#bbd mc

A few more OC facts if anyone cares:

— Raewyn used to keep her hair swept back and tidy for the military, but once she got out, she went right back to looking like shit. (Glow down moment unfortunately🥀 She was SUPER handsome when she was in her early 20s)

— She was highly toxic when she was younger (LOTS of fucked situations fueled by her) but she got better after a couple years. She still has room to grow, but she's not as much of a manipulator thankfully!! We love that ❤️

— She had a lot of one night stands, but only 1 ex lover. He was a Russian singer in a small town she was in for work. They were both TERRIBLE for each other, especially under their "unique" circumstances, but she left to climb further up the military ranks.

— She keeps a box of memorabilia under her bed. All the trinkets inside are random shit that seems like it wouldn't matter, but everything does.

She makes her presence known with the slamming of the staff door--once to open it, again to close it. Lane doesn't even have to glance up at her to know she's in a particularly pissy mood tonight.

"Wow, babe, slamming doors only an hour into the shift, huh? That time of the month?"

He immediately knows he fucked up by the sharp exhale from her nose.

"Do not fucking say that to me."

His mouth automatically snaps shut, and he can't help but wince as another slam rings out, this time from the employee door that leads to the back alley.

"… Fuuuuck," he hisses. "Great job, Lane. Fucking idiot."

He idles for a few long moments, silently debating if it's worth it, before leaning up off the wall to go follow her.

He finds Caz outside, sitting low on some random box with her arm propped on her knee, hand on her forehead. He knows she hears him, but she doesn't react to his presence at all. He pretends that he's only there for a smoke break and uses the opportunity to gather his nerve.

Haltingly, Lane broaches the topic, "Yo, uh, look. I'm sorry. I didn't… it was a dumb joke," he clears his throat awkwardly, horrifically unused to this. "It's just… you know. The stupid shit I say. I didn't mean it."

She lets out a long sigh, sitting up to lean back against the wall of the building, staring ahead at the graffiti on the opposite wall.

"It's fine, it's whatever."

"… Didn't sound like whatever to me?"

Finally, she tips her head towards him, looking up in resignation.

"It wasn't, but it's whatever now. I dunno. Too much work to stay angry at shit, especially when it comes out of your stupid mouth."

Lane snorts, "Yep, that's alllll me, babe. 'Lane and his stupid fucking mouth', heard it a thousand times."

"More like a million. But, yeah. Whatever. It's all relationships are, y'know. You piss each other off, you apologize for it and promise not to do it again, but you'll both probably end up fuckin' it up again next week. You forgive 'em anyway," she sniffs, sticking her hands in the front pocket of her apron. She's sensitive to the cold, he's started to notice.

"We a relationship to you?"

Finally, she huffs out a quiet laugh. Thank God.

"You're aware 'relationship' is a general term? Like.. platonic, familial, too?"

"And romantic," he grins, falling into their typical back-and-forth easily. "I just like hearing what I wanna hear."

She only shakes her head at him, but at least there's a smile on her face now.

"So… uh, we good?" he asks slowly, after a beat of silence.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, we're good, babe," she mimics his earlier tone, amusement in her voice, before she's abruptly serious again. "Just don't ever say shit like that to me again. I mean it. I know I just talked 'bout forgivin' and everythin', but there's shit I can tolerate and shit I can't. This is something I can't."

Lane swallows. It's kinda hot when she's mean to him, but she'd probably get annoyed again if he said that now. Though, it is really fun to hear that accent of hers come out. It doesn't happen often, but, damn, when it does? Definitely hot.

"Yeah. Yeah, got it. Noted," he acquiesces. It's not hard to find other shit to bother her with, anyway. Best not to die on this hill of all places.

Caz suddenly jolts as a rush of air rolls through the narrow alley, and she curls further into herself.

"You not used to the cold or something?" he questions, curious as ever about her but trying to go about it in a way that didn't make it obvious he cared.

"Ugh," she grumbles, breath a visible puff of smoke, "I'm from the south, of course I'm cold. It's November. Back home, it'd still be seventy fuckin' degrees right now."

He opens his mouth.

"Do not say some shit like 'Ohhh, but Caz, I can warm you uuuup~'," she takes on this fake whiny voice that is apparently mimicking him, hugging herself in dramatic fashion.

He closes his mouth.

Then he can't help but let out an almost baffled laugh, "Shit, are you pre-firing me now? You that in love with me already?"

She deadpans at him, "Madly."

He blinks. She is clearly joking.

Right?

"Hah, of course. You hear those wedding bells chiming, too?" It's easier to just joke back--keep their little game going--than to wonder about the implications. Who cares? He doesn't. Obviously.

