Chapter Text
Normal, life was normal. You had a good job, lived in an exciting, literally magical city, got on well with your co-workers, did not have a crush on your boss, had wholesome hobbies and had no particularly devastating health problems. You even got yourself a fish tank a month ago—how’s that for a balanced life? No goldfish for you though, no siree, you set yourself apart by getting one huge snail with a pretty, golden brown shell that reminded you of chicken nuggets.
You went out with friends at least once a week. Most of them were work friends that had become the oh-so-coveted real friends and were more than willing to spend time with you off the clock. Whether you sang your heart out at karaoke or masterfully worked to flip slices of beef on a grill, you knew that they always looked at you with pity. Eyes that said poor idiot supposedly went over your head and you stubbornly did your best to keep up the act.
Everything was just fine. You weren’t moping or languishing in a did-he, didn’t-he state, casting furtive glances at him whenever you thought he wasn’t looking. You were moving on from all that nonsense. Career first, emotional mumbo-jumbo later; the pinnacle of professionalism. It paid off, too: you were no longer under the shadow of your boss as a run-of-the-mill trainee, but the subject of rumours for an expedited promotion.
No one needed to know that your impressive work ethic stemmed from wanting to spend as much time as possible with the one and only Chief Detective Almond, who was still your staunch direct supervisor. Sure, it didn’t hurt and bamboozle you any less to be around him on the clock and into overtime, but you genuinely enjoyed his company despite…certain events.
Totally your fault, by the way. To this day, a whole month later, you still couldn’t take a step inside his office without cringing your intestines inside out like socks going into the wash. You had taken advantage of a man most definitely twice your age while he was under the influence and had sucked him off at the very same desk he continued to use! If that wasn’t a breach of literally everything in the good books, you didn’t know what was. It was a blessing in disguise that Almond rarely spent time there, being more of a fieldwork kind of guy.
Although, whenever the two of you were in the same car, you started extrapolating the same situation into a different setting and—no, no, you were over this. That particular scenario had been forcibly barred from entering the premises of your mind, as were all the other ones. They were reserved for when you got irredeemably horny in the quiet of your own bedroom which, unfortunately, still happened on an embarrassingly regular basis.
You had confided to your single, closest friend at work because you just couldn’t handle playing it safe, so now everyone you regularly hung out with knew what had gone down that night (you, to be exact). Thankfully, they were a good bunch who didn’t want to see you fired, but if you had to hear one more snide insinuation that you had slept your way to a promotion, you would choose violence. On the other end of the scale, you didn’t need their pity, either: those concerned, not-joking-around-anymore pep talks during lunch were worse than being teased. You knew from the start that this was a doomed venture, the unromanceable option in this crappy dating simulator that you couldn’t refund. It was for the best that he didn’t—or chose not to—remember, even though it threw you in a loop with no closure.
You were fine. Everything was normal and normal was good. He called you ‘kid’, you called him ‘sir’, and that was the end of that.
+++
“…caused the transport vehicle to overturn. Five sacks split open in the process, spilling an approximate quantity of…,”
The sound of fingers tip-tapping on the keyboard harmonised with your robotic mutters as you filled out today’s incident reports. A takeaway carton lay in the bin next to your desk, as cleanly picked as if a vulture had gotten to it.
“Thirty minutes and forty-eight seconds”—you made a face, but kept on typing—“were required to track down each bean and return them to the sacks, which were then resealed. Meanwhile, the transport vehicle was righted by a tow truck…,”
One of your colleagues had taken a sick day and you had offered to help him with his workload. This was not entirely out of the goodness of your heart—writing up reports for the digital database was one of the most mind-numbing bits of busywork—but because one missed day of reports would set the entire week back. The department had experienced this analogue domino effect several times prior, and you did not want to be part of the all-nighter overtime gang who put the pieces back together.
“…had traffic delays from 13:37 until 14:29. An apology was issued over—urgh, why is this even here? Why isn’t this with Road Policing?” You scowled at the weirdly detailed sheet of stapled paper clipped to the far side of your monitor. “There’s nothing magic-related—,”
A note at the bottom caught your tired eye: addendum, VIP, forward to MEH.
