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Sometimes you love working in a monster owned cafe.
Dare you say in a magical cafe. It certainly earns that title, unlike many other establishments that advertise and describe themselves with such words. For one, its customers are mainly monsters, beings literally made of magic. Secondly, most of the menu items count as quite unusual as well. Well. Unusual to humans. Some bear heavy resemblance of the foods and drinks people here on the surface are used to, the main difference being the actual ingredients they are made up of. These pastries are a little fresher, the ice in the drinks lasts just a bit longer, yet humans might find their stomachs rather empty even after consuming their orders.
That one is true to everything made by monsters, not exclusive to this cafe or its menu. It earned more than one surprised, sometimes even offended reaction ever since the surfacing. Which still doesn't make sense to you, how could someone have a problem with such thing? As no physical food ends up in your stomach, yes you do indeed miss out on the positive effects you would expect from sustenance, yet, that means you’re spared of the negative ones as well. Enjoying food and not gaining any weight? Was food prepared by and for monsters not so controversial among fear mongering and frankly judgemental humans, it would be a very popular choice you feel like.
Or maybe it's better actually that it isn't encouraging unhealthy diet culture, hmm…
You of course do not share those ridiculous views that stop people from consuming magical food, neither are you the slightest bit wary about it. Or about drinks. Sweet cold drinks with just the perfect sourness, like the lemonade you have been sipping on between preparing similar beverages. You are making the absolute most of Ccino’s rule of one free drink per day, choosing the biggest cup size lately, and trying to put together the most refreshing concoction the world has seen.
Because in this weather you cannot even think about anything else.
Sometimes you adore working in a magical cafe. And sometimes, like today, when your hair sticks to your sweaty forehead, when putting your hand under the warm water to wash dishes makes you feel like dying, and when dealing with stuck up customers has you considering homicide before they are even finished talking, you really hate working in said magical cafe. Who in their right mind thought for even one goddamn second that it was smart not to install air conditioning in this place.
Well, actually, you know who, and also why.
You really hope he can feel you glaring daggers at his back while he’s out cleaning a table outside the front window. You are still continuing that when he comes back, and with every second that passes your suspicion that he’s deliberately ignoring your gaze on him grows. You are in no rush to serve anyone really, so you can keep it up a bit longer. There are not many people who are insane enough to not only leave their homes in this heat, but to willingly decide to sit in a room to get boiled alive.
On one hand it is very understandable why this place is the way it is. Many other cafes and shops, especially smaller ones, lack air conditioning. That is nothing out of the ordinary., if anything, the current temperatures are what people were not anticipating. Summers were never exactly cold here, but the heatwave this year does bring along record breaking hot days. Chalk it up to global warming, to environmental changes, or to the fury of whatever god is up in the sky, the end results are the same. Agony.
“Ccino… We’re losing customers, Ccino…”
Even if just with a sigh, the skeleton does finally react to you and your whining. You frown at the lackluster reply and let your forehead thunk gently against the counter, the surface colder than the stuffy air around you. So much so that you are practically lying on it to cool yourself off. “So many customers… so many people… they’re not coming into this trap you set, they see my suffering from miles away.” Or sense it maybe, if we’re talking about monsters. For a second you almost stop to actually wonder about how much could they sense and from what distance. You’re still not quite sure about magic and its logistics. “They are not falling for your evil trap Ccino, they are not coming in to let you boil them like you are doing with me. They are smart and don’t wish to turn to soup…”
“you're gonna be going into the soup that is the water in the sink, i’m putting you on dishwashing duty if you don't quit that.”
His threat is super effective, and while not without earning a drawn out groan of agony, but you shut your mouth and give him some peace.
You should probably take it easy on him and not stress the poor guy out even more than necessary, it's not like he actively chose this. And while he doesn't appear to have to deal with body-heat like you (your hand brushed his during exchanging drinks a few days ago, but he promptly shut you down when you tried asking for a hug, totally without any ulterior motives of course) you doubt he feels comfortable either.
“… have you checked the forecast? will things cool down anytime soon?”
You hum dismissively, listening to the clinking of glasses in the background. Ccino sounds tired as well.
“Nope. We’re staying at a crispy 40 degrees. For the rest of this week at least. Maybe the next it’ll drop, but more likely the one after that. I wish they turn out to be wrong though and cool weather arrives sooner.”
