The glow of New York City's lights reflected off the restaurant's glass exterior, casting a warm golden hue across the bustling streets. Jack adjusted his jacket nervously as he approached the door. The restaurant, Ember & Oak, was nestled on a quiet block, its stylish yet cozy ambiance offering a contrast to the chaotic city outside.
Inside, the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of silverware created a comforting background. Jack scanned the room and spotted Hannah almost immediately. She was seated at a small table near the window, her confident posture and easy smile drawing his gaze.
Jack swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of every detail about himself—his slightly wrinkled shirt, the nervous energy in his walk. As he approached the table, Hannah looked up, her smile widening.
"Jack," she greeted, her tone playful, "you clean up better than I expected."
Jack chuckled awkwardly, pulling out a chair. "Yeah, well, don't set the bar too high. I'm a work in progress."
Hannah raised an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "The frazzled look works for you. Very 'I rushed here but still made it.'"
Jack laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Guess I nailed the vibe, then."
They exchanged a few more lighthearted quips as the waiter arrived, taking their orders. Jack ordered a classic burger, while Hannah opted for a grilled chicken.
As the initial nerves faded, their conversation began to flow naturally. Jack leaned forward slightly, his voice steady but thoughtful. "So… you're not from around here, right? Your accent's too nice for New York."
Hannah smirked. "Caught me. I'm from Minnesota. Moved here for school—law student, if you can believe it."
Jack blinked, surprised. "Law student? That's impressive."
"Thanks," Hannah replied, a touch of pride in her voice. "It's not glamorous, but it keeps me busy. What about you? You've got a story, don't you?"
Jack hesitated, his fingers brushing the edge of his glass. "Well, I'm originally from California. Moved here a few years ago. Kind of just… figuring things out, you know?"
Hannah tilted her head, her curiosity evident. "California, huh? That's a big leap. What brought you here?"
Jack hesitated for a moment before answering, his voice quieter now. "I guess… I wanted a fresh start... And after everything that happened at the Sarah Lee concert, I felt like I needed to do more. Be more. I was there when everything went to hell. People got hurt, and I just… stood there. Felt useless."
Hannah's expression softened as she listened. "You were there? At the concert?"
Jack nodded, his eyes distant. "Yeah. Big fan of hers, actually. Had all her albums, went to every tour she did on the West Coast. And then…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "She was gone. Just like that."
Hannah reached out, lightly tapping his hand with her fingers. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to explain."
Jack glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks. It's why I started taking martial arts, though. After that night, I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to step up. To protect the people I care about."
Hannah's lips twitched into a smirk. "Martial arts? To protect your idol's legacy? That's kind of adorable."
Jack groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Come on, don't make it sound like that."
"I'm just saying," Hannah teased, her tone light. "It's endearing."
Jack rolled his eyes but couldn't help laughing. "Fine, laugh it up."
As their plates arrived, the conversation shifted. Hannah leaned back in her chair, her expression contemplative. "Since we're being honest here… karate wasn't just a hobby for me either."
Jack looked up, intrigued. "Oh?"
Hannah nodded, her smile fading slightly. "I started years ago, back in Minnesota. It wasn't a great time in my life. Let's just say I needed to learn how to defend myself." She hesitated, her gaze dropping briefly to her plate. "It helped me feel… in control. Gave me confidence."
Jack's brow furrowed, but he didn't press her for details. "That's… really admirable. And here I thought I was the only one with a dramatic backstory for taking martial arts."
Hannah chuckled, the tension easing from her expression. "Guess we've got more in common than I thought."
The two shared a quiet moment, the conversation settling into a comfortable rhythm. But as Jack reached for his drink, another fragmented memory surfaced. The flash of light, the thunderous clap, and Alastor's glowing form flickered in his mind.
Jack froze, his hand hovering over his glass as his breath hitched.
"Jack?" Hannah's voice broke through his thoughts, her brows knitting together in concern. "You okay?"
Jack blinked, forcing a smile as he shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. Just… long day. Guess it's catching up with me."
Hannah didn't look entirely convinced but nodded. "If you say so. Just don't go passing out on me mid-date. I'll take it personally."
Jack laughed weakly, brushing off the lingering unease. "I'll try to avoid that."
Despite his best efforts, the memory lingered at the edge of his mind, a faint echo of something he couldn't quite grasp.
The rest of the evening passed smoothly, their conversation returning to light banter and shared laughs. Jack found himself captivated by Hannah's easy confidence, her ability to make even the most mundane topics feel engaging.
As they stepped out of the restaurant into the cool night air, Jack shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at her with a small smile. "So, I guess this is goodnight," he said, his voice lighter than he felt.
Hannah leaned against her car, the faint glow of a nearby streetlight casting soft shadows over her face. She tilted her head, her lips quirking into a teasing smile. "Guess so. You survived your first date, though. Congrats."
Jack chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, I had a good teacher," he replied, his grin widening.
Hannah's expression softened, her teasing demeanor giving way to something warmer. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them filled only by the faint hum of passing cars.
"You're not bad, Jack," Hannah said quietly, her voice carrying a sincerity that caught him off guard.
"Neither are you," Jack replied, his heart beating faster than he cared to admit.
Hannah stepped closer, her gaze meeting his. "Thanks for tonight. It was fun."
Jack nodded, his voice faltering slightly. "Yeah, it was. We should… do it again sometime."
