When I Was A Teenager It Felt Very Revolutionary To Be Cruel To Myself. Like Some Kind Of Slow Passive

when i was a teenager it felt very revolutionary to be cruel to myself. like some kind of slow passive protest against how much everything hurt. i starved myself of sleep and food and tenderness because it felt right. it felt sharp and angry and radical and i wanted to be those things. adulthood is the realisation that the world is already working to cut into you well before you learn how to do it yourself. caring for yourself and others is the real protest

I've been hyperfixated with a RnM for about two months now. Fairly new into the fandom, I know. Feeling kinda late, but oh well. And I like Doofus Rick. Especially after seeing a blog that drew him so well, I just can't stop. It made me really sad that I'm two–three, eh, heck many years late into this small wonderful side of the fandom. Anyway enough about the rant. I'll just post the thing I typed.

P.s. I haven't thought of a title yet.

It's a reader insert and I don't know how slow I can get the burn going. But here's part 1. Not proof read so I hope it's coherent.

It was raining when you saw him for the first time. Right in front of his yard, just standing alone and drenched in cold…from the heavenly tears falling down the sky. How melodramatic. Not that you judge the guy. You were just concern. 

Surely he’d be sick by tomorrow. Because your weak ass immune system definitely would. 

You were on your way to the old house that night,  the house you inherited from the man who made you never acknowledge the word father in your entire dysfunctional life. Just another ordinary night under the wailing sky, on your way to that cold shelter after a tiring day at work. You were fairly new into the neigborhood so you ignored him at first. Days turned to weeks and the rumours soon reached your notice, giving you more reasons to ignore the man with a blue bowl-cut hair. 

They said he was weird and something else you decide to dismissed until proven. 

Still it made you no better than the rest of the people that always belittles the man, turning your head the other way, passively you were still considered as an accomplice. But what good will it even do if you’re a nobody trying to survive just for another day. 

So, you carried on, passing by him multiple times whenever it rains or whenever you saw him into a nicer weather, you ignored him. Nothing but a coward hiding behind the mask of indifference and excuses. 

On some occasions you would see a glimpse of an entirely different persona on the man, whenever he was interacting with the next door neighbors. He was all smiles, naivety emitted from his demeanor, like a child wearing oversize clothes to pass off as an adult. Entirely different from the times you saw him standing under the rain. He was also a soft spoken fellow with an occasional stutter either caused by anxiety or a condition. 

You never understood how he could keep acting like he wasn’t ridiculed between hushed conversations and judging eyes. Always been optimistic or simply keeping himself into this safe bubble of blissful ignorance. Or how he was still treating everyone with kindness even though most of his efforts to reach out were usually reciprocated with a cold shoulder. 

And you were no different from them after he knocked on your door one morning, offering to help clean up the overgrown and neglected yard, another attempt to get to know you. Although his intention was pure coming from the polite offer, you halfheartedly decline. You didn’t want anything to do with him. 

Annoyingly on the next day it made you finally mow the lawn and clean up the overgrown in the backyard. It took a few months of ignoring the state of the house before you finally got the motivation needed to clean and fix the damn place, all thanks to the neighborhood's doofus(it’s mostly what you’d been hearing from the people around) knocking on your doorstep. You hoped that would be the last he would bother you. Since the first(giving you a box of cupcakes as a welcoming gift) interactions you got from him immediately garnered side glances in your direction. 

Sometimes you wished you were not so emotionally restrictive sometimes. To have even a miniscule amount of care to enact compassion instead of sticking by the comfort of apathy. 

Maybe time would come when you gathered enough courage to do something, even a small act of kindness. But for now you turned your head the other way, in the safety by him getting out of your field of vision. 

…

Neon signs and street lights blur behind the window, droplets of the rain started pelting on the glass. The sound of it stirred you out of your shallow-dazed sleep. It’s raining again. A tired resigned sigh fogged the cold material seeping through your forehead. 

Everything felt heavier, sluggish, and dizzying. You blinked off the dizziness fogged your vision.

Fucking great. 

Soon the bus slowed into the halt reaching the bus stop, it was your stop. Unsteady from intoxication you stumbled almost tripping forward, when the driver finally hit the break. You really hate your aunt sometimes, showing herself unannounced in your work, and dragging you to have a drink with her. 

A hasty apology blurted out of your mouth when you grabbed into one of the steel pole, startling the old man near it. You continued scrambling out of the bus until you get out with slurred thanks for the driver, and then run towards the waiting shed. Resting a bit on the bench you rummaged inside your bag for the folded umbrella. The rain went harder as if the sky was punishing you. You’re going home with a pair of wet socks and shoes again. Ugh, it didn’t help that you were barely walking straight. But the urge to eat and drink something just to remove the aversive sweetness at the back of your tongue, along with the burning emptiness in your stomach, maybe even brushing your teeth twice to be sure afterwards, was enough motivation for you to finally move your drunken ass. 

The umbrella opened with a pop and you walked towards the direction of the house with a slight sway in your gait. 

Your lips curved from a wince when the cold water started seeping through. Soggy fucking socks never felt good, one of the reasons why you always hated the rain. 

Hate. You always hated things. The prominent emotion you had growing up, so you grew to hate things that were constant in your life, just like the rain, just like the taste of the alcohol coated on your tongue. You hated that you had to walk wet all the way through the house. The damn house that was thrown into you because it was old, ugly, rotting, along with the people that had never been part of your life, either physically and emotionally. You hate–

Damn it! 

You stopped, eyes casted down on your shoes. You needed to stop or your thoughts will spiral back into that dark room. 

The hollowness in your chest itched the urge for a smoke. To fill your lungs, the sting, and burn down your throat just for the momentary feel of fullness expands in your chest. 

Desperate for a distraction to latch on to something, anything that will prevent you from further fanning the flame of self-hate just to keep the empty coldness in your chest consumed you.  

You couldn’t keep doing this to yourself. Sighing heavily you looked up again, walking with more urgency this time. After taking a right turn, although your vision blurred a bit from moving your head faster towards the certain direction, a routine your attention gravitated to without fail, again he was there. 

Another variable that becoming constant in your life. 

Fueled by spite and vodka you stop on the other side of the street right in front of his house. This guy, what was so bad in his life that he have to stand under the fucking rain every time. Why does he act like the most pathetic human being right now? Why couldn’t he stay smiling and be naive? Why did you have to see this every time? 

The march came to a halt when you reached his unmoving figure, head tilted up in the sky, eyes shut from the world around him. Up close he looked…mournful. Calmly making peace with the antagonizing torrent around him. Like crying through his eyes wasn’t enough anymore that he had to cry along the sky. 

Stretching your arms forward you extended the umbrella towards him. Coldness started cascading the side and back of your head down to your nape, easing a bit of the heat caused by the alcohol and temper.  

He must be so deep in his mind that he hadn’t noticed your presence, but soon enough the lack of the rain hitting his face tugged him back in the moment. At first he only looked at the dark underside of the umbrella, then his head dropped, aligning his vision in your direction. He stared at you for a while, eyes still in deep before the awareness slowly stirring. 

A shake in your arm from the ache urged you to grab his cold hand guiding it on the handle. Both of your hands pressed his to secure the hold on the handle before you let go. And without saying a word you left. 

“Wait!” 

You pretend you didn’t hear him but you overestimate your ability to stride when your legs were barely stable, you were on the verge of puking your guts out, and head throbbing from the heaviness of exhaustion. 

