Chapter Text
* * *
There was heat, dry heat pressed down on him from all directions. The ground was a never ending expanse of rock and sand that seemed to stretch on for miles. The grains of sand worked their way into Eugene’s skin somehow, even while wearing a uniform and a MOPP suit over it. His feet hurt from walking and there was something rubbing the side of his food raw. He needed to take off his boots. Eugene paused in the middle of walking and was about to follow through with his wishes when his training kicked in and he reminded himself that now was not a good time to take them off. Instead he stood still for a moment and took in the throbbing of his foot and the way his face felt while it got slowly baked by the desert sun.
“What’s the hold up, Sledge?”
Eugene blinked and focused on the man in front of him, Oswalt, who had noticed that Eugene had stopped now that he was several feet in front of him.
“I’m out looking at land, Oswalt,” Eugene sighed, his voice a little weak from heat and lack of use.
Eugene turned away from his friend and squinted at the sun. He heard Oswalt chuckle, knew that he was grinning at him and probably shaking his head.
“You can look at land once we’re back at camp, Sledge,” Oswalt grinned as he began to walk backwards, white, toothy smile creating a bright white signal amidst the expanse of beige coloring surrounding the both of them. “Come on, if we don’t get a move on, Gunny is gonna be pissed that we took so long.”
Eugene nodded his head and lifted his throbbing foot with the intention of moving forward but the next thing he knew he was knocked to the ground. Fire whirled around him, making the already oppressive heat so much worse. His back slammed against the hard ground and all the oxygen that had been in his lungs was forced out. He couldn’t breathe. There was smoke clogging up his vision and he couldn’t see. There was a sharp noise that filled his ears. Eugene coughed and struggled to breathe, to call out to his friend.
“Os-Oswalt!” Eugene coughed as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened. “Oswalt!”
Eugene’s eyes flung open as he sprung up into a sitting position. His chest heaved while he gasped desperately for oxygen. He sat frozen for a long moment before he blinked, took in the dim room, and realized where he was. He was in his bedroom, in his shitty little apartment in Boston. He wasn’t in Iraq, wasn’t being thrown to the ground because of a land mine. He was okay, physically speaking.
“Damn it,” Eugene hissed into the darkness while he tried to get his rapid heart rate under control.
He felt a chill roll over his body and he realized he was covered in a cold sweat. His entire body was shaking and even though his breathing had returned to normal his heart still felt as if it were trying to jump out of his chest. Eugene ran a shaky hand through his sweat-soaked hair before he pulled his knees up to his chest. He stared off into the distance while Oswalt’s last moments continued to flash in front of his eyes. By the time his heart rate had slowed to a more normal rate and his body stopped shaking, a pale, grey light had begun to work its way across his bedroom floor. Sighing heavily, Eugene pulled back the covers, swung his legs over the side of his bed, and got out of bed.
He glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table and read the time; it was almost five-thirty in the morning. It was his day to open the shop so he had to get a move on anyhow. Eugene slipped his feet into his old, beaten up pair of slippers before he shuffled out of his bedroom and into the main area of the tiny apartment he shared with his best friend, Bill.
He flicked on the light switch on the way to the kitchen and lit up the apartment with a wave of yellow light. There was the living room, messy and filled with second hand furniture, and then the kitchen off to the side. There were dishes piled high in the sink and the garbage was over flowing but Eugene ignored that for now as he made his way to the coffee pot.
I’ll text Bill later to clean up, Eugene thought to himself as he poured himself a cold cup of coffee into one of the only clean mugs left. He put the mug into the microwave and started it up before he disappeared into the bathroom next to his bedroom.
Once in the bathroom he paused for a moment and took in his reflection: skin still pale, it never seemed capable of tanning, eyes brown and tired, his exhaustion made more obvious by the dark bruises under his eyes, all topped off with a shock of red hair. Eugene blinked before he ran a hand across his jaw and felt the miniscule stubble that was there. He very rarely needed a shave, something he had gotten teased for back when he was in the service, but it didn’t bother him. It made his mornings easier when, like today, they started off rough and he could barely find the energy to do the most basic forms of personal upkeep.
Twenty minutes later Eugene was walking down the rusted metal steps that jutted off of the back of the building with a travel mug of coffee in hand and a thick hoodie pulled over his torso; he had been living in Boston for over a year now, had been living up north for even longer now, but Eugene still wasn’t quite used to the early morning chill that blanketed the city this time of year.
