Rooster Teeth Fan Fictions

“It hit me right in the face, Trevor; and I had a fuckin bounce house dropped on me one time?”

“ —alright well, yeah, but it’s not like that really interrupted anything. Just… delayed things a bit.” He fires back, crossing his arms with a slightly guilty expression.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night,” you tease, sitting back in your chair as you look up at him. “Is there a specific reason for tonight’s interruption? Outside of curiosity, of course.”

“Well, uh, since you don’t have plans or anything,” he rubs the back of his neck, gaze darting over to a random spot in the room before looking back at you, “would you, like, wanna go get dinner?”

As if to answer his question, your stomach rumbles, and you both laugh. “Yeah man, I’m absolutely down for dinner.” It doesn’t occur to you until after you’ve already answered the question, but you realize you have no idea what the connotations surrounding dinner are.

Well, too late now.

He shoots you another smile, moving to grab his jacket from the couch. “Better save your work then, cuz I’m a hungry boy,” you can’t help but snort at that. You’re a dork, that’s what you are. “And, judging by the whale noises, I’m guessing you’re in the same boat.”

“You know I’m the hungriest boy around,” you shoot back, spinning around in your chair and quickly saving what you have. “Honestly, I would devour the entire McDonald’s menu right now, and I don’t even like McDonald’s.”

“Dammit, there goes my plan for good ol’ MickeyD’s.”

With a slight eye roll, you sit and wait for your computer to shut down, placing your headphones on your desk.

You can’t help but let out a surprised gasp, almost squeal, when your chair suddenly begins moving backwards. “Let’s get movin’, kid,” Trevor says as he starts rolling you toward the door, unable to keep from chuckling at his own dumb antics.

With slight difficulty, you jump out of the moving chair, quickly stepping to the side and laughing as he stumbles through his momentum. “Hang on, dude, I can’t leave my bag behind,” you tell him as you walk back to your desk, “and I can walk on my own, thanks.”

“Well, if you insist,” he retorts, sliding your chair back to your desk as you pick up your bag. Tossing your phone inside, you turn back to him, and he smiles. “Ready to roll?”

“If by roll you mean walk, and not take my chair out in the parking lot, then yeah, let’s roll.”

“I mean, there aren’t any cameras around, so I think we can leave the safety violations at the office tonight,” he replies, walking backward toward the door as he waits for you to follow.

With a combination of a laugh and an exasperated sigh, you walk after him, hitting the switch on your way out.

The two of you wind up at a hole-in-the-wall Italian place, one that your coworkers have been raving about (and that was thankfully small enough to not be completely booked on Valentine’s Day). You’d felt somewhat embarrassed when you’d had to admit to Trevor that Steffie was normally your ride home, and you’d been planning on taking a Lyft home tonight. Of course he assured you that driving you home was no problem, and that it made things easier anyways, not having to figure out what to do with two cars.

He had a point, but that doesn’t stop you from being anxious about inconveniencing him.

However, the weird conversation you find yourself in does more than enough to distract you from that anxiety.

“Wait, wait, so hang on,” Trevor speaks through suppressed laughter, “you’re telling me— that you were afraid of swimming pools until you were nine??”

“Listen, it was a valid fear!” you defend yourself, crossing your arms in a slightly exaggerated manner. “I mean, at least at the time. Of course I knew that sharks probably didn’t swim in public swimming pools, but was I one hundred percent sure? Nope, and I wasn’t about to take that chance.”

“Had to wait until you were at least ten for that.”

“Now you’re getting it,” you shoot back with a grin, which he cheekily returns.

You’d been at the restaurant for only twenty minutes, when suddenly the waiter sets down the appetizer in front of you; it looks nothing short of amazing. Of course, neither of you are surprised, suggestions from the podcast crew rarely let anyone down. In all honesty, it’s really just the price makes the quality astonishing.

“Jesus christ, I could eat that entire plate in two seconds flat,” Trevor absentmindedly mumbles, and you’re drawn back to the present, quickly grabbing a ravioli as you narrow your eyes at him.

“You better fuckin’ not.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, fork still between his fingers. “Hey, I said I could, not that I will. You think I’m gonna pull something like that when you have a fork and knife at hand?”

“I mean, we have the same silverware, you could technically defend yourself, if it came to that.”

He rolls his eyes, leaning back against the booth, “Please, I was born to fence with silverware. I would crush you, easy.” He can only keep up his cocky demeanor for another small moment before cracking, shooting you a grin.

“Oh, is that so?” you raise an eyebrow before sinking your fork into the toasted ravioli on your plate, twirling it around as you hold it up. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You take a bite of the ravioli, and he’s quick to retort, “Are you challenging me to a duel? In the middle of this refined establishment?” His voice is practically dripping with faux shock and horror, and you can’t help but let out a small laugh.

“I’m just saying, you gotta be able to put your money where your mouth is, Collins.”

He smiles, grabbing a ravioli for himself as he replies, “Well, maybe sometime when we aren’t surrounded by innocent civilians, I’ll prove my fork dueling skills.” After a quick bite, he adds, “Besides, I don’t think that old lady would be too thrilled about it, our laughing was offensive enough.”

