Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For some countries, spring meant bright colours and its arrival was signalled by the first appearance of the warm rays of sunshine that would grow stronger as months passed. The newspapers would be filled with monochrome photos of artistic sceneries recommending towns to visit for a long weekend and a proper vacation. Paris, Venice, small towns across Europe were all listed at some point, all except London. If the entire Europe was basking in the light, then it felt like every cloud took a permanent residence over the capital, forming a grey and leaky carpet above the dusty old capital. 

Given the chance, anyone would have accepted a free ticket out of this grey town without hesitating too much about the finances. After all, nobody liked drying their shoes every day, and carrying an umbrella with the knowledge that around two o’clock, rain would start pouring down from the clouds even if they were supposed to bask in sunlight. 

Staring out the window as the brass espresso machine pushed hot water through the coffee filter, Mike Morton couldn’t help but wonder where the dislike for this weather truly stemmed from. People never complained about specific aspects of the weather, like the wind that tore into their umbrella or the sudden change in temperature, they just noted rain as the sole perpetrator behind their bad mood and it was the sole reason why they felt awful. As to how the weather was capable of affecting them like this, he never got an answer, not matter how many people he'd asked. 

For him, the only downside of such weather was actually the lack of customers. 

The few who were swept in by the spring weather sat like soaked sparrows on the rooftops begging for tea as if their life depended on it. Fortunately, it was a request Mike would fulfil with a smile on his face, although he wished people would pose some challenges for him once in a blue moon. He wanted something that would finally move his creativity and consisted of more steps than just pouring water over a mixture of dry leaves or grounded beans.  After all, behind him, an entire wall of jars was waiting to be used. Coffee and cocoa with varying flavours and strength just waiting for him while everyone else focused on the dark tea leaves in the jar sitting in rows next to the counter each fitting a different person and different vibe.

Earl Grey was perfect for the painter who decided to take a small rest on his walk home when he was caught by the drizzle, sketching into a notebook that already had the edge of its pages wavy from use. He did not seem to enjoy his stay as he kept glancing outside, probably feeling impatient that he was stuck there with such simple tools when the idea finally struck him.

Darjeeling with a dash of milk and honey for the journalist who always sat next to the window, watching as people passed. She always looked like she was waiting for someone, but never stayed long enough for her tea to become cold. Just before it happened, she would nod to herself, quickly finishing the last drops then leaving shortly.

And lastly, Espresso for the lawyer whose confidence knew no rivals and firmly believed that this behaviour would earn him some sort of special treatment. However, acting like a rich and pampered noble, did not necessarily mean that he had the funds to live as one. Therefore, he made Bite his haunt to its owner’s greatest grief. While Mike couldn’t really complain about his customers, he secretly counted the minutes before the lawyer would leave his store and a comforting quiet would take his place allowing him to finally let out a sigh of relief.

These three were the people who dropped by on a daily basis and these three were the orders he had learned by heart among a few peculiar ones, but the list of drinks he could make would go even further, it was just up to the imagination and curiosity of the person sitting at one of the small round tables and if they dared to take a step forward and ask him about them.

Those who did were asking for the strangest of combinations, even posing him the usual, yet simplest request where they wanted to be surprised by what he could think up just by looking at them. That was the main gimmick of Bite, along with some freshly baked pastries and biscuits that would be offered to accompany the drinks. 

It was perfect with the amount of little changes that he adored, at the same time he was starved to step out of his comfort zone or once. To get an impossible request that would make his heart jump up and down in excitement as he got to work because he would be unable to properly  guess what his guest truly wanted. 

Almost as if on cue, it seemed as if the spring rain had forced the comfortable flow of his life into a new, unknown course when the door opened, making the bell above it ring quietly.

Two people. Unfamiliar faces.

Calling them a couple would have been a stretch, even Mike could tell that they were barely more than acquaintances just by the way they walked through the place after dropping their shared umbrella in the basket. 

The woman, who wore a thin dark coat over a purple dress that almost made her blonde hair shine, always made sure to keep distance from the man who accompanied her. She allowed herself to be led into the restaurant, she followed the man on feeble steps, her heels clinking elegantly on the floor, but never made any attempt to even pretend familiarity with the him almost as if he was nothing more than a mere chaperone. She never reached out to hook her hand around his arm, nor address him the way lovers do. In fact, she was careful with her gestures, just like a cat who was waiting for the moment they could struggle free from the arms of their owner. She did not seem to be in trouble, but it was also obvious that she was not there because she wanted to. 

It was nothing more than a generous formality on her part.

The man did not seem to match her in style. His outfit was gaudy, the red coat not matching the dark green of his striped shirt. His dark brown hair and brown eyes melted into his image, making it almost impossible to focus on anything remarkable about his looks no matter how hard he tried. The only detail that somewhat stuck out was the prosthetic that looked custom made, and was shaped like a firework, its design quickly ruining the functionality of the limb as he kept limping awkwardly. 

Part of him believed it would not be as far-fetched to think that the cylinder was loaded with gunpowder only waiting for disaster to strike its owner. Something about that man just screamed that he would have the strangest of ideas and that he would not necessarily care about public safety if an idea struck him.

He looked like a cheerful fellow, who was cursed with a melancholic face.

What’s worse, he seemed to chase the idea that he was on a date, doing what any gentleman would do to get closer to the heart of the lady he was accompanying, but Mike also noticed the slight hesitancy in his actions almost as if bits of insecurity managed to crawl out from hiding. Whenever he did something, he seemed to freeze up for a bit, lost in his thoughts before he started moving again. He pulled the chair for the lady, but his hands remained on the headrest for a few seconds, before he awkwardly gestured towards the seat, the tips of his fingers shaking so bad Mike could notice it from behind the counter. When he sat down, his buttons got caught up in the lace tablecloth, pulling along the old cocoa tin that he used as decoration. 

The woman could’ve easily stop it from falling, but she was more focused on finding a place for her bag in her lap almost as if she was suggesting that the man was alone with his mistakes, although he did not notice it yet. Or rather, he refused to. With an awkward smile, he ducked for the fallen tin, setting it back in its place as his cheeks glowed hot in shame. 

Once Mike saw them finally taking their seats, he straightened his back, gave his blue apron a pull around the edges to make it look a bit more orderly and with a few easy strides he appeared next to their table stopping with a small hop in his heels, flipping the notebook in his hand to an empty page. 

“Welcome, welcome! What may I bring to our guests today?” He greeted them with a faux cheer, ignoring the heavy atmosphere that settled between them. Couples were easy to deal with. Even if they were fighting there was a sort of common ground they shared that made his work easier. But now he had found himself wading through a risky territory he had accidentally landed himself in.

The woman looked up, her grey eyes sparkling with relief. She talked with a bit of an accent, adding a special flair to her words “Do you happen to have rosé wine?”

“No, not really.” Mike shook his head, giving the woman a faint smile. “However, may I recommend some orange wine in its stead? While it lacks the thin sourness of rosé, it makes up for it with its flavour! We serve it with a bit of cheese on the side, free of charge.”

Most people would have asked about its price, just to make sure the recommendation is well within their intended budget, however the woman only nodded, flickering her gaze towards the man in front of her. “That will be it then. Thank you.”

“And you, sir?” He did his best to elevate the mood a bit, bringing a bit of melody into his tone.

“Me?” the man flinched as he was suddenly addressed, a bright redness rushing to his face at the sudden attention. He wanted to look confident, but his mask fell the moment he had to speak. “I… I couldn’t really choose yet…”

“Of course, I’ll just come back a bit later. Until then, let me bring the wine for the lady.” Mike nodded, scribbling down the word water on his paper, before taking a step back and turning around.

* * *

The man eventually did not order anything else. Even that small glass of water took him by surprise and rendered him speechless, but he entwined his slender fingers around the cool glass, gripping it as if that was his own special lifeline. 

Even from the counter, Mike could see that he was flustered in the presence of the lady, who seemed to go by the name Margaretha. His hands never let go of the glass, while the woman in front of him sipped on her wine, occasionally taking a small slice from the cheese that accompanied the drink.

This was most likely supposed to be a date. The actors were on stage, however, their chemistry was simply not there. Like a comedian being paired up with a prima donna. He wanted to make a joke, while the woman yearned for something more romantic or sensual and in the end, all the reaction he got for his attempts was the gentle rise and fall of the woman’s shoulders who attempted to hide a soft sigh.

“Joker,” her voice was firm as she spoke, immediately halting the man’s words, making his hands grip the glass in front of him even harder, almost as if he was sensing some sort of change in the atmosphere. He seemed to perk up in his seat, almost as if he was expecting good news despite the cold tone that was used to call his name.

Mike turned back, lowering the volume on his radio until its voice quieted into a gentle melody in the background. Partly because he did not want to disturb them, but also because he was curious about the development of their meeting even if he was not directly watching the scene unfolding at the table and instead he turned around and pretended to check the metal tins behind his back. Surprisingly, they were full of tea and there was truly nothing worthy to inspect about it. But his guests did not need to know that.

The wine glass was already empty in front of the woman, and the small plate of cheese also seemed to disappear. That was all Mike could do to stall the inevitable that was about to unfold in his restaurant. 

“Joker, listen… I hope you know that I respect you as a person, and you are really kind and nice, always looking out for others, but…” the woman stopped, she seemed to look for words, starting, then ending her sentence only to start it again, tapping her nails against the flat foot of her empty glass, “And I really appreciate you inviting me here, but I think this is not something I can keep doing.”

That sentence did it, Mike thought to himself as he watched the table from the corner of his eyes. Whatever little confidence the man managed to muster, it crumbled right in front of him almost as if he just noticed that the evening was not about him getting a fairy tale ending, but being guided to stand beneath a guillotine. 

“B-But, I—” He stuttered, before he sucked in a deep breath. However his voice was thin, “I like you…”

“And that’s the problem, darling. You like me and you like me a lot, I know. However I cannot return the same feelings towards you no matter how much I try to convince myself that you would be the one. The flowers and gifts were much appreciated, but at this point, I am also tired of letting you lull yourself into a false belief that you might have a chance.”

“You have someone else, right…?” the man choked on his words. “You can tell me, I swear I won’t be angry…”

“There cannot be someone else when there was nobody to begin with. We never dated, nor did I give you this impression. But no, it's not because I've met someone," she shook her head, but Mike saw the way she bit into her lower lip holding back thoughts that she was forced to keep to herself until they mellowed out into a piercing look. It was nothing but a gentle lie just before going for the coup de grace using a poison-laden dagger. “It’s just… I did my best to give you a chance, but no matter how much I pondered on it, I just couldn’t see it working and how this," she pointed at the two of them. "Would even work. You are a beloved fan of mine, but that’s where I want this to stay at.”

“N-Not even a friend? Are you sure there is nobody? I worked so hard. With so many gifts...” The man called Joker treaded carefully, forcing a bitter smile to his lips as he hung onto his last thread of dignity by keeping his sentences short. 

Outside the rain seemed to pick up hitting against the tall windows as if they were small birds wanting to peck their way through the glass, while the wind tore into the branches of trees that stood on the other side of the road.

The man did not seem to notice it, he kept staring at the untouched glass of water, flinching when the woman’s voice cut into the relaxing rhythm of the storm outside.

“Not every rejection is because of someone else.”

“Rejection?! But even today, you decided to accept my invitation!”

“Yes I accepted it because I got tired. No matter how many times I sent your gifts back or refused them, you just took them as a challenge as if I was someone to win over in a childish game. I did not want to tell you this just after a rehearsal, because even that would have just left you hoping that I was not entirely serious about my words, just like how you keep claiming that I must be joking even now,” she tapped the wooden table with the tip of her fingers as she waited for the man in front of her to comprehend the cruel yet necessary treatment she was giving to him. “In the next season, I’ll be leaving Golden Rose to join a small travelling troupe on their tourney and with that, I want you to finally forget me. Find someone who can return all the love and attention that you hold in yourself.”

“Wait! I can change! Just tell me how, just tell me what you are looking for in a man and I’ll change!”

That was a bad answer to give. Even if the man still had a slimmer of chance with the actress, the way he had rushed to make promises did not seem to appeal to the woman. 

“See? This is exactly why things would never work out between us. I do not want to be looked at like I was some goddess to be idolised. I do not want people to change just to insinuate themselves into my favour just because they like the person they see on stage,” she shook her head, her voice sounded tired. Joker did not seem to notice through the tears that blurred his vision, but her shoulders slumped in relief as she could finally share what was bothering her. 

Idolisation in a relationship sounds like a hassle, the chef thought to himself as he leaned over his counter. It was like a plant that never really had the chance to sprout into love because the two parties would never stand on even ground to nurture it together. While he did not really had any experiences with it himself, he worked long enough to see different relationships unfold on the other side of the counter. 

