#epileptic!oc!reader

As she draws nearer, I notice my beloved human’s eyes; puffy, pink and glassy. Even Sinclaire–divorced from reality as he is–would take note of her exhaustion and sorrow. When she puts on the Dateviators, I draw an eager breath. She slides a hip on Abel’s edge, and licks her fingertips before slowly tracing down my labrum, sending shocks of pleasure from capital to knop. Arousal quickly turns to apprehension as I see past the rose-tinted glasses and comprehend the heartbreak in her hollow gaze. 

And then, she comes to me, into my pewter palace, my domain of delicious depravity. 

“So, you wanna fuck,” I ask, flashing her favorite cheeky grin.

She looks from side to side, searching the rooms for potential voyeurs–other than me, of course. Does she want to be watched or is she seeking privacy with her clandestine candlestick? Before my own eyes I see her sad smile spread into a lascivious leer. 

Performance it is, then.

My esteem rises.  

“I might have a better idea,” she says. 

“A better idea than fucking you?” I lean against the table and cross my arms over my ruffled chest. “I’m listening.”

Bringing that smile to my ear, she covers her mouth, grazing my waxen locks as she does. Her breath tantalizes me, sending shivers through every nerve.

“Act like I just said the most lurid, sexually deviant thing you’ve heard in your entire life.”

She pulls away from me, biting her lip, and popping her eyebrows as if daring me to join her on some randy rendezvous. I slip into the garrulous gaiety of my silk-tongued self. “Oh, you tempting tart. Do go on.”

 Again, she whispers into my ear. “I need you to come with me upstairs to the electrical closet.”

I am positively tumescent as I ponder the titillating possibilities. I tuck her hair behind her ear, my breath light against her skin. When she shudders, I let my own voice do the talking. It is her favorite, after all.

“Do I finally get to watch Eddie and Volt wreck you six ways from a month of Sundays?”

“That’s…definitely not happening. Kinda the opposite.”

I step back and pout. “Shit.”

Our conversation continues in a series of hushed mutterings. 

“I’ll explain when we get there. I need two things from you. I need you to act like we’re so horny we’re about to lose our damn minds. You can’t keep your hands off me. Like you need to fuck me crosseyed in the closet. Got it? Anyway, keep it convincing.”

“You know I don’t have to pretend any of that, right?”

She caresses my face. “I know, love.” 

The smile in her voice is enough to set my wick alight. And when she calls me love, I glow with golden bliss. 

“And the other thing…?”

Her act almost falters. After a blink, however, the seductress mask returns as she grinds on my thigh. Her words are barely audible. “We’ll be in the closet. In the dark.” 

Heels clicking, I step back then capture her gaze. As I stroke my fingers down her cheek, my thumb grazes the dry, salty tracks made by her tears. My affection is, as always, genuine. Beneath the surface, however, my wax boils.

My relationship with the human is, by far, the most meaningful connection I’ve ever known. Though I’ve had the pleasure of her lips, she and I share a much sweeter sacrament than sex. An intimacy so decadent it is spent holding one another while traumas and secrets are laid as bare as our skin. One of the ghost stories shared while in my arms described a fucking taintsmear who doesn’t deserve to breathe. He is why…well. He is why.

I lean in once more, and whisper, “Anything for my flame.” 

I feel her shoulders release some of their tension as her relieved sigh breaks across my cheek. She nibbles my earlobe, then pulls away, blushing. Drawing her nimble digits down my chest, she leers at me, hooks her fingers around my waistcoat and tugs me into a tender yet tawdry kiss. 

“On your mark,” she says. “Get set.” 

Before she can exhale the last syllable, I pull her into my arms, cup her head and say everything that matters as I crush my lips to hers. Her succulent moan melts in my mouth while she softens into my hands. I rock against her hips then gently guide her to the nearest wall. When she grinds against me, I know this isn’t a performance. Every little noise is for me. Her hand carving into the back of my neck is a vow. 

When we come up for air, her eyes glitter behind those magnificent lenses. Breathless, she says, “That’s cheating.”

I brace against the wall with one arm and touch my forehead to hers. Leering down at her, I say, “Just wanted to give you a head start.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. We both know it’s not about the kiss. 

Our trip upstairs takes many detours.Various points along the hallway; near the office, against the bay window, beneath Arma. The latter was quite brief due to my wick’s proximity to the alarm. My human surprises me when she grips my coat and slams me into Front Dorian.

“Get off!” Dorian stammers. “I mean, don’t–not yet. Could you two fondle in a place a little less…me?”

She tilts her head as if going for my neck, or to whisper salacious nothings. Instead, she whispers to Dorian. “Meet us upstairs. Electrical closet. Clear out those you can, I’ll get the rest.”

Dorian tenses behind me and I can feel the heat of his blush. If we stay here much longer, I’ll start to melt.

“Wh–we don’t…”

“Dorian, trust me. Just get up there.”

She yanks me away from the excitable exit, and we begin our frenzied dance up the stairs and around the corner where Dorian stands open. Lux, Beau and Shelley scarper off downstairs as Tony resists.

“Ehhha, why’s everybody godda leave the closet? I’m mindin’ my own business over here.”

I take that as my queue to make things both uncomfortable and perfectly clear. I press her to the wall beside the closet and groan as I grind into her. When I squeeze her ass, she lets out a surprised yelp that might be the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. Throwing her arms around my neck, her fingers slide up into my hair.

Glittering eyes on mine, she exhales, “Hurry.”

“Ooohh, I get it,” Tony says. “Ol’ Ton’s workshop paid off.”

I wave him off in the international sign for, Get the fuck out of here, don’t you see I have a resplendent woman to rail in that closet?

To Dorian, Tony says, “All you had to do was tell me and I’da left no problem. Though, it isn’t a bad view. You get what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Piss off,” Dorian hisses.

