Chapter Text
One Year Later
Alastor loved his home town. Well, at least he loved it as much as anyone would expect from someone who’s lived in the same town all their lives. There were some fanatics who were obsessed with Hartland. They wore the school colors, decorated everything they owned with deer, knew the town’s slogan by heart.
In their defense, Alastor was sure everyone knew the town’s slogan by heart. It was written on every poster, every city e-mail announcement, even clothing on occasion. Especially during Hartland’s harvest festival.
But Alastor had a special place in his heart for the city as well. He might have only lived in the city a few months several years back, but it had been a wonderful experience. Yes, the dorms had been tight and cramped and the city was loud and bustling all hours of the night, but there was so much potential in the city. Everything he ever needed was at his fingertips. Theatre, live musical performances — that weren’t of the amateur garage-band variety — and so much food.
Alastor was thoroughly elated as he exited the butcher’s shop, prime cuts of various meats tucked away in his messenger bag hanging from his shoulder. Yes, Hartland was limitless in its stock of deer, cow, chicken, and pig proteins, but the city offered so much more than the typical farm animal. There was bison, turkey, elk, squab, alligator, ostrich even! And so much fish! Salmon, shrimp, halibut, calamari, muscles, and cod. Today, he was able to get his hands on some monkfish for the first time.
His bag was heavy with all the weight of the different cuts of meat he purchased, but he didn’t mind. He merely lifted his shoulder higher to better support it and accepted the inevitable ache he’d feel tomorrow. And, thankfully, the weather was cold enough that he didn’t have to worry about the meat going foul anytime soon. All he had to worry about was driving back home in time to watch the store after Mimzy’s shift.
He’d learned the hard way that she wasn’t the type to sit and wait.
Alastor checked his watch, narrowing his eyes at the clockface as he watched the second hand slowly drag from the two to the three. It seemed he’d have to buy a new battery.
Reluctantly, he pulled his flip phone from his pocket and checked the time on the screen, adjusting his watch accordingly.
As he continued his way down the street, he mentally ticked off his shopping list. He bought fresh cuts of meat to add to the menu, wood filler to help fix the rotted wood on the window sills, a new sharpener for his knives — Husk had dropped his last one and it broke in half — fresh coffee beans to try at the café, some epoxy to touch up the porcelain in the tub, and he even got all of his Christmas shopping done already.
Niffty was a creative kid, but her homelife failed to provide proper outlets. So Alastor decided to get her some needlepoint kits to give her a chance to express herself. And perhaps divert her attention away from the cleaning obsession she had picked up.
Husk always got restless and antsy whenever he jumped on the bandwagon again and Alastor knew he had a fancy towards cards. It only made sense to get him some trick cards to play with. But when Alastor saw the magic kit, he couldn’t resist. Magic rings, pro caps, trick dice, even a classic top hat with a secret compartment was included. It was perfect. Alastor would even be able to divvy it all up into seven individual gifts that Husk could open each day for Hanukkah.
With his list done, Alastor started making his way back to the van. That was, until he stumbled across an antique shop. He was instantly drawn in by the classic golden paint drawn in gothic print across the storefront window. Then his eyes spotted the display window, where a floor-standing gramophone with an authentic sound horn was on display.
In an instant, he was inside the shop, the sound of string bells jingling overhead, announcing his arrival as he swung open the door. He took a moment to bask in the atmospheric change, a bright smile stretching across his face. Taking a deep breath, he reveled in the homely aroma of old wood, piling dust, subtle incense, and the lint burning in the heat of the floor vents.
It was all a comforting reprieve from the sharp city air that was occasionally accompanied by a plume of putrid stench. It was quiet, warm, and cozy — so unlike the constanting chatter on the street mixed with insistent car horns all surrounded by cold steel and glass.
There was no cordial greeting from a clerk. That was normal for city businesses, Alastor had come to find out. He didn’t mind. He instead focused on the gramophone, mindfully stepping around carefully stacked comics-filled crates on his way to get a closer look.
It was beautiful. The wood had musical notes elaborately carved along the border of the wooden frame, with golden flint imbedded in the wood around the border. The handcrank still had its wooden handle and the horn was thoroughly attached to the elbow without any dents in the brass. There were chips in the wood, sure, and several parts of the varnish had been weathered down, but those were all treatable. He just needed a record to test if the turntable actually functioned—
He noticed the price tag and his heart plummeted into his stomach. It was over two thousand dollars.