No reply for a bit. But honestly what could he say.
In an effort to fight off the heat you guys have set up a desk fan in the corner reserved for the tiny table for you two, but it is only doing so much to stir up the warm air in the cafe. No machinery runs longer than necessary. The ice bins are topped off. You did your best to make the place somewhat habitable, but still, the only people not suffering are monsters who got used to the heat in the Underground.
Installing a whole new system for the air conditioning would take time and so much money. You caught your boss lost in thought staring at the coffee shop’s budget and finances several times this month. You know it isn't that easy.
“next year maybe.”
You turn your head towards him with a questioning hum.
“if we know we gotta put money away for such renovations, then we should be able to do it efficiently enough so that we start next year’s summer prepared.”
His slightly absentminded words make it sound like he's talking to himself instead of you.
“Does that mean no daily free drinks then?”
But then he snorts at that and you mirror his smile when he looks back at you.
“Yeah see! You didn't mean that boss. We'll all survive the summer, but only with the free drinks. So let's cut from somewhere else then.”
“you're right, free drinks are a necessity for you. life or death kind of necessary. in which case you’ll surely understand that your paycheck will have to take that cut instead.”
“Noooo!”
Heaven.
Okay, whoever invented and came up with the idea of air-conditioning must be some kind of an angel. While you cannot be bothered to actually do research on the topic, you are sincerely hoping that both sides of their pillow are cold.
Cold, like the air in the supermarket.
Maybe this is actually heaven. Maybe you have passed away sometime during your shift at the cafe, melted like the ice you dropped on the floor and a minute later you were already stepping into a puddle instead. Or you got burnt to crisps by the deadly lazer that is the sun high up in the sky on your way to the bus-stop. You cannot actually tell as your memories of the day are hazy no matter how hard you try to recall events or conversations. Who would have thought going through the day like a zombie will affect your perception and the memories your brain is supposed to gather during your time awake.
Whatever the case may be, you never felt so alive. Okay maybe not alive, that's overselling it a little, but you most certainly feel like you just have been resurrected. This is how you imagine that would go down and feel like, with every cell of your body sobering up and starting to function again.
You idle in the aisle for a bit, not for the sweets lining the shelves that some kids are currently trying to convince their parents to buy, but simply to enjoy the ventilation of the building. Not quite fresh air, unfortunately. Also weird smelling, at least for a second. Interesting choice of perfume. But it is gone at the next breath, and you are not about to look a gift horse in the mouth when the air is cold regardless and feels good in your lungs.
Though that family with the annoying and unruly kids reminds you of what you forgot. Grabbing a shopping cart outside. Which makes sense considering you were making a hasty retreat from the relentless and deadly assault of the sun, so of course you forgot. You were saving your life, duh. And that is also exactly why you won't go outside to grab one now. Your arms are gonna hate you for carrying that plastic basket around in the store and then hauling your heavy bag home. But sacrifices must be made, so you take an ugly red basket and with a sigh embark on your shopping trip.
You manage everything just fine for around 20 minutes, lingering a little longer than necessary reading product information and checking out things you know you won’t buy. But there's that weird scent again. This time harder to ignore. Sweet? But nothing like flowers or even food for that matter. Your eyebrows pinch together in confusion as you slow your steps. Suddenly you cannot focus on finding that yoghurt in this aisle.
Maybe it's somebody's perfume? That’s what you thought the first time, but honestly you doubt that. You glance at the person closest to you, an older lady squinting at the price of some cheese. She's definitely not the one with that scent, old people smell is different. They don't even faintly smell like… gasoline?
Wait, gasoline?
That's ridiculous. But also now that the thought is here, it seems rather fitting. And you just get more convinced by the second examination of the weird smell in your nose. No wonder it was familiar, even without owning a car you of course have been at gas stations before, and have caught something really similar to this scent there.
But what could be it this time? In a supermarket of all places. Maybe something spilled? Gasoline though? Or just a product which smells similar? You do look around, past all the people, searching for a commotion almost automatically. But you cannot see through all the aisles. And the chatter of people and the hum of the refrigerators are rather loud, too loud to filter out and catch any specific conversation further away from you. Can't other people smell this? Maybe there's a leak or something? That could be a huge problem, inhaling too much of that stuff can’t be good for one’s health. It is surprisingly not an unpleasant smell, but it cannot be healthy.
