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punkypiscesell-writes · 6 months ago

Text

Like a sun, shining late at night

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie works in a coffee shop where you have been coming for the last few months. The crush from the first time he ever saw you is bubbling over on the hottest day of the summer.

warnings: Frankie and reader are in their twenties, small town vibes, pining, fluff, kissing, no use of y/n, reader has no pronouns and wears a dress, the picture in the header is just for the visual and isn't an indication of the reader's skin color. Not beta read.

word count: 9.3k

notes: Happy Frankie Friday! I wrote this for @secretelephanttattoo 's secret springs creative challenge and it's purely self indulgent. I'm graduating from university next month and the idea for this fic came from that. This also falls more in to the first week's theme, but I didn't have time to finish this until now. I hope you'll enjoy!

Dividers by saradika

”Frankie, can we switch, I need a break,” his coworker whines in a hushed tone, leaning against the wall. She has the gift of puppy dog eyes that she has perfected over time and uses only when absolutely necessary. No one can say no to her.

Frankie dries his hands on a too wet hand towel; the break doesn’t come a moment too late. He just finished cleaning the cabinets in the kitchen that’s more like a shoebox than an actual kitchen.

Their boss was right. Times like these, when waves of customers aren’t pushing in through the door, is the perfect time to clean. The narrow space of the shoebox-kitchen in a heatwave is an experience Frankie wouldn’t mind skipping though.

His skin is sticky and little droplets of sweat have formed into big splotches of wet fabric on his t-shirt, stretched across his shoulders and upper back. The electric fan in the cramped corner is barely functioning and begs to be replaced in a weather like this.

“The kitchen is all yours,” Frankie gives the damp rag to the younger coworker and sees her eyes light up when he relieves her from the front of the coffee shop. She might handle the humidity a bit better, at least she has enthusiasm to immediately push the damp cloth against the fridge door and find something to furiously scratch off.

Only a couple of tables are taken under the exhausted ceiling fan circling warm air in the cozy café. More people are sitting outside by small round tables under pastel striped umbrellas.

The pink lemonade they make daily from the boss’ recipe is sweating with ice in most customer’s cups, easing the effects of a seemingly endless spell of sweltering heat. The town center has fallen quieter as people are either enjoying their summer holidays by travelling or spending their time at the beach not too far away.

Frankie can’t blame them. Anyone would escape the temperatures in this weather. The ones who are brave enough to stand the scorch from the concrete and minimal shade from any dry trees lining the streets have made their way to cafes with cold drinks and ice creams. The amount of different fresh baked goods, bread and pastries, that are delivered daily have been cut in half just because people are more interested in something light and cold.

The sounds from the street flow into the coffee shop in waves through the open windows and door. Frankie says pleasantries to the few people who come and go and leave their tables for him to empty. He does a few turns outside to bring a straw for a child who dropped his to the ground and to wipe the artisan gelato off the table when someone accidentally knocked over their bowl.

There’s easy music playing from the speakers. They lull him into staring outside, at the people in their airy clothes and sun on their skins. There’s nothing else for him to do other than wait for someone to come in or leave.

The sweat that pushed through earlier sits against his temples and back like a second skin. It’s not going to dry until the sun has set and the night sweeps through the town with cooler air. He listens to the laughter from people sitting outside and the screech of seagulls somewhere nearby.

Some kids skateboard past the café, a few on rollerblades. Few cars drive towards the coast at a crawling pace, pumping out music that shakes the glasses on the shelves lining the walls, turning people’s heads, while some nod to the beat.

This morning, when Frankie got out of the shower with his hair still dripping wet and his skin too stubborn to dry even after toweling, he looked at a t-shirt hanging on the back of a chair. It’s still newly crisp and in need of a few washes. The neckline isn’t worn and stretched from overuse yet, like his usual clothes he wears to work. He has his t-shirts and jeans, and sometimes a cap that his boss always reminds him to take off.

That isn’t the case anymore. He pulled the new t-shirt over his head and decided today would be the day. If you were to come by the coffee shop, that is.

He leans against the counter, doodling on a piece of old receipt; another order of pink lemonade and a sundae. The customer is enjoying them under the shade of one of the pastel umbrellas while reading a book.

Frankie’s curls are enjoying the heat and humidity, the salty air blowing in from the coast making him look like he shouldn’t be standing behind a register in a coffee shop but at the beach by a lifeguard station overlooking the waves. They fluff every time the ceiling fan manages to flutter the air with something that resembles a cooler breeze. A strand tickles his temple, immediately remembering your fingers against his forehead. It was just a simple touch.

“There’s a dandelion seed…” you mumbled last week, when you reached for him over the counter. He was making your drink, focused on pouring the milk into the mug, when like you would’ve done it a hundred times before, your fingers caught the fluff and stayed against his temple a second longer.

“All gone,” you said and continued your story about painting a wall in your childhood home deep green, like nothing had happened.

Frankie drops the pen against the stone counter and touches his fingers against the spot where yours had been. His heart gives a thump and another, the thought of you like cotton candy in his mind.

Everything changed when you walked into the coffee shop with a canvas bag flung over your shoulder.

It was the end of March. The day was grey and windy and people were looking for comfort inside the warmth of the café. It looked like it would rain at any moment, the air even smelled like it. The first time this spring.

You unraveled a thick scarf from around your neck and stopped by the door to take in the café. You took note of the few empty seats and tables, most taken by people working or by those who were on their lunch breaks.

Frankie could only stare at you, with his head going blank, until you took a step forward and you smiled at him. A joyful, eye crinkling smile that comes out easily and stays on your cheeks for a long time.

There was something else to it as well. It wasn’t just the smile that left him dumbfounded. It was the way you lit up from inside first, your skin glowing, your eyes sparkling even on the grayest of days like you held stars in your soul. It was enigmatic, electric, magnetic. Frankie immediately wished to experience it again.

You made your way to the counter and asked Frankie what he’d recommend for lunch.

“You new here?” He asked when he had written down your order and given it to someone working in the kitchen that day. He got to making your drink, a mocha that you gracefully asked to be made with more milk and sugar.

“Oh no, I’m from here but I moved away for college. I don’t get to visit as often anymore as I’d like. But now my last couple of courses are online and I could come back home to finish my thesis.” You took a deep breath and laughed out of nowhere. “That must’ve been exciting for you to hear.”

Your brow arched with the edge of your mouth. He could’ve listened to you read the ten different tea options they had and then he would’ve asked you to repeat them. He would’ve still been hungry to hear your voice more.

“It’s okay,” he said and turned awkwardly from you to steam the milk to hide the blush that crept up to his cheeks. The heat of it burst in waves that showed up across his skin in red splotches.

The milk got done too fast. He thought of anything cold, anything mundane, that would make his blood stream calm down. Just another customer, just another damn customer, he repeated to himself.

He poured the milk gently on top of the chocolate syrup and espresso, folding the foam in on itself to make a pattern on top of the drink. He had made it hundreds of times before, a skill he was proud of, yet now his hand was trembling, and the lines got muddled.

The mug barely made a noise when he set it on the counter, even though his attention was on you eyeing the fat cookies on top of the display cases. You read each label of the options carefully; chocolate chip, white chocolate and cranberry, macadamia and walnut, raisin, triple chocolate, salted caramel, cinnamon and brown sugar, –

“I’ll take one of those lemon and blueberry cookies as well, please.” Your smile got softer when you turned back to him.

“I hope you enjoy it,” he could only say, unsure if he meant the café or the lunch you were about to eat. The cookie looked massive on the small plate he placed next to the coffee mug, reaching high with blue swirls. He was mesmerized by the spark in your eyes and the unsaid mischief in your voice.

You stood in front of him, quiet. Your brows rose slowly and the longer the silence stretched, the more you looked confused.

“Should I wait for the sandwich and pay after or…?” You finally asked and it got Frankie to shake back into action.

“Fu –,” he caught himself just in time to not swear in front of you, even though it made that beautiful smile spill onto your lips again, this time accompanied with a light giggle. His wish came true. Your laugh was just a tip he didn’t expect to get, much more valuable than money in that moment.

“You can pay now, I’ll bring the sandwich to you,” his mouth barely kept up with the words and the moment was over so fast that he wasn’t sure what he had actually told you. But you dug out your wallet and your card and he was tapping on the register to get the right amount charged which he checked twice before you paid.

You accompanied your generous tip with a soft thank you before you collected your drink and cookie off the counter. There was another customer behind you already, forcing Frankie to focus. From the corner of his eye, he saw you sitting by the windows, peeling your coat off and hanging it on the back of your chair.

You sat down and for a fleeting moment he could’ve sworn that you were watching him, still with that smile on your face. When he was done with the customer who came after you, you were already typing on your laptop.

You stayed for hours. So long in fact that Frankie’s shift ended, and other people came in for their evening shifts. You ate your lunch, got another coffee and the same cookie after a few hours, and then kept on sipping on the drink even when it had gone cold long ago.

Your brows were pulled together and at times you leaned closer to read something on the screen of your laptop. You wrote fast. Your fingers flew against the keyboard and at times you stopped just to keep your fingertips hovered over the letters before you kept on going. The sound got drowned out in the steady ambient chatter of the café.

You had a notebook next to you where you wrote a few words here and there. When the café was fairly quiet, he could hear you clicking your pen a few times, then tap it against the half-filled page. A soft, muffled rhythm against the paper.

You rolled your shoulders back and bent your neck from side to side. Every once in a while, you looked out the window, at the darkening day, and the first drops of rain against the glass.

After that day you became a regular at the coffee shop. Every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday Frankie could expect you to come by. Sometimes you came in early and spent the whole day there. Some other days you came in later and left early, but every time you had lunch and then typed away on your laptop.

Some days you looked more tired than some other days, and some other times your smile was a little dimmer than the others. It still fell on your face easily, but it wasn’t as wide or as energized as he had seen on you usually.

When the days were getting warmer and the sun stayed hung on the sky a little longer, you didn’t come to the coffee shop for two weeks. Frankie was doing his shift, waiting to see you that Tuesday like he normally would. To hear you tell him about your weekend, to hear your voice at all.

His shift ended and you didn’t show up. It left him empty, like something was missing. You had become such a constant at the café that when you broke the pattern, the day seemed off. Maybe you were sick, down with a cold that everyone seemed to have as winter shook from the trees and sunshine forced leaves to bud on the branches.

Then you didn’t come by the next day either. With his coworker Frankie tended to the constant stream of customers who came and went steadily in and out the door. When there was a break, he could only watch the cookies that managed to stay crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside. There weren’t many left anymore and your chances at choosing one were getting slimmer every time the door opened, and it wasn’t you who walked in. You didn’t.

When the weekend rolled around, there was a hollowness in Frankie’s chest. He was missing you, as terrifying as that was to admit to himself. He missed seeing you sit at one of the tables by the window where you could watch people as an escape from your work. He had never asked what your thesis was about, how it was going or what made you choose the topic. In that moment he regretted it.

Frankie missed the way you paid attention to what was happening around you. You listened to others, and you started to say hi to some of the other regular customers. Until he noticed you weren’t only paying attention to them but also him.

Sometimes he caught you staring, watching him do his job, follow his moves as he made drinks for customers, wrote down orders and listened to answers for his polite questions about how their day was going. In the beginning, you hastily turned from him in an attempt to not get caught even though he always already had.

He could see you smile when he entertained a toddler by making faces at her while her parents were choosing what to eat. Your brow furrowed and you shook your head when he listened to an older lady shamelessly hit on him.

And then one day you didn’t turn from him when he caught you staring. You stopped hiding your interest in what he was doing. Your cheeks caught the smile on your face and then you got back to your own work.

All those looks, all those smiles, made him want to say he was done for the day and come sit and people watch with you even if you wouldn’t have watched other people, only him.

The next Friday, after another whole week of not seeing you, Frankie didn’t have high hopes for you to show up that day either. It was possible that you had grown tired of the place, of the same sandwich you took every time, the mocha that you usually ordered twice, or the one or two cookies that you always got after careful consideration. Or maybe you were finished with your thesis. Maybe you had left the town again and he was wasting his days daydreaming about you.

The line was long, and the kitchen was overflowing with orders. Frankie had just finished typing one more and had it register in the kitchen when he lifted his gaze to find you standing in front of him.

You didn’t look like yourself. You held your canvas bag in a death grip on your shoulder and you were inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth, steadying your breath as best you could. You avoided looking at him and you hid under your clothes.

Your voice was sunken and without your usual animation, the fall and rise of your tone was gone. You didn’t make conversation. You didn’t ask how Frankie’s day had been or if anything unexpected had happened, like you normally did.

“I’ve just had a bit of a hard time lately,” you dropped the façade completely without actually saying anything. You only had to see Frankie’s face once to read the worry from the furrowed brow and the seriousness in his eyes.

His mouth was in a tight line, and he tried to understand you without asking you a serious question. He never had; he didn’t think it was his place even after weeks of friendly banter.

As he was preparing your order, your distress crawled under his skin as well. You opened the light jacket you wore over your sweatshirt, you flinched from the hiss of the espresso machine, and you stood there making yourself as small as you could.

In that moment he decided to get to know you better, to do something about the thump in his chest when you opened the door to the café and to the shivers that ran up and down his back when you stood close enough and he could smell your perfume.

So far, Frankie was harboring a crush across the café, a stolen glance here and a playful look there, an attempted flirty tone in his voice on questions that were too basic to incite any interest or a spark in the corner of his eye. You had captured him without you knowing it, and without him knowing what to do with the swell of happiness every time you were around.

You tried so hard to seem like yourself, but you were on autopilot. You ordered your usual coffee and sandwich. You stared at the foamy milk on top of your mocha. He put too much effort into his attempt at making the leafy shape perfect, only to mess it up and then mess it up even more when he wanted to fix it.

You didn’t say a word about it like you would have if it was like any other normal day. He noticed the short-bitten nails and cuticles on your hand when you paid for your order.

“I’ll bring it to the table,” Frankie told you, watched you nod once and drag your feet against the floor to your usual table. You sat there, staring out the window, your head tilted, and your mind elsewhere. Frankie took heavier steps than usual to alert you, but placing the sandwich in front of you still spooked you out of your head. You tucked your hands between your thighs and let the last bit of steam evaporate from your coffee and the grilled sandwich sit untouched until the fillings looked sad and undesirable.

There was finally a break in the flow of customers. Frankie’s head was buzzing, and his feet were tired. The breather couldn’t have come any later. Yet he didn’t take his break. Instead, he was drawn to observe you like you were a magnet to him. Whatever he was doing, he always made note of you. Something was missing.

“Could I get one of those big cookies?” A customer asked and it clicked instantly in what else was off.

“I didn’t order this,” you told him when he placed the thick chocolate chip cookie next to your laptop that you had managed to get out of your bag. He saw the screen; a text editor open with a margin full of notes and different parts of the text highlighted with red.

“it’s on the house,” he gave you a soft smile, hoping it would ease at least some of the anxiety that had made you look ill while reading through the document on your laptop. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see you burst into tears at any moment.

You thanked him without any sound actually leaving your throat before you got back to reading. He was bothered by the state of you. It made him turn on his heels and take those two steps back that he had put between the two of you.

“Can I ask you something?” He didn’t stop himself to consider before he asked the question, but it got you interested. You looked at him straight in the eyes for the first time the whole day and waited for him to continue.

“Why haven’t you ordered the chocolate chip cookie before?” The cakey cookie draws both of your attention to it and the question takes you by surprise.

“Because I knew I’d like it the most and wanted to save it for something special.” You picked it up and cracked a piece from it. Even Frankie could smell the buttery richness laced with the caramelly sweetness from the brown sugar the baker had once told she uses.

The chocolate was in big chunks, some broken, some sticking out from the piece between your fingers. Instead of taking a bite, like Frankie thought you would, you set the piece down on the small white plate and fixed your attention on him.

“I didn’t know you had noticed, or kept book of what I ordered.” The words came out like a question, but there was nothing for you to ask. You just stated the obvious.

It made the peaks of his cheeks blush instantly. How much more of a creep could he even sound like, asking you about your order. “No one’s ever noticed,” you said a little quieter. Your tone made it sound like you weren’t talking about the cookie anymore. The words held much more weight to them.

“I hope I didn’t overstep any lines, it’s just that you’ve become a regular here, orders are easy to remember after a while.” Frankie watched you break the cookie into even smaller pieces, some of the chocolate falling on the plate.

“It’s okay,” you assured, and a hint of your smile faded across your face. He would’ve missed it if he blinked but he couldn’t take his eyes off you. He never can.

“Tell me if you need anything else.”

You ordered one more coffee that day. You didn’t stay as long as you normally would, but when you closed your laptop, you looked a bit calmer. Your shoulders weren’t pulled to your ears anymore and you seemed to be able to breathe without much effort again. You seemed relieved. You waved him bye from the door when you left and the corner of your mouth rose just the slightest, telling him that you’d be okay.

The next time you came in, the next Tuesday, you opened the door and immediately when your gaze landed on Frankie, you glowed. You gave him a chipper, “Hello!” and ordered your usual mocha and sandwich, this time with the salted caramel cookie.

“So, how long have you worked here?” You asked him while he was pouring milk into the steaming jug. After that he gave you pieces of himself to you, answers that were insignificant in context, but they created an image of what he was like.

He told you that he hadn’t worked at the café for that long, but it was a job that he enjoyed. He took care of his mom, which made you ask if she needed to be taken care of. “She’s just getting older,” Frankie smiled to you. He valued his time with his mom, especially after his dad left when he was still young.

At the same time he gently asked you questions too, usually over the counter when he was carefully making your drink and hoping it would last a little longer every time so you’d have more time to answer.

When you came in, he continued the puzzle of you, collecting your words into his memory. How you moved out of the town when you felt the time was right, nothing really holding you back. You went far, but still came back to see old friends and family every few weeks. How you ended up wanting to come back for the rest of your studies, knowing this would be the last time before you’d need to properly start a career and wouldn’t have time to visit as often as you normally would.

There were moments when you would’ve probably spoken for a long time. About your plans for when you were done with your thesis, what festival you were going later this summer, what you still wanted to experience before becoming a full blown adult. “I don’t know why, but I want to go to the beach and have someone cover me in sand.” You laughed when you said that, shook your head and continued, “The problem is that I don’t want to be washing sand off me for a week after that.” It made Frankie crack up as well.

You would’ve told him anything. But then the mocha was ready and he had to set it on the counter and it cut you off immediately. It was like an axe to your words, cutting them short and making you laugh before you collected your thoughts and said, “We’ll continue from here the next time.”

As spring turned into warm early summer, the sun stayed up a little longer and the birds started to sing more as a sign of their little nests getting full, you smiled even more. There was levity in your steps, almost like you could’ve taken one last one and then flown away without looking back. You swapped your long sleeved shirts and jeans to tops and flowy, lighter pants and dresses. There was a glow on your face from the sun and when it rained, you welcomed it with open arms to enjoy the smell of summer arriving.

Every time you came to the café, you brightened Frankie’s day. Seeing you brought a smile on his face, warm richness to his voice, and his eyes always glinted when they found your brightness. You started to call him by his name and every time you said it out loud, he wanted to hear you say it more.

“Frankie!” You exclaimed when you reached the counter after standing in line for a moment. He had already seen you and you had given him a wave of your hand before you got back to tapping on your phone.

“Frankie!” You approached him when there was a break in the stream of customers coming in. You switched in which hand you held your empty water glass in every few seconds. He reached for it but you pulled it back.

“I wanted to ask you something,” you began and cleared your throat. “I have these tickets…”

“Hi, could I ask for something to be changed in my sandwich order?” A middle aged man wearing a pressed suit cut in and pushed you from the counter. You took a step back and gave him all the room he needed. Your shoulders deflated and you stood awkwardly, shuffling from one foot to the other. Frankie listened to the customer while his attention slipped to you.

“Thank you, and sorry,” the man apologized to you before he went back to his table by the corner where he had spread all his stuff.

“He was in a rush,” you joked flatly, staring at the glass in your hand.

“What did you want to ask me?” Frankie took in the nerves on your face and softened his voice. You avoided his attention as he tried to ease the strained energy between the two of you. Instead, you offered him your glass.

“Could I get some more of the raspberry and lime water, the container over there is empty,” you waved your hand towards the water station. Your voice was flat, admitting defeat.

Frankie wanted to know what you had in mind, what tickets you were talking about, he would’ve pushed for it. There was no chance for it though, the moment was over. You took your glass with a quiet, “Thanks,” and returned to your seat, burrowing your head in your work.

“Frankie, are you serious?” You once asked, when you saw the new cookie flavors. White chocolate and strawberry, lemon and raspberry, coconut and ginger, and one that you wanted to save.

“Frankie?” You asked with a lower voice when there weren’t many customers around. He leaned forward instinctively. “Can you watch my stuff for a moment? I have to go make a call.” You waved your phone in the air. He nodded, all words lost when he was lost in your eyes in the closer proximity. He came to collect your empty plate and wipe the few crumbs off the table, and then stood by all your stuff like that was his job.

“Hi Frankie,” you said with mischief in your voice when you leaned against the counter. You didn’t have to tell him your order anymore. He knew it like he was the one ordering it.

“The carnival’s this weekend.” You swallowed after stating the fact.

