Let's Gain The Grain

“You know this guy?” 

“We were in school together, years ago; he was an idiot then and he’s not improved since. You wanna take this, (name)-ya? I’ve just put the base for the capricciosa in the oven.”

Before reacting, you checked with a look none of the few people you had already served needed your intervention; dinnertime was over and the only clients sitting in the dining area were a few kids out past their curfew, an older couple happily sharing a margherita, and a girl your age who seemed more interested in the book she was reading than in her food, since it was still untouched fifteen minutes after you had placed it in front of her. 

While pizza had never been your favourite, the expiry of tuition fees only a few weeks away meant you would have accepted any job you could find that paid enough and was legal, preferably, but in the two weeks after your hiring you had grown quickly fond of the place, white and pink hearts dotting the red-painted walls, round lacquered tables with the sort of stools one usually found in pubs and a good boss, mr. Rosinante himself. The guy was probably the clumsiest man you had ever met, since he kept tripping himself and had even managed to set fire to his own clothes turning his back to the wood-fired oven, but he kept his hands to himself, paid on time, and had kindly said your friends were welcome to visit, provided they didn’t disturb the clients. 

So yes, this was a good job, which allowed you to support yourself and attend both your lectures and internship, and obviously the last thing you wanted was to jeopardise your position by refusing to work. Deliveries were part of the job, after all, and the fact that you owned a scooter had been one of the reasons you were hired, but the derogatory tone Law had used to describe the client, this Eustass, had alarmed you. 

The two of you were sort of friends, had been since you had met during a joint training session at the hospital between nursing -you- and medical -him- students; he had also been the one who had gotten you the job at his father’s place, which you were highly grateful for. Home deliveries did entail dangers of a certain kind, but Law was a decent guy, and you didn’t think he would send you to the house of a person he had reason to think would not behave. Right?

“He’s not…?” 

“What?”

“You know.” you cocked an eyebrow meaningfully “He’s not going to give me trouble, right? Since I seem to understand you don’t exactly like him…” 

He didn’t like a lot of people, Law pointed out with a sigh that conveyed how completely ridiculous he found your fears, not to mention that he had seen you deal with much worse patients whenever you were on shift together. “You’ll be fine. Just bring a lot of napkins, that guy always complains they don’t get enough; we should start charging for them.”

Reassured, you went to the kitchen to pass the order to Rosinante, and ten minutes later two flat cardboard boxes were slid into your thermic bag: the much-mocked pear and pineapple, and a much more respectable sausage and cheese, which was incidentally also your favourite. You swapped your apron, perennially stained with tomato sauce and which had the pizza place’s logo printed on the front, with your jacket, put your helmet on, and set off.

The evening was not particularly cold, but you were still relieved the address indicated for the delivery was only a few minutes away, a neighbourhood mainly inhabited by students and young families. You parked your beloved scooter next to a tall flat complex and easily found the name “Eustass K.” next to one of the doorbells. 

“”What?” a masculine voice barked through the interphone after a few moments.

“I have a delivery from Rosinante’s pizza.” you answered politely, like Law had taught you to do; well, the politely was your own initiative. 

“You took your sweet time, Trafalgar! Get moving.” 

The client -Eustass K. himself, you guessed- closed the communication before you could inform him you were not Trafalgar, since apparently he hadn’t noticed he had spoken to a woman. Well, it didn’t matter, you thought as the complex door opened with a click, allowing you to step inside and then cross the moquette-covered foyer in the direction of the lift; he would realise his mistake when you’d find yourselves face to face in a moment, and since Law had already told you the client’s flat was on the second floor you didn’t even need to ring again to ask for directions.

You easily found the right flat thanks to the nameplate next to the door and waited, the pizzas still inside the bag in order to keep them warm, not bothering to ring again since the client already knew you were there. After a moment you heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door; you rummaged in your coat pocket to check your availability in terms of change -why was it that some clients only had banknotes ten times higher than the price they had to pay?- and then the door opened, and after a moment any reasoning ability you ever possessed vanished like snow on a radiator.

The client, it had to be said, looked as flabbergasted as you were - but not embarrassed in the least. “You… are not Trafalgar.” he said slowly, sounding surprised rather than uncertain even though his hair did cover his eyes almost completely, which might have made it difficult for him to distinguish you from your colleague.

“No, I… er…” look up, (name), LOOK UP, whatever happens don’t lower your gaze if you value your life “I-I’m new, at the pizza place I mean, and I… I have your abs - I mean, your order right here…”

You had never felt so foolish, and consequently so embarrassed, in your life, but you were pretty sure anyone would have lost the power of speech in a situation like the one you were currently in, because:

The man in front of you was naked.

Completely naked, and completely exposed to your eyes if not for what the cloth -a kitchen rag, you seem to see before carefully and quickly averting your eyes- kept in front of his privates. Naked chest, naked stomach, abs included, naked legs; he was barefoot as well, but his feet were not one of the places your gaze felt inexorably drawn to.

As a future nurse, one that had previously worked in general care and was now studying to work in the E. R., nudity was something you were used and paid no mind to, at least on the job; you had cut through patients’ clothes to expose a wound, inserted catheters and bedpans aplenty, and been present to several surgeries that required a person’s breast, buttocks or genitals to be exposed. There had even been a case in which an older gentleman had started wandering the hospital corridors after losing his way and deciding to leave his gown behind, and you were assigned to lead him back to his room. 

A few of those patients were people you wouldn’t have minded meeting outside the job, but you were usually too busy and harried to have the time to ogle, not to mention that it felt disrespectful to take advantage of a person’s medical situation to take a peak at their body. You were a professional, and your duty was to take care of whoever needed you to; nothing else mattered. 

So yes, the sight of a naked man was something you had already seen in your life, on and off the job; and yet, the appearance of the client had the power to render you completely speechless, because who the hell opens the door to the pizza delivery girl with a dishrag covering their penis and nothing else on? 

Well, he did think Law was the one he'd see, you reflected as you felt the blush rise to your face, more unrestrainable than a famished lion faced with a herd of gazelles, which might have meant the client had intended to make a pass at your colleague. Law was uninterested in relationships, even though you knew he had his pick of partners among your fellow students and interns at the hospital, but you were sure this particular approach, brazen as it was, would have worked on him as well.

The man was tall, taller even than Law himself, and had to be twice as wide as your slim colleague, with tanned skin modeled on bulging muscles; thick hair, the particular shade of honey blonde you had always found the most attractive, fell past his shoulders and hid his eyes almost completely. A small goatee covered his chin, and his left arm, the one that held the kitchen rag, was heavily scarred; his whole body, from the width of his shoulders to the size of his biceps and quadriceps, to the sort of abs you could have safely built a card house on, spoke of years of hard work, either in the gym or outside. It was the sort of physique the lecturers of the anatomy department would have gladly used as a model for a class on the musculoskeletal system. 

He was, in short, an extremely handsome man, one of the best-looking you had ever had the pleasure of seeing without a doubt, so deliciously masculine you could literally feel yourself salivating at the sight. You forced yourself to swallow, well aware of the way your gaze kept descending towards the area covered by the rag no matter how desperately you tried to keep it trained on the man’s face. Your jaw was literally on the floor, and since you were still holding the thermic bag with both hands, you had no way of picking it up.

“I’m very sorry, I wasn’t expecting a girl; I guess I’m a little underdressed.” he said, a subtle tone of non-mocking playfulness perceptible in his voice; he wasn’t deliberately showing off, but after the first moment of astonishment he didn’t seem particularly bothered by the fact he was practically naked in front of a member of the opposite gender who was also a complete stranger. He simply stood there, talking politely to you, a gentle smile on his lips. Was it your impression or the rag had moved just a quarter of inch to the side, exposing one further tiny piece of the man’s anatomy?

“I-It’s fine, don’t worry. Err, here’s your order.” you said as you delicately took the two pizzas out of the bag, and then the napkins and the receipt; your face felt positively on fire, enough for Rosinante to bake his famous capricciosa on it, but you were working and the sight of a gorgeous man in his birthday suit -and a rag- was no excuse for doing your job badly “One pear and pineapple and one sausage and cheese. It’s 1300 berry.”

The man turned slightly to take something with his free hand; you could see nothing of the room behind him, since his wide shoulders -and… all the rest- covered the whole doorway. “You can keep the change.” he said, handing you two bills you stared at for a moment, both of your hands occupied by the bag and the pizza boxes, wondering how to effectuate the exchange… and fearing the client might decide to drop the rag in order to help.

That would have really been it.

In the end you managed, when the client placed the money on top of the boxes, took them from your hand, and let you collect the payment, which you quickly put away in your pocket. 

“Thank you, I know we placed the order late.” he said, his tone still friendly. 

“Oh, it’s quite alright, mr. Eustass.”

“What? No, Kid is my flatmate. I’m…”

“Killer! Did you die at the door or what?” a voice that you recognised as the one who had welcomed you in the complex from the interphone, and that had to belong to Eustass Kid himself, bellowed from inside the apartment “Get that pizza here! I’m starving.”

“Sorry; I better go, he becomes cranky when he’s hungry.” the man, whose name apparently was Killer -seriously?- said; he tilted his head to the side slightly, and you caught a glimpse of blue eyes among the blonde locks of his fringe, a sight that for some reason made your legs quiver, even though you had only been on your feet for five minutes “Thanks for coming.”