Your eyes are drawn up to the ceiling automatically despite not knowing what you're searching for. To no one's surprise, you only blind yourself momentarily with the fluorescent lights. And it's not like you can see anything going on with all those pipes, vents, and cable bunches running along the top of the building.
Did you seriously expect something?
You shake your head as if that could clear it. For god’s sake, you're out in public! In a store! And you're seriously stressed over weird smells? Maybe it's you who is being ridiculous, there is nothing that unusual about this. Right. Yes, that must be the case. This is just your mind playing tricks on you or you mistaking someone’s unfortunately weird smelling perfume. No need to jump to worst case scenarios about leaks or—
“looking for something?”
Talk about jumping.
Having been spoken to shouldn't have made you flinch that bad. Or let out a scream, no matter how small. But in your defense you also were not expecting some guy to lean and talk directly into your ear from just a breath away.
“or someone.” You are aware of the gazes of the people around you, understandably surprised by the commotion. But you are way too pissed at the familiar skeleton you spun around to face to even care about public humiliation. It's his fault anyway. And he still has the nerve to look unbothered, hell, amused at your reaction.
“YOU CANNOT—”
“geez, talk about starting on a high note.” You… didn't really mean to actually yell.
“YOU—”
Nope, still loud.
“okay, tone it down maybe, as much as i’d love to have you screaming for me, how about you don't make people think i’m here to stab you or sumthing, hm?”
And it seems that's all he has to say about the matter, already stepping around you to continue down the aisle
It effectively stunlocked you so at least you didn't have the chance to accidentally curse him out loud enough that you’d be banned from the store for starting fights.
But also like hell you're letting that happen. The only one getting stabbed here will be him. Well. After you figure out the logistics of stabbing someone made entirely of solid bones and dead space.
You catch up with him in a few skips, your quest of following your shopping list abandoned.
“Are you just incapable of acting like a normal person?! Or, I don't know, could you just not scare me to death with every appearance?” There, that's a more public appropriate tone, hushed whisper yelling.
“acting like a ‘normal person’? wow, a little ableistic are we? or maybe i’m misunderstanding, did you perhaps mean like a normal human? in which case you're just being monsterphobic.”
“What are you on about? Literally not what I said?”
“cus there are big differences in the flavour of hate if you ask me.”
“I didn't ask!”
All that earns you is just him turning more towards you so you can see his smile ticking up a notch, pushing up slightly on his eyesockets, much like a human’s eyes would crinkle up at a genuine smile. Bones shouldn't be able to move like that, and regardless of the time spent staring at both of the skeletons you know, you still aren't completely used to it happening.
“The only hate here is directed solely on you and only you,” you mumble a few beats too late. Coming up with rebukes is difficult goddamnit.
Not that Killer needs time for that apparently, “that's totally why you're following me around like a lost puppy. cus you hate me, yup.”
Wait, following him?
Your shoes soles squeak on the grey tiled floor as you stop abruptly to prove him wrong. Even if the action doesn't do much of anything or change that fact that he is right, you tagged along in record time.
“oh come oooon, it was cute,” he snickers, not bothering to turn around.
You stay rooted in place, glaring at his back while he continues leisurely. For a few more steps that is, after which he does slow to a stop.
It's weird to see him without that blue jacket. If it wasn't for the black colour of his cardigan, you could very much mistake him for Ccino from here. While both of them have confirmed they are not related, the similarities are still uncanny. Not just in their faces (you have seen quite a few monsters, far be it from you to call anyone out for looking similar, you are aware it is probably just your untrained eyes, also the last thing you want is to accidentally generalize and be monsterphobic), but the choice of attire as well. Missing that jacket, he really does look like an emo version of your friend.
And sometimes, like right now, you really wish Killer was more like him, and would tell you what is going on in his head. Guessing every now on again is something you can do. But all the time? It gets annoying how somehow you only realize after he’s gone, after you caught up to everything that happened, that despite him filling the silence, you learned absolutely nothing from the conversation. Not about him, not about his intentions.
“you're coming or?” He does seem to have caught at least some clue of how you feel and that you're not budging, because he turns slightly to glance back at you.
