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❧ Summary: A persistent customer won’t take no for an answer
❧ Pairing: Priestly x reader
❧ Wordcount: 1318
Main Masterlist | Priestly Masterlist
The Beach City Grill was a hidden gem in Santa Cruz, a little sandwich shop near the beach. It was a place to relax, eat good food, and meet some weird and wonderful people.
It was mid-afternoon, and the regulars were in their usual spots alongside a few hungry customers enjoying their subs. Mr Julius sat in the booth by the window with today’s paper and a small mug of coffee. Lucille was a few booth down,her chihuahua, Bam Bam, cradled in her arms. The two of them loved getting involved in staff gossip—anything from Tish’s latest conquest to Priestly’s conspiracy theories about Area 51.
Trucker, the shop owner, was in the furthest booth with Jen, discussing inventory and what they needed to order for next week. Piper, dressed in her paint covered denim overalls, continued working on her mural on the back wall. You, Tish and Priestly were behind the counter preparing the food for the dinner time rush.
You were at the front of the shop, manning the cash register and doodling on a notepad between orders.
Tish mumbled something behind you, and you looked up to see a guy heading toward the shop from across the street. He was a regular who always flirted with you, and didn’t take no for an answer no matter how many times you said it. Today was going to be no different.
“Look alive, Y/N,” Tish teased from behind you.
This caught Priestly’s attention, grimacing when he noticed who it was.
His name was Chad. Or Tad. Maybe Brad? You couldn’t remember and didn’t want to. He was a sleazy frat boy who gave you every line in the book while waiting for his sandwich. He always lingered, like he thought refusing to leave was somehow charming. Polo shirt collar popped up like it was still 2003.
The bell above the door rang, signalling the college jock had entered. “Hey baby,” he greeted, making you cringe.
“Hey Chad,” you stood up straight to greet him with a professional smile.
“It’s Chet.” Priestly snorted behind you.
“Oh, sorry Chet. What can I get you?”
“My usual,” his face was smug as he said it. You rolled her eyes, jotted his order on the notepad before handing it to Priestly at the grill.
“That'll be eight bucks.” He handed you the money but held onto it.
“You know there's something else you can get me.” Here we go.
“And what's that?”
“Your number.”
“I don't think so, Chet.” Just saying his name made you cringe. He used your grip on the $10 bill to pull you closer.
“Why not?” He leaned closer to you.
“Because I don't want to?”
“But, look at me.” He gestured to himself like he was a Greek adonis.
“Oh, I'm looking,” you deadpanned, eyeing him with disgust.
“Why wouldn't you want to go out with me? You got a boyfriend or something?”
“Yes” you said immediately, pulling the bill away from him and putting it in the register. You got his change, handing it to him.
“Wait, seriously?”
“Yep, I have a boyfriend.”
“Who?” You opened your mouth, but Priestly appeared beside you with perfect timing. You smiled at him in thanks. He returned a half-smile and handed over the sandwich.
“Order up.” You took the sandwich off him and handed it to Chet. Priestly went back to the grill ignoring the conversation.
“Him?” Chet scoffed, grimacing at Priestly.
“Uh, yeah, him. Priestly?” You turned to face the man with the red mohawk.
He looked over, brows raised. “Yeah?”
“Can you come here, babe?” You subtly winked at him. You noticed Tish glance at him in confusion, she leant against the counter waiting to see what would unfold.
“Him? Seriously? He's your boyfriend?” You felt Priestly stiffen behind you.
“Boyfriend?” Priestly murmured in your ear.
“Yep, boyfriend. This is my boyfriend, Priestly.” You reached back, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and tugged him forward. He bumped into you, steadying himself with a hand on your hip. His touch was warm and grounding, and you hated that it made your heart skip.
“Him? But you’re so…” Chet gestured to you and then to Priestly. “And he’s so…”
“He’s so what?” You asked, tilting your head.
“Yeah, he’s so what?” Priestly echoed, more annoyed now. He pulled you closer with a possessive squeeze.
“Weird.”
“Well, I like weird.” Priestly gave your hip a squeeze, thanking you for defending him. His eyes flicked from Chet to you. Something in his jaw ticked.
“I don’t believe you,” Chet scoffed, folding his arms. “There’s no way you’re dating him.”
You tensed, ready to defend Priestly again, but he stepped forward before you could speak. His jaw clenched tight, mouth set in a line that usually meant someone was about to get a very sarcastic earful. “You want proof?” His voice low.
He just looked at Chet — really looked — with that sharp, burning stare he usually saved for conspiracy rants and people who disrespected Piper’s art. Then, without warning, he turned to you and cupped your face.
“What are you—?”
He kissed you.
Firm. Frustrated. Full of heat. It wasn’t sweet or careful — it was a statement, loud and clear: this is mine, back off.
