Chapter Text
Wylan knew he was getting bad again, so he went on a walk. He mostly blamed the midterm break, really— he had his routine in place beforehand, but he can't bring himself to get back to how he was. He knows logically it's not the best for him, knows that the longer he stays in his head the more effort it'll take to get out, so here he is: trying. Ghezen knows he doesn't want to go out on the walk, doesn't feel any urge to breathe in fresh air or see the sky.
If he’s being honest, Wylan is mostly going out just to prove to himself that there's nothing he can do to save himself. That he had tried, but that the key things he knows people expect to work had proven ineffective. If Wylan isn't able to get himself together, he wants to at least prove that he really is stuck; that he tried his best before giving up entirely.
There are very few people out and about at this time, which isn’t particularly surprising. There rarely are any people out at, what, 11:30 at night? Wylan would be more concerned if there were more than the odd few people he’s seen so far on his aimless wanderings. This was a very deliberate choice, not wanting to force too many people to bear witness to the mess he must look like after the last month— shutting down gradually, not bothering to do much more than head to his classes and go to bed. Wylan’s just fortunate that he’s too worried about how people perceive him to go without showering for very long yet, though the Christmas break is just around the corner, as it’s now well into November; the holiday season is bound to do away with whatever progress Wylan could possibly have trying to get out of this spiral the mid-term reading week left him in.
It's safe to say he isn’t feeling particularly optimistic about how the next month or so will play out.
As Wylan walks down the well lit streets of Ketterdam, he takes note of the space around him in an attempt to reduce the wave of dread he’s feeling. Grounding himself, that seems like a good idea. He can’t remember the last time he went on a walk for anything other than heading to college. Most of the food he gets is on campus too, when he has an hour between lectures where he isn’t quite bothered enough to walk back home to get work done. Sometimes he’ll pick up food from the shops nearby, but even then it’s hardly out of the way, and is almost always done on the walk back to his flat. The streetlights around here cast an orange tint on the pathway and road, not as harsh as the white LEDs in some of the newer areas of Ketterdam. Wylan prefers the orange ones, they’re not as bright, meaning it’s easier for him to block out with curtains so he can sleep.
Most of the apartments’ windows are dark as Wylan looks around, though there are still plenty left with lights on, this area of Ketterdam houses a lot of students, so it makes sense that there are still people awake. It’s a nice area, and Wylan’s rent isn’t nearly as expensive as it could have been. It’s certainly not cheap, but he’s able to live alone on the savings he has and what income he gets from helping some other students with their chemistry or music classes. That wasn’t meant to become a source of income, but after he gained something of a reputation for being good with chemicals, people asked him for help and offered to pay when Wylan hesitated (he didn’t hesitate because of the money, just that he didn’t see how he’d be much help.) He’d agreed eventually, knowing that he would have to make some money after an incident at his job lead to him quitting over the Summer. He still wasn’t willing to go back to normal employment and risk a repeat of the event.
Eventually, Wylan turns a corner onto a more commercialised section of Ketterdam. There were still some flats above the shops lining the streets, but there were a lot more shops and restaurants around here. Most of the shopfronts were dark, with nobody inside them at this late hour, giving the street a more empty feeling than the residential ones. There were a few bars open, and some restaurants clearly in the stages of closing down for the night. Wylan is somewhere around 20 minutes away from his own flat, having taken a few twists and turns which have added to the journey over, but he wouldn’t need to take getting back. This area of the city was less familiar to Wylan, not straying far from the path to university much, so he hasn’t quite got the area memorised from the daytime, nevermind when it's dark.
After walking along the roads of shops for another few minutes, Wylan is suddenly aware that he can smell coffee. Plenty of coffee, too; it was far from a weak smell. He immediately set out in search for the source of this scent, because why on earth are people drinking no small amount of caffeine at this time— it may be an area full of college kids, but, last Wylan checked, nobody drank a whole tanker full of coffee at twelve in the morning. As he walked further down the streets in his search, he saw it; a cafe, clearly open from the lights on and baristas in uniforms inside. It definitely looked cozy, and it was quiet, which is to be expected at this time at night (–or is it technically morning? Does it even matter?)
Now it is time for Wylan’s anxiety and curiosity in order to decide whether or not he’ll dare to enter the coffee shop. On one hand, there’s a coffee shop open in the late-night-slash-early-hours-of-the-morning, which is bizarre to him. On the other hand, however, in order to see what the place is like Wylan will almost definitely have to interact with someone inside, which is against the entire point of the late hour of his walk. He can’t remember the last conversation he’s had with someone outside of his classes; his lackluster social life wasn’t exactly vibrant before the midterm, and Wylan hasn’t quite put effort into developing his life outside of academics since. What if he is a bumbling mess when he goes inside, or if its not really open and Wylan is completely misunderstanding the situation entirely.
In his overthinking, Wylan just walks straight past the coffee shop without even noticing. He blinks, snapping himself out of his anxious daze by pinching his hand, turning around when he reaches the end of the street in the hopes that nobody will notice his awkward detour. Who is he kidding– nobody is around to watch him awkwardly turn back around and stare at the shop, taking in more of its details. It has a sign above the door, with a black and brown drawing of a bird on the front. There's another sign, which Wylan can assume details the opening and closing hours as it has ‘15:00-03:00’ written down alongside some words he can’t make out. Well that would have been a great thing to notice beforehand, he thinks, sighing to himself before decisively walking towards the building.
Wylan feels the anxiety building up again, but decides it would likely be significantly more awkward if he turned away from the door when he was clearly just about to enter. If they didn’t want customers, they wouldn’t be open. Everything is fine, just order a coffee. It's not a big deal.
The door pulls out and Wylan is quickly hit with a burst of warmth and the smell of coffee and pastries— expected from a coffee shop, but still feeling wildly out of place at midnight. There’s a man with dark curls at the counter, and he looks up from whatever he’s doing behind the counter when he hears Wylan walk in. He’s definitely a little surprised, but smiles brightly at him (it’s dazzling really, and Wylan thinks it's a bit unfair that someone can pull off clothes that flashy so well. Really– on most people it would look ostentatious.)
“Hey there! Welcome to The Crow Club. What can I get for you?” the man asks, looking down to fiddle with the register a little before looking back up to Wylan's.
“Uhm–” shit, Wylan hadn’t quite thought this through fully. He looked up at the menu above the counter as if that could be of any help to him. It, unfortunately for Wylan, could do little more than be an excuse to look anywhere other than this— annoyingly handsome— barista while he regained his bearings for a second. “Do you– would you–” Wylan cleared his throat, vocal chords feeling (and sounding) a little rough. I really haven’t spoken to anyone in a while. He looks up and smiles apologetically at the barista, who just waves his hand in a don’t worry about it gesture.
“Do you have cold brews here?” Wylan asks, hopefully not sounding as stressed as he feels. Why did he do this?
“Sure do, darling. Which foam flavour would you like?” he gestures again, this time to the menu above him. Wylan’s brain, for what seems like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes, short circuits. He doesn’t know the flavours.
“Whatever is most convenient for you, I don’t have a preference.” He feels guilty for being so vague, hoping it doesn’t annoy the man in front of him. Instead of getting annoyed, his smile seems to brighten a little.
“Alright, a surprise, living life on the edge. Would you like anything else?” Wylan shakes his head a little, running his hands through his hair before politely declining. “Great, can I get a name for the order?”
Why he’d need his name when the coffee shop is empty, Wylan doesn’t know. He's a little preoccupied by the wink directed at him at the end of his question to think too much about it. Wylan just gives his name, then sits down by one of the nearby window seats to wait for his order.