This one looked like neither of them. It was not healthy, nor messy; it was just a featureless thorny vine that was allowed to grow far too big and started suffocating its surroundings. 

The bistro was enveloped by a blanket of its usual silence at the woman’s statement reminding Mike that despite the tragedy that unfolded at the small table in the back, the rest of his guests went on with their life just as they always have. If they were listening in on the conversation, they did a good job at masking their curiosity as nobody even moved, when the man raised his voice as a last desperate attempt.

“Please…!”

However, the woman already stood up, politely pushing her chair back to its place as she gathered her coat and slid it over his back without even sparing a glance towards her chaperone.

She did not intend to wait for the man’s answer or the pitiful way he would try to beg his way to stay close to her. Once she had presented her thoughts she was well aware that there was no need to waste any more words on the matter. 

But then again, what else was left to say?

“I’d like to pay for my drink,” she stood in front of Mike. Compared to the time she arrived, she looked as if she had sprouted wings beneath her dress that kept fluttering in excitement as a small hop sneaked into her steps. Despite the look of a solemn woman, once the weights that kept her down were finally left behind, her mood seemed to be elevated and through her serious gaze, there was a flicker of happiness. 

“I hope it was to your liking,” Mike nodded with a smile as he rang up her order, pretending as if he was taking up her cheerful demeanour. 

“Oh yes, thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything similar in my life so it was quite the experience. Perhaps I will come back in the future. I have a friend who is not so keen on alcohol, but I think even she would love to taste the wine here,” she kept the conversation casual as she slid the change in her purse and closed it with a soft click. She did not mention the man who accompanied her, nor did she bring up the broken heart she had left behind, nor did Mike as if they had a silent agreement.

Holding the umbrella in her hand, her heeled shoes echoed on the wooden floor as she opened the door making the bell ring cheerfully as it announced her departure. Now that everything she was ought to do was finished, she did not look back at the man at the table, instead, her eyes settled on Mike as she uttered a quiet goodbye, lightly nodding with her head as a way of showing her gratitude. 

However, Mike couldn't return the gesture.

Despite the formalities, he knew that this was the last time she visited Bite and what she had carelessly left behind was a mess he would have to clean up by himself. 

Chapter Text

As evening fell and the streetlight started illuminating the darkness outside, the rain picked up, mercilessly pelting the windows while turning the scenery outside into a blurry painting that occasionally shivered from the wind that tore into the raindrops. The storm chased people through the street, pushing against their backs and tearing into their umbrellas with the attempt to turn it from the inside out.

A small, devious part of Mike hoped that the blonde woman who chose his bistro to leave a shattered heart on his floor then pushed even more work on his neck was caught in the middle of it. Her pretty coat soaked from the rain the wind threw at her, and the stolen umbrella twisted from her hands so she would at least experience at least a sense small discomfort over her heartless remarks.

It was not healthy to think that way, but even if her actions were justified, what she did was rude and insensible. Unfitting for a lady of her caliber! But maybe that was the catch, beautiful things always had some thorns hidden here and there and perhaps this law applied to humans too.

He shouldn't have been angry on the behalf of a customer. His job was to serve, to make sure they get a five star order, yet the scene he had seen set off a spark in his heart. A sort of anger he had hardly ever experienced before. One that refused to leave no matter how many times he tried to suffocate its flames.  

In the end, as way of showing annoyance he only let out a soft huff, then sourly threw the wet rag on the side of the sink allowing it to slide down its side, averting his gaze from the small table in the corner.  

The remaining customers who were still sitting in Bite! did their best to ignore the weather outside, possibly hoping that they could pass the time within the building while they ordered another round of drinks while scanning the small bookrack he had set up at the counter at the request of a friend. People would occasionally make their way to him, quickly walking back to their seat with their new possession they wanted to use to pass time while waiting for the storm to give up its angered tantrum.

He would occasionally took a book behind the counter, but his interest would lessen after thirty or so pages, and the book would remain unfinished no matter how tempting it would be. Just like the same way, the Moonfleet kept staring back at him with his bookmark forever stuck in the middle, mocking him for his failure at continuing it.

Instead, he focused his attention on the people around him, finding his own entertainment by watching them exist on their own. Everyone seemed to find some sort of activity, while their eyes kept wandering between the clock above the counter and the windows, where the accurate weather conditions were reflected.

The only person who remained apathetic of his surroundings was the man who was left alone at the table still clutching the untouched glass of water between his hands as he stared at its crystal clear surface. He did not look at the clock, nor gazed at the rain as neither of them seemed to be helpful in his situation. 

If the storm outside was bad, then the one that was wreaking havoc in his heart must have been deadly.

Of course, he hid it well and nobody seemed to take notice of his hunched posture and the way his shoulders shook whenever he tried to take hold of his breathing to stop his emotions from pouring over before his sorrow would make its way to the corners of his eyes. 

It was a pitiful sight.

Sitting behind the counter, Mike leaned on his elbow, studying the man’s reactions as if he were to look at a small critter that somehow wandered into his store. Said critter happened to be wounded, although he couldn’t really tell that at first glance because it did its best to keep up a false pretence in front of his companion.

However once she left, he crumbled like a tower of cards, his wounded heart slowly spreading its ache through his whole body in a way that was no longer possible to hide from the outside world.

In this case, most would offer a pint of alcohol. It was good for business because the moment the suffering party realized how easily it took the edge off their thoughts and how the liquid made them feel at ease they would start a long list of orders, returning to the counter the same way birds return to mulberry trees in summer tempted by the sour berries, even if they grew intoxicated by them to the point of not being able to fly.  

One pint would be followed by more, even more expensive options offered by the bartender while they lulled their customer into a false sense of comfort, delaying the inevitable to a date where they wouldn’t be around to deal with the problem at hand. 

Mike should have done that. It was the easy way out and a quick way to make some sales from the ale that sat behind the counter in rows. He did not keep many at hand, but even those would be enough to help his guest through the most critical part of any rejection.

But would that really solve anything? The terrible feeling would catch up to him regardless when he wakes up alone in the morning, but there would be headache and nausea to make him feel as if the world just conspired against him, quietly making rounds in his apartment, seeking some sort of haven from the feelings that caught up to him. Perhaps, the sorrowful expression would turn into an entire new type of grief, one that would make scientists flock to this person, watching the sorrowful critter wallow in his own self-made Greek tragedy. 

It would have been a cruel exploitation of weakness. Something he could not allow himself when his whole work ethic was based on making people feel comfortable in his bistro. Bite should have been like a second home, a safe haven to pass time, not a place where people would head to when they wanted to forget. 

Sucking in a deep breath as he gazed at the man, he decided to try and solve the problem the way only he could.

By warming milk and rummaging around for cocoa powder and chocolate.

* * *

“What-what is this?” the man looked at him, his eyes reflecting confusion with a slight hint of irritation about the fact that he was disturbed. “I did not order anything…”

“And you are right about that,” Mike nodded, but instead of turning around, he put down the mug in front of the man. It was shaped like a teacup, but with thick sides to endure the heat from the dark liquid that was poured into it. 

“...Then why did you put this in front of me? I am sorry, but I am… not going to pay something I had not ordered. This has to be a scam or some sort of trick,” he mused, but his eyes never left the drink that looked so dark against the white laces of the tablecloth. “As if I did not have enough problems already…”

Scam… True, it was not his best work, but he thought it would look like a genuine attempt to cheer up someone whose mood went down the drains.

The white chocolate he used as decoration on the surface formed a small flower, while the other side had a bit of whipped cream he had poured on it from a smaller pastry bag. Usually he would have used fruits to give his work some colour and an additional flavour, however those were off-season luxuries even he could not afford, no matter how much he’d have liked to. 

Sure, it was logical conclusion that the man would think he was trying to scam him and it would not be the first time the accusation arose over his eccentric way of handling things, but he did not stop as he put down a napkin and a small spoon next to the mug. 

“If I wanted to scam you, I’d have done it already. On the other hand, I’d be dumb to risk my reputation over proving this statement, no? If rumour had it that the owner of Bite is up to some shady business practices, pushing orders on his guests and cutting corners for his own gain, I’d lose most of my customers, maybe even the police would get involved,” he mused, a smile spreading across his lips almost as if he played with the idea of testing his skills for real. “So rest assured, this is nothing more than my own selfish way to pass time when the weather is so grim out there. It’s a slow day, and the only person without a proper order happened to be you. So, I’d count myself lucky if I were you because you just got a one of a kind gift drink!” 

“I am not exactly sure why I should feel lucky. Please just leave me alone,” the man frowned, pushing the saucer away with his fingertips.

“You should just try it,” Mike gently pushed it back towards the man. “The rain is not letting up anytime soon.”

And you really seem like you need something sweet in your life, Mike wanted to add, but he bit back on his own words, swallowing them before they had their chance to leave his lips. Perhaps it was those auburn eyes that reminded him of late spring, or the thick eyebrows that made his face look like the world might just collapse at any given moment. Mike felt like he could not afford to ruin this man’s day further. 

Especially not with his own careless words. That was not what Bite! was about.

“If I accept it… will you finally leave me alone? I am- I am not exactly in the mood to chat right now,” his fingertips let go of the edge of the saucer, allowing Mike to slide it back to its original place.

“Sure! But even if you don’t intend to drink it, please give it a taste. At least that.”

“Then I’ll be left alone?”

“Left alone for good! Yep!” 

“No more surprises?”

“Absolutely none,” he nodded eagerly. “This is a one of a kind hot chocolate, made for a gloomy day like this.” 

“I think I have to accept your offer. Thank you,” The man was not fazed by his antics, but in the end he just gave a defeated huff, his features finally showing a hint of annoyance beside the sullen expression that seemed to suffocate him.

Deep down Mike knew that his reaction was due to the shame he was forced to experience, when the lady he was courting for a while decided to publicly stop his advances, but it would’ve been a lie that he was used to this kind of treatment. 

Most people accepted his kindness without searching for ulterior motives. Their eyes would lit up at the gesture of someone trying to cheer them up when they were having a bad day giving Mike a smile or nod of gratitude. 

But heartbreaks were an entirely different matter. 

Almost as if the person was severed from the world for a second, doubting their surroundings, behind every kind gesture they saw the possibility of getting hurt again, so they hid their heart behind walls and scowled at the world around them. There was a part that still desperately clung to the possibility of getting what their heart yearned for, while the other part was in the state of grief.

Both of them prevented Joker from moving on and in turn his warm, melancholic charm was sullied by his absolute refusal to be helped by someone. 

* * *

As time marched forward, the rain occasionally quieted down into a soft drizzle almost as if it was quietly gathering its strength to strike again with full force, raindrops hitting against the tall glass as if the wind itself wanted a drink, roaring in anger so loudly it made the windows rattle in their frames.

Once people figured out the pattern they started looking for the moment they could slip away from the safety of Bite! leaving behind nothing but the payment for their orders and a bit of a tip as their gratitude and thanking him for his hospitality.  

This went on until only one customer remained, sitting awkwardly in the corner, gazing out the window as if he was also contemplating on leaving, yet always decided against it. His eyes wandered to the mug in front of him that he kept nibbling on as time passed, but now it was so empty, he couldn’t scrape anything out from the bottom anymore.

Whenever their eyes met, he glared at Mike almost as if he was telling him to mind his own business. By the time Mike would raise his eyebrows in surprise at the hostility, his face would return back to its usual grief-struck look as he continued staring out the window, his thoughts probably still anchored to the events that took place at the table otherwise he would be lost, wandering aimlessly in the murky swamp of thoughts that threatened to pull him under. 

It would have been rude to disturb him and even more rude to ask him to leave. Yet the clock above Mike’s head ruthlessly reminded him of the passage of time, even if his last guest seemingly slipped away from the constraints of time and other earthly troubles. 

But then again, he had to close up the store and while it wouldn’t be the first time he slept in the bistro, he also preferred his own bed to the hard wooden floor only cushioned by the seating pillows and a raggedy patchwork blanket he had kept beneath the counter to ward off possible emergencies and cases of busted heating. 

However, the man refused to leave almost as if he took root in his seat while he tried to fight his tears off.

Acting as if his case was a special one.

As if rejection only found him.

How selfish.

To match his selfishness, Mike sucked in a deep breath and with his cleaning rag in hand, he started cleaning his work station, making sure that each and every movement was loud enough to echo in the room and reach his hesitant guest. He would drop the utensils into their place from an unusual height forcing them to clink together, then let the door of the cupboard fall back to its place instead of gently folding it back to its place like he usually did.

