Chapter Text
“That’ll be 5.46. Will you be paying with cash or card?” Cosmo stared at the customer blankly, waiting for their response.
“Uhh. Oh! Sorry, card please.” Cosmo took the card and waited for the system to process.
“Thank you. Come back soon!” Using the last ounce of energy he had left, he forced on a grin and gave a small wave. When they left, he rubbed his eyes and sighed. He let the weariness consume him. He ran his fingers through the money, counting it quickly before organizing it and closing the register.
He tried to remember the last night he wasn’t this tired. A week ago? A month?
Sometimes he wondered if this was how people slowly turned into ghosts— quietly, unnoticed, while counting someone else’s change.
He flicked the closed sign and swept the floors, cleaning the day's dirt and grime into a small dustpan. The teashop was always pleasant at night, empty and silent.
No voices covering up the soft music, no stress, no constant noise of cars rushing to work— just peace and quiet. The way the city’s light flew through the window always had him stuck in awe.
Cosmo was stuck with the closing shift, yet again. Not that he disliked it or anything, but it felt as though he was working all these hours yet earning nothing— that “nothing” barely even paid the bills.
Cosmo liked his job; he got to bake whenever, Teagen treated him well, and his coworkers weren’t all that bad.
He was just tired.
The pay wasn't great... but it was something.
“Hey, Teagen.” He cracked open the door to her office. “I’m gonna clock out.”
Teagen perked up from the piles of papers and files surrounding her. She spun her chair to face Cosmo and crossed her legs, one arm resting on the table. Her office always smelled like lavender spray and herbs.
“Of course, hun.” She politely smiled. “I’ll lock up, so don't you worry about it!”
She paused, checking the time. “I should be heading off soon as well.”
He flashed her a thumbs-up and scooped his bag off the desk, throwing it behind his back. Teagen stretched her limbs, sighing in relief as the pressure of the day was at least somewhat lifted. Following in suit of Cosmo, she grabbed her purse and stuffed her wallet in its crevice. Cosmo stood there patiently.
“Thank you for waiting! You’re such a darling.” Teagen spoke warmly, clasping her hands together. Cosmo— not knowing how to react— smiled shyly and walked out through the back door. Teagen exited with him and locked the door after it had shut.
As soon as they stepped out, the cold air slapped into their nostrils. The air reeked of car exhaust and weed, the type that burrowed into your lungs long after you'd gone home, but once you've lived there for a while, you get used to it.
“Well, I'll be off then.” Cosmo waved back to Teagen, “Bye, Teagen.”
“Bye, Cosmo,” They split ways from the back alley.
Cosmo’s apartment wasn’t a far walk from the cafe— only a block or two. Night in the city was the most dangerous. That's when the villains and vigilantes came out, but even with him living in one of the most unsafe areas, he found the night to be beautiful. He liked the quiet.
The alley behind the café was always dim, but tonight it felt heavier. Like the darkness was holding its breath. Maybe it was the residue of rain that clung to the air after it had rained. He wouldn't know.
...He didn't want to know.
When Teagen’s eyes lost the spark they once had, he didn’t ask why.
When the sirens wailed a couple of streets away, he didn’t ask what they were rushing toward.
Cosmo never asked. It only ever complicated things.
He kept to himself— as everyone did.
He just placed his feet in front and kept walking, ignoring reality as it passed by him.
The police sirens roared louder—closer. Whatever they were after, he didn't care.
The walk down the alley was the same one he walked every night, but the stillness tonight pressed against his ribs, quieter than usual, like the city was trying not to draw attention to something waiting in the dark. It looked the same always— narrow, cheap, dim, and damp.
The cops were growing closer, their sirens wailing, blaring their own tune. A figure in black skidded clumsily into the alley, shoes scraping on the wet concrete. Their balance, thrown off by either the panic or pain, sent their body sliding awkwardly across the ground.
They slammed full on into the wall, their impact leaving a thump and a second of silence, filled only by the sirens in the distance.
They winced in discomfort, clutching their side with their free hand. They crawled behind the dumpster, taking rushed, shallow breaths— completely disregarding Cosmo who stood there with his mouth agape and frozen.
They peeked over the dumpster. Cosmo couldn't tell where they were looking since their head was covered in a hood and their face in a ski mask. The shoes they were wearing were worn down and practically falling apart at the seams. The jacket was torn into the shape of knife marks, which bled through and seeped into the hands of the figure and leaving a deep gash where the skin curled in on itself, and nothing but blood could be seen.