“Oh, uhm, you’re welcome; it’s… part of the job.”

He grinned, and closed the door as he turned to bring the pizzas inside - the two actions timed just so to offer you a glimpse of a broad muscled back and a perfectly arched, firm buttock; Killer turned to look at you once again, saw the way your gaze had in the end lost its fight against the force of gravity, and a new grin opened on his face.

“See you, pizza girl.” he said, and after a soft click you found yourself face to face with the outer side of a light brown armoured door, vaguely dazed and as warm in the face as the pizzas you just delivered still were thanks to the thermic bag.

It took you a while to go back to breathing normally. Wow.

*****

“So, how was he?”

“W-what?”

“Eustass Kid.” Law specified as you returned by his side behind the counter, leaving the thermic bag in the dedicated shelf in front of your knees. The place had suddenly filled, courtesy of a late night arrival at the bus station around the corner and the lucky circumstance of yours being the only eatery still open, and Rosinante was toiling at the oven, baking all the pizza the famished travellers needed “Did he give you trouble?”

“Oh, I actually didn’t… No, not at all.” you answered, deciding there was no need to explain you hadn’t actually met the client who had placed the order but rather his flatmate, and that he had been as naked as the day he was born even less “He was perfectly civil, no problem whatsoever. I’ll go clean the tables in a moment.”

Law, once again -or still?- busy cutting the pizza, looked up sharply at you, as if suspicious of the sincerity of your answer, and you saw his eyebrow raise even more when he noticed you put money in the section of the cash register reserved for the tips, which you’d later share equally; Eustass Kid, it seemed, wasn’t usually the generous type.

“(name), are you sure…?” he started, but you had already grabbed a rag -ah!- to go clean the tables the newly arrived clients had sat at, deftly avoiding your colleague’s questioning. Not that you had anything dramatic to hide, and you did like Law, but… no, you weren't particularly eager to tell your colleague you had seen more of Killer than anyone save his mother, partner, and proctologist, ever had.

Another hour and a half passed before all the bus passengers departed to catch their connection. Exhausted but finally free, Rosinante turned the sign on the door so that the side with “SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED!” written on it faced outwards, and helped you and Law clean up. You had just carried an armful of dirty dishes -none on which had a single tiny piece of food left on it, you proudly noted; working in a pizza place was not your dream career, but you had to admit your employer made the best in the city- back to the kitchen when you heard the phone on the counter ring.

“(name), don’t!” Law, already busy scrubbing at the sink, cried in your direction; you knew he had class early the next morning, and he looked more alarmed seeing you about to answer than if you had climbed into the lit oven.

“I’ll just tell them we’re closed.” you reassured him, and lifted the phone to your ear “Hello, Rosinante’s pizza. I’m sorry, we…”

“Is this today’s delivery girl?” a voice cut you off, a voice that you immediately recognised even though you had only heard it once, and not over the phone.

You cleared your voice. “Yes, this is she.”

“I’m Killer Kamazo; Eustass Kid’s roommate.”

“Yes, of course. Is there any problem with your pizza? I’m afraid we’re closed for today.” 

“It was good as always, thank you. I just… well, wanted to apologise.” your interlocutor explained, sounding sincere “I really thought Law would be the one bringing the pizza, otherwise I would have put some clothes on. I had just come out of the shower.”

“Oh! I see.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Yes, well, I thought that perhaps you and your flatmate were having some fun and needed the pizza as a post-coitus snack.” you said; you normally wouldn’t have dreamed to address a client with that sort of conversation, even in the relatively informal environment of the pizza place, but given the fact your interlocutor had all but exposed himself to you less than two hours before, you felt confident you could dispense with the formalities. 

And you were right, since after a moment of clearly stunned silence, your ear was filled with the sound of a raucous laughter. “Oh, God… believe me, I love that guy, he’s my best friend, but he’s not exactly my type.” Killer said, almost struggling to speak given how heartily he was laughing.

You wondered for a moment who or what Killer’s type was, then; given how generous nature, or genetics, had been with him as far as both his face and body were concerned, he surely was spoiled for choice when it came to getting a date.

“Anyway, I really hope I haven’t upset you. I don’t want you to think ill of me, and since Kid and I really like you guys’ pizza I wouldn’t want you to feel… bothered whenever you’d have to make a new delivery. I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour”

You assured him he had no reason to worry, and you would see him whenever he or his flatmate placed an order next. By then both Rosinante and Law were done closing up and waiting for you at the door, the first apparently unbothered as he lit up a cigarette, the second looking even more exasperated than usual. I want to go home, he mouthed.

 “I’ll see you then, mr. Kamazo.”

“Alright; good-bye, pizza girl.”

You closed the call, and grabbed your jacket and bag before joining your employer and colleague outside. 

“It might have been an auditory hallucination, but tell me you weren’t flirting with Eustass Kid.” Law said as you followed his father towards the parking area behind the building, where Rosinante’s car and your beloved scooter were parked side by side.

“It was his flatmate, Killer, not him; and I wasn’t flirting.” you explained, painfully aware that your defense would have felt more convincing had you swapped the order of the two sentences. Law looked at you out of the corner of his eye, opened his mouth, and a yawn stopped him from talking, no doubt to ask why in the world a client you had served two hours before had called again if not to order or complain.

“Go to bed, Law; your eyebags look more like suitcases.”

“Ah, ah, ah… very funny…” he muttered with a new eyeroll, but fortunately he didn’t attempt to continue the conversation. You said good-night to him and his father and retrieved your helmet from under the seat of your scooter; as you slipped it on your head, you felt yourself smiling for a reason that had nothing to do with the fact that your shift had ended and you could finally go home and sleep.

*****

“Cora-san! I have an order for a tuna and mayonnaise, for delivery!” Law called towards the oven his father was already toiling at, and you immediately looked up from the plates you were washing at the sink; it wasn’t the same order as the previous week, and yet it matched the level of ridiculousness and disgust in potentia of the pear and pineapple one. 

There couldn't be two people in the city capable of eating that sort of filth, and so you weren’t surprised when, walking to the counter with the pretext of looking for a new bottle of dish detergent -which had never been, and would never be, kept near the area of the pizza place clients had access to; as an excuse it left much to be desired, you had to admit- you took a look at the notepad on which orders were annotated and found you had been right: Eustass Kid had ordered the tuna and mayonnaise pizza. 

And one sausage and cheese. 

“I’m gonna do the deliveries, shall I? You seem to have everything under control.” you told Law a while later as you were already putting your jacket on, and your colleague, who had just served a couple celebrating an anniversary -the guy had promised a tip if you baked and served a heart-shaped pizza to his date, which you had thought rather cute and Law merely dumb- turned in your direction, frowning slightly - or maybe he had done it so often since he was a kid that his face was now permanently set that way.

“I thought it was my turn.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t mind; it’s not cold, so…”

Law’s expression clearly conveyed how little your casual tone had convinced  him. “Urgh. You want to meet that guy again, don’t you, (name)-ya? You have a crush on him.”

“I have no crush! I just want to help you, I know you hate doing deliveries.” you defended yourself “Also I was late today, so I wanted to make up for it.”

“Three minutes and a half is not late.”

“Yes, well, I… err…” you stammered, and Law rolled his eyes before going to retrieve the thermic bag from the kitchen. 

“Remember the napkins.” he said, and when he turned you could have sworn for a moment you had seen him grin.

Unlike the previous week the one placed by Kid was only one of four orders the pizza place had received, and you imposed on yourself to deliver them in the sequence you had been given in order not to waste neither time nor gas, rather than forgetting the others and go directly to Killer’s -and Kid’s- apartment, like a little part of you wanted, to the deep embarrassment of the rest.

You had two pizzas for a middle-aged couple who left you a generous tip, twelve for a child’s birthday party, whose parents left none, and one for an older lady who was so completely deaf you had to ring her neighbour to ask for help and their spare key. Finally you reached Killer -and Kid’s- apartment.

Riiing.

“Who the hell is it?!”

“I have a delivery from Rosinante’s pizza.”

“It’s about damn time! You the new girl?”

“Yes, I…” you started, but two click in rapid succession informed you that the conversation via interphone had been closed, and the complex door had been opened. 

When you reached the second floor, Killer was already at the door; this time he was only naked from the waist up, something which you ordered yourself not to feel disappointed about, and a wide, amused smile was visible under his fringe. 

“Hello, pizza girl.”

“Good evening, mr. Kamazo. I’ve got your pizzas.” you said as you opened the thermic bag; you were happy and saw no reason to hide it “And the napkins.”

“There’s no need to be so formal.”

“Sorry?”

“Mr. Kamazo. We’re the same age by the looks of it, you can call me Killer.” he pointed out; head tilted to the side, he was observing you with an open curiosity you had rarely experienced before.

“Very well, then, Killer.” you acquiesced “It’s 1400 berry, please.” 

Taking the money meant feeling the warmth of Killer’s hand on yours, if only for a brief moment; once again, he told you to keep the change, and the tip was only one of the reasons you found yourself smiling.

