Note: This will be a two shot series vaguely following the plot of Suzanne Vega's song "Tom's Diner" (which interestingly enough, is sampled on Fallout Boy's "Centuries" which would also be a fun song to base a fic on). Some aspects of it could potentially be seen as shippy, but Gray is observing everyone as an outsider with little to no prior knowledge of the dynamics of the people around him. I'll leave any kind of romantic interpretation to the readers.
Gray walked through the door of the warmly lit diner, dressed much too lightly for the weather outside their little alcove. A waitress, a young woman he'd become quite friendly with in the last several weeks, waved to him from the far side of the room. He took that as his cue to grab himself a menu behind the hostess' stand and make his way over to his usual seat at the bar, where he pretended to flip through the laminated sheets. He already knew what he wanted, but he didn't want to put pressure on the kind barmaid. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two men talking to her, both regulars he recognized. One of them was leaning about as far out of the booth as he could without falling in an attempt to get closer to her. Gray sorely wanted to march right over to give that pervert a piece of his mind, but a devil-may-care voice interrupted his train of thought.
"Yo!" the kid in front of him exclaimed as Gray turned to face him fully, effectively distracted from Mira's plight. "Don't worry 'bout her, happens all the time 'round here. She's pretty tough."
Gray snorted and rested an elbow on the table, letting his jaw and the side of his face be cradled by his hand. "If you say so."
"Of course I do! I just told you that, didn't I? Mira's like, scary strong. I bet she could beat you up."
Gray looked up, eyes flashing dangerously, only for this peculiar waiter to start giggling. "Am I missing some kind of joke here?"
"Nah," was the reply, the guy back to normal as if someone had thrown a switch. "It's true that Mira isn't some pansy though, that's for sure."
"Good to know," Gray mumbled under his breath, already annoyed beyond measure by this new kid.
"So, what can I get for you?" The odd guy pulled out a pad of paper that was inexplicably singed (how on earth had he managed that?) and waited, pen poised and ready to write.
"Never thought you'd ask," Gray replied, lips curling into a wry smile. "Think I can get away with some whiskey in my cup of coffee? I'm feeling lucky today."
"I'm not judging." The waiter shrugged, stretching his arms behind his head. "How 'bout I get you a glass with no ice, pour you a cup'a coffee, and whatever you do with all that is your business."
"That's fine," Gray replied, eyes drifting off to the side to focus on the wood table and its swirling patterns in the grain.
"Milk? Sweetener?" he prodded when no follow up came. "Decaf? Regular?"
Gray bristled slightly, but the outward signs of his annoyance were so subtle, no one would have been able to tell from a cursory glance. Honestly, he just wanted a damn cup of coffee in his hand; it was too early in the morning to exist without copious amounts of caffeine.
"Heavy cream, sugar, regular, and a newspaper if you've got one," Gray replied shortly, impatient to end this interaction.
"Alright! Just be a minute." The man behind the counter turned his back to start pulling the condiments Gray had requested and placing them haphazardly behind him without so much as a glance back.
He popped back up, a pot of hot coffee in one hand, a teacup and saucer in the other, and a newspaper tucked under his arm. He put down the table settings first, leaned over to let the newspaper slide out from where it had been crushed between his forearm and his side, and finally got around to pouring Gray a cup. It smelled like heaven (he swore Mira had magic beans or something, because they had the best coffee in town) and he leaned forward subconsciously to get a good whiff.
The guy serving him had poured less than half a cup, and while that may have been to give Gray room for alcohol and milk, he definitely did not need that much room. When he finally came back with his glass of whiskey, Gray called out before he could walk away.
"Could you top this off a little more?" he requested, but the words trailed off when he noticed the guy staring through him; he wasn't listening to a word. Gray turned to the door and saw a beautiful blonde come inside, her smile lighting up the room and the world outside the diner instantly. He couldn't blame the waiter for being awestruck by a girl like that, and the two of them watched as she greeted Mira and shook out her umbrella, placing it in the bin.
She finally turned their way, and if it was even possible, Gray could have sworn she grew even brighter. Looking to his server, he saw a wide grin spread across his face as he stepped out from behind the counter to crush her in what looked like an incredibly uncomfortable bear hug. It wasn't very romantic, at least not in the traditional sense, but they kissed each other's cheeks and began talking while still significantly in each other's personal space.
It felt intimate in a weird way, as if he was seeing something meaningful, but he had no idea what to make of it. Their relationship or lack thereof wasn't his business, and Gray was starting to feel like a voyeur, so he turned back around on his stool and went about fixing his meager cup of coffee. Thank God for free refills, he thought.
Bringing the mug to his lips with his left hand, Gray used his right to unfold the newspaper and smooth is out on the bar in front of him. He tried to ignore the boisterous laughter coming from behind him and the light smack of a hand on an arm as the young woman chastised his server. It was annoying, sickening really, but Gray said nothing and opened to the headline story.
It was about a man who had been serving life in prison for first degree murder. Apparently he was severely ill, and over three years without adequate medical care had brought him to the brink of death. He could have been a goner if a social worker had not thought to take a closer look into the case, where an appeal redefined his actions as involuntary mansalughter related to extenuating circumstances. How the two had been confused, Gray did not know, but he supposed the guy got lucky one way or another. It seemed that he had been released and given immediate medical attention, but there were no further details given.
The longer Gray looked at the picture, the more a feeling in his gut nagged at him. He knew the man from somewhere, and it bothered him that he couldn't put his finger on it. As he was contemplating this, his coffee getting cold where it sat forgotten on the table, a warm presence appeared over his shoulder.
"Ah, Gray," a woman said, and he turned his head to flash her a smile. She returned it with such genuine kindness he felt his ice cold heart thaw a bit as she wished him good morning and topped off his coffee.