Cosmo couldnt move despite how much he prayed to his legs. He wanted to help the person, or hide, or heal them, or-
The fear locked up his body, but the guilt burned hot within. A shaking shame that made him want to scream at himself: Move. Do something. Anything.
but he couldn't.
He was scared.
His fingers trembled. He couldn't shake the crawling sensation on his skin or the way his spine shuddered. His mind and heart were racing, yet one thing was clear.
Get out.
You saw nothing.
So, he slowly spun around.
And walked away, as calmly as he could.
The lights of the police cars grew brighter, filling the alleyway with red and blue.
When the stranger’s hood turned in his direction. He couldnt see it, but he could feel it. The weight, the silent plea of a dying person.
As much as Cosmo tried not to turn around, another figure in the corner of his vision jumped on the wounded man to, and they let out a howl of agony, which was silenced by the sound of skin being torn through and blood gurgling in his throat, slowly and endlessly. Cosmo saw only movement—fast, deliberate movement.
Cosmo’s breath wavered, and his heart sank.
Just as the police exited their cars, the murderer was gone. Cosmo did not wait for the cops to leave; instead, he turned around and ran away, choosing to take the long way home.
Cosmo didn’t stop running until his lungs burned. When he finally staggered behind a streetlamp, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The city lights blurred at the edges, too bright, too sharp. He couldnt tear the sound out of his memory— the gasp, the finality, and the wetness.
He wanted to help— but the wanting made the guilt worse. it wasn’t enough to move him.
His knuckles gripped around the pole— the one lifeline he currently had to lean on. The one lifeline that would ground him. Calm him. Steady his shaking hands.
A sharp breath in, sharp breath out.
Repeat.
In.
Out.
The walk back to his apartment was a blur, as though his body wasn;t reacting— just moving. It felt as though he was there, just not fully. He was doing everything he was supposed to, it just wasn't him doing it.
As though he was watching from the outside.
He had to take a shower. He had to brush his teeth. Maybe make dinner— maybe not. His body rejected the night the same way his mind did—tight, hollow, on the verge of breaking.
He wanted to relax for a little bit, look at his phone for a bit, but
He was tired.
He just wanted to go to bed.
__________________________________
One week passed, and another followed, and the cycle continued. Again and again. Despite that, Cosmo couldn't shake off that night.
Cosmo left him to bleed out and die.
Cosmo should've known. In a city as cheap as this one, something was bound to happen—he should have.
He was a coward. He hated the thought that staying still meant saving himself. Hated that some part of him accepted it.
It should've been him.
His life felt small—paper-thin, like something that could be crumpled up and tossed without anyone noticing.
Every failure, every shortcoming gnawed at him until he couldn’t tell where they ended and he began. A coward.
It should've been him.
His stomach churned like something rotten was twisting inside him. The urge to vomit, to clean his body of his sins from the inside, and to feel better. Despite his throat constricting in on itself, begging to just let it happen, he swallowed it down.
Cosmo held his breath— praying for the tears to go away. His nose scrunched, and his vision blurred. His throat burned, quiet and aching, no matter how much he swallowed— trying to wash his grief away.
He lifted his hands halfway, as if to hide his tears, then stopped believing he didn’t deserve it. He turned his hand around and scrubbed at his eyes, furious with himself and his self-pity. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, the only comfort he gave himself— the only comfort he deserved.
He stopped trying to fight it, letting his body take control while his mind dissolved into quiet hysteria—curled inward, alone, and shaking.
He took panicked shallow breaths, gulping down the air as it came. He slipped off his bed, trying to stay steady on his unsteady feet, and leaned on the wall to try to calm the spinning world around him.
Air wouldn’t stay in his lungs—every breath slipped out too fast, too sharp, like he was leaking.
He dragged his body to the sink, where his head hung down facing the faucet. He tilted his head slightly, his hair covering his tears.
He hauled his arm up despite the weight it carried. He limply dragged it across the sink, not paying mind to any of the fallen items that littered the sink.
Where is it. Where is it. Where is it.
His hands tore through the drawers without aim or reason, shaking too hard to close on anything. He didn’t know what he was looking for—only that he needed something, anything, to quiet the noise in his chest. He grabbed the cool, hard handle of the razor, tightening his hold around it with his shaky hands.
Maybe if he had been enough.
If he were someone of worth.
Why couldnt he be stronger?
The tears came down harder, flooding his vision with the salty liquid.
He pulled down his tights. With trembling hands, he rested the cool, hard metal on his thigh and sliced furiously until multiple streams of blood slid down his leg.
