Chapter Text
Everything started with a question.
“Excuse me, sir, do you sell screws here?”
Looking up, Gallagher found a young man standing behind him: blueish hair, long, white wings coming out of his nape, a halo floating behind his head. He was smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his golden eyes; yet, no trickery was there. It had been a serious question, and something he didn’t hear often, just like seeing Halovians around there.
“Yeah, hardware stores usually have those,” was his reply, heavy with sarcasm, even if that wasn’t good for the business.
The Halovian didn't look bothered by it. Instead, his golden eyes gleamed with a certain childish excitement, the same Misha had when he got silly tasks around the store. It was cute in a child, strange in a grown man. Still a little cute in that guy, Gallagher had to accept.
“I’d like some of those,” the Halovian said simply, hands resting behind his back. “Around six. Or are they sold by the dozen? I guess a dozen would be okay too,” he was quick to correct, the smile never leaving his face yet never getting into his eyes.
Gallagher stared for a second, unsure if that was some kind of prank or not. Penacony was always so full of unfunny people wanting to be famous, and some people didn’t understand comedy at all. However, the Halovian didn’t burst into laughter or anything.
“What are the screws for?” Gallagher decided to be direct, wanting to end whatever nonsense was that. “They usually come in dozens, but they also come in different sizes,” he clarified, sighing.
“They come in different sizes?”
The question was genuine, pure and unadulterated surprise to discover there were more than one single type of screw filled his pretty face. Gallagher preferred not to judge people too much, but that Halovian was testing him. Maybe it was the white, custom-made suit; maybe it was the white, silk gloves on his hands. Nothing in that Halovian told him he actually knew what screws were for; and his questions didn't help at all. If it wasn’t a joke, Gallagher couldn’t imagine how such a guy arrived at his store, he didn’t seem to live around the Dreamflux Reef.
“Yeah, like many other things,” Gallagher sighed heavily, resting his weight on the shelf. “Depends on the use, surface, amount of pressure, weight…”
The Halovian nodded, getting his phone from his jacket and scrolling for a second as if checking a recipe. Gallagher waited, hoping he had some kind of list written by someone more competent to get screws.
“I need six,” The Halovian said with a smile, as if that made sense. “Any kind is okay.”
Something about that smile irked Gallagher. It didn’t have the childish gleam his reaction had before. In fact, it looked fake, rehearsed, the smile from someone who needed to smile all the time to a myriad of people whether they feel like smiling or not. The deceitfulness wasn’t what bothered him, it was how sincere it’d look to anyone that wasn’t a cynic like him. He couldn’t help but wonder why that man bothered showing him that smile; he was simply a store clerk, not someone who needed to be impressed.
“6 millimeters then?” Gallagher asked, crossing his arms, trying his best not to sound straight up rude. Misha’s voice inside his head reminded him to be kind to customers so they would return and Sleepie could get more treats. Using the kid like that was wrong, but everything about that situation was strange.
“I'm working on a project, I think any kind will suffice. Just need six.” Mr. Halovian explained, his smile still there. “Who knew getting screws would be so hard,” he added with a soft chuckle.
Gallagher stood silent, allowing the situation to grow awkward; even if that chuckle almost made his bad mood dispel. The desire to give him the smallest screws available and send him home not to be seen again was strong; a small trick to teach him a lesson. He scratched his badly-shaven cheek, clicking his tongue to ignore that perfectly reasonable suggestion. Some people were dumb.
“First time working on such a project?” Gallagher turned, walking towards the counter, opening the door to get behind it. The Halovian followed, resting his gloved hands on the counter.
Once there, Gallagher checked the shelves for the plastic box with screws, leaving it on the counter. His eyes traveled to focus on the gloved hands. The Halovian’s fingers were slender, elegant, hands that didn’t know hard labor of any kind. He wondered how those fingers looked naked. Strange thoughts for a strange situation.
“Yes, first time doing something like that,” was Halovian's answer, unwilling to explain more.
If that Halovian knew a thing about any kind of manual labor, Gallagher was a professional swing dancer. He was the perfect example of what Gallagher called the “bored house spouse” client: spouses who decided to renovate their entire bedroom out of boredom because their partner was too busy at work, often needing more than one professional to fix the mess they created in a day. It was a once-a-month kind of occurrence in the store, and maybe the Halovian was his monthly share.