In lieu of continuing their joke, she hisses when there's another breeze, "All I hear is fuckin' wind," she hugs herself tighter. "No, like, seriously. How the fuck are your arms not freezing right now? I have on three layers if you count the apron, and I'm still fucking cold."

Genuinely, he doesn't remember the last time he's met a woman that swears as much as she does. Like, come on, three 'fuck's in one sentence? He's jokingly "scolded" her for it countless times, but she always just tells him to go fuck himself. Honestly? He thought it was one of her charm points--another thing he finds hot. He won't ever admit that, though.

"Wellllll, Caz, if you must know," he tilts his head with a smirk. She's just given him the perfect opportunity. He uncrosses his arms, letting the cold flow over his bare skin, "I'm just so strong, you know. What sort of man cries over a little cold? I can handle it just fine. No biggie. Of course a woman would--"

"Ohhh my fucking god," she groans as soon as she realizes her mistake. "Shut uuup. Literally has nothing to do with my fucking gender, you freak, as I, like, just said, I am from South Carolina. We don't have winter there. It doesn't even matter how long I've lived here either, I still get cold. It's just in my genes or some bullshit."

"… I know something else that could be in your jeans."

Caz abruptly shoots to her feet, stepping forward to stand right in front of him. She's almost as tall as him in those heavy boots she wears. He knows they give her a couple inches, he-- uh, totally didn't check when she wasn't paying attention or anything. Who cares if a woman is that tall? But it doesn't even matter, 'cause she isn't. He has got to see her out of them so he can finally know how big their height difference really is. Like, how far would she have to tilt her head back to look up at him?

She stares right back at him, unflinchingly, her glare deepening as she probably guesses exactly what he's thinking.

"I hope a fucking airplane turbine falls onto your bed when you're sleeping and crushes you horribly. I hope you suffer terribly and your body is mangled beyond recognition."

Lane immediately whistles, "Woah, babe, is that a movie reference? Girls watch those? No wayyy!"

"Oh, fuck off. As if you've watched Donnie Darko and actually understood it, you fucking imbecile."

"Duh. It's just time travel and shit, right? Not that hard to get," he lies. He has no fucking clue what the ending of that movie actually meant--he even looked it up once and still didn't really get it.

She rolls her eyes, "Uh-huh, you definitely understand deus ex machina and the concept of timeline manipulation and the difference between the tangent and primary universes."

Wow, that's a lot of words. He totally understands them all. Totally. He nods as if he's actually following what she's saying.

Instead of continuing to test him, she lets him off the hook with a snort, a knowing look in her eye, "Yeah, that's what I thought. That's why I'm the one with a college degree."

"Tch, like your art degree or whatever makes you sooo much smarter than me. You probably just… took a whole lot of bullshit classes, right? Like, intro to gender studies, or some shit," he scoffs, finally breaking their eye contact to gaze off at the end of the alley. Whatever--he doesn't care if she's smarter than him. That shit's all 'subjective' anyway, right? Though, it really does beg the question how she ended up here, of all places, with him. Shouldn't someone with some fancy degree be able to get a job that actually pays her well?

"For your information, I actually have taken a class like that, and I do think I am smarter for it."

His eyes flick back to her, "Then why are you here?" he can't help but ask. Then, he internally winces at how harsh it sounded. He didn't mean it like that--he just wants to know more about her.

He watches the way her smug face visibly falls, and she finally steps away to stand beside him instead so that she can lean against the wall. She crosses her arms and hides her hands, obviously still cold.

"… Whatever. Maybe it was all bullshit. Four years of my life, and for what? To have fuckin' no one show up to my graduation? To struggle for a full year to get a job, and when I finally do, it's got absolutely nothing to do with anything I've learned? To then only get paid minimum wage on top of that? Right. Completely worth all the student loans I still have to pay back," she laughs bitterly.

Shit.

He can't even enjoy the satisfaction he feels at hearing her (indirectly and vaguely) admit he was right about something because he's clearly upset her again, in a different way this time.

Ugh. Is this seriously the only thing he's good at anymore? Fucking it all up?

"… Uh. Yo, my bad. Again. It's just-- I meant… like, you don't seem like you should be here. You should be doing some stupid fancy art stuff that I don't get. Something… better. Like, you know that shit where people just pour paint randomly all over a canvas and get thousands of dollars for it? Because it's 'abstract' or whatever?" Once again, all he can do is attempt some shitty joke and hope it lands. Hey, she said she'd forgive him anyway, right?

Miraculously, it seems she will. Again. She rubs a hand across her face before suddenly laughing at the absurdity of it all, "The fuck you know about abstract art?"