“Is the tuna and mayonnaise pizza for you?” you asked; it was none of your business, obviously, but once again you felt comfortable talking to Killer, confident your familiarity wouldn’t upset him. As you expected, your inquiry was met with a grin.

“I wouldn’t be able to eat that stuff if my life was on the line - no offense.” he explained “Whatever abstruse order you bring here is for Kid; he has… weird tastes. The first time Trafalgar thought it was a prank and refused to have his father prepare it, but he actually likes them. His favourite is the Nutella and corn chips one.”

That sounded so disgusting you dreaded the day you’d have to carry one.

“I always order the sausage and cheese one; boring, maybe, but it’s good.”

“It really is; it’s my favourite too.”

“Well, good to know…” Killer said, with a grin that would have easily charmed the panties off several women you knew, yourself included in the right circumstances. Even with half of his body covered he was still a sight for sore eyes, his fine physique being surely the envy of any man who knew him. Maybe he was fresh from a shower once again, since it was roughly the same time as your previous delivery to the flat, or maybe not, and while you were usually not one who read too much into things, it didn’t hurt anyone if you felt just a little flattered, did it?

“I better go; the place is full tonight, Law and Rosinante will need my help.” you said in the end, taking a step back and forcing you to look away; Killer’s shoulders seemed to be as wide as your leg was long, which was not a consideration you had ever expected to make but you would have lied if you said it left you completely indifferent.

“It must be nice to work at a pizza place if you like it.”

“Well, pizza is not really my favourite, but Rosinante’s is pretty good.”

“It really is. Well, thanks for coming; hope you have a good night.” Killer said, and his grin was the last thing you saw before the door closed between you.

You were singing softly to yourself as you went down the stairs, wearing the sort of smile and dreamy look in your eyes that would have made Law roll his eyes till kingdom come. The night was mild and windless, just perfect for a ride; in a good mood despite the busy night awaiting you at the pizza place, you placed the now empty thermic bag in the compartment under the seat, and you were about to start the engine when

“Hey!”

You looked up, and saw Killer and his gorgeous honey-blond mane stick out of a first floor window. “What’s your name?” he asked, loud enough to be heard above the traffic “I can’t keep calling you pizza girl.”

He obviously could, easily no less, which was why the question touched you so much.

You grinned. “Buy a drink with your next order and I’ll tell you.” you answered, and he laughed, and you knew he was still looking when you got on your scooter and drove away.

*****

He did order a drink with their next order.

“Weird, they don’t usually ask for it.” Law, who never missed the smallest detail, mentioned as he put the beer can in the thermic bag. He gave it to you before drying the sweat off his forehead with a napkin; the night was relatively slow, but one of your more demanding customers -a young girl named Bonney, who was able to eat her weight in pizza- had visited with her parents, and poor Rosinante had been working at the oven for four hours “You sure you don’t want to take my father’s car, (name)-ya? Recently a couple of motorbikes have been stolen from that neighbourhood, I wouldn’t want the same to happen to your scooter.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine; I’ll make sure to lock it.” you said, grateful for your colleague’s preoccupation. You had spent the first half of the day in class and then after your internship at the hospital you barely had had the time to drive to the pizza place in time for the start of your shift; you felt exhausted, and already looking forward to going to sleep at home, but the prospect of seeing Killer again thrilled you. Your previous two visits to his and Kid’s apartment had taken place on Friday, and since that was also the day today, you felt almost sure you’d get to see him again.

And indeed, Law had picked up an order by phone, looking directly at you as he spoke to his former classmate. “Clients don’t get to ask who is doing the deliveries, Eustass-ya, I don’t care if your flatmate has a crush on my colleague.” he had said before ending the call and sighing as he looked up as if to ask the ceiling for patience “Coconut. Only coconut. Who the hell eats coconut on a pizza?”

Once again, you drove to the flat; once again, you ringed the bell, and had Eustass Kid ushed you inside with a polite reprimand for your tardiness; once again, Killer was there, his hunky physique in full display above his jeans, smiling warmly at you when he saw you come up the stairs.

“My name is (name).” you told him, too excited to play coy.

“That’s a very pretty name.”

“I inherited it from my grandmother, there has been a (name) in my family every other generation. You have a very interesting name, by the way.”

“Thank you, I chose it myself.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Here, keep the change.” he was quick to say, handing you the money; you grinned at him, wishing dearly you had a pretext to prolong that brief meeting only for a minute more. 

Unfortunately you didn’t. “Enjoy your beer; I hope you have a good evening.”

From that on, your and Killer’s routine continued unbothered for several months. Every Friday night, like clockwork, the pizza place received an order from his and Kid’s flat, including one of the most horrifying topping combinations known to man, and a delicious sausage and pizza. Every Friday night, you would happily drive to the flat, and exchange a brief but pleasant, and progressively flirty, conversation with an impeccably half-naked Killer, whose upper body musculature you had grown to know well enough you could have drawn it from memory, had you any drawing ability. He really was one of the most handsome men you had ever met, and you felt more and more attracted to him the more time you spent in his company.

You liked his deliciously masculine body, that was undeniable, but then there was his smile, his sincere kindness, the way he always used the little time at your disposal -you never lingered more than you strictly needed at his door, no matter how tempting, since after all you were working and it wouldn’t have been fair to waste time while Law and his father toiled at the pizza place- to ask how you were. He asked what you were studying, having correctly guessed you were working to pay for school, whether you lived alone or with flatmates, and other small things that proved a sincere interest in knowing you.

At times you couldn’t help feeling a little bit guilty. For a time, at the hospital you were interning at, there was an older male patient who kept complaining about bedsores because he wanted the pretty female nurse to put her hands on him; in the end a male nurse was reassigned to the room, a burly man who immediately put an end to the patient’s complaints. Part of you couldn’t help thinking your situation was at least partially similar, but it wasn’t, right? Nothing physical ever happened between you and your client, no touch beyond a brief brushing of fingers whenever the pizza boxes passed from your hands to his. You were both adults, and if Killer felt comfortable letting you see him half-naked -and, you were convinced, enjoying the clear admiration in your gaze- there was nothing wrong in you appreciating the view, right? 

You never asked Killer if he had a partner or was otherwise spoken for; you doubted he was actually interested in you, and while letting the pizza delivery girl ogle at your washboard abs did not constitute cheating, you knew you would have found it improper to look at a man who was not single. And so you preferred not to know, in order not to have to give up on those brief moments of openly lascivious but all things considered innocent pleasure; it made no sense, but you had never claimed to.

Over those brief moments, you started learning more about Killer as well. You now knew he was a mechanic, and worked in a shop he and Kid had opened together; that apart from pizza he liked ice cream -which you also enjoyed, who didn’t?- and udon, which you had never had; that he hadn’t been born in the city but had moved there years ago; that he liked history but couldn’t draw. It felt almost unfair that a man blessed with a physique worthy of a Greek God was also a genuinely funny individual, and smart, enough to carry out a conversation at least. Maybe you should have bitten the bullet and proposed that you meet outside of work; I could come after I get off; I get the pizza, you get the beer. What do you think? I’m free the rest of the day… 

Maybe. Some day.

On your fifth visit to the flat you finally had the pleasure of meeting the mysterious Eustass Kid, who turned out to be as tall and physically impressive -but less attractive- an individual as his flatmate, with a mane of fiery red hair, and a left arm amputated just above the elbow. “It’s about time.” he mumbled yet again as he pushed Killer aside at the door, grabbed the pizza boxes and retired to the depths of the flat. The man’s tastes in pizza toppings bordered on deserving a criminal complaint: broccoli and anchovies, pepperoni and boiled eggs, even mackerels, which Rosinante kept in the pantry exclusively for him. 

You once joked that he should have refused on principle, because certain requests besmirched his honour as a pizzaiolo; your employer, who was not one for words, simply smiled in return - and then tripped over his pizza paddle, almost ending up face-first inside the oven. Maybe he relished the challenge, you thought, because any professional could make a good margherita or a sausage and cheese; to make an edible pizza with caramelised onion and goat cheese required a very special talent.

In a couple of occasions the pizzas requested were four, which at first lead you to suspect Kid and Killer had girls, or boys, over; in the end it turned out the two guests were friends, who Killer introduced to you as Heat, who had blue hair and a Glasgow smile; and Wire, who had a passion for fishnet stockings and matching crop shirts. They both waved at you from inside the flat and you returned the greeting, thinking that this was probably the first time someone introduced the pizza girl to their friends, and why had your heartbeat suddenly accelerated?

The days had grown progressively warmer with the approaching summer; Killer had swapped his jeans or tracksuit bottoms -including a particularly fitted pair that accentuated the firm, round shape of his buttocks- with shorts that left his muscular calves bare; he kept forgetting to put a shirt on, you were pleased to see, just like you noticed one day he had a bandage covering his left hand. “You got hurt.” you said, after you had handed him his usual sausage and cheese and Kid’s umpteenth abhorrence: potatoes and beetroot, something that you weren’t completely sure it was legal to use as pizza toppings.

“Rookie mistake; I put my hand on a car’s radiator.” Killer explained, shrugging as if it were a trivial matter even though the pain had to have been crying-worthy. He was resting with his shoulder against the door, a position that made his biceps and pecs bulge out; he grinned at you “Listen, we got iced tea; you want a glass? I’m pretty sure your scooter doesn’t have air conditioning.”

