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leftshoeuntied · 15 days ago

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Part Four - John Price x reader

Masterlist

Summary: When John gets an unexpected invite to his ex-wife's wedding, he scrambles to find a suitable date to take with him to ward off old ghosts from his past.

Notes: trans John, fat reader, angst

The pair of you stayed quiet in the taxi and then on the short walk to your hotel room. John broke the silence finally when the door closed behind you and you were faced with the double bed and your bags, presumably dealt with by John’s family earlier in the evening when they found out you’d not had chance to stop at the hotel beforehand. You’d wondered where Richard had disappeared to for half the evening.

“Thank you,” John said heartfelt, ducking his chin to meet your eyes. “For coming here, being there for me and—“

“And for not being a raging bigot?” You blurted out, biting your cheek immediately after. You looked up at John’s shocked silence and backtracked. “I’m sorry, that was blunt and- rude. I got pulled aside, figured it out from what they were saying.” You winced, and rubbed at your forehead when a headache made itself known.

“Where they saying anything good?” John asked calmly, jokingly even.

You sighed. “Honestly I think I should be commended for my patience with them but then you’d need about a hundred more accolades than me, I’d assume,” you said tiredly.

“It’s just small town bullshit. Used to bother me, but I’ve found people since that don’t care.”

“Mm. And just one more day of it, at least?” You asked rhetorically.

“Made all the more easy with you here,” he soothed.

You smiled thinly, his words causing an ache, before heaving a heavy sigh and rubbing at your tense shoulders and neck. “I’m tired, I need some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, ‘course.” He nodded and moved to give you space to reach for your bag. He left you to it in the bathroom and once the door was closed you let your face crumple just a little and your shoulders sag. What a mess, and he likely thought you were mad at him now for not telling you about it, leaving you in the dark with his family when that wasn’t the case at all.

You opened the door again and caught him with his shirt halfway unbuttoned.

“S-sorry,” you stuttered as he continued to get undressed. “Uhm, I just wanted to say that I understand why you didn’t tell me, when we first met. I mean given how everyone was there and you didn’t know me, not that you seem worried that I was upset about it, but I’m not. Just to confirm.”

Christ, dig yourself deeper.

John huffed a soft laugh and nodded. “Good to know, Sunshine.”

You nodded and closed the door again, leaving him to continue getting changed while you did the same, washing your face clean and brushing your teeth and feeling ten times lighter.

The ache you felt when you saw him with Charlotte hadn’t gone away, but you could put that on the back burner.

When you stepped back through, a little more hesitantly this time in case he was slow to change, you smiled when you saw he’d purposely left his sleep shirt off. His surgery scars were hardly visible beneath his dark chest hair and he’d clearly taken care of them to ease the healing and provide as much stretch in the skin and across his chest for movement.

You stayed quiet however and didn’t draw attention to his decision; instead you smiled at him a little less forced and joined him in bed.

“You better not snore,” you warned as you turned onto your side away from him, snuggling down into the blankets. You wanted him to know nothing had changed since you’d found out, but you needed to get a hold of your feelings now before you got hurt even worse. The last thing you wanted was to act cold to him, but if you saw his tired eyes crinkle in a fond smile from across a shared pillow you might do something drastic like confess your feelings or suck his cock ‘til your jaw went numb.

You clenched your thighs and shuffled to get comfortable as you felt the mattress dip behind you. It was time to sleep, not time to think about your kiss and the rumbling moan he’d let slip, mouth to mouth with a direct line to your—

“Good night!” You said overly chirpily before yanking the covers up to your hot cheeks, not daring to look over your shoulder.

“G’night, Sunshine,” you heard him say quietly before he switched off the lamp on the bedside table.

——

The celebrations were continued the next day of course. Though this time it was for their closest friends and family only, John had assured you when you’d asked if the crowd was going to be as big as it had been the night before.

Charlotte’s family had wanted to give the couple one last send off before their honeymoon, which came in the form of a garden party in the afternoon.

“Need to give the guests enough time to recover from their hangovers, save face,” John had joked.

“It’ll be hair of the dog, more like,” you’d snorted.

You and John had woken up early enough to spend the free morning together, deciding to grab breakfast nearby before heading into the viper’s nest again.

You spent the time waiting for your orders to arrive convincing yourself you could get over John once you were back home and able to gain a bit of space – and maybe a distraction. You just needed to get it together, to not fuck up the great friendship you’d made with John over the next twelve hours. Easy.

Never mind the few minutes you’d spent in the middle of the night looking over at his side of the bed, tracing the outline of his shoulders in the dark with your eyes. You’d yearned to reach out and touch, to huddle close for warmth and comfort and to breathe in a lungful of his scent, but you’d refrained. You’d jumped out of bed in the morning when you heard the shower going and took the chance to breathe while you were alone.

You’d waited your turn to tidy up and get ready, saying a quiet hello when you passed each other and doing your best to act like you weren’t gagging for his touch. It was the least you could to to calm yourself in the cold shower until you were able to make eye contact and hold his hand to the nearby café without sweating.

John however was struggling not to do something stupid while sat opposite you across the little café table, his eyes glued to your form, exactly where they’d been glued since you’d first stepped out in your cute sundress.

“Figured there was no point in bringing extra clothes just so I could get changed after brekkie, so I put it on now,” you’d said that morning. “Might’ve gotten away with keeping my pyjamas on if we were eating at the hotel but I wouldn’t want to give your old neighbours anything else to gossip about if they saw us.”

You’d winked playfully and John had swallowed his tongue, nodding like a bobblehead when the words stayed stuck.

And now, with your elbows leant on the table as you tapped away on your phone with both hands, your arms pushed at either side of your chest and made John’s life harder as your cleavagee became so distracting that he’d burnt his tongue and choked on his coffee, twice. He’d managed to swallow back his hiss of pain but felt his cheeks flush red when he realised how ridiculous he was acting.

He was grateful that you’d not noticed his staring and even more so when the waiter brought over your orders with a knowing smirk, grateful to have food to concentrate on and for you to have a reason to move your arms and give your tits a rest from driving him crazy.

Breakfast together was otherwise uneventful, conversation easy as always, and once you’d finished your own strong coffee, the pair of you made you way over to Charlotte and Tom’s new home for their ‘intimate garden party’.

Again you wondered why the pair of you had managed to get invited, but the image of John and Charlotte laughing in the low light the evening before answered that question for you. Whether she was still interested like John or not, it was clear their history together meant something to Charlotte and would continue to do so.

With your mood already on edge, it didn’t take much from the other guests to set you off, though with considerably less alcohol served at brunch, both they and you were more subtle with the intrusive questions and returned biting answers.

“Look at you John, doing well since it all went downhill with Charlotte then? Found someone else that likes you for… you?” An old classmate asked as she leant into her husbands snickering side.

“What’s not to like?” You asked bluntly, staring her down until she cleared her throat and looked awkwardly to her partner. “Oh, I see. Jealous some of us didn’t have to settle,” you hummed knowingly as you looked her partner up and down. You’d have felt bad any other day, not one to judge quickly, but it turned out John was a sore spot for your usually light temper and your patience wore thin at his expense. Ignoring her offended scoff, you visibly brightened as trays of food began to be set out on a nearby table. “Oh John, look. They finally brought out the snacks.”

“What are we waiting for then?” He encouraged with a teasing nudge and the pair of you walked away from his old classmate without a further word.

You continued your sarcastic and caustic approach to the other guests for the next hour, only easing up politely if John didn’t immediately stiffen at the sight or sound of them.

Maybe John wasn’t yours, but you still felt a duty to be protective of him, as a friend and his current fake girlfriend. No one else seemed to step in when given the chance, and your role meant you could be as catty as you wanted without raising suspicion. So you took advantage and let out your frustration.

John couldn’t have complained, happy enough to watch you; the sharp smile you sent to the prying guests so different to the soft one you’d share with him a moment later. He was happy to see someone stand up for him without fail and brag about him as if the last six years hadn’t been a complete waste.

Even if you’d gotten a little creative with your bragging as the party went on.

“We were visiting Scarborough for the day,” you said to his aunt and two other older ladies that had been sucked in to your stories. You’d started lying halfway through the gathering just to see if anyone would call you out, to see just how far you could go that they’d still believe you. It had been tricky keeping his face straight as he listened but you were clearly having fun with it, so he wasn’t going to stop you, especially when it painted him in a flattering light. Most of the time. “We were walking along the cliff edge when we heard a shout from up ahead, and John being John he had to go investigate.”

The ladies cooed.

“Someone had fallen over the wall trying to take a photo of the dolphins,” you said dramatically, wide eyed and pausing to let your small audience gasp. “John didn’t even hesitate to jump in himself to help. Think he shaved ten years off of my life that day,” you said and lightly slapped his chest with the back of your hand.

“Couldn’t let the bloke drown,” John said humbly.

“The pair of you were left bobbing in the bloody water until they could fish you out!” You laughed, only encouraged when his aunt laughed along. John shook his head at you with a hidden smile, this one teasing him more than anything. “You were freezing by time they got you back on land.”

“What were you thinking?” His aunt asked with worry.

“Didn’t have time to think of how I was getting back up, did I?” He asked you with a fake pout.

You squeezed his cheeks and cooed. “You were a hero in my eyes, resemblance to a wet cat or not,” you snickered.

John felt his chest ache with the idea of having this with you all the time; not just for his family and Charlotte’s benefit, not just for a long weekend.

Christ, when he thought back to how much he’d been enjoying his time away from work this last month with you, how easy it was to push the important things aside for you, to prioritise the fun stuff or just the simple domestic things that made your life a little easier… He felt a pang of guilt that he wasn’t able to do that sooner for Charlotte, not because he wanted it with her, but because he’d put her through years or waiting for it to never come. It wasn’t her, and it wasn’t anything you’d done either.

It was simply that he’d finally been able to do it, years too late and yet just in time.

And thinking of Charlotte moving on with Tom, finally getting what she deserved; the attention, the love, and the possible family. None of that brought hurt with it like it would have when he first received the invitation. It didn’t bring jealousy or seething regret, just happiness for his ex-wife and her new life. A life he’d have never fitted into.

But this one you were making, fabricating? He could gladly settle in and make home there. You made things easy in a way he couldn’t fathom.

But telling you this seemed impossible.

How could he tell you he was no longer mourning his past life, instead looking towards a brighter future now that he’d come to terms with how he and Charlotte weren’t meant to be. Seeing her face to face had been the splash of ice cold water needed for him to see clearly. And maybe you and him weren’t meant to be either, but god did he just want to try for the first time in years.

He swallowed thickly as you brought your story to an end, rubbing his arm and looking at him too adoringly, it felt undeserved.

“I’m not the one that saved that baby rabbit though, am I?” he said, starting his own story. Though this one was real, and something you’d mentioned to him once in passing, something he knew you’d never have expected him to remember. “Found it in your garden injured so you nursed it back to health for a week, took time off work to do it even, and then let it go in the nearby park.”

“You remember that?” you asked, disbelief written clear as day over your face. You stared at him without blinking, a smile wanting to pull at your lips.

“‘Course I do,” he said simply. “Remember everything you tell me.”

You let the smile break then, ducking your head bashfully and leaning heavily into his arm. He leant in to kiss the crown of your head, glad that his impulses only helped to sell the lie.

“I’m going to go grab a snack,” you said and cleared your throat. You tried to avoid John’s eyes but they flickered up without permission, a magnet to his own. “I’ll get you your favourites,” you promised.

“Thanks, Sunshine,” he said softly.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you got to the canapés table. You needed to reign it in, stop getting sucked in by blue eyes and rich voice.

“Never bloody filling enough,” you outwardly complained as you piled the snacks high on your plate. “Smaller than baby bites,” you huffed under your breath as you picked up a cube of cheese and ate it as you went along.

You heard a small laugh and turned to your right, eyes widening when you saw Shirl, John’s mum.

“They are quite silly in practice,” she admitted, gesturing to the small portions. She looked over her shoulder. “Though they look very nice plated like this.”

You snorted and moved to join her further up the table.

“Don’t tell anyone but we’re on our third plate,” you stage whispered, hooking a thumb back at John.

Shirley smiled indulgently. “Rich is on his third serving by himself. I wouldn’t worry.”

You laughed and looked back at John’s dad as he stood with John, slapping his son’s shoulder and nodding along as he spoke.

“You’re lovely together,” Shirley suddenly said. “I wasn’t sure at first. But you both seem good for one another, or at least you seem good for him.”

You watched her for a moment, how her gaze fluttered over the crowd as she sipped at her drink. Hair of the dog for Shirl too it seemed.

“Thank you.” You smiled genuinely when she looked at you out of the corner of her eye. “Lizzy not attending?”

Shirley sighed, happy for the topic change. She leant close and kept her gaze shrewd for any listening ears. “Too hung over to even get out of bed. God knows what people will think tomorrow.”

“Oh I simply couldn’t imagine,” you simpered along with a smirk.

——

“Quite the woman you’ve managed to catch for yourself,” Richard said as he came to stand by his son’s side.

“Yeah, she’s great,” John said as he watched you. He shifted with the weight of his father’s palm slapping his shoulder.

“‘Great’ he says,” his dad huffed with humour. “She’s a keeper, John.”

John shifted uneasily and nodded. Suddenly the weight of the lie settled heavily and uncomfortably over him, more prevalent now than all weekend and it dried his throat. He checked his watch and cleared his throat.

“Think we’ll need to be off soon,” he said. “To beat the traffic and all that.”

“You’ll be wanting a good night’s sleep for work tomorrow, I assume,” his dad agreed. “It was nice seeing you, son.”

John looked to his dad and took a deep breath. He spoke as he shook his dads hand tightly. “You too, dad.”

——

You turned at the tap on your arm and smiled when John was at your side once more.

“Got you the last of the little sausage rolls,” you said cheerily and he kissed your temple in thanks.

“We’ve got to get going, didn’t realise the time,” John said apologetically and turned to his mum with a close lipped smile.

“Oh, shame,” she hummed. She put her drink on the table and pulled him in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t leave it so long between visits next time. I’d like to see her again some time soon.”

She nodded to you over his shoulder and John swallowed past the guilt for a second time.

“I promise,” he lied.

