Me: Well, here we are with another oneshot-
Arno: You actually did it-
Me: Started a prequel spinoff of the previous oneshot? Why wouldn't I?
Edward: Wait, what's going on?
Me: Daily me activities. I guess-
⁂【︶】⁂
CW: Mentions of abuse, mentions of trauma
Note: Technically self-inserts are supposed to be inserts of yourself which mine mostly is but I changed aspects of my life story to fit this, also yes, the title is the title of that romance novel called The Do Over by Lynn Painter (I read it, it was confusing in a Witcher season 1 timeline clusterfuck kinda way but good-) I didn't choose the title it chose me 😭, also forgive the very romance novel-esque writing bc I've been reading way too many romance novels lately (thank you school library-)
⁂【︶】⁂
Fourteen years old. Oldest of three. Port Credit, Canada. This...this is where their life took a steep downhill slope.
Though in truth, the downhill slope started shortly after they turned thirteen.
All because of a fucking crush.
She rejected their feelings, manipulated them. Was a real bitch, as they realized later.
That's where their trauma begins. That they know of, anyway. It could be much deeper.
After losing feelings for said crush, she stopped talking to them. They never found out why. ut their life took a turn for the worse after.
Grades slipped, parents got more and more restrictive.
But at fourteen? That's when their parents started emotionally abusing them. When they were fifteen, the abuse got physical.
They'd show up to school daily with bruises because they'd raised their voice or said something their parents didn't like.
Everyone at school had been concerned–their classmates asked what had happened for them to get bruised like that. But they lied, rather than let others know they were abused.
They had a bruise on their face from a smack? They'd say they fell off their bed really hard.
They damn well know their classmates silently called bullshit. They damn well know a lot of people saw through their lies about the bruises, cuts and contusions.
After enduring three years of physical and emotional abuse, they moved to New York City for college.
And never spoke to their family again.
—
That drama with moving out of Port Credit had been a year ago. They're in their second year of college, on a full scholarship.
Majoring in creative writing and minoring in psychology.
Their so-called 'family' doesn't know they're in New York City for college (Queens, more specifically). Their family don't know their new phone number or email address–but they have their family blocked anyway.
They still have their Discord friends from their teen days. Quite a few are in America, actually. They've realized that Ace–a demi-boy born a girl and going by he/they pronouns–goes to their college.
Ace has always been a good friend to them. He's helped them through some tough shit.
They text Ace with an idea. What if they opened an ice cream shop together?
They have the money due to an old relative dying, after all–they inherited about half a million dollars.
Ace agrees, and they're beside themself with joy.
Time to make money by running an ice cream shop.
—
It takes them and Ace a year to set up the ice cream business.
Deciding to call it The Dip–for obvious reasons–the duo work tirelessly. They can work on their fanfic hobby while Ace takes care of serving customers...or Ace can listen to Lovejoy while they serve customers.
Their modest ice cream shop is pretty affordable, so mostly college students favor it.
They've seen one student around with H/L H/C hair, S/T skin and E/C eyes looking a little...sad, lately.
Though the best they can do is offer the student concerned looks as they work.
—
Another year passes, and The Dip keeps getting more popularity. More publicity, too. Ace has suggested making Affogatos for the morning–something they agree with.
They're just about finished college now, and couldn't be more grateful for it.
No more half-day schedules to accommodate running their business and getting good grades. Just...running their business from 7:30am to 5pm.
Holidays they take off, obviously. But they're single, living alone in an apartment just a couple blocks from the ice cream shop.
Ace is about half a block closer, and they keep a tentative schedule on how to run the shop.
He gets there before them, opening. About five minutes later, they clock in and get ready for customers. The day goes that Ace serves first for an hour and a half while they take a break, and then they serve for an hour and a half while he takes a break–and it goes back and forth until closing.
The Dip's closed on Saturdays, so they can relax.
Or wallow in their trauma.
It's a Saturday today, actually.
