#artificial earrings shop near me

[sdfashions1]

artificial earrings wholesale suppliers

India has long been celebrated as a treasure trove of exquisite jewellery, blending traditional craftsmanship with modern design. For businesses looking to source stunning pieces, wholesale jewellery suppliers in India offer a diverse range of options, making it easier than ever to cater to various market needs.

Why Choose Indian Wholesale Jewellery Suppliers?

Rich Craftsmanship: Indian artisans have perfected their craft over centuries. From intricate handwork to detailed designs, the quality of jewellery sourced from India is unparalleled. Each piece often tells a story, reflecting the cultural heritage of the region.

Variety and Versatility: Indian wholesale jewellery suppliers offer an extensive selection of styles, including traditional, contemporary, and fusion designs. Whether you’re looking for gold, silver, or imitation jewellery, you’ll find something that suits every customer’s taste.

Competitive Pricing: By sourcing directly from wholesale suppliers, businesses can enjoy significant cost savings. The competitive pricing allows retailers to maintain healthy profit margins while providing high-quality products to their customers.

Customization Options: Many suppliers in India are open to custom orders, enabling retailers to create unique pieces that align with their brand identity. This flexibility can help businesses stand out in a crowded market.

How to Choose the Right Supplier

When selecting a wholesale jewellery supplier, consider the following factors:

Reputation and Reviews: Research the supplier’s reputation through online reviews and testimonials. A reliable supplier will have a history of satisfied clients.

Product Range: Ensure that the supplier offers a diverse range of products to meet your business’s needs.

Minimum Order Requirements: Be aware of minimum order quantities, as this can impact your initial investment.

Shipping and Return Policies: Understand the shipping costs and return policies to avoid unexpected expenses.

Conclusion

Partnering with the right wholesale jewellery supplier in India can significantly enhance your business. With a wealth of options, competitive pricing, and the potential for customization, these suppliers are invaluable for anyone looking to offer stunning jewellery collections. By choosing wisely, retailers can captivate their customers with beautiful pieces that reflect both quality and heritage.

[bostonlevin8]

CZ Jewelry Gallery

India has long been celebrated as a treasure trove of exquisite jewellery, blending traditional craftsmanship with modern design. For businesses looking to source stunning pieces, wholesale jewellery suppliers in India offer a diverse range of options, making it easier than ever to cater to various market needs.

Why Choose Indian Wholesale Jewellery Suppliers?

Rich Craftsmanship: Indian artisans have perfected their craft over centuries. From intricate handwork to detailed designs, the quality of jewellery sourced from India is unparalleled. Each piece often tells a story, reflecting the cultural heritage of the region.

Variety and Versatility: Indian wholesale jewellery suppliers offer an extensive selection of styles, including traditional, contemporary, and fusion designs. Whether you’re looking for gold, silver, or imitation jewellery, you’ll find something that suits every customer’s taste.

Competitive Pricing: By sourcing directly from wholesale suppliers, businesses can enjoy significant cost savings. The competitive pricing allows retailers to maintain healthy profit margins while providing high-quality products to their customers.

Customization Options: Many suppliers in India are open to custom orders, enabling retailers to create unique pieces that align with their brand identity. This flexibility can help businesses stand out in a crowded market.

How to Choose the Right Supplier

When selecting a wholesale jewellery supplier, consider the following factors:

Reputation and Reviews: Research the supplier’s reputation through online reviews and testimonials. A reliable supplier will have a history of satisfied clients.

Product Range: Ensure that the supplier offers a diverse range of products to meet your business’s needs.

Minimum Order Requirements: Be aware of minimum order quantities, as this can impact your initial investment.

Shipping and Return Policies: Understand the shipping costs and return policies to avoid unexpected expenses.

Conclusion

Partnering with the right wholesale jewellery supplier in India can significantly enhance your business. With a wealth of options, competitive pricing, and the potential for customization, these suppliers are invaluable for anyone looking to offer stunning jewellery collections. By choosing wisely, retailers can captivate their customers with beautiful pieces that reflect both quality and heritage.

[subhranika]

Discover exquisite Gold Plated Kundan Jhumkas at Subhranika Jewellery Enhance your style with timeless elegance Shop now for the perfect accessory.

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶Casual was much harder rule to abide by when Eddie spent more time with you, as facilitated by his daughter. Dialed back was a flirting style you weren't accustomed to, and proved near-impossible to follow when Eddie's lips were pressed to your ear.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, slight scent kink, allusion to jerking off, reader wears eddie's jacket, drug/alcohol mention/use, depictions of poverty, 18+ overall for eventual smut

chapter: 5/20 [wc: 15.1k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 5: You're Gonna Get Me in Trouble

————

The days of the week lost their meaning in the best way. Turning from one to the next like the colors of the leaves. Falling in and out of obscurity. What was a Monday, when Monday felt like Friday? And what was a Friday, when the familiar clicking sound of your bicycle spokes found him on a Saturday?

The days blurred. The edges sharpened. They were long when the sun was short. They were beautiful, and aggressively tender, including the lows, because the lows themselves used to be the highs.

The days swirled into an everlasting seasoned breeze of cherished moments. Too many to fill the memories of those collecting them. Glimpses into a life of pleasantness–of contentedness–if one were to grasp them.

————

Leather. Vanilla cologne. Spicy deodorant and earthy tobacco.

You grabbed the cuffs of your sweater into your fists and worked your arms down the sleeves of Eddie’s jacket before grabbing your bike from the porch, and setting off on your shortcut through the frosty grass.

The farther you journeyed, the more you smelled like him. The more you sounded like him.

In Robin’s driveway, cigarette smoke overwhelmed your nose, but as your skin warmed from exertion, the nuances appeared. The natural musk clinging to the inside lining, and the artificial fragrances on top, now enveloping you. You turned onto the main road leading to the auto shop, and the chains on the sleeve cuff clinked against the broken zipper. Bouncing your tire up onto the sidewalk, the snap tab collar jangled in time with the small rocks you rode over on the way to the front employee door. You dismounted your bike in a fluid motion, and the supple leather made to fit Eddie creaked and groaned as you got out your keys.

The door opposite you in the garage was ajar, meaning he was smoking in the alleyway.

Quietly, you went to the break room, and said your peace. “Boy’s clothes are always better.”

Standing in front of the coat hooks, you slipped your hands into the pockets and pulled out the items for no other reason than to observe them in remembrance, as if you hadn’t inspected them for hours over the weekend. A half-empty pack of Camels crowded with rolling papers. Translucent green BIC lighter. A grocery receipt from two weeks ago with an obscene amount of pasta and marinara listed on it. A peppermint candy wrapper you could now confirm came from the candy dish on your desk intended for customers. And, of course, a tiny blue high heel shoe belonging to a Barbie doll. Because what father wouldn’t have that in their pocket.

Returning the items from whence they came, you fished a strip of paper out of your jeans, and added it to his treasure.

You removed the warmth you’d become accustomed to, and stared at the coat hook. You glanced down the hallway. Listened for Eddie.

Silence pressed in on you.

Intentionally, after spending more time doing this in bed than you cared to admit, you found his scent to be the strongest on the inside of the collar, and brought it to your nose.

Hugging the jacket to your chest, you inhaled deep, and sighed.

Years of the leather being draped around his neck did wonders for your loneliness since moving here. Last night you caved despite the voice in your head telling you it was weird to find comfort in your coworker’s belongings. As you stared into pitch-black attic, laying alone in a borrowed twin size bed with someone else’s parent’s hand-me-down blankets, cold, and without the glow or noise of the city to keep you company, you surrendered, and wrapped yourself in him. It was a split second decision, quickly overwhelmed by a sensation you hadn’t felt in quite some time. And it was an emotion you were more than happy to shove behind the other clutter in your brain, vowing you’d unpack it some other day, totally. Definitely. You’d absolutely process the heady buzz, and delightful sweat breaking out across your skin at the thought of your coworker’s arms giving you this embrace, and being able to press your nose to the crook of his neck to experience his salty taste on your tongue first-hand.

A squeaky truck passed by on the street, breaking you out of your spell.

“Good God, get a hold on yourself,” you begged aloud, and hung up the jacket.

~~~

The coffee machine sputtered liquid energy into the pot, signifying the end of your morning chores. And yet, Eddie had not made his appearance, whether it was wanted or not, depending on if he was hiding around a corner, or doing the thing he did where he stood next to you and looked like he wanted to say something, but never did.

The back door was still ajar. You poked your head out, and he was there, leaning against the wall. The stubby end of his cigarette was pinched between his forefinger and thumb with a trail of smoke coming off of it.

Early sunrays pierced the tree-lined horizon, gilding the silhouette of his nose in brilliant beauty. He heard you step onto the rocks, and rolled his head to the side to watch you stand between him and his car. The sun caught his hair. Glanced off the gentle slope of his cheek. Caused him to squint one of his eyes, and wrench his mouth into a lopsided grimace.

“Good morning,” he was first to say.

“Good morning,” you replied brightly. “You cut your hair.” By the way his face fell, you gathered he assumed no one would notice, but the feathery edge of his bangs curled higher onto his forehead, flaunting the harsher shadows of his confusion. You reassured him, “It looks good.”

He continued to stare at you without an emotion you could decipher.

“Really good?” you added, thinking he was seeking a better compliment.

With a soft smile and averted gaze, he flicked the ash from his cigarette, and admitted, “Sometimes I have problems vocalizing my thoughts before they’re gone, and I forget you can’t hear them if I don’t blurt them out. Luckily, my daughter demonstrated much better manners than I did, and thanked you for her costume, while I–”

“Waved for an obscenely long time, and then made fun of me,” you finished.

On cue, you both made eyes at each other, and looked away.

The sun couldn’t compete with his smile. The birdsong couldn’t compete with your giggle.

“Yeah,” he exhaled in a croaky groan. “I did do that, didn't I?” You shrugged and told him it didn’t bother you. It was just how you teased each other. “Still, thank you for putting in so much effort to make it special for her. She was crazy excited when she saw it. My uncle, too. I–uh, I appreciate you doing that for us more than I let on.”

“I know you do.” While Eddie may not have shared many of the details of his life prior to your arrival in Hawkins, it was evident in his every decision that people were not frequently kind to him, and the simple act of noticing he trimmed his bangs was something he’d think about for days.

“You think my hair looks good?” he asked, circling back to the original topic.

“The bangs, or everything?”

After a beat of consideration, he ventured, “Everything?”

You tilted your head. “Oh, it’s outdated. Messy. Unprofessional and like you just woke up from a 7-year coma. The worst case of bed head I’ve ever seen. More like a bird’s nest after a storm than anything, but yeah, it suits you. Can’t picture you with any other hairstyle, to be honest.” His expression was a mixture of bafflement, yet also flattery. You put emphasis on the latter. “I love it. It’s wild. I think you look good,” followed by, “for a weirdo,” to dodge the implication of calling him attractive.

In the long seconds that ensued, you rocked from foot to foot, waiting for him to say anything. Do anything besides stare at you with a slight smirk. Anything at all to make you feel like your nervous habits weren’t being examined under a microscope.

Cheeks suitably burning from the shyness of saying too much, you tugged your sleeves into your sweaty palms, and pivoted while saying, “Welp, time for me to be anywhere else on Earth but here.”

You swung open the door to the garage and he spoke up.

“You look pretty today.”

Halting your momentum on a dime, you slid your gaze from the floor to him–to his way of pressing his shoulder blades to the brick wall, leaning his full weight into the pose, arms crossed over his chest, cigarette between his lips, eyes set on you with an irresistible amount of tenderness to them.

You said, “Thank you, handsome,” and left the door open behind you.

But before you walked inside, before you blinked away, you watched that tenderness widen to excitement. You saw the soft curve of his mouth stretch to a smile. Heard him expel his breath in a single stunned laugh. And you listened to his voice fade as he turned his face up to the sky, and took the final drag on his cigarette with a smug mumble of, “Knew it.”

————

The next morning you stared at the full coffee pot suspiciously. The countertop was wiped clean and the powder creamer container was replaced, alongside the sugar packets being restocked.

Still wearing your backpack, you slipped off one strap, swung it around to unzip the top, and put away your lunch in the fridge. While bent over, you surveyed the room again, and narrowed your eyes at the shiny glass pot filled with dark brown coffee.

A certain someone was feeling generous today, helping you out with your morning chores, and that certain someone was currently sneaking behind your desk.

Pretending to mull over who could do such a courteous thing for you, you ran your finger over the packets. Neatened the coffee stirrers. Hummed a pleasing tune as you left the room with heavy steps. Stomp, stomp, stomp, all the way to the end of the hallway, meandering just before you would turn to sit at your desk.

“Raaah!” Eddie jumped from behind the wall–hunched over, hands clawed at you, face etched with utter deviousness, grinning broadly to bare his teeth.

You took the coffee stirrer and thwacked him on the forehead before sidestepping to your chair.

His wickedness withered away. “Hey,” he complained, rubbing the sore spot. “How did you–?”

“Your reflection, dork.”

He clicked his tongue and peered down the hall at the full coffee pot and microwave door, both giving away his movements. “Damnit.”

————

Lunches together became the norm.

Even after Carl and Kevin left the room to ruminate over the real clunker of a car that came in yesterday, you and Eddie remained crowded together on one side of the round table, eating.

You swiped the crumbs from your sandwich into your container. “How’s Adrie’s sleep been? I thought the whole ‘regression’ thing was just for babies.”

Eddie spoke with his mouth full of half-chewed spaghetti, gesturing with his fork, “Usually, yeah. It’s more like she has nightmares ‘nd stuff. Scared of the dark. Monsters under the bed. That sorta thing.” He hadn’t even swallowed before dipping his garlic toast in the marinara sauce and taking a bite. “It’s gotten better, though. I think only one nightmare these past two weeks.”

It happened last Wednesday. You remembered. After your boss and the other guys went home, Eddie fell asleep at the table, and you turned off the lights for him, letting him rest after taking his work jacket off the hook and placing it over his shoulders. He always pretends to not be awake when you do that, but you could tell from his breathing when he was awake and when he wasn’t.

“That’s good,” you said. “I had a talk with her on Halloween about how the dark wasn’t so scary; how she was a bat and bats love the dark, and I’m a mouse, we’re nocturnal, nighttime is just like daytime and there’s nothing to be afraid of, yada yada..” You trailed off upon seeing the faint shadow of his dimple flourish. “What?”

“That’s a genius move,” he said, impressed. “You sure you’re not a parent?”

You wanted to continue the conversation, you really did, but..

Sighing, you closed your eyes. “Eddie, you have sauce–just–all over your mouth.”

“–Shit, sorry.” Intent on rushing to the stack of napkins near the sink, he didn’t notice how close you were, and stumbled into your chair when standing up.

He caught himself on you. His hands were heavy on your shoulders as he regained his balance. Landing there on accident, yet it felt on purpose when they remained a moment longer, benefitting from your innate response to clasp your hands over his wrists and ask if he were all right, looking up at him with wide eyes of concern and your cheek pressed to his forearm.

He cursed another apology from above your head, and withdrew his grip–but only after you let go, too.

————

“Oh, Adrie, I found that shoe you were.. looking.. for?”

It was the weekend before Eddie managed to wear his leather jacket. He reached into the pocket after coming inside from smoking on the makeshift porch attached to the front of his uncle’s trailer, and uncurled his fingers.

The blue high heel rolled across his palm along with a folded piece of paper.

Jutting his bottom lip in confusion, he gave his daughter the shoe, and as she galloped to her room to play with her dolls, he opened the note.

sorry i stole your jacket

 come to me for a prize when you find this :)

if you find this

So that’s why you gave him that weird expectant look every morning..

————

Facing you on the other side of your desk after a customer left the lobby with their receipt, Eddie held up the note pinched between his index and middle fingers. “What’s my prize?”

Elated, your eyes lit up at the sight, and you motioned for him to give it to you while you held the phone to your ear with your shoulder, and continued your conversation with the auto parts dealer. “So–Yeah, three of those,” you went on, making a note with your pencil on where you left off in the catalog. “Yes, the smaller size, please.” You wrote something on the back of the paper and gave it to him.

Eddie snatched it–darting his eyes over your handwriting–and his excitement melted.

you finally cleaned out your pockets

    your prize is a job well done ♡

“That’s not a prize,” he said, face falling into a pouty glare.

Unamused by his inability to keep his mouth shut when you were clearly busy, you turned your hand over as if to ask ‘what did you expect?’ and directed a question at the man over the phone.

Not one to be ignored, Eddie began searching through the candy dish for a treasure to appease his appetite for a reward, and spilled peppermints over the side as he dug to the bottom.

You made a shushing gesture at him, widening your eyes at the crinkling wrappers interrupting you. “You’re out of those? Okay, then, I’ll move on to the door handle replacement. Let me just find the model number,” you spoke evenly into the receiver.

Eddie grunted, not finding what he was looking for.

You snapped your fingers at him, and pressed the phone to your chest to muffle yourself, “Do you not have a job or something?”

He held up a pink Now and Later, and asked in a stage-whisper, “Where’s all the butterscotch candy?”

“Bu–What?” you balked. “You ate them all? Those are for customers, Eddie! Yes, I’m still here,” you rattled off a make and model for the car. Eddie’s eyebrows rose at the quick switch from your speaking voice, to your cloyingly sweet customer service nasally octave, and back down to your annoyed tone at him. “Stop eating candy not meant for you and get back to work. You’re distracting me, you absolute nuisance.”

“Can you buy more butterscotch ones? Those are my favorite.”

“Sure, gramps, I’ll get right on it.”

Undeterred, or perhaps spurred on by earning your attention, he flattened his stomach to the ledge, and leaned over, invading your space to grab a stack of Post-it notes from the far end of your desk. Your Post-It notes. Your Post-It notes in his scuffed up, greasy hands, and his wavy hair sweeping from over his shoulders to block you from reading the lines of numbers and letters you were about to recite.

“What’re you..” You gave up when he grabbed your favorite pen.

You slid the catalog into your lap and turned away from him, facing the wall as you ordered the rest of the parts you needed, ending the call with an unintentional chat about the mild autumn weather–two minutes tops–and spun around to no one. Eddie had gone out to the garage. But not before sticking a note right smack dab in the middle of your desk where you couldn’t ignore it.

BUY MORE BUTTERSCOTCH

                                     -EM

His initials. It was silly, but two months into knowing him, and you’d never heard his last name. It wasn’t said aloud by him, his friends, or the other mechanics. Maybe you’d remember to ask him what it is one day.

————

Eddie had one rule–no reading over his shoulder when he was writing in his black notebook.

“Oh, chill,” you scolded him. “I’m here to microwave my lunch, not read your diary.”

Mr. Moore was out of office and the photocopier was broken, meaning you had to bike to the drug store and use theirs, missing your lunch break. With Eddie being the only mechanic in today, and having no customers, he made himself at home over the hour you were gone to catch up on.. whatever it was he was catching up on.

He slammed the thin red book shut and flipped it over. And when he thought that wasn’t good enough, he smashed the looseleaf papers back into his binder, closed it, and scrambled for his notebook, tearing through it like a wild animal until he found a blank page. Quick–He spun in his chair and laced his fingers in his lap, donning a weak smile. About as composed as a floundering fish. 

A pink flush crept up his neck, and his heavy breathing caused his unbuttoned coveralls to open wider over his chest, showing more than a glimpse at his black shirt underneath, stretched taut across his pecs.

His pencil dropped to the floor.

“Uh, hey. Didn’t hear you walk in.”

“Yeah, that much was obvious,” you snorted.

“What took you so long? I thought it’d be, like, 15 minutes tops. You could’ve read the manual and fixed our own copier by now.”

You popped open the lid to your container, and placed it in the microwave. “I’d rather jump off a bridge than sit there and read instructions. Anyway, I took a detour to see an apart–”

“Actually, that’s a good question. Would you jump off a bridge if someone asked, with your policy and all?”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response.” You punched two minutes on the timer. “As I was saying–Do you know that motel that closed down on Cypress? Bobbie told me it was a little mom-and-pop place that struggled to compete with the Motel 6.”

Perplexed as to where this was going, he squinted, and answered with a tepid, “Yeah?”

“Well,” you explained, “apparently someone bought the building and has been renovating them into apartments. I guess it wasn’t in too bad of a shape, with them just knocking down a few walls to make them into two bedrooms, and stuff. Bigger kitchens, whatever.” His features softened. The fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes lessened, and the tenseness in his jaw weakened. “Bobbie met the guy who’s renovating them and, uh, they’re gonna be available sometime at the beginning of next year, and the projected rent isn’t that bad. Really manageable for the both of us. As long as her dad is getting better, we could be moving out soon. It’d be nice to not live in their attic anymore, y’know.” You ended it almost on a lilt, as if it were a question, but maybe you were just goading him into saying what was on his mind, because with the way he was looking at you, you had no idea what had him so captivated.

“I–Yeah, I know the place you’re talking about. It’s just a few minutes from here.” And he added helpfully, “It’d be a shorter commute to work.”

“Yeah!” you exhaled, nodding in agreement. “Shorter commute.”

“Yeah,” he said again, allowing the information to wash over you both in different ways. “Closer to the grocery store, too.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and the laundromat.”

Eddie raised his brows. “Oh, nice. I use that place when our washing machine is broken.”

By some miracle you kept your mouth shut, saving yourselves the trouble of listing more establishments you’d be near when you moved. He must’ve realized the awkwardness as well, because he fidgeted with his fingers sheepishly.

“So, does that mean you’re staying in Hawkins?”

Hearing him take interest in your future kicked up your heart rate. It could be coming from a place of blunt curiosity, or conversational politeness, but like hell if your adrenaline didn’t surge from the unmistakable way he leaned in, hanging onto your every word, as the warm hum of the microwave served as background music to the glimmer of eagerness in his eyes.

Downplaying your excitement, you told him one eensy-weensy tiny caveat about your situation, “I am, but Robin’s moving in with Vickie at some point–don’t know when, but probably by the end of summer when she goes back to Indianapolis.. so.”

“And after that?”

“Dunno. I can float rent and bills by myself for a few months, but I’m not sure after that. Could tag along with them to the city, or stay here and, y’know, keep answering phones and annoying my favorite mechanic like I do now. Maybe even find someone willing to go on another date with me, since my first one was a bust.” He didn’t laugh. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll end up back in New York and audition for Cats.” You threw it out there as an outlandish possibility without serious consideration, and you thought you conveyed that through your jokey tone.

The microwave beeped.

You turned around, missing the way Eddie averted his gaze down and away before speaking.

“Just waiting for the next big thing to catch your eye and sweep you away, huh?”

“Not the first time you said that,” you commented teasingly, thinking you were still playing with each other. You grabbed your steaming rice and stirred it with a fork from the cutlery drawer. “What’s wrong? Afraid of not having a pretty girl sit across from you at lunch every day? Scared some other mechanic’s gonna need a receptionist, and then I’ll be gone? Or are you worried you’ll actually miss me if I leave?”

You giggled at your melodramatic phrasing and waited for him to respond. And when he didn’t, you looked over at him.

His shoulders rose and fell with his steady breaths as he thumbed through his notebook, mouth in a flat line.

Confusion stung embarrassment to your cheeks. Holding the hot tupperware, you asked, “Are we not eating together?”

He opened the binder and shifted closer to the table, scraping the chair legs across the tile, signifying the end of the conversation. Worse, still, he spoke in what would be a casual tone, if it weren’t for his rejective back facing you. “Actually, I’m trying to finish this,” he said, putting his pencil to the page and continuing the sentence where he left off.

“Oh.. Okay.”

You walked out the room and sat at your desk. Alone. Glaring at the stupid grains of rice and moving them around with your stupid fork and slouching over to rest your stupid cheek on your stupid fist.

Were you really less interesting than whatever he was writing in that notebook of his?

“Maybe I will find a bridge to jump off of,” you concluded, deciding you’d clock out on time in order to preserve your dignity. At least Robin would be home, and she would be honored to hang out with you.

————

An apology of sorts waited for you on your desk the next morning.

Three fresh-picked flowers in a chipped vase with a torn square of lined paper beside it.

     YOURE RIGHT

  I WOULD MISS

     EATING  WITH YOU

IM SORRY

                    -EM

The bud vase was from his home, the paper from his spiral bound notebook, and the dew-coated flowers from Hawkin’s soil–the last of their kind before the season put them to sleep.

Eddie wouldn’t be coming in today; he had the day off to take Adrie to the dentist. So, he woke up early to leave this peace offering when he could be sleeping in.

You set your elbows on you desk, and laced your fingers to rest your chin atop them, taking in the finer details of the periwinkle blue asters. After a moment, you traced your knuckle along your grin, and nibbled at the skin.

“So silly.”

————

And the morning after that, Eddie strayed from his bee line for coffee to approach you with a familiar meek posture; head lowered in deference, and a pouty expression of remorse on his lips.

The glass candy dish shined like a chest of golden coins awaiting him.

He folded his forearms on the ledge, and picked one of the butterscotch candies on top, pulling either end of the wrapper to unfurl it until the lustrous surface of the sweet flashed under the lobby’s lights.

You sank into your chair and watched him sweep his gaze across your desk in search of the flowers, and after not seeing them, he popped the candy in his mouth, and mumbled, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

Flitting your focus back and forth between his big eyes, you peered into each one, drawing out the moment by clicking your pen in thought, forcing him to sweat and fiddle with his wrapper in the echoey room. “Hmm..” You crossed your legs and shined your fingernails on your shirt, inspecting them.

His mouth twitched into a slight smile, favoring the side with his dimple.

Tipping his head so he was looking at you from under his lashes, he begged, “Come on, haven’t I groveled enough for you to have lunch with me later?” Bravery swelled his chest, jerked his chin in a smug nod once he had your attention. “Got you flowers and everything.”

You locked eyes with him for one, entire, sweet second, in which he winked at you.

Interestingly enough, you remembered you had paperwork to grab from Mr. Moore’s office, and rushed out sloppy sentences as you went, laying the sarcasm on thick to disguise the hitch in your throat, “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll have lunch with you if it’s that important to your livelihood, since you can’t live without me, or whatever.” You closed the office door behind you.

God, your face had never burned so hot.