You glance over to where he subtly gestured with his fork, and see a very old couple. It’s almost as if the woman can sense you looking, because she immediately turns and meets your gaze, with a glare that you think could probably kill you. You return your eyes to Trevor, trying to hold back a laugh as you say, “Holy shit, yeah, no, let’s hold off on this duel for now.” He doesn’t have time to respond before you add, “She also definitely caught me staring so… pretty sure I’m on her shit list now.”

Trevor locks eyes with you, deadly serious as he tells you, “You better watch out, pretty sure that red wine she’s drinking isn’t actually wine.”

You mimic his demeanor as you lean in closer, whispering, “Can you see her reflection on any of the silverware? Is there any color in her cheeks, like, at all?” He quickly glances over, and shakes his head. “Well, fuck.”

“Listen, you’re cool and all, but if you’ve got a vampire after you, you might have to find your own way home tonight.”

Your eyes are still locked as you stay quiet for a moment, the two of you almost daring each other to break the stare, but then the corner of Trevor’s mouth quirks. You can’t keep from laughing at that point, and neither can he, neither of you paying any mind to the dirty look the same woman throws your way.

“If we get kicked out of here before my pasta shows up, I’m blaming you.”

Trevor laughs under his breath, grabbing another ravioli as he replies, “I mean, you’re the one staring at harmless old ladies.”

“You told me to! And I’m not sure how harmless she’ll be when she catches me in an alley, ready to snap my neck; did you see the look she gave me?” You try your best to keep your voice accusatory, but the smile on your face immediately betrays you. God, how could you not smile when this man was smiling right back?

“Eh, you’re a tough kid, you’ll manage.”

You laugh as you chew your next bite, swallowing before adding, “Thanks for that vote of confidence.”

“Oh, anytime.”

You’re not sure how someone’s smile can look so smug and so sincere in the same moment.

It’s surprising how easily the conversation flowed between the two of you at dinner. Sure, you talked to each other at the office, got on fairly well, but that was usually with other people around. You never expected to spend so much one-on-one time with someone and not fall into an awkward silence at some point.

And yet, here you are, in the passenger seat of Trevor’s car as he drives you home, the silence between the two of you something comfortable, safe. He hums along to whatever Spotify playlist he has going, tapping the steering wheel, and you watch the Austin city streets go by in a blur of lights and nightlife.

“I had no clue you were in the same neighborhood as me,” you break the silence, “but I’m glad you don’t have to go too far out of your way to get my dumb ass home.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t have minded going out of my way to get your dumb ass home,” he fires back, shooting you a grin. You roll your eyes with a laugh, and he adds, “For real though, don’t sweat it; Lyft fare is bullshit, and I’m more than happy to help.”

You smile over at him as you reply, “Well, thank you.”

He pulls his car into the one available spot outside your townhouse, meaning one of your roommates is out for the night, and he parallel parks with an ease you can’t fathom. As he puts the car in park, you unbuckle your seatbelt, turning towards him to say, “Thanks for the ride, and for the company. I definitely had a way better time than I thought I would tonight, working after office hours on Valentine’s Day.”

“Hey, anytime!” he says as he opens his door, and you get out of the car as well. “I had fun laughing at old ladies and disturbing the peace with you.”

“I mean, the latter is Achievement Hunter’s specialty, isn’t it?”

“Gotta represent the brand,” he adds as the two of you make your way to your door, both exchanging dumb smiles.

“So, can I ask a dumb question?” you ask, standing in front of your door, shifting on your feet slightly.

“Hit me with it.”

You know you’ll probably regret asking, but you’ll also regret not asking so, might as well. “Would you wanna, um, go out again?” Before he can even respond, you’re quick to add, “I understand if this like, wasn’t a thing, though; I just, figured I’d ask.”

He laughs under his breath, smiling down at you. “This definitely was a thing, yeah. I would’ve asked you out legitimately weeks ago, but I kept second guessing myself; and when I saw you in the office tonight, I finally kicked my own ass and said something, though uh… clearly not well.”

“Hey, we got there eventually, and I had a great time so, I’d say you did well enough.”

Your smile is incredibly teasing, and honestly, he looks like he wants to kiss you right there. But, instead, he settles for kissing your forehead, and you can’t fight the blush that rises to your cheeks. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early,” you reply, unlocking your front door, “and I’m taking that as a yes, you do wanna go out again?”

“You’re a nerd.”

You stick your tongue out at him as he smiles, kissing your cheek before continuing, “But yes, that’s one hundred percent a yes.”

You’re practically beaming as you say, “See you tomorrow, Collins.”

“Bright and early,” he grins before walking back to his car, stopping before he opens the door. “Goodnight, (y/n).”

As you say goodbye and close the door behind you, you can’t keep from giggling to yourself, still blushing. Maybe, maybe Valentine’s Day was kind of okay.

“Hey, there’s no pressure, you’re okay,” he reassures you, now leaning back against the counter, his head against one of the upper cabinets. “It’s okay to say no.”

“...I can’t— can’t say it. I’m sorry, Danny.”

“You’re alright,” he gently hushes you, “I understand; besides, you don’t owe me anything, I promise.”

That’s a sentiment he’s expressed several times over the past few months, ever since you told him why you broke up with your, at the time, boyfriend. Now, he’s doing everything he can to make sure you know that you don’t owe anyone anything, and you do know that; it’s just something that is, in all honesty, easy to understand, and much harder to actually feel.