Gasps echoed through the shop. Tish and Piper squealed. Mr. Julius dropped his coffee spoon with a clatter. Lucille whispered something to Bam Bam and Trucker passed Jen ten bucks.
Your fingers automatically curl into the fabric of Priestly’s shirt to steady yourself. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, grounding you as his lips moved against yours — and just like that, your brain stopped working.
When he pulled back, your breath caught in your throat. His face hovered close, eyes darker than usual. A flush crept across his neck, though his voice came out level.
“There. That believable enough for you?”
Chet blinked. Stared. Opened his mouth, then thought better of it.
He snatched his sandwich off the counter and stormed out without another word, the bell over the door jingling behind him.
Priestly’s hand was still on your face. Your fingers were still gripping his shirt.
Neither of you moved.
For a second, it was quiet. Then:
“Well damn,” Tish fanned herself with a napkin
Lucille clutched Bam Bam like she’d just witnessed the climax of a soap opera. “You kids need a room?”
Mr. Julius didn’t say anything, but he slowly lowered his newspaper again. Raised his eyebrows. Nodded in approval.
You let go of Priestly’s shirt like it had burned you. He dropped his hand from your face so fast he nearly smacked himself in the chest.
“I—uh—sorry,” he stammered, suddenly looking anywhere but at you. “I didn’t—well, I did, but not like that. Not bad, just—shit, that sounded worse.”
You blinked. “It’s… fine. It’s totally fine. We were just—y’know, acting.”
“Right. For the customer. Chet. Asshat.” He scratched the back of his neck, cheeks turning pink. “Just doing the bit. You were very—uh. Convincing.”
“You too,” you said quickly, too quickly. “Very convincing. Totally believable. Like, Oscar-worthy. If they gave out Oscars for kissing people in sandwich shops to piss off frat guys.”
Tish looked like she was physically holding back laughter behind the counter. Piper had stopped painting entirely, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.
You and Priestly stood there in silence, both clearly unsure whether to high-five, run away, or just climb into the sandwich prep fridge to escape the moment.
Finally, Priestly cleared his throat. “I should probably… go flip stuff. On the grill. Because that’s my job.”
You nodded. “Yeah. I should, um, go stand over here. Doing… register things.”
“Cool. Okay.”
“Okay.”
He turned and almost walked into the counter. You spun toward the register and immediately fumbled a stack of receipts onto the floor.
Tish leaned over, whispering with a wicked grin, “So when’s the wedding?”
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Summary: The first time you met Priestly was both the worst and best night of your life. He gave you a Miracle.
AN: Here’s the prequel to Code Red! (But this can also be read as stand alone.) I hope you enjoy. And just a note, remember this was circa 2007, still the era of flip phones and iPods, despite the advent of the iPhone.
Word Count: 3,500
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for mature talk. A kind of meet cute, insecurities, angst, breakups, hurt/comfort, sandwiches, fluff and feels.
He was a lone ranger in the Wild West. His weapon of choice?
A dirty mop.
Priestly bopped his head to the music playing from his earbuds. His iPod was tucked in his right jean pocket while he speared the mop across the floor of the sandwich shop. It was three minutes to closing time on a Saturday night, and it was his turn to clean up and lock up.
He was looking forward to getting home, taking a shower, and diving face-first into his bed. But first, he just needed to kill three minutes.
Come on, come on, come oooon, he sang in his mind as the hands on his watch ticked on. While glancing down at said watch, he remembered it had been a gift from Tish for his birthday…
Three months ago. When they were still together.
Priestly heaved a sigh. What were you supposed to do with gifts from your ex that you actually liked? The gifts that made it into your everyday life, not just because they were from the person you thought you loved, but because it was actually hella practical and a nice accessory to keep on your person?
It’s just a damn watch. Don’t make it a big deal, he reminded himself. What was he supposed to do, have a ritual burning of everything Tish had ever touched?
That would take all damn night. And he definitely drew a line at his dick.
“Hello?”
The front door of the shop opened, the little bell Trucker installed chiming with too much cheer and startling Priestly out of his thoughts.
“We’re closed,” he said. But that was before he looked up, and had to pause in his mopping.
You were standing there, holding yourself in the open doorway with the cold breeze hitting your back. You were wearing a red cocktail dress and the highest black heels he’d ever seen, with your styled hair falling around your shoulders.
You were entirely too beautiful to be in this old sandwich shop, he thought. It had Priestly swallowing, frozen in time.
“Really? The sign says 10,” you pointed out. There was a level of desperation in your eyes. “Please, you’re the only place with the lights still on and I’ve been all up and down the block.”
Blinking out of his idiotic state, Priestly looked down at his watch again. It was exactly 9:59 p.m.
Well, damn. Got me on a technicality.
He held in a sigh.