After a while, the shaking dulled into something manageable— or something that felt like a sliver of normalcy.
He looked up and saw his reflection. He didn't flinch. Didn't react.
The previous scars and the new, bleeding out in fat clumps— dripping to his thigh. Stinging where the mark was left. His thoughts were too loud, and his body was too full, and something inside him snapped. A quick finality.
His breathing slowed as he realised what he had done. Instead of panicking, he felt calm. Even a little bit proud.
He simply grabbed some toilet paper, dabbed at the cuts, and then slipped on his work uniform, not caring if it bled through the pants.
No one would notice anyway.
He could feel the way the fabric stuck to the wound and the stinging that followed. He chose to ignore it and slipped on his coat, then grabbed a water bottle from his fridge.
The walk to Teagen’s Cafe was uneventful. The world itself felt foggy, like it wasn’t supposed to be there. Maybe it was just in Cosmo’s head... He wouldn’t know.
His body felt numb. His mind felt numb. He was there, but it didn't feel like he was processing it. Like he was just moving on his own— in a fog of his own. Before he knew it, he was there.
Back in the alley behind the shop.
And he wanted out.
It wasnt as bad as he was making out to be, he told himself.
These things happen all the time.
He was just too soft.
He went in through the back, peering into Teagen's office from behind the wall.
Guess she’s not here.
He peeked into the front of the store and saw that the once-quiet and peaceful cafe was a chaotic mess. A drink was spilt and left there, dripping its sticky substance onto the floor. A baby sat cradled in its mother’s arms, screeching at the top of its lungs. Behind the counter was messy and unorganised.
The toppings lay strewn about, and Brusha was juggling her time between an angry woman complaining about her drink and trying to fulfil a customer's order. Cosmo just stood and watched.
Brusha checked behind her and lit up when she saw Cosmo. She shuffled over, almost in a sprint, and pushed aside her frizzled hair.
“Did you clock in?” She asked, her eyes pleading with him.
“Yeah..?”
“Thank God.” Brusha rubbed her head and put her hand on her hips. “My shift's over, and I need a smoke break, so thanks for covering for me.”
She pulled off her apron and pushed it into Cosmo’s arms.
“Wait,” Cosmo stopped her. “Where’s Poppy? Wasn’t she supposed to be working today?”
“She cancelled at the last minute.”
“Oh.. Well, I hope shes okay-”
“Which is so annoying,” Brusha interrupted. “If she keeps it up, I’m actually gonna to lose it.” Brusha paused, waiting for any response from Cosmo. “Well, I’m leaving. Goodluck— you’ll need it.”
“Yeah...” He said softly, looking out into the mess that was the cafe. “Guess so.”
__________________________________
The shift ended before he had time to notice it had begun. Just his regular day-to-day.
Despite that, the exhaustion pressed upon him like an inescapable weight.
The last ding rang throughout the building as the customer cupped the tea in their hands. He wanted to rest his sore limbs or go to bed. One or the other would do.
He swept the store and ran through with a mop afterwards. Taking a rag, he scrubbed the stains off the table to the best of his ability and shut off the lights. He took off his apron and hung it up, letting it dangle barely above the ground. He swung his coat on and headed out through the same way as he did every day.
Out the back. Through the alley.
Something flew past him—too fast to register—before a body slammed into the brick wall ahead with a sound that rattled his bones. A trail of wind flew by with the body.
The air rushed past him, sharp and violent. Cosmo flinched at the crack of rubble crashing, hands flying up too late to block the sound.
Cosmo looked up. A figure stood perched on the roof above—casual, unbothered—picking at her teeth before turning away. Her legs were thrown off the roof, kicking happily— as though she were proud.
He recognised her immediately. Rex. One of the city’s heroes—famous enough to have merch, not famous enough to be remembered. Maybe it was her usual day in the life. A simple, unbothered day?
Were they that insignificant? Someone not worth looking at?
She stood up, dragging her weapon— the infamous hammer— and walking away, leaving her troubles to the amplifying, wailing sirens.
Cosmo pried his focus off Rex despite his heart pleading to avoid the wreck. Not again. It couldnt take it again.
His body felt heavy. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. His lungs locked up, fear crawling up his throat until every breath felt too small. His mind screamed at him to run—to turn back, to leave like he had before, just leave —but his body refused.
He replayed the alley again and again. The man and Cosmo’s cowardice.
His legs moved, stumbling forward under their own weight. Each step was uneven, jerky, his shoes scraping against the pavement. His arms hung uselessly at his sides. It was only dead weight dragging him down.