(As unfortunate as it was, your department was indeed ‘MEH’: Magical Emergency Handling.)
You flipped to the next page of the report and a dense wall of text hit your face like an immaculately written brick. In insufferably beautiful cursive script and stationary scented like the bowels of a high-end café was a complaint that was as scathing as it was totally over-the-top. It seemed that one of the professors at the Parfaedia Institute had been waiting on the victimised transport truck for some very specific coffee beans, and due to the incident had not only suffered through a tardy delivery but also goods that were irreversibly ruined.
You skimmed over temperature readings, texture calibrations, lamentations about how the beans were now utterly useless as reagents, scolding, and accusations about your department’s competency. The final signature at the very bottom was a name made familiar to you after having to study the Parfaedia folder—this particular professor had a whole subsection dedicated to his complaints.
Exhaling your entire lung capacity, you unclipped the report from your monitor.
Ideally, you should scan the complaint and append it to the digital file for posterity. The multifunction printer was so far away from your desk, though. Look, there it was, in an area of the office that was already in the dark since everyone except you and your boss had gone home about three hours ago.
You gazed at your computer screen blankly, letting all your thoughts empty out your ear for a brief moment. With a little imagination, the squeaking of Almond’s whiteboard marker sounded like someone cleaning the nooks and crannies of your brain. He was in his office, and though you would like to think that he stayed behind because you were also staying behind, you knew that three hours past clocking out was practically the start of the day for him. There was another case hovering over your heads, not as big as the last one, but plenty annoying in its own right: a petty thief that just had to use invisibility magic, with hideouts all over the city.
You filled your lungs back up and pushed your chair away from the desk. Getting to your feet, you felt your spine make like a famous cereal brand’s slogan, the sound filling the empty office with firecrackers. A lengthy stretch accompanied it, real head-to-toe action, and you let out a groan fit to rival a ship’s bellows.
“You holding together alright?” asked Almond from his office, a tinge of worry in his voice.
“Fine, fine, Chief. Old bones just not what they used to be,” you called back automatically as you walk to the printer, immediately shrivelling up at your choice of words.
Thankfully, Almond barked out a hearty laugh. It was one of those that you wished you could record and play on repeat whenever you wanted to feel like hot chocolate inside. Not that you didn’t already have the cadence and tone memorised, of course.
“Oh, don’t I know it, kid,” he replied. If he said anything else after that, it was drowned out by the printer coughing to life and scanning that ridiculous complaint.
Your boss was absolutely insane. He was one of the fittest people you knew! You personally saw him in action on the regular and his body moved like a well-oiled, fine-tuned, overcoat-clad machine. Sure, he grumbled about aches and pains every so often, and yes, sometimes his famous sighs sounded like he was on the verge of a heart attack, but that happened to everyone, right? What mattered was how he put it all to use!
Outside the nearest shuttered window, you saw the faded orange headlights of a car whizz by. The fleeting glow illuminated your face, shrouded in grey-black shadows.
Job done, the printer went back to its deathly stasis.
You turned and Almond was there, leaning against the doorframe of his office, watching you. Despite the late hour, there was hardly a single hair out of place on his head. His shirt wasn’t even untucked in the slightest. And a rare treat: his wireframe reading glasses were snug on his face. You only saw those before 8AM or if someone was giving a particularly text-heavy PowerPoint presentation.
He was nursing a glass of water instead of a mug of coffee, but before you could point that oddity out, he said:
“Really, though. Everything okay?” Almond nodded his head at your desk. “You’ve been staying back more and more lately, and I know how draining that can be. No need to push yourself.”
“Like I said, I’m fine, sir,” Reassuring him, you put the report into your DONE tray and stretched your neck from side to side. “It’s just a pain covering for someone else, but I’ve only got one more left tonight till we’re all caught up. Think it might be about that rift from a couple days back.”