They're watching Bones as they write fanfic–it helps jog ideas and Agent Booth is hot.
Those are their reasons.
Besides, they're alone. Who'll judge them, anyway?
"Great, fanfic to write..." they murmur to themself before pausing the TV, going to the fridge and grabbing a can of Aussie Lemonade Monster.
(Note: Bro idk why but the Aussie Lemonade Monster tastes like vodka spiked lemonade-)
"While I'm at it, I might as well get food." they murmur, going to the pantry for their Polish pretzels. For good measure, they grab a sleeve of raspberry Jaffa cakes before returning to the couch, resuming the TV and going back to writing.
They get distracted, though. At some point, they get writer's block and put their laptop down, watching Bones.
They watch Bones in peace for a while, before their phone rings.
They don't recognize the number–they may have forgotten it. They huff a bit and pick up. "Hello?" they ask once the call connects.
"You picked up?" a familiar voice on the other end says.
They smile. Their old friend–Ryder–was calling. "Yeah. Hey, Ryder."
"God...you disappeared right after high school graduation. It's been a while, huh?"
"Yeah...I had my reasons."
"I remember you having that huge bruise on your cheekbone when you showed up."
They feel their mind go haywire, and they can't speak again. They're frozen, like a deer in headlights.
"...I don't want to talk about that past." they mutter.
"Holy shit." he says over the line. They're holding their breath. Scared. Panicked, actually. No. Petrified. "Holy shit. That–that's why you had the bruises. That's why you were limping."
Fuck.
"Ash?" Ryder asks. "You still there?"
"I'm here." they reply. "But I have to ask–how the fuck did you get my number?"
They hear a chuckle on the other end of the line. "Sequential dialing."
They snort. "Poor people of New York state."
"Can I ever visit you? Reconnect?"
"Sure. Y'know The Dip, right?"
"Heard of–let me guess. You work there."
"Own it, actually."
"Goddamn, Ash." Ryder says, whistling a bit. "Good on you."
"Fly in or drive whenever you want...Just call me first."
"Promise."
"Alright." they reply. "Bye?"
Ryder laughs a little. "Bye."
They hang up, and they lean back on the couch, their hands buried in their hair.
They didn't know that one of their closest friends would try to reconnect with them after all these years.
—
They're out, taking a walk through the somewhat foreign yet mostly familiar streets of Queens a few hours after that phone call.
Their earbuds are blasting It's Golden Hour Somewhere by Lovejoy, and they're zoned out.
(Note: I actually didn't like It's Golden Somewhere initially but it's grown on me-)
Queens may not be Port Credit–it's certainly not close to Lake Ontario, or any large body of water for that matter–but the city vibe is familiar to them.
It's Golden Hour Somewhere is still blasting though their earbuds.
They'll sell you the rope by which you'll hang yourself...
The song goes on, but their mind goes back to that line. It brings old, painful memories from their teen years, but they still like the song either way.
They're so lost in the music and their own thoughts they don't realize someone right in front of them.
They land flush against someone's chest–a male chest, maybe with a six pack? They're not sure why they're thinking this, or why they haven't paused their music and apologized.
They stumble, and whoever they bumped into loops an arm around their waist to keep them from falling.
Fuck.
They're fighting the instinct to blush. They tap their left earbud once, pausing their music–which was then playing Collide (Sped Up) by Justine Skye.
(Note: That song is one of my favorites and I had to put in here lmao)
The guy they'd bumped into still has an arm wrapped around their waist, and they're still flush against her chest.
Which is embarrassing as all Niflheim, but when they get into tense, romantic situations (which has only ever happened to them for the very first time right now), their panic makes them freeze.
They hate themself for that.
"Sorry." they mumble.
"All good." the guy replies. Gods, his voice...
Smooth and sultry, mixed with a Welsh accent.
They've never dated, but this guy's voice slightly turns them on.
"Just...pay attention, yeah?" the guy continues, free hand tapping their chin lightly. His other hand is on their waist as his arm is wrapped around it.
