I couldn't wait to get this chapter written so have yet another speedy update!
"Now, what's that smile for?"
"What smile?" Crutchie asked innocently, trying to suppress the grin that stretched across his face.
"You know what smile," Jack said, pointing at his face. "What's got you looking so sunshiny? Well, more sunshiny than usual."
"I might have some exciting news to report," Crutchie admitted, not trying to hide his smile anymore.
"The auditions?" Jack guessed. "You get a good role? Another lead?"
Crutchie shook his head. "Yes and no," he explained. "Didn't get a lead, but I got something so much better than that."
"And what would that be?" Jack asked.
"My favorite character in the entire play," Crutchie beamed.
"Well, spit it out, already. Who's you playing?" Jack coaxed.
"I got a role in Hamlet," Crutchie exclaimed. "We'll be putting it on in October. I'se playing Horatio!"
"I . . . have no idea who that is but that's great!" Jack cheered.
"You never read Hamlet in high school?" Crutchie asked.
"I don't think you fully appreciate how bad my high school experience was," Jack pointed out.
Crutchie shrugged. "Certainly doesn't show. You'se plenty smart."
"Well, thanks," Jack said. "Still don't know a thing about Hamlet, though."
"You'll have an opportunity to learn something new, then," Crutchie smiled. "I'll be happy to tell you all about it even before you come see it."
"Sounds like a good deal to me," Jack agreed.
"Hey Jack, stop flirting and fix me up a London fog, would ya?" Albert barked, ringing up a customer.
"On it," Jack said, standing up straight from where he was leaning on the counter and getting to work on the drink.
"One waffle with espresso syrup," Spot said, placing the plate in front of Crutchie on the counter.
"Thanks," Crutchie thanked him. "It's good to see you back here, Spot."
Spot just simply nodded before heading off to the next table.
"He's been nothing but business ever since getting his job back," Jack explained, finishing up the drink and placing it on the counter, calling out the appropriate customer's name.
"It's great Davey was able to get him rehired," Crutchie said.
Jack nodded in agreement. "It wasn't easy, but I'm glad it worked out in the end."
"Something seems off about him today, though," Albert pointed out. "Sure, he's been more straightforward about work lately, but today he seems . . . not all there, if you catch my meaning."
Jack leaned forward, watching Spot carefully across the room. Crutchie turned as well, noting him as he took a pair of customer's food orders. He seemed normal to Crutchie, albeit perhaps standing up a bit straighter than usual.
"Appears normal to me," Jack said.
"It's something in his eyes," Albert explained. "He's got a real distant look. Like his mind ain't here or something."
"He's probably just tired or something, I don't know," Jack groaned. "What's your point?"
"I'se just a little worried is all," Albert explained. "He's only been back a week and he's kinda throwing himself into things. Just don't want to see him crash."
"He'll be fine," Jack assured him. "He's smart enough to take care of himself."
"You think he'll perform tonight at open mic night?" Crutchie asked.
Jack shrugged. "Doubt it," he said. "He probably wants to lie low for a bit."
Crutchie nodded in understanding. "I'd like to see him perform. I miss his rants."
"Oh, you and everyone else," Albert said. "He's been in high demand ever since May."
"Understandably so," Crutchie said. "His bits were a hit."
"What about you? You doing anything tonight?" Jack asked.
"Nah," Crutchie said. "Left my uke back at the dorm and don't feel up to walking all the way there and back again."
"I'll get you to perform next month, then," Jack said.
"I'll sing for you as soon as you paint me something," Crutchie said, grinning with mischief.
Jack looked away, suddenly preoccupied with a spot on the counter.
"In the meantime, get your ass into gear," Albert snapped. "We'se got customers coming in."
A flock of college-aged kids came in, and the shop resumed to its busy state. Albert and Jack got to work, taking orders and preparing drinks in record time. Before long Katherine came out to join them, helping Jack to prepare the drinks.
"Hey Jack, add some art to this next drink alright?" Albert asked. "Customers are asking for it."
"S-sure . . ." Jack said, finishing up the order and grabbing the milk. He held it over the cup for a moment, simply staring at the cup with a look of frustration on his face.
Jack set the pot of milk back on the counter. "You do it, Kath," he said, scooting past her. "I need some air."
Before Katherine could argue, Jack was making his way out from behind the counter, heading to the back of the shop. Crutchie watched as he quickly made his exit, sensing that something was wrong. He had half a mind to follow him but decided that Jack probably spoke true and just needed to get some air. Crutchie remained in his seat.
