#let it steep

It's been a minute, but he wants to drink the tea already, he wants the heat and the calming sensation, he wants to feel his stomach warm and the rush of endorphins.  But most of all he wants some of the caffine.  His heart has been racing on and off since he came into his home to find some of the Vases moved, and the couch shifted. 

He hasn't been able to rightly calm down since he ran from the building.  On occasion he's fought himself, the fear building enough that his need to run wanted to push him form the 24 hour Coffee shop.  But he couldn't.  This was the only place that didn't try to talk to him.  This was the place that just brought him his tea, fresh on the hour.

This was the place he had wanted to bring Erik to, at least once. 

Johnathan can't help but smile slightly, his hand shaking as it wrapped around the near burning porcelain mug, he's sure that the skin of his palm is red, but at least holding onto the tea meant it would stay on the table in his control.

When did things get so bad?  When did he start to doubt that the tea was in fact tea?  Why was he checking the barista for murderous intent?  How long ago this fear build so quickly and so fast, that he couldn't take his eyes off them when they weren't in back?

He can see people moving along outside, he can hear the idle chatter of other customers, he could see their emotions flash over their faces.  Why did he have to watch everyone?

When did you become so pathetic, Johnathan?

It's there again, the sound of the clock ticking, each twitch of the second hand bringing him closer to death.  It's there.  The sound of the hammer being cocked.  Already Johnathan is pulling his knees up, planting his heels on the edge of the chair as he curls into himself, forehead pressing to his knees.

Just breathe.  He'll be here soon.  Just breathe.