“Come on, let’s scoff these as we say a quick good bye to everyone, John,” you suggested and let him lead you around the guests.

By time the pair of you got to Charlotte and Tom you’d finished your plate, but you were remiss for not having anything in your hands to keep them busy. Instead you had to try and keep them still as you watched with a little anxiety as John shook Tom’s hand and gave Charlotte a hug, wishing them well with what you could almost believe was a real smile on his face if you didn’t know better.

“It was great catching up, Lottie,” John said as he hooked his arm back around your waist. “Lovely party.”

“I’m so glad you both came,” Charlotte said, looking between the pair of you.

“Thanks for inviting us,” you added.

John didn’t linger; with a wave, he led you away and you felt him squeeze your hip as if to comfort himself.

With one last goodbye to his family, including Lizzy who had finally managed to fight past her hangover to turn up fashionably late, you climbed into his car with your bags in the boot.

You were uncharacteristically silent for the first part of the drive and it had the journey feeling a little melancholic, something John picked up on immediately.

His eyes cut across to you gazing out of the window, your hands folded in your lap, legs turned towards the door. His lips pursed at the shut off body language and he switched on the radio, skipping stations until he found an old rock song. Feeling his lips twitch he turned it up with another scant look your way to gauge your reaction and started singing along out of tune.

Your eyebrows rose at the sudden burst from his speakers and the sound of his scratchy singing voice, and you bit back a surprised smile as you turned to watch him. You snorted but joined in as soon as it hit the more familiar chorus, falling into his contagious spirit easily and drumming your hands on the dashboard when the heavy drum solo hit.

You couldn’t help but laugh when John took the chance at a red light to play the air guitar, head banging in time and biting his lip in concentration as if actually playing the tricky chords. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness however that all of this was temporary; coming to an end as soon as you reached home in a few hours.

You turned your sad eyes down and played the air keyboard dramatically to keep his suspicion waylaid; stating the instrument was your specialty when John commented on your questionable finger technique.

——

When he finally pulled up in front of your house several hours and a few stops later, you both sat there and looked at your front door in silence without moving.

He saw you fiddle with the strap of your handbag nervously, picking and scratching with your thumb nail.

He cleared his throat softly before breaking the silence. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You took a moment before giving him a weak smile. “Just know how shit it is to watch someone you care about be in love with someone else,” you settled on with a shrug. You felt pathetic about your month-old crush, especially in comparison to the hurt John was guaranteed to have been feeling at that moment.

He frowned and nodded slowly, trying to piece together what you may have meant. He opened his mouth, wanting to tell you that he didn’t feel that way about Charlotte anymore. That he’d realised he was over her this weekend while with you; but he hesitated, closed his mouth with a clack. Because this was just a favour to you wasn’t it? There were no real feelings on your end, right? It’d be wrong of him to put that on you now after the emotional exhaustion of lying to his family and supporting him through it. Selfish of him even.

But what did you mean you knew how it felt?

You watched him struggle for a moment and felt your heart ache when he said nothing; entirely unsurprised, and yet knowing he didn’t feel the same didn’t change how much it hurt to have it confirmed.

“Thanks for inviting me, John,” you said as sweet as you could manage. “I had a really good time.”

“Despite my family’s best efforts,” he joked weakly.

You rolled your eyes playfully. In a moment of weakness you reached out for his hand and squeezed it where it rested on his thigh.

“You know, I’m going to miss hanging out, just me and you,” you admitted, regretting it when John’s eyes turned sad. You spoke before he could have to chance to share false platitudes with you that maybe you’ll stay in touch; this was a favour, no more no less. You’d completed your end, there was no reason to drag out the inevitable, not when he didn’t need the fake dates as ‘proof’ anymore. “You’re a great guy, she doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

He blinked and in a flash you were out of the car, door slamming with finality behind you as you jogged across the clear road.

Seeing you slip through his fingers in real time brought that feeling of an empty pit back in his stomach, but this time it wasn’t regret for something he couldn’t change or yearning for someone already out of reach.

“Chris’sake, I’m a grown fucking man,” he cursed himself out as he shouldered his way out of the car. He owed you the effort of trying at least.

John called after you, a shout of your name he didn’t often use, and you turned in surprise before you opened your front door. He saw the glassy tint to your eyes and felt his heart clench. Without thinking he blurted out the first thing that came to mind that might stop you for just a moment longer, “I still owe you the money we agreed on.” Your expression shuttered, shoulders stiffening, and he rounded his car quickly, needing to be closer with no barriers. “Fuck, no, that’s not what I meant to say, love. Wait.”

You stayed silent as you watched him on the other side of the dead road.

He paused to gather his racing thoughts.

“I don’t love my ex-wife anymore, or not how I did. Haven’t for a while I think; just loved the idea of her, the memory of what we had, the familiarity of it.” He swallowed thickly. “Think I loved fucking wallowing because I was used to it, ‘nd it was easier than admitting I’d been wrong and having to put myself out there again to get hurt a second time ‘round.”

He checked the road before making his way closer as you wrapped your arms around yourself, tight and self-comforting.

“But these last couple of days… This last month; Sunshine, I got closure I didn’t know I needed but more than that I realised I want more than what I’ve been letting myself have. I want you.”

“John,” you finally spoke hoarsely. You shook your head.

“The time we’ve spent together recently… They’ve been some of the best days I’ve had in a long time.” He stepped forward and reached for your hands but you kept them folded away. “I want to feel that way again, every day that I can, with you.”

“I saw the way you looked at her,” you said gently, as if breaking to him that he still loved Charlotte. “You were laughing together at the end of the reception like it was your wedding.”

John huffed in disbelief. The fucking irony.

“Yeah because she told me how lucky I was to have a firecracker like you by my side,” he said with a laugh. “Not because I was trying to get her back. She’s pregnant, Sunshine, that ship has sailed.”

You felt your heart drop when realisation set in. “So I’m a consolation prize.”

“No,” he denied vehemently, eyes wide and horrified. “No, that’s not what I meant, bloody hell.”

He wiped a hand over his beard roughly, feeling you drift away word by word. He was fucking this up.

“Seeing her like that,” he started carefully. “I understand now that I didn’t want her back in the first place, not really.” At your doubtful look he continued on. “I don’t feel any jealousy or regret and not being the one starting a family with her; I just want to be happy like she is. And, Sunshine, it’s you that makes me happy like that.”

You looked at him with watery eyes, hope glistening in his own as his hand hovered by your hip.

You were quiet for a moment as you gathered your thoughts. John had flipped everything you’d felt, everything you’d thought you’d known about the last few days on its head and now you were stuck outside your house in the cold as the sun set, his confession heavy and waiting.

You felt cornered. It didn’t feel genuine, you still thought he was doing this out of some delayed sense of desperation and rejection. Clinging onto the first available woman after seeing Charlotte move on completely.

You liked John, a lot, and at any other time you’d have likely been jumping for joy hearing him say all of this. But you thought you knew him pretty well by now, and you weren’t going to make yourself unhappy by being second choice to help ease his bruised ego.

“I’m not looking for anything right now, John. Sworn off dating, remember?” You reminded him of your first conversation in that café, something that felt so long ago.

John became quiet for a moment, considering your soft rejection and trying to come to terms with it. He nodded and took a step back, his hand dropped back to his side.

“If you do start looking again, you’ve got my number,” he offered softly.

Your breath hitched and you nodded. You looked away and wiped at your face roughly when a tear fell. In a split decision you leant up and kissed his cheek before turning back and closing the door behind you.

did a little moodboard for this fic when i was stuck,, kept reader off it, the people in it are optional oc representation

#ah so good 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ love this story so much #it is truly so well written im just obsessed with it #and sunshine at the end? such a good way to wrap up the weekend I can’t wait to read the next part 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻#price x reader

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leftshoeuntied · 15 days ago

Text

PART 3 - John Price x reader

Masterlist

Summary: When John gets an unexpected invite to his ex-wife’s wedding, he scrambles to find a suitable date to take with him to ward off old ghosts from his past.

Notes: trans John, fat reader, transphobia from minor characters, John is outed without his knowledge or permission, not outright mentioned but John is around 44 and i’ve been picturing reader in her early 30s

Despite John’s initial hesitation, no matter how joking, the drive there was easy going with barely any traffic despite the time of day and no roadworks to hinder your route.

John had let you take reign over the radio, only stopping you when White Room came on while you were flicking through, putting his hand out over yours to halt your movements. His head started bobbing and he turned up the volume, one knee bouncing while the clutch was going unused.

“Should’ve guessed you were a 70’s rock fan,” you said as you leant back into your seat and watched him sing along under his breath.

“Come on now, everyone loves at least one song by Cream,” he argued.

You hummed, deciding to mess with him a little.

“Yeah I guess Paint It, Black is pretty catchy,” you said, looking out of the window so he couldn’t see the satisfied smile threatening to break across your face when you heard him scoff.

“What?” You saw his head whip around to you in your peripheral before he went back to watching the road, though you could see his mouth open and close several times as he tried to gather his response to your teasing.

“You know, it’s not too late to drop you back home,” he settled on finally, his tone semi-serious. “I can grab Simon and turn up fashionably late.”

You crumbled and let out the laugh that had built up in your chest as you turned to look at him, his eyes crinkled in humour as they flickered to you from the road every few seconds. “Don’t think Simon could pull off this dress like I can, but if that’s how much Cream means to you...”

“More The Rolling Stones I was sticking up for, but I don’t like to be pedantic,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said sarcastically, eyebrows raised in open disbelief.

“Cheeky,” he muttered. “Watch yourself, Sunshine.”

“Or what?” You asked cockily, grinning at him from where you splayed out in his passenger seat, fear of creases forgotten in lieu of having fun.

“Fucking hell.” He shook his head at your gall, his eyes dragging down your form without his permission before forcibly looking back to the road. “Go back to playing with the radio, kept you quiet at least.”

“Prick,” you hissed playfully, slapping his arm. “Only if you promise to sing along loud enough for me to hear next time a song older than I am comes on.”

His stomach flipped, though he wasn’t sure if it was at the idea of letting you hear him sing off key or the reminder of your difference in age. You weren’t young, but John was starkly aware he was on the ‘wrong’ side of forty and you were closer to his Sergeants’ in age.

“Sure,” he agreed. “But only if you can actually name it.”

You grinned. “You’re on.”

---

A few hours later John’s hands grew tense on the steering wheel as he drove through his childhood town towards the wedding venue. He found a parking space far enough away that for a moment you cursed wearing heels, even if they did make your legs look fantastic, but John’s nervous flickering eyes and tap-tap-tapping fingers kept your mouth shut before you could even think to complain.

You’d had your fair share of heartbreak, but you couldn’t imagine what it would be like to watch the love of your life get married to someone else. A kick in the teeth felt like putting it lightly, and not to mention the subtle hints John had made about how headstrong and ‘well meaning’ his family were. Yeah, you could imagine this weekend wouldn’t be so easy to get through, though you thought John was all the more selfless for agreeing to it.

Despite never mentioning still being in love with Charlotte it was obvious in the way he spoke about her, the way he drifted off in his memories of her.

You took a deep breath and ignored the jealousy growing in your stomach. There was no need for it. You and John were just pretending.

“Ready?” You asked as you took his arm, starting the walk up towards the stately home the wedding was being held in.

John looked at you and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet, we’re not even inside.”

---

“Oh John, you made it!” His mother called out as soon as you entered the large hall full of waiting guests. She pulled John in to a long hug but paused when she took you in, her eyes dipping to your silky green dress for a moment too long. “And you brought your lovely date.”

“Promised I would,” John teased, though his hand found yours to grip it nervously.

“Didn’t get lost on the way up? Been a while since you last visited, I’d almost thought you’d forgotten us,” his sister joked meanly as she joined your small group, following a step or two behind at her mother’s tail.

“He knew the route off by heart,” you interrupted. You leant into his side as you spoke to the two women opposite you. “Didn’t need me on map duty at all in the end; think he just said it to give me a job, make me feel useful on the journey here.”

John’s smile lost some of its brittle edge. With a quick apology for his lack of manners he introduced you.

“It’s nice to meet you both, John’s told me a lot about the family,” you lied with a big smile.

“Oh?” Lizzy asked. “Gotten chatty in your old age, John?”

“She brings it out of me.”

His mother cooed, her eyes warm. “Come with me, love, I’ll introduce you to some of the guests while we find our seats,” Shirley pulled you away from his grasp. You looked at him with panicked eyes.

“Introductions can wait, mum—“

“Don’t be daft, you need to get us all drinks before the bar closes for the ceremony,” Lizzy grinned impishly. “Gin and tonic for me, be a good lad.”

“I’ll be fine,” you said, but your confidence wavered when he took a step away. “But hurry back?”

His mother laughed. “Oh the honeymoon phase, tied at the hip and longing for every moment spent apart to be done with already. I remember when I was the same with John’s father, Richard.”

“Where is dad?” Lizzy asked looking around the room. She hooked her arm with yours and led you away from John.

“He should be around here somewhere,” Shirley said unbothered. She turned to you with sharp eyes and a deceivingly polite smile. “Has John told you much about Charlotte or her husband?”

“Well I didn’t revise for a pop quiz if that’s where you’re leading,” you joked. “But it’s no secret that Charlotte is John’s ex.”

Lizzy snorted. “Polite way of putting it.”

You barely held back your glare before you blinked it away and deigned to look around the room to clear your head. It was clear they weren’t really wanting to introduce you to anyone and instead hoped you’d be loose lipped enough for them to learn more about you and John and John’s feelings surrounding the wedding. All without John there to redirect the conversation.

“John took it so hard when Charlotte left him. I didn’t think he’d ever move on,” Shirley sighed sadly.

“Guess I must be quite the catch,” you finished for her.

“Mm, you are certainly pretty,” his mum smiled. She brushed her fingertips lightly over your plump cheek.

“Oh, there he is. Dad! Dad, over here, come meet John’s bird,” Lizzy called out.

Her mother tutted. “I do hate it when you use slang like that Lizzy. And try not to shout so much.”

Lizzy rolled her eyes.

“Richard; it’s nice to meet you,” the older man introduced himself.

You shook his hand and smiled before the four of you made your way to the guest seating split by the aisle.