"You look like you want to turn fifty shades of red right now." he continues, smiling. His lips are pretty wide, but full. When this guy smiles down at them (curse them for being 5'8 while they put him around 5'10), his lips look so...so tempting.
When the fuck did my mind become a Colleen Hoover novel? they think incredulously. The hand he'd used to tap their chin returns, only now his touch feathers along their jawline. "We're in public." they grumble. "So you're saying I should have a beauty like you alone with me in an alley?" the stranger asks, continuing to feather his hand along their jawline.
Stranger.
The word clicks in their head.
What the fuck am I doing? I don't know this guy...so why am I letting be...romantic? Gods, it's making me melt...
The arm around their waist feels...right. And the hand feathering along their jawline.
Ja pierdolę.
Or, in English, 'fuck me'.
They don't want this stranger to fuck them in the physical sense, they just...he's hot, he's sending them mixed signals, and...he doesn't seem to want to let go.
Since they haven't built up the courage to ask him to let go yet, they take his features in.
He has a few facial scars–but they enhance his ruggedly handsome features or sex appeal. They can't decide which. Most likely both.
Anyway, his hair is shaggy (but in a good way) and a color they can only describe as molten gold. It's tied in a small low ponytail, making them want to see how long his hair is and run their hands through his hair.
Their stupid fucking heart skips a beat then speeds up when they look into his eyes. It's a shade of blue they can't describe for a moment, their mind is so short-circuited. But after a moment, they think it's a kind of...blue. Not a flat blue, either...a blue like tropical seas or atolls.
"...I should go." they murmur, trying to get out of his grip. But his grip tightens, and they say a particularly vulgar Polish curse. The stranger looks intrigued as he leans in closer. His face is only inches from theirs now, and his gaze is fixed on their lips.
Oh, shit.
Shit.
Another Polish curse makes its way to the tip of their tongue, and they have no qualms about saying it.
They just...after that one disastrous crush they had at 13–the one that caused their life to spiral into a hell of abuse–they shut any thought of dating or romance out.
So while most people have dated, hooked up, had a serious relationship or two by now...they haven't had a single one. Maybe one or two fleeting crushes from their teen days and–of course–fictional men (women too, but a majority of their fictional crushes are guys).
Fuck, they haven't even been kissed. Like, ever. Even if it was accidental, drunken or anything else.
That's how closed off they are, and they guarantee once they tell him, he'll stop looking at them like that.
Wait.
Why do they want the stranger to keep looking at them like that?
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
Not another fucking crush.
It'll just break me all over again. Even after what I've tried to put behind me.
And why the fuck do they want him to kiss them?
"When in Odin's name did this turn into a fucking romance novel?" they grumble.
His eyes are still locked on their lips, and gods fucking damn them, it shouldn't make them feel all...all warm. Where's their ability for masking their emotions gone?
Because they really fucking need it right now.
"I never want to let you go." he says simply, his gaze locked on their lips the whole time.
"Well, you're gonna have to." they remark dryly. Good to see their sass isn't affected because of the way this (hot) stranger is looking at them.
His hand goes from feathering along their jawline to brushing their lips with his thumb. They feel their heartrate pick up–faster than when they'd downed seven cans of Monster in a matter of hours–and they silently curse themself for being so weak. "Before I let you go, I want to memorize how your mouth feels on mine." he murmurs, his voice husky and charged with emotion.
"Aren't you taken?" they ask, though their words don't come out the way they intend for them to–their voice is tight, damn near breathless.
"Not after today." he replies with a grin as he brushes his thumb across their lips again.
Huh.
So this stranger's got a sassy streak too–not enough to match their own, of course, but still pretty damn sassy.
"My condolences to your ex, then." they reply, their tone so dry it's obviously anything but. Although part of them is celebrating that this guy's dropping his partner–which means they could be his next.
Yeah, no.
They definitely aren't his type.
"I know what that look means," he murmurs. "Don't think you aren't my type, because...well, because you are."