So, color you surprised when a hand landed on your shoulder and the force of his pull easily knocked your balance. You forgot to take into account that your clumsiness shines whenever the alcohol was absorbed into your system. 

Stepping behind to rebalance yourself only resulted in slipping onto the wet surface before gravity won, once again. 

“Aw, geez, you slipped. Are you alright?” 

In an instant he was helping you, pulling you back up. The umbrella crookedly wedged between his neck and shoulders in an attempt to keep the umbrella upright.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” you grumbled while stabilizing your balance again. 

“Why shouldn’t I? You just left your umbrella, not that I don’t appreciate the gesture but now you are all wet. And I’m already drenched, so I don’t think I will need the–”

Damn you forgot that he rambles. “Keep it. You look like you need it more than I do.” You said ignoring most of his ramblings. 

He kept following you though and trying to cover you from the rain with the umbrella you’d just given him. Annoying long legged creature. 

“But I already own a few. I don’t need–”

“Then maybe use it next time. That’s its purpose after all.” You spat a little when a drop of rain hit your mouth.

“If you know its purpose then why are you giving it to me? You own this after all. You shouldn’t. You.. Why…why are you suddenly doing this?” 

You really wanted to reach your–the house faster and puked until your vision get hazy from tears, puked until you were sobbing and barely holding yourself up from the intensity of it, then maybe just maybe it would expel all the hate festering your insides, leaving holes. Then maybe you could stop latching into the battered mask from the accumulated resentment, finally let yourself grief, be free. 

“Because I need to feel the rain.” 

The crack in your hardened voice oozed the pain underneath the piled bricks of hate, built up like a pillar where you placed all other emotions you have. High, unreachable, detached from the world around you. And the crumbling pieces get into your eyes looking up in resignation, watching your stability crumble. 

You didn’t bother looking back, not even a glance to make sure he was still following you, not even when you no longer heard his footsteps. 

Trickles of hot and cold contradiction trailed on your cheeks. You just wanted to rest your tired eyes, lay down and just sink even for a moment, in the pool of your bottled up emotions. Then maybe this time you would be soaked enough of it to fill the pit inside. Hold all of it back inside and hope you are strong enough under pressure, the weight of it all the love that left nowhere to go.  

…

Fingers tapping hastily on the screen of the phone, you promised you’d never walk under the rain ever again. You didn’t regret it, but you were not doing it again. 

An itch in your throat spasmed a cough out of you. It came into strings, chains of events that after the bouts of scratching your throat in a form of dry coughing, now you feel it all raw. Sore throat was one of the signs your immune system had been compromised. 

You tapped the send. A simple notification for your supervisor that you couldn’t make it in the studio today. You even used your Aunt for a lame excuse, it’s her fault anyway. Forcing you to have a girls night which always entails consuming a large amount of alcohol. Always easier to blame others than hold yourself accountable, wow, you really do progress—ing further into being a POS. 

As you waited for the reply you grabbed the jar of honey in one of the cupboards for your tea. You clicked your mouth shut after the yawn, wincing from the pain when you swallowed again. 

In your temporary office, multiple boxes were still stacked in the corner of the room, a faded silhouette of squares and rectangles left on the obnoxious green wallpaper(not even the nice shade of green), some parts were even ripped from the posters you tore. You clean the questionable room and attempt to convert it into a small studio. But you still have a lot of work to do, for the room to be in your standard. Yet in the meantime it was better to have a clean workspace. 

When your dopamine was a poltergeist your motivation was equivalent to non existence at this point, except from the few hauntings every now and then.

So, yeah, for now you’d stick with a clean workspace. 

Knowing your supervisor the moment you open up your email you already got a job order. Man, even the concept of life and death didn’t jolt your supervisor even a bit, always the diligent asshole. 

An hour of editing later you needed another cup of tea for your throat and maybe food for your grumbling stomach. You almost grabbed a packet of cigarette and lighter, staring at the item contemplating if you would risk it. At the end the cigarette left untouched. 

Back in the kitchen you stood in front of the open refrigerator blankly staring inside the cold contraptions. You close it taking a deep breath before opening the ref again as if you were expecting the food in your mind wouldmanifest itself. 

There were times when you hated this tedious part of living. This was one of those days. 

Grumbling a curse in your native language you gathered the remaining vegetables and chicken breast. Chicken soup was better than nothing. 

You were in the middle of making another tea after dumping all the ingredients and seasoning in the slow pot cooker, when a knock on the door startled you.

Uhm, you were not expecting a visitor today or even ready to acknowledge the existence of your Aunt just yet. 

Yeah, you were not expecting him standing on your doorsteps again. You stepped back on the door after peeking through the peephole. This is for getting involved, you guess. 

The lock clicked and the door swung open. 

“Hi, neighbor. You must be c-confuse why I’m here again. I won’t take long of your time–”

As he explained his reason for his sudden visit you hear the annoying high pitch voice of the next door neighbor. You purposefully leaned out of the door frame and stared in their direction to announce your presence. Ticked off by the obnoxious one sided conversation the bitch is having with her mother, you started talking back. 

“I know hearing aids are a bit expensive but you better invest some of yourself a pair then maybe you’ll know the difference between inside voice to outside voice. Not that I care about your opinion though,” you clear your throat “I just don’t like hearing your whinny grating voice Susan.” 

Although Susan(not her real name) starts talking shit, her mom winces since she understood the sentiment, while you winced for a different reason. 

“That’s not nice,” he whispered. 

You looked up at your visitor, hand still covering your mouth as you cough. How long did you have to talk? It was irritating your throat. 

“I’m not nice,” you just set the stone further. 

He frowned, disappointed that didn’t shy away from his expression. 

“And not a liar,” you didn’t know why you added that. It kinda slipped out…for some reason. You sighed and held out your hand. 

Blue hair swayed to the side as he tilted his head displaying his confusion. God, your patience was already wearing thin when you could still hear the annoying neighbor’s voice now muffled by the confine of their house, the mom must have dragged her inside. 

“The *ehem umbrella. You said you’re here to return it.” Totally ignoring the other part of his speech. 

He looked even more disappointed when he unfolded both of his hands from his back, handing the umbrella to your waiting hand. 

A glimpse of the tupperware still in his other hand further confirmed the source of his disappointment. 

“How long will the muffins last?” 

And like a puppy finally getting his headpats he perked up. Still his enthusiasm had a pinch of confusion. 

“If you must know, these will last for five days if you keep it in this container,” then he showed you the tupperware. “Although the muffins taste the best when you eat it on the same day it’s baked. I was hoping you would like it freshly baked. W-why are you asking?” 

Unfolding your arms you point your throat. “Sore throat. Can’t eat sweets for a while.” 

“Oh, no. You got sick because you left your umbrella to me last night.” 

You waved off his concern. “It’s already sore from all the tequila shots from last night’s drinking. Along with my smoking habits,” you really wanted to end this conversation. 

The lanky blue haired neighbor on the other hand had something else on his mind as he pushed the tupperware in your arms. 

“I’ll be back,” he even gave you a reassuring smile

You watched him run towards his house, perplexed from what was that all about. What did you just get yourself into?

Not even a full hour until you heard knocking on the door again. Shoving your phone in the pocket of your sweater you slowly made your way towards the door. Before you open the door though you pull up the hood of your sweater enough to ease the chills on your nape. 

Your expression stays neutral as the guy greeted you with his signature buoyant smile, emphasising his buck teeth further. 

