10 Days [Brallon]

I Forgot The Pun Again And I Am Rlly Mad

[the last chapter was really short and kinda awful so here's compensation for that]

It was about midnight when someone started throwing things at my window. They weren't like boulders, thank god because that would mean I would need to make another savings jar, but simply tiny little pebbles that you'd find laying out in the street.

For a while that was fine. And for a while I meant 2 minutes before it became annoying, and another 3 before I opened up the window the yell at whoever was up at midnight throwing rocks at my window.

"Listen here, fucker-"

"Dallon, can you take me to get fries?"

Then it dawned on me I shouldn't be cursing out people at midnight, especially when I don't even know who it is. Because that could've ended very badly.

"Brendon, baby. It's midnight."

"Dallon, baby. I'm hungry."

I leaned out of my window further, the cool air threatening to pull me out and kick me off the roof. "Go get some yourself then."

He crossed his arms and huffed loudly. The sound echoed throughout the neighborhood, bouncing off the front of homes and ringing in the nearly nonexistent breeze. "Yeah, well I don't wanna go all by myself this time. Besides, I've never taken you to Sarah's before. I doubt you've been too, and it's really really good."

As much as I didn't exactly like fries (they were okay, just not my favorite), I didn't want to leave him all alone. For gods sake, he froze up whenever he was confronted with a situation involving messes and unfamiliar smells, half the time while waiting in moderately long lines he zones out and folds bills into complex origami shapes which cashiers don't exactly admire nor comprehend, and every now and then he'd fuss over the tiniest detail out of place. So I didn't really want Brendon to go out by himself, no matter how responsible he claimed to be. It'd probably end in a phone call from the police station for reported suspicious behavior. I didn't want to explain to 4 officers and a chief that the reason he was moving mailboxes was because they weren't spaced evenly apart. That wouldn't sit well for another time.

I grabbed a decent shirt and found a pair of sweatpants hanging out of a dresser drawer and met Brendon outside on my porch. Well I met him on the sidewalk - we'd discovered the walkway to the front door was where a coyote had died less than a year prior. It explained the odor, but some things are better left alone.

Brendon grabbed my hand and led me down the street in a blind sprint, an agonizing 6 minute jog to a small shop a block before the street my store was on. It was quaint, a perfect size, and tucked away between a laundromat and an astonishingly little gas station without the gas pumps and parking spaces. It appeared to be the ideal location for a place like that, and judging by the pristine condition visible through the windows, it was.

"This is my friends lil' restaurant," he said, pointing up the neon sign illuminating her name "I've known Sarah since like... ever. You'll like her."

I wasn't too sure until I walked through the door and the smell hit me like a sack of bricks. It wasn't bad though, it was really good. Like warm cookies but a subtle burger joint at the same time. I could get used to it.

"Aww, look! You brought a friend this time! Oh, I was so worried about you coming in here every night without someone, I could've sworn you were single or something - I guess not though, but that's a good thing!" A girl popped out from behind the corner, tossing an apron over her shoulder. I assumed she was Sarah, and my assumption was incredibly overwhelmed because holy smokes I didn't expect her to be so pretty? Unnaturally pretty. Unfair, holograms, probably plastic surgery.

Sarah held out her hand when we neared the counter and instead of shaking hands she high-fived me. "So you're the Dallon he's been going on and on about!"

"Yeah, I uh, guess I am-"

"Oh, you should hear him every night, he comes in and gets his usual - which by the way is almost done - and he just gets going on a tangent about where he took you out, or-"

Brendon interrupted sharply with a weak laugh and a slap on the shiny countertop. "Hmm, wouldn't you say that's enough of that? On another note, is the bathroom clean?"

"The employee one is so you can use that one. Some brilliant idiot locked the public one this afternoon so nobody's been able to clean it yet." She waved nonchalantly behind her and before I knew it, Brendon was sliding across the counter, wiping off his shirt with his hands, and wandering to the back corner where I again assumed the restroom was located.

"So, uh, he... yeah?" I said in a shitty attempt to break the silence. She only nodded in response before grabbing my shirt collar and pulling me so close I could feel the mint on her breath. Which smelled really good. Unfair.

"Watch out for whatever stupid ass antics he's about to pull," Sarah muttered "you've gotta trust me on this, yeah? It's like a firework on the Fourth of July when it happens. Right now, he's in the phase I like to call the snowflake stage."

"W-why is it called that?"

"Because he thinks everything you two have going on is unique, like a snowflake. And then after that is unofficially titled backlash. That's when he does something terribly awful while he's all caught up in the dreamland you're stuck in with him, that's when he stops thinking and just runs with it on impulse, and he's not gonna mean a single thing he does other than when he's going to try and make it up to you."

Some part of me knew I shouldn't believe her. But then again, if they'd known each other since preschool...

"Should I forgive him after the backlash stage?"

She shrugged, letting go of my shirt just as a door rattled in the back. "Depends. Nobody has so far, out of the very very few he tries to win back. But you're different. I hate everyone he drags in, and I'd like to say you're my favorite."

I glanced behind her and watched Brendon fixing a small display of boxes, concentrating on the space between each one, while cleaning off the case with a Clorox wipe he oh so conveniently always had in his pockets.

I watched Brendon continue to clean the exteriors, using at least 2 wipes per side. I wonder how many packages he has in his pocket. It's gotta be a lot because he always has some on hand. His tongue unknowingly peeked between his lips in concentration, hair falling in messy strands over his eyes.

"So, about the cleaning thing," I said and Sarah glanced behind her to watch while I spoke "has that been going on forever? He told me about the skunk incident, but does he always..."

She nodded with pursed lips, concern evident in her eyes. "I believe so. I would've thought he was going to stay with his parents since their place is always spotless, but he always complained to me how much he hated living in such a big home. From moving into his new house, things might've gotten worse, but just a little bit. Brendon's pretty vigilant about messes and contamination, those types of things."

An echoing tear sounded behind us, and when we checked on Brendon he was ripping open another package of Clorox wipes. He didn't seem to notice our stares, intent on cleaning the boxes untarnished by the grease from fries and stains from what other foods she made.

"Just trust me on everything I told you," Sarah sighed with a smile "try to see the better side of him. You won't regret it."