“Where’s John then?” Richard asked as he sat to your left, Lizzy and Shirley on your right.

“At the bar,” Lizzy said. “We’re introducing this one to some of the guests.”

“I should probably start with the lady of the hour. Let me tell you a little about the bride—“

“Actually, I think I’d rather hear about the groom. John’s told me a lot about his past, but we’ve yet to hear anything about the lucky man past his name on the invitation,” you cut in. You saw John over your shoulder making his way through the crowd with four drinks balanced in his hands.

You stood and reached out over Phil once he got closer to take two glasses from him and help him distribute them.

“Ah, sorry dad, if I’d known you were about I’d have gotten you a lager,” John apologised.

His dad waved him off, standing to move to Shirley’s other side, leaving your left open for John to sit.

“You were about to tell me about Tom?” You felt John stiffen next you, and you dropped a palm to his upper thigh, rubbing your thumb soothingly over the pressed trousers.

“Ah, yes, well, where to start?” His mum fussed.

“Handsome, loving, rich,” Lizzy listed with a chuckle.

“He’s such a gentleman,” his mum continued as though John wasn’t swigging back his drink at every new descriptor. “And he’s a banker.”

“Oh I bet he is,” you said, quick sharp. John coughed into his drink, choking back a laugh with his mouth full. You bit your cheek to stop from laughing alongside him. “Oh John, honestly. I can’t take you anywhere,” you cooed sarcastically. You handed him the napkin that came with your drink and he thanked you quietly, his eyes crinkled in mirth as he looked at you from beneath his lashes while dabbing at his beard.

You managed to avoid hearing the rest of Shirley’s glowing opinion on Charlotte and Tom as the rest of the guests flooded in around you and the live band began to play softly. You couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed at the size of the guest list, no doubt only going to get larger during the reception afterwards.

Charlotte and her husband must’ve been popular, you mused. But you couldn’t help but wonder why she’d prioritised John and his unknown plus one to be a witness to the ceremony – was there no one else she’d have preferred to have celebrated with? You knew John would have still come even if he was only invited to the party afterwards, and yet here you both sat.

As you watched Charlotte glide down the aisle, her dark hair styled delicately to sit out of the way of her face, you watched joy bloom from her smile to her eyes at the sight and then touch of her husband-to-be at the end of the aisle.

You heard John breathe in shakily.

Maybe that was why she’d invited him. She wanted to quash any hope left, wanted them both to be able to move on fully.

You couldn’t begrudge her that.

You squeezed John’s hand and hoped it gave him even a semblance of support.

When the ceremony was over and everyone started to head back to the large hall, decorated in the same colours and flowers, you gave John a chance to be alone.

“Could you show me where the restroom is?” You asked, leaning in close but speaking loud enough to be overheard, stopping his family from dragging him off and giving him a moment away from you to process his feelings.

He nodded and led you off to a hallway just off from the large hall music was starting to flood from.

“I’ll wait here,” he said and stood opposite the door.

“Oh, you don’t have to if you wanted a quick smoke or something,” you said.

He smiled softly.

“I’ll wait ‘ere for you,” he offered again.

You just nodded, suddenly flustered by his insistence, and headed into the posh toilets.

Once you were finished and had made your way back to the hall, you saw that the celebrations were well on their way. The pair of you drifted towards the bar without having to communicate, knowing it would be a long night without. You tried not to focus too much on the warmth of John’s hand on your lower back, the material of your dress a flimsy excuse of a barrier between the two of you.

John had only just ordered his drink when the music slowed and the lights dimmed. You turned to see Charlotte and Tom in the centre of the dance floor, hand in hand, swaying together with their heads dipped close. You couldn’t help how your eyes moved immediately to watch John, to try and gauge his mood and how he was taking it. Surely it would all hit him sometime soon and you’d have to find a dark corner to comfort him in before making your excuses to leave.

His eyes looked sad as his attention was focused solely on the couple across the room, his drink left forgotten on the bar top as he stood unmoving.

A bitter taste made itself known and you threw back a long swallow of your drink to flush it away as you turned to watch the rest of the crowd.

Charlotte’s dress flowed like a princess’ would and you saw the way it captured everyone’s attention in the room.

You had always been too quick to gain feelings, especially to those unavailable to you. Hopeless crushes with only dead ends and heartbreak ahead. And yet you trucked along every time, knowing you had no chance from the start; not with the way John spoke about, and now looked at, his ex.

You finished off your drink in record time and thanked the bartender when she took the glass away swiftly.

It felt like a relief when the music began to pick up and guests started to join in on the dance floor with their own partners.

John blinked and turned towards you, but you spoke before he could apologise for being distracted or ask you how he looked before heading over to interrupt the bride and groom or—

You cleared your throat. “Right. You should probably introduce me to some of the guests, really give us chance to sell this,” you suggested with a slap to his shoulder. You winced after, the movement feeling unnatural and you could tell John thought the same as a small frown drew his eyebrows down.

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed, sending one last longing look to the dance floor. “Let’s go.”

The next hour was spent schmoozing with the people John had primarily left behind after childhood.

Fuck, did it drag.

You secured a smile on your face as you made the rounds, cuddled close with your hand in the crook of John’s arm as not to lose him in the crowd. The overwhelming joy of the guests could be felt in the air, but you knew the cheap bar was also partly responsible for the lively atmosphere.

Faces passed by and names slipped in one ear and out the other as John introduced you to old neighbours, teachers, classmates, extended family and more.

Every time he took a breath a new hand would reach out to shake his own and shrewd eyes would peer at you; not from down their nose necessarily, but you felt their curiosity, and judgement in some cases, and it caused you to bristle.

Maybe you’d had one too many or maybe your melancholy mood from earlier had left you open to be easily worked up over the assumption that these fuckers were too prude to appreciate a fat girl in a deep cut dress, but when you noticed their stares lingered for a moment too long it took all of your energy not to roll your eyes and as a result, you didn’t catch on quicker to the comments left like bread crumbs.

Two instances in particular felt blatant in hindsight.

“I never thought you’d make it to Captain, didn’t think they allowed that type of shit,” John’s old postman remarked.

“Couldn’t have stopped me if they tried,” John replied easily.

“Ah you always were a stubborn bastard, even as a kid.”

And;

“The beard’s impressive; it was barely growing in, all patchy like, last time I saw you ‘round these parts. It’s looking good, John.”

“Cheers, Mary, it’s the beard oil.”

“Doesn’t itch like hell now I suppose?”

John laughed. “No, I was glad to get through that stage years ago.”

It was easy to dismiss the conversations as sneak peaks into John’s past as perhaps a trouble maker in his youth that had surprised all by making something of himself or simply a reedy, scraggly young lad that managed to bulk up to John’s current impressive form as a grown man while away in the army.

You’d dismissed the humorous image of a young chavvy John without a second thought. At least until you were pulled aside by two giddy, drunk young women dressed in matching peach that flowed and draped in sunset layers from their hips.

You gave John a quick look, double checking it was ok to leave him in the admittedly tedious conversation with his old history teacher as the women tugged at you relentlessly, and smiled genuinely when he gave your drifting hand a reassuring squeeze and nodded, barely skipping a step in his sentence.

“We thought we’d save you from that dreadful conversation,” the taller of the two said. “I’m Olivia and this is Isabella,” she said. “We already know who you are. You two are a hot topic tonight.”

“Oh, is that so?” You tried to laugh.

“Mhm, everyone’s surprised you came. Charlotte didn’t say it outright but we could tell she was thinking it, we’ve known her for years,” Isabella added.

“Close friends?” You asked.

“Sure,” Olivia brushed off your questions. “We have something we wanted to ask you though because Charlotte’s always been a little… tight lipped.”

“Prudish,” Isabella snorted a little meanly.

You felt your brow pull down into a frown. The two women were drifting into a territory too close to gossiping for you to be comfortable; maybe if Charlotte didn’t seem lovely, maybe if this was a wedding for someone you knew, maybe if you weren’t falling for John you would’ve been a little more open to talking shit about the god awful first impressions some of the guests had been leaving. But as it was… you really weren’t in the mood.

“Right, I don’t really know her,” you said uneasily.

“That’s no matter,” Olivia giggled. “We want to know about you.”

“And John,” Isabella added.

“And how you guys… you know,” Olivia widened her eyes comically and tilted her head.

“Sorry?” You giggled unexpectedly.

“Oh come on, you have sex, yeah?”

You couldn’t help the burst of full laughter that spilled from your lips and when you turned to the side slightly to calm your giggles, you caught John’s gaze from across the room, his head having darted your way at the sudden outburst.

Covering your grin and stifling any further noises you lifted a hand in an embarrassed wave at him before turning back to the two confused women. “Ladies, we’re not far off in age from each other… Are you telling me you’ve gone this long without anyone explaining the birds and the bees to you?” You teased, even as you felt your cheeks heat. “I’m flattered you chose me to explain the uh, ins and outs.” You snickered childishly at your own joke.

“Don’t avoid the topic at hand,” Olivia huffed, her good natured smile slipping into something impatient. “We want to know how it works with John.”

“I don’t—“

“Has he had the surgery?” Isabella pushed. The drunken glaze over her eyes didn’t hide the mean joy she seemed to get from pinning you to the spot suddenly. She reached out to hold onto your arm as if to physically pin you to the spot too. “Does he ever let you, y’know, top or whatever?”

You froze as realisation dawned on you just what they were getting at and what exactly they’d done. Panic flooded your system as your mind filled with images of how John would feel, how he’d react to finding out they’d fucking outed him as trans to you by asking invasive questions.

Your mouth moved before your brain could catch up.

“Are you serious?” You asked gravely, your aghast expression cutting their giggles short. “You’re being really—“

You wanted to say bigoted, stereotyping, minimising, intrusive, rude at the least; but what came out instead was, “—nasty cunts right now.”

You knocked away Isabella’s hand where it had rested on your bicep, her grip loose after your guttural swear, before giving the pair of them one last mucky look and turning away.

You tried not to make a noticeable fuss, storming off back to John’s side, given how it seemed all eyes were on the pair of you for one reason or another already, but your anger simmered. Enough that you were surprised literal steam couldn’t be seen rising from your ears and nose.

It was anger at their presumption, their transphobia, at yourself for getting dragged into it and now knowing you’d make John uncomfortable when you tell him you know. Because you couldn’t just lie to him about it.

But you didn’t have to tell him in the middle of the reception. You forced a calm smile as you took John’s hand in your own.

Perceptive as he was, John heard the heavy sigh you let out through your nose and raised a questioning eyebrow at you.

“The DJ wouldn’t play Paint It Black,” you lied with a sarcastic roll of your eyes. Your smile turned less brittle when John laughed, lifting his arm automatically to tuck you into his side.

“I wonder why? Thought everyone loved a song about grief and loss on a wedding day,” he played along.

You snorted. John’s eyes were soft and crinkled as he gazed at you, and with a sudden pull in the pit of your stomach you leant in close and kissed him. Onlookers be damned, you cupped his face and dipped your tongue in to brush temptingly against his own for a brief moment, eliciting a surprised and soft moan from him that devolved into a rough chuckle when you pulled back.

John caught a few stares in his peripheral and leant to whisper in your ear. “Want to explain that one, Sunshine?”

You shrugged and replied loud enough to be overheard. “You’re a good man, John. Sometimes I think I forget to tell you that often enough.”

John blinked silently for a moment too long, taken aback by your sincerity.

He pulled you into an all encompassing hug, his broad palms seeping heat through your dress, and whispered a low, gruff thank you against your temple.

---

The rest of the evening went by without a hitch and your feet ached by the end of it despite never having hit the dance floor for even one song.

“One last drink for the ride back to the hotel?” John suggested. “Taxi wont be here for another ten at least, so we’ve got time.”

“I could have another,” you agreed with a tired but cheerful smile, eager to extend the night if it meant being by John’s side. Your feelings had only flourished throughout the evening but, despite the setting and the heartbreak echoing in the distant future, you were having too much fun to try and tamp them down.

John squeezed your hip with a wink and headed towards the bar. After several hours, he knew what you’d want ordering.

He leant his elbows against the bar top and waited for the bartender to finish cleaning the surface at the other end, not wanting to rush them after such a busy night, but before he got a chance to flag them down his shoulder was gently tapped and his elbow cupped.

“John.”

He felt his stomach clench and his easy smile fall when he came face to face with Charlotte. She’d been so busy all evening; dancing with her new husband, pulled to and fro by friends and new family, drinking and eating and celebrating, that John had managed to avoid her.

Had he wanted to avoid her? He’d initially had the intention of seeing her certainly, had thought to seek her out early on even, and part of him had originally thought maybe the sight of him in turn would have Charlotte throwing herself back into his arms and cancelling the wedding, but… All of his plans had been left at home. Your presence had kept him thoroughly distracted all evening, all day even on the drive up and probably even before that.

“Lottie,” he greeted fondly, shaking away his thoughts. “You look radiant.”

“Flatterer,” she accused, grinning despite it. She looked at him for a moment and squeezed his arm where she held it, making sure he wouldn’t leave before she had a chance to say what she wanted. “I’m so glad you came, John.”

The words didn’t bring a bout of joy and hope like he’d expected, instead he felt a calm smile finally lift his lips.

“I’m glad I came too.”

“I didn’t think you would. Lost out on fifty quid to Tommy now,” she huffed jokingly. She looked at him from head to toe. “God, you look so much better, John. Honestly. I was so worried after the divorce, everyone told me not to invite you but how could I not? I—“

“Charlotte…”

“You look happy. And not just settling for what you think you should want like it was with me, but truly happy and fulfilled,” she said, tearing up. She swallowed thickly. “I’m so glad you were able to find someone that loves you and that can stand up to your family,” she laughed wetly. She let her hand drop to his and pulled it up so she could grip it tightly between both of hers, held close to her chest. “I saw her go toe to toe with them a few times tonight, in fact, and with you,” she teased. “This is what I’ve always wanted for you, John. Your mum told me about the trips you’d been on with her, you’ve obviously managed to find that balance after all.”

“Lottie, I’m sorry—“

“Don’t you dare apologise, you idiot,” Charlotte huffed. “I treasured our time together, but we weren’t right for each other, plain and simple. But you’ve found someone who might be.”