He hadn’t expected to be able to afford it, not really, but he had expected it to be affordable enough for him to at least dream about affording it. The engorged price was reasonable, he was sure, but seeing that many numbers in front of the zero only reminded him how very little finances he had. With the current state of his life, it would take him a few years to save up that much money — and only if he were lucky and there weren’t any new encumbrances along the way. Then, even if he that much money, he didn’t have the luxury of spending it on trivial wants. There were far more important things he’d invest in instead.
His first thought went to the café’s oven, which had been acting up for a couple years now.
Dejected, Alastor stepped out of the display and made his way further into the shop, pushing the gramophone and the looming financial dread that came with it to the back of his mind. He kept a tight hold on his bag as he maneuvered around the precarious clusters of various trinkets, making sure not to knock over anything and pay the price for it.
There were only a couple of other people in the shop and Alastor wasn’t sure if either of them might be the owner. He barely paid them any mind, instead looking between one trapping and the next.
His gaze drifted over a tin tea set, colorful bobbles, glass figures, ceramic pottery, and so many beautiful pieces of furniture. He followed the indirect aisles down to a basement area, looking from one display to the next with no particular organization to his method.
He was idly rifling through a cardboard box filled with old vinyl when he let out a subtle gasp. He eagerly picked up one from the lot. The cardboard sleeve was worn and beaten along the edges, but the gold and red design was unmistakable.
Turning it over in his hand, he smiled brightly at seeing the bold print across the front: Upside Down by BGB. It was his mother’s favorite album. Every day Alastor had heard it in his youth, up until the moment his father destroyed it during his violent outburst on the day he left them.
Alastor slid the vinyl from its sleeve, double-checking if they matched. Not only was it a match, but the vinyl was barely damaged at all. It seemed the sleeve had taken the brunt of the damage throughout its life.
“Aren’t you a delectable find!” Alastor laughed in utter delight. He checked for a price written on any of the boxes but found none. It didn’t matter. He was going to buy this, no matter the cost.
So long as he had enough money.
“Holy shit! Alastor, is that you? It is you!”
Alastor barely had a chance to register the words before a hand was on his shoulder and spinning him around. Without having to look, Alastor knew exactly who had ensnared him.
That voice was undeniable. He’d recognize it in a choir’s harmony. That deep voice with a subtle gravitas was unlike any other, especially when it went up in pitch during a bout of excitement. The hands-on pursuit, the shark-like grin across his face, the heterochromatic eyes that pierced him through to his core, they were all unmistakable.
“Vincent Whittman,” Alastor said, taking a step back to reclaim his personal space. “Never thought I’d find you in a place such as this.”
Vincent barked out a laugh. “Whereas this is the exact kind of place I’d expect to find you, old-timer. Still living in years gone by, huh?”
Alastor looked Vincent over. The years had done him good. Sure, there were prominent grey streaks through his otherwise black hair now, but they made him look dignified and mature. He still kept the clean-shaven look, but his cleft chin was more chiseled without the residual youthful fat he had retained back when they attended college together. His suit was well done up, too. New and clean with a crisp collar. The sharp blue and reds complimented him well, and the bowtie was particularly appealing.
Meanwhile, here was Alastor, wearing a coat older than himself, shoes scuffed from constant use, and slacks with hems beginning to unravel. The stark contrast between them caused something to curdle in Alastor’s stomach.
“What’s that you got there?” Vincent asked, stepping forward to reclaim the space. Unfortunately, it seemed that he had not outgrown his intrusive nature, as was apparent with how he blatantly reached for the vinyl.
Alastor pulled it back protectively. “If you must know, it’s a record.”
“Yeah, I see that,” Vincent said with a chuckle. “I mean what kind it is.”
“As if you’d know,” Alastor commented as he turned on his heel and started towards the stairs. He could hear Vincent following behind him. “What brings you here, exactly? Certainly you’re not shopping for yourself.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I normally wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this,” Vincent said with a chuckle. “No, at work we’re trying to promote company morale and started a secret gift exchange thing. And the guy I drew is into this old shit. Thought I’d find some ancient tea kettle or something for him to jack off to.”
Alastor rolled his eyes. This objectionable side of Vincent was not something he had missed.
Vincent’s tone turned tender as he delicately asked, “So… is your mom doing better?”
Alastor stopped and looked Vincent over again. Through the thick box-frame glasses, Alastor could see a warmth in those otherwise cool eyes. And just like that, Alastor was reminded why they had managed to get close in the first place all those years again.