And he understands that too.

“Do you want me to come over?”

You’re quick to answer with, “Please,” and he immediately heads to the door, waving a quick goodbye to everybody, who all respond with understanding, and varying levels of attention.

“I’ll have to stop talking when I get in the car, are you okay with me hanging up, or do you want me to keep the phone on speaker?”

You hesitate before replying, chewing your lip as you try to think. “U-um, I think… I think I’ll be okay?” Before he can say anything, you add, “Just, please hurry.” Your voice breaks again, and he chews at his bottom lip, running a hand through his hair as he makes his way to the car.

“I’ll be there before you know it, alright?” You nod, not even taking into account that he can’t see you; but knowing you, he can almost sense it. “Hang tight, baby.”

You give a small hum of acknowledgement and hang up, unable to think of anything else to say. You know he has no idea, he’s used that pet name since he first met you; but now, it only makes this overwhelming ache worse, and you clutch your phone to your chest as another sob wracks your frame.

You hear a knock at your door, and though you know Dan has an emergency key, you don’t want to make him worry any more than you already have. It takes more than a bit of effort, but you get up from the curled position you wound up in, legs shaky as you walk to the door.

The door swings open, and you see Danny standing there, all lanky limbs and sad eyes as he gives you a soft, “Hey.”

“Hi,” you reply lamely, forcing a smile as your voice still trembles between ragged breaths. “You wanna— um, you wanna come in?”

He steps inside and shuts the door behind him, leaving just you and him standing in the foyer, and he almost towers over you. “What can I do to help?”

Your voice is weak as you tell him, “I… I could really use a hug.”

“Hey, c’mere,” he says gently, holding his arms open, and you immediately wrap your arms around him. He’s soft and he’s warm, but more than that, he’s safe. He holds you against his chest and you can’t help but cry a little bit harder. Somehow, having someone to hold you makes it feel safer to fall apart, and he’s holding you so close you can feel his heartbeat, slower than yours, and his breathing, steadier than yours.

You focus on that.

He’s murmuring soft assurances, words that you only catch bits and pieces of, but, “I’m here,” reaches through your racing thoughts. “I’m right here, okay?” He runs his fingers through your hair, taking in a deep breath of his own. “You’re safe, you’re okay. Just let it all out.”

And you do, your fingers clutching at the back of his shirt as you cry into his chest, and he doesn’t stop whispering those reassurances, only holds you even tighter against him.

Once your crying has slowed, and your sobs faded to soft hiccups, he pulls away, meeting your eyes as he says, “Let’s go sit down, yeah?”

Rubbing away your tears with the heel of your hand, you nod, following his lead as he walks into the living room and practically flops onto the couch. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” you tease as he kicks his shoes off, your voice still shaky and hoarse from crying; but you both know humor is a coping method of yours, not to mention his as well, so he takes it in stride.

“I will, thank you.”

You sit down in the corner opposite him, sideways with your back against the armrest and your feet up on the cushion, and he mirrors you. Both your knees are bent to keep from kicking each other, but his are moreso, his long legs slightly bunched against his chest.

“You know, it’s okay if your feet touch me, I’ve dealt with worse,” you say with a small laugh, wiping away a few stray tears on your cheeks and chin.

With a chuckle, he stretches his legs out some, purposefully wiggling his toes against your feet. “I dunno man, these feet have been around the block a few times.”

“I’ve dealt with your feet plenty of times before dude; I’m pretty sure your feet have been within inches of my face at some point, so I think I’m good with this,” you assure him, your demeanor already completely shifting. Before he can reply, you make sure to add, “Also, I’m gonna fucking fight you for that pun.”

“You think a mere round of fisticuffs could silence my terrible puns?”

“One can dream, can’t they?”

“Ooh, ouch,” he clutches his chest, hissing in fake agony before shooting you a smile, which then crumples into confusion. “Wait, when were my feet next to your face? I feel like I would remember that.”

“You remember that one time we both fell asleep while watching that dumb movie?” you start to explain, the thoughts from your breakdown fading from your consciousness.

“I mean, we’ve watched several dumb movies, but go on.”

“Well, you fell asleep on the couch like fifteen minutes into the movie—”

“Sound about right.”

“—and then, I’m not sure how, but I wound up on the floor? Woke up with your bare feet just right next to my face, lovely thing to wake up to.”

He laughs at that, asking, “Is that a hint of sarcasm I detect? I’ll have you know, there are plenty of fans who would love to be that close to my feet.”

You almost choke on your laughter, eyebrows crinkled as you ask, “Oh my god, is that supposed to be a good thing?”

“Well, it’s definitely a thing, that’s for sure,” he says with a shrug, somehow completely nonchalant about the subject matter.

You shake your head and laugh again, a moment of quiet falling between the two of you, and his demeanor switches to something less playful as he meets your eyes and asks, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You pause for a moment, eyes darting away before you reply, “Maybe later? I kind of just wanna be a dumbass right now.”

“Oh, only right now?”

“Hey!” You lightly kick his shin, and he nudges you right back, a bit harder. Sticking your tongue out, you continue, “Seems like it’s time for the tradition of ‘(Y/n) kicks Danny’s ass in Mario Kart’, square up, loser.”