You could swear you catch his soul wobble for a second in the border of your vision, but by the time you actually glance down to confirm, it is back to looking like how it always does, a little red target.
“you're wrong though, i am here for something normal. very normal actually, shopping. dunno if you ever heard of it. it's usually what people do at supermarkets.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes, but fail to stop your brows from drawing together slightly, and Killer takes that as permission to continue with a wider grin. “i’ve got a shopping list and all. might need your help with reading it, cus whoever wrote it could use some handwriting practice.”
You don't immediately understand what he’s getting on, at least not until he waves the slip of paper between two fingers. A slip of pink paper, a shade awfully similar to the notepad you and Ccino use back in the cafe.
The notepad you jotted your shopping list down on before clocking out for today…
You watch his smile widen and eyes narrow in real time as you attempt to reach for your pockets discreetly. There's no way.
Screw him and his satisfaction, why are your pockets actually empty?
Glancing down just confirms the suspicion that settled in your while patting yourself through, that you are indeed missing a pink piece of paper that contained your list of items to buy. Oh, but you were wrong, your pocket is not completely empty! The empty wrapper of a hard candy that you forgot to throw out from a few days ago is still there.
“How generous of you, you at least left my trash in my pocket,” you deadpan, before deciding snatching back your list takes priority over proving him wrong and staying in one place.
He responds with a snort and graciously offers you the piece of paper which you grab after marching over, less aggressive than you originally were going for.
“dunno whatcha talking about, i found this on the ground. not my fault someone has holes in their pockets.”
You don't dignify that with an answer. Instead you focus your attention back to whatever you were up to before he showed up, which is acquiring food and other necessities that you absolutely should have done a week ago already. Not a lot to go at least. The chances of your wallet surviving the trip are already slim enough.
For a change, Killer lets you lead this time, trailing just half a step behind you. Half a step, not 5. Like a creep. Somehow you are grateful for that now, you are still pissed about that one time whenever you remember it. Leave it to him to make you doubt yourself. Nowadays you really can't tell when on your way back home you are being tailed by an actual creep, or is it just this freak you are somewhat acquainted with. You have yet to decide which option is better.
He does seem to be on his better behaviour this time around, only occasionally commenting on products and names and passersby, but it's an almost welcomed background noise, compared to running errands alone. An entertaining kind of background noise you can laugh along with made up of his stupid annoying boyish voice, that you most definitely and certainly haven't missed in the slightest.
You truly haven't.
While fighting for a spot in one of the lines that form in front of cashiers, you admittedly don't focus on him much. But it takes what? 5 minutes? To let people through while inching forward until you reach the conveyor belt, onto which you gotta load your stuff, quick enough so that you won't have to awkwardly lean over the person in front of you in the line, and so that you are not too far ahead in the line so that you can politely step back to put the empty basket onto its designated collection pile. Would have been way easier if you remembered to grab a shopping cart earlier.
But it's 5 minutes. Just a mere short 5 minutes. And Killer is not a hyperactive, unruly child despite his antics and childish behaviour. You don't have to worry about taking your eyes off of him for a second only for him to disappear into thin air when you are not looking.
At least. That's what you wanted to think. You really wanted to believe in that.
“Uhm… Sorry, one second, my friend—” You gesture vaguely to back into the store, hoping the cashier got your worried and apologetic look.
Maybe he just… wanted to grab something?
After a very long and torturous minute you awkwardly clear your throat and blurt out another apology, to both the cashier and the people waiting in line behind you. You don't even register the amount you pay as you blindly swipe your card and shove everything into your bag, grabbing the rest into your arms.
The waiting continues at the counter near the exit where people fix up their bags or pack away things they didn't get to during checkout. It's okay! You'll just wait for him here. He’ll see you when he checks out as well.
But it. Doesn't seem to be happening. You cannot spot him in any of the lines from here.
To ease your worries, you opt for sending him a text, with a few too many question marks inquiring about his whereabouts.
4:52
Heyyy lol did you get lost or something???? Im not coming in to find u, you can locate the exit by yourself
Like seriously
I'm gonna wait for you here
Until then you can organize the mess in your bag and formulate a plan how to tackle the problem that is getting all this stuff home.
