Chapter 1: New Beginings
Chapter Text
My break couldn't have come soon enough.
I tried to keep my composure as I made my way towards the back of the store, away from prying eyes, to the employee restrooms. The sound of my sneakers squeaking against the linoleum tile, started to reverberate and fill my ear drums. Once I was nearing the restroom door my face contorted with a mix of panic and nausea.
Pushing myself into the restroom quickly, I fumbled with the lock on the door. “F-fuck-,” I whispered before finally the lock clicked into place. With one hand I pulled my hair back from my face and lifted the toilet lid. Dropping to my knees I finally let out all the anxiety and panic I had been holding in for the last few hours, into the toilet bowl. Jesus christ.. get it together. Once I was done expelling my breakfast, I fell back onto my ass on the restroom tiles with a sigh. First days never settle right with me.
I really need to get my shit together and calm down, this wasn’t worth getting sick over. I am a fully capable, functioning member of society. Working at some nerdy, board game shop shouldn't cause this much anxiety for me, but then again, so does even leaving the house sometimes. I purposely applied for this job, hoping that due to its nature, it wouldn’t be so scary for me. Easy even. I grab some toilet paper from the wall and wipe my mouth and chin, tossing it in the bowl. Using the sink as leverage as I stand up, I go to wash up before I need to head back to the front. I gargle some water a few times to try and get rid of any lingering taste or smell, as well as peer up at the water-stained mirror. “You-,” I jab my pointer finger against the mirror, “-need to calm the fuck down, you’re okay.” I shake my head and dry my hands on my thighs before turning on my heel, leaving the restroom.
I put my customer service face back on as I headed back into the storefront of Gary’s Games and Glory. After the whole restroom fiasco, my head starts to clear up. I was absolutely overreacting about all of this, and now I feel a little silly. The atmosphere of the shop was calm and so far I haven’t dealt with any pricks up at the register yet.
From behind the counter I slowly scanned the room. A few customers were huddled around some mini figure display, used for tabletop games, while some odd groups were inspecting the many tall shelves stocked with various board games. For the most part it was quiet in the shop, apart from the speakers faintly playing some elevator-like music.
Some time passed by, I wasn’t sure how long since this place didn't have a single clock to be found, I only know it has because I helped six people check out since my break. I prop my chin up with my hand and try to stay sane as the non-existent clock ticks away so fucking slowly. It must be around what, two in the afternoon at this point? Perfect! That means it's almost time for my lunch break, not that food sounds appetizing right now. I’m pulled out of my head when a guy comes up to the counter, asking me to pull out a bunch of trading card packs for him to look through. Simple enough, right? The customer starts meticulously looking them over, trying to discern if they contain the rare cards he’s searching for. One of those collectors, huh. Fucking fantastic, i’m going to be stuck here forever at this point. After some time waiting for him to make up his mind about the card packs, I pinch the bridge of my nose. The store manager must sense that I'm bordering on losing my mind, because he steps behind the counter and sends me off on my lunch break. Thank god. I send him a slight smile and make a beeline for the back to drop off my jacket, and pick up my cigarettes from my locker. I go out the door that connects to the side alleyway for a well-deserved smoke. Once outside, I regret having left my jacket inside as the frosty air gives me chills. Good old San Fran weather. However my tank top, shorts, and fishnets don’t do well in keeping me from possibly getting sick out here. Best make this quick then.
With the cigarette held between my lips, I searched my shorts pockets for the lighter. shit- was it in my jacket?.. I look down at myself as I go searching for the little bastard once more. Maybe I missed it the first time? “Ahem-” The sound of someone clearing their throat catches me by surprise at first, I didn’t notice anyone outside in the alley with me. Turning to look to my left, sure enough some guy was standing a couple feet away from me, leaning against the wall. He too had a cigarette out, lit and held between his fingers, mid-smoke. My eyes trailed up to meet his eyes, except there were none to be seen. His face was hidden behind some electronic mask of sorts, covered in studs. I shake my head slightly in confusion, “- need a light?” He continues on, holding out his lighter towards me.
“R-right, thanks dude,” I smile awkwardly at the strange man as I reach for the white lighter in his hand. He just nods in response while I go about lighting up my own cigarette. Where did this weirdo come from? And when. I take a long drag, reveling in the dull burn spreading through my throat from the smoke. Nothing like bad decisions to calm the nerves. I follow suit and lean my back against the brick wall, crossing my free arm under my chest in unease. I thought that I would be the only one out here to enjoy some solitude, again away from prying eyes. I guess I’m glad that he isn’t pestering me or being creepy. Besides his choice of attire. I shouldn’t be one to judge someone else, I mean look at me. I’m dressed head to toe in all black and have black/gray eyeshadow smudged lazily over my eyelids. Not to mention the tatts.
After getting lost in my head for some time, occasionally looking over to the masked punk, my cigarette is down to the bud. Dropping it to the ground, I drag my sneaker over it to put it out. He seems to be finished as well, from out of the corner of eye I see him mimicking my actions. I let out a sigh and shake my head, mentally preparing to get back to work, and turn to the side door that leads into the shop. However he beats me to it and holds open the door for me to enter, his mask displaying two carets where his eyes should be. This makes me chuckle a bit, “After you~” He says in a mock posh accent, gesturing for me to pass through.
I walk through the door and towards the employee break room in the back of the store to go collect my jacket. Approaching the breakroom, I feel as if I'm being followed? I furrow my brows and turn around to find the masked man following me to the back of the shop. However he ignores me entirely, taking a turn towards a door in the back of the shop I haven’t been in. In fact, I haven't seen anyone come in or out of that door. My manager shrugged it off when I questioned what it was used for earlier when I pressed him about it. As I stop and watch him curiously from the break room doorway, he punches in some code in the door’s keypad and traverses through the doorway quickly. The large metal door closes behind him with a thud, leaving me standing there, dumbfounded.
The fuck?
Chapter 2: First Contact
Notes:
Hi there:) I'm sorry for how long it took me to post this chapter, life was a bit chaotic there for a moment. It's getting better though! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thank you for giving my story a read<3
Chapter Text
I stand there in the break room doorway, glaring at the door of the shop’s mystery room.
This is too obvious of a thing to not be known about, or noticed. So, what is going on here? Is the shop just a front for drug dealing? Or money laundering? I knew that San Francisco had its fair share of gangs and petty criminals, but so did every major city. I shake my head and go back into the room to slip my jacket on. I’ll have to do some investigating of my own, but that will have to wait till after work though.
Fortunately, the rest of my shift was a piece of goddamn cake. With the remaining three hours I had left after my lunch break, there wasn't much to do. There were but a few customers here and there until it was time for me to move on to some cleaning up. As I watched the last customer walk out of the shop, bag in hand, I carefully slipped my earbuds into my ears. Hmm...Perhaps listening to some Ghost was the move. My manager made sure to lock up the front door before we began our cleaning tasks for the night. I let myself get lost in the music as I got to work on sweeping up the tile floors. I was beginning to get agitated, I just wanted to clock out and go home. Dealing with customers, putting on that fake customer service smile and voice, had depleted almost all of my energy. So of course I was phoning it in, pushing around the same pile of dust and few leaves around for some time. I’m surprised Brian hadn't noticed. Or if he did, he didn't care.
After a while, after we were both finished straightening up some skewed merchandise on the shelves, we began collecting our belongings from the break room lockers. I was zipping up my jacket when I remembered what I was planning to ask him earlier. The Mystery Room. I cleared my throat, breaking the silence, and turned to my left to face him. “H-hey Brian? There's something I wanted to ask you about,” He looked up from his locker and nodded his head in my direction, “-Shoot.” I pushed shut my locker door with a click. My eyes land on an old sticker that’s stuck to the tile floor, and seems to have been stuck for some time now as the design has faded. Anything to focus on besides making eye contact. “About the room next door-” I'm interrupted by a detached laugh, my eyes shooting up to Brian. “Elliot, that’s just a decommissioned part of the shop, an old room that was never finished. I wouldn’t worry about it anymore, okay?” He shook his head, smiling. That didn't seem right. Frankly it seemed like a half-assed lie, so I would have to look into it by myself then. “R-right.. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I said to him with a false smile and a wave as I made my way towards the shop’s side door.
We both said goodbye and went our separate ways. As I didn’t have a license, or car for that matter, I braved the city streets on foot. Alone. Brian had offered to give me a ride to my apartment, but I declined. It could be my paranoia, I just don’t trust most men. Especially someone new, finding out where I live, alone and at night. It must be all the horror movies I watch rotting my brain. I pulled my hood up over my head and closer around me to try and shield out the cold, nippy breeze. Luckily I only lived a couple blocks away, otherwise I would have the mind to purchase a bike, or endure the city bus. The streets were still buzzing with people, going about their day, the sun had just set by the looks of it. The usual blue sky had been splattered with shades of orange, the sun turning the clouds pink. I’ll have to remember this, to try and paint it later, it was gorgeous. Key word is try.
Finally arriving at my apartment, I trudged up the uneven steps up to the second floor of the building. Careful to avoid stepping in the mysterious puddles of sticky liquid that littered the ground on the way up. As I approached my apartment door, keys already in hand, shouting emanated from one of the apartments down the hall. Muffled swears and sounds of furniture being thrown had me unlocking my front door a bit faster now. I guess you didn't really live in an apartment in the city, if some of your neighbors weren’t kind of crazy. With wide eyes, I shut the front door a bit loudly and locked it. Both locks. Just to be safe. I kneeled down and began the process of getting comfortable - unlacing my sneakers, stripping off my jacket, and hanging up my keys on the hook by the door. I sigh and push the hair from my face as I look out at my apartment.
The faint smell of weed mixed with tobacco finds my nose. Home. As much as I try to keep the smell contained and minimal, it will always find its way to spread. I never had any guests over at my place so it didn’t bother me at all. I was fairly happy with how I decorated my small apartment. The living room was decorated simply. A small green, suede couch, the coffee table and many shelves adorned with nick-nacks that I've collected over the years. Anything from little potted plants, to books. Mostly graphic novels. Nearly all my furniture was hand-me-downs from old friends and family, or found on the side of the street with a ‘Free’ sign taped to them. Who can blame me? Furniture is expensive these days. The picture, that is my living room, is mismatched in the cutest way possible. A very inconspicuous set up. The real treasure was my bedroom. Where I allowed myself to go crazy with the decorating. My room is where all of my ‘nerd stuff’ was set up. A nerd cave, if you will. The walls lined with various posters and paintings I had made, but were too ashamed to display in the front room. Not to mention the video game and anime figurines I have collected over the years.
I made myself a quick and easy dinner of instant noodles, since I've been very broke for the past month. It's all I could afford at the store to get myself. I stood at the kitchen counter while I slurped up my dinner. I just have to make it work for the next two weeks, then I'll get my first paycheck from Gary’s. I’ll make the best of it. If I finish up here quickly, I might be able to squeeze in some video games before I need to get to bed. For work. Tomorrow morning. Sliding my bowl away from me, I rest my forehead on the counter and groan. After a few minutes of groaning against the kitchen counter, I walk to the sink and carefully set my bowl and fork down inside. I'll get to that later. For now? Time to unwind.