"Bullshit. Now, I really have to places to be and–"
"One kiss." he says suddenly, cutting you off. "One kiss before you go."
(Note: ONE KISS IS ALL IT TAKES FALLING IN LOVE WITH ME POSSIBILITIES I LOOK LIKE ALL YOU NEED-I'm so sorry I've had my first bit of caffeine (double espresso) in a while I think a few weeks forgive me)
They're not entirely sure their heart's ever beaten this fast. Or that they're even fucking breathing. "I...er...um...I..." they stutter, but they can't find the fucking words.
ADHD really isn't helping here, sadly.
"Kiss me." the stranger says, and they have to bite their tongue to keep from admitting they've never kissed anyone before. He licks his lips a bit–and Freyja save them, that image will forever be in their mind now. "Please."
They're unsure what he'll if–no, when–he'll find out he wants to kiss someone who's never kissed or been kissed.
Thank the gods for fanfic and romance novels, describing kissing for them.
They huff and rake a hand through their short light brown hair–something they're prone to doing when they're anxious. Their hairstyle is short, with something like curtain bangs at the front and slightly shorter at the back...and their hair's just dark enough to be seen as light brown due to the cacophony of varying blonds and browns.
They can feel the stranger's gaze on their lips again. "Please." he repeats, his voice so quiet they have strain their ears to hear him.
They huff again, and pull him to them by the collar of his shirt, pressing their lips to his.
What the fuck am I doing? they ask themself. Why am I kissing this hot stranger right now? Why did I give into his pleas? I'm usually so much stronger than this...
The kiss goes on for a while, their hand bunching up the collar of the stranger's shirt.
They were tentative when they pulled him in, but they've found their footing now.
The world's come down to just them and the stranger, kissing.
And they've got to admit, he's a good kisser.
They need air, so they pull back after a few more moments. And for some fucking reason, they can't seem to muster the will to let go of his shirt collar. Their mind–at least, the rational part that they didn't know they had until now–is telling them to leave, forget about the stranger and never look back.
After moment of staring and him and him staring back at them, they find the will to let go of his collar.
He holds onto them by their waist with one hand, his other hand brushing a stray hand of hair from their face. His palm grazes their cheek as he does so, and they feel calluses on his skin. It feels...right.
But at the same time, it feels so, so fucking wrong.
Their mind is too muddled to make sense of anything, even to form a coherent thought.
"I...I really should go." they murmur. They don't say what they want to say–But I never want this moment to end. "I'm sorry, I just...need to regain some semblance of my sanity before I lose it all."
Because if I kiss you again, I know I'll be too attached to leave.
And the last time I was attached to someone romantically, it was a disaster that caused my life to go sour.
The stranger nods, his eyes sweeping over them.
They find themself regretting what they're wearing right now.
Deep V-neck tank top in white that hugs their curves (a bittersweet reminder that they were born a girl, but at least they got that top surgery), straight cut jeans that are slightly ripped in places with a hole in the left knee and a patch on the right thigh displaying some simple embroidery (bonus: it makes their ass look good) with a black belt, high top Black Martins and their trademark black Toronto Blue Jays baseball cap–they remember going to the Skydome (officially the Rogers Center) in Toronto with a bunch of friends and getting that hat, the game being a temporary reprieve from their shitty home life.
(Note: The Blue Jays are literally the only baseball team in Canada, so makes sense people would go to Toronto from like, Mississauga or wherever else to catch a game-and yes, the Skydome is the nickname for the stadium the Jays play in-)
And over the outfit, they they're wearing a white and blue flannel button up shirt that's unbuttoned and slightly oversized (the magic of thrift stores).
Though they now regret wearing this outfit, they also feel...relief? They don't know. they feels...weird.
The stranger's gaze snags on the old scars the low neckline of their shirt is revealing as his eyes creep back up to theirs.
He kisses them again, but briefly. Before he lets go, he presses a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of their mouth.