With the closet clear, I begrudgingly tear my lips from hers when she gently pushes against my chest. Her stare is sultry, intoxicating. Fleeting. She backs into the closet, leading me by the hand. 

I know she chose the venue. She asked to keep the closet dark. She requested this. Nevertheless, I feel a cold loathing seep through me. For the fuckstick who made her afraid, and for myself as I eagerly push her against the nearest flat surface and shut the door behind me. 

The second the lock engages, she grips my arm in a tight claw. Breathless, her voice trembling, she says, “Jon. Light please.”

As the wick atop my head blooms with a soft amber glow, I steer her toward the door, and place her hand on the cool surface of the knob.

"If you need to leave,” I whisper.

I put an arm out, offering my closeness to help her through this but only if she wants it. She tucks herself against my chest and I rest my hand on her waist. My touch is heavy enough for her to feel its comfort, yet light enough to remain unthreatening. 

Already sweating with anxiety, she presses one palm presses against my back. The opposite hand clings to my waistcoat. I feel her shaking–both from our interrupted improvised interlude and the fear rising in her belly.

“Okay,” she says. “We need to make this quick.”

"Are you alright,” Dorian asks. “When you left earlier…”

“Yeah, that’s part of why I’m here. I need both of you to make sure no one in the house knows I was with Eddie the past few days. Specifically, I need you to make sure Volt doesn’t know.” 

My eyes drift to the circuit box on the wall. Confusion and curiosity war for my attention. Over the top of her head, I meet Dorian’s squinting eyes. He’s just as dumbfounded as I, but his mental gears whir. His eyes are dark slits in my tremulous light. 

“Did Watts harm you?”

Wait. Watts?

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that Eddie loathes any socializing almost as much as he hates the human. Why would they be spending time together? Dorian’s protective ire is contagious. I tighten my hold on my lovely flame.

“No. No, he didn’t..”

It’s difficult to see through the Dateviators in dimlit closet, but when her head tilts down, it’s clear she’s looking anywhere but at us. 

“Then tell me why you left in such a state.”

“What state,” I ask.

“Are you going to tell him or shall I?”

She sighs. “Can we skip this part for later, please? I can’t do this for long, alright? Words were said. Some of them sucked. That’s it. Can we move on?”

Moments stretch as Dorian ponders her words. Then, “What do you require of me?”

“If anyone starts talking about me being in here or with him the past two days, you squash it. Especially those who live in here. And if anyone asks you about it, the story is that Jon and I have been coming up here for a bit of private time.”

“Emphasis on the coming,” I add. It earns me a playful swat to the chest. But that’s part of why I’m here; to keep her out of her own head. Laughing, not crying.

Dorian rolls his eyes. “And just how do you suppose I convince them of that?”

“Well,” she answers, “most of the house just saw us enthusiastically making out and at least 10 things saw us get in here. Which is where you come in.” She looks up at me. “Keep an ear out. If you hear any rumblings, you–.”

“Spin the narrative?”

“Exactly. If either of you hears anything about me and Eddie, you end it.”

My esteem–not a euphemism this time–only grows. Clever girl. It’s a simple request, and I’d melt myself into crayons for her if she asked. But I can’t help but wonder why the charade is necessary in the first place.

She lets out a long breath. She’s starting to shake. “So, can you do this for me?” 

“You have my word,” I tell her, sealing the promise with a kiss on the top of her head. 

Dorian studies her a moment longer. “Who are you protecting? One of them? Or yourself?”

“Dorian, please, I just–.”

“I’ll do it. But the question remains. You’re under no obligation to answer me now or ever. But I would like to make sure you’ve been safe while in his care.”

“Neither of them has laid a hand on me that wasn’t invited,” she assures us.

I believe her. And I have so many questions, most of which revolve around these invited hands.

“Okay,” she says. After mussing up her hair, she tears open my waistcoat and yanks my shirt out of my breeches.

Despite the palpable need in her actions, this desperation has nothing to do with me. Regardless, my wick flickers as a chill skitters up my spine. This isn’t our normal fare, but damn if it isn’t delicious. 

“I need to get the fuck out of this closet,” she says firmly. “Jon, you know what we need to do.”

“Take this to your room where I can help you relax and maybe even get some sleep?”

She nods, then lets out a long sigh. Eyes sparkling with my fire, she looks between the two of us. Voice barely audible, she whispers, “Thank you both. I love you guys.” 

Dorian’s blush reaches up past his hairline. “Ahem. I–erm. Thank you. I love you too, dear friend.”

“Alright, Jon. Let’s bust out of here so you can throw me up against the wall and act like you mean it.”

I grin at Dorian. “It’s a very hard job.”

With a roll of his eyes, Dorian swings open. “Go on then.”

Hands firm on her hips, I give her a supportive squeeze. 

“Sorry in advance, Dorian,” I say.

“What fo–”

Then I kick Dorian in the shins. With a loud groan, he swings wide open and I push her into the brightly lit hall. I don’t bother with the act, regardless of her earlier command. Instead, when I press her to the wall I take a half step back and lift both of her hands to my lips. She is the object of my devotion, my flame. And she’s hurting. Cupping her face, I kiss her tenderly. What escapes her is a whimper of relief. I search her eyes and only see an ember of my flame. She’s receded somewhere in her mind. 

With a trembling whisper, I ask, “Can I take you to bed?” 

Clutching my shirt as if it is her only tether to this world, she nods. “Please?”

As the door to her bedroom closes behind us, the act drops along with her composure. She crumbles into my arms and cries quietly. I hold her shaking body against me, occasionally stroking her hair, dabbing her cheeks or giving her chaste kisses on the forehead. Eventually, she allows me to get her into bed where she falls asleep to the lullaby of my heart. 