“Here, I made you a medicine for your throat,” he proceeded to show you a labelless bottle. “You just have to gargle fifteen millilitres of this for forty-five seconds. Make sure to time it right. Although this tastes more unpleasant than the regular oral antiseptic solution, it will soothe your sore throat in an instant.” 

This guy really talked a lot. You're just being polite listening to him till the end of his speech, but sometimes you wished he would make it short. And did you hear him right? He made it? Examining the labelless bottle, watching the orange liquid with concern. More concerned about the possible taste instead of the possibility of something horrible. 

“Thanks,” you cleared your throat again as you croaked. 

“You sound worse than before.” 

You just hummed this time. You’d been coughing a lot earlier, even nauseous since you are still recovering from getting stupidly drunk last night. 

“Have you eaten anything yet? Do you n-need help with anything else?” concern became dominant in his tone and he had this look like the two of you were already a long time friend. 

His sudden full blown concern didn’t settle well with you, even though you knew he was all good with his intentions you’re not used to genuinity. And you couldn’t berate him since you felt like sand had been poured in your throat. 

“Don’t bother. You’ve helped enough already,” you stepped back and held the door but you paused, having a second thought to just be a piece of shit as usual. “Thank you again, Rick,” you gently closed the door behind you but not without noticing the surprise, opening his eyes wider, looking comically wide awake than ever. 

The door clicked shut. 

…

Well, you survived. 

The medicine the neighbor gave you was indeed effective. The day after you were back to normal. Still the same indifferent bitch but cured of common sickness for a fragile peasant like you. 

As for the neighbor that helped you, only a few small things had changed. Like a simple nod from you when he waved in your direction. At first he looked utterly confused, eventually he seemed to accept that was the only form of greeting he would get from you.

You also received small packaged treats hanging on your door knob since you only get home twice a week because of a major project the studio got recently. 

Torn from this development you kept glancing on the cookies packed in a small plastic packaging secure with a baby blue ribbon. 

With a deep breath you let your back slumped on the backrest of the office chair. You raise your hand and reach for the anti-rad glasses your Aunt gifted you, and removed it. 

A groan prompted out of you when you stretched your back, arms extending, another tense muscles unravelled, before dropping your arms. 

Dull white ceiling encompassed your vision. You couldn’t wait for the project to reach its completion. Cramped up in the office for too long was making you sick.   

Curtains of brown hair and a pair of gentle brown eyes appeared on the edge of your vision, peering down at you. “Hey, wanna take a break?” 

“Not yet, T. Go take a break without me. I’m just stretching my back a bit.” 

His face moved out of your vision like he was pulled away. “Alright, but maybe you should stop teasing yourself with that cookie,” he left with a good natured chuckle on his trail. 

“Mind your damn business, T,” you grumbled feeling a bit annoyed. 

Silence ruled the small room, making your thoughts louder once you were alone again. 

Long deep breaths sucked the cold stale air through your nose, for a second you held your breath before slowly blowing it out through your mouth. You repeated the breathing exercise and stopped when lethargy was comfortably sitting on your shoulders. A push from your arms you pulled yourself upright and reached for the glasses beside the graphic tablet. As you pushed the glasses back your eyes it landed back on the cookies on the corner of your desk. 

The sound of the plastic crinkling disturbed the silence of the room. Up close you already had a feeling that the flavor of the cookies was another miss. 

It seemed like he made the whole thing a guessing game for the lack of feedback from your end. Might as well try it since everything he gave you so far was all good. 

Raisins

Soft chime of laughter rippled into the stagnant quiet room. 

…

“Soooo, are you gonna tell me why you asked for a drive to the grocery store?” pair of brown eyes peering suspiciously at you from the rearview mirror. 

“Please stay being my good friend, T.”

“First of all, I’m your only friend which instantly gives me the vacant spot for the best friend position. Second, you never cease to be creative, especially when you are avoiding something. Third, I am your best friend, not your complacent pleb,” he checked on you again through the rearview mirror. 

“Now I feel attacked.” 

“One of the privileges.”

“I’ll take it back then. This is an exploit.”

“Sorry no take backs. Nuh, uh. The pack is permanent and you sign it, Helen even witnessed the exchange of agreement. You shall face my wife’s wrathful curses if you stop respecting the pack. And it will be a very ugly affair,” he said with the voice he usually used when he was doing the impersonation of his wizard oc.  

“Oh, my, god! Stop it you nerd,” although you were shaking your head you were having a hard time holding your laughter from the fond memories. “Ok, ok, you got me. I suddenly crave a home cooked meal. Getting fed up with consecutive days of take out.”

This time you saw him looking sad, possibly missing his son and wife. “Yeah, me too. I miss Helen’s cooking and my pyjamas.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I want to sleep on an actual bed. I need my heavy pillow.”

T, makes a gagging sound. “You need a boyfriend, asap.”

“Can you not! The pillow is like the equivalent of a weight blanket.” 

“The need to have something heavy beside you, is an equivalent of unmet need for physical touch, buddy.” The car finally stopped. “You can’t stay living like a single goblin for life.”

“Bet.” 

“Oh, I’m telling this to Helen,” then he started doing his evil laugh. 

Head shook from hilarity but the giddy babbling in your guts kept stretching your lips into a tender smile. “Damn it, Thomas! Don’t ruin my goblin life fantasy.”

Chuckling as he tucked the stray strands of his long hair behind his ears, he finally exited the car. “No can do. Now come on. The goblin lord needs to do their shopping.”

…

Familiar smell of the savory seafood dish in your home country continued teasing your appetite. Sure you missed the place from time to time, paid a visit multiple times a year as much as possible. But that was before. Now all you could do was just reminisce about the old times. 

The egg almost slipped out of your hand while peeling the shell, getting lost in your head again. Your shoulders sagged, the sound of your huff was thick of nostalgia, homesick to the place that was never yours. 

You shook your head and redirected your emotion at bashing one of the eggs on the countertop harder than necessary. This time you pick up the pace of peeling the eggs for the toppings. 

Maybe it was time for another cigarette break. 

…

You swore the next door neighbor will be the death of you. You stepped out of the damn house just to smoke in peace, and next thing you were helping old poor Victoria pulled the dumb raccoon out of the gap in the wooden fence. 

While Susan screamed in the background. 

“Vicky. Ma’am for the sake of my eardrum, calm your daughter down,” you said, almost pleading with the older woman. 

Dumb raccoon and its fatass. You tried prying the wood so it could wiggle out of the gap but you forgot this furball doesn’t have the ability of the cat. And the only way to remove the helpless animal was to pull it out. 

You made sure the sleeves of your hoodie were down just in case the furball decides to get too feisty. It screeched louder when you pulled it bit by bit. When you unstuck half of its upper body you grabbed it by the nape. 

The raccoon kept fighting in your hold as you carried it towards the elder woman. 

“Throw it! Throw that ugly thing away!” Susan kept chanting. 

And being the shit you were, you swung the animal towards her. The woman screamed bloody murder while she scrambled away. 

“You shouldn’t keep feeding this fatass, ma’am.”

“Oh.” Vicky’s face sagged upon frowning. “I always wanted a pet. But you know my daughter’s husband. He didn’t like animals,” she said as she played with the hem of her blouse. 

You looked up in the sky and hoped you had enough patience remaining not to get involved. It hurt you that the old lady couldn’t enjoy doing what she loves because of some asshole’s opinion. Vicky was old and she deserved to live and enjoy what she wanted. 

“I’m sorry, Vicky.” 

“No, it’s ok. Thank you for helping me. You are right though. It got bigger,” chuckling Vicky took a last look at the raccoon, there was a sadness in her eyes as she smiled in resignation. 