He gives them this smile loaded with charm that makes their knees go weak. "I'm never forgetting this–forgetting you." he murmurs before he lets go of their waist.
...And then he's...gone.
They rake a hand through their hair again, going on their phone to switch their song to Burn, Butcher, Burn from The Witcher season 2.
Did you ever even care? With your swords and your stupid hair...
They chuckle to themself at that line, but a lot of the song reminds them of how they cut Eve off–or rather, how Eve forced them to cut her off after she cut them off first.
They look up at the sky, silently wondering, What the fuck did I just do?
They heave a sigh and head home. They can't get the stranger and the kiss–well, kisses–out of their head.
Gods, what is it about him that has their brain short-circuiting?
After some walking, they manage to make it home.
They unlock the door to their apartment, sighing. They close the door and lean against it, never being more confused about what to do than now.
A solution presents itself–binge Bones and forget they ever collided with the stranger.
And so they go to the couch and turn Bones on.
But even Booth and Brennan's sexual tension or Booth being hot doesn't take their mind off the stranger and his kisses.
—
It's 2am, and they've busted out the Colleen Hoover.
Once, they'd read these books when they were feeling bad about having no romance in their life. Now...
Half the same, but they also enjoy reading Colleen Hoover in general.
(Note: Started reading Colleen Hoover like 2 months ago (It's what got me into romance novels-) and I've read Reminders of Him, All Your Perfects, Finding Perfect and Regretting You-)
They're reading Reminders of Him again...and their phone buzzes. It's a text from Ace–his way of checking in, making sure they're alright, since he seems to like playing the older brother role when he's actually the same age as they are.
The message reads, 'You doing okay? Want to take a day off Monday?'
They sigh. A day off would be nice, but then they might run into that stranger again–which they have no problems with, it's just if they kiss him again, they'll get too attached. So they opt for going to work on Monday. They send a, 'Doing okay, coming to work on Monday'.
Which is a...half-truth. The 'Doing okay' part. They'll just tell Ace all the details in person. They put their phone down with a groan. Their mind's still stuck on the fucking kiss.
How the stranger's lips had tasted like sweet, tangy rum and how they'd smelled a mix of ocean spray and just the barest touch of sweat on his skin.
Gods, his skin...
He'd looked pretty built, but they'd bumped flush into his chest. And they're sure they felt hard muscles plus a six pack.
They decide a nice, steamy shower is what they need. So, they go to do that, and they end up staying in there for an hour instead of their usual 5-10 minutes.
By the time they're out of the shower, it's around 3am.
Jeez, they didn't realize they'd watched Bones for 5 hours before getting in the shower.
Eh, whatever, They can find a place that does 24-hour takeout or something. So they order some shawarma and sigh.
A lot's happened recently.
Ryder calling, those kisses...Odin save them. They just want a moment of peace.
...Which they'll probably never get.
—
"Ash? Ash..."
They hear Ace trying to get their attention. "H-Huh?" they murmur, snapping out of fantasizing about the stranger. Again. "Jeez, you should've taken that day off..." he murmurs, his electric cobalt hued eyes showing concern. "You've seemed...off all morning."
They sigh. "Just...wonky today, I guess. And, Ace, there's no way in Niflheim I'm letting you take a shift alone."
He snorts as they ring up another customer. "Duly noted."
"It should be." they tease. Ace rolls his eyes and playfully nudges their shoulder.
They laugh a bit and go back to work.
Until that same damn stranger from yesterday walks in. They feel their heart skip a bit as he stops at the other side of the counter.
They're not sure they're even breathing.
He looks at them.
They look at him.
No words are exchanged, as there's no need for that. His eyes drift down to their outfit–same jeans as yesterday, a black scoop neckline tank top that hugs their curves and a sage green zip-up sweater that they've kept unzipped. They're also the same Doc Martins as yesterday, but not their baseball cap.
And that's because today, their hair is half-up half-down (courtesy of their curtain-ish bangs), the half-up part in some kind of lazy bun.