You practically jump up off the couch to grab the joycons, and he rolls his eyes, muttering, “Oh, sure, you win a couple times in a row and suddenly you’re the all time champion…” You don’t even have to turn around to hear the smile in his voice.

Three hours later, you find yourself lounged on the couch, your feet in Dan’s lap, and takeout boxes strewn across the coffee table as Cowboy Bebop plays for what must be the millionth time in the two years you’ve known Dan. It’s been dark outside for awhile now, and you can feel a hint of sleepiness beginning to set in. You did, in fact, beat him at Mario Kart, at least for three of the five races, and that was a win in your book; now, things were more than chill, neither of you having even spoken for the past hour.

Are you still watching? pops up on the screen when the current episode ends, and Dan glances over at you to ask, “Are we still watching?”

You take a moment to think before shaking your head, pulling yourself up to a sitting position. With a quick movement, you grab the Switch controller and put it in sleep mode before turning back to Dan, falling into the same position you’d taken when you first sat down. “Could we, um, talk about it now?” you ask hesitantly, tucking a strand of hair behind you ear.

“It? What do you mean…,” It only takes one look at your expression for it to click. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, yeah, of course. Hit me with it.”

You take a deep breath, your knees pulled as close to your chest as possible. “Okay, so, you know how I broke up with him a couple months ago?” He nods, and you continue, “I, um, I just… I keep, like, missing certain things about the relationship. Just, small things: pet names, intimacy, the amount of trust and faith we’d had. And I know, I know it’s stupid; fuck, the shit he did to me still hurts, so much. I don’t know why, and I— I hate that I miss any part of that relationship.”

The room is quiet for a moment before Dan clears his throat, speaking up, “It’s not a weird thing, you know. If it had been all bad, you wouldn’t have stayed for so long. It’s normal to miss some things, I mean, god knows I still miss some aspects of the few batshit girls I’ve been with; and it’s especially hard when you’re single, I get it.”

“It really fucking sucks,” you add in, your fingers gripping the fabric of your jeans as you rest your head on your knees. “I just, like—” you have to take another deep breath, closing your eyes as you will yourself not to cry again. “I miss being wanted. I miss being held. I miss being that close to someone, and I’m so…,” you can’t stop the few tears that begin to spill over, “I’m so scared I’ll never find someone who wants me like that, like, what if he was the only one? What if I blew it?”

Dan wants to scream. He wants to shout from the rooftops that that asshole was absolutely not the only person who would ever want you; that, hell, he wants to be that person for you. But, he won’t do that to you, certainly not when you’re so vulnerable. He would never forgive himself if he took advantage of you like that. Instead, he settles for saying, “You didn’t. I promise you, he’s not the only one. You didn’t lose anything when you got rid of his sorry ass, alright? You should never have to deal with that pain just to be ‘wanted’.”

“I can’t help it; for some fucked up reason, I can’t help but wonder if that would be better than this— this awful loneliness…,” you trail off for a moment, hesitant to express your next thought. Voice so very small, you add, “He hurt me so fucking bad, Danny.”

“Please, don’t ever think you should’ve settled for that.”

You stare at your feet, trying to swallow the even harsher emotions that were building up in your head. “...it’s so difficult. I don’t even know what I’m thinking or feeling honestly, it’s all moving around so fast in my head and I don’t understand and I— I just wish I could be held again.” More tears start to fall, and you’re hugging your legs so close to your chest, as if that could quell the ache.

Danny hesitates for a moment, unable to look away from your tear-streaked face, the sad eyes that won’t meet his. With the softest voice, he finds the courage to say, “I, um, I could hold you, if you’re comfortable with that.” When you don’t respond immediately, he quickly adds, “I just wanna support you in whatever way’s best, so like, please tell me if I cross a line or—”

“Please,” you cut him off, your voice breaking as you finally look up at him, tears falling fast.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he starts to open his arms and you immediately crawl over to the other side of the couch, your arms wrapping around his waist as you lean into his side. He wraps an arm around you, holding you close, and his farther hand moves to cradle the back of your head against him. He’s softly combing his fingers through your hair, and you’re crying harder than you have all night, harsh sobs wracking your entire frame.

“I got you, I’m here… let it all out.”

And you do, so much more than before, a small part of your subconscious knowing you must be staining his shirt with all the tears. “I’m such a mess, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You’re words are broken and muffled, but he still hears them, and gently hushes you.

“Shh, hey, no, you have nothing to apologize for, alright? You’re hurting, and you’ve got a million reasons to be; the least I can do is be here for you.”

You’re not quite aware of the how you get there, your awareness so fractured and distorted, but you end up sitting sideways in his lap, face buried into his chest as he wraps both his arms around you. Your apartment is almost silent aside from your cries and the words of comfort he murmurs into your hair.

Despite the heavy pain in your chest, you’ve never felt safer.

You’re not sure how long the two of you sit like that, but eventually, you tire out, no more tears left to cry, your sobs now quiet sniffles. “You okay?”

You nod against his chest, a wave of exhaustion settling over you after the intense, continuous waves of emotion. “What time is it?” Your voice is so weak, even you wince at the sound, and one of his arms leaves you as reaches over to grab his phone from the coffee table.