Then, before he can say anything else, she launches into an impromptu lecture, "No, yeah, I agree. Some of it is totally fuckin' pretentious bullshit. Not all of it is. There's plenty of stuff out there that seems like 'anyone could do it', but it's about the meaning behind it, the… emotions put into it. You know, the thought that counts," she pauses briefly at this, glancing at him for some reason, before immediately continuing, "but instead, some assholes are just like 'Yeah! Let's hang this paint can upside down and spin it around over this canvas until it makes something that looks cool'! Which would be fine--nothing wrong with the only meaning being 'looks cool'--if it wasn't incredibly obvious it was just soulless shit made to attract people who know nothing about art theory and want something to hang up in their beige ass ugly living room," she ends her tirade with a heavy sigh, having worked herself up. She even throws her hands up in exasperation, for good measure.

Jesus, clearly he's hit a nerve. She's been holding that in for awhile apparently. He doesn't think he's heard her talk this long without stopping, like, ever. What's more crazy is he didn't interrupt her. Usually, he'd butt in with some dumbass comment or joke, but he found himself being actually quite interested in what she was saying. She really was knowledgeable about this--and he didn't genuinely expect her to agree with him??

When he doesn't immediately respond, she seems to realize just how much she said and quickly averts her eyes. She even reaches up to pull at her hair to hide her face from him. The cold gives her some plausible deniability about the red flush in her cheeks, but he'd prefer to imagine she's embarrassed.

"Aww, what? Done with your little presentation already? Don't you wanna explain more 'art theory' to me?" he grins playfully, leaning closer to her.

"Oh my God. As if you care," Caz complains, copying his movement and leaning away to keep him from getting too close.

"Yeah, nah, I don't care," he lies (again), "but your face when you're focused is pretty cute."

She squeezes herself tighter, angling her body further away from him, "Fuck off."

"Come onnn," Lane continues to invade her personal space, "how about you finally let me warm you up~?" he even makes sure to imitate her earlier tone. By now, he knows how close she'll let him get before genuinely getting pissed at him. He's toeing that limit carefully, now.

Another thing he's learned is she really hates being touched suddenly, especially with no prior warning. He's found he has the most success when he makes his intentions abundantly clear, like wordlessly offering a hand or gesturing. Fine by him. He doesn't mind pretending to be a 'proper gentleman'. Only recently has she allowed him casual touches, though not without rolling her eyes or complaining about it.

He's being an asshole, as per usual, but he is getting a little genuinely worried about how cold she's starting to look. It was funny before, sure, but she's actually shivering now. The smart thing would just be to go back inside because he knows she'd inevitably follow him in, but… then she'll just go back to work, and he'll go back to standing alone in the backroom scrolling mindlessly on his phone. Selfishly, and stupidly, he doesn't want this moment to end yet. Inwardly, some ugly, pathetic little part of himself begs her, Don't go.

Usually, if she's uninterested in whatever contact he's trying to initiate, she'll be very firm with her rejections. Now, however, she says nothing.

Lane blinks momentarily, then seizes the opportunity, "I'm not hearing a 'no'?"

"Yeah, you're used to hearing 'no', aren't you," Caz murmurs, but there's no bite to it. She doesn't move.

"Just do what you wanna fuckin' do, Lane."

Well. That's the closest he'll get to a 'yes' out of her, he thinks.

Slowly, as if he were approaching a stray feral cat, he raises his hands in her direction. He makes his intentions obvious, waits for her to say something and, when she doesn't, carefully places his palms over her hands. He coaxes her to uncross her arms, which she allows with a begrudged huff.

Then, he brings her hands towards his face so he can blow a hot puff of air on her freezing fingers.

Caz startles immediately, and Lane only grins proudly at her, pulling the best innocent face he can muster, "What? It's warm, right?"

"Idiot," she hisses, face flushing redder. Definitely embarrassed.

Incredibly surprisingly, she doesn't pull away. In fact, she even curls the tips of her fingers around him in return, just barely officially classifying it as 'reciprocal hand-holding'.

"Fine," Caz hums, finally meeting his gaze, "warm me up, then, pretty boy."

Once more, Lane is stunned by her sudden boldness. She has this very annoying ability to surprise him during the moments he least expects her to. And, normally, something like 'pretty boy' would only serve to annoy him. He heard that shit a thousand times back in high school. But there's something about the way she said it… it didn't sound mocking. Does she actually think he's--

Wait, why the hell is flustered over a stupid nickname and some cutesy little hand-holding? Is he a fucking virgin again??

Luckily, before Caz has any time to point out the blush on his face, they're both shocked from their little moment together when a customer decides to round the corner into the alley, anger clear in their body language, "Hello??? Does anybody fucking work here???"

Lane clicks his tongue while Caz sighs loudly, already pulling away from him to head back in through the employee door. She casts one last lingering look at him, before she's gone.

Would he be stupid to think she also didn't want it to end?