“Okay, come on in,” he waved you over. Setting down his mop, he rounded the counter and went to man the register. He gave you a minute to peruse the menu. He noted that aside from your stunning attire, you had a cell phone in your hand that clearly couldn’t fit in that little purse hanging off your shoulder, bumping along your hip.
He couldn’t help but visually trace the curves of your hips and waist, back up to the sweetheart neckline of the dress, the deeper shade of your lipstick and up to your face.
But then he felt bad for staring, so he looked up heavenward before you caught him.
Meanwhile, your eyes drifted from the menu and dipped to his chest for a moment.
“Too bad I’m not gay,” you said.
What? Priestly frowned in confusion. But following your gaze, he realized you were staring at his yellow shirt, which read in big, 70s-style letters: Be Gay & Proud, Get a Free Drink.
His lips twitched at a grin, and he looked up at you. “D’you know what you want?”
You had a smile starting to play on your lips as well. You went back to considering your choices.
“Not sure, but I’m starving. What do you recommend?” you asked.
Priestly’s lips puckered as he considered the menu he knew by heart.
“Well, if you wanna go classic, I’d do a Spicy Italian on white bread. If you wanna be adventurous, we just added the Jalapeño Buffalo Chicken Club," he said. "But, if you wanna get crazy awesome, I can put on some Zeppelin and make you something special of my own design.”
He colored that last option with a gesture of his hand, a flourish, if you will. You tilted your head at him and smiled.
“Okay. Surprise me, Sandwich Man.”
Priestly snorted while he washed his hands again. “Sounds like the lamest superhero ever.”
“With his death-defying salami summoning powers,” you quipped, with a giggle that had him smiling as well.
“Nice alliteration,” he said. And he made a show of tying his apron back on. “Don’t worry, ma’am. Your late-night hoagie is safe with me.”
You tried to stifle another laugh while he worked his magic. From bread to meats and cheeses and toppings, Priestly was a master of his craft. He had that 12” hero wrapped and sliding across the counter towards you in record time.
“I call this the ‘Miracle,’” he winked. “You’ll see why. But that’ll be $10 even.”
You nodded and turned to the purse on your hip. You opened up the little velvety thing, but your face fell when all you found was your keys, not your credit card.
“No.” Your heart dropped into your stomach. You opened your purse wider and flipped through the satin insides, but you saw that it was empty. “You’ve gotta be shitting me. I know I had my wallet in here…”
And then it dawned on you.
“That fucking asshole,” you growled.
Priestly’s eyes widened. “Uh…”
Your head snapped up to his. “I had a different purse picked out for tonight. You know, one that actually had my wallet in it? But my know-it-all boyfriend had the nerve to say, ‘That one’s too shiny, looks kinda cheap. This is a restaurant at the Ritz-Carlton, not a hooker hangout.’ Can you believe that?”
Priestly blinked in confusion, but he realized that in your purse shuffling, you had no way to pay for this amazing sandwich he’d just concocted.
And now, you actually had the beginnings of frustrated tears in your eyes as you took in a shuddering breath.
“I’m so sorry,” you said. “I can’t—I can’t pay for this. I don’t have my wallet… Hold on, let me see if he’ll…”
You held up a finger and started dialing manically on your phone. You held it up to your ear and waited. Your tears sprang forth anew when the line just kept ringing until it sent you to voicemail.
“Figures,” you scoffed. “The one time I actually need this douchebag to answer, he ignores me!”
You slammed the phone down on the counter and covered your face with your hand as you sniffled. Priestly softened with sympathy. You seemed to be having a harder night than he thought.
He slid the sandwich your way, making you raise your head.
“It’s okay. This one’s on the house,” he said. “Looks like you could use a pick-me-up.”
Your watery eyes met his. “Really? You don’t have to…”
“No worries,” he replied, giving you a bit of charm in his grin. “I’ll even throw in a soda. Lady’s choice.”
Your lower lip trembled, but you were able to smile. With a quiet thank you, you wiped under your eyes carefully so your mascara wouldn’t run. Then you grabbed a Coke from the machine along with your sandwich from the counter.
“Do you mind if I eat here?” you asked, gesturing at one of the tables. “I promise I won’t leave a mess. I know you’re trying to close up.”
Priestly waved a dismissive hand. “Sure. Don’t worry about it.”
He went around the counter to take up his mop and continue where he left off in the cleaning process. But he couldn’t help but eye you every now and then. Curiosity was starting to eat him alive.
Had your boyfriend just dumped you here? Had you gone off alone? Somehow, he couldn’t see the first option happening. If you were his girlfriend, he would do his best not to let you walk away angry at him, let alone this late at night, without any money or even your ID.
“Are you coming from a party or something?” he found himself asking. You looked up from your second bite of the sandwich. You’d looked to have been truly enjoying it, uttering a moan that’d caught his attention.
