid."

"I am not a kid. I'm 22 years old." Mitch defends.

"Act like it." He ends the conversation.

Mitch frowns. He looks at the man.

He's concentrating on something, given the lines on his forehead. His dark blue eyes are focused on the screen; his thick fingers dragging across the mouse pad slowly, almost as if he's drawing something.

Mitch looks around at the table. A sleek black iPhone 6, earbuds, two napkins, a ring, and his cup.

His cup.

Before the man could react, Mitch grabs his cup.

"Hey! What-"

"Scott!" Mitch grins, finding the scribbled black sharpie that finally put a name to the extremely rude- and ruggedly handsome- face.

Scott exasperatedly groans, snatching his cup back and closing his computer, placing it on the table behind him.

"Hey, don't leave." Mitch pouts. Scott continues to transfer his stuff.