Right. Heavy and non-fragile things go on the bottom. Egg carton situated properly to avoid disasters. The flour can go there as well. NOT the weird soft container that the yoghurt is in. Wait when did you grab the yoghurt off the dairy aisle shelf? The motion is not at all familiar to you. Were you seriously that invested in your companion that you forgot while you automatically put it into your basket?
And that you somehow bought a… strawberry jelly filled… pastry? While you were grabbing half a loaf of bread and a few bagels. What is up with you today? Did the heat seriously boil your braincells or what, you swear you are not this scatterbrained usually.
As annoying those revelations are, you honestly are over them in a few seconds, eyes drawn back to your phone screen.
No notification ping. His status shows online but he has not seen your messages. In. 15 minutes. Oh. You didn't realise you have been fiddling with your stuff for that long already.
Just like…
You hoped it was a one time thing. Surely it was just an accident.
When your eyes scour all the people coming and going, yet not find any skeletons amongst them, a weird feeling creeps up into your throat.
Instead of attempting and failing to swallow it down, you turn on your heels and in a few steps leave the store.
Buzzing.
Monotone buzzing in the same pitch, for about 4 seconds.
Then a few quiet clicks, anywhere from 3 to 7 in number.
Monotone buzzing for another 4 seconds.
A gush of warm air as it hits your sweaty skin, not cooling you off in the slightest.
2 seconds of change in the low pitch, before the cycle repeats itself.
You tried switching the fan to its lower setting earlier in hopes of lessening the noise. But that proved to be too weak and did absolutely nothing at all to keep you alive.
In hindsight you probably should have mopped and cleaned the kitchen floor before sprawling out on the ugly brownish tiles like a starfish, sticking all your skin to the floor. Now you are starting to regret that decision. Very much so. Who knows what kind of dust and crumbs and whatnot is stuck to your skin now. Not having moved a singular inch in the past 30 or so minutes is the only reason you are not actively freaking out about that.
Just let the day end already.
The sun has been setting for what seems like hours now, your apartment is bathing in warm orange since you got home. Maybe the curtains should have been closed this morning before you left. This must be what vampires feel like, when just the momentary touch of a sunray disintegrates them.
That reminds you, you really wish the sunscreen you haphazardly smeared over yourself on the way to the cafe was enough to shield you from any potential sunburns throughout the day. Nothing of yours is sore or hurts exactly.
Okay, that's a big fat lie.
Everything hurts.
Mainly your head.
So bad.
You should probably drink something. Apparently that should help.
Suddenly taking lifestyle advice from vampires doesn't seem like a bad idea at all. No sunlight in your personal chamber aka apartment. No stepping out into sunlight under any circumstances, prevent direct contact at all costs. Wear some kind of protection (you have to work on this, the sticky feeling your current brand of sunscreen leaves behind is not your favourite so you avoid using it). Sunbrellas. Parasols. Gosh you forgot to order one again.
And yes of course hydration.
Not with blood, god no, no warm liquids.
Water. Cold water. From your water bottle. From your fridge. That is. So so far away. Guh.
You collect your energy for that but you only get to the turning to your side part. Ew ew ew you can feel your shirt sticking to your back like this.
“wow, so you're still alive. good to know.”
Ah. So it wasn't the fan that caused the weird air pressure fluctuation you picked up on, but his shortcut.
“you almost had me worried there for a second that i’ll have to call in your death and would have to explain how i got here. y’know. less they think i’m the killer.”
Who let this guy in.
“i already scared you half to death once today.”
You don't trouble yourself with an answer, instead just listen to him shuffle around the counter behind your back.
Honestly he is the last person you wanted to see again. After he ditched you without any words. Like geez if he got enough of your company or had a better way to get around other than standing in stuffy buses with sweaty people, then by all means! He's busy or whatever. You never know with what, it's honestly confusing to no end how sometimes he acts like he has all the time in the world to spend on nothing but annoying or pestering you, yet other times you cannot catch any signs of life from him, like he fell off the face of the earth or got swallowed up by a rift. But the fact that you know he was next to you one moment and gone the next without any heads-up or taking the time to at least reply to your texts is simply asshole behaviour.
“oh sweet, you didn't eat my strawberry croissant.”
Oh right. Your groceries. On the counter.
