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The lady on the news didn't lie after all, you came to realize, as you stood outside in the rain, shaking in your boots to the point your circulation was cut off from your toes to your ankle.
Of course, it was your landlord that had decided to kick you out like a stray cat just because the woman he was shagging next door had a stick so far up her ass she had decided to lash out on you. An innocent pedestrian, or in your case an innocent young neighbor. Was it your fault things got slightly out of hand when Buck and Albert came over with wine, determined to celebrate the future birth of their niece with you? No, it was not. A bad karaoke night might have been annoying to a certain degree, but hearing her screech like a banshee in a missionary (it was an honest guess) under the landlord every Monday and Saturday (the days when being a paramedic was the most tiring of jobs) was somehow okay?
Gas leak.
You swore under your breath. Gas leak your ass.
It gave you comfort that a small note was sitting just under her door, ready to deliver a message to both her and Mr. Wenebly. Hopefully they'll both choke on the gas. You had written something along those lines, only decorated in a coat of nice words, so it was likely that the note didn't even sound remotely similar.
There weren't really many places you could crash at. Sure, you have friends. But those friends had their wives, husbands, boyfriends or girlfriends. It wasn't okay to just drop by unannounced, not when the best thing to do under weather like this is get warm and cozy with your partner. Hell, you even felt awkward at the mere thought of disrupting the union of peace and bachelorism between Buck and Albert.
Where to go?
You had your answer.
It was time to see your fate.
You had knocked twice on the door, took the same number of steps back while at it too. It was as if to make sure you weren't going to get smacked in the face with the door even though they glided into the house when opened.
It took a while before they opened, and excited eyes greeted you. "Dad! Y/N's here!"
You could only muster a small wave, your hand so raw and red from the rain it made Christopher's eyes glitter in pity. He was dressed warmly, equivalent to the warmth that seemed to seep through his home and into the sight. The boy turned his head back, "Hurry Dad!"
"I'm coming, I'm com—Jesus, Y/N, what the hell happened to you?"
Eddie broke into your line of vision, emerging from a door on the left side of the narrow hallway. He took one good look at you before he, determined to keep you out of the weather's clutches, seized your forearm and pulled you inside like you were a puppet.
Now you really started to feel like a stray cat.
You glanced at the colorful cloth that was wrapped around his shoulder, following down to the spatula he gripped like a weapon. He smelled of spices, aftershave and heavy cologne. A weird combination, one you didn't dislike.
It took a minute to find your voice again, and when you did, a strong wave of anger barreled through your whole being. "Mr. Wenebly happened! Old prick kicked me out for the night. Said it was a gas leak!"
Confusion sat across his features, "Gas leak?"
"Like I was going to believe any of that! He's been shagging my next-door neighbor for months now! God only knows the old hag's been wanting to get rid of me for months!"
Christopher had disappeared into the living room after hearing the word 'prick'. The boy deemed your worries boring and set off to play a console game while waiting for obvious dinner to be served.
His father however, listened very carefully as you went on about the owner, sharing how you were going to sue them both once you get Bobby to agree for a spin around your complex on the next shift. Just to be sure you had said mockingly and put two air quotes to follow those words.
"I—I," words were difficult to find once you had finished your rant and tried to meet his eye. "I didn't know where else to go."
"Well," He drawled, looking you over. You were damp from the tip of your hoodie to the heels of your boots. There wasn't a single piece of clothing that had survived the rain. "I should've been your first choice, if I'm being honest."
Your eyes almost fell out, rolled over the floor and clambered back into place, "I um mean…Me and Chris…should've been your…first choice."
You decided not to press, despite wanting nothing more than to do so. A determined nod seemed to fix it all, "Well, I'm glad to have found a place to crash. I was scared I'd have to sleep on Buck and Albert's couch"
"Me too." He said, an unknown undertone coloring his baritone. Almost as if he were pleased with the outcome. "You stay here. I'll get you something to wear. You can't sit in those wet clothes."
"I have a bag in my car," you gestured out with your thumb, a sheepish smile sinking into your features. The rain still set out toward the ground, like arrows on a battlefield. It was dangerous to even think about venturing toward the car.