“That’s what I’ve heard.” Everyone knew the carnival season was starting, information about it was plastered all over the town.

He could see the question on your lips, how they opened and closed like you were about to say something. You wet them with the tip of your tongue. Your eyes flicked to the shelves and machines behind Frankie, too nervous to look him in the eyes.

“Are you going?” You tapped your fingers against the speckled stone counter.

“Yeah, with some friends.” Immediately the hopefulness drained from your eyes even though the smile remained.

“That sounds fun. I hope you have a good time.” Whatever you had really wanted to say, or ask, drifted from reach. He wanted to believe you had planned to ask him out but chickened out at the last second.

“Are you going?” He rushed to ask when you refilled your water.

“Maybe.” You bravely held onto the smile even though it was slipping, cracking to show the disappointment that was already lacing your voice. You still waved him goodbye before you left, but you rushed off in a way that he hadn’t seen before.

Frankie straightens his t-shirt against his shoulders and sips at his water bottle. There’s only a couple of people left in the café and closing time is ticking closer. His coworker clatters something in the kitchen, but soon she’s whistling again to the music that she can hear through the speakers.

You would’ve come already, if you were to come to the café today. A sweltering day like this, wasted in a café, didn’t seem like something you’d do. “I can’t wait to hang out at the beach and do nothing all day,” you once said and even the thought made relief flood your smile.

“Frankie, can you come and help me a bit?” His coworker calls. Even though she was only supposed to clean the fridge, she has extended her task to include the cardboard boxes on the top shelves, with different types of napkins inside them. One is balanced against her chest, the other she’s barely able to hold on the shelf.

“I tried to wipe the shelf behind them but didn’t think how heavy they are,” she grunts as Frankie secures the box from her hand. “Thanks,” she sighs.

“And you cleaned the fridge already?” He asks, expecting to see the stuff inside it organized. The door opens to a fridge that looks incredibly like it hasn’t even been touched.

“I’ll get to it right away!” His coworker pushes the door back closed, and him out of the kitchen. “Thanks Frankie!” She hollers but doesn’t get an answer.

“Hi Frankie,” you say, in your strappy short sundress, sunglasses pushed on top of your head. Sweat beads against your forehead. Your skin glistens from the heat and the sun cream he can smell from far away. Sweet peaches.

You have a flower-patterned fan in your hand which you wave towards your face. The space between where your collarbones meet under your neck is wet with sweat trailing towards the neckline of your dress.

“Hi.” He combs his fingers through his hair and takes the necessary steps to meet you by the counter. The question he had on his mind for you this morning drains out of him. He can’t ask you out. He’s convinced it would be weird, it wouldn’t be appropriate. You would probably run away without a second thought.

“I’ve never seen this place this quiet before,” you wonder out loud. The cooler air that you fan against your skin wafts towards him with every push of your wrist. At the same time he can smell you more, that sweet sunscreen that takes him back to his childhood. The hot days when the sand under his feet was too hot, the sunscreen sticky on his skin and the salty water slipping into his mouth with every push of his arms.

“What can I get you?” Frankie asks, not wanting to assume you’ll go for your usual this time.

“Lemonade and…” You look at the cookies and stop in front of the one that you still haven’t tasted. “One of those triple chocolate brownie cookies, thanks.” You fidget with your dress while he pours plenty of ice into a takeout cup and drenches them in the tart lemonade. He chooses a cookie that looks the biggest and fattest.

“You’re not working today?” Frankie asks when he sees a smaller canvas bag on your shoulder and how it’s not bulging with contents as your usual canvas bag does.

“I actually finished my thesis.” You focus on digging out a couple crinkled five dollar bills and push them into the tip jar.

“Congrats.” What else is he supposed to say? His chest fills with disappointment. You said it long ago. You were here to finish your studies and now you’ve done it.

“Thanks.” The silence between the two of you stretches and teases the lines of discomfort. The look on your face matches the bittersweetness on Frankie’s face.

“You’re probably leaving soon then?”

You turn to look at the sweating cup on the counter and swirl your straw through the ice. You nod before you open your mouth, “Yeah, in a couple of weeks. I’m on holiday until then.”

“I’m happy for you,” and Frankie truly is. He saw how much you worked in the past few months. You’ve earned to have a breather before you’re thrown into work. “I hope you’ll come and visit again.”

“Of course.” You smile that genuine smile that is nothing but you. It’s the first thing that lights up your presence and the last thing he has seen in the past months when you’ve left through the door to go back home.

You take your lemonade and wrap your cookie in a napkin, leaving the plate on the counter, and head outside, under the shade of the sun umbrella. You watch people pass by and bask in the heat while slowly fanning your face and chest. The sun is finally sinking lower and the lower it gets, the faster the temperature seems to ease up. Frankie’s coworker finally emerges from the kitchen, just as it’s time to start closing up. You’re still sitting at the front while Frankie sweeps the floors.

“Hi!” He hears your cheerful voice say to someone. The edge of the broom clatters against one of the table legs, his attention on you and the small child you’re talking with.

Your muted voice carries into the café, the rise and fall of your excitement clear in your tone. You’re showing him something while his mom stands next to you, they’re both listening to your words intently.

Frankie continues sweeping, wanting to be done with work and get out of the sweaty cafe. The child’s high pitched inhale is clear and demands Frankie to look outside again. The air is full of rainbow colored soap bubbles. Some are smaller than the others but they all gleam in the golden sunshine.

The warm breeze carries them easily away from you before you blow on the soap bubble wand again and a burst of new bubbles escape into the air. The child follows the bubbles until they burst in the air. You offer the dripping wand to him, which he takes carefully into his small fist. He blows on it and the bubbles burst straight against your face. You pull back in laughter, wiping soap off your face.

“Frankie?” His boss calls for him, forcing him to meet her in the back.

The back alley is scorching hot, the sun trapped between the brick walls. Frankie drops the trash in the dumpster and takes his bike, the seat hot under his palm. This is the worst time to have his truck at the mechanics, and the only thing on his mind is driving with the windows down.

The air gets immediately cooler when he steps out on the street, the sun umbrellas closed and drooping in the light breeze. One of the seats isn’t empty.

“Don’t tell your coworker I stayed here even though she told me to leave.” You stand up and take slow steps to him. You take your sunglasses off and fidget with them, bathed in gold. You stop right in front of him and your smile pulls crows feet to appear next to your eyes.

Frankie is lost for words. Seeing you here, while he’s not in the café, is different, even though nothing has changed. Your closeness, the shy glances that you try to hide in the sun shining in your eyes while you don’t cover them with your sunglasses awakes those deep thumps in Frankie’s chest again. He’s even more confused when you put them in their case, and the case in your bag, no intention of shielding your eyes.

“Did you forget something?” Frankie’s voice is unsure, full of doubt on why you would’ve stayed after the closing time.

“I wanted to ask if you’re busy?” You swing your canvas bag next to your leg and wet your lips with the tip of your tongue. As he stands in front of you, he could swear it’s just the two of you on that street, bathed in the dark rays and the refreshing breeze that the day has been craving for hours. There’s salt in the air, blowing in from the coast.

“No?”

“Would you like to go to the beach with me?” Your voice shakes gently in a way that someone might mistake it for you being cold. Frankie’s heart flies heavily in his chest, the sound in his ears dizzying him into questioning if he heard you right. You beat him to it.

You switch your weight from one sandalled foot to the other and grab your bag with both of your hands. The uncertainty is back. You try to keep on smiling, but it falters the longer he doesn’t answer.

“Forget it—” You raise your hand in the air and are ready to wave it in the air to dismiss your question completely.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” Frankie snaps out of his reeling head, shutting you up in an instant. His hands sweat against the seat and handle of his bike. His mouth is dry and the pit of his stomach is filled with butterflies.

How long he has contained them, but you broke the jar with one question, filling him with the good kind of anxiety. He knows that whenever he gets nervous, he shuts down. Just like the first time he saw you, the first time you visited the café, his shyness takes center stage in how he acts. He gets quiet, his brain short circuits. No one else has been able to do that in a long time, no one else but you.

This time, seeing you standing in front of him practically radiant in the setting sun and by your happiness, he doesn’t want to lose any second of that to his reserved being.

“Hop on,” Frankie tells you gently.

“What?”

“I’ll ride us there.” He emphasizes the words by climbing on his bike, the seat still too warm even through his shorts.

“Okay,” you laugh and push your bag on your shoulder. Frankie offers you his hand, yours slotting with it like it has always belonged there. What he doesn’t expect is your other hand to land on his shoulder, holding on dependently as you swing your leg over the rear rack. You squeeze the muscle there, your fingertips digging into the tightness under his skin.

“Wait,” you say, and pull your hand back from his. Frankie misses the contact immediately, the imprint raising moisture from his palm. Your sandals scuff against the ground and the bike sways just a little as you find at least somewhat comfortable seat.

Your both hands are pressed against his shoulders, hanging from him awkwardly. Your hands are hot, gripping to him, and it makes his head spiral.

“Ready?”

“Mhm,” but you don’t sound sure at all. Immediately when the bike bumps on a crack in the pavement, no matter how much he tries to avoid them, you let out a sound somewhere between a screech and a yelp, your hands shaking and your balance flailing. Frankie’s feet are against the ground immediately.

“Okay, this won’t work. Wrap your arms around my middle, it’s more secure.” You don’t say anything for a beat, he only hears a light chuckle.

“More secure you say?” The meaning isn’t lost on him. You could understand his words in many ways, what wrapping yourself around him would imply, and apparently you stuck with exactly the one that suggests something else than riding a bike.

“You know what I mean,” his voice cracks with unintentional humor.

“Do I?”

“Yes, now just trust me.” You fix your chuckles and sigh out. Your breath fans against his back. You lower your hand from his shoulder, drag it against the muscle closest to his spine, and leave a trail of sparks that burst into goosebumps all over his body, every nerve ending awake and alert. Your hand rounds against the softness of his side, and over to his middle.

“Is this okay?” The question is full of uncertainty even though you’re trying to hide it under the smile he can hear in your voice. His confirmation gives you enough confidence to bring your other hand on him as well, tightly wrapping around him, securing you against him.

“You want to try again?” Frankie hears the drop in his voice and the slight tremble that your closeness causes. He can’t trust his voice at all, when you squeeze closer to him, your chest glued to his back.

“Yes.” You lift your feet off the ground and Frankie gets to pedaling.

You let out a squeak as the bike twitches into movement but relax against the broadness of Frankie’s back. The blowing breeze cools your skin and brings much needed relief for Frankie to keep his focus on the street and not in your hands that twine together around him in such confidence that it makes his stomach drop.

In the traffic lights you drop your feet against the ground at the same time as Frankie does and pull them back up when the light turns green. The salty water gets closer with every turn of the wheels. Streetlights flicker on and a deep blue mass swells across the sky behind you.

The sun colors the horizon in rusty yellows and oranges, the deepest parts already red that fade into the nearing night. Seagulls laugh somewhere up above, and the breeze turns cooler towards the sands that you’re already waiting to have under your feet.

You squeeze Frankie’s t-shirt into your palm, to hold onto him and to keep him close. There’s not much traffic around, some cars here and there, and the quieter it gets the more Frankie can hear the nerves talking to him in his head. For all he knows this could be a dream, after months of pining after you.

You gasp out loud when you see the sea. The horizon bathes in the last sunlight, wispy, blue and purple clouds swirled in like in the cookies you’ve been eating. Your hands untangle around Frankie and rest softly against his back. You’re pulling back, letting go, and the emptiness is already settling in with how he misses your touch.

Your feet brush up against the sandy ground and you’re off his bike, off him, drawn to the ocean. The metal chain clangs against a railing as Frankie locks his bike to it, eager to follow after you.

You stand in the ocean, the waves splash against your ankles, and you look like a vision. Frankie sits further back in the warm sand. His toes bury deeper in, and the remnants of the heat keep him grounded. He doesn’t care if it gets under his clothes and if he’ll find it for days to come. It’ll be a reminder of this night.

There’s a bonfire that crackles and sparks embers into the air, some people around it laughing. They’re making smores, the burnt smell of sugar wafting through the salt for a second. You point out a boat in the distance, the lights clear against the darkening sky. The waves crash in mellow waves against the sand, leaving white fine froth on it.

A fancy restaurant by the beach has a live band playing easy jazz, the sounds from the soft saxophone and the piano drifting towards the water. You stand in the foamy waves, watching your feet get devoured by the dark that ebbs and flows.

Frankie holds on to your bag and sandals and watches you against the rusty sky. He could watch you until it was completely dark and even then, he could make out the silhouette of you against the night sky.

“I’ve always loved the sea,” you say with your voice somewhere between a whisper and a soft sigh when you make your way back to dry land, like you were dreaming and wouldn’t want to break the spell or wake up. You don’t hesitate to sit next to Frankie, your thigh brushes against his.

“Thanks for coming here with me, I didn’t know if you’d want to.” It’s easy to lose himself in you. In the gentleness of your voice. Now in the warmth that pulls him in closer to you, searching for more contact with you.

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know, I guess… I guess I’ve been scared that I’ve read you wrong.” You swallow and lick your lower lip between your teeth. He might not be the only one who has been shy this whole time. Your confidence comes and goes, sparks every few moments and then gets replaced by a timidness that holds you back. You can’t face him. You can barely let your voice be heard over the lapping waves and the music from the restaurant.

“How do you think you’ve read me then?”

“That maybe…” You stop yourself. You play with the hem of your dress. The fabric bunched against your bare thighs. “I’ve been a bit scared to be forward, maybe, just because I wasn’t sure what you thought of me. That maybe I was reading the signs wrong, it wouldn’t be the first time, you know. That maybe, possibly, you might… I don’t know…”

Listening to you try to wade your way to the point through the waves of your nerves is endearing, while it’s also pushing Frankie to smile. His crush for you is pulling it out of him with the heat that spreads from his chest up to his neck and cheeks.

“I mean I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while,” You finally admit and the crush he has been holding onto blooms into a garden. “And I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes but I had to ask. I had to know if maybe… you would’ve wanted to ask me out as well.” The words are out. You drop your hands and everything you wanted to say is now out in the open. It doesn’t erase the butterflies that flutter somewhere between the two of you, but finally having the truth out does bring out a safe peacefulness, something he can lean on.

“Hmm,” he hums out a breath. Words have left him completely. The warmth of your skin close to his is reminder enough for him to keep his head focused, his eyes on you and his heart from flying from him. He moves his leg just a little to get it pressed against yours. You’re waiting, your eyes on him, your body turned towards his.

“I wanted to ask you out the first time you came to the shop.”

The words take you by surprise. A smile spills on your lips. You try so hard to contain it, but hardly manage to keep yourself from laughing out loud.

“Why didn’t you?” Your eyes are tearing up, either from the breeze or the release of nerves. One lands on your cheek. Frankie is quick to reach his thumb out and catch it. The tear rolls down to his palm, heavy and beautiful, leaving behind a streak that gleams in the last rays of the sun. He closes it into his hand and spreads it onto his skin with his fingers.

“I’ve never been good at seizing the moment or being brave. I didn’t want to be a creep.”

“So, you’ve let me be a creep? Watching you work, coming in every other day?”

“But you’ve been working.”

“My thesis has been done for a while. If I was there only for that, I would’ve stopped coming about six weeks ago.” Laughter bursts from you and Frankie in disbelief. The more you laugh, the more the indifference he convinced you were feeling reveals to be plain blindness.

You press your forehead against his shoulder, a gesture he doesn’t expect but also isn’t surprised by. You’re in his space, on him, never breaking a boundary, but wanting to absorb him as much as you can.

“What have you been doing then?”

“Applying for jobs, reading different forums and articles, sometimes nothing.” He holds his hand out and like earlier, yours fits against it like it belongs there. It’s not just a simple touch anymore though. It’s revelation of what you’ve been hiding. It’s hope for something to come out of it. Whatever will happen might just be a short fling. Or maybe it’ll be the beginning of something Frankie hasn’t had before.

Frankie takes you home. The energy is different as the night has fallen above the town. The air has turned balmy promising a mighty thunderstorm in the coming days. It doesn’t stop you from pressing yourself against his back, sticking to him with your arms around him. He doesn’t mind it, neither do you. You only push in closer and hold on tighter.

“Thanks for the ride home.” You fix your dress and stand in front of him. Your eyes drift to his lips, and you wet yours.

“Sorry for the uncomfortable seat, I’ll have my truck back next time.” Your reaction is worth every word. The soft smile, the drop of your gaze, the hand that reaches for his and twines with his fingers loosely swaying back and forth.

“Next time,” you repeat back to him, the words hanging as a promise in the air. They’re wings to his heart that soars into a fast beat, excited for whatever’s to come and nervous of the same prospect.

“I better get going.” Your eyes still flit to stare at his lips.

“I’ll wait here, make sure you get home safe.”

“The door is right there.”

“I’ll still wait.” You reluctantly let go of his fingers and take a step back, then another before you turn from him. Frankie rests his hands on his thighs and waits. You dig your keys out and stop. Maybe you don’t want to say goodbye just yet.

The sound of your sandals against the concrete is loud in the quiet. You have a new kind of bravery in your steps when you come back.

“Would it be completely inappropriate if I kissed you?” Frankie’s heart is in his throat. He shakes his head, giving you permission to step even closer.

You lean in but you don’t rush into it. You bring your hot palm against his cheek, and further in to tangle your fingers into the hairs at the base his neck. Your first move is to press your forehead against his and take a breath.

Your chest rises and falls steadily when you close your eyes. He presses all the details of your face into his memory from such close proximity. Your lashes, the faint lines next to your eyes, the plumpness of your cheeks, the curve of your mouth which you breathe a heavy sigh from. Your nose nudges against his, as a final sign for him to throw away his insecurities.

Your lips press against his slowly, so soft it leaves room for so much more. Your kiss is a breath and Frankie needs to chase it to keep his lungs filled. It’s easy to deepen the kiss, to have your lips slot with his, to feel the tip of your tongue tease his bottom lip just to test how he reacts.

You press in closer, just to get Frankie to pull you in even more. The bike under him wobbles as he moves to hold you closer, from you pressing your weight against him, yet somehow, he’s the most secure he’s ever felt in anyone’s embrace. A sighed out moan vibrates in your throat and your hand tugs at the curls on his head. And then it’s over.

Too soon, yet just at the right moment. He wants more, his body craves you, and the blown out pupils in your eyes under the orange street lights is enough to tell him that he’s not the only one. You lick the moisture from your lips, the signs of his mouth from around them, and pull your hands back. The smile that he has learned to want to see appears again, this time with the heaviness of unadulterated lust on your skin. You’re an ember in front of him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you pledge and give him one more soft touch of your lips against his. Frankie doesn’t want to let your lips go and chases after them with the kiss still on his lips. You giggle and pull away.

Frankie’s hand slides from the back of your thigh, right under the hem of your skirt and slips off your skin with heat etched onto it. His fingertips are sensitive from holding onto you so tightly, from wanting to have you.

You give him one last look from the door, and you fix your dress on the thigh he was holding. Your own fingertips brush against where his hand was resting, excited and like it was his place to touch. He hears your tender laugh accompany the wave of your hand, before you disappear from view. He brushes his fingers through his hair with the hand he held you with, the scent of your sunscreen tattooed on his palm now forever etched to his memory.

#secretsprings #frankie friday #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales triple frontier #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fic #katsheadincloudswrites #like a sun shining late at night

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 1 year ago

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Hobie Brown's Living Room on the S.S Anne Ark

Hobie's living room on the houseboat complete with graffiti, boatcats, and a juke box he's customed himself.

(In depth explainer below - click for higher rez)

Diane took this photo early in the morning while Hobie was still sleeping upstairs. It seems like Moto the cat is already up. [Light mentions of my Spidersona Disco-Spider Diane below] The S.S Anne Ark (get it- AnArch?) is Hobie's home, and arguably his favorite place in the world.

Gifted to him by an old geezer Hobie used to work for, he's been living on Anne for 4 years now - since he was 16.

And this is his living room.

Hobie is by no means a homebody, but when he is home, he spends most of his time here - reading, writing songs, and listening to music.

The Living Area -

Feel free to imagine a LOT more junk here. The living room floor is always covered with his projects - songbooks, or patches, zines - whatever art he's making then. Cause Hobie is always making art. His couch might as well be older than him - and he found it on a curb in Tower Hamlets, called a few favors, and somehow got it in here. But it's the most comfortable thing you'll ever sit on.

The Music/Recording Area -

Almost every song Hobie has recorded or written in the past 4 years has been here. Hobie keeps most of his music equipment in the wooden cabinet and the good stuff that can't fit gets put on display. There's a microphone rigged to the ceiling and mixing equipment for recording. Hobie's motto is the louder the better, and it's a good thing the windows are re-enforced, because his speakers are loud enough to make the glass rattle. There's also a vintage jukebox that Hobie had bartered for a couple years back. Now, he loves tickering with it. He's swapped out the old 50's songs for something more his taste tho.

