@nogoodwtch

he's grabbing his jacket, his keys, his pack of smokes and a lighter. his phone is already in his hand, a string of messages from spirit telling him to hurry up lighting up the screen.

"fuck off." he's only half-paying attention to cat. his focus is far away from here—it's at the bodega down the street where spirit is impatiently waiting for him.

she’s bleeding in his bar, having slipped in just as he was going to lock the door for the night. after a long stony stare and a resigned sigh, he waved her in. before going to find the first-aid kit, he passes her a washcloth for the cut. 

"ask me nicely.” 

he looks a little smug, lips curled in a satisfied, shit-eating little smile. for once, maybe, he has a leg up on her. 

it was actually incredibly difficult. refusing to look at her directly, his apology came out begrudgingly through grit teeth. making apologies is always difficult, but it’s twice as difficult when he has to apologize to someone he dislikes. 

he clicks his tongue against his teeth, then jams his hands into the pockets of his jacket.