“Mmm. Not the worst one we’ve had this month, if I remember right.”
You eased yourself back into your chair and spun around to face him, crossing your legs for that proper boss effect.
“So.”
“So?” Almond raised an eyebrow.
“What’s with the water?” You jerked your chin towards his drink. “Unless that’s some new, super distilled caffeine that looks like water. Or vodka.”
Almond paused, and then chuckled sheepishly. “Ah, this? Well, a friend of mine told me the other day that it wasn’t healthy to drink coffee after 6PM. ‘specially not how black I take it.”
You snorted as he took a pondering sip, his blue-grey eyes resignedly saying what-can-you-do .
“It’s about time you realised it, sir. It’s way cheaper too, did you know that? Available from any tap!” You scolded, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “You never listen to me! But I guess…you know, something, something, old dogs, old habits, right?”
Now it was Almond’s turn to huff, but you could see the curve of his lips behind the glass rim.
“Hm, got quite a mouth on you once the sun goes down,” he muttered and you felt your heart erupt into flames. “Talk like that with me, fine, but you best be careful round the top brass, kid.”
“Chief, you’re literally the Chief here. No one else tops you .”
You were dying inside, at his words as well as your calm, boldfaced return. Behind your stone-like poker-face, you watched Almond’s laughter with the careful scrutiny of a hawk. Did he notice your opportunistic innuendo, a shred of bait cast out into unknown waters? Did he know what he had just said? Had that been a reference?
Did he remember?
You felt the unseen, unacknowledged social timer for one of you to say something tick into the orange zone, so you abandoned your hopes like chaff and changed the subject:
“How’s the investigation going? Any leads so far?” There, nice, neutral, and relevant.
Almond drank half his glass and sighed.
“I sent some intel over to the field team half an hour ago. Before that, I had to wait on my contacts from the Institute for that sample we found this afternoon.”
Your face lit up despite yourself and you slapped a hand on the desk. “There was something about that bottle cap after all! I knew it!”
“Yeah, it was really something alright,” Almond smiled at you. “Some pretty telling elemental traces, apparently, and once I had that evidence I was able to boil it down to one of the four places we had in mind. Just waiting for a ping now to see if anything turns up.”
The way he was smiling at you was making you feel things. If you were being as unbiased as you could be, you would’ve said that it was the smile of someone who was endeared or, or maybe even charmed. It made the cloudy skies of his eyes go soft and tender, the promise of sunlight right behind them.
You could also just be hallucinating, of course.
“That’s great, then! Hopefully—,”
Almond’s phone rang from the depths of his office and the man himself straightened up.
“Looks like that’s my cue,” he nodded at you, made to turn around, and then hesitated, one hand on the doorframe.
His phone’s default ringtone kept beeping for a few seconds.
“Uh, sir?”
“I really am proud of you, kid.”
Your mouth clammed up and you blinked several times.
Almond continued, each word as sincere as the last. “You’ve come a long way since the beginning, and I couldn’t have asked for a better trainee and partner. Keep it up.”
With that nuke of a statement, your boss nodded at you again and dashed into his office. In half a second, you heard his voice flow through the distance between you, but he was speaking too low to make anything out. Not that you particularly cared about the case details right now, though.
Your final report lay untouched as you sat there in a stupor. There were two wolves inside you: one was begging your brain to put any and all rosy-coloured thoughts aside until you were safe in the privacy of your own home while the other was howling at the moon with no intention of stopping. So, you compromised.
You picked up the sheaf of papers but then angled your chair in such a way as to peek inside Almond’s office. From here, his side profile was visible as he leant against the desk you were too familiar with. Those stupidly long legs of his were crossed at the ankles as he continued to speak into his phone, (hopefully) unaware of your ogling.
The corner of his eye twitched minutely and you flung your chair back into place, facing your computer with red across your cheeks like a teenager catching a glimpse of their crush.
Partner? Partner ?
