Chapter Text
You were having the world’s shittiest morning.
You’d woken up with a migraine that you could feel throbbing all the way down your spine, only to find that your alarm hadn’t gone off and you were late for work. You’d gotten dressed in record time, popped way to many pain pills on an empty stomach, and then had to fight the resulting nausea as you ran through the pelting sleet to your office.
You’d forgotten an umbrella, so you were soaking wet when you arrived, and of course one of your supervisors was waiting at your desk as soon as you walked through the door. He was only recently promoted and what little power he had been granted had completely gone to his head— his expression was smug as he prepared to lecture you, ass perched on the corner of your desk like he owned it. He was sipping loudly on cheap, burnt coffee, the smell of which was making your already sensitive stomach roll and twist.
“We expect all employees to be in office by 8:30 AM,” He gave a dramatic sigh, a faux pained look on his face that did nothing to hide his glee. “As you can see, it’s passed 9:00.”
You gritted your teeth, doing your best to force a smile. “Sorry, Jeff, it’s been a rough morning.”
He shook his head, trying to seem rueful. “So sorry,” he said, nasally voice making you grit your teeth, “but I’m going to have to write you up.”
Your mouth dropped open with an audible pop— you were almost never late, and you knew he was only doing this because he’d been salivating for a chance to throw his weight around. Based on the sour looks being sent his way, everyone else knew it, too.
“That’s not fair, Jeff,” you growled, fighting to remain professional. Calling him an entitled little bitch boy wasn’t going to help you get out of a write up. Or keep your job. “I’m never late.”
His pompous air didn’t waiver as he sipped on his shitty coffee. "If you like we can take it up with Mr. Lopez…” he trailed off pointedly, as if name dropping your manager would do anything to deter you.
On the contrary, you smiled sweetly. If he had wanted someone easily cowed, he picked the wrong one. “What a perfect idea. Shall we?” Maybe this way Jeff could be put in his place, and the problem would be nipped in the bud.
You turned on your heel and began to march, Jeff waddling behind you as you made your way into the managers office, only pausing briefly to knock on the door before you came shoving your way in with Jeff on your heels.
You opened your mouth, but Jeff was already spewing. “Mr. Lopez, I wonder if you can settle a difficult matter?” He simpered, voice oily. You really couldn’t stand him.
You stopped listening then, though— entering a confined space with Jeff, or more specifically, Jeff’s disgusting coffee, had your stomach committing mutiny within seconds. You’d made a horrible mistake, and everyone in the room was about to know it.
You tried to hold your breath as Jeff babbled about common courtesy and regrettable matters, but the combination of your migraine and the terrible smell had you succumbing to your nausea in less than a minute, throwing up your pain meds into your manager’s tiny trash can, along with last nights dinner.
You closed your eyes, cheeks burning as you wiped your mouth on the back of your hand, steeling yourself to look up.
The two of them were gaping at you, silently horrified as you slowly straightened. “Ehm, excuse me,” you whispered, voice rough, coughing slightly to try to relieve the burn.
That had won you some sympathy points at least, causing them to quickly agree to dropping the write up with a load of sputtering, like “why didn’t you say you were sick,” and “why don’t you sit down,” and "Jeff take this trash out immediately.”
Unfortunately you’re manager insisted that you use some of your precious sick time and take the day off, eyeing your disheveled appearance and his freshly defiled trash can while Jeff swept it away, several shades greener.
You’d fiercely protested, promising you’d be okay once you’d gotten some breakfast in you, but your attempts had accomplished nothing, unless you counted getting escorted to and then practically tossed out of the door with a hasty “take tomorrow for yourself, too.”
So there you stood, shivering at the entrance to your work, ankle deep in slush as the snow and rain continued to pelt down mercilessly.
There was nothing for it. You began to trudge, until you reached the first coffee shop you could find. The warmth as you walked through the door at least soothed your shivers a little, though it could do nothing for the discomfort of your sopping wet hair, clothes, and shoes.
“Could I please get a large london fog?” You asked through chattering teeth as soon as you’d stumped up to the counter. The Barista was unimpressed and unsympathetic, staring at you with a bored expression.
“We’re out of earl grey,” she said flatly, looking at you like you were at fault for even asking.
“What?” You practically whimpered, and she rolled her eyes, even as the other barista that was working the bar called out an order for a large earl grey tea, extra strong.
“Take it up with that guy.” You looked the direction she jerked her thumb to see some purple haired dude with the worlds most bored expression swagger to the counter, snatch the cup without a word, and suck down what must have been half of it in one go before stomping out the door. “He made us remake that three times.”
“I hope he chokes on it,” you grumbled, and the corner of the barista’s mouth quirked up.
You’re ire toward him must have won some points, because she seemed to soften. “Do you like cardamom and cloves? I’ll make you a chai latte. With oat milk and vanilla.”
You shrugged and nodded, tacking on a plain bagel to hopefully sooth your still touchy stomach.
You took a cautious sip as you made your way out the door, careful not to burn your lips. Turns out you did like cardamom and clove— combined with the vanilla, they tasted cozy and comfortable, somehow. The warmth and caffeine soothed your head and shoulder muscles a little, and you almost smiled— maybe your day wasn’t all bad.