~~~

And it was that night, when Eddie was alone with himself, he thought of the morning smiles through the glass window, and the afternoon laughs shared at the lunch table. The way you sat next to him and he moved his feet outward, spreading his legs to occupy as much space as possible. And he thought about how you accommodated him. Nudging his knee at first to test the waters, and when he responded by closing the distance between your shoe and his, you leaned towards him at the height of the story you were telling, and the length of your thigh pressed against him in a satisfying squish. He wasn’t entirely sure it was on purpose, but with the state he was in, it mattered not.

Eddie fluttered his eyes closed from blinking lazily at the shower head, stroking away the fleeting guilt of wondering if he should be testing his boundaries by thinking about you while doing this, even as his lips parted with silence, and his stomach tensed from pleasure.

Even as he held his shaky breath to keep himself mute, and his hand moved with renewed swiftness from his release mixing with his spit, and he watched the mess gather in his palm before washing it down the drain, he convinced himself.

This was so casual.

————

Saturday you went to the grocery store–AKA, hell day in hell land. You only needed a few ingredients, and figured getting out of the house for a while was better than calling Robin and asking her to pick them up for you.

However, life mocked you. After a heart-racing encounter with a truck narrowly missing you on the highway, you slowed to an agonizing stop every few feet from people blockading the aisles, taking their sweet time to decide what type of oil they wanted, when you could’ve snatched the one you needed, and moved on if they–would–just–move–a–freakin’–inch.

Least to say, by the time you made it to the baking aisle, you were mentally over it, and yet..

The cocoa powder was on the top shelf, taunting you by sight, just out of reach.

You huffed.

Rising onto your tiptoes, you employed your entire wingspan into clawing for it–tasting victory with your fingertips–but not enough to grasp the slippery plastic.

And of course no one else on the aisle was taller than you. They were hunched over walking canes, and clutching their layers of cardigans over their chests.

And of course, as you were stepping onto the bottom shelf for leverage, and becoming intimate with the bags of flour you inadvertently shoved your face into, your worst nightmare loomed behind you.

You knew it was Eddie before he spoke. You knew his gait, his smell, the sound of his laugh when he kept it in his chest. You knew his radiating warmth, his soft grunt, the way he took a sharper breath and held it for a beat before releasing it as a teasing remark. You knew the magnitude of his presence even when he was being demure. How respectful he was to invite himself into your personal space without crossing a line, squeezing his firm hand on the meat of your shoulder to let you know he was there, and heeding a modest gap between your bodies as his unbuttoned shirt brushed your sides.

He backed away half a step, and waited until you were turned around in the crowded space of him and the metal shelves to wave the tub above your head. The rings decorating his fingers glinted as he boasted, “Shucks, looks like it’s the last one too.”

You held your palm up and dropped your head to the side. “Are you gonna make me jump for it like Adrie, or are you gonna be a grown up and give it to me?”

“Give it to you? Maybe I need” –He read the label– “Cocoa powder.”

“You so do not.”

“You don’t know that,” he replied, lifting his chin at your bored expression. “If you want it..” He shifted his stance and sank into his hip, curling his bottom lip over his smirk as he peered down at you, prolonging your misery instead of just finishing his sentence. “..You can use the magic words.”

What an infuriating immovable object. Blocking everything in your view that wasn’t his red flannel thrown over a wrinkled white tee, and his rebellious hair eclipsing the fluorescent lights.

Just the worst person to rescue you from your predicament. Standing so close you could scrutinize the permanent five-o-clock shadow on his upper lip, and the wispy curls composing his sideburns.

So annoying how his hair reached the shadow of his clavicle, where a chain link necklace showed beneath his shirt, and the tendons in his neck stretched an alluring contour from the hollow of his throat to the underside of his square jaw.

His shoulders shook with a quelled snicker. “Come on,” he sang with an infuriating timbre, swaying the cocoa above you.

You met his steeped tea eyes, and insisted in a warm honey tone, “Please stop being a dickhead, and thank you for not being an asshole and handing over the cocoa.. Fucker.”

Eddie’s face cracked into the biggest grin. Beside you, a blushing grandmother shot you a scathing glare, and grabbed a bag of sugar from the shelf before tsking and walking off.

Bestowing you the tub in your hand, he wrapped his palm over top of it and didn’t let go as he bent to you. “Hey now,” he said in a lower register, voice cracking on the consonants from the remnants of his laugh, “no bad words in front of my kid. Or the elderly. Show some respect.”

You perked up. All transgressions in regards to baking ingredients were forgotten when you spotted his daughter sitting cross legged inside the shopping cart behind him. “Adrie!” You pushed Eddie out of the way, and wrapped her in a tender, heartwarming hug.

“Miss Mouse!” she cheered in equal enthusiasm, dropping the box of cereal she was reading aloud to lock her arms around your neck.

You giggled at the giddy feeling soaring in your chest, and encouraged her, “Yeah, I’m Miss Mouse.” The clunky braids Eddie put in her hair smashed against your cheek as you held each other tighter.

Taking inventory of the sparse groceries she was amongst, you spotted a pattern. “You like pasta, huh?” It was an easy guess considering there were three bags of noodles with two large jars of sauce standing out from the rice dinners and a few cans of soup. Practically a replica of the receipt you found in his pocket. But she corrected you.

“No. Daddy’s just bad at cooking.”

Your eyes bulged, and you pursed your lips to refrain from bursting out in impolite laughter. Standing up straight, you combed a few stray curls behind her ear, and whispered, “Geez, kids are ruthless.”

Eddie shifted his weight to his other foot, and gestured at the groceries with a pencil before striking out something on the short list he had written one on a pad of paper. “Eh, Wayne’s the chef of the family. She knows what she’s getting when it’s my turn to cook.”

You hummed at the new information, and went to pick your hand basket off the floor when something caught your eye–and it definitely wasn’t the leather loafers on the old man shuffling past you.

Eddie, obviously, wasn’t dressed in coveralls.

His black tennis shoes were nearly identical to the white ones he wore on Halloween, with the floppy tongues out against his light-wash blue jeans. (Very, very nice fitted jeans with holes in the knees, and a rip stretching wider across the curve of his thigh.) Dragging your gaze up, you clocked the interesting belt buckle he wore on your way to admire the soft outline of his stomach pressed against his shirt. He moved his flannel aside to stuff his shopping list in his pocket–struggling due to how tight his pants were–and incidentally showed off a smidgen of skin above the waistband of his plaid boxers.

Just a hint of skin marked with the bottom lines of a larger tattoo and you were salivating–

A loud intercom announcement sang a jingle about tortillas, and you were reminded of where you were, and where Eddie was, a few feet away from you, well aware of the places your gaze stalled before landing on his smirk.

He caught you checking him out.

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Find everything you were looking for?”

“I, uh–” you stuttered two words out before your brain threatened you to shut the fuck up. As an alternative, you snapped into finger guns aimed in the opposite direction, and made up an excuse. “I forgot to get.. something.”

“Forgot what?”

You blinked. “Milk.”

“Milk, huh?”

“Yep.. Milk.” Sweating under the heat of his narrowed eyes, you made yourself scarce. “Welp. Hope to never see you outside of work again, because this was we-ird,” you enunciated in lilt as you strutted away. But just as you were about to disappear around the corner, you stopped, and said, “Adrie, however, I’d love to see you any day of the week.”

She turned in the shopping cart and waved. “Bye, Miss Mouse.” Eddie was too busy watching you make a fool of yourself to correct her, letting the nickname stick.

Rounding the end cap display of premature Christmas themed candies and bakeware, you held your gaze steadfast ahead as you passed by someone not-so-inconspicuously trying to blend in with the background, wearing a red managerial vest, and holding a clipboard over their mouth.

Robin lowered the employee break schedule, and whispered rather loudly, “He’s so in love with you.”

You groaned. “Can you not spy on us?”

She sweetened you up, “Seriously, he was totally checking you out when you bent over.”

You turned down an aisle and felt her hot on your heels. Yielding in front of the boxes of chamomile tea, you examined one, and asked with an air of disinterest as if you were inquiring about the weather, “Was he now?”

Screwing her face up, she nodded empathically, “Majorly.”