First, it was a small strut, then he broke into a clumsy sprint. His footing slipped, balance gone, and he hit the ground hard—skin scraping, pain flaring in his legs. He shoved himself back up without thinking and kept going.
His breath tore out of him in sharp, panicked gasps, and his mind was blank; he ran. He wouldnt make the same mistake. Not again.
His knees buckled, hitting the ground with a thud. Digging into his fingernails, he clawed the rubble aside until there was nothing left between him and the body.
He rested his hands on the man's chest, feeling for any heartbeat to soothe his own tremble.
He felt nothing. Not a faint echo of life.
Nothing.
“Shit.” He snarled quietly under his breath. He slid his hands behind the cloak of the man, feeling around his head.
“Shit!” He yelled the word, tearing it out of him louder this time. He pulled his hand back, a coat of blood clung to it, thick and warm, dripping onto the concrete in slow, obscene drops.
A jolt was sent down his spine, and he instinctively flicked his hands—trying to shake it off.
He rested his hands back on the man's chest, taking in sharp breaths to slow his own beating heart.
The energy flowed through him, a golden light flowing through his veins. He channelled it into his fingers, letting the light slip out into the man. His hands went numb first, then his arms. Each second felt like something being peeled out of his chest and fed into the man beneath his palms.
His futile life was draining away from him, just barley out of reach.
The man's eyes fluttered open. Cosmo pulled away. He lightly slapped him awake more. The cops were close.
“Run!” Cosmo checked around the corner. “Don’t just stand there—go! They’re coming!”
The man stared blankly at him, and as if snapping back into reality, he wobbled to his feet. Clinging to the wall, he staggered out of the alley.
Cosmo sat back and watched, his eyes lingering on where he last was. He lifted himself off the ground, blood was dripping down from his knee, and his body felt frail.
His grip was looser, his back ached more so than the rest of his body, and his lungs felt tight. Fatuige clung to him more so than usual.
Everything felt too loud — the sirens were still coming, and home felt very far away.
Walking home felt like a drag, and staying in the alley wasn't an option; the sirens served as a reminder.
He eyed the buildings, making eye contact with the cafe. His shoulders sank, and he let out a sigh. He shoved his hands in his pockets. His eyes furrowed while searching for the key. The cold embrace of the key startled him a bit before he calmed down.
The sirens cut off abruptly, leaving the alley too quiet. A car door slammed shut. Muffled voices crackled through a radio somewhere nearby, distorted and sharp in the still air.
Cosmo froze, breath trapped painfully in his chest. He focused on the lock—nothing else. Not the voices. Not the footsteps he imagined behind him. Just the door.
The key clicked into place, and the door creaked in response. He slipped inside and quietly shut it behind him, pressing his weight against it like it might be the only thing holding the world back. He slumped down to the floor, and just sat there. Taking in the serenity.
His shoulders sagged as the strength drained out of him all at once, leaving his legs weak and trembling. He hauled them close to his chest, taking in deep breaths.
His head, pulsating with pain, rested on the door.
Muffled voices of the officers were muted by the walls— dull and distant, like they weren't there. Like this wasnt real. To Cosmo, they were just noise. Just background static that interrupted his peace.
He dragged himself up past the counter and into the customer lounge. The streetlights and police lights illuminated the room, making it dim despite all the lights being turned off.
He flopped onto the couch—letting his body sink into the tenderness of the couch's embrace.
The cushions dipped under his weight. His limbs went heavy, unresponsive. He barely had time to register the quiet, the safety, before his eyesslid shut.
God, he needs to start exiting from the front.
__________________________________
EXTRA :)
________________________________
Teagen’s eyes stung. The longer she stared at her screen, the more she had to blink away the sleep nipping away at her brain.
She cupped her face in her hands, groaning for any sort of relief. Her eyes hung on the tabs of receipts and emails that plagued her screen. Stacks of papers, including bank statements and alimony documents, surrounded her.
Letters from the school, possible budgets, newspaper clippings, debt allocation.
No matter what she did, she couldn’t escape it.
She took a sip of tea, the earthy flavour hitting her throat as soon as it hit her mouth. She scrolled the mouse down to check the time— 00:48.
Not that late by her standards. Leaving it in military time was a decision made only by her—old habits die hard. Her jaw tightened, and she let out a sigh.
Her grip on her cup tightened as she forced the remaining tea down her throat, its warmth sliding down swiftly. She wiped off the excess from her mouth and walked over to the sink.