You were sadly forced to decline, since the place was packed and you knew Law would need your help to face the horde of famished clients swarming in for a quick dinner, a snack, or a rest after an evening spent dancing at the new club that had just opened around the corner. A glass of iced tea would have been nice, and seeing the inside of Killer’s apartment even better, the satisfaction to a curiosity you had held since your first delivery, but once again you were working, and it felt unfair to enjoy a break in the company of an attractive client while on company time.

“Maybe next time.” you said, hoping that was an offer you’d actually get to hold him to, and Killer grinned at you before handing you the money.

On the next day, during yet another shift at the hospital, you asked a doctor you were close to for a burn cream that you knew was particularly effective and of which you had received a few samples from the pharmaceutical company; the doctor complied, having made you promise not to re-sell it. Three hours later you left the hospital behind you, but rather than driving to the pizza place you took a detour to Kid and Killer’s neighbourhood; you reached their -his- door, for the first time without a thermic bag hanging from your shoulder, and left the small package on the doorstep. You had attached a small note to the ointment: three times a day. Don’t tell anyone. Hope it helps. Signed: the pizza girl.

You rang the doorbell and then ran away, not daring for some reason you couldn’t quite explain to yourself to meet the gaze of the man you had flirted with more or less openly for more than five months now, even though you felt confident he would appreciate your gift. You hid behind the corner near the stairs, and waited with bated breath, hoping at least one of the flat’s residents were at home. 

A moment later, the door opened, and a fiery red head peeked out; Kid looked both ways, frowned, looked down, retrieved the package, and then performed an eye roll that would have given Law a run for his money. “Killer! Your little girlfriend has brought you a gift!” he shouted -literally shouted, loud enough to inform the neighbours across the street of the event- as he returned inside and slammed the door behind him. You grinned, and took the stairs two at a time. 

You had an important exam coming up, to prepare for which you had asked for a couple days off work. On Sunday night you were sitting in your tiny bedroom, buried under piles of books higher than you were tall, when the ring of the doorbell made your look up, startled.

You went to answer, attired with an old shirt and pajama pants too sizes too large; studying required all the comfort one could get. “Yes?”

“I have a delivery from Rosinante’s pizza.” the most unamused voice known to man answered through the interphone. “Open up, (name)-ya.”

You had never discussed your growing crush on Killer with Law, who in turn would have probably preferred to remain in the dark about it, but your colleague had been unable not to  notice you had started wearing make-up at work on Friday and how you quickly touched up your lipstick before setting out for the deliveries on that specific day. He didn’t really mind you being interested in a client -mostly he didn’t care, like he did as a rule with other people’s personal business, even the ones he got along with- but tonight he looked especially vexed when you opened the door and saw him. Your faithful thermic bag was in his hands, emanating a delicious smell you immediately recognised…

Sausage and cheese.

“Your friend called; he wanted to talk to you, and when I told him you had taken a few days off to study he insisted on placing an order. This is the one he usually wants, but then I remembered… it’s also your favourite, right? I wonder how he knows that.”

You couldn’t help smiling; you were exhausted, more than a little anxious for your upcoming exam and already sure you wouldn’t be able to go through everything you needed to revise before the day came, but suddenly you felt happy, just happy, that someone you after all barely knew had had such a kind thought towards you.

Also, you were famished.

“Thank you, Law; and I’m sorry you had to come all the way here.”

Your colleague shrugged, mumbling something about having to do his job in any case. “It’s been five months, (name)-ya; I met Eustass last week, he told me his flatmate is single. Can you please ask that blonde oaf out? That dreamy expression of yours looks weird.”

Asking Killer on a date did seem like a good idea now that you knew he was unattached; you promised yourself you would tackle the topic on your next meeting, said good-bye to Law and retreated to the kitchen to enjoy your pizza. You studied profitably late into the night, and two days later you… well, not exactly aced your exam, but you passed it with a good enough grade to maintain your average. You returned to work that very night, exhausted but satisfied, and over the next few days, as you went from class to the hospital for your internship -which had been renewed for an additional three months; good news for your academic career, since the longer your stayed the more credits you would receive, but your hours of sleep at night had grown progressively scarcer- to work at the pizza place you counted the days and then the hours separating you from your next meeting with Killer. 

You literally had no idea when and how you would find the time for a date, unless the poor guy broke a leg or came down with pneumonia and was assigned at the ward you interned at, but you’d figure it out when the time came. You couldn’t wait to see him again, maybe accept a glass of iced tea since the day was sweltering, thank him for the sweet gesture of making sure you were nourished while revising for your exam, and tell him that maybe, if he wanted to try something different from pizza, there was a new place in your neighbourhood that you could check out together…

As usual, like clockwork, the order arrived: a sausage and cheese and yet another horror born of Eustass Kid’s twisted mind. You put them in the thermic bag together with the others you had to deliver, retrieved your scooter keys, and surreptitiously put some lipstick on using your reflection in the nearest window as a mirror. “Wish me luck!” you told Law, who simply waved in return as he helped his father with the plating, and off you went.

You felt literally giddy as you waited in front of the flat, the two pizzas held in front of you like offerings to depose at the foot of an altar; you held your breath when the door opened… and a moment later you distinctly felt something tiny wilter inside you.

“Hey.”

Kid was wearing nothing save a pair of boxing shorts -what was with this flat’s tenants and their penchant for nudity?- and you could have sworn you had seen something resembling pity on his dangerously handsome face as he handed you the money and then waited for the boxes you had momentarily forgotten you were holding.

“He had to dash out; should be back soon if you want to wait.” he said; Law never failed to mention how low his opinion of your red-haired client was, but the guy seemed at least to support your and his flatmate’s budding acquaintance, which pleased you - not enough, however, to console the deep disappointment weighing in your stomach. 

“I see. And thank you, but I need to go back to work; we're full.” you explained “Will you… just tell him I said hi?” 

Kid promised; you handed him the pizza, said good-bye, and ruefully walked away. What a disappointment! Killer had never missed one of your brief encounters -in part, you flattered yourself to think, because he enjoyed seeing you, as well as because you were after all bringing him dinner- but if he had had to dash out something important had to have happened. You had missed your chance of asking him out, but you could always try again next Friday, or who knew, maybe Killer would call later at the pizza place to say hi…

Lost in your thoughts as you were when you stepped outside, it took you a moment to comprehend what was in front of you, and that a group of passers-by had also stopped to observe. When you did, when you actually realised what had happened, the sound that erupted from your lips was something you had never uttered, or even heard, before - a scream of rage and a moan of despair mixed in one.

“MY SCOOTER!”

It was really it, the little bike you had saved for and bought after working part-time for two years during your high school days, and that was your only means of transportation in a city and among commitments that prevented you from relying on public buses or trains. Even though it cut a sorry figure parked side by side with the expensive cars of the doctors, or the large bikes some of your neighborhood's young men liked to ride, as if they were members of a street gang, you loved that little scooter and took good care of it. It was your pride and joy, and made your life easier under several aspects.

And now it was destroyed. Recently a couple of motorbikes have been stolen from that neighbourhood, I wouldn’t want the same to happen to your scooter; this was what Law had said, a warning you had brushed off telling your colleague you never forgot to use a chain-lock to secure the scooter’s wheel to a lamppost, or another element of street furniture that would serve the purpose. It usually took you less than five minutes to make a delivery, but the last thing you wanted was for your scooter to be taken while you were absent, even just fifteen feet away or three floors above.

Your scooter hadn’t been stolen, even though that had surely been the intention of whatever bastard had destroyed it, using by the looks of it a sledgehammer or another blunt instrument; the small vehicle lay sideways on the asphalt, the front wheel still chained to the pole of a traffic sign and the back one missing; several dents, dealt with a viciousness you could almost smell, marred its brightly-painted body. The taillight was broken, as was the right side of the handlebar.

Your scooter had never been alive, but the one in front of you was clearly and irremediably its corpse. How could it have happened? You had been away for such a short amount of time, even considering you had had to take the stairs since the complex’s lift was broken, and you had not seen anyone approaching or looking at your scooter as you walked away; had someone been waiting, hidden nearby, driven by a morbid urge to steal or destroy other people’s property? Had they planned on tearing your scooter apart to begin with, or had it simply happened in retaliation because the chain had made it impossible to take away? After all, not everyone went around with a hammer in their pocket…

But the reason behind the action, the detailed course of events, didn’t really matter, not when your poor little vehicle was destroyed, unusable and probably unsalvageable, just because you had been away delivering pizzas to your crush and his flatmate. A few among the people who had stopped to observe the damages looked at you with pity or sympathy -or relief that misadventure had happened to someone else- but you noticed neither; before you realised you had started sobbing, upset more by the suddenness of the act of vandalism than by the damage itself, almost traumatized by the pathetic scene in front of you.

Your poor scooter! What would you do now? You couldn’t afford to have it repaired, to buy a new one even less, and there was no public transportation that might help you move efficiently between your home, your university, the hospital and the pizza place, not to mention you had to make deliveries across the city almost every night. Without an appropriate means of transportation, you could not study nor work; you were truly and fully fucked, all of it because some bastard who had had nothing better to do had found themselves in the right place at the right time!

