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"𝘼𝙩𝙩𝙖 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡," 𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙙.
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In which Gwendolyn Bird, beaten and bruised by the death of her brother, meets a dark-haired, green-eyed man in the most fateful circumstances. Except, he's holding a gun against her he...
Gwen didn't sleep a wink last night following the conversation she had on the fire escape with Nine. An extremely confusing conversation, mind you.
One that left her mind boggled, her brows forever creased together, and words circling her mind in an endless loop.
"Please. Please let me continue hating you."
It left her completely rattled.
When she entered the apartment after him following those words, he'd left. He wasn't anywhere in his unit, and Gwen took it as a sign.
She didn't know what she would've done if he had been.
She didn't know her intentions.
All she knew was that she was finding herself reach after a man she originally said she'd never allow herself to grow close to. And while that still remains true, it seemed that one of them had let out too much information at some point or another, warranting those words to spew out of his mouth.
Cursed words.
So, when she opened her door with approximately an hour of sleep in the morning, ready to head to Cherry's for more training and likely avoid the subject with him, she froze.
Gwen froze because sitting in front of her door, just in sight enough to where she wouldn't miss it, was a glass of orange juice.
Her heart thumped erratically in her chest when her eyes met the bright colored liquid, her mind only becoming fuzzier at the gesture.
Such a simple thing caused her to do a double take, every movement ceasing to exist in her bones.
Orange juice.
"I don't like that shit."
Did he buy orange juice for her as a form of an apology?
A part of her wished that wasn't the case.
And when she walked out of the room, picking up the glass and taking it with her towards the living space, she met eyes of blue and a blonde head of hair.
Switch. He likely put the glass there, a kind greeting to help her function throughout the day. He had showed up during their breakfast, maybe he heard their conversation.
"Mornin'," He chirped, accent thick as ever.
Gwen held the glass of orange juice into the air, pointing her other finger at it, "You like orange juice?"