So that means the stranger can see their full face.
His gaze creeps back up, lingering on their curves and he exposed skin due to the cut of their shirt before looking them in the eye.
I'm working, stop leering at me is what they want to say.
But they're frozen.
Fucking panic.
"...I'll have a scoop of chocolate with rum raisin in a cup." he says, his Welsh accent smooth and sultry as ever.
Ace throws them a side-glance, clearly noticing the tension between them and the stranger. They sigh–they'd forgotten to tell Ace about yesterday.
About the kisses they'd shared with the stranger currently at the register, right across from them.
Fuck, this is awkward.
Ace's brow furrows as he waves a hand in front of their face. "Ash? You there?"
They note the stranger's eyes flicking up to their own when he hears their name.
Shit, they'd got to go back to work mode. But the stranger and the way he looks at them, the way he had kissed them...the way he'd been just a little possessive...
Fuck.
Their brow furrows as they push every thought of yesterday from their mind. The stranger slightly tilts his head at them. "Are you mad at me for yesterday?"
Their brow furrows more now. "No?" the reply. "I just...Fuck. I wasn't expecting to see you where I work."
Ace gives them a look that says, 'You want to take over?' and the stranger gives them this odd, unreadable look.
Is it their outfit?
But the odd look is gone from the strangers face as he says, "I know...I'm not stalking you, I swear. I just found out about this ice cream shop today and–"
They sigh. "It's alright. I'd know if you were stalking me. When my friend said my name, you were surprised. If you were still stalking me, you'd be unfazed."
"Ash, right?" he asks, before wincing. "Sorry, that's a stupid question."
They laugh. "No, it's okay. I mean..." they gesture to the nametag pinned to their sweater. "...It's on the nametag."
The stranger laughs. "Yeah, I should've noticed."
They shrug. "Not your fault. Now...your ice cream was one scoop chocolate, one scoop rum raisin in a cup, right?"
He grins, and it seems every time every time he has a happy expression on his face, it's loaded with charm. "...Can you add a double Affogato with chocolate ice cream?" Something sparks in his eyes–flirtatiousness? Lust? Teasing? "Maybe a couple kisses while you're at it?"
They feel a blush creep up their neck, and they wish they could hide it. Upside is that it isn't on their face. "I'm working. Can't give customers preferential treatment, sorry." they reply, liking the banter that's going on right now.
"You certainly weren't opposed to giving me this 'preferential treatment' yesterday." the stranger says, his hands on the counter now.
"That was before I knew you'd be a customer."
"It's one of the most popular ice cream shops in the borough. Maybe the whole city."
"Oh, stop flattering me."
"...Holy shit." he says, pulling back a bit as his eyes widen. "You own this shop?"
They grin. "Yep. Now that's...$17."
The stranger gives them a slight, teasing pout. "But what about my kiss?"
They groan. "Fine...ACE!"
"Yeah?" Ace calls back from the store's breakroom and storage.
"Taking my break!"
"Is it for the guy at the register?"
They snort, but they feel their blush creeping towards their face now. "I just want a break."
Ace comes out of the backroom, his eyes giving them a sort of teasing look. They sigh and unpin their nametag, handing it to Ace. "I'll be back in an hour and a half."
He nods, and the stranger pays. Before they slip to the other side of the counter, they make the stranger's order. "As ordered." they say with a grin as they hand him his order. "Not fully." he replies, his voice more husky now. His gaze is heavy on their lips, like a weight, and they can feel the tension.
Gods, tension like this is more palpable when you experience it.
They look around for a moment...a lot of people would make it a big deal if they kissed the stranger–
Wait, why the fuck am I contemplating whether to kiss someone who I don't even know the name of?
They walk outside, and he trails after them. "It'd cause a scene if you kissed me in there?" he questions, putting his ice cream and coffee somewhere close by. They nod. "That, and I don't know your name."
"I don't want to tell you my name just yet..." the stranger teases, wrapping an arm around their waist and pulling them to his chest.
