#I DO NOT CLAIM TO KNOW ANYTHING ABT THE FUNERAL INDUSTRY LMAO

[mrfartpowered]

weinerfowl fanfic snippet, 500 words, haunted AU 👻💕

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When Howard first realized he was falling for Theresa, she was elbow deep in a dead body, her brow knitted together over her eyes, her enormous glasses sliding down her nose. Howard almost wanted to reach over and push them back up.

On a list of things that he hated, asking for help was near the very top. Debbie had convinced Rachel, the funeral director, that Howard couldn’t handle the morgue on his own. In his opinion, he thought Debbie ought to keep her nose out of his business and in finances, where she belonged. He hadn’t liked Theresa when she first arrived, Rachel at her side like a buffer between his sour attitude and Theresa’s unabashed excitement.

This far into working with Theresa — this deep into his fondness for her — he might have to thank Debbie after all. But number two on the list of things he hated was admitting other people were right. 

Theresa, with her tiny ponytail and her charm-covered crocs, glanced up and caught his gaze. The tiny smile that split across her face before she looked back down made him feel as fuzzy as the audio quality of the old record player she had insisted on bringing to the basement. Howard had vehemently complained about that thing at first, but now he couldn’t imagine starting a shift without Theresa debating whether to put on The Box Tops or Roy Orbison. (She usually played Roy first, but Howard loved how she hummed along to The Box Tops.)

From the moment she walked through the door, Theresa hadn’t bothered to hide her personality. She was kind, but bitingly funny when she chose to be. She was thoughtful and playful and wore her emotions on her sleeve. She was great with clients, connecting with them in a way Howard could never achieve, even if he cared enough to try. She was eclectic in every aspect of her life, from her secondhand record collection to her love of unconventional house decoration, and for the better part of a month Howard had wondered how she ended up there in the morgue with him and with all the dead bodies.

He never cared much to listen to living people, but with Theresa, he found himself committing every detail to memory. Getting to know her was a privilege, and he felt somewhat like a house plant gone too long without being watered. His years of avoiding human connection had wilted him, but every detail she shared washed over him, soaking his brain and his heart and making him feel alive again. She told him how her fervor for high school anatomy class had concerned both her teacher and her parents; how someone had suggested she work in the funeral industry as a joke, but she was so intrigued by the idea that she made it happen. He learned that she loved vivid patterns and bright colors, and that she believed in ghosts but not monsters, and that she closed her eyes whenever she laughed as if she couldn’t believe the joke.

Most important of all, though, Howard learned he loved her.