“Yeah, yeah I guess I have. And I’m happy for you too, Charlotte,” he said quietly but genuinely. He gestured to her stomach and the small bump her dress did a meagre job of hiding. “I’m glad you’re finally getting the family you’ve always wanted.”

The admittance didn’t feel as hollow as he’d expected, he felt no jealousy or regret. Just pride in knowing how good a mother Charlotte would be.

She let go of his hand and smacked his arm, hissing at him to lower his voice. “Bloody hell, John. No ones supposed to know yet; given my age we’re a little hesitant to announce it too soon, you know?” She cupped her stomach with one hand furtively, aware of the few guests still lingering.

He snorted. “No wonder the bar was doing two for ones all night, you’ve been trying to keep everyone distracted.”

Charlotte laughed along with him and the sound gained your attention.

You’d seen Charlotte wander up to him at the bar, saw their familiar touches and shared smiles, and something jealous and nasty opened up in you in response.

You’d had to turn away quickly to give them their privacy while you dealt with your own self-consciousness. But the sound of their joined laughter had your eyes drifting back and your heart aching in loneliness and longing.

You’d forgotten what this was and you’d pay the price for wearing your heart on your sleeve.

With a sigh, you walked up to the other end of the bar.

“What can I get for you?”

You hesitated for a moment. “Just a water, please.”

You took small sips as you waited for John to finish his conversation – as you waited for him to notice you, to remember that you were there too – and tried to level your emotions enough that you’d be convincingly sweet company for the short ride to the hotel before you could fall asleep and mope in your dreams out of sight from John.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he said as he sidled closer a few minutes later, his arm draping around your waist despite the lack of audience, like it was already habit. Magnetised to curl around and protect your softest parts. “Sorry for the wait, let’s get you that drink.”

“I think I’m just ready for bed now actually,” you said apologetically. You waved your almost empty water and let a hint of your tiredness shine through.

John nodded without protest and led you out to the front of the building, giving you his jacket as you waited for the taxi to pull up.

He pulled out a cigar as you leant against the front wall resting your feet. He sighed after the first puff.

“Wish we’d gotten to dance, should’ve asked you before my old driving instructor caught us.”

You scoffed, a little too sharp and reproachful. “i’ve not got the rhythm, you didn’t miss out on anything,” you reassured him, hoping your tone was light enough that it didn’t come across as mocking and self-pitying.

John gave you a long look before nodding and you were saved from opening up your chest and ribs to bare your secrets to him by your taxi finally arriving.

John opened the door and said a quiet, after you, before settling in next to you. You closed your eyes and rested your head back and let John deal with the driver.

You’d never wanted to fall into bed more than that moment, and yet the safety of sleep felt so far away.

John’s hand reached out hesitantly across the empty middle seat to squeeze yours.

#ooo this was so good oh my god 🥺🫶🏻#literally the ending?? my heart omg like I know nothings happening between charlotte and John and my heart still hurts for her omg #have had this on the tbr for a bit so I’m excited to finally catch up and read the remaining parts!!#price x reader

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leftshoeuntied · 16 days ago

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late but

Happy Valentine’s Day 😌

Thank you Chloe !! Happy late valentines :D This is a great opportunity for me to share some 141 valentines wips that I didn't finish in time

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leftshoeuntied · 18 days ago

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Puritanism is getting worse around the globe and conservatives and fascists will absolutely be first going harder against porn, then use that against queer people. You HAVE to realise this and oppose anti porn measures and laws, be in solidarity with sex workers, and listen to them when they call this shit out. It's going to be vitally important.

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leftshoeuntied · 21 days ago

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The funniest hyperfixations have gotta be the ones where you watch something and go "this thing is cute. I like it. not sure if Id call it a favorite of mine but its definitely enjoyable at least" and then cut to a month later and its completely overtaken your life

#real ✊😩🫡#I’ve accidentally fallen into two other big hyperfixations and they both started out as so casual for me

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leftshoeuntied · 26 days ago

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lets hear it for transgenderism and faggotry. can I get a round of applause for transgenderism and faggotry

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leftshoeuntied · 27 days ago

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"No mercy for fascism"

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leftshoeuntied · 28 days ago

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so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

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leftshoeuntied · 1 month ago

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━━━ ✧˖° 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍

‎ ‎ [ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

kinks: protective daryl, reader is extremely girly and feminine, fingering, very light dom/sub, fucking on a motorcycle, daryl sucks his fingers, pet names, oral sex, cum swallowing, slightly rough sex, some dirty talk, true love

warnings and triggers: age difference, reader is a former sex worker, trauma bonding, violence, death, slut shaming, bullying

word count: 13.4k

plot with porn, slight alternate universe.

you’re known as the princess of your group - soft, feminine, a girly girl who doesn’t want to get her hands dirty. despite the cruel new world you’re living in, you still hold on to whatever remnants of beauty you can find, hoping for a better tomorrow.

daryl is the opposite of everything you stand for. he’s hardened, rugged, ruthless - he’ll do whatever it takes to survive. despite your differences, you find yourselves drawn to each other in ways nobody, not even you two, can really understand. you bring softness to his strength, and in daryl you find a friend, a lover, a protector.

he’s everything you find warm and safe in this cold, scary world. you cling to him, and the best part?

daryl clings back.

“Cookies?”

The look Daryl gives you actually makes you crack a smile, and it’s a nice feeling. It’s been a long time since you smiled, now that you think about it - but it’s not like you’re keeping score.

Because if you were - you’d probably be able to count the amount of grins that’ve graced your face in the last eight months on one hand. Life has been brutal to everyone this year.

“I know it sounds weird,” you explain, crossing your legs on the rock you’re sitting on. Daryl’s supposed to be keeping watch of the camp while Rick and a few other men from the group make a run into the neighboring town for supplies. The plan was, because even the smallest things need well thought out plans in this world, that the women and children of the camp would rest, and if Daryl saw any walkers, he’d wake everyone up.

Sort of dumb, in theory, with how fast things happen when walkers are added to the equation, but it’s all this group has got.

Plans and Rick’s hope.

You’re supposed to be resting too, since yesterday was a travel day - long and exhausting. But you can’t sleep. You’ve got a headache, you’re hungry, and your sleeping bag is still a little damp from your water bottle, the plastic gone thin from having been dropped too many times, breaking while you drove from your last destination. Your tent is cold and you’re sharing it with a single woman who has a child, and their crying is really starting to bum you out.

So you decided to join Daryl keeping watch. He’s perched on a little ledge that overlooks the rest of the camp, able to see anything coming or going before anyone on the ground can. You’re not great with a gun, but since the world went to shit, you can handle yourself pretty well.

You want to help protect the camp and everyone in it, especially since you asked Rick to pick up another reusable water bottle for you while he was in town. The look on his face was so priceless it actually made you a little sad.

“Doesn’t just sound weird,” Daryl replies, shifting to get more comfortable on the grassy ground. There’s another rock for him to sit on, but it’s something you’ve noticed about him - Daryl always chooses to sit close to the ground, even if there’s a proper place for him to sit. “It is weird,” he grumbles the last part, busying himself with chucking a rock a few feet away while a squirrel scampers up a tree. He curses under his breath, no doubt pissed at himself for not securing another meal.

You’re distracting him. You should feel bad, but you don’t.

Before walkers and the end of the world as you knew it, you used to be so concerned with manners. Worried about what others thought about you more than you worried about your own well being. You’re not like that anymore. It’s a dark, although funny thought - that it took something as drastic as an apocalypse to finally rid you of your people pleasing habit.

There’s a crunching sound a few yards away that has the both of you tensing up, frozen while you listen for the sound of growling, but it never comes. Daryl visibly relaxes after a minute, which is your cue to start talking again. He just listens, although from the angle you’re sitting at, you swear you see him roll his eyes.

“You ever think about how weird it is, the stuff we miss?” You ask, but you already know he’s not going to reply. Daryl rarely replies, but you know he’s listening. You don’t have any real proof that he is - but what else would he be doing while you chat his ear off? He can stand up for himself, doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do - if he didn’t want you talking to him, he’d tell you to fuck off.

It’s a small victory you hold close to your heart - the fact that he just puts up with you. You continue. “I mean, everyone always says they miss things like hot showers, electricity, or whatever. I do, but I guess it’s not the thing I miss the most. For me, it’s cookies. But not bakery cookies. The kind of cookies you get from the store, the cheap ones. When you flatten the cookie dough yourself, and no matter what, always burn them or undercook them,” as you talk about it, you can taste the ghost of cookies past on your tongue. It waters a little, your mouth, which goes to show you just how hungry you are.

All you eat these days are protein bars and uncooked cans of whatever food the group can find. Sometimes, with your eyes closed and your breath held, you’ll try bits of squirrel or owl or whatever other animal Daryl hunts and shares with the group, but even the thought makes you nauseated. You never knew you’d be able to have preferences when the other choice is starving to death, but the difficult human spirit prevails, you suppose.

Daryl glances at you, and although it’s pretty dark, the moon shines light enough that you can see his expression. You’d expect his face to be mean, aggravated - tired. Listening to a young woman ramble about baking cookies while his body is on high alert to protect an entire fucking camp - but instead, Daryl’s expression is soft. He lets you continue, although his reaction does remind you that you’re also on guard. But aren’t you always?

The gun strapped to your hip and the knife in the pocket of your boot feel extra heavy at the reminder.

You clear your throat, trying to keep your voice low. God forbid a fucking walker kills you or anyone else in this group because you couldn’t shut up about cookies.

“Maybe it’s stupid, you know? I just,” you look down, playing with the zipper on your jacket. Suddenly, you feel really embarrassed. On the spot. Daryl probably thinks you’re a fucking idiot. Your face heats up.

But it’s not just the cookies. You leave out the part where the cookies remind you of your parents. How your mom, when she was alive, used to make them for you after a rough day. That those cookies were the staple of every sleepover you’ve ever had with your best friends. How those cookies were -

“It ain’t,” Daryl’s voice takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him, brows furrowed. You catch his eyes for only a second, before he looks away quickly, pretending to be occupied by something on the dirty ground. “It ain’t stupid,” he finishes.

You wonder that night, after Rick and the others come back to relieve you and Daryl of your duty, while you’re laid up in your sleeping bag that hardly protects you from the cold - what does Daryl miss? Sure, out of everyone in the group, he’s most equipped at living this kind of life. Knows how to hunt, can stomach raw fucking meat, isn’t scared of anything, or so he says. What reminds him of home? What thoughts comfort him?

Surely, whatever those thoughts are, they’re not as dumb as store bought cookie dough.

But what Daryl said stuck with you. Not stupid. You fall asleep, albeit with one eye open, feeling a little less cold.

Because for a moment, Daryl’s understanding?

It made the world feel a little less broken.

────

“Gross,” you mutter, blood slashing on your face. You just shot a walker in the head, and your ears are ringing from the loud noise of the gun. You’ll never get used to firing that thing. How loud it is, the way your hand shakes even minutes after you pull the trigger.

Daryl comes from behind you, and he lets out a laugh. It’s low, short - if you weren’t trained to hear the noise, you’d miss it. Because really - it’s like you’ve literally trained yourself to look for little cues that Daryl is having a good time. Or, since you doubt anyone these days is having a good time, at least that he’s alright. That he’s not annoyed at you for hanging around him or talking to him or irritated at your presence in general.

“Blood on your face grosses you out, but you’ll pick through walker guts for a bottle of nail polish,” he shakes his head, but it's not like he’s judging. In fact, Daryl actually seems a little…fond? He’s teasing you, and normally the reputation you have in this group as a girl that’s afraid to get her hands dirty, too girly to do anything for yourself - it stings.

But not when it comes from Daryl. You can tell he’s teasing, and you roll your eyes playfully.

“Didn’t dig in walker guts for that nail polish,” you remind him, even as he walks past you to lead the way. You glance at his back, the angel wings on his leather vest, and will yourself to stop the heat rushing to your face and the arousal pooling in your belly at how fucking strong he is. Big arms, muscles that look like he should be on the cover of a body building magazine instead of in these creepy woods with a crossbow. You gulp. “There was a little blood in the nail polish section when we did a run the other day. I cleaned it off the bottle I wanted. No biggie.”

Daryl scoffs, and you smile. “Yer crazy, girl,” he replies, and at that you look down at your nails. Baby pink, the same color you always used to choose when you’d get your nails done back at home. You could shiver with pleasure, just from thinking about the feeling of warm water on your hands, someone paying special attention to your cuticles - lotion, that you don't have to share with every other woman at the camp. The polish you’re wearing, painted just two days ago, is chipped and stained red with walker blood, but it’s better than nothing.

Makes you feel a little more human. A little more like a woman. A little more like yourself.

Now, if only you could find some hairspray and a razor.

You’ve been joining Daryl whenever he lets you - or, more truthfully, whenever Rick tells Daryl it’s okay for you to join him. Rick still doesn’t believe that you know what you’re doing, thinks of you as a liability, but you’re determined to prove yourself. You got to go on a run the other day, and today, Daryl went to check out the perimeter of the grassy hill the group is currently camping in, and you volunteered to go with him.

“You sure?” Rick had asked when the plan was originally made, looking at Daryl with squinted eyes. He pretended like you didn’t exist, even as you were standing right next to him. Daryl nodded. “S’okay with me. I’ll look out for her. Bring yer gun,” he told you, and you nodded, skipping after him down the trail.

Around Daryl, and maybe this is why you like him so much - it’s easy to feel like a woman. Easy to feel safe, too. Daryl just knows what he’s doing, and he’s so strong, big, can handle so much. Being around him feels good, but you know it’s all just a farce.

You’re not safe and neither is Daryl, a fact that becomes even clearer when you almost trip on a dead body by a stream you’re both passing on the way back to camp, alerting a walker that was only a few yards away. Daryl was able to kill him with an arrow, but it was a close call.

One minute, laughing and talking. The next, like you’re begging death to open the door after ringing his doorbell a few too many times.

You walk back to camp in silence, walker blood splattered on the both of you. When you get back, it’s nearly dark, and you help a few of the other women finish some laundry and keep an eye on a few restless kids. Life sucks in this world as an adult - but you can’t imagine living like this as a kid. Although, you think, watching them throw dirt at each other and believe the food their mothers are giving them really tastes just like chicken nuggets, maybe being so clueless is for the best.

