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sometimesanalice · 1 year ago

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Bedside Manner

Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.

It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.

The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.

“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.

Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.

But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.

Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.

Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.

Normally.

But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss.

“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.

You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.

The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.

You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.

It was supposed to be a fun day.

You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.

There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.

You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.

The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.

The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.

Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.

You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.

Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.

And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.

You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.

He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.

And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.

When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.

“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.

You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”

You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.

“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.

“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.

“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”

Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.

Respectfully, of course.

Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.

“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.

“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.

You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.

And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.

You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.

And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.

Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.

He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.

Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.

But he’s never made a move.

If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.

You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.

Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.

The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.

Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.

And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.

You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.

You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.

Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.

The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.

The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.

Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.

It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.

Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.

And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.

“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.

They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.

It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.

It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.

You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.

There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.

You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.

As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.

“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.

They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.

Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.

Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.

His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.

You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.

“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.

“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.

“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.

And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.

Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.

The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.

Just not like this.

With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier.

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together? You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day. I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

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shimii26 · 2 years ago

Text

Phoenix: The Recycler Addison

My name is Phoenix, I’m an eco-friendly Addison who specializes in utilizing the materials around me to create new products that Darkners will use to their fullest potential and reduce the space wasted by the data trash other Addisons seem to be so careless with.

Although my goal is to use my talents for the greater good of this Cyber City, I have to admit that sometimes my drive to succeed can lead me to be a little more than just proud of my work. Take for example, my lovely but kitschy work studio and gallery! I call it: Phoenix’s Recycled Fashion And Furniture! I just absolutely adore the fact that every piece of furniture and jewelry piece I sell was made by my own two hands! And it didn’t cost me a dime, I’d like to see any other Addison top with such a cheap price tag on their own shops. In any case, the one product I take the most absolute pride in, are my homemade sandwiches, perfect for a quick lunch, or a much filling snack when you need some quick energy during a busy shift! I can make them any flavor you’d like, you want cucumber and figs? You’ve got it. Gruyere and smoked ham? Gotcha. Cookies and ice cream? Not exactly a traditional sandwich, but I don’t judge, yes I can do that. But by far, my most appraised and demanded food product has to be my homemade egg salad sandwich, seasoned with the finest pixel salt, pepper, and paprika, creamy RAMmayo, and tangy mustardata. What’s the recipe? HA! Funny of you to ask, the recipe is not for sale. I don’t ever dare divulge my biggest trade secret!... Well, I guess I did divulge it once to… someone not that important to others anymore. To me, he was the most important creature, so important to my career choice, and vital to my source of satisfaction in my work. You see, business hasn’t been going that well since I had been caught rummaging through the upper class trash bins for materials, and my mental health hasn’t been very stable. But their reappearance into my life has helped me begin to recover from my own self doubts, and allowed me to re-experience the euphoric feeling just watching someone benefiting from my efforts…

You want to know who that someone is?... Well… You may have heard about the rumor of the one and only Addison in Cyber City history to live on the streets... Yes, he was the one who helped inspire me to show this world what I can do, my ideas, and my creativity… How did I come to meet him?... You see, he and I were nothing more than basic acquaintances for most of our time together, until we managed to reunite many years later, united by the one thing we shared commonality with… Lemme recall my history with him for you.

The story of my relationship with the peculiar Addison begins during my second year of Addison Career Training. Every Addison is required to go through a general line of college-like courses to help them choose a specialty that will help them succeed in life, and maintain a level of happiness required to pass off a friendly face to customers alike. It’s actually quite common for Addisons to experience depression, which is why it’s critical one chooses a specialty that they don’t mind performing for the remainder of their lives, it’s extremely difficult to change your profession as an Addison as it requires some serious data rewriting and paperwork. You only have 3 years to decide your profession, and at the time, I was already more than halfway through my studies, unsure of what I want to pursue. It almost dragged me down to a dark state of depression. I was quite lost as to where I wanted to go in life.

Nevertheless, the two of us were in a general business class together, learning how to approach customers, present advertisements, and strike bargains in order to keep our quotas up to snuff. The reason why we even sat next to each other in the first place was a mere fluke, as it was the last seat in the classroom, and he was the last Addison to enter the room. He was rather an unusual fellow, in all my life I have never seen an albino Addison, it was a very rare pigment to be programmed with, or lack thereof, and yet, there he sat like he wasn’t someone particularly special. He was correct to think that way though, despite his beautiful and bright appearance, he was more or less just another little cog in the everlasting chain of Addison economics. But our people knew better than that; when an albino Addison manifests into reality, it tends to spell trouble for those who get close to them. But I don’t believe in such nonsense, this was merely a rumor spread by more common colored Addisons, typically one would hear this kind of talk from primary colored individuals. Even with that expectation of greatness, succession, and mischieviousness going for him, he was actually quite closeted, almost like a silent pale phantom who lurked in the dark corner of the room. He barely spoke a word, never seeked out any kind of friendship with anyone outside of class, never partnered up in projects, never raised his hand to answer questions. In fact, he seemed to have already given up on his studies, similar to me I guess. I'd be surprised if he managed to write down one page of notes from a 60 slide powerpoint presentation. Every lesson he’d have this depressed far away look in his eyes, dark circles lining his pupils, staring at his notebook, his pencil halfway gripped in his hand. Always looked as though he was going to fall asleep in the middle of the lesson. He never knew this, but I secretly referred to him as “Sad Eyes''. If “routine” was an Addison, this guy would definitely be it. I soon began to pick up on his quirks, and his preferences. Almost every 10 minutes on the dot, he would yawn quietly to himself or huff in exhaustion. After some time I found this quite amusing even though he was clearly not in a good mood.

But the most intriguing behavior I’ve noticed from him is his snack preferences. This Addison was an avid fan of protein and savory flavors, quite an unusual preference in taste as most Addisons were fans of sweet treats and pastries. We weren’t allowed to have snacks during lessons as our professor deemed it a distraction, but once the bell rang for the end of the period, all bets were off, and most students would whip out their treats, especially since our class was the midpoint to lunchtime. I never had to look at the clock to know what time it was in class, I could tell just from his little routine quirks. For example, I knew when there was about 5 minutes left of the lesson, he had quite the appetite, and I could hear his stomach growling for his midmorning snack at the exact same time. His eyes would change expression to a more worried look at that point, I guess hunger made him quite uncomfortable, I suppose I can relate to that worry. Perhaps his stature took more of a toll on his energy than expected as he was also quite short for an Addison, most of us top the charts at around 6 foot, but he was a mere 4 foot 10, which even added more rarity to his existence. Having to work harder to even just walk around campus must make his body crave high amounts of protein, so he quickly became a fan of having hard boiled eggs for his snack; they were quick to pack, easy to carry, came in their own wrapper, and took no time to gobble down. These were things I could tell he and I valued at the same time; efficiency, time saving, and major satisfaction results. Afterall, at the end of his snack, he had nothing to throw away while every other Addison that had a snack had some form of wrapper or package to toss; they clearly don’t see the damage they’re causing to our city with their carelessness in packaging.

