#duskrover

You had made a quick escape around the corner, breathing heavily before you looked down at your shoes and bit your lip. There weren’t that many humans around here, and you have been stared at enough by the residents to beat a hasty retreat when you were afraid of causing a scene. You shouldered your bag and continued down the path, your eyes peering around as you stuffed your phone into your pocket. It was a small city and many of the residents here, were these shadowy bird creatures. They had four arms and 4-6 eyes depending on their mood, covered in a very dark fluff that you weren’t able to discern if it was fur or feathers. With their luminous eyes and slick shadow like silhouettes, you stuck out like a sore thumb around them. At first you had been excited to live here, learn about them, but when you realized you were the one being stared at, you began to lose your social resolve. You stop walking, pausing in front of a walk sign and waiting for the light to turn as you shove your hands in your pockets. You had come here to make a new start, get away from your old town and the memories you had there, but with a new town came new problems. You hurry across the road, walking down the strip to turn into a little bookstore. 

You can see faint wisps of lilac smoke in the air and you give a little smile, you were able to make one friend so far, and you rather liked him. He sat at the front desk reading a book, his legs propped onto the countertop. His luminous eyes looking up. “Hey angel, how’s the city life treatin’ ya today?” You sigh and slump your bag onto the floor, “Horrible,” you mumble, “I ran into someone today Quincey, like actually. . . RAN into them. Way to go me. . .” “Ey, don’t say that.” Their cool voice replies from behind their book, “You were probably lost in your thoughts, and that's one of your best qualities.” You look at him, before giving a little smile. “You think so?” “I know so sweetheart. You’re a really deep thinker,” You stepping around the counter to put on an apron with the book store's logo stamped on it. “Has it been busy today?” Quincey chuckles, “Nope. ’S been dead all day.” You peeked at the stack of books sitting beside his crossed feet on the counter before you gave a little laugh, “I can see that. . . it looks like you’ve been reading your books more than selling them.” “Mmhm, if you want to, you can go home if you want.” You think back to the two others you ran into on the street and you shake your head, “No. . . I think I need to get out of there for a while.” “Feel free to hang around as long as you want, then. I could use th’ company.” 

You watch him read, his face buried in his book. You give a soft smile and nod appreciatively, you take a deep breath. “ Ah. . . Hey Quince, I was wondering, what are those things you smoke all the time?” Quincey looks up, “It’s a cigarette sweetheart. Don’tcha have them things back home?” You give him a look and smile, “Yeah. . . but they have rat poison in them and they smell awful, and they don’t give off purple smoke either.” Quincey’s eyes shift in number, as he blinks, taking the cigarette out of his jagged mouth and looking it over appalled, “Rat poison?” You giggle and rest your elbows on the table, “Yu~p! And they cause lung cancer and--” “Quincey waves his hands, “Urk, yeh, I’ve heard enough. I don’t wanna hear no more.” You giggle again as he hastily stamps it out. “Well, the ones back home do anyway, I don’t know what they make those kind with. It smells different. . . almost floral” You say thoughtfully, “I dunna sweets but I’m gonna look that up, I don’t wanna be killing myself with no rat poison,” You smile, collecting the stack of pre-read books into your arms and wandering further back into the shop to put them away. You scan the shelves, carefully sliding them back into their homes. 

You breath in the dry air with a smile, you were so thankful to work here, and thankful to find a friend. Quincey was kind, and understanding. When you first moved here, you had a moment of feeling distraught and panicky about the stress that was piling up in your life. You had started crying while you were working up front at the register and Quincey had been quick to send you to the backroom and tack over while you could sit in peace and cry it out. He had popped his head around the corner with a mug of tea. Sitting down to speak with you, his legs crossed as the two of you talked. You told him everything, why you left home, how hard everything had been and how desperate you had been to start anew. You spilled everything that had been warring inside your heart, going a mile a minute as your nerves had skyrocketed. But he listened through everything, nodding solemnly as he watched you with concern. You had felt guilty about that, just exploding your life worries on someone you just met, but Quincey had been someone you felt treasured to have now. He didn’t judge, he didn’t even really question. He didn’t ask for anything in return, and he didn’t try to make you feel like you had to act a certain way. You could just be. . . you. Having such a sturdy positive force in your life wasn’t something you were used to. You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you smile softly to yourself. 