Time seems to slip away from me. I hadn’t realized I was at my desk, playing video games for so long, until I noticed the time on my PC monitor read 11:38 pm. Shit, already? The weed definitely didn't help - That’s for sure. I slipped my headphones off and hung them up before reluctantly getting up from my desk. Rubbing my eyes, I walked over to my bed and stripped off all my clothes, leaving them in a messy pile on the floor. I’ll worry about picking them up later. I pull back the many blankets on my bed and slide into them briskly, shivering slightly. Once tucked in thoroughly, I rolled over to plug my phone in on my nightstand, when it lit up. I furrowed my brows and brought it closer to see the cause. What? Amongst all my apps, it seemed like a new app was being downloaded and added to my homescreen. “No..no! What the fuck is-” I sit up in bed, holding my phone up close, tapping randomly on the screen. The app finishes downloading. It has a simple icon, just a black square with a small skeleton head in the middle. Before I can, hesitantly, tap the mystery icon to open it up, my phone dings. A notification, from the new app, pops up.
‘Hello there ^ ^’
I stare at the notification pop up with confusion, before I can react, in comes another message.
‘You can keep my lighter btw, no big deal’
Again, what the fuck.
Chapter Text
Did he.. hack my phone?
I wasn’t the most technologically inclined person, the most advanced thing I knew was how to build a PC or set up a router, but that was the only logical explanation I could come up with. I already pieced together that this was the guy at work who lent me his lighter, the mysterious masked man. This was all very weird and out of my wheelhouse. A yawn escaped my lips as I went for it. I opened up the new app. What welcomed me was just a chatroom, simple black background with white text, and a profile picture next to his messages. Similar to the app icon itself - a small white skeleton head, grinning. I furrowed my brows and stared at the chatroom, debating if it was a good idea to respond. Again, this was weird. Who would go to such lengths to message someone like this? I eventually began typing up a response, despite my better judgment.
Me: Hi.. who the fuck hacks someone’s phone like thi-
I immediately tap the backspace button, erasing my message, before rewriting it.
Me: Howdy:) I don’t mean to sound rude, but how..?
I hit send quickly, before I start overthinking my message. I wasn’t sure what to say to him. Surely he would understand my confusion with the whole situation. Surely. Another yawn, sleep started to call to me further as I waited for a response back. I’m willing to push back sleep to find out what he had to say. And sure enough, little dots on the bottom corner of the screen popped up, indicating that he was typing. This chatroom, as basic as it seemed, was.. Handmade?
‘sorry, i made this app ^ ^’
‘it was easy, not very pretty but it does its job’
‘OH I ALMOST FORGOT ! im Wrench, pleased to meetcha~’
Oh, so he’s a tech nerd. I didn’t know the ins and outs of app development, I just know it's pretty complicated for the average person to just whip up like how he’s making it seem. And also, Wrench? Back in high school I had a friend that everyone called ‘Toad’, so I guess ‘Wrench’ isn't that odd.. I shake my head, should I indulge him? Give him my name? I mean..I haven’t tried making any friends since moving to San Francisco, or in a very long time in fact. Not since high school. I really fucked up, by shutting myself away from people like I did. I’ve stunted myself socially. But maybe.. I should try giving it another shot, try and find friends again. Here, in my hands, in front of my face, I have an opportunity on a silver platter.
‘I’m Elliot :) And that’s crazy dude, I'm not good with anything technical. I had to watch a tutorial to build my PC and even then I nearly fucked the whole thing up’
‘But why go to the trouble?’
I waited a while for a response back from Wrench, but it never came. I peered up at the clock on my phone, midnight. Shit. I needed to get to sleep an hour ago. Going to the shop tomorrow with six hours of sleep was going to suck, especially without coffee, since I couldn’t afford that kind of thing at the moment. I sighed and sent one last message before turning in for the night.
‘Alright, then. Keep your secrets.’
Morning
The sun isn’t even out yet when the alarm I set on my phone blares, next to my head on my nightstand. ‘BEEP BEEP BEEP’. I woke up suddenly. I really need to change that alarm sound, I swear every morning it has me on the verge of a headache. I give myself a few more minutes in bed before I feel as though I can't stand the noise anymore. Reaching for my phone from under the covers, I aggressively turn the damned thing off and get out of bed. Since I don't seem to have a whole lot of time to get ready, I rush to complete my morning skin care. While packing up my work bag, I checked my phone to see if Wrench ever responded while I was asleep. Unfortunately there was nothing new from him. “Bummer.” I whispered to myself, turned off my phone, and shoved it in the bag pocket. Violently rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I make my way to the full length mirror for a quick check before I head out. Since today was chilly out again, I decided to wear a large black sweater that ended mid-thigh, black leggings and my black and white sneakers. I ran my fingers over the sweater’s design, a skeleton pattern, to mimic the collarbones, ribs and spine. I let out a sigh. This sweater was safe. I was safe, and okay.
After the third and final check that I had everything I needed for work, I unlocked both the locks on the front door and started my journey. To try and calm my unrelenting nerves, I blasted music in my ear buds. It mostly worked, as long as I focused hard on the lyrics and not that nagging feeling that everything was wrong. Or would go wrong. It was pretty exhausting, but it helped most of the time. Part of me knew that everything was okay, that this was just my anxiety doing its job, but it's hard not to listen to it.
I pushed the button at the crosswalk a few times, for good measure, even though the streets were mostly empty at this hour. I was only a few blocks away from the shop at this point and I could already tell it was going to be a long day. I really shouldn't have stayed up as late as I did messaging him. I’m going to regret this. And as if right on queue, no sleep till brooklyn by the beastie boys started playing in my earbuds. I couldn't help but let out a laugh, which startled the old woman I was passing on the street.
I finally made it to the shop, Brian had informed me that on early morning shifts, I should enter the building through the side door in the alleyway. Which made sense, so we could keep the front door locked, to keep out the early morning weirdos. Luckily I made it with time to spare, so maybe a pre-work cigarette was in order. I stopped just a few feet short of the entrance in the alleyway and started lighting one up, hugging myself with my free arm to try and keep warm. I was enjoying my few minutes of solitude, when I got startled by the sound of the door opening. I silently cursed and tossed the bud on the ground before I'm met with Brian's head peeking out from the doorway. “Hey there kiddo, you ready?” He said with a big toothy grin. I don't know why he opted for that nickname, he can’t be more than a few years older than me. Nevertheless I gave him a tentative smile and nod, pushing myself off the alleyway wall and toward the door he held open for me.
When inquiring about the job position, I made it no secret to him that I suffered from severe anxiety, and he was surprisingly understanding. Assuring me that I wouldn't be pushed too hard and that if I was struggling with the work too much, to talk to him. I can't lie, it was unheard of. His understanding, and it relieved me. It was almost unheard of.
I brushed off some specks of cigarette ash that found its way onto the sleeve of my sweater before entering the shop. “Good morning”, I said to him quietly and closed the heavy door behind me with a soft thud. Only a few of the ceiling lights were on, creating an almost somber feeling in the shop this morning. As Brian went back to putting up some new stock on the shelves, I made my way to the breakroom to drop my bag off. I eyed the mysterious door as I approached the room, and before I got too far he called out to me from the front. “Oh hey- there's something for you in the back.” With knit brows, I peered into the back room, and sure enough there was something. Sat atop the break room table was an energy drink can and a small slip of paper next to it. I approached the table and picked up the paper, a note, which had ‘Sorry’ with a crudely drawn smiley face, with X’s for eyes, scratched on it. Inspecting the can of monster, I called out to Brian, “H-hey, thanks”. I heard the sound of him opening up another cardboard box from the front of the shop, then he called back, “Wasn't from me!”
With a soft smile, I turned my attention back to the chilled energy drink can in my hands. So this is from Wrench. How he got this here without Brian noticing, is beyond me. When I eventually get a chance, I’ll have to message him and thank him, unless I run into him again. That would be nice. I can’t help but get excited about messaging him. I've been lonely for so long that I forgot how much fun it was to make friends. It feels like a small part of my soul was beginning to heal, just a little bit. Despite that good feeling, that little voice in the back of my head tries clawing its way back in. Hopefully he’ll want to keep messaging me on his strange, homemade app. I didn’t realize that I was lost in thought for as long as I was, until Brian called for me to come help him with opening tasks. “Right, Sorry! I’m coming”, I shouted back to him as I put away my bag and cracked the tab on my drink.
I think I'll be okay today.
Notes:
Thank you guys for being so patient with me and continuing to read this, it really keeps me going<3 Next chapter, ya'll have some irl Elliot and Wrench shenanigans to look forward to!
Chapter Text
Why can't I ever say no?
My knuckles turn white from my iron grip on the handle of the store’s stock cart, as the wheels squeal and screech forward. Why is my mouth so goddamn dry all of a sudden? I try collecting saliva in my mouth, then swallow. It only works for a few seconds. I manage to maneuver the cart carefully past the gaming tables and through the merchandise shelves, letting out a shaky sigh.
Why did Brian think I was ready to work a closing shift at the shop? Alone. I have only been working here for a little over a week, and he trusts me with a whole store? Little ol’ me? Either he’s really stupid, or he has absolute faith that, come tomorrow, the shop will still be standing after I’m done with it. What if I forget to lock up before I leave, the store gets ransacked, and all the money in the register gets taken? Or how about this: I slip off of this two-foot stool that I'm currently using to stock new product, and on the way down, I hit my head on the edge of the table and die? Damn. I need to get some help.
I smile to myself, thinking back to a few hours prior to this, on my lunch break. During our smoke break. It’s been really nice having a new person to talk to. One that isn’t my boss. Shocking, I know. Even if I’m painfully shy around him, we barely talk. Him wearing that mask helps a shit-ton, though. Most of our conversing happens on that app of his, where we both seem most comfortable. Behind our respective screens. He even updated it a few days ago, so now, in addition to text, we can send photos. Which means we have been sharing the most unhinged memes known to man with each other.
I can pretty much assume that every time I go on lunch, he’ll be there to keep me company. I never go to lunch at the same time each day; my schedule is always changing, so how does he know? He did hack my phone last week, so really, what else was he capable of? Just fucking knowing everything, I guess. I shake myself out of my head after what feels like minutes of daydreaming and force myself to get back to my closing tasks.
Maybe this was a good thing. I could prove myself wrong. All I have to do is finish this checklist he left me, make sure to lock the doors before I leave, and most importantly, breathe. With a small huff, I peer down at the checklist he left me. The phrase “Lock up” is underlined ten times over.
“Oh, that’s right...,” I mutter under my breath, hopping off the little stool to make my way over to the cashier counter. To assuage me, Brian busted out the shop’s laptop and let me log into my playlist account so that I can blast some tunes while I work. That little addition did butter me up. I just have to remember to log out before I head home. Wouldn't want anyone to see how depressing some of my playlists are.