“She passed away last year,” Alastor responded simply. He wasn’t ready to unbox all the complications that had followed since her fall all those years ago.
Vincent frowned, his shoulders sagging. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
There was something about the genuine remorse on his face that had Alastor smiling assuringly. “It’s alright. She’s not in pain anymore.”
That grin was back, albeit softer. “There’s that, at least. You okay?”
“I’ve already dealt with it,” Alastor said dismissively as he resumed his trek up the stairs.
“Well, look!” Vincent was suddenly next to him, an arm draped around Alastor’s shoulders. “It’s good to see you! After you dropped out of school, I didn’t hear from you. I tried finding you on socials, you know. If you’re here, does that mean you moved back to the city?”
Alastor shrugged off Vincent’s arm and hurried his way up the stairs. “I’m afraid not. Still back home.”
“Back in bumfuck nowhere?” Vincent asked, following after again. “I had hoped you’d move beyond that by now. I know you hated it there.”
“I never said that.”
“Yes, you did. You said you wanted to move beyond it and make a name for yourself. Start your own restaurant and all that.”
“Yes, well, things change.” He sure as hell wasn’t going to talk about the circumstances that had kept him in Hartland, especially not during some spontaneous reunion that had already reminded Alastor of his shortcomings. “You should know that most of all, Vincent. You’ve certainly changed since last I saw you. Is that grey in your hair, or did you have a fight with some bleach?”
“The women love it,” he responded, voice sultry. “I think it adds some shine. And you know me, Al. I’m always making myself brighter than ever before.”
“Yes, almost blindingly so,” Alastor grumbled.
Once they mounted the top of the stairs, Vincent hurried forward, moving in front of Alastor and blocking the way. “Look,” he started, “I can see you’re still angry with me. I know I didn’t react well when you, you know… left. I had thought…” He took a deep breath and plastered on one of his too-sharp grins, showing teeth that were too white to be natural. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve found each other again! And I want to make up for how I behaved.” He reached forward again, filling the cramped space to loop an arm around Alastor’s. His other hand reached for the vinyl. “Let me buy that for you.”
Again, Alastor pulled the vinyl out of reach. He tried to step away, but he was stuck between Vincent and a tower of glass sitting on precarious shelves. “I have no need for your generosity,” Alastor responded smoothly. “As you can see, I’m doing just fine. I hardly need some guilt-wallowing gesture of good grace.”
Alastor was familiar with Vincent’s imposing habits, though he was out of practice with dealing with them. He had to pull from an old resource of patience to not shove him away.
Touch had become a scarce thing over the years since he had returned home. His mother was the only person who ever really indulged herself and the last time had been a year ago. All this contact was starting to rub Alastor raw.
“Alright, alright. You’re a man of pride, I remember that about you. But, come on, you don’t have to lie to me. That’s the same coat and scarf you wore in college. Hell, I’m pretty sure you used the same bag too.”
As shocked as he was that Vincent recognized his attire from ten years ago, he found it more frustrating. “That’d be impressive if that were true,” Alastor snarked. “Perhaps those thick frames of yours could do with a new prescription. Or are those as artificial as your smile; purely for show?”
Vincent’s brows hung low, looking on the verge of pitying. He opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted when a voice on Alastor’s other side piped up.
“Alastor! There you are. I was wondering where you wondered off. How’s your shopping going, sweetie?”
Alastor whipped his head around, dreading to see who else from college was suddenly being thrust into his life. He was stuck staring, however, when he looked into the face of a complete stranger.
He was a blonde fellow, older, with pale streaks in his hair. His skin was light, with rosy cheeks and blue eyes that shone like a river glimmering under direct sunlight. He was smiling brightly as he stepped up beside Alastor, but a frown formed on his face when he took in Vincent and the arm still wrapped around Alastor’s.
“Who’s this?” asked the stranger.
“Who’s this?” asked Vincent, raising a brow. His arm tightened around Alastor’s.
That’s exactly what Alastor wanted to know.
“I’m his boyfriend,” declared the stranger, looking downright smug.
My what now?! Alastor gawked at the stranger, completely baffled by this sudden development. As far as Alastor was aware, he was single with no callers on his doorstep. His shock gave way to simmering rage, his frustration boiling over now that he was having to contend with not one but two presumptuous assholes.
The stranger pointed to Vincent’s arm. “And I’d appreciate it if you took your hands off him.”
There was a brief second of reluctance, but Vincent obliged.
Oh.
Oh.
