Honestly, dying at the worlds worst coffee shop trying to get a grade-defining essay checked over by some random guy on the internet during his junior year of college wasn’t the most embarrassing way to go. It cracked the top ten, easy, but it wasn’t the worst. Jaime repeated this logic to himself in the hope that it’d let him calm down. Living for about half the year for two years in Gotham City had made him less jumpy, but he liked to think he still had some self preservation instincts in him. Seated in a taped together chair at a sticky table in a—for lack of a better description—dank and dim coffee shop certainly wasn’t helping anything.
He sloshed around the dark heavy liquid in the chipped mug he was provided. “Coffee”, right. With a wince he took a swig to try and settle his nerves and forced himself to swallow around the gritty bitterness. Bleugh, at least it was cheap…but wow it was bad.
Jaime wanted to believe that little cheap rundown shops hide all the best food. Where everything is made with passion and love rather than expensive ingredients. But, Gotham loved to prove him wrong. Sometimes a place just sucked. He still wanted to avoid looking disgusted by the coffee, the barista was giving him a nasty stink eye. He got the feeling she’d be watching him drink until the very last drop. He did his best not to shudder.
He jumped as a hooded figure slumped down into the rickety chair across from him. The stranger knocked their hood back immediately and leaned forward to put their elbows on the table. “Let’s see it,” they demanded with a gravelly voice.
With their hood down Jaime could see their short cropped hair, mostly black with a shock of white clumped to the front. Their face was handsome, a firm jaw and sharp eyebrows. Their features interrupted by purpling bruises, a slightly crooked nose, and a healing split lip. The stranger raised an expectant eyebrow and Jaime realized he’d been staring. “Oh! Uh, sorry. Uh, can I…help you?”
The stranger squinted at him—and wow those eyes were green—before clicking his tongue. “You’re Jaime Reyes, aren’t you? With the ethics essay?”
“Yes!” He set down his coffee cup and turned to dig through his bag for his laptop. “And…that’d make you…?”
“John,” came the answer immediately, “John Doe.”
Jaime chuckled on reflex as he set down his computer and opened it up. John didn’t laugh. “Oh,” Jaime cleared his throat, “you’re serious?”
A perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised once again. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