“No,” you chuckled humorlessly around a mouthful of bread. “I was supposed to meet his parents. His rich, very bougie, hyper-critical parents. Somehow it didn’t occur to me that he was just like them.”
Priestly paused and leaned on his mop. He was hesitant, not wanting to disturb you while you were eating, but he was too damn hooked.
“So…what happened?” he asked. You scoffed and took another massive bite of your sandwich.
“Okay, you want to hear this? Fine,” you began. “So, I’m a stress eater by nature. Let’s just start with that.”
“Who isn’t?” Priestly supplied. Pursing your lips, you raised a black olive at him in a thank you gesture.
“But when I tell you I spent three months depriving myself to fit into this dress. No carbs, cheese, chocolate, or happiness.”
He grimaced. “That’s no way to live.”
“Exactly!” you concurred. “But I did all that so my boyfriend would have nothing to say when I finally met his parents for this dinner—to celebrate him graduating from med school.”
Priestly found himself dimming inside. Not only were you spoken for, but you were with a future doctor, no less. The only title Priestly had to his name was Sandwich Man.
“It started with the purse thing when he picked me up. Then when we get there, he keeps telling me how stuffy his dad is and how judge-y and critical his mom can be and how I’m a reflection on him,” you mocked in an impression of his voice.
“Then I find myself second-guessing every word that might come out of my mouth, and I’m too nervous to even eat the $60 plate of Chilean sea bass in front of me, and not to mention, there’s a glass of wine in my hand. I don’t even like wine!”
By now, it was all Priestly could do to keep up with your verbal spitfire. You were also gesticulating wildly with your sandwich the more worked up you got.
“I mean, I’m saying things I don’t say, and suddenly I realize that I’ve wrapped myself up in so many knots for this man, I don’t even recognize myself,” you confessed. Your eyes lit up with a gleam of clarity. Your hands lowered down to the table, and after a beat, you continued eating.
“But then my boyfriend of over a year turns to me and says, ‘Why are you being so weird and frigid?’” you said. You met Priestly’s eyes. “I just, I got so mad. I wanted to choke him out with my napkin, you know?”
He bit his lip to stifle a laugh.
“So instead of violence, I grabbed the glass of pinot noir, or chardon-perignon-whatever-the-fuck, and I poured it in his lap,” you concluded. “Then I walked out. And I ignored his calls. And I kept walking. Then a nice guy made me a sandwich.”
Priestly had to smile at that. He knew there was a Ritz-Carlton in the area, but that had to be almost a mile down the street. You’d walked a long way in those crazy-ass heels.
He propped his mop against a nearby table and sat down across from you. He shook his head in wonderment. And inside, your words kind of rattled him.
I’ve wrapped myself up in so many knots, I don’t even recognize myself.
“You know, sometimes I really, really wish I was gay,” you said, gesturing at his shirt.
“O-Oh…really?” he asked, raising his brows.
“Yeah, I do,” you answered. “I’m a quick study. I could learn to eat pussy.”
If he had been drinking something, he would’ve spat it out. He mentally fumbled for a moment before he could articulate a response.
“Well, I don’t doubt you, but it can be an acquired taste. Though I happen to like it,” he replied, grinning mostly to himself. He didn’t even think about how it might come out though.
As soon as he realized what he was saying to a perfect stranger, his eyes widened and met yours.
"Uh, sorry," he said.
But you just chortled in amusement. Your blush intensified though, along with your smile as you took a sip of your soda.
“You’re uh…you’re pretty awesome,” he said. And he meant that.
You blinked in surprise. Your lips twitched upwards, a blush rosy in your cheeks.
“Yeah?” you asked. His smile deepened.
“Yeah,” he replied. “And for the record, I know I just met you, but…I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Your face softened with a certain shyness, but you smiled at him through your lashes.
“Well, I appreciate that…” you trailed, realizing you didn’t yet know his name.
“Priestly,” he offered, along with his hand across the table. You slipped your smaller hand in his and gave him your name.
Though you quirked a brow at him. “Priestly? That’s your first name?”
Now it was his turn to get a little embarrassed.
“Uh, no,” he said, his gaze falling from yours. He scratched the back of his head, under the blue mohawk.
“Oh. What is it, then?” you asked.
“You don’t want to know,” he chuckled wryly.
“I think I do, or I wouldn’t be asking,” you countered. Your smile was playful though. Disarming, even.
“It’s um, it’s Boaz,” he admitted. You tilted your head, as if swirling the name around in your head. But you didn’t say it was weird, or stupid, or too biblical. You just smiled.
“Boaz Priestly. Interesting,” you nodded. Then you wrapped up your garbage, having eaten all of your sandwich. You made sure to collect every crumb, even though he’d told you not to worry about the mess. You got up to take it to the trashcan near the door.