The Kitchen Area -

Hobie can cook, and he loves it, but being a street kid for so long, he's hardly ever gotten in the habit of doing it. Hobie's kitchen is sparce, partly because the boat is off the grid. His cupboards are mainly full of books and shoes, and his oven is rarely used. However, he has a grill on the back deck - and that's where he does most of his cooking. Once Gwendy came around, Hobie got a lot more into cooking, the kid seemed like she needed a homecooked meal. Hobie mainly eats cheap street food - street kid habits -frequenting fish n' chip places and kebab shops, and yeah, he calls the dude behind the counter 'boss' or something. He also eats a lot of food from convivence stores, like packaged sandwiches and cold pastas. Because they're easy to carry, and when he was younger, they were (literal) life-savers. The taste gives him nostalgia. The thing he makes most in the kitchen is beans on toast. Diane finds it disgusting, which Hobie finds hilarious.

The BoatCats

Hobie is a man of many cats. He looks after the dock and alley cats, catching fish on early mornings (yes, he fishes) to give to them before he has breakfast. All of them have names, and none of them have collars. And Hobie loves them all. Those that are a bit older, weaker, or just want to - get to come live with him as BoatCats. Pictured here: Left - Moto (Personality: Feisty, Calm, Curious) Right - Pierogi, also known as Rogi (Personality: Cuddly, Talkative, Friendly) Hobie does not care much for their genders, and doesn't check.

More about The S.S Anne Ark (I'll be posting an explainer with the outside, layout, etc)

The S.S Anne Ark is a modified wide-beam canal boat. Completely off-the-grid, and DIY'd by him, it's Hobie's pride and joy. The Anne Ark is three levels tall - a 'ground' floor, and upstairs, and a locked basement below the deck. Pictured is the living room. To the left - beside the windows - there is a hallway that leads to Hobie's workshop and the basement Hobie choses to firmly keep private. Not even Gwen, Pavi or Diane have been down there. To the right behind the cat tree is the stairs up to Hobie's bedroom. (You walk up those stairs, hit the landing, turn and go up again.) The Anne Ark has two 'bedrooms' and one 'bathroom'. Hobie's bedroom is what was once the control room, gutted and converted. The second bedroom was once a small equipment space. The small bathroom is up there as well - but it's more of a wet room, with a shower and toilet. There's a sink to wash your hands on the second floor outdoor deck, but it's either that or the kitchen sink.

But that's Anne Ark! And after years of squatting and homelessness as a streetkid, Hobie considers Anne his forever home. And he takes pride in that.

He tries pride in opening Anne's doors for others too - kids in the same spot he was, who just need a little help.

Other little facts about Anne Ark:

Hobie's leather jacket is on the couch. He has multiple, he can't be walking around in the same jacket as Spiderpunk 24/7, right? He has a couple, and the ones he stops wearing, he donates. He usually starts a new one when the last is too cover in patches to continue.

The Anne Ark changes colors.

Diane throws rager after-parties on Anne Ark after the band's shows. She has her own apartment she loves to death, and doesn't sleep over often - maybe staying a weekend or two a month, or crashing after a party. In turn, Hobie hardly ever sleeps at hers. Mainly because her place is merticulously pink, and she says he messes up her throw pillows. He disagrees with the idea of unusable pillows. And with her own crib and bed a portal jump away, they don't feel the need to bunk together. Non-conventional relationship and all that. [Insert scene of Barbie being like 'why would you wanna stay over?? :) This is MY dreamhouse lol <3 ]

________________________________________

So uhhhhh, that's his living room.

I tried to get it as genuinely close how it looks in me paracosm (i JUST learned that word), based on how Diane sees it. All of this is based off of headcanon and I see it when I'm in the space.

Some things may be left out for sake of space and simplicity - but this is mainly it - as accurately as I could reasonably get it.

If you read this far, THANK YOU - I really appreciate it and it genuinely means a lot! As usual, you will take this photo of Hobie, and pretend this is normal behavior.

Bye.

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operatorsdiner · 13 days ago

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Cracking: Entry 8

The night was quiet, but Baylen’s mind was anything but. They sat hunched over, eyes darting between the clock and computer. The graveyard shift was always long, the silence stretching on for hours with nothing but the hue of the fluorescent lights and the occasional clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Baylen sat at the desk, drumming their fingers against it with one hand while they held their face with the other. They glared at the monitors displaying the overnight schedule for the following week. He had read the list of names and times at least 8 times over but it was one of the days where nothing made sense to them.

13 missing people, 6 murders, and 3 attempted kidnappings all in the local area. Each name lingered in his mind like a plague, too many of them close to home. His childhood neighbor was found dead in her home, a member of Adrian’s mock trial group from uni went missing after class, Enzo’s cousin survived an attempted abduction just a few days prior, and a classmate from Alex’s alumni culinary school had been bludgeoned to death in an alleyway… That was just to name a few.

The local news played softly from his phone’s speakers, the anchors droning on about the newest victim in this crime spree. A 22-year-old woman vanished without a trace. Just like the others. Another missing person, another name to add to the growing list. Perhaps, he was just simply too paranoid - but everything seemed to be connected and centralized on this crew, his crew.

Baylen slid back in his chair abruptly, wheels squeaking as the chair nearly toppled over with his movement. Lanky legs climbed over the arms of the meek office furniture, heading the short distance for the filing cabinets. A list repeating in his brain, ’My dance studio ID, Adrian’s resume, Alex’s employee of the week award with their picture, Vesper’s driver's license, Enzo’s customized lighter with an image of him and Dante on it, a letter from Wren’s parole officer’. He had hoped that maybe it had been him who had lost the items, not that something… more nefarious was going on. He hoped to soothe his worries, to soothe the angst building up in his chest.

But Baylen knew better, he knew he had never touched his employee's belongings and he knew even more so that he never removed his ID from its secured clip on his satchel.

This wasn't the first time something had gone missing, nor was it the first time it involved someone from his crew. A twisting ache took root in his chest—was all this more than coincidence?

Could this all just be a prank gone wrong? A misguided attempt at a joke by one of his staff? The thought crossed their mind, momentarily easing the tightness in their chest. Baylen’s gaze fell on the employee schedule tacked to the bulletin board. Each name stared back at them, accusing and guilty. Adrian, Alex, Vesper, Wren, Enzo, Dante… Could one of them be behind this?

But even as Baylen tried to rationalize the situation, a small voice in the back of their mind wouldn't let them shake the feeling that something was off. The doubts lingered, the unanswered questions still gnawing at their consciousness.

But at the same time, they couldn't afford to alienate their staff or create a hostile work environment based on mere suspicions and coincidences.

Baylen's mind was a battlefield, the logical side warring with the paranoid.

Could they really trust their staff completely? Could they be certain that there wasn't something more sinister at play?

Perhaps it was the fact that Baylen knew Wren spent two and half years in prison for committing a felony, but his opinion was relatively low on them. That and the fact that Wren somehow managed to show up late to each and every single one of their shifts despite living the closest out of everyone on staff. Wren was… Baylen’s opposite in every sense of the word; eager, boisterous, dramatic, and always late. Baylen did not understand how someone could be so excited about life whilst simultaneously sleeping their shift away in the booths. He wished they’d do it again though so he could finally fire them.

Baylen was rather fond of Alex, in the way a person would be fond of a kicked puppy - pity is the feeling he would akin the emotion to. Alex spent their life in fear of everything, anxiety coming as easy as breathing for them. In the beginning of their relationship, Baylen had hoped to do anything to alleviate their suffering, but after a few years of trying Baylen simply accepted that nothing was going to make the chef less scared. Alex was the ‘mouse of the house’, hearing all the gossip from customers and crew alike - and was the most unbiased source of information, Baylen always knew who to go to when something went missing.

Vesper… Vesper was aloof and chaotic, but truly always meant the best. At least Baylen thought they did. Though their music taste was ass and their serving skills were questionable at best, Baylen had no real reason to dislike them. However, he did wonder what they were doing with all that time they hid away in the walk-in. They were full of life and vivacious, bringing all of themself into everything they did.

Although Adrian was one of the older members of Baylen’s staff, he couldn’t help but view them as ‘just a kid’. Adrian took up the mantle of all the little tasks that no one else wanted to do and would laugh it off and say that they were the host with the most going on. Baylen wouldn’t have time to make the schedule if it wasn’t for them, and for that, he was grateful to have them around.

Enzo was one of the two people Baylen had ever spent time with outside of work. Enzo often melted into the background of any conversation, only chiming in with small deadpan comments at the best moments. He was quiet, and calm in comparison to the chaos of the rest of his coworkers. Though on the occasions they hung out outside of work it was usually mediated by Dante’s more exuberant personality. Baylen thought he was cool, in a weird quiet kind of way.

The absolute bane of Baylen’s existence, Dante Martinez, plagued not only his work life but his personal one as well. That is not to say that Baylen didn’t enjoy the line cook’s company, quite the contrary actually, Dante balanced him out. Dante’s aloof, yet passionate personality kept Baylen’s erratic thinking at bay through a method of keeping everyone on their toes. He was a person who would drive for hours to pick a friend up after they spin out into a snowy ditch, but also the type of person to hang up on Baylen the second they ask him to follow the menu. Dante was… Annoying. Baylen liked that.

Baylen’s mind raced as they considered each of their staff members. Wren, Alex, Vesper, Adrian, Enzo, and even Dante - none of them seemed likely to pull a prank like this. Wren was too laid-back, too content to sleep through their shifts to put this much effort into a joke. Alex was too anxious, too worried about causing problems to deliberately misplace important items. Vesper was chaotic, yes, but they had a good heart and meant well. Adrian was too responsible, and too dedicated to their tasks to sabotage the crew. Enzo was too quiet, too content to blend into the background. And Dante… well, Dante was a wildcard, but even he wasn’t above being a team player when it mattered most.

No, this was something else entirely. Something more sinister, more calculated. It all seemed to point to a deeper issue, a dark truth lurking beneath the surface.

Baylen tried to shake off the dark thoughts, the paranoid suspicions that swirled in their mind. They took a deep breath, forcing themselves to focus on the logical, the rational.

"It's just a bunch of coincidences," they muttered to themselves, trying to convince their own mind. "Stuff goes missing all the time in a place like this. People lose things, misplace them. It doesn't have to mean anything."

They were trying to convince themselves that everything was fine, that there was nothing to worry about. But the nagging feeling in the back of their mind wouldn't go away, the suspicion that something was off, something was wrong.

"Wren's always late, that's nothing new. Alex is anxious, of course they'd know about everything going on. Vesper's just being Vesper, living their best life. Adrian's always picking up the slack, that's who they are. Enzo's quiet, that's their thing. And Dante... well, Dante's Dante. None of them would do something like this on purpose."

Baylen ran a hand through their hair, trying to smooth down the errant strands that had come loose from their usual style. "I'm just being paranoid. Overthinking things, as usual. It's not like there's some grand conspiracy or anything. People just lose stuff sometimes. It happens."

Maybe Baylen was just reading too much into things, allowing their paranoia and fear to cloud their judgment. It was just a bunch of silly coincidences, nothing more. There was no need to jump to conclusions or accuse anyone of wrongdoing.

The cool air from the vents ruffled Baylen's hair and he shivered, even though the office wasn't cold. His gaze flickered to the various items his coworkers had left strewn around the office, intimate mementos left as a testament to their own lives.

He let out a heavy sigh, his head dipping into his hands. He felt like a fool, for the worries he harbored, but as the minutes wore on, the doubts swelled. How could so many things, belonging to so many people, just disappear without a trace? A faint sense of invasion, of being watched, prickled at the back of his neck. It was maddening, the inability to pinpoint the source.

The dingy envelopes and folders that held his coworkers’ personal information stared back at him. He gripped the drawer face, his knuckles white from the pressure. The manager’s mind wandered to the upcoming staff meeting where he’d have to address the issues with the missing items. A dull ache, a nagging worry, had been lingering at the back of his mind for the last few days, but he’d dismissed it as paranoia.

Mind, body, and soul; Baylen was weary and drained. Every fiber of his being felt as though something was horribly, horribly wrong. Too much was happening in a much too small time frame, and all that he could think of was work. Each morning after work he would go home with the intention of sleep, only to lay awake staring at the ceiling trying his best to piece together where the fuck did my ID go?

The simple dance studio identification card was of no true significance, he could always replace it, but it was the principle of it that set his nerves on edge. He had no proof, no concrete evidence that someone had taken his ID, yet his heart raced, and the air grew thick around him. He ran his hand through his hair, as he bit his bottom lip and his jaw ticked. The sensation of someone watching him, of someone invading his personal space, crept up his spine.

As Baylen leaned back, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. The list of missing items had only added to his buzzing internal monologue, and he found himself staring at the scattered papers on his desk, trying to piece together the puzzle that seemed to have no clear picture.

Their eyes darted around the office, landing on the various personal items and memos left decorating the space by his employees. Each one seemed to hold a story, a hint at the truth Baylen sought. But try as he might, he couldn’t find a common thread that tied them all together.

The weight of responsibilities pressed down on Baylen, the need to understand his surroundings and keep the store running smoothly a constant burden. But with each passing day, every missing item, each new disappearance, that burden felt heavier and heavier. The faint hum of the ancient AC unit did little to drown out the pounding of their heart.

The calendar, a looming presence on the wall, was taunting him with its unwavering ticking of days. Each passing second carried with it the fear of more odd occurrences. Baylen felt like a man on the bow of a ship, watching as an iceberg grew ever closer.

Slowly, the thought took form in his head, an unwelcome guest that refused to leave. A shiver ran down Baylen’s spine despite the stuffy heat of the tiny office. They pushed themself back, legs unsteady, and began to pace like a caged animal. Back and forth, back and forth, his long legs eating up the space between the desk and cabinets. Each time he passed the calendar, the dreadful reminder seemed to mock him. His heart raced as he conjured the thought that it was more than just his ID. It had to be his coworkers, they were up to something. Baylen knew it.

Baylen couldn’t fathom why his staff would hide these things, or why they’d all come up missing at once. His train of thought was spiraling, deeper and darker, and the more time that passed with Baylen alone in the dingy cramped office, the more he began to believe that something dreadful was looming over the horizon.

The thought alone made their chest tighten.

Baylen’s pace picked up, shoes clicking against the linoleum as they circled the desk chair like a shark. Their eyes shifted every which way, perking up at any unexpected noise. The scuff of a shoe outside the door made them freeze, their heart leaping into their throat. Just Dante, they told themself. But the dread still grew, twisting his guts into knots.

Bayleyn’s mind raced, matching the pace of his legs as they paced the cramped office space. The missing items gnawed at them, a constant thorn in their side. He couldn’t stand the lack of order, the unknown variables. It went against everything they stood for as a manager, as a person. Organization, control, knowing where everything and everyone was at all times - that was Baylen’s world. And now, that structure was crumbling around them.

The more they thought about it, the more worked up they got. Their breaths quickened, chest tightening with each passing minute. He could feel the panic rising in his throat, digging its claws around his neck and pressing down on his chest. The need to solve the issue felt all-consuming.

Baylen’s gaze darted around the room, looking for each personal item like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. Adrian’s resume, Alex’s award, Vesper’s license… All missing. Vanished into thin air. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Unless…

The thought crept into Baylen’s mind, insidious and unwelcome. What if it wasn’t just a coincidence? What if their coworkers were involved somehow? The idea made their stomach churn, but they couldn’t shake it.

Their heart pounded in their ears, the blood rushing like a freight train. Baylen could feel the paranoia taking hold, the walls of the office closing in. They needed air, they needed to clear their head. But he couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not while he was on the clock. Not until he figured this all out.

Baylen’s eyes darted to the clock, the minutes ticking by in agonizing slowness. Each second felt like an eternity, the weight of the unknown pressing down on their chest. They needed to focus- to think rationally. But with each passing moment, each unanswered question, Baylen felt themself slipping further into the recesses of panic that filled his lungs.

Frustration reached a boiling point. Baylen’s mind was a whirlwind of intrusive thoughts and compulsions. They needed order, they needed answers, and they needed to make sense of all the variables.

With a huff of frustration, Baylen surged to their cabinets, charging over to the towering cabinets that lined the far wall. Fingers curled into fists, they yanked open the first drawer, sending a cascade of manila envelopes and crumpled papers scattering to the floor. “Fuck!” he breathed, the curse echoing off the walls. He didn’t have time for this, didn’t have time for his own damn paranoia. But they couldn’t shake the feeling, the gnawing certainty that something was very, very wrong.

Baylen tore through drawer after drawer, a one-person tornado of fury and desperation. Files scattered, folders ripped, the very air crackling with tension. They tore through each drawer, fingers scrabbling for anything that might give them a clue. Pay stubs, tax forms, old memos - it all went flying, littering the floor like confetti at a party no one wanted to attend.

Baylen’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, their chest heaving with each ragged inhale. They couldn’t find what they were looking for, couldn’t make sense of any of it.

They were looking for something, though they weren’t sure of what. A clue, a sign, anything to prove they weren’t connecting the dots between completely unrelated incidents.

But there was nothing. Just the same old papers, the same damn files they’d seen a thousand times before. Baylen’s hands shook as they slammed the last drawer shut, the metal clanging like a gunshot in the too-quiet room.

They whirled around, gaze landing on the desk. The computer, the phone, the scattered knick-knacks from their coworkers. With a heaving breath, they slammed their fist against the metal edge of the desk, the sound clanging loudly through the office, echoing off the walls and making Baylen jump.

Baylen dropped to their knees, crawling forward on all fours. They didn’t care how they looked, didn’t care about the dirt and grime coating his clothes. All that mattered was finding the truth, finding the answers they so desperately needed.

They tore through the contents of the bottom drawer, fingers digging through the dust and debris. Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

A low, keening sound escaped their throat, a mix of frustration and despair. They had failed. Failed to keep the store running smoothly, failed to protect the items of his coworkers, of his friends. Failed at everything he had set out to do.

Panting, they rounded the desk and dragged himself back to his feet, hands gripping at the edges like a lifeline. The chair scraped against the floor as they dragged it out of the way, not caring about the screech of metal on linoleum.

Nothing came up, other than a frustrated groan that bubbled in his chest. His hands came to his face, calloused fingertips pressing to his temples before dragging down the length of his jaw. The thud of his back hitting the wall was audible, as was the drag of him dropping weight down the length of it. His legs took up a majority of the managerial office’s length, crammed between the popcorned wall and metal desk. A shaky breath left him as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

They couldn’t take it anymore, the office was nothing short of a disaster, the once pristine and neat workstation now in shambles. Papers littered the floor in a fashion that mirrored a tornado, only to be joined by the mess of drawers that had carelessly been left pried open in a desperate search for answers.

The shadows of the office seemed to grow longer as Baylen remained sprawled against the wall, mind racing with dark possibilities. They slowly dragged their hands down their face, fingers shaking ever so slightly as they tried to reign in the spiraling thoughts. The silence was oppressive, only broken by the occasional creak of the old building around him.

They pulled themself together and up off of the floor. Baylen took a look around as he breathed in a shaky, tense breath. Baylen’s search led him to his own desk, pawing through the open drawers once more. He barely blinked when he began to uncover what he had hidden under the clutter there. His eyes fell on the worn-out notebook with a coffee ring on the cover, his fingers dancing over the binding. Wordlessly, he flipped the journal open to the most recent entry - marked by a dingy pencil stuffed between the pages. Written in their scribbled mess of handwriting, Baylen had jotted down notes that seemed to compile their thoughts.

Missing Items:

Resume (A.)

EOTW Award (A.)

DL (V.)

Lighter (E.)

Parole Letter (W.)

Suspicious Activity:

D, seems paranoid

A.(foh) absent

W. quieter

E. brash

V . acting strange

A.(boh) showing up late

The page was crumpled, with a long tear on one side, and flecks of torn edges scattered around the drawer. Baylen’s frantic search had not only taken a toll on the office, but on his notebook itself. The notes were a list that summarized Baylen’s current worst fears and concerns; the evidence of his paranoia.

Baylen’s head throbbed, vision blurring at the edges as the panic built to a crescendo. They needed a plan. They needed answers. They needed…

Baylen’s knees buckled and they found themself sinking against the side of the desk. Their back dragged down the adjoining wall until they were hunched with their forehead to their knees, breath coming in ragged gasps. Their hands were shaking, trembling so violently that their knuckles had turned white. Baylen squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the intrusive thoughts, the suffocating fear.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours. Time had lost all meaning in the suffocating confines of the office. Slowly, incrementally, they began to regain some semblance of control. Their breathing steadied, hands stopped shaking quite so badly. Baylen knew they couldn’t fall apart. Not here, not at work. Crying was an off-the-clock activity.

They needed air, they needed to clear their head. Standing with shaking knees Baylen let out a slow breath as they turned and moved to open the door. Before he was even able to lift his arm, the door swung open with a black scuff mark branding itself on the paint.

Baylen jumped back as the scowl of his line cook, Dante, entered his view. Before he could question Dante’s actions their vision was quickly blinded by a cardboard box being thrown at their head. Shielding themselves from a possible bump on their head they held their arms above them as the box ricocheted off of them. They looked back at Dante in bewilderment as he slammed the door behind him, shutting the two in the confined space. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He hissed as he looked at the disheveled state of his boss, “I can hear you from the walk in. Which means the customers right outside the door can hear you, and I am not in the mood to have day shift down our fucking throats in the morning because some Karen heard you breaking down in here! I've had a migraine all day and Alex just called your cell saying he’s in the ER right now for the same shit.”