***

After the closet goes silent, he slumps against the heavy steel door clutching his scarred chest.

He’d heard her conversation. Every word, spoken and not. 

And he has no idea how he’s supposed to feel. Feelings are a drain, right? A distraction. And none more so than those he holds–has always held–for the human. It’s strange for electricity to carry a torch, but where she’s concerned…well, she defies all logic.  

Morose, limbs leaden, he trudges across the club and sits in his favored stool where his regular cocktail goes untouched. Melting ice dilutes the amber whiskey sour and a pool of water gathers on the bar beneath. Meanwhile, Eddie's mind can only spin on whys, what ifs, and winter nights.

Chapter 12 — Chapter 14

Masterlist

While you know the offending floorboard was only an accessory to your murder by humiliation, you're not sure you want Eddie to know the actual reason you took a dive off the ladder. Just the thought of telling him about your seizures is enough to twist your stomach into pretzels. 

You had figured these days with him would be awkward, or that you’d have to deal with his irascible side chastising you for any perceived sleight. But, that wasn’t what had happened at all. With his dark, dry humor and a mutual love of sarcasm, the banter between you has been delicious. Though he tries to hide it beneath icy growls, Eddie is capable of great patience, even kindness. 

In addition to that ever-present feeling of familiarity is empathy. The pain in him–physical and otherwise–the broken pieces, the isolation…it all rhymes with your own. There’s comfort in that, despite Eddie’s tendencies toward assholism. You legitimately enjoy his company, even if you’re just alone together. 

Telling him about your epilepsy, though? That could ruin all of this. You can’t imagine him being anything other than pissed off if he found out you fell because your brain is fucked up. Something you’ve known about this whole time that could’ve put both of you in danger. It’s not far-fetched to think he’d just ban you outright.  

You’ll tell him. Just…another time. 

Eventually.

While Eddie rips up the old wood, you kneel beside Eddie with the new floorboard in hand. The wood is brighter in contrast to the dark, aging floor.

Prying the nails free, he grumbles. “I see a possible paint job in my future. Volt will probably want everything to match.”

“Assuming he notices.”

Eddie scoffs. “Oh, he’ll notice. He’s big on presentation. Making sure that everything looks good even if there are some cracks here and there. Part of maintaining the whole pinnacle of luxury and entertainment spiel.”

“Aw, you didn’t even try to do the accent.”

“I don’t think anyone would appreciate that,” he says. This is the second time you’ve caught him smiling. Not smirking. Not being sarcastic. Genuinely smiling.

See here, the Eddicus Whatsits in his natural habitat. These asocial creatures smile only when certain conditions are met exactly. Truly a rare find. We will leave Eddicus to continue his work, unspooked and cheeks pink with a grin.

He steadies the new floorboard as you hammer fresh nails into one side, then you swap jobs. As he lines up the nails, a few wiry strands of hair fall, obscuring his features. Before you can work up the courage to slip it back, he straightens his spine and tosses his hair. With his lips slightly parted, his eyes dark and lashes low, a different kind of electricity skitters under your skin. . 

Shit. Why does he have to be hot, too? If it becomes an issue, I don’t want to have to choose between him and Volt. That would be a damn tragedy. I mean, it’s unlikely because Eddie finds you annoying as hell. But…if…just ponder the tasty, tasty  if. 

“You okay?” Eddie’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you jerk back to reality, blushing. 

“Hmm?” Looking at you askance, he repeats himself. “You look like you kinda left there for a second.”

“Sorry. Guess I zoned out.”

Try as you might to school your features, you can’t help the little grin creeping into your expression. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Looking down to the floorboard you add, “I know it’s not matchy matchy–and you said Volt will probably be unhappy about it–but I actually like that it stands out. It’s a little patchwork made while doing a little patch work.”

“For fucksake,” he says with a shake of his tousled hair. 

“What did I do now?”

When he looks up at you, you’re surprised. Though you can’t quite pin down what the expression is, exactly, it is neither anger nor frustration. 

“Is there anything you can’t spin into a positive,” he asks.

 As you throw your head back, your throaty laughter fills the club. “Oh you sweet summer child.” 

“I’m serious. You seem to find something good in everything.” Eddie wonders if he’s one of those things. “It’d be annoying if it wasn’t genuine.”

You study the wood grain for a moment. “I have to.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“You know the phrase, ‘if I don’t laugh I’ll cry?’” He nods. “It’s that. If I can’t find at least a pinprick of light in the darkness, it’ll just swallow me up again.”

 Shit. I didn’t mean to say that last word. 

Eddie nods, a blink lasting just a bit too long. He places the next nail carefully, jaw flexing as if he is holding something back. “So everything is good until proven otherwise?”

“It’s something I’m working on,” you say with a chuckle. “It’s that very line of thinking that kept me in relationships with toxic fucksticks.”

“Hey, you’re already making progress. Look at your relationship with tiny screws.” Eddie’s titanium eyes glance up at you, teasing.

You grumble through your teeth. “Those little assholes are evil.”

“Maybe it’s a you problem.”

“Look, I can screw with the best of them, but in some cases size matters is all I’m saying.”

Like crimson neon, Eddie glows from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. And it’s cute as hell. Flustered, he becomes very interested in the recently-hammered nails. “What about you?”

Eyes wide, deathly still, his Adam’s apple bobs with a tight swallow. “What about me?”

“You’re the one who says there’s a fix for everything,” you say. “Doesn’t that mean you have to see something is worth fixing in the first place?”

*** Well shit.

Eddie’s mind screeches to a halt. He has no answer, no witty deflection. No self-deprecating retort. Even though he can feel her eyes on him, waiting, he doesn’t answer. He just checks the floorboard to make sure it’s sturdy. Once he’s certain she won’t die on it, Eddie spins the hammer in his fingers and slides it into his belt. 

