Work Text:
Nobody shops at Mysticisms.
Out of all the stores in Amnesty Mall, there are maybe a handful of people that come in a day. Few people stop in, and even fewer actually buy something.
Indrid doesn’t mind it—in fact, it’s very much preferred that his workplace of choice be an unpopular stop.
It’s a combination of bad location, bad theming, and bad décor. To be fair, it’s hard to salvage anything when your store is off the beaten path, wedged between a dead end and a display car that hasn’t moved once in the three years he’s worked there, but the choice of minimal lighting always makes them look like they’re closed.
Once again, Indrid doesn’t mind. It’s much easier to sneak in some naps in a store that has the fluorescent lights permanently off, replaced instead by artfully placed candles, fairy lights, and the too-infrequent-to-pull-back-from-the-vibe glow-in-the-dark sticker.
It’s not that Indrid is bad at his job—but he isn’t exactly great at it either. His customer service isn’t great, and most customers walk in to find him asleep at the counter. The only reason he’s still got a job is because it’s a niche job and no one can read tarot cards like Indrid can. He still refuses to tell his coworkers the specifics that make his method so accurate, mainly for job security.
Indrid finishes his third lap around the store, straightening a row of crystals for the fourth or fifth time.
For whatever reason, he’s feeling restless. Well, that’s not entirely true. He knows the exact reason. He’s probably going to regress the second he gets off work.
Indrid dares a peek out of the windows. They’re tinted, so it’s harder to see out than it is to see in, but he can still see Leo working the front booth of the carousel.
He only volunteers on weekends, so Indrid doesn’t see him much, but his presence is always a relief.
The small part of Indrid wonders if Leo would help him onto the carousel like he does with the little kids. Indrid would never have the courage to try, of course, but it’s a thought that niggles in the back of his mind.
He’s so wrapped up that he doesn’t even hear their only customer of the day enter. Though, he certainly hears her a few seconds later.
“DUCK NEWTON!” Minerva yells by way of greeting. Indrid jumps, nearly shattering one of the fifty dollar crystals on accident.
That wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened, and he’s found he’s able to replace them with rock candy without many people noticing, but it’s an anxiety attack he’d rather avoid.
Minerva doesn’t mean to raise her voice—that’s just her normal speaking voice, Indrid has learned—but try telling his regressed side that.
Suddenly his ears are ringing, and every little sound is way too much. He fights the urge to clap his hands over his ears or dive for his headphones. It’s not that he even wants either of those, it’s just that he needs some sort of good noise to overpower the bad noise.
Duck pops up from the back room, where Indrid can only assume he was playing his PS2. “Hey, Min. Five o’clock already?”
“It is, Duck Newton!” Minerva says, less loud but with an equal amount of projection. “I am very excited to meet the five men you talk so much of!”
“No, the place is called Five Guys, Min,” Duck explains, chuckling. “We’re not meeting anyone. We’re just going out for burgers.”
Indrid tries to block out the rest of their conversation, which is easier said than done considering who he’s talking about. He does another lap around the store, this time stopping to reorganize the sets of incense, and takes as many deep breaths as he can.
The two leave quickly enough—or maybe Indrid just dissociates long enough for it to seem fast—but he then becomes aware of the second presence right beside him.
“Hey, Indrid!” Leo greets. His voice is cheerful but soft, blending easily with the soft ambient music they have playing on a loop here. “How goes the tarot?”
Indrid shakes his head. The room is too cold. “I hope you didn’t drop by for a reading.”
“Well—no. I…” Leo trails off. “I saw Minerva come in and I thought I might as well check up on you.”
It was no secret that Minerva and Indrid meshed like oil and water. Indrid—especially when regressed but also just in general—preferred the quiet, and Minerva did fewer things better than disrupt the quiet.
Of course, Minerva didn’t know any of this. At the most, she probably wondered why Indrid was always pacing around like an anxious weirdo whenever she was around.
“You want a ride home tonight?” Leo offers, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket.
Indrid nods. He usually takes the bus home, but he can tell he wouldn’t be able to take it for long. And without a ride, he’d probably be spending the next hour or so trying to find somewhere quiet to hide before he could brave the bus. A ride from Leo sounds so much better.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” Indrid says, painfully aware of the smallness in his voice and the shaking in his hands. “Aubrey should be here in a little bit.”
Leo nods. “Sure thing. You know where to find me.”
It took Indrid embarrassingly long to realize Leo’s love language is space. That’s how he shows his affection—by offering help but not hovering, by letting you come to him. Indrid still isn’t sure if it’s because he never had that kind of space or if it’s just a natural instinct of his to hover. Maybe it’s both.
Thankfully, Aubrey comes by to pick up her shift soon, and Indrid is able to excuse himself to the parking lot. The activity is quickly ramping up, the lot filling with people just getting off work, but thankfully Leo parks away the crowds.
Leo smiles at him as he approaches, dropping his cigarette and putting it out under his heel. “There’s my lil man.”
Indrid rubs his eyes and nods. He could go for a nap about now. With his heated blanket. Or maybe his weighted blanket. What if he put his heated blanket under his weighted blanket?
He climbs into the passenger seat, letting Leo buckle his seatbelt for him. He had to ask for that specifically, because a little bit of fussing is good, but he takes the headphones, sitting on Leo’s dashboard, and puts them on himself. The second the bulky headphones are over his ears, he instantly feels a weight lift off his shoulders.
He doesn’t even need music; the lack of sound they provide is comfort enough.
Leo’s car rumbles to life, gently pulling forward. The air turns on with a miserable freezing puff of air. Leo’s car isn’t exactly new, so the heat will take a good ten minutes.
Indrid leans back, allowing his eyes to slip shut as the rumble of the car puts him under.