Eugene rounded the building, walked down the sidewalk for a couple feet, and stopped in front of one of the many storefronts. Eugene pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket before he stepped forward and unlocked the door.
Once inside he was assaulted with the pleasant perfume of flowers. He flicked on the light and took in the sight of the small shop filled to the brim with fresh, vibrant flowers. Eugene’s eyes jumped from one cluster to another, breathed in the lightly perfumed air, and slowly a smile came to his face. Feeling better than he did minutes before, Eugene set down his mug of coffee on the counter and began to straighten up the shop so that it would be ready to open up soon.
Eugene loved the flower shop. Everything about the place calmed him down: the smells, the soft colors, the general lack of loud noises. Bill didn’t say it, claimed he only worked there for the paycheck and easy work with someone who wasn’t an asshole, but Eugene was sure the flower shop calmed Bill down too.
A lot of people didn’t understand Eugene’s fascination with fauna, including most of his family and friends, but Eugene learned not too long ago to not care if other people understood or not. They made him feel better and they gave him a purpose after almost everything he had ever believed in had been completely destroyed, what more was there to understand?
* * *
“About time you decided to show,” Eugene called out when he heard the back door open and footsteps coming towards him.
“You should be grateful,” Bill’s voice, heavy with a Brooklyn accent, responded. “I’m only late because I decided to splurge. Got you a real coffee; not that piss-water from the coffeemaker in the back.”
“Thanks, Bill,” Eugene thanked as he turned away from watering the peonies and walked towards the counter where Bill had set the cardboard carrier.
“Even remember to get you low caffeine shit,” Bill said as he pulled his apron from off of the hook behind the register. “Know how when you have too much caffeine you get heart burn like the old man that you are.”
“Aww, Bill, you do care.”
“Shut up, Eugene,” Bill snapped as he looked at Eugene over his shoulder.
Bill was a young man who was about a head shorter than Eugene. He had bright blue eyes, which were almost always pulled back into a sneer, and light brown hair that was still cropped low like when they were both in the Marines.
The two young men had almost nothing in common. Bill hailed proudly from Brooklyn where he spent his childhood in a concrete jungle jumping turnstiles for the subway. Eugene grew up in a large house on an even larger plot of land just outside of Mobile, Alabama. Eugene’s family was part of a long line of southern aristocrats while Bill’s family hovered somewhere around the poverty line. Bill was loud, brash, and very rarely went without speaking his mind, which gained him many more enemies than friends in his lifetime. Eugene was, for the most part, a quiet and reserved man, although from time to time Eugene’s temper showed and it could make even Bill shut up. On paper these two people should not have been anything close to friends and Eugene knew it, was sure Bill knew it too, but after everything that they had been through together, boot camp, two tours in Iraq, trying to readapt to civilian life together, Eugene didn’t feel right if he didn’t have Leyden at his six.
“You know how old-man Pesarie kicked it last October and his shops been closed ever since?” Bill asked as he leaned against the wall behind the register.
“Yeah, Bill. There’s been a for sale sign up for almost a year,” Eugene responded as he moved on to water the roses.
“Well there ain’t anymore.”
“What?” Eugene asked as he turned around to face the other man.
“Signs gone,” Bill declared. “And the apartment next door, the one over Pesarie’s old shop, has clearly got someone in it now. Fuckers woke me up this morning.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Didn’t get a look at any of them. Just know that they’re all louder than Christ,” he growled before he drank the rest of his coffee and tossed the cup into the nearby trashcan. “Can’t tell what’s going in next door either. Might go investigating later.”
“You can go investigate on your break,” Eugene decided as he sat his coffee back down on the counter and went back to work watering the roses. “Right now I need you to go in the back and check to see when the next shipment of tulips is set to come in.”
“Such a slave driver,” Bill huffed dramatically before he did as told and walked slowly towards the back of the store.
“Yeah go ahead and bitch,” Eugene called over his shoulder as Bill disappeared behind the door that led to the back office. “If it weren’t for me you’d still be in Brooklyn and out of a job.”
“If it weren’t for me you’d still be lost in the middle of the fucking desert!” Bill yelled through the door. “Should’ve left your ginger ass there to burn.”
Eugene chuckled quietly as he went back to work and Bill continued to grumble from inside the office.
Same old Bill.
* * *
“Come on. What’s it gonna hurt to make a quick bet?” Bill persisted from where he stood, leaning against the office doorway hours later.