“It’s getting close to midnight… do you want me to start heading out?” he asks very hesitantly, not wanting to leave you in your current state.

You falter for a moment, second guessing every word you’re about to say. “Could you, um,” with a shallow breath, you continue, “could you stay tonight? I understand if you can’t, with like, plans and things tomorrow, and um…” You lose track of where you were going with those words, and just let them trail off into nothing.

“Yeah, I can stay,” he says quietly, still holding you close despite your slackened grip on his shirt. “We should probably get you to bed, though.”

“Probably,” you murmur, sleep already seeping into your voice and he laughs softly. With only minimal help from him, you stand up, weakly pulling him along with you. You don’t let go of his hand for a second as you make your way to your room, shuffling your feet across the hardwood floor. “Thank you for coming over, Danny.”

“Of course, anytime, (y/nn).”

It doesn’t surprise him when you walk into your room and let go of his hand to immediately crawl under the duvet on your bed, not even bothering to change into pajamas. “Sleep tight, sunshine.”

He starts making his way out of the room, but you call out a soft, “Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Would you be okay with, um, lying down with me for a bit?” Your voice is heavy with exhaustion, but seeing your expression, he knows you’re alert enough to understand what you’re saying. “You don’t have to.”

He hesitates for a moment before walking around to the other side of the bed, lifting up the duvet cover and sliding in next to you. The queen bed is big enough that he’s not touching you, but just his presence is comforting enough.

“Thank you,” you murmur, curling up under the duvet. “Goodnight, Dan.”

“Goodnight, (y/n),” he says, almost teasingly considering how sleepy you are. He, on the other hand, will probably be awake for another hour or so, and all he can think about is how he hopes to god your thoughts will let you rest for at least these next few days. You deserve a break.

He has no idea how to react when you unconsciously curl up against his side, but he’s glad he can provide some kind of comfort to you, even in slumber.

You let out an anxious laugh, “Sure, that’s fine, any specific recommendation or just the prettiest flowers?”

“Oh, actually, it’d be cool if we could do some foreshadowing with the flowers, so like, he’ll ask for a bouquet to use to admit his feelings to a friend; but, the friend is in a relationship, which both he and the audience knows, so if you could somehow pick a bouquet with flowers that work for that as well as foreshadowing a quote unquote ‘terrible fate’ for him, that’d be awesome.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you think. “Well, I know peonies symbolize bashfulness and compassion, but can also represent shame and, um, what’s the word… indignation? And yellow roses can symbolize jealousy, while blue flowers are symbolic for ‘the unattainable’,” your voice takes a slight dramatic twist there. “Does any of that sound right?”

“Could you do a bouquet of blue peonies? Are those even a thing?”

You laugh again, nodding your head. “Yeah, definitely. So, you just want me to do my normal florist thing and recommend a bouquet of blue peonies?”

“Yeah, and our style is pretty laidback anyways, so don’t worry about it too much.”

The filming itself goes by easily, though it does feel a bit odd to have a camera so close as you do your normal job. They actually do a close up of your hands arranging the bouquet as well, and you’re relieved your nails are done nicely and aren’t broken yet, as they seem to inevitably become. The guy you’re selling the flowers to, Parker?, is unbelievably adorable as he bashfully describes the bouquet he’s looking for, rubbing the back of his neck and even blushing as he talks. You figure he’s either a great actor, actually a nervous mess, or maybe a bit of both.

He pays you for the bouquet, and makes his way out of the shop as the camera follows him. The tall guy with the glasses mouths a ‘thank you’ as he and his other friend follow the cameraman out, and you give him a nod.

The shop feels oddly quiet with the group gone, and you return to your stool behind the counter, scrolling through Twitter once again as you wait for the next order to come in.

You’re surprised when, a little over a week later, you see the guy who ‘ordered’ a bouquet walk back through the door.

“Hey, can I help you find anything today?” you ask with a smile, which he hesitantly returns.

His voice is just as unsure as it was the last time you saw him when he answers, “Yeah, um, can I get a half dozen bouquet of carnations?” You can’t help but smile a bit more.

“Of course! Did you want a specific color? Or various colors?”

“Oh, uh, sorry yeah, pink ones if you have them?” He seems a bit restless, tense, and it’s both cute and a little worrying, tugging at your heartstrings as you find yourself wanting to comfort this boy you’ve barely met. You can’t help but wonder if it’s nerves about a date, since there’s no camera this time.

“Yeah, absolutely,” you walk around to the other side of the counter, fairly certain you already have a bouquet like that ready. “It’s Parker, right?” you ask, glancing back, and he gives you a quiet ‘yep’ with a smile. “So, is this for a special someone then? Or are there secret cameras somewhere?” you joke, but you can see him freeze, confused for a moment before letting out a nervous laugh.

“Nope, no cameras, at least as far as I know,” he jokes back, and you shoot him a smile.

“So there is a special someone?” you raise your eyebrows teasingly, and he lets out an awkward laugh.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

You give him another smile, surprised that you find yourself somewhat disappointed by the confirmation. “Well, pink carnations are a great choice for that, and, it just so happens…,” you trail off as you reach up to the top shelf, straining slightly as you pull the bouquet down, “...that we already have the perfect arrangement ready!”