“How’re you getting home?” he asked.
You bit your lip. The anxiety in your eyes told him you’d been pondering that same question. You let out a deep breath.
“I guess I’ll have to walk back to the hotel, try to get a ride from my b…my ex-boyfriend. Gotta get used to saying that,” you said. “I promise I’ll pay you back for the sandwich.”
“Didn’t I tell you it was on me? Don’t worry about that,” said Priestly. “But I’ll tell you what, let me give you a ride.”
You shook your head. “Oh, thank you, but we just met, and I—”
Just then, Priestly realized how his offer sounded. He didn’t want to creep you out.
“Ah, or I can get you a cab,” he said. “I doubt you want to see that guy again tonight, do you?”
You bit your lip, smudging some of the scarlet red lipstick there. It distracted him for a moment, but he returned his gaze to your eyes.
You sighed. As much as you didn’t want to impose again, you let Priestly call you a cab. He paid for it in advance after you gave the cabbie your address. Before you got in the car, you turned to Priestly and touched his arm.
“Thank you,” you said. “I promise, I’ll come tomorrow and pay you back.”
He smiled. “You can try.”
He earned your sweet smile back, and he watched you get into the cab. He tried not to raise his hopes up, but he really did hope he’d see you tomorrow.
And yet, he should’ve known it was too good to be true.
“Maybe she got caught up at work or something,” Jen tried to console him the next day at closing, after you didn’t show up.
“It’s Sunday,” he pointed out grumpily. He continued to wipe down Table 4 of some nasty residue of mayo and pickled radish.
“You don’t know what kind of job she has,” Piper interjected. She was making a tuna salad sub on wheat for the last customer, which she then passed on to Tish at the register. “Maybe she’s in retail, or she’s in the restaurant business too—or hey, a lifeguard! This is a beach town after all.”
“Or maybe, she just played you into getting free food and a ride home,” Tish suggested, with her usual brand of cutting sarcasm. It just tended to cut a bit deeper these days, whenever it was leveled at Priestly.
The post-breakup thing had been tense and awkward for everyone, and it still hadn’t normalized just yet in their little sandwich-making ecosystem. Jen shot her friend a look though, one that told her she was being bitchy.
The problem was, she’d only voiced what Priestly was thinking anyway, deep down.
“Amazing, serendipitous things don’t happen to me, Piper,” he said. “Not anymore.”
He continued cleaning.
Three weeks later, it happened on a Friday afternoon.
It was one of their busiest times of the week. Tish was at the register as usual, Jen was sorting through the inventory and bussing tables, and Priestly was making hero after hero like a fiend, alongside Piper. He was definitely living up to his name of Sandwich Man.
He was still able to recognize your voice near the register.
“One 12” Miracle, please,” you requested.
“Um…we don’t have that on the menu,” Tish replied. But Priestly looked over with a grin. He met your gaze, and found you smiling back at him.
Tish followed the exchange with suspicion.
“One Miracle, coming up!” Priestly called out.
He had the order ready within minutes, but he was painstaking about it, not an olive out of place. He wrapped it up nicely and walked it over to the register himself, placing it in front of you on the counter.
“Well, hi there,” he greeted.
A familiar blush spread across your face, just as endearing as he remembered. The only thing different about you so far was your clothes. No longer dressed to the nines, you were more casual in your jeans, ankle boots, and V-necked top.
In every other way, you were the same. It might’ve been making his heart trip up.
“Hi,” you said. “Got a minute, Miracle Man?”
Priestly ducked his head, hiding a more bashful smile. Before he could respond, Tish interrupted, “That’ll be $10.”
You nodded and handed her a $50 bill. She looked at you in confusion.
“The rest is a tip, for the hero makers,” you explained, glancing at both Priestly and Piper. He gave you an incredulous smile.
You little minx, he thought. He couldn’t say no if you were tipping Piper too.
But he did ask Jen to help fill in for him while he made his way around the counter to go to you. Tish just watched the scene unfold with a silent frown, like she was trying to make sense of what was happening. She always thought she’d be the first one to move on.
“Let’s talk outside. Little more privacy from the peanut gallery,” Priestly said to you, tossing a knowing glance over his shoulder. You spotted all the employees now watching you and Priestly closely.
You became a touch more shy as he led you out of the shop with a hand resting on the small of your back. You slipped your sandwich into a larger purse than last time. Then you looked up at him with apologetic eyes.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to come back here,” you said. “It got a bit…ugly, after that night.”
Priestly’s brows furrowed in concern. “Ugly?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you assured him. “Lots of shouting and empty threats, then half-assed apologies. But I’m done with all that.”
Priestly considered that with a nod. “Well, good. I’m glad to hear you’re doing better.”