“You mean my strawberry croissant.”
“nuh-uh, it's mine.”
There's no way he actually strutted in and is—
Sitting up so suddenly after lying down for so long makes you so dizzy. Ow your head. Ouch ouch ouch.
He is eating the croissant.
“Mine?!”
“simse wmem?”
And he's talking while eating, lovely.
“Excuse me?”
Now you remember why you didn't move. You quickly attempt to brush the things stuck to your arms and legs off. The crumbs fall off but the grimy feeling doesn't leave. What crumbs were those anyway? Did you not vacuum last week? Or maybe this is from the spilled cereal on Tuesday morning? Was it Wednesday…
“i asked since when.”
Since what…? Oh. Croissant issue.
“Since— Since I bought it?”
Sticky sticky. You have to stand up. Wash your hands. Yes, water, wash sweat and grime off. And drink.
Was your fan always this unbearably loud? You need to turn it off. And turn your lamps on, when did it get so dark?
“it wasn't on your list tho.”
List. Grocery list. Frick, you forgot dish soap. That’s not great. Normal hand washing soap you have doesn't leave you feeling squeaky clean like dishsoap does.
Killer seems to quiet for a bit while finishing his pastry, elbows on the counter and head propped up as he watches you make a circle in the kitchen before your realization about the forgotten item.
“… ‘kay, how about i pay you back for it then? if you apparently don't like giving me something without anything in return. kinda rude but whatever.”
You don't get time to wonder about how and if he actually intends to pay you back, because he's next to you in a quick step and is already grabbing both of your hands.
“deep breath.”
The singsonged warning arrives late, the second word’s place is only filled by your imagination as your senses all black out.
It's as bad as the first time. Like your heart skipped a beat, a very long beat during which you were frozen and experiencing your body shutting down while you were still conscious.
But when you’d gasp for air you are already taking them like normal and your blinks to clear your vision succeed on the first attempt. Like nothing happened.
Except your stomach turned and now your head is ringing.
“oops. i warned you.”
His hold on your hands left sometime while you were collecting yourself. It's all so… quiet. Cold and dark, but not like the void you just got pulled through.
“drumroll please! the—”
Water.
It takes a second to register what that weird feeling is. Cool water enveloping your feet, up to your ankles before the wave draws back.
The sea. You are at a beach.
Killer stays quiet after his initial cheery words, but you know he's there somewhere a few steps next to and behind you.
You can breathe. You are standing in water.
The moon is not completely in its place on the sky for the best reflection on the waves. The sun has just set not long ago, and it's not dark enough for all the stars to show just yet. Regardless, the sky is clear of any clouds, and the dark purple hues of the dusk dancing on the water alongside the moonlight are certainly a sight to behold.
…
But it's far from good, far from comfortable.
It was, for the first few seconds.
After which everything starts bothering you again.
The lukewarm water lapping up at your ankles was nice the first two times. Now it's warm and you're wet because of it. The sand under your feet was soft at first, but now it is sticking to your skin and crunching with every small shift of weight. The sound of the waves, a contradiction in of itself. How could anyone find this relaxing and calming? It’s not loud, but it’s continuous, never stopping like the most annoying white noise. Like your fan at home.
So much noise. Your head hurts.
And while the breeze at first felt nice against your skin, it was probably only because of the slight change and contrast in the temperature after getting out of your stuffy apartment. Now it’s warm, and it carries the smell of salt with it. How can people stand this?! You’re having a hard time inhaling and exhaling like normal, the air feels more like a warm liquid than the refreshing oxygen you’re supposed to be breathing in.
“I don’t like this…” That’s an understatement. This is horrible. “I-I don't like this- I feel awful, I can't do this right now—” Your head hurts. You cannot breathe.
In this darkness Killer's expression is obscured, the only light you can focus your attention on being the dim red glow of his soul even as you spin around to look at him, but it's not enough to light up his face in any way that would make him more discernible.
“Why did you bring me here? What did you think would happen? I- This is awful— I don't wanna be here…”
The water you're standing in is warm, the sand is sticking to your calves. There is sweat running down on your forehead. On your back. Your clothes are soaked through and itch where they touch your skin. You want this to stop.
“Do you hear me? Take me home, Killer! I hate this, I really hate this, I wanna go home!”
