Chapter Text
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Somewhere, Virginia, USA, 2025
James woke up feeling like shit.
He always did.
Consequences of living pretty much in the dark, staying up until 4:00 AM on a near-daily basis, and working as an editor for a local paper for a pittance that barely supported his deeply unhealthy coffee and redbull (yes, he did mix them, yes, it did taste like ass, no, James did not care.) habit, let alone pay his rent.
He didn't really care; he didn't like leaving the house in the first place, and he was a trainwreck.
Eyebags the size of his actual eyes, making him look a bit like a demented raccoon, brown hair he never brushes, and barely washes, to top it all off, he looks like a sickly victorian child, pale and thin, with basically no meat on his bones.
It's not like he was going on a date anytime soon.
He did at least brush his teeth and put on some deodorant.
He checked the coffee machine...
empty...
Checked his bulk container of grounds...
empty...
Shit... he needed to go outside... And shower... And put on pants...
FUCK.
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James finally managed to push himself out of his own house, having a very spirited debate with himself over whether or not it was worth going outside and entering that minefield, or just kicking his habit.
His filthy addiction won.
So he put on a T-shirt that said "I BELIEVE" around a picture of a UFO abducting a cow, some pants, and shoes, before walking to his nearest coffee shop.
He bought the shirt as a joke, it was ridiculous, Aliens abducting Cows... Cows aren't even good ways to observe humans or the planet Earth...
Cats would make much better spies...
Or Birds...
Definitely Birds.
He finally entered the shop, trying not to imagine the entirety of the store stopping everything to stare directly at him, at his stupid shirt, at his messy hair...
Calm down, James... It's just coffee, in and out... then you can get back to your important work.
He stared at the menu, trying to rein in his rampant dyslexia.
Finally, it was his turn...
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Shit...
What was he just thinking about...
Come on, James... don't look stupid...
It was... what... triple Caf..?
Not black... tastes like cat piss.
So does your unholy redbull and coffee concoction.
"Shut up..." James accidentally muttered out loud.
"Im sorry?" A voice startled him out of his internal monologue.
SHIT-
"O-o-oh uh... S-sorry... I uh.. just t-talking to myself..." James muttered, looking at the cashier... and OH GODDAMNIT...
He just embarrassed himself in front of the cutest guy he's ever seen... with caramel skin... and such full lips he just wanted to-
SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH, JAMES, AND ORDER YOUR STUPID COFFEE YOU ABSOLUTE CRETIN.
"S'cool. like your shirt, what'll it be, believer boy?"
"A uh... w-whatever you think... I can't really read... dyslexia's a bitch..."
"Alright... name?"
"J-james... James uh... S-simons..."
"Huh... i recognize that name."
"R-really?" Maybe he saw his latest post on that forum! That one about Nessie being an Alien probe to study the waters of Earth!
"Yeah, you edit the Somewhere Times, Right?" the guy said... well, shit... better than nothing.
"Y-yeah... I'm the editor..."
"I've got some notes, how would I get to someone?" the guy asked, scribbling James' name on a large cup... wow, did he look that tired?
"Oh uh... just give us a call... here." James quickly pulled out his notepad (he used it to record strange phenomena; he swore he saw a shooting star get chased by a UFO last night) and scribbled a phone number on it, handing the sheet to the guy, "What name should I look out for?"
"Dylan, Dylan Cezar."
"Cool, I'll keep an eye- er... Ear out"
Dylan nodded before handing him his coffee.
"It's a triple espresso with cream and a generous helping of sugar. Good luck, Beleiver boy."
James left with his coffee, after paying a grotesquely inflated price for the coffee, the owner must be a freemason... the only possible explanation.
It was only when he got home did James realised he had just given Dylan his personal cell...
OH FUCK-