"Why not?" they ask, their curiosity getting the better of them. "Tell you what." His free hand feathers along their jaw for a moment, then his thumb slowly caresses their lips. "Next time I see you, I'll tell you my name."
"Promise?" they ask as their hand goes to his chest, resting directly above his heart. "Promise." he murmurs in response before kissing them softly.
They kiss back, the hand that isn't on his chest tangling in his hair.
I could die doing this.
Unfortunately, a cough breaks them and the stranger apart. Blushing like crazy, they quickly pull away to face whoever coughed. The stranger (gods, they've got to stop referring to him as 'the stranger' in their thoughts) will understand.
And when they turn around to see who'd accidentally witnessed the moment...
"Ryder?" they mutter, their tone surprised. "What the fuck did I just witness?" he asks. "Ash, did you–"
"Yes, I was kissing someone. But we're not...well, dating."
Gods, this is fucking embarrassing.
And poor Ryder, being a sex-repulsed asexual. It must make him nauseous to see this.
"All my calls went to voicemail," Ryder says, and they know he's trying to dissuade their defensive side. "...I'm going to guess you were...busy."
They can hear the slight discomfort in his tone, and they wince. But they still gesture to the ice cream shop. "I was working."
They can feel the stranger's arm around their waist still, his breath just short of grazing the shell of their ear. "Doesn't look like you two were working." Ryder remarks, a slight cringe on his face, yet the teasing in his dark eyes tells another story. "...Or were you working before?"
"If you must know, I was working." they sigh. "I'm on break, but someone's still working right now. Go get some ice cream if you want to."
He chuckles. "I see how it is. I'll...leave you two to your PDA."
And with that, Ryder walks away...maybe a little too quickly.
Did I just lose one of my oldest friends?
The one who's had my back for as long as I can remember?
I fucking hope not.
Now they're alone with the stranger again, and his arm's still around their waist...but his hand's shifted down to their hip. In a flash, he's in front of them again, his gaze fixed on their mouth. "You wearing Chapstick or something?" he asks out of the blue. "Uh...yeah?" they reply, confused. "What flavor?" the stranger asks as the hand he has on their hip sweeps in wide, arcing circles. They arch into the touch slightly, wanting more. "Pomegranate." they reply, their voice slightly more breathless than it was moments ago.
"Can I have some?" His eyes are softly blazing now...Lust? Pleading? Longing? All three?
"Wha–"
The stranger cuts them off by kissing them. Though the kisses they'd shared with previously were short and sweet, this one is...passionate.
Basically, think a long built-up kiss in a romance novel.
They kiss back, enjoying the pure passion, pure lust behind the way the stranger's kissing them.
Fuck...
This feels like it isn't real.
Because here they are, kissing a stranger they don't know–granted, they've kissed him multiple times by now–in front of the ice cream shop they own, at...10:40 in the morning.
Regrets are future me to fret over, they remind themself as their hands tangle in the stranger's hair again. Right now, I can kiss this stranger. I can allow myself to feel what I shut myself off from for too long.
After some heated kissing, the stranger pulls away slightly. He rests his forehead against theirs, his lips slightly glossy with their lip balm now.
"You taste good," is all that he says before the hand that isn't caressing their hip goes to their cheek, cupping it as if their face is the most important thing in the world to him. "I should've expected with the lip balm, but...Fuck. You're going to make me lose my mind."
They huff a laugh at his words. "Am I distracting you?"
Hearing the stranger curse with that voice of his...Gods, it makes them feel...things.
"I'm serious," he murmurs, his thumb stroking their cheek. "Every time I see you, you make me go mad. And those jeans..."
"What about 'those jeans'?" they tease. The stranger laughs a bit as his thumb strokes their cheek again. "Those jeans just...look too good on you. I can't think of anything but you wearing them whenever you're around."
They snort. "I'll make sure to wear them more often, just to torture you."
"You wouldn't."