You stared up at his face, and you thought he really seemed to mean that. You knew you shouldn’t be feeling that familiar flutter in your stomach, not three weeks after breaking up from a year-long relationship. Even so, the night you walked out of this shop, you felt free. Like you could breathe again.
You felt like you.
So now, you leaned up and kissed Priestly on the cheek.
His eyes widened a fraction as he stared down at you. You smiled and grasped his hand.
“Would you maybe want to…ask me out sometime?” you asked. A nervous giggle escaped you, making him smile.
“Y-Yeah, I would. If you’re sure you want me to,” he replied. In the past, maybe he would’ve let his excitement get the best of him. He’d be trying to jump at this chance. Experience had taught him not to hope too hard though. Sometimes, getting what you wished for backfired in your face.
You squeezed his hand, earning his attention.
“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked. Your smile became teasing before you used his words against him. “From what I’ve seen so far, you’re pretty awesome. But mostly pretty.”
He had to laugh at that. Pretty was not something he’d ever been called in life. Weird, freak, try-hard goth—that was all familiar territory. His tattoos and piercings tended to bring that out in people.
But he gathered some courage and squeezed your hand back.
“Well, you’re beautiful,” he said, thumbing at your chin. His eyes met yours and got lost there for a moment. “Uh, really beautiful.”
You blushed further and bit your lower lip out of habit. It drew his gaze, and he gained a little more courage. He tilted your chin upwards, so he could find those lips easier in a kiss. Your fingers curled in the front of his shirt and brought him closer. His hand found your cheek as he angled deeper into the kiss.
Despite the chill on the air, the California sun was warm and beating down on you both.
It was the perfect day for a Miracle.
AN: How I love Priestly lol. If you liked this, let me know! 💜
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A/N : SURPRISE YALL, I’m back, heheheh. title from silverstein’s song. this fills the square “I’m having what you’d call a rough day” on my @jacklesversebingo card. lmao, this was nice to jump back into writing. I secretly like teaching y’all physics.
You remember the day Priestly showed up at the market in a disappointingly normal state.
No piercings, no colourful hair, no beard, no eyeliner. Just plain old California clothes, nearly looking Christian with his neat hair, and composed manners.
The only things that reassured you that Priestly was still Priestly after all, were the tattoos that peeked from outside the collar of a white dress shirt and the tiny holes in his skin where his piercings once belonged.
It was confusing at first, but he looked happy. Brighter.
You thought his parents were in town. Or that he became religious after all. Or that he joined a cult.
You teased him at first. He’d just give you this dreamy look and never said anything to ease your curiosity about his current state. He’d be out the door in a hurry, with a tiny bit of that Priestly swagger that told you he was definitely not brainwashed by a cult.
But the reason for the sudden change in him soon became clear.
One day, he walked into the store to buy groceries and other necessities with Tish. Hand in hand, the two of them. All giggles and shoves and smiles. The honeymoon phase. She’d kiss him on his cheeks, take his chin in her hand and press herself against him in an unnecessary manner to tell him something, and he’d look stupid, like he couldn’t believe she was there giving him affection.
Your stomach dropped at the sight of them.
You’d never felt the way you did before.
Yeah, there was a cringey-ness and aversion you always had for PDA and romance that you’d noticed in yourself for years, but it never bothered you like it did now. From watching Priestly and Tish be a couple.
But it also didn’t take you long to realise why it bothered you so much more. Why it was so much harder to ignore than if it were any other couple doing it. Why you felt rejected became clear.
You had feelings for Priestly.
What a dumb way to find that out.
Excuse the fuck out of yourself if you were too focused on your university courses and your job and your future and your personal life… to realise that you really actually liked him. Romantically.
You weren’t going to lie to yourself and pretend that you didn’t care at all when you were alone. You weren’t going to lie to yourself about the sting you felt. Or push away the feelings of jealousy and push down how upset you were and the other, million emotions you felt as you watched them go about their lives as a couple for months.
You never wanted to quit more badly than you did then, just to avoid having to see them get closer, clingier, more affectionate, serious. But it was the only way you could afford living in your dorm, to have enough to pay your classes, and afford your supplies and books...
You sucked it up and pretended that nothing was wrong. Like you didn’t even care about him. Like you never did.
It never really got easier, the only thing that became easy was pretending.
You blamed yourself for waiting too long. That’s what haunted you. If you’d just been braver. If you’d been more honest with yourself and him. If you’d had the courage to say what you felt. If… if…
It was torture.
The high California-in-the-summertime temperatures made you think that you were in Hell, but time passed and you accepted that your chance with him had passed. You told yourself to move on and be happy. For the most part, as long as you ignored them, it was easy to be happy again, to live your life and do whatever your wildest friend was doing to enjoy her summer.
