Touch Me, I'm Sick. || Edward Nashton x Reader || He/Him

<1> I'm so sorry.

A moment of silence passed as the chubby man stared down at me, as unsure of what to say as I was. We seemed to have a lot in common right now. Both of us were rain-soaked to the bone, embarrassed, and befuddled. Another emotion glimmered in his eyes momentarily.

"Uhm... My name is Edward." He told me quietly, extending his hand out to me with hesitance. I took it, his palm warm in my cold one. It was a surprise to me— I was sure he was out in the cold longer than me.

"I'm [y/n]," I told him. His eyes lit up like fireflies, just for a second.

"Nice to meet you, [y/n]." His voice was crisp, and the words sounded well annunciated when they hit my ears. I liked the way his voice sounded.

"You too, Edward," I replied, shaking his hand firmly. I had been told before that I gave great handshakes.

He was a man with naturally sad-looking eyes, but he had a cute face. He was nice to look at, and the clear-framed glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose complemented his face well. He was wearing a blue puffer jacket, which explained the feeling of the fabric that briefly grazed my face when I ran into him.

His eyes flicked upwards. The rain was seeming to calm down just a little bit.

"Which way are you going, [y/n]?" He asked me. I pointed and he nodded his head.

"Me too..."

Another little moment of silence as he took a couple of steps to the crosswalk and pushed the button that signaled we wanted to cross.

"Could I... Do you mind if I keep you company for a little bit?" He questioned further, and I thought about it for a moment.

A lot of the people in Gotham were involved with a lot of heavy crime, and I wasn't sure if I was about to walk right into a trap. My eyes were locked on the pavement for a moment before the gaze wandered over to him.

He gave me a soft smile, looking about as harmless as a baby bunny. A little company wouldn't hurt, would it?

"Sure," I told him, and a triumphant look could be seen only through his eyes. Once it was time to cross, he watched me, trying to make sure we wouldn't get separated in the little crowd that had gathered to cross. He looked incredibly careful, not even letting the spectacles on his face slide too far down his nose.

"What do you do for work?" I asked him, letting the rain soak me as I continued to shelter my book. He hadn't commented on the unusual shape showing through my jacket pocket. There was a little space just big enough for the small but thick novel.

"I'm a forensic accountant." He told me, accompanying his words with a little nod as if he was proud of himself. "You?"

"I'm between jobs at the moment," I answered. It was true— I was— only because I wanted to work, though. Due to a little stroke of luck in the family I was brought up in, not everyone was a broke asshole. Some of them were assholes with money and no one to give it to when they died. No one except for me, anyway.

I know, that makes me sound like a jackass. It isn't hard to suck up to someone and use them when you know about everything they've done. All the shitty little wrongdoings that they've scattered throughout the lives of those who did not deserve it.

My aunt loved me. Far more than the wife she had cheated on. I just agreed with her, and that was all that it took. I hadn't expected her to die as soon as she did (it was pancreatic cancer, I'm not a murderer), but cheating wasn't the worst she had done, so I wasn't exactly sad.

She was a millionaire asshole, and because she had no one left to give her money to, and because I was all she had left, she just left everything to me. A lot of it, I donated. I don't usually know what to do with money.