Baylen was still in a state of shock with their mouth agape as his employee stuck their finger in her face. “Listen man. Whatever is going on with you, we have to man the fuck up. Enzo doesn't get in till 8. Alex called off and I have not heard shit from Wren,” Dante placed his hands on Baylen's shoulders looking him deep in the eye with intensity. “Lock the fuck in.”

Baylen's bewilderment still had yet to sway as he looked down at his line cook. Dante's eyes were bloodshot and sunken in either from the migraines coming back in crashing waves or his culinary finals that had been picking away at his sleep. His facial hair was scruffier than usual and made him look more like a high-school dropout than the talented cook she knew. Baylen gently placed their hands on Dante's shoulders as they began to slowly nod, “You're right…you're right. I'm sorry.” Shrugging off the younger man's hands they pinched the bridge of their nose as a heavy sigh fell from their lips. “Everyone has lost something recently and for some reason in my mind I connected it to all the bullshit that’s been happening in town. I don't think I'm crazy in thinking something weird is going on but I guess I just…” Baylen sighed again as they covered their face with their hands and groaned into their palms. “It's fine. It's whatever.” Pulling their hands away they looked back down at their coworkers with an awkward smile. “But in good news, we found your polaroid. It was in the back lot of the parking lot near the dumpsters. I don’t know how it got out there but thankfully we don’t have to waste any more polaroid film on your ugly ass.” Baylen snorted at their own joke as they placed their hand on Dante's head, playfully shoving him out of the way as they headed for the door.

Dante only grunted at the action, glaring at Baylen as he strode out of the office and onto the main floor of the restaurant. Orange light bathed the diner as the setting sun peeked past the tall river birch trees that lined the edge of the woods. The night had just barely begun and Baylen was already exhausted from his own worries, woes, and fears that hung over his head like a gray cloud waiting to storm. For the most part, the building was empty. The only ones left were the few remaining day staff either leaving for the night or waiting for the other night staff to come in to take over so they could go home, nothing too out of the ordinary. That was life at the Wafflehouse; nothing out of the ordinary. So why did everything in the past weeks feel so off? It just didn’t make sense to Baylen, someone who had been working at that very location for most of his young adult life. Why did everything feel so wrong now? Why did it seem the world was starting to close in on him and target his crew?

A sharp poke to the side snapped Baylen out of their train of thought. They looked back down at Dante with a frown. “You're doing the thing again,” the younger man whispered as he walked past the manager and behind the counter to the on-duty cook, dismissing her for the night. Looking back at Baylen one last time, Dante mouthed a ‘you okay?’ to them, his face scrunching in concern as he stared. Baylen took a slow deep breath in as he placed an awkward smile on his face as he gave the line cook a little nod before turning around and making his way back into the office, shutting the door behind him.

Dante stood there, momentarily staring at the wood a before scoffing and going back to his honorary duty of cleaning the day staff's leftover bullshit. The boy couldn't fully wrap his head around fully on why Baylen was so worried about the Wafflehouse. Specifically when the entire town was practically on lockdown. It was Appalachia; people going missing wasn’t unheard of. After Dante had moved down from Michigan when he was young he practically heard every tale of axe murderers, skinless men, and horrors beyond comprehension coming from past the thicket of the woods.

Reaching for the cleaning rag, Dante threw water across the warm stove before pouring soap on top to begin his preparation for the usual weirdos that walked in. At least Tim, Brian, and Cody were still safe and well, that brought comfort to him as he scrubbed at the grease and burnt egg the day shift refused to clean themselves. The new frequent customers had also been catching Dante's eye with their strange behavior and unique attributes, but it was no place for Dante to comment on when he had prominent scars of his own across his face.

For now at least, Dante focused his mind on upcoming events that left a heavy feeling in his heart`. His mind had been so clouded with new recipes and techniques that he had forgotten about his own life and needs. Topics that were rudimentary to his person and his routine.

The topic that seemed to flood his mind today was what he was actually going to do for his birthday. Looking back on his previous birthdays, he knew three things for sure:

He would get a phone call from his dad thanking him for turning into the son he had always wanted.

His mother would call and they’d both cry on the phone together over how much they couldn’t wait for Thanksgiving so he could spend a week with her in Michigan.

Cody would knock on his door once he got home from work, they'd sit on the couch and share a bong while watching Killer Klowns from Outer Space, and Cody would give him some small gift that he made last minute.

It happened like clockwork around this time of year, but by god did Dante cherish it. It brought a sense of comfort and familiarity that he didn't often get from his hectic schedule, so the little things really did matter to him. Trying to balance work and school was never an issue for him, but remembering to take his medication between the chaos of the two? That was the real struggle.

After enough elbow grease and TLC, the stove was finally to Dante's liking. He took a step back and admired his work. One task down out of the laundry list the assholes working before left behind as a shit sandwich for him to devour. Throwing the towel down into the cleaner bucket next to the sink he turned around to take in the rest of the dishevelled store only to meet wide icy blue eyes and a scarred face to match.

“FUCK!” Dante yelped, fumbling backwards and catching himself from falling on his ass from the ledge of the stove.

Jeff snickered as he looked at the bumbling fool trying to collect himself.

“Scare ya’? Sorry. I have a tendency to do that to people.” He sat back on the stool before smirking, “Y’know. The whole face and all.” He held up a finger and circled it around his face, highlighting the gnarly scars as if they weren’t blatantly visible.

Dante held a hand over his heart as he glared at the man in frustration and annoyance.

“Dude, not fucking funny,” Dante spat through his teeth as he stood tall again and huffed out a sigh. “What can I get for you?”

Jeff shrugged as he leaned his elbows on the counter and swivelled around in his seat. “Dante, right? Heard through the grapevine you're a culinary student. How much I gotta pay you to make me something good off the menu? I've had prison food for far too long and I want a little treat.” Jeff's eyes crinkled in amusement as he waited patiently for Dante's response.

Dante squinted at the man for a moment, trying to gauge what bullshit he was trying to pull. He knew he shouldn't exactly trust anything this Jeff guy was saying, especially if he and Wren had been buddy-buddy in prison.

“You want something savory or sweet? I can only do so much cuz our shipment truck doesn’t come in til tomorrow,” he spoke, crossing his arms over his chest and peering down at the delinquent.

Jeff's grin widened as he leaned back and blew out a breath. “Damn, I get options? I'm really getting spoiled now. Gotta thank the gossip that I found this place then.”

Dante's eyes practically rolled into the back of his skull but quickly halted that in its tracks as he adjusted his sunglasses. “Yeah, yeah. Now whatcha want?” he grumbled.

Jeff reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled bill. “A little bit of both? Listen, man, I wanna feel like I'm dining like a king. After years in the slammer, I just want a nice hot meal ya’ know?” He slid the bill across the counter. “Charge me what you want. Take the rest as a tip.”

Dante eyed the bill for a moment before cautiously taking it into his hand and unravelling it. His eyes practically bulged out of his head as he stared at the fifty-dollar bill before looking back at Jeff.

A coy smile spread across the man's face as he raised his hands defensively, “I'm feeling generous and I know you’ll whip up something good.”

Dante eyed the man up and down once more before nodding his head and sliding the bill into his pocket. “Coming right up,” he mumbled before adjusting his glasses and walking over to the sink to clean his hands. Quickly scrubbing and drying his hands, he walked back to the stove and began his concoction. Walking back and forth between the fridge and the counter he began to tune his surroundings out as he mechanically worked on Jeff's meal. The sizzle of the grill was white noise to him and the chopping of garnish was second nature.

He was in his zone until the man behind him opened his mouth again.

“Sooo… How long have you known Wren?” He asked as he sat on the stool twiddling his thumbs.

Dante didn't even pause as he tossed water and sugar into a pan to coat the strawberries. “A bit now,” he answered, “They aren't exactly the talkative type.”

That was putting it lightly. Truthfully, even though Wren did do favors for the night crew, trying to get them off their phone and do their job was a fucking nightmare. Yeah, helping out with a ride was one thing, but when they vanished during a dinner rush it was kind of hard to ignore.

Jeff only nodded. “Hey, can I get some coffee?” His shoulders were slumped and he eyed the manager's door as Dante turned around, placing a mug in front of him before pouring a freshly made cup for him.

The background hum of the kitchen brought a comfortable silence between the two as Dante slaved away at the stove to make a decent meal for the criminal.

“I looked you up on the internet the other day.”

Dante's blunt statement cut through the silence like a skilled butcher's knife carved a pig. Jeff choked on his drink before he nervously wrapped his hands around the mug, knuckles turning bone white as his body tensed with every nerve on edge.

“Yeah?” The stiffness in his voice was undeniable.

Dante only hummed as he casually flipped a pancake in the pan. “Yep.”

Jeff swallowed as his eyes became glued to the counter, and he spat through gritted teeth... “So… what? You think I'm some lunatic?”

Some nerve Dante had to bring up the gruesome crime of killing over a dozen people whilst the killer sat behind him waiting for food.

“Am I supposed to think of anything else?” Dante retorted, looking over his shoulder. His piercing gray eyes peaked from the side of his glasses and sparked a burning fire of spite deep in Jeff's chest.

“But,” The cook turned his attention back to the grill. “Against my better judgment, I want to know your side of it. Because from what I can tell, compared to what the news reports and chat boards say– your skin isn’t fucking geisha white and your face doesn’t look like that annoying cat from Alice in Wonderland.”

Jeff glared daggers at the back of Dante’s head for a moment before turning his fiery gaze to his coffee. His own scarred, burned, and loathed reflection glared back at him. “Why do you wanna know so bad?” he sneered. Dante listened to the man's frustrated tone, noting how familiar it sounded. It reminded him of when he first met Baylen all those years ago. A familiar twang and flow with the way his tongue flicked over certain vocabulary, or how he articulated his words when he had first moved down to this shitty little town from New York. When it came to Jeff, it was so similar but not quite the same; unique in its own way. The memory of the past brought a smile to Dante’s lips momentarily, before it was quickly snuffed out for his normal, neutral expression.

The cook shrugged. “What can I say? I love a good sob story. A boy freshly moves to a neighborhood, then stabs a kid the next day and breaks another kid's wrist. It’s brutal, but it doesn’t add up. Not to mention your younger brother taking the fall for you.” Dante began plating the food with delicate precision, “Let's not forget those same kids jumping you weeks later and doing all of…” Dante turned around and waved his hand in Jeff's general direction. “That. To you. Then once you finally get out of the hospital and your brother gets taken out of juvie, you just so happen to kill not only your family but your neighbors and her two little friends as well. All in one night.” Dante took the plate in his hand and slid it across the counter in front of Jeff as he leaned forward, getting into the man's face. “That don’t add up to me. So, let's talk.”

Jeff stared down at the massive pile of food set before him with his jaw slack. Pancakes with candied strawberries delicately placed on top with dollops of whipped cream cheese, with a side of a picture-perfect omelet. The chef really did go above and beyond for a murderer; perhaps trying to butter up Jeff in order to get some juicy details that the media never did. Jeff quickly grabbed the fork and began cutting, tearing, and shovelling the man's masterpiece down his throat like it would be taken away from him at any moment. Dante’s face twisted in disapproval and disgust as he stared at the deplorable display of gluttony, watching the man destroy his hard work and leave the counter looking like a warzone.

“Fine,” Jeff said bluntly after swallowing a large bite of omelet. “Since yer twisting my fuckin’ arm I’ll tell ya’.” Rolling his shoulders back and stretching his neck, Jeff straightened his posture as he looked between Dante and his meal. “For starters, the newspapers and those true crime junkies got it wrong; Lui is my older brother. The only reason they said he was younger than me was because I had one hell of a growth spurt outta nowhere.” Reaching over, he chugged down the last of his coffee before shoving the mug in Dante’s face expectantly. Dante raised a brow before snatching the cup and haphazardly pouring more of the liquid into the cup. With the same attitude used against him, Dante shoved the mug back into Jeff’s direction, coffee sloshing from the side and leaving dark puddles that reflected the two annoyed men. “Go on,” Dante muttered as he rested his hand against the counter, leaning into Jeff's personal space with no care. “I’m all ears.”

“Back the fuck up, will ya’?” Jeff hissed, shoving a rough and ridged palm against Dante’s face and pushing him back. “I’m workin’ on it.” Jeff's glare was harsh, but the cook's demeanor didn’t seem to waver. Back in prison, a single glance from Jeff's bloodshot and scarred eyes would send everyone running for the hills, but here was this asshole punk pipsqueak not even wavering at his attitude or insults. Dante thrummed his fingers methodically against the marble patiently waiting for Jeff’s attitude to cease its unnecessary continuation.

“Secondly, it didn’t happen the day after we moved in. Lui and I had been there for months with Randy and his fuckin’ goons breathing down our next every goddamn day. Obviously, my brother took the fall for me when the cops came knocking, that part’s true. The trial was stupid… but lack of evidence, conflicting testimony, and unreliable statements don’t mean much when the parents of those lil’ shits were whispering and paying off the jury behind closed doors,” Jeff's face was a flurry of loathing, resentment, and regret as he recalled the memory. Sitting in the witness stand and repeatedly insisting that Lui didn’t do it, all while watching his parents show obvious favoritism towards him over his brother.

The buzz of the fluorescent lights filled the silence between the two like a liminal symphony, adding more fuel to the awkward and tense fire. Jeff’s glare travelled from Dante’s form to the manager's door once more. “You here by yourself?” He grumbled, the quiet harshness of his tone making it sound more like a cryptic threat rather than a question. Dante hummed before his own gaze landed on the closed door as well. “Why? You gonna skin me next?” Jeff scoffed, breaking his harsh gaze from the wood back to the marble of the counter. “Fuck off, yeah?” he hissed venomously as he took another swig of his coffee. When done, he slammed the mug down. “It wouldn’t be me to slice you up. I just got out of jail. I don't wanna go back.” The sentence felt like a double meaning. A promise and a threat. Something both genuine and sinister in just that one statement.

The silence between the two was as thick as the syrup left outside on shipment nights. Jeff's glare would normally send a shiver down the spines of inmates that dared look in his direction but sitting before Dante he didn’t even flinch. Jeff only rolled his eyes and went back to chewing his food as his mind spun with ideas of what the line cook could be thinking.

“I didn’t mean to kill my parents.” Jeff's voice broke the silence between them as he stared into his coffee cup. The memory seemed to weigh down on the man as his resented reflection looked back at him. “I was so messed up on those meds and the quacks didn’t look too deep into what was rattlin’ inside my fuckin’ head maybe things could be different.” His voice seemed to quiver for a sliver of a moment before he straightened his back. Clearing his throat he turned his glare back to Dante with the same sharpness as before. “That enough for your nosey ass?” Venom practically dripped from his lips as he spat his question at Dante. Dante only stared before grabbing the pitcher of coffee and refilling Jeff’s cup in silence. The silence only irked Jeff more as he sat stewing in his own misery waiting for something- anything- to be said by the other man. “You know you sure have a fuckin’ way of getting information outta people. You should be a fuckin’ cop.”

“I hate cops,” Dante said bluntly as he leaned against the counter. “I don’t trust ‘em. Plus you know.” He gestured to himself. “Cops don’t exactly like me either.” He reached over and grabbed his own coffee mug and poured himself a cup. Bringing it to his lips the porcelain clanking against his snakebites as he took a long silent sip. “As for your life story? I was just curious. You seemed interesting.” He only shrugged once more before walking away from the grill and to the other side of the counter.

Jeff’s glare hardened as he looked down back at his meal as Dante sat next to him. “You know i could tell ya’ fuckin’ manager ‘bout this.”

“Go ahead,” Dante half-laughed as he swished his coffee in his mug. “He won’t give a fuck. Lord knows even he can’t fucking stand me.” Jeff only grunted as his gaze went to the sturdy wooden door of the manager's office. The man's eyes darted between Dantes relaxing for and the only blockage obscuring his vision of Baylen. “So whats his fuckin’ deal?” He mumbled, pointing a scarred finger to the manager's office. Dante's head lazily lolled to the side looking to the direction in which Jeff was pointing. “Who? Baylen? He's the manager here.”

Jeff rolled his eyes, frustration and annoyance dripping from his very being. “Yeah I know he's your manager but like…what's his deal, ya’ know, like why is he hidin’ in there while you're out here?” Dante only looked lazily at Jeff before taking a long calm sip of his coffee. “Baylen works himself up over little things. Finds dots to connect that really shouldn't be connected.” He adjusted his posture.

“Usually I can just talk him down from it but recently it's been getting to his head. I'd offer him my meds but I know he'd slap the shit out of me if I did.” He chuckled at his own joke. Dante turned his gaze to Jeff once more. “But that's about all I can say. I don’t need you poking around and freaking him the fuck out even more.” He flashed a yellowed grin at the man before sitting up. “Enjoy the rest of your meal.” He hummed before getting up from the seat and heading to the freezer leaving the man to his own devices.

As Dante walked away Jeff hollered at him. “Hey! You should be more careful around these parts now. Maybe ya’ manager is on to something.” Jeff smirked at the line cook. Dante opened his mouth to argue back but his words died in his throat as Baylen opened the door to the office. Baylen looked to the left and frowned as he placed his gaze on the delinquent. The sound of porcelain on floor tore his attention away as he looked to find Dante on the ground picking up fragments of his broken necklace. “This is the 3rd one this week.” The man grumbled as he scooped the larger portions in his hands before walking into the back.

Baylen, ever the help, only watched before looking back at Jeff with a suspicious gaze. The man only smirked and gave the manager a little wave before finishing up his meal. “Compliments to the fuckin’ chef…” He mumbled before rising from his seat. “See you ‘round, Blondie.”

Baylen opened his mouth preparing to demand what the fuck he meant by that, but he was already gone and out the door before he could get a word in. Baylen was only left standing there like a man who missed the last bus home, a million questions running through his mind of what would happen and what to do, but for now, only silence filled the restaurant. Just another day he supposed. It was going to be a long night.

The first hints of dawn crept through the Waffle House’s windows, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. Baylen’s oxford shoes scuffed against the tiles, each step deliberate and weary. The night’s chaos still lingered – papers scattered in the office from his frantic search, his thoughts just as frazzled.

Dante moved behind the counter, his movements mechanical. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a stark contrast to the darkness that had consumed their night. He glanced at Baylen, noticing the manager’s tense shoulders. “Coffee?” Dante’s voice broke the silence, more of a statement than a question.

Baylen couldn’t nod fast enough, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. The silence hung heavy until the familiar jingle-jangle of the front door’s chime cut through the restaurant’s morning stillness.

It was a familiar face who entered first, Brian, his leather jacket and tan-ish yellow hoodie slightly damp from the morning dew. Tim trailed behind, their usual morning rhythm unchanged despite the night’s underlying tension. The door closed with a soft thud, breaking the restaurant’s momentary trance.

“Morning,” Brian called out, his gap-toothed smile breaking through the tension. He guided Tim to their usual spots at the counter, their movements practiced and comfortable– a stark contrast to the stress Baylen’s mind had faced just hours prior.

Dante’s hand was already moving, grabbing their standard mugs before they could even ask. Tim’s eyes flickered between Baylen and Dante, something unreadable passing between them. The weight of unspoken thoughts pressed against the morning’s quiet calm.

As Brian settled into the stool, his eyes immediately locked onto Baylen. “Looking a bit rough this morning, pretty boy,” he drawled, using the nickname Dante often teasingly threw around.

Baylen rolled his eyes, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. His heterochromatic eye– one steel gray, one a deep amber– caught the morning light. “Rough nights tend to happen when you’re cleaning up everyone else’s messes,” he retorted, leaning against the counter. Dante snorted behind them, muttering, “Here we go again,” as he poured the coffee.

Brian’s gap-toothed grin widened, “Want me to kiss it better?” The line hung in the air, part joke, part genuine flirtation. Time beside him rolled his eyes, used to this constant back-and-forth.

As Brian’s flirtatious banter continued, Dante dramatically rolled his eyes and turned away, physically recoiling. “Oh my god,” he groaned, exaggeratedly grimacing. “Can we not do this right now? It’s barely six in the morning.”

He grabbed a nearby rag and started aggressively wiping down the already clean counter, muttering under his breath. “Gross. Absolutely gross. I do not get paid enough to witness… this.”

The last word was drawn out with maximum teenage-like disgust, his pierced lips curling in an over-the-top expression of revulsion. His black-framed glasses slid down his nose as he continued his performative cleaning, clearly trying to block out Baylen and Brian’s flirtatious exchange.

Tim chuckled beside him. “Real mature, Dante.”

“Mature?” Dante shot back. “I’m protecting everyone’s dignity.”

Brian’s laughter and Baylen’s retorts faded into background noise, blending with the soft clinking of coffee mugs and the hum of fluorescent lights. Brian’s laugh occasionally punctuated the quiet, his hand brushing against Baylen’s from across the counter as they exchanged coffee and casual touches. Baylen’s dimple piercings caught in the light as he smiled, a rare moment of genuine softness.

Dante paused mid-wipe, catching the expression. It was the first time in weeks he’d seen Baylen truly relaxed– no paranoid scanning of their surroundings, no tension in his shoulders, just a simple, unguarded moment of joy.

Something in Dante’s chest loosened. There you are, he thought, watching his friend’s rare moment of peace.

Tim’s voice pulled him back. “Dante?”