The man flinched at the sudden thud, but it was not enough to make him budge. Mike considered taking the mug away from him, just to get near him and remind him of his own presence, but in the end, he just collected the laced table cloths from the empty tables and started cleaning them. When he reached the man’s table, he halted his steps, before continuing his work.

Suddenly the man turned his way, his face blooming with shame.

“I-I should go. It's gettin late,” he stuttered, scrambling to his feet, his prosthetic leg almost getting tangled up in the leg of the table, and he would’ve most likely fell if it was not for Mike’s hand around his arm.

“You won’t go anywhere if you break your nose,” he stated as he gently pushed the man back to his seat. 

“Now try it again and this time try not to take the table with you. There is no need to rearrange the place in a whirlwind, the storm outside if more than enough,” his smile was only rewarded with another frown. One that made him tentatively take a step back, as he gathered the tablecloth and grabbed the empty cup from the table, the last one he would have to clean that day. 

The man seemed to be calmer now, but it only meant the hurt had pulled deeper into his heart, hidden away from the world and people who would listen to him. Pity bubbled in the pits of Mike’s stomach slowly morphing into an urge to reach out and break his own promise about befriending customers.

He had to keep it professional. Neutral. For his own sake. 

And yet…

“Soooo... How was the drink?” The words left him on a whim as the man attempted to stand up for a second time, this time making sure to lift his prosthetic leg to the side first rising above Mike in height as he stood up.

“It was… fine. Thank you.” he nodded, making sure he was keeping his distance from warmth when he was supposed to be suffering. He straightened his back, mustering up his remaining dignity as he finally made eye contact with Mike, “How much do I owe you exactly?”

“Huh… Nothing. I told you it was not a scam,” he shrugged nonchalantly as he turned around, walking back to his usual spot behind the counter to drop down the table cloths and wash the last cup. “If you want to pay so much, I will accept a smile in exchange.”

“You have some nerves… I am not some sort of charity case…” his guest growled and he was already rummaging in his coat pocket, presenting a slim green wallet. Unlike the lady who paid for her wine, he did not seem to have too much money and most of it was kept in coins that kept clinking beneath his fingers, scooping up coins in his palm as he kept looking for more. “Would eight shillings cover the cost? Should I pay ten? I- I am not familiar with the prices around here, but I am sure I’ve seen similar prices listed elsewhere…”

It would be more than enough, Mike wanted to say, but in the end he just shook his head. There was a childish glee hidden in Joker’s features, one that was barely visible in the dim light of the small lamp above them but brought some sort of liveliness into his words as he bickered with Mike.

In the end he had no choice, but to reach for the coins and slid them to a separate compartment n the cash register. 

“Let me repeat myself for one last time. It was not a scam, the chocolate was truly free,” he added. “But if you insist, the next time you visit, you can choose something you want from the menu. I’ll take this as prepayment.”

“You have some shady business practices, Mr…” the man knitted his brows, then he turned around, seemingly looking for something on the ground.

“Just call me Mike. There is no need for formalities. And if you are looking for the red umbrella with the polka dot pattern the lady you escorted left with it several hours ago.”

“She… Of course,” he shook his head in defeat as a bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Of course she did.”

Mike couldn’t help but feel pity towards the man, who was once again pushed to the verge of tears, his shoulders trembling gently as he sucked in a breath. Whatever little progress they had made crumbled into nothing once the poison left behind by the woman finally started working in his body and pulled a dark blanket over the man’s thoughts.

His gaze wandered to the door, watching as the raindrops hit the glass then swiftly rolled down its surface. Even if the storm quieted into a quiet rain, anyone who ventured outside right now would risk being soaked to the bone by the time they got home.

“Take my umbrella,” Mike offered without even giving it a second thought.

“Why…?”

“Well, wouldn’t it be cliché to end your already bad day by having your umbrella stolen? So by giving you my umbrella I am kind of saving the day when you think about it,” he nodded to himself as he reached beneath the counter to rummage among his personal belongings that he had kept there just in case. 

“I am sorry, but I do not need anyone to pity me, I am fine on my own.”

“Between you and me. I can run home in a breeze, you… not so much,” he stated as he placed a light blue umbrella towards Joker on the counter. “However, being forced to walk through rain had people catch the nastiest colds known to man and I’d be a cruel owner if I let one of my customers go through that. So how about it?”

“Even if I say no you will keep pushing that umbrella closer to me right?”

“Absolutely,” Mike beamed as the umbrella inched closer to Joker, his heart jumping a bit in pride when those slender fingers finally reached out towards his gift.

“What about you then?”

“I will just pretend to be a duck until I get home, that way the water will just roll off of me,” Mike joked, preventing even the possibility of the truth of him soaking through the bone emerging. Thankfully the man seemed to be too preoccupied with his own mind and problems to notice or even consider the problem further.

“Fine… Thank you,” Joker sighed in defeat, his irritation clearly audible in his tone. But he did not chase the case further, “I’ll bring it back when I can. I… truly appreciate the kindness, but I am not someone who needs to be pampered.”

“I have never said this,” Mike shook his head. He wanted to talk a bit more, just to tease the man, but in the end he just slid his hands into his pockets, swallowing back his words, “Take care on your way home.”

“Y…You too,” Joker nodded, before he quickly ducked out of the bistro, ringing the small bell above twice as he disappeared in the scent of rain and a cold breeze that brushed against Mike’s face.  

What he had left behind was the empty silence and the sound of rain tapping against the window. Bite’s magic was hidden in the people who kept visiting it. They helped to brighten up the place with their presence and the sounds Mike couldn’t really recreate alone. The clinking of glasses, the happiness or often secret chatter and the murmurs had to occur naturally or else they would feel empty, lifeless.

However, the customers did not know was that once everyone left, the only person the interior could use as a mirror was the owner himself.

Desolate, empty and filled with silence.

Chapter Text

After his heart the next thing to break was that damn umbrella. 

It happened in the span of a few seconds, just when he was about to reach for the keys of the gate that led into the inner courtyard. The wind picked up, turning the blue umbrella from the inside out as if it wanted to take it back to its owner and clumsy as he was, when Joker started panicking and tried to put it back into its original state the metal rib broke with a soft click. His fingertips hurt from trying hard to keep them together, but the parts refusing to fit back against each other hanging limply from the inside as if he was holding the carcass of a dead animal in the darkness of the night.

Probably smashing it against the railing in front of his door in a fit of rage did not help either.

In the end, Joker decided to bring it inside, half-heartedly fearing that someone might steal throw it in the trash by the time he woke up. In order to keep it safe he just dropped it next to the door, where it immediately fell on its side, spreading its fabric as it stuck to the floor. He put it back against the door, but when it kept losing balance, he just gave up and gave the umbrella a light kick to carry his thoughts about its defiant nature.

Sliding out of his coat he should have felt lighter, yet his limbs were heavier than before, moving slowly as if they were suddenly filled with lead when he hung it up above the umbrella. Now that he no longer needed to play a role, the stress and exhaustion finally caught up to him, making his remaining strength vanish from his muscles. With a hunched back he dragged his body through the dark flat, kicking away the draft that must have fallen on the ground in the morning. 

At the time, he was far too excited to care. Now he just sighed as he leaned down to pick them up, grumbling when he noticed that the mud from his shoe and prosthetic soaked the ink lines making his writing blurry. That’s what he gets for not removing them when he entered the house, he thought, as he tried to brush the water away with his thumb and ruined his work further. They were commissions, plans based on Lester’s ideas and a storybook, with calculations and materials already listed. He set them down on the coffee table that reached up to his knee, feeling the suffocating sense of desperation gradually keep up to him, refusing to let go of his chest, as if he was carrying chains in his ribcage, all weaved around his heart with an unbreakable lock.

“I’ll have to redo these tomorrow… and these too just in case...” he mumbled an empty promise to himself, throwing his body on the couch staring at the darkness in front of him as he listened to the sound of the clock echo in the living room.

He truly had no idea what to do now besides burying himself in work.

As he listened to the rain, he bit his lips in frustration, halting when he noticed that the faint taste of chocolate still lingered on his skin bringing back memories from the evening and his theatrical failure. So much planning went down the drain just in a single sentence, it brought a bitter smile on his face.

How many plays he had seen? How many plays he had to sit through despite not being interested in them just because he could get a glance at Kroto. Because he wanted to bask in her light and listen to her voice. First row, last row it did not matter either as long as he could spend three hours in the same room as her. Just for a bit, he could believe that he had a chance under the false pretence of niceties.

He was a fool to ever believe that someone like Kroto would even glance his way.  

He was even a bigger fool for choosing that bistro and making a public spectacle of his failure. So many customers watched him, laughing at his misery, pitying the pathetic fool who failed to read the notices given to him. Even the owner must have referred to him that way in his mind, because why else would he give him a free drink and offer his umbrella?

The umbrella he happened to break when he forgot to turn against the direction of the wind.

But then again, maybe that was a clear sign that he was never meant to experience good things in his life. Everything was doomed to break under his hands in one way or another and chances just slipped through his fingers.

Perhaps at the realization that nothing will ever be good in his life, sob escaped him, rocking his body, making his chest constrict painfully as he fell to his side, resting his head on the arm of his couch. Suddenly the taste of chocolate was back, faintly haunting him, but his bitterness was far too overwhelming and he knew it better than anyone that no amount of kindness could save him. 

He was a born loser. 

Forever fated to be laughed at.

As he stared at the dark ceiling and did his best to not think about anything, the rain outside grew stronger, bringing forward an eerie silence that slowly settled on his heart, urging him to look for any source of light so at least he would have something to look at that would help to keep his thoughts in line. 

Led by a sudden urge to act, work, do anything, he pushed himself away from the cold surface of his couch, he felt a slight numbness in his right thigh. The prosthetic that he was far too depressed to remove decided to take revenge on him, by holding into his limbs too tight after he had worn it since the beginning of the day.

“Great,” he mumbled, but the word was nothing but a groan. Clicking the belts that kept it far too attached to his pants, he threw the prosthetic to the side, quickly reaching for it when he remembered that breaking it would not only add to his daily tally, but it would bring his co-worker’s anger on his head, who spent days trying to design it around the impossible ideas he had presented. He could only hope that he did not damage the frame... again.

Heaving a sigh, instead he reached for the walking stick Mrs. Branley, a good friend, had gifted him when she had heard about his tragic accident. The shape of a sea horse’s head fit against his palm uncomfortably as he stood up and put his weight on it only to waddle across the living room and flick the light switch.

An action he had regretted the moment he was greeted by the posters on the wall, all of the depicting the silhouette of Kroto, the lead actress of Golden Rose. Not everything was obvious, sometimes the details were hidden in obscure shapes and forms but the yellow coloured hair of the drawings always revealed her.

He used to love looking at them. These posters were his prized possessions and part of a treasured collection, but now all he could feel was shame as his cheeks grew hot and his lungs refused to let go of the air they gathered. 

He must have looked like an utter maniac when he tried to ask the theatre’s staff to give him the posters they had deemed to be trash, but they did not say a word. 

The shame over his behaviour caught up to him years later, burning his skin and making it uncomfortable to stare at the images that held so many memories. Memories that were supposed to be good, represent hope, but now they have been sullied by the events of the evening. They just served as lifeless reminders of wasted time that he had spent trying to achieve the impossible.

Anne, the shopkeeper from the upper floor of the Crystal Palace was right.

He was not a hopeless romantic, but a fool.

Even worse than that because he bit everyone who tried to pull him back from the edge of a cliff as if it was his god given right to take the plunge into the unknown.

It was an existing and thrilling thought.

Except there was never water below him to begin with.

It was only the dark depth that slowly swallowed him whole after he could no longer dance back from his mistakes.

When he opened his eyes, he had heard something hit against his wall with a dull thud, scratching against wood was if it wanted to get inside his home.  

Outside, the wind picked up, hitting against his window when out of nowhere a roaring of thunder ran through the night, making him jump on the couch fear striking into his cowardly heart. It lasted long, shaking the walls around him and making the windows tremble in their frame as if there was a war outside that desperately wanted to get into his home. By the second thunder that lit the whole room with a blue flash, it succeeded, somehow opening the hinges and allowing the cold wind to break through bringing forth a rain and leaves it had torn from the nearby willow.

Joker almost instinctively sprung to his legs, before catching himself on the edge of the couch, sliding down until his knees hit the table. It’s been a year since he lost his leg, but he was still keen to forget that he was not as agile as he was. 

Muttering a soft curse, he started looking for the walking stick, only noticing that he had found it when it hit the floor with a loud thud.

“At least it cannot fall any lower than that…”

Wobbling forward in a steady yet slow pace, he pushed against the windows forcing them back to their place with a painful click. The lock did not match, they probably never did, but they did not cause as much trouble as they did now. 