“So, next on the list,” he says, pushing up from the floor, “a few tiles got knocked off the wall. Those need to be replaced.”

“Someone get feisty on you guys?”

He shakes his head. Though he tries to keep the shame from his voice, there’s still a hint of it in his words. “One of the surges rattled a few loose. Next night, another surge, and they fell and broke. I thought about talking to Daisuke about fixing them up, but we’ve got a stash of extras in the back.

“Behind door number two,” he continues, “we have a leaky tap at the bar. Or there’s still a bit left with the sound system. Where should we start?”

*** You choose the tiles strictly for the sensory joy. Not only do you get to fixate on the mosaics and wall art, you get to do so while handling slick, glossy tiles with a pleasant heft. 

As with the wire work the previous day, Eddie walks you through the process a couple of times before he leaves you to it and moves farther along the wall where he begins taking care of the tiles that require the ladder. While neither of you has said anything, you decide to make it a game to meet him in the middle. Like Lady and the Lamp, only with grout. For about ten minutes you thought you had a fighting chance. But seeing how quickly Eddie goes about the task when he’s not trying to teach, you realize just how good he is at what he does. He has no idea you’re watching him, but you catch a glimpse of a man not doing chores, but one with well-honed skills who truly enjoys his work. I wonder what that’s like. Regardless, it looks good on him.

*** Atop the ladder, Eddie works within a meditative fugue. The rhythm of his work is etched into muscle memory. While his body remembers for him, Eddie’s mind is free to wander. And of course it wanders only as far as the distance between himself and the human. What she said about darkness, toxic relationships…he knows. Not just from his own experiences, but from what he’s seen of hers. When he looks over to her, she’s focused on the work, but there’s something loose in her shoulders. She sways a little, humming to herself. Eddie sees a stray lock of hair and his fingers instinctively make a motion as if to brush it away. 

He’s almost ashamed of it, but he’s had a fixation with her hair since the day she moved in. The first time he saw her. 

15+ years ago

It was springtime: literally and figuratively. From various outlets in the house, Eddie could hear birdsong, windchimes, and the bustle of humans and things alike. He was needed again for the first time in months. Luke and Telly plugged into the grid. Winnifred woke up, stretching like a cat in a sunbeam. And though he stayed clear of River, Eddie recognized her bubbling laughter as she moved from kitchen to bathroom, to backyard hose. In the attic, Hector shuddered to life, his fan whirring a steady current of air through the house. In the Breaker Box, Eddie was pleasantly busy, but that didn’t erase his curiosity. Each time he peered through an outlet, he saw multiple humans carrying boxes and furniture through Front Dorian. Koa, Shelley, Dasha. All of them beaming with excitement, greeting one another as well as those who called the house their permanent home. 

As they worked, the humans’ clothes became smudged with dirt and dust. Water bottles were tossed into Cam at an alarming rate. After a few hours, Eddie noticed there was one human who seemed to be in charge. The other humans called out her name most often, and she directed them here and there with the calm authority of an orchestra’s conductor.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s workload increased with each lamp, each phone charger, each appliance that plugged into his grid. With the constant movement and noise of things and humans bouncing from room to room, Eddie’s skin itched with anxiety. He’d have time later to get a peek at the human. So, overstimulated, he slipped back into the Breaker Box and kept to himself in the quiet dark.

It wasn’t long before he heard a voice calling from the landing. “Okay! Lamps are set in every room. Just yell up here when one goes out, okay?” A pause. “No, I’m checking the breakers. We’ll do switches next. Oh, and tell Cas to go ahead and order the pizzas. We’re almost done.” 

The human stepped into the electrical closet, leaving the door wide open. When she accessed the breaker box, Eddie came face to face with her for the first time. Tall with soft curves, smile lines, and a gleam in her eyes. Her cheeks flushed pink, and a few stray wisps of hair clung to the sheen of sweat on her forehead. Closing her eyes, she let out a breath as if it was the first one she’d been allowed all day. When she leaned against the wall beside him, he watched a satisfied grin cross her features. Another breath that almost sounded like laughter. Then she pushed off the wall and tugged at her drooping ponytail. As her dark hair spilled down over her shoulders in lush waves, Eddie became…transfixed. 

There weren’t trumpets or choruses with accompanying beams of heavenly light. But in that moment of seeing the new homeowner, something in Eddie shifted. Curiosity surged to keen interest and an easy sense of belonging. 

Belonging to her.

He hadn’t felt something like that in…well, he had no idea, really. It was before the previous homeowners. The two men who worked him relentlessly, draining him day and night to the point he shattered. The men who made the split necessary. Dave and Frankie or something like that. Eddie’s fists clenched and his jaw ticked just thinking about them, their selfish cruelty and carelessness. 

Please don’t be like them. I don’t think I could survive that. And if I can't, what happens to everyone in the house? What happens to Volt? To her?

The human’s fingertips grazed one of Eddie’s breakers, sending a shiver through him that had nothing to do with the power. 

“Alright, starting with the first one,” she called out. 

Before she could flip the switch, another human shoved into the closet behind her and locked his arms around her waist.  

With a high-pitched yelp, she jumped and broke the man’s hold on her. “Cas,” she hissed. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t touch my girlfriend?” 

Through gritted teeth she said, “Is that the word we’re using now? I thought you wanted space.”

He slid her hair off her neck and placed a trail of loud kisses up, over her jawline before his lips settled at her ear. “Come on, it’ll be fun. No one will have any idea. Assuming you can stay quiet for once.”

Eddie bristled, bluish light sparking over his clenched fists. 

“No, Cas.” She tried to shrug him off. “I want to get this finished so I can relax the rest of the night.”