You walk back to the register, and he follows suit, replying with a, “Great!” that doesn’t sound entirely genuine. It throws you off a bit, but you try not to pay it much mind.

Setting the bouquet down on the counter, you quickly enter the price into the register. “Alright! That’ll be $15 even!” you tell him, customer service voice and smile automatically in place. He raises an eyebrow, and for a moment you’re confused before it clicks, causing you to laugh under your breath. “Sorry, it’s habit at this point, I swear I’m not a robot.”

He sighs in exaggerated relief, and your smile only get bigger. “Okay, thank god, thought I might have to start the human revolution there for a sec,” he jokes, handing you a twenty as he speaks.

He’s such a dork, and yet, you can’t help but laugh at his dumb quip. “Don’t worry, the human race is safe for now.”

He chuckles under his breath as you hand him his change, “‘For now,’ are you planning something? Should I start preparing for doomsday?”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking as you reply, “I dunno, should you?”

He laughs again, picking up the bouquet off the counter. “Alright, well, thank you for the flowers, but like, please don’t blow up the Earth?”

“Hmm,” you feign deep thought, “I guess, but only because you asked so nicely. Besides, it wouldn’t be cool of me to ruin your date with an apocalypse, after you’ve already bought carnations and everything.”

He lets out another laugh, but it seems a bit forced, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I appreciate it, (Y/N).” You’re only confused for a moment before remembering your nametag, and he gives you an awkward wave as he heads for the door.

Again, your customer service side kicks in as you call out, “Have a nice day!”

And you can’t help but grin as he stumbles over the threshold to reply, “You too!” with another shy smile.

That special someone was definitely lucky.

Another week goes by before you see him again, and again, it’s a bit of a surprise. You don’t get many customers buying flowers back to back like that. “Hey there!” you greet him as he walks through the door, and he shoots you a smile. You remember his name, of course, but you worry that greeting him by name might be a bit strange. “Is there anything I can help you with today?

“Um, yeah, actually, I’m not sure what type of flowers I should get someone, I was wondering if you have any suggestions? If it’s not too much trouble or anything,” he rushes those last words rubbing the back of his neck and not quite not meeting your eyes.

You give him a warm smile as you reply, “Yeah, of course!” and he looks up at you with a matching smile. “I might be a bit biased, but I personally think the prettiest arrangement would be a bouquet of dahlias, snapdragons, and chrysanthemums, and we actually have one on display right now that you could take!” You gesture to the vase on the table behind him, and he glances over before turning back to you.

“Actually, I, uh, have a kind of weird request, could you, um, could you teach me how to arrange it?” You’re start to reply but, he quickly adds, “I totally understand if that’s not something you guys do though, I know it’s a weird thing to ask.”

“Well, I mean, I’ve never done that before, but I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” you tell him with a smile. “You must really like this person, wanting to make a bouquet for them and everything.”

He laughs, his hands fidgeting with the bottom his shirt. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

You look around for a moment; the shop is empty, and you know you’re the only one scheduled to come in today. “Okay, so, I’m technically not supposed to do this,” you stage whisper, “but go ahead and come around to the other side of the counter.”

He chuckles and walks around to you, and you start setting up, grabbing the specific blooms from the fridge behind you and placing them on the counter, along with some foliage. “Alright, so,” you start out, clapping your hands together, “I’m going to get the bouquet started first, and then I’ll walk you through the process, sound good?”

“Yep!” he replies enthusiastically, and you hold back a laugh. This might be the dorkiest, sweetest thing a customer’s ever asked for.

You pick out the focal flower and get started, carefully placing the first few choices before tying some raffia around them to make it easier to pass off. “So, what you’re gonna do is hold it around the binding point,” you place the bouquet in his hand, adjusting his fingers slightly, “and then you’re going to keep adding flowers to the bunch, rotating the bouquet between each flower you place, alright?”

“Sounds good,” he repeats your sentiment from earlier, picking up the next flower to add. You occasionally reach in and rotate his hand a bit more or less, handing him another piece of foliage from time to time, but he’s doing pretty well on his own. It doesn’t look completely professional, no, but it looks nice, and the thought behind it even nicer.

You also might like the way he starts to blush whenever you touch his hand, adjusting his placement even when it’s not entirely necessary. You know he’s making this bouquet for someone else, but it still makes you feel warm inside, and it’s nice.

He’s nice.

You make the occasional comment on his work, and he smiles over at you, either thanking you or making a self-deprecating comment in response, and they both make you grin. There’s a point where his grip accidentally loosens and the bouquet is ready to fall apart in his hand, but you’re quick to react, wrapping your hand around his.

“Sorry! Sorry,” he immediately tells you, and you can feel his grip tensing beneath yours.

“It’s alright!” you assure him with a laugh, “It is your first time arranging a bouquet after all, I know it’s easy to get sidetracked sometimes. Just gotta keep that hand in mind, it would suck if all that work fell apart.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” he murmurs, his expression much more intensely focused as he continues, and you laugh again.

“Hey, don’t worry! I got you covered.”

He shoots you a very quick smile before returning his focus to the arrangement, carefully adding each following flower. It isn’t long before you have him look at the bouquet from the top, asking, “Do you like it?”