They never allowed a storm inside his home and they never had him trying to wipe the water from the windowsill with his handkerchief. 

Or perhaps he just never really cared.

He always had plans, grand ideas for the future, variations for the same theme, most of them playing with the idea of what would happen if Kroto accepted his feelings. He ignored the present to chase the impossible only to realize that everything around him started crumbling. The windows were ready to tear themselves from his hold if he did not tie their handles together and each time a thunder brightened the room around him, his own neglect stared back in the form of scattered plans, and a messy living room.

He has been so focused on the sole goal to appeal to someone else, that he had completely lost himself. As he turned around he felt an ache creep up to his heart, slowly steadily weaving its web around him, until he could no longer breathe. The air became too heavy in the small room and he felt heat rise to his cheeks as shame finally caught up to him.

With another thud the window behind him was pushed open again and the wind picked up his papers, scattering them even further. He should have been worried, it was an important work after all, and the numbers on them could get even more smudged if the rain reached them, but his previous interest was gone.

He felt empty.

Closing the window, this time he used the string attached to his theatre glasses to tie the two handles together, making a loose knot. It was not how it should have been used, and it was quite expensive to be used to keep his windows closed, but at the moment the binoculars only served as cruel reminders of all the night he had wasted chasing a mirage that was only his in the confines of his own thoughts.

Heaving a sigh, he walked to the door and flicked the lights on, wincing the sudden brightness hurt his eyes, forcing him to shut them. 

Four in the morning. Almost five hours before he would head to work and face the first day after his catastrophic failure. People in the Crystal Palace would ask questions, they would be nosy after he made sure to make everyone know about the great honour he was given when Kroto accepted his invitation. 

The only one who would shake her head would be Anne, who was against it since the beginning, her blue eyes filled with concern each time he brought up his trip to the theatre and waiting at the actors' entrance like a stray cat hoping to be picked up by someone, ignoring how he died a little bit after each meeting.

It was easier to lull himself into the belief that he will be noticed eventually than to accept that he had never had a chance to begin with. He was just stubborn like that when he thought he had a connection with someone and nothing proved this better than the countless ticket stubs that he had kept in his first drawer. Pieces of trash that did not serve any goal anymore.

It was no use to try and force himself back to sleep, so kicking away the pieces of paper that was brushed to the ground by the wind, he made his way to the small kitchen with the sole intention of making tea. 

Kitchen was a strong word as it was technically just another corner of the same room, separated by creaky floor and a half-wall he had put together to make it look better and have a clear boundary between the two rooms before his work would creep into every segment of the home. As if that ever worked.

Drinking his bitter tea as he listened to the rain pecking at his window, he thought back on yesterday and the sweetness of the hot chocolate that was forcefully pushed on him. How much he hated the idea of being pitied, yet how easily he allowed himself to accept the drink. The owner of the place was strange, loud, he would even say that he was terribly rude to someone who was supposed to be working with people.

Joker couldn’t get rid of his image. Each time he tried to think back to the evening, think about Kroto and the words she had said, he remembered the red-haired man with the blue apron stealing glances at his table.

And now the kindness extended towards his way was returned in the form of a broken umbrella. The sign of rejection and carelessness. If he returned it in this state it would only add to his pile of failures, probably making the annoying smile fade from the owner’s face. And in worst case he would be chased away.

His life was already falling apart, he might as well try to fix one thing. Not in order keep Morton happy, but to prove himself that his speciality was more than just breaking everything he got his hands on.

But first, he is going to take a bath.

Chapter Text

Fighting a splitting headache and with barely any sleep in his body, he opened Fire Guy, sighing heavily at each lock he opened on the metal door, and pulled the pile of decorations made of painte crates and colorful, but empty fireworks shells in front to make sure people knew what they could find in his store. 

Not like he wanted anyone to find him today. 

He silently prayed for a slow day with barely any visitors to have a bit of time to collect himself and go through the events of yesterday one more time in his quiet solitude. However, with the weather warming up, people also seemed to get into the mood for small celebrations demanding him to sell them fireworks or wanting to make sure that their grand vision will be ready by summer. He couldn’t even get to the measly lunch he had brought with him, because each time he had a second to himself someone would call his name. If it was not a customer, then Duke Raven wanted to share his thoughts with him making his headache even worse from the sheer number of tasks he would throw on his head.

And just when he was gone, one of his regulars decided to appear.

“Is it possible to have these delivered to Rosevine Theatre? We will have a grand premiere in Edinburgh later this month and as much as I want to do business in person, I don’t think I would be able to make it back London,” the plump short man stood over his drafts, the same ones he was rewriting, copying, correcting after the mess the storm had left behind.

“I… I am not sure if the Royal Mail would accept gunpowder…” his voice trailed off as he stared at the paper. Little did the man know that he was already walking on risky grounds with the management of the Crystal Palace for keeping gunpowder in the middle of a house made of glass. The Royal Mail would probably ban him if he attempted to send his wares through them. However, the man did not seem to consider the problems, he just hummed to himself, staring at the papers, while running an index finger beneath his bearded chin.

“Well, there ought to be some sort of solution. We are not only introducing a new play, but our new troupe members. While they were personally chosen by me, it’s good to be accompanied by some sort of spectacle, you see,” He nodded along, laughing at the images only he could see in his imagination. “Besides, this play is a sort of relic.”

“In a way that it’s old?”

“You could say that, yes, but the play itself is adapted from the hit play of Golden Rose. Of course, as the leadership changed, so did the direction of the plays they would put on stage, so some of their old and unfinished pieces were up for grabs. While old Scrooge might be infamous for the way he treated the staff, his craftmanship is still undeniable. Who knows, maybe after Atropos, in the right hands Kroto’s Chains will be just as big of a hit, if not bigger, especially with a new leading actress who happened to be there with Bella through the whole ordeal.”

He felt blood freeze in his veins as the name reached him. Suddenly the world seemed to slip from beneath his feet, making his knees tremble.

“That– That sounds wonderful!” his voice hitched as he focused his attention on the drafts on the table. “I don’t suppose you have mentioned the actress before.”

The man did not seem to notice the way his face slowly turned pale and the smile on his lips became harder and harder to keep. He just laughed, sliding his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“Well up until recently it was not possible. However, it happened that the missus wanted a new contract for herself and my troupe had a free spot. It’s nothing more than a lucky alignment of the stars, but an amazing one if I say so myself!”

He could only nod sheepishly. His face hurt from the expression he had forced upon it. Kroto. Kroto told him to leave her alone, yet there she was haunting him like an awful ghost, stealing bits and pieces of the warmth that he managed to gather around himself.

“So Mr. Joker, I hope we can expect those fireworks from you by the previously discussed date despite the small change in the delivery address.”

“I… I’ll do my best. If the royal post office won’t take the package, then I might just have to deliver it personally,” he lied, feeling his stomach churn at the thought of getting the chance to be near Kroto again. Life was truly out there to make a clown out of him no matter how much he tried to avoid it.

“Now we’re talking! I’ll send you the first half of the payment tomorrow, but I’ll make sure to keep correspondence while traveling and send the address of the hotel where we will be staying! And do not forget,” he made a gesture, as his moustache moved comically against his lips, “The fireworks have to enamor the people of Edinburgh!”

With that the man turned around and left, leaving Joker alone with the draft and the silence of his own workshop. He could not see the way the shopkeeper run a shivering hand through his auburn hair, nor the way he collapsed on the small wooden chair that stood by the work desk as if strength had suddenly left his frail body. 

Burying his head in his hands Joker let out an audible whine that slowly deepened into a quiet sob. His feelings that were once delicate and hopeful turned into a monstrosity, the bitterness he had felt reaching into the crevices of his thoughts leaving their poisoned thorns wedged between them so deep there was no way to get them out.

He felt himself yearning for something warm. Something that would help him take his attention away from the actress, the beautiful Kroto, who lingered over him like a ghost who only sought his attention after she was gone.

Shaking his head, he slumped on the desk, feeling the scent of paper and gunpowder in his nose. He used to love the comforting mixture, but now the task given to him lingered in each breath he took, settling on his lungs and suffocating him.

* * *

Eventually he returned to the location of his glorious failure without the umbrella.

To his defence, he had spent hours in his workshop trying to fit the small metal pieces together, but without the screw they would refuse to keep themselves attached. Each time Joker tried to move the umbrella, the carefully built equilibrium would fall apart making half of the frame hang like the broken leg of a hurt animal. It needed something to keep it together, to make sure that it could withstand the pressure, but just in a day Joker was unable to process anything that could fit the part and with customers swarming his store all he could do was to throw glances at its broken blue carcass. 

For the second time, sitting in the same place he had on the previous day, Bite! looked pretty average, perhaps even on the messier side.

On his first visit, he did not notice the various junk the owner seemed to collect in the same space he intended to greet his guests. There were was a pair of skis nailed to the wall right next to a long mirror that was supposed to give reflection of a person’s full body, yet half of it was obstructed by a wooden chest of drawers that was littered with tools and toys related to circuses, almost as if the owner of the store wanted a small exhibition but gave up his goal halfway.

Come to think of it, the entire interior reminded him of several projects and interests that all had a spark, a moment of inspiration then they were forgotten for good when another one took their place.

Everything seemed to have a start, yet nothing reached its end, creating its own kind of unique chaos.

“So, what can I help you with today?” The owner finally decided to take him into consideration, turning back towards him with his heel, folding a leg behind the one he put his weight on as he pulled a small notebook and a pen out from his apron. If he was not sure about the business model of the place, Joker might have wagered the idea that the owner was a runaway clown.

Something warm. I need something warm... He wanted to say, but quickly swallowed back his words.

“I… I am not sure to be honest…” he admitted, glancing at the small menu in front of him. It was hand written with blue ink. Drawings of stars and a small squid adorned the corners. The handwriting beneath the word Menu was nothing noteworthy, but readable enough. It contained the day and year to prevent mix-ups while it had two of each serving he could choose. It was not much, but he was far too stressed to eat anything.

“Then in this case… I’d recommend the fowl soup with brown field mushrooms. The bird is quite rare that I get one at the market, but it’s the best if you don’t necessarily feel hungry. It's a rather hearty meal and the spices in it are sure to warm you up from the inside in this cold weather! It might be good for headaches too.” Morton pointed at the last option on the paper with the back of his pen.

“How do you… ” he looked up, his frown deepening. 

“I just know it. After all, this is my job, sir,” Mike laughed, twirling the pen between his fingers as if he had won a small game of guess.

“You are very nosy, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Of course! You would not be the first and certainly not the last, but at least I can notify you that there is a giant splotch of soot on your left cheek, instead of looking the other way. So what will it be?” Morton continued, eagerly leaning over his shoulder waiting for Joker to order what he was told while he desperately tried to rub the dirt off himself, cursing silently about the newfound information.

Be the time he finished, he was angry not at himself, but at the man awaiting his answer.

“Lentil soup,” the fireworks seller read the following name below the acclaimed fowl that was supposed to be fresh. 

As if. 

Morton tried to push his own idea on him so eagerly, that perhaps he just wanted to get rid of the last scraps from yesterday the same way anyone else would when they make recommendations. There was no other explanation.

His reply seemed to surprise the chef because he tilted his head, the hat sliding slightly to the left. “...Eh? Pardon? But the fowl…”

“Yes, but today I’d like to try the lentil one.”

“Well I think the fowl is better, but as you wish” Morton added under his breath, but he nodded as a sign that he noted Joker’s order. However, his smile was back once he let out a barely audible huff, “Would you like some raspberry syrup?” he asked, then he added as if to pat himself on the shoulder. “It’s homemade.”

“Perhaps another day,” he dodged away from another recommendation.

While he went there to talk about the umbrella and seek some company, there was a special sort of enjoyment to be had from the simple act of saying no. It was childish, really, but soon a smile sneaked to his lips as he watched Mike retreat behind the counter, rummaging around while throwing glares at him and continuing to do so until he slid the small bowl in front of him.

“Lentil soup, but if it’s not good, then I will change it, free of charge.”

“I appreciate the thought, but it looks fine to me.”

Perhaps it was not the best way to go about it, but he did feel lighter as if the small exchange of words took the weight off his heart.

When he visited yesterday, he couldn’t fathom why Bite was recommended so often, but now that had the chance to look around properly, the bistro showed an entirely different side. 

Without the storm knocking on the windows, there was a pretty good view on the road where horse carriages and occasionally a sight of cars that were still considered a rarity seemed to chase each other, not really being sure who would fit more into the picture of a modern town. 

And no matter what Morton said, the lentil soup he had chosen was more than fine. Without noticing a faint smile hid itself in the corner of his lips as he continued staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts and recounting the events of his afternoon.