“My wallet,” Eugene answered flatly as he struggled to double check some last minute things on the ancient office computer; they really should just take the hit and buy a better computer to save themselves from the constant pain of trying to operate the hunk of junk from the beginning of the millennium. “I’m not betting a round of drinks. An asshole like you would order the most expensive drink in the place.”
“Fine then, a beer, Gene,” Bill sighed while Eugene continued to type away at the computer. “Just humor me.”
“How about you go humor me and at least pretend like you’re watching the front of the store,” Eugene snapped as he shooed Bill away with a wave of his hand. “And I’ll think about it.”
All morning and afternoon Eugene had to deal with Bill’s wild guesses about what and who was moving in next door. After about the first hour Eugene lost all interest in Bill’s increasingly wilder guesses but really, he couldn’t blame Bill; slow day at the shop.
“Ya know I bet it’s one of those off-brand cell phone shops that keep popping up all over the place,” Bill declared as he made his way back to the front counter. “With any luck that shit’ll be outta here in a few months and it’ll take the neighbors away too.”
“Well with that welcome wagon why wouldn’t they stay?” Eugene muttered to himself as he saved his work and shut down the computer. Eugene grabbed his hoodie from off the back of the desk chair before he walked back to the front of the store. “So is that your bet?”
“Huh?” Bill asked as he looked up from the magazine in his hands.
“A cell phone shop. Is that your final bet?” Eugene asked.
Bill stared at him for a long moment before he held out his right hand. Eugene went to grab the hand but before he could, Bill jerked it back.
“Hey, wait. What are you betting?”
Eugene needed a moment to think. While he wasn’t nearly as interested in their new neighbors as Bill was, he couldn’t help but peak at the commotion next door on his way back from grabbing their lunch orders earlier. He hadn’t seen much that gave him a clear answer but Eugene had seen a mover dragging an adjustable chair through the front doors similar to the chairs he saw at the barbers.
“Uh, barber shop. Hair salon,” Eugene shrugged. It was a bit of a wild shot but anything could be moving in next door.
“Alright then,” Bill said as he put his hand back out for Eugene to take. “So say it’s neither of those places. How do we decide who wins?”
“How about whoever’s closer?” Eugene suggested as he took a step back towards the front door. “Closest guess gets a free beer.”
“Works for me.”
“And don’t forget to lock the front and the backdoor when you leave,” Eugene called over his shoulder as he walked out of the shop. “There have been a lot of break-ins around here lately.”
“Okay but if I leave the door open that means we won’t have to pay for whatever they broke to get inside,” Bill quipped; Eugene only managed to glare flatly in response. “Hey, we’ve been at this game for a while, I think it’s time you let up on the reigns a little.”
“I’ll see you upstairs,” Eugene said in farewell as he let the front door close behind him.
As Eugene walked up the back metal steps he tried to listen for any new voices or unfamiliar sounds but he only heard the usual muffled commotion that came with being in the city around rush-hour. When he reached the top of the stairs Eugene found that the previously empty half of the concrete balcony area was now covered in taped up boxes, pieces of second hand furniture, and a slightly rusted mountain bike. The place might have been empty when Eugene left that morning but there was definitely someone there now. The giant slab of concrete that made up the outdoor space for both apartments was only split up by a rusted waist-high fence. It didn’t exactly create a private atmosphere.
Goodbye private balcony, Eugene lamented as he pulled out his keys and entered his apartment. It was nice to have a quiet escape right on hand whenever he needed it. He guessed it was just another thing he’d have to get used to.
* * *
Even after all his years in the Corps and living up north with Bill, Eugene still was not a very capable person in the kitchen. More often than not he ended up setting off the smoke alarm in the apartment but practice made perfect and Eugene was too stubborn to let a couple almost-fires stop him. Bill wasn’t much of a cook either but having grown up without a housekeeper- unlike Eugene -he occasionally had to fend for himself and has always been able to whip up a grilled cheese or boil some water for pasta. At twenty-seven Eugene has roughly the same culinary skills as Bill did at twelve. Even though Bill was slightly more capable in the kitchen whenever it was his turn to throw dinner together, he almost always turned to takeout, even on their tight budget. Bill liked to say that after Eugene’s cooking they both needed a pick me up that only greasy takeout could solve.