After dinner, on your way to your tent, you see Rick and Daryl talking. You try to listen in, pretending that you’re just getting your sleeping bag ready for bed, but you don’t hear anything of importance. Meaning, you don’t hear either of them bring up your name. You feel like a highschooler, desperate for friends, eager to belong - hoping your crush notices you.

Because that’s what this is with Daryl, isn’t it? You’ve got a crush on him. Butterflies, wanting his attention, looking for excuses to be around him. It’s pathetic but a little beautiful, you admit - that even in a situation like this, where death surrounds every person, no matter who they are - there’s room in the human spirit for a little love.

A crush, you think again, fixing your nails in your tent. You can almost convince yourself that life isn’t so horrible, just for a minute, until the woman you share your tent with comes in for bed and complains that the smell of the polish is too strong and makes it hard for her to sleep.

Okay, bitch, you say in your head. It’s not like the walker guts and dead bodies beyond our tent smell any better. You bite your tongue and walk out of the tent, making your way to the empty clearing a little ways away from the tents. It’s so quiet, there’s no way you wouldn’t hear a walker if one was to come around you, but you have a knife on you just in case. No gun, since the noise would just draw more to you.

You think these things through. You just wish Rick, and the rest of the group, would see that too.

It’s dark, except for the moon and the stars shining pretty above you. Maybe the little fact you read online years ago about the environment is true - people are the cause of everything bad and all the pollution. A little more than half a year into the apocalypse, and there’s no smog clogging up the skies. It’s a gorgeous night.

You sit with your hands flat on the ground, waiting for your nails to dry. You get a good few minutes of silence, until the noise of footsteps has you nearly jumping out of your boots, reaching for your knife, only to realize that it’s not a walker, but Daryl coming to plop down next to you.

“Gosh, Daryl. You scared me,” you complain, letting out a whine. He doesn’t say anything, just sits next to you on the ground, although he moves so his back is facing your back. Makes sense, so you're both safe from all angles. Daryl always thinks about little things like that.

He’s quiet for long enough that you start to think of something to fill the silence. “Damnit,” you mutter, letting out a huff. “I ruined my nails.”

“Oh, quit it,” Daryl replies. “Whatcha doin’ out here all by yerself? You got a death wish, girl?” You’re mortified that Daryl is scolding you like you’re a kid, like you’re an idiot, and coming from him it just hurts even more.

You’ve always had an even temper, but in this new world, you lose it more often than you used to. It’s probably just the way life is now - the stress, the hunger, the cold and the dirt and the sweat and the lack of anything that used to bring anyone joy. It makes everyone crazy.

“Yeah, well - ‘m sure your buddy Rick hopes a walker gets to me. Know he was talking shit about me earlier.” You sniffle, but you’re not crying yet - it just really hurts, that you feel like such dead weight at this camp. You’ve never really been insecure, but you feel like nobody likes you. Nobody understands you. And yeah, surviving is more important than being miss popular with a group of people in the apocalypse, but everyone’s always talking about this group being family. Does that include you? It doesn’t feel like it these days.

Daryl is silent, as you expected. Normally you don’t mind the company, even if it’s a mute one, but tonight you’re feeling on edge. Until Daryl speaks. “Rick ain’t my friend. No one wants you to die, kid. Yer too much,” he mutters, and then you stand up, aggravated and not wanting to take it out on him.

You begin to walk away when Daryl reaches out and grabs your ankle to stop you. “Daryl,” you warn, as if you’d do anything to retaliate even if he pulled you on the ground with him. But you keep up the hard ass attitude - it feels good, you admit, being difficult for once. You don’t get to be anything but accommodating at camp.

“Rick and I were sayin’ how valuable you are to the group. How much you’ve grown,” he explains, and you roll your eyes, make a show of stomping away, knowing, loving that Daryl is right on your heels. Because there’s no reason for him to stay in that clearing - he’s not on watch tonight. He was only hanging around there for you.

Despite acting like Rick’s comment meant nothing to you, on the inside, as you walk to your tent, you fight a smile. So Rick has noticed your effort. That’s all you wanted, except -

You realize that maybe approval you wanted so badly never needed to come from Rick -

Because the approval from Daryl feels pretty damn good.

────

Daryl fixes you with a look that makes you burst out laughing.

You’ve only been at this spot in the woods for a few weeks, but so far, quality of life among the camp has improved. Almost a year in this new world, and this is the first time anyone’s ever slept with both eyes closed since before people turned into the living dead. There’s a river nearby perfect for fishing, and tonight at the campfire, you had your first taste of - what did Daryl call it?

Sushi.

“Just so you know,” you say, crossing a leg over the other on the little log you’re sitting on. The sun is going down, and the sky is a pretty shade of pink and even a little purple. You wonder if nature has always been this beautiful - you’d always just been too preoccupied to see it. You put a tiny piece of the fish Daryl caught and cooked into your mouth, surprised at the taste. You don’t have to fake your reaction. It’s not bad at all - but you wouldn’t necessarily say it’s good. Tastes better than another can of old spaghetti rings though, that’s for sure.

Still, you can’t help teasing. You finish your original statement. “Sushi tastes much better than this.”

Daryl smiles, just slightly. And not the fake kind of smile he does when he’s just trying to be polite. Like when an elderly man from the group tells a joke no one else laughs at, or when the strap of your last bra broke and you started crying until Rick promised, cheeks red, that he’d look for your size on the next run.

Right now, it seems like Daryl’s actually having a good time.

The thought makes you smile.

“Thank you,” you tell Daryl, and you swear you see him blush. “It's better than sushi, really.”

“Yeah,” Daryl says, nodding. He’s grown uncomfortable with the compliments already. “It’s the best yer gonna get.” Others from the group join you around the campfire, and then Daryl takes off, but not before giving you one last lingering gaze. He has small eyes, you’ve noticed - a little hooded, but so beautiful. He’s incredibly handsome, in a unique way. A pretty, no, beautiful man. His stare burns you, warms you up even with the chill in the air.

It’s only later, when the rest of the group clears off and you and Daryl are alone again, that he speaks. He’s sharpening a knife, leaning on the side of a camper van for support, and you’re at a makeshift sink (bucket) washing the dishes. It was your least favorite chore before this new world, and it’s still your least favorite after.

But, if you let your mind go there - something about the dynamic between Daryl cooking dinner and you cleaning the dishes up has you -

No. You’ve got to stop acting so juvenile.

On one hand, this little crush you have on Daryl is something positive that gets you through the day. Waiting to talk to him, excited to be around him - it shines light on a dark, terrible reality. On the other hand, getting attached to anyone at this camp is a bad idea. You just lost someone else a few days ago.

The reality, that death really is lurking everywhere - that something could happen to you, or Daryl…it makes your palms sweat and your breathing become erratic. The reality of this new world is just so scary and cruel.

You’re done with the dishes and you dry your hands on an old flannel that the camp uses as a dish towel. You feel Daryl watching you, and you like it.

“What are you looking at?” You tease, pushing some hair away from your face. “There a walker behind me or something?

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t look at no walker like that,” he grumbles, but then he must realize what he said - what it really means. You’re so excited you’re almost vibrating, wondering, realizing now - that maybe this crush isn’t one sided. But you still try to play it cool, even as Daryl shakes his head, says, “Wasn’t lookin’ at nuthin.’”

You don’t know what to say to that. You begin to walk away, excited to spend the rest of the night in your tent going over this interaction until you fall asleep, but what Daryl says next stops you in your tracks. You freeze.

“Gotta get you a bra on the nex’ run,” he says, and your knees feel weak. “Those things almos’ poked me in the eye. You cold or sumthin’?’”

You fast walk to your tent, nearly crying from embarrassment - but your entire body is dizzy with excitement. It’s adrenaline, but not the same kind you get when you’re running or kill a walker and make it out alive - a different kind, one you haven’t felt since maybe even before the walkers. It lights you up inside, makes it hard to breathe - and the funniest part?

Daryl has no idea your nipples are hard because you’re aroused - all from watching him sharpen a knife. What can you say? A man who can handle a weapon like that can surely handle…other things.

────

The fire crackles as you sit back, the warmth from the flames doing little to ease the chill in your bones. It’s freezing outside, but you’re under a warm blanket, and if you delude yourself enough you can almost convince yourself that this is just a toasty evening with friends and not a risky fire that could very well lead walkers directly to the camp.

But there’s nothing the group can do - it’s simply too cold to go without a fire tonight. Even Daryl, king of having his arms always showing, is in a jacket tonight. Which sucks, because you really love looking at his arms…but this is survival.

There’s hushed conversation while Rick tells a story, a few pairs to the side chattering, and you feel left out until you notice that Daryl isn’t talking to anyone either. He’s just looking at the ground, then the fire, gaze flickering to you every few minutes.

And you only notice that because your eyes can’t stay off of him. You can’t help it - it’s like you’re always looking for him. There’s something about that man, as dumb as it sounds, that makes him feel like your own security blanket. Even seeing him from across the camp, just a glimpse, can settle your nerves like nothing else.

Suddenly, a voice from next to you tries to get your attention. It’s Derek, a decent looking guy about your age - but he’s pretty useless, as far as skills go. He accompanies the rest of the men for runs into town, can kill a walker if necessary, but he’s selfish and all about himself. Won’t even take watch at night, says it interferes with his sleep. You can’t stand him.

You try to avoid his gaze and pretend to be busy, picking at your cuticles and hoping he leaves you alone, but no such luck.

“Look at you, princess,” he teases, and you cringe so hard you wonder if it’s visible. It’s embarrassing, being referred to like that - so what, that you like the color pink and happen to be attractive? You’re not hurting anyone. The clothes you’re wearing, the pink clips you have to hold your hair back, the floral printed pillow case - those were all things you had before the world went to shit.

You didn’t know the apocalypse had a dress code.

You’re sick of being teased. Of being reduced to this overly feminine character - as if you don’t keep watch just as much as the men. As if you don’t kill walkers when they get close to the camp, while the other women hide. As if you don’t cook, and clean, and -

Derek is still talking.

You sneak a glance across the campfire at Daryl, who holds your gaze for a minute before dropping it. You look back down too, play with your fingers on your lap. You’d go to your tent right now if you weren’t scared about the safety of falling asleep with no one actively on watch.

“So, what’d you all do before this?” Derek asks, leaning forward. He’s asking the group, but he’s looking at you, which means - you’re supposed to go first?

You wonder if this has anything to do with what you told Cindy, someone you used to share a tent with before she found room in another one. There’s not much to do these days when you’re not cooking or cleaning or hunting or moving - lots of time to sit and talk. The apocalypse is so much more boring than you ever anticipated. You shared a lot about your past with her, but surely she wouldn’t gossip about you to the others in the camp?

You thought girl code was still a thing, even in these trying times.

Everyone is silent, waiting for your answer. Even Daryl and Rick seem interested, which makes you feel even worse. You wanted to fit in, not be the center of attention.

You shift uncomfortably, before clearing your throat. You can feel Cindy’s eyes on you, sitting just a few people down. “Nothing special. Just,” you pause and shrug, unsure of what to say. “Whatever I had to. To survive.”

Back then, surviving was all about money, and ever since your parents died when you were a teenager, money is the one thing you never had enough of. One thing you did have though, is your beauty. So you used it, to get the things you needed, and sometimes a little more - but it all boiled down to one thing, just like it does now - to survive.

That’s all life is about, really? Take away the frills, the fun - people just want to stay alive, no matter how rough things get.

So - you had a boyfriend to pay your rent. A man that loved to take you shopping. A lonely guy who paid off your car. You’ve never lived in luxury, but you always made it. Always got by. Had the things you needed and a little bit more. Always -

“Yeah, well, we all knew you were a whore.”

The words leave Derek’s mouth and you’re frozen. Speechless - and that never happens to you. You’re so shocked at what he said that your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and it’s only then that you realize the bottle of hard liquor on his lap.

You glare at Cindy, who quickly gets up and runs to her tent, more scared of you than walkers apparently - good, you think, because she’s such a bitch for talking about you behind your back. You try to be cool about it, to laugh it off like Derek is so wrong it doesn’t even deserve a reaction, but you’re so embarrassed you feel your chest aching.

Has everyone known about your history the entire time you’ve been at camp? You shared those stories with Cindy in the beginning, one of the first nights you arrived, desperate for some comfort. Is that why everyone treats you so differently from the rest? Is that why you’re the black sheep of a fucking camp formed during the apocalypse?

Does Daryl know?

You’re ready to defend yourself, but you don’t get to. Because Daryl is around the fire so fast you don’t even have time to blink, grabbing Derek by the collar of his shirt and pounding his fists into his face.

The sound of knuckles against bone is excruciating, makes you want to hurl - but you don’t tell him to stop. You’re frozen, and anyway, Derek deserves it, doesn’t he?

It’s Rick, and a few other men that pull Daryl off of Derek, who’s sporting an eye so swollen it won’t shut and a busted lip, a cheek that’ll be purple for the next few weeks for sure. “Whore,” he spits, still able to talk, even as someone drags him away. “Man, shut up already,” one of the guys says to him, but nobody eases the sting of what he says.

Daryl wipes sweat from his brow while Rick walks off to talk to Derek, but he can’t get a word in with the shit the other man is spewing. “Fucking whore,” he keeps grumbling. “There’s no money to milk from men anymore, is there? Bet you put out for that fish Dixon caught for you. Did you do the same for that new bra? Or that water bottle Rick brought back for you? Almost died you know, getting that shit for you, maybe you can thank me with,” Rick kicks him in the ribs before he can finish and tells him to shut up in that leader voice of his.

You run off, now that the rest of the group has scattered, but you hear Daryl yell out, “Yeah, man, you should’ve died,” with a string of curse words. “All you fuckin’ people looking’ at her. Yer all whores in your own way. Useless too,” he continues, but you don’t hear it because you get into your tent and zip it up.

Great. All this drama, and now nobody is ever going to fucking like you now. You’ll be the black sheep forever, won’t you? It’s a harsh wake up call, and you’re thankful you’re alone. Your tentmate must’ve taken her daughter out to be with the other kids, away from the rowdiness at the fucking campfire. You sniffle, and climb into your sleeping bag.