Most Addisons would often give him dirty looks whenever he ate hard boiled eggs after class, it wasn’t because of the way he was eating them, it was because he was eating eggs in the first place. Eggs to Addisons, even those that come from farm animals, are considered a bit taboo to eat as many Addisons have the ability to lay eggs, and we view that as a form of cannibalism. Some lay ones that can be eaten, others can lay ones that can be used as a weapon, but in this day and age, it’s rare to ever see an Addison use their eggs for anything other than tossing them out once laid. You only ever see Addisons stooping so low as to eat their own eggs or other’s eggs when they are going through hard times, which again, was very rare as there hasn’t been a completely unsuccessful Addison in history.

It infuriated me with every lesson to see that trash bin filled with stuff that will never see the LED light again, never be used to its full potential. I hated it so much, it just made me want to pull the trash out of the barrel myself and rub it in everyone’s face, yelling at them not to waste so much. But I know that’s something I can’t do…

Or can I?...

I don’t know what caused it, but after months of scowling at that trash barrel and seeing “Sad Eyes” growing more and more hopeless with each lesson passing us by, a feeling I can’t describe suddenly came over me. I’ve yet to know what the feeling is truly called, but rumor has it that it’s something called “determination”. But either way, one day, an idea struck my mind like lightning, an idea that would help change not only the amount of garbage being thrown out between each individual, but also help shift the stigma of the little Addison who sat next to me. I knew I’d be the only one to carry this idea out, as it was… controversial to say the least. Addisons are not known for recycling, as evidenced by the Trash Zone not far from Cyber City. For an Addison to try and make a product from literal garbage, let alone sell it successfully, was completely unheard of, it was also about being shiny and brand spanking new to attract customers, Lightners with real money like loud and proud products such as those, and rarely show interest in thrifting. I thought it would be best to start with something that I knew was in high demand in my class; something to eat. Almost everyone in my class liked to eat something once the lesson was over, this would be my ticket to insert my recycling ideas into the grape vine…

But what would they want to eat? Everyone seemed to have something different everyday, it was difficult to determine a pattern of preferred snacks… except for “Sad Eyes”, he was the only one with a pattern I could recognize. He loved protein, especially hard boiled eggs… Perhaps the food idea I have could even break a second stigma! Yes, I will make something that not even “Sad Eyes” can’t resist; egg sandwiches! They’ll hit all his requirements; high in protein, major savory flavor points, and no waste if I wrap them in something compostable! I had no time to waste, I can’t let this idea leave my mind!

After my classes that day, I quickly ran to the student kiosk and grabbed some ingredients for the sandwiches, as well as requested a spot where I could sell my new idea. Addisons that want to sell food products, condiments, or basic household gadgets could request a space to begin selling their stuff, sort of like a practice for when they start to sell their stuff out in Cyber City. Plus, it was a way to make some quick cash if needed. But cash I really wasn’t interested in, I was on a bigger mission. I bought everything I would need to make the sandwiches and quickly ran back to my dorm, setting all the ingredients down on my desk. Now it was time for the hard part; getting the ratios of every ingredient correct. I knew it would take me a few attempts, so I made myself small batches to taste test which combination would be the tastiest. Batch one was of course way too strong on the mustardata, I needed to dial it back a bit. Batch two was too liquidy, too much RAMayo to egg. Batch three was lacking a bit of salt and pepper… Batch four tasted…

Incredible!

I had done it, the ultimate recycled egg sandwich was complete! Suddenly I was like a racecar, making sandwich after sandwich, until they filled up the space on my desk. Once those were done, I set to work also preparing some homemade ketchup to go with them, made out of the veggies I picked up from the kiosk. I quickly wrapped them up in their compostable wrapper and set them in the fridge. One dozen sandwiches, ready to be bought and enjoyed!...

Now I had to get them back to the student kiosk.

I didn’t want anyone to recognize me and begin to badger me about my creation, so I wore a large hoodie on my way to the store. With the egg sandwiches in hand, I sneakily but casually strolled into the student kiosk store and placed them inside the fridge where I had reserved a spot for me to sell them. I had asked the owner of the store if I could keep my name off of the shelf of my sandwiches as I wanted to remain an anonymous seller, which they found peculiar, but obliged as they believed they understood my feelings. Once they were in, I quickly made my way out without any students noticing me. I’m not sure where it came from, but afterwards I gained such a rush, knowing that something I had prevented from going to waste was going to go to good use, nourishing whoever will give it a try. Perhaps I was secretly desiring “Sad Eyes” to give them a try, he does love his protein, and rightfully so. But at that time, I didn’t care who was going to eat them, as long as they were eaten and enjoyed. The next day I walked by the student kiosk and saw the sandwiches were still there. I guess for most, purchasing an anonymous maker’s sandwich was a turn off, I don’t blame them, especially being made of eggs, but I was just so hesitant to be judged. I wanted the art to speak for itself, and it did just that the next day…

- - -

(10:45) Business Tactics 103 Auditorium on Friday:

“Now that we’ve covered the basics of bargaining, let’s begin to discuss alternative ways to get customers interested in the prices of your products.” Our professor spoke, changing the powerpoint slide to the next lesson.

Urgh, just thinking about that class makes me want to fall asleep… I was growing bored of the lesson, so I subtly looked over at “Sad Eyes” and watched him, he was just as slumped and exhausted as ever, with only half a page of notes filled out while I probably was on my fifth page of notes. He was clearly in a bad mood today if he couldn’t even be bothered to fix his spelling mistakes, which there were quite a lot. It made me curious how this dude even managed to read his notes after class and study from them. I suppose he finds a way, he does get at least a D on his tests, all he needs really. His hand began to slowly trail down the paper and create a slanted line, he must’ve been starting to fall asleep since his head began to lower towards the desk too. I swear he would’ve been out like a light in the middle of class, if it hadn’t been for-

*Grrrooowrrll*

His head suddenly jerked up and his hand jolted forward, drawing another slanted line on his notes. His expression changed to a more worried look; five minutes till class is over. His stomach was on time as always, alarming him to have his midmorning snack soon. After his rude awakening, he began to scramble last minute notes in his notebook. I could tell his hunger was bothering him since he was aggressively scribbling notes down to help distract him from the sensation. I’m not sure why, but that day…

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” I whispered to him.

I was lying about knowing what was wrong with him, but he didn’t exactly know that. In fact, it must’ve triggered some kind of nervousness in him, because his cheeks suddenly flushed more red than they already were, and he stammered his answer.

“Wh-What? N-No, I’m okay, just tired…” he whispered back, a slight crack in his voice.

