Wild Cards (JJBA Villains x Reader)

13- Late Night Annoyances

The coming moon drinks up the last of the day, and you sit alone at your desk, the remains of the dying sun warming what part of your back it could reach through the curtains. There's a noise in the other room.

"Excuse me?" A voice called. "When can I go home?"

Restraining that groan of annoyance you felt shoot up your throat, you turn yourself, however slight, to face the small hallway the voice came from. The girl Doppio fought to keep stands in its passage. Brooklyn, wasn't it?

You reply with the same thing you said the past five times she asked that. "Do you know where home is?"

She shook her head. 

"Then you can't go back."

You waited for her to say something else, as she continued to stand there with a hesitant shuffle, her mouth parting as if to say something, only to then go quiet. You were a patient person, but the time it takes to be patient is something you were void of.

Her dress wrinkled as she scrunched the fabric between her hands, playing with it absently, as she looked at you. And as she watched you, and as you watched her, you wondered where Pucci was. He was in charge of her, far as you remember stating.

"Young miss, where is your caretaker?" She must've been dozing, for your words seemed to make her jolt. 

"Mister Pucci is in the shower."

Is he? You hadn't even heard the water come on. Though, listening closely, you could hear the faint sound of the water hit the tile. Perhaps you'd thought it started raining and brushed it off. 

"I see. Go back to bed, he'll be with you shortly."

"No, thank you."

There were few reasons you needed to get mean to a kid, and should this one want to see that side of you, she'd keep up with her attitude. 

"That wasn't an choice. Go to bed."

"I can't." Brooklyn said back, yawning. Her big eyes drooped with exhaust, her rapid blinking a weak attempt to stay awake. 

"And why not?" 

"I'm scared."

"You're scared?"

The girl didn't reply, only dropping her head in acknowledgement before yawning again. She'd look back, every now and again as you both spoke, as if she was checking something was still there in the room she left. 

And when she would eventually spot again what it was that bothered her, she'd appear to wake up again, become sober of that desire to rest-- only for the passing minutes to drag at her eyelids once more.

"Well?" You said. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"I don't know." Brooklyn scooted forward, dragging her feet against the ground as she neared your desk. "Can I stay with you?"

"Absolutely not."

"Please?"

"No, and if you ask again you'll get no breakfast tomorrow.

She went rigid, and fell quiet. The shower continued to run in the background, and in her silence, her remaining presence that apparently offended you so much, you finally found a sense of peace, and picked up your pen again.

She is not your responsibility. You've made that more than clear. Even as she turns around to walk back to the room she's been staying in, you don't bother to watch her turn around and look at you, as if hoping you'd witness her in her despair.