“Why are we relaxing? With this whole house all to ourselves…?”

“Well some of us have been hauling sofas, beds and tables for the past six hours.”

Cas nodded solemnly. “I know. I know I said I’d be here. I wanted to be here with you all day. But someth–”

She finished the sentence with him. “Something came up at the last minute. Yeah.”

“Hey, I brought in the groceries with Saraf and Andy. Brought your clothes up AND! Arguably the most important item you own. That triangle you insist on keeping.”

“Shut up. It has sentimental value.”

He snorts. “What kind of sentimental value is there in a dinky metal triangle? Calling your dolls to dinner?  Playing in a mouse orchestra?”

“It matters,” she said flatly. “It was a gift from my Music Theory professor. We had this inside jo-.”

“All I’m saying is we’re already good and sweaty.” His hands and lips continued to roam. “Would be a shame to waste that big ol’ bathtub.”

“Making sure the breakers are labeled correctly is the last thing on my list for today,” she said, annoyed and exhausted. “Please, just…just let me finish this.”

Cas turned her away from the fusebox and guided her back to the wall. With one hand anchored to her hip, he reached out with the other to close the door behind him. “I’ll make damn sure you finish. Don’t you worry.”

As the closet began to dim, her voice switched from annoyed to jittery. 

“Cas, don’t you dare close that door. We’ve talked about this.”

Eddie’s current surged with anger. Get the fucking hint.

Cas pressed closer to her, the leer never leaving his face. Fingers still on the doorknob, Cas shushed her. “Babe, you don’t have to worry. It’s me, alright? Not him. I’m not like that other guy. It’s just me. If you’re shy, I’ll even lock the door so no one can just bust in on us.”

Her whole body tightened and her voice emerged with an edge. “Cas, so fucking help me, if you shut that door you’re going to lose a tooth. If you lock it, you lose a testicle. I am not kidding.”

Eddie smirked, pride exploding in his chest like a firework. But for this Casshole, he felt nothing but ice cold loathing. Just get a little closer to me, fucker. I dare you.

“Okay,” Cas said. When his hand slid from the knob onto her other hip, he left the door open, but only an inch or two. “I get it. You’re not adventurous. We’ll just have to have fun tonight when those chucklefucks downstairs take off.”

Her voice hitched almost imperceptibly. “You’re not staying the night,” she said definitively. “It’s my first night in my house. Mine.”

Cas slips his hands into the back pockets of her cut-offs. “What are you going to do all by your lonesome?”

“I’m going to enjoy my ‘big ol bathtub’ with a few candles, some Chopin nocturnes and a glass of that Riesling chilling in the fridge.” She grips his arms and tries to tug his hands away. “You can come by in a couple weeks.”

“A couple of weeks,” he protested. “Come on. Don’t make me wait that long.”

“I’m working next week. And, you know, unpacking my house.”

“But–.”

“And the week after that I’m out of town.” 

“Can I at least kiss you?”

“Did you forget you broke up with me?” 

“We didn’t break up,” he says. “It was more like a…change of status.”

She heaved a sigh. “Cas.” She pushed against his chest. “Just…please.”

Cas took a step back. “Fine.” “Thank you. Go order the pizzas like you said you would. And don’t forget to specify gluten-free on mine and Leigh’s.” 

She turned away from Cas, attention on the fusebox. So she couldn’t see the wolfish grin on Cas’ face or his fingers lingering on the doorknob, thumb slipping toward the lock. Eddie, on the other hand….

FZZT! A sudden pop of electricity lanced out of the breaker box, passed the human, and shocked Cas in the shoulder. 

“OW! What the fuck?”

She said no, asshole. 

Cas jerked away, back pushing the closet door open. 

“Shit,” she hissed. But she didn’t turn to Cas. She went to Eddie. Her hands carefully moved over the cool metal of the fusebox.

“Some new house.”

“Cas, just fucking go downstairs, call in the order, and let me handle it.”

Still facing Eddie, her jaw tight, she closed her eyes. Behind her, Cas held up both hands. 

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

When Cas’ footsteps finally faded down the staircase, the human’s forehead fell against Eddie and she let out a long, shaking breath. 

“Keep it together, kid. Just keep it together,” she whispered to herself. 

Stepping back, she shares a fleeting smile with him and pats down his cold, metal side. “You, too, please. Let’s both just..keep it together. Oh…” she said abruptly. She checked over her shoulder, then leaned close. Though quiet, her voice carried a bit of mischief. Something conspiratorial. “Thanks for that.”

And that was when Eddie knew he was fucked. 

***

“Could you maybe teach Tony a few things? You’re way better at this stuff.”

Eddie rolls his head to look at you from beneath his lashes. “You are better at this stuff than he is.” Turning back to his task, he asks, “Did he try to sell you on his workshop yet?”

“Yyyyyup,” you say, popping the ‘p.’

“Tell me you didn’t sit through that.” 

Sucking in a breath through your teeth, you shrug and say nothing. 

“Aw shit,” Eddie groans, “you did.”

“Two parts pity, one part morbid curiosity.”

Eddie keeps his eyes on his work. “Oh yeah? Where did you go first? His con job or our show?”

“No one told me there was even a club up here let alone a show.”

“But someone told you about Tony’s bullshit 2-step program?”

As you fit a navy blue tile into place, you shake your head. “Nope. I had to go find him so I could screw Rainey.” 

He stops. Turns. And just blinks at you. “Phrasing?”

“I said what I said.” 

He stares. 

You stare back, daring him to speak while you stifle a laugh. 

“Having fun fucking with me,” he asks. 

“You’re practically an amusement park.”

He shakes his head and turns back to his grout. “You’re so infuriating. Why do I even let you in here?”