You willed everything else out of your mind and forced the report into your line of sight. Coughing for good measure, you began to read. It was indeed about the rift from three days ago—you recognised the handwriting as that of one of your friends’. Thankfully, everything had been handled without anything more than a few, moderately deep cuts. The rift itself had been outside the city, but still close enough to pose a potential threat had it been allowed to grow.
Midway through typing up the first page, you vaguely registered Almond’s voice petering away, replaced by periodic clicking. You made a note to ask him what went down once you were both freed from the shackles of overtime.
Your snail, a shower, a comfy bed, and the view of Almond’s face shaded in by the glow of streetlamps were all just a couple more pages away.
Then, your own phone lit up, vibrating silently within arm’s length, next to your DONE tray. Your eyes instinctively flicked to the screen.
The caller ID read UNKNOWN.
You instantly had your spam-or-scam guard up, but on the off-chance that it was actually something important, you saved your document and answered the call, holding the phone a few centimetres away from your ear just in case.
“…Hello?”
A throat cleared. “Hi, this’s Magic City Gas and Pipin’, MCGP. Sorry for callin’ so late. Is this, wait—,”
The voice read out your full name and apartment building. Considering who it was and the fact that they knew your information, you connected the dots quick enough.
“Yes, speaking. Did something happen?” Though calm, the concern was evident in your tone.
Unbeknownst to you, Almond had stopped sifting through CCTV feeds and had an ear out to your one-sided conversation.
“Yeah. We got reports of a gas leak in your buildin’, and it looks to be a pretty big problem. Spans a hu-ge chunk of three floors, and your room’s part of it. Nothin’ too serious,”—the voice hurried to pre-emptively assuage your worries—“but defin’tely dangerous till we get it fixed.”
“A gas leak?” You chewed your lip, trying to think back in case you had inadvertently done something. “Do you know what caused it? Is everyone else alright?”
“No one was harmed, and no, we still aren’t sure what happened,” the voice coughed and you heard something creak in the background. “We’d recommend you stay someplace else for the night, since the fumes can be pretty harmful.”
“Er, sorry, but do you know if they’re harmful towards animals?”
“…Animals?” The voice pitched upwards.
“Yes, particularly…aquatic things? Like, fish or snails or,” you fumbled for other water-based pets so as not to sound too embarrassing. “Tad…poles?”
A pause from the other end of the line so brief that you hardly had the time to feel awkward before a huge, throaty laugh assaulted your eardrums.
“Uh—,”
“Your SNAIL ?! Potential toxic gases and the thing you ask about is your snail ?” The voice laughed and laughed, and you could now hear other voices in the background as well, forming a chorus of auditory finger-pointing.
But you knew this voice now that it wasn’t putting on a weird accent. Your gasp of irritated realisation told the caller that much, and your friend (coincidentally, the friend whose report you were writing up) quickly rushed to speak over you.
“Now, now, calm down!”
“Urgh, what d’you mean ‘calm down’? I’m calm,” You pressed a hand to your forehead, rolling your eyes. “Why are you prank-calling me at this time? And, by the sounds of it, with everyone else ? Am I on speaker?”
Mutterings amongst the fading laughter, and then the phone was passed onto another friend.
“Um, uh…there’s a gas leak in your apartment,” A hearty snort.
“There is no gas leak in my apartment.”
Someone in the background shouted what was clearly okay hang up! and then the line went dead. You swore you could see their combined mirth steam out of your phone.
Heaving a sigh to rival your boss’, you began to type into the group chat. Before you could press send, the original caller wrote you’ll thank us later <3 .
Then your text was immediately ‘read’ by all six people in the group, but no one replied.
You rolled your eyes again and shook your head. Great, now you were going to have to wedge yourself back into a work mindset. You didn’t even feel relieved that there wasn’t an actual gas leak; the fact that it was a joke left you with a bad taste in your mouth.
You put your hands on the keyboard.
A knock on the doorframe behind you.
You took your hands off the keyboard and spun around.
“Sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear all of that,” said Almond, frowning. “Your apartment’s got a gas leak?”