"It's raining heavens outside," Eddie deadpanned. A second out and your hands would return to the raw red that started to fade after some time inside. "Unless you're up to run to your car I suggest you take what you can get."
"You're probably right," you muttered, watching a winning smile tug at his lips.
"Dry clothes coming right up," he said and disappeared.
You stood obediently in the hallway, deciding it was better to make a small pond in one place, rather than walk around and leave wet trails all over the house. You were in the process of getting rid of the staining pink in your frozen hands when Eddie emerged, carrying what looked like joggers and a shirt in his muscled arms. "Get this. They're dry."
Eddie rolled his eyes, handing you the bundle. "My room or the bathroom. You pick."
"Well, your bathroom is pretty small…"
"You know where my room is," he said with a smile and gestured in the general direction. "It's all yours."
The way he said it brought out a handful of emotions, sprawling them straight across an imaginary table in your head. Your cheeks were aflame, and you had kicked off your boots and fled before the man could even blink.
You shimmied out of your clothes with speed comparable to a turtle. It was hard to get out of those jeans safely, hence why it was a relief to know you could jump around the spacious bedroom while doing so. The curtains were drawn, and a sense of privacy washed over you as you pulled the sticky shirt over your shoulders, proceeding to dry yourself with a mint green towel Eddie had stuffed between the articles.
His shirt looked comically large on you, and the joggers had almost tempted you to ask for Christopher's pajama bottoms. They were obviously large and kept falling over your hips with every shake. You had tugged at the strings so harshly you were almost sure you'd ruin the whole pair. Tying two hard knots seemed to do the trick, and you moved to footwear. It felt heavenly to have warm, dry feet. Christopher's blue and red superman socks seemed to put the whole outfit together in some weird way.
Eddie was a man of taste, and he had a mirror hanging in his room. Turning to see what kind of damage control you could do for your hair you came to realize it wasn't so bad after all. A bit of makeup was smeared, but it was nothing a little tap water and a good scratch of a tissue couldn't fix.
You walked out feeling oddly comfortable in the environment. There was, without a doubt, a weird sense of intimacy, when wearing a man's clothing. It smelled of him—the clothing—despite being fragranced with the smell washed laundry carried on a basis.
You emerged from the bedroom, carrying your wet clothes. Eddie watched as you placed your socks over the radiator. "I knew the socks would be perfect. Right buddy?"
The boy barely spared you a glance, a bright riot of colors reflected in his glasses. His game was at its peak. Completely understandable you thought in your head. When he did catch sight of your socks, the boy let out a happy laugh, pointing it out yet again. "Thank you for lending me your Superman socks, Chris." You said as you ruffled his hair. He ducked toward the couch as if your hair ruffles were a distraction. There was a joystick ready for you, you noticed, and returned to the kitchen.
The boy giggled, calling after you. "You're welcome."
Eddie met your eyes as he cut through vegetables with ease. He waved the big knife around the house teasingly, pointing from you toward the living room. "Make yourself at home, I need to finish dinner."
"What's cooking?" You asked, closing in on the counter to peer over. The smell was intense with spice, and you took in the smell delighted.
He murmured something in Spanish, most likely a name of the dish, but you found yourself deeply immersed with his voice, looks and skill that the name went through one ear and came out the other. Really, that's what happened. "What’s your spice level?"
"Extra hot," you mouthed proudly.
Eddie let out a pleased sound, "Ay, that’s what I like!"
"Let me first drop these off," you gestured to your wet clothes, curving your lips into a million dollar smile, hopeful that your cheeks weren’t flaming red. "And then I'll help you."
The night went on after that. A million jokes on your account, a million more on your landlord's. It was a fun nighttime, spent with your closest friends. The chemistry was off the charts, and more than once, you had found yourself glued to Eddie's hip as he guided you through Spanish cuisine.
His eyes would follow you when you weren't looking, and he realized he had been presented with a whole new side of you. One you had specifically for after work hours.
And Eddie found himself wanting more.