Once I’m logged in, I pull up my largest playlist—by far the one I'm most proud of—and hit shuffle. Suddenly, the shop’s speakers are blaring the song "Vore" by Sleep Token at quite a loud volume. I flinch slightly. He never said anything about being quiet and courteous to the neighboring businesses nearby... or how to adjust the volume of the speakers. So... not my problem!
I take a peek at the clock at the bottom of the laptop screen that reads 7:28 p.m. Just about one more hour, and four tasks left: “Stock the new product we received this morning, vacuum up the shop’s floor, straighten any misaligned product on the shelves, and finally wipe down the counter and gaming tables with disinfectant.”
Confident that I'm away from prying eyes, I hum along with the song currently filling up the shop with pulsating and raucous sound. I slip out from behind the front counter to start getting back to stocking the new products from this morning’s shipment. See, I find this type of music relaxing, while most others—don’t. It can be intense, but when I listen to it, I finally feel seen. I shake my head and visibly cringe at myself.
Heading back to the cart that's settled across the shop, the mystery door catches my attention. I could've sworn that I saw movement from my peripherals. Maybe it’s just my anxiety trying to spook me.
Sitara’s POV
Biting my bottom lip, I attempt another curved stroke on my tablet’s digital canvas. Third time’s a charm—and it's perfect. I let out a sigh of relief. This is my most ambitious and provocative piece yet. Well, I guess I feel that way with every new piece I work on, but that's because it's true. Tonight the hackerspace is pretty mellow. Josh is on his third energy drink, lost in some code at his desk. Wrench is silently cursing at some Raspberry Pi he’s fiddling with, and I’m not sure what the others are up to. I can't forget to shoot Marcus a text and ask him to pick up some beer for us. The fridge is getting dangerously low, and we can’t have that, now can we?
It’s been a little slow lately, so it makes sense that it’s a bit dead tonight at the hackerspace. I guess it makes sense that things have quieted down for the moment. A few days ago, we rewired and programmed the "smart car" from Cyberdriver to wreak havoc on the streets of San Fran. It was something else watching Marcus maneuver the car through the winding streets and steep hills, evading police and pedestrians alike—with ease. It was driven via remote control, no less! He’s really proving himself. Not that he needs to—he proved himself plenty during his orientation a few weeks ago.
Zooming out on the canvas, I take one last look at the whole illustration to make sure I’m not missing anything... Nope, it's ready to send off to printing. I save a copy of the drawing before sending it over to the printer to start the (lengthy) process of printing it out on a 6’ by 12’ foot sheet of paper. I plan on pasting this bad boy up on an empty billboard I staked out yesterday.
Looking over at my industrial printer, I see the little screen light up in the corner, indicating that my drawing has been transferred successfully. On my way over to the printer, I hear a small crackle of electricity followed by a hiss of pain coming from Wrench’s workstation. I raise my eyebrows in his direction. Is chaos a normal occurrence when it comes to him and what he does for the group? Yes. That doesn’t stop me from worrying a little every time I hear him swear at his projects.
As if he could feel my concern, he slowly turns his head my way, his mask displaying a very dazed ‘O o’.
“D-don’t worry about it,” he chokes out after a beat of silence. The sight is borderline comical.
I let out a quiet chuckle and shake my head as I tap a few buttons on the printer’s screen. My index finger is mere millimeters from the ‘Confirm Print’ button when the entire hackerspace is suddenly filled with the (slightly) muffled sound of heavy metal music. The walls vibrate a bit, as if we were suddenly transported to some shitty local band’s basement show.
“What. The. Hell?”
I turn to look at the other two boys, and I’m clearly not the only one startled by this. Poor Josh looks at me from his desk like I killed his cat, and Wrench’s LEDs are displaying ‘@ @’.
The shop upstairs should be closed at this time, so what the fuck is going on? I know for a fact that Brian locks up and leaves by 7 p.m. every day, except on inventory nights. Unless something has changed.
I furrow my brows and stomp up the concrete steps toward the door, using the railing to haul myself up a bit faster. Once at the door, I turn the handle as slow as I possibly can. Maybe I should have just pulled up the shop’s CCTV cameras and checked out the commotion that way. Well, the door is already open enough for me to peer out from the crack, so I guess it’s a little late for that now.
Near the front of the shop, there's a woman standing on a step stool, stocking one of the shelves with some board games. She’s wearing an all-black outfit: black shirt, shorts, combat boots, and fishnets to top it off. Huh, so that’s the source of the disturbance.
Her back is to me, but I can already see that she’s clearly cute. But wait, I didn’t know Brian had a new hire? I should know these things. Do the others know about her? She seems to be bobbing along to the music playing over the shop's speakers. I stare at her for a few more seconds before I retreat back downstairs. She’s completely oblivious to my intrusion.
With the same measured hand, I close the hackerspace’s door. This time I take the stairs down slowly before stopping at the bottom.
“Who the fuck is that upstairs?” I ask the boys, but I barely get the full question out before both Josh and Wrench answer me at the same time.
“New hire,” Josh mutters without tearing his eyes off his monitor, typing away.
“Elliot,” Wrench answers in a similar fashion, both men sounding as if I should already have this information.
They both turn to look at each other for a beat before turning back to me.
“...When did this happen?” I mutter from my industrial printer, actually finalizing my print this time. It must have slipped past me while we were working on the Cyberdriver mission. Even though things tend to get hectic around here, I really need to start paying more attention. Wait.
“Wait, more importantly,” I whip my head in his direction, “Wrench—” pointing at him, “—you’re on a first-name basis? With a girl?”
I can’t help but say that through a wide, toothy smile, wiggling my brows at him.
He sighs as he sets down his soldering iron carefully to the side of his workstation, but keeps his head down. He shrugs his shoulders and mumbles something I don’t quite catch.
The printer finally begins the process of printing out my piece, the noise of the machine combined with the thumping and vibration from upstairs making it difficult to hear what he says.
I make my way over to his workbench, only about six feet from where I was originally, and I lean in slightly.
“Huh?” I question him.
“She was hired about a week ago, and yes—we’ve been talking…” He turns his head to meet my gaze. I’m met with ‘= =’. “And before you ask, yes, she’s all clean. Squeaky clean, in fact. But—”
But? I really don’t like where this is going. ‘Buts’ are never good.
“—she was getting a little too curious about the door to the hackerspace, so I’m taking it upon myself to distract her~” He laughs like he’s some sort of evil villain or something. Which… in his case? Fits perfectly.
The printer chugs along adjacent to us as I stand over his shoulder, contemplating this new information. He did a full sweep of her files and data history, and I trust that he didn’t miss anything, so I don’t see the issue with this.
“So tell me about her~” Laughing while grasping his shoulders with both hands, I give him a playful shake. “Is she cool? How old is she? Does she hack or program at all?”
No response.
I feel him tense up somewhat, almost like he’s retreating back into himself. Too much, huh? I can take a hint. I pushed too far, too quickly.
Removing myself from him and taking a few steps back, I peer over at the printer’s progress. About halfway done.
“My bad, dude,” I send a soft, apologetic smile his way. “No matter what, you should talk to her—if not for distraction purposes, then for yourself. She’s cute. Try getting to know her~”
It’s been about ten minutes since I stopped pestering Wrench about the new girl, and my piece is just about finished being printed out. Poor Josh is going to have an aneurysm soon if this onslaught of noise doesn’t let up. I’m honestly shocked he hasn’t imploded already at this point.
I catch the large sheet of paper before the whole thing can hit the floor completely, then call over to Wrench. The music upstairs has somehow gotten louder over the past few minutes.
“Hey, bud, wanna go for a drive? I need to post this bad boy up on a billboard on the corner of Harrison and 20th Street... I need a guard dog.” I hold up my piece for him and give it a little wiggle. Maybe I should sweeten the deal?
He unplugs his soldering gun and flicks off his desk lamps before turning to look at me. “Sure, Sit, but could we pick up some grub on the way back? There’s this new taco truck that’s supposed to have chicken tacos that are just—” He throws his head back and moans very loudly, sounding as if he’s busting a goddamn nut.
I can’t help but let out a sudden, snorting laugh. “Sure thing, Joshy—text me what you want from the taco truck,” I shout over to him from across the hackerspace while I toss the van keys to Wrench.
“Wait, shit—how are we going to leave?” If Wrench said she’s getting a little too curious about the back of the store for her own good, seeing us leave through this door—especially after closing hours—will look suspicious as hell.
We both stand a few steps from the top of the stairway, trying to think of a way to leave the shop undetected.
“Hmm... Let me take a peek through the door. Once the coast is clear, you should leave first. If she sees me leaving, it’ll be a hell of a lot easier to explain my way out of it alone.”
Giving him a tight nod, I let him take the lead, watching him mimic how careful I was with the door a bit ago.
What seems like minutes pass while Wrench holds the door open just a crack. I shift my weight back and forth impatiently.
“...Okay, go now!” he says in a whisper, holding open the heavy metal door for me and ushering me out.
“Through the side entrance,” he reminds me as I pass him quickly.
Just as I thought, Elliot has her back to us as I quickly but quietly scurry for the side door that leads to the alley. It looks like she’s doing a count of some items, her head down, peering at a clipboard in her hands.
I make it to the side entrance door, and without a second thought, I grasp the handle and yank it open. Please don’t turn around, for the love of—
I just about slip through the threshold, feeling Wrench just a few feet behind me at this point, when my heart lurches.
“Oh, h-hey, Wrench. What are you doing here so late?”
Notes:
Well I'm back! Life has been very hectic and not really great, so I had to put a pause on any writing or posting, sorry about that. However I'm back to working on this bad boy and I hope y'all enjoy and understand<3 Also: Here is a playlist for the work as well as a Pinterest board that I made to try and capture the vibe of both Elliot and the story. Both will update as I continue to work on this story. Until next time:)
-----------------------------------------------------------Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6p77PDnx3UkOV8dvCyO7E4?si=41b8b5e549004ba7&nd=1&dlsi=2a352a40ba6f46a8
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/KaedeOshidari/take-me-back-to-eden/
Chapter Text
“Oh, h-hey, Wrench. What are you doing here so late?”
I probably shouldn’t have been playing the music as loud as I was, considering he almost managed to sneak up on me. Better it be him than some weirdo, I suppose. Except... he is a weirdo.
I briefly pause the last of my closing tasks and walk behind the checkout counter. Since adjusting the volume slider in the app does absolutely nothing, I opt to just turn the music off for the time being.
When I look up from the store’s laptop, he’s leaning his shoulder against the display case next to the side entrance, arms crossed over his chest. His fingers tap nervously against his elbow. The scene looks like it’s straight out of some cheesy romance novel or film. The only thing missing is dim candlelight, a rose petal trail scattered on the ground, and... oh yeah! The romance.