You finished putting the books away, grabbing a broom to start sweeping the floors. Your mind slowly turns towards work and what needs to be done. Since it was slow today, you could focus on cleaning all the things you had been neglecting. Moving around the shelves and pulling out chairs so you could sweep underneath them. As you head up towards the front desk, you hear Quincey get up from his chair. Stretching his four arms as he bows backwards. “I see ya already grabbed my books, thanks for that.” “Oh,” you respond offhandedly, “No problem, I was already up,” “I was thinking about closin’’ up th’ shop earlier, it doesn’t look like anyone will be coming through.” You perk up cheerfully and beam. “What time were you thinking about closing?” Quincey eyes the clock on the wall, and squints. “Eh. . . Soon, I’m thinking, about an hour or so, no use wastin’ electricity if no one comes in.” You hum in response, keeping your head down as you sweep a pile of dust onto the dust pan. “And. . .” He began hesitantly, “I was wonderin’ if you would like to have dinner with me.”

You freeze, your head jerking up to look up at him. “Me?” You hug the broom shyly, Quincey rubs the back of his neck, his eyes winking closed, “Hey, if it makes you uncomfortable you don’t hafta--” You blink and look down, “I--” You stammer, you voice dropping to a whisper, “I’d really like that, actually. . .” You shuffle your feet, in embarrassment, you peek up at him, Quincey mirrors your shy posture, shifting from foot to foot as he rubs the back of his neck. You let out a soft giggle and take a deep breath. “I would love to. . . did you have a place in mind?” Quincey’s bright eyes dart in your direction before he gives a small jagged smile. “I know a few little hole in th’ wall places. One I’ll think you’ll really like, s’ nice an quiet. You nod, returning his smile, feeling your heart flutter. “That sounds great. . .” You stand their for a moment dumbly before you fluster and grin in embarrassment, picking up the dust pan and carting it and the broom into the back. When you are out of his line of sight you can finally let your heart to it’s erratic somersaults. Putting a hand over your heart and swallowing hard. A date. . . a dinner date, tonight, and you don’t have enough time to thoroughly panic because it’s going to be after work, which in an hour! You take a couple of deep breaths, easy, steady there! You busy yourself with scrubbing the tiny break room, your mind feeling like it was composed of marbles. Every thought you had rolling around and bumping into each other. There was no doubt you liked Quincey but oh gosh! 

It was like, now you knew, he knew, how you felt? Or was it, he knew, you knew how HE felt? You squish your face with your hands. Okay, you’re panicking, again, stop panicking-- just breath!! You let your eyes close tightly and you shake your head. You grab the bucket of soapy water and throw your sponge into it, hobbling out of the breakroom to start washing down whatever else you could find. You still had an hour to occupy your mind-- and in the meantime you needed to keep pep-rallying yourself! It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, it was just the things in life, made you feel like you had to be guarded. . . Or like you didn’t deserve it. You sigh, squeezing out the sponge and sitting on your knees to clean the dusty bottom of the book shelves. You keep yourself a buzzy bee, cleaning shelves and tables, until the very last minute. Your name is called and you lift your head, you can already feel your cheeks tingling with warmth. You wobble to your feet and give Quincey a shy smile. “Just let me dump the soapy water out! I’ll be right back.” You steal yourself into the break room, watching the water swirl down the drain, and turning to peer at yourself in the mirror. You give yourself an awkward but encouraging smile. Leaving the bucket and sponge on the counter as you join Quincey by the door. “I’m ready,” You say, feeling unsure, but when Quincey gives you his own crooked smile, your heart flutters. He holds the door open for you, and you step out together into the lamp light sidewalk.