What he forgot was to talk about the umbrella and its current, pitiful state. 

Chapter Text

Days passed, however no matter how many stores he had visited he couldn’t find the exact piece that the wind successfully managed to break from his borrowed umbrella. The mechanism either did not fit, or had a slight difference in size or shape that prevented it from staying in place. It was either too narrow, or wide enough that the metal hook barely touched the two sides of the metallic clasp that was supposed to keep it straight while moving. He needed a specific brand, however, no matter how many times he looked through the handle and the fabric, he couldn’t find a single letter engraved into the wooden handle. It was almost as if this specific piece was made to order or never even existed in the first place.

Joker did not consider himself desperate until he started gazing at the umbrellas sold in stores, wondering if picking one or two apart would finally gift him a similar piece to the one that was lost to the storm. Suddenly every umbrella became a collection of bits and parts that could be used to repair his mistake without the idea of buying a new one, ever occurring in his head. 

Not like he had that kind of money, he reminded himself so as a way of atonement and keeping up the illusion that he did not just run away with someone’s prized possession or family heirloom, he chose to crawl back to Bite!, sitting at the same seat and staring at the owner, who would only smile whenever their eyes met, Joker only deepening his frown in return.

There was something about the man that made him feel at ease yet annoyed at the same time. Perhaps it was the nonchalant way he was able to strike up conversations and ask questions as if he understood what he was talking about. Joker was not used to anyone showing interest in his work let alone asking questions about it and to think that the only person who would do this for him was a nosy chef left a weird taste in his mouth.

Was he only humouring him to keep him as a customer or did these questions pop up from a genuine place?

“For someone who doesn’t like being here, you are here an awful lot,” Morton’s voice brought him back to reality as he put down a small silver tray in front of him, containing a ceramic kettle, an empty cup surrounded by sugar, a small bee shaped bowl full of honey and a few pieces of biscuit. The regular set he ended up ordering on occasions.

“I never said that,” he argued as he started rearranging the table in front of him, immediately pushing the tray back where the other chair stared back at him, vacant. 

“Oh, then I might have mistaken you with another firework seller, my bad! There are a few in London, you see!” Joker wanted to bite back at his sarcasm and explain himself, however he was unable to keep up with Morton and his rapid change in topics. “So, are you still working on that show you talked about? The one in Edinburgh with all the yellow and red?”

For a second his mouth hung open, but Joker quickly recollected himself, looking up at the blue eyes that seemed to be hungry for his words. He did not know whether he shut his notebook or show his drawings to the chef, in the end he just clumsily let the pencil fall from his hand. Morton caught it before it hit the ground, rolling it against the side of the tray earning a soft thanks.

“Was my question that scary?” he tilted his head, a smile never fading from his lips.

“O-Of course not! B-but this is not the same. Someone wanted a celebrational firework for his daughter’s birthday so for the time being I had to prioritise that over the project I am working on, because–” he stopped suddenly, confused as to why he kept sharing information about himself so nonchalantly. Yet there he was staring into those blue eyes that drew out more words than he was willing to share.

“Hm, never thought you would put a little girl’s wishes before an important commission,” Morton mused. “That’s very nice of you.”

“Well people only have one day a year when they can celebrate their birthday. But anyone would have done it,” he shrugged, finally pouring himself tea into the small ceramic cup. Watching the way the steam quickly escaped from its surface. 

“I would not be so sure about that.” 

“And why is that?”

“Hm? Oh nothing, don’t mind me!” he quickly summoned the usual smile back to his lips, but his eyes remained the same, distant. Almost as if he considered talking, before halting himself by force and pushing himself back behind the mask of smile with a sudden exclamation.

 “Ah, sorry, the milk will burn on the stove if I keep talking–”

Turning around, he quickly strode back to his usual spot, ducking behind the counter and the cupboard that had its back facing towards the interior as if he was hiding from a simple conversation.

What a strange man, he thought to himself as he collected a drop of honey on his spoon and dropped it in his lukewarm tea, adding sweetness to the bitter taste of the fruit blend he had chosen. His eyes never left the kitchen area almost as if he was waiting to make eye-contact with the owner. 

However, Mike Morton was deemed to be better than him when it came to the ancient art of hide and seek and even when he was called or a new customer appeared in the front door, he masterfully avoided accidentally glancing his way, staring at the destination each time he was about to pass by Joker’s table.

Was he afraid that Joker would ask questions? Or was the discussion nothing more than just empty substance to fill out the time between orders? Curiosity was nibbling at his mind harder each time he saw Morton, however no matter how much he wanted to call out to him and his own voice seemed to fail him. He was like a horse stuck in a small stable and even if the door was open in front of him, he kept shifting in one place, scared of taking a step forward.

It was a stalemate. Not like it was his business to figure out what was Morton’s problem. He was a customer, nothing more, nothing less. Once he finally repairs that broken umbrella this place will be nothing more than a fleeting memory. 

As it should have been after the first time he’d visited it.

* * *

The formulas refused to make sense in his notebook. Running a hand through his hair, he hunched over the yellowed papers, scribbling out a faulty equation as he kept turning the pages back to the beginning to check the correct measurements of gunpowder and calcium to produce the base colour that would eventually bloom into yellow and red like a sparkling flower in the sky.

However, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering around and his brain wanted anything but to work on his commissions so in the end, he just closed his notebook and leant back in his chair, his eyes wandering to the top of the cupboard. Along with a dusty blue coloured bat that only had its wings sticking out from the edge of furniture, a black and white mismatched toy rabbit stared back at him with its red button eyes and golden embroidery markings. Just like many things in the restaurant, they seemed to belong to their perfect perch, but refused to help Joker as it refused to provide answers he needed and it only added to the initial confusion he was carrying around.

Huffing, he finally straightened his back and poured himself the last drop of tea from the ceramic kettle. The tea had already gone lukewarm, there was no wisp of steam dancing in the light, but the people had only started to appear around him, the seats slowly being occupied by guests he was sure he had seen at least once or twice. Everyone seemed to be lost in their own world, either talking to a friend or working through the afternoon, only glancing up when they needed a second to arrange their thoughts. 

Joker’s gaze eventually wandered back to his own table and the dark metallic tin box. It had discolorations from wear, chipped paint and a few dents here and there from use, but the white cat still proudly licked its mouth, tilting its head to the side with a wide smile over a cup of hot cocoa. Anywhere else, it would have looked like trash someone just forgot there, but for some reason in Bite! the tin served as part of its messy interior. Of course Morton would put something like that there as decoration, why wouldn’t he? It fit perfectly into the chaos that seemed to stir up around him as if he attracted it with his sheer presence. 

Out of curiosity, he lifted the tin, feeling surprised when he felt some sort of weight within. He shook it from side to side, but it was not cocoa powder nor a trinket that would make a sound. While it was probably not allowed to mess with the decorations, his curiosity in his mind grew bigger by the moment, until he started looking out for a moment when Cocoa was busy with orders and pulled the lid off, shaking the tin again to see what made the soft sound within its metal cylinder. 

Trash.

Pieces of paper folded into small squares or into a paper fan depending on how bored the person was while waiting for their order. When he was sure Morton was not looking, he quickly pulled a few small pieces out from the tin before soundlessly putting it back to its place, hastily pushing the lid on its top and resting his hand on the papers he had in front of him, when he saw the owner leave his kitchen, carrying a small tray with several mugs and a glass of water.

“Is everything alright? Your face seems to be a bit red,” he halted for a second leaning closer to Joker who in turn leaned over his supposed notes. There was an annoying smile on the man’s face, but his voice hid a faint concern. “Maybe it would be time for you to take a rest before you go down with a fever.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I think I can determine it perfectly when I need to rest,” Not like he has been working himself to the bone today. Most of his time was spent daydreaming and listening in on the conversations around him out of sheer boredom, but Morton did not need to know that.

“You don’t look like someone who does and you barely touched your biscuits,” Morton mused. “You can lean down on the couch if you want to rest, you know. I do that all the time,” he nodded towards the corner of the store, where the small book racket was set up with a shelf full of trinkets. Next to it a green couch, its surface already raggedy from wear was pushed against the wall with an additional small round table in front of it. He hardly ever saw anyone using it, let alone sleeping on it.

“And you do this when there are no guests around, I suppose.” he raised a brow, questioningly but Morton just shrugged in return, the tray gently being lifted with his movements.

“It was an idea. Now if you excuse me I need to get these to their destination before the chocolate cools down and turns into pudding. Preheating them would ruin the decorations and all the work I put into these masterpieces.” 

He almost left Joker’s table when he called after him, his voice soft almost becoming lost in the murmurs of the restaurant. “Why do you care so much?”

Deep down he hoped Morton would feel petty and ignore him after their repeated arguments, but he just looked back over his shoulder, his smile almost permanent on his freckled face.

“As cruel and unjust this life can be, I’d like Bite to be a place where people can forget their troubles for a bit and you seem to have a lot on your mind. I care because sometimes it’s good to have someone who does. That’s all.”

Pity. There was no doubt about it. However, there was something else behind those words that flitted through just for a second and he almost missed it. A strange sort of understanding as if in that moment Morton did not talk to him, but to himself, exciting words that he had been saying several times now. 

What a joke. Sure, he did have his bad moments, his own personal crises but aside that his life was mostly fine. Not great, not perfect, but fine enough to manage and find small sparks of joy within. If anything Bite served as a cruel reminder of a present he could have, if only he did not mess up horribly. It was not a place to forget his woes.

Sighing to himself, he finally leaned back, lifting his hands up from the folded papers as if he were to check if the animal he had caught was still in one piece. He looked around as if he was a thief trying to steal from the store, before he carefully picked up one of the papers and folded it out on top of his open notebook. 

It was a lengthy letter with a messy handwriting that was occasionally scribbled over and rewritten as if the person wanted to show their politest side to their host.

Thank you for the free hot choco. I don’t know how or why I ended up in this place, but you helped me enjoy Christmas a bit more. Don’t get me wrong, I still have my fair share of reasons, but it’s manageable. At least I have something to think about on Christmas eve. Oh how nice it would be to take this mug home with me. or perhaps to my brother. I bet he would love it too, but I doubt the ha— nurses would let me smuggle it in.

It was sappy, written in a way a teen would talk with little care for proper penmanship or even grammar, but it was at that moment he had started to wonder how this secret way of messaging came to be and how people figured things out. Did someone tell them? That seemed to be the only reasonable answer as he somehow doubted everyone was as bored as him to start fiddling with the decorations.

Driven by curiosity he opened up another message, one much shorter that was more on point.

Hey you, Mr. Chef

You did not listen to my tarot reading, so I am noting it down.

Take a better care of yourself or else life will bite you back.

Not even the world’s most delicious desserts can save you from that.

Do what you will with this.

He doubted Mike ever read this as even then he was talking to a customer, making jokes as he took her order. His hands automatically reached for the third one that was more of a memory of the guests than a message or reminiscence. 

I was allowed to leave my duties so we chose this nifty place to spend out afternoon at. Love, M & M

He wanted to read the rest of the papers that were piled in the inside of the tin, but seeing how often Morton glanced at his table, he did not want to risk being found snooping around. Most of them were probably praising the service at Bite anyway, he would only waste his time going through them.

In the end, he just folded back the pieces and hid them back to where he had found them. 

It took him a moment to realize that he also had a paper to write on because Morton always left the small piece of paper on the trays he had served as a way to keep the orders in mind.

Earl Grey set. The other side of the page was completely empty, almost as if it was waiting for him to leave a small message. Perhaps that’s what he should do. It’s not like Morton would ever read these or empty the tin so he was free to do whatever he wanted even if he had no idea what sort of message would suit his visit. 

He did not feel grateful, nor did he want to make a statement and the thoughts about his work definitely did not belong to the paper. No matter how hard he stared at the decorations surrounding him, inspiration refused to strike until a loud rang of the telephone cut into the casual sounds of Bite! invading its quiet atmosphere with its loud and forceful sounds.

Morton ran like he was chased by a monster, almost stumbling in his steps and hitting his side against the corner of the counter as he picked up the phone with a loud call.

However, not soon after that his voice quieted and the permanent smile finally left him, replaced by a more human expression as his lips started to quiver. A mixture of despair and anger. He nodded along, visibly gritting his teeth as he ruffled his messy locks and shook his head as if the person on the other side of the line could see him. 

When the call ended Morton looked defeated, almost like he was just a shadow of himself. A pale and small shadow that had no clue how to go on. For a moment Joker could see the man behind the mask, dejectedly staring at the black phone on the counter, before hiding in his separated small kitchen away from prying eyes. 

What a hypocrite, he thought to himself and he started to write.

