Jack spent the next few days settling into the routine of living with and working for Pitch Black. The man was an absolute eccentric.
At home, he kept himself secluded between two rooms on the second floor. Pitch's office was surprisingly warm and inviting. From the glance he had gotten of it, the room was full of large and exotic-looking plants. Jack had taken to keeping the attic hatch open- when he would hear a door open, he would quickly peek down to see where his two roommates went. His many attempts to catch a glimpse into Pitch's other room, which most definitely had to be the bedroom, were unsuccessful.
The other room was completely dark. Because the townhouse was connected to other houses Jack hadn't expected any window lighting in the rooms. The complete darkness that Pitch would step into was unsettling, to say the least. A gnawing fear had settled into him at the unknown- of what could be in the darkness. He would keep looking to try and catch the room illuminated. He wondered if the man had a coffin in there and not the traditional bed. If magic was real, why the hell couldn't vampires be?
At work, Pitch was a surprisingly uninvolved boss. Once Jack had shown himself to be moderately capable Pitch had left him to his own devices. Pitch spent almost all the working hours in the back room. Jack had to peek back once and found that it was a small kitchen- odd because they served no food items on the menu. If he listened close enough could hear chopping, grinding, and the occasional bang. Jack was naturally curious. Despite coming off as a reckless fool, in this instance, his natural instincts were begging him to keep his distance.
After his first day in the cafe, he'd managed to pry the base amount of information regarding Sanderson Mansnoozie by cornering Loki- who had agreed to answer some of his questions on the basis that he would never ask him about anyone else in this town ever again. It was clear that Loki was planning on having absolutely no contact with Jack once the month was up. This wounded Jack but he understood. Kind of. It didn't change the fact that it hurt.
He'd described Sanderson as a reclusive writer -People knew to keep a distance from him and his disastrous attitude. At this point in the explanation, Jack had made Loki describe the man physically because there was no way that they were talking about the same man. The man with hands that could barely contain his excitement as he signed; the same bubbly man whose smile had lit up the room like the sun.
When Loki described the mop of blonde hair and the short stature set upon a heart-shaped face, he knew that Loki couldn't be mistaken. He said Sanderson was mute, and apparently, this was a more recent development. Sanderson and Pitch had attended the local college together, both majors in chemistry. They had been experimenting on something together and it had gone horribly wrong. While it didn't fully explain the interaction, he had seen between the two, it did fill in some of the gaps.
All in all, he was settling in quickly and enjoyed the job. There was one aspect that was surprisingly becoming a thorn in his side. Sanderson Mansnoozie.
Sanderson entered the café at exactly 9 am every day, and always ordered a latte. On his second day on the job the man had simply signed what he wanted and nothing else. Jack found it weird but figured maybe he wasn't a morning person, or even a person at all until he'd had his coffee.
Later, He'd attempted to approach Sanderson while sweeping the lobby. He'd thrown a quick 'Howdy' his way and had been met with only a bored glance before the writer set his attention back to the screen. The change in attitude threw Jack for a loop.
Close to closing time that day he was taking a guest's order, all at once he could feel something intently watching him. His blue eyes snapped towards the corner where Sanderson sat- (with a direct view of the counter through the dividers). The man was intently typing on his keyboard.
The doors to the café automatically unlocked – something Jack found immensely unsettling. He chalked it up to magic. He'd seen a man who could literally control shadows, and his own amulet fucking talked to him, so he could definitely just accept that the doors were somehow magic too and just move on.
It wasn't long before the first guests of the day came pouring in.
Despite the heavy volume of people coming through the shop, Jack wasn't too worried about being found. His appearance had changed so drastically that he would be surprised if even his own mother recognized him. Jack still didn't recognize himself in the mirror. The accident had turned his brown hair to white, his dark eyes to a bright blue, and his tanned skin drained to a pale and sickly shade. Grief had dug shallow graves under his eyes.
He hadn't expected a Tuesday would be this busy and it was working wonders for his sense of time. Before he realized it – Sanderson was in line in front of him.