I may have made the mistake of talking to him, because afterwards he suddenly tensed up, his hand shook as he took down notes, and the other hand wrapped around his belly. His pupils were shrunk, staring intensely at the powerpoint, sweat beginning to bead down the side of his head. I never knew someone could be so embarrassed about their hunger, typically Addisons just laugh or brush it off. But it’s as if to him, I just broke the antisocial shield he had built around himself, and now he had all eyes and ears on him, despite the fact that I was the only one looking at him. Each minute that passed his stomach kept trying to alarm him to eat, and I could see him curling up quite hard to try and muffle the noise. However, it didn’t take long for five minutes to pass, the bell announcing the end of class began to run. He suddenly uncurled himself, looking up at the clock on the wall.

“That’s all for today’s lesson, be sure to review chapters 8-10 before class next week!” The professor instructed.

Most of the Addisons began to pack up and head for the door, others stuck around in their seats and pulled out their midmorning treat, of course, with trash to throw away. Spamton did the same as he quickly pulled his backpack up into his lap and frantically searched his back compartment. His teeth tensed and he took a sharp inhale, pulling out a familiar wrapper. Its familiarity struck my mind, and I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the one of the egg salad sandwich packages I had placed in the student kiosk store days before! He quickly pulled one of the slices out of the packaging and wasted no time taking his first bite. My digital heart raced, curious and wondering what his reaction was going to be. Would he like them? Would he want to eat the whole thing? I thought I was going to start hyperventilating, I was so shocked that he actually bought one. It felt like forever waiting for his reaction…

. . .

His little pupils slowly lit up with life and sparkled, his mouth curled into a loving smile, and he let out a very soft and content “Mmmmm…” as his cheeks puffed from him chewing the sandwich. I had done it, not only was I able to recycle something that would’ve otherwise went to waste, but someone, especially “Sad Eyes”, actually enjoyed eating it! My mouth slowly fell open as I kept watching him eating my sandwich. He was savoring each little bite, tasting every inch of it, even going as far as to lick his lips when he got part of it around his mouth. Without my notice, another Addison approached the two of us.

“Hey, did you make that? It looks pretty good.” they asked “Sad Eyes”, pointing at the sandwich.

I suddenly snapped out of my tranced stare, and looked up at the Addison, they were quite the tall fellow, a nice golden yellow color, and hair pointed back. They seemed like a laid back Addison as their uniform was slightly untucked and their bowtie was undone. There was no doubt about it, something about my unique sandwich creation was intriguing to Addisons, and yet they don’t know why besides the taboo stigma. “Sad Eyes” perked up and gulped the mouthful quite loudly before answering.

“U-Uhhh… N-No, I didn’t make this, I bought it at the kiosk.” He replied.

“Oh, okay. What’s the name of it? I might give it a try.” They questioned.

“T-The name?... I don’t remember if it had a name…” he noted, looking at the wrapper for any kind of symbol or identification.

“Well that’s okay, I’m sure I’ll be able to find it when I check out the store later.” They shrugged, until they were suddenly interrupted by another Addison.

“Is that made of eggs!? You wanna eat THAT!? Don’t you know you’re gonna look like some kinda MONSTER eating that!?” they yelled two rows down.

It was a dark red colored Addison, a lot shorter than the tall golden Addison, but still much taller than “Sad Eyes”. I recognized him from my homec class, he was often the one to start trouble with the professors as he comes from a line of very rich and successful makeup marketing Addisons, so he thinks he’s hot shit. Nevertheless, it was clear the golden Addison wasn’t going to take that crap from him.

“Hey c’mon, don’t knock it till you try it.” The golden Addison defended and watched the red Addison strut away with disgust.

“Thanks for telling me where you got it.” They commented, picking up their backpack and slinging it over their shoulders as they left for the door.

“Sad Eyes” shrugged and went back to munching on the sandwich, finishing the first slice in just a matter of seconds. He picked up the second piece and decided to take out the pouch of homemade ketchup that was also in the packaging, squirting a bit of it on one of the corners. When he took the first bite of the second slice, he practically melted in his seat. The taste must’ve been euphoric for him as I saw his pupils almost roll to the back of his head, and he let out a louder “Mmmmm…” as he chewed. I couldn’t stop watching him, there was just something so precious about it. At this point, every other Addison had left the room, it was just us two and the professor, but neither of us had noticed, we were both fixated on the experience. Suddenly the professor took a ruler and cracked it on one of the nearby tables, scaring the absolute piss out of us out of our trance.

“HEY! You need to clear out, the next class is coming in 10 minutes!” the professor yelled.

I stood up and bowed my head.

“S-sorry sir, we were just heading out!” I apologized and packed my notes.

“Sad Eyes” quickly stuffed the remainder of his sandwich into his backpack water bottle pocket and hastily packed his notes as well. He stepped down from his chair and the two of us walked out of the room, a bit shaken up from being yelled at. I wasn’t sure why, but we both stayed on the same path for at least 8 minutes, at first not saying a word. It wasn’t much of a surprise given the fact that we’re both a bit socially anxious, but eventually he broke the ice and stopped dead in his tracks. I didn’t realize he had stalled and I kept walking.

“Were… Were you watching me eat?” he queried, looking far up since I towered him.

I stopped and paused, my fist clenching a bit. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Shit, he noticed. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer him. Do I lie? Do I tell him the truth? I don’t think he’d forgive me if I told him I made that sandwich… Why?...

. . .

The recipe is a bit hard for others to understand.

. . .

The longer I waited to answer him, the less he was going to believe me, so I had to give him an answer quickly. But which answer do I give him!?

“I WASN’T!” I responded with great projection.

I covered my mouth and my pupils shrunk, my cheeks burning red hot, I wouldn’t have been surprised if there was steam coming off of me. I looked back down at him, and his eyes were squinted, glaring deep into my eyes.

“Look, if you wanted to know where I got the sandwich, you just had to ask. I’m not good at picking up context cues.” he lectured, taking the sandwich out of his water bottle packet.

I lowered my hands from my mouth and slowly peeked over, watching him take a bite of the half eaten sandwich slice. He continued to walk along the path, licking his lips to clear the mess of a bite he took. He took another big bite not long after, I began to wonder if he had enough room to fit the rest of it. I mean, it was a pretty big sandwich, especially in his little hands. My heart fluttered a bit when he made quite a loud gulp, finishing the mouthful he had. It sounded as though he was beginning to struggle putting the rest down. He surprised me by tossing the rest of it into his mouth, chewing it for a bit, pausing for a moment… He was staring right at me, I quickly averted my gaze, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He turned away, another loud gulp, polishing off the rest of the egg sandwich.

“There wasn’t a name or brand on this sandwich, I can’t tell you who I bought it from, only that it was at the kiosk..” he explained.

It was at that point that the two of us heard a faint little rumble below his chest, followed by “Sad Eyes” covering his mouth with a fist to conceal a burp. He didn’t really try to muffle it though, I felt my eyebrows raise, suppose I didn’t expect him to forget any manners.

“Sorry, that snack was a bit filling.” he pardoned himself, wiping his sweater clean of any stray crumbs.

“O-Oh, it’s fine, I get it.” I replied back, trying not to blush again.