Chapter Text

The way life sometimes made a fool of him was truly laughable. He could have believed with his whole heart that everything finally fit into its place and his life found its own rhythm that he could follow, but just then, something would jump out from the shadows tearing apart this short-lived hopeful dream.

This time, the monster arrived in the form of a bigger package, tattered but unopened even after a perilous journey through Europe.

He knew it well from top to bottom, after all he was the one who originally put its content in a box then wrapped it in paper then tied a pair of strings together over its sides, then tying those together with another knot to prevent them from slipping apart. This package was sent out with the hopes that it would reach Bavaria in one piece and it would be opened by the recipient, resulting in a lengthy letter or a postcard that should have reached back to him around now.

However, the package was in his hands again, weighing heavier than when he had sent it and now it was accompanied by the red postal stamp that had the following written in German “Return to Sender”. A sentence he did not want to see in the foreseeable future as it opened the door to shadows and doubtful thoughts he wanted to keep hidden in the back of his mind. From then on, his mind focused on the worst possible outcomes and the shadows refused to lessen their hold no matter how much he had struggled.

“There… There is no need to be worried,” the voice forcefully dragged him back to reality, finally allowing his skin to regain some of its former colour. In front of him stood a blonde postman, his brown eyes full of concern as he clutched the strap of his royal messenger bag with strength that made his knuckles go white.  The small caramel coloured dog at his legs kept circling around them curiously sniffing the furnitures and the edge of tablecloths his nose could reach and occasionally bumping into Mike’s legs as if he wanted to comfort him.

However, it was barely enough to keep the shadows away from the chef.

Feeling Mike’s attention on him, the postman flushed in shame and averted his gaze as he continued in a quiet, quivering voice. “Lately the postal system have been experiencing some hardships when it comes to notifying the recipients. There are conflicts outside the border, so we have a lot of returned letters and-- and packages… Sometimes it's the country itself that turns them back so the Royal Mail has little to say in the matter.”

“No, it’s okay. I appreciate the information,” he forced a smile despite being on the verge of collapse. “Perhaps I’ll try again next week and use this time to add more to the package. I am sure he would appreciate another letter too, since the one that returned is quite outdated already and a lot has happened since. Speaking of which do letters have a bigger success at reaching their destination?”

“M-More or less, yes,” the postman stuttered, holding his strap tighter when he had noticed that he was accidentally dragged into the conversation with a stranger. However, upon the topic of letters arose he seemed to relax a bit and he picked up a more professional tone, “Alas, I cannot guarantee anything as the international post belongs to an entirely different department, but if it’s urgent, in correspondence a letter might reach the destination sooner.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he nodded with a smile but his shoulders were still tense doing their best to keep him together before he fell to pieces. In his last way to keep himself grounded, with his voice hitching at the end of the sentence he asked “Would you like some tea?”

“N-No, thank you! I still have addresses for today,” the man shook his head, panicking at the thought of being forced to talk. As if he understood his wish to leave, the dog that kept circling around his legs was now sitting by the door, gazing at the street on the other side of the window and before Mike could have said something, the doorbell rang twice and what the postman had left behind was silence and questions he knew nobody could properly answer. 

Staring at the tattered package on the counter, Mike finally allowed his mask to shatter. His writing stared back at him, laughing at him, mocking him. How many months passed since he had sent it out? Two? And the contents that should have been with his uncle now sat there, still in the box, untouched after travelling across Europe then finding their way back to him. 

He did not have a bad relationship with Murro, or so he believed. It’s been years since he had seen his cousin and the last memory he was treasuring of him was the teary eyed farewell they had exchanged at the port in Dover. Things could have changed. 

After all, he did tell him not to return.

Maybe his poor choice of words eventually festered into hatred and then straight dismissal.

He hoped this was the case. At least that would mean Murro was doing well.

But of course, the collapse cannot be shown on the outside. Just in an hour, he would have to stand behind that counter and smile at the people who would be swept in by the wind of spring. He would have to show them the most natural, picture perfect smile of the world and listen to their woes as they make their order or ask for his recommendations. There was no place for personal grievances. And frankly, it would be hypocritical if the owner would be the gloomiest out of the people who go to Bite! to find some shelter away from their troubles.

So tying the apron he decided to focus on something, anything that could help him pass time until the time he would turn the hand painted sign on the door.

* * *

That day Bite! was filled with the sweet scent of butter and sugar mixed with jam. People stood dumbfounded at the sudden change in the atmosphere, but since the change did not have any negative effects, they went on with their day, even feeling a bit happier without noticing the dark clouds that were stuffed into the unopened package that stood in the back of the shelf beneath the counter.

They did not know how tense Mike had been as he was working on the batter, nor did they know how his thoughts kept jumping between a scene that happened years ago and the solemn meeting in the morning. How many things could have been different if he was willing to stand his ground instead of prompting another way to sweep their troubles beneath a rug where nobody could see them? Was it truly hatred or did something happen? Perhaps everything he was thinking about was true.

He wanted to go to seek for Murro, but he kept talking himself down from taking action, grounding himself with his own list of excuses. There was the restaurant, he could not leave it behind without a notice. And he had to keep in mind that crossing the border required paper work and running around to get permits, tickets and accommodations. Right now, he had no chance to do either of that.

This chaos manifested itself in actions and attempts to drown out his own thoughts. In the end what people saw in front of them were small round cookies, with a drop of red jam in the middle. There was not a trace of worry in their eyes as he fulfilled their orders and offered the cookies on a small plate as a free bonus.

Nobody seemed to suspect a thing just like how it should have been.

Until he arrived.

When the sweet scent hit him Joker seemed to stop for a second, the door closing behind him with a small ring. He even straightened his back to look around until his eyes met with Mike's, who could only smile at him in return as he kept stirring the hot chocolate on the small stove. 

He wanted to tease the fireworks seller a bit, but today even the usual words did not come as easily even if he knew what would have been the best way to start their usual banter. 

Joker stood at the counter for a while, shifting his weight from one length to another almost as if he was waiting for something, the corners of his lips trembled as if he’d stopped himself from talking, before he quickly headed towards his usual seat, throwing his notebook on the round table before he took off his coat and hastily draped it over the headrest of his chair. Its ends reached the carpeted floor, but no matter how many times Mike noted that the store actually had a coat-hanger, Joker just shrugged as a sign of defiance.  

In a way Joker was the man of contrasts. Based on his own statements, he disliked Mike and found him mildly annoying. This statement was never followed by any reasoning and Mike never felt like pursuing it either. On the other hand, Joker never missed a chance to visit Bite! and spend at least an hour there scribbling up formulas in his notebook, showing the world a dumb smile whenever he stumbled into a solution imagining the colourful flames and sparks that would engulf the night sky.

The only person who never got to see him smile was Mike. He grumbled and muttered, argued and bickered, but he carefully kept his smiles locked away, even that small smile he gathered immediately fading when he had noticed the chef approaching him. 

“What can I bring you today, my tall ray of sunshine?" He did his best to play the role he always did, but his tone fell off halfway, his voice cracking slightly the more he was forced to play a role. 

Joker looked unamused. His light brown eyes glimmered with curiosity as he looked up from his notebook, but in the end he just frowned

“Can you stop calling me like that? It's embarassing. And I am not sure, what do you recommend?” he threw back the question, tilting his head slightly to the side like a small puppy as if he had noticed something strange, but couldn't quite tell what. “Should I get the usual Earl Grey? Or should I go with coffee?”

“Yes…”

“Yes to what?”

“My apologies, my mind skipped a beat there! I was about to recommend Earl Grey. I just got some new tea too, but I think Earl Grey would be more suitable,” he was careful not to trip over his words as his shoulders tensed up from the sudden attention. “And I made some jam drops. A whole lot actually! They are free for every order today.” 

He half-heartedly expected Joker to just nod along, waiting to get out of the conversation but he just sat there in silence almost as if he was trying to figure out the reasons behind Mike’s strange behaviour. 

A silly, yet wishful idea knowing that the fireworks artist was nowhere near as fond of his presence as Mike was when he had seen him at his usual seat. Perhaps if he had asked, Mike could finally let go of the weight that pulled down his heart all day.

“Aren’t you doing this business a bit… strangely? If you keep giving away free things you are going to end your business with loss at the end of the month,” he wondered, looking up at Mike as he folded his arms in front of his chest. His frown eventually disappeared and the corners of his lips slightly turned upward “But wasting them would be even worse for business, right? I think just this once I’ll take up on your offer.” 

“Thank you.”

“Why exactly?”

“For being worried over my terrible business decisions,” he laughed, a genuine spark of happiness flashing through his heart for the first time that day. 

“Well somebody has to call you out on that before Bite goes into bankruptcy.” he shook his head in disbelief. 

“And the one who knows it best is the person with a store at the Crystal Palace, right? I'd love to listen to your observations if you have the time.”

“C-Can we just focus on my order, please,” Joker stuttered, his face turning redder as he spoke, surprising Mike. Perhaps the most he could get from Joker was a flustered grimace? Then so be it. This was already far more entertaining than the usual frown he was rewarded with.

“Right, right. One serving of Earl Grey” he nodded, wearing the dumb smile that Joker claimed to dislike seemed to be permanently stuck to his face. No matter what he did it refused to disappear so in the end, he just turned around and disappeared behind the small wall that separated his makeshift kitchen.

The package was still there, its presence weighing heavily beneath the counter striking fear into his heart as he thought back on its recipient. However, when his gaze fell on the man fidgeting with the laces of his tablecloth pulling apart the seams to make it look more even on the top of the table for a second he believed that everything will be alright in its own peculiar ways. 

Chapter Text

It’s been a while since Joker found himself standing in a dead end and this time he felt like he had run head first into that wall that refused to move from his way. However, by some miracle instead of ending up with a mild concussion, he found some sort of solution as he was forced to trace his steps back and look at his surroundings once more.  

All it took was a complaint spoken to the right person he had missed the first time he made a mad dash into an unsolvable situation.

“Have you thought about hiring an umbrella repairman? There are quite few shops around town, some even have connection with the continent,” Anne brought it up when he visited her shop for adjustments on his prosthetic and tightening the few screws he had almost lost while running around the Crystal Palace. 

What a simple solution. So simple in fact that he did not even consider it.

As he sat there on one of the wooden crates of the toyshop, he grabbed one of the miniature toy trains from the shelf at his shoulder and rolled its wheels along the top of his seat in silence, delaying his need for an answer.

The small parts that kept piling up in his home and in his workshop and the umbrellas he had picked apart for the sake of creating some sort of monstrosity. Everything that eventually led to the creation of Frankenstein’s Umbrella in order to understand the mechanism without breaking apart the borrowed piece was all for nothing because there was someone who specialised in this as a profession.

He could’ve screamed at his own stupidity but in the end he just averted his gaze, feeling the redness of shame creep up to his neck.

“You did not,” Anne’s voice answered the question, furrowing her brows. 

“L-Let’s just say, I did not consider that as a possibility. I mean, so far I did not really had any problems like that and I managed to repair most of the things that broke between my hands, so I prefer to do things myself,” he muttered, throwing the woman a glance when the train was taken from his grip and put back to its place, rearranged in a way that it showed its side and masterful details to the viewer.

“Your response alone tells me you did not consider it. Was it because you did not want to?” she sat down on the display crate in front of him. Their usual way to hold conversations in the morning before the gates of the building were officially open for visitors and they flooded the halls of the Crystal Palace. 

“Now what gave you the idea?” Joker scoffed.

“Come on, Joker, after almost two years of working together I know your way of thinking and how those cogwheels turn when you find something interesting!” she huffed, leaning forward as she kept hitting the heels of her shoes together.

“Then please elaborate, because I might be tad bit lost here.”

He earned a deprecating stare, as Annie squinted with her blue eyes, probably wondering if he was pretending or he truly had no idea on why she would say what she did. In the end, she seemed to take mercy on him.

“First of all, you always try to solve your problems by yourself, but your solutions are usually on the same level of someone who has an inkling of idea on how things work, but somehow manages to make things worse. You know this, I know this, the entire Crystal Palace knows this. However, usually after three or two attempts, you tend to admit defeat and ask for help,” Anne nodded to herself as she continued. “You like to pretend that it was the moment things went haywire, but we all know you have tampered with it already because you have a certain flair and cheapness when it comes to repairs and you have a tendency to accidentally break something else in the process.”

“I should feel offended,” Joker muttered with a wry smile.

“It’s just pure observation!” Anne laughed. “I am afraid, you are neither subtle or elegant. So who is the lucky person?”

“Why do you immediately think of that?” Joker felt heat rise to his cheeks but he could not determine if it appeared because Anne was right, or because the sheer idea of wooing Mike Morton made his skin crawl uncomfortably and there was a tingling feeling that reached the pits of his stomach forcing him to suck in a deep breath to quell it.