Truth be told, the two of them and their shop were barely scrapping by. Every month since they opened making rent has been a struggle and all the loose change they found on the streets or in the couch cushions were put to use at dollar mug night at the bar down the street. Dollar store pasta and frozen pizzas were standard fare around the apartment and more than once they’ve had to have the power turned off in the apartment so that they could keep the shop running at top shape. It was a complete one-eighty from how Eugene was raised. When they first started out, Eugene’s father gave them a rather generous donation and Eugene felt that if times were truly dire he could turn to his father for more help but Eugene saw that as only an absolute last resort option; anything to keep him from having to return to Mobile full time.
There was something to be said about being truly independent, to work for every last thing that you had. Struggling and fighting for the shop gave him a real reason to get out of bed in the morning. It wasn’t an easy life but based off of all the choices he made for himself over the past decade, Eugene apparently wasn’t made for the easy life he was born into.
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” Bill declared tiredly as he entered the apartment a little while later and stepped into the kitchen. “What’d you make me for dinner?”
“Pulled out all the stops for you,” Eugene responded flatly as Bill lifted the lid off of one of the pots and peered inside.
“Spaghetti again.”
“With meatballs.”
“Whoa, who you tryna impress?”
Eugene and Bill didn’t have a kitchen table in their apartment; not only did they not have the room but it was just something that didn’t matter to them. They had a few slightly scratched coffee tables set up around the second-hand couches in the living room and that was enough in their books. Once the two were settled in their usual seats with their simple dinner, Bill flicked through their ancient television until he found the Red Sox’s game and swore loudly through a mouth full of spaghetti and cheap beer whenever they scored; Bill, who was a die-hard Yankees fan, absolutely hated the Red Sox and felt that the team was the worst part about the entire city of Boston.
“I’m calling it a night,” Eugene declared only half an hour later.
“Dude, it’s not even nine,” Bill pointed out. “It’s not like you’re the one whose gotta open tomorrow. You could at least stay up for the rest of the game.”
“Yeah well, I didn’t exactly get a whole lot of sleep last night so,” Eugene trailed off as he got up and walked to the kitchen so that he could dump his dirty dishes into the sink. “Might as well try to get some sleep.”
“Well I’ll try to not be too loud,” Bill said right before he swore loudly at the scream as the Sox scored yet another run. “Fucking Christ! He was not fucking safe the ump’s fucking blind-!”
“Night, Bill,” Eugene sighed with a shake of his head, unsurprised.
Sleep, like most nights, did not come quickly to Eugene even though every bone in his body felt heavy with exhaustion. He stayed awake through the rest of the baseball game and Bill’s swearing and his grumbling about sports teams while he got ready for bed. Sometime after Bill retired to bed but before the sounds of his snores could fill the apartment Eugene finally felt his mind begin to drift away into the grey realm of sleep…
Grey shifted to black…
Black smoke…
It choked him. It blinded him. It turned day into night
“Os-Oswalt!” Eugene coughed. The smoke burned his throat and made him wheeze. It made him disorientated. Any training Eugene received was wiped clean from his memory and in its place there was only panic. “Oswalt!”
The smoke was still too thick too see and his ears were ringing so loudly it was almost painful. That’s why Oswalt wasn’t responding right? Because Eugene couldn’t hear him. Eugene reached out blindly, desperately for Oswalt and after a few failed swipes of burning hot sand he landed on something solid, possibly one of his friends’ legs or arms. Eugene latched onto the limb and tugged it, hoping for a response but instead he felt the object move unlike any body part should be able to move, as if it were separated from the rest of the body…
“No…” Eugene moaned weakly. “Oh no…”
Shocked and feeling ill, Eugene inhaled involuntarily as he jerked his hand away. Black smoke filled his lungs, strangling him. Things seemed to lighten around him; either the smoke was beginning to clear or Eugene was about to pass out from oxygen loss, he wasn’t sure. Eugene closed his eyes in case it was the latter; he didn’t want to see what would be left behind when the smoke cleared.
He thought he heard someone was calling his name. Maybe he was just losing his mind from oxygen deprivation or his brain was scrambled by the blast. Suddenly something or someone gripped his ankle in a death grip and yanked-
Eugene woke with a start. He jumped up into a sitting position and lunged forwards to grip his ankle. It was tingling uncomfortably, as if some phantom hand was still holding onto it. Eugene tightened his own hold on his ankle in a desperate attempt to make the tingling disappear. It wouldn’t go away.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Eugene folded in two so that his forehead rested against his shin. He knew his whole body was shaking, knew his heart was hammering against the inside of his ribcage, could feel how heavy his clothes felt and knew that they were soaked through with sweat. He was pathetic.