I was still in awe that not only he bought one of my sandwiches without knowing who made it, but even enjoyed it, AND finished the whole thing! At his size, I thought he was going to end up having to give up halfway through, but he seemed to have enough space in his stomach to fit the whole thing without needing to settle down. I guess when you have to work harder to get around, your body’s gonna want a lot to eat. Now, there was a bigger question looming over my head…

Would he buy another?

A business only works if there are returning customers, right? Hopefully he enjoyed the flavor and size enough to want to buy another, I don’t see why not based on what I’ve witnessed in the past 20 minutes. I won’t be able to tell until we have class again tomorrow.

“Hey, I gotta go, okay?” he told me as he turned toward the left fork of the walking path.

“Huh? O-Oh, sure. Have a good day, I guess…” I answered back, turning to the right fork.

He headed towards the auto shop garage, he must’ve had a class in mechanics. I had to make my way toward my environmental class, which was the building two blocks down from our business building. I soon cleared my head of everything that happened that day and pushed into my archives. It was time for me to get on with my day, and hopefully, look forward to seeing if my idea would be appreciated by more than just one…

- - -

(9:30) Business Tactics 103 Auditorium on Monday:

Everyone had already sat down by the time I got to class. I quickly got to my seat up in the farthest row before the professor walked in and he shut the door. As I unpacked my notebook and pen, I looked over to see “Sad Eyes” chair was empty, not even his backpack was there…

Oh no… Did that mean?

N-No, there’s no way my egg sandwich would’ve done that to him, right?... Surely he was just running late, not stuck in bed with a stomach ache, right!?... It has been 3 days, food poisoning doesn’t last that long, does it? I swear I could feel sweat beading down my neck from stress.

“Now then class, today we’re going to talk about how to negotiate business territory disputes; how to compromise who sells what when two Addisons sell similar products of interest. Who’d like to tell the class-'' the professor spoke, before suddenly being interrupted.

Everyone turned to the door being swung open, revealing “Sad Eyes” covered in sweat too and deeply out of breath.

“S-Sorry I-I’m l_late… My… a-alarm clock b-broke…” he panted.

“Mr. Spamton, you’re 5 minutes late to class. This’ll be your final unexcused absence for this semester, got it?” the professor explained.

“Y-Yes Mr. Wardly…” he nodded, slowly making his way up to the seat next to me.

The whole class gave him a scowling glare as he stepped up to the 8th row. He sat down in his seat with a sigh, his backpack slowly sliding off his shoulder and falling to the floor with a loud thud. He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out his notebook and pencil, it was clear it was shoved in there without much care as a few of the pages were folded awkwardly. My god, “Sad Eyes” reeked of panic and for some reason, wet dog. I guess he was running too late to take a shower, or even brush his teeth for that matter. He must’ve run at least a few blocks just to get here, even with his short height, that’s quite a distance for any Addison to fully run; we’re not exactly athletes, unless you count the ones who love selling sports gear and equipment.

“As I was saying, today we are going to discuss territory negotiation; many of you will have similar product interests and thus, will be competing for prime real estate.” the professor continued, switching to the first slides of the lesson.

Urgh, I knew this lesson was going to suck, I’ve barely decided on what I want to sell besides those sandwiches. Nevertheless, I took down the notes as usual. I glanced over at “Sad Eyes” after ten minutes and could see that he had barely written down a thing, his eyes were deeply drooped, and his mouth hung slightly open. He didn’t look quite right, and that's saying something. But even on days that he didn’t get enough sleep, he wouldn’t ever be this shut down. It didn’t occur to me what was wrong with him until something in his behavior routine changed.

*Groowwrrlrll*

His eyes shot open like snapped window shades, and his mouth quickly shut, turning into a concerned frown. He had skipped breakfast; no wonder why he was acting so differently. I felt bad for him, I knew hunger was like mental torture to him, and now he has to face it for the whole class. His hunger must’ve echoed in the auditorium because a couple of the Addisons that sat near us glared up with irritation. I acted as blasé as I could, trying not to attract any attention to us, but poor “Sad Eyes” looked like he was about to start crying. However, it looked like he got some sort of idea, as he slowly bent over and rummaged through his bag quietly. I could see something glittering in one of the pockets, it appeared to be some kind of wrapper. He slowly pulled it out and it was revealed to be a protein bar. I had thought, ‘Oh good, he had a breakfast backup’, but he was running the risk of being caught. Our professor hated when students ate in his class, he believed it to be a “distraction”. I betcha it was because the professors were supposed to remain “professional” when teaching, and the traditional staff viewed eating as unprofessional. “Sad Eyes” began to open the wrapper, careful not to make any noise… That’s when it happened.

*Grrgglrll*

The sudden announcement of hunger in his body caused him to jolt and rip the wrapper open with a loud crackle. The professor immediately stared at him. He slammed his ruler down on the table. Oh shit, he looked pissed.

“Mr. Spamton, are you eating in my class!?” the professor yelled.

“U-Uh…” “Sad Eyes” stuttered.

Without hesitation, our professor began to storm up the steps with a trash can, and suddenly “Sad Eyes” began to shove the bar into his mouth, chewing aggressively. But it was too late. His cheeks were clamped tight by Mr. Wardly’s firm grip. He flinched as the professor’s grasp was sharp and painful. A little yelp escaped his mouth, along with the protein bar he was trying to sneak. The professor let go once he was satisfied all of it was dumped in the trash bin.

“Owww, that hurt…” he whimpered and rubbed his cheeks.

“No exceptions, Mr. Spamton! One more interruption and you’ll be suspended from my class for a week, are we clear?” he scolded.

“Sad Eyes” swallowed hard and nodded, still cringing from the pain in his cheeks.

“Good… Now, let’s get back to the lesson.” the professor announced, stepping down to the main floor, setting the trash can down and changing the powerpoint slide.

I looked over at “Sad Eyes” and he had his head down on the desk, buried in his crossed arms. I guess he had given up any chance of paying attention in class today, I don’t blame him, it’s hard to pay attention on an empty stomach. Not only that, but he was starting to become a class outcast as his hunger was causing other students to be distracted. Every couple of minutes his stomach rumbled, and alternating staredowns and shushes from nearby Addisons would soon follow. I guess the professor had noticed too, but decided to ignore him and continue with the class since he’d already paused twice to deal with “Sad Eyes” accordingly. It was so hard to watch him in this saddened state, I needed to do something without interrupting class. But, would he accept my help, or end up getting too flustered and end up getting suspended?...

Only one way to find out…

I slowly shuffled my seat over to him, and gently placed my hand on his back. At first he didn’t notice, until I then began to rub his back up and down. His head peered out above his crossed arms, his face was covered in tears. He looked up at me and softly sniffled, I closed my eyes and nodded, hoping he would pick up on my attempt to comfort him. I guess he got the message and laid his head down on his arms, taking some deep breaths and slowly relaxing. I continued to rub his back, switching to big circles and pressing deeper. His eyelids began to droop, slowly succumbing to the thoughtful gesture. This seemed to have also calmed his hunger as well since his belly had gone quiet for most of the lesson, he was still clearly uncomfortable from the empty sensation, but at least he was able to compose himself and avoid class suspension. I didn’t even care that I was missing out on writing notes from today’s lesson, I could easily ask someone for the notes, Addisons aren’t really known to gate-keep information unless they want to charge you for their “services”. Time flew by for me since I was so focused on comforting him, but I’m sure it felt like forever for him. Finally the bell for the end of the class had rung.