Flustered, I feel the heat creeping up my cheeks and try to roughly rub it away. It doesn’t help that he’s both intimidating as hell and alluring... I have got to stop with these weird-ass thoughts before they get out of hand.
“Ellie! Oh, ya know, I was j-just... around!”
I’m taken aback slightly by the nickname. I don’t think I’ve been called that since... I last spoke to my mother. I guess, coming from him, I don’t entirely hate it.
“I didn’t know you’d be working so late.”
He unfolds his arms to rub the nape of his neck, letting out a slight chuckle—sort of like he’s tense.
“I, unfortunately, gotta run. There’s this elusive taco truck that I’ve been trying to catch up with!”
And with that, he pushes himself off the display shelf and practically hops into action.
“Later, gator!”
I can’t even comment on his absurd reasoning before he makes it to the side door, just about slipping out the exit.
Right after the metal door barely closes, he yanks it back open enough to peek his head back into the shop.
“But shoot me a message when you get home, yeah?”
The display on his mysterious LED mask swaps from his usual X’s to a pair of carets. If the X’s are meant to be the default expression, then I think carets represent happiness? Smiling, maybe? I’m sure that soon I’ll get the hang of what each of his mask’s symbols mean in correlation to his emotions.
“Y-yeah, for sure!”
I can’t hide the overwhelming feeling of cringing, which is probably evident on my face. Could I be any more boring?
I give him a small wave and a smile before he leaves the shop for good this time. However, I still stand there, waiting a few beats in silence after the door shuts, just to be sure.
What is this soft ache in my chest that I’m starting to feel as I stare at the shop’s side entrance? Furrowing my brows, I try to push the thought away.
Whatever I’m feeling at this moment... I don’t like it one bit. I shouldn’t be feeling this ache for someone I barely know—that I’ve only just met a little over a week ago.
Maybe now isn’t the right time to unpack what’s going on in this fucked-up head of mine. Not while I still have a few more chores to do before I can get home for the night—and I am starting to feel the effects of working this late shift.
Once I shake myself out of that strange funk, I resume the musical onslaught and get back to my closing tasks. My hands and brain must have gone on autopilot, going through the motions of things I’ve done countless times at home.
It isn’t until I finish vacuuming up the musty carpet and start winding up the cord that I return to reality.
Securing the cord to the back of the vacuum, I blink a few times to refocus and center myself. I don’t know how I manage to do that sometimes. Completing whole tasks in that state?
I take a peek at the clock hung up in the breakroom while I wheel the vacuum toward the back of the shop.
“8:17 p.m., and all I have left is... wiping down the countertops with disinfectant?”
I try to remember where I set down the clipboard with the closing list Brian left me. It takes me several minutes to find the damned thing.
You’d think something that size wouldn’t escape me, but I’ve managed to misplace bigger things before.
I scan over the front of the store one last time—slower this time—and eventually spot it on one of the product shelves.
“Gotcha, bastard.”
I scratch out ‘Vacuum up the shop’s floor’ with a pen, and sure enough—disinfecting the counters is all I have left. Sweet!
I give the new key attached to my lanyard a turn in the shop’s main entrance lock.
This would be the third time that I’ve tugged on the door’s handle with varying degrees of strength, just to make sure I’m actually locking up properly.
Paranoid much?
Well, yes.
I’ve been given the opportunity to prove to Brian that I’m trustworthy and competent. Normally, I wouldn’t give a fuck about this sort of thing, but my anxiety won’t let that happen.
Letting out a sigh as I give the shop one last once-over, I watch my breath materialize into fog before me.
Fuck, it’s getting cold.
And, of course, I neglected to bring a jacket with me today. I really need to start paying better attention to the weather app before leaving the apartment—at least for the time being.
Frisco this time of year is hellishly cold—I’m learning that the hard way.
It’s gotten late enough that the temperature has dropped somewhere into the 40s, and dark enough that I’m starting to feel uneasy about walking home by myself.
The joys of womanhood.
Deciding it’s probably best to skip listening to music on the way to my apartment, I straighten the strap on my work bag and start the trek. It’s only a couple of blocks away.
I tug the bottom of my sleeves over my fists, trying to keep as much body warmth in as I can. But as I stand at the crosswalk, the chill still manages to find its way through the fabric, despite my best efforts.
I could really use a steaming hot cup of tea and maybe a bubble bath when I get back home. That sounds like fucking heaven.
I just hope this walk home without my jacket doesn’t make me sick.
I can’t tell if it’s actually this quiet out or if I’m just hyper-aware of everything around me from pure paranoia.
Maybe a little bit of both.
At this hour, there aren’t many people roaming the streets as usual, since most storefronts are beginning to close for the night.
It’s a little embarrassing that something as harmless as a car horn is making me flinch and clutch the strap of my bag tighter.
I feel like no one can blame me for being as freaked out as I am.
I’m already an anxious person as it is, plus there was that bizarre incident right after I moved here—the car that wreaked havoc through the city and was later discovered to have no driver or passengers.
Luckily, no one was killed or seriously injured, but the police weren’t able to stop the vehicle at all.
It was so fucking weird.
And, frankly, it fueled my fear of walking home alone. So I have a solid excuse.
I can’t recall if they ever found out more information after the police lost track of the smart car, or if I just missed that part.
I wasn’t even aware that was something that was possible—a car with no driver.
I’ll add it to the growing list of things I need to start doing a better job of paying attention to.
“Just two more streets left to cross...”
I reassure myself quietly under my breath, not wanting to be seen talking to myself.
A small sense of relief begins to wash over me as I make out my apartment building in the distance.
Glancing around at my surroundings, I can’t help but admire how beautiful this city is after dark.
The city lights cut through the sky, illuminating the slight fog that drifts in from the bay.
I’ve had my fair share of visits to San Francisco growing up—it was my grandmother’s favorite place in the world, after all. But on those short-lived vacations, I never really had the chance to be present and truly take in the beauty this city holds.
Views like these almost make up for how scary it felt to finally move out of that hellhole I was living in before.
To finally be out on my own.
It only took a couple of months of going back and forth with my mother—along with my own self-doubts.
That, and working my ass off selling my artwork every chance I could.
But in the end, it wouldn’t have happened at all without the money my grandmother left me after she passed.
She knew I needed to get out.
Feeling that familiar tightness in my chest that comes with dwelling too much on the past, I let out a shaky breath.
I quicken my pace a bit as I weave through some cars in the parking lot of my apartment complex.
If I’m going to have a breakdown, I can lose it after I get inside the comfort of my own home.
Maybe a little smoke session to calm the nerves might be on the menu. In the bath, no less.
Now that sounds perfect.
See? There’s no need to freak out. I can pamper myself tonight.
A hot bubble bath, a cup of lavender tea with honey, and a freshly rolled joint to top it all off.
The whole shebang!
I deserve it tonight—after all the shit I’ve been dealing with.
And without losing my shit, no less.
I shiver from the icy air around me and scale the sticky concrete stairs up to the second floor of my building.
Fourth door from the landing—apartment number thirteen.
A rather lucky number, I’d say!
A feeling of comfort begins to sweep through me as I work my keys into the lock of my front door and step through the threshold.
The area I’m living in—while conveniently close to the shop—is also not the safest.
Learned that the hard way on my first night here.
I thought it would be a great idea to take a late-night smoke break from all the unpacking I was doing, only to end up getting harassed by a scary old man who saw me and started sprinting up the stairs to get to me.
Oh, god, never again will I be going out at night alone.
I immediately rush over to the thermostat situated on the wall right above my living room couch, hopping up onto the cushions and turning the heat up to a nice 73 degrees.
Kicking off my sneakers haphazardly onto the carpet below me—followed by my bag—I let out a soft moan.
This may be a sketchy complex with a sketchy landlord, but damn does the thermostat work fast.
I’m in heaven.
It’s a bit late for something fancy for dinner, so I’ll have to scrounge around for something quick and easy.
On my way to the kitchen—which is only separated from the living room by a small island—my stomach grumbles as if it knows what I have in store for it.
I open the fridge and bend down to inspect the contents... or lack thereof.
Wait, wait, wait—I can make myself a nice... sandwich for dinner.
“Well... it’s better than nothing,” I grumble to myself as I start taking out the ingredients and setting them on the counter.
You know what? Even though it’s a sad excuse for dinner, it’s a pretty tasty sandwich.
Ham, Dijon, mayo, tomatoes, and Swiss cheese on sourdough bread.
I tear into it for a second bite, hunched over with my elbows on the countertop. What an attractive sight this must be.
I didn’t realize how hungry I truly was—I guess that early lunch break messed me up.
I set down the monster of a sandwich to grab a glass of water from the tap and end up downing two glasses before returning to my food.
You know what would make this taste even better?
My gaze locks onto the bong sitting on my coffee table.
“Bingo.”
If I remember correctly, I should have some weed already ground up in my grinder and ready to go.
Thank you, past me—always looking out for us.
With fresh weed packed into the bowl, I bring the bong over to the kitchen counter where my dinner is sitting. Leaning my back against the counter, I slip my hand into my front pants pocket and pull out—
Wrench’s lighter.
I stare down at it in my palm for a few seconds.
The white surface is covered with a crudely drawn Trollface meme.
I chuckle quietly, then hold the flame to the packed bowl, inhaling and pulling the smoke through the neck of the bong until I’m satisfied with the amount.
Pulling out the bowl piece, I inhale deeply.
“Fuckk me...”
Here comes the onslaught of coughing—so hard I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
Keeping myself propped up with my elbows against the countertop, I focus on slowing my breathing down.
After a few moments, it starts returning to normal, followed by the warm, euphoric sensation I’ve been waiting for all day.
My gaze slowly sweeps across my apartment, taking in the little details of my living space as I latch onto the high.
After what feels like many minutes, I remember my half-eaten sandwich is waiting for me to pick back up where I left off.
Damn, this does make everything taste a million times better.
Halfway through the second half of my sandwich, I recall Wrench telling me earlier to let him know when I got home.
With my free hand, I pull my phone out of my pocket and open the app we’ve been using to text.
[9:07 PM] Me: Hey, Dorklord :)
Tomato juice squirts out of the sandwich as I take another bite, splattering onto the counter in front of me—somehow missing the plate entirely.
“Shit.”
I set the sandwich back down and reach for some paper towels to wipe up the mess.
At the kitchen sink, I rinse my hand free of the sticky juice when I hear a sudden ding from my phone behind me.
That was fast.
I rush to scoop up my phone, hoping the message is from Wrench.
[9:07 PM] Me: Hey, Dorklord :)
[9:09 PM] Wrench: OKAY, first off, that’s a little rude.
[9:09 PM] Wrench: But you got home safe, loser? :)
[9:10 PM] Me: ;-;
[9:11 PM] Me: Yes, I did...
I can’t help the giddy feeling that takes over when he and I text after work.
Sometimes, I feel like a teenager again, waiting way too excitedly for his replies.