“Um. No, sir, it’s—,”
“MCGP usually get the job done quick, but at this hour it’ll still take until the early AMs. You need somewhere to stay the night, kid? It’s not much, but you can crash at mine until tomorrow, if you want.”
You froze. Almond looked so incredibly concerned for your wellbeing that you didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was all just a stupid prank. That, and the 24-karat opportunity you had just been presented with without having to bend any rules or break any morals was just right there.
But you had to smack that gold back into the pond from whence it came.
“Thank you for offering, sir,” you started, inclining your head a little. “But really, it’s fine.”
“Kid, you might think you’re invincible, but so is carbon monoxide—,”
“No, this isn’t about that. It’s about the fact that that was just a prank call from my friends, sir,” you sighed and held up your phone, showing Almond just a brief flash of the group chat lest he see anything incriminating. “I don’t know how free they are to be doing something like this on a work night, but there you go. There isn’t a gas leak in my apartment.”
Almond’s frown deepened and he peered into your eyes.
“Not just being stubborn about it? Won’t have you overly-considerate about something as serious as this.”
“Nope,” you confirmed. “Totally truthful here, sir. Besides, this is a matter of life or death! I would gladly sleep anywhere else if it meant I would wake up the next day if there really was a leak.”
After another second or two of scrutiny, Almond sighed and let up. Running a hand through his hair, he checked the time on his watch.
“Right, then. Well, I’ll finish things on my end and then we can close up shop for the night.”
“Roger that, sir,” you spun back to your screen and began to type in earnest. “Oh, and don’t forget to tell me what happened about the case!”
Almond made a noise of acknowledgement from his office.
+++
That’s what would’ve happened if you had been a rational, responsible, and mature adult.
“MCGP usually get the job done quick, but at this hour it’ll still take until the early AMs. You need somewhere to stay the night, kid? It’s not much, but you can crash at mine until tomorrow, if you want.”
“I-sir…,” You were not about to look a damn gift horse in the mouth, Trojan or not. “I mean, god, is that alright, though?”
You summoned back the genuine worry that had clamped down on you during the first half of the call and turned some pitiful eyes on Almond. Your heart clenched, but whether the fist gripping it was made of guilt or excitement was up to interpretation.
“‘Course it is, kid,” said Almond. “What else would you do, camp in the office? This is easier than calling up your friends, too; my place isn’t that far. Unless you feel uncomfortable about it, then that’s perfectly—,”
“No, no, sir, not at all!” Was that too sudden of a response? “I mean, haha, unless there’s something wrong with your house or something, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
The damn man took you at face value and squinted into the distance, thinking.
“Hmm, well, not that I know of. The blender’s been broken for a couple of days—,”
“Sir, I was joking. It’s fine. I don’t think I’ll need to use a blender in the next ten hours, anyway.”
Nothing short of a fire would stop me from staying over at yours, sir. That’s what you had desperately wanted to say because it sounded charming as hell (to you), but you were kind of afraid Almond would’ve then given you a lowdown on his house’s fire safety measures.
Actually, did he stay in a house or an apartment? You had always wondered, since the topic never really came up in normal conversations. What kind of decorations did he favour? Did he have any pets? No doubt the place was spotless, though. Then that led to the question of did he have a family he went back to everyday? Were there pictures of a spouse and kids on the walls, the mantel? Had you committed an even greater sin than you thought?
All would be revealed.
After confirming that you would be going over, Almond went back to finish whatever he was doing in his office. Your fingers flew across the keyboard with a speed unknown to man and in no time at all, you saved the document into the rifts archive. Most of your colleagues kept a spare change of clothes (and sometimes some toiletries) in the backroom in case of emergencies, and you were no different. You practically skipped there, flipping the light switch on with a flourish.
You purposely left the plastic baggie containing soap, shampoo, and other bits and pieces in your locker, snagging only your toothbrush. In some cases, it was good not to be prepared.
“Excited?” greeted Almond, overcoat draped over one arm as he locked his office door. His eyebrow was raised as he stunned you with a knowing glance when you emerged from the storage area.