Jack pushed through the back door of the shop, stepping outside into the alleyway. He paced for a few moments, feeling his ears ringing. He paused only for a moment to kick the side of the wall, immediately regretting it as pain shot up through his foot. Damn, that stupid.
"You doing alright there?"
Jack looked up quickly, seeing Blink standing in the doorway. "What're you doing here?" he asked.
"Saw you storm through the kitchen, figured something was up," Blink said, leaning against the doorframe. "Is something up?"
"It's nothing, Kid; get back to work," Jack muttered.
"You ain't my boss, so I ain't gotta listen to you," Blink pointed out. "Seriously, why you all riled up?"
"I said it's nothing," Jack snapped, slamming his fist against the wall.
"Yeah, sure, alright," Blink said. "How's about I go get Davey? Have him check on you? Would that be better?"
"I don't need no one checking on me," Jack argued. "Least of all Davey."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Blink asked.
"Davey ain't exactly his finest lately," Jack pointed out.
Blink shrugged. "He's getting his work done; ain't so much the same for you."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Jack questioned.
"Everyone knows why the owner's such a fan of you," Blink said. "You always were especially charming for customers. Drawing their faces in their lattes and shit. You don't do none of that no more. People getting kinda disappointed that they don't have their fancy lattes now. So, come on. What's up with that?"
Jack shrugged. "Just ain't been inspired," he mumbled.
"That's a load of shit and you know it," Blink told him.
Jack glared at him. "And what makes you think that?"
Blink pointed at his head. "Something's wrong up there, ain't it?" he suggested. "You can't focus on art no more, right? It don't compute from your head to your hands, even if you try."
Jack stared at him, mouth agape.
"Yeah, that's right, ain't it," Blink affirmed. "You know why that is, don't you?"
Jack stared for a moment longer, eventually shaking his head.
"Your head injury," Blink said. "Lingering symptoms, right?"
"How do you know that?" Jack asked.
"I'se been there before," Blink answered. "Except I couldn't hardly handwrite, let alone do anything art-wise. Not that I was ever good at art to begin with."
"What happened?" Jack asked.
Blink was silent for a moment, looking down at his feet. He looked back up at Jack a moment later, shrugging. "Long story so I'll keep it short; got myself some nasty head trauma. How'd you think I lost this?" he asked, pointing at the patch over his left eye.
"How long did it take?" Jack asked. "To get back to normal, I mean."
"Couple of years," Blink answered. "But it all depends on the person, really. If you'se having trouble, though, I'd recommend telling someone instead of keeping it to yourself. It's gonna cause more problems than just art blocks."
Jack frowned. "I don't wanna worry no one," he explained.
"Do what you want," Blink said. "But you might end up worrying people a lot more if you keep silent." And with that, he turned and headed back inside, leaving Jack alone in the alley.
He stood there for a moment, standing stock still before slamming his fist against the side of the wall again. His knuckles were certainly going to bruise at this point.
Jack wasted no more time outside, going back into the shop to wash his hands.
"Jack, get over here, we need another set of hands," Katherine called, seeing Jack walk back into the coffeeshop.
Jack did as he was told, grabbing the next cup in line and getting to work on the drink. He could feel the others eyes watching him, particularly Crutchie's, but did his best to ignore them.
"You good?" Katherine asked him quietly, pausing from the order she was working on.
"Fine," Jack mumbled, measuring out the correct amount of espresso into a cup.
Katherine decided not to press the matter further, allowing it to drop.
The day bore on without further incident, the end of the day approaching slowly but surely. Katherine stepped out of the shop and into the back hallway, making her way to the office where she found Davey going over paperwork.
"We need to start setting up soon," Katherine said, taking a seat at her desk.
"Hmm," Davey nodded in response, not looking up from his work.
"Spot seems to be doing well back," Katherine said conversationally. "He's been working hard all day."
"Hmm," Davey hummed, still not looking up.
"He said he has something he wants to say tonight," Katherine added. "Something along the lines of thanks and . . . something else? Though he wouldn't say what."
"Hmm," Davey hummed yet again.
"So, I'm thinking about asking Sarah to marry me," Katherine stated bluntly. "I'm going to ask her tonight, and then take her to a courthouse tomorrow. How does that sound?"
"Hmm," Davey hummed, marking something on the page he was reading over.
"Davey are you even listening to me?" Katherine asked. "Davey?!"