As I watch his three little typing dots undulate, I absentmindedly scarf down the rest of my dinner, only choking on the bread a little.
Every so often, I worry that this is one-sided—that behind the screen, talking to me is just a chore for him.
I can only hope he gets just as excited to talk to me as I do with him.
Self-esteem issues are a bitch.
Another notification snaps me out of my self-deprecating thoughts.
[9:07 PM] Me: Hey, Dorklord :)
[9:09 PM] Wrench: OKAY, first off, that’s a little rude.
[9:09 PM] Wrench: But you got home safe, loser? :)
[9:10 PM] Me: ;-;
[9:11 PM] Me: Yes, I did...
[9:12 PM] Me: No freaky old men chasing me up the stairs this time :3
[9:13 PM] Wrench: [GIF]
A couple of days ago, Wrench updated the app he made for us, adding the ability to send pictures, videos, and GIFs in the chat.
Thank god for that—half of our “texting” consists of sending each other memes.
The GIF he sent is from Alien—the creepy little monster crawling on all fours.
Which, honestly, is exactly how I described the guy who chased me up the stairs.
I take a brief break from messaging to tidy up, setting my dishes in the sink to take care of later.
Maybe.
I’m reminded of the perfect idea I had earlier—a steaming hot bubble bath.
Scooping up my phone, I bring it with me to the bathroom and start the hot water.
[9:12 PM] Me: No freaky old men chasing me up the stairs this time :3
[9:13 PM] Wrench: [GIF]
[9:15 PM] Me: YEAH, that thing looks just like him!! XD
[9:15 PM] Wrench: Pause... have you seen the Alien movies?
[9:16 PM] Me: Well... I know of them :)
[9:18 PM] Wrench: I hate to do this to you, but... I can’t be friends with someone who hasn’t seen such a masterpiece as the Alien movies.
[9:18 PM] Wrench: Unacceptable.
[9:19 PM] Wrench: So... are you free tomorrow night? I have them all on DVD. >:)
Notes:
howdy yall! I'm sorry it took so long to write and post this chapter, literally the day that I posted the last one my pet bird got injured and I had to step away to care for him. But! He's all healed up and doing great<3 Thank you for sticking around and being patient, till next time:) Also don't forget to check out the Playlist I made for the story as well as the Pinterest board.
Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6p77PDnx3UkOV8dvCyO7E4?si=8adf163b1d414fa1
Pinterest:https://www.pinterest.com/KaedeOshidari/take-me-back-to-eden/
Chapter Text
____________________________________________________________________________
[9:18 PM] Wrench: I hate to do this to you, but... I can’t be friends with someone who hasn’t seen such a masterpiece as the Alien movies.
[9:18 PM] Wrench: Unacceptable.
[9:19 PM] Wrench: So... are you free tomorrow night? I have them all on DVD. >:)
____________________________________________________________________________
I don't think I've felt this nervous about something in a very long time. He wants to watch some movies with me, in person. At my place no less. This is a big step for us. We’ve only ever hung out in person during my smoke breaks at work, and even then we mostly crack a few jokes between the long beats of silence. Don't get me wrong though, it's not entirely uncomfortable silence, we ..both have social anxiety. We just have to get over this very large hurdle and then maybe we’ll find this just as comfortable as talking through texting.
“Shit.” I mistakenly forgot to actually respond to his proposal, getting lost in thought and ended up just staring at his message the whole time. Biting my bottom lip lightly, I scoop up my phone and begin typing a response finally.
____________________________________________________________________________
[9:28 PM] Me: At my place?
[9:29 PM] Wrench: Duh, when’s a good time for me to come over?
[9:29 PM] Wrench: unless you actually hate me:(
[9:30 PM] Me: I don't hate you!
[9:31 PM] Me: hmm.. Does 6pm sound good? I can cook dinner for us? OH! I also picked up some fresh greens too;)
[9:32 PM] Wrench: god..you really know the way to a man’s heart [GIF of an exploding geyser]
[9:34 PM] Me: SHUT..goodnight weirdo.
____________________________________________________________________________
Oh fuck, now I have to deep clean my whole damn apartment..but i’m so tired from cleaning up the shop earlier. I look around my apartment, like I really look at it. It’s not horribly messy other than the clothes covering my bedroom floor, random cups of old water littering some tabletops, and a mountain of dishes in the sink..Okay maybe it’s a little bad.
I can't let his first impression of my personal space being this cluttered, gross pigsty. I groan aloud in defeat and flip up the faucet of the kitchen sink and force myself to begin with something easy. That mountain of dirty dishes sitting in the kitchen sink that I've been neglecting to even look at for the past week will have to do.
Normally I’m pretty good about doing the dishes right after I finish eating, but sometimes the little things become too much. What really sucks is that it’s a little late at night to think about blasting music to help this whole process along, so I go searching for my wireless headphones. Even though my neighbors on the left and right of me don't seem to have the common courtesy to keep it down at night, I do. I don't want to think about what would happen if I pissed either of them off. The less I have to interact with them, the better.
While waiting for the faucet to heat up I slip my headphones on and open up the music app on my phone, hitting shuffle on my playlist. With the volume turned up alarmingly high I begin tackling the dishes, occasionally singing along to the songs. Terribly. I don't know what I would do without music. Be alone with my thoughts? Yeah, no thanks.
Wiping my forehead with the back of my hand dramatically, sighing as I set the last plate on the drying rack. Finally finished, it only took me..nearly forty minutes. I can put them in their proper cupboards in the morning, I think I’ve more than earned that hot bubble bath.
I leave my headphones back on my desk while I prepare the bath, letting the water heat up while I search the bathroom cabinet for soap for the bath. I end up finding more than just the soap. Some lavender epsom salt to add to the mix which will do fucking wonders on my aching knees. Once the water’s temperature is where I like it, scalding, and the soap is added to the tub, I pour in what I think is a cup or two of the epsom salt into the mix. Eventually, after a couple more minutes, the bath is full and ready for me. I discard my clothes haphazardly in a pile on the tile floor, I cant wait any longer to get in and finally relax after the long day i've had.
“Tts-tss…Aaahhh” The water burns, sloshing back and forth around me as I slowly sink down into the porcelain tub. The initial burn of the water begins to subside once I get myself fully submerged, and then its goddamn heaven. Peering out from the water’s surface, the suds clinging to my face and hair, spotting my shaving razor laid out on the ledge of the tub. I really should shave while I’m just sitting here, before tomorrow. For no particular reason. After some time soaking, the epsom salt permeates my aching knees, the smell of lavender drowning my senses.
“Dammit..no.” Yet another shirt is tossed off to the side, adding to the ever growing mess on my bedroom floor. It feels like I've tried on a million different outfits trying to find something to wear for Wrench coming over in… thirty minutes. I’m practically ready except for an outfit. I told him this morning to wear something comfortable since we’ll be on my couch for however long it takes to watch three movies back to back. He said in total there were technically seven of them but only the first three were ‘cultural masterpieces’.
And that’s where I'm stuck now, struggling to find something comfortable, cute but not too cute, and also not embarrassing to wear. I already did some simple makeup a little while ago, nothing too extravagant. I toss a pair of black sweatpants onto my bed, those are a maybe, my only other option is a pair of dolphin shorts and those are short. But they are the most comfortable and cute so far. I wiggle into the shorts and check myself out in front of the mirror, doing a little spin. I’m definitely putting too much work into this, he’s absolutely throwing on something and not giving it a second thought. With one of my band shirts, a knitted cardigan would go really well with these shorts. They are just..very short, but I guess it’s worth showing off the thigh tattoos that cost more than I'm willing to admit.
With all the pieces put together, the black dolphin shorts, black shirt, maroon cardigan, and black crew socks, I stand in front of the full-length mirror. The longer I stand here looking myself over, the more I let doubt and anxiety seep through the cracks. What am I doing? Why am I doing all this work? Does it matter? Why does he seem to want to hang out with me? In the reflection, my face wrinkles up in disgust and I take a step away from the mirror. I look fine, there’s no need to torture myself any further. Taking a peek at the time on my nightstand, I have about twenty minutes to do one more sweep of the house to make sure I didn't miss anything earlier and make sure I have everything prepped and ready for dinner.
Just breathe.
With my phone clenched tightly in my hands, I stare down at my lock screen clock with unease. ‘5:57PM’. Any minute now. Everything is ready to have company over now, including myself, I think. My palms are becoming slick against my phone, I groan and try wiping them off on my lap. I always do this to myself. I always work myself up before any sort of event or obligation, sometimes to the point of making myself sick. I only have so many ‘in case of emergency’ anxiety pills left, plus they quite literally knock me on my ass if I take them. Cant have Wrench over if i pass the fuck out for six hours now can I? Letting out a shaky breath, I open up our messaging application and shoot him a quick text.
____________________________________________________________________________
[5:59 PM] Me: I’m really nervous
[6:02 PM] Wrench: sorry i’ll be a few minutes late..forgot i lent the second movie to a buddy of mine so i had to swing by his place on the way
[6:03 PM] Wrench: BUT i’m almost there
[6:03 PM] Wrench: and nervous about what?
____________________________________________________________________________
I never actually responded to his messages, what would I even tell him? I’m so deeply insecure that I'm worried that I'll scare him off? Have him running for the hills at the first sign of how mentally ill I am? God, what a pain in the ass it is to have consciousness.
The sound of knocking on my front door brings me back to the present. That should be him. Not just a simple knock, no, The Wrench could never be so mundane. His knocking seems to be to the tune of some melody I can't put my finger on at the moment. He’s only ten minutes past the time we agreed on, no big deal.
Exhaling shakily, I abandon my phone on the couch to get up and let him inside. Unlocking my front door swiftly at first, but hesitate for a beat before actually opening the door, my hand gripping the handle tightly.
Swinging the door open finally, I look up to see him standing there in all his glory, the masked man of the hour, his arms cradling the movies and a pair of carets on his mask's LED display. “H-hey Loser” I greeted him warmly, smiling wide. It’s very subtle, but he tenses up upon me opening the door wide for him, white-knuckling the stack of DVD’s he’s holding. His head tilts to the side, LED display changes from the defalt X’s to exclamation marks, what does that even mean?
“There you are!” He exclaims rather dramatically as I step to the side to let him inside, I can't help but look down and smile. “Took you long enough-” He sets the small pile of DVD cases on my coffee table and plops down on my sofa, kicking his sneakers up on the table. “-thought maybe you were ghosting me.” I scoff with my back to him, shutting and clicking both of the door’s locks back into place.
I’m not sure what it is, but as soon as he’s here, I start to feel at ease. Is it that I don't have to feel the pressure of making eye contact? Or that I don't have to worry about how he looks at me since his mask simplifies his facial expressions into something more..affable?
“Jeez, so dramatic. I was just-” Turning on my heel to finally face him, Taking note of what he’s wearing. “-distracted.” He did in fact take my suggestion. In place of his usual spiked vest and ripped jeans, he’s wearing a pair of black joggers with his usual black hoodie, but his hood is down exposing his messy, bleach blonde hair. I can't kid myself right now, seeing him dressed so..casually like this is making my stomach do somersaults.