“Good, because I want to crawl in a hole and die.”

~~~

Six feet under seemed like a better fate than what you were dealt.

Though you gave it your best effort, meandering about until enough time had elapsed that you figured he’d left by now, you made your way to the front of the store, and stopped. Eddie had the end of his cart angled towards the registers. Adrie held a package of cookies out for him to approve of, and in a depressing moment of realization, you watched him revert to the person you met him as.

The playfulness was gone. His face was cast with the exhaustion of being around strangers for too long. His lips were bitten raw. His chest sank with a long exhale, and his stomach caved as he looked at his daughter asking for something the other parents around him could throw in their cart without a second thought, and he had to disappoint her.

He didn’t say ‘no’ exactly, but the nervousness of doing so was there. “They’re not on the list,” he begged her in a defeated whisper to understand and not make a scene. He couldn’t handle a scene.

Not yet five-years-old and she sensed his stress and put them back.

“Hey, cutie.” You didn’t know you spoke until Eddie jerked his head up, and you witnessed the change in his mood wash over him. Turned on a dime. He grinned at you in genuine relief, and in a bout of awkwardness, you smiled at Adrie in particular to imply your initial greeting was for her. Not that he wasn’t cute, too. “Fancy meeting you two here.”

He pushed his cart forward, taking the next spot in line, and peered into your hand basket, assessing the Reese’s Pieces, baking goods, tea, and distinct lack of one item. “Hmm, got lost on your way to the milk, huh? Or did you need someone to reach it for you?” He placed his gallon of milk on the conveyor belt first for emphasis. You rolled your eyes.

The two of you must’ve appeared cozier than you gave off, because the cashier motioned at you–specifically, he pointed from Eddie’s groceries to yours. “You two together?”

Eddie froze. Just a useless doe-eyed deer in headlights. You, on the other hand, swallowed your spit before you choked on it, and realized what he meant.

“No, no, separate,” you answered, taking a plastic divider from him and putting it after Eddie’s bag of red delicious apples and before Robin’s dad’s tea.

You stifled your giggle as your beloved coworker fumbled into action after the exchange dawned on him. Bouncing between bagging his groceries, finding the cereal box for Adrie so she could finish tracing the maze on the back, and wiggling his wallet out of his back pocket. The chain attached to it clinked as he rifled through the papers in the biggest slot. They didn’t fit quite right like proper money would. They didn’t look quite right, either. Printed in muted red, purple, green, and blue like Monopoly money. Big text on the front with a picture of the Liberty Bell. Large numbers in the corner with fine print beside it.

Food stamps.

They were food stamps, and it was the middle of the month, and he didn’t have many left.

He counted two of them out, and hesitated, choosing to add a few dollars to meet the total, and handed them over.

Eddie had no reason to feel embarrassed. This was his life. This was how he fed his daughter. But still, he snuck a glance at you, and you looked away so he didn’t think you were staring, even though you were. You were. Not from a place of judgment, but of natural curiosity. Unfortunately, as you directed your gaze elsewhere, you noticed other people around you weren’t as gracious. Eyeing Eddie with cruelty behind their study of the town freak coming inside their territory and depending on their honest wealth to pay for his food.

He’d only begun to stop chewing on his lips when he left the store. Exiting swiftly to begin the process of calming his anxiety as he loaded his car with groceries, knowing he had meals to eat, even if the price he paid stung his ego.

You went through the motions of bagging your groceries in your backpack, and listened to your gut.

Outside, you unchained your bike and put your bag in the wire basket attached to the handles, squinting in the noonday sun as you walked it to the back of the parking lot where Eddie was placing the plastic bags into the trunk of his car. No one parked on either side of him. Not a notable thing, but with how the store was packed, it stood out.

Eddie heard your wheel spokes click as you neared, and schooled the indications of worse emotions from his face to keep you from prying, but he frowned anyway when you passed him to talk to his daughter instead.

The rear door on the passenger’s side was propped open. You flapped your hand at her to get her attention, and she stretched her arm out as far as her car seat allowed in effort to link your fingers. “See you later, girlie,” you said, squeezing her hand in lieu of a proper hug. “Be good for your dad, alright?”

“I’m always good,” she responded, giving you an assured nod of angelic innocence. Eddie barked a laugh, and closed the trunk.

“You can’t swindle her,” he told Adrie. “She knows all about the fit you threw the other morning when I wouldn’t let you bring your stuffed animals to school.” She cut him a sassy glare at being called out.

“Don’t listen to him,” you consoled her. “You’re perfect.” She beamed at you, and you paralleled her delight as you let go of her to smack Eddie’s hand away from your ribs. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get going. Gotta get this milk in the fridge, y’know.”

You stole a coy look at him reveling in what you hoped wouldn’t become a running joke, and steered your bike away, saying another final goodbye to Adrie.

“Not gonna say goodbye to me?” he asked with an aching amount of pitifulness.

“Ch’yeah.” You swung your leg over the frame, put your feet to the pedals. Ensuring you were a decent distance apart, you called out, “You’re right! I should respect my elders.” You waved and shouted at him pointedly, “Farewell, Eddie!”

He fixed his lazy grin on his daughter, who was laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d ever witnessed, and told her with utmost fondness, “Saw that one coming from a mile away.”

————

Sunday morning, Adrie threw him for a loop.

“I want Miss Mouse to come to my play,” she said, spearing the scrambled eggs on her plate with the tines of her plastic Little Mermaid themed fork. “Can you invite her for me?”

Eddie went rigid. The triangle shaped extras from her pancakes being cut into stars flopped off his fork, paused mid-air on the way to his already stuffed mouth. He chewed slowly. Methodically. Swallowing the syrupy sweetness coating his tongue, biding his time as he hunched deeper over his plate, and stared her down while his uncle took special interest in her request.

Wayne wasn’t able to make it this year, and Adrie was quick to think of a suitable replacement.

With a voice scratchy from cigarettes, he directed his question at his nephew, “Miss Mouse?”

Eddie shut him down with a diplomatic answer without breaking eye contact with his daughter. “Adrie’s nickname for the receptionist at work.”

“Oh! The one who did the costume, and went trick-or-treating with you.”

He sounded much too happy, much too chipper for Eddie’s liking, and when he withdrew his gaze from Adrie to pin it on Wayne, the sharp rush of annoyance at the twinkle in his uncle’s eye manifested in a low, tempered correction for him to drop it. “My coworker from the auto shop, where I’m lucky to have the job that I do.”

Wayne wasn’t having it. He leaned in, and matched his intensity, loading his words with a much deeper meaning than the type of conversation they could have in front of Adrie. He spoke to him man-to-man. “The receptionist who is nice to you and Adrie, and, understandably, is being asked to go to a small event at her school.”

“I know what she’s asking,” Eddie replied from behind his hand. “Stop acting like you don’t.”

“Daddy, please,” Adrie begged, kicking his shin under the table. Eddie inhaled sharply and scooted away.

Wayne looked at him.

Adrie looked at him.

His rules, convictions, and morals of the workplace looked at him, rising as a tense pressure in his chest. Eddie sighed them out.

He was weak.

————

Sunday night, you and Robin were up to your usual bullshit.

Stress baking, and stress baking.

Her house was dimmed to only the small lights above the stove and sink, painting the room in an intimate mood of warmth bouncing off the smoky haze clouding the cramped space from the counter where you transferred a tray of hot cookies to a cooling rack, and she swayed behind you to the sultry Cher record spinning in the distance, seeming far away with her deep vocals melding into loops in your sleepy highs.

“Eddie’s beyond in love with you,” Robin said for the hundredth time, probably.

“He is not,” you argued for the hundredth time, probably. “Can you get me a bag for these?” The double chocolate cookies with Reese’s Pieces on top were ready to be put away to make room for the oatmeal ones.

“I just don’t get why you think he doesn’t like you–Oops.” While reaching for the ziploc bags from the top of the refrigerator, she accidentally knocked down a piece of artwork hanging on the door. She tossed you the box and picked the magnet up, along with the drawing of a mouse, owl, and bat off the floor, and put them back into place. “I mean, the way he looks at you every time you speak..” she trailed off in a wistful, airy breath. “So romantic.”

You answered her dreamy grin with a melancholic shrug of your own. “Yeah, but you don’t see all the other times he looks at me.”

Robin persevered. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.. He’s really–” You struggled for a word, interrupted by the sound of roiling bubbles behind you. “He’s really confusing.”

Exhaling at the ceiling, she asked, “Confusing how? Seems pretty clear to me.”

You groaned. Robin jabbed her elbow into your arm and offered you the bong, and when you showed her your greasy fingers, she turned it around and held it to your lips, lighting it for you until your lungs ached from a full inhale and you gave her a thumbs up to pull the stem.

Different place, same old bullshit. Smoking the last of your combined stash of weed you moved here with while bitching about life. It was hardly the first bowl of the night–or even the third–and the sentences you were trying to string together lulled into the drowsy dregs at the back of your mind.

You dropped your head back and sighed the smoke out. “He gets weird sometimes.”

“He’s always been weird.”

Shaking your head at her, you shifted the tone of the night to a somber one. Serious. Reflective.

Rolling the sugar cookie dough into balls, you recounted Eddie’s most recent rejection. “Last week I was telling him how we were hoping to move out soon, and he was giving off signals and asking questions like it was leading somewhere, but then I ran my stupid mouth, and it’s like he flipped a switch. He just stopped talking to me for the rest of the day.”

She put the bong down on the counter next to the tiny vase holding three flowers, and crossed her arms. “Ran your mouth how?”

You groaned louder into the hot wave of heat fanning your face from opening the oven door. “The dude will seriously flirt with me from clock in to clock out, but I–I dunno. I think I lay it on too thick, and it freaks him out. Like suddenly he realizes I’m serious, and he’s not into it. I’m pretty sure that’s what happened last week, anyway. We were going back and forth listing the pros of me living closer to work, and the cons of you eventually moving in with Vickie, and I kinda made a pass at him..”

“A pass how?”

You drew your brows in, and blinked your droopy eyes in a concentrated effort to recall the conversation. “..To be honest, I can’t remember. It was along the lines of me hinting that I’d want a second date with him. Which I only said because he seemed interested after I told him we were staying in Hawkins, but whatever. Guess I read it wrong.”

Perhaps too astute, your best friend in the entire world navigated your love life with undue keenness in spite of how blitzed you two were, breaking into dumb giggle fits at, quite literally, you dropping a spoon. “How obvious was this hint of yours?”

“Doesn’t matter.” You waved off the notion before you could grow attached to it. “We’re still coworkers, so I need to dial it back, regardless.”

“I think you should dial it up.”

“If I dialed it any more up, I’d get an HR complaint.”

“You don’t have HR,” she reminded you.

Squinting, you paused mixing the chocolate chips into the next batch of cookies. “I think I am HR?”

You handed her the pyrex bowl since it was her turn to roll them into cookies, and as she snacked on the raw dough, you filled the ziploc bag with more treats, stuffing it full.

Cher sang about starting over and finding love again.

The drawing on the fridge was in your periphery, as was the vase. Reminders of how kind, and gentle, and sweet Eddie and his daughter were. You were bound to misread his flirtations, but there was no harm in matching them, right? As long as you didn’t cross any lines, yeah? Just followed his lead and stopped when he made it clear it wasn’t welcomed.

Yeah.

Dialed back. You could do dialed back.

————

This was new.

It was early afternoon when you closed the manila folder of invoices, and directed your attention to Eddie, who, for the first time, imposed himself on your side of the desk.

He acted brave when he was timid. A blatant facade, still hesitant to commit to crossing the threshold past the invisible line where your desk ended and the hallway began. Made himself smaller by leaning on the wall behind you, giving you room to leave if you wanted. Not yet courageous enough to take his hand away from playing with the ends of his hair over his rosy cheeks. “So–um–Adrie’s class is putting together a Thanksgiving play, and she requested your attendance by name,” he finished with an adorable pout of your moniker, “Miss Mouse.”

You sat up straighter with lifted brows.

Thinking he was doing you a favor, he dropped the formalities, and gave you an out–a carefully worded out to avoid any cheeky response about your policy, “It’s gonna be a bunch of rambunctious toddlers singing off key, and not remembering their lines. It’s cool if you don’t want to go, I’ll tell her you were busy or somethin’. She’ll understand.”

You gripped the armrests in a burst of enthusiasm. “What? Of course I wanna go! When is it?”

Eddie was unconvinced. He crossed his arms, and bent at the waist to better assess if you knew what you were getting into. “Uh, Wednesday around lunch time–we can be out and back during our break if we hurry–but I’m serious about the little kids being obnoxious part. You don’t have to go.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” It was a rhetorical question he was going to answer, but you knocked the air from his lungs with one simple sentence. “I want to be there for her.”

Warmth bloomed. Spread throughout his body. The things he suppressed. Taking over all at once.

“You said Wednesday around lunch time?” you clarified. He nodded dumbly, a bit distracted. Your grin grew. “Both Mr. Moore and Carl are taking a half-day to start their Holiday early..” you began, and waited for the realization to cross his features.

“So we could just..”

“Lock up, and..”

“Take the rest of the day off too,” Eddie finished with an undertone of pride. He’d have to work extra hard to complete the cars he was working on before then, but the idea was genius. Playing hooky under his boss’ nose like he was a teenager again.

There was perhaps more he wanted to say, but the phone rang.

You answered and kept the exchange short, using your normal speaking voice. “Robin’s dad is being discharged from the hospital today,” you told him after hanging up. “I’m gonna clock out early to help prepare the house for when he gets here.”

Eddie watched you tidy up your desk in preparation to leave, and figured he should get back to work.

Picking up where he left off, he sank into the passenger’s seat of the Ford Taurus outside, and ran a mental checklist of things he still needed to do. Or he tried, rather. He was mostly sitting there daydreaming about potential scenarios, until he saw you come from the breakroom with your jacket in hand, and left out the front door, waving goodbye as you went.

Two dramatic minutes passed.

The quiet warehouse amplified the aural representation of his loneliness.

Eddie frowned. He wasn’t about to attribute the weather to your proximity, but he was certain the temperature in the garage dropped when you weren’t in the office. Or, maybe, he lost the pretty thing distracting him every few minutes, and he had the time to reflect on how badly he wanted a smoke break in the sun to warm him up.

He went inside to get his jacket from the breakroom, and instead of encountering a pack of Camels in his pocket, he grasped an oddly shaped object, and wrangled it out.

bobbie & i made too many

    share with adrie & your uncle!

                      ♡

An array of cookies surprised him. Several flavors, in fact. Some with fun toppings, some plain.

He smiled.

Well. Smiling would be putting it mildly.

Acting on impulse, he (accidentally) crushed the bag to his chest, and made a high-pitched noise of glee in his throat, absolutely smitten. Eddie hadn’t received a sweet gesture like this in years. If ever. Ironically blessed with the allure of being older in high school, he couldn’t distinguish the genuine crushes girls may have had on him from the fake love letters people stuffed in his locker to mess with him. But this? This was sincere. Even if the intention behind the cookies were to pawn them off because you made too many, you still thought of him and Adrie.

Too excited, he opened the bag and went to eat one, but a distinct odor itched his nose–one he was too intimate with to miss.

He held the baggie up and sniffed, then smelled the cookies. Inhaled the acrid scent clinging to the plastic, and nibbled on one of the innocuous looking treats.

He consulted the note again.

share with adrie

You didn’t just give him and his daughter edibles, did you?

————

Wednesday came unannounced. You crossed several days off the calendar in the garage, forgetting to do so with the influx of orders, phone calls, and customers getting in their last minute fixes before the Holiday break. You did what you could. Eddie did what he could. And now, you taped a handwritten sign to the front door and locked it until Monday morning.

Grabbing your backpack, you went to the women’s restroom, and Eddie went to the men’s to change out of your work clothes. After some arguing back and forth through the doors, you made him agree to open them on a countdown, and through your giggles, you shouted, “Three!”

You swung open your door and were instantly disappointed. “Why are you wearing that?”

Eddie made a similar sneer across from you in the hallway, and questioned your sanity, “What in the world are you wearing?”

“It’s adorable, and festive!” You defended yourself by pointing out the scarecrow patch on the chest pocket of your baggy overalls, and how your orange flannel matched the one he was wearing. “Do you not think so, you big gray cloud?”

“Yeah, super cute. You’ll blend right in with the toddlers,” he snarked with much less malice than his words implied, on account of his lopsided grin.

“Big talk coming from the guy dressed like a moody teen.” Sinfully tight black jeans, black boots, black belt sporting a handcuff buckle, black leather jacket, black tee with a graphic of a rattlesnake wrapped around a skull.

It was his first date outfit again. How sweet.

And you didn’t need to be checking out his ass to see the bandana hanging out of his back pocket as he escorted you to his car, but you weren’t complaining about the opportunity. “You should worry about scaring the children with how angry you look.”

He held the employee door open for you, and locked it–then almost tripped on his way to unlock the car door, and hold it open for you too. “Angry?” He glanced from your outfit to his. “Good thing I’m with you, then. We’ll balance each other out, Sunshine.”

“An unlikely pair,” you agreed in good faith. Once he shut your door, and was in the process of walking around to his side, you gawked at the nickname. “Sunshine?”

You snapped your mouth shut as he fell into the driver’s seat, and started the car.

“So,” you drew out to break the silence after he didn’t have the courtesy of turning on the radio to ease the tension of being stuck in a small enclosure together, “red, huh?” The entire interior–every last detail–was custom made in the same bright crimson, from the air vents to the tiniest knobs.

The engine revved with his heavy stamp on the gas. Your stomach flipped. His grin went wicked.

“There weren’t many made in this color,” he said, thrilled to see your fingernails dig into your palms as he peeled out onto the street, and the garage became a miniature in his rearview mirror at a frightening speed, considering you were coming up on an intersection. “I’m lucky I found her used, and she didn’t need much work.”

Petrified as you might be by his reckless driving, you still had it within you to make a sound of disgust. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys that refers to their car as a woman.”

“What?” he scoffed. He relaxed one of his hands on his thigh as he lounged back with his head cocked, brazen with his newfound vanity. An arrogant curve to his lips as he interpreted your lingering gaze on his fingers splayed across his leg as being impressed by him, his car, his attitude. The whole package. “You don’t gender your bike?”

Without giving it much consideration, you supposed, “I think my bike is a he.”

“Ha! You ride a man to work every day,” he mumbled after the abrupt laugh.

His smile vanished.

The fact he didn’t mean to say that out loud became very apparent.

The blood drained from his face as quickly as it returned. Splotches of blushy red worked its way up his throat, turning his ears the same color as his beloved car’s interior. Same shade as the traffic light up ahead. Same bawdy hue typically associated with the lustful act his brain suggested before his mouth caught up.

Eddie sat at attention. Swallowed against his pulse as he stepped on the clutch and downshifted gears. The leather strapped steering wheel creaked under his dual vice grip. His chest deflated with a heavy breath, and blinking rapidly at the road, his pounding heart trembled his voice, “Please forget I said that.”

Curled into a ball facing the window–stomach clenched painfully tight from uncontrollable laughter–you muffled yourself with your flannel’s collar, “Never!”