“I didn’t realize,” said Vincent, sounding discouraged. A shadow fell over his face as he looked at the blonde stranger on Alastor’s other side. But once he regarded Alastor again, his bright smile was back in place, looking almost hungrier than before.
“It was good to see you again,” he said, and Alastor believed he was being genuine. “I’d really like it if we could catch up sometime. If you want?”
The nervous wobble of his grin, the way he partially averted his gaze, how his shoulders slumped slightly… this was the secret side of Vincent that Alastor had found endearing back then. It might be worth rekindling a version of what they once had.
“Perhaps,” Alastor said, giving one of his signature teasing grins. After all, had they met up under different circumstances, Alastor might not have hesitated. “I’ll have to consider it.”
“Still the same you,” Vincent said with an amused grin. His expression momentarily darkened, however, when the stranger saddled up closer to Alastor’s side. “Well, I’ll see you around.” He formed one hand into a gun and shot it at Alastor before turning away.
Alastor waited until he heard the string of bells on the door before turning to the stranger. “Do you mind?”
The stranger’s brows shot to his high hairline. “Mind what? Oh!” He took a step back, giving Alastor some personal space again. “There you are.”
That wasn’t what Alastor had meant, but he appreciated it.
With his newfound freedom, Alastor took the opportunity to look the stranger over properly. He had a slight figure, and a height that made it easy to overlook him. And while, yes, there was some age to his face in the form of laugh lines, there was youthfulness about him in his large, expressive eyes.
If this man had any expectation of getting Alastor’s number out of this, then he was sorely mistaken. However… the way he looked up at Alastor… it looked almost innocent. There didn’t seem to be any underlying objective.
Or perhaps that was part of his game. And Alastor had no intention of participating.
“I didn’t need your help.”
The stranger blinked up at Alastor, looking the epitome of puzzlement as he quirked his head — looking far too much like a curious bird. “I didn’t say you did.” He scratched at his cheek. “It’s just, well… he sounded like an ex of yours and I know how—well, I don’t, actually—but from what I know, exes can get ugly. And you looked uncomfortable with how he was touching you, so… I thought… you know… I could get him to back off.”
He was rambling; hurried words slowing down as his confidence dwindled. Alastor narrowed his eyes at him, trying to measure if this stranger was being genuine.
“You were eavesdropping?” Alastor decided to say, not knowing how else to respond.
The stranger looked abashed as he weakly gestured to the near empty shop around them. “It’s not exactly quiet in here,” he defended.
Which, fair.
“And I didn’t mean to! He was just so loud and I was right here, so—”
“Yes, Vincent has a way of speaking several volumes too high,” Alastor said with mild irritation. Great. Now Alastor’s business and the state of his apparel had essentially been announced to the world at large. Alastor should be thankful, he supposed, that it was only this stranger who happened to be with them in the shop.
The stranger snorted. “His name was Vincent? For a name meant to mean ‘victory,’ he did a poor job of accomplishing it.”
Alastor smiled. He could appreciate the irony.
“Wait a minute,” Alastor said, realization dawning on him. “How did you know my name?”
The stranger pointed. “It’s on your scarf. I took a gamble. Good thing I was right! Hoo-boy! That would have been embarrassing otherwise. Can you imagine?”
It would have been quite counter-productive if someone feigning to be his boyfriend couldn’t even get his name right. A part of him wished that had been the case. That would have been an entertaining show.
Idly, Alastor reached up and ran his finger along the length of the stitches marking his name on the scarf. If his mother knew what her personal touch had done for him, he was sure her soul up in Heaven would swell beyond even what God could manage.
“I like the colors,” the stranger blurted out. “Very festive!”
Alastor lifted a brow as he pointedly looked over the stranger’s clothing. “Seems your style,” he commented, noting the red and green stripes that made up his vest. And was that a clip in his hair shaped like Santa’s hat? “Where did you come from, exactly? Somewhere in the far north, I’d guess. Isn’t this your busy season?”
The stranger lifted his own brow. “Huh?”
Alastor wasn’t quite sure why he felt the sudden need to insult this perfect stranger, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “Is your boss aware you’ve left his workshop? Or did you sneak out? With that diminutive height of yours, you probably slipped right under his rosy nose.”
Alastor was able to see every reaction on the stranger’s face in slow motion as realization very gradually dawned on him. Brows lowered into a furrow, uplifted lips went slack as the jaw opened, wrinkles grew more profound over the arch of a button nose.
“Hold on now! I come and help you out and you call me an elf?”
