Chapter Text
Alaric never imagined he’d make it this far. A few years ago, if you’d asked him where he thought he’d be in five years, he would’ve laughed bitterly and said dead. He never expected he'd not only still be alive but working at a pub, barely scraping by. Now, as he hummed a tune while walking down Bourke Street narrowly avoiding the busy commuters and cyclists, he could help but feel a strange mix of exhaustion and... anticipation, like something big was going to happen. He finally made it to his destination, a small cafe called Brother Baba Budan
As he made his way in he was happy to see there was no line, he heard soft music playing in the background. The smell of sweet brewing coffee welcomed him into the cozy warm shop.
“Look, I hate to be this person,” An amused barista said from behind the counter, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, “because I actually enjoy seeing you stumble in here every morning, don’t get me wrong, but I’m pretty sure the Brother Baba Budan is single-handedly bleeding you dry.”
Alaric groaned at the reminder of his situation. After letting his arms droop lazily over the counter, he whined "Ooooh, come onnnn Ezra. You know I don't come here for the coffee. I come for the charm."
Ezra rolled his eyes but had already finished brewing Alaric's usual order, a latte with one pump of vanilla sliding the cup over with a little too much flourish if you ask Alaric. "Charm is free. Coffee? not so much. If I hear you complain one more time about the 'unreasonably' price I might start charging interest."
Alaric grinned, carefully picking up the cup " Interest, huh? Dangerous. You really know how to keep your regulars in line."
Ezra leaned over slightly, voice dropping low "Someone has to. Can’t have you keeling over on Bourke Street because your caffeine intake is subpar. That would be… a national tragedy.”
Alaric chuckled, "Nice to know I have someone looking out for me. I"ll be sure to survive another day for you."
Ezra smirked. "Good. I like my regulars alive… and paying.”
"I'm working on it, finding a good job isn't easy" Alaric grumbled. "One of these days I'll be a millionaire and buy this whole shop."
Ezra raised his eyebrows unimpressed. "You were more than a millionaire before you left your family, you could have bought this shop a bajillion times over."
Alaric flinched internally at the sudden reminder of his family, "You know why I left and anyways I want to have fun. I want adventure. I want more."
Ezra's gaze softened, "I know" he shook his head "Move along now you've wasted my time long enough"
"Ok, ok" Alaric laughed. "I'll just be sitting over there. I love you too."
Ezra took a second flipping him off before doing a quick wipe down of the counter.
Alaric found a nice spot to sit. He liked sitting near the counter so he could talk to Ezra while he wasn't serving customers. Alaric liked Ezra, they had been best friends since the 10th grade when Alaric transferred schools after getting into a gruesome fist fight. He had expected nobody to talk to him on his first day but Ezra had apparently caught wind of the fight and came over to Alaric during their recess break bombarding him with tons of questions. like Did you win? Did anyone get thrown through a door? Did the teachers run for cover or just stand there? Did you at least make a dramatic exit? Alaric had sarcastically answered all his questions and had apparently piqued his interest because after that. There was no Alaric without Ezra and not Ezra without Alaric.
"Nice music," Alaric snorted, pulling out his sketch book, while a jazzy saxophone line meandered across the café.
"Don't even start. If it was up to me there would be nothing but ICP playing, but after Harvey Johnson, the manager came in one day I wasn't expecting because you know he's never here and 'The Neden Game' was playing I'm only allowed to play instrumentals with no lyrics," making a quick coffee for himself to get through the morning rush.
Alaric let out a little laugh before focusing all his attention to his sketch book. This had become a routine for him instead of getting is coffee to go he had started bring his sketch book and laptop. First he would sketch for a bit to relax, then he'd open up his laptops looking for interesting jobs to apply for. In all honesty, he had all the money in the world growing up his parents were loaded. He could have lived a very comfortable life would've never had to work a day in his life. But money wasn't really what he craved he loved money just as much as the other person, maybe even more. He craved the rush, the adventure, his parents were very conservative in many ways and were away on business a lot of the time. And after the 'incident' he had nothing binding him to home, that was just the push he needed to go find the excitement, action and fun he so craved in life. To be honest he was starting to go crazy in that house.