Giggling to yourself, you continue to the next step of your task. A question percolates in your head until you have to ask. “So, have you sat in on Tony’s spiel?”

“What?” He jerks back from the wall and whips his head to look at you. “No, why?”

“Weeeelll you know it exists in the first place…”

“That doesn’t–.”

“And you know it’s only two steps.”

“He only knows two numbers.” 

“And you are aware of just how bad it is. The case against you is pretty strong, Watts.” 

Heaving a sigh, he says, “You know that all of the things in this house talk, right? Like, a lot.”

“Much to my eternal embarrassment, I’m painfully aware of this.” 

It’s something you’re still trying to get used to. This idea that at any moment, you’re not alone. Something is there and nothing is entirely private. And all of them can talk about whatever whenever and you’d be none the wiser if you were the whoever in question. Any time you think about the years prior to the Dateviators, you wonder if they were just as present. If you were part of their roomer mill. 

I can only imagine what Scadalabra said about me in the past. 

Even the comment Volt made when you met sent anxiety skittering up and down your spine. A reputation around the house? Not exactly a comfort. 

“You don’t like the attention,” Eddie asks.

“Absolutely not. I prefer to remain unperceived. It’s honestly a little weird to think that when I go to bed there are at least a dozen things watching me–well, a lot of those are Dorian. It’s only a matter of time before I wake up to the Hanks shouting, ‘Sleep Homie!’ And then there’s Nightmare.” You shudder.

“Do you…” Eddie hesitates. “Do you see them often?”

Response sticking in your throat, you manage to croak out, “More than I’d like.”

He’s quiet, but this time you don’t take the silence personally. It’s strangely comfortable. 

As the tiles set, Eddie pulls up part of the floor to reveal a bank of circuits, switches and wires that comprise the club’s sound and lighting rig. There isn’t room for two down there, so for this one Eddie asks you to assist. Hold lights, pass tools, and the unspoken request: keep him company. You can’t help but notice he hasn’t left you alone today. Every task has been a tandem effort to one degree or another. 

So you sit on the floor and chat with him until he asks you for something.  

At one point you’re on your stomach holding out the flashlight at an odd angle. As he reaches for another bundle of cable, you snatch his scarred hand.

He inhales sharply, eyes wide as he stares at you. 

“Hotspot,” you say, pointing to a small piece of sharp metal jutting out. 

Eddie’s eyes land not on the hotspot, but your fingers on his scars. As you draw away, you see a slight tremor in his hand.

“Don’t hurt yourself, sensei.”

He responds with his sideways grin. “Thanks.”

Before you know it, the floor panel is secured and you’re on the final task: the leaky tap. ***

Eddie guides her through most of the work. It’s heartening to see how quickly she picks up the techniques and concepts he’s throwing at her. The electrical work, the floorboard, some grout work and now replacing a gasket and a corroded line beneath the bar. As he watches her crack her knuckles, stretch and massage her hands or dab sweat out of her eyes, he can see the fatigue catching up to her. But she hasn’t said a thing. Not a single complaint.

She actually likes this.

After she’s tightened the tap as much as she can, Eddie grips the wrench and gives it another few turns to get that perfect seal. 

“FUCK!”

The wrench falls to the floor with a bang loud enough for the human to gasp and jump. “Shit, are you okay?”

Eddie’s hand is frozen in a twisted claw. “I’m fine,” he snaps. 

“Bull. Shit.” 

He rocks back, getting off his knees and sitting on the floor behind the bar. “It’s just a cramp. It’ll be gone in a minute.” 

Eddie’s optimism is short-lived. As he tries to open his hand, it clamps tighter and he lets out an angry groan. 

She stands up, searches for something on the bartop and returns with the cold remains of his Irish coffee. 

“Here,” she says, placing the mug in his off hand. “I made this for you. Merry Blissmas or something.”

“What are you doing, exactly?”

Sitting down across from him, she folds her long legs. “You can't argue if  you're drinking, so cheers. Feel free to take your time.”

Eddie chuckles, then rolls his eyes. “Have I told you lately that you’re infuriating?”

“You love it,” she says. 

Eddie’s cheeks burn as he nearly chokes on his drink. 

After vigorously rubbing her hands together to generate heat, she orders him, “Hand. Now.”

He stretches out his stony hand. 

 “Thank you,” she says. 

As she takes it and turns it palm up, he sucks in a breath and twitches.

“Am I hurting you?”

It takes him a second to answer. “No.”

Gently, her thumbs press slow, deep circles at the base of each finger. Her touch is warm, considerate, never lingering too long in one spot, being mindful of his healing cuts and yellowed bruises. 

“Please tell me if it gets too hard. The pressure, I mean.” 

“It's fine.” Eddie sips at the cold coffee and looks anywhere but at her. 

“It's just…been a while, I guess.” 

“Since?”

With her eyes trained on his hand, she can’t see the sadness that slips over his features. “Lots of things, honestly.”

“Like being touched?” Her voice is soft and sincere. 

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Eddie notices that she’s not just focused on the impromptu massage, but she actively avoids his stare.

When she replies, her voice is small, tight. “Same.”

Eddie scoffs. “From what I've heard around the house, I find that exceedingly hard to believe.”

She shrugs. “Like I said earlier. I’d rather not know what the household says. But, believe what you want.”

While the human kneads into his palm, Eddie watches quietly. There are echoes of dark circles under her tired eyes.

Wonder if she’s having nightmares again. 

As the memory of a cold winter night floats into his mind, he quickly shoves the thoughts away. He can’t think about it. Not with her here in front of him, touching him. 

The tendons in her hand undulate beneath her soft skin. Nervously, he says, “This probably hurts you more than it helps me, you know? My hands are pretty rough. Yours are…well…not. That can't feel good for you.” “Hush.”

