Chapter Text
Elliott Witt, labeled many times as “the most charming man in the world” and the leading actor in dozens of romantic comedies and action movies, was now completely alone and a failure to even himself.
“Piece of shit! You never even cared about anything except yourself! Get out!” His now-ex slammed the door in front of him.
He stood there silently as lightning crackled above his head and illuminated the sky. He slowly grabbed his soaked backpack from the ground and began to walk in a seemingly random direction.
“This is gonna ruin my hair,” he muttered.
The realization that he was alone once again had not set in. This happened all the time. People got bored of him, left him, forgot about him… he tried to ignore the fact that he would end up in a depressed phase by the end of the week. It always happened. He was, as he dubbed himself, the forgettable, annoying, fraud of a person named Elliott Witt, and he was sure everyone else felt the same way about him.
Every building down the street was closed, their lights shut off. Elliott compulsively shivered as the rain trickled down the back of his hoodie.
Where could he go?
None of his “friends” would be willing to let him stay on their couches. Forget renting a hotel room; he was broke. His mom lived forever away, and she had her own problems to deal with other than her failure of a son. She couldn’t even remember his name, half the time. He didn't even bring up the thought of asking his brothers for help.
Elliott scowled to himself. “Nice fucking job, Elliott,” he said. “Why don’t you make up another irresistible personality so that you can scam a place to stay for the night off of someone?”
As he walked down the dark, wet street, he saw a light on in a distant shop window. He had never been this far down the street; he had no interest in the shops in the area. But maybe he could use his charming flirts to get a place to sleep and get out of the storm.
He approached the store, and squinted at the sign above the door. “Töfrandi Books”, it read. A foreign book store. Great. He hoped that the owner knew at least a bit of English.
Inside, a lamp on the counter was on, but no one was behind the counter. The sign on the window said they were open. Maybe the owner was off pissing around in the back.
Raising a hand, Elliott knocked on the door. He heard what sounded like a bird - a live bird? - cawing inside, and a figure popped their head out from behind a tall bookshelf.
“Come in,” the owner yelled to Elliott.
Elliott slowly turned the knob, then shut the door behind him. Water dripped from his clothes onto the carpet, and he quickly stepped off of it onto the hardwood floor. “I'm sorry,” Elliott said.
The owner had stepped out from behind the bookshelf and shook their head. “It is fine. It will dry up quick.”
Elliott glanced at the owner of the shop after hearing their lilting accent. The first thing he noticed was their thick, burgundy hair. It hung around their shoulders, and there were a couple of small braids tucked behind their ears.
He then noticed the assortment of scars that crossed their nose and cheeks. The light markings contrasted with their darker, hazel skin tone.
“It is extremely rude to stare.” They squinted their dark, enigmatic eyes at him.
Elliott jumped at their sharp tone, then cleared his throat. “Uh, I got caught in the storm.”
“I can tell.”
Wow, they’re vocal about what they’re thinking. At least they speak English. Elliott shrugged uncomfortably. “Can I chill here? It’s pretty dreary and cold outside, and your shop just looked so warm and cozy…”
They glanced up at down at Elliott, as if they were inspecting him.
“Checking me out?” He purred.
Rolling their eyes, the shop owner turned to the counter and picked up a book. “I assume you want a place to stay for the night, and not just to chill here.”
Elliott furrowed his brows. Could they hear his fight with his ex from all the way down the street? “How’d you know?”
They motioned towards the backpack. “You have a lonely, desperate energy coming from you.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it quickly. They're not wrong about that, he thought to himself. “So can I stay?”
“You are the type to think he can get anything he wants, right?” They seemed to have a small smirk on their face.
Elliott scoffed. What is their problem? “Uh, no. Why do you think you know so much about me?”
“I don’t know anything about you. I am only assuming.”
Assuming makes an ass out of you and me. He was about to walk right out of that shop and try to find another place he could stay. But thunder clapped outside, and the lights flickered within the store. Sighing, Elliott held out his hand. “I’m sorry. We got off on the wrong foot. I’m Elliott.”
The owner walked closer to him and gingerly took his hand. “You can call me Bloth.” As they stepped back, a raven flew from out of nowhere and landed on Elliott’s shoulder.
He jumped and covered his already-messy hair. “W- why is there a whole ass crow inside?!”
