Brooklyn was alive with its usual bustle, and Alastor found himself weaving through the crowds with practiced ease. The noise of traffic, the hum of chatter, and the scent of street food filled the air as he hurried toward the café, a slight frown on his face. Late again.
The city's pulse slowed for him, but not enough to change the rhythm of time. His gaze flicked to the clock atop the corner shop, still a good block away.
Alastor paused at the corner of Atlantic Avenue, the familiar itch running through his legs. The city always brought out the strange feeling of potential speed in him—a part of him that longed to take off, to blur through the street with the ease of a light breeze.
But not here. Not today.
He swallowed the thought, pulling his coat tighter as he walked, slowly but steadily. People bustled by without noticing the man who seemed just a little too composed. His gaze lingered on the street below his feet—his steps deliberate.
When Alastor stepped into the Brooklyn Brew café, the air was thick with the smell of brewing coffee and freshly baked pastries. Jack's voice broke through the ambient noise almost immediately.
"Saved your spot," Jack called from behind the counter, grinning like he'd just solved a puzzle.
"Appreciate it," Alastor muttered, hanging his bag on the hook.
"Mr. Thompson's in the back doing his 'old man thing,'" Jack added, not even looking up as he shifted around a stack of boxes. "I handled the register for you."
Alastor eyed him, a dry humor tugging at his lips. "Don't tell me you told him another wild story."
Jack flashed him an exaggerated innocent look. "I would never tell such stories."
"Right," Alastor replied dryly, tying on his apron.
Jack, oblivious to Alastor's lack of amusement, was already bouncing around the aisles, humming an off-key tune. Alastor shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself.
Hours slipped by with the usual rush of customers. Jack's boundless energy seemed uncontainable as he cracked jokes with customers, making faces, and laughing loudly. A mother scolded him once for being "too noisy" when he made a joke about canned tuna, but Jack just winked, and she couldn't help but smile despite herself.
"I swear, you're like a walking puppy," Alastor muttered as they restocked the coffee beans, trying to ignore Jack's endless chatter.
Jack shot him a playful grin, his brown eyes sparkling. "Puppy, huh? I can live with that. I'm just happy to be here, Al!" His voice was high-pitched and a little too enthusiastic, but his smile made it clear he meant every word.
Alastor glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. "You're always this... energetic?"
"Always!" Jack beamed, skipping over to grab a mop bucket. "Why else would I be alive if not to make this world more fun?"
"You're a strange one, Jack."
Jack winked. "Hey, we all need a little weirdness. Keeps life interesting, don't you think?"
Later in the afternoon, after the rush died down, Jack was sprawled across the floor, attempting to untangle a knot of phone charger cables. His legs were splayed out, one shoe halfway off, and he seemed entirely unaware of how ridiculous he looked.
"Are you really going to leave those there?" Alastor asked, glancing over from the espresso machine.
"Why not?" Jack replied, unbothered. "I'm just giving them a little freedom. Maybe they'll untangle themselves if I give them some space."
"Definitely not how knots work."
Jack just grinned, then tossed the cables aside as if to say, 'mission accomplished.' "Okay, okay, your turn."
Alastor sighed. "I'm not getting involved in your nonsense."
"Aw, c'mon!" Jack protested, his face lighting up like a child with a treat. "You're no fun, Al."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
The day came to a slow close, and as the last few customers left, Mr. Thompson ambled in from the back room. The familiar scent of motor oil clung to his clothes as he clapped his hands together.
"Done for the day, eh?" Mr. Thompson grunted, wiping his hands on a rag. "How's the kid holding up?"
"Jack's doing fine," Alastor replied, watching as Jack bounced from one spot to another. He was already humming, seemingly unaware of the chaos he was causing. "Loud, but fine."
Thompson chuckled, scratching at his stubbled chin. "Kid's got energy, I'll give him that. Reminds me of when I was younger—back when I actually had patience." He shot a glance at Jack, who was balancing a broom on his head. "If you can keep up with him, you'll have your hands full for a while."
"I'm getting used to it," Alastor said with a faint, dry smile.
The next day, the door jingled again, and Alastor found Jack waiting outside, holding two cups of coffee.
"Thought I'd get you something to kickstart your day. I know you're the 'don't talk to me before coffee' type," Jack said, a mock-serious expression on his face as he handed one over.
Alastor's lips quirked upward at that. "You're not wrong."
"See? I'm learning," Jack grinned, stepping beside him. "Ready for another day of thrills?"
Alastor raised an eyebrow, eyeing the store's quiet façade. "Thrills? You're in the wrong job for that."
Jack laughed, nudging him with his elbow. "Oh, come on! You've got to admit—I make this place way more interesting than it would be without me."
Alastor didn't argue. Despite the noise, the chaos, and the endless energy, there was a quiet, almost comforting rhythm to it all. Jack was... hard to ignore.
As they entered the café together, the hum of the city outside felt a little less loud, the little quirks of Brooklyn becoming just a little more bearable.