"Hey Mira," he replied, nodding his thanks to her. "I have a question." The waitress looked confused by this vague statement, but gestured for him to continue nonetheless. "Do you recognize this man by any chance?" He pushed the paper towards her, turning it so she could see the picture and headline right side up.
Mira studied it for a second, and as he watched, her brow furrowed a bit and her eyes grew dark and sad. "Gray," she said slowly, looking up to meet his eyes. "When you were young and used to hang around in the diner, there were some other children with nowhere to go. This man… you two were very close. I see why you wouldn't recognize him, it looks as if he's been through hell and back. He used to be quite a handsome kid, back then…"
She trailed off, and Gray frowned impatiently. He was looking for a name or a simple explanation like, "His parents owned the tea shop a few streets over," but he really couldn't stand hearing her draw out the details. Especially because he had spent a long time away from the area, trying to forget the time in his life she was describing, when he was an orphan with no home and not a penny to his name. If he was honest, it had worked: he had few memories of those years and would rather keep the past in the past.
"Mira, I can handle it," Gray said, his eyes flashing in a way that made her flinch almost imperceptibly. Mira, he knew, had only the best of intentions, and had been so kind to him all his life. But Gray was no longer a child, and needed no sugarcoating or white lies to protect him from the truth. The world was an ugly place; he knew that already. It was why he didn't like to participate in it much.
She sighed, clasping her hands in front of her. "The paper calls him Leo Kea, but you always knew him as Loke. He does look strange without his glasses, and his hair is… different so don't blame yourself for not recognizing him."
Gray's eyes widened, and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to maintain some self control. It seems that Mira still thought of him as a fragile being, a sheet of ice that could be shattered with one wrong touch. She was wrong, he was stronger now, but he tried to stay calm. She didn't mean to come across as condescending, there wasn't a mean bone in her body, but he just couldn't help but resent his inability to outrun his past. Maybe it had been a mistake to come back to Magnolia after all.
"I see," Gray said, even as childish laughter rang through his head. He remembered now, about how Loke was a terrible flirt back then but a really reliable guy. They had spent a lot of time together wreaking havoc, and Gray felt his chest tighten when he realized that his former best friend could have died and he wouldn't have ever known.
Mira opened her mouth to say something, stricken by the expression on Gray's face, but just then the swinging door to the kitchen was pushed open and a plume of smoke billowed out.
"Uh, Mira? It seems like I did it again." It was the man who had served him earlier with the brightly colored hair looking sheepish, one hand rubbing the back of his neck and the opposite foot keeping the door propped open.
"Yes, yes," Mira said, but she didn't turn away from Gray. "You should know how to handle that by now, the fire extinguisher is where it always is."
"You can go, Mira," Gray told her, his voice heavy and weighing down the syllables. Mira gave him one last worried glance before disappearing into the back that was lost on Gray, who was looking through the paper without truly reading it (his horoscope predicted fateful encounters for the week, and the "funnies" were just as terrible is always) and sipping his coffee-alcohol concoction.
Newspapers were only so thick, and Gray found himself reaching the inside back cover before he knew it. So he shut the paper, picked it back up, flipped it over, and started again from the beginning with the story of that man, Leo Kea.
He studied the grainy black and white picture, running the tip of his index finger over the closely shaved hair that he knew to be a vibrant orange, but was simply a dull grey. Everything about the image looked wrong to him, and his mind slowly filled in what it should have been: a man with fair skin cracking a grin that was just crooked enough to be charming. He wore blue tinted glasses in the eye of Gray's mind, and he knew surely that this was someone who had been dear to him.
Loke had been older, though by how much Gray could not say. He was sure they had been friends, best friends, but he couldn't pull up a specific memory of the two of them. Disjointed flashes of recollection came: laughter, a warm voice comforting him, some teasing words, but there was no context, nothing of substance. This frustrated him, and he drained the cup of coffee as he read the article again and again, staring at the lines of text as if all the answers he sought were written between them.
Someone came and sat down heavily at the bar to his right, but he didn't look up at first. It couldn't have been noon yet, but the patron had no shame in calling for a beer. Mira was quick- Gray could hear the waitress bustling around on the other side of the counter for just a moment before a mug of beer was slid over to the person next to him. He slowly raised his eyes and was greeted by the sight of her pouring him another steaming cup of coffee to go with the glass of whiskey she had placed in front of him without his noticing.
"Thanks, Mira," he said, reaching for the cream as he tried to act like he wasn't planning to chug the alcohol the second she turned her back. He needed it and wasn't afraid to take advantage of what was in front of him, time of day and social propriety be damned, but Mira was an exception. Gray cared about what she thought; she had been his mother when he had none, despite having two younger siblings of her own to watch over. He didn't want to disappoint her, one of the only people he had both in his past and his present.
The person next to him snorted, and he turned his head to see exactly what was so funny. It was a brunette woman, with long hair that curled around her shoulders and fell to her waist. She was exceptionally pretty, he supposed, but the way she was looking at him was a bit more than a little unsettling. Her eyes, an otherworldly shade of violet, appeared to see right through him, and he wanted to fold inward under the pressure of her gaze. Instead he looked back at her, subconsciously sitting up straighter and lifting his chin in a sort of challenge. The stranger simply laughed and took a sip from her half finished drink, her lips twisting into what could have been a smirk, but there was no real humor or malice in the expression, just a hint of the storm brewing below the surface.
"So I guess it's true, you really did come home."
Note: The title of Chapter 1 is a reference to Kardia Cathedral, since it's such an important fixture in Magnolia. Chapter 2 (Before the Rain Began) will refer to the time prior to the start of this fic.