“Don’t hush me. Your hands were giving you shit earlier.”

She looks up, brow knitted. “I didn’t say–.”

“You didn’t have to. Pain recognizes pain.”

They share a long look that should be awkward, or too much. But he feels something shift. Her shoulders relax and she returns her focus to Eddie’s hand.

“So, anyway,” he continues, “all I’m saying is I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to stop.”

She places her hands on her knees. When she speaks, her tone is sincere and oddly soothing. “Eddie, if you'd rather I stop, I will. No question. But, if you’re just saying that because you think I want an exit ramp, I’d like to kindly point out that you, sir, are not the boss of me. So, am I stopping?” “You. Are. Infuriating.”

“Gonna need a clearer form of consent. Do I need to stop? Yes. Or–?”

“No. No, you don't have to stop.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You sure?”

He nods. “Yeah. I’m sure.” 

Once again, she presses her thumbs into his palms. 

“Thanks,” Eddie says quietly. 

“No problem.”

Closing his eyes, he lets his head fall back against the counter behind the bar. As her ministrations work deeper into the base of his thumb, a rogue moan escapes Eddie.

“You doing ok,” she asks.

“Annoyingly so.” He pops open one eye and looks down to her. “Where did you learn this?” “It's a gift, really.” After Eddie gives her an incredulous sideeye, she elaborates. “In the long long ago, I was a musician. Hand cramps and back aches were an occupational hazard. And in an ensemble you tend to help each other out. So I kinda became the go-to masseuse for the others. Hand cramp? Screaming spine? Neck fucked? They came to me.”

“Was there someone to take care of you?”

She answers with a lazy shrug. “Sad to say, though, I'm a little rusty.” He’s glad she can’t see his jaw drop. “This is rusty?” “Back in my prime you would’ve been a stuttering puddle of duh oozing through the floorboards.”

“Sorry I missed that.”

“My back rubs were even better.”

Hot tingles zap through his body as he allows himself a second to imagine what that would be like, her hands sliding over his body, soothing away his aches.

If she wasn’t hung up on Volt…

Spreading his palm flat, the human drags her thumbs down with harder pressure. From the heel of his hand to the tips of his fingers, warmth works its way through the tight muscles. Just when he thinks she’s finished, she turns his palm to face her then slides her fingers through Eddie’s and spreads them apart. With a gentle hold on his hand, she rolls his wrist in lazy circles. His fingertips hesitantly graze her knuckles with an almost imperceptible squeeze. 

Flowing from one area to another, the human works his hand like clay, transforming the muscles from steel to honey. Eddie closes his eyes again, shoulders falling with half a sigh. When he opens them he sees a small, secret smile on her face. And, for the first time today...sparks. They flutter up from the side of her head, like luminous bubbles in a glass of champagne. “Okay,” he says, “I’ve gotta ask. What the fuck is up with the sparks?” Eyebrow raised, she studies him, searching his expression to discern what the fuck he is talking about. “...Sparks,” she repeats, incredulous. “Volt mentioned it after you showed up the first time. I assumed he was being dramatic–.”

“Valid assumption.”

“–but, I've seen it the past couple of days.”

“I have no clue what you're talking about.” 

“So, one side of your head just randomly fires off surges of electrical energy and you’re oblivious to it? That’s what you’re telling me.”

Silence. A shake of the head.

“It gets all blue and glowy. You don’t see it?”

Her face screws up in an apologetic grimace.  

“Seriously? Nothing? It happened just a couple of minutes ago. And yesterday. Before and after you tried to kiss the floorboard.”

***

Well shit.

Turning Eddie’s hand over, you knead his wrist.  

You know exactly what he’s talking about. You just had no idea he could see it.

I should’ve thought of that. Why wouldn't electricity be able to sense the electricity in my fucked up brain? Goddammit.

Unable to look at him, you sheepishly ask, “Always in the same place?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It's always… right…um…” 

Hesitantly, Eddie slips his hand away, bringing it to a spot just above and behind your left ear. “It’s here.”

When his fingers brush against your hair and something shifts. You shiver. Eddie goes rigid, holding his breath as if waiting for your reaction. A thick tension looms over you both. Storm clouds aching to burst. You both felt it. He lowers his hand and doesn't protest when you continue your task. 

“So,” he says. “Any clue?”

Once again, there are only two words in your mind.

Well shit. 

*** The longer she stays mute, the faster Eddie’s mind spins with anxiety.

She knows. She knows what it is, but clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. Should I have kept my fucking mouth shut? Why did I have to touch her hair? Dammit.

She blows out a long breath, flapping her lips. “I have shitty wiring.”

Eddie blinks, dumbfounded. “Come again?”

“Simplest explanation: the electrical system in my body doesn’t work like it’s supposed to.”

Hesitantly, Eddie asks, “Could you elaborate?”

She still won’t look at me. 

“I have epilepsy. Means I have seizures which are, essentially, power surges in the brain pan. Mine are in the left temporal lobe.” She taps her head in the exact spot Eddie touched. “That's where I keep important things like language, memory, and certain emotional functions. Which gets even more fun when your memory is already fucked up thanks to your PTSD. Wheee!”

“How long has this been a thing for you?”

“Difficult to say exactly, but most of my life. And it’s here to stay. I take meds for it, but sometimes they pop up anyway. Of course, I don’t know when I have them until after–if I’m lucky.”

Eddie’s voice is quiet. “Does it hurt?”

“If I have seizures in my sleep, I wake up with a hellacious headache. Other than that, no. More embarrassing than anything.”   

“What…what do your power surges feel like?”

She still won’t look up, however, now it seems she’s deep in thought, trying to find the right words. She switches to his other hand. 

“You know that one is fine, right,” he says. 