~~~

The rest of the car ride was boring in comparison to the start, but you made it to Adrie’s preschool with only a few more unintentional eruptions of giggles when you remembered Eddie’s horrified face, while he drove in abject misery.

He parked the car, and got out quickly.

“How precious,” you said. The squat brick building had aged pine needles clinging to its shingled roof, and Thanksgiving themed art hanging in its windows.

Opening the entrance door brought the waft of buttery biscuits and grape jelly. Eddie guided you with purpose through the makeshift cafeteria, made snug with four child-sized picnic tables in the middle, and fingerpainted art adorning the navy blue walls. His keyring dangled from his belt, drumming against his jeans as he pivoted into a hallway illuminated by the overcast day outside. Gentle music came from the empty nursery to the left, and to the right was a heavy wooden door that did little to quiet the ruckus beyond it.

He paused. The rectangle window above the door knob streaked the side of his face with warm light from within, countering the nervous energy in his eyes as he took a long moment to look at you. You waited for him to speak, but he decided against it.

“I’m excited,” you offered, just above a whisper, wanting to say anything to help ease the eerie vagueness in his expression.

A muscle in his cheek twitched like he was going to smile, but it came across rather apprehensive.

He turned the knob. You walked inside first. Both of you stood still.

The room was as inviting as it was overwhelming. Bright, decorated, and packed with people. People who were dressed in business casual, and broken off into pairs of two. People who knelt to speak on level with someone who displayed a combination of their distinct features. People who mingled with other adults after the little ones were ushered to the front of the room by the teachers. People who gushed over a topic with their heads together, beaming at a miniature version of themselves dressed in a costume. People who contributed in a joint effort to create life, and the reason they were here today.

Parents.

They were parents.

This was an event for parents.

This was a play for parents to attend to see their child perform, and partake in themed crafts with the implication of going home afterwards to spend the Holidays together.

Eddie watched you realize this.

An older woman gravitated towards you two.

This was very, intensely, happening right now, and you had to navigate the whiplash to the best of your improv abilities.

“Good to see you,” she greeted Eddie first, and he gave a pleasant reply, but she didn’t hear it. Her attention was on you, eyes magnified by her thick glasses, and smiling wider than before. “You brought someone,” she all but gasped, speaking to him, though she was clasping your hand. “I’m Mrs. Teresa. And you are?”

Eddie had a response prepared.

“I’m Adrie’s friend!” you blurted.

He pressed his mouth shut and gave you a sideways glance.

“And, uh,” you continued to dig your grave, “and I work with Eddie. I met Adrie one day, and we really hit it off, haha. Next thing I know I’m trick-or-treating with her, and uh.. now I’m here!” When her expression of anticipation did not wane, you followed up your ramble with your name, and she nodded appreciatively, patting the back of your hand.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” she said. “We’re starting soon if you’d like to sit.”

She moved on to a non-platonic couple, and collected their kid to the front where a backdrop of an autumnal forest jostled due to the jittery group of children hiding behind it–most notably, the little girl at the edge who peeped her head out, and jumped up and down.

You both waved at Adrie.

Eddie’s hand landed on your mid-back, and he directed you with an appropriate amount of pressure towards the last row of chairs, choosing two in the middle.

“Smooth,” he commented.

“Shut it.” Sneaking an eyeful of the broad man next to you wearing a blazer under his boiled wool overcoat, you scooted your chair closer to Eddie’s. He must’ve had a similar train of thought, because he did the same to get away from the woman next to him, unwittingly making you two cozier than you were at the movies.

Shoulder to shoulder, he kept his hands in his pockets, and your elbow slotted into the crook his arm created when he slouched towards you.

“Are we not friends?” he asked in reference to your introduction.

You assured him, “The best of reluctant friends.”

The impish smile he shared with you dwindled with each set of hypercritical eyes getting their gawk in before one of the teachers turned off the lights.

The room was overcome with darkness. Blackout curtains suppressed daylight from coming through–for naptime, you assumed–and as children do, they squealed. The teachers soothed them with an amused shush, and turned on two lamps, pointing them like spotlights at the backdrop. Your eyes refused to adjust past the faint outline of your leg pressed flush against Eddie’s, (from hip to calf as a result from seeking support in each other,) but that was beside the point. The show began.

Mrs. Teresa sat off to the side and opened a comically large book. She read the first passage aloud with the pages facing the parents, and out came the kids dressed as pilgrims, brandishing their buckle shoes and hats. In another breath, the ones wearing brown shirts and feathers arrived, and you grimaced at the watered down kid-friendly rewrite of history being acted out, interspersed with songs about sharing.

At least Adrie was dancing around as a carrot with other vegetable-clad children, spelling out what part of the cornucopia they were.

Truly, it could’ve been worse.

But it was during a chorus about friendship sung at the top of their lungs, you unbit your tongue, and leaned into Eddie. “So when are they gonna enslave the Natives and steal their land?”

“Pft!”

Several pairs of shoulders in front of you turned to glare at what they assumed was Eddie snickering at their children’s bad singing before sitting forward, surely perturbed.

He knocked the side of his fist on the top of your thigh, and went to scold you.

But the room was dark.

So dark.

And he misjudged how close you sat.

The cold tip of his nose made contact with the cusp of your cheekbone. His stuttered breath caught your jaw. Your arm slipped further into the curve of his body.

He could’ve realized his mistake. He could’ve stopped there. He could’ve apologized for overstepping the coworker code of conduct. He could’ve reminded himself you’d be gone by the end of the summer. He could’ve dialed it back. He could’ve kept it casual. He could’ve backed off, and dropped the silly reprimand altogether. He could’ve done so many things. But he didn’t. He accepted the risk, and committed to it.

He dipped his head until his plump lips discovered the shell of your ear. Every word vibrated on your skin, rippling goosebumps in the wake of his groaned warning, “You’re gonna get me in trouble.” Trembly, raspy from keeping his voice low. Hardly hitting the hard consonants with his tongue before he was withdrawing.

The humidity from his exhale remained. It cooled on your skin. In the weak lamplight, you shifted your wide eyes to his, and the knowledge of what transpired reflected in his keen gaze gauging the consequences of his actions.

Stuck in a daze of buzzing endorphins, you had no idea how to interpret what the hell just happened.

Careful, he didn’t dare express an emotion that would give his true self away.

Together, you both redirected the focus to his daughter.

It took another few seconds for either of you to discern the back of his hand resting on your thigh. He took it away, and crossed his legs, establishing some much needed space between you.

~~~

The play ended, and the lights were flipped on. Everyone winced. There was an announcement from one of the teachers about a snack and crafts for the parents who were staying; and without an auto shop to attend to, you and Eddie were able to dote over Adrie instead of being forced back into the intimacy of his car.

He stood up and said he’d be right back. Lucky for Adrie, she bolted for you first, and you wasted no time in scooping her up into a crushing hug, grateful for the distraction.

Overflowing with pride, you channel all your love into lauding Adrie in mushy compliments, rubbing your cheek against hers. “Oh my gosh, you did so good! You were the best carrot I’ve ever seen. I’m downright impressed by your performance, remembering all those lines.” Pulling away, you waggled your eyebrows. “You wanna grow up to be an actor? Have people flock to see you on stage?” Her face brightened in renewed excitement.

“On a stage like Da–?”

Eddie intervened out of nowhere, “You two ladies gonna join me?” You startled an imperceivable amount from his sudden appearance–truly, you didn’t even jump–but it was enough to earn his toothy grin. “I reserved two seats at the Queen’s table for the princess and her esteemed guest for the evening.” He bowed with a swept out arm, showing you the way through the sea of adults.

Queen’s table was certainly a way to sell it.

It was a tiny, tiny thing. There were several of them at the back of the room, seating four children at most–or two adults and a four-year-old–and Adrie chose a blue one with a cartoon turkey decoration in the middle.

Half an ass cheek fit in the chair, the tabletop was at your shins, and your knees were tucked to your chest. You met Eddie’s gaze above Adrie’s head, and rubbed her back while he stroked her hair, running his fingers through the tangles.

You assumed, for the most part, he wanted to ignore what happened earlier as if it never happened, and you followed his lead.

Adrie broke you from your musing. There was commotion surrounding the teachers, and she gasped, flapping her hands when she saw what they were carrying.

A palm-sized pumpkin pie was set before her, along with three spoons.

“I made this fresh this morning,” she informed you as if she were running a bakery. And as head baker, she was in charge of portion sizes. She took one spoon and scooped out a modest amount of pumpkin filling, and not a crumb of graham crust more. That one was for Eddie.

For you? She split the rest of the pie, and gave you your half balanced on your spoon, and dug into her half without giving her dad a second glance.

“Hey,” he whined. “Not fair. I’m the one who raised you. Why does she get more?”

Speaking down to him like it was the most obvious thing ever, she rolled her eyes, and said, “Because girls are better, Daddy.”

You didn’t hide your snort.

“Yeah, Eddie.” You taunted him by waving the spoon before sticking the pie chunk in your mouth. “G–irls sh’are better.”

Chewing on his measly portion, he regarded his princess and her esteemed guest with a similar amount of weakness, and the tension at the corners of his eyes softened. He submitted. “Yeah. Girls are better.”

~~~

After the snack was a craft. In this case, hand turkeys. Paper, crayons, markers, and colored pencils were passed out amongst the tables, and a teacher gave instructions to the kiddos.

You grabbed the cartoon turkey decoration in the middle of the table for reference, and began your masterpiece. Adrie kept it classic, tracing her hand. Eddie did.. whatever he was doing, hunched over to hide his paper from you two for the past ten minutes.

“I made a princess turkey,” Adrie announced. Indeed, her turkey was decked out with a flowy dress and pink pointy hennin. In the background was a cobblestone castle.

You showed her your realistic turkey, hoping to impress her, but she pulled a face.

“Ew, he’s ugly.”

Frowning at your drawing, you compared him to the one on the table centerpiece, and felt bad for all the less-than-beautiful turkeys around the world. “That’s just the way he looks..”

Eddie, happy as a clam, slammed his pencil down and flaunted his drawing. “I turned mine into a dragon.”

Converging with Adrie, she whispered in your ear, and as a unit, you judged his hand turkey, weighing the artistic ability versus the outlandish deviation from the original assignment.

After a heated debate, you cleared your throat for his attention.

You both applauded his efforts with a humbling clap.

~~~

It wasn’t long before Adrie grew bored with coloring, and left to play with her friends. They gathered around a chest by the teacher’s desk, and brought out non-Thankgivingsy costumes. She played dress up in a fairy-unicorn combo, and another girl hopped around in a mermaid outfit, complete with a shimmery tail.

Eddie switched seats, flopping into the middle chair with a grunt. He moved Adrie’s drawing aside and set up shop. Made himself right at home. Really just invaded your area like he owned the place.

“Uhh–” You gaped. “Can you kindly remove your knee from my vicinity? You’re blocking both my drawing and the colored pencils.”

He imposed himself more. Nudging his feet wider for the sole reason of bothering you until you were forced to curl in on yourself in an uncomfortable hunch. Actively ignoring your plea by sketching the finishing touches on his dragon.

Resigning your sneer at the back of his head, you agreed, “All right.” If he wanted to play that game, you would too. You snatched the orange pencil you needed for your turkey’s feathers, and shoved the markers to the far side of the table, outside his reach.

Giving him no time to prepare a counterattack, you looped your arm around his leg to his shin, and hugged his thigh to your chest with your flexed bicep, locking his knee in a sleeper hold any wrestler would be proud of, preventing him from getting up.

Yes, things scattered as you did this. Yes, people rubbernecked. No, you didn’t care, and Eddie didn’t, either.

Well, he cared a little, even if the grumpy persona he donned cracked with each failed frown.

His mouth curled into a grin despite his resistance. “I can’t have the red marker?” The syllables were caught amongst his hissy laugh at your ridiculousness–tip of his tongue to his teeth, voice rich with affection, and eyes squinted from pure adoration–a short question articulated through his mirth, with his chest braced against your arm after accepting the position of your entwined bodies, and another beg for you to understand on his lips. “How am I supposed to outline the fire he’s breathing, huh?”

He furrowed his brows to appear angry, but it was futile. His smile was here to stay. And what a treat it was to get lost in the moment.

At any point he could’ve easily broken from your hold. Hell, you hardly had his leg secured in your embrace after he shook his hair out of his face, and your muscles were rendered to warm jelly. But still, he played along.

You hunkered down and returned to your drawing with his jeans rubbing on the underside of your chin. “I once heard of these magic words you could use to get what you want.. if you ask nicely.” He hummed a disgruntled noise to show his displeasure. Poor him, being beaten at this own game, and served with a dose of his own medicine.

Incredulous, he huffed, “Magic words?” But there was something suspicious about his tone..

Something just not quite right, indeed..

Without looking, you snatched his hand seconds before his mischievous fingers wiggled their way to your ribs. You interlaced an assortment of index, middle, and thumbs in a twist of power, and dragged your gaze away from your artwork to mock him. “So predictable, Eddie.”

“Am I?”

An aware glimmer from how unpredictable he was half an hour ago presented itself as a gorgeous flash of slyness across his eyes, crinkling his crow’s feet at the corners–

The metal feet of Eddie’s abandoned chair scraped along the floor.

You disengaged from each other, cheeks burning with fresh shame.

Mrs. Teresa had a yellow paper folder tucked under her arm. This was not favorable for Adrie on account of her sharp heel-turn when she saw her teacher sit at the table with her preschool assessment opened for her dad to pour over.

You couldn’t read anything from your angle, but it appeared to be a collection of Adrie’s assignments and a progress report with many notes written in the margins.

Pushing her glasses up her nose, Mrs. Teresa licked her fingertips, and flipped through the pages, updating him since the last time they did this.

The conversation was about the places Adrie excelled, and where she could improve. In regards to education, she was surpassing where she should be, and she was a quick learner. Kindergarten would be no trouble for her. It was sharing, and social interactions she was struggling with, despite her ability to make friends.

Mrs. Teresa guided Eddie towards a more serious discussion about these concerns by asking him if he told her ‘no’ frequently, and how she reacted when he did. You’d never seen him so nervous. Fidgeting, bouncing, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. Stuttering through a weak admission that he has trouble disappointing her.

He was uncomfortable, and you did your due diligence to tune them out. But it was no use.

Surveying the room, your mind was consumed by Eddie once more. For a different reason, and inciting a different emotion.

Parents at the other tables whispered observations about his mannerisms into their partner’s ear. About his disheveledness. His weirdness. His clothes.  His nonconformity. His last name. The whole package.

He was the father to the sweet little girl they invited to birthday parties, but never stayed after dropping her off with a gift? This was the man who never spoke. Never lingered long enough to put the rumors at rest. Never denied them either, so, logically, the gossip about him must be true.

“As you know, Adrie will throw tantrums from time to time when you drop her off,” Mrs. Teresa eased him into the topic. “When she cries, she asks for you, and it’s difficult to calm her down. This is abnormal for how long she’s been enrolled here. Have you been working on those techniques I taught you to help steer her towards more independence?” Her inquiry was kind, and sympathetic. It was valid, but his first instinct was to defend himself.

“I-I, well.” He took a shaky breath, and leaned towards her with his elbow on his thigh to cup his hand around his mouth, and sliding it to wring the back of his neck. “She’s–It’s just, she’s all I have, a-a-and–”

Mrs. Teresa rubbed his shoulder.

Though you were missing context for what Adrie’s teacher was trying to correct him from doing, you wanted to show your support. Lessen his stress. Afterall, the integrity of dialed back crumbled when his lips grazed your ear, and following his lead culminated in you being invited into his daughter’s world, so what’s the worst that could happen if you took a risk and comforted him? ..Besides discovering if David’s Auto Repair had an HR department.

Eddie’s pitch fluctuated as he bounced his leg harder, “When I’m home, I just want to make her happy–and, she’s, she’s–” You placed your hand on his knee, and stroked your thumb over the skin peeking out from the rips in his jeans. His inhale hitched at the sensation.

Without otherwise addressing what you did, he covered your hand with his own, crooked his cold fingertips into the spaces between yours, and parsed his thoughts. Slowed his mind. Ceased his nervous habit of bouncing his leg. Appreciated the gesture, even as the tacky silver spider ring on his pinky taunted you.

“I’ve been better about telling her ‘no’ lately,” he said more clearly. “The tantrums are happening less, and they don’t last as long when she sees I’m not budging. But the other stuff.. I don’t know.”

���Do you still carry her?” she asked, and he avoided eye contact.

“Yeah.”

“She’s almost five. She’s not a baby anymore, dear. It’s best to wean her now before it becomes a bigger problem.”

“I know.”

Mrs. Teresa gave him a motherly pat on his back, and smiled at you–his coworker–and rearranged Adrie’s folder to the bottom of the stack she had, and moved on to another table.

For a while, Eddie twisted the hair at his nape around his finger. Eyes fixated on the crayon box. You waited for him to come around, and when he did, he smiled and squeezed your hand before sliding his clammy palms to his thigh, allowing you to let go of his knee.

His chest rumbled with a soft laugh. “Sorry, was I shaking the table?”

Yes? No? Maybe? You weren’t paying attention to notice. “Yeah, like an earthquake,” you joked.

“My bad,” he said with not a hint of remorse displayed in his delighted expression.

On cue, serving as the perfect interruption to the prolonged stare you gave each other, another autumnal craft was being distributed amongst the parents remaining, and Adrie set her chin on top of where your and her dad’s shoulders touched.

Mrs. Teresa’s advice regarding his codependency went ignored for another day.

Eddie shut his eyes and pressed his temple to Adrie’s, humming contently to himself, cherishing the affection he ached for.

Adrie, on the other hand, gasped when she spied what was on the table, and rang his ears, “Glitter!”