“It’s fat for getting spoiled by a sweet old lady,” you said smiling back at her as you readjusted your hold on the animal. 

Vicky chuckles but it didn’t sound cheery per usual, waving goodbye at you on your way out of their lawn. 

On your way out though you saw another neighbor standing on the doorstep of the house. The whole interaction with Vicky already drained your social battery, added that there was still this fatass in your clutch you needed to take care off. 

Back facing you, his shoulders look wider from the lack of his usual white coat. So, he owned other clothes besides his usual get up. Kind of remind you of Thomas from the initial stage of getting to know the guy. 

“What do you want?” you asked in a tone firmer than earlier. 

His shoulder hitched, obviously startled from hearing you out of the house. 

“I’m just checking if you are ba–why do you have a raccoon?” he asked, pointing at the wriggling furball in your hold. 

“Tried being a food burglar next door. Fatty got stuck on the wrong gap of the fence.” 

“You helped Katrina?” 

What a waste of a good name for an awful person. 

“If you mean the screeching pig next door Susan, no. I helped Victoria.” 

That woman didn’t deserve her mother’s love. It kinda pissed you off that was why you never acknowledged the woman by the name her mother bestowed.

“Screeching pig? That’s not a nice thing to say. And her name is not Susan,” he said, reprimanding you again. 

“I’m not nice. And she does sound like a pig. Anyway, what are you doing here?” 

He followed you all the way to the backyard. Searching for something to temporarily contain the raccoon before bringing it to the nearest animal shelter later. 

“Aren’t you releasing the raccoon?”

You breathe through your nose before expelling the air through your mouth, so closed on snapping at the man. 

“Can’t. Not here.” your jaw clenches as the trash panda continues thrashing. “I’ll bring this fatass to the animal shelter or Victoria’s son in law will hunt this one,” too. 

But you can’t find anything of use. You doubt the box will keep the feisty thing contained. 

“I-I have a carrier if you want you can borrow it.” 

You look at him like he just told you the project in your work is magically done. “Yes, please. Because my fingers are starting to feel numb and this fucker is really, really heavy.” 

“Oh, ok. W-wait here.” Then he was running, long legs stretching into a wide stride. 

The raccoon squirmed again when you switched the hold to your left. 

“Sorry buddy but you have to be away here or you’ll be eating rat poison next time,” Victoria will definitely be devastated again if another animal stinks up dead somewhere in their yard. 

Soon, the lanky neighbor returned with the white carrier, just in time before the ache in your fingers became unbearable. He even helped get the feisty creature in the container. 

“Are you going now?” 

Huh, you almost forgot he was still here. Crouched in front of the faucet washing your hand, you remained quiet. 

Did he think he could meddle with your business just because he lent you the carrier? 

Shaking the water off your hand and waiting for it to dry you took another look at the raccoon. 

“Yeah, why?”

When your hands were less wet you proceeded to rub it on your pants. From the wooden bench adjacent to the wall laid the cigarette and lighter, you grabbed it and about to light one, but paused when the man with buck teeth spoke of the information that entirely slipped out of your mind. 

“Do you k-know where the nearest animal shelter is?” 

Dumb moments, eh, it's natural you got some of those. Although you knew an animal shelter, it was a bus ride away. 

Blowing a long string of smoke to your side away from the standing man near you, you notice him fidgeting, fingers tapping at his side. 

“No. Do you?” you asked even though you have an inkling he’ll start running his mouth again. 

“Oh, yes, I know. In fact it’s the same place where I brought Ms. Carrot—before. I’m still sad about that last visit but I don’t mind taking you there,” and indeed he looks sad, heartbroken even. 

If he fucking cried you swear you’d gonna lose it. 

“Hey, you don’t have to come if it brings back sad memories. Just give me the address and I’ll take it from here.” 

Conflict was obvious by the furrow right in the middle of his unibrow. Hesitation took form by the multiple times his lips parted, words just kept hanging right on the edge, unsaid. 

“It’s fine. Just tell me the address,” you pull out your phone and tap the notes. “I’m still going to drop by for the carrier afterwards.” you held your phone towards him. 

He stares at it for a moment then stares back at you. 

“I’m sorry but I only o-owned a landline phone,” he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. 

What? Did he just thought that–

Your other hand holding a cigarette moves toward your face, the heel of your palm digs into your eye, rubbing it. You couldn’t level with this guy anymore. 

“Type the address on the phone,” your jaw clench shut in an attempt to grind the insult you choose to keep to yourself. 

Shame colored his face flush of red and he scrambled to grab the phone to save a bit of his dignity. 

“I-I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to exchange numbers with me. N-not because of s-something else. Definitely not s-something else,” awkward chuckle shakes his hunched shoulders. “I’m not trying anything, I swear. J-just wanted to be friends,” he looked all tense as if he was already anticipating some backlash, from the way he moved with caution. 

You took the phone back as he gingerly held it out to you. And a quick apology stuttered out of him again before rushing out of the property.  

Guess you broke the dork without even the intention of doing so. He’s lucky you have a high tolerance for a guy like him.  

A friend, huh?

The cigarette butt scrunched under the force from getting pressed into the ashtray. You just noticed the stickers on the carrier now that you were staring at it with your full attention. 

“A carrot cake? How can vegetables turn into a cake?”

You asked the old woman smoking beside you. 

“That’s the magic of baking and cooking my little sweet tooth. You can make anything taste good if you know what you are doing.” 

Stretch of genuine smile pulled on the darken wrinkled lips of the blurry face looking down at you. Reminiscent from juvenile years slowly faded by the passing of time, yet you still latched on to the pieces of those memories like a lifeline. 

“Time for a walk, fatso,” you said pertaining to the raccoon circling inside the container. Off of the bench you grabbed the carrier and left after checking the location through a gps app.

…

Not expecting the whole 360 of your entire afternoon, you were now standing in front of Rick’s doorsteps, waiting for the door to open and be done with all the socializing for the day. 

The door creaked open, it stayed ajar for a bit before it slowly swung open. Rick greeted you with an awkward smile force on his lips, and before he could speak again you handed him the carrier. 

“Thank you for letting me use this, Rick. And, yes, the visit went well. The volunteers will release the trash panda into the wild tomorrow where it belongs. That’s all.” 

Not waiting for any response you turned around and left. Hungry and mentally drained, you just want to get back in the house. 

“Wait!”

Two steps more and you were out of the property but you were still compelled to stop, human curiosity you guess. You cocked your head urging him to speak. 

“I want to apologize for earlier, for assuming that–that you’re asking for my number. I got a bit carried away, got a bit confident–that we are some sort of friends now.” 

Huh, your brain was no longer braining because of the grumbling of your stomach. Besides the fact that you already got a lot going on in your brain and he just had to add himself in the chaos.

“Look, I’m not upset about it. But about the friend thing. I don’t know about that. Acquaintance, maybe?” you offered. 

“Oh. Yes, of course. Acquaintance. That made sense.” 

Disappointment was nothing new to you. But seeing it on someone with a genuine intention did sting. Especially when you knew he didn’t have a proper connection with people around him, you even heard from Vicky that the man has been alone ever since moving in the neighborhood, no family or relatives visiting, no significant other…nobody. 

“I better get going. Thank you again, Rick.” 

“Ok, goodbye–” The sound and the way he uttered your name was like the clutch from the sleeves, scared…desperate. 

Although you were used to jumping off the boat even before the boat barely sailed away from the shore, it didn’t mean it gets easier to swim. 

