#duffy.

he sees her. out the window. clear as day. same deep brown braid. same orange. knuckles white, brooks grips his coffee mug so tight the thing just might break. grits his teeth and grinds. he’s steeped so deep in his rage the slight shuffle of someone slidin’ into the booth across from him nearly vaults him off his seat.

“ fuck –– ”  he lets out a ragged sigh. coffee spills onto his hand and he makes no move to snag a napkin to sop up the scaldin’ mess. just shakes his wrist and lets it burn. his fingers keep shakin’ so he opens and closes them into a fist a few times, like that might neutralize the pain. another glance out the window confirms that orange bitch is gone. brooks turns to meet duffy’s gaze with lingering fire.

look, they aren’t proud. but in a moment of weakness, during one of their diner hangouts... nyx might have... snatched a little pendant ‘n chain. they aren’t proud. but there’s still a residual thrill to it, the idea of having some piece of her in the back pocket of their levi’s. but they’re returning it. like. right now. an hour’s passed and they’re two milkshakes in, but damn it, they will ‘fess up. just... right after they finish watching duffy do that thing with the wires and the shiny stones one more time. nyx shifts their weight to retrieve the stolen goods, ballin’ them into a loose fist as duffy keeps on working, then takes an extra long slurp of their drink.

“ sorry, ”  they mumble, mouth still half full of vanilla. they plop the pendant onto the table and slide it closer to duffy’s workspace. apologies aren’t their forté. and maybe... maybe they’re not really that sorry. aurora ‘n nova just said they oughtta be.