“Hm?” Dante’s eyes flickered back, professional mask sliding instantly back into place.

“Your culinary finals are coming up?” Tim asked, breaking the silence. His fingers traced idle patterns on the lip of the coffee mug.

Dante grumbled, adjusting his glasses. “Pastry practical. Chef’s been riding my ass about my chocolate tempering technique.” He leaned in, a conspiratorial tone lilting in his voice. “Between you and me, I couldn’t give less of a shit, I’m going to nail it anyways.”

Tim’s laugh was dry, more of a huffed breath. “Confidence of youth.”

“Experience of practice,” Dante countered, flipping a towel over his shoulder with practiced ease. “I’ve been working these techniques since I was seven. Learned more in my landlord’s kitchen than most people do in culinary school.”

Behind them, Brian’s laugh was punctuated by Baylen’s softer chuckle– a background melody to their conversation.

Tim studied Dante. Something calculating lived behind his casual observation. “Landlord’s kitchen, huh? Sounds like there's a story there.”

Dante’s hand paused mid-wipe. Most people would’ve pushed, but Tim’s tone was more observation than interrogation. “Needed somewhere stable,” he said finally. No elaboration, just a statement.

Tim nodded. No prying, just understanding. “Stability’s hard to come by.” The comment hung between them, loaded with unspoken meaning. The recent missing persons, the town’s growing tension, the weird shit happening at the diner. Tim wasn’t asking. He was acknowledging.

“You see a lot,” Dante said quietly. Not a question. An observation.

Tim’s eyes– sharp, knowing– met Dante’s. “Sometimes seeing is safer than speaking.” Behind them, Dante was faintly aware of Baylen and Brian’s soft chatting; it provided a normal backdrop to this very abnormal conversation.

Tim's eyes flickered briefly to the window, then back to Dante. “Especially when… certain people might be listening.”

Dante caught the deliberate glances Tim threw around the restaurant, he noted the man frequently doing that– watching.

Dante had long ago categorized Tim as perpetually paranoid– the type who was always watching, always calculating. He’d noticed how Tim never seemed truly relaxed, how his body was always angled to see every entrance and exit. Yet here he was, sitting openly at the counter, a clear compromise. Dante knew it was for Brian’s sake– Tim might be watchful, reserved, and constantly scanning the room, but he was also fundamentally loyal. Protective, Dante supposed.

The man’s back was stiff, positioned so that while he sat in the most exposed part of the restaurant, he could still track every movement. Not out of comfort, but out of a deep-seated need to ensure Brian’s safety.

Dante understood that kind of vigilance. He’d seen it before– in his mother’s eyes, always scanning rooms before they entered, always positioning herself between her son and the world, always making sure she could see every possible exit after… well, after.

The soft jingle of the front door broke his reverie. Day shift had arrived.

Elsie entered first, her tight strawberry blonde curls bouncing with each step. At 4’11, she was dwarfed by the restaurant’s space, but her presence filled the room. Her big pink glasses were perched high upon her nose, matching the pastel pink accessories that adorned her uniform sweater. Freckles danced across her caramel skin, accompanied by a dimpled smile when she gave a cheerful wave.

Hadley followed, all punk-rock edges and lanky limbs. His shaggy black hair fell across dark eyes that surveyed the restaurant with a practiced coolness. He moved with the ease of someone who’d worked too many morning shifts.

Anton brought up the rear– A walking contradiction. Scars traced his face, a glass eye catching the fluorescent light, his curly hair was a wild contract to his precise movements. Dante had long ago stopped trying to figure out exactly where in the store Anton worked. The answer seemed to be: everywhere.

“Good morning!” Elsie chirped, her voice a stark contrast to the night shift’s subdued energy. Relaxation eased over Dante. Shift change. Time to fade into the background.

Brian and Tim exchanged a quick glance. Without a word, they began gathering their things. Tim’s half-full coffee mug was abandoned, and Brian’s plate was only partially cleared. As quickly as they’d settled in, they were moving towards the exit, their practiced rhythm speaking of long-established routine.

The bell chimed as they left, leaving behind only the warmth of their presence and a wad of cash on the counter.

Baylen stretched, his long frame unfolding from behind the counter. “Another night done,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Dante grabbed his jacket, sliding his arms into the worn bomber jacket that he’d owned for years. The back door beckoned, the morning light already cutting through the restaurant's interior. Outside, their vehicles awaited– Baylen’s practical Subaru parked neatly beside Dante’s well-loved truck.

“Hey,” Dante said, keys already in hand. The morning air was crisp, promising a day of potential. “We’ve both got tomorrow off, right?” Baylen raised a brow as he rounded his car to the driver’s side. “Yeah?”

Dante’s fingers drummed against his truck’s door handle. He’d been watching Baylen’s increasing paranoia, the way tension seemed to live permanently in his shoulders. “Wanna do something tomorrow?” The question came out casual, but there was an undercurrent of concern. “Get you out of your head for a bit.”

It wasn’t really a question. It was an intervention, wrapped in the guise of a casual hang-out.

Dante's fingers drummed against his truck's door handle. "Wanna do something tomorrow?" The question came out casual, but there was an undercurrent of concern. "Get you out of your head for a bit."

Baylen paused, keys halfway to the Subaru's door. He considered for a moment - the weight of the past few nights, the scattered papers in his office, the missing items, Jeff's appearance. His shoulders, always tense, seemed to soften slightly.

"Yeah," he said finally. "Sure. Been a while since we've hung out." A beat. "Should we invite Enzo?"

The suggestion was classic Baylen - always thinking about including the crew, always trying to maintain some sense of normalcy even when everything felt like it was unravelling.

Dante's lips quirked. "Yeah, sure. You need a break from... everything."

Baylen nodded, something grateful and tired in the gesture. He slid into the Subaru, the car settling around him like a familiar embrace. The driver's side door creaked - an old, well-known sound.

Dante watched him for a moment, making sure Baylen actually started the car. Their vehicles stood side by side in the morning light, a quiet testament to their unspoken understanding.

The Subaru's engine turned over. Baylen raised two fingers in a half-wave, half-salute.

Dante responded with a nod, climbing into his own truck. Another night shift done. Another day of waiting.

(Authors note: hey guys! happy new year! Sorry we haven't posted in a whole year! a lot has been going on recently while writing this story. One of our co-writer has disappeared out of no where and we're trying to put the story together with what little drafts they've left us. It's kinda cryptic but we're working extra hard to get you guy some content out! Thanks for sticking around and reading anyways! Lets hope for a better new year! -Mod Bat & Mod Faun)

#creepypasta #horror #indy horror story #slenderverse wafflehouse #marble hornets #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fandom #original characters #marble hornets fanfic #tim wright #brian thomas #jeff the killer

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selmasemlan · 4 months ago

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Why some characters are called by their lastname?

I didn't really think I had to post an info page about this, but since there has been some confusion around this, here it is.

So as you watch anime you learn that in Japanese culture, people don't usually call you by your first name. Usually you will be called by your last name and at the end of it they will add an honorific.

And before we get to all the different honorifics, I like to add that my character, Luna was born and raised in Japan, which mean she follows the the tradition of calling others by their last name. Some characters she is closer to, like Bakugo and Midoriya, which means she calls them by their nicknames, Kaachan and Izuchan.

While Todoroki Shoto is still on a learning-to-know-basis, she will call him by his last name, same thing with others in UA or in Japan.

Basically, the way she calls someone shows how close she is to the person or how much she respects the person.

When it comes to her non-japanes classmates, because she is in the international hero course, she will call them the way her classmates have told her to call them.

Now to the honorifics; There are a lot of different honorifics but here are the most common ones:

San (さん) = Mr. / Ms: Adults of equal status, informally and formally

Sama (様、さま) = Sir / Ma'am: Dear customer (o-kyaku-sama), Ladies and Gentlemen (mina-sama), Your Honor (judges), Your Lordship/Your Ladyship (judges of higher courts), Your Grace / Your Reverend / Your Eminence / Your Holiness (religious authorities) Your Omnipotence (deities)People of higher status (including deities, guests, customers)

Kun (君【くん】): Kun is a semi-formal title for a man—primarily men younger or the same age as the speaker.

Chan (ちゃん) = Little: Most frequently used for girls and small children, close friends, or lovers. Occasionally may be used to refer to a boy, but in most situations would be inappropriate.

Tan (たん) = Lil...Babies

Senpai (先輩、せんぱい) = Senior: Senior colleague and student or classmate

Sensei (先生、せんせい) = Teacher / Master (in the sense of "master and disciple") / Doctor / Professor: Used to refer to teachers as well as people who are experts in their respective fields, whether doctors, artists or lawyers.

Hakase (博士、はかせ) = Doctor or PhD: Persons with very high academic expertise

Heika (陛下、へいか) = Your Majesty: Emperor, Empress, Empress Dowager or Grand Empress Dowager

Denka (殿下、でんか)Your Imperial Highness: Princes and princesses of the Japanese Imperial Family

Kakka (閣下、かっか) = Your Excellency: Used to address non-royal heads of state and government and other high-ranking government officials (ambassadors, cabinet ministers, and other high officials such as the United Nations Secretary-General or generals in an army).

#selmasemlan fic #shoto todoroki x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction #boku no hero academia #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #Ultrared

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yeehawramblestothevoid · 3 months ago

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Martin Blackwood rambles by someone who relates to him

soft dom Martin who is very nervous trying sub but does let Jon top on occasion when he’s feeling brave

Martin’s Lonely episodes are episodes that build up a bit or get triggered

The more severe it is, the more fog and the more his temperature drops (usually doesn’t affect him until he starts to come out of it, and then the cold starts to actually hit. There can also be a lot of condensation, accumulating on the ground (when he’s in an enclosed space) and on his skin. Again, it doesn’t bother him at all until he starts to come back. on phones, sometimes fog will even start to drift from plug holes and speakers when calling Martin during an episode.

I need Martin Blackwood whose body physically won’t let him cry. When he feels any intense negative emotion, his brain works rapidly to numb him in a self-defensive move, even if he desperately wants to feel. He dissociates, not in a particularly ‘Lonely’ way, but the loneliness is sparked much more easily then

Martin who calls Jon ‘Little Cyote’ or just Cyote (not coyote, but cy-ote) like that one youtuber’s nickname for their pet coyote. and he loves it when Jon calls him Puppy

on that note, he is a bit of a kicked puppy, wanting to be his full self unapologetically but struggling with expression.

and it may be a side effect of The Lonely but he struggles with short term memory. Like he won’t be able to remember the names of his coworkers, even after months. He has the mental hurdle that he’s just to stupid and unable to do it, and it causes him to internally panic when hearing info, which makes it worse. He also needs a bit of time to turn something over in his head. He’s very smart, he just needs time to soak in something without being pushed along. anything that requires one to dig into their memory while under direct pressure is really hard for him. Hence, he’s horrendous at customer service.

if he has a lot of time to explore something at his own place, like with writing, he becomes really good at it. He just needs time

Martin much prefers working in quiet, kinda strange locations. Tim and Sasha and Basira often find him typing away, sitting on the floor with his back against filing cabinets with papers and snacks surrounding him. He likes to have everything in reach and to minimize distractions

he also struggles with physical affection. Tim is def one who touches to show affection, which Martin isn’t used to, so he gets red and panics a bit. (He does like it, it’s just difficult to adjust to).

and he’s a huge gift-giver. He loves leaving little gifts behind in a spot he knows their recipient will find them, since he doesn’t like actually gifting it one-on-one. It makes him feel like an attention hog and uneasy with the publicity and emotion of it.

#yeehaw rambles #Martin Blackwood Tma #Martin Blackwood #Tma

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cheshirecatuniverse · 2 years ago

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Gummy Bears (Rao)

"Rao" Misaki Mario x Reader (She/Her)

Song: Skipping Stones (feat. Jhené Aiko) - Gallant

Summary: In which you have too many run-ins with Rao and every time you want to stay with him longer. But your nightmares never go away.

WC: 7.2k

Notes: my works can be gorey, violent, and other mature themes! lots of plot. reader went through a traumatic experience and has an injury that effects their lifestyle. there's also a nickname reader gets called by. murayama's bestie makes an appearance. barely edited I'm so sorry, it will be soon!

It was quiet, as quiet as a restaurant could be midday. There was only an elderly couple who stopped eating to exhange a word or two sometimes and a young woman with her child sleeping in a stroller.

Even the clatter of the dishes being washed echoing from the kitchen was tolerable. You considered the moment a gift as you enjoyed the soft hum of the music playing through speakers. But it was all tragically ruined by someone's finger.

"Stop tapping the glass."

Tap Tap Tap.

You put down the cup you were cleaning and lifted your head to the ceiling, "Do you have a death wish, kid?"

Your fellow waiter snorted at you, "Pretty sure if I did you'd still be fired."

He continued to tap on the cups lined up and it took too much of your willpower to not follow up on your warning. He happily ignored your looming urge to throw him across the restaurant.

The new generation were just so rude, which was your own but that wasn't the point.

You hated new coworkers, especially when they were from that nearby boys school. Usually they last a month, before they get bored or decide it wasn't worth the extra cash. That leaves yourself with cleaning up after them.

If you were going to be honest though, the current newbie wasn't as annoying as you'd have thought. Which was more than fine, but it doesn't mean you want to get along with him. You were only here to get your paycheck and a daily free meal. So, you focused on yourself. Tilting your head to the right to look closely and dried the glassware.

The door opened, and you heard several people step in. There it is. Well it seemed that having some quiet wasn't very realistic.

"It's yours," your coworker shot over the cabinet door he sat by, putting the clean aprons away.

You clenched your jaw because he was right. Of course you knew that. But this little brat had to tell you the obvious. "Put the glass away then."

He waved you off without turning away from the cabinet. "Yeah, Yeah. When I'm done here."

You let a breath out from your nose and threw the towel down. For the first time you looked at the people who came in, seated and restless. The black uniforms that you've grown accustomed worn by all of them. It was around that time school was out.

As you stepped around the lunch counter you didn't notice your coworker pop his head up from the floor. He scrambled up and stood like he was struck by lighting. Mouth opened and closed like a fish trying to talk underwater.

You slid the worn-down menus to the six boys, "Okay, what drinks can I get you guys started on?" Your tone was never much for customer service but at least you knew how to word yourself.

"Three waters, two cokes, and a green tea," It was the one at the edge of the booth, with tinted glasses.

You began to write- "Yah, Mercy. You know I want a beer."

You turned a little to your left, and you could see your dear coworker making motions in front of his face. Is he telling you to smile? You gave a simple glare in warning and turned directly at the table. The Suzuran student who wanted a beer was the one with crazy hair and even crazier eyes to match it.

"Yeah and I want a unicorn. But guess what? They don't exist and you're underage. So three waters, two cokes, and a green tea," You read out from your writing pad with your head tilting to side. "That it?"

Crazy hair slumped and dropped his head harshly on the table. The giant thud didn't make you react, much to the surprise of the biggest person at the table. He had a grimace on his features as he looked at you, though his eyes felt different. You immediately pushed that thought out of your head. Don't try reading people, you thought. Especially this one, you heard one of them call him Rao. Although you tried keeping Suzuran information limited, there were enough rumors about him to reach you.

Mercy, as it seemed, let out a mix between a scoff and cough at crazy hair in the corner. "Sorry about him, and if you can get us a basket of bottomless fries..." The sulking crazy hair boy slowly rose up, like his soul was revived.

"...Can I smoke in here?"

You squinted and said nothing for a minute. "Sure go ahead. While you're at it, go ahead and blow the smoke in front of the baby." You jabbed a thumb to the back, the soundly sleeping small child with his mother at the farthest table. You watch as Mercy dropped the cigarette he had ready between his fingers. Rao followed his gaze from your finger to the left corner of the restaurant, his expression darkened even more.

If he thought for one second that you were going to let one of his buddies expose the baby to second-hand smoke, you were willing to throw your job away. He could intimidate you, even threaten you. It wouldn't move you one bit.

Everyone went quiet quickly, so you gave one last look and walked away.

"Wow. What did you do to her, Mercy?"

"Ah? I don't even know her."

You sighed when your coworker kept whisper-yelling at you for failing to be nice to Rao and his group. This day needed to be over. And over fast. You kept your words curt as you gave them their drinks and their food that followed.

When you were done with them, you heard someone call your name while you were wiping down tables. It was Yuki, the young woman who came here with her child once a week.

"Sorry. I-" She hesitated before raising her hand with an envelope. "I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't an emergency, but is it possible for you to watch Isamu? I have to drop off paperwork off to the office across the street, and I know he'll wake up if I take him."

Yuki wasn't a friend but she was someone you knew well, as she lived two apartments down from you. You checked the time and then back at her, "How long do you need me to watch him?"

"It shouldn't be longer than 15 minutes."

You checked the time. Well, you were going on break in five.

"Yeah, sounds good."

"Thank you, thank you! I'll pay you back, I promise." You waved her off. You really didn't want anything in return. She went back to the table to gather her things and pushed the stroller to the counter.

You sat on a stool, giving your aching feet a break. The kid was still asleep, thankfully. He was small, really small. Maybe a year old? You may have remembered Yuki saying he was turning two soon.

Someone slammed one of cabinets behind the lunch counter loudly and woke him up immediately. Your glare was loud enough for your coworker to put both his hands up, "That's my bad, honestly."

The little kid was wailing and you shakily picked him up. A good temperament was something you lacked these days, but you were relieved to feel the kid accept you. He clung to you as you rocked him and you leaned over to the stroller to find his sippy cup. You did find it, but when you tried reaching for it, it fell and rolled across the floor.

"You've gotta be f-" You clamped your mouth shut. No cursing in front of small children.

Your eyes slightly widened in surprised when you saw someone's feet stand around it. Rao reached down and grabbed your lifesaver. With a napkin in his hand he wiped the top of it and slowly stepped in front of you.

"Here."

Rao still had the same grimace on his face. Body towering over you in a much more exaggerated way because you were sitting. It was like the world's smallest and most intimidating eclipse. It's probably the only way you can call him small. You were sure the muscles in his arms were bigger than your head.

Confused at the way his emotions were frozen on his features, you wondered. Just what is he doing? You took the cup with caution, as if you were taking a bone from a bear.

The kid calmed down when you placed it in his hands. You patted his head as you watched Rao walk outside to where the Suzuran boys were waiting.

◇♧◇

Shopping wasn't your strong suit. Okay, it was but not in any way that was good for your wallet. There was only one goal right now, quick cook food and medicine from the convenience store. Hunched over the candy section was nothing, you were just looking. Your hand that slipped and pushed a bag of gummies into the basket? Purely accidental.

Too busy looking at the gummy packets piling in your basket you didn't hear the door chime or the footsteps behind you. On instinct, you tense up with your shoulders raised. You felt an arm slip around your shoulders and felt someone on your right side.

"Sweets," someone giggled and pushed your head down to bump it with her own.

You rolled your eyes, "Hi to you too."

You didn't imagine seeing your friend here, especially since she lived in the Sannoh district. Not to mention she was in Sannoh Rengokai. This was more out of her way.

She hummed and let you go, "I haven't seen you in a bit. So when are you going to start working with me for real, Sweets?"

"If you go get me ibuprofen maybe I'll think about it."

Your dull headache that began an hour ago was a reminder that you had to restock your kitchen. Your friend returned from a couple aisles away and handed you a bottle of ibuprofen. You said thanks and placed it in the basket while she looked at you curiously.

"Are you sick?"

"My head just hurts," you shake your head.

She pursed her lips into a thin line and looked at the back of the store. Where a group of guys were grabbing a variety of drinks. In a quieter voice she asked, "Is it your eye? Your next appointment is for next month right?"

"Yeah but it's always been like that. It's fine," you sighed.

The conversation got cut short at the call of her name. A couple of people walked over to you, some of them with black uniforms. It instantly reminded you of Suzuran but these guys weren't, the uniforms were slightly different.

One of them pointed at you which you didn't like very much, "Oh, Who's this?"

Your friend introduced you and then looked at you, "This is Fujio, he's from Oya High."

He waved enthusiastically with a big smile, "Nice to meet you."

That made you raise your eyebrow, "But I thought you and Murayama were done with Oya?" As soon as you said that you realized that he wasn't anywhere to be seen or heard. "Where he is by the way?"

She looked down at the ground and tried not to look mad, "Away. On a trip or something. But yeah, we don't go there anymore. I still like hanging out with these losers though."

"You mean you like to leech off us."

"And you let me because you love me, Todoroki," She leaned towards the guy with the glasses and blew kisses at him until he walked away. "Anyways. You should come hang out with us, Sweets."

"Sweets? No way is her name Sweets!" Two figures you unfortunately recognized. Rao and the guy shouting at you as they came over, crazy hair. There was change in Rao's eyes, they widened a little. Your vision didn't let you see it.

You tilted your head at crazy hair, "I thought you were just having a bad hair day last week but I guess I was wrong."

Your friend laughed at that. "Wait, wait. You know Binzo?"

"I don't." You were staring at Rao, who easily loomed over everyone around you. He had originally stepped as close as Binzo but took a small step back. Hands in his pocket, he watched.

Binzo had a hand on his chin, his eyes wide in fascination, "So why sweets and not salty?"

"When we were younger people called her that because she liked to eat or make anything with sugar." Your friend pointed at the basket you were holding, half of it had candy.