Each step still weighs heavily on your ankle. Another chain of shackles was added to the collection.  

Ugh, why do you keep getting involved with lonely people. 

---

I've been hyperfixated with a RnM for about two months now. Fairly new into the fandom, I know. Feeling kinda late, but oh well. And I like Doofus Rick. Especially after seeing a blog that drew him so well, I just can't stop. It made me really sad that I'm two–three, eh, heck many years late into this small wonderful side of the fandom. Anyway enough about the rant. I'll just post the thing I typed.

P.s. I haven't thought of a title yet.

It's a reader insert and I don't know how slow I can get the burn going. But here's part 1. Not proof read so I hope it's coherent.

It was raining when you saw him for the first time. Right in front of his yard, just standing alone and drenched in cold…from the heavenly tears falling down the sky. How melodramatic. Not that you judge the guy. You were just concern. 

Surely he’d be sick by tomorrow. Because your weak ass immune system definitely would. 

You were on your way to the old house that night,  the house you inherited from the man who made you never acknowledge the word father in your entire dysfunctional life. Just another ordinary night under the wailing sky, on your way to that cold shelter after a tiring day at work. You were fairly new into the neigborhood so you ignored him at first. Days turned to weeks and the rumours soon reached your notice, giving you more reasons to ignore the man with a blue bowl-cut hair. 

They said he was weird and something else you decide to dismissed until proven. 

Still it made you no better than the rest of the people that always belittles the man, turning your head the other way, passively you were still considered as an accomplice. But what good will it even do if you’re a nobody trying to survive just for another day. 

So, you carried on, passing by him multiple times whenever it rains or whenever you saw him into a nicer weather, you ignored him. Nothing but a coward hiding behind the mask of indifference and excuses. 

On some occasions you would see a glimpse of an entirely different persona on the man, whenever he was interacting with the next door neighbors. He was all smiles, naivety emitted from his demeanor, like a child wearing oversize clothes to pass off as an adult. Entirely different from the times you saw him standing under the rain. He was also a soft spoken fellow with an occasional stutter either caused by anxiety or a condition. 

You never understood how he could keep acting like he wasn’t ridiculed between hushed conversations and judging eyes. Always been optimistic or simply keeping himself into this safe bubble of blissful ignorance. Or how he was still treating everyone with kindness even though most of his efforts to reach out were usually reciprocated with a cold shoulder. 

And you were no different from them after he knocked on your door one morning, offering to help clean up the overgrown and neglected yard, another attempt to get to know you. Although his intention was pure coming from the polite offer, you halfheartedly decline. You didn’t want anything to do with him. 

Annoyingly on the next day it made you finally mow the lawn and clean up the overgrown in the backyard. It took a few months of ignoring the state of the house before you finally got the motivation needed to clean and fix the damn place, all thanks to the neighborhood's doofus(it’s mostly what you’d been hearing from the people around) knocking on your doorstep. You hoped that would be the last he would bother you. Since the first(giving you a box of cupcakes as a welcoming gift) interactions you got from him immediately garnered side glances in your direction. 

Sometimes you wished you were not so emotionally restrictive sometimes. To have even a miniscule amount of care to enact compassion instead of sticking by the comfort of apathy. 

Maybe time would come when you gathered enough courage to do something, even a small act of kindness. But for now you turned your head the other way, in the safety by him getting out of your field of vision. 

…

Neon signs and street lights blur behind the window, droplets of the rain started pelting on the glass. The sound of it stirred you out of your shallow-dazed sleep. It’s raining again. A tired resigned sigh fogged the cold material seeping through your forehead. 

Everything felt heavier, sluggish, and dizzying. You blinked off the dizziness fogged your vision.

Fucking great. 

Soon the bus slowed into the halt reaching the bus stop, it was your stop. Unsteady from intoxication you stumbled almost tripping forward, when the driver finally hit the break. You really hate your aunt sometimes, showing herself unannounced in your work, and dragging you to have a drink with her. 

A hasty apology blurted out of your mouth when you grabbed into one of the steel pole, startling the old man near it. You continued scrambling out of the bus until you get out with slurred thanks for the driver, and then run towards the waiting shed. Resting a bit on the bench you rummaged inside your bag for the folded umbrella. The rain went harder as if the sky was punishing you. You’re going home with a pair of wet socks and shoes again. Ugh, it didn’t help that you were barely walking straight. But the urge to eat and drink something just to remove the aversive sweetness at the back of your tongue, along with the burning emptiness in your stomach, maybe even brushing your teeth twice to be sure afterwards, was enough motivation for you to finally move your drunken ass. 

The umbrella opened with a pop and you walked towards the direction of the house with a slight sway in your gait. 

Your lips curved from a wince when the cold water started seeping through. Soggy fucking socks never felt good, one of the reasons why you always hated the rain. 

Hate. You always hated things. The prominent emotion you had growing up, so you grew to hate things that were constant in your life, just like the rain, just like the taste of the alcohol coated on your tongue. You hated that you had to walk wet all the way through the house. The damn house that was thrown into you because it was old, ugly, rotting, along with the people that had never been part of your life, either physically and emotionally. You hate–

Damn it! 

You stopped, eyes casted down on your shoes. You needed to stop or your thoughts will spiral back into that dark room. 

The hollowness in your chest itched the urge for a smoke. To fill your lungs, the sting, and burn down your throat just for the momentary feel of fullness expands in your chest. 

Desperate for a distraction to latch on to something, anything that will prevent you from further fanning the flame of self-hate just to keep the empty coldness in your chest consumed you.  

You couldn’t keep doing this to yourself. Sighing heavily you looked up again, walking with more urgency this time. After taking a right turn, although your vision blurred a bit from moving your head faster towards the certain direction, a routine your attention gravitated to without fail, again he was there. 

Another variable that becoming constant in your life. 

Fueled by spite and vodka you stop on the other side of the street right in front of his house. This guy, what was so bad in his life that he have to stand under the fucking rain every time. Why does he act like the most pathetic human being right now? Why couldn’t he stay smiling and be naive? Why did you have to see this every time? 

The march came to a halt when you reached his unmoving figure, head tilted up in the sky, eyes shut from the world around him. Up close he looked…mournful. Calmly making peace with the antagonizing torrent around him. Like crying through his eyes wasn’t enough anymore that he had to cry along the sky. 

Stretching your arms forward you extended the umbrella towards him. Coldness started cascading the side and back of your head down to your nape, easing a bit of the heat caused by the alcohol and temper.  

He must be so deep in his mind that he hadn’t noticed your presence, but soon enough the lack of the rain hitting his face tugged him back in the moment. At first he only looked at the dark underside of the umbrella, then his head dropped, aligning his vision in your direction. He stared at you for a while, eyes still in deep before the awareness slowly stirring. 

A shake in your arm from the ache urged you to grab his cold hand guiding it on the handle. Both of your hands pressed his to secure the hold on the handle before you let go. And without saying a word you left. 

“Wait!” 

You pretend you didn’t hear him but you overestimate your ability to stride when your legs were barely stable, you were on the verge of puking your guts out, and head throbbing from the heaviness of exhaustion. 

So, color you surprised when a hand landed on your shoulder and the force of his pull easily knocked your balance. You forgot to take into account that your clumsiness shines whenever the alcohol was absorbed into your system. 

Stepping behind to rebalance yourself only resulted in slipping onto the wet surface before gravity won, once again. 

“Aw, geez, you slipped. Are you alright?” 

