#hehehe wip for my upcoming fic . this is part of the prologue. im excited

[kratosnaturals]

WIP #6

The promise of coffee finally got Nick out of bed, feet hitting the cold hardwood floor and making him shiver with a grumble, but he marched on, or rather dragged his feet to, the kitchen. No breakfast – he preferred to grab a quick snack on the way to the office, on his days off he simply went to the bakery for a pastry or two, or waited ‘till lunch. While his freshly brewed coffee cooled he jumped in the shower. An unabashed groan slipped his lips when the warm water hit his skin, melting away any soreness in his body.

With a tired sigh he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and wiped away the condensation on the mirror, staring at himself for a moment. His reflection stared back at him. As it always did. Why wouldn’t it?

His eyes were still a little red and puffy, amber irises still dull so early in the morning. His dark brown eyebrows were furrowed and disheveled; odd hairs sticking up from mushing his head a little too much into the pillow during the night. Long, thick fingers smoothed down the hairs, but a stray remained stubbornly upright. Nick grumbled and accepted defeat. The stubble on his cheeks was a little itchy, but on an off day he couldn’t be bothered less to shave. Well, and Jenny did so like the rougher look, as she called it. It made him grin, and oh, there it was – the little sharp tip of his left canine. At this point he didn’t even remember how often he nicked himself on that thing throughout his life, but he could not bear to remove such a charming little part of himself.

Quickly and efficiently he got the job of styling his dark hair done – dry it, tussle it, smear in some wax to hold it’s shape. It was a routine he’d done thousands upon of thousands of times before. He found what framed his angular face best and stuck to it. For decades. If it ain’t broken, don’t fix it, the man told himself.

Not having to dress up to the office for once felt like a blessing. He could ditch his heavy trench coat, his tie, his-

If he owned anything but formal clothing, that was. No, his closet was a mountain of white shirts and slacks ranging from black to an adventurous beige. One tacky aloha shirt was catching dust in the far corner of his wardrobe. A bright red eyesore of sorts, but it was sentimental. His mother had bought it from him while she was on vacation. Then forced him to wear it and pose for a photo. Or two. Or three. Nick cringed – those photos were still stashed somewhere at his parents home. Maybe they even put them up since the last time he visited them back in Chicago. With a click of his tongue Valentine decided against wearing it, opting for a white shirt, as always. His coworkers would never let him live it down if they spotted him wearing that. The hat he couldn’t ditch, though.

With one last look at the photograph next to his bed he grabbed his holster and gun, put on a light jacket, took his keys and wallet and headed out the door.