Six years. Probably at least once a week for the past six years Eugene’s mind replayed his friends last moments for him, over and over again, just in case witnessing it in person wasn’t bad enough. He had to have seen it hundreds of times now. It never got better. Eugene doubted it ever would get better. Time didn’t heal wounds, at least not wounds like these. Frankly Eugene gave up hope some time ago that there was anything in the world that would heal him.
Eugene felt his grip on his ankle slip slightly. His hands felt hot and wet. Eugene pulled back his hands, expecting to see them covered in sweat like the rest of his body he jumped when he found them rust colored. Blood. Eugene’s heartbeat ramped back up again while he tried to put the pieces together in his broken mind.
I’m seeing stuff now, he thought desperately, staring at his hands. The blood wouldn’t disappear from his hands no matter how many times he squeezed his eyes shut or shook his head.
“Go away, go away, go away,” Eugene hissed, panic rising quickly inside of him. Feeling borderline hysteric, Eugene leaped out of bed and felt a twinge of pain in his ankle. “Go-!”
Eugene looked down at his hurt ankle, tangled in his bed sheets. He yanked and pulled at the cloth until his leg was freed. Eugene ran his fingers up and down his ankle and shin and found a tacky substance there, similar to whatever covered his hands. Even in the dim light of his room Eugene could see the deep, crescent shaped cuts that covered his ankle.
His body sagged against his bedroom wall, weary from his rapidly declining panic. Eugene looked at his hands again and saw how dark his fingernails were now. He hadn’t realized how tightly he was gripping his ankle, hadn’t even felt it when his fingernails broke the skin. Stepping around the tangled up fabric on the floor, Eugene headed for the bathroom where he half-heartedly cleaned the blood from his hands and his ankle before he wiped at the broken skin with some peroxide. As Eugene tossed the soiled cotton ball into the open toilet he noticed with an unpleasant twinge that his hands were still shaking.
“Christ,” Eugene swore before he stomped back to his bedroom, felt around his desk in the dark for the small, rusted metal case for a moment before he snatched it up and headed outside to the balcony.
Usually the cold of the night would have a bigger effect on him- it was still rather chilly in late May in Boston this time of night –but Eugene wasn’t exactly in the clearest state of mind to realize that the concreate of the balcony felt like ice on his bare feet or that his thin t-shirt was soaked in sweat and didn’t exactly help him retain any warmth. He didn’t care. Instead Eugene sat down on the tattered, moth-eaten arm chair they had set up on their half of the balcony and went to work packing his pipe.
He had heard enough jokes and wise cracks about his pipe to last a lifetime but no matter how many times Bill called him Popeye Eugene wouldn’t give it up. There was something calming about it, packing and lighting it, cleaning it when he was done. It gave him something to focus on when his mind was spinning with a million different thoughts and emotions. His mother hated his pipe, hated that he picked up smoking in the first place but again, it didn’t stop Eugene. He of course abided by her request when he was still at home to smoke outside; he always stepped outside to smoke no matter where and what company, it just felt rude not to. Even after everything, some remnant of his breeding still remained.
Unfortunately for Eugene, he could only pack and ready his pipe for so long. Once he sat down on the old musty armchair and inhaled the biter smoke the memories and nightmares came rushing back, muted and quieter now but still present.
The nightmares didn’t really start until after Eugene got home. Overseas, even right after it happened Eugene didn’t really have nightmares over it but then again, sleep was usually only granted to him after he hadn’t slept for a day or more. By that time he was normally so tired even flashbacks couldn’t break through his exhaustion. When he got back home, however, the nightmares attacked him in force.
His father tried to help him. He really did. His father, who served as a medic during the Vietnam War, at least had some inkling of the things Eugene saw and did overseas. Unlike Eugene’s mother, he realized that some of the deepest and most crippling of wounds couldn’t always be seen. His father had used this connections to get Eugene to one of the best therapist in southern Alabama, got him antidepressants and sleeping pills and antianxiety medication, did everything in his power to help his youngest son. It worked, to a degree. The medication was enough to get him out of bed and get him going through the day but he never felt like his old self; truthfully Eugene wasn’t sure if he knew what his old self felt like anymore. The sleeping pills he was prescribed were strong enough to get him to sleep but too weak to keep the nightmares away. The result was that often Eugene was trapped in some awful nightmare the medicine made impossible for him to escape from. Eugene hated his therapist or to put it more accurately he hated talking to his therapist.