In an instant he was helping you, pulling you back up. The umbrella crookedly wedged between his neck and shoulders in an attempt to keep the umbrella upright.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” you grumbled while stabilizing your balance again. 

“Why shouldn’t I? You just left your umbrella, not that I don’t appreciate the gesture but now you are all wet. And I’m already drenched, so I don’t think I will need the–”

Damn you forgot that he rambles. “Keep it. You look like you need it more than I do.” You said ignoring most of his ramblings. 

He kept following you though and trying to cover you from the rain with the umbrella you’d just given him. Annoying long legged creature. 

“But I already own a few. I don’t need–”

“Then maybe use it next time. That’s its purpose after all.” You spat a little when a drop of rain hit your mouth.

“If you know its purpose then why are you giving it to me? You own this after all. You shouldn’t. You.. Why…why are you suddenly doing this?” 

You really wanted to reach your–the house faster and puked until your vision get hazy from tears, puked until you were sobbing and barely holding yourself up from the intensity of it, then maybe just maybe it would expel all the hate festering your insides, leaving holes. Then maybe you could stop latching into the battered mask from the accumulated resentment, finally let yourself grief, be free. 

“Because I need to feel the rain.” 

The crack in your hardened voice oozed the pain underneath the piled bricks of hate, built up like a pillar where you placed all other emotions you have. High, unreachable, detached from the world around you. And the crumbling pieces get into your eyes looking up in resignation, watching your stability crumble. 

You didn’t bother looking back, not even a glance to make sure he was still following you, not even when you no longer heard his footsteps. 

Trickles of hot and cold contradiction trailed on your cheeks. You just wanted to rest your tired eyes, lay down and just sink even for a moment, in the pool of your bottled up emotions. Then maybe this time you would be soaked enough of it to fill the pit inside. Hold all of it back inside and hope you are strong enough under pressure, the weight of it all the love that left nowhere to go.  

…

Fingers tapping hastily on the screen of the phone, you promised you’d never walk under the rain ever again. You didn’t regret it, but you were not doing it again. 

An itch in your throat spasmed a cough out of you. It came into strings, chains of events that after the bouts of scratching your throat in a form of dry coughing, now you feel it all raw. Sore throat was one of the signs your immune system had been compromised. 

You tapped the send. A simple notification for your supervisor that you couldn’t make it in the studio today. You even used your Aunt for a lame excuse, it’s her fault anyway. Forcing you to have a girls night which always entails consuming a large amount of alcohol. Always easier to blame others than hold yourself accountable, wow, you really do progress—ing further into being a POS. 

As you waited for the reply you grabbed the jar of honey in one of the cupboards for your tea. You clicked your mouth shut after the yawn, wincing from the pain when you swallowed again. 

In your temporary office, multiple boxes were still stacked in the corner of the room, a faded silhouette of squares and rectangles left on the obnoxious green wallpaper(not even the nice shade of green), some parts were even ripped from the posters you tore. You clean the questionable room and attempt to convert it into a small studio. But you still have a lot of work to do, for the room to be in your standard. Yet in the meantime it was better to have a clean workspace. 

When your dopamine was a poltergeist your motivation was equivalent to non existence at this point, except from the few hauntings every now and then.

So, yeah, for now you’d stick with a clean workspace. 

Knowing your supervisor the moment you open up your email you already got a job order. Man, even the concept of life and death didn’t jolt your supervisor even a bit, always the diligent asshole. 

An hour of editing later you needed another cup of tea for your throat and maybe food for your grumbling stomach. You almost grabbed a packet of cigarette and lighter, staring at the item contemplating if you would risk it. At the end the cigarette left untouched. 

Back in the kitchen you stood in front of the open refrigerator blankly staring inside the cold contraptions. You close it taking a deep breath before opening the ref again as if you were expecting the food in your mind wouldmanifest itself. 

There were times when you hated this tedious part of living. This was one of those days. 

Grumbling a curse in your native language you gathered the remaining vegetables and chicken breast. Chicken soup was better than nothing. 

You were in the middle of making another tea after dumping all the ingredients and seasoning in the slow pot cooker, when a knock on the door startled you.

Uhm, you were not expecting a visitor today or even ready to acknowledge the existence of your Aunt just yet. 

Yeah, you were not expecting him standing on your doorsteps again. You stepped back on the door after peeking through the peephole. This is for getting involved, you guess. 

The lock clicked and the door swung open. 

“Hi, neighbor. You must be c-confuse why I’m here again. I won’t take long of your time–”

As he explained his reason for his sudden visit you hear the annoying high pitch voice of the next door neighbor. You purposefully leaned out of the door frame and stared in their direction to announce your presence. Ticked off by the obnoxious one sided conversation the bitch is having with her mother, you started talking back. 

“I know hearing aids are a bit expensive but you better invest some of yourself a pair then maybe you’ll know the difference between inside voice to outside voice. Not that I care about your opinion though,” you clear your throat “I just don’t like hearing your whinny grating voice Susan.” 

Although Susan(not her real name) starts talking shit, her mom winces since she understood the sentiment, while you winced for a different reason. 

“That’s not nice,” he whispered. 

You looked up at your visitor, hand still covering your mouth as you cough. How long did you have to talk? It was irritating your throat. 

“I’m not nice,” you just set the stone further. 

He frowned, disappointed that didn’t shy away from his expression. 

“And not a liar,” you didn’t know why you added that. It kinda slipped out…for some reason. You sighed and held out your hand. 

Blue hair swayed to the side as he tilted his head displaying his confusion. God, your patience was already wearing thin when you could still hear the annoying neighbor’s voice now muffled by the confine of their house, the mom must have dragged her inside. 

“The *ehem umbrella. You said you’re here to return it.” Totally ignoring the other part of his speech. 

He looked even more disappointed when he unfolded both of his hands from his back, handing the umbrella to your waiting hand. 

A glimpse of the tupperware still in his other hand further confirmed the source of his disappointment. 

“How long will the muffins last?” 

And like a puppy finally getting his headpats he perked up. Still his enthusiasm had a pinch of confusion. 

“If you must know, these will last for five days if you keep it in this container,” then he showed you the tupperware. “Although the muffins taste the best when you eat it on the same day it’s baked. I was hoping you would like it freshly baked. W-why are you asking?” 

Unfolding your arms you point your throat. “Sore throat. Can’t eat sweets for a while.” 

“Oh, no. You got sick because you left your umbrella to me last night.” 

You waved off his concern. “It’s already sore from all the tequila shots from last night’s drinking. Along with my smoking habits,” you really wanted to end this conversation. 

The lanky blue haired neighbor on the other hand had something else on his mind as he pushed the tupperware in your arms. 

“I’ll be back,” he even gave you a reassuring smile

You watched him run towards his house, perplexed from what was that all about. What did you just get yourself into?

Not even a full hour until you heard knocking on the door again. Shoving your phone in the pocket of your sweater you slowly made your way towards the door. Before you open the door though you pull up the hood of your sweater enough to ease the chills on your nape. 

Your expression stays neutral as the guy greeted you with his signature buoyant smile, emphasising his buck teeth further. 

“Here, I made you a medicine for your throat,” he proceeded to show you a labelless bottle. “You just have to gargle fifteen millilitres of this for forty-five seconds. Make sure to time it right. Although this tastes more unpleasant than the regular oral antiseptic solution, it will soothe your sore throat in an instant.” 

