Elias had always believed that reality was, by default, predictable. He had grown up in Ohio, for God's sake. The most excitement he'd ever experienced involved missing a bus on a rainy day and realizing too late that his hoodie wasn't waterproof. But this? This was—what the hell was this?
The café around him was bustling in a way that should've been illegal before 9 a.m. There was the clang of cups, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the soul-crushing soundtrack of overly perky indie music that made him want to bite someone. People were actually smiling.
Still disoriented, Elias stood and caught a glimpse of himself in the small mirror taped to the wall. The guy looking back at him was still him. Same face, same disheveled brown curls, same "please-don't-talk-to-me" eyes, wearing a green over his shirt that read "Bean & Bark Café" in cursive font. Everything seemed normal, but something was different. His body felt lighter. His skin didn't look as dull. Even his acne scars were suspiciously faded.
Elias might have been in the same spot for too long because the same girl reappeared, holding a tray of croissants and looking dangerously close to a meltdown. "Elias!" the buttercream girl snapped, slapping a rag into his hand. "You're on drinks. We've got a line out the door."
He blinked at her. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else. I don't… make coffee."
She gave him a look that could curdle milk. "You've worked here for half a year. You definitely do."
Nope. Nope. Definitely not.
"I think I've been kidnapped," Elias muttered, because how else do you explain waking up in a body that smelled suspiciously of cinnamon, wearing a green apron, and being yelled at by a girl who looked like she moonlighted as a dessert? "This is a hostage situation."
"Then you'd be the worst hostage. You can't even fake a latte." She tossed her ponytail. "Customers are waiting."
"I don't even drink coffee!" he hissed. Buttercream Girl, who really needed a nametag because Elias couldn't keep calling her dessert names in his head without feeling morally compromised, rolled her eyes and turned to the machine, firing up a cappuccino like a barista possessed. He watched her work for all of three seconds before panic kicked in again. He patted down his apron for a phone. Nothing. He checked his pants pockets. Empty.
"Elias! Orders are backing up. Take the next ticket!" Elias's mouth opened, but nothing intelligent came out. His limbs moved on instinct, or maybe pure panic, as he stumbled behind the counter and grabbed a paper cup like he vaguely remembered how coffee worked.
"Two oat milk cappuccinos, one lavender matcha, and a caramel macchiato, extra drizzle," someone called out.
Elias blinked at the lineup of machinery. "Where the hell do you even keep oat milk?"
"Fridge. Left side. Marked 'O-A-T,' genius," came the reply, this time from a guy wearing a septum ring and the haunted expression of someone who hadn't slept since 2019.
For the next five minutes, Elias fumbled through steaming milk, pressing buttons that hissed and growled like dragons in a blender. Somehow, miraculously, he managed to get a few drinks out without spilling them on himself or anyone else.
A woman at the counter gave him a skeptical once-over when he handed over her matcha. "You new?"
Elias gave her a tight smile. "I think so?"
She narrowed her eyes, sniffed the cup suspiciously, and walked off. By the time a short break arrived, maybe two hours later, maybe twenty minutes; time had lost all meaning, Elias staggered into the back room and collapsed onto a milk crate. His head throbbed. His palms were sticky. And he still had no clue what the hell was going on.
"Okay," he muttered, glancing at the unfamiliar name tag clipped to his shirt: Elias Quinn.
"Okay, Quinn. Breathe. Either you're dreaming, concussed, or dead. Or possibly inside a fever dream created by someone hopped up on caffeine and chaos."
Whatever this was, he'd need more than an espresso shot to figure it out.
"Elias!" At the screech of his name, Elias was ready to give up on life. He stormed out, preparing to vent on Buttercream girl. "What?!"
The girl gave him a similarly annoyed look. Before she could speak, a sleek black car was parked in front of the café, sleek-looking and expensive. Two men in suits stepped out and walked in, looking like they'd stepped out of a Men in Black cutscene. One of them had a face like someone had chiseled it from regret and war crimes, a long old scar from ear to chin.
Buttercream Girl shrank back, much to Elias' surprise. Wary, Elias's eyes tried to step away as well until one of them nodded at him. "Boss wants his espresso. Extra hot. No sugar."
Elias blinked. "Who? Me? What?"
The other man smirked. "The boss. He doesn't like waiting."
Before Elias could respond with the most American of phrases, 'I don't get paid enough for this,' Buttercream Girl appeared behind him, shoving a to-go cup into his hand. "Here. Take it to him, and don't mess it up. Last time he shot the lid off the cup because it was crooked."
"He did what?"
She was already gone. Elias stared at the cup like it might detonate. Then at the car. He had two options: run and potentially get hunted by caffeine-fueled looking mobsters, or deliver the drink and hope they didn't murder baristas over Starbucks-level mishaps.
"Okay," he muttered. "Sure. This is fine. I can do this."
He approached the car. The window rolled down. Elias squinted, taking in the side-profile of the 'boss'. Tattooed. Suited. Eyebrows so arched, they looked personally offended by gravity. And lips curved in a slight smirk like he'd just burned down a church and felt no remorse. He looked oddly familiar though. Elias held out the drink with both hands like it was an offering to the God of Bad Decisions. Just as the man began to turn his head towards him, Elias' tensed nerves startled at the sound of a crash. A bicycle was upside-down over a very pretty girl in a white dress. Elias could not help but wonder how in the hell that happened.
People rushed to help her up, and in that short moment, it was like there was a spotlight on her, which was odd given that the sun is out in the sky, and a slow-motion effect that seemed to make her more attractive than she already was. There was a blast of flower scent in the air that made Elias want to sneeze, and birds came like some sort of Disney Princess special. Everyone either reached out to care for her or checked her out, which was what ninety percent of the male and female population were doing.
Seriously, if he heard people talk one more time about how pretty she was... He glanced at his weird customer 'boss' dude sitting in his car, doing the same. 'Boss' instructed his men to take her to the hospital. Not that that was not a sensible decision, but what the hell is this whole scene?