“That’s it for today’s lesson, make sure to read up on chapters 12-14 for this week’s quiz!” the professor announced.

“Sad Eyes” shot up from his moping position, and immediately snatched his bag, rummaging through it. I quickly pulled my hand back, satisfied he was feeling a bit better, and began to pack my notes, when I saw what he pulled out…

I couldn’t believe it.

Another one of my egg sandwiches! He ripped the packaging off and grabbed one of the slices, taking a deep bite, and slightly moaning in flavorful pleasure. His pupils rolled to the back of his head, and he leaned forward to make sure he didn’t drop any bits onto the floor. It must’ve been so relieving to finally eat something after having to go through the morning without any food. I leaned back in my seat and smirked, it felt really good to know that I helped him in his time of need, especially with something I helped save from being wasted. He soon finished his first slice and moved onto the next, taking his time with this one. As the students who stayed behind to eat a snack began to pack up to leave, more took notice of what “Sad Eyes” was eating. Four of them approached our desk, two curiously staring while the other two had grimaces on their faces.

“Hey, what’s that you’re eating?” The yellow one asked, pointing at the sandwich.

“That’s not eggs, is it?” The pink one butted in, their nose scrunched up.

“Eggs? From where?” The orange one questioned, tilting their head.

“Where’d you get it from?” The blue one curiously asked, peering over the other three.

“Sad Eyes” looked a bit overwhelmed, stammering a bit before answering them.

“I uh… got it from the kiosk. It’s actually pretty good.” he replied, taking another bite.

Suddenly the four of them turned to me and asked at the same time.

“Do YOU like them too?”

My face went frighteningly blank with fear and I gave them a hesitant nod, which seemed to have been enough for them to step back and talk amongst themselves. From their body language, I could tell that most of them were now debating their next move.

“Alright, now I gotta know what it’s like.” The orange one announced.

“Are you serious!? You’re gonna look like a crazy person!” The pink one interjected.

“Hey, you don’t know, man!” The yellow one countered.

“Wonder who made it…” The blue one wondered before following them outside.

I was in complete awe, I didn’t think “Sad Eyes” just eating my egg sandwiches would begin to spark such curiosity so quickly! Now in just two days, five different Addisons wanted to know where he got it, and maybe tomorrow they might give them a try! I quickly packed my notes back into my backpack and began to head for the door towards the student kiosk. I would need more ingredients and inventory if this was going to be the case. Part of me did want to stay and watch him finish his food, but I knew I would gain more suspicion if I was caught staring at him. I’m… still shy about revealing that I was the one who made them. When I arrived at the kiosk, I noticed there was a bit of a crowd surrounding my sandwich spot. I kept a low profile and put my hoodie up, hoping no one would approach me and come asking questions. As I grabbed what I needed, I couldn’t help but overhear some of the murmured conversations amongst everyone standing there.

“Who do you think made it?” some of them asked.

“Do you think it’ll actually taste good?” others wondered.

“Well it’s gotta be good if even that white Addison is eating them!” one piped in, it was the orange Addison from before.

“I dunno man, I mean… Eggs? Isn’t that kinda wrong?” a smaller green Addison pointed out.

“Fuck it, I’m getting one.” a rather large purple Addison huffed, grabbing one sandwich.

Suddenly the crowd lost their minds with a few of them gagging and the other half going “ooooo”, while some gave the Addison a pat on the back for being their guinea pig. I watched as the purple one purchased the sandwich and opened up the wrapper, taking a rather large bite while the others stood around them and stared with longing. After a couple chews, the purple Addison turned to everyone and gave them a nod, which sent them into an even bigger frenzy. To my surprise, three more of them grabbed a sandwich and stood in line to purchase them! Had I truly done it? Had I just changed the stigma of our people?... it was still only a small group, and those outside of our school had no idea this change of perspective was going on. I had a long way to go to change the minds of everyone around me. I stood in line and waited my turn, and each Addison that bought a sandwich quickly opened them up and had a taste. Some left before I could hear what their thoughts about them were, but the ones I could hear definitely seemed excited about its taste. If I was going to do this, I needed to make sure I kept up with the demand, so I decided to go ahead and purchase double what I bought last time. Once everything was paid for, I headed back to my dorm and got to work, making sure to follow the ratio of ingredients exactly. There was a bit of a problem, I was on the last of the eggs, I would need more if I needed to make more batches…

But that wouldn’t be a problem…

I know exactly where to get more…

- - -

(10:45) Business Tactics 103 Auditorium on Thursday:

“Now class, let’s go over the summary of what we learned today about balancing costs and profits.” our professor lectured, switching to the next powerpoint.

Word had got around about the egg sandwiches, and it seemed like a fourth of the class had bought one today. I was so excited to see all my hard work pay off, and watch as that trash barrel be barely halfway filled. It was so hard to stay still in my seat, I was so tempted to get up and dance a jig, but I knew I’d both look like a fool, and probably be suspended by our professor. As I finished up the notes I needed for that day, I glanced over at “Sad Eyes” to see what he was up to in terms of his mood today. To my surprise, he had quite a bit of notes written down, he was even on his second page. In the months that we’ve sat together in class, I had never seen him make two pages of notes, but there it was. Perhaps he was just impatient and really looking forward to his midmorning snack, which resulted in his attention span increasing. All I could do was wait for his signal that class was almost over…

. . .

“What are you doin’?” “Sad Eyes” asked me with eyes squinted in suspicion.

Oh fuck. He noticed I was staring at him. What should I do?

“U-Uh, I- Y-you got a pencil I can borrow?” I stammered.

“You… have one, in your hand?” he pointed out.

Dammit. I could already feel my face beginning to burn hot with embarrassment. I had to think of something else.

“A-Actually uh, w-what time is it?” I questioned, barely even able to squeak out the words.

“Time? Uhh… it’s-”

*Grroowwrrlrll*

Five minutes left, on time like always. Oof, “Sad Eyes” didn’t look so good now. He stuttered his words as he told me it was 10:55, his hands shakily balled into fists, his teeth slowly clamped together, his shoulders hunched, and his eyes strained to stay open. His cheeks, usually rosy to begin with, flushed a deep hot red as sweat began to trickle down the side of his head. As much as I wanted to offer him some words of empathy, I felt my voice shut down, and I had no choice but to turn back and face the front of the class, leaving “Sad Eyes” to deal with his inner demons on his own. I made sure I wasn’t turned towards the front enough to where I couldn’t glance over at him, but enough to where it didn’t look like I was spying on him. I watched as he jolted back to facing forward, and scribbling down notes aggressively. His pupils had shrunk to tiny dots, and his legs were curled up under his chair towards his body. Yeesh, he looked like he had been thrown off a building. He was that tense. I struggled to keep my eyes off of him, but there was such a drive in me to want to just scoop him up and cuddle him until-

Wait… What am I thinking? Without realizing it at first, the bell had rung for the end of class.