They grin. "I would."
They're only half-joking, and the stranger must've noticed. He grins back as his lips just barely graze theirs.
Gods, this might be the death of me.
The stranger gives them yet another kiss, but this one is softer. They kiss back (obviously) but the kiss is shorter. He pulls away, looking apologetic. "Sorry, I have places to be and..."
"It's okay." they reply, lifting their hand to graze his cheek like he had done with theirs. "I get it."
"I just...I want to keep being with you." he sighs. "But...duty calls, right?"
"Yeah." they say wistfully.
The stranger gives them another kiss–well, this borders on a peck and a real kiss–and sighs, his arm tightening around their waist a bit.
And then he pulls away. It feels almost painful–for them, and for him. They start to miss him already, and he hasn't even left yet.
The stranger smiles at them, and traces their cheek with his thumb before he turns around and walks away.
They're left alone in the front of their ice cream shop, trying to process what just happened. It's a little brisk out, but nothing they can't handle.
They inhale a breath's worth of the city air before going back inside and sitting at the table they usually sit at when they're on breka.
The patrons know this is their spot, so most steer clear, but some regulars might come chat with them.
No one's trying to chat right now, so they put their earbuds in and let The Black Rose from The Witcher: Blood Origin play.
We are the Black Rose, let no one doubt our cause. Rise up and feel our thorns, the lowborn's day has come...
They note someone sitting across from them. They look up from reading some Ao3 fanfic they'd found, and their blood turns to ice in their veins.
Their mouth goes dry, their hands feel all clammy and sweaty, heir heart beating like crazy–
Eve.
What the fuck is Eve doing here?
This is the girl who broke you, a voice in the back of your mind whispers. This is the girl who played a part in your suffering.
They're hoping Eve doesn't open her mouth. They can see her hair is still an atrocious shade of red (think Manic Panic red dye mixed with ketchup), but it's mere highlights now–unlike the whole head like when they saw her last. Her hair's longer too, brushing her collarbone.
She looks...pretty much the same. Minus the hair, she has the same glasses, the same facial features.
They pretend to continue scrolling until Eve says, "I know you're ignoring me."
The first words she's said to them in years, and it's a fucking insult.
This isn't going to end well.
They look up from their phone. "Glad to see you kept your amazing capacity to be a dick." their tone's dry, and they'd really rather get back to their fanfic right now. "I'm the dick?!" Eve sputters. The nod, going back to their fanfic reading.
"Try dealing with someone like you for a change," she scoffs, poorly attempting to guilt-trip and/or gaslight them.
Their brow furrows. "You want to try guilt-tripping and gaslighting me? Really? Gods, Eve, you haven't fucking changed one bit. It's time for you to get your head out of your motherfucking ass, because that is why people avoid you."
The words they just said hang in the air, as Eve stares at them. "What happened to you, Ash? Where's that person who'd tell me everything, the person who'd protect me so fiercely?"
"Dead and buried since the day you stopped talking to me for no reason." they reply. "You broke me. You play play a heavy part in my fear of abandonment, of being rejected of being alone. Don't go fucking radio silent then show up nearly a motherfucking decade later, begging for that platonic bond we once shared."
Eve stiffens. "I–"
"Save it. I'm done, Eve. Done with with Canada, done with you. Fucking. Done."
"You'd really do this?" she asks, her eyes glassy as she looks at them. "You'd really through this chance away?"
They look back, their gaze cold and unyielding. "Yes."
"This is why no one loves you."
The words hit them hard, one by one. But they square their shoulders and refuse to let it show. "Get. The. Fuck. Out."
And Eve does that, not looking back at them once. They loose a breath they didn't know they were holding once she's gone.
That loose end is officially tied off. Sure, they're a little damaged, but it's alright.
⁂【︶】⁂
Me: Fuck, why is this 6011 words-
Arno: Holy...holy shit-
Edward: Holy shit is right...
Shay: Lord almighty...that's a lot.
Me: Gee, no shit-