This guy really talked a lot. You're just being polite listening to him till the end of his speech, but sometimes you wished he would make it short. And did you hear him right? He made it? Examining the labelless bottle, watching the orange liquid with concern. More concerned about the possible taste instead of the possibility of something horrible. 

“Thanks,” you cleared your throat again as you croaked. 

“You sound worse than before.” 

You just hummed this time. You’d been coughing a lot earlier, even nauseous since you are still recovering from getting stupidly drunk last night. 

“Have you eaten anything yet? Do you n-need help with anything else?” concern became dominant in his tone and he had this look like the two of you were already a long time friend. 

His sudden full blown concern didn’t settle well with you, even though you knew he was all good with his intentions you’re not used to genuinity. And you couldn’t berate him since you felt like sand had been poured in your throat. 

“Don’t bother. You’ve helped enough already,” you stepped back and held the door but you paused, having a second thought to just be a piece of shit as usual. “Thank you again, Rick,” you gently closed the door behind you but not without noticing the surprise, opening his eyes wider, looking comically wide awake than ever. 

The door clicked shut. 

…

Well, you survived. 

The medicine the neighbor gave you was indeed effective. The day after you were back to normal. Still the same indifferent bitch but cured of common sickness for a fragile peasant like you. 

As for the neighbor that helped you, only a few small things had changed. Like a simple nod from you when he waved in your direction. At first he looked utterly confused, eventually he seemed to accept that was the only form of greeting he would get from you.

You also received small packaged treats hanging on your door knob since you only get home twice a week because of a major project the studio got recently. 

Torn from this development you kept glancing on the cookies packed in a small plastic packaging secure with a baby blue ribbon. 

With a deep breath you let your back slumped on the backrest of the office chair. You raise your hand and reach for the anti-rad glasses your Aunt gifted you, and removed it. 

A groan prompted out of you when you stretched your back, arms extending, another tense muscles unravelled, before dropping your arms. 

Dull white ceiling encompassed your vision. You couldn’t wait for the project to reach its completion. Cramped up in the office for too long was making you sick.   

Curtains of brown hair and a pair of gentle brown eyes appeared on the edge of your vision, peering down at you. “Hey, wanna take a break?” 

“Not yet, T. Go take a break without me. I’m just stretching my back a bit.” 

His face moved out of your vision like he was pulled away. “Alright, but maybe you should stop teasing yourself with that cookie,” he left with a good natured chuckle on his trail. 

“Mind your damn business, T,” you grumbled feeling a bit annoyed. 

Silence ruled the small room, making your thoughts louder once you were alone again. 

Long deep breaths sucked the cold stale air through your nose, for a second you held your breath before slowly blowing it out through your mouth. You repeated the breathing exercise and stopped when lethargy was comfortably sitting on your shoulders. A push from your arms you pulled yourself upright and reached for the glasses beside the graphic tablet. As you pushed the glasses back your eyes it landed back on the cookies on the corner of your desk. 

The sound of the plastic crinkling disturbed the silence of the room. Up close you already had a feeling that the flavor of the cookies was another miss. 

It seemed like he made the whole thing a guessing game for the lack of feedback from your end. Might as well try it since everything he gave you so far was all good. 

Raisins

Soft chime of laughter rippled into the stagnant quiet room. 

…

“Soooo, are you gonna tell me why you asked for a drive to the grocery store?” pair of brown eyes peering suspiciously at you from the rearview mirror. 

“Please stay being my good friend, T.”

“First of all, I’m your only friend which instantly gives me the vacant spot for the best friend position. Second, you never cease to be creative, especially when you are avoiding something. Third, I am your best friend, not your complacent pleb,” he checked on you again through the rearview mirror. 

“Now I feel attacked.” 

“One of the privileges.”

“I’ll take it back then. This is an exploit.”

“Sorry no take backs. Nuh, uh. The pack is permanent and you sign it, Helen even witnessed the exchange of agreement. You shall face my wife’s wrathful curses if you stop respecting the pack. And it will be a very ugly affair,” he said with the voice he usually used when he was doing the impersonation of his wizard oc.  

“Oh, my, god! Stop it you nerd,” although you were shaking your head you were having a hard time holding your laughter from the fond memories. “Ok, ok, you got me. I suddenly crave a home cooked meal. Getting fed up with consecutive days of take out.”

This time you saw him looking sad, possibly missing his son and wife. “Yeah, me too. I miss Helen’s cooking and my pyjamas.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I want to sleep on an actual bed. I need my heavy pillow.”

T, makes a gagging sound. “You need a boyfriend, asap.”

“Can you not! The pillow is like the equivalent of a weight blanket.” 

“The need to have something heavy beside you, is an equivalent of unmet need for physical touch, buddy.” The car finally stopped. “You can’t stay living like a single goblin for life.”

“Bet.” 

“Oh, I’m telling this to Helen,” then he started doing his evil laugh. 

Head shook from hilarity but the giddy babbling in your guts kept stretching your lips into a tender smile. “Damn it, Thomas! Don’t ruin my goblin life fantasy.”

Chuckling as he tucked the stray strands of his long hair behind his ears, he finally exited the car. “No can do. Now come on. The goblin lord needs to do their shopping.”

…

Familiar smell of the savory seafood dish in your home country continued teasing your appetite. Sure you missed the place from time to time, paid a visit multiple times a year as much as possible. But that was before. Now all you could do was just reminisce about the old times. 

The egg almost slipped out of your hand while peeling the shell, getting lost in your head again. Your shoulders sagged, the sound of your huff was thick of nostalgia, homesick to the place that was never yours. 

You shook your head and redirected your emotion at bashing one of the eggs on the countertop harder than necessary. This time you pick up the pace of peeling the eggs for the toppings. 

Maybe it was time for another cigarette break. 

…

You swore the next door neighbor will be the death of you. You stepped out of the damn house just to smoke in peace, and next thing you were helping old poor Victoria pulled the dumb raccoon out of the gap in the wooden fence. 

While Susan screamed in the background. 

“Vicky. Ma’am for the sake of my eardrum, calm your daughter down,” you said, almost pleading with the older woman. 

Dumb raccoon and its fatass. You tried prying the wood so it could wiggle out of the gap but you forgot this furball doesn’t have the ability of the cat. And the only way to remove the helpless animal was to pull it out. 

You made sure the sleeves of your hoodie were down just in case the furball decides to get too feisty. It screeched louder when you pulled it bit by bit. When you unstuck half of its upper body you grabbed it by the nape. 

The raccoon kept fighting in your hold as you carried it towards the elder woman. 

“Throw it! Throw that ugly thing away!” Susan kept chanting. 

And being the shit you were, you swung the animal towards her. The woman screamed bloody murder while she scrambled away. 

“You shouldn’t keep feeding this fatass, ma’am.”

“Oh.” Vicky’s face sagged upon frowning. “I always wanted a pet. But you know my daughter’s husband. He didn’t like animals,” she said as she played with the hem of her blouse. 

You looked up in the sky and hoped you had enough patience remaining not to get involved. It hurt you that the old lady couldn’t enjoy doing what she loves because of some asshole’s opinion. Vicky was old and she deserved to live and enjoy what she wanted. 

“I’m sorry, Vicky.” 

“No, it’s ok. Thank you for helping me. You are right though. It got bigger,” chuckling Vicky took a last look at the raccoon, there was a sadness in her eyes as she smiled in resignation. 

“It’s fat for getting spoiled by a sweet old lady,” you said smiling back at her as you readjusted your hold on the animal. 

Vicky chuckles but it didn’t sound cheery per usual, waving goodbye at you on your way out of their lawn. 