You waited to cross the street for the signal, sipping happily on your drink as you stepped off the curb— only to have some asshole on a dark blue motorcycle take a turn too fast and come screeching to a stop literal centimeters away from hitting you, so fast that the back tire actually lifted off the ground a bit before thumping back down.
You jumped back with a yelp, your precious chai tea slipping out of your hands. You watched almost in slow motion as it fell, splattering all over the white stripes of the crosswalk, the lid flying out into traffic to be crushed repeatedly— just like your soul today, apparently. You hadn’t even gotten to enjoy a fourth of it, and now, just like that, it was gone.
You threw your head back and groaned. Just fucking run me over, coward.
“The fuck did you just call me?”
“Shit, was that out loud?” You asked, head snapping back up and to the side.
You froze then, your eyes nearly popping out of their head— wouldn’t you know it, the dickhead that almost blasted through the cross walk and launched you straight to hell was the purple haired asshole himself— the very one who’d deprived you of your precious London Fog moments ago had now ripped your Chai away, too.
“Well I didn’t fucking read your mind, dumbass,” he snarled, sneering as you glowered at him, then revving his engine pointedly. Asshole.
“Oh just finish the job,” you hissed, eyes narrowed. “Vehicular manslaughter wouldn’t even be the worst part of my day.” That spot went to losing your tea just now.
Okay, so your priorities were a little out of order. What of it?
“Fucking move.”
You rolled your eyes, curling your lip at him, but the light was changing, everyone around you having finished crossing ages ago. Begrudgingly you obliged, stepping slowly back onto the curb you had come from and watching mournfully as he rolled through the puddle of what used to be the only source of light in your dark day, now mixing drearily with dirty slush in the gutter.
Okay, so you were a little dramatic, too. What. Of. It.
You watched, shivering as the light finally turned again, then trudged the rest of the way to your apartment building.
There was a moving van outside when you arrived, and you wondered if someone was finally taking the unit across from yours. It was the only one available that you knew of, and it had been empty for months. It was even draftier than your current one was— You would know, you used to live in that one before you convinced your landlord to let you switch on the condition that you paid the same rent despite moving into a technically smaller unit.
You would take less room over waking up in the morning with your teeth chattering so hard they ached, and sometimes finding snow in your carpet from the gaps in the frame of the single window.
You wondered vaguely if it was going to be someone cool, daydreaming of an old lady that would make you treats, or someone your age who would go to bars with you, or maybe someone pretty and nice that you would fall in lo—
Oh.
There was a blue motorcycle parked next to your building in a red no parking zone.
Oh, no.
You caught a flash of purple hair.
No, no.
The london fog ruining, chai latte spilling bastard, himself, stood leaning against the wall of your building, smoking a cigarette and supervising a moving crew with a resting bitch face that could intimidate God as they carted boxes hurriedly inside.
No.
You hadn’t realized you had stopped to stare until you were making eye contact.
“Earl grey!” You blurted, and he blinked at you, looking equally dumbfounded for a moment before schooling his expression impressively quickly into a flat, bored look.
“Suicidal crosswalk chick,” he rasped before taking another drag.
“That nickname really doesn’t flow.” Your response probably didn’t sound as snappy was you wanted it to— the words got a little mucked up with how hard you were shivering.
He looked decidedly unimpressed, blowing a lazy stream of smoke as he regarded you. “Would you prefer stalker?”
Your jaw probably would have dropped if your teeth weren’t chattering so hard your vision was buzzing a little. “I fucking live here,” you snapped, and then you stomped past him— or tried anyway, but the most your frozen legs could manage was an intense sort of shuffle. It took you several tries to fumble your key into the lock with your numb fingers, Earl Grey watching your dripping figure mockingly, scoffing when you were finally successful.
You shot him a savage glare over your shoulder, catching a lazy, two fingered salute before you slammed the door behind you so hard the dingy window on the other side shook in it’s frame. You winced a little— that thing was sitting loosely enough was it was. You could literally hear the wind whistling through invisible gaps when it stormed really hard outside, and you’d had to hang a thick blanket over it on more than one occasion just to keep some of the cold out. Your utility bills where honestly through the roof with how much it took to keep the place warm, but your rent really was ridiculously low and it was a pretty quick walk to your office building, so it kind of balanced out. Kind of.
It wasn’t really that you were broke so much as finding available apartments for one person was incredibly difficult if you wanted to live within 30 minutes of your office, and you weren’t about to buy a car or scooter. God forbid you get a roommate. Besides, your apartment was actually kind of cool in a vintage sort of way— it just had its quirks, like the thing with the window, or the way the lock on your door sometimes jammed, or how all of the pipes in the whole building rattled whenever anyone turned their shower on. Personality.
You hurriedly flipped on your space heaters, stripping off your sopping wet clothes and dropping them haphazardly on the floor as you dove for the bathroom, filling up your tiny bathtub with water as hot as you could stand and practically flinging yourself in. As the hot water soothed your shaking and eased the tenseness in your muscles, your spirits slowly lifted. So, your new neighbor was kind of a prick. You could deal with that— it wasn’t like you were super friendly with your neighbors as it was. You could handle this. It couldn’t be that bad.