You were embarrassed enough to rub a hand on the back of your neck. You buried it down and headed to the register with our friend clung onto you as she laughed.

After she said a soft sorry, she smiled, "Are you coming with us?"

"My head," You pointed quietly at yourself, "Maybe next time, okay?" Although you really wanted nothing to do with Oya and Suzuran.

You didn't understand how your friend still stuck around them. Everything that happened at the peak of Kuryu made you want to lock yourself in your apartment forever. The throb of your headache got worse.

She nodded, "And you'll let me take you next month? Y'know to-?"

A hum left you, agreeing. You paid for your things, your head tilted to right as you read the total amount. She turned around to look at the rest of the group.

Arms crossed she asked, "And which one of you men are gonna help her with her bags? She's not feeling well enough to be left alone."

At the sound of no one stepping up she had taken a breath to yell. You rolled your eyes hearing it but it still gave you secret and small smile. The yell never came though, you heard someone walk forward. He was swift to grab your bags, you couldn't turn your head to the right fast enough to see him.

By the time you had realized who it was he stood outside, waiting with your bags. Waiting for you.

"Ah?" Your hearing was good enough to hear Binzo's confusion. It mirrored your own.

Fujio walked over to the window beside the entrance and started dancing. Dancing? Even though Rao had his back turned.

"Alriiight Rao! A gentlemen as always," Fujio said in approval.

Your friend nodded in agreement and bumped her hip against yours. With a jolt you looked over at her.

"Well go on," She smiled mischievously, "Y'know I haven't gotten my hands on him. He is cute right?"

You sputtered out half words and noises of confusion. You walked fast, away from her, away from Fujio, and hopefully they didn't see the slightest red on your face.

Outside, you froze in place. Rao was so tall that you stared at his chest and you refused to look up. You jabbed your thumb over your shoulder.

You mumbled, "Ah... this way."

To your happiness it was a quiet walk, your noise sensitivity probably didn't help your head. The two of you kept some distance and the one time you glanced over he was staring straight ahead. God, his jawline looked chiseled from stone. The guy looked like an ancient warrior who's defeated armies, which is a funny thought while looking at him hold your grocery bags.

The headache bothering you since the last hour got worse even through the quiet. If you didn't do anything about it now it'd cause more trouble. Desperate, you turned to look at him again.

"Can you hand me that bag, please?" You pointed and he gave it to you. Rao watched you frantically find the medicine you were looking for. You took a couple a pills, not needing water even though your throat didn't appreciate it. Forgetting about him for a moment you hissed in pain and rubbed your fingers against your eyes.

"Are you okay?" Rao asked softly. You were caught off guard at the tone of his question. His voice was deep but didn't hide the concern.

You shrugged it off, "It's just a headache."

He went back to facing ahead and you thought it was the end of it.

Rao said your name and asked, "What highschool do you attend?"

"Oh. Why?" You left out any malice because you were genuinely curious.

"I haven't seen you around."

Since you gave him and his friends the worst customer service in the world a week ago, you almost wanted to say.

"I do school online," you sighed and kicked a can on the ground, "No problems that way. Actually going to school- that's too much." After Kuryu, after what you did, after everything.

Rao left a big pause, like he was trying to form what he wanted to say to you.

"Listen..." He stopped his footsteps, "If anyone from Suzuran did anything they shouldn't have-"

"Ah?" You shake your head, "Like I would let anyone from that place even near me." You managed to look him in the eye and let yourself smile, "No offense."

Rao let out a scoff but lightly he told you, "None taken. But you seem to not like Suzuran very much."

"I don't like the idea of Suzuran," You corrected and began to walk again. That was enough to for him to drop the subject, but it wasn't bad.

The rest of the walk was peaceful, with a few words in between but it didn't feel awkward like the beginning. Rao wasn't the worst person to walk you home. Which was a frightening thought only to you. He respected your space and let you talk freely. Well he didn't allow you to talk freely, but anything you said felt like it was heard by someone who wouldn't judge you.

There was nothing you knew about him. You knew enough to know he wasn't awful but that was all you wanted to know. You weren't going to analyze him, keep the little details in mind, or find out his weaknesses. You were just going to acknowledge that Rao was here, with you.

Outside your apartment you told Rao to leave the bags against the wall. He was quiet when he slipped away. When you unlocked the door to your apartment you bit your lip. Damn it.

Rao felt someone grab his wrist, he turned around to see you. You were refused to make eye contact and shoved something in the palm of his hand, "Bye."

There was no time to say anything as you rushed yourself and your bags into your home. Rao looked down at his hand, a soda. A strawberry flavored one, with little cartoons and pink hearts on the can.

"Bye," Rao with wide eyes whispered to himself.

◇♧◇

You now were officially working three jobs. Your friend was ecstatic when she got your call. She had wanted you on her team since she had gotten back into kickboxing. To your suprise, it was your least stressful job. You cleaned her wounds up between rounds and got to watch her beat men twice her size.

After another victory, there were plans to go out to eat. The both you were walking to the restaurant, she mentioned that a couple others would join you too.

You shivered in the cold and your friend basked in it after hours of fighting. The mini dress you had on was too cute that you had to wear it, there weren't too many occasions for it anyways.

"So you wanna tell me what happened with Murayama?" You asked to distract yourself from the crisp night air.

Caught off guard your friend flinched, "Huh? There's nothing."

"Nothing my ass. It's honestly kinda freaky that he's not with you. Is he really on a trip?"

"Yeah, he actually is and I was supposed to go too. Murayama, Seki, Furuya, and me," She looked away and found interest at the closed shop windows, "We got into a fight. He thinks I need to stop avoiding what Kuryu did to us."

"I'm sorry," and you meant it. You were sorry that he had point.

She said your name and looked at you, "...do you think we'll ever be able to talk about it?"

Your eyes stung, "I wish I knew."

That was a lie, you only wanted to lock yourself in a room. Where no one can hurt you, where no nightmare can find you. That could be enough. But you didn't say anything, you blinked your tears away and took a deep breath.

When you two made it to the restaurant, you sighed in relief when you felt the heaters. You rubbed your arms up down to get your blood warm again. Your friend ran over to a table as soon as she saw the people she was looking for. As you followed slowly behind, you froze at the sight of Rao. Oh, you gotta be kidding me, you thought.

It was strange not to see him in his school uniform, a good strange. Something that you weren't going to pay attention to. Rao was in the middle of a conversation with Fujio, Binzo and a couple others when he saw you. Your friend had called your name and dragged you over to the table. You sat down next to her and across from him.

Rao looked at you and you looked at him, and awkwardly you thanked him as he poured you a cup of water. He kept his stare on you and he said something to himself so quietly you could only hear an incoherent grumble. Out of habit you tilt your head to the right, wordlessly asking him a question.

"You look really nice," He finally told you.

You took a sip of water to hide your nerves, "You do too."

Your friend draped her arm around your shoulders and announced, "Y'know, Sweets is my fastest cornerman. She could be my medic too and be faster than the one we have now."

"That's true, we saw you between rounds. You were like a cheetah," Fujio gave you a thumbs up.

You were surprised, "Oh. I didn't even see you guys."

"Cause I put up a fun match right?" Your friend beamed. "Better than any of those rigged ones on tv."

You nodded energetically, "God, of course you are. You hit like a truck. You should watch your kicks though. You get too excited and hit early and lose damage. The guy was slow though- and with a big ego, you were gonna win either way."

That made her light up, with her knees on her chair she jumped up and hugged you. You groaned and made a bad attempt to get out of her grasp. For a small second in time you felt like nothing had changed the past couple of years and you let your childhood friend celebrate the deja vu.

She laughed, "Will do, Coach!"

"Yah, Sweets, do you fight? We should go one-to-one," Binzo asked.

"Nope," Your friend and yourself say at the same time. You hissed lightly at her to let you go.

You pointed, "She's got that covered."

The opponent she faced really was never going to win, even if you didn't know your friend, you knew that. You couldn't help watch closely tonight, your neck sore from how you liked to tilt your head. Crowds of people cheered and it made your friend's opposition grow taller. His movements were exaggerated and he kept making laps around the ring. The dead giveaway to you though, was that his gloved fists weren't even up to his face.

Just thinking about it all made you look at the people around you. Binzo's body spread out as much as he can with his chair at a farther distance than the others, relaxed but easily reactionary. Fujio seemed to like to keep his hands in his lap or on Tsukasa's shoulder, gently patting him. He had an injury, maybe a sprained shoulder or arm. Before you could process it, your stare made it Rao's hands. Arms crossed and tucked in arms, it wasn't a barrier, no, it was an act of soothing.

You caught yourself in time, you looked down at the table. Water, you needed water. When you reached for the glass you grabbed air. Your stomach dropped at the sight. You missed the fucking glass, you thought. It was about 4 inches farther.

Reality hit you and you were quiet the rest of the time. Even Rao spoke more than you. While your friend tried to ask you questions to join in the conversation you just nodded or shrugged.

"Hey." Outside the building, everyone was about to part ways but your friend pulled you aside. "Do you want me to walk you home?"

You took a step backwards, "It's fine."

You were in the Sannoh district and getting home would take a little longer but you just wanted to be alone. You shrugged off the sound of your name being called and left.

In some sick way you wished you were back to a couple years ago. Before everything hurt so much, you were so empty and cold. It was better that way, it was better than trying to shove everything you felt down in the abyss.

The uncomfortable soreness of your heels, your cold arms and cheeks, and the tight feeling in your throat. You walked through it.

Your ears caught the sounds of the occasional car that drove out of sight. Building owners had begun to close their shops and offices as you passed by. The sound of a big dog barking in a home nearby echoed from somewhere. Someone's footsteps who walked around in the alleyways closely. But nothing seemed to process in your mind or maybe you didn't even care.

A gasp barely left you when you got slammed against the alley wall with a rusty knife pressed against your neck.

"Your fucking wallet. Now, bitch." The stranger jammed the knife harder into your throat. It was dull but if the man wanted he could jam it through your neck. He smelled like alcohol and vomit, the smell. That's all it took.

A cold and dark room, your vomit, blood, and decaying flesh being the only thing you could smell. Some people remember their first kiss, favorite Christmas, anniversaries and birthdays. You could only remember how much you threw up in that awful room. Your infected wrists and blisters on your face, you could still feel them everyday.

Fingers weak and jittery, you failed to get his hands off of you. It was clear what was going to happen and again there was no one. The worst of the world would follow you until you were dead. You were alone.

So you did the only thing you could do, run your mouth.

"Fuck off," You tried to scream but it came out strangled. There wasn't any stopping him, things like this would just keep happening.

He growled and yelled so close to your face you could feel spit on you. You could feel the knife begin to cut your throat, you whimpered quietly in pain. Don't cry.

Just as you were ready, he flew into back of alleyway. You stumbled away from the wall and your hands found the dumpster to lean on.

Rao didn't look anywhere near you, completely focused on the man who had just started to get up. The grimace on his face that had most of the times was absolutely nothing compared to the look he had right now. His eyes completely dark with no empathy for the drunk.

Your attacker made the stupid decision to lunge at Rao. His wrist was caught easily. It only took Rao to tightened the grip around his wrist for the knife to the ground.

Rao scowled, "You ever hurt another woman again, I'll find out. I don't give second chances." You turned away when you saw him raise his other fist. A couple loud thuds and a yell were enough to know that the drunk was out cold.

You breathed heavily, and tried to get your legs to stop shaking. It wasn't working. You felt a hand touch your shoulder and you yanked yourself away.

You turned to Rao with a scoff, "Can you stop helping me?"

"Why?" Clearly taken back but Rao didn't move any closer.

"You don't know who the hell I am. You have no idea-" You sucked in a breath, "I'm the type of person who would work for yazuka, Rao."

You walked back to the dumpster and found an old metal machine to sit on. You curled up on yourself, as much as you can with a short dress. Did you want to go home? Did you wanna go back to that dark room? Anything felt better than being here with Rao. Him being anywhere near you was suffocating. God, you couldn't stop shaking. There wasn't anywhere you wanted to go, everywhere you go you felt the same.

Rao took a knee in front of you. He looked up and down, he scanned for anything serious. He had his hands on either side of you, but he never touched you. Then he looked at your eyes.

"Are you? Right now?" He asked.

"What?" You lifted your head. Rao, day or night, cold or warm, actions or looking afar, could never fail to make you confused. You paused for moment, weighing the choices.

"No," You whispered.

"Then it doesn't matter," He simply said. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. It took your whole being not to snap at him.

Rao reached out a hand before he pulled it back a little, "Can I look at you?"

He gave you all the time in the world, no ticks of impatience anywhere. You finally nodded and he checked the cut on your neck. It felt strange to feel his fingers. Confused, you felt his hand at the back of your neck and it returned with fresh blood.

Rao called out your name in a way that made your chest hurt. He rose up to his feet, "You need to be taken to a hospital."

"No, No," You shake your head, "I'm fine it's nothing. Look I'm fine and I'm standing." The impact to your head didn't felt like it had hurt at the time. You moved a hand to the back of your head the cut, it was as superficial as the one on your neck.

"Rao, it looks worse than it is." Your adrenaline wore off and you started to get cold again. You shivered, "Please. I just want to go home."

"Are you sure?" You nodded immediately and he sighed. He looked down the alleyway and then to you. When he slipped off his jacket you would never imagine that he would put it over your shoulders.

"Okay. Let's go then."

Rao watched you slip your arms through the sleeves, your fingers barely peeked through. When you zipped it up to cover the bloody mess he realized how small you looked in his jacket.

At your door, you could hear a distant bark. The lock clicked open at the turn of your key. Before you turned the knob you sighed.

"You can come in," You said softly.

There was no way you wanted to look at his reaction, so you stayed turned away and pushed the door open. You flipped the light switch at the exact same time your dog ran over.

It made sense that he was stand-offish with Rao behind you. "Sit. Good boy." You commanded and made you way inside. Rao watched you walk into the kitchen and then looked at your big dog. He had a black spiked collar with a heart shaped name tag that said Baby.

"He's trained," You called out from the other room, "Doesn't bite anyone's head off without my permission."

That didn't surprise Rao. He unhooked your heels from his fingers and put them in the shoebox near the door. When you two made it to your neighborhood you slipped them off and sighed about how you were done with tonight. He had wordlessly taken the heels from your hands.

It took a couple minutes to find what you were looking for. You got off the kitchen counter when you took it from the top of the kitchen cabinet. Avitene powder wasn't hard to come by when your friend was a boxer. You took off Rao's jacket and cleaned yourself up. The powder clotted your bleeding and you found a couple bandaids for your neck and head.

You asked for help when Rao walked in. You held your hair up as he carefully placed the bandaid on your scalp. His hands lingered as he looked with worry, not that you could see it.

"I could still take you to the hospital." You shake your head at that and you let your hair down to make him pull away.

"Do you know what they would do?" You walked over to your fridge, pulling out a soda and water bottle. "They would say I don't need stitches, clean me up. Then charge me my rents worth."

Not to mention you had doctor visits often, but he didn't need to know that.

"Thank you," He told you when you passed him the water. You led him to the couch and your dog pranced over too. Head laid back and you took a minute to process. Rao looked at the couple of picture frames you had, one of your dog when he was a puppy and another of a younger you and your friend.

He turned to you, "Did you two grow up together?"

You smiled, "A little bit. It was the wrong place, wrong time. Somehow, we're still here."

Rao's arms were crossed, it made him look much bigger. You didn't read him, you didn't want to.

"It's good." He found his shoes to be particularly interesting.

"Hm?" You tilted your head.

"That you're still here."

◇♧◇

When Yamaguchi told Rao that a girl was at Suzuran to see him his stomach flipped. He's been seeing you a lot these days but he never found you anywhere near Suzuran.

The rumors circling around about him recently, he knew them well. The girl who worked at that one restaurant half a mile away who kept being seen with Suzuran's strongest. Suzuran weren't the only ones, his own faction and friends were talking too.

Fujio had been telling him things to say to you since the convenience store. He immediately saw how much Rao paid attention to you. To help his friend, Fujio made sure to encourage him to voice out his thoughts and to make sure Rao made you feel comfortable. Which Rao really didn't need help with but Fujio advised him on what not to say. It was helpful.

The door to the roof creaked open. Rao should have known it wasn't you from how he heard no bickering from Binzo. When Rao turned around, what he found was your friend. A former Oya High part-timer and Sannoh's fighter. She was no joke, despite how easily she laughs and how affectionate she is with you.

She gaped at the whole school view, "Never been here and this place is already giving me memories."

Binzo grinned, "Missing Oya, huh?"

She didn't answer and instead looked at Rao. With a wink she smiled and waved.

"I need to talk to you." Yamaguchi and Binzo stepped closer- "Alone."

Binzo groaned but she taunted them with a wave. Her smile dropped immediately when they closed the door to the roof.

"I need a favor and you're going to do it."

"I am?" He furrowed his brows.

"Do you know about the appointments?" She quickly judged the confused look on his face and shaked her head. "...'Kay, well for long time I've been taking Sweets to her doctor's appointments. Never missed one, but now I don't got a choice."

"Why does she have to go?" The look on her face made him feel unsettled. A hundred thoughts seemed to go through her mind and she pursed her lips.

"About 3 years ago Sweets got hurt. The only reason she got better cause we were there for her. But now it's just me," She ran a hand through her hair, "Everyone else is dead or on the run. I don't know if I should even be telling you this."

Her pace was fast, Rao followed carefully. As he started to process it she began to walk away.

"If she doesn't miss the doctor's appointment tomorrow then this will be worth it." She glared at him, "At least just walk Sweets there. You don't do it, fine. You can not care. But if you hurt her, I'll kill you."

She walked away, and Rao could hear her laugh ring inside the building at a joke Binzo made.

◇♧◇

A Saturday was a perfect day to stay inside all day. Everyday was, if you could. Originally, you had plans but they're not going to happen. You called out of one of the restaurants you worked at and your friend's boxing match.

Baby had already been walked and fed. There was a constant squeaking from his chew toy outside your bedroom. You were nice and comfortable in your bed and sipped on your fresh tea.

A month ago you had been attacked. For a little bit you had to wear turtle necks but your cuts healed nicely. You didn't tell anyone what happened but Rao had made sure to check on you. At the restaurant it's a common sight to see him pass by or come eat with his group.

Whenever he pulled you aside to talk, Binzo would make faces behind Rao. You made sure to shut Binzo and your coworker up with a wack of a dish rag.

The closet door was opened and Rao's jacket was hanging in the corner. Your ears heated up, when you had worn it that singular time it smelled really nice. The cologne he wore you didn't know the name to but it was on your mind often these days.

"I should give it back," You told yourself.

Not today, though. Today you were going to stay inside and sleep. The mug you had in your hands was now on your nightstand. Right as you settled into your covers you heard your dog bark. A knock at the door made you roll your eyes.

Now who the hell was that? The neighbors never bothered you on the weekends and on the afternoons. No one texted you today other than your friend who okay'd your absence.

Begrudgingly, you shuffled over to your door. With the dog ready at your side you found, Rao?

You were embarrassed, "I... didn't know you were coming." Your sweats and old sweatshirt proved that.

Baby circled around Rao when he came in. You smiled at how gentle Rao patted the dog's head.

When your dog walked away, satisfied with the attention Rao turned to you. "Sorry, I should have called but I wanted to offer this in person."

"Offer what?"

"To take you today."

Your throat hurt, "What did she tell you?"

You were going to beat the hell out of your friend. How did she think this was a good idea? Rao called your name out to try to calm you, it was clear by your panicked eyes.

"Just that you needed to go to your doctor's appointment."

Okay, good. But still not good, you did calm down. You had told her you were not going, she guessed that Rao would work. You still planned to jump her for roping him into this.

With the soft encouragement Rao gave, somehow you ended up sitting on the couch as you slipped your shoes on. Well, if you wanted to get there on time there was no time to change.

You didn't want to talk and Rao respect that. He didn't need to know the details and it was a sensitive subject.

But when you two entered the waiting room his heart dropped. The eye posters and pamphlets on the wall. You had to go to the ophthalmologist?

When the nurse called your name, you stood up and began to walk away. Before you could take a step Rao grabbed your hand.

"I'll wait here." He watched your eyes water and you nod.

As you left, Rao realized you always had your head tilted to the right. He remembered the one time that Binzo teased you for it and how quiet you got. Rao may have to fight him again.

Rao had seen you reach out to things hesitantly. You were always aware of your steps and always on edge if you weren't in your home.

Why didn't he see it sooner?

It had gotten dark when the two of you walked out. You said nothing about your visit, you said nothing at all. Too much was happening in your head, so you were more stuck in there than out here.

You tripped over a box, that's what happens when you're not careful. If it weren't for Rao's hands that steadied you, you would have met the pavement.

"Are you-" You didn't let him finish as you stumbled somewhere, anywhere.

Away, you wanted to go away. Ignoring Rao as he called your name. It hurt so much.

Rao found you breaking a bottle against a dumpster. He tried getting your attention but nothing was working. Rao just watched you pace and pace until you walked to him.

"Did you know I can't see anything in my right eye?" You tried to smile and failed. "That I haven't been able to for years now."

Rao said your name and you scoffed, so tired of your feelings.