But that happiness you’d seen in Priestly was gone by the time the fall semester came around. It took six long, horrible months for that happiness in him to fade away.
It didn’t last. Just like the spring and the summer.
Until one day you didn’t see her with him. And the next day he was alone again. And the next week; alone. And the week after that, too.
No Tish.
Just mopey, wet-eyed Priestley.
His stubble grew, his eyeliner returned—slightly smeared from tears.
No more Banana Republic, Tommy Hillfigure, or Calvin Klein. Just those ridiculous shirts that always made you smile.
He entered the store today again after a week.
The shop's bell rang and you looked up out of habit, and watched him with his gorgeous green eyes cast downward to the slightly dusty floor you were trying to sweep. God, you’d guess it was more of a depressing, someone’s-dead type of chime than a merry one—from the state of him.
His hair was a mess and slightly longer, it was not brushed or styled neatly. Like he woke up from a nap after breakfast and decided to go to the store because he remembered something he forgot before his nap.
You felt bad… at first.
His cheeks were pink and his eyes were red-rimmed and glassy from tears. He had darkened bags under his eyes. But as he moped around and you avoided being noticed by him out of awkwardness, you caught a glimpse of his shirt, which amused you: Hang in there, it gets worse, with a little thumbs up, too.
He came completely in black, too.
It was unavoidably funny. But you stifled your snort as you continued to sweep quietly, until eventually, you got lost in thought again. Your head filled with your to-do list before entering your final semester.
But you eventually found yourself in the same aisle as him. You swept the trash up into the dustpan as you watched him try to hold bread, bananas, napkins, and toilet paper in one arm while trying to take out a gallon of milk from the fridge.
You saw what would happen from a mile away and quickly released the broom and left the dustpan where it was to help him. Before you could actually get to him, the napkins toppled out of his hold and he mistakenly released the milk to grab it which caused the gallon to burst open when it fell to the floor like a ripe melon in the sun.
You gasped when the milk splattered on you, but you didn’t actually mind at all. Priestly, on the other hand, sighed heavily again, completely giving up.
He finally looked at you when you reached for the napkins he dropped and you smiled warily at him, hoping it appeared more reassuring than pitiful. You handed him the napkins and he murmured an apology, taking them from you.
“They say when you drop your food, it's because someone craved it,” you tried to make light of the situation but he didn’t even notice. He gently placed everything down on top of the shelf behind him with a deep sigh.
“I’m so sorry,” he frowned at the large white puddle, “I’m having what you’d call a rough day.” You huffed a soft laugh which made him raise a brow at you.
“Day? You’ve been mopey and pathetic for weeks,” you teased playfully, but he remained quiet. You figured you’d offended him or hurt his feelings because he sniffled and looked down at his hands.
Your face softened.
“I’ll pay for that.” He pointed to the spilt milk and broken gallon.
“It’s fine,” you reassured him. “Let me clean this up. I’ll help you when I finish.” You turned around to pick up some napkins you kept behind the counter and he made a sound of protest.
He followed you, you heard him walking behind you quickly. “I made this mess. I should clean it. Besides, it’s almost your lunch break,” he tried to stop you. You laughed softly and shook your head as you laid yourself over the counter to grab the napkins from underneath the counter, your feet dangled embarrassingly above the floor.
“Hey, it’s no trouble,” you dismissed, smiling triumphantly to yourself when you got up with the napkins. “Go be a customer and bring your stuff… take two trips this time. There’s no one else here.” You snatched the napkins away from him when he tried to take them from you.
He smiled a little.
It made you smile more earnestly.
“Okay… Fine…” he gave in hesitantly and followed you as you walked towards the mess he made. He picked up the stuff he left on the shelf and watched you squat down and lay some napkins over the puddle. The paper soaked the milk up and he slowly walked to the counter then returned as you finished up.
He stood there awkwardly at first. Still just watching you clean up and then you got up and smiled at him sweetly. He smiled back at you gently and your heart sped up the way it always did when he looked at you. Your stomach clenched happily, but you frowned and quickly stepped away from him to throw the wet paper towels away along with the gallon that had contained the milk.
“I’m really sorry,” he apologised again when you returned.
“Priestly, it’s fine, accidents happen,” you chuckled to convince him and eyed the new gallon of milk. “You ready?” You wiped your hands on your jeans despite still feeling icky.
“Yeah,” he answered quietly, then looked around at the unusually empty store. “You want me to finish sweeping for you? Or maybe… Do you wanna wash your hands? You look uncomfortable. I can wait,” he rambled.
You laughed at him, this was all too much for you so “early” in the morning. He instantly shut up and became flustered. His free hand flew up to the back of his neck and he laughed awkwardly.
“Well, if it matters so much to you, put the Closed sign on while I throw the stuff in the dustpan away and wash my hands. I’ll meet you at the counter in five.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said automatically.