Dr. Grant was a perfectly fine person, middle aged and greying with a naturally kind face he reminded Eugene of his own father. Things were fine when Dr. Grant just wanted him to talk about anything- the weather, books he had read, how his family was –but once he started to push for more serious topics, ask how he was sleeping and eating, ask about nightmares and flashbacks, Eugene just couldn’t help but shut down. He didn’t want to talk about it, he couldn’t. He just wanted to take his medicine and get better, not have some crack doctor pry at his most painful thoughts and memories. What good would Dr. Grant have done anyways? He had never served, he wouldn’t have understood how Eugene felt. Eugene remembered the way Dr. Grant covertly jotted down notes about Eugene on the notebook he kept hidden on his lap, as if Eugene couldn’t tell he was doing it; he still felt the irritation flare up inside of him today. He felt like an animal on display being studied.
Things were going alright for Eugene for a little while before shit hit the fan again. His sleeping pills didn’t seem to be working as well as they used to and the stronger dose knocked him out for too long and left him in the fog for the rest of his waking hours. His anxiety medicine seemed to be weakening as well which forced him to stay inside and around his home more often than before much to his mother’s chagrin. He walked into every therapist session feeling tired and uneasy and always seemed to leave angrier and more frustrated than ever. His father told repeatedly to keep the faith, to keep trying, to switch to a different medicine if one wasn’t working and even asked if he wanted a different therapist but Eugene just couldn’t do it.
He was tired. He was tired and unbelievably frustrated and he barely had the energy to get out of bed anymore, let alone get dressed and go out into the world and have his most sensitive and complicated thoughts picked and prodded at for hours every week. He was sick of his mother asking him about his plans and his brother offering a job at the bank, both so sure that all Eugene needed was something to keep him occupied and he’d feel better. He was annoyed at his best friend Sidney for suggesting that time would fix his issues and he was even more annoyed at himself for believing his friend for a while; years later and it was quite obvious now that time was not gonna fix this mountain of shit Eugene willingly dragged himself into. Eventually, after weeks of arguing and back and forth Eugene dropped everything, all of his medication, his therapist, all against his father’s wishes. He just couldn’t do it. He wasn’t strong enough.
“Gene?”
Eugene jumped so violently he dropped his pipe on the ground, sending ashes and hot tobacco all over. He whipped around in his seat to find Bill standing in the doorway of their apartment, half dressed for work, arms half raised in a sign of defense.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Bill apologized. “How long you been out here, Gene?”
How long had he been out there? Eugene blinked and looked at the grey early morning sky before he looked down at the tin in his lap and saw that half of his tobacco was gone. He remembered repacking his pipe once or twice but not that many times. Eugene wasn’t quite sure what time it was when he came out here but it had definitely been dark then. It had to have at least been an hour or two. Maybe more.
Eugene shrugged.
“A while I guess,” Eugene admitted as he bent down to grab his pipe from the ground.
He heard Bill grumble something as he stepped back inside but he wasn’t paying enough attention to hear distinct words. In the quiet of the early morning, Eugene could hear Bill stomping around the apartment, talking to himself as he did so. Another moment later and Bill was stepping out onto the balcony, pack of cigarettes and his lighter in one hand and a hoodie in the other.
“Here,” he said before he tossed the fabric at Eugene. “Your Bama blood is gonna freeze out here. Can’t let you get sick.”
“Thanks,” Eugene said as he pulled the thick material over his body; it wasn’t until this moment that he realized he was shivering. His bare feet were bright red and aching from the cold so he tucked them up under his body.
Bill walked over to the tattered couch they had set up against their side of the metal railing and sat down to light himself a cigarette. Once it was lit, Bill shoved his smokes and lighter into his hoodie pocket and stared out at the rising sun. Eugene didn’t expect him to speak, he very rarely did when he found Eugene out here like this. He didn’t blame him; Eugene never knew what to say when Bill got into one of his moods or he got a call from their local bar to come drag Bill home because he drank too much. They had been through everything together, had seen each other’s nightmares firsthand. Neither of them wanted to bring up old wounds; why cause two people to relieve that pain? What good would have come from that?
Eugene watched as Bill crushed his cigarette bud into the overflowing ash tray they had sat out on the milk crate they used as a table before he stood up.