~~~

Thank God Eddie was a safer driver with Adrie in the car; your stomach couldn’t handle another queasy acceleration through a yellow light while you made a concentrated effort to get flakes of gold glitter out of your eyebrows, having no recollection of how they got there.

In her car seat behind you, Adrie regaled you with the plot points of the latest episode of My Little Pony Tales, chirping away happily about the interpersonal relationships between the cartoon horses until Eddie pulled into the alleyway behind the auto shop, and you turned around to say your goodbyes, thanking her for inviting you.

You opened the car door and heard Eddie do the same. You were about to ask him why he was getting out too, when he went up to the employee door and unlocked it for you.

Right, you left your keys in your backpack.

Rationally you knew he wasn’t a mind reader, but you were still sheepish when getting your bike, wheeling it out to stand across from him in what was a dreadful amount of silence.

“So, uh,” he faltered in the same rush of feelings crashing like a wave over the both of you. “Thank you for coming today. I know Adrie appreciated having you there.” He went shy, scratching the back of his head before putting his hands in his pockets. “Sorry about the mess.”

You shrugged at the mention of glue on your sleeve. “It’s whatever. I’m just glad I got to watch her perform.” Dumbass move, bringing up the play when what happened during it influenced every bit of this awkward interaction. You hurried to move past it, “Plus, the pumpkin pie was nice.” And what happened afterwards when we held hands–twice–was nicer.

Jesus Christ.

Reeling in the desire to bolt, you gambled on one last question before going home to scream into your pillow. “Uhm–Can I ask you something?”

“I guess,” he answered with a wary tone.

“Why do people look at you weird?” You motioned at his clothes. “Besides the obvious.”

The deep creases between his brows from years of scrunching his face in a sour expression became more prominent. “There’s a lot of rumors out there about me.. Some are true, some aren’t.”

“Do you want to tell me which ones are true?”

Inside the car, Adrie swayed in her seat, belting a tune neither of you could hear.

“I will some other time, okay?” He flicked his gaze to you, saw the understated kindness of your soft smile, and diverted his attention to the rock he was grinding under his shoe; bashful despite the burden of his reputation affecting the instant sag in his posture. “I will,” he promised again, giving you a curt nod.

You walked your bike up beside him, and bumped his elbow. “Hey, don’t look so glum,” you insisted. “Whatever it is, I’ll still go with you to parent-teacher conferences as Adrie’s best friend so you don’t look so painfully single.”

You threw your head back in a witchy cackle as you hopped on your bike and rode away.

And it was when you were in the familiar territory of woods flocking either side of the dirt road leading to Robin’s house that you gave into the urge, and released an embarrassed, guttural, annoyed groan of one word, scaring the blackbirds in the nearby trees, “Why?”

Single, single, single. Good God, could you be more obvious?

Dialed back was a lost cause from the start.

“Well, whatever happens, happens, I guess.” And you finished it with, “Idiot.”

————

Eddie had been sitting in his car for all of two seconds when he patted the side of his seat for the back recliner, and cranked it until he was almost laid flat.

Driving his hands from his nape and upward, he gathered his hair between his fingers and covered his face, mashing the curly ends over his eyes screwed shut from red-hot shame.

He inhaled deeply, and reprimanded his dumbassery in the loudest groan. “That was so–incredibly–not casual.”

“What’s the matter, Daddy?” Adrie asked, sounding like a therapist as she pinched her sticky fingers together to shift the gold glitter from one to the other.

Composing himself, he finished dragging his palms down his cheeks, and combed away the strands stuck on his eyelashes. He blinked. “It’s nothing.” Nothing at all. He definitely wasn’t thinking of how fucked he was, believing he could handle today without taking things too far.

But it wasn’t how he almost kissed your cheek that bothered him the most, nor the multiple scenarios he supplied in effort to hold your hand, or touch you in general.

No. It was worse.

Staring unfocused at the ceiling, his lips parted with a realization.

His whisper was for himself, and his heart only. “I didn’t even care that people were staring at me today..” The mercy of your presence brought a line of water to his eyes. Not enough to flow over, but enough for him to notice his loneliness.

“Can you invite Miss Mouse to Thanksgiving?”

“No, she has her own Thanksgiving to attend,” he told her, and held his hand out, making a grabby motion at her. She understood and put her shoe in his palm so he could squeeze her ankle. Any affection. Any at all. Giving or receiving.

Knowing the answer, he asked, “You really like her, huh?”

“She’s my favorite.”

“Yeah, she’s my favorite too,” he said, in whatever capacity she meant, he meant it as well. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t, but he did.

Massaging his thumb and forefinger into circles on his forehead, he meditated on the right thing to do. Meaning, he thought about the hundreds of reasons he should put an end to this, to discourage Adrie’s relationship with you, and to resist the temptation of forming his own; and instead he latched onto the idea of him not appearing single for a little longer than his logical brain was comfortable with.

Coworker, risk, flighty personality, yada, yada..

He snorted. “Yeah, I should probably stop this.”

Adrie rolled her leg in his grasp to get him to let go. “Can we stop at McDonald’s first?”

“Wha–?” After a moment of confusion, he sighed. “Give me a break, kid.”

[trtlebuns]

Who would’ve thought?

Random things about T141 + Alejandro & Köing

Tags: Fluff and cursing (maybe?)

Alejandro Vargas

my man my man my man!!!!

Alejandro HATES!!! Spicy foods, even though he is Mexican and grew up in a Mexican household he CANNOT handle anything spicy

Wakes up at 6:45 everyday

His comfort clothing includes: a tank top or T-shirt with grey joggers and black/socks

He would often cook the meals (very house husband of him)

Hates alcoholic beverages, like he’ll drink them but won’t enjoy them

Favorite color is: Rosewood Pink

Favorite ice cream flavor is strawberry

He doesn’t wear cologne

He takes his skin care VERY serious

When he’s angry or excited he would talk in his native tongue

Will call out of work if his hair isn’t “hairing��

Likes to kiss you on the forehead near your edges

Likes to watch you get dressed

Wants to have a big family

If he could be any cartoon character he would be Milo from fish hooks

Has a tattoo of your initial behind his ear

Köing

Listens to lofi and jazz

A light sleeper

Hates pickles

Wears his mask in public but at home he wears a big sweater with a large hood to hide most of his face (specifically a deep purple sweater)

Likes all of the avengers movies and if one is coming out he would buy tickets in advance (like 3-6 months in advance)

Likes strawberry milk but is severely lactose intolerant

Hates raisins but likes grapes

His comfort outfit would be: at home, a onesie to match yours or if in public ( like he goes out there willingly) would be a hoodie and joggers with crocs

Enjoys putting on his eye makeup while you do your makeup

Still doesn’t know what “beat this face to the gods” mean, even though you only say it when you do your makeup

Is happy with being with you and having a cat or two (or any small animal of your choice)

Prefers to eat ketchup with anything

Likes sardines

Likes to hug you from the back

Favorite color is: Mulberry Purple

He wears your initial as a chain

Has a dad sneeze

GHOST (Simon Riley)

Hates anything super sweet or sweeting in general

Prefers coffee (black) over tea, but would drink it if it’s the only thing around

He likes pumpkin spice lattes (yes he’s a basic bi- brit 🫣)

Secretly adds weapons to you car every time he gets in it

Like why do you have a knife in your cup holder?? How did that get there, you wonder

Orders steak every time you guys eat out anywhere “fancy”

Wears a face mask when he’s out

Your nickname for him is “beady eyed brit”

Only kisses you on the cheek and the temple

He rolls his eyes at everything

“Omg mon, you didn’t have to get me this??” You said happily as you hugged Simon. “I wouldn’t have gotten it, if you didn’t stop pestering me about it” He sighed and rolled his eyes knowing that he would buy you the world if you only mentioned it once

He loves peppermints

He likes to watch you…just do you

You’re in the kitchen? Boom, he’s leaning on the fridge watching you. You’re in the bathroom fixing your hair, Boom, he’s sitting on the toilet seat just staring. You’re walking around talking on the phone? Boom, he’s right there in arms distance listening and watching you. Just watching

He listens to classical music

Comfort fit: anything that’s lying on the floor closest to him or anything that seems comfy to him, could be shorts and a shirt or joggers and topless as long as he’s comfy he don’t care

Prefers to be just with you but wouldn’t mind stretching the family

He likes to skip rocks

He knows how to skateboard

Weirdly obsessed with peanut butter because of the “protein”

Favorite color is: Juniper Green

He goes makeup shopping with you because you need to know what type of eye makeup he wears that lasts through literal war

SOAP (Johnny Mactavish)

Hates coconut flavored anything! It could artificial or down to the real deal he HATES IT

Likes to yell at the tv

Must take a bite of your food, it doesn’t matter if you both have the same thing or not. He needs a bite and his reasoning is “I’m testing for poison”

Get you a man who CARES!

Would rate your burps out of 10

Let’s you paint his nails

He spills the tea and so do you

Johnny bursts through the door, and started you “BIIIIIIITCH!!!” Johnny says as he shakes his head walks towards you, you already know the tea is piping HOT! “Let me tell you what price done said over the phone just now” he says as he props down on the bed and you get into a sitting position “I’m all ears babe” you get ready for the most juiciest information of you life

Likes to pee/shit while you’re in the bathroom (it’s his favorite activity)

He rock climbs for a hobby

Favorite color is: Coin Silver

Always calls and never text in advance that he needs to talk

Comfort outfit: pajama bottoms, bunny slippers, and topless or a tanktop

Likes to sleep in cold temperatures

Tackles you with hugs and kisses whenever he sees you

You’re on the phone trying to pay a bill? Boom, he’s right next to you kissing your head and hugging you from the back. You’re trying to get ready for work? Boom, you’re making out and now you gotta call off work…AGAIN!

Listens to a lot of Megan thee stallion because he heard you playing thot shit

Hates the texture of cottage cheese

He’s a horrible cook and so are you, but you both try your best and end up ordering out

Likes to throw things at you and act as if he had no idea what you’re talking about when you ask if he threw something at you

“Ow, what the fu-“ you say as you scratch your head and look at the ground and see an orange crayon on the floor. You look up and see Johnny at the table with a coloring book and crayons “J did you just throw this at me” you question as you raise the crayon. He looks and you and you look at him… “I have no idea what you’re talking about” he says calmly as he goes back to coloring. You sigh, “then how did this get over here?” You roll your eyes and put your hand on your hip. “It must’ve been already over there” he shrugs while continuing his activity with a small smirk pulling at his lips

Likes to eat haggis ( Scottish bastard )

Knows how to play the flute

He would like to have 3 kids and 2 dogs (specifically a Rottweiler and Doberman)

[spideystevie]

single thread of gold (tied me to you)

word count: 1.2k

a/n: tell jesus...that the bitch is back. HIII have had insane amounts of writer's block lately but have been getting into the groove again and thus, this was born. truly just overly "poetic" fluff with, like, no plot. i've missed steve and i've missed YOU guys!!!! i hope you like <3

Fate wasn’t an idea you bought into. Invisible strings, serendipitous meetings, everything happened with cause and effect. 

Then, you met Steve and fate seemed to be something that had a lot more pull in your life than you ever realized. How else could you explain a mini version of your Steve pouting in the background of a childhood photo of you at the park? Or the distinct color of the green jacket you wore all the time in the corner of a picture of Steve on vacation his junior year?

You’re sure there had to be signs you were oblivious to. Twists of fate tugging on the respective end of the string that tied the two of you together, pulling this way and that until you fell together. It seems like the stars aligned the day you met, everything slowly starting to fall into place the more you wove your lives together.

It’s a pretty thought now, the idea of fate and serendipity. 

A tethering thread, thin as fishing wire and painted gold, is wrapped snug around your hearts. It’s naked to the eye but you can feel it give your heart a gentle squeeze whenever Steve smiles, each time he brushes his thumb over the curve of your cheek, down to your jaw. 

It digs into the flesh even now, sets your skin alive as he stands behind you, arms wrapping around your shoulders and holding you close against him. It’s instinctive the way your hands come up to hold onto his forearms. Your head lolls to one side, nearly resting against the pillow of muscle in his bicep near your ear. 

You wonder if this is too much for the grocery store on a Sunday. After all, you’re just trying to pick out a new cereal to try for breakfast. Steve wants anything chocolate and your nose crinkles, unsure if you agree. He tries his best to smooth the wrinkle along the bridge of your nose away with a kiss. 

It works, though his kiss presses more so to the skin beneath your eye than your actual nose. You don’t mind. You never mind when it comes to Steve’s kisses on your skin. 

He talks you into cocoa puffs, keeps one arm wrapped around you as he reaches to grab the box and put it in your shopping cart. He spoon feeds you a couple mouthfuls when you get home and all the groceries have been put away. When he kisses you it’s almost artificially sweet like the chocolate from his cereal. 

You push his hair back from his forehead, dipping to press a kiss between his brow. His eyes close on contact and a wispy smile creeps onto his face. When you straighten, his hair falls back into place and you ruffle it with your hand. He swats it away with a playful scrunch of his nose that makes you laugh. 

“I was thinking tonight we could go out for dinner, see a movie maybe,” you say, leaning against the counter. Steve swivels on the barstool, his knee nudging your thigh. The spoon clinks against the bowl, stirring up the last few lonely pieces of cereal floating in the milk. 

He reaches for your waist, pulling you to his lap with an ease that’s grown over the years. You sit on his thigh, back against the edge of the counter and both legs dangling in the space between his. Like some kind of magnetic force, your hand comes back to his hair, pushing the loose strands of fringe away from his forehead again. 

A gooey admiration pools like honey in his eyes as he looks up at you. He smiles, a little dopey, when your nails scratch against his scalp. 

“Hmm, do I get to pick the movie?”

“I think that can be arranged,” you murmur, a smile etched on your face. You seem to do that a lot you realize, a near permanent upturn of your lips whenever Steve’s around. You can’t help it, a reflex after this many years together. 

Steve feels the tug of that thread around his heart right now, with your hand fallen against the back of his neck and the sweetest lovesick smile on your face. He can’t get enough of you, not that he’d ever want to. Steve loves the insatiable feeling that comes with loving you. 

“Then it’s a date,” he responds, the insides of his body feeling heavy and warm from the amount of adoration coursing through him. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it. Like he can’t take it anymore, he pinches at your side and relishes in the giggling squeal that escapes you as you fold at the side and lean away. 

“Steve,” you try to go for chastising, your hand smushing against his face and pushing him away when he tries to pinch again, but it comes out half-hearted and through a laugh. It mixes with his, a hearty melodic sound that you never tire of hearing. 

You move to stand, your feet just barely touching the ground before you’re pulled back tight against him. He noses against your neck, lips ghosting against the skin there. You twist your neck to face him as his face comes up from its spot against your neck. 

Steve’s eyes scan your face, redrawing each feature from memory each time he blinks. His nose nudges against yours, squishes against your cheek when he presses his lips to yours. A feeling like coming home, a mutual squeeze around your hearts that comes each time you kiss. 

When you pull back, he steals one, two, three more kisses from you until you’re left a giggling mess, smile wide and blinding and eyes shining like the stars. He’s never seen a prettier sight. Another kiss is stolen, this one silencing your giggles with the intensity of it. You blink hard, a little dazed when he pulls away.

Steve’s nose brushes against your hairline, his lips ghosting over your temple. That same cheek-aching smile returns to your face, a bit softer this time, fuzzy around the edges. Your whole body feels that way, a whole gaussian blur of a lover as you look at your boyfriend.

His eyes soften and his head tilts in question, “What?”

“Jus’ love looking’ at you,” you say, voice a gentle hug. I love you is what it means, til the end of time and then some. Steve understands, of course he does. Your serendipitous, fated love. His eyes crinkle at the corners from how big his smile grows, your favorite sight. One of your hands reaches to hold his face, thumb brushing against the wrinkled skin.

