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As a clerk of an average, everyday 24-7 gas station, it was normal for you to be the one all alone at every unholy hour.
Even with the news about the "Blue-Blood Killer" and other threats roaming the streets, you didn't really feel too bad about your situation.
At the very least your pay was average, and you got to watch as the sun rose every morning— and you've seen some gorgeous sunrises while on the clock— the types that make it worth adopting all of your nocturnal habits.
You sat silently behind the counter, like usual, scrolling on your phone.
Tonight, it seemed like not even your screen nor the stark, fluorescent lights of the store could force you to fight your drowsiness.
The ugly celadon shade that the lights bathed you and your surroundings in made your eyes feel absurdly heavy, if anything.
You attempted to blink away the fatigue, shutting off your phone and running the palm of your hand across your face, letting it lazily fall to your hip as you surveyed the rather cramped store again.
Nothing but the incessant buzzing of the lights and the many rows of snacks and simple goods accompanied you.
You kept your eyes trained on the pumps outside— watching moths flutter under the overhang, disappearing each time one of the lights flickered.
Your body felt like it was sagging, growing steeper in angle with every passing second.
You wiped your face again, hoping for some relief in doing so.
Only when you brought your hand away from your face did you jump in surprise— as some strange, flat object seemed to move in the shadows by the gas pumps.
It was too dark outside to see— and being able to only focus on your reflection in the glass didn't make it any easier.
You could only imagine it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you couldn't help but do a second take, imagining the worst.
Despite any survival instinct telling you to stay in the building, something made you want to leave.
You glanced around, finding nothing but a simple, frayed broom to arm yourself with.
You didn't think there were any coyotes or cougars in the area, so you assumed it couldn't hurt to take a look around.
While you were at it, you thought to take out the trash. The bins were getting full, anyway.
You opened the break room door, choking the straps of the bag with a deadly pull, and tying the two flimsy, plastic handles with a tight knot. You slung it over your shoulder, walking out of the break room and back into the main area of the store.
Your eyes always gravitated back towards the spot you saw that movement.
Whatever moved didn't look like it had the hide of any animal— no, it looked like someone's back, as if they were turned away, staring at something else.
And it wasn't anything of any earthy color either— it was bright— fabric, and it stuck out like a sore thumb.
You seemed to recall more as you argued with your own testimony.
With your mind elsewhere, you found enough confidence to open the door to the station, and found yourself chilled by the midnight air.
You took a deep breath, circling past the front of the building with your broom in one hand and the bag of garbage in the other.
Maybe your confidence would be enough to scare whoever or whatever it was off.
You frowned to yourself as you shoved the dumpster's lid open and tossed the bag inside. The sweet, rancid stench of trash assaulted your senses, and you closed the dumpster without any thought— the lid slamming with heavy plastic 'thunk.'
It was dark, and you didn't plan on standing by a dumpster for the night.
You raised the back of your hand to your mouth as you yawned, stumbling your way back to the front of the store.
But you froze, only a few paces away from the door. Your once sleepy expression was gone, replaced purely by vigilance.
Your head snapped to stare into the dark, a small glimmer having caught your eye.
It was so subtle you just barely missed it.
You furrowed your brows and squinted, a sour frown gracing your expression, disbelieving of what you just saw.
It could've been some kind of metal, or it could've been glass, you couldn't tell from such a split-second glance.
You blinked, once.
Then, twice.
And again, for a third time, your eyes shifty and squinting.
You tilted your head.
Despite your skeptical front, you felt the hairs on your arm raise— your goosebumps from the cold having been amplified by the sudden anxiety that something awful would happen.
You stepped towards the door cautiously, your hand gripping the ratty broom tighter.
Dumbly, you shouted.
"You need something?"
The lights overhead flickered, fizzling out for mere seconds, but seconds that seemed to extend for an eternity.
Abruptly, the light came back on.
You flinched, spotting what the light had basked before you.
A man, oddly. Not one you'd expect to see in some simple, residential area.
He was fitted with a rather flattering white blazer— not a stain in sight. His pants, black, made it easy to think that he lacked legs— as if he were a specter of sorts.