The faucet squeaked on. Cool water fell in fat drops, thudding against the metal sink. She ran the cup under the water, dumping out any remaining drops of tea.
She opened the drawer beside it and took out a rag with miscellaneous stains and holes, its fabric scratchy on her skin. The front door’s handle jiggled. The sound of someone fumbling to open it.
She stopped rinsing out her cup, and her eyebrows furrowed. She slid over to her purse and took out her wallet, grabbing a fistful of crumpled dollars.
She grasped her phone. Taking a sharp breath, she jammed her thumb into the digits for 911.
“My name is Teagen Brewer. I live at Gardenview Apartments, apartment number 21.” She whispered into the phone. “Someone is breaking in... Send the police.”
The call beeped off. She slipped her phone into her back pocket before taking a stance with her elbow up and bracing besides the door. Her body laying in a comfortable squat.
A sliver of the door cracked open, and the intruder slowly crept in, their body going rigid after every squeak of the old door. They continued without noticing Teagen.
By the time they were barely in the room, Teagen pushed back her elbow, aiming directly towards their gut.
They cried out in pain and tumbled backwards. They stood hunched over, clutching their stomachs with one hand and searching through their pockets with the other.
“Oh my. And who might you be?” She tilted her head. The familiar thrum bloomed through her spine, smooth and intoxicating. The warmth bloomed through her spine—smooth, intoxicating. Too familiar.
God, it was exhilarating.
“You BITCH!” They spat, coughing out every syllable. They pulled their hand from out of their coat, pointing the barrel of a cold metal pistol directly at Teagen.
Without thinking, her body moved automatically, pivoting sideways.
A shot rang through the house, hitting the ceiling above. The sound pierced her eardrum—a deafening ring took its place. The thief dropped their gun and covered their ears.
Paying no mind to the pain pinging in her ears, she kicked the gun away, making it spin across the floor.
She drove her heel into his stomach, knocking him to the ground. She sat on him, holding him down in her thighs, grabbing his arms and pinning them to his back. He wiggled around, struggling to release himself.
She fished a dollar out of her pocket, gripping it in her fists. She took in a deep breath, relaxing her muscles.
An image of the items she was looking for popped into her head, and the money crumbled before her—replacing the money was a small pile of zip-ties placed perfectly into her hand.
She wrapped the zip ties, clenching them tightly around his wrists. He sat there helplessly as the sirens echoed through the streets.
“Mami..?” Toodles dragged her legs out of her room, her eyes squinting once they hit the light. Her pyjamas dangled off her frail body— a plush tucked snugly in her arms. Her limbs reached upwards, and she let out a slow yawn.
“What's going on..?” Toodles asked cautiously. Teagen got off the man, crouching to her daughter's level. She wrapped her arms around her neck, burrowing into the side of it and holding her close.
“Nothing you need to worry about, hun,” Teagen said in a low tone. She pulled away, resting at her level with her hands on her shoulders. “Now, don't go prying like your father— It’s never worth it.”
A devilish smile crept onto Toodles' face.
“Uh-huh!” She nodded enthusiastically, her buns bouncing with her. Teagen’s face remained still with her brows furrowed and jaw tight. She stared at Toodles before her gaze softened.
Teagen stood up. “It’s way past your bedtime. Be a doll and go get yourself tucked in, please.” Teagen let out a sigh, her shoulders fell in relief.
A glint shimmered in Toodles' eye for a mere moment before she spun around and trotted off to her room. Teagen leaned against wall, her eyes heavy and body weak.
By the time the police arrived, the minutes had become a blur. Probing around for any answers, questions, formal statement, more questions.
Thank god he wasn't on duty. Even seeing him at the station would make her fight the urge to pull out her eyes.
She set down her purse on the counter, peaking by the oven— 3:56.
All she wanted to do was sleep.
...she still had to open the shop in the morning.
She let out a loud groan, gripping her hair and throwing her head back. She plopped on her bed, reaching for her phone and scrolling through her numbers.
She paused, her thumb hovering over a contact— “Cosmo (Work)”.
He normally took on all shifts. It didn't seem like the kid had much of a life outside of work. Teagen couldn’t help but feel for him.
He never really talked about his life— but to be fair, no one really did nowadays. Recently, he just seemed off.
She shook it off.
It wasn’t her problem.
“Hello Cosmo, an emergency has come up, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to do today’s opening shift. Do you think you could open the cafe today? 😊”
Sent.
Teagen waited, watching as three grey dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared.
“Sure!”