“(name), is that you? What happened?!”

Even though the small crowd had dispersed, it took you a moment to realise you were not alone. Killer was standing by your side, fully dressed for the first time since your paths had first crossed; he wore jeans and a light blue shirt tight-fitting enough to make both his pecs and biceps stand out, but for once you weren’t in the mood to appreciate the view. You looked at him wordlessly for a moment, too overcome with emotion, and in the end

“Someone destroyed my scooter.” you miserably explained, nodding in the direction of what was left of your vehicle as if to invite him to see for himself “While I was making a delivery to your place.”

“Fuck…”

And then you started crying. You didn’t mean to, because tears would solve nothing and you surely didn’t want Killer to see you when you looked such a mess, puffy-eyed as you sobbed your heart out, but you did, and he did, and after a moment one of the muscled arms you had taken every chance to ogle at over the last five months had circled your shoulders, gently pulling you closer. This was the first real physical contact between you and Killer: not a kiss, nothing of the decidedly non-platonic kind you had always known you wanted to take place between the two of you, but the sort of embrace someone in your situation desperately needed, and any friend worth the name would readily offer.

Killer was not your friend, both because you had never spent sufficient time together and because your reciprocal interest was all but amicable; and yet he embraced you, carefully at first for fear of overstepping and then, once made sure he was not making you uncomfortable, tighter, and you returned the gesture as you sniffled your heart out, your face hidden against his muscled shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, I… I didn’t mean you to see me like this.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for; I’m very sorry for your scooter, (name).” Killer said kindly “You want me to drive you back to Rosinante’s?”

You tried to decline, pointing out that you couldn’t ask a client to do something like that for you, not to mention he had a pizza waiting for him and you had to find a way to carry the scooter home -a task much easier said than done, since you had no spare wheel- but Killer countered pointing out that walking back would have taken you an hour. “You can leave the scooter to me. I’m a mechanic, remember?”

“Thanks, but I don’t have the money to have it repaired.” you pointed out softly, too tired to focus on the embarrassment you would have normally felt at disclosing your precarious economical situation; Killer knew you were a student-worker, which was a common situation for a person your age, but admitting you couldn’t afford to pay for the services he was offering was humiliating. As if you weren’t feeling low enough already! “You can sell it for scraps, I doubt there’s anything else to do.”

Killer did not comment, but he gently guided you across the street and then to his car, a black jeep you didn’t recognise the model of, but that was perfect for him: large, strong, with big wheels and the sort of chassis made for rough terrains that more delicate types of vehicles would have been unable to cross, just like its driver had the sort of physique most men probably envied. 

And then there was you, now left stranded with your little scooter reduced to scrap metal. How pathetic you were! And to think you had felt so excited half an hour before, when you had even dolled yourself up in preparation for the moment when you’d ask Killer out! This was really the lowest moment of your life.

The car was clean and well-kept, in a way proper of a man who was naturally tidy and took good care of his things; you sat shotgun, thinking mournfully that of all the circumstances in which you could have imagined you would one day enter Killer’s car -as he drove you back from a date, perhaps, or he came pick you up at work to take you out; or maybe to have sex on the back seat…- this was really the last, and one you could have gladly avoided. You sat quietly, unable to make small talk when you could still see the pitiful remains of your scooter in front of your eyes, and let Killer drive you back.

“Recently a few kids had started stealing and vandalizing cars and bikes here in the neighbourhood; I should have warned you, I’m sorry.” Killer said quietly after a while, which managed to wake you up from your torpor; you couldn’t allow him to feel guilty about what had happened, not after he had been so kind to you already.

Too kind, in a way, you thought, for once pessimistic about the potential of your and your favourite client’s relationship, even though it had nothing to do with what had happened to your scooter. You weren’t his girlfriend, or his friend, all you were was the pizza delivery girl he allowed to ogle at his muscles every Friday night; a pleasant diversion, probably due to his current status as a single man. Why in the world was he helping you?

“I knew already, Law had told me. And it’s not your fault; you have a right to order a pizza at home, like everyone else.” he said in the end, and Killer frowned, as if your absolution had not convinced him. Silence fell again between you, and lasted until the car stopped in front of the pizza place’s back door; Law, who was just returning from a trip to the nearby skip bins, saw you get off the car across the street and frowned.

“What’s wrong? (name)-ya, are you alright?” he said, in a way that made you suspect, not for the first time, that he did care about you at least a little. 

“I’m fine, Law; but my scooter isn’t, unfortunately.”

You quickly brought him up to speed about what had happened, and your colleague’s frown deepened as he easily guessed the difficulties your vehicle’s absence would cause you. “I’m sorry, (name); truly.” he murmured, and you smiled sadly at him to convey that you appreciated the sentiment, even though it changed nothing.

Killer had stepped out of the car as well, and now he looked at the two of you, his muscled arms crossed on his equally bulging chest; Law looked at him, looked at you, sighed in a way that expressed exasperation so strongly it was as if the word had appeared above his head in capital letters, and went back inside, leaving the two of you alone.

“You’re going to be okay?”

“I think I will; I’ll rent a bike somewhere, so I can move from home to school and so on.” you said, hoping to sound more optimistic than you actually felt; bikes were cheap to rent and had the advantage of not needing gas, but the idea of having to pedal up and down around the city with a thermic bag or a backpack full of books in the basket wasn’t particularly attractive, especially with the days growing progressively hotter “Listen… thank you for driving me here; I know it’s late, and I had just brought you dinner, so… it was really sweet, truly. You were really sweet.” 

You felt suddenly shy, much more than on that first day, with nothing more than a small -tiny, even, at least comparatively- rag protecting Killer’s modesty and your gaze victim of a suddenly decoupled force of gravity. While you had gradually learnt to appreciate Killer’s company over the last few months, as well as the sight of his naked body, you couldn’t stop thinking about the embrace you had shared only a few minutes ago, an embrace whose genuine warmth you could still feel on your skin; you were dangerously close to developing sincere feelings for this man, perhaps you already had, and that was a realization you didn’t quite know how to deal with.   

“Evidently you deserve it. Please don’t cry, you’re way too pretty to be sad.” 

“Killer…”

“Sorry; couldn’t stop myself.” he apologised, not looking contrite in the least “I’ll take care of your scooter, alright? You don’t have to worry.”

It was a relief, you thought, not having to stress about the disposal of what was left of your vehicle; the last thing you wanted was to have to look at it again, but leaving it abandoned on the sidewalk would have earned you a hefty fine, which was the last thing you needed. You gave Killer the chain key, and looked on as he returned to his car, so upset you didn’t even think of taking advantage of the moment to steal a peek at his backside, even though the jeans he wore were tight enough to warrant a warning sign for the safety of whoever happened to walk behind him.

“Take care of yourself.” he told you once he sat behind the wheel, his smile soft but kind under the cold light of the nearby streetlamp; the lowered side window allowed him to reach towards you and tuck a lock of hair behind your hair “I’ll see you soon.”

You waved at each other good-bye, and you waited until the black jeep had disappeared down the road before sighing and returning inside to get back to work.

*****

You had not used a bicycle since you were eleven, and while the old adage was true, and you were still able to ride after years of discontinuance, using a non-motorized vehicle for your daily commuting was indeed tiring, especially after spending hours on your feet in the hospital or going back and forth between the pizza place kitchen and the tables to serve. More than once over the next week you were so exhausted you returned home at the end of the day crawling rather than walking, your legs seized by cramps.

You had told the police about what had happened to your scooter, obtaining little in return beyond sympathy and vague promises the agents were doing all they could to apprehend the thieves and vandals whose list of crimes was now as long as your arm. There was a message on the bulletin board at your university for the sale of a used scooter of a model similar to yours; the vehicle was in good condition judging from the picture but the price, while fair, was way above what you could afford at the moment, considering your rent and school fees.

Maybe someday, you wistfully thought to yourself as you put your books in the basket; for the time being you’d make do, and just be thankful your landlord had had a bicycle to lend you - for free nonetheless. You kept studying, and worked diligently enough that the doctor responsible for your internship promised he would put in a good word for you when you’d apply for a job after getting your degree. 

Finally, another Friday night arrived. After a long discussion between Law -against- and his father -pro- the pizza place had recently added a few desserts to its menu, and you planned on buying one to bring Killer as thanks for his help and kindness when you’d deliver his and Kid’s next order to their flat. And then you’d ask him out, you had both promised and ordered yourself; this time you had no excuse, and you really needed something good in your life after the previous week’s disaster.

The night was full, thanks to a high school class that had decided to celebrate a birthday at the pizza place, without even giving you the courtesy of warning you’d be invaded by the teenage equivalent of a horde of barbarians. The deliveries had also piled up, but none of them concerned a sausage and cheese or a flavour pairing no one in the history of mankind had ever dared attempting; the time your favourite client usually called at had come and gone, your anxiety mounting with every passing minute… 

Until the phone rang again, Law answered, and after a brief conversation you couldn’t hear because you were busy serving a table you saw him roll his eyes hard enough his pupils almost disappeared into the back of his head.