A normal person would be reasonably scared. Any sensible, realistic, sane person would realise the impending financial doom but all of this went over Alaric's head. Money to him had always been nothing but a tool. It wasn't about security or comfort, it was about what it could left him do, the doors it could open, the risks he take. A pay check equaled freedoman opportunity to chase something exciting, something worth remembering. That’s why he could blow through a few hundred dollars on a whim without a second thought, and why he couldn’t stand the idea of a life spent playing it safe.
Alaric didn't have many qualifications other than his art skills or thrill seeking nature, wait he did have a psychology degree he had taken just because at the time it had interested him. What Alaric really wanted was a job that paid him well enough to feel like he was living, not just surviving and that got his heart racing at the same time. A job that made him feel alive, where every decision carried a spark of danger or a taste of adventure. Sure, mixing excitement with work in the “real world” seemed impossible, but that didn’t stop him from hunting anyway.
He had been quietly (as quietly as he could be) working on filling job application after job application, and responding to rejection emails all saying the same thing that he wasn't what they were looking for. After a while a figure caught his eye, they were short in height and slim from what he could tell though he couldn't;t make out the gender. Everything about them screamed fascinating. From the sun glasses they wore to the all-black outfit they wore, they looked out of place in this cafe. They slipped in with a large incoming crowd, stapled something to the cork board at the front of the shop, and slipped out without a word.
Alaric stared at the place they had previously stood with confusion, curious he gets up to examine the paper the stranger had left on the board. There were multiple fliers already stapled to the board most old and worn out, advertising jobs such as baby sitters and dog walkers. But the paper he was interested in was stapled right in the middle and in old letters read:
'EXCITING OPPORTUNITY
POTENTIAL TO EARN SUBSTANTIAL INCOME
CALL 0421 XXX XXX FOR DETAILS'
Incredibly vague but it had peaked his interest. Alaric snapped a quick picture of the number before turning to Ezra. He tries to ignore his excitement. "What do you know about that person who just walked in here and put this up?"
Ezra shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Nothing. People stick all kinds of flyers up there. But if it looks too good to be true… well, it usually is.” He glanced at Alaric over the counter before returning to tamping down espresso shots for the line of customers.
Alaric stared at the flyer a few moments longer, pretending he wasn’t intrigued, hoping it might somehow reveal its secrets on its own. With a sigh, he grabbed his sketchbook and laptop, heading back to his usual spot.
“Catch you later, Ezra,” Alaric called, weaving past the line of people. Ezra looked up from the espresso machine and gave him a playful wink.
“I’ll text you,” Alaric added, tossing a grin over his shoulder as the bell chimed for the second time that day, announcing his exit.
Alaric flat out runs to his apartment giddy with excitement. This had to be it. This was job he'd been looking for. His life was about to turn around.
As soon as he gets home he sets his things down and kicks off his shoes settling on the couch pulling out his phone. He puts the number in and listens to it ring.
“Hello?” A rough voice comes through the other end of the phone.
“Uhhhh, hello." Alaric greets uncertainly. "I'm Alaric and I’m calling about the flyer you posted in the café a while ago.”
Silence.
“For the exciting job opportunity? I’d like to apply,” Alaric continues unaffected by the lack of response.
“That was quick.”
“Well, you know me. Impulse control isn’t really my brand. Did you put the flyer up or what?”
“No,” the man on the end of the line snorts. Alaric can hear typing noises in the background, the man was most likely typing something into a computer, and he gets this strange feeling that this is a test of some sort. “I’m going to ask you a few things. This isn’t the interview. It just decides if you get one. Clear?”
The voice on the other end didn’t sound harsh, just very unimpressed. The kind of unimpressed that had been going on for a long time. Alaric could hear gum popping, faintly, like the guy was only half paying attention.
“Yes,” Alaric said, adjusting the phone against his ear. “That’s clear.”
“Good,” the man drawled, like the word weighed nothing. “Name and age.”
“Alaric. Twenty-three.”
“Okay. Would you call yourself… I don’t know… decent? Do you help old ladies cross the road, return lost puppies, all that?”
“I mean, I try not to be an asshole,” Alaric replies. “So I guess, yeah.”
A soft snort. “Great. We love moral ambiguity, Cute answers.”