You spluttered, trying to scrape the smile off your face, your grip on the canvas pack tightening. Almond, too, was smiling, but that only served to make you more embarrassed.
“I-well-what’s so wrong about being excited?” Nice, you went for the defensive route.
“Nothing,” answered Almond simply. He tapped your desk with a finger as he walked by, heading for the entranceway. “I’m glad you’re being optimistic about this,”
Since your apartment has a gas leak vibrated between the lines. Was he suspicious already? Did he know that this was just a ruse passed on from your friends’ sorely misguided but highly appreciated good intentions? Had he known from the start and had just been trying to test whether or not you would tell the truth? What were you even expecting, trying to pull the baking sheet over the eyes of Magic City’s premier detective?
The only thing to do was damage control.
“Can’t be anything less, right?” you said, as nonchalantly as possible, jogging up to walk beside him. “It’s already out of my hands, so it’s not like moping about will fix anything. Besides, I get to see my boss’ house for the first time! Silver linings and all that.”
Almond let this little speech hover in the air as the two of you exited the building proper (“Got everything?” “Yessir.”). Outside, the city breathed quietly, the stuttering streetlamp directly above you the only hiccup in its steady breath. It wasn’t incredibly late, but Magic City was often quite calm in this district, perhaps out of consideration for the MCPD. The real nightlife round these parts took place ten minutes further downtown, where Parfaedia Institute fitfully slumbered every night with dreams of fireworks and nightmares of actual fires.
“The enthusiasm’s refreshing, kid,” said Almond at last. “You’ll find that it’s just the house of a boring old man, but I won’t burst your bubble before then. C’mon, I’ll let you have shotgun.”
“Sir, I always get shotgun when I’m with you.”
The air was crisp with a light sprinkling of frost: a reassurance that autumn was enjoying its time in the seasonal spotlight. Almond had parked his car underneath a dying tree, and you stood next to the passenger side for a moment, watching a few dried leaves detach with the wind.
+++
The ride to Almond’s was, as promised, brief. You didn’t often get to make yourself all cosy in his car, since the squad car was the usual hot rod of choice. The leather seats had a comfy, but mature vibe to them, and Almond’s signature scent of sandalwood and cedar melded wonderfully with the traces of aromatic coffee infused with slight new-car smell. There was a small, painted pebble glued to his dashboard: a colourful, lopsided smiley face shiny with lacquer. Something a young child or artistically challenged teenager would make.
You had never noticed it before and decided not to bring it up. The silence was too peaceful to be broken with something as awkward as the question pinging around your brain. Said peace lasted up until the moment you got out of the car and stared up at Almond’s place of abode.
It was an apartment after all. On the fourth floor out of seven, to be exact, if the elevator buttons told you anything, and it was when you watched the digital numbers flick from one, two, three that you started to get the good old fashioned butterflies stirring up hurricanes in your stomach. It was difficult to believe this was really happening, and the sheer number of possibilities spread out wide before your delusional eyes overwhelmed your palms with sweat.
“Nice place. Quiet, calm; I get the feeling huge parties don’t happen much around here,” you remarked, taking in the dimly lit corridor. Each door had twice the amount of space between them than you were familiar with, and that alone was testament to the gap between Almond and you in many respects. Wage, for one.
Almond shrugged, stopping at 413.
“If you say so, kid,” he said, fishing out some keys. “To be honest, I don’t really stay home, and when I do, it’s not for very long.”
“Oh. Right. I guess that explains the sofa bed in your office.”
“That explains the sofa bed in my office.”
This guy deserved a vacation.
“Alright, c’mon in. Again, it isn’t much, but I can at least guarantee that it’s a roof over your head.”
You scuttled in after your boss, clutching your bag tightly, nearly slamming into Almond’s back when he stopped to take off his shoes in the small foyer. You did the same. After a bit of rummaging in a stout little shoe cabinet, Almond indicated a set of indoor slippers, hardly worn by the looks of it, which you hurriedly slid onto your feet.