"Hmm, what?" Davey asked, finally looking up from his work.
"Are you okay?" Katherine asked. "You seem out of it."
"I'm fine," Davey responded. "Better than fine. I'm great."
Katherine eyed him suspiciously. "Are you sure about that?" she asked.
"One hundred percent," Davey answered. "What did you say about Sarah?"
"Never mind," Katherine said. "How are things going with Da–books? With books?"
"Fine . . .?" Davey answered, uncertain.
"Read anything . . . interesting?" Katherine asked.
"If you're trying to ask about Darcy, we made a deal," he reminded her.
"I know, I know," Katherine said. "Just, if you ever want to talk about things, I'm here. Okay?"
"Uh-huh," Davey said. "I know. But there's nothing to talk about." He got up from his seat. "I'm going to start setting up for tonight. Come help once you finish up in here."
Katherine nodded as Davey exited the room. She didn't buy his words for a moment but wasn't going to press the matter further. He'd talk when he was ready, surely.
The night was beginning to start, and soon Jacobi's was filling with customers ready for the first open mic night of the new school semester. Several acts were on the bill, mostly returning students ready to show off their talent they had practiced all summer. Even Les and Sarah had stopped by so Les could perform on his kazoo yet again. Coffee was flowing, and all the tea themed pastries were being eaten up to a degree that they normally weren't. The atmosphere was relaxed and contented, and everyone cheered appropriately for each act.
"It's about time you showed up," Albert snapped as Race made his way behind the counter.
"Sorry, got caught in traffic," he explained, tying up his apron. "Is Spot here?"
"Still in the eatery, why?" Jack asked.
Race shrugged. "Said he had something he wanted me to see when I got here," he said. "Dunno what he could be talking about."
"He's on the bill to perform tonight," Albert said, looking over the list. "Wasn't expecting that, to be honest."
"He's up next, ain't he?" Jack asked, looking over Albert's shoulder. "Wonder what he's gonna rant about tonight."
"If it's about moths I swear I'se gonna kill him," Race muttered.
"Shh, he's going up now," Albert said.
Cheers erupted as Spot took the stage, grabbing the mic from the stand and waiting somewhat impatiently for the crowd to quiet down.
"Alright, alright, I get it, you'se all very excited," Spot groaned. "You shouldn't be, though. I ain't got much funny stuff to say tonight, since that's what you all seem to be interested in. I just gotta few words to say, so I'll keep this short."
The audience quieted down, listening intently to what one of their favorite acts had to say.
"Now look, I'se gotta be real with all of you for a second. I'se . . . I'se a major screw up. No, really. I screw up just about everything I do. I ain't looking for no sympathy, just stating facts. Recently, I screwed up big time, and it nearly cost me more than I'd like to admit. But things worked out in the end, no thanks to me, but thanks to some real swell friends I got who was looking out for me. And, well, I gotta thank them. Proper and such. So, Davey Jacobs, you know who you are you don't gotta raise your hand or nothing. Thanks, for everything."
Spot took a pause, the audience waiting patiently for him to continue. "Now, more about me screwing up. Me and some friends recently had a party. It ain't important why, just some kid who's too good for his, well, own good's birthday happened, so of course us and some buddies got together to celebrate proper. Well, I made a mistake by allowing this party to happen, because of course that little runt decided he wanted to watch a movie. And you know, that movie we watched got me thinking about something, which is never a good sign."
The audience laughed at this, and Spot waited for them to finish before continuing.
"Anyways, the movie got me thinking: what do gay couples do when they'se ready to propose to each other? Who decides who's gonna be the one to do the proposing? What if they both show up one night ready to propose, both having bought rings and all that shit, and then what? They just both propose? That sounds like a waste of money to me. Or do one of them decide they'se the dominant one in the relationship and be the one to make the move? Cause, that don't sound too fair. I don't know; it's all confusing to me."
By this point, the audience was dead silent; even the baristas behind the counter had stopped their work to listen intently.
"I also screwed up that night when trying to kill an intruder. Now, don't worry, it wasn't nobody important, just some fucking moth. Shit, sorry, I ain't supposed to say words like that here. Anyways, this moth shows up and I tries to kill it good and proper, as you do, and nearly take out the light and the birthday kid's face. Sorry, not kid. You'se an adult. I'll get it right eventually. Anyways, so I tries to kill this moth, and I just screw up over and over and finally this fine lady takes it out for us all nice and well. Thanks Sarah, you'se a real hero. But my point is, I'se a major screw up, and I don't think that's ever gonna change."