"The usual?" he asked, hoping he came off as casual and friendly as he was trying to be Just your friendly neighborhood barista here, please stop hating me.
Sanderson sneered, actually fucking sneered.
'Oh, that's it.' He seethed inwardly.
His amulet seared across his skin. Obviously, whatever Jack was about to do the amulet thought was against his own well-being.
Jack was far too gone to think about it.
Seeing red, Jack snapped his body around and snatched the jar of coffee grounds from its place on the wall. Slamming the jar on the counter with much more force than necessary he noticed Sanderson's face had gone neutral once more. He was more than satisfied to have wiped that look off his face.
Nearly two minutes later, and with a slight burn from the steam, Jack grit his teeth and delicately placed the latte down in front of Sanderson.
In the foam was the image of a hand giving the middle finger, or at least it looked enough like it to get his point across.
His fury must have aligned every creative synapse in his brain to create this Sistine chapel of a coffee.
'Just call me Michelangelo.' Jack thought before looking Sanderson straight in the eyes.
"It's on the house." And like the flip of a light switch, Jack turned his attention to the next person in line and gave them his best and brightest grin.
"Welcome to All Hallows; what can I get started for you?"
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sanderson Stand completely still for a moment longer before taking his coffee and finding his usual spot in the lobby.
Finally, about thirty minutes to close, the flow of customers had slowed down almost to a stop. Only Sanderson remained in the lobby.
Jack grabbed the broom and dustpan and began sweeping out the trash in the lobby so he could mop. Pitch was insistent that the lobby must be cleaned thoroughly every day. It was understandable. Jack could only imagine how many fruit flies could accumulate from drops of sugary coffee that had been unintentionally splattered on the ground.
Jack was doing his best to ignore Sanderson who in turn was completely ignoring Jack and still tapping away. Jack couldn't see any visible trash on the floor and was going to completely ignore sweeping the man's corner. He turned and began walking back to the counter to grab the mop when something smacked against his back with a hollow thud.
The clicking of the keyboard never stopped. The lukewarm liquid spread down the back of his white T-shirt and a smell he was all too familiar with hit his nose. Coffee. The man threw what remained of his coffee at him. He'd been here all day but had managed to save a good portion of his coffee just to throw at him?
Jack turned on his heel so quickly that he thought he might get whiplash.
"You-" His words died in his mouth as he lost his footing on the now coffee-covered floor. His righteous anger quickly turned to fear as he tipped backward. The floor rose to meet him.
He barely had a moment to prepare before he landed softly on the ground. Softly? His eyes which had naturally shut in preparation for the fall snapped open as his skin began to heat up.
He was laying on a giant pile of golden sand and it burned.
He flopped off the sand pillow and onto the soothingly cold ground. He didn't even care that he was getting more coffee on his clothing.
He rapidly tried to brush the remaining sand from his skin. The skin was red where it had touched, and he felt like he'd been sitting too close to a fire. He must have been screaming from the fright of it all because strong hands pulled him up from the ground.
"What is going on?" It was Pitch. His voice held a cold fury and for once it didn't seem to be directed at him. Pitch had pulled Jack towards him and was probably the only thing keeping his body upright at this moment. Jack was shaking as the warmed skin slowly cooled back down.
There was no sound from the other man, not that he expected there to be. Jack was facing Pitch's chest; he was close enough to smell the man's cologne.
Pitch wrapped warm hands around his face and tilted his chin upwards to look at him. Finally coming back to himself Jack pushed away at Pitch and found himself back on the ground. He scrambled to get up and without a glance backward he walked right out the door. He was grateful that the door let him just leave. He was sure it could have locked itself again if it had wanted to.
Stepping outside, the cool breeze caressed his face. He was sure it should have been colder, mainly since the previous snow still covered the ground and the back of his shirt was still wet. He still had his apron on so thankfully any coffee that had gotten on his front had been absorbed by it.
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled deeply. He would go back to the house, change, and then he would set out. There was a forest nearby that he could set up camp in. Even if it was cold, it would be good to get away for a little while.