Main Story
Author's Note:
This is actually fully standalone! No, really! All new characters and no running plotlines or previous character development to worry about.
I don't know that there will be ongoing plotlines for these two, but I really like them. Maybe I'll write some slice of life scenes if y'all like them, too. Thanks for reading!
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Fletcher
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Ah, shit.
I could still hear the wail of police sirens behind me even over my pulse roaring in my ears, my boots pounding the pavement, and the cans of spray paint rattling in my backpack. Someone was chasing me on foot, too, but that wouldn't last very long.
I hooked into a familiar alley and cleared the wooden board fence at the back of it in a scrambling vault. Ok, that could have been a lot smoother, but it did the trick. I crouched behind it until I heard my pursuers pass the mouth of the alley. Their flashlights lit the other side of the fence and spiked my adrenaline, but no one actually entered the alley. I used the fire escape to clamber up the building to a specific window where I tapped on the glass.
It was late. So late. Way too late for Dahlia to hear me tentatively tapping, but Dolly never failed me. The window slid open to her deathly glare. She stared at my hopeful, grinning face for a moment, listened to the receding sound of the police car, and let me into her kitchen with an annoyed sigh.
Dolly was wearing a fluffy robe and had a silk bonnet hiding her hair. She pointed angrily at her couch and started back towards her bedroom.
"You're not even going to ask what I did?" I joked breathlessly.
"I don't give a fuck about what you did," she snapped. "It's not like you're going to change your behavior if I yell at you about it. Maybe next time I should just let you get caught."
"It was just graffiti," I defended myself.
"Ok," she said and rolled her eyes. "And you're clean right now? Is that why you turned vandalism into evading arrest?"
I shut my mouth on any response to that. Dahlia had a point. She took care of all the misfits, she kept us fed and offered help when she could, but she knew well enough that most of us had given up on ourselves.
"I'll be gone in a bit," I said quietly. "Just letting the heat die down."
"Do whatever you want, Fletcher," she scoffed. "Just lock the door when you leave. I'm going back to bed."
I settled on her couch and listened to my pulse slow as she slammed the door.
...
Levi was trying to make the shower work when I got home the next morning. He looked up from banging on the pipes and arched an eyebrow at me.
"Where the hell have you been?" he asked.
"Dolly's," I said and took the wrench from him. Levi was cute and smart, but he was useless when it came to fixing anything. "I got spotted painting last night."
"Ah, well praise Dolly," Levi muttered. "We need to get our phones working again. I had no idea where you were."
My stomach dropped into a pool of acid. Fuck. I hated making Levi worry.
"Sorry," I said and reached for him. Levi jerked away from my touch and shrugged off my apology. He stalked out of the bathroom and out to the hall.
"Let me know if you get the shower working," he said coldly.
"I'm sorry," I tried again, but he shook his head and left me there. I fixed the shower and let it run until I was sure it would actually warm up before I went to find him again. The apartment had a single room that was the entirety of our space, with a strip of cabinets with a hot plate and a mini fridge serving as a kitchen on one wall and the remainder of the room housing all of our worldly possessions. The small handful of banker boxes full of our clothes, a mattress on the floor, and the art supplies scattered around the room didn't make for an impressive account of our lives.
Levi was sitting on the mattress with his knees pulled up to his chest. He was wearing sweatpants that were actually mine and way too long for him along with his ragged black hoodie in that chilly room. He had a wild, feral beauty to him. I'd never met another man with that same edgy charm. His messy black hair and nearly black eyes made his pale skin look absolutely ghostly. He was thin and small under all those layers. I was thin and tall under mine. We generally chose to spend our money on rent instead of food. He didn't look up at me when I joined him on the mattress.
"Fox, I really am sorry," I started, using the nickname he only let me call him and hoping he would listen, but he interrupted me.
"We need to talk."
I should probably have felt something beside numb when he said that. I just nodded stupidly and watched myself from somewhere far above.
"I love you," he started with a tight, measured tone. "But I can't keep doing this."
"I'm sorry I came back so late," I tried. "I'll get our phones turned back on, ok?"
"It's not just that," he sighed.
"Is it the graffiti?" I asked. "I can stop."
"I love that you're an artist," he said. "I would never ask you to give that up."
"The drugs? I had some speed last night, but that's just because Hosner gave it to me," I said. "I'm not buying anymore. I can stop entirely if you want."
"I would like it if you stopped," Levi said carefully, "but I want you to stop for yourself, not me. It's not that. This isn't working. I feel like an afterthought to you. You're just living your life and I'm the houseplant you occasionally look at. Did you even notice this was the first time you've spoken to me in three days?"
Three days? That didn't seem right. We worked opposite shifts the last few days, but surely we had a meal together? A conversation? Did I not even say hello to him?