"No, no. Listen, I did a lot of bad things. I hurt so many people because that was the only thing I was good at. And when I wanted to leave," You gasped for air as tears streamed down your face, "I got what I deserved."

The only thing he could do was hold you, and that's what Rao did. You sobbed and cried on how it was your fault. Mumbled his name against his shirt. It was a long a time before you stopped crying. Rao didn't care, he could have his arms around you for an eternity. If it was for you, he would.

Anyone that walked by he made sure to shield you from them. Anytime your arms started to shake in anxiety he rubbed them up and down. And when you repeated over and over again how it was your fault he told you that he was here. He was.

Rao asked after you stopped crying, "Do you want to go home?"

You shake your head, for the first time you didn't want to. Slowly, you pulled away from him. You needed to stand on your own feet. Your head cleared.

"I don't know where I want to go."

Rao hummed and thought. He took your hand when he found an answer, "Let's get you gummy bears."

"How do you know I like gummy bears?"

"You had a bag filled of them one time."

You giggled, and then you couldn't stop laughing. Rao couldn't stop his smile that appeared.

He remembered. So you agreed. When he walked you home and kissed your cheek, you felt better.

You walked your dog, gave him a treat. Washed your face and teeth before going to bed. You dozed off in your warm bed and the last thought you remembered made you smile.

That was the first time you laughed in years.

#high & low #high&low #high&low the worst x #high&low x reader #misaki mario #mario misaki #high&low misaki mario #high&low rao #high&low raoh #suzuran #rao x reader #this was so cool to write

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dickinson-devotee · 5 months ago

Text

Kevin Shirley's Studio Diary — The Final Frontier — 2010

January 6, 2010 Los Angeles - Nassau Been working flat-out at home in Malibu. I'm pretty burnt out. I've just remixed the classic Deep Purple album, Come Taste The Band over the New Year, and just recorded six new tracks with a brand new band this last weekend. Glenn Hughes, Joe Bonamassa, Jason Bonham and keyboard wiz Derek Sherinian (tentatively calling themselves Black Country). So, I am pretty wiped out. The next adventure on my horizon is producing the new Iron Maiden album - this one to be recorded in the Bahamas.

Left the family, sadly, in the early hours of today, and met Jared Kvitka at LAX. He is to be my assistant and the engineer on the new Iron Maiden album. We fly together to Nassau in the Bahamas, where we'll cut the new album at Compass Point Studios. Maiden have made three of their huge albums of the 80's there. Piece of Mind, Powerslave and Somewhere In Time, I believe. It's cold in Nassau when we land -- highly unusual, but all of the States is mired in a "Deep Freeze" and the Bahamas are experiencing the runoff. Studio manager Sherrie Manning meets us at customs and immigration, and once the work permit thing is ironed out, she shows us to our accommodations. In the early evening I see Steve, Adrian and Janick at the local pub for a beer and walk back home. A cold night.

January 7, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Bump into Steve in the apartment complex parking lot - I have opted not to have a rental car so Steve kindly takes me to the supermarket and we push trolleys around like two old queens, doing their weekly shopping. Quite a sight! Nassau is expensive -- half a trolley of basics is just shy of $300!

Off to the studio, and the gear has just arrived - mine from L.A. and the band's from England. The crew, Sean, Charlie and Michael begin unloading the equipment. Not much for Jared and I to do at this stage as drums, amps, guitars, etc start escaping their packing cases.

January 8, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Drums are up, Guitar cabs are up -- the day is spent wiring, plugging things in, putting microphones up and doing line checks by studio owner and tech-wiz Terry Manning and Jared. It's a very complex setup -- the studio is basically one big room, and there are not any isolation booths in which to put guitar amps to avoid the leakage into the other instruments as we do record the basic tracks with the whole band playing together live. So 'Arrys bass speaker goes in an adjacent office -- the three guitar cabinets go into a second studio, with about 100 feet of high quality speaker cable running from the amp heads, while Nicko's huge drumkit is in the corner of the main studio, so they can all play together and interact with one another. The little tiki-hut vocal booth, originally made for Mick Jagger in the eighties, is where Bruce will sing to get a little separation, but it's still in the main room and there's just no escaping Nicko's booming bombast! The old Neve V series console at Compass Point isn't on it's last legs, but it's definitely seen better days. We don't use any of the console channels for anything other than monitoring -- every microphone has it's own preamp and feeds the Pro Tools recording system. Most channels won't be recorded with EQ. The exceptions are the kick and snare drums, which have copycat Neve 1073 EQs across them. Nothing much, a little top on the snare and a little scoop on the kick -- as Nicko has no padding and the drum sound very resonant. January 9, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Final touches are made to the guitar rigs -- the crew string the guitars and the studio is made ready. We get sounds on everything and the road crew play AC/DC's Highway To Hell to test the systems. Ironic, as the iconic Back in Black album was cut in this very room! We finish up about 6pm, and Jared and I head to Compass Point Resort across the road, and have a drink as we watch American NFL football and the Eagles lose their wildcard game. Jared is from Philly. Michael Kenney drives back from the apartment complex in the rain to pick me up and get me back home. I have hiccups...

January 10, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Day off today -- the weather is miserable. Rainy and windy. I'll stay home and watch football, and work on the "Black Country" Hughes/Bonamassa recordings. I have Pro Tools on my laptop, and quite enjoy the zen of working at my own pace, on headphones. Enjoyed watching an NFL playoff game in my apartment and then Steve Gadd, Maiden's Road manager called, saying Bruce and Davey were getting in and wanted to meet me. So off to the bar and dinner and a chat with the lads, then it's off home.

January 11, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Started tracking today -- was very funny seeing all the band assemble at Compass Point, and they all share a similar headspace, all exclaiming "holy fuck, remember when we were here 25 years ago -- it's still the same!!!!" First we worked on getting everyone's headphones sorted etc. Cut the basics for the ballad Coming Home by 2.30pm, then went on to track called El Dorado. Got 2 takes done, when technical gremlins jumped in -- Adrian's headphones became intermittent, Janick's guitar kept cutting out, then Bruce's vocal microphone fried, then the vocal compressor fried -- but despite all these, we still managed to get 7 takes done -- one of which I'm sure will be quite good enough to begin with. Then at Nicko's bidding, it was off to the Travellers Rest for all of us and a dinner of banana daiquiris and minced crawfish -- apparently band staples 25 years ago.

Haiti just had an earthquake this evening which looks to be devastating... and as we are on a tsunami warning for the Bahamas, we headed back to the studio and retrieved the hard drive for storage on higher ground for the night.

January 12, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Cut an awesome track called Isle Of Avalon today. There were no high waves overnight, and no tsunami here, but we hear reports that Haitian capital Port-Au-Prince is in ruins. I donated to Red Cross this morning as they'll need all the help they can get. My family are home in L.A. and are off to Disneyland today. I miss them...

Wednesday January 13, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Up early and swam across the bay in front of the apartments. Glenn Hughes rang just as I was leaving, to discuss Black Country, (his new band) -- and then I drove to the studio with Steve, Janick and Charlie (Nicko's tech). I had to stop for a cup of Starbucks en route. Once at the studio, I reviewed the track Isle Of Avalon and overdubbed new guitars with all the guitarists - the Three Amigos - playing together. They have a unique chemistry playing together and the signature gallop in the guitars is a result of their individual rhythms combined. After that was wrapped up, it was everyone back in the room and we cut a new song - Mother of Mercy...

Banana Daiquiris have started something -- Bruce came in this morning with a brown paper bag filled with alcoholic ingredients to brew disaster -- 63 proof rum, etc., and after they had cut the track, Nicko and Bruce proceeded to "experiment" with making the perfect banana daiquiri -- blowing up the blender in a stinky electric puff of smoke in the process! Really......

Finished the new track at about 6.30pm, then Nicko, Bruce and I went in search of more daiquiris, Nicko was on a mission and wanted to take in a bit of adult entertainment and do some gambling, and he wanted me to tag along and be his foil -- so I said I was up for a little fun, but that I needed to get back home by midnight - after all I do have a job to do! A determined Nicko went off and I ended up having a beer with Jan at the end of the night, who's about the most normal of the lot I suppose!! Charlie appeared later after putting Nicko to bed about 10ish, after Nicko had cleared the casino at the Sheraton on Cable Beach and lost a bit of money! That's our Nick......... we do love him so!

Thursday January 14, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Not everybody was up to cutting a track today so the band had the day off, and I went to work alone, to go through all the takes and compile a great performance of Mother Of Mercy.

Friday January 15, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Today we cut a Janick song: The Talisman. It really came out great and after the session, Adrian, Dave, Adrian's wife Nathalie and I went to dinner at Nobu in Atlantis. Chocolate martinis and wine started the evening, and then it was off to a late night rock 'n roll bar called Crazy Johnny's where the night turned into morning... I lost my driver's license and credit card and we got home in the very early hours - all the worse for wear. I'm getting too old for these shenanigans!

Saturday January 16, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Woke with a teensy hangover -- to the wrath of my wife back in the States, as she says she doesn't want to be a widow just yet, and I headed in to work nonetheless, after a swim in the ocean, to sort thru the track The Talisman. Sounds amazing, even if I do feel like Death warmed up! Home to recuperate and watch the NFL playoffs... Saints and Arizona...

Sunday January 17, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Woke feeling almost normal! Crazy Johnny, proprietor of his eponymous club -- scene of Friday night's debauched shenanigans - took a bunch of us out to Rose Island with his kid, Dylan, where he has a house on the hill overlooking an absolutely perfect gorgeous white beach -- a great day out. His 400HP Yamaha engines zipped us across the ocean in his boat at "a strong 50" knots, and it was very enjoyable. Janick was the only one from the band to come along; the rest either busy or perhaps even still suffering -- so tech Sean from the crew and his girl Sarah, Tour Road Manager Steve Gadd, and engineer Jared Kvitka made up the rest of the pirate crew. Back in time to watch the New York JETS make it to the conference championship! After living on the U.S. East Coast for 16 years, I'm a declared supporter

Monday Jan 18, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Up at 7am, a great way to start this beautiful day with a visit to the Dentist this morning (I chipped one tooth and a crown fell off another over the weekend). Seems I'm just falling apart! A pretty Bahamian dentist Dr Coverly worked on my teeth in her high heels and a nicely coiffed do. A first for me!

Nicko flew back from Florida today so we didn't start until 1pm. Cut a great proggy tune of Adrian's called Starblind -- which came out very strongly, I think....

Tuesday Jan 19, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Having trouble sleeping -- seemed to be up all night long last night. Late-night text chats with Joe Bonamassa seem to be the case most nights these days, as he sleeps weird hours, planning and scheming... and chatting with his girlfriend in a far off land. I'm the therapist... Recorded another new Maiden song once we finally got going today. It was a late start at the studio as there was no power at all -- Bahamian Electricity was off until 1.30pm, but the song was quite straight forward - even quite simple for Maiden but very powerful: The Final Frontier -- almost more like a rollicking Mellencamp or Tom Petty type song than a Maiden song, but it looks like being the anchor tune for the new album. We kept it pretty raw!

Wed Jan 20, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Didn't sleep last night. Cut a highly complex song today, one of Davey's I believe, The Man Who Would Be King -- one which the band hadn't managed to rehearse beforehand as Janick had cut his hand very badly just as they were starting to learn it and run through it at the pre-recording rehearsals in France -- so he had been rushed to hospital and had surgery on his hand and fingers - the upshot being that the song was cut in sections and pieced together today. It was very difficult. Bruce has decided he didn't want to stay in the fairly boring accommodations we're in, that are a residential complex, so has moved to the Sheraton which is probably a lot more fun and goes on much later than we do, and consequently was a little tired today, which didn't really help. Well, he's at least not flying anywhere…….

Thurs Jan 21, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas I've been having trouble sleeping at night, so Maiden Road manager Steve Gadd gave me a sleeping tab, and I finally slept great all night. Got up, went to the gym and worked out with a trainer (first time in years), and really enjoyed it. Cut a great Deep Purple-ish tune today -- tentatively titled House of Dr. D! I'm pretty sure that title won't stick as it's pretty uniformly sneered at. (It was renamed The Alchemist. KS) Nicko, normally loves the way his drums come out on all the albums, and asked respectfully if I minded if he watched while I edited the takes, and he promised to not say anything -- I of course said I didn't mind, but once I began working, he couldn't stop talking and admonishing me the whole while, about his mistakes, which he calls "Nickoisms", and which I was attempting to repair, so I had to stop the session. Update tomorrow, when we cut the last song, which Steve is still working on tonight and it promises to be an epic... ahhh, the Mighty Maiden!!!

Friday January 22, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas We cut a very intricate piece today. Where The Wild Wind Blows. Nobody had heard it at all and Steve had all these ideas, so we cut about 10 totally different melodic pieces -- he'd show the band then we'd cut a few takes. He shows everyone the song and whistles the melodies to everyone. Nicko was unusually reserved today, but played very solidly and well. We ended up with over two hours of recorded music, which I attempted to start editing as the evening closed in on us, but Steve was totally wiped out - he'd forgotten to eat and drink all day, such was his concentration -- and I don't even know how the song pieces fit together yet, so it will have to wait 'til we get together on Monday! Steve won't come in over the weekend normally, as his weekends are mostly chock-full with his kids activities, and he is first and foremost a dedicated father.

Saturday Jan 23rd, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Went to workout at the gym early then on to the studio, and spent the entire day editing some tracks recorded for Black Country in Malibu -- Black Country is the group I put together with Glenn Hughes, Joe Bonamassa, Jason Bonham and Derek Sherinian. Met Nicko, Davey and Steve Gadd in the Poop Deck bar in the evening, and we drove to the big Atlantis resort where we had dinner at the fancy sushi restaurant Nobu, and then went to see Jerry Seinfeld doing standup. Davey is a big fan and really wanted to go, but it was just OK - nothing special actually. We had a little to drink over the evening... and invariably ended up at the Daiquiri shack chatting to some Irish wedding guests.

Sunday Jan 24, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Woke late -- a little tired still. Relaxed around the condo, made coffee and watched some Gridiron football. Adrian dropped by around noon and borrowed my iPod to listen to the rough mixes of the tracking recordings we have done thus far.

Monday Jan 25, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas The lads took the day off and 'Arry and I went to work about 11 o'clock and began the big job of editing the multiple takes of Where The Wild Wind Blows together. Nobody but he has any idea how it ultimately goes, and the structure altered a little from his original idea in the assembly, but it fits together and flows very nicely. An ironic epic about a suicide pact in the face of a nuclear explosion. And very Maiden!

Tuesday January 26, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Workout with a trainer again at 8am - he kicked my butt! All the band - bar Bruce, who's gone back to London - meet at the studio to listen to all the tracks we've recorded and get a good overview of the album. All the guys seem excited after the playback, and we start work embellishing the rough recordings of Coming Home with some overdubs. Adrian puts an acoustic guitar picking through the verses and choruses, which we double track for stereo imaging. Then Davey plays the first of the guitar solos on his Les Paul guitar, which ironically sounds like a Strat! it's a very Hendrixy Little Wing-ish solo, and he's happy with the result. He's always happy! Then Adrian added the second solo. We assemble a different monitoring system for him in the studio, so he balances his own mix and listen on Genelecs. He's uncomfortable initially, but after a while we get a great solo from him. The raw sound bothers him, so i add a little Pitch Shift, and he's happy. End of the day. Off to the local bar called The Poop Deck for burgers and beer. And coffee tequila. And a last cleansing beer. Nicko and his chef mate, Frankie, visiting from new York, leave first. I leave Jan and Davey chatting at the bar.

Wednesday January 27, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Start the recording day by having Janick add an upper octave to his guitar line in the choruses of Coming Home. This is the end of guitar overdubs on this song.

Then we move onto the song El Dorado. Adrian does a guitar solo, quite a few takes - which I then compile. He's happy. Steve doesn't stay around for things like the guitar solos necessarily, but he likes to hear everything at some point. Next Janick has a go at the guitar overdubs, adding an octave to a prechorus line, then doing his solo. Davey comes in for a late start having had a little beach time and does the middle solo. We listen back quite loud and everyone seems very happy with it. They all leave and I stay to sort through some takes of Mother Of Mercy, so it's ready to be overdubbed. Dinner of fresh fish and a beer at the bar, and I'm home just after 7.30pm. Early night in....... speak to my babies on Skype.

Thursday January 28, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas A very full day in the studio today - Davey starts the day with a bunch of overdubs on The Man Who Would Be King - Harmony guitars on the outro and on the chorus - we try a few on the intro, but they don't really work. Then we do a quick solo, which I reverse a-la-hendrix, and he loves it! We do some other weird noises - divebombs, etc., which go alongside the backwards solo, then Janick does a little tag, after which we do a 3 part guitar harmony with all the guitarists on the second part of the solo. It was originally going to be an Adrian solo, but the track felt so out of control after Davey's musical madness, that we introduce the harmony melody guitars which brings some order into the chaos. This song is now done for the day, and we move to the overdubs on The Final Frontier. Adrian does a big strumming acoustic guitar on the choruses, and then adds a tenor guitar line which echoes Steve's bass line on the chorus - and last he does the solo on his trusty Strat...... and that's it for the day, and the week!

Friday January 29, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas My family are arriving at 1pm from Los Angeles, and we all take the day off work. No one complains! Well, Delta screws up my family's flight, and leaves them with an enforced long layover in Atlanta - so I take the opportunity to go grocery shopping. I need everything at our condo - toilet paper, water... you get the picture, so it's a godsend to have time to prepare for them. The lifestyle of a bachelor doesn't necessarily meet all the needs of a young family, and once I've sorted out the house I head to the airport with Steve Gadd and Mike Kenney, who've come to give us a hand with the luggage and kids. (They offered and are very gracious and friendly - it's no Producer control-freak thing!). They finally arrive at 5pm and as they come through the Arrivals and I see them, I get a little misty as my 2 year-old Talon yells, "My daddy, my daddy, my daddy" .... sweet!! Weekend off playing with my kids in the pool and on the beach!!!!!

February 1 and 2, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas More recording on some of the other songs - it gets a bit "Groundhog Day" in the telling and diarizing of it all, as it's a very similar process every day for all the songs and overdubs. We do various guitar overdubs, solos, harmonies, acoustic guitars...... the Three Amigos take turns and occasionally we record all three together to get that great rolling, galloping rhythm that only Maiden can really create - there's nothing mathematical about it, it's all feel. If you sort it out in Pro Tools, all that feel goes, so we don't!!!

February 3, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas It's my wife's birthday today, so we take the day off and I spend the entire day at the Atlantis resort with my family. A great day, playing on the beaches, sliding down the water slides, floating on rafts on the artificial rapids and rivers, and viewing the absolutely amazing aquarium they've built there! In the evening, we leave the babies with my mother-in-law and go out for an intimate adult evening, but we're so shattered by the day's activities that we end up crashing at about 9.30pm!

February 4 and 5, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Same agenda as Feb 1 and 2. We've almost finished the overdubs on the last song, guitar-wise. Just a last guitar solo of Adrian's to do on When The Wild Wind Blows on Monday, then we'll all gather for a final collective listen, and that's all the guitars on this new Iron Maiden album. We'll add keys for the rest of the week, then it's home for me next Saturday, and Steve and Bruce arrive the following week to finish up the vocals and mix...... February 6, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Windy and stormy today. No studio. Wife and kids are all packed as they leave Nassau for Los Angeles tomorrow - so we had an early dinner of fresh fish from the Poop Deck, then my wife, Dev, and I joined Steve Gadd and his better half, Jen; Janick and Adrian Smith and his wife Nathalie, for a late evening drink. A very nice time and it was fun socialising with just adults for a change.

February 7 - Superbowl Sunday. Gaddsy and Michael Kenney took me and my family to the airport as they left for L.A. today. Janick went off for his first scuba dive ever, with the crew from the Aga Khan's yacht, Shergar, and he really loved it. Gadd and I joined them on the boat about 4pm-ish, had a couple of beers onboard and got the royal yacht tour. Amazing! $100million worth of boat - each tank of gas costs $75,000!! It has two jet turbines, and at 100 ft long reaches about 50 knots! That's flying!! Then off to Crazy Johnny's we all went, to watch the Superbowl, and perhaps a few drinks.......

February 8 Not everyone looked like they were ready to run a marathon this morning, after a long night of Superbowl revelry. Our engineer Jared arrives a little puffy, and As 'Arry said of his eyes, "they look like two piss holes in the snow!" Well, as Jared has a vague connection to New Orleans, he was forgiven! We need to do a few updates to the last song and so Adrian started off the day recording a solo on When The Wild Wind Blows, after which we did some melodic lines on the same song with Davey, some guitar jangle chords in the verses, and that is the band tracks for the new album complete! I let everyone go for the day, and spent the rest of it getting the complex tracks in order so when we do some keyboards over the next few days, we hear everything as it's meant to be heard, and nothing clashes musically or sonically. Had a very English dinner of Bangers 'n Mash and a pint of stout at the Nassau Cricket Club, and home earlyish to watch a movie.