“He wants to talk to you to order.” your colleague explained; he didn’t need to say who that he referred to and you both knew “Keep it short, please, we have fourteen quattro formaggi coming out in three minutes.”

You promised, and found yourself smiling genuinely for the first time in a week as you lifted the phone to your ear. “Rosinante’s pizza, good evening.”

“Hello, is this the pretty pizza girl or the other?”

“I’d say I’m the pretty one, since I’m the only girl.” you pointed out happily, privately relieved he couldn’t see you now, with spots of flour and tomato sauce decorating your apron, your hands, and even your face. The kids in the front, in the meantime, had started throwing the pizza at each other “Hello, Killer. What can I bring you?”

He placed his usual order, and surprisingly only that, without adding anything for his flatmate; even more unexpectedly, he didn’t want it delivered to his flat. “I’m at my shop, just outside the city. Did you manage to find another scooter?”

“Actually, Law offered me his car.” you lied, knowing fully well he would rescind the order if he knew he was asking you to pedal halfway across the city; you liked Killer a lot, you really did, and appreciated his concern for you, but you were an adult and determined to do the job you were paid for “It might take me a while though, we are quite full. Can you give me the address?”

It was, fortunately, a neighbourhood you knew well, since several of your old school friends lived nearby. Even so, the ride to the mechanic shop felt like an intercontinental trip, and by the time you reached the address not only were your legs begging for mercy, but Killer stood in front of the door, his arms crossed in evident displeasure… even though from your point of view that position merely offered an excellent view on his pectorals, swollen under his shirt.

“It’s late, I know, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s not that; I thought you were using Law’s car.”

“I said Law had offered me his car; but I refused, since I’d rather not risk damaging it.” you explained as you dismounted from the bicycle, gave your legs a moment to get re-used to the standing position and stop shaking, and retrieved the thermic bag from the basket “Here you go. Still working at this time?” 

“In a sense. Come inside for a moment.” Killer invited you, and you obliged, not at all bothered by the fact you were following a man you still knew relatively little, inside a shop that was probably empty save for him, in the middle of an otherwise deserted street. Your crush had really made you throw all caution to the wind!

Or maybe you simply knew, just knew, you could trust him; it didn’t work like that, not even in the case of the much vaunted women’s intuition, but sometimes it did.  

The inside of the shop was not different from the few you had visited over the years: a small lobby with a counter and a couple of chairs, car lifts with vehicles elevated to grant access to their undersides, a hydraulic press in a corner, a sturdy table with wrenches, screwdrivers of any size and not less than six pliers neatly disposed on it. Killer, on his part, was wearing overalls with the bib and suspenders falling from his waist, and he looked good enough you would have gladly jumped his bones then and there.

“So this is where you work? Nice.”

“Is it?”

“Well… I don’t really have the knowledge to say; I can barely change a tire.” you admitted as you placed your thermic bag on a stool, and the wide, led-illuminated room was filled by the sound of Killer’s laugh; he grinned as his fingertips brushed against the small of your bag, gently pushing you forward.

“Go on; it’s over there.” he invited you, and you wanted to ask what was there exactly, what he had asked you to come in to see, and then your feet carried you to a corner of the shop that even your untrained eye could see was reserved for the maintenance of two-wheeled vehicles, and there, just in the middle, was a scooter that looked exactly like your old one.

Because that’s what you thought at first; that it was another scooter, one of the thousands that had to have been produced in the same model and the same colour as yours. Then, walking closer, you noticed the sticker attached to the inside of the front panel, a gift from your baby cousin, and the small tear on the left handlebar, and the colour of the seat, which you had changed with a spray paint because you liked none of those available at the dealer…

This was not merely a scooter identical to yours. You looked on for almost a minute, unable to believe your eyes and yet more and more reassured it was not an hallucination nor wishful thinking, until you felt in control enough to turn and face Killer to ask

“Why?”

with probably more serious an attitude than he expected, given his own taken aback expression.

“Well, you know, I’m a mechanic, and I said I would take care of your scooter…”

“I thought you would sell the parts that still worked, or just… move to a junkyard…”

“And instead I fixed it. Does this really make you unhappy?” Killer asked, head tilted to the side in confusion, and even though his voice conveyed neither disappointment nor annoyance you hurried to answer that quite the opposite, it had been lovely of him and you appreciated it deeply, but - “I can’t pay for all of this; for any of this, probably.” you explained, gesturing vaguely at the scooter, and you knew you had no reason to feel embarrassed about it, because you worked hard to support yourself and were actually in a better situation than many of your fellow student-workers, but it was not easy to admit you couldn’t repay someone for their kindness, not even the fixed costs he must have incurred in “It’s not that my work doesn’t pay well, because it does, but university is expensive…”

“(name).”

“And my rent went up and I couldn’t secure a paid internship, so…”

“(name).” Killer gently interrupted you; a moment later your hand was in his, a reassuring squeeze making you feel as if you were a kite, and him the anchor the spool had been tied at “It’s alright. Do you really think I would have saddled you with an expense you couldn’t afford without discussing it with you? You don’t have to pay for any of this.”

“I can’t accept…”

“Yes, you can. I used a couple spare parts I had lying around here, and the work… the work is on the house. You owe me nothing, not now, not ever; I just did it because I wanted to. It turned out quite good, don’t you think?” he added with a grin.

It really had, you considered as you examined your scooter from up close, feeling like a mother who sees her soldier child returning from war after he went MIA, there were minuscule trace of the damage on the fuel tank and the fender, but the vehicle was practically good as new, or at least good as it were before the damage. 

You had your beloved scooter back, to use for deliveries and to go to class and to sleep half an hour longer when you had a shift at the hospital in the morning! You felt so happy you could have cried, but at the same time you couldn’t deny the sudden shyness that had taken hold of you, deep within your heart; you weren’t sure you deserved such kindness, especially since there was little you could do to return the favour.

“Thank you.” you murmured; you were once again face to face, and you could see Killer’s eyes smiling at you from behind his fringe. Seriously, handsome as he was, the guy really needed a trim! “I can’t… I really can’t say how important this is for me. Thank you, Killer, from the bottom of my heart; I’ll remember this forever.”

“It was a pleasure; as I said, you’re too pretty to cry.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound corny at all…”

You let him embrace you again, actually you took the initiative this time, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and resting your forehead against Killer’s as his hands closed around your middle; you breathed in his scent, musky and pleasantly pungent, like oil and dust and burnt rubber, and decided you wouldn’t have minded losing yourself in it. Nothing happened, no kiss, no hand -not necessarily yours- wandering towards places it had long craved to explore, but it was by far the closest, most intimate hug of your life, one you allowed yourself to linger in longer than you should have before being forced to break it.

“Can’t you stay a little? I like having you in my arms.” Killer murmured as he allowed you to take a step back; for a man built like a brick house he had an unexpectedly gentle hold, one you found yourself missing the moment you were no longer close enough to touch him “We can share the pizza.”

As tempting as the offer was, you were forced to decline, since you were still working and Law and his father needed you back at the pizza place. “I get off at nine, though; I could meet you then.” you counter-offered. You had class early the next morning and you needed every minute of sleep you could scrape up, but for once you didn’t care, you didn’t care if you’d be too tired to follow the lectures or if your fellow nurses at the E. R. would notice you had bags under your eyes; all you cared for was the young man in front of you, who was kind as well as attractive, with banging muscles and, as if that wasn’t enough, a smile to die for “I could buy you a drink at least.”

A drink would have been great, Killer said, especially if he came to pick you up at the pizza place at the end of your shift. He followed you outside as you pushed the scooter out and then swung a leg over the seat; you didn’t have your helmet for once, but you’d be fine if you drove slower. “Can I ask you a question?” you said as you took back your keys “Killer is not your real name, is it?”

“It’s not.” he admitted with a shake of his head, looking serious but not particularly bothered by the question “But I can’t tell you why; not yet, at least.”

You nodded, wondering whether that not yet was a challenge, a promise or something else; you were more than willing to find out. “I’ll see you later then.” you said, and Killer grinned.

“You will; drive safe, pizza girl.”

You started the engine, feeling thrilled at the simple but unexpected joy of driving your scooter again; Killer waved at you, and you returned the gesture as you sped past and drove away into the night, already looking forward to what was left of the day had in store for you. 

He moves like smoke in a gale. A whirlwind of blades and twisting gold. An omen of death that twists with manic grace as he dances across the impromptu battlefield. He toys with his foe. Effortlessly remaining just out of range, teasing the threat of his blades, pausing just long enough to bait a swing before springing back into his frenzied, acrobatic waltz.

His opponent is a giant of a man with feathery wings bouncing behind his shoulders. You recognise him from a bounty poster but his name, for now, escaped your interest.

You’re far from the only one to notice the display. In fact you'd been drawn to it by the cries of fear that erupted from the winged man’s initial rampage before the blond had challenged him and threw himself into the chaos. But while other bystanders watch the fray in rapturous fear, you watch one half of the fight as the peacocking it was. A leggy blond in clinging jeans. A lean-muscled man in a barely-buttoned shirt that generously exposed both the sharp lines of his chest and the blond hair trailing down his firm belly. The Massacre Soldier, Killer, showing off for an audience. 