“Well, I see you’ve already made yourself at home.” To prove my point even more, He leans back further into my sofa and leans his head back into his clasped hands.
“I never said it was a bad thing.” I shake my head and smile, walking around the other side of the coffee table to join him on the couch. Before plopping down on the couch next to him, I reach for the stack of DVDs and inspect the back of the first movie.
My eyes widen, I turn to face him, and drop my hands holding the case into my lap. “Damn! This came out in ‘79?!”
He sits up suddenly, his mask flickering to an expression of confusion. “W-what? That wasn't that long ago! That was only..” He looks down at his hands and begins silently counting on his fingers, it takes him longer that he probably should have to find out the answer. He holds up eight fingers to me, “That was only 37 years ago!” Chuckling at him, I shake my head in disbelief.
“Wrench, that’s old. I wasn't even thought of 37 years ago..wait-” I reached forward and set the DVD case back onto the coffee table in front of us before turning back to look at him.
“How old are you? You seem almost..defensive about my reaction to how old the movie is.” Smirking at him, he crosses his arms over his chest and his mask switches to ‘= =’. I suppose I never did ask him his age, I always assumed he was around my age by the way he talks and acts. So around 24.
“I’m 28, which isn't that old at all, thank you very much.” He huffs, is he pouting behind the mask? It sure sounds like he is.
“Whatever you say, old man.” Holding my hands up in surrender to him, I try to hold back my laughter. “Not even gonna ask me my age? A little rude.” I act more upset than I actually am and cross my arms over my chest, scoffing.
“You’re 24. You told me a while back on the app, remember?” Wait, I did? We text back and forth about everything under the sun that I can't remember everything that gets brought up. I honestly probably did but it's since been lost deep in our chat logs.
I have to admit it, he’s been here all of five minutes so far and has already eased my worries. Hanging out with him is just how it is when we are texting, if not better. Which is a stark difference to how I was expecting it to go. Or rather, how my anxiety was making me think it would go.
“Oh shit! I have to start making the pizza before we start the movie!” I don't give him the chance to respond before I'm up off the couch and headed towards the kitchen. Maybe I seem a little too excited about making pizza, but it’s not often that I get to cook for anyone other than myself. And I love cooking and baking for people, it’s something my grandmother and I did together a lot. “I completely forgot to ask before, you don't have any food allergies do you?..”
I look over to him from behind the kitchen island waiting for his response. He's already staring at me, sitting upright almost awkwardly on the sofa, his mask displaying @’s.
“I-i.. No, I don't think so.” He shakes his head and clears his throat, seemingly relaxing a bit. “What’s on the menu, chef?”
This whole pizza making process would have taken far too long, I almost considered just ordering takeout instead. Luckily earlier, I spent some time before getting ready preparing the ingredients ahead of time. Chopping the red onions and mushrooms, making the pizza dough, roasting the chicken breast, and putting them all in tupperware containers in my fridge. I also perhaps…ate some of the ingredients as I was prepping everything..
“I thought a barbeque chicken pizza sounded good-” Fuck, I really should have asked him ahead of time if he didnt like something in particular on the pizza, let alone if he had any allergies. Setting some of the containers onto the countertop, I quickly look over to him. “-I-is that alright with you? It’s totally fine if you w-want something else! I can make..spaghetti instead?” I can't help but ramble on a bit too long, I really don't want him to feel pressured to eat my cooking if he’s opposed to any of the toppings.
He throws his head back dramatically against the back of the couch and lets out a sensual moan, “Fuck ellie, that sounds SO fucking good!” This catches me off guard, bad. I’m sure my face is beet red at this point from how hot it feels from his reaction.
“C-can I watch?” He eases up from the sofa and stands there awkwardly, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his joggers before continuing on. “-you make dinner I mean.” I’m a bit taken aback, he wants to sit and watch me make us dinner? What a weird fellow.
“Sure! You can sit on that bar stool.. Wait, can you bring the bong with you?” I carefully take the pizza dough I made this morning out of the bowl, but it’s starting to become sticky, clinging to my hands. I’ll have to add more flour and give it one last good kneading before I can actually start assembling the pizza.
Plopping the ball of dough on to the floured counter I look up towards him, finding him looking around my living room seeming quite lost. He looks back to me for directions, smiling. I point to the shelves next to the entertainment center. “Yeah, it's on the shelf over there” He carefully grabs the bong with two hands, one around the neck of it and the other on the bottom, like he’s scared of breaking it. “You go ahead and take the first hit, good sir”
He seems to accept the offer happily, his mask flickers to a pair of carets, taking the bong and his lighter in his hands. I keep working on the pizza dough, kneading it against the countertop when I see from the corner of my eye he hesitates for a beat. A moment later he’s pulling the bottom of his mask up a few inches, exposing his mouth and the very tip of his nose. I don't stare. As much as I want to, I’d rather not make him uncomfortable. That doesn't mean I can't sneak a glance here and there, and god I shouldn't have done that. His lips.
What’s wrong with me? It’s just his mouth that I've seen a few times when we smoke together at the shop, this isn't something new. But still..He exhales, letting out a rather large cloud away from where I am standing. And the bastard doesn't even cough. Not one bit, he just lets out another shaky exhale and reaches up to pull his mask back down over his mouth.
He sets my bong and lighter back on to the counter gently, inching the bong in my direction. “M’lady?” He teases. “Fuck um-” I lift my sticky, flour coated hands from the dough and stare down at them for a second, trying to decide if I should wash them or wait until I’m finished kneading to take my hit.
“Here, I can do the work for you..” He doesn't give me the chance to respond before he picks up the bong and walks around the counter over to me, holding it out for me to take my hit. He looks up at me expectantly, the lighter in his hand ready, waiting for me to give him the go ahead to start. I look up at him and nod, resting my mouth against the opening, and I start inhaling as he starts burning the greens.
“M-mhm” With the smoke threatening to escape my lungs, I nod to signal him that he can pull the bowl out for me. I turn around and try to not cough in the direction of him or the pizza, while also trying not to send flour from my hands flying. “T-t-than-” God, I can't get a word out like this, I took a bigger hit than I meant to. I’m painfully aware of his eyes on me as I stand there hunched over slightly, coughing up my lungs. “Thank y-you.”
Wrench’s initial reaction to hearing that we were having pizza was accurate–borderline orgasmic. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I did a pretty good job. The smell of it alone had us both standing,waiting anxiously at the oven door. Or maybe it was that we were stoned. Probably both.
“Fucking shitballs- this is really good ellie!” We were so impatient that we cut the pizza into slices straight out of the oven, unable to wait any longer. And with another freshly packed bowl of weed smoked, we were sufficiently high enough to enjoy this pizza. “God, i would fuck this pizza..if fucking food didnt give me an infection”
On-screen, Ripley swiftly types in the override command onto the ship’s computer console, and on the ship’s screen was the big reveal. ‘Special Order 937: Priority one: Insure return of organism for analysis. All other considerations secondary. Crew expendable.’
I nearly choked on a bite of pizza, slapping Wrench’s leg excitedly. Coughing, I swallow my food before pointing at my TV, turning to look at him. He seems quite amused at my reaction to the movie’s big reveal. “I knew it! Imagine blindly trusting your employer, just for them to consider you expendable and send you on a suicide mission. Without your knowledge nonetheless!”
Wrench snorts. “That my good friend-is why I don't trust big corporations. One minute they're selling you a toaster or something, the next they’re breeding murder-aliens in a secret lab.” I nod and pop the last bite of pizza crust into my mouth, and with my mouth full I agree with him, “Capitalism at its finest!” He finishes his last piece of pizza and dusts his hands off on his legs.
“That is exactly why I get why Dedsec does what they do! Sticking it to the corps, fighting back..what’s your take on them?” I can't quite explain it but the air around us suddenly reeks of anticipation. What an odd thing to bring up in the conversation..
Tapping my finger against my lips a few times, thinking about what little I've heard of deadsec and their fight against the Blume corporation. I really need to start looking at the news more often because I know jack shit about it all. All I know is that dedsec is a hactivist group trying to bring down Blume with their evil corpo bullshit.. or something.
“hmm..I don't know a whole lot about them since I just moved here a few weeks ago, but..I do hate the whole big brother thing Blume has going on.” Just like there, the tension in the air starts to dissipate, leaving behind the feeling of relief. Relief from- Wrench. He seems almost excited now , his posture changing to sit upright suddenly. “Really? What they do isn't too extreme for you?” I curl up into a more comfortable position, my folded legs touching his thigh ever so slightly but he doesn't seem to mind the very minimal contact.
Trying to have this conversation, which seems to be important to Wrench, while also trying to pay attention to the movie is proving to be difficult. I dont want to be rude by ignoring either, so I take a moment to think of a response while also soaking in the scene. “As long as innocents aren't getting killed..I could be persuaded to join their cause” she raises her eyebrows at him, He thinks for a moment and after a couple seconds of silence he nods, “I see, I see...”
The credits begin rolling on the TV screen, and the only remnants of dinner, crumbs, litter the coffee table. Next to me, Wrench raises his arms above his head and stretches, causing some bone to pop loudly from sitting idle too long. “Anywhooo..wanna take a smoke break?” I swipe my hands over my lap, the pizza crust crumbs going flying off of me. “O-oh yeah!..follow me.”
With a creak from my knees, I push myself up to my feet, stretching before I lead him to my bedroom. Smoking weed throughout the apartment isn't a big deal, but I try to keep the cigarette smoking to the bedroom-out my window, specifically. He follows a few feet behind me to my bedroom.
Once we reach the small window, I unhook the latch and with all my strength I push it upwards, letting in the crisp night air. He scoops up his lighter and flicks it once, twice, three times. Nothing.
“Motherfucker-” he tries a few more times to no avail, it’s out of fluid.
“Here, don't move..”
Balancing my cigarette steady between my lips, I reach forward and rest my hand lightly on his shoulder gently as I lean in. The second my hand makes contact with his shoulder, he stills-completely. I can feel it, almost hear it in the way he stops breathing for a moment.
Carefully, I press the glowing tip of my cigarette to his and he inhales, pulling in the flame. Our faces are mere inches apart, only lit up by the soft glow of the embers as well as a small night light across the room, it’s almost… intimate.
My heart was hammering against my ribs, almost audibly. When did that start?
I pull away once his is lit, retreating and crossing my free arm under my chest, the slight chill of the night creeping through the open window. Thank god it’s dark right now, otherwise it would be evident on my face just how much that small action affected me.
A few moments of silence go by, only the distant sound of city life and a lone cricket outside fill the void. He finishes his cigarette first, stubbing it out in the ashtray on my windowsill. He waits for me to finish mine, silently watching me blow the last puff of smoke out the window, at least I think he’s watching me. Feeling the weight of eyes that I can't actually see.