“Funny,” he muses, voice dripping with fondness for you, “was just thinking the same thing ‘bout you.”

Your heart soars and you can feel yourself sinking further into the deep end of the pool of his adoration for you. Positively lovesick, you bring his face down to yours again to kiss him silly. 

That tethering string wraps almost painfully, suffocatingly tight around your hearts. If you could die from so much love, well, it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

[rallentando1011]

Somnambulant Soulmates (rise Donnie x gn reader)Pt.2

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Word Count: 2737

You two could not seem to stop bumping into each other.

At the store, the mall, the sidewalk, anywhere you ventured, it was almost impossible to not run into him.

Initially, you thought you were being stalked or messed with or something. Out of all of the millions of people in New York City, what were the odds of seeing the same person multiple times in a week without coordination? Coincidence? You thought not.

Now, it wasn’t like you two had engaged or anything. The day after April’s party, you went to pick up some lunch from a nearby cafe. While you navigated the bustling streets and stampedes of consumers, a flash of vaguely familiar purple rushed by you. When you took a double take to discern if it was him and if you should say hello, you smacked straight into the person walking in front of you. Despite your mumbling and apology, the person, the entire crowd pressed on, and despite confirming that it was, in fact, the purple turtle who passed by, you kept trudging along, thoughts of him quickly dissipating.

Until the following day.

That was when you had passed by him in a shopping complex. Nothing odd occurred, just him being in the same place as you at the same time again, though you noticed the confused glances you both tossed at each other from over your shoulders.

Two days after that was a run-in at a hardware store. Unsurprisingly, it once again only consisted of you walking in the opposite direction as him, and, once again, neither of you said anything verbally.

However, the day after when, predictably, he was there when you went out again, it almost drove you nuts.

In that instance, you were waiting in a food cart’s lengthy line. The cold air bit at you, though the warm, vibrant smells that wafted from the heavenly cart brought some solace to your experience.

Your contentment was short lived. The sounds of footsteps growing near quickly met your ears and, upon reaching right behind you in line, stopped. You spared a glance back, and you sort of wished you hadn’t. The reason being was because the motif-like turtle in your life was right there, scrolling boredly on his phone, standing nonchalantly as if he hadn’t been incidentally plaguing you the last few days.

Oh, well. If you were to keep seeing him everywhere, you might as well strike up some conversation.

“Oh, hey!” you ripped off the proverbial band aid. 

“Oh,” he observed artificially. Almost as though he had already noticed your presence, which was likely. “Hello.”

“Wait, wait, your name is don- don’t tell me - Donatello, yeah?”

He took in a breath, and you could tell just by the pedantic manner of the inhale that it wasn’t quite right. Then you remembered.

“Donnie!” you shouted excitedly, then froze when you remembered that you were in an extremely public place and yelling. “I mean, Donnie,” you recovered, much more calmly.

“Uh huh,” he nodded. “So,” he clicked his tongue, “what brings you here?”

You interpreted that he was probing, likely trying to see if you had, indeed, been following him. You couldn’t blame him for it. You were about to do the same thing.

“Pizza.” You nictated.

He blinked right back. “Same.”

“I come here every week,” you two spoke in unison, looking at each other in a puzzled manner.

“I don’t recall seeing you here before,” he said, the suspicion from his earlier tone already dissipated.

“Nor do I.” You hummed, shuffled forward in line. “Every Thursday?”

“Without fail.”

“Me too.” You eyed him cautiously. “Although I’m normally earlier.”

“And I’m typically here later. I suppose we’ve just been missing each other.” He seemed genuinely surprised. Good. That made it a lot less likely that there was some ulterior motive or reason he kept appearing.

“Guess so,” you surmised as you finally made it to the front of the line. Pulling out your wallet, you exchanged a couple of dollars for a hot, delectable, oversized slice with the worker. “See you around!” Worries about being pranked alleviated and pizza acquired, you waved him a goodbye and set off on your way.

Now, a full week after the birthday party, you found yourself briskly walking to complete an errand when an all-too predictable person entered your vision.

With a sigh, you acknowledged the now common, unplanned accompaniment beside you that was Donnie.

“Library?”

“Library.”

“Not surprising,” you surmised with a shrug as you neared the entrance.

“Odd we keep meeting, huh?” he observed casually as he pushed open the door, shifting back to grant you passage first.

You laughed quickly, a little too brazen, a little too loud. You recovered with the clearing of your throat and a polite nod as you thanked him and headed through the door.

“I reckon.” Once entering, you ambled slowly, your pace and the free space at your side an invitation for him that he gladly accepted. Your tone lowered, being in a library and all, as you changed the subject. “So, what are you here for?”

You couldn’t help the corners of your lips from turning up as you saw his eyes light up. “Oh, not much,” he started nonchalantly, though a grin was quick to take over his face as well. “Just the modern revolutionization of technology as we know it. The integration of mystic weaponry and resources into more variations of tech. My tech has already been enhanced by such gems,” - he tapped the side of said goggles for emphasis - “but the scale of what I’m working on is unprecedented. I’ve got big plans…” he trailed off, realizing he had dominated the conversation. You were probably bored out of your mind, trying to figure out how to get away from him and his odd spiels like his brothers would.

But when he looked at you, your eyes were eagerly locked on his, your engagement was written clearly on your face. You jumped into the chat, filling the silence between you two as you walked toward the front desk. “I was just here to get some quiet and work on a report, but your thing sounds way more interesting. Mind if I join you?”

Donnie blinked.

Blinked again.

You… wanted to listen… to him? His mind and ego were simultaneously blown. The corners of his lips curled up again, something that seemed to be a recurring thing around you - 27 smiles already within his short time knowing you by his (undoubtedly correct) count.

“Not at all,” he tried and failed to stay casual once again, his eagerness practically oozing from his tone.

“Alright. Let me just check in with the libraria-” 

Your journey toward the front desk was cut off by his arm linking with yours and dragging you abruptly to the left.

“Woah!” you exclaimed, not upset but certainly confused. “Shouldn’t we sign in or something? No?” You tapped the library card attached to the strap of your bookbag as you continued to get pulled along past aisleways, and the crisp scent of fresh paper and ink flooded your olfactory senses.

“But of course,” he winked. It offered only more confusion and questions rather than answers. Your face must have expressed that seeing as a smug grin formed on his. “That would be correct, if we were headed to the normal section of the library.”

“The normal-?” You tilted your head. “I don’t follow.”

“Well, my good fellow, fortunately for you all you have to do is follow. My lead, that is,” he clarified as he turned you two into an aisle of books.

Donnie finally relinquished your arm, leaving you to stand awkwardly by your lonesome as he scanned over a nearby shelf. Both out of comfort and not knowing what to do with them, you slipped your hands into your pockets, rocking slowly back and forth on your heels.

“Tada!” the terrapin turned back towards you enthusiastically after he thumbed a medium sized book from the middle of the shelf. 

The binding looked relatively worn and decorated with archaic sigils of some sort, the burgundy leather of the cover discolored in some places from the multitude of hands that had been on it, but the novel still clearly read: A Rudimentary Guide for Geology and Archaeology.

“You must really love geology, huh?” you ventured based on the fact that he was practically vibrating with excitement.

However, his nose scrunched at the insinuation. “No, geology is arguably the worst subset of science.”

You squinted. Man, this turtle really couldn’t keep anything consistent.

Just as you moved your lips to retort, he caught on to your line of reasoning.

“Oh, no. That’s not why I selected this one. This is a special- sigh, let me just show you.” He took a few steps toward you, book in hand.

“Behold!” Donnie proclaimed, quickly pulling the book open and-

Nothing happened.

After a silent, action-deprived moment, he looked at you, the book, you again, and pursed his lips.

“Heh, sorry. Wrong one,” he shrugged before slowly placing down the apparently incorrect book and retrieving yet another book on geology. All the while, you could hear the occasional mumble of how much geology stinks, how the books about it couldn’t even be told apart, etc. “Here we go!”

You opened your mouth, some question or retort already starting to pour out of it, but before you could get out a word, he opened the book, and you both were pulled into it.

Your figure translated onto- no, into the book, your bag and limbs and entirety nothing but two-dimensional illustrations on fluttering pages. Every atom of your existence translated onto paper, though it didn’t hurt; it just felt like you were made of butterflies.

Then it went dark.

Before everything was bright again.

Fluorescent lights, bookshelves, your feet on solid ground, everything seemed like it was back to normal at the library. Except for the flying books and bookshelves.

Tomes soared unnaturally overhead, along with shelves stocked to the brim with them, almost sentiently, flapping and whirring about. Turrets of mystic energy flowed throughout the large room. Grand staircases led to even more rows and rows of novels. Some of the staircases were even inverted, seemingly having no respect for the concept of gravity nor your mind’s ability to grasp what you were looking at. 

“Ta-stinking-da!” Donnie exclaimed, a hand to his chest, the other trimly at his side.

“Woah. What… is this place?” you pondered. Holding onto the straps of your bookbag, you allowed yourself to look all around, try to absorb as much of what you were seeing as you could.

“Welcome to the Mystic Library!” He grinned. Although, as he spoke, you saw his eyes flick up, before he quieted down. “I mean, welcome to the Mystic Library!” he corrected in an equally enthusiastic whisper.

You tracked where his gaze went only to see numerous winged, bat-like creatures hanging from the ceiling, glowing orange eyes boring into you two.

“Woah, uh, what’re those?”

“Hush-bats.” His shoulders went up and down, coolly, as though they were a typical part of any standard library. Upon seeing your skeptical face, he elaborated. “They make sure people abide by the library’s regulations, especially those about noise levels. Essentially, they’re security and imprison troublemakers.”

“And the librarian’s just fine with those bats hanging there?” Your voice was quieter after you learned of the repercussions of being too loud.

“Well, the librarian might have been incapacitated by a while ago and placed into confinement. No part of it was my fault, of course.” His tone, more monotonous yet higher pitched than normal, screamed that he was lying.

“Are they alright?”

“Probably. I haven’t checked.”

“What?” You raised your voice slightly out of concern.

“You should quiet down if you don’t want to be dragged by bats and end up there with her.”

“What?”

“Keep your voice below, say, 60 decibels and you’ll be fine.”

“What!?” you whisper-yelled, incredulous.

“Just come on,” he mumbled and began walking down the aisleway, and you went along. Trekking down maroon-carpeted corridors, navigating through and around sliding bookcases, sliding down staircases, you eventually found your way to a cozily lit space.

Three bookshelves boxed in the majority of the area, save for the entrance, and in the middle of the space sat a sienna desk. Various bean bag chairs accompanied the desk on each and every side of it.

You entered, plopping your book bag beside you and yourself into one of the tall, yet comfortable bean bags in the room. Elbows propped up on the table, you rested your head on your hands and took in the scenery around you.

Your company was busying himself with scanning the rows of books in front of him and grabbing a thick stack of books related to his topic. Once he had a satisfactory, barely-able-to-be-held pile, he joined the chair beside you and placed the research sources on the desk.

“Sooo,” you mused, “what did you say about the ‘revolutionization’ of technology?”

He practically illuminated the place as he started what would become a two hour spiel, complete with illustrations and diagrams from inside his books and what you would call “theater kid pizazz.”

Any time you got slightly confused or downright lost, you politely raised a hand, and Donnie, reluctantly yet not impatiently, would explain the mechanics in a slower and simpler way. You still didn’t catch all of it, but you got the basic idea down.

Eventually, you realized the time and, wanting to get home before dark, had him lead you back out. Having to go through the mystic book again was as odd as it was the first time, though it was slightly less disconcerting.

After reaching your typical library and committing the book and aisle number to memory and resolving to come back sometime, you bid him adieu, each of you parting ways and heading to your respective residences.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After he arrived at the lair that night and got into his all-too welcoming bed, Donnie’s rampant thoughts could not cease to roar through his mind like frothy rapids.

Not that he could normally stop his brain from going on tangents, but this matter of contemplation was especially perplexing because the subject of it was you.

Well, not you specifically, just the enigmatically frequent running-into’s you two shared.

It reminded him of his previous week’s research into similar subjects of souls, people, atoms experiencing attraction as a side effect of their formation.

Could his impromptu hangouts with you plausibly be some kind of… predestined, predetermined meetings? 

The thought, just like the previous time he pondered it, was preposterous.

However, something else, something greater being at play seemed plausible when considering:

the convenient timing of looking into the concept of soul mates just before being confronted with this strange recurrence

the absurdity of your bumping into each other being a recurrence

the fact that you were also perplexed by it, which implied it wasn’t your or his doing

the way that-

Wait, was he seriously considering data points?

He paused his train of thought, eyes trained intently on his ceiling.

There was no way he was genuinely contemplating that.

Rubbing his temples, he decided to call it a night, especially since his deprived mind was playing into such odd fantasies.

So, Donnie disrobed his mask, goggles, all his other gear, plugged in his tech for the night, and went to sleep.

…

After a little more research on the topic, of course.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You all but collapsed on your bed upon reaching home, your blanket muffling a sleepy yawn.

Your heart remained aglow with warm sentiment from your discovery of a mystic library, of a whole collection of new books to read, of an enticing new friendship formed.

Suddenly, a notification drew your face from your covers and to your phone screen.

Instead of a message from a friend or acquaintance or anyone pleasant, the notification was telling something far more dreaded.

The report was due. The report that you had intended to complete earlier before you were irrevocably distracted. That report.

Begrudgingly, you pulled up your draft with a groan. However, as you typed away, your knitted brow slowly melted, the sweet memories of earlier dissolving your bitterness.

You released a wistful sigh.

Yeah. It sure was odd how you two kept bumping into each other.

(p much library meet-cute and foreshadowing, I had fun with the banter ✨)

(chapter sketch)

(Taglist ~ @rottmntsimp)

[jpitha]

Between The Black and Grey 39

First / Previous / Next

Northern seemed to know where she was going, so Fen and Zhe just trailed behind, following.

"Northern?" Zhe said, her smaller legs moving quickly to keep up and trying not to pant. "How do you know where to go?"

"I have my ways" Northern's eyes twinkled, and then she chuckled. "That way being, 'I've been here before'."

"So you don't have some kind of secret AI network that you can tap into to learn things about everywhere you go?" Fen smiles as she ribs Northern gently.

"Oh we do. Here we are." Northern stops in front of a cafe. Small metal tables and chairs are set up peeking into the main walkway of the promenade and they spill back into the shop. It looks old and comfortable. The interior is done up in wood colors (Fen can't tell if it's real or artificial), warm yellow light, and it a few degrees warmer than the promenade. Northern steps up to the bar, and reaches into a pocket. She takes out a small coin and taps it onto the bar.

"One moment please!" The barista is a K'laxi, with reddish brown fur, a tangle of earrings on both ears, and - Fen cranes her neck slightly - a piercing on her tail. A ring that goes through the end and jangles slightly as she moves about. She finishes pulling the espresso shot, pours it into a tiny porcelain cup and slides it over to a human standing at the other end in a uniform. "Here you go Will."

"Thanks Olen, I wouldn't have been able to make it through my shift otherwise!" He downs the coffee in one shot and places it back on the bar with a Star note under it. Olen scoops up the money, places the cup in the sink and turns to face Northern. "Now then, what can-"

Before she can finish, Northern slides the coin over to the K'laxi. Fen finally gets a good look at the coin. It's silver, with a bit of bronze or brass in the middle. Written all over it is a script Fen has never seen, and...a map? It looks like a map of a continent, but Fen doesn't recognize the location. The barista places her hand over the coin and slides it out of sight quickly. Her eyes flick up to the other patrons. The shop isn't very busy now, just two or three people sitting, lost in their pads.

"You know, you don't have to use a token anymore. I haven't ever seen one. I only knew to accept it because Yaren told me." She takes out a key - a real, notched, metal key on the end of a long piece of wood with the word 'toilet' written in marker on it. She hands the wood and key to Northern. "People just use the passcode these days."

Northern takes the key and nods. "Yeah, well, maybe I like to do things the old fashioned way. Keeps the old ways alive." Without saying anything she looks at Fen and Zhe and jerks her head towards the back.

In the back of the shop are three doors. Two of them are toilets - multi species of course - and the third, between them just says "maintenance." Northern takes the key and sticks it into a lock on the middle door. It twists and the door unlocks with a satisfying clack. Northern opens the door and the three of them step through.

They enter what for all appearances looks like a maintenance room. It's filled with boxes of coffee supplies, cleaning supplies, mops, brooms and a bag of laundered towels. Northern closes and locks the door behind them, and then walks to the other end. She stares at the wall a moment and slides a pile of boxes out of the way, revealing another door. This one has the word 'basement' scrawled on it in indelible marker, above another word faded with time, and in another script that Fen can't read. Northern uses the key again and this door unlocks, like the first. Nodding to herself, she places the key on a shelf near the door and steps through.

Now, they're in a hallway. Dimly lit and without decoration, it's all plating and metal. When Northern closes the door behind them, the clack of the latch is loud and brash.

They head down the hall, their boots thumping on the deck. They walk quite a ways, with no other doors in sight, the lighting dim and dingy.

After entirely too long in Fen's opinion they come across another door. This one, circular, and much older than the first. Northern touches the pad next to it and is irises open silently.

Now, they're in a hall. Fen looks around. This looks awfully like the halls on Spyglass. "Northern? Why does this hall look like a Starjumper?"