He doesn't react. Just stands there, couple of steps away from you in the sand.
Being home would be awful as well, but at this point you’ll take anything over this. A cold shower. Yes, you just need to wash this all off. Get it off your skin. You're sticky, everything is sticky, you need to scrub it all off, wash it all off, make this feeling stop.
“Killer, bring me back home, I told you—”
His voice rings weird in your head when he cuts you off, almost aggravated, “stars, okay! whatever, alright, i’ll take you back home, just quit bitching already. i heard you just fine, no need to yell.”
The next thing you know before you even have the chance to think about his words, is that your arm is being grabbed. And then the ground slips from under your feet.
When you gasp for air and your vision clears again you are already standing in the hallway of your apartment. The grip leaves your arm and you are left leaning against the wall for support as nausea catches up to you. For a second you are certain that the minimal amount of food in your stomach will really end up on the floor, if the first trip through the void didn't do it.
As fast as it came the feelings leaves as well and the dizziness fades back to your awful headache. You don't check if Killer left or not, just head straight for the bathroom.
…
The plastic tub is somewhat cold against your skin. Or maybe it's just the cold water that has been running over you for 15 minutes now. Or 30? You have a hard time of telling. There is no extra energy left in you to stay standing and wash up quickly. So you settle for sitting in the tub, head hanged and forehead rested on your drawn up knees so that the water from the shower can hit your head while you can continue breathing without problems.
You already scrubbed yourself over. 3 times. Your skin is a little red from it. You rinsed your hair out several times. It all did little to wash away that stickiness from the day. Objectively thinking, you are clean. You watched the washed off sand trickle down the drain with the water. Your hair will dry fluffy and soft, unlike how sticky and greasy it was after today. The scent of your bodywash is what will stick in your nose, not the unpleasant smell of sweat. You just wish you felt as clean as you know you are.
At least for the moment your body temperature is bearable. The air itself isn't, despite having the window cracked open in the bathroom, the outside still hasn't cooled down.
What time is it anyway? Temperatures should be dropping already. You really hope they will soon because you are not about to sleep with the fan turned on. Definitely not, nope, not with the headache machine.
For now though, as it is still not proper cold out, the moment you turn the water off and get out from the tub, you'll start sweating again.
But you really really want to search for painkillers before your head bursts.
So you do just that.
Turning off the water and fiddling with the shower to leave everything in order makes more noise than you anticipated. At least it is loud compared to the while you spent sitting here. You get out the tub, holding the edge a little tighter than usual as you don’t trust yourself not to slip in your current exhausted state. Slipping and hitting your head is not on your bucket list. Pretty sure that would hurt more than this headache.
Rummaging through the medicine cabinet gets you what you were looking for, the painkillers you held off on taking earlier today. Now it seems like a stupid decision, you could have spared yourself all this suffering.
You hold off on wrapping a towel around yourself just yet, not willing to put on any unnecessary layers. Part of you hoped that maybe you could just sit back into the tub. While maybe it didn’t refresh you completely, the cold water did help a little.
But… racking up the water bill just for sitting under the running water maybe isn’t the best choice. And you cannot stay here forever. You have to dry yourself and dress up if you want to leave the room and go to bed. No noises came from your apartment during your shower, but that doesn't mean the coast is clear, not until you check and know Killer left. You could just try to tip toe to your bedroom with a towel around you… But do you truly want to risk that?
It would make your life so much easier if he just used the front door or announced his arrival beforehand like a normal guest.
You find him on the couch, not looking up from his phone despite surely having heard you open the bathroom door and walk here. He looks… like he always does. Same neutral grin, same relaxed posture. Same black liquid running down his cheeks like ruined mascara. It's difficult to tell if he's upset after what happened.
“… I’m sorry about yelling at you.”
No reaction. He swipes up on his phone screen.
The meds are starting to work, at least you hope, as the pain in your head moved to the back of your skull and dulled some.
“I just— I had a long day. Sorry.”
Still nothing. Are you supposed to apologise differently? Explain? Reason? Yes maybe your earlier reaction wasn’t warranted, but you don't know what's his deal is and it's frankly pissing you off, you're tired and he's the uninvited guest here who was inconsiderate of you.
“we’re cool.”