“Did you not help out because you were an elf? Oh, you’ll have to forgive me. I was under a false impression. I wasn’t aware you were merely short.”
The stranger let out a loud gasp, fully aghast. “I am not short!”
The laugh was wrenched from Alastor’s chest before he had a chance to contain it. He could hear his own laugh echo in the shop. He brought a hand to his chest as he tried to quell his burst of laughter, only to laugh anew when he saw the stranger let out an irritable huff, his rosy cheeks puffing out in open indignation.
“Oh—you’re serious?” he asked, the words barely coming out between his fits of laughter. “Oh, that’s too rich!”
“Yeah, well—” The stranger turned taught, small nostrils flaring as he sharply pointed at Alatastor. “You’re a beanpole! A crooked one! Filled with termites!”
Alastor was laughing so hard it became hard to breathe. His vision blurred as he went wall-eyed.
“Fine! Be that way,” said the stranger, stomping off. “I’m writing Santa and telling him you’re an asshole.”
Alastor followed after him. Not because he had any particular drive to. It was merely the best route to the front counter. “You’d be doing me a favor,” Alastor said between gasping breaths. “It gets awfully cold back home and I could use some coal.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” the stranger said, turning just enough to wag his finger at Alastor. “I’ll make sure Santa brings you half-eaten cookies. The ones even he couldn’t finish.”
Such a vindictive gift! But perhaps he could have fun with that. Old cookies could be crumbled down into a delicious pie crust. And all the different flavors would add a challenge to try and incorporate them all.
“I could work with that,” Alastor mused aloud.
“And reindeer droppings!”
“Well, now you’re just taking away all the fun.”
“Good, that is the intenti—ah!” The stranger had been looking at Alastor, smirking widely and not paying attention to where he was walking. Neither him nor Alastor had noticed the small protrusion sticking out between two tool boxes. It was so small, barely an obstruction, but the stranger had managed to step on it at just the right angle, causing it to roll. The stranger yelped, instinctively throwing his arms out to catch himself on anything. Then, at the last minute, it looked as if he remembered that he was surrounded by piles of expensive miscellaneous items and withdrew his arms.
He dropped like a felled tree, all ninety-degree angles and hitting his stomach smack on hard ground.
Alastor hurt just watching. And the stranger didn’t make any immediate move to get up, instead letting out a long groan.
“My ribs, spleen, back, kidneys—oh, I’m hurting.”
The fall was bad enough, but then something much worse happened. Perhaps it was the impact of the fall, or maybe the item that had tripped him in the first place had rolled against something and caused a chain reaction. Whatever the cause, a tower of hazardously piled trinkets began to sway. There was a moment of uncertainty — of hope that they would miraculously stay in place — but then the worst happened.
The pile crumbled, various items falling off in chaotic unison.
Alastor was moving on pure impulse. He wasn’t even aware that he dropped the vinyl and slipped the bag from his shoulder as he dove forward with reaching hands, pushing anything that was falling down towards the stranger, who was still recovering on the floor.
Alastor’s heart leapt into his throat when he saw a fucking bowling ball of all things roll from the pile and start its descent. His fingers barely made contact, some curling painfully from the pressure, but it was enough to push the ball away to just miss the man’s head with a heavy thunk.
The momentum of his dive had Alastor falling forward, landing on the stranger and emitting a pained oomph from him.
With arms protectively wrapping around his head, Alastor lied there, feeling items plummet down and bounce off his back and shoulders. It took a long moment before everything seemed to stop. With baited breath, Alastor looked up to make sure it was finally over.
“Oh, shit! Are you two all right?!”
Alastor saw a young man racing towards them. Past his massive round lenses, Alastor could see bulging eyes the size of saucers, long black hair swishing behind him in his haste to get to them.
As Alastor curled his fingers, cringing at the bolt of lightning shooting down his arm, he wondered what constituted as “all right.” Looking down, he noted that his fingers looked as straight as he remembered, so he figured nothing was broken.
“Can you get off me, please?” came a breathy voice beneath him.
Oh, right!
Alastor scrambled off, hurrying to his knees then shooting to his feet.
The stranger rose much slower. The young man with the black hair was by his side instantly, helping him up. “What happened?” the young man asked.
“I tripped on something,” the stranger said, his voice tight.
“An antler,” Alastor supplied, bending down and wrenching the thing out from between the tool boxes.
“I am so sorry! Are you all right?” he asked again, the S’s dragging in a lisp.
Based on that reaction. Alastor deduced this was the shop owner. Or at least an employee. He was frantic as he looked between Alastor and the stranger, who was gazing down at the bowling that had rolled across the weathered carpet.