Your own crew's well-meaning cautions echo distantly in your mind as a heat rises to your cheeks. Your breath catches before lapsing into a languid, heavy rhythm while your eyes follow, ravenously, every motion of the man you're well-aware lives up to his name. You couldn't help it, such a violent reputation only makes it hotter.  

He’s on the defensive now, but only barely, and you feel your heart thumping with secondhand adrenaline as your eyes chase the blond’s every swift, slick movement. The winged man fights with a pillar-thick baton, more masonry than weapon, and chases Killer’s darting evasions with gleeful intensity. Either man landing a blow could end the fight, but Killer seems unwilling to strike and end the show.

Not that you would complain. You could watch this forever. 

Killer springs up into the air, poised finally for what would surely be a devastating attack. The scant seconds he’s airborne seem to stretch into minutes where your body flushes with the anticipation, breath catching in preparation for the surely cataclysmic moment when the strike lands. 

But it never does.

So laser focused were you on Killer’s display, that your eyes hadn’t even caught the third figure to enter the fray, until his blade catches and shoves Killer off-course with a shout.

“If you want to do this, wait until you’re in the new world!”

You’re more than a little put out that the fight’s been broken up, but your greedy gaze nonetheless remains on Killer, and you hang back to watch just in case the gorgeous grim reaper wants to have a go at the killjoy. No luck. He backs off as the giant taunts him, the smooth, blank surface of his helmet betraying no emotion, body moving with a lazy, arrogant fluidity even now. 

Allowing yourself a few more moments to gaze, you rake your eyes down the sleek lines of his body. Standing still you could appreciate how his shirt hangs loose around his trim waist but still pinches and pulls tight across his shoulders, spilling open to frame his sharp collarbones and the blond-dusted valley of his pecs. The red sash sitting snugly on his hips flutters in the breeze along with the tasseled chaps fastened around his thigh-hugging jeans, and stray locks of his heavy, golden mane. His arms hang lazily at his side, as if weighed down by the bulky, bladed gauntlets that envelope them. Maybe you'd buy that they were if you hadn't just seen the ease with which he maneuvered them. 

By the time your gaze drags itself back up the endlessly enticing shapes of his frame, the prickling sensation of being watched has already made its home at the back of your neck. Your eyes meet the white and blue stripes of the pirate's helmet, and widen as you take in the angle. Tilted lazily, and facing directly at you. 

Fear flushes through you, hot and sharp. Adrenaline sparks along the thumping of your heart, rhythm rising in tandem with long, striding footfalls heading your way. Bystanders- those that hadn't already melted away -scatter in The Massacre Soldier’s wake like water split and sprayed by the blunt blade of a ship. The brief seconds you believe you have left alive feel like they’re extending for an age. You stand alone in what feels like an ever expanding hallway, nowhere to run even if you could dream of outpacing the man you’d been ogling for his strength and speed. Just before he reaches you an idle thought in the back of your mind that sounds startlingly close to one of your crewmates, sees fit to remind you that if you die right now your corpse will be found with drenched underwear.

Death does not come.

Killer stands a little under four feet in-front of you, staring. Just staring. Head cocked slightly, arms folded across his lean chest, perfectly still in dead silence. If his approach felt like an age this feels like an eternity.

You feel like a caged animal being examined by a prospective butcher, and you’re far more embarrassed than you ever thought you would be by how hot it’s making you. 

He, on the other hand, is mentally kicking himself for not thinking of something to say before he stopped walking. 

“Enjoy the show?” When it finally comes, Killer’s voice is smooth and low, years of practiced control hiding his own giddy nerves. 

“Yes.”

“You're blushing.” Blunt observations that he feels should have him recoiling in embarrassment only seem to redden your cheeks further, “You enjoy it that much?” 

A squirm works its way from your hips down to your feet, which shuffle nervously against the grass as you desperately seek your breath to respond.

“I like watching handsome men fight,” Your mouth answers before you can stop it, and Killer’s complete lack of apparent reaction only seems to embolden it to blurt out more, “the way you moved was- it’s- it was really hot- amazing- amazingly hot-”

You finally silence yourself with a gasp, the herculean effort of shutting the fuck up feeling like it’s taking a physical toll on your body as the walking death machine before you continues to simply stand and stare. 

In truth, he’s fighting every molecule of his body to not shatter the image you seem to have of him as a stoic, bladed sex machine by answering the awkward compliment with a chorus of overenthusiastic confirmations. He’s on cloud nine. He’s made it. No laughter, no mockery. Some random tripping over themselves to call him a sexy and attractive man with a kind of nervous, captivated terror he could only describe as-

“Cute.” It is. You are. Every jittery, fidgeting movement as you try to avoid his hidden gaze while not looking away, serves to stoke his recently emboldened ego and fuel a rising flame in his gut.

You cough nervously and the sound feels deafening. You’re about 70% sure at this point that he’s flirting with you, but can’t shake the possibility that this is some horny murder hangup, or that you’d even mind if it was. Your traitorous eyes keep glancing over the sharp, taut musculature of his shoulders before darting away as if you weren’t already caught staring, while his unseen gaze feels like lead on your shoulders. 

Mercifully, the object of your fixation sees fit to speak again before you’re forced to respond further. 

“You normally just stand about blushing ‘til someone else makes a move?” Killer all but drawls, mystifying himself with where the words are coming from but too busy riding the high of your attention to care. He gets it now he really does, why Kid, and Heat, and Wire- and hell, half the crew -throw their weight around as big. tough pirates in bars. He’s not sure if he’s ever felt quite this sexy.

Embarrassment pools briefly, cold and uncomfortable, in your gut as you fumble for some kind of defense, but it’s heated quickly by another wave of terrified captivation as Killer leans in quickly. 

“I like it.” 

With that simple statement, he pulls away, taking a few steps back. Heart hammering still, you watch in red-faced trepidation as he cocks his head before stepping past your semi-frozen form and down an alleyway.

Four agonising deep breaths pass before you find yourself turning on your heel to follow him. 

-

Killer, you find, tucked away just shy of where the light spills through, lounging against the wall as he idly fidgets with one of his gauntlets. He looks up when your footsteps stop, meeting you with another maddeningly impassive head tilt.

“You often follow strangers into dark places?” He asks, coolly to your ears. 

Your lip trembles between your teeth before you manage to speak over the pounding behind your ribs.

“Only when they’re hot enough to take the chance.” 

“Pretty dangerous.” Killer comments casually, screaming internally and for once glad his personal situation hides that he is presently rock hard in his jeans. 

He pushes himself away from the wall, those long, long legs carrying him behind you in barely four strides. He’s caging you in, quite blatantly, but you find yourself simply turning to keep feeding your greedy eyes the sight of him shrouded in cool shadow. Back here, with the bustle of the street all muffled and distant, you can hear him breathing heavily. Not quite panting, but there's a labour in the rhythm, echoed oddly by his helmet and whistling slightly through the holes. In the dim light, your ever-roaming eyes trace over a faint flush creeping down the smooth plane of his neck.

“Am I going to find out why I shouldn't take it?" you breathe, emboldened by the obvious interest Killer seems to take in your role as willing prey, thoroughly thinking with your pussy and not your head as you let yourself be backed up against the wall he’d leant on.

“Or why I should?”

“Do you wanna find out?” 

If this is how he murders some people you’re quite certain by now that you don’t mind at all. Your heart pounds with the thrill of danger, the heat between your thighs feels molten. His long, lean frame blocks out the light and you could melt from the rush of being trapped by him.

“Please.” You mean it. Every fibre of you that had buzzed with excitement at the way he fought now hums with desire at the threat of him being so close. Death in blue jeans and an unbuttoned shirt, looming over you with the promise of pleasure or pain or both. Your life could end at any moment and you’ve never felt so desperate.

“Reckon I’ve got some time to kill before my crew comes lookin’ for me.” 

Killer regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, not least because he’s certain he’s just parroting something he’d heard Quincey coo at some barmaid once. He has no idea what to do next. It's not like he carries the gear on him.

He could change his mind. Fake hearing someone calling for him back on the street. The hell were you going to do about it? Stop him? He could, probably, just actually kill you and never think about this encounter again, lest he wake up cringing at himself for the rest of his days.

But then his gaze darts down to the glassy, wanton fear in your eyes and he can’t suppress the shudder, the throb, or the soft groan that slips from his hidden lips. 

Killer’s never been looked at like this before. Sure, he’s used to being looked at in fear, embraces it, invites it. Want and desire have been turned his way enough to grow familiar too, and to finally fill him with more than skin-crawling disgust. But never, ever, has he seen this addictive mix of lust and terror so brazenly trained, all on him.

The Massacre Soldier’s next moves are swift. His gauntleted right forearm thunks heavily across your chest, pinning you against the wall and forcing a gasp from your lungs. It drags its way down to rest against your upper belly as Killer drops to a crouch before you. His left hand thumbs at the fastening of your pants, but your eyes are fixed on the way it's twin flexes, and the blade resting so close to your eminently sliceable flesh twitches with the motion. Your clit throbs in tandem with your racing heart, want pooling slick and sticky in the seat of your underwear as fear and arousal dance filthily in your gut. You must be breathing because you haven't yet collapsed, but it's so shallow you could've been a corpse. Maybe you were, and still you don’t care.