Spot took another pause, gathering himself. "But, you know, there's one thing I ain't gonna screw up. And that's this night. I'se been thinking long and hard about it for, well, a real long time. Longer than I care to admit. And I finally decided it was time I get it over with. Before I figure out a way to screw it up too."
Spot set the mic back on the stand and exited the small stage. He made his way to the counter, jumping over it with ease and standing directly in front of Race.
The audience had all turned to watch the next series of events, everyone remaining and quietly as possible in order to hear what was spoken.
"I'se screwed up a lot over the past couple of years," Spot explained, looking straight up at Race. "I don't need to get into the details, you know them all. But one thing I didn't screw up was you. I ain't good at this so bear with me, but you'se, well, you'se the best thing I'se ever had happen to me. Ain't no other way to say it than that. And I don't want that to change. I want that to keep going on, to never stop."
Spot paused, looking down at his feet for a moment before looking back up at Race, who was staring at him with a wide-eyed expression that Spot couldn't read.
"Well, I guess I can't put it off much longer," Spot said. "I don't got nothing to show for it, cause I'se about as broke as our economy, but I can at least do it proper." He knelt down in front of Race, taking one of his hands in his own.
"God, I love you," Spot said. "More than anything. And I won't ever stop. So, Racetrack Higgins, will you . . . fuck it, will you marry me?"
The entire shop was silent. Everyone's eyes were on Race, who could only stare with his eyes wide down at Spot. Any ability to speak had left him; he could only stare.
Albert nudged him in the side. "Say something, Race," he hissed.
"I . . ." Race started, pausing and closing his mouth.
Spot waited patiently, still holding tightly onto Race's hand.
Race felt himself start to tremble. The world around him had begun to get blurry. He felt as if his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. "I," he started again. "Are you sure? One hundred percent sure?"
"Surer than ever," Spot answered, without even a thought.
"You can do so much better," Race whispered, so that only he and Spot could hear.
"Better don't exist, Racer," Spot answered. "I'se looking at the best right here."
Tears had begun to well in Race's eyes. "We don't have hardly a penny to our names," Race reminded him.
"That's okay, we got all we need already," Spot told him.
"My parents would kill me," Race breathed.
"I won't let them," Spot said with certainty. "No one's gonna touch you."
"Promise?" Race asked.
"Promise," Spot assured him.
Race wiped at his eyes with his free hand. "Fuck you Conlon," he groaned. "I'se gonna have to say yes in front of all these people, ain't I?"
"That'd be preferred, but not enforced," Spot joked.
"Maybe I'll say no just to make you look stupid," Race suggested.
"And I'll kick your ass out of love," Spot laughed.
Race laughed too. "I can't believe this," he said. "I cannot believe this is happening."
"Is . . . is that a yes?" Spot asked, hopeful.
"Of course, it's a yes, you idiot," Race snapped. "Yes, god, yes!"
The shop erupted in a roar of cheers, Spot jumping to his feet and gathering Race into a tight hug. Race was unabashedly crying by this point, the tears falling freely as he held onto Spot tightly.
The rest of the night went beautifully, every act remarking how they couldn't possibly live up to Spot's, and a few dedicating their performances to the newly engaged couple. Spot and Race didn't leave each other's side until the night was done and it was time to clean up and close shop.
The rest of the shop crew congratulated Spot and Race on their future together, no one knowing quite what to say as they were all still shocked by the proposal.
The shop closed, and Davey offered to have Jack sleep on his couch that night, so that Spot and Race could have a night to themselves for once. The two graciously accepted, and Davey had Jack and Crutchie get into this car to drive them home.
"That was . . . unexpected," Jack said, getting into the backseat.
"But is you surprised?" Crutchie asked, getting into the seat across from him.
"It was bound to happen sooner or later," Davey said, turning on the car and pulling out of the lot. "Just . . . wasn't expecting it tonight."
"Had Spot said anything to you?" Crutchie asked Jack. "Suggesting that he might?"
Jack shook his head. "Not a word," he said. "I'm almost hurt."
"You would have spoiled it, that's why," Davey told him.
"That is . . . absolutely true," Jack agreed.
The car went silent, but it wasn't unpleasant. The air was still filled with excitement and elation, for the briefest of moments, Jack's earlier worries were alleviated.
Sometimes, good things happened. And Jack was going to hold onto those feelings. For as long as he could. Heavens knows he needed them.