Northern grins. "Because it is, Fen. Good eye. Picaresque was built of a K'laxi research station and a human Starjumper. They needed more living space right away and used the Starjumper to expand. I heard that the wormhole generators are still in here, somewhere, but I'd be surprised to learn that was true. Imagine a space station linking around!"

A little further down the hall, and there is another door. This one is decorated in hand drawn flowers and vines, and written on it is the word 'basement' Northern touches the pad, and as they door opens, Fen and Zhe are assaulted by noise.

Fen didn't know what to expect, but she didn't expect this. It was crowded, it was noisy, it was full of people. Where the promenade was quiet and sleepy, the basement was loud and full. Northern pushed ahead through the crowd, her height giving her an advantage. Zhe grabbed Fen's shoulder, and Fen took off after her, threading her way.

This basement was far larger than the one where she met Northern, yet it had a similar feel. There were stands set up with people offering all kinds of things for sale, food vendors selling all manner of treats - the smell was nearly overwhelming - and people of all different kinds. Fen saw more different people in the basement than anywhere else. There was a Gren selling drinks, a K'laxi who was making jewelry while another stood watch over the wares for sale, and an Innari selling... weapons? Fen stopped.

"Ah! My friend! See anything that catches your eye? I carry firearms for all body plans and can modify to suit." His iridescent feathers flashed in the spotlights he had set up overhead, shining down on the weapons chained to a large metal bar. Fen's eye was drawn to a pistol. It was of human make, so large and imposing and grey.

"What's this pistol?"

"You have quite a practiced eye. It's quite rare. It's a human sidearm from pre contact. When this weapon was new, humanity knew of no other species. And yet! It still operates with common ammunition and as you can see is in excellent condition." The Innari picked up the weapon with two hands, and handed it - butt first - to Fen. She toggled the eject, and the magazine slid out. It was empty of course, but Fen placed it down on the counter anyway. She cycled the action and peered inside. The barrell was immaculate, the rifling clear and clean. The switches and toggles were all smooth and the weapon smelled of oil. If it really was more than a thousand years old, it didn't show it.

Fen placed it back on the counter. "I like it. How much?"

"Seven thousand Stars." The Innari didn't even have the decency to hesitate when he spoke the price.

Fen scoffed. "It's worth two, maybe. If you can provide the provenance of its age. It could be a replica."

"You wound me, human!" The Innari's feathers all puffed out, and they clacked their beak in irritation. "To imply that I would sell a replica here. Do you know what would happen to my reputation if I did? I cannot believe you would even imply that this... this piece of art was a replica. Still, I must move merchandise. I would be willing to let this particular piece go for five thousand Stars."

"Thirty three hundred, and you'll include a box of ammunition." Fen's eyes locked with the Innari.

It felt like the noise of the basement faded away for just a moment as they stared. The Innari tried to match Fen's stare, but nobody stares like a human. Those close, binocular eyes are built for it. "Fine."

Fen took out her Pad and transferred the money. After a moment the Innari verified the transaction, unlocked the gun and handed it to her. Reaching under the table between them, he also placed a heavy box that rattled as he set it down. "If anyone asks where I got it from, I don't remember"

The gun seller nodded. "Now go, I need to make some sales to recover from this loss I have been subjected to."

Fen slid the pistol into the band of her pants and held onto the box of shells as she wandered around, looking for Northern and Fen. She finally found them in a back corner, near a K'laxi selling fried treats. Zhe was munching on one while Northern was arguing with a human.

"You are telling me that there isn't a single person on Picaresque that is willing to pilot?"

"I'm telling you there are no AIs on Picaresque." She crossed her arms and held fast.

Northern pleaded. "Come on, we're in the basement. We're outside of Imperial jurisdiction."

"And I don't care if we're on a Gren Warfinder. There are no AIs here."

Zhe finished her treat and tossed the stick into a cup that was on the fried food vendor's counter for the purpose. "Where were you Fen?"

Fen took out her prize. "Check it out, I bought a pistol. Supposedly it's pre-contact which makes it nearly a thousand years old." She handed it to Zhe.

Zhe took it, and her arms drooped as Fen let go. "This is heavy!" She turned it over and stared at it. "It smells... oily too."

Fen nodded. "That's the gun oil. It keeps it from corroding."

Northern's attention was caught by their conversation. She looked at the gun. "That's a replica."

Fen swore. "Of course it is. I'm glad I got a deal then. How do you know?"

Northern pointed at a lever by the trigger. "The safety lever is all wrong. I hope you didn't pay more than a couple thousand Stars for that."

Fen said nothing, but scowled. Zhe handed the pistol back. "It's a very nice replica at least."

The person behind the counter that was arguing with Northern noticed. "How did you know about that pistol?" She was around the same height as Northern, with closely cropped black hair. She was curvy and strongly built and looked like she could scoop up Fen and Zhe on each arm.

"I remember when they were standard issue. If you didn't keep them immaculately clean they would jam at the worst possible time. Ancestors, I must have printed tens of thousands of replacement parts."

The woman narrows her eyes. "Where were you stationed?"

Northern raises an eyebrow. "All over-" she gestures at the pistol "-but when that gun was new? I ran Parvati-Sol."

The woman's eyes widened. "Ears are everywhere. Keep your voice down." She looked at Northern, Zhe and Fen again. "Dammit. I can't say no to a vet." Her eyes flashed blue for just a moment. "Okay, I put-"

The conversation was interrupted by a rippling thump, and the deck undulated and rocked beneath their feet. There was a moment of surprised silents and then an alarm screamed overhead. Action Stations. The noise of the alarm broke the spell and it was pandemonium. People started streaming towards the exits, vendors abandoning their stalls. The woman grabbed Northern. "Come with me! We have to get out of here."

Zhe looked around at the mess. "What happening."

"It's an Action Stations alarm." Fen's voice was nearly a whisper. "We're under attack."

[onyxrosess]

Pain is My Hometown

vergil x reader [multi-chapter series]

Chapter III: Only Fools Follow Their Heart

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III [you're here!] | Chapter IV | Table of Contents

・warnings/tags: some mature topics.

( cross-posted on ao3 )

A few days have passed since going out with Dante and the girls, after your conversation with Nero— well it was an argument. You apologized to him the morning after, still feeling a little guilty for your delivery of your concern. Nero of course did not hold a grudge, just brushed it off and resumed life as normal. Later that day Kyrie shouted at you, someone was calling asking for you. Secretly, not really a secret at all, you hoped it was Kane. It had been radio silence since two nights prior. 

And as luck was in your favor, Kane’s voice spoke through the landline. It was different hearing his voice so clearly instead of being suppressed by blaring music and shouting. The conversation went well, giving him Devil May Cry’s number. Since the city had far more job opportunities than Fortuna, you had already started looking at job listings passively, not having to rely on Kyrie’s endless support would be nice for a change. Relying on Dante felt more morally correct, two negatives make a positive right?

Currently, you sorted through a package Kyrie received as a gift for her help in the orphanage. Most of it was household items, as Kyrie never accepted money, she barely even let you help around the house. Selfless woman, but it’s admirable to give without guarantee of something in return. Making a pile of unopened letters addressed to Kyrie for her to read, some of the return addresses had names you recognized, there were a few kids in Fortuna who came to Kyrie for help after a small hell gate had opened. Luckily it had happened when Nero and Nico were in town. It was nowhere near the scale of the artificial hell gates that had opened in Fortuna when The Order was around. But enough to leave kids without parents, or parents to grieve their children’s lives. 

Ringing filled the room as the landline was the clear source. You walked over and held it to your ear as your other hand still had an envelope in it. “Hello?” “Hey party animal.” You rolled your eyes, you had one drunken night in the past 6 months and now you’re the party animal. “Shut it, what did you call for?” “You said you were looking for jobs right?” Your interest was now piqued, instead of just being playfully annoyed with Dante. “Yeah, I am.” “Well, your dearest friend has an offer for you.” Why does this sound like it’s not gonna end well? Back to being annoyed with him. You reluctantly hummed a response. “How about you come help with some of the shop's legal papers. I’ll pay ya.” “I thought you were short on work, where the hell are you gonna get money to pay me?” “I have my ways.” Last time you checked this man was far deeper into debt than you could even imagine. “It won’t be all the time, the stack of papers does end eventually. Plus Trish and Lady will be there sometimes. I’m not a very strict boss.” A sigh left your lips, it wasn’t a bad deal. Filing papers and calling companies didn’t seem that bad. “Fine.” “You’re amazing, I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Yeah yeah, whatever old man.” Dante shouted at you through the phone but just as quickly as that started you hung the phone back up with a satisfying click and a smile on your face.

The sun peaked above the horizon, filling your bedroom with a warm glow, unfortunately waking you up from your slumber. Stretching your muscles in an attempt to also wake them up. Very uncoordinated this morning you swing your legs over the edge of your bed, bashing your ankle into the metal box spring. A prolonged curse left your gritted teeth, at this point, you needed a padded room. You’d probably still manage to nick yourself. 

Putting on something simple, but still comfortable— it’s not like your job for Dante was anywhere near professional, he’s the opposite of professional. Walking down the hallway, passing Nero and Kyrie's bedroom, Nero’s snores seeped through the walls. Into the living room, Kyrie was already up, her hands wrapped around a coffee mug. She was always a morning person. She sat on the couch, the kids must still be asleep too. “Morning, Kyrie.” You addressed her, she turned around somewhat surprised, “What are you doing up so early?”  Admittedly, it was pretty abnormal for you to be up at the ass crack of dawn.  “Dante offered me to work for him. Just temporarily I think anyway.”  Kyrie smiled, “Well, I won’t keep you then.”  “It’s not a worry, he didn’t give me a time to be there.”

Getting a quick bite to eat and snagging some of Kyrie’s coffee, you asked about the kids with Kyrie, and she talked about some returning faces. Chatting back and forth you bid her farewell, leaving into the garage. Pulling your arms through your jacket, you zipped it up before putting your helmet on. It wasn’t too early that your motorcycle would wake everyone up, it wasn’t that loud—or maybe you just are losing your hearing.

The drive over to Red Grave was peaceful, besides the few drivers who you questioned how the hell they got their license. Driving through the gravel alley, you kicked your stand up, like many times before. Turning the backdoor handle, you stepped into the shop, your eyes on the ground while you took off your helmet. As your eyes scanned for life, they landed on Dante. With a towel around his waist and another making a feudal attempt to dry his hair. A little surprised, you hopped up on the bar stool.  “You know Dante, this is your business office too, not just your house.”  “You’re the one who decided to show up at 7 in the morning.” Dante’s voice was still groggy, but that never stopped him from bickering. Rolling your eyes, accepting your defeat, this time. You set your jacket and helmet down on the counter making your way to Dante’s desk, trying not to trip over random objects and trash that littered the floor. How does he live like this? You sigh as you pick up the piles of paper that were not so neatly set on the ground. Dante better pay you well for having to put up with this level of disorganization. 

The first couple hours of your day consisted of organizing which papers were what. You’d assume they would end up sent to collections, after all, the charges were just sitting here for god knows how long. Then again, that never stopped Dante. A pair of footsteps descended the stairs. Almost in perfect timing, Lady barged in the door.  “Why didn’t you tell me (Name) was gonna be here?” Lady took great offense, after all, you maybe saw her once a week or every other week. Dante shrugged, “Dunno, forgot I guess.” “Jerk.” Lady leaned against the desk, looking over at all the papers you had scattered about on the wooden surface. Her head tilted trying to read the papers, the text was upside down to her.  “You got her to do your paperwork? Did he blackmail you?” Lady leaned over to observe you, no amount of money could get her to do his paperwork either. But you aren’t like her, not nearly as badass.  “No, I willingly accepted this offer. I need to start looking for jobs anyway.” A sigh left your mouth, it became a habit whenever you admitted you were broke as shit. Lady stood back up with a hand on her hip. Still skeptical, her eyes scanned your face. As if Dante stuck a device to you that controlled your every move, like in the cheesy sci-fi movies.  “I’m not forcing her, though blackmail’s not a bad idea.” Dante scratched his scruff on his face, a smile lightly tugged on his lips.  “Dante.” You warned him, staring at him, solidifying your warning. “You know I wouldn’t do that.” Dante crossed his arms over his chest. “Let's go, Dante, I gotta make our score even.” Lady tugged her weapon’s leather strap over her shoulder. A smile spread across her face, you suppose they always had the competition. Hearing about young Dante was always interesting when Lady graced you with stories.  “Bye!” Lady waved at you, running out of the door before Dante, as he quickly followed suit. Not without a nod and a smile in your direction. A silent goodbye.

Another few hours drag by. Going through a section of papers, looking at the clock in between. What felt like 45 minutes in reality was only 10 minutes. Now was when you took your unpaid break. You walked over to the white fridge, the jukebox adjacent to it lightly illuminated the surrounding area. The fridge was surprisingly clean, maybe just because there was barely anything in it. A pizza box of course was put into the fridge, classic Dante. There was a carton of milk and a few random take-out boxes. Before completely abandoning ship, you moved things around a little to find a box of strawberries. Picking it up, you eyed it suspiciously, checking for mold. At first glance, they seemed okay. Washing them in the sink, you were still cautious of them, after all, they were in Dante’s fridge. 

Back at the desk, you snagged a recent newspaper, unfolding it in your lap, you took a bite of a strawberry. Better start looking for job ads. Idly eating the strawberries that luckily were still edible, you bounced your leg. Most of the job listings seemed pretty boring, or simply too much work for what they were likely offering to pay. Plus it’s far too late in your life to pick up devil hunting like Lady, so a boring salary job it is. Flipping the yellowing paper, you scanned the other side. The shop was quiet, besides the muffled sounds of people walking by outside or an especially loud car. You filled the silence by humming the rhythm of a song.

“Dante did not tell me he hired someone.” A voice from around the corner spoke, nearly making you jump out of your seat. You had completely assumed you were there alone when Dante and Lady left. You looked over your shoulder to see Vergil standing there. Vergil. The conversation you had with Nero did not leave your mind so easily, you are sure your expression had turned a bit sour. 

“Apparently not.” You turned back around in the chair, resuming what you were doing. You would rather not discuss your utter hatred for him and what he did to Nero. You try not to completely despise him, it is difficult not to, having the experiences you do. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him sit on the red couch against the wall, pulling out a book. Your eyes returned to your paper.  A few silent minutes passed, no longer feeling like you were allowed to make a peep in his presence. What was it? You suppose Dante was quite strange like that when you first met him. Though oppositely, brimming with strength but rather using it to make himself look flashy. This was more of a suppressive strength. Anyone in his presence should think lower of themselves just to lift him higher.

The rotary phone on the desk rang as it lightly vibrated the desk. You picked up the phone, putting it to your ear.  “Devil May Cry.” You tried to imitate Dante’s voice when he said it. Your words did not come out as effortlessly as his does. “Hey, office girl,” Kane spoke through the phone. A smile tugged at your lips, a little giddy from the compliment. “Not for long.” Letting out a small laugh through an exhale.  “Oh really?”  “It’s just temporary, I’m looking for other jobs right now.” You glanced at the newspaper, your pen marks littered the paper. “Maybe I’ll still get to call you office girl. Maybe a secretary.” You could hear his smile through the phone, silly man. You chuckled at his comment, “Whatever your sick fantasies desire.”  “I was calling to formally ask you out on a date, I would’ve called sooner but you know how life gets.”  Your finger twirled around the phone wire while you listened to him. “So you are a gentleman after all.”  Kane’s laughter seeped through the phone, as you couldn’t help but smile a little. “What about tonight then? When do you get off?” Kane asked, and you thought, when the hell do I get off? “I’m not sure actually, probably 5 at the latest.”  “What about 6 then, it’s not formal, so don’t worry about that.” Kane soothed your worries before it even crossed your mind.  “That works for me, I’ll give you the shop's address.” 

The conversation ended after you handed over the information. Now you sat at Dante’s desk with a giddy smile. But, you have to get back to work, or… you could slack a little. A sharp snap of a book being closed pulled your attention to where Vergil sat. He stood, still with the thin book in his grasp. He is such an odd man, but you still see his blackened heart through his exterior. His steps were almost eerily silent as he made his way to the front door, his head turned to look at you from the corner of his eye.  “Do not trust that man.” His words were sharp, but what confused you more was… why? And before you could even defend Kane or yourself that you’re a grown woman and you can make your own decisions, he left. The bad taste that the encounter left in your mouth refused to go away for the rest of your shift. 

The roads were lit with a warm glow of the streetlights, the architecture of Red Grave was always so beautiful. Not nearly as impressive as Fortuna, especially the building the Order once resided in was a sight to be seen. The faded white lines on the pavement passed by you with each dash mark. You hadn’t spoken a word to Kane since you both got into the car. The silence was not suffocating, it was pleasant. It’s been a while since you’ve been able to relax, the radio played quietly, some music you didn’t know but it coaxed you into closing your eyes. Your date with Kane went very well, thinking about it made you smile. His easygoing personality was nice, though unfortunately, Vergil’s warning made you think about what details you shared with Kane. You have no history with Vergil, and you have no idea if his judgment is sound, but it still affected you. And that irked you more. However you started to get lost in your thoughts, and eventually, you did fall asleep, hand holding up your cheek as your elbow rested on the car door.