A minute later, before you’ve even had time to process what’s happening, Daryl enters the tent. He’s so big, it’s hard for him to fit, but he manages - cursing and crouching in a way that would make you laugh if this wasn’t such a depressing situation.

He sits next to your sleeping bag. Knees bent, arms around his legs. He just sort of watches you. You look anywhere but his face, but you notice his knuckles are bloody red and torn, all because of you.

“Didn’t have to defend me,’ you say, instead of thank you. “I wasn’t a whore, so,” but Daryl cuts you off.

“Don’t matter what you were. He shouldn’t talk to you like that. Little prick deserves his ass kicked anyway. Can’t even shoot straight,” it’s like this moment is as uncomfortable for him as it is for you. You share a look, but you look away first, afraid of the intensity. You’ve never had someone stand up for you before - not like this. What are you supposed to say? What are you supposed to do?

You say nothing at all. A few more minutes go by, with your vision blurry as you stare at Daryl’s knuckles and he stares at the hole that shows the grassy ground in the bottom of your tent. Finally, he sighs, annoyed, and even though you’re not talking you’re still worried he’s going to leave. He’s your teddy bear after all, right? Your security blanket. Maybe you’re selfish - but you don't want him to go.

And he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl adjusts his position so he can reach into his pocket and pull something out. It’s bright pink, satin looking - you wonder if he’s going to hand you a pair of racy panties just to seal the deal that he thinks you’re a slut. A whore.

But is he wrong? The look of the muscles in his arm, at his sheer size - at the smell of him, so masculine and woodsy in this little tent it almost makes you dizzy with want.

After what just happened, how can you be thinking about sex? Maybe you are a slut. A whore. You’ve done things for money before, but -

Daryl hands the piece of pink satin to you. “S’posed to be a ribbon,” he says, shrugging. He’s embarrassed you realize, and it’s cute. “Found it on a toy, er, teddy bear, thought you might like it. If you don’t, I,” but you cut him off, scoot closer to him as you tie it around your wrist.

“Thank you, Daryl,” you say softly, sweetly - and it feels so natural to lean in and press your lips against his cheek. His body is warm, and when you grip his bicep every cell in your body is on fire with desire. He must’ve taken his jacket off after the fight. If it could even be called that, with the way Daryl jumped Derek. Fights are usually a two way street.

Your heart swells, at the fact that he protected you. Thought about you on a run. Saw something and thought of you. Men have bought you things before, of course - but never something personal like this. Never something you didn’t have to ask for beforehand, for nothing in return.

Daryl, he - he gives you feelings so fuzzy and pure in your chest that you almost forget you’re sleeping just a few feet away from a forest of dead bodies.

He doesn’t wipe his cheek when you pull away after the kiss, which is a step in the right direction. You’ve seen Daryl lose his shit over the intimacy of a simple thank you hug with someone else from camp before.

You feel special.

“Was nothin,’” he says, before pausing. He looks at you, then away again, wringing his hands before continuing. “Don’t feel any typa way about doin’ what you had to do to survive, ya hear me? I know what it’s like to do what you hav’to to live, ya know? That fucker. He doesn't have a clue about makin’ it on your own. How tough it can be. Don’ listen to the shit he’s got to say. Don’t listen to none of these people,” he won’t look at you, but you look at him, the side profile of his face so handsome you want to reach out and touch him. But you refrain.

Instead, you squeeze his arm, bicep tan and bulging. You lick your bottom lip. “Daryl,” you interrupt him and he looks at you, gaze on your eyes, then your lips, then to the pretty ribbon tied around your wrist. He visibly swallows, before looking back at your eyes. His eyes are blue, pretty. Too pretty for a man as rugged as him, but what’s the saying?

A person who is good on the inside - their beauty shines through. You think that’s true about Daryl. At this moment, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man as beautiful as him. You breathe him in, going crazy over his pheromones - his smell. You can feel your body getting aroused at his closeness, and he’s not even doing anything sexual.

“Next time,” you say, teasing tone in your voice, “Can you bring the whole bear?”

────

“Look at us,” you say, trying not to skip beside Daryl. A mood this good feels eerie in this new world, but you can’t help the way you feel.

Daryl asked you to join him for a walk, and ever since that night when he gave you the ribbon in your tent - you’ve been closer than ever. You wear the ribbon around your wrist every single day, except for right now, when you’re wearing it to hold some of your hair back.

You’re not sure what’s going on with you and Daryl, but there’s a freedom about it that fills you with joy. Helps you exhale easier in this crazy, cruel world - because he’s safe, and you like being around him, and he obviously likes you too, right? Or he wouldn’t ask you to go for a walk every single day, wouldn’t pay special attention to you during meals, making sure you’re eating enough -

And he really wouldn’t have kissed you against a tree during his watch last week if he had any bad feelings towards you.

Things at the camp are complicated, because that stunt Derek pulled separated the group. There’s people that hate you, because they’re really mad at Daryl - but nobody can be actually mad at Daryl, since he does so much for the entire group. Catches animals for food, is one of the strongest men besides Rick. You’re not exactly his girl, not even close, but you know that the only reason you haven’t been used as walker bait is because of Daryl’s status at the camp.

When he kissed you, just a few weeks after that night in the tent - it was so much softer than you imagined. Because, yeah - you imagined what it would be like to kiss Daryl Dixon. Ever since you met him, really. He’s so tough, so crass, such a force. It’s always been an opinion of yours, that the toughest people really just need some softness. You wonder now, when he smiles shyly at you as you walk past a stream, if you’re that softness for him these days.

“Look at us, what, girlie?” He asks, and you stifle a giggle, trying to remain serious for the bit of the joke. You brush your hand against his as you walk, wondering when he’ll grab it. Wondering when, if, he’ll ever claim you. But you’re trying not to rush things. It’s easy to get worried about time, when every single day is life and death - but there's something kind of beautiful about just going with the flow of what feels good.

Living in the present, which is literally all you have now. All anyone has. And right now, your goal in the present, is to make Daryl laugh.

“You’ve got your bow,” you say, gesturing to his weapon, “And I’ve got mine.” You flip your hair, showing off the pink, satin ribbon holding your hair away from your face. Daryl chuckles and shakes his head, but it only lasts for a second.

Your face heats, pleased with yourself for making him laugh, and then your breath hitches when he grabs hold of your hand.

“Yer sumthin’ else, girl,” he says fondly, and you walk into an area dense with trees before he nudges you against the trunk of one.

You don’t know what life was like for Daryl before walkers took over the population. You’re not sure if he had a lot, or a little, experience with women before this all happened. In fact, you don’t know a lot about Daryl at all. He’s closed off, he’s a little mean sometimes, too tough for his own good -

But god, the way he kisses.

Hesitant, like he’s scared to take something he didn’t earn. You want to tell him that every single part of you, he has earned. You’ve known him for more time than your longest relationship. You’ve seen each other filthy, desperate, depraved. Covered in blood, covered in guts - starving, dirty, depressed. For a man that hardly talks, Daryl somehow knows you better than any man, maybe even any other person, ever has.

He stood up for you. He tries to take care of you. He’s a good friend, he’s -

When he slips a hand to your hip and drops his crossbow on the ground, squeezes at your skin in a way that’s so possessive it makes your breath hitch, you literally let out a cry. Against your lips, Daryl murmurs, “Quiet, ‘less you wanna have a threesum with a walker.” His tongue tastes like cigarettes, a little bit like the apple juice one of the kids at the camp wanted him to try, because he’s a good sport, even if his resting bitch face might suggest otherwise.

There’s something about him ordering you around that does it for you. You let him take charge of the kiss, but you grab his roaming hand and move it to your breast. He squeezes, but in your new bra, you don’t feel the friction you’re so desperately craving from him rubbing over your nipples. You want more, and you whine, trying not to be greedy but it’s just so damn hard.

Against the tree, Daryl slips a leg between yours, and you shamelessly bend down to try to rub your aching core against it. “Daryl,” you whine, and he laughs, pulling away to look at you, his hair that’s getting longer plastered against his forehead with sweat. Everything about him is overwhelming. His smell, intense, his lips, delicious, his strength and size, so fucking hot you just want to curl up in the pocket of his shirt and stay safe forever.

Because you don’t have a doubt in your mind - Daryl would keep you safe. You wonder, why you wasted your time with finance guys and entrepreneurs and men who’d never gotten their hands dirty, back when life was normal. Daryl, with calloused fingertips and his thick accent, a country boy through and through - he pleases you, makes you happier than anyone you’ve ever met before.

Yeah, even in the apocalypse, you can find the romance. You kiss Daryl deeper.

He moves his hand down from your breast to slip it into your pants, and he lets out a low noise in his throat at the feeling of your wetness already. Just from kissing him. You’re not ashamed - it’s been a long time since anyone touched your pussy like this, a long time since you even touched it yourself. There’s just no time alone, and you share a tent, and -

“Yer soakin,’” Daryl comments, and your entire body flushes with humiliation. But the good kind. You nod. “For you,” you whisper, and he leans his forehead against yours before capturing your lips in his again.

Just as you expected, Darly is good with his fingers. He positions one of your legs over his hip so he has better access to finger you, rough hands, the calloused pads of his thumb dragging over your clit, so swollen after so long without cumming. It’s not going to take long, you know, to completely fucking burst. You want it so bad, to come apart on his fingers, to show him just how good you can be. He’s knuckle deep inside of you while still also putting pressure on your clit when you let out a screech, thankful you opened your eyes in time to see the walker coming from behind Daryl.

You push him off of you until he curses and tries to pick up his crossbow, fingers still slick with your pussy, but you beat him to it. You grab the knife out of your boot, even though your body feels like jelly, and you slam it into the walker’s forehead as hard as you can. You huff and puff, because it takes a lot out of you, and when the walker is on the ground you slam your boot into its face a few too many times until the bottom of your shoe is covered with walker brains.

“He’s dead,” Daryl says behind you. “Don’ waste yer energy.” You roll your eyes, wiping sweat from your face with a bandana you had in your pocket.

“I know. That’s for him ruining my orgasm,” you say out loud, and behind you, Daryl lets out a low whistle. You’re really humiliated now, but what are the chances? A fucking walker trying to eat Daryl while you’re trying to get him to eat you? Some fucking luck.

There’s still blood splattering on your face, and you turn to Daryl, wiping it with your sleeve. “Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” you say sheepishly, unsure of how to read his bland expression. But just because a walker interrupted, doesn’t mean you don’t want to continue your little fingering session. Just in case, shame out the window, you reach for him. Daryl backs away slightly.

“Slow down,” he says, pulling away from you. “Don’ wanna fuck you in the forest,” and you understand, but also - where else can you have sex? Everyone’s always watching each other. When else can you get some time alone?

Daryl looks down at the bulge in his pants, and you reach down and grope him, like some kind of horny harlot. Maybe you are. He watches you, the color of your nails, your tiny hand - and he lets out a groan himself.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says, leaving you speechless and wet in the middle of the woods. He starts to walk away, but his head is turned to you and his eyes never leave you. You know it’s because he’s making sure you’re safe, watching over you, even with his dick chubbing up in his pants. He tugs his weapon up to rest on his shoulder.

If that’s not a man, you don’t know what is.

“Daryl,” you start to say, following him, about to beg him for something more, but he just throws an arm around your shoulders and tugs you along. You use the opportunity with his hand on your shoulder to tie the ribbon around his wrist, a small mark of your ownership. You wonder what he’ll say about that, if he’ll be mad -

He just squeezes your shoulder. “Not tryna deny you. I want you. Me and the little guy,” he looks down to his cock in his pants, obviously referring to that. “Yer just too pretty to do somethin’ like that in the woods. My tent, tonight?” You know that his tent mate is keeping watch tonight, so you’ll be alone for a good amount of time. Enough time to - you shiver just thinking about it.

You nod eagerly.

“You sure you’re not just disgusted at what I just did?” You phrase it like a joke, gently rubbing your lips on the healing cuts of his knuckles, but you’re serious. Maybe seeing a woman behave greedy, wanting, desperate - violent - maybe it was a huge turn off.

Daryl shakes his head and tugs you closer, presses his lips to the top of your head. “Nah,” he assures, looking back down to the bulge in his pants. It’s even more noticeable than before. He takes the hand he used to finger you and sucks the digits, covered in your slick, into his mouth. The muscles in your cunt clench, at the way his cheekbones look, the level of lust in his eyes aimed at you.

“That was fuckin’ sexy,” he assures, popping his fingers out of his mouth.

────

At dinner that night, which is squirrel - so you settle for half a protein bar and a bruised apple, Rick sits down beside you. You’re eating away from everyone else, because Daryl’s helping someone with something like he always is, but it’s alright because you’re in your own world, thinking about what’s to come later tonight with him.

You’re in a trance, remembering the way he scratched at your scalp fondly when he walked you to your tent and watched you bend down to get inside. “Don’t sprain yer wrist before tonight,” he joked, insinuating you’d be finishing yourself off. He went off with a wink, leaving you reeling - because since when did Daryl Dixon joke around?

You’ve been riding on a high for the rest of the night.

Rick sitting beside you takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him and swallow the bit of stale protein bar you’ve been chewing for probably ten minutes, quirking an eyebrow at him. He’s so serious, it’s annoying.

Don’t get it wrong - you like Rick. Appreciate everything he’s done, does for the camp - he’s just so intense, but he’s handsome in his own right too. Not your normal type, but then again - neither is Daryl. You just don’t understand a man like Rick, and he doesn’t get you. But he’s the best thing this group has, because he has everyone's interest at heart. Even someone like Daryl, well -

He puts himself, and you by extension now, maybe - first. It’s not a bad thing, in fact, you find both sides of the coin admirable in their own way.

“What’s up, Rick?” You finally ask. He looks down to his hands, before nodding behind you, and you turn and look at what he’s referring to - it’s Daryl, looking angrily at Derek, who’s by the fire drunkenly talking shit about everything while people try to calm him down. You sigh.

“You and Daryl,” Rick says, and you’re not sure what to say to that - statement? Accusation? You just nod. “What about us?” You ask, and you really don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not sure why whatever you’re doing with Daryl is any of Rick, or anyone’s, business?