You rolled your eyes at the name, but walked away wordlessly to finish up. You actually were pretty hungry.
When you returned, Preistly had his hands in his trouser’s pockets, he was chewing on his lip, and his cheeks were red from embarrassment.
“What’s that thing you said earlier about dropping food?” He asked, trying to alleviate the thick tension that hung in the air around the two of you. You smiled as you scanned the items he needed.
“Oh, nothing,” you shrugged, “just a saying.”
He was quiet for a moment and then you looked up at him. He was already looking at you and your face instantly started to get warm again. You looked away as casually as you could to finish scanning the remaining items and neatly placing them inside a plastic bag.
“It was funny.”
“Ha, I guess…” you shrugged awkwardly and told him the price of his groceries.
“Right…” he took out random, balled up dollar bills from his back pocket despite having a wallet with enough space. You smiled curiously and took the money from him.
God, hurry and leave, you prayed internally as you placed his money in the cash register and took out his change. You dropped three quarters and a nickel into his hand when you began hearing the soft sound of rain hitting the windows and the concrete outside, and the delightful aroma of petrichor sneaking through the vents into the store.
“Fuck,” Priestly muttered, his fingertips grazed your palm and your body lit up like the second the temperature of the universe hit one billion Kelvin after the Big Bang, finally allowing neutrons and protons to form atomic nuclei as they hit and stuck to each other. “The worst day ever.”
You snapped out of your daze, disappointed, but not surprised at his obliviousness.
“I could give you a ride,” you offered with a shrug, taking your bag from inside the bottom drawer as he took his bag of groceries.
“I keep wasting your time…” he trailed off, but he did not decline your offer.
“That’s fine. Where do you live?” You made your way around the counter and walked past him to stand at the door and watch the rain slowly come heavier.
“You’re a stranger,” he joked, and you turned to roll your eyes at him. “What? You could secretly be a Mankiller.” You opened the door with a sarcastic laugh and squirmed as rain hit your face.
“Please, look at me,” you scoffed playfully, locking the door to the store once Priestly stepped outside with you.
“I am,” he said gently.
You looked up at him with your brows knitted in confusion. “Whatever. My car’s over here,” you brushed him off and quickly led him to your car.
You both sighed once you were safely inside the freshly cleaned car. He laughed to himself as he looked around inquisitively, but you didn't question him. You turned your car on instead to pull out of the driveway and asked him again where he lived as a Britney Spears song played on the radio. This time he finally answered your question seriously.
The conversation was light and you kept asking him about the sandwich shop he worked at and about his friends to avoid talking about yourself or his break up. It was basically small talk, bleh. The conversation was superficial because you didn’t want to get close to him, not now, not when he was freshly broken up and still clearly hurting.
He ran his hand through his hair once you parked outside his house, somehow he managed to make it look tame. He looked at the time and you waited patiently for him to get out so you could leg it and cry to your friend over the phone about how you were so not over him.
“Stay,” he proposed suddenly when he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I can make you a sandwich, I’m really good at that.” You shook your head at first and racked your brain for some excuse to get away. “Whatever you want, I’ll make it for you, I’ve even got some soda in the fridge. Please, I feel really bad.” You chuckled softly at him and the pleading eyes he gave you. They looked much wider and greener.
“Fine,” you gave in, “I’m really hungry, so… I guess I could stay for a bit.” He lit up slightly and started to get out of the car before you managed to turn it off. But you caught up with him as he kicked the welcome mat to the side to retrieve his house’s key.
“You want a sub?” He asked, you bit your tongue to stop yourself from making a joke out of that and nodded as you entered his messy house. Oh well, he’s been going through a breakup.
“Oh, God, I forgot it’s a mess,” he apologised when he looked at the star of everything around him. “Close your eyes, pretend you don’t see it,” he pleaded jokingly.
“As long as I don’t step in something squishy, we’re all good,” you reassured him with a small laugh. You followed him to the kitchen and figured he must be going through the not-eating breakup rather than the eating-my-feelings breakup.
“How big do you want it?” He asked you, setting the bag down on the counter and going to wash his hands.
“How much do you think I can take?” You asked before you could actually filter it out of your mind. He quickly looked at you, amused and intrigued while he dried his hands with a clean towel from inside his cabinet. “Kidding, how big is it?” He laughed loudly at your question which made you get more flustered, but he still gave you a measurement with his hands. “Half of that,” you tried to ignore his face and sat down before your knees gave out from embarrassment.
“If you can only take half of that, I don’t think you could handle me.”
Your mouth fell open. You were sure you stopped breathing for a few moments when your heart stuttered and your stomach lurched at the thought.
This time, you blinked at him in surprise, but your eyes stayed wide, and you felt yourself turn hotter before you both bursted out laughing.