“Peachie keen,” Alastor said as he dismissively waved the antler in his hand. He was not ignorant of the fact that some things that had previously been in one piece were now in multiple on the floor. Alastor hoped that if he played it casual and made a point to indicate the cause of the mess, then the shop wouldn’t try and charge him for breaking their valuables.
“I think I’m fine,” said the stranger, giving a wary grin. “More shocked than anything.”
“I am so, so sorry! I can’t believe this happened,” said the shop owner. He ran one shaky hand through his hair. “I can call the doctor for you.”
There was no way in Hell Alastor was going to pay for an ambulance ride. Nor was he going to cough up any money for a doctor’s visit. Some proper bindings at home would do the trick to fix any damage done. “That’s not necessary, my good man. Nothing some ice can’t fix.”
His eyes locked with the stranger’s, and he was curious about what he saw. The stranger was looking at Alastor as though he were a puzzle. Like he was weighing something in his mind, the gears visibly grinding in the way he furrowed his brow.
The stranger finally looked away, turning to the shop employee. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
The young man signed. “Thank goodness! Don’t worry about the mess — I’ll handle it. And as an apology, you can have any one item in the shop! It’s on the house! Anything you want.”
He sounded a little overly eager to please, thought Alastor. He deduced that the young man was wanting to avoid a lawsuit for a hazardous shop. A stalemate, then. Alastor could accept these terms. And he already knew exactly what he wanted.
It was only at that moment that Alastor realized he was no longer holding the vinyl in his hand. In a fresh wave of panic, he spun, looking for where he must have thrown it. He spied the red corner of the cardboard sleeve behind a vanity and rushed forward to grab it. It looked it over, noticing a new tear along the side, but thankfully the vinyl itself was unharmed.
Alastor allowed himself to relax with a relieved sigh. Only to then remember that he had also thrown his bag at some point.
Alastor let out a devastated groan as he spotted the various cuts of meat now scattered across the carpet. Some remained still wrapped in the wax paper, but most were fully exposed to the filth and carpet fibers.
All those proteins had been so expensive. And now they were a complete waste.
Sinking back to his knees, Alastor began the depressing job of cleaning up the trash. As he reached for the hanger steak, another hand shot out and grabbed it first. He looked up to see the stranger crouched across from him, an expression on his face that Alastor couldn’t identify.
“I didn’t need your help, you know,” the stranger said through puckered lips. Was he pouting?
“If you say so,” Alastor responded smoothly, shooting the man a grin that heavily implied that he believed otherwise.
“I’m sorry about your, uh… dinner?”
“They were for new menu items,” Alastor elaborated.
The stranger perked up where he sat. “Are you a chef?”
Alastor’s grin turned proud. “Of sorts.”
“Where? I’ll come eat there. Support the business and all that.”
If these recent events were any indication of what fortune followed this man, Alastor thought it might be beneficial if he steered clear of him.
“Somewhere you’ve never heard of in a town you’ll never visit,” Alastor said as he grabbed the last of the fallen proteins. The shop owner had brought a trash can over while he cleaned up the mess and Alastor took the liberty of using it to dump the meat.
Alastor checked his watch, glaring down at the clock face as the second hand tick-tick-ticked at the six, never moving to the seven. What time was it?! He spun, looking for a clock. There were tens of them in sight, but none of them were in agreement on the time. Frantically, he pulled out his phone to check the time, cursing when he saw the late hour. Mimzy was going to abandon the store at this rate.
“What’s wrong?” asked the stranger.
Alastor ignored him and instead addressed the shop owner. He lifted the vinyl. “I’d like to make this my one item, if you don’t mind. Do you need to ring me up for it?”
The young man waved him off. “It’s all yours.”
“Thank you.” He turned to the stranger, who was looking rather pathetic with how he was gazing up at Alastor from his seat on the floor. “It’s been fun, but I believe it’s time this has come to an end. Adieu.”
He took a few steps before turning and looking at the stranger again. “By the way,” he said, pointing to his own head, “you’ve lost your clip.”
The stranger let out a shriek, both hands shooting up to grope at his hair. “Charlie bought me that,” he cried as he crawled along the floor to look for it.
Alastor chuckled. The clip was missing from his hair, yes, but it had fallen onto his vest, the clip’s open arm having snagged on the V-shaped ending of the neckline. As Alastor turned away, he could hear the stranger frantically muttering to himself as he scoured the floor.