You expect a lecture. Something about needing to earn your keep, to stop distracting him, to make things right with Derek. Instead, Rick just pats you on the back, literally.

“You’re good for him,” he says, before awkwardly walking off when someone calls his name. No doubt for a crisis that could easily be solved without his help. You feel sorta bad for Rick - people are so stressed, so traumatized in this new world, that they don’t want to use their brains at all. They put all their problems, no matter how small, on Rick, and that’s gotta be hard.

You want to call out some sort of acknowledgement for all he does as he walks away, but Daryl begins walking towards you before you get the chance. You’re still looking towards Rick. “You checkin’ the boss out?” Daryl jokes, with something like possessiveness or jealousy in his tone. It burns you in the best way possible - that Daryl might worry about something like that.

What can you say? You’ve always thought a possessive man was hot.

Daryl plops down beside you. You’re sitting on a log, but he’s on the ground. Typical Daryl behavior. He wraps a hand around your ankle - and suddenly you’re very glad you got a chance to shave with the razor you stole from someone’s pile of toiletries after the last run.

“That all yer eatin?’” He asks, referring to the empty wrapper in your hand. You shake your head and show off your sorry apple, but Daryl just shakes his head and scoffs. “Tha’s not enough. You can’t be picky about,” but he stops when he sees the expression on your face.

You’ve talked to him about this before. He didn’t reply, but you know he was listening. Food - it’s the only thing you can be a little picky about. Everything else, you don't have any choice over. Where the camp goes, who you share a tent with. Food and now, this thing with Daryl - that’s all the power you have. Daryl nods, like he gets it but doesn’t like it, and then changes the subject.

“Are you cold?” You ask, and Daryl laughs. As kind as he is to you, you know that he’s uncomfortable when you, or anyone, tries to show any kind of care for him. He nods his chin towards the ratty blanket you’re using. “You gon’ share with me, girlie?” You shake your head, a grin spreading across your face.

“No,” you say, tossing the blanket, the apple, and the wrapper into a duffle bag next to the log you’re sitting on. “Just thought I could warm you up in your tent.” Daryl looks like a deer caught in headlights as he peaks over your shoulder to where the rest of the group is getting ready for bed, his tent mate grabbing a gun before heading to the area where he’ll keep watch while everyone sleeps.

Daryl nods. “Yer dirty,” he grumbles, standing up, but he runs his hands up and down his bare arms like he’s feigning being cold. “C’mon then. You gunna warm me up or what?”

────

The first time Daryl fucked you, he went slow. Took his time, opening you up with his thick fingers, even though you didn’t need the extra time. You were aching, wet - desperate for him to shove his cock inside of you, because you’d been thinking about it for too long. Too much kissing, humping, friction between the two of you - all you wanted, could imagine, was how his cock would feel against your throbbing center.

When he finally thrusted inside of you, stretched you out and began to fuck into you, he didn’t let himself go like you always imagined. Insecurely, you narrowed your eyes, even as your back arched off of his sleeping bag. “When’s the last time?” You asked, referring to the last time he had sex. Daryl just let out a shaky laugh and calmed your fears with a thrust that made your toes curl and a moan escape your lips.

“Long enough, pretty girl,” he assured, all while you huffed in brat and dug your nails into his shoulders. “Jus’ wanna enjoy it. We’ve finally got the time.” And Daryl was right, but really, when is he ever wrong?

The first time you had sex you got to enjoy going slow. But the rest of the times after that - and there’s been a lot now, it’s always a quickie. A rush, because shit hit the fan at your current camp soon after the first night together. The entire group had to move, you lost people to walkers (though not Derek, unfortunately), and now getting off with Daryl only happens in quick spurts whenever you’re alone.

In a way, the drama surrounding the camp has made the two of you closer.

When the entire group has to drive down a walker infested highway, normally you’d be in a camper van with the other women and children, but Daryl has your back.

“You’re ridin’ with me,” he says, shooting Rick a look before anyone can object. As he walks off, he purposely bumps his shoulder into Derek, who scoffs and does the same to you. Daryl doesn’t notice, but Rick does, and he tells Derek off before Daryl can do anything drastic like beat his ass again.

“Hey,” he warns, shoving Derek away from you. “Watch it,” Derek grumbles, glaring at you before hopping into the back of a truck with a few of the other men. “What?” He asks mockingly, because you’re frozen, watching him in a trance while Daryl starts up his bike.

Derek just can’t leave you alone - he picks on you every single chance he gets. “You got Rick standing up for you now too, huh?” He says, shaking his head in disgust. “You let him fuck you too?”

It’s not his words that hurt so much, but it’s the fact that he’s saying them at all. You’ve never done anything to Derek, have only been nice, yet he looks at you like a target and it hurts so bad your eyes threaten to spill tears. Thankfully, Daryl comes for you, and you get on the back of his bike with ease.

“You okay?” He asks, even though it’s hard to hear with the sound of the rumble from the motorcycle. You nod, and press your face into his back. Daryl takes off down the highway, leading the way while Rick follows behind, and you selfishly let yourself doze off against him. You trust Daryl, more than you’ve ever trusted another man - and that’s a lot of pressure.

Trusting anyone these days means you’re putting your life in their hands. It’s exhausting. When you tell the women at camp you’ll watch their kids while they go to the restroom, or go for a walk - essentially what you’re saying is you’ll protect their kids if shit was going south. Even just the thought, being responsible for someone else - it makes your chest heave.

Your arms are tight around Daryl as he drives. You’re not sure how long you’re on the road for when the motorcycle stops, but you know you’re much farther ahead then the rest of the group. In another life, you imagine Daryl happy and free - driving to a city, or another town on a brand new motorcycle. Maybe working in a shop. You feel a pang of sadness, that he’ll never get that.

He deserves so much more than this shit. You all do.

Except maybe Derek.

And Cindy. Fuck that bitch.

Daryl stops the bike and you get off, stretching your legs.

“You good, dolly?” He asks, and you wrinkle your nose at the nickname. You’re pretending not to like it, when in reality, it makes you tingle all over. You nod.

“You go fast,” you say, and he laughs, steps off of the bike and walks to an empty field off to the side of the highway. “‘S the only way to go. Stay here,” he orders, before walking off. He grumbles something about taking a piss and you stifle a laugh, pretending to salute him. You see his hand twitch, like he wants to jokingly flip you off, but he stops himself.

Something about that, that he won’t play rough with you, has your knees feeling wobbly. You feel like you can breathe, without the rest of the group breathing down your back, insulting you, accusing you of doing sexual things just to be treated like a human being. You try not to think about it, because you want to have a decent day and don’t want Derek to be the cause of tears when you’ve been through worse circumstances without crying. It’s hard though.

You walk around the motorcycle, eyes on the ground. You catch a glimpse of your shoelace, pink against the black of your boot, because you used the ribbon for added flair when you gave your shoelace to someone at the camp who needed a belt.

Daryl saw you, and promised you that night with his cock buried deep in your throat, “I’ll get you some more ribbons, pretty girl,” he assured, while you gagged and spit dribbled down your chin. “Too hard to hold your hair back when yer suckin’ me off like a pro.”

That comment should’ve stung, but you know Daryl didn’t mean it like that. In fact, it was so hot that you did your best, until he spilled down your throat and you licked the mess you made off of his cock and balls and thighs.

You’re lost in your thoughts, busy giving your pussy a heartbeat when you notice a little gold, bullet shaped thing on the ground. You’re not sure what it is, but if it is a bullet, you know having extra is always good. You reach down to grab it, only then realizing that it's a lipstick.

You pop open the lid. It’s a pretty pink color, and while it’s used - you can’t even remember the last time you wore makeup. You wipe the top layer off before dabbing some with your finger and putting it on, trying to check yourself out in the mirror of the motorcycle when Daryl comes back.

“The fuck are they?” He asks, zipping his pants up. He’s so, so, so - crass sometimes that it’s endearing. You shrug, and that’s when he notices the lipstick you’re wearing. His eyes are hooded, heavy with tiredness, and it makes him look all the more handsome. “There a makeup store aroun’ here I shud know about?” He teases, and you shake your head and hold up the lipstick tube.

“Found this. How’s it look?” Daryl just nods, looking at you with a strange expression. You’re not sure what he’s thinking, until he tugs you closer to him by the wrist and tentatively presses his lips against yours.

“Don’ care about the gloss,” he comments, and you resist the urge to explain it’s not gloss, it’s lipstick. “But I don’ call you pretty girl for no reason. Always pretty,” he says shyly, and Daryl is a perfect guy, but he never opens up. Hardly ever says how he feels, or what he thinks - but he’s being clear now. That he wants you, verbally, even though his actions in everything he do is always proving that to you.

It’s crazy, the feeling of happiness bubbling in your chest, all thanks to Daryl Dixon. On the fucking highway filled with walkers probably silent in their cars, with flat tires and blood stains and ramsacked belongings, you stand on your tip toes and nudge the toe of your boots against his, grabbing hold of his handsome face and peppering kisses all over. You leave pink lipstick marks, but he doesn’t know that yet - and it makes you giggle.

Putting your mark all over Daryl - you’ve never been possessive, but wow does it feel good. When you finally pull away, Daryl looks at you like you’re crazy. Then he takes a look down the highway to make sure nobody’s coming, before bending you over the front of his motorcycle.

“Grab the handlebars,” he orders, a hand on your back before roughly pulling your pants down your ass. It’s risky, knowing that the rest of the camp could drive up at any minute, but who really cares? They already think so low of you. They already -

Your eyes shut as Daryl shoves his half hard cock inside of you, and your walls clamp down around him, so tight you feel him growing. It happened so fast he wasn’t even fully hard, but now he is, small thrusts so the both of you can get used to the feeling. Your hands are cramping where they grip the bars of his bike, so tight, until it almost starts to tip. Daryl has an idea.

He pulls out, cock in hand with his fucking pants not even pulled all the way down, and he sits himself over his bike like normal. “Take em’ off,” he says, nodding towards your pants, and you obey, stripping them off until it takes too long because of your boots and Daryl just hauls you over to him.

You almost trip as he lifts you onto the bike, bent over the handlebars, eyes on the road, before he slips his cock into you. It’s like you’re sitting on his lap, and he reaches around you, fully supporting your body while rubbing your clit.

“Can you move?” He asks roughly, and you whine, trying to go up and down on his cock but it’s too hard at the angle. Daryl presses a kiss to your head, moves some of your hair back while he takes hold of your hips and ruts you back and forth over his dick. You know he’s strong, but feeling it first hand is something else entirely. It’s like you’re a doll with the way he easily controls your body, dick so thick it feels like he’s stretching your pussy into the perfect mold just for him.

“Don’ worry,” he assures, letting out a breath of pleasure right by your ear. “I got ya. Only time yer quiet ‘s when you got my cock in you, huh?”

He’s not wrong. You wish you could see his face, but this position, your back to his front, is pretty hot too.

It’s only a minute later, when his hand slips while you try to pull your body up to do some of the work, that he nearly pinches your clit and it’s the pain that sends you over the edge. You cum, that easily against him, and you cry out his name just as you both hear the sound of an engine in the distance. Daryl curses, throws his head back at the feel of your tight pussy squeezing him, and quite literally picks you up off his cock and puts you on your feet.

“Knees,” he says quickly, and you obey, because of course you do, even though the gravel of the road is a little painful on your knees. He grabs you by your hair, and forces your mouth onto his cock where he spills his load down your throat. You swallow it down and kitten lick the head of his cock clean after, admiring the pink lipstick marks all over his perfect dick as he quickly zips tucks his dick in his pants and zips up, but not before helping you get your pants back up too.

“If we live another day,” Daryl says, helping you straighten out your pants when the other cars pull up. He snaps the band of your panties, white cotton and floral print, against your skin while the rest of the group gets out of the cars to have a meeting over some bullshit, you’re sure. “I’ll return the favor,” he finishes.

You don’t know if he’s joking or not, but you pull up his arm and cuddle into his side as he stands up, his tongue on your mind even though you just came all over his cock. You wish you could’ve had time to ride your orgasm out, but you’ll take what you can get.

Rick nods to Daryl as he gets out of his truck. He looks between the two of you, and for the first time, maybe ever, - you see him smirk a little.

“‘S your color, man,” he says, closing the car door. Daryl is confused, and takes a look at himself in the rearview mirror of his motorcycle, notices all the kiss marks and another first happens -

Daryl Dixon blushes red.

────

“I wanna come,” you say, resisting the urge to literally stomp your foot as Rick and Daryl and a few other men head out on a run.

It’s not like you actually want to go, but you can’t bear the thought of Daryl leaving without you. You know he can take care of himself, but the thought of him not returning - it literally makes you feel sick. You tug on the sleeves of your sweater while Daryl loads a bag of guns into the back of Rick’s truck, the other men exchanging glances that you know are them hoping Rick puts you in your place.

Ever since people caught on about you and Daryl, they’ve kept their mouths shut in regards to you. Which is good. You’re still ignored, like before - but at least you’ve got a little respect. You cross your arms as Rick and Daryl walk towards you.

“It’s dangerous out there,” Rick says, as if you’re an idiot who’s head has been buried in the sand for the past year. He sighs. “Look - we need you here. This is your role,” he looks like he wants to continue, but Daryl places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a look that Rick knows means let me handle this.

But you already know what Daryl is going to say to you, and you don’t want to fucking hear it. “I want to come, Daryl,” you say, trying not to whine. “I’m good with a gun, and since Derek can’t go,” you lower your voice, but Derek must’ve been slinking around. He pops up next to you, and Daryl tenses.

“You,” Daryl warns, mood gone sour just from Derek’s presence. “Fuck off.”

Derek laughs, but he’s obviously pissed. He can’t go on anymore runs, at least not for a while - he’s too scared, after a walker almost bit him the last time.

It’s only when you tense up, that Daryl realizes the other reason you don’t want to be left alone.

You don’t want to be alone with Derek. Yes, there’s other women at the camp and a few other men, but Derek is a scary, loose cannon. He’s the last person you want to be around right now. Daryl’s jaw locks, and he looks between the two of you, at the way you’re uncomfortable. Someone in Rick’s truck blares the horn, and he turns around, stressed out, not knowing what to do.