“That’s it for today’s lesson, don’t forget we have our big quiz tomorrow, and I expect you all to be prepared!” our professor announced.

“Sad Eyes” quickly broke from his concentration and began to rummage through his bag, pulling out that familiar package. Suddenly I began to hear not just him opening up his sandwich, but others as well. There were three, no, five, no!... there were a dozen other students with the same egg sandwich as him! One at a time, they took their first bite, and there was a chorus of delicious smiles, chubby cheeks, and plenty of soft “mmmm”s from each and every one of them! I felt my little digital heart flutter with pure joy and pride, watching every Addison happily munch at something I created to not only nourish them, but to help our city from the wrath of pollution. As I began to pack up my things, I noticed the four Addisons that approached us the other day had stayed behind in class… TO EAT MY EGG SANDWICHES!?

“C’mon Click, take a bite, it’s good!” the yellow one teased, pushing a slice near the pink one’s mouth.

“Stop it Vid, I’m not eating it!” Click yelled, smacking Vid’s hand away.

“It’s better than you thought, right Banner?” the orange one asked the blue one.

“Definitely, Survey. You’re really missing out, Click.” Banner smirked, taking another bite.

“ALRIGHT! Alright, fine! I’ll try a bite just to shut you three up!” Click agreed, snatching the slice from the yellow one’s hand.

The five of us all watched with awe as Click reluctantly took a bite of the sandwich slice. He slowly took a few cautious chews before swallowing, his face crumpled with embarrassment.

“HA! Admit it, you like it, Click!” Vid shouted, pointing a finger in Click’s face.

“Okay okay, it tastes fine! Are you happy now!?” Click roared with humiliated rage as he stormed toward the exit.

“HEY, WAIT FOR US!” Vid yelled, grabbing his supplies in a hurry and running after him.

The other two Addisons calmly packed their stuff before following the two to the exit. I looked over at “Sad Eyes” to see if he had finished his snack, and he was on his last piece. God, his little chubby cheeks were so charming. I finished packing my supplies as well and sat back down next to him, giving him a bit of a smug grin.

“You’ve sure taken a shine to those egg sandwiches.” I told him.

“Heh heh, yeah, they’re just so good and so convenient! Plus it’s a big portion for the price, you get a good deal out of them.” he replied, shrugging.

“Seems like everyone else in the class noticed their value too, it’s a hit.” I chuckled, putting my backpack on. “C’mon, we should head out now.”

“Alright, I’ll walk with you.” he agreed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and grabbing the rest of his snack.

The two of us headed for the door and outside to the rest of the campus. Falling leaves of multiple colors scattered at our feet. it was getting colder, winter must be close now, especially if our finals were approaching. It felt good to know that the two of us were just one exam away from our last year on campus. I looked over at “Sad Eyes” and he was just about finishing his snack, giving a fuzzy staticed hiccup. The two of us laughed as we headed back to our dorms, saying goodbye to each other before parting ways. We didn’t realize it at the time, but this became our own little routine for the rest of our time together in academy; go to class, watch “Sad Eyes” eat his snack, watch as more and more of the class switching to my egg sandwiches without knowing who made them, and us walking down the paths together. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into the next year of our training. Sadly the two of us were never paired up in the same class again, but I could still see him walking down the road towards the mechanics, he must’ve wanted to pursue that as his chosen career. Meanwhile I had begun to attend some environmental courses to better learn how to utilize every material around me to my advantage, and turn our pollution problem around. It was not the most praising course to be taking, but I took pride in the path I chose. Though, it was nice to see that “Sad Eyes”’s influence with my sandwiches didn’t fade after the next year began, some of the Addisons in my classes were eating them for breakfast or snack. And of course, I always saw him with one, munching away on his way towards his dorm. Once the sales of the sandwiches leveled out to a reasonable estimation of quantity, I was able to better focus on my studies, I surely wasn’t going to be able to pursue my dreams if my grades were slacking. I guess you don’t really know how fast time passes when you’re working hard, because before I knew it…

- - -

Graduation Day.

Man, it felt good to finally be free of all those boring lessons. I’m sure “Sad Eyes” was also relieved to be away from some of those shitty professors, and could now pursue his career just like everyone else in our class. With my cap on my head, the tassel was turned, and I stood up to shake the hand of the dean and receive my diploma. A few moments later, “Sad Eyes” stepped onto the stage, and did the same, it was kinda cute getting to witness the dean kneeling down to even shake his hand at his height. There were faint murmurs of backtalk in the crowd of Addisons as he walked on stage. They talked behind his back when he arrived at the academy, and talked behind his back as he graduated, typical. Once the ceremony was over, all of us marched out of the auditorium with smiles and pride. As much as I wanted to stay behind and congratulate him myself, I had no time to waste. The minute after the ceremony, I had set up an appointment to meet up with an Addison that specializes in leasing building spaces. There was a certain space that I found in the paper that I just HAD to have to start my little recycling studio in! With my diploma in hand, I rushed down the streets of Cyber City and past all the traffic to the vacant building, where he was waiting for me, suit, tie and all. I probably looked like a fool running up to him in my cap and gown, but I had no time to change into my street clothes, or even something a bit more formal.

“Hey there Phoenix, glad you could make it on such short notice! I’m Seamus, nice to meet you.” Seamus greeted with a handshake.

“Hey Seamus, thanks for agreeing to meet with me, I was really hoping to put an offer down for the place as soon as I could see it with my own eyes.” I replied.

“Oh definitely! Are you familiar with the building’s features? Lemme show you around.” Seamus insisted, leading me inside.

My pupils grew wide as I scanned the area with much giddiness. It was everything I had hoped for and more, so much space to work in, so many lights to brighten the place up, and tons of storage room to organize my findings! It even had a little bar I could sell my sandwiches from! The place just screamed perfection, there was no doubt about it, I had to have it!

“So, what do you think? Wanna place an off-” Seamus asked before I had cut him off.

“I’ll take it!” I shouted, throwing a stack of dark dollars I had in my pocket.

“Heh heh heh, excellent. I’ll prepare the paperwork…” Seamus chuckled, slowly putting my money into his suit coat.

As much as I was aware of how quick Seamus was to ask an offer from me, I still had fallen for the oldest Addison trick in the book; sell with confidence. And that was it, I was now the proud renter of this building. God, I wanted to get to work so fast, I don’t care if I have to sleep in here to do so! During the next hour, I was rushing back and forth from my workshop to my dorm, grabbing all my belongings, and tossing them into one of the storage closets. Since I’m no longer a student at the academy, my stuff has to leave the dorm, and I am too lazy and excited to drive it back to my apartment. If I needed to sleep in my new closet in order to get my studio ready for business as soon as possible, then so be it! Soon all my belongings were in my new studio, and it was time to begin shaping my career!