This was nothing like the comfortable warmth he had felt whenever he looked at Kroto. This was torture!

“Oh my… It’s good that you cannot see yourself. Ears red, cheeks red, neck red. It’s rare for you to act like this so it’s all the more memorable,” she shrugged. “You were like this when you were courting that famous actress.”

“No, it was nothing like this and I was not… courting her.”

“You did get a date with her, didn’t you?” Anne countered, her words stinging a bit when Joker remembered the rainy day he was not only rejected, but had his umbrella stolen.

“And look where that brought me.”

“Well, you are finally not spending every drop of a penny you have on theatre tickets and memorabilia. If you look at it from an outsider’s perspective, it’s not as bad as you think it is,” she hopped down from the crate, her steps echoing on the wooden floor of the shop as she started setting up the small price tablets that she had made from wood. The prices were written on paper and folded against the flat side so people could read them easier. “I already agree more with your new pick even if you refuse to let me in on your little secret.

“It is not a pick,” his voice wavered. “He just lent me his umbrella and the storm twisted it out of my hand. It’s only natural that I don’t give it back until I have the umbrella repaired.”

Anne stopped for a second, her blue eyes gazing at Joker the same way one would look at a cat who just attempted a trick and failed, falling down to its side on the carpet.

“Joker… You are utterly hopeless,” she said as she continued setting up her store, making sure that every toy and wooden contraction had its price in a place where her buyers could see them.

* * *

A month. 

That’s how much time it would take to repair the cursed umbrella because apparently Morton had to go all the way to Germany to get one. The parts he was seeking for all this time were impossible to find within London because this time of mechanism was not in sale in the country. He felt somewhat relieved at the fact that it was not his incompetence that caused the root of the problem and the root of the problem was Morton not being able to settle for less than imported goods.

Once he gives it back to him, he will be finally free from the chains of Bite and the favour he never returned and life can go back to how it was before he had started spending majority of his time huddled on an uncomfortable wooden chair, surrounded by his notes and an empty cup with a drop of dried coffee in its bottom.

He flipped the pages to and fro, rereading his notes on what sort of feelings the commissioner wanted to convey, but the ideas that would invade his mind once he got to work chose to evade him every time he finally sat down and work.

Perhaps a month ago he would have been eager to work on anything related to Kroto. He would consider it the peak of his career if he was asked or sew every individual jewel on the hem of her skirt knowing what would make a star like her shine brighter than anyone in the backdrop created by his radiant flowers made of fire.

But now? His stomach churned uncomfortably each time he saw the request framed with red ink and a giant exclamation mark next to it, standing almost as tall as the notes. Heaving a sigh, he flipped the page, furrowing his brows as he tried to focus his attention on the basics. The small fireworks that would accompany the theme. A theme that he did not feel like thinking about lately.

“If you keep frowning like that your forehead is going to be all wrinkly,” a cheerful voice brought him back from the abyss, forcefully pulling him back to the warm atmosphere of a bistro. In front of him Mike Morton stood with his regular dumb smile as if he was proud of himself for surprising him.

“Some people in this life have troubles, Morton,” he groaned as he leant back against his chair to look up at the man who struck up conversations on a whim just when he was about to submerge in the sea of his own thoughts and despair almost as if it was on purpose. “Once again, I am asking you do you bother every customer or am I the only one who gets to be awarded by your presence?”

“But small talk is part of business, especially if I see that you seem to have some sort of trouble. The least I can do is to humour you a bit when I have the time,” Mike shrugged as he leaned down and started collecting Joker’s used coffee mug and replace it with a cup with red and black pattern of spades, hearts, diamond and clubs running on its side and a smaller ceramic kettle that had the image of hopping rabbits and similar patterns of playing cards. They looked as if they belonged to the same set, yet they could not be any more different in style. 

Yet just like everything in Mike’s restaurant, the disharmony somehow formed a whole, entertaining premise.

“Is tea a part of you humouring me?” Joker raised a brow, tapping the paper with the tip of his index finger.  

“No. The tea is here, because you’ve been staring at the page for an hour or so now and I grew annoyed seeing you trying to get the last drops of coffee out from that mug,” he said hastily, before reaching back to the tray and setting own a small toy on the table. It was a lion. A toy that must have been loved by its previous owner as the whiskers made from threads were missing on one side of its muzzle and the button eyes had different colours keeping them on the fabric. Here and there, Joker could see the fur missing, but it was covered up by a seemingly hand made blue coat.

It reminded him of something Anne would have on stock in her store, but it seemed to be much older. 

“And this is…?”

“Just a friendly lion to keep you company. You always come here alone so I thought you would like to have someone around,” Mike shrugged. "Don't worry, the toys here are always washed twice a year so I am not putting some raggedy old toy on the clean table."

Has it occurred to this man that he most likely visits a bistro because he wants to be alone? Perhaps not. It seemed that Mike loved to make up his own interpretations on the actions of people around him. 

“Aren’t you the one who wants to talk here?” Joker found himself asking. The corner of Mike’s mouth ticked a bit as he forced to keep his smile after being visibly surprised by the direct question.

“Perhaps. Today has been slower than it is usually,” he admitted, his shoulder slumping slightly as he gazed around the place. Aside from Joker, there was only one person, the blonde journalist who was drinking her coffee in silence and going through the photos on her table, trying to divide them into different piles. “Most of my regulars will start arriving in the evening, so until then it’s usually just me and the radio. Sometimes it’s nice to pass time by bothering my favourite grumpy customers.”

“You are the owner of this place. If you want to be unprofessional and strike up conversations with your guests then I don’t think I could stop you from meddling. After all, you already keep giving me free drinks despite my direct request,” Joker frowned, folding his hands over his chest. “I am keeping a tab on that.”

“Shouldn’t it be the opposite?” Mike smiled as he pulled out the chair on the opposite side and gently placed the tray on the table right next to the toy lion. “Keeping tabs, reminding people of their debts and allowing them to spend more than what they have is really not my style though. I prefer to call them gifts rather than loans. Has a way nicer ring to it and less obligations to give something in return. So are you still working on that birthday commission?”

“Birthday…? N-No, that is already finished,” he shook his head feeling confused at the sudden change of topic and Morton’s interest in his job. “This one is… a bit more complicated. Requires more planning and more careful timing with the fireworks.”

“I am sure you can do it!” 

“T-Thank you…"

The conversation arrived to a natural stop with neither of them really knowing how to continue without overstepping their boundaries. Joker could see that Morton was eager to speak, there were so many things he wanted to say but there was hesitance in his actions, his eyes never leaving him as if he was trying to measure up what would be the best was to speak.

“Joker, I think I owe you an apology,” he blurted out, making the man tilt his head in confusion, as he poured himself from the tea Morton had prepared. The sweet yet sour taste made him shiver for a second, but he kept drinking Morton continued. “Because-- Because I know my words can come off as rude at times, but I did not mean to mock you about having a store at the Crystal Palace.”

“I did not take it as that,” he lied, but truth to be told he had already forgotten what he was told at the time. 

“Huh! That’s a relief! I was really worried there for a second.”

“W-Why would you be worried? Morton I am afraid you make little to no sense…”

“I get that a lot, perhaps that’s what makes me worried in the first place” Morton laughed quietly as he shook his head and something in Joker’s chest moved, creaking slightly as if it had forgotten how to work. “What I mean does not reflect in the way I say it so people get the wrong idea. My cousin would often say that I talk before I think, but the thinking part comes hours later at an unexpected moment.”

Furrowing his brows Joker leaned closer, studying Morton as if he was expecting him to laugh into his face or make fun of him. Yet no matter much he had expected the chef refused to act on his idea.

“So… you meant to praise me for working in the Crystal Palace? Is what you mean?”

Mike nodded.

“It’s quite admirable! Not a lot of people can say that they have a store in one of the most grandiose buildings in the city and they don’t allow just anyone to settle down there. So yes, it was meant to be a praise, not an offhanded insult.”

“It’s just a small mouse hole. I worked hard to get it, but at the end of the day they decided on me because my business plans seemed interesting enough. The… previous director of the place called my shop a hazard and even had my gunpowder locked away, so it’s not exactly a fairy tale,” he admitted, the corner of his lips slid upward a bit as he continued, his eyes never leaving Morton. “I am constantly being supervised and I have to report back to the director on every plan I have. It’s a hassle.”

“But it paid off in the end, didn’t it?” 

“We can say that. Yeah,” Joker nodded. Morton tried so hard to correct an error he had barely noticed it was almost adorable. His shoulders finally relaxed, however along with the more relaxed atmosphere came the mask that slipped back to his face in mere seconds, severing the small connection they shared.

Once the small bell above the door rang Morton spring to his feet, leaving behind nothing but the small lion that stared back at Joker, almost as if it expected the discussion to keep going.

Heaving a sigh, Joker opened his notebook at the page where the small note with his previous order stared back at him, eagerly waiting for the words that were stuck in his throat.

Chapter Text

The plush lion that Morton had put on his table remained there as part of the decorations, occasionally moving around within the confinement of the edges of the table. Sometimes it sat near the small tin protecting the messages hidden within its walls, sometimes it would dangle its legs as it stared at the entrance and waited for customers, while sometimes it would sit in the middle of the table staring up at Joker with its mismatched button eyes.

And sometimes it would be thrown on the top of Morton’s messy curls, who would occasionally use his free time to sit by his table and speak nonsense whenever he sensed that he wanted to work. The chef would bring up anything and everything that happened to spring from his thoughts without much care about how busy Joker was despite the calm look that he’d forced on himself.

The easiest way to avoid him would have been if Joker altered his routine and visited Bite! in the evening when most of the customers would flood the place. After all, if Morton was busy his chances of interactions also lessened and he was allowed to sit in in silence.

However, it was just not the same even if he claimed that he preferred when people left him alone. 

All his life he was usually the one who had to open towards people, strike up conversations and think further about his friendships and keep them together until they inevitably sizzled out like a weak flickering flame on a tea-light. Perhaps how little he stood out and how small his presence was, he was hardly taken into consideration, let alone invited to hangouts. Even if it was painful to admit, for once, he enjoyed that these conversations came to him on their own, without him needing to do much.

Morton did not really ask needless questions about him just to keep talking and the weather hardly interested him, yet there was a natural flow to their discussions even without the traditional conversational starters. Joker never really had to strain himself to share small details and he even got some in return. Usually nothing personal, as if Morton still kept himself to the pretence of professionalism in one side of the conversation, while sharing secrets about Bite in the most unprofessional manner on the other. 

He quickly learned that Morton never quite had a set plan for the day and the menu was put together every morning as he walked around the marketplace, gathering ideas and basing his lunch menu around the vegetables that got his attention and ingredients that would not make the air in the eatery smell like food for the rest of the day.

He used the same logic when he made his desserts and hot chocolates. It was nothing but a spark of a sudden idea. Irresponsible, hasty with a brilliant element of surprise. Just like Morton himself.

“If I had to make something that fits you most, you are like bitter chocolate with rum and slices of orange on the side,“ he told him as he was nibbling on a biscuit bunny on the other side of the table, swinging to and fro on the hind legs of his chair. The lion was on top of his hat this time, swinging to and fro with its original owner.

“Oh so now I am bitter.”

“Are you not?” Morton grinned back. “But that’s where the rest of the recipe comes into the picture. Good chocolate will taste good even if its cocoa concentration is high, but if you were to make it into a dish, you need to personalise it otherwise it will be plain and boring. It’s the little sparks of sweetness that make it special.”

“Little sparks, huh…” Joker leaned forward, linking his fingers together over the table. “Sometimes I cannot decide if you are insulting or complimenting me.”

“I do guess sometimes,” he shrugged half-heartedly as he finished the remnants of the rabbit.

“Yet here you are sitting with me instead of taking care of the shop.”

At his statement Morton looked around by stretching his neck a bit. The bistro was empty safe for the one seat occupied by Joker. The regulars like the blonde journalist and the detective would start dropping by in an hours, while most of the other customers would arrive after the end of their daily jobs. They were not as fortunate to have control over their working hours, unlike Joker, who would keep Fire Guy closed on specific days of the week to focus on his creations and finish orders. 

“I think my customers will forgive me if I take a bit of a breather before I head back to the kitchen. I’ll be stuck there until shop closes anyway.”

“Perhaps if you want to talk to me about fireworks, you should visit me in the workshop once,” Joker mused, freezing when he realised what he had just said. Mike also seemed to be flabbergasted by his words. In the next moment, he almost lost balance with the chair and if he did not manage to grab onto the edge of Joker’s table he would have most likely fallen to the ground.