“Fuck face,” Daryl grumbles, running a hand down his face. He’s addressing Derek with a glare. He walks closer to him, chest to chest almost, backing Derek almost onto his ass. Derek can pretend to be tough all he wants - but he’s a bitch in comparison to a man like Daryl.

“Stay away from her. Don’t even look at her. If I come back and you so much as,” but Derek smirks. “If,” he emphasizes, until Daryl literally shoves him. Rick calls his name, and Daryl backs off.

You end up dropping whatever you’re saying, hating the position you’re putting Daryl in - like you’re a kid who has to have your way. Daryl is just trying to help the group, he has responsibilities - you don’t need to make his job harder than it is, so you wave him off. “I’ll be fine, Daryl. Just - come back safe.” You kiss his cheek and then he’s off.

You go to your tent to avoid Derek when the men going on the run are gone, but as you walk away you hear him speaking to you. “What’re you doing with that white trash? You might’ve been a whore, but you’re no trailer trash. You wouldn’t be with him if this was any other world.”

You stop in your tracks. “Don’t talk about Daryl like that,” you say softly, but firmly. For all Daryl does for everyone - you can’t believe Derek has the fucking nerve to talk shit. You want to flip him off, but he walks closer to you, and you freeze. You’re more scared of this man than a fucking walker, and your stomach flips with anxiety at his nearness.

“I worked in finance,” he says, like it matters. You actually have to stifle a laugh, confused at why his past matters - he’s so worthless that this is all he has to brag about? He thinks you care? Is he trying to relate to you, by putting Daryl down? He’s an idiot.

You smile sweetly, as if that’s anything to brag about. All the finance guys you knew in the city before all of this - they were horrible people. Of course that’s what Derek used to do.

“Trust me, Derek,” you say, hoping it stings. “I know.”

You walk away again, but just as you do, he grabs you by the arm. You try to pull your arm out of his grasp, but he won’t let you go. He tugs you closer to him, and you wish anyone cared about you enough to help you.

“Let go of me,” you spit, but Derek just shakes his head.

“You’re such a stupid bitch, you know that? Acting too good for any of us, treating all of us like shit. But you put out for fucking Dixon - let all of us hear you letting him fuck you in his tent and the woods. We saw you on your knees that day on the highway. I mean, it’s not a secret you’re a slut, but it’s another thing to see it. And now Rick is defending you? That why you were talking to him the other day for dinner? Offering yourself up for more rations or something? You’re sick,” Derek rants and raves, bruising your arm with his grip.

“Let me go,” you say, trying not to show how scared you are. “Or I’ll fucking scream.”

Derek actually laughs, shaking his head. You’re disturbed to know that he’s been watching you? Following you and Daryl? Because the both of you know - you only ever fooled around with Daryl when nobody could listen and see unless they were trying to. You wouldn’t do that, and neither would Daryl.

“If I’m such a stupid slut, that must make you pretty bad, huh? That I won’t even put out for you,” you hate that you even say those words, like you’d ever consider having sex with this man, but you want to hurt him. To get him to see that he's wrong about you - you want him to leave you alone.

“You fucking bitch,” Derek says, pushing you to the ground.

You let out a cry. You should’ve never told Daryl and Rick you’d be okay, you should’ve -

Suddenly Derek is off of you. You’re frozen for a second, before you hear screaming and someone calling out your name.

You’re in shock as someone helps you up. You know it’s Rick, because you notice his watch. “Damnit,” he curses, and you register the sound of Daryl’s voice. You look around for him, and when you find him, you see Derek on the ground, an arrow in his head.

He’s dead - for now. That fast. Until he turns into a walker.

Daryl walks to you, pulls you into his arms. “What happened?” He asks, and you’re worried he’s going to blame you, because you provoked him, and you stupidly left your weapons in your tent. You’re worried he’s going to think differently of you, that Rick will be mad that Derek is dead, and all these worries start swirling in your head until you can’t be strong anymore. You start crying so loud that you know you’ll be responsible for any walkers coming into camp tonight.

Rick starts to talk, but Daryl, for the first time ever, shuts him down harshly. “No, man. I ain’t sorry. He had it coming,” he says sharply, and Rick just swallows, holds his hands up like he agrees.

“Jus’ was gonna say to finish the job,” and you know he means, kill the fucker before he turns.

But you don't want Daryl to do it.

No, this is a job you can do.

Wordlessly, you pull yourself out of Daryl’s arms and walk towards Derek’s corpse. Everyone at the camp has gathered around now, too little too fucking late, but Rick tries to stop you from getting closer. You smack his hand away, and hold your palm out. It takes a minute, until Daryl finally orders Rick to give you what you want.

Rick hesitantly places a gun in your hand - and you shoot Derek in the head.

────

You’ve never killed someone who hasn’t turned yet. Derek was the first.

What scares you the most, is how little you care.

After what happened, you told Daryl everything that Derek said. You learned that night, from both Rick and Daryl, that the reason Derek was so horrible is because he wanted you - and how scary is that? What if he hurt you in another way once he had you on the ground? You’re lucky Rick forgot his gun and backpack on the run, that they had to turn around and come back to camp - the reason they got to you in time.

Rick assured you that you did the right thing. Which felt good, coming from the moral compass of the group. Everyone else was kind too, apologetic - you guess Derek scared more people into submission than you thought.

But Daryl was just pissed. More angry than you’d ever seen him. Throwing shit, breaking stuff - burning Derek the minute he dragged him a far enough distance from camp. Derek never even got a chance to turn.

Daryl threatened to leave the group with just you. It seemed like a good idea at first, until the reality that two people can’t survive on their own. No matter how resourceful, strong, and brave Daryl is.

But that meant a lot, that Daryl was trying - but the important thing is to survive.

The last few weeks, you’ve kept your head down. You clean, you help cook, you even take a few bites of whatever Daryl cooks because he pretty much forces you to - and because, secretly, you like how proud of you he looks when you try something new.

You just wish the world was different. But Daryl’s been amazing.

Rick’s been kind too. Everyone has, and maybe -

The sound of the zipper on your tent takes you out of your thoughts. You’re braiding your hair since you just washed it, but it’s proving to be a difficult task. You’re thankful for the distraction.

It’s Daryl.

“I already ate,” you tell him, worried that he’s bringing you some rodent that’s badly cooked. But you’re trying to be nice - he’s the only good thing in your world these days, so you soften your words. “Come inside and cuddle.”

Daryl squeezes inside the tent, and he leans on his side by your sleeping bag, just watching you. His head balanced on his hand, propped up on his elbow.

“Have somethin’ for you,” he says, not waiting for you to reply. In his hand is something wrapped in a tissue and you wonder what it is. He places it on your lap, and you look at him, excited but also a little upset.

“I told you to stop risking your life to get me things,” you scold, because everytime Daryl goes on a run, he finds things for you. Ribbons, hair clips, a pink toothbrush the other day. Lip gloss and lipstick (he knows the difference now), a pair of socks with little bows on them that are a size too big but still your favorite. He’s always saying how cute you are, how he thinks about you whenever he sees something pink.

It’s the best compliment ever.

You look to the other end of your sleeping bag, where a teddy bear Daryl found for you on a run a few weeks ago faces you both. It’s missing an eye, has the ribbon, the first gift he ever gave to you tied around its neck, and you love it so much that you sleep with it every night.

It’s definitely seen better days, and you don’t really know where he found it, but it’s so special to you - partly because Daryl gave it to you, and partly because it’s a little part of him that’s always with you. Part teddy bear, part security blanket - just like him.

It’s also a little scraggly. Sort of rough, dirty - but cuddly just the same. Kind of like Daryl. You move it a little closer.

Daryl groans in frustration and you almost roll your eyes at the dramatics. “Hush, lady, y’know I can take care of myself. ‘S nothing,” he nods to the thing on your lap, and you sigh and open the tissue.

It’s a cookie.

Your brows furrow, and you look at Daryl, all confused. “What,” you start, and he shrugs, sitting up. He rubs a hand down his face.

“Remembered what you said, about the cookies,” he’s sheepish, as if this isn’t the sweetest thing in the world. You gulp, trying not to cry at how touched you are, but you can’t help it. Tears brim at your waterline, and you wipe your eyes.

“Oh,” he scolds, letting out a huff. “Don’ cry. I just remembered what you said, is all. It’s probably not good anymore, but you’re my girl, and I want,” you smile even as tears run down your face.

“Your girl,” you hold that close to your heart, and Daryl nods, avoiding eye contact. You don’t care. You throw yourself into his arms.

His hug is warm, strong, and you feel the stress leave your body as he kisses your temple. He was listening, all those times you were talking.

Daryl Dixon, you think, the man that you are.

Your silence must be unexpected. He pulls away, watches your thumb brush over the most likely stale cookie he probably found on a run. You’re not really gonna eat it - but it’s the thought that counts.

“You talked about what ya miss, from before. But when I look back,” pretty blue eyes look at you. He cups your chin, presses his lips against yours.

You make a note to ask for chapstick for the both of you on the next run.

“Don’ cry, c’mon. You’re makin me soft,” he complains, even as he holds you closer. You want tell him that you can’t make him something he already is, but what he says next throws the sass right out of you. “When I look back, before I knew you,” he finishes shyly, “I just miss you, ya know?”

Daryl says that he’s not romantic, but he’s the most romantic man you've ever met. He’s a good person. He’s kind, and thoughtful, and even though he’s vague sometimes, too quiet for his own good - you know what he means.

You can’t believe there was a time you didn’t know - a time you didn’t love - this man. He’s everything to you.

And maybe, yeah - this world is hell. There’s death and decay and too much sadness to catch a break, but there’s one good thing in all of it. One thing so important to the both of you, that gives a little bit of meaning to this shitty, shitty world.

You found each other. You have each other.

You sniffle and nod, holding the cookie close, but Daryl even closer.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek softly. You feel him relax at your touch. “I’ve always missed you too, Daryl.”

#🥺😭this was so good oh my god #Daryl Dixon x reader

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leftshoeuntied · 1 month ago

Text

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝜗𝜚┊❝𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐚❞

!!!: 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭/𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧!

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬ᯓ𝜗𝜚 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ᯓ𝜗𝜚

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲, 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠). 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬. 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧��𝐭𝐞. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒.𝟎𝟕𝐤

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐲𝐚𝐰𝐧, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭, 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬.

𝐀𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝, 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐝𝐝, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦, 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐭, 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬. 𝐁𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐫. 𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐨. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐧𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐝𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐡𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐮𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤’𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐱-𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐭. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭-𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝.

“𝐇𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐘/𝐍,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬.

“𝐇𝐞𝐲, 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲, 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐱-𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐢𝐦��𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐦. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥.

“𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲?” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤, 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐲. 𝐈𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭.

“𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐝, 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐝𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐩𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝.

"𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲," 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞, "𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠… 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭." 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲. "𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐲𝐚 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰?" 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲, 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬, "𝐒𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧."

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. "𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭," 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬. "𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐱."

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐩𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝. "𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤," 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐩𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫. 𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞.

𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐩𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬. "𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐱," 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐩𝐭, 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭. "𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬," 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞, 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞.

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐛 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤’𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐩𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫.

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫.

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲, 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐭-𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦. "𝐇𝐞𝐲," 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧.

"𝐇𝐞𝐲," 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐳𝐲, 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝-𝐢𝐧, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚. 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞.

𝐀𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐨𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞.

"𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐛 𝐮𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐬," 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞.

“𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞?” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤, 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫.

“𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝,” 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨. 𝐈𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.

"𝐖𝐡𝐲?" 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦.

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐲, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐢𝐩.

"𝐒𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝," 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝. "𝐖𝐨𝐰," 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐩.

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞�� 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲. “𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠?” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚 𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫.

“𝐔𝐡…” 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝.

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞. “𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. “𝐈 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭… 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧, 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞… 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬.”

"𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧? 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞, 𝐲'𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰?" 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲.

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡, 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭. “𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐈 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭. 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐈'𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐁𝐮𝐭… 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐲, 𝐲'𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 '𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬.”

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐯𝐮𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐈𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐬, 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧. 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞’𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲.

“𝐒𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰?” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐫. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚… 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐰 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐭? 𝐎𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭?”

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐲𝐥𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐭. “𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐘/𝐍. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨. 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧' 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭… 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠.”

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭, 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐬, 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 — 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦.

"𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭… 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐭," 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐰 𝐧𝐨𝐰. "𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐮𝐭… 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰."

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡. “𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤, 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝, “𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭… 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐣𝐮𝐦𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲? 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡.”

𝐇𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐝𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡. “𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐈 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬.” 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞.

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ��𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬. 𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

“𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐨… 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲, 𝐘/𝐍,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰. “𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭…” 𝐇𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫. “𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟. 𝐃𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐮𝐭… 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.” 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞. “𝐈 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. “𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭… 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠’𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲. “𝐈 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨’𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰… 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈’𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.”

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐥. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭.

“𝐒𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐰?” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬.

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐭. “𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰. “𝐈 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞.”

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐱, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

“𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭, 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, “𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞. “𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬, 𝐘/𝐍. 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐭.” 𝐇𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. “𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭… 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐬. 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝.”

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬.

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. “𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?” 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞. “𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. 𝐒𝐨, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞?”

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞, 𝐡𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭.

“𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡. “𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐚. 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐲’𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰?”

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐧𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠. “𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.”

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐰𝐨.

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝, 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞.

𝐀𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭, 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞, 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬, 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.

𝐇𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭.

"𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐧," 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠.

"𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐮𝐩," 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐥𝐲, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧.

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤'𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤, 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮�� 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡, 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫.

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬. 𝐇𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞, 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧, 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐭, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡��𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐫𝐡𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬—𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝.

𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞, 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭.

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧—𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞. 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤'𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝.

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐥. 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫. 𝐇𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝.

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐮𝐳𝐳𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫, 𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐛 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐡𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞, 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐱.

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐝𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐚𝐧𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥.

𝐀𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐇𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐧𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞, 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐱 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐰 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬—𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

𝐀𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧? 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭.

𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐬. 𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐩, 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮. "𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲," 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐟𝐟.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐰, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦. "𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫?"

"𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬," 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭. "𝐈'𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬."

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞. "𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐦 𝐈."

𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ᯓ𝜗𝜚

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ᯓ𝜗𝜚

#this is so good oh my god 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🫶🏻#excited to see where this goes #rick grimes x reader

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