Bloth held their arm out, and the raven flew to their hand. “This ‘whole ass crow’ is Artur. He is actually a raven, and he is my pet.”
Elliott bashfully looked away. “I, uh… that’s cool. Didn’t know ravens could be pets.” They won't let you stay if you keep being this rude.
“Mhm,” they replied.
An awkward silence formed between them, and Elliott glanced around the room. He hadn’t noticed it before, but there were plants everywhere. He spotted a large cow skull hanging on the wall, and what seemed to be a real human skull on the counter. He shivered a bit.
“You can stay. I live above the shop; there is a guest bedroom that you can use.”
Elliott raised his eyebrows. An effortless victory! I didn’t even have to flirt with them. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He flashed them one of his grins that made his many fans swoon.
Bloth had already turned around and was flipping through the pages of a book.
The lights flickered once more above them, and Elliott yawned. “So, uh, how do I get upstairs?”
“In the back,” Bloth said, disinterested. “There is a staircase.”
Oh, so now they don’t have anything to say, no jabs at my attractive personality? He kept his mouth shut, for he didn’t want them to change their mind about letting him stay.
As he walked into the back of the store, past bookshelves full of old novels and over the tribal rugs, he became a bit intrigued. Exactly what kind of bookstore does this person have?
He slowly climbed the stairs and realized he had never asked them where the guest bedroom was. Time to do some snooping. He had a valid reason, albeit not very moral. They were too lazy to show him where to go, he assumed.
At the top of the stairs, Elliott felt a gust of wind as the black bird flew past him and perched on a table in the living room. It glared at him, and Elliott felt his stomach drop, although he did not know why.
“Scary bird…” he mumbled. “How about you show me where this guest bedroom is?” Elliott began to walk down a hallway.
“Not that way.”
Elliott jumped and quickly turned around. “I knew it! I knew it. You’re some kind of shapeshifter and you and your owner are going to sacr- sa- sacrifi-”
He saw Bloth standing at the top of the staircase, giving him a look as if they were mocking him. “Artur can’t talk, you know.”
“God, I knew that. I just…” Elliott exhaled sharply. “You scared me.”
Bloth walked over to a door on the opposite end of the room and opened it. “Here.”
“Are you going to sleep, too?” Elliott stood at the doorway and leaned against the wall, his arm positioned above Bloth’s head. “I’m sure there’s enough room on the bed for two.”
They moved away from him. “No, I have to finish a few things down in the shop.”
Make a spell to kill me, you mean? Elliott repositioned the backpack that slung over his shoulder. “Uh, thank you, Bl- Blo-”
“Bloth.”
“Thanks, Bloth.”
With a small, polite smile, they went back downstairs, Arthur on their shoulder.
Elliott closed the door and finally took a good look at the room. Simple and modern compared to the shop downstairs. A thin layer of dust was settled on the top of the vanity. He didn't expect them to have many guests. Maybe that skull downstairs was from their last guest.
Hastily, Elliott dropped his backpack onto the ground and began to remove his moist clothes. With only his boxers on, he turned and looked at his taut biceps in the mirror. He traced the outline of his pecs with his index finger. “Incredibly handsome, like always,” he whispered.
And full of yourself, he added in his head. So full of yourself that you expect everything to work out for you. Everyone to like you.
Elliott scowled at his reflection in the mirror and crawled into the bed. His sore muscles were immediately relaxed as he pulled the heavy comforter over himself.
He felt a bit guilty for being so bitter to Bloth earlier. They had, in fact, offered a place for him to stay for the night. He snuggled deeper into the warm blanket and focused on the gentle patter of rain against the window to help him fall asleep.
Suddenly, a pain grew inside his heart. He realized, finally, that he was once again alone in the world, and it was all his fault.
Yep, here it is. He pressed his palms against his eyes. Realizing how badly I fucked up.
His ex wasn’t even that bad of a person. His name was… Ah, shit, I can’t even remember. How long had they even dated? It didn’t matter. Elliott got affection and attention from another human being, and that’s all he wanted. And a good bang, if Elliott begged him enough.
What kind of life was this? When was the last time he was seriously happy? Happy with himself? Genuine and truthful with himself and another person?
He couldn’t lie; sometimes he wanted a real partner that he could be honest with and rely on. That he could be himself with.
Oh, God, how he hated this act.
With a lump forming in his throat, he fell into a dreamless sleep.