Guest slippers or…someone else’s?
“Make yourself at home, kid. You can toss your bag anywhere you like.” Almond hung his overcoat on a rack near the door and went about his business. “I can put the kettle on if you—,”
“Oh, no, I’m good, sir. Thanks,” you rushed to say, eager eyes already feasting on Almond’s home and hearth. You saw the man himself hover at your peripheral, bemusedly watching you.
“Alright, then. Be good now, I’ll only be a moment.”
And he wandered into what you assumed was his bedroom (!), closing the door gently behind him. You were chuffed that Almond seemed to trust you enough to let you free-roam through his house without supervision.
In all respects, it was a very normal apartment. Simplistic and practical, although you wouldn’t go so far as to say it was minimalistic; lots of warm, natural tones. A kitchen to your immediate left, the living room yawning open in front of you, and a short hallway with a couple of doors to your right. It was all very clean—the still, empty cleanliness that came with a place not often lived in. You could smell sandalwood and cedar threading through the air, alongside traces of coffee.
The living room housed a couch and a single loveseat, as well as one of those fake fireplace mantels. You lowered your backpack down against the couch. A firm grope told you that it would be extremely comfortable to lie down on, if a little too soft. It must be a bit hellish to sit on this during the summer months, what with it being leather and all, but since it was autumn now, the heat was unfortunately not a viable excuse. Maybe you could spin the height angle: sir, you’re way too tall to sleep on that for the whole night! I don’t mind sharing your bed, sir, honest. That would only work if you conveniently forgot that you could sleep there instead, though.
It would all fall apart if the second door you saw in that appendix of a hallway was another bedroom. Now that would be an offer you couldn’t sensibly refuse.
Gentle ticking drew you away from your schemes: a wall clock in the kitchen area. Separated from the living room by a rounded counter with three chairs, you found an electric stovetop above an oven, an inbuilt fridge, and the aforementioned electric kettle. The broken blender was nowhere in sight and you weren’t about to pry into the cupboards. An empty pet bowl sat nondescriptly in one corner, which was strange since you hadn’t seen hide or hair of an animal in the ten minutes you’d been here.
There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere.
You tried to imagine Almond puttering about here in the morning before work. No, he’d be smart and tidy about it, making coffee or breakfast and sitting down with the paper. Already dressed, probably, clean-shaven and with his hair styled in that amazingly fitting, slightly roguish wave. That was much easier to visualise, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t want to see him in the bleary, dishevelled bathrobe set.
Despite your politeness, something primal made you want to open the fridge and see if it was as empty as you and your friends had always hypothesised. Coffee beans and/or instant coffee belonged in the cupboards, after all. You were too hopped up to be hungry, but maybe you just wanted to see some eggs or vegetables, you know? Once, you overheard Almond muttering to the deputy that he hadn’t had a proper lunch in who knows how long, and you haven’t looked at him the same way since.
You resisted the urge like a champ, because while you might’ve taken advantage of your drunken boss but you drew the line at snooping in his fridge. Your attention turned to the three chairs, which made your eyes wander back to the mantel. There were a bunch of framed pictures on it and a tiny, potted cactus held the entire display together, squatting in centre stage. As you edged closer, the gnawing worry that had been nibbling away at your heart began to chow down. They were looking suspiciously more and more like family pictures…
“Ah-ha, enjoying yourself?”
Your toes curled and you whipped around. Then your toes really curled as your boss was there, looking the most un-Almond you’ve ever seen him. Gone were the perfectly pressed dress shirt, tie, holster, and pinstripe trousers. Here was an Almond At Home: faintly damp hair still being lightly towelled off, plain white shirt, long, loose pants (striped! You would never escape), and those indoor slippers. He was smiling again, that damn smile that was so easy around the edges and softened the steel-blue in his eyes with the thing you hoped was fondness. Like this, he looked so homey you were ready to get down on one knee right there and then.
You cleared your throat just in case.
“Caught me in the act, sir,” you raised your hands in mock-surrender.