Besides the blush of his flesh and the chestnut-shade of hair, the only color that peppered his appearance was the bright crimson tie that clung to his collar.
His appearance was bewildering to you. You gawked, unapologetically.
Though fair, his features appeared wildly fantastical. His ears, somewhat pointed, reminded you of a vampire, and his nose, straight.
His expression was muted— holding nothing but unadulterated contentedness.
He slowly and smoothly brought a hand to the side of his mouth, his other resting behind his back. The motion he made was graceful, almost clinical— but a near threat in of itself.
"You don't happen to serve coffee at this hour, do you?" He called back at you— his words placid.
After serving himself and paying, he stood stationary by the counter, as if waiting for something, coffee planted firmly in his palm. His fingers supported the cup’s lower half, gripping it so lightly it seemed he were trying to balance it.
He didn't take a sip from it.
"Don't you think it's dangerous," he began, unmoving from his position, "staying out so late?" His head slowly turned to you.
His voice tickled your ears— not unpleasantly, but perplexingly. His voice wasn't deep by any means, it was high and upbeat— nearly whimsical.
It's not like he spoke to you as someone below himself. Neither was he speaking to you threateningly, no— almost playful, like a puzzle— taunting others around it, waiting to be solved— waiting for someone to begin picking up and putting the pieces together— waiting for that someone to unravel the big picture.
But you weren't sure if you were the one fit to begin that process.
"It's the pay," you finally responded, swallowing any questions from spilling out of your lips. "I don't really know anywhere else that's hiring," you shrugged, unable to meet his gaze. "And the sunrises are nice."
He smiled at you, and you couldn't help but feel absurdly charmed by the view. His canines seemed to jut out just barely past the rest of his teeth. They snugly rested above his lower lip, lounging on the span of skin.
"Sunrises, huh?" He asked, ignoring your prior words. "I wouldn't expect any good views from a low valley like this."
Even when he spoke, his eyebrows barely moved. His eyes widened for a moment, and then they eased. You couldn’t tell if he was doing that on purpose or if he was trying to communicate something secret to you.
Now that you’d inspected him further, you noticed you couldn't tell a single bit of what he was thinking— it were as if he'd rehearsed this conversation a thousand times, and now, he was bored of it.
You brought a hand to the back of your neck, lightly sighing.
"You'd be surprised," you replied, shuffling your gaze around his figure. "It's nice. The mornings are pretty peaceful, too."
"I can only imagine," he replied.
You cocked a brow.
"You, uh, don't live here?" You asked.
He stared silently, blinking slow, without a single change in expression.
"No," he replied simply. He offered an awkward, lipped smile.
You stared and eventually nodded back, silently, with furrowed brows, in some kind of "understanding."
He didn't seem very amused, despite his still unchanging expression.
At the very least you were wide awake— but now you were sweating bullets.
The man still refused to take a sip from his coffee, and stood still without moving, his posture— rather impeccable, if you were to say. He kept his free hand settled behind his back, his feet together, standing formally.
"What about you?" You blurted out, "why are you out so late?"
He glanced your direction again.
"I'm just in the area for business," he replied. "But as of now, you could say I'm just going on an evening walk."
"Ah I see, well at very least you're not some murderer or anything," you said, awkwardly laughing a bit.
He shrugged and nodded, smiling a tad more back at you.
"Yes, at least I'm not," he stated.
"I never got your name," you said.
"Tanner," he said.
"That's a nice name."
"Thank you."
You rubbed the back of your neck again. Despite his daunting demeanor, he sure was a brick wall in terms of conversation. Whoever this ‘Tanner’ guy was, he really seemed to only want to discuss what interested him.
Just as you were about to open your mouth again, Tanner stared down at his wrist, as if reading a watch— though he did not have one.
"It seems I have to go, now," he said curtly.
He placed the coffee cup on the counter and quickly turned on his heels to leave the store.
As he parted, you couldn't help but feel some kind of regret for not asking more questions— but the oppressive weight that lifted itself from your shoulders told you that you'd dodged something far larger than you could fathom.
You stared at the cup, puzzled.
Why even buy coffee if he's not going to take a single sip from it?