“Go inside and take a nap, Gene,” Bill said before he lightly bumped Eugene’s temple with his knuckles, Bill’s own special form of endearment. “At least put on some goddamn shoes before you get sick. You know how good of a nurse I can be.”
“I’ll head in in a minute,” Eugene promised with a tired smile.
Bill didn’t say anything else before he disappeared down the rusted metal steps that led to the alley way below.
To the rest of the world, Bill might seem like a gruff and uncaring individual but to Eugene he was one of the best people on the planet. He did care, just in his own way. It took some time but after almost a decade of friendship Eugene was able to take his grumbles and scowls and occasional slaps upside the head and see them for what they really meant. Bill was there for Eugene when he was at his worst. When Eugene showed up out of the blue on the doorstep of his apartment in Brooklyn three years, Bill took him in and let him crash on his couch without a second thought. How many people would have done something like that for a friend? Sure, Bill might only like five people on the entire planet but to those lucky five, Bill would give the whole world to them.
* * *
Hours later Eugene stood outside the shop, water hose in hand with sun beaming down on him as he watered the plants put outside for display. He was in the middle of humming an off-key version of some overplayed pop song when he caught someone or something moving in his peripheral. Eugene turned in time to see a man around his age exiting the shop next door. He watched for a few minutes as the man exited and entered the building multiple times, bringing items from the truck parked out front while he held a conversation with someone who Eugene assumed was inside the building. He didn’t give off any indication of being a delivery man… Setting down the hose, Eugene cross the distance between shops in a few steps.
“Hi,” Eugene greeted the man as he exited the shop once again. Eugene extended his hand once the man noticed he was there. “I’m Eugene Sledge. I work just next door,” he said as he jerked thumb over his shoulder. “Are you going to be working at this…?” He trailed off. It was still difficult to tell what the heck the shop was going to become.
“Yeah, I am,” he answered after he shook Eugene’s hand. “Me and some of my buddies. Moved in next door with one of them too.”
“I live in the apartment above my shop too. Pretty decent place for what we’re being charged. Commute to work really can’t be beat,” Eugene said while he took in the man’s appearance.
He was slightly shorter than Eugene with brown eyes and the sandy brown hair that fell messily across his forehead had streaks of faded turquois. The dye had the appearance of once being bolder, possibly bluer, but most of its luster had gone down the drain after numerous washes. The hair was not even the most conspicuous aspect about the man. Both of his ears had a handful of metal piercings along the cartilage and he had a few colorful tattoos imprinted on both of his arms, the most eye-catching which was of a watercolor Blue Jay on his left bicep.
“Save some money not having to take the bus,” he commented. “Oh, I’m Jay by the way. Jay De L’eau.”
“Nice to meet you, Jay,” Eugene nodded before something clicked in his brain. He smiled as his gaze drifted from the bird on his bicep to the color in his hair. “Blue. Jay. Blue Jay,” he chuckled as he motioned at Jay’s appearance. “It’s funny.”
Jay did not seem to find it funny at all. Frowning, Jay brushed his bangs, as if running his fingers through them would take away the color magically.
“If I had a dollar every time I heard that,” he grumbled. “My friend Florence did it…she thinks she’s funny. She was grinning the whole time and I didn’t think anything of it. Unfortunately for me she uses some pretty strong stuff.”
“Sorry,” Eugene apologized. Jay shrugged.
Before either one of them could say another word, a voice called out from inside the shop.
“Hey, Jay! Get your ass back in here! Don’t think you can hide out there forever, come back in here we got a ton of shit to do still.”
“I gotta go,” Jay said as he took a step backwards toward his shop. “Nice meeting you though.”
“Nice meeting you too. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around plenty.”
Eugene turned and was about to head back to his task when a thought suddenly struck him. Turning back around quickly, Eugene called out to Jay just before he disappeared back inside the shop.
“Hey, what’s…what’s your shop gonna be anyways?” Eugene asked. “Just curious.”
“Tattoo parlor,” Jay answered simply.
“A tattoo parlor?” He hadn’t expected that but now that he got a look at Jay it made a little more sense.
“We also do piercings,” he added. “Might be able to give you a discount if you’re interested, us being neighbors and all.”
“A tattoo parlor,” Eugene muttered to himself as he walked back to his storefront and picked up his abandoned hose. A tattoo parlor was closer to a barber shop than a cell phone repair store right? “Think Bill owes me a beer.”