Another shuddering gasp escapes your lips as you feel your pants tugged down without ceremony, underwear too, baring your cunt to air that feels freezing against the dripping heat of your need.

“Oh so that’s how much you enjoyed the show,” Killer murmurs, and you manage a breathy, nervous hum of agreement.

“I-I like watching handsome men fight- nnh-!” You reiterate your defence from before, the words tripping over themselves in their haste to escape your throat and ending in a strangled whine as Killer’s thumb draws lazily over the aching nub of your clit. 

“Think you can do what yer told?” Killer asks, low and hungry, and you can hear a strain in his voice, a weight in his breaths.

“Yes sir.”

“Keep your eyes closed,” briefly those eyes flick down, to the sight of his helmet angled up at you, left-hand fingers braced on the lower edge, “or I’ll be the last thing y’ever see.”

Your eyes snap shut, breath shuddering from your lips in ecstatic fear, core throbbing from the threat, the thrill, sparks racing across your pebbled flesh as warm lips mouth sloppily against your quivering thigh. 

“There’s a good pet.” 

Killer’s voice is low, lustful, muffled now by your skin instead of his helmet. Whimpers climb up your throat as unseen teeth nip at the sensitive plane of your inner thighs, soft and playful at first, quickly growing hungry and sharp. He soothes the stinging bites with his tongue- wet, hot, burning as touch strives to do its part in compensating for your sight. Settling on one spot, you feel full lips close firmly about the skin just inches shy of your aching sex, sucking hard before teeth clamp down and bite even harder. A desperate cry tears itself from your lungs, and your hands fly to clap over your eyes before they can impulsively snap open. 

Panting harshly you allow yourself to melt into the feeling with a shaky, drawn out whine. Focusing on the way your skin feels between Killer’s teeth, the way his tongue laps against it. The bustling street outside the alley feels both impossibly loud and utterly indecipherable. Anyone could be watching with you unable to see and the thought only makes your clit pulse those torturous inches it remains from your sweet assailant's lips. 

Finally, Killer pulls back, releases your flesh from his mouth, and the cool air against your damp skin stings in the absence of his heat. 

“Souvenir.” He murmurs, teasingly maybe, but his tone is no easier to read save for the hunger of it. 

A thumb rubs soft circles against your other thigh, each soft pass counting out another second you’re given to pretend you’ve caught your breath. 

Between your legs Killer’s pulse races in his ears. He takes a moment to study your form, the uneven tension in your quaking body, palms tight over your eyes, soft, nervous shudders twitching your shoulders, your knees. You look pretty pinned between the punisher and the wall, a blade mere inches from your soft body suits you, and Killer shifts to slip his heel between his thighs for a little relief. 

He leans in, blowing softly against your twitching, swollen, clit, humming in amusement as it draws a shuddering whine from your lips, thumb digging into your thigh and urging you to open up a little more. You can feel his breath, the brush of his lips against the slick and needy folds of your slit, the only warning you get before the searing wet heat of his tongue slips between your lower lips in a long, slow lick, flicking hard once against the underside of your clit before the pirate digs his face hard between your thighs to devour you. His tongue dives into you relentlessly, lapping against your inner walls while you writhe and moan into your self-imposed darkness. Your knees shake and tremble as you feel your clit teased against the hard bridge of your assailant's nose, unseen profile printed between your twitching thighs. 

If the sounds of the street outside sounded loud, the sound of Killer between your thighs feels deafening. Wet, heavy, hungry, punctuated by his low groans of contentment and your own half-stifled cries of pleasure.

“Nnh-! Please-!” Your own whimpered voice feels distant, and while you’re unsure of what you’re even pleading for, Killer seems to understand instinctively. Before you can try and articulate the shuddering want clawing its way through your body, he’s pulling back to wrap his lips around your aching clit and suck long and hard, forcing a choked wail from your throat. Your eyes roll against your palms, the muscles in your belly fluttering and tensing beneath the heavy press of Killer’s gauntlet as your bliss draws taut, threatening to snap.

The tension falls slack as Killer pulls away with a soft pop, and your mounting pleasure scatters out through your nerves, leaving you panting and frustrated in its electric wake. 

“H-hah- w-why?!” The words are thick and rough in your throat, but however wrecked you sound to your own ears is nothing compared to what you hear when Killer replies;

“Be- be patient, pet.,” it’s practically a growl. Guttural and low, “not done with you yet.”

His left hand leaves your still-trembling thigh, the fingers probing against the sloppy, sensitive lips of your pussy. A whimpered plea is cut off in your throat as two long, strong fingers plunge deep into your core. The harsh edges of Killer’s left gauntlet dig into your soft inner-thighs, the pain only sharpening the sensation of his fingers seeking out whatever point inside you will make the muscles below your waist jump the hardest. He finds it easily enough, forcing a soft cry from your lips and a sharp shudder through your body, before stroking against your sweet spot mercilessly. 

“Mmmph… Pretty…” The breathy murmur is the only warning you get before Killer’s lips latch tight around your clit once more and the moan drawn out of you in answer is more of a sob. 

That tight, bowstring pleasure begins to draw again. The fingers inside you rolling relentlessly in tandem with the tongue swirling greedily around your trapped and throbbing clit. Your legs are weak, shaking violently around Killer’s presence between them, the gauntlet still pressed hard over your abdomen feeling like the only thing keeping you upright- or failing that, tethered to reality. 

“Killer-! Killer-!” Your lips fumble over the shape of his name, a breathless chant growing higher and higher as the bliss-tension pulls tight, muscles taut and quivering. Killer’s fingers dig into you roughly as he flicks his tongue hard against your clit and you cry out as the pleasure snaps. Your nerves are electric with relief, sparks of glittering bliss cascading through your body, leaving your muscles shuddering in their wake.

Your head thumps hard against the wall as you writhe, back arching as much as it can where you’re trapped. Moans and curses spill past your lips as Killer drags out the hot waves of pleasure rolling through your nerves. He doesn’t let up for a second, no slowing down, no gentle easing through the sensation, keeping up the relentless stimulation until you feel like you’ll burst. Until your throat spills sobs and your eyes sting beneath your hands. Too much, too much. Your legs are jelly and your arms feel like lead. Still Killer slurps greedily at your poor, aching clit as his fingers roll and grind inside you. 

With the last of your strength, you squeeze your eyes shut, dropping your hands to fumble blindly for the monster between your thighs. Your fingers sink into thick, warm locks, damp with sweat, deliriously carding through them before taking hold and pushing weakly. It’s like a mouse trying to shove a warship, but Killer finally relents.

With one last, leisurely lick, he releases your twitching clit, fingers slowing to a stop inside you. 

For several long seconds, you simply gasp for breath against the wall, the wheezing pitch of your breath filling the alleyway as your heart steadily calms in the wake of pumping so much fire through your veins. You can hear Killer panting too. If you’d dared to open your eyes you could have watched how the uneven grinds against his heel stuttered to a stop in time with a hitching grunt breathed out between your weak and trembling legs. 

At last, his fingers slip free of your twitching, oversensitive cunt, and yours from his hair, falling limp beside your hips. A low, satisfied hum reverberates in your ears as he lazily sucks the lust from his fingers, and you feel the shape of him shifting to stand after one last parting kiss to your thigh. 

“You can look now,” He murmurs, and your eyes flutter open, darkness giving way to the stark stripes of his helmet, back in place and gazing down at you. 

“H-hey,” you breathe, voice rough to your own ears, “that was incredible.” 

The spell is broken by Killer clearing his throat and angling his head away, almost shyly. A deep red flush still paints its way down his long, strong neck. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

He pulls away fully and you almost collapse without the arm pinning you against the wall by your stomach, eyes gazing after him as you find your footing to stay leaning back and upright. He watches while you catch your breath and allow your body to bask in the fuzzy, post-orgasmic glow a few more moments, finally taking a step back when it seems like you won’t collapse.

“W-wait, what now? You- You’re just leaving?” You ask breathlessly, though you’re unsure of what you expected.

“Aye. Better get going before the crew come looking.” Killer answers, a little too hastily to be as nonchalant as he wanted, he turns, taking another step away before pausing.

“I did have fun, so if I’m lucky, I’ll catch you watching me again some time.”

You laugh weakly, stomach fluttering with his parting words as Killer vanishes beyond the mouth of the alley. 

In the silence that follows, you finally move to re-dress yourself, pausing to admire the “souvenir” Killer left on your skin. More than one it seems, as you find a darkening bruise, and your thighs smeared generously with purple lipstick. 

—

"Oi Killer! Where've ye been?!" Kid barks, glower shifting into a softer smirk as he spies his second in command, "thought ye were gonna miss our seats to the rich cunt depravity."

Killer huffs as he jogs to catch up, "sorry Kid, met an... admirer."

Kid's anger dissipates in favour of curiosity, craning his head to face Killer with a brow raised,

"Oh aye?"

"Aye." Killer nods, tilting his head and splaying a V with two fingers across the lower half of his helmet. 

A chorus of gasps and wolf whistles met the motion as Kid's eyes widen. Cheeks flushing, he halts for a moment, before his grin returns wild and manic, voice pitched in a cackle.