“Hey, we're here.” Your body jolted awake as you surveyed your surroundings, you were still in Kane’s car. You turned to look at him, and he looked a bit surprised that you were woken so easily. Your body once tense, relaxed. You leaned back against the leather seats of his car, whispering an apology under your breath. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to take you back to Fortuna, but even then I didn’t know where you were staying so-” “It’s okay, thank you.” You interrupted his rambling, and a slight red color rose to his cheeks. His dark blue shirt matched his tan skin, his collarbone peaked out of the neckline. A few strands of his dark hair fell out of the bun he had put it in. You silently wondered what his hair would look like down, the thought made your body pull itself closer to him. His breath fanned over your face as he remained motionless, his eyes were half-lidded, analyzing the curves of your face. You caught yourself doing the same. Leaning over the center console of his car, which was an awkward position for your body, it was all worth it when his lips clashed with yours. It was slow, your hand held onto his forearm as your other played with the baby hairs on the back of his neck. You slowly opened your eyes to take a peek at his face, you wondered if his eyes were squeezed shut or if he had color on his cheeks once again. Instead, you were met by brown eyes looking at your own, his eyelashes cast a shadow over his irises, though this close you could see a ring of orange within the deep brown. Trying to summon your ‘nothing phases me’ facade, was a miserable failure. Your cheeks heat up like a pouring lighter fluid on a raging bonfire, you break away from his lips, trying to hide your face but you are only met with a laugh from Kane. “Shut it.” Once again your tough guy act was not very convincing as you tried to look at him with a stern face but he was met with a different expression. Trying to fight a war with your smile that you didn’t actually want to win, though you would appreciate it if your entire face didn’t feel like it was gonna explode. This only caused Kane to laugh more.

And you were left with no other option but to tug on the collar of his shirt, clashing your lips together in an embarrassing attempt to free yourself from your current position. And your solution did work, as his hands managed to find purchase on your back. The kiss was not as soft as earlier, but you did not dare open your eyes. Instead, through your closed eyelids, the dark lighting inside his car was lit up like the sun suddenly appeared right next to you. Both you and Kane froze, as you struggled to look out the windshield. As your eyes adjusted, you recognized the front of the vehicle that rudely interrupted your activities with Kane. But then annoyance morphed into horror as you realized who was in the driver's seat of that van, Nico. And who was next to her in the passenger seat? Nero. And once again, you fear your face showed your embarrassment. Kane's hands still clung to you as you slowly slipped out of his grip. And even worse, a figure stood outside of the van, Dante. This embarrassment has you praying to whatever god exists. Kane only recognized Dante, he was not so sure why you were so embarrassed, but he relaxed back into his seat as he watched Nico unfold into laughter, which could be heard through the closed windows of Kane’s car. 

You quickly got out of Kane's car, almost stomping over to Nico’s van door. You opened the door with such vigor you could care less if it flew off the hinges. “You shut up!” You pointed a finger at her, through laughs she could barely even speak. “You two love birds!” Then she kept hysterically laughing, but behind her in the passenger seat, Nero just awkwardly smiled. God, this was awful. Kane snuck up behind you as he tapped your waist with his hand, and he looked like he was about to burst out laughing too when he looked at your reddened face.  “You gonna have to apologize to Nero for traumatizing him like that-” “He’s 26!” Yes, Nero was very close to a younger brother to you, but he was an adult! He had a girlfriend and practically kids too, but it just made you boil with unbridled embarrassment. Kane stood next to you, he pulled you close by your forearm. Which surprised you but Nico got out of her car, fanning her face like she was the one who had just been making out with a guy, with an unexpected audience. 

You threatened Nico about 20 more times within the span of a couple of minutes, Nero had since joined the four of you on the sidewalk. Kane had to hold you in place or else you’d run away and hibernate for years. Finally, Nico stopped laughing like a hyena, you were able to ask her what they were doing out here. “We have an overnight job,” Nero answered. You nodded, Kane had since abandoned you to talk to Dante. You pray Dante isn’t sharing embarrassing stories about you, but you immediately knew he probably did just by looking at the stupid smirk that was plastered on his face. Silence came over the two of you before Nero spoke up again, “Is that the guy from the other night?” His words came out awkwardly, being able to stomach conversation about Kane you replied, “Yeah, his name is Kane.” “Right right.” Nero just fiddled with the hem of his worn-out shirt. “I’ll be careful Nero.” You told him, but you knew in that moment Vergil was somewhat right, you need to be careful. As much as you want to believe that Kane is a good guy, morally at least, he’s showed no signs of being anyone crazy. But, neither did you expect your previous boyfriends to be utterly insane. 

Nero seemed less tense after that, but the mood suddenly shifted when Vergil appeared from around the corner, you were the first to notice him. You couldn’t stand to look at him, especially with Nero right next to you. Kane had departed from the conversation with Dante and stood next to you, which you leaned on the side of the DMC van. Nico reappeared from the inside of the van, with somehow more grease on her, yet it had only been 10 minutes. And now it was a standstill, Vergil stood a few feet away from Nero, who was standing on the sidewalk. The air was thick, or at least just seeing Vergil next to Nero made you want to punch Vergil. Maybe it was because you couldn’t deny that Vergil was his father anymore when you looked at the two of them side by side and how similar they looked. Dante exchanged words with Vergil, which you didn’t catch as your focus was swayed to Kane. He squeezed your hand,  “I’m gonna go, you have somewhere to stay here right? I don’t want you driving to Fortuna this late.” You smiled, how sweet of him. “No, I’m okay.” You softly spoke as you could hear the conversation behind you between Dante and Vergil.  Kane hummed as he quickly kissed your cheek, which just reminded you of your embarrassment from less than 15 minutes ago, but not nearly as bad. His hand gave your hand one last squeeze before getting in his car. 

Luckily after you watched Kane drive off into the horizon till his car became a little blip in your vision, it wasn’t silent. You had enough of awkward encounters today, and probably for the next year too.  “We’re gonna leave, (Name),” Nero mentioned as he was about to climb back into the van, you nodded, giving him a quick hug, and you spoke over his shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Nero only nodded before Nico stuck her head out the driver’s window,  “Him? Stupid? That's all he knows.” Nico spoke while chewing a stick of gum, Nero glared at her, which spurred her on even more. You only let out a breathy laugh, watching Nero get into the van. Dante and Vergil stood closer to the shop, Vergil’s body was straight, and well thought out like his doctor told him he needed to watch his posture. Though you presume he doesn’t even have a doctor– do half-devils have a doctor…? You pushed your curiosity aside, maybe after a shot, you’ll ask Dante sometime.   “Practice caution, Nero.” Vergil’s voice had less of a demanding tone, though his words were similar to the warning he gave you earlier today. Nero nodded, you stared at Nero for a little too long trying to analyze his expression, searching for a reason to smack Vergil. For good measure of course.

Waving off Nico and Nero as she drove maybe a little too fast for that beat-up van. You turned back around to Dante and Vergil, which Vergil quickly retired to inside the doors below the ‘Devil May Cry’ neon sign. You stood in front of Dante, whose shadow covered you.  “Soooo, that was entertaining wasn’t it?”  Dante’s stupid smile, again. “Oh please, I already heard it from Nico.” You turned away from him, trying not to relive the sheer amount of embarrassment that memory would likely hold for a while. Dante chuckled as he put his hands on his hips, so sassy.  “Can I stay the night or are you gonna kick me to the curb to go drive an hour back to Fortuna.”  Dante let out a dramatic sigh, scratching his white stubble with one gloved hand.  “Kicking you to the curb would add to tonight’s entertainment.” You only smacked his shoulder before walking towards the front door. Dante stopped you, pulling your arm as you stumbled closer to him.  “Vergil didn’t say anything weird to you, right? Before me and Lady left.” You bit your tongue, debating if you tell him or not, and you began questioning why you were holding back. To save Vergil from a lecture? You turned your head,  “He just overheard me talking to Kane on the phone and said something like, ‘Be careful’. It wasn’t anything.” You tried to play it off the best you could, because frankly, you didn’t want to start doubting Kane, you would not listen or even consider Vergil’s words. Only your own, and you’ve had plenty enough experiences to guide you to the right decision. You had a hard time looking at Dante right now, his face was oddly serious, his skin lit up by the neon sign.  “Just… Let me know if anything happens.”  “I will.”

You vowed as you both walked in the door in silence. Your piles of organized paper still sat on top of Dante’s desk, the lamp illuminated the otherwise dark room. You sat down on the couch, stretching your arms over your head, letting out a silent yawn. Dante sat down in his chair, moving papers so he could put his feet up on his desk. Thankfully he did not disturb your organization too much. “You can take my room,” Dante spoke as he found another magazine to flip through, how does he not get tired of those?  “You sure? I’m scared I’ll get devil coodies if I sleep up there.” You stood up from the couch. “I can still kick you to the curb, you know.” Dante looked up from his magazine, you knew he was joking, thankfully. “Fine, you don’t have devil coodies.” Dante let out a chuckle, his eyes quickly going back to the contents of the paper in front of him. “Goodnight.” You spoke as you went up the stairs, which creaked under your weight. “Night.” 

As always, thank you for reading! -onyxroses

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[radgritty]

Here's the first part of my Afton/Henry fic

I'm gonna hide under a rug.

The heavy scent of metal shavings and grease filled his nostrils before he even opened his eyes. Fuck. He woke up in the shop. No windows graced the drab concrete walls. The artificial lamplight he fell asleep under was obnoxious and buzzing, aggravating the ringing in his ears. 

He was still wearing workshop goggles on something he'd been dangerously shouldering while having a visit with Jim Beam. Henry's body was drenched in sweat, through his t-shirt. Clinging to the back of his neck, his wet hair should just be put back. The coveralls he wore felt uncomfortable after sleeping in one place. 

“Okay, what day -” he said aloud, spying the calendar near the clock and telephone. 

It was a work day. A day he already had to be in for a small meeting with his business partner, William Afton. All he had to do was clean up and maybe he had a pair of clothes somewhere. It was then he was alerted by a grating beeping from the clock on his desk space. It. It was 10. He needed to be in at 9. “God dammit,” he muttered under his breath. Maybe it wouldn't be noticed, he knew how William was a punctual man, and expected it back. He imagined the irritability, and hurried up. His phone must have rung off the hook. Just a quick basin bath to wash his face and the damn sweat that made everything cold and clammy.

Standing up to even get there, he tripped over the rail of the stool he slumbered on precariously. It clattered to the floor, as well with his body, punctuated with a yelp, too slow to catch himself. He could already feel where he would bruise. As quiet as he possibly could, Henry pulled himself up with the help of his work bench and listened. Nothing he could hear. He brushed himself off, unhinged one of the straps of his coveralls, and ran through his excuse. A car crash, a woman stranded on the side of the road. Oh she just needed to go a couple miles away - oh the traffic - the

Henry scrubbed his hands, but there was only so much industrial hand cleaner could do in work like his. He shook his hands off and combed them through his beard, which he admitted was a little much as of recent. Forgot when he shaved last. The old bar of soap he raked across his face felt good. The tepid water? Strangely cooling. Collecting what he heard was called a “mullet” into a ponytail, he knew it wad a joke, lost only on him. The second strap of his coveralls flopped uselessly as the bib fell. Just some new clothes and spray of Riteguard and he was in the clear.

The door opened.

William Afton's steps were always purposeful, and silent. Henry didn't hear them as he had his shirt over his head. What he was met with was the angular form of his business partner in the doorway, reaching for something (he did not know what) out of his pocket.

When they met eyes, however, a tight-lipped, quizzical concern from his business partner soon became what Henry could describe as disappointment, “I thought I heard the water,” he noted, eyes moving from the dripping tap to a nod at pipes that would occasionally leak in the shop, “When did you come in?” his gaze drifted to the workshop itself.

Henry's voice caught when he tried to explain, “Well, I came across an acc-”

“Spare me,” Afton's voice was flat and arid as the desert. He pointed at the sink, “Make yourself presentable and come to my office,” he clearly had no patience today, which had been getting worse recently.

[omexacargo]

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[sdfashions1]

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[manwalksintobar]

What Follows Us Now Must Soon Enough Be Carried // Dobby Gibson

To read the news of things both splendid and sad happening far from me today I had my computer keyboard whisper this coffee shop’s secret network password — pacific — and it clicked it was two years since I had seen the ocean and those I love who live near it. Like Dean, who could see the Bay from his bed but is now being kept alive in Texas by a box of valves and lithium batteries serving the functions of a human heart. The last time I saw him our bellies were filled with oysters and we were drunk in North Beach, which is where I can imagine Matthew now walks the hills with an endless twisting distorted Neil Young guitar solo traveling between his precision-engineered Chinese-manufactured ear buds. I don’t know whether Matthew listens to Neil Young, but I know what it sounds like when the fog pours around Coit Tower in the mid afternoon as you step inside a bar for a Sierra Nevada and a conversation about war or poetry. Matthew has written many beautiful and slightly tragic poems about my city, which he lived in just long enough to spend trapped in a cast. I never visited him once and in fact don’t know where he lived so I imagine it’s going to be difficult for you and probably him to believe that I miss him. But I was a little afraid of Matthew back then, and maybe still am, as I am often scared of people who are larger and more amazing than I, which feels like nearly everyone. I can’t drink beers at 3 p.m. very often or anytime soon live in San Francisco because I am trying to be a decent middle-class father, which requires living close to adequate schools and inexpensive consumer packaged goods. Many of my new best friends live as far from me as do my old best friends, like Amanda, who is rehabilitating an artificial steel hip she selected from a medical supply catalogue while sitting on her parents’ couch. Amanda says the hip feels like an ice cream headache in her leg. Dean says his box of heart valves feels like being followed by a cuckoo clock. That’s all I really know about how strange these things must feel though I was once chased by time. It was in Seoul, near Sinchon Station, where the sound of a second hand followed me and my wife as we walked with Mrs. Jeong, who had strapped a little girl who was not yet our daughter onto her back. She was carrying our future and my daughter’s future and my daughter’s past and now complete strangers feel the need to tell me that my daughter is “a lucky girl” forgetting or unaware that entire shelves of memoirs have been sarcastically titled Lucky Girl to awaken us to the horrible things we say to people who are just trying to be four years old. According to some of these books the presence of good fortune is something one has to decide for oneself, so today I thought about reaching for it without knowing what I was exactly supposed to grab, and I thought of that same afternoon in Seoul, which my wife and I spent as gentle imposters in Jogesi Temple. A woman prostrated herself next to us hundreds of times as a priest struck a gong and chanted things that felt as if they were about being human but also not and a small bird flew through the temple and kept landing on the Buddha’s giant golden shoulder. When I put my shoes back on I knew I would spend the rest of my life wondering many new things, including whether that bird was trapped in the temple or had been there all along by choice.

[blazejmarczak]

F$EARS

Photography has a very special relationship with the real world. Photographs are traces of memories, freezing the present and becoming records of the past the very moment they are created. They are rooted in and represent reality, yet they are something else, evoking a myriad of feelings and provoking different responses and interpretations as time goes by. A photograph of a once commonplace and ordinary subject turns into an object evoking feelings of nostalgia and longing for something gone. Photography reflects reality and enables us to reflect on ourselves and discover or rediscover something about ourselves on a societal or personal level. I am using photography to learn about the reality I am surrounded by. By recording what's in front of me, I am becoming familiar with my subject matter. I hope that the images I make can also be included in the vast repository of collective human memory. I like to think of myself as an archivist of the present, though I know that the moment I make the image, it is an image of something that is already in the past, an image of a memory. Nostalgia is stimulated by our memories. Photographs are perfect nostalgia-inducing devices; however, my aim is not to use them as such, quite the contrary. I am using colour photography, contemporary image-making techniques, and a 'neutral' aesthetic to avoid tinting my images with an artificial patina. I am avoiding decontextualising my subject matter and finding ordinary subjects interesting enough in their own form to not have the need for obscuring them with stylistic devices. I want my photographs and my materials and technique to be timestamps in themselves too.

In 'F$EARS,' I choose my subject matter not for its nostalgic qualities but to have a record of something that was disappearing due to changing socio-economic circumstances. Sears and other vast department stores and shopping malls in general occupied an important place in the lives and memories of previous generations. They influenced the economy and shaped the topography of Canadian cities. Their closure indicates a significant change in societal habits and changes in the Canadian urban fabric. Using photography to record these changes is my primary interest. As a newcomer to Canada, I don't have memories attached to what was once considered one of the economic icons of post-war Canada, although I appreciate the nostalgic responses many of the viewers have to this image. Every change takes us into unfamiliar territory and makes us anxious about our future. My title is a contemplation on the socio-economic uncertainties brought upon many people affected by the closure of 'Sears' and a contemplation of what this event might signify in the near future for retail and cities as a whole.

Process

'F$EARS' is a photographic composite consisting of nine separate digital images captured and exposed in quick succession, then combined to create the final image. Nine frames were exposed separately in short intervals and later combined digitally to create a final composite photograph. This technique was originally developed during the film era. For creating 'F$EARS,' I used a Cambo Actus view camera, which works on the same principles as a traditional technical camera but instead of large or medium format film or traditional digital back, I am using a digital mirrorless camera.

My lenses are from medium format Pentax 645 system and were designed about 40 years ago to be used with film. They create image circle large enough for me to utilise the rear shift movements available in the Cambo Actus to capture separate images needed for the creation of wider-angle images without optical distortions.

Photographed on 31st Oct 2020. Printed by Błażej Marczak. Edition: 30 + 2AP.

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