This place needs a fun paint job, maybe some pink over there, and a tie dye turquoise wall over there, and I definitely need some string lights around the bar! I need some furniture too, maybe a couch over there, and some high stools by the windows so people can look outside and sit, and-

Wait… Where am I gonna get all the stuff?

I had to pause and consider where I was really going to start, I had just spent all the money I made from selling those sandwiches to get this place, and I’m back to square one in terms of ideas. I can’t afford any furniture or paint!...

Or can I?

My recycling intuition was kicking in. What was I thinking? I got a degree specializing in repurposing, use your creativity! Yeah, screw BUYING new furniture, I’ll make it myself! Where would be the best place for materials? Aha! Of course, the academy dumpster! All the rich family Addisons always threw out the belongings they didn’t want to commute home with them, there’s bound to be tons of good stuff for me to use! Locking up my studio, I ran back to the academy and wasted no time getting my hands dirty. Luckily when students are moving into dorms, they provide carts to help move larger possessions, so I took advantage of one and used it to tote everything I found in the bins. There was everything you could imagine; old lamps, chairs, pretty carpets, tons of string lights, paper decorations, cans of old paint, and even pallets of wood I could use to craft the furniture with! The upholstery on the chairs I could use to make the couches comfy, and really add some pop and color to my studio. With my new inventory, I rolled everything back to my studio, making sure no one caught me borrowing one of the carts. That whole night, I got to work assembling my new accents, painting the walls to my liking, and setting up the fridges and kitchen. In just a couple days, my place was sparkling gorgeous, filled with products to sell, and ready for business! Once I finished up the tiny details and gave the place a good sweep, I flipped the open sign for the first time, and waited for the crowds to come flooding in…

And waited…

. . .

Hrmm, maybe I should do some advertising.

- - -

“Phoenix’s Recycled Fashion and Furniture: The Only Place In Town That’s Honest About Selling You Pure Garbage!... No, that sucks, why would I tell them the stuff’s made of garbage before they even buy it?” I mumbled to myself, tossing another crumpled paper into the recycle bin.

It has been a few days since I first opened my new shop, and so far there hasn’t been a single customer. Perhaps it was because on the inside it looked like a fun place to peruse and partake, but on the outside, it just looked like some shitty warehouse that a drifter was sleeping in! I spent so much time making the inside and my products spiffy, but took no time to plan out where I was going to start roping in customers. How do other Addisons get their products in the public’s faces; billboards? Can’t afford one of those. Posters? I think I need a permit before putting those out. Free samples? I don��t exactly have furniture that can be given away like- wait. Free samples of my sandwiches, of course! Addisons love free food, well, mainly anything free for that matter, but especially food since that means they don’t have to eat or spend the money they earned to eat that day. I rushed over to my shop’s bar and pulled out a few of the sandwiches from the fridge, cutting them into little finger sammies. After arranging them nicely on a plate, I put on a cute little apron and stepped outside, holding the tray out for anyone that passed by to see. It didn’t take longer than 2 minutes for one Addison to grow curious enough to approach.

“Hey, what you got there?” they asked.

“These are my special sandwiches, care for a taste? They’re also on sale in a larger portion!” I explained to them, holding the tray closer to them.

“Ehh, why not? It’s free.” they shrugged, and took one piece off the tray and popped it into their mouth.

About two chews in, I could see their pupils dilate and their mouth sides curl up. It looked as though they had just tasted a bite of heaven.

“Whoa, you made these yourself?” they questioned, their face beaming with excitement.

“You bet! Only $4.99 for the whole thing!” I smiled, waving my hand toward my building’s door.

“Alright, I’ll take one!” they said, holding out five dark dollars and stepping inside.

I led them in and took out a whole sandwich from the fridge, handing it to them in exchange for the cash. My first ever sale! Once they received their food, they also began to look around at the furniture with such wide eyes and genuine interest. Other Addisons outside started to peer into my windows, wondering what the first Addison was doing in there. Slowly they entered one at a time, taking a good look at my products. Who knew the power of free stuff could drive in so many customers? By the end of that hour, more than half of them decided to purchase something, whether it be a sandwich, or one of the chairs I reupholstered the other day, I had made over $50. I couldn’t believe I had made this much money without spending a dime on any of the materials! Well, I guess I did have to buy the condiments for the sandwiches, and the electricity for the building, and the plumbing… but you get the idea. If I was going to keep up these sales, I would need some higher quality items. It was time to diversify my inventory!

- - -

And with that, we get to the point in the story where we are now… I had spent a few months making new kinds of sandwiches and finding higher end furniture and jewelry to restore. However, I got into a bit of trouble going through the Queen’s bins looking for some broken royal furniture, she recently had an eviction and I was hoping to find some of what they might have thrown out. I didn’t get so lucky, and was caught by the Swatchlings. Heh, word got around that I was dumpster diving, and now business has been a bit slower. Y’know, sometimes I do wonder what happened to “Sad Eyes”, I heard rumors that he wasn’t doing so hot either. I wish I could see him just one more-

*knock knock*

I turned my head toward the source of the knocking, and who do I see?... It was “Sad Eyes”! I was in shock, how did he know where to find me!? There’s no way I could be dreaming this, right!? I stepped over to my door and slowly opened it.

“...Spamton? Is… that you?” I confronted him.

Good lord, he looked like shit. Observing him from top to bottom, his hair was heavily dyed back and very greasy, with little bits of wrappers sticking out. He was wearing fogged up pink and yellow glasses, his eyes behind them just as sunken and dark as I remember. His cheeks were bony, yet still faintly rosy. His white sweater was stained with what I could only describe as dumpster juices, and his black coat had several popped seams, exposing his sweater's long sleeves through the holes. His body was rather thin underneath the puffy clothing, and his legs seemed to be struggling to hold himself up. He was also missing some pants, I wasn’t sure where he lost them, but it was clear they were missing for a long time, his legs were covered in filth. It was such a sad sight to see my old friend in. After a moment, he finally spoke.

“HEY THERE [loyal customer], FANCY [I see you] IN THESE [parts and services]!” he answered.

I gasped, kneeling down to his level.

“Spamton, wh-what happened to your voice? And… where have you been? You look terrible…” I asked.

He laughed maniacally, it took me aback a bit.

“I USED TO BE THE [talk of the town] THE [ultimate life form] UNTIL I WAS CUT FROM MY [Life Alert: Call Now!] AND KICKED OUT OF THE [Queen’s Gambit]! THEY THREW ME IN THE [lava] AS MY [life sentence] AND MY [$99.99 speaker] HAS BEEN [broke] EVER SINCE!” he replied.

“Oh my god, YOU were the one that was evicted? That’s awful… Do you have a new place to stay?” I wondered.