On your way out though you saw another neighbor standing on the doorstep of the house. The whole interaction with Vicky already drained your social battery, added that there was still this fatass in your clutch you needed to take care off. 

Back facing you, his shoulders look wider from the lack of his usual white coat. So, he owned other clothes besides his usual get up. Kind of remind you of Thomas from the initial stage of getting to know the guy. 

“What do you want?” you asked in a tone firmer than earlier. 

His shoulder hitched, obviously startled from hearing you out of the house. 

“I’m just checking if you are ba–why do you have a raccoon?” he asked, pointing at the wriggling furball in your hold. 

“Tried being a food burglar next door. Fatty got stuck on the wrong gap of the fence.” 

“You helped Katrina?” 

What a waste of a good name for an awful person. 

“If you mean the screeching pig next door Susan, no. I helped Victoria.” 

That woman didn’t deserve her mother’s love. It kinda pissed you off that was why you never acknowledged the woman by the name her mother bestowed.

“Screeching pig? That’s not a nice thing to say. And her name is not Susan,” he said, reprimanding you again. 

“I’m not nice. And she does sound like a pig. Anyway, what are you doing here?” 

He followed you all the way to the backyard. Searching for something to temporarily contain the raccoon before bringing it to the nearest animal shelter later. 

“Aren’t you releasing the raccoon?”

You breathe through your nose before expelling the air through your mouth, so closed on snapping at the man. 

“Can’t. Not here.” your jaw clenches as the trash panda continues thrashing. “I’ll bring this fatass to the animal shelter or Victoria’s son in law will hunt this one,” too. 

But you can’t find anything of use. You doubt the box will keep the feisty thing contained. 

“I-I have a carrier if you want you can borrow it.” 

You look at him like he just told you the project in your work is magically done. “Yes, please. Because my fingers are starting to feel numb and this fucker is really, really heavy.” 

“Oh, ok. W-wait here.” Then he was running, long legs stretching into a wide stride. 

The raccoon squirmed again when you switched the hold to your left. 

“Sorry buddy but you have to be away here or you’ll be eating rat poison next time,” Victoria will definitely be devastated again if another animal stinks up dead somewhere in their yard. 

Soon, the lanky neighbor returned with the white carrier, just in time before the ache in your fingers became unbearable. He even helped get the feisty creature in the container. 

“Are you going now?” 

Huh, you almost forgot he was still here. Crouched in front of the faucet washing your hand, you remained quiet. 

Did he think he could meddle with your business just because he lent you the carrier? 

Shaking the water off your hand and waiting for it to dry you took another look at the raccoon. 

“Yeah, why?”

When your hands were less wet you proceeded to rub it on your pants. From the wooden bench adjacent to the wall laid the cigarette and lighter, you grabbed it and about to light one, but paused when the man with buck teeth spoke of the information that entirely slipped out of your mind. 

“Do you k-know where the nearest animal shelter is?” 

Dumb moments, eh, it's natural you got some of those. Although you knew an animal shelter, it was a bus ride away. 

Blowing a long string of smoke to your side away from the standing man near you, you notice him fidgeting, fingers tapping at his side. 

“No. Do you?” you asked even though you have an inkling he’ll start running his mouth again. 

“Oh, yes, I know. In fact it’s the same place where I brought Ms. Carrot—before. I’m still sad about that last visit but I don’t mind taking you there,” and indeed he looks sad, heartbroken even. 

If he fucking cried you swear you’d gonna lose it. 

“Hey, you don’t have to come if it brings back sad memories. Just give me the address and I’ll take it from here.” 

Conflict was obvious by the furrow right in the middle of his unibrow. Hesitation took form by the multiple times his lips parted, words just kept hanging right on the edge, unsaid. 

“It’s fine. Just tell me the address,” you pull out your phone and tap the notes. “I’m still going to drop by for the carrier afterwards.” you held your phone towards him. 

He stares at it for a moment then stares back at you. 

“I’m sorry but I only o-owned a landline phone,” he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. 

What? Did he just thought that–

Your other hand holding a cigarette moves toward your face, the heel of your palm digs into your eye, rubbing it. You couldn’t level with this guy anymore. 

“Type the address on the phone,” your jaw clench shut in an attempt to grind the insult you choose to keep to yourself. 

Shame colored his face flush of red and he scrambled to grab the phone to save a bit of his dignity. 

“I-I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to exchange numbers with me. N-not because of s-something else. Definitely not s-something else,” awkward chuckle shakes his hunched shoulders. “I’m not trying anything, I swear. J-just wanted to be friends,” he looked all tense as if he was already anticipating some backlash, from the way he moved with caution. 

You took the phone back as he gingerly held it out to you. And a quick apology stuttered out of him again before rushing out of the property.  

Guess you broke the dork without even the intention of doing so. He’s lucky you have a high tolerance for a guy like him.  

A friend, huh?

The cigarette butt scrunched under the force from getting pressed into the ashtray. You just noticed the stickers on the carrier now that you were staring at it with your full attention. 

“A carrot cake? How can vegetables turn into a cake?”

You asked the old woman smoking beside you. 

“That’s the magic of baking and cooking my little sweet tooth. You can make anything taste good if you know what you are doing.” 

Stretch of genuine smile pulled on the darken wrinkled lips of the blurry face looking down at you. Reminiscent from juvenile years slowly faded by the passing of time, yet you still latched on to the pieces of those memories like a lifeline. 

“Time for a walk, fatso,” you said pertaining to the raccoon circling inside the container. Off of the bench you grabbed the carrier and left after checking the location through a gps app.

…

Not expecting the whole 360 of your entire afternoon, you were now standing in front of Rick’s doorsteps, waiting for the door to open and be done with all the socializing for the day. 

The door creaked open, it stayed ajar for a bit before it slowly swung open. Rick greeted you with an awkward smile force on his lips, and before he could speak again you handed him the carrier. 

“Thank you for letting me use this, Rick. And, yes, the visit went well. The volunteers will release the trash panda into the wild tomorrow where it belongs. That’s all.” 

Not waiting for any response you turned around and left. Hungry and mentally drained, you just want to get back in the house. 

“Wait!”

Two steps more and you were out of the property but you were still compelled to stop, human curiosity you guess. You cocked your head urging him to speak. 

“I want to apologize for earlier, for assuming that–that you’re asking for my number. I got a bit carried away, got a bit confident–that we are some sort of friends now.” 

Huh, your brain was no longer braining because of the grumbling of your stomach. Besides the fact that you already got a lot going on in your brain and he just had to add himself in the chaos.

“Look, I’m not upset about it. But about the friend thing. I don’t know about that. Acquaintance, maybe?” you offered. 

“Oh. Yes, of course. Acquaintance. That made sense.” 

Disappointment was nothing new to you. But seeing it on someone with a genuine intention did sting. Especially when you knew he didn’t have a proper connection with people around him, you even heard from Vicky that the man has been alone ever since moving in the neighborhood, no family or relatives visiting, no significant other…nobody. 

“I better get going. Thank you again, Rick.” 

“Ok, goodbye–” The sound and the way he uttered your name was like the clutch from the sleeves, scared…desperate. 

Although you were used to jumping off the boat even before the boat barely sailed away from the shore, it didn’t mean it gets easier to swim. 

Each step still weighs heavily on your ankle. Another chain of shackles was added to the collection.  

Ugh, why do you keep getting involved with lonely people. 

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Please stick to ONE TASK, brain!!

🧠: No. :)

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