Blue eyes stared at him in confusion, but the smile only widened across his face.

“If I did not know you I’d think you are asking for a date, Mr. Fireworks Seller. I had no idea about being considered as a possible party,” he did an attempt to tease him, but his words felt strangely sincere, almost too sincere for Joker’s liking. He must've made a face because in the next moment Morton just hopped to his feet, gathering his small notebook as he swiftly put back the plush of the lion to its original place.

He escaped the same way he always did whenever the discussion would turn more personal. Scurrying back to his little kingdom hidden by toys and shelves to rummage around while he pretended that their discussion never happened in to first place. Joker felt an urge to go after him and for once be the one who took pleasure in annoying the other, however it was too much work and he knew it well that Morton would just smile at him, visibly unbothered by his attempt.

As he was musing about his possibilities the bell resounded in the small interior and the man wearing round glasses stepped in. Holding his head high, he did not even bother to respond to the greeting Morton sent his way. He just nodded, as his light steps echoed on the creaking floor and he took the seat by the window, looking outside the frown deepening in his face as the corners of his lips tilted downward. 

What surprised Joker was that Morton did not go near the man the way he would usually do whenever a new customer arrived. It only occurred to him later that despite his high and mighty personality this man was also one of the regulars. Someone who needed no words to communicate what he wanted because Morton would always get to work the moment he noticed him.

From his hiding place of his kitchen the old espresso machine whirred, its mechanic noise chasing away the comfortable silence as the scent of coffee started lingering in the air. 

Without wasting a second, Morton appeared with his usual silver tray, quietly arranging a cup of coffee and a glass of water on the table. His back was straight for the whole procedure almost as if suddenly he had to look proper for the sake of his guest only allowing himself a small smile that would match the serious atmosphere that suddenly settled on him. It felt like watching a professional waiter rather than watch a man who could not find the pair of his socks when he rolled out of bed in the morning.

When Joker thought he was done, Morton slid a small white plate in the size of a saucer holding a madeleine.

“How is the novel going?” Mike asked eventually. His voice was curious, yet far softer than the shrill tone he would use around Joker.

Another guest, another mask was taken out from Mike Morton’s vast collection.

But the man did not seem to mind the theatrical treatment, in fact he seemed to relish in the question Morton posed to him and soon the frown that brought furrows on his forehead was gone along with the stiffness of his shoulders.

"Well thank you for your question. It’s certainly... going somewhere,” he shook his head before letting out an audible sigh. “Who am I kidding! There has been so much paperwork at the court lately I barely had time to eat let alone write more than a few words at a time. I thought I would be able to submit my work to a publisher, but that chance is getting farther as we speak.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Right?! That novel would have been ready by the end of spring but instead I am stuck with petty cases and family disputes! A whole bag of nothing! Most of these should have been arranged without the involvement of the law! And of course Keogh refuses to give me something interesting that actually brings in fame and money to my door!” he vented, gesturing with his hands as Morton kept nodding, signalling that he was following along. “I know you can’t understand Morton, but it’s so suffocating when you are stuck in a job that pays well, but does not allow any freedom of creativity. In that sense I truly envy you.”

This seemed to strike a nerve because Morton tensed up for a second and Joker could clearly so the even rise and fall of his chest as he sucked in a breath and did his best to prevent his feelings from manifesting themselves in his expressions. 

“Then perhaps what you need is some calm and a fine cup of coffee. The weather today seems to be perfect for writing, if not the best,” he managed to say at last, the smile permanently stuck on his face. “The gloomy grey clouds above London really make the mind go on a journey, isn’t it?”

“I guess you might be right.”

“I am always right, Mr. Riley! If you need anything else you know how to summon me to your table,” Morton laughed as he nodded. Joker did not miss the small steps he took as he started backing away from the man, before turning around and leaving, his movements fluid and rhythmic but lacking the usual cheerful hop that occasionally sneaked into it. 

This was not the same Morton who kept making light-hearted jokes just to find enjoyment in annoying him. Almost as if each time he hid in the kitchen someone else took his place. Perhaps a twin. It sounded impossible, but then again the whole establishment with its chaotic decorations and nonsensical menu felt like a fever dream, a doppelganger hiding under the cash register would be the least shocking development.

However, that momentary weakness was gone the moment more people started arriving to the eatery and his attention was focused fully on the guests, giving them the warmest smile he could muster and a voice that made Joker feel a strange annoyment that made his chest feel heavy, poisoned by disappointment whenever Morton would walk past him without sparing him a glance.

* * *

With heavy steps he climbed the stairs to his home feeling as if the messenger bag he had carried around suddenly had a few bricks hidden in its bottom, pulling him back and making his body feel heavy. he had been trying to talk to Morton to satiate his own selfish curiosity, but the chef refused to share more words with him than it was absolutely necessary. It was as if a wall suddenly appeared between them and no matter how desperately Joker tried to stand on his toes, he couldn’t get high enough to peek over the edge.

Did Morton even want his attention or was it just a sick game he played after stealing the idea from Kroto? The question gnawed at his heart as he climbed and thought back on his own words that accidentally slipped past him that day.

A date. 

Would he really?

The thought made something flutter in the pit of his stomach, making it harder to breathe once the idea wedged itself in the back of his mind and refused to let go of him.

It must have been a joke.

He never had anyone who would approach him with the idea of going somewhere together and he seriously doubted the owner of Bite would take the honour to be the first one suggesting anything like that. He should not be foolish and think that their conversations served as anything more than a way to pass time between customers.

He was simply not that lucky.

Suddenly, he felt the tip of his shoe refusing to budge when he tried to make his next step despite the momentum. It got caught in the rounded edge of the stone step and in the next moment he fell forward, a numbing pain seared through his entire body, making him cry out as his body slid a few steps lower. He instinctively pushed his palms against his knee, trying to apply pressure on it as if it would lessen the pain that throbbed in his joints, missing and quietly cursing when his body jolted from pain dragging another string of curses from his crooked lips.

It’s Morton’s fault! If he was not distracting him he would’ve reached back home without a problem and he would not be sitting just a few steps away from his door like some wayward drunkard.

His gaze fell on his other leg. The design Anne had come up with was in pieces, the screw that held the frame together with the base glistened just a few steps lower, mocking him for his mistake. He started gathering them in his palm as he lifted his right leg, watching as the prosthetic hung loosely from his knee.

He only noticed the steps that echoed in the staircase when he finally put down his leg and tried to slide down to get the missing few screws that fell below. He sat still listening to someone approaching on the stairs, heels echoing between the empty walls as they slowly got closer and closer to Joker, until he saw a short and fat woman appear around the corner. She wore a dark coat over her dark clothes and a matching grey bag that made his complexion even paler than it was. With one hand she was gripping the railing that ran along the wall, while her walking stick was in her other held in a horizontal state almost as if she was carrying a blunt sword.

It took a minute before Joker realised she was the woman working at the court. Strict and always acting as if she had swallowed a bitter bug being keen to have everything in order around herself. 

“I am sorry, I-I will get up in a second,” he muttered, sliding to the side so the woman could walk past him. He knew it better than anyone not to expect anything from strangers.

“The public staircase is not the best place to rest,” she noted, her tone remaining neutral as she gazed at him from behind her small round glasses. Joker expected her to walk past him as she continued walking forward, but once she was close enough she stopped again, squinting as if she were trying to determine the cause of his fall, before she asked. “Do you need help?”

“N-No, not really, I am fine just had my thoughts wander too far and lost balance. It happens a lot lately,” he laughed pitifully. “But… Perhaps if you could give me that small screw that’s below the step you are standing on… That would spare me the trouble of having to climb down to it.”

“But of course,” taking a few steps back she leaned down, pinching the screw between her fingertips as she carried it with her to drop it in Joker’s open palm. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else? Perhaps it would be recommended to seek out a doctor if this condition is persistent.”

He needed plenty of things, actually. A new left knee to begin with and someone to tie Morton to a chair until he can get some answers out of him. 

But these were all impossible requests so in the end he just shook his head sheepishly and before she could push forward he quickly sprung to his feet, almost falling face forward when the prosthetic leg bent beneath his weight. Grabbing onto the railing he finally straightened his back to make his stance more believable. 

“I live on the next floor so once I get there all I have to do is put this prosthetic back together. It will be better than new,” he lied through a smile. 

“Frequent daydreaming can be a sign of exhaustion and our mind trying to break away from the mundane. It’s not my place to tell a stranger what to do, but I’d recommend taking this as a warning sign.”

The woman seemed to believe him because the worry gradually evaporated from her gaze and once she waited for him to take a few steps upstairs she also continued her journey, her steps becoming nothing more than distant echoes until they disappeared behind a door somewhere above him.

* * *

His fall brought forth a blue bloom below his knee. Not too big, but just big enough to make every movement painful even when he draped a wet rag over his skin to calm his aching muscles. 

Sitting on his couch, he kept staring at the poster depicting Kroto’s serene painted form, the black tulle that started from her hips embracing the title of the play from below. He had never seen the play itself but at the time the poster was more than enough to act as proof of his devotion and make him feel closer to the actress. Now as he looked at its folded edges and torn sides, he felt like throwing money out the window would have been a better investment and the cheapness of the poster slowly revealed itself in front of him with small errors and a shabby quality of print. 

Whatever pride he had for admiring the actress was gone as the illusion of a possible relationship slowly dispersed.

The same sense of disillusionment poisoned his thoughts as he stared at the paper in front of him, scratching his head as he wrote down whatever appeared in his mind then quickly scribbling them out when he convinced himself that his idea did not fit the occasion. 

Usually he was able to see the colours he could associate with people and work based on his first impressions and the vision they provided as additional information with their order. 

And for Kroto… For Kroto he used to work from a place of love and adoration. He would’ve lovingly crafted the most beautiful spectacle to celebrate her rise to fame. But now these feelings are gone, replaced by indifference and faded the colours that used to be so radiant just a little while ago.

As he stared at his notes, he no longer knew what would have been the best choice and the most fitting for the occasion. He was angry, disappointed, empty and these feelings bled into his creative process no matter how hard he tried to separate them from his personal feelings. 

He could not bury his heart that carried the scars no matter how much he wanted to tear it out and throw it in the corner. He was not that kind of man. 

However, his thoughts were untamed, wild and broke themselves free from the confinement of his assignment the more he tried to focus and keep them tightly locked within the possibilities of Kroto and her brand new start. 

“If only I could work on something more interesting,” he muttered to himself, tapping his pen against the blank paper allowing his mind to snack back into Bite’s messy yet warm interior, the white lacy tablecloths and various knick-knacks.

Orange would suit it best. A cheerful yet calm colour that would represent the wooden furniture and the bright decorations. And the round dandelion shape that slowly scatters its petals across the night sky would be enough to get attention from the viewers.

Yellow, sparkling rockets that spiral up above the flower would represent well the initial mood of the place, the never ending murmurs or people around him that made him feel less alone.

And a hint of ivory, because of course, Bite cannot exist without that tattered apron, that has so many holes and mended parts Joker often wondered if he should give a new one to its owner. The same owner, who reminded him of the brightest and darkest reds he could mi from strontium as they scatter across the canvas of the night sky, their sparks parting as if they were small birds who were disturbed from their peace. 

Panic welled in his heart as he opened his eyes and found himself back in his own living room, staring at the page that contained scrapped ideas and aimless thoughts. 

“This can’t be true,” a bitter laugh escaped his lips as he desperately reached for his pencil focusing his attention back on Kroto. Her colours. Her shapes. Her music. 

Nothing. 

Perhaps it was childish defiance, his heart refused to allow him to think about her poisoning his thoughts the more he forced himself to think about her repeatedly reminding him of Morton, trying to push him as his new muse with his loud and cheerful nature and insufferable nosiness.

Yellow, red, blue, the colours immediately showed themselves and he was invaded by ideas that would never deem useful. That was never part of his assignment. 

Once he could no longer contain his anger, he allowed it to take over his actions. Lunging at the notebook, he threw it against the poster on the wall. The side of the paper torn a bit from the impact. The glass beneath it did not break as the notebook made its way towards the ground, however, the small plant was dragged to the floor. The notebook, that had nothing to do with the miserable state of his mind yet suffered from his despair, lay next to it, its cover bent and crumpled with few torn pages sticking out between the pages.

Cursing under his breath his tried to even it out by resting the notebook against the wall and trying to bend the broken paper to the other side, but it did not help, the expensive notebook mockingly kept jumping back into its broken state. 

It’s no use getting worked up, he told himself when he noticed that his vision became blurry from the tears that threatened to fall.

Once he gives the umbrella back to its rightful owner he won’t have anything common with him anyway and it will mark the end of his days at Bite.

It’s only temporary. Just like everything in his life.