“MY [home sweet home] IS OVER BY THE [trash zone], IT’S NOT SO BAD ONCE YOU GET OVER THE [hopelessness]!” he smiled unnaturally.

“You’re staying in the trash? Spamton, that’s not good for you, you need to get back on your feet… But, I can’t afford to help you find a new home, I’m only making enough to support myself…” I told him with worry.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY [inventory] TO [nom nom]?” he requested, his arms stretched towards me.

“What did you say? It’s a bit hard to understand you.” I implored him, holding his face in my hands.

*Grrrggrrlll*

“Sad Eyes” looked down at his noisy belly and I checked my watch.10:55, hmph, just like old times, his stomach always knew when to signal him at the exact same time everyday. It should’ve occurred to me earlier that if he was living in the garbage, he wasn’t going to be eating regularly and therefore might be starving enough to look for free samples from stores around him. Just like years ago, his expression changed to a more worried look and his shoulders tensed. His glasses even took on a greyer and fuzzier appearance. He looked a lot more miserable about his hunger in this condition. But to my surprise, he quickly jerked his head back up and disturbingly smiled wide.

“SORRY FOR THAT [surround sound] I HAVEN’T [wined and dined] IN [9999999] DAYS! YOUR [homemade storefront site] CLAIMS TO HAVE [$3.99 lunchables] TO SELL. I’VE COME TO [brand new offer] YOU SOME [fabulous products] IN EXCHANGE FOR ONE [Chicken Little] SANDWICH!” he explained, rubbing his belly with one hand and reaching into his pocket and pulling out an old battery with the other hand.

I stared at the battery in his hand, god he looked pathetic trying to swindle me with literal garbage. Still, there was something slightly charming about it, he sure had some guts trying to make the trade a reality. I shook my head and chuckled.

“Spamton, y-you don’t need to offer me any… “products”, if you needed something to eat, you should’ve told me right away.” I told him, slowly taking the battery out of his hand and putting it on the counter.

I’ll have to remember to slip that battery back into his pocket…

I stood up and ran over to my storage fridge, and grabbed a tray of my premade egg sandwiches. When I turned around, I didn’t realize he had followed me over, and he immediately grabbed the sandwich off the tray and without even removing the wrapper, took a large bite out of it. I was a bit startled, his mouth looked like a snake unhinging its jaw to eat something way too big for him. In fact, other parts of his body looked like it was moving with hinges, bolts, and springs. There was something about him that no longer looked natural, almost like he was made of some sort of clothing material. It didn’t take me long to see that he had completely transformed from a corporeal Addison to some kind of puppet, complete with plushy fingers and stubs for feet. If he was hungry, then he must still be still intact like a normal Addison on the inside, I doubt puppets would need to eat if he had completely changed. He sat down against the bar to enjoy his sandwich, and I slowly slid down to sit next to him. My digital heart felt achy seeing him in such a sorry state.

“Jeez, you must’ve been starving… You can have as many as you need, I know you used to have quite the appetite back in the academy.” I told him, watching him finish the first slice with a chomp.

“THANKS FOR YOUR [generosity], I’LL MAKE SURE TO [stock up] FOR THE [impending doom] THAT IS [winter sale: buy now!]” he stuttered, grabbing another sandwich from the tray.

Something felt… Off. Very off. Normally it made my body tingle with joy to observe him eating my sandwiches, but today it didn’t feel quite right. I didn’t feel any vicarious pleasure, I felt majorly uncomfortable. Maybe it was just seeing him eat in such desperation, or maybe it was just hard to see him in this bodily condition. But in the back of my mind, I knew what was truly bothering me.

I had never told him the truth about what he was eating.

. . .

I think it’s time to tell him.

. . .

“Spamton, listen… There's something I need to tell you about those sandwiches you’ve been eating.” I mumbled, finding it difficult to confront him directly.

“HAHEAHEAHEAHA! WHAT DID YOU WANT TO [confess thy sins] about YOUR [protein packed snack]?” he asked, his head jerking to face me with an unnerving smile.

I took a deep breath.

“Spamton… the eggs in these sandwiches…” I hesitated.

“YES [Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney]?”

. . .

“Are from me.” I confessed.

. . .

“Sad Eyes”’s glasses slowly went grey and fuzzy again, and his head slowly looked toward the half eaten sandwich he was holding. Oh god, is he gonna be furious at me? Should I have buried the secret in my grave? Is he gonna get sick? Maybe I should apologize to-

“YOU MADE THESE [$4.99 easter eggs] YOURSELF?” he questioned, turning his head quickly to look at my eyes directly.

“U-Uh, y-yeah… Listen, I’m sorry that I never told you about-” I started, but I was cut off.

“THAT’S REALLY [cooldown commence], I WISH I COULD DO THAT WITH MY [PiPiS], BUT THEY’RE [danger: flammable]! IT WOULD’VE CERTAINLY [help wanted] WITH MY [act fast]!” he praised, smiling widely and taking another bite.

“What!? Y-You’re not mad they eggs are from me?” I asked, completely gobsmacked.

“NO. IN FACT, I WOULDN’T MIND [another one], ESPECIALLY KNOWING NOW THEY’RE [locally grown] AND [health facts]!”

“B-But, even with our society’s taboo against it… You don’t care how you’ll look eating it?”

“NO.”

Wow. Even after all the years of judgment he got as an Addison who defied societal expectations and was abandoned by the world and left to rot in the garbage, he still doesn’t care about what others think of him, even if it means… staying in the garbage forever… Man, his self esteem puts my self doubts about my business to shame.

“...I could really learn a thing or two about confidence from you, Spamton. You were a blue moon Addison, and yet walked your own path despite the pressure…”

I shifted a bit closer to him.

“Y’know, I don’t have enough to offer you a place to stay, but I could certainly use a hand around the shop if you need some work. I’d be willing to offer you free meals everyday and half of the tip jar as payment. Maybe overtime you could even earn enough to get back on your feet, what do you say?” I offered him.

“A [once in a lifetime opportunity]!? HOW COULD I [terminate] THAT OFFER!? YOU’VE GOT A [deal or no deal]!” he shouted, holding his hand out for a handshake.

I smiled and took his hand, he wasted no time taking his other hand and shaking my hand with both of his quite aggressively.

“Heh heh heh, glad to hear! Now, we should probably get you washed up before you start. I don’t exactly want you handling anything edible without being at least squeaky clean. I'm sure you’re looking forward to a nice warm shower and new clothes. Lemme check my storage shed and see if I have anything in your size.” I announced, heading towards the back of my boutique.

“[Hochi Mama]! [free samples], A [brand new] WARDROBE. AND A [promotion]!? THIS IS MY [Lucky Lottery] DAY!” he squealed, skipping behind me.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, ‘You gave a job to someone you barely knew from college and might rob you blind when you turn your back for one second and make off with your entire life savings!?’

Yes. Yes I did. Because he was, and still is, my best egg sandwich customer.

Now, would you care for an egg sandwich?

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