His hands were shaking — well, that wasn’t really a surprise. His hands were always shaking lately — a chill running down his spine as he held his jacket closer to his frail body. He hadn’t been eating that much lately — a loss of appetite; something his great-grandmother would simply call “bullshit”. He blamed it on stress; the impending year ahead of him as he studied higher classes at the level of a senior. But with his high intelligence came others that hated it — “They’re just jealous, Jack” — his mother would say, but Jackson knew better than that. They saw him as different; from his white-blonde hair, to his too-skinny body, all the way down to the way he could solve a math problem in seconds and had the entire periodic table memorized. He was, at best, at the bottom of the social food chain.
He let out a sigh as he stepped through the door of the Lima Bean, the usual ding! of the bell above him ringing out. He always stopped by after school; it was one of the few locations that weren’t really occupied by the neanderthals of McKinley High when it came to an after-school snack. A hipster’s paradise, some would say. Not that he would call himself a hipster — he didn’t really know what clique he’d fall into.
Waiting in line, he tried his best not to shift in place out of habit. It comforted him, usually, but today it didn’t help; only shifted his backpack against the small bruise forming on his shoulder blade thanks to being shoved in the lockers earlier that morning. Luckily, it was one that wouldn’t be spotted by his mothers. He liked wearing a shirt, anyways.
With his usual coffee order now in hand — an iced macchiato with two pumps of hazeulnut — he turned, ready to find a secluded place in the back where he could study in peace and not be bothered by anyone who may recognize him, but his lack of balance caused him to turn right into someone. “Oh — I’m sorry,” He stammered, eyes falling to the ground. Avoid eye contact. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” His hands started shaking more; evident by the few falling drops of cold coffee that had spilled from his cup due to the bump. “I didn’t get any on you — did I?”
The tiny ginger had been settling in about as comfortably as she could since moving to Lima, a town that hadn't even been on her radar before meeting Markus. She thought she might like it there, a town so charming and small compared to where she'd grown up, and small suited someone as minuscule as she both looked and often felt.
She even liked her job, one she'd found a lot quicker than she'd thought she would. When she'd applied to The Lima Bean, Niamh figured there was no way she'd get an interview. And when she showed up for her interview, tray of freshly baked cookies in her hand, she'd figured there was no way she'd get a job. But they'd eaten the cookies, asked for the recipe, a recipe which she'd refused to give them. Perhaps they'd hired her just for the cookies, but she was happy to be paid to bake them for customers now.
Niamh was on a break, scooping up a small coffee and a plate with a few of those cookies fresh out of the oven and making her way out to the floor. She'd forgotten to take her apron off, and the flour that dusted it probably made her look a bit of a mess, but she didn't especially care. A year ago, Niamh couldn't leave the room she'd called home at Second Hope, and now she was out in the world, with a proper job and maybe something like a proper life. The apron was a badge of honor as far as she was concerned.
And then someone bumped into her. Or she bumped into them. She couldn't be sure, and he looked so sorry that it had happened that it didn't really matter. "Oh, it's alright, babe... No problem at all. You alright?" His hands were trembling and it seemed like maybe he wasn't. She looked down to spot a few specks of coffee on her apron and smiled. "You did, but it's not a worry... Aprons are good for catchin' messes." Trying to meet his eyes, she asked, "What's your name?"