Right.
“Are you staying?”
He finally moves, pocketing his phone with a sigh before standing up.
“not gonna crash on your couch, i can find somewhere else. wouldn't wanna impose,” he gives you a grin, but it is far from his happy or charming ones.
He’s leaving? Why is he leaving? Did you mess it up that bad? “I don't mind. You can stay.”
“nah, not a good idea.”
“I want you to stay.”
Stars, you are very weird and annoying. You’ve been kinda pissy all day. He tries one time to surprise you, with something that you should have reacted very differently to, something nice, something people would be happy for, but apparently not you, you instead proceeded to freak out on him. It doesn't even make any sense. And yet, despite your mixed signals all day that your soul and behaviour was sending him, now you're insisting on him staying.
“‘kay, whatever you say then.”
That went... surprisingly easy.
And now it's awkward. You nod, but that's about it. You convinced him. And what for? It's not like trying to talk will be less awkward. It's not like you feel the bestest at the moment.
But you didn't want to kick him out.
He took you to the beach! Well. For like 5 minutes because you were not having the best time of your life, but that still is insane. The beach. Somewhere. Because there is definitely no beach like that here. No sea or ocean side.
You never were at one.
You didn't ask him. You never told him.
The first step you take towards him is unsure. Embarrassingly so. And then you practically jump into his neck before you can regret your decision.
He stumbles slightly from the surprise hug, but quickly steadies himself, hands hovering near your sides as if unable to decide what he wants to do. There were not a lot of proper hugs shared between you two, that is for certain. You feel silly for attempting to change that.
But oh. He’s cold. Not cold as in the difference in temperature you felt when he grabbed onto your arm for the shortcut. Cold cold, as in he’s not only lacking bodyheat, but straight up runs cold instead. Except for his soul that is squished and is buzzing against your chest. It isn’t warm, but you never noticed how it felt, like TV static, even through the fabric of your night-shirt.
His soul. That you are not supposed to be able to see normally, and from what you gathered since learning about them, most definitely not supposed to touch even through barriers of clothing.
Your brain catches up to you and you are already loosening your arms around him to pull back to give him space. Except that you can’t. Because there are arms wrapped around your waist that keep you there.
“snrk— don’t tell me you are getting cold feet already?”
Okay maybe he is not that angry.
“You’re cold. Why— How?”
Killer cannot stop himself from snickering at the almost childish wonder in your voice. Which is further fueled when you turn to glance at him with the cutest of confused eyes he had ever seen.
“magic.”
Suddenly you are not in much of a hurry to move or to let him go, instead you lean more of your weight into him in hopes of cooling yourself off more.
“That’s…. Literally so unfair. Do you seriously not get hot? Even in this weather?”
“i am hot, thank you very much.” When it doesn’t look like you are gonna untangle yourself from him anytime soon, he backs up some and settles back on the couch, effectively tugging you along as well. “and that’s not how it works.”
“Then how does it work?” Dignity be damned you are sleepy and he is a walking cooler. A surprisingly comfortable one. Of course you’re gonna cling to him now that he apparently allows it.
“i can’t just spill all my secrets. if i tell you everything with it goes the appeal of my mysterious aura.”
“Mysterious aura my ass…”
Who cares. He's cold. And you're practically draped over him. He can keep his secrets for all you care, as long as you can stay like this.
Maybe even sleep like this? You can try pushing your luck… Even if it would be weird using him as a pillow, especially considering that he’s far from soft.
He smells sweet. It's hard not to notice this close. Probably his laundry detergent, your face is kinda pressed into his shoulder and his shirt. It's a familiar scent, but you cannot tell why or from where.
“Didn’t know you had shortcuts to the beach… Considering the closest one is like. Not here. Incredibly far away,” you mumble a bit absentminded.
“well duh. that's the point of shortcuts.”
“Can you… take me? Another day I mean. Without the scaring me to death part preferably.”
His hand on your back fidgets with your shirt, sometimes stopping to awkwardly rest there.
“thought you didn't like the beach?”
Understandable conclusion to come to after whatever that was. But you are not in the mood to talking about that. Why would you risk ruining this. Your head doesn't hurt. Your body isn't dying. And you don't feel like yelling or crying.
You don't need to reply.
“…sure. one day.”