“I mean, I’m not the flower professional here, isn’t your opinion more important?”

“Well, I think it looks lovely, but, you are the one paying after all, so it’s more important that you’re satisfied with it,” you explain, and he grins at your comment.

“If you really think it’s ‘lovely,’ then I’d say it’s perfect.”

You smile up at him, and this time you’re the one blushing, causing you to quickly look away and cut off another strand of raffia. “Alright, then I’ll go ahead and tie it off for you!” You weren’t gonna try to have him tie the bouquet himself, since tying a knot with one hand was definitely an acquired skill, but he doesn’t seem to mind you doing that part for him.

“So, that’s it then?” he asks, handing you the bouquet. You reply with a smile and a ‘yep!’ and he adds, “How much do I owe you?”

“Well,” you tell him, again in a stage whisper, making exaggerated glances around the shop, “since you kind of covered labor costs, I think I can get away with just charging you for the flowers themselves.”

His forehead creases as he looks at you. “Are you sure? I mean, I feel like you definitely still did most of the work, I’d hate to—“

“Don’t worry, I got you covered,” you say again with a smile, and he returns it, though he’s suddenly shyer again.

You pull up the total on the register, and before you even read it he hands enough money to cover the total. It takes you slightly off guard, and he immediately apologizes. “Sorry! I’m sorry, I’m just, uh, a little restless I guess.”

“Hey, it’s alright!” you assure him, taking the money and organizing his change. “We all have those days, I get it.”

Handing him is change, you pick up the bouquet and place it in his other hand. “Besides, making a bouquet for someone? I can definitely understand why that would be nerve-wracking.”

With an awkward laugh, he puts his change in his pocket, murmuring, “Actually, about that…,” With a deep breath, he looks back up at you. “Would you maybe wanna go out sometime?” He’s holding the bouquet out to you, a hesitant smile pulling at the corners of his lips, and for a moment, you’re frozen.

Before he can try to backpedal, however, you quickly answer, “Parker, I’d love that.” You’re not sure who’s blushing more at this point, or whose smile is brighter, as you take the bouquet back. Looking at the flowers in your hands, you giggle quietly. “You know, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me… but is it bad that I’m kind of glad you did?”

“I didn’t think you deserved any less,” he replies, his voice so earnest you could cry. Before you can say anything else, he starts speeding through his next words, “But then like, I didn’t want to give you flowers that you’d made yourself, you know? That felt kind of, well, weird to do, so then I figured I might as well ask? Hopefully the ‘craftsmanship’ isn’t too bad, I know you’re used to seeing and making professional flowers all the time— I should shut up, shouldn’t I?”

You shake your head, still smiling as you tell him, “Trust me, the flowers are perfect, and I like hearing you talk. I close shop at 5, would you wanna meet at the Italian place down the street?”

His eyes go wide at that, and for a second you worry. “Wait, sorry, I just realized that you probably meant a date like, on another day, that’s my bad, you probably have plans…”

He shakes his head with a warm smile and you trail off. “I could do 5:30?”

You nod, the three hours until then already seeming too long. “I’ll see you then.”

“Have a nice day, (Y/N)!” he says as he walks toward the door, his voice just as fake as your customer service voice from the other day, and you laugh through your reply.

At that message, you stop reading, your blood running cold as a wave of anxiety hits you, and you quickly swipe the notification to call him back. Hands shaking, you bite your lip, standing to your feet and pacing back and forth as the phone rings, unable to keep from wincing when you hear Steven’s voice.

“(Y/n), thank christ, listen, I— I don’t know how to say this, but… fucking hell…,” his voice breaks slightly, and you hear him sniff before continuing, “Parker, he— Parker’s dead, (y/n), he’s fucking dead and…”

You can hear his voice, still talking, still panicking, but your phone slips from your hand, falling to the hardwood at your feet, and you stand there, frozen. You can’t even begin to process what’s happening, your mind repeating the phrase over and over, but still figuring out nothing. Slowly, you kneel down and pick up the phone, your fingers almost numb as you do.

Steven is still going, and you begin to listen again as he says, “...and Cib, he ran off, we don’t know where the fuck he is, but he’s out of his goddamn mind and we— we don’t know what he’s doing.”

You don’t even bother getting up from the floor, slumping back against the couch as you pull your knees to your chest. “Dead… Parker is— Parker— ” you can’t get yourself to say it, the words caught in your throat.

“Listen, (y/n), keep your door locked, alright? If he’s gonna end up on anyone’s doorstep, it’ll be yours.”

You nod numbly, the thought that he has his own key popping up somewhere in the back of your mind, but it went mostly unnoticed amidst every other thought running through your head. “Steve, what do we do, where do we—”

A pair of feet appear in your line of vision, and you freeze, hesitating before looking up to see the figure looming over you. Cib’s eyes are sunken, tired, and he’s breathing heavily as he asks, “Is that Steven?”

Meanwhile, you hear persistent questioning in your ear, all along the lines of, “what’s going on?” but you can’t bring yourself to answer either voice. Instead, you rise your feet, legs trembling and almost collapsing beneath you.

“Cib… what did you do?” Your voice is shaking as you ask the question, a question you really don’t want an answer to. You see the blood on his hands, the look in his eyes, and you can’t help but wince as he takes a step toward you, unconsciously inching away until you hit a wall.