Before he could second-guess himself, Hannah leaned in, her movements confident yet unhurried. Jack's breath hitched as she closed the distance, her lips brushing against his in a soft, deliberate kiss.
For a moment, the world seemed to fade away—the noise of the city, the lingering tension from his fragmented memories, everything but the warmth of her touch. Jack's initial surprise melted into something deeper, and he kissed her back, his hand tentatively resting against her arm.
When they finally pulled apart, Hannah's smile returned, a playful glint in her eyes. "See? You're not so bad after all," she teased, her tone light but her gaze lingering.
Jack laughed softly, his cheeks flushing. "Guess I owe you for that lesson, too."
"Next time," Hannah said with a wink, stepping back toward her car. She opened the door and glanced at him once more. "Drive safe, Jack."
"You too," he replied, his voice steadier now, though his heart still raced.
As she drove away, Jack stood there for a moment, the faint warmth of the kiss still lingering. Yet, as he turned to head home, the feeling that something was waiting—just out of reach, waiting to be uncovered—returned, sharper than before.
On the other side, the rhythmic clang of hammers against steel echoed through the night at the Brooklyn Brew site, blending with the faint hum of distant traffic. Alastor stood near the supply area, a heavy beam balanced on his shoulder. The weight pressed against his still-aching chest, the lingering effects of the Starbreaker pulsing faintly like a dull ember within him.
"Hey, careful with that!" Marcus called from the scaffolding, waving Alastor over. "Need that one up here pronto."
Alastor nodded, steadying himself as he approached the structure. Each step felt heavier than the last, the ache in his chest growing sharper with every movement. By the time he reached the base of the scaffolding, sweat beaded at his temple despite the cool night air.
"You alright there?" Marcus asked, leaning down slightly. "You're looking a little pale."
"I'm fine," Alastor replied quickly, his voice steady but strained. "Just… need a second."
Before Marcus could respond, Alastor bent his knees and pushed the beam upward, aiming to pass it to the workers above. But the moment the weight shifted, a sharp pain lanced through his chest. His vision swam, and his grip faltered.
"Whoa!" Marcus shouted, scrambling to steady the beam as it tilted dangerously.
Alastor managed to catch it before it fell completely, but the effort left him gasping. His knees buckled slightly, and he dropped the beam to the ground with a loud thud. The sudden noise drew Mr. Thompson's attention from across the site.
"Alastor!" Thompson barked, hurrying over. "What the hell are you doing?"
Alastor straightened, his jaw clenched against the pain. "It slipped," he muttered, brushing off his trembling hands.
"Slipped, my ass," Thompson said, his tone sharp but undercut with concern. He glanced at Alastor's pallor, his narrowed eyes softening slightly. "You're not fooling anyone, kid. You're still not a hundred percent."
"I'm fine," Alastor insisted, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.
Thompson crossed his arms, his gaze steady. "You might think you're fine, but your body's telling a different story. What happened back there—"
"It's nothing," Alastor interrupted, his tone clipped. "Just overdid it for a second."
Thompson's brow furrowed, but he didn't push further. Instead, he sighed, jerking his thumb toward the edge of the site. "Come on. Take five."
Alastor hesitated but eventually nodded, following Thompson to a quieter corner of the construction zone. The floodlights cast long shadows over the skeletal framework of the café, the night's chill settling into the silence between them.
"You don't have to prove anything, you know," Thompson said after a moment, his voice quieter now.
Alastor leaned against a stack of supplies, his head tilted back as he caught his breath. "I'm not trying to prove anything," he said, though the words felt hollow.
Thompson gave a small, knowing chuckle. "Could've fooled me."
Alastor glanced at him, his expression tight. "I just… I don't like feeling useless."
The older man studied him for a long moment before speaking. "You think this place meant something to you? You're right—it did. But rebuilding it? It's not just about throwing up walls and a roof. It's about patience. Perseverance. And knowing your limits."
Alastor's gaze dropped to the ground. "Limits don't work for someone like me."
Thompson raised an eyebrow. "Someone like you?"
Alastor hesitated, his words catching in his throat. "Someone… who's used to fixing things. Fast. I don't know how to slow down."
Thompson leaned back against a beam, his arms crossing loosely. "Let me tell you something, kid. Back when I was a mechanic, I had a car come into my shop—classic '68 Mustang. Thing was a beauty, but it had been through hell. Rusted frame, busted engine, the works. Owner wanted it done in a week. Thought I could snap my fingers and make it good as new."
He paused, his gaze distant as he recalled the memory. "Took me six months to get that car running. Had to rebuild the engine, replace the frame, and strip it down to the bolts before it even looked halfway decent. The owner? He didn't get it. Kept asking why it was taking so long. But in the end, when I handed him those keys, he couldn't stop smiling. Not because it was fast, but because it was done right."
Thompson glanced at Alastor, his expression softer now. "Sometimes, fixing things takes time. And that includes yourself. Pushing through the pain might feel like the right call, but it'll only set you back in the long run."
Alastor didn't respond immediately, his chest tightening—not from the lingering effects of the Starbreaker, but from the weight of Thompson's words. Finally, he nodded, his voice quieter. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Good," Thompson said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Now, if you're dead set on helping, let's find something a little less back-breaking."
Alastor managed a faint smile, the ache in his chest momentarily forgotten as they returned to the site. The night stretched on, the café's skeleton slowly taking shape against the backdrop of the city—a quiet reminder that some things, no matter how broken, could always be rebuilt.