Alaric cleared his throat. Wonderful. He was being filed under cute.
More typing.
“And why’d you call?” the man continued, tone lazy. “What are you looking for?”
“A job,” Alaric said. Too quick. Too honest.
“Yeah, genius,” the man replied, still sounding half-asleep. “Anyone calling this number needs a job. Try again. What do you want?”
Alaric stared at the ceiling, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he probably sounded.
“I want something different,” Alaric answers, steady. “I’m bored. I want something that gets my blood pumping. Something actually worth waking up for.”
“Oh. See, that’s better.” The gum popped again. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Alaric had the distinct feeling that he’d just passed the first test, without knowing what the test even was.
Pre-interview Alaric reminded himself.
“Travel an issue? Anyone depending on you? Partner? Parents? Pet goldfish?”
“No. I’m on my own. Travel is fine.”
“Previous job?”
“Psychology,” Alaric says. “Behaviour, motivation, pattern recognition. Figuring out what makes people tick.”
The typing on the other end slows a little.
“No formal employment listed.”
“I worked at a nightclub,” Alaric says, tone dry. “If you count breaking up fights and pretending to smile for drunk businessmen as employment.”
A pause.
The caller doesn’t sound judgmental, just collecting data.
“And yet,” the voice says, “you speak like someone who understands capital flow.”
Alaric huffs a quiet laugh. “You grow up surrounded by it, you learn. People with too much money talk freely when they think you don’t matter. You start to notice how they move it, where they hide it, how they protect it. It’s all just… patterns.”
Something shifts on the line. Interest.
“And you know how to track those patterns,” the man says. “Conceal them. Redirect them. When necessary.”
“Yes,” Alaric answers, the word sharp. “Clean. Quiet. Efficient.”
Suddenly there's music, bright, upbeat, offensively cheerful.
It makes him grin.
Then the tone switches again.
“Alaric?” The new voice is nothing like the first. It’s quieter. Smooth. Not cold, just precise. Every word chosen rather than thrown. Soft in tone, but sharpened at the edges, like silk pulled tight over wire.
Alaric stills.
He can hear the control. Someone who doesn’t need to raise their voice to get a room’s attention. Someone who thinks before they reveal. Someone dangerous in an elegant way.
And… hot. Alaric can’t help the small hitch in his chest. He has no idea why, but the smooth, measured cadence makes his pulse tick faster in a way that has nothing to do with the job. “I hear you’re good with patterns. With making things… less visible,” the voice says, precise, deliberate.
Alaric swallows,“I am.”
“How familiar are you with shifting assets across borders without detection?”
He answers without hesitation. Not describing formal training—just observation, inference, understanding.
He knows the world they’re talking about. He grew up a few rooms away from it.
He explains how people move money when they don’t want to be seen, how it slides through shell companies, private foundations, art, charities, and invisible corners of the market. Not theoretical. Observed. Absorbed.
Silence follows. Not rejection.
Calculation.
“Why did you leave your last environment?” the voice asks eventually.
“I didn’t leave,” Alaric says simply. “I escaped. I was suffocating. Parties, charity galas, trust fund parasites pretending they have problems. Everything was the same. Every day. I wanted something with teeth. Something that felt real.”
A soft breath. Not surprise.
Recognition.
“Come tomorrow. Ten o’clock. I’ll give you the address.”
Alaric scrambles to grab the nearest scrap of paper, an old club flyer, and writes it down.
“What is this job?” he asks. “I don’t know your name. I don’t know the company. The flyer told me nothing.”
“That was intentional,” the voice replies. “If you are the right fit, you’ll understand when you arrive. If not, you won’t carry anything worth knowing.”
A pause.
Then, warm, edged with something like amusement:
“You don’t fear the unknown. I like that.”
“Then tell me your name,” Alaric says before he can stop himself.
Another small pause.
“You’ll have it tomorrow.”
The line disconnects.
Alaric sits there, phone still against his ear.
He should be worried.
Instead…he feels awake. Really awake.
The thrill settles into him like he’s been starving for it.
He searches for answers anyway.
Finds nothing.
Just stars.
He falls asleep thinking of the voice.
He wakes wanting more.