I pull the window down and he finally breaks the silence: “Ready for Alien 2?”
Notes:
Howdy all, I hope you all are doing well! Not to sound like a broken record, but i'm sorry it took so long to get this chapter out- life has not been kind lately and im not super happy with some bits of this chapter, but we must continue on! Please enjoy, and stay safe<3 Til next time
Here are some links to a playlist and pinterest board to accompany the story:
Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6p77PDnx3UkOV8dvCyO7E4?si=679e339d245c4efe
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/KaedeOshidari/take-me-back-to-eden/
Chapter Text
A couple days have passed since Wrench came over to my place for our ‘Alien movie marathon’, and I’ve thought about what transpired more times than I'm willing to admit. In hindsight, I didn't mean to make the moment so awkward by getting all up in his personal space like that. It came from a place of innocence, honestly. Still... I can't get the image of his lips, illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the burning embers of the cigarette, out of my head. And the way he smelled—it was subtle, but when I leaned into him, I caught the whiff of leather with a touch of… vanilla?
I hope it didn't freak him out too bad. I felt the way he tensed up when I touched him. But since then, everything seems fine—nothing out of the ordinary. I’m for sure overthinking things again.
What I should be worrying about is why I haven't heard back from my most recent client yet. I sent her the first sketch for critique. It’s now—with blurry eyes I swipe my phone off my nightstand to check the time again—5:28 AM. Come tonight, it will be two days since I last heard from her. In the beginning, she was quick to respond and very enthusiastic about the commission, and now I have a sinking feeling I’m getting ghosted. Or worse, scammed.
I've only gotten scammed one other time, when I was first starting out, when I was naive. I made the mistake of sending the finished product without having them send a deposit. So they took the art, ran, and blocked me on all social media before I had the chance to even blink. Never again. Luckily, I learned a lot from that experience and now require not only a deposit of half the agreed-upon price, but also weekly check-ins to make sure we stay on the same page till the end. It’s worked out well—until today. I even sent her an additional sketch with different poses of her character, and still nothing.
I slam my phone back onto the nightstand. I won't be able to get back to sleep in this mindset. I’m too wide awake with all the worrying I've been doing. Rolling back onto my stomach, I shove my face deep into my pillow to muffle my screams of frustration. I scream until my throat starts to feel hoarse, not really giving a fuck how early in the morning it was. What am I going to do until I have to clock into work in three hours? Certainly not sleep.
I’ll give her until tomorrow afternoon before messaging her again, just in case she’s just busy or didn't get the notification. I can't always jump the gun and expect the worst all the time. Be... optimistic? Maybe I’ll treat myself to a hot latte before work—some of the good stuff, not the shit from the convenience store. If that’s the case, I’ll have to leave the house about thirty minutes earlier than I normally would to make the trek to the coffee shop, since it's a few blocks past work. Thrumming my fingers against my sternum, I stare up at my bedroom ceiling, trying to focus on something other than my client... or the weird feelings I started having about Wrench.
God.
I smoothed clammy palms against my T-shirt nervously as I waited for the crosswalk signal to let me cross the street. Today, the cold weather actually started to ease up, calling for just a T-shirt and shorts—a nice 68 degrees. Well, a breathable flannel on top to hide myself in. With summer rapidly approaching, each day is getting warmer and more humid. I hate it. With the weather being on the warmer side today, maybe I should consider getting an iced latte instead of hot... Making it across the street, one block past the shop, I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket twice.
[7:06 AM] Wrench: what’cha doing
[7:06 AM] Wrench: i'm not stalking you or anything
[7:08 AM] Me: couldn’t sleep so i'm getting some coffee
[7:08 AM] Me: the GOOD shit too, from Scullery’s... i'm treating myself i don't want to hear it, ok!
[7:10 AM] Wrench: oh-kay miss fancy pants, enjoy your 10 dollar rip-off :)
[7:11 AM] Me: and here I was about to ask if you wanted one... nvm I guess!
[7:11 AM] Wrench: WAIT D:
[7:11 AM] Wrench: tall black coffee with 6 packets of sugar!!
The scent of freshly ground and brewing coffee is so potent it's almost giving me a headache. Luckily, the shop isn't very busy this early. Just two women ahead of me in line, wearing brightly colored scrubs, taking their sweet time ordering. I’m too scared to look at the prices on their menu above the register. Should I also grab a pastry for breakfast? I take a peek at the display by the register holding all of the pastries and bite my lip. As good as those lemon scones look, I’m feeling that faint, morning nausea. So I guess I’ll skip out on them this time...
Out of habit, I reach into my back pocket to anxiously check my client’s DMs once again. I open the app and go to my DMs, clicking the topmost chat log, but it's not my client’s. Furrowing my brows, I tap the back button and look at the list of DMs, but it’s nowhere to be found. This isn't right. Is the app down right now? Where are our chat logs? Shit. Shit. Shit, what is going on?
“Miss?” The sound of the barista at the register, impatiently calling out to me, snaps me back to the present. I whip my head up, and sure enough, I’m standing awkwardly five feet away from the register with no one ahead of me in line anymore.
I quickly shove my phone back into my pocket and move up to the ordering counter. I’ll take a closer look once I have a moment. I probably should have actually figured out my order before my turn came around, but this discovery is distracting me. Looking up at the menu, I mindlessly reach for my wallet from my pocket. “Hi, y-yes, sorry—can I get a... small iced dirty chai and, um, a medium black coffee?” It's taking everything in me not to jump to conclusions about the whole situation and freak out in front of the barista. My hands begin to shake as I flip open my wallet and preemptively start pulling cash out.
“That will be $21.28. Is that for to-go?”
I can't recall how long I waited for my drinks to be made, just that I stood off to the side by the pickup counter for God knows how long, and suddenly my name was called. All I can do is think of the worst possible scenarios. Did I get hacked? Or maybe the client was not happy with the sketches, so she blocked me. If I can just make it out of here and to work in one piece, I’ll have a few moments to investigate this further. Hopefully. Scooping up the drinks and a large handful of sugar packets for Wrench, I leave the coffee shop quickly.
The clock in the back room tells me that I overestimated how long it would take me to pick up coffee before work. I'm about 30 minutes early. I was worried I would be locked out and stuck waiting outside the shop for Brian to show up, but I happened to bump into him as I was walking up. He gave me a curious look at the two drinks I had in my hands, but he didn’t question me once he let us both inside. He just wished me a good morning and got to work on the opening tasks.
Wrench isn't responding to my messages about when he would be around to collect his drink. I wasn't sure what to do with it then. I spotted a stack of sticky notes on the table in the back room and decided to write a little note for him, sticking it to his coffee cup. Walking out of the back room, I glanced over to my right and stopped for a moment. I wasn't completely stupid—I had my suspicions about what was up with the metal door next to the back room. Well, I wasn't 100% certain what was going on in there, but I know that's where Wrench is during the day while I work the shop. He isn't as sneaky as he thinks. Plus, he has shown interest in that hacker group DedSec. It has something to do with them, surely.
Biting my lip, I eyed one of the cluttered metal shelves in the back hallway—particularly the one in front of the mystery door. I nudged over a stack of printer paper to make room for his drink on the second shelf, turning the cup so that the note faces outward. That will have to do.
“Hey, Elliot? Can you give me a hand real quick?” Brian breaks the silence and calls out for me from the front of the store.
“Be right there!”
Lifting the second cigarette of my “lunch break” to my lips, I take a long drag, white-knuckling my phone in my other hand. Wrench must sense that I’m on edge because he hasn't said much since we initially met up in the alleyway to smoke, but I can feel his gaze on me. Still nothing from my client. In fact, during my first break a few hours ago, I spent those ten minutes checking what was going on in the app and came to the conclusion that she blocked me. Which is fine… I just wish she would've told me straight up that she wasn't happy with the sketches instead of ghosting me like this.
“Hey, uh… thanks for the coffee earlier.” He dares to break the silence first, sounding almost apprehensive, as if I would snap at him. I could never. “Fifteen sugar packets was a bit much, but the thought was there.” He flicked his cigarette butt to the ground in front of him and snuffed it out with his sneaker, awaiting my response.
“Y-yeah, no problem…” I wasn't fully present, not actually paying attention to what he was saying. My phone buzzed in my hand, and a notification banner popped up at the top of the screen. ‘AmpleDaisy32 has requested a refund…’ My stomach drops, and I still the cigarette that I was bringing up for another drag. “Fuck…” I tap on the pop-up, causing the app to open, and see that she did in fact request a refund on the deposit—$85. Under the request, users have the option to include a reason, and all hers said was, ‘Disappointing.’ Ouch.
I guess my original assumption was correct after all—she wasn't happy with the sketches. Really unhappy. Maybe I should've gotten the sketches done for her faster, worked harder. Guilt started overtaking the initial feeling of worry. I could have done better. I know it. That’s why I’m breaking my own terms and accepting the refund. Tapping the accept button and letting out a shaky sigh, I toss my unfinished cigarette to the ground.
“Ellie?” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and takes a few tentative steps over to me, leaning in close to peer at my phone. “What's going on?” Gone was his usual cadence and erratic enthusiasm—this time he spoke softer, voice laced with concern. I flinch slightly at his sudden intrusion and the almost raw emotion coming from him, swiping the app closed.
“Oh, um… a client I was working with just c-canceled a commission and requested a refund from me.” I swallowed thickly and shrugged my shoulders, refusing to cry over something as menial as this, especially in front of him. But I can’t help the disappointment seeping out in my voice. “Happens.”
He doesn't say anything for a few long seconds, and I don’t go into more detail. But I can feel his eyes on me, waiting. When I don't give him anything else, he slowly reaches out and pats my shoulder a few times. So very gentle and hesitant, like he was scared of breaking me, like I'm fragile. Despite the overwhelming feeling of disappointment, my skin buzzed under his touch. I hate that I noticed that.
“Well, fuck them then. They clearly have no taste if they don't want to work with you.”
Is this change in demeanor the real him? The one behind the real and metaphorical mask? Without thinking, I let out a dismissive scoff. I was letting this whole shitshow get to me, put me in a piss-poor mood, and I hated it.
“I never showed you my work, Wrench…” He was doing that thing. The thing friends do to try and make you feel better, but it was nothing more than blowing smoke up my ass. I’ve always been self-conscious of my artistic ability—it was hard turning off the self-deprecating side of it and accepting that I had at least some talent. Or I wouldn't be able to find the clients that I do, or have the couple hundred followers that I have.
He playfully jabs his finger into my shoulder, causing me to teeter back a bit. His mask displays a playful wink on its LEDs. “I did my own research—thank you very much—and you’re talented as fuck!” There’s the Wrench I’m used to—back was his lighthearted attitude.
I shift my weight to the other foot nervously and reach into my pocket for a third cigarette, which is definitely a bit much, but all things considered. “Thanks…” The cigarette between my lips muffles my speech as I go to light it up.
