Chapter 9

"Hey everyone!" John entered the coffee shop, carefree and upbeat as usual, hands waving around. "Jean, are you really sure it's okay if I do my painting here?"

For a moment, Jean forgot about everything else, especially about Clement. The two hands that had previously entered dropped the supplies in a corner by the window. They held one brush each and were ready to start.

"Sure, I've told you a million times," Jean replied, but she added swiftly, "Just don't make a mess, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am!" John said with a big smile.

"John, my good friend, how are you holding up?" Clement asked, his voice dripping with fake concern. He rose from his seat and shook John's hand vigorously, putting himself between John and Jean.

"Ah, everything is fine," John replied with a smile. "So what are you guys up to? It's rare to see the two of you together. Are you doing more planning on the..." He glanced at the aliens, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "...on the revolution against the aliens?"

"No need to whisper," Clement replied. "By now, I'm certain they have zero understanding of our language. But as for your question, for now we're still in the intelligence-gathering phase. Soon enough, I believe we'll find a way out."

"Haha, I'm still not sure what getting out looks like," John added, "but I'll leave it up to you, Clem!"

Clement frowned at the nickname, but didn't say anything.

"Jean, can I get the usual?" continued John.

Jean served the espresso along with the usual whisky glass. Ever since John had arrived, she tried to act as though Clement was invisible. But Clement's words still weighed heavily on her. The real world. What did that mean? Was he messing with her head?

As usual, John threw some whisky into the coffee cup and took a sip.

"Amazing," he said, licking coffee off his upper lip. "Clem, you should try this!"

Clement reluctantly took the whisky glass and sniffed it. His face grew pale with horror.

"That's not regular whisky. Macallan 18? Yeah, that must be it. Why do you have that?"

John shrugged.

"Honestly, Jean," Clement added, turning to the bar, "I'm not surprised you can procure such a rarity while people like us have to be content with bottom-shelf whisky. As for you, John, it's nothing short of sacrilege to mix it with coffee!"

"Haha, is it on the expensive side?" John asked, looking a bit embarrassed as he unapologetically took another sip.

Jean watched as Clement's face briefly twisted with disgust as he looked at John.

But John didn't seem to notice. He focused on his canvas, painting weird dinosaurs wearing suits and ties as a meteorite hovered in the background. Nothing unusual for him. He always painted something weird and surreal. The hands were playfully but diligently helping him with the details and some of the background elements.

She turned her attention to Clement, who had taken out a notebook and was writing something down. It looked like some kind of step-by-step planning. What was he scheming?

She watched from behind the bar as the two men engaged in conversation about Clement's work, including one of his charities. She recognized the name of a charity she knew Clement was using to launder campaign funds.

The next thing she heard was John info-dumping all the anime shows he had watched recently.

"Frieren is really good," John said. "I'm also watching One Piece and Jujutsu Kaisen. Well, haha... I was. We'll never find out how any of these shows end now. How about you, Clement? What anime were you watching this season?"

"Ah..." Clement hesitated, eyes still on his notebook. He clearly didn't like this topic. "I didn't have time for television since the election. Being a senator keeps me busy."

"Then what's your favorite anime?" John pressed.

"I...uh...there was this anime about a guy who helps people. I don't quite remember the name. It's been a long time."

Jean watched John stare at him intensely, his brush hovering in the air. The aliens froze mid-air. Clement alone didn't make eye contact, still writing in his notebook.

"You've never watched a single episode in your entire life," John said slowly, his voice firm, almost angry. "You claimed during the election that you loved anime."

"But of course I do!" Clement replied defensively.

"You're a liar!" John snapped.

The alien hands pulled back a few inches, one of them dropping its brush on the floor with a splash of paint. Jean's eyes widened. Instead of intervening, her first instinct was to reach for her coffee and watch the show. But the cup remained untouched as she covered her face with clenched hands.

"You don't care about anime. You just wanted votes. Our votes!"

"John, John, my friend," Clement said quickly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves—"

"You lied about everything!" John shouted. "You hypocrite!"

Jean had never seen him this angry. As for Clement, he showed dissatisfaction in his eyes for a brief moment, but he quickly masked it with a fake smile.

The alien hands moved between the two as if trying to stop a fight. But no one was planning to throw a punch. John merely took his canvas and stormed to the other side of the room, continuing to paint with wider, fiercer brush strokes.

One splash of paint flew onto the floor, another flew directly onto the alien, but John didn't notice. The alien hand shook off the paint, making an even bigger mess. On a normal day, Jean would have been furious about that, but right now she was waiting with bated breath.

Clement's mouth twitched as he finished the last sip of his coffee.

He glanced back at Jean with an expectant look, as if he wanted something from her. She looked back, and she could tell he wanted to say something. But her lips silently mouthed the words for Clement alone to read.

"Go fuck yourself!"

His face grew dark. But then he grinned.

"You will beg me to come back," his lips seemed to silently reply.

As he rose from his seat, he stared Jean in the eye one last time before leaving. The door closed behind him.

For a moment, Jean savored the silence. Not hearing Clement's voice was a relief.

John stopped painting and stared at the wall for a moment, then looked at Jean.

"I'm sorry, Jean," he said, squeezing the brush tightly. "I didn't want to cause a scene. You were right all along."

Jean was gazing out the window, a spark of triumph in her eyes as she watched Clement's car drive away. For a second, she wondered why he had come to the café today in the first place. What was he up to?

Oh, no. She suddenly realized that John had been staring at her the whole time, waiting for her to respond. She turned, and she could see that he was genuinely upset.

She regretted her satisfaction instantly.

John did not look at her. He laid the brush aside and used the nearest napkin to wipe away the paints from the floor. His head tilted forward, his eyes looking down.

"I let my anger get the better of me," he continued as he knelt there. "That day, I gave you a whole speech about people becoming better...but I'm never getting better myself. I give everyone a chance, but I also hate a lot of people. Every time I get upset with someone, I snap and walk away."

He paused as if studying the napkin in his hand, then looked up at her.

"And then I treat them as if they don't exist in my life anymore."

Jean nodded. She reached closer and passed John a wiping cloth, coffee in her other hand.

"Maybe giving everyone at least one chance is exactly the right thing to do," she said.

John looked her in the eyes as he took the cloth. Their hands touched briefly, so fast that Jean wasn't sure he even felt it.

"I don't even give people chances anymore," she continued. "I'm just too afraid."

She took a step back and held her breath. John rose and looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

"I think it's naive to give people chances, but I think you're brave for trying anyway. Sure, some might disappoint you, but maybe you also meet some really great people."

He smiled, a spark of gratitude in his eyes.

"You're terrible at making people feel better, you know that?" he said, half-jokingly.

"Hey, don't be a jerk!" she snapped, trying to hide her embarrassment. "I was just trying to help you feel better."

"Sorry, sorry," John said, still smiling.

"I hated how you spent time with that guy," Jean added, her voice dropping. "He's a snake, and he can't be trusted. You're better than him."

John waited for a moment. The two hands slowly drifted back toward him, turning to face Jean as if they wanted to see the moment from up close.

"And?" he asked.

Jean sighed, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"And...I felt like I was being left out," she admitted.

John's eyes went wide for a second, then he smiled again.

"You're always honest about your true feelings!" he said. "Even when it makes you look like the bad guy. That's what I like about you, Jean."

Her face flushed again and she blinked. The forgotten cup of coffee tilted under her fingers, allowing its entire content to spill over the floor and her shoes.