"Babe, listen," he continues to walk toward you, but you cut him off, your hands held out in front of you as you weakly warn him,

"Don't— don't take another step closer."

But he doesn't listen, moving forward, grabbing your wrists and pulling them down to your sides so he can stand in front of you, look you in the eye as he says, "I did this to protect you. I did this for us,” his breath reeks of alcohol, and you’re leaning as far against the wall as he continues, “for you.” "I never asked for this," your voice breaks as you speak, and you struggle to pull yourself out of his grip; but he's far stronger, his grip becoming almost painful, and your continued attempts to escape weaken. “He was my friend, and he was your friend too, wasn’t he?” There’s no response from Cib, not that you were expecting one. “He didn’t—” you close your eyes for a moment, sniffling as you try to force away the tears, “he didn’t deserve this!” "(Y/n), we can just forget about this, alright? We'll just, we'll keep going, like it never happened." His voice is desperate, and he leans down to your level, one of his bloodied hands moving to cup your cheek as he adds, "Please." He’s crying, tears rolling down his cheek, and your chest feels heavy. The moment feels like it might never end, his gaze piercing, his thumb brushing away the tears that streak down your face. Eventually though, you tear yourself away, ducking around him and running to the door with no clue of where you’re going. You can feel the smear of blood on your skin, hear him calling after you, and you just keep running, refusing to turn around.

That is, until you reach your car, and realize you have nothing on you but the phone in your hand. The sound of Cib’s footsteps only get closer, and you take a shallow breath before turning around, shuddering when you see him.

“(Y/n), please— please, don’t be afraid of me. I’m not gonna hurt you, I would never—”

“You killed him… he was your friend and you killed him; Cib, how could you, how could you kill anyone?” You find yourself shrinking in as he moves nearer, your hands moving to wipe away both the tears and blood that stained your cheeks.

“I couldn’t, I— I didn’t,” he runs a hand through his hair, gritting his teeth as he goes on to say, “all I could think about was you, and how he was always thinking about you. The fucker said he loved you, and I couldn’t— I couldn’t fucking stand it. He was trying to take you away, I couldn’t just let him.” His voice had grown to a shout, but at the sight of your trembling figure, his tone softens, “Friends don’t cross each other like that.”

Before you can say anything, he continues, “I just… I just wanted to teach him a lesson, and then— I looked down, and— and there was so much blood and he wasn’t moving and I, I, I didn’t know what to do…” He falls against you, pulling you close against him, and you can’t bring yourself to struggle against him. Sobbing softly into your hair, his fingers cling to the fabric of your shirt and you find yourself frozen in his arms. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to,” he repeats it like a mantra, his voice barely a whisper.

Against your better judgement, you wrap your arms around him, your hand rubbing his back as he somehow holds you tighter. The blood on his hands stains your pajama shirt as it had your skin, and you can feel your ribcage shrink around your already straining lungs, crushing your pounding heart.

Hands trembling, you try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go, and you can’t find the strength to struggle as he leans almost all his weight against you. “Please don’t leave me,” he mumbles into your hair, his nails slightly digging into your back as he holds you to him, “I can’t lose you.”

“Cib, I—”

“Just let go of her, dude.”

You both hear James’ voice, and while you try to glance over to where he is, Cib just turns away, pulling you with him. His arms are almost crushing you now, and you’re struggling to breathe, trying to push him away as you say, “It hurts, Cib, please, just—”

“No! No, no, no, no, you’re not taking her away from me,” he almost growls, and your panic grows, pulse pounding in your ears as you begin to hit him. “Babe, just calm down, I got you—”

“You’re hurting me, let go!”

“If I let you go, they’ll take you,” he murmurs into your ear, pulling away to look you in the eye. His hands easily grip your wrists, both stopping you from hitting him and holding you in place. “I’m not letting anyone take you away from me.”

Your voice is weak when you respond, holding his gaze as you remind him, “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

He freezes at that, looking at you almost in shock, not saying a word, his grip still not loosening in the slightest. However, James makes quick work of that, easily removing Cib’s hands from you and pushing you in Steve’s general direction. You can’t keep from stumbling slightly, your legs shaking as you listen to the chaos behind you, James doing his best to calm, or maybe subdue, Cib.

And then you finally notice Steven’s presence, and how he’s looking at you with sad eyes, and how his arms are open just slightly; and then he’s gently wrapping an arm around your shoulders, telling you something. You can’t process any of his words, but they’re softly spoken, and you lean into your friend’s side as he starts to walk you away from the scene.

“You can stay with me and Alyssa tonight…”

“Don’t fucking do this, man.”

“…we’ll figure this shit out in the morning…”

“Let me go, dude, you can’t— you can’t take her!”

“…hopefully.”

Steve ushers you into the passenger seat, and as he closes the door, you look out the window to see an almost rabid Cib, fighting against James and slowly tiring himself out. Hugging your arms around your torso, you sink into the seat, body still trembling.

“We’re gonna figure this out, alright?” Steve assures you, reversing out of the parking lot as James struggles to push Cib into his own car. You know he’s not sure, though, he’s just trying to make you feel better, calm you down. Somehow, it still helps.