Checking my phone to see how long I have left on my lunch break, as if on cue, a new notification pops up on my lock screen. It’s from !NVITE, and although the banner doesn't display the whole message, Wrench takes a peek over my shoulder at my phone with me. I can make out the beginning of the post: ‘I am not one to start drama, but I found out that @Ethereal.M0ss steals her ‘art’...’ My jaw immediately clenches and once again my stomach drops at the sight of my username and the snippet of a callout post.
What the actual fuck is going on?
Wrench read the !NVITE post along with me after I opened up the app, and sure enough, it was my most recent ‘client’ accusing me of tracing and stealing someone else’s artwork. Some user by the name of Blaz.zeBear . In silence, I scan the lengthy post—multiple paragraphs and even screenshot ‘evidence’ supporting their claim. To someone who didn’t know me, this would seem like a legitimate post, except I have no fucking clue who this other user is—this is the first I’m hearing of them. What’s even more unsettling is how similar our art looks. Like it was drawn by the same person.
“What the actual fuck?” He beats me to the punch, abruptly reaching forward, tilting my phone up so he can get a better look at the screen. I sometimes forget how much taller he is than me. He ends up just taking my phone from me to examine it further, starting to tap away at the screen. This can't be good.
“Hey, what are you do—”
“This fucking bastard.” Anger radiates off of him, his jaw clenched, speaking through gritted teeth. “He’s also posting about you—fucker is stealing your clients. He reposted that post to advertise his ‘artwork.’” He scoffs with annoyance and shakes his head. “He’s selling merch of your artwork.”
This can’t be happening. Why was this happening?
My hands begin shaking as I reach toward my phone in Wrench’s hands. He lets me take it back. I look at this guy’s account for myself, scrolling through his profile. It’s all my work. The only differences are the color palettes and the images being mirrored. Yep, there’s that drawing I posted last month of an albino vampire bat. I find the post where he links his online store, where my artwork is printed on everything from shirts to canvas bags.
This is my worst fucking nightmare. My bottom lip begins to tremble, tears blurring my vision, threatening to spill over. I don't know what I’m going to do. How am I going to come back from this? He has a bigger following than me—almost twice the amount of support. How would I clear my name?
He snaps me out of it by gently grabbing me by the shoulders and turning me to face him. I’m not accustomed to him touching me like this—let alone at all.
“Hey.”
I eventually tilt my head up to look at him, and I'm met with sad-looking slashes on his mask. My brows furrow. He seems to hesitate at first before continuing on, like he’s debating something.
“I... I’ll look into this more for you. Just—try and get through the rest of your shift, and I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”
There’s that uncharacteristically soft tone again. That reverence. It’s strange, but I can't lie—it’s comforting. I don't let the tears fall as I stare up at him. I can't give that bastard the satisfaction of causing me that much distress. I just nod my head and slip my phone into my back pocket before we both head back inside.
The last few hours of my shift felt as though they went both agonizingly slow and way too quickly at the same time. The only thing on my mind was how Wrench planned on helping me with this shitshow I’ve found myself in. What would he find? I’m not sure how I got through it in the mental state I’m in. Most of the shift was done on autopilot. Press the buttons on the register, put money in, take some out, bag the merchandise, and remember to smile.
Yet the hours ticked on. Eventually, 3:53 PM came around, and Brian stopped by the register to tell me I could go ahead and clock out a few minutes early.
My phone buzzes in the back of my pocket, startling me as I’m rummaging through my locker for my things.
[3:59 PM] Wrench: Hey, so I did some digging
[3:59 PM] Wrench: Is it cool if I stop by your place soon? In 30 mins? :)
[4:01 PM] Me: sure
Standing in my kitchen, finally making it home after the long, tiring trek from the shop. I couldn't bring myself to stomach an actual meal, but I know ultimately it would be very unhealthy if I started skipping meals again, so I dug around my cupboards to find a protein bar to snack on while I wait for Wrench to show up.
His usual knock on my front door rings through the silence of my apartment. He’s very early. I finish chewing the last bite of the protein bar, tossing the wrapper into the trashcan on my way to the door. Dusting the crumbs from my hands before I touch the doorknob, I sigh as I swing the door open to find him standing there with a backpack and laptop cradled in his arms.
Upon seeing me, his mask display flickers to show two happy carets for eyes, signifying a smile. I can't help but crack a smile back in response, stepping to the side to let him inside.
“Hey dork, c’mon in.”
He nods his head and steps past me into my apartment silently. Before I even have the chance to lock the door, I already hear him shuffling behind me, ruffling around in his backpack. And sure enough, when I turn around, he has my coffee table covered with his stuff. I spot two energy drinks sitting next to his laptop, already open as he types away at the keys.
“No foreplay, just straight into it, huh?” I comment, hand resting on my hip as I stare at the clutter he’s already made.
This throws him. He stops typing and looks up at me with ‘@’ symbols displaying on his mask, as if his eyes have gone wide.
“O-kay, anyways...” He mutters with a shake of his head in disappointment at me before he continues.
He gestures for me to take a seat next to him, patting the couch cushion. I roll my eyes and join him on my sofa. I can't decipher for the life of me what I see on his laptop’s screen. Is this code? It just looks like a mess of numbers and letters—absolute gibberish.
Furrowing my brows in confusion, I nudge him with my knee slightly, trying to get his attention.
“So… what is all this? What did you find?”
He types away at the keys for a few more seconds, unresponsive initially. Damn, he’s really focused on whatever this mess is.
He taps the enter key on the keyboard and exhales. The voice modulation he uses makes a slight crackle sound.
“Well, this is basically that fuckface’s merch site. I dug into the page’s code and found out he’s using a homemade bot to scrape your social media for your art. See, look here—” He scrolls up a bit on the laptop and points to a snippet of code, which means nothing to me. “—He’s programmed the bot to scan your social media, download your art, and erase your watermark...”
I stare at the screen, trying to process the information he’s laying out in front of me. He must sense my confusion—that I'm lost.
“On the surface, it seems sophisticated as hell, but you can tell from his sloppy work that he didn't create this bot on his own. He had to have also stolen it from someone else.”
He goes back to typing garbled gibberish, the screen suddenly filling up with new lines of text. He audibly scoffs and grabs one of the energy drinks from the coffee table. I watch him through my peripherals as he lifts his hand to push up on his mask and free his mouth, taking a long sip from the can.
“He’s so sloppy, I was able to hack into all his accounts with fuckin’ ease. Child’s play.”
I can't help but notice how worked up this whole situation is getting him—like the guy attacked him personally. Despite the edge in his voice, his mask has stayed neutral this whole time. Default mode.
I keep quiet. This new side of him—this cold anger—makes me almost shrink into myself. Even just a little.
“Fucking script kiddie...” he mutters angrily under his breath.
Silence settles over us. I let out a breath and sink back into my sofa, arms crossed, eyeing the back of his head.
He turns his head to look back at me, almost comically slow.
“You have... no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” He tilts his head, questioning me in an amused tone.
“Oh—absolutely not.” I say, grinning, shaking my head. “But—”
I think about how I want to word this question carefully before I just let it slip. I’m brought back to my earlier thoughts—on Wrench and his possible involvement with DedSec. The secrecy.
The man is not as subtle as he thinks he is, but I need to confirm it. Need him to say it out loud.
“This is, um, an interesting skillset you have,” I start, carefully. “What is behind the door at Gary’s? The one you disappear into every day?”
He’s still for a beat. Then the LEDs of his mask change—from little X’s to two equal signs, as if he’s narrowing his eyes at me from underneath.
“That... classified information.”
“Classified?” I raise an eyebrow at him. He thinks he’s so slick—unreadable because of that mask of his—but when he tensed up, he already gave it away. The irony of it all.
He shrugs his shoulders and his fingers start thrumming against the side of his thigh.
“I... I tinker. With circuits, and code. The occasional military tech here and there.”
“You're joking.”
Military tech? Circuits? I think back to what little I know of DedSec from the few news broadcasts I’ve seen, and I remember that self-driving car. That kind of tech—it would make sense...
I rub a hand over my face as I look ahead at his laptop again, the pieces slowly clicking into place.
“Joking adjacent. If you catch my drift.”
His voice is light again, back to his usual playful nature, but there’s something underneath it—what he’s not telling me.
He keeps talking in circles, but I’m close. I can feel it. I’ll just have to try a more direct question.
“Wrench... are you in DedSec?”
He freezes—for a fraction of a second, but I catch it. I know I’ve caught him when he doesn't immediately crack some joke or laugh.
The silence is deafening, and so very telling.
From under the mask, I feel his gaze lock on mine, unreadable.
“Depends on who’s asking.” He responds at last, in a soft voice barely above a whisper. A seriousness that throws me off guard—unlike him.
“I am.” I reply, quick but deliberate.
However, he doesn't give me anything else. We stay locked in a silent staring match, him unwilling to break. So I press him.
“So you’re not denying it.”
“I can’t confirm, nor deny anything.”
He winks at me.
The playfulness returns, but the truth? It’s already out there.
Notes:
Welcome back to another installment of, 'How long will it take me to write and post the latest chapter!' Jokes aside, this chapter was meant to be a lot longer but ultimately I decided to split it up into two parts. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed it:) As always, stay safe and thank you so much for reading! <3
Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6p77PDnx3UkOV8dvCyO7E4?si=1IvOpKa7QGWXaS5H9jiqPA
Pinterest mood board: https://www.pinterest.com/KaedeOshidari/under-the-surface/
Chapter 8: AUTHOR UPDATE
Summary:
content warning: brief mention of abuse
Chapter Text
Hello everyone! For those who have stuck around, waiting for me to post a new chapter, I want to thank you so much. It means a lot to me that you enjoyed what I was writing and putting out, so this probably isn't the update you were hoping for. To get straight to the point, I won't be continuing this story. (At least not for the foreseeable future.) For some background information, when I started writing this I was in an abusive relationship, which I'm finally free from, and I'm in a much better place now. A friend helped me recognize that I wasn't being treated right and helped me find the courage to get out of that situation– helped me see my worth. After some reflection and starting my healing process, I've come to the conclusion that I wrote this fanfiction to fill a void that needed filling. I wasn't a happy person, I wasn't being loved like I deserved so I made myself this self insert in a fanfiction with my favorite character to try and cope with that. Now that im starting to heal and find myself again, I dont feel that need to keep this going like I used to. And while I'm so very sorry you all won't get to see the end of this story, I hope you’ll understand that and forgive me. Wrench will forever be my comfort character and have a special place in my heart. I hope you all stay safe out there and take care of yourselves please, thank you again.
skywalker2793 (Guest) on Chapter 1 Fri 23 Feb 2024 08:47AM UTC
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HottrashSloth98 on Chapter 1 Fri 23 Feb 2024 08:16PM UTC
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mikasamartian on Chapter 2 Fri 19 Sep 2025 04:47PM UTC
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Purple_Gh0st on Chapter 7 Wed 28 May 2025 05:23PM UTC
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