February 9, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Slept great, but woke feeling very stiff. Off to the gym for a gentle workout and then set off to the studio at the normal time of 10.45am, with an obligatory stop at Starbucks en route. Finally we got stuck into keyboards today. Michael Kenney set up the keys and Steve poked away at them, hunting for the melodies running around his head like a chicken pecking the ground. Simple lines, but effective and we accomplished a lot of work. We finished keyboard overdubs on seven tunes today then headed to Poop Deck for a quick drink with Steve before heading home to make dinner.... for myself.

February 10, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Today we finished the few keyboards overdubs left to do on the album. Janick's family arrived from England today, so he asked me to send him an MP3 of the solo he did on The Alchemist, which I did, and he called me later asking if he could redo it, so we'll have another crack at it on Friday. Adrian listened to all the tracks and has a few things he wants to add as well. We all went to dinner at The Poop Deck but as the weather had been a little rough, there was no fresh fish on the menu, so we had burgers while sitting at the bar. Nicko sent us his love from sunny Florida, where he's working on the official opening of his restaurant, Rock 'n Roll Ribs, in Boca Raton or somewhere in the vicinity, this weekend.

February 11, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Up early and I swam across the bay - didn't feel like the gym today. Headed to the studio about 10.30am after a quick stop for a "grande-four-shot-non-fat-wet-cappuccino" at Starbucks and once we got up and rockin', Adrian replayed the verse on Mother Of Mercy and added a harmony guitar to the pre-chorus. 'Arry didn't make it in to the studio today, and while waiting for some computer thing to be done, I was noodling around some blues scales on one of Janick's acoustic guitars, which prompted Terry Manning to show me an old National that used to be blues icon Robert Johnson's dobro! It was very humbling and awe-inspiring to hold it and slide a little on it, and I felt more moved even than when I met Jimmy Page or B.B. King. Its serial # is T968. Back to work, and we listened through a few things and I did a couple of edits that needed doing and we were done by 7pm, off to .........yep you guessed it, the Poop Deck again. It's the only place around, as you've probably gathered, that doesn't require getting a taxi. At least they had fresh fish today, and I ordered one to go and had it at my house while watching the news - boring but very tasty!

February 12, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas Adrian and Nathalie, his wife, left early for a week at Parrot Key. It's the last day in the studio today. Janick came in and redid the solo on The Alchemist. He was much happier than before - the first solo had been much more "in the meter", but this one crossed the rhythms, and he liked the fact that it sounded like he wasn't going to make it, and then did. He felt it sounded more "incendiary!". His phrase. Looked over the tracksheet of Where The Wild Wind Blows and sorted through the multiple parts, and made a cohesive tracklist - then made 2 safety copies of the Master drive, and said our goodbyes to the Mannings in the studio, took Steve two masters - one to leave behind, and one to bring with him. I have one to carry back to L.A. tomorrow, and that's all three master drives. We have a big art canvas in the studio, which has all the album titles and plots the progress of the recording session as we go. So I dropped the big canvas at 'Arry's house, and then went with Steve Gadd and his best gal to the Cricket Club, for bangers 'n mash. Again. Yummy!

February 13, 2010 Nassau, Bahamas The wind howled all night and the rain bucketed down. I woke at 3am and couldn't get back to sleep. Packed, and checked the flight details. Atlanta is covered in snow and is a frigid 25 degrees. All good, it appears. Left for the airport to find my flight cancelled. Managed to get a coach flight (all Business was booked) back home - it adds another six hours to my flight!!! which means 13 hours from check-in til landing, if all goes to schedule. I'm in Nassau airport now.......

February 15, 2010 Malibu, California Finally got home late last night. My luggage didn't. Lots of scrambling and frantic running between gates, but I finally had a good flight back and it is great to be home in Malibu on the beach. I had a very chilled Sunday with my family and now it's back to work in my studio today, going over all the tracks. They're not really ready for my studio, so had to spend the day preparing them to suit a different console, etc. Also, the big storms in California recently have knocked my studio about - all the lightbulbs downstairs had blown, as well as my Summit TLA- compressor, so the day was spent in repair mode, as well as getting the studio bedroom ready, where Steve Harris will stay for the month ahead - he arrives tonight.

February 16, 2010 Malibu, California I'm in the studio early today. I FedExed my blown compressor out for repair - Brent Spear, my tech, is coming in for the day from Las Vegas to make sure everything is working perfectly, the Cable TV repairman is coming today to make sure Steve's English Premier League soccer is available on the telly, so it's all systems go around here. Bruce will be in from London tonight to sing ......

February 17, 2010 Malibu, California Vocal day - Bruce arrived, with stories, as usual. Tales from flights around the world - Russia, Iceland, Niger..... Today he sang Coming Home and El Dorado, then we had a break for lunch, after which he nailed the lead vocal for Mother of Mercy! It's very, very high...

February 19, 2010 Malibu, California Bruce sang again today, then left to fly back to London tonight and on to Africa as Capt. Dickinson tomorrow - I compiled the lead vocal on El Dorado, and then I mixed it. Went to the store to pick up dinner on the way home and my car got wrecked in the parking lot by some Bonehead. Exhausted!

February 20, 2010 Malibu, California Knackered - feel brutally tired today.

February 21, 2010 Malibu, California Had to go with the family to a kids birthday party - I realize I have to do these things, but I really hate doing them. Went for a bicycle ride when we got back, and decided while riding, that I'm going to cycle to San Francisco to do my next job - which is producing Journey's new studio album in April.

February 22, 2010 Malibu, California Compiled the lead vocal track from three or four vocal performances which Bruce has sang for Coming Home and then I set about mixing the song.

February 23, 2010 Malibu, California Compiled the lead vocal track for The Final Frontier today - then mixed it - Steve came in at the end of the day and thought it sounded a bit roomy, so I'll do a drier mix tomorrow.

February 24, 2010 Malibu, California Did a dry mix then some updates on ..The Final Frontier. In the end we went with yesterday's mix - my original mix. After that I began comping the vocal on Mother of Mercy - Steve has a very particular vocal melody in his mind, which Bruce didn't really get 100% correct. It's close tho..... but needs a few tweaks. Left the comp about half way through - it was mind jumbling. Got home to find two sick babies....

February 25, 2010 Malibu, California Last night was a rough night with our poor little sick kids - so not too much sleep at all for any of us last night. Got to my studio just after 11am to find Steve doing the crosswords - he loves them! I had to dig back into Mother of Mercy and complete the vocal compiling!

Adrian came by The Cave for a listen - he thought the tracks sounded good but "a little too much like the band in the studio". He thought more reverb to make them sound more "majestic" and "epic". Steve disagreed strongly. Honestly, they are both right. The thing I personally like about the dry, honest mixes, is that it sets them apart from any other Classic Rock or Metal band. They're not really metal anyway, in the present day sense of the genre, but they're more of a hard progressive rock band. I promised to run some mixes each way and decisions can be made down the road, if necessary.

February 26, 2010 Malibu, California I started the day with an early 30 mile bike ride along the coast and went in to the studio at normal start time of 11 and finished the mix of Mother Of Mercy. Bruce came in from London this morning and very kindly brought me a stack of Formula 1 magazines - it's my passion and the States only sees them about 6 weeks after their appearance in England, so I was particularly thrilled! He listened to a few things we'd been working on - had some issues with a couple of vocal lines he'd sung, and disliked a particular guitar solo we'd recorded at Compass Point, but said "whatever!", and then dug into the work and sang Isle Of Avalon and Starblind. Both are very high - I suggested a lower vocal line in the Isle Of Avalon chorus, which he tried, so perhaps we'll have a harmony - we'll see.

February 27, 2010 Malibu, California A massive 8.8 earthquake hit Chile early this morning. We were on a tsunami advisory again, and as we live on the ocean, we left for higher ground over the lunch hours. The waves were only about 2 feet higher, which didn't really affect things too much up here in Malibu. I'm sure this will prove to be catastrophic again.....

It's Adrian's birthday today! His wife, Nathalie, threw a great party for him. Gorgeous food, great ambience - Steve and his beautiful daughters Kerry and Faye attended, as did Bruce and a host of people. A lot of fun - she had been quite explicit about overstaying our welcome with "Carriages at 11" on the invitation, but by the time it came to go, Adrian wanted everyone to stay longer. Nathalie said, "but it's what you wanted!" We had sickish babies at home, and couldn't stay in any case.........

February 28, 2010 Malibu, California Last day of the month - relax!

March 1, 2010 Malibu, California Bruce came in from Marina Del Ray and sang two songs today - Satellite 15 and When the Wild Wind Blows. Started working on the Wild Wind mix.

March 2, 2010 Malibu, California Compiled the vocal for When The Wild Wind Blows and mixed it! Steve's daughters, Faye and Kerry, came by and listened to all the music completed thus far, and they went with Steve to the local Italian restaurant, The Sage Room, for dinner.

March 3, 2010 Malibu, California Bruce came by today to hear the five mixes that were done. Did a little touch up on When the Wild Wind Blows mix, compiled the lead vocals on The Alchemist and mixed it as well.

March 4, 2010 Malibu, California Started compiling a lead vocal on The Talisman. It was a nightmare to compile! Adrian dropped in late afternoon to pick up a CD of the mixes thus far.

March 5, 2010 Malibu, California. I mixed The Talisman, the second bit. Not the quiet intro bit that sounds like a haunting kids sea shanty. I think fans are going to love this song! March 6, 7, 2010 Malibu, California Weekend - happy to have a break! March 8, 2010 Malibu, California Finished mixing Talisman (the acoustic intro) and compiled the vocal on The Man Who Would Be King. March 9, 2010 Malibu, California Mixed The Man Who Would Be King. Adrian came in and said it all sounded good - and said he was 95% happy with the album mixes and we should look at them and tweak them slightly - I am perfectly happy to reassess any of the mixes, as daunting as the prospect of revisiting everything is, changing sonics etc., but Steve and I are quite happy with it and neither of us can really afford the extra time it would take to remix, so Steve jumped in and basically said we're going to be done this weekend and we are not remixing the entire album. Adrian ultimately understood but wasn't thrilled about it! March 10, 2010 Malibu, California Compiled the vocal for Starblind, and began the mix of it - it is proving to be a complicated mix and quite difficult.

March 11, 2010 Malibu, California Mixed Starblind today. Adrian came by to hear it - and was desirous of more reverb on some things - it's a little bit of a continuous internal battle, and is essentially just a different way to hear things. Def Leppard on one hand, something garagey on the other. Extra reverb was not added to anything. Adrian left happy and understanding, I thought!!! March 12, 2010 Malibu, California It's Steve's birthday today! I've just finished mixing the entire album - mixed The Isle of Avalon and Satellite 15 today. The mixes went very well then I assembled the album in order - putting all the master mixes in sequences and adjusting the gaps or segues between the songs. Steve is packing to leave and I'm planning on having a glass of wine with Adrian at 9pm - both lads appear ecstatic! We're all off for dinner...... Friday May 7th, Oakland, CA Well, it's almost two months later. I've completed the Black Country Communion album and am in midst of producing a new Journey album since we wrapped up the Iron Maiden album. I'm sitting in Oakland airport (I'm producing Journey album in San Francisco) - waiting for a one hour flight to Los Angeles where I'm going to play the folks from Universal Music the new Maiden album later today. We've had the album mastered three times, and have ultimately decided to go with my flat mixes over any of the mastering versions. I think the mastering place did a great job, but Steve, while liking these versions, feels that the integrity of the original mixes has been compromised somewhat and so it's coming out flat. No equalization, no compression, just as it was when Steve heard the MP3s of the mixes and just as it left my studio. Tuesday June 8th, Malibu CA Home after recording the Journey album - in the studio mixing a South African band called Panic Circle today. The first Maiden single, El Dorado, was released yesterday as a free download on the ironmaiden.com website and immediately clogged up the server, but I woke to about a hundred emails from people that have loved it - so, THANK YOU!!! And that is how I spent the early part of 2010 - producing The Final Frontier. Hope you enjoyed that....... - Kevin Shirley

#iron maiden #bruce dickinson #steve harris #adrian smith #nicko mcbrain #dave murray #janick gers #Kevin Shirley #the final frontier #behind the music #behind the scenes

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of-tatooine · 2 months ago

Text

DULCE PERICULUM. | CHAPTER VIII - COMFORT

abandon hope, all ye who enter here.

(John Wick x Reader, Santino d'Antonio x Reader)

full work

Over the course of trips around the sun, New York City had grown to be a lot of things to you - sometimes, everything all at once.

It was a place of new beginnings, and of closing the door to potential ones.

A place of fiery warmth, and of an icy cold seeping in through your veins, making your teeth clatter. A place of fluttering hearts, beating against each other. A place of recklessness, of endless crimson liquid flowing through glasses. A place for silent admiration, lost in the cacophony of the external.

Above all, it had been a home.

The neon lights blended in with the softer hued ones as the chauffeur made headway through the city - shining through the darkness, red bricks a pleasant backdrop to the people roaming the streets with their coats fastened up tight. An acquainted sense of solitude would dawn on you from the moment the entrance of the historic building appeared in your sights, the vehicle pulling up to let you off seamlessly.

Your security detail had occupied the entrance to the penthouse, no matter how much you insisted offering them a small break to freshen up and have some sustenance.

“No, signora, grazie - this is my duty.”

This was Camorra - the only way to unity, to success was through the most loyal of men. Without unquestioned, ever-growing loyalty - you were as good as another gang off the street, not that there was a shortage of them.

Santino must have talked to them good.

Accepting defeat, you would then ensure in the following moments the chef sent down some of the freshly prepared late dinner.

The private elevator doors opened to the foyer, the vast expanse of diagonal windows overlooking the bustling city from above visible through the arches leading up to the living area. It must have been the feature that sold the not-so-humble abode to the d’Antonio family, yet another addition to the network of safehouses around the globe.

A hotel room had not been a need for the longest time.

Unless you were with him.

The remodels had been specifically conducted to your taste, over the course of many revisions - Santino had spared no expense as you had browsed through catalogues of design elements, furniture and décor, catching onto which ones your eyes lingered just a little bit more on.

Collections of various items from the countless travels you had been on around the globe, placed meticulously on the floor to ceiling display cabinets lining up the hallway. A study encircled with shelves and shelves of books, custom-made sleek leather furniture to add a modern contrast.

The makings what would eventually become a home for you both.

A gentle hum of a low aria emanated through the wooden paneled walls, speakers embedded in every corner of the ceiling to never cease the ambient music as you walked across the apartment. Soft melodies always helped calm you down, relax your senses and unwind - as much as you could with the daunting task in front of you.

Failure had not been an option when a marker was involved, with the invisible threads of the High Table looming above you - ever seeing, ever knowing.

A much welcome distraction then appeared. Light taps of shoes against hardwood, then marble as he approached the foyer resounded throughout, a smile on your trusted helper Enzo’s face - always sharp in a smart black suit, short black hair perfectly coiffed. The staff must have been instructed to await your arrival in New York, as the pleasant smells of delicacies managed to escape the kitchen.

It was a relief to see familiar faces in your safe haven, always ready to help and feed you - yet it was an unknown just how much your stomach could handle.

“Buonaséra, signora. Benvenuta.”

“Grazie mille, Enzo.”

“Is Signor d’Antonio accompanying you this evening?”

A brief shake of your head was the answer he needed, yet you offered him as kind a smile that you could while taking off your coat and handing it over, your body grateful to step into warmth.

“Sono sola stavolta.”

That night, you were alone. Only the silent contemplations, tangled up pieces of information - and maybe some wine.

“Certo, signora,” your trusted Enzo would reply before retreating slowly to the kitchen - he had been your eyes and ears when in the New York penthouse, whenever you had the chance to find solace there. Always there to assist, with any need you might have had, he would remind you as he reached for the duffel bag your security had placed on the floor.

You were grateful, as always. Your limbs would have betrayed you had you attempted to do anything else but recover, your raging worries draining the energy out of the already weakened body from constant travel, changing timezones as fast as breeze.

“I will rest up in the lounge for the evening. Please, ensure everyone is fed.”

His dark eyes glinted slightly with concern for the wellbeing of Camorra’s lady in front of him - cheeks hollowed from the fatigue, eyes threatening to close. Enzo, with all the good intentions in him over the years of serving your chosen family, tilted his head as he spoke with a soft tone.

“Signora, con tutto il rispetto - food can only help you feel better.”

If only he knew.

As you slipped out of your tailored suit jacket, you did not have it in you to tell him no - instead responding with the conceding shake of your head, a tired smile stretching your lips.

“Bene.”

Sleep had finally found it’s way to you that particular night, merely in the form of passing out on the expansive leather lounge framing the living room - the moonlight seeping through the tall uncovered windows, the crackle of fire encased in glass. Leather boots haphazardly laying on the floor. A soft woven blanket draped over you, still in the suit that you had arrived into the continent with, sans the jacket, a few buttons unbuttoned on your blouse.

A state you would not have wanted anyone to find you in.

Crystal wine glass filled with only a couple more drops of red. The notebook left open on the last page you had been scribbling on, noting down any details on the targets as you could remember. Some names familiar, some less of an acquaintance. A draft of a graph with lines drawn between each target, tracing their potential links, with all the information you could recall. Countless question marks adorning the pages.

Whatever knowledge you had - it was not much. It would never be enough.

The incessant buzz of the cellphone placed face down on the marble coffee table had woken you up from your not-so restful slumber. With a sigh, your fingers reached to grab the device.

“Sì?” you would answer, trying to rub the sleep off of your eyes, slowly getting into a sitting position with your legs folded sideways under you.

“Amore mio, mi dispiace. I did not want to wake you - I can call in the morn-”

It was still a phenomenon of unknown origin - just how, even a moment of hearing his rich voice over the phone, instantly calmed your senses.

“No, Santino, va bene,” you would reply as softly as you could with your slightly muffled voice.

“Mi manchi.”

Oh, how he had missed you. Days seemed like individual eternities to him whenever you had been away, having to go through each incessantly as he thought of you.

There was no one else he could spill his heart to like this, no one who he could divulge all his worries in. Calling you had been a motor movement at that time, with emotions and thoughts colliding in his mind. Your felt presence, even through the static of the phone, was the light at the end of the tunnel.

“And I, more. Ascoltami, amore - I need to tell you something.”

Worry was etched into his whispered words - the underlying suffering, the love, the hurt, all blending in to form the clouds in his soul, blurring his green gaze.

In an instant, you could come up with a couple of things that might have followed the words - none of them good. Anticipation clawing into your mind, nails digging into your being.

“Sta peggiorando.”

You sensed your heart drop within you, it was almost as if you could feel his constrict as well.

“No.. Come?”

Last time you had visited il Padrino a mere couple months ago, the old man had clung onto your hand with a hearty smile, telling you tidbits of just how much of a troublemaker Gianna and Santino had been when they were little - stealing lemons and breaking precious plates. It felt like yesterday that you had seen the sparks of nostalgia in his eyes, as if longing to be with the memories once again, and not bound to the ring on his finger.

Santino sighed, his footsteps over stone echoing through the call, the faint voice of hissing leaves and a sole bird chirping - he must have stepped out into the vast gardens of the estate to talk privately. You knew he had his hand running down through his curly locks, pushing them back - a reflex developed purely out of stress.

“The doctors are saying it’s not looking good - that it had developed further.”

As his words resonated with fear of the unknown, your thoughts went to the other d’Antonio, wondering what she would do had she been there.

“Non so che fare.”

That made two of you.

How could he know what to do? It was his blood, his lifeline, slowly dissipating right in front of him, mother nature gently lulling in the due ones to their rightful slumber. With full knowledge of the facts of life, due to his quite risky occupation - Santino knew when the day came, it would never be easy.

It had not crossed his mind that it could have been this soon.

“Ce la farà, amore,” flowed out of your lips in habitual reassuring, voice echoing a reduced mess of conflicting thoughts. The moonlight hit the diamonds still attached to your wrist, gentle reflections swaying across the vast living room ceilings, a welcome distraction.

Would he really make it?

Winston’s words flashed into your mind instantly, echoing through the thoughts, the relevance of the advance quite uncanny.

“Go home to him.”

It was the sole correct action to take - to fly back home, back to the estate, to accompany your partner who had been there for you for worse moments, ever since you could remember. To be with him, providing him comfort - whether in the form of a warm embrace, a shoulder to lean on, or a comfortable silence. To whisper to him, in the faintest of voices that everything would be just alright.

Just like he had, too many times to count.

There would have been absolutely no hesitation on your part, if you had not been scheduled to meet Mr. Wick himself the following day for updates on his assignment.

Knowing just how much the raven haired assassin controlled the shape of your thoughts even years after, did nothing but scare you - and in some twisted way, you had been looking forward to seeing him again, in the corners of your subconscious that resurfaced every so often. Maybe, just maybe, a faint voice within told you - it would be another excuse to gaze into his dark eyes again, no matter how unreachable they had always been to you.

Hearing Santino’s scattered breathing on the other end, made you slowly come back to your senses, quietly scolding yourself for the brief moment of dissonance.

How could you even think of anything else, at a moment like this?

“I will be over there tomorrow. Non ti lascerò solo.”

A promise that he made it easy to keep - that you would not leave him alone. His relieved sigh vibrated off of the phone, his tone apologetic for keeping you away from your duties. As you excused yourself to catch on couple more hours of sleep, an anxious, empty feeling in your stomach accompanied you while you tried to lull yourself back to rest for the journey ahead.

John would just have to wait this time around.

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