“It’s not a complex project,” Mr. Halovian clarified after a short silence. “I assumed it’d be more special if I did it myself.”
The rehearsed smile was there, just as perfect as before. An obscure part of Gallagher wanted to wipe it out. A slow day always unleashed the most creative part of his brain, and that wasn’t a healthy way to approach that situation.
“Any project can become daunting if you have no idea of what you're doing,” Gallagher pointed out, getting a plastic bag out of the box and leaving it on the counter. Those words were sincere, a piece of advice he gave to all the bored spouses, and they almost never listened.
Puzzlement filled the Halovian’s face, his wings moving softly. It wasn't the first time Gallagher met one of them, he had seen almost every race that existed in their vast world; but that was the first time he saw one with wings that long. They matched his hair, helping with the angelic aura. The fake smile ruined it all, though.
“Is building a bookshelf that hard?” The Halovian asked, looking both concerned and genuinely confused.
Gallagher frowned, almost disappointed with the answer. Out of all the options, that was the simplest of them all; even a bored spouse could do it properly.
“Depends,” Gallagher was committed to the strangeness already, resting his weight on the counter.
“On what?” The Halovian put a hand on his chin, a thoughtful expression washing away the confusion.
“Does it have instructions?”
“It's custom-made.”
Gallagher's face would have shown the same puzzlement the Halovian showed a second prior, if he still had the energy required for such an expression. He couldn't even be mad at the man at that point, he was probably just a rich guy with no idea of how the world worked properly, including custom-made bookshelves. Those were a dime a dozen in his previous occupation, but not that much in that dusty little store of his. He shouldn’t be so mean… it was a matter of imagining it was Misha making the silly questions.
“I'd suggest you get a professional to install it,” Gallagher said at the end, pushing the bag towards the customer. It was a bag of 40 mm screws, a common size for that kind of work. “They didn't give you screws?” he then asked, realizing it sounded unrealistic.
The smile appeared again, looking tenser than before, and somehow more sincere.
“Something… occurred,” the man explained, looking around as blush peppered his pale skin. “I… misplaced the bag. I looked everywhere, but it’s simply gone. Better to get more.”
Gallagher wasn't impressed nor surprised. Everything seemed possible with that Halovian. Perhaps a pigeon had stolen them, or some talking rat decided to eat them.
“You'll need a set of screwdrivers too,” Gallagher said, grabbing a little black box from the shelf on the back and leaving it beside the bag. “This kit has everything you might need.”
In a blink, what had been a kind expression hardened, the smile regaining its fake perfection. It had been a step too much, Gallagher noted; and that guy was strange, too.
“Why do you assume I'd need that?” His voice was still easy-going, but an edge was starting to form. He was a good actor, but Gallagher was too observant.
“You didn't know screws came in sizes,” replied Gallagher, keeping his disinterested tone. “Hard to believe, you know, you need different screwdrivers for different types of screws…”
A dark shadow crossed the golden eyes in front of him. He had hit a nerve, and that dark side of his was rejoicing. It had been so easy, he wanted to push it even further. That situation had to end before boredom took Gallagher too faraway.
“Fair point,” The Halovian agreed, leaving all the coldness behind in a breath. “How much is it?”
After paying, the Halovian left without a word, still looking angry. Gallagher checked the wall clock. The exchange lasted less than fifteen minutes, and it was both interesting and annoying. He only hoped that Halovian didn’t die crushed under his custom bookshelf. Who knew if he was someone important, and the police ended up raiding his store; Penacony was a strange place after all.
“It’s been a while since it rained around here,” he commented after a while, putting the plastic box where it belonged.
Gallagher frowned, realizing how strange his words were. He left the counter, checking the window to find a clear sky, dark as usual but not a single cloud there. Rain wasn’t common in Penacony or in Dreamflux Reef. However, his store smelled like rain: earthy, fresh, leaving a cold sensation on his skin. Gallagher couldn’t remember the last time he saw actual rain.
His phone vibrating inside his pocket pulled him away from that thought. Misha would be back from school soon, and he still had things to put on the shelves. He went back to his task before the kid decided to rearrange all the shelves by himself, completely unable to relax for a while.
“I hope he doesn’t come back…” he mumbled, the strange Halovian still in mind.