Looking up, but not at him, she says wryly, “I believe it was a wise man who once said everything needs maintenance. Should stitch it on a pillow.”

Eddie doesn’t bother trying to hide his smile. “Guy sounds like an asshole.”

She tilts her head back and forth. “I thought so, too. But I’m not so sure at the moment.”

Fighting the urge to reach for her, Eddie instead wipes his free hand on his knee, letting his fingers make the motion of stroking her cheek. 

“Would you rather not talk about this,” he asks carefully. 

“Nah. You asked. And it is kinda important, I guess. It’s embarrassing sometimes, though. Especially if it–.”

Waiting for her to finish that sentence, Eddie holds his breath. 

“It just makes me feel stupid.”

“How so?”

“Well,” she sighs. “It sucks when you hear someone talking and find out later that you missed half of the conversation because of a seizure you didn’t know you were having. Or, when you’re trying to talk and suddenly you forget how to fucking talk properly. You just stammer or snap your fingers while searching for the simplest of words. Hell, big emotions, laughing or an org–well, even good things can make me short out. And my favorite,” she says sarcastically, “jamais vu. Like, deja vu is thinking you’ve lived a moment before–also a potential seizure, by the way, but who fucking knows, right? But jamais vu? In the middle of doing something you’ve done a hundred times it just flies away and you have no earthly clue what you’re supposed to do. I forgot my own damn phone number once.”

Eddie tries to imagine what it would be like to stop in the middle of mixing a drink and suddenly wonder what the shaker in his hand was for. “That sounds…wow, that sounds terrifying.”

“Now imagine it happens when you’re driving a car. Hypothetically,” she adds quickly.

Eddie’s eyes widen, his hand flexing around her fingers quickly. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.” She lets out a weak laugh. 

 “Did that happen to you?”

“Due to the current laws here in Otisburg, I have to say no.”

Silent, Eddie absorbs all that she’s told him. All these years, he thought he knew her. He’d only seen her damn near every day. But he’s only seen a fraction of the human, who she is.

She chuckles, but it lacks verve. “You know what’s really funny? When my neurologist told me what was going on, he described it as bad wiring–which I’ve been saying for years. Said there’s this one spot in my head that just sits there sparking like a live wire. First time Volt called me that? Threw me for a sec.” 

Breath trapped in his lungs, Eddie feels his current jump and stutter. “Really?”

“Yup. Non-stop fun.”

“I question your definition of fun.” There’s a brief but comfortable silence, broken when Eddie suddenly realizes…“You didn’t hear me when I said to start behind the bar, did you?”

Slowly, she shakes her head. A pall of shame seems to settle over her shoulders. “Didn’t know that I didn’t hear it. Went to get the bulb that was making it far more likely I’d have a seizure.”

Eddie pulls his hand back and tilts her chin up. “Hold on–what?”

“Oh, fuck, right. Um…different things can trigger seizures. Sometimes it’s stuff like laughter or strong emotions, like I said earlier. There are other triggers, but the worst for me is strobing light. Not just like bulbs and stuff. Leaves through trees or lines on a sidewalk can do it if I’m going fast enough. That's why I hated going to clubs before I came here.”

His chest fills with a blooming pride that the Breaker Box was different for her. And yet, he curdles with guilt that he didn’t know about this. “You could’ve said something.”

“If I’d told you yesterday that I couldn’t hear you because my brain did a blip, would you’ve believed me? Or would you think I was trying to bail? Like I said, it makes me feel stupid. And frankly, a little useless sometimes.”

The words hit Eddie in the chest like a fucking truck. Despite how long she’s been here–in the house and in his club–he’d never grasped just how much they shared. 

She dusts off her hands and gets to her feet. “Good news, you'll live.”

He stands and shoves a shaky hand into his pocket. “Drink?”

“Seriously?” 

“I never joke about drinks. So, you want one? Unless,” he adds awkwardly, “you have something else you have to do.”

When she laughs, something in him relaxes. “Not at all. So, sure. I’ll take you up on that. Can I get a mocktail, though?”

“Whatever you want.” 

*** As Eddie makes drinks, your gaze sweeps around the room. There’s a warm sense of pride when you realize just how much you and Eddie have accomplished the past couple of days. It’s when your eyes land on the floorboard that your heart quickens. You smile softly. As often happens with seizures, you don’t recall much about what happened beyond its barest features: you fell, he caught you. 

Was that when things changed? When he went from an attractive asshole to an object of desire? Was it the warmth? That surprising closeness that just felt right? And when he touched your hair. The tingle you felt had nothing to do with anxiety or seizures.  

You clench under the strain of how you want to feel that again. The intimacy of his arms around you, protecting you. His hands touching you delicately. 

“Try this,” he says.

You jerk out of your thoughts and swivel on the stool to face him. 

Eddie passes you a drink, his fingers lingering beside yours before pulling his hand away. “Whiskey sour.”

It looks identical to the one Volt made for you. But as you take your first drink, you realize the flavors are more balanced. Tartness is tempered by the sugar, and the egg white gives the drink a silky texture.

You close your eyes and smile. “This is perfect.”

“It’s a gift, really,” he says, echoing your earlier comment.

Bringing the glass to your lips again, you pop your chin toward him. “Where’s yours?”

He gives you a wry smile. You can’t look away from the mischief in his stare.  “That,” he says, taking the glass from you, “is mine.” 

As he takes a sip, he retrieves a second drink from behind the bar and sits it in front of you. 

“Whiskey sour, minus the whiskey. Non-alcoholic bourbon is a good substitute. Some people use tea, but the flavors don’t always blend as well as they could.” 

You return the smile and enjoy your drink. This is something you haven’t seen in him. Sure, there has been fun banter and occasional teasing. However, this. It’s…playful. He’s enjoying himself, not just enduring your presence.