“Mm.” Almond raised a finger, rubbing the towel behind his ear. “We’re off the clock, kid, there’s no need to call me ‘sir’.”
Oh, how your stomach curdled at that, déjà-vu rattling behind your eyes. You kept your face as calm as possible, drawing on a free and easy expression.
“Stop with the ‘kid’ first, then we can talk. Sir.” Quirking an eyebrow for good measure, you decided to swiftly switch the subject. You turned back to the mantel, ignoring the clench in your chest, and picked up a picture frame at random.
A ruddy-faced, cheerful young girl grinned up at you, holding a magnifying glass right up to the camera lens. Her light brown hair shone orange in the sunlight, one bushel-like pigtail framing her glittering hazel eyes. Given the angle of the photo, it was difficult to make out what she was wearing, but you could clearly see a classic deerstalker snug on her head.
A quick glance at the rest of the pictures on the mantel revealed that they all featured her. Some had Almond in there, too.
“Cute kid,” you commented, throwing the grenade and waiting for the blast.
“She is,” agreed Almond, walking over to join you. He smelled clean. “Already fancies herself a brilliant detective, and who am I to argue?”
Your boss sure was taller than you. Even without his coat spiffing up his silhouette, even in the most basic home clothes, Almond still struck a fine figure. You hoped that he didn’t notice you looking at him with the same pride that he was looking at the photos.
Although it seemed like you were going to have to trigger the explosion yourself. And if you were going out, you were going out with style.
“Really takes after her father then, huh?” You chuckled quickly, because you didn’t trust yourself to fake a sound for too long. “You must be proud, sir.”
Almond turned to you with confusion flickering across his features, but it cleared almost instantaneously. He laughed, the sound lighting up the tastefully dimly lit living room.
“Oh, no, no, she’s not my daughter! She’s my niece, but you’ve got the second part right, kid. I’m as proud as her actual dad, if that makes you feel any better.”
God, you just knew you had to be radiating relief right now, but how could you not, when your knees felt like giving out (metaphorically) and your hands were sweating like mad (literally). Somehow, it also felt like Almond had been laughing at you, which was unacceptable, though there was a high chance you were imagining things.
You put the picture frame back on the mantel and said:
“That explains the family resemblance, then,” you managed, nodding because you had no idea what else to do. Your mouth took the thread and ran with it. “Cute niece, cute, uh…uncle…”
A truly stupid laugh roiled in your throat, but you sewed your lips shut before it could make things worse. You struggled to think of something joke-y enough to say in the split second you had. Everything seemed like a horrible option, but Almond came to your rescue with another one of those hearty, warm laughs and an equally hearty, warm hand on your shoulder.
Instantly, you remembered feeling it in your hair, on your head, on that very same shoulder in a different time and place. The whirling, twisting energy inside you exploded into a mist of arousal the moment the memories bled through, empowered by that feeling you refused to acknowledge as more than a mere infatuation.
Fearing for your blood pressure, you glanced at him. Also fearing for your blood pressure, you tried not to think of how you could easily drop a kiss on his fingers with your head turned like this.
“You don’t have to be so polite, you know—,”
He hadn’t even finished his sentence yet and you were already feeling exasperated. Enough of this whole song and dance of your thumping heart and awkward laughter.
What were you so afraid of? For what did you have fear? You were in the clear!
“I really do think so though, sir.”
Almond paused. You paused. He raised an eyebrow uncertainly. You continued, looking directly into his eyes.
“You’re very attractive, sir,” your voice wobbled ever so slightly, but you stuck to your go-hard-or-go-home guns. “At least, I’ve always thought so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go shower.”
At this, his hand gracefully slid off your shoulder and you took one last look at Almond’s framed niece. She really was a cute kid.
I’m gonna fuck your uncle, you thought feverishly.
And then you absconded from the scene, swiping up your bag as you power-stepped towards the hallway. Specifically, towards his room.
“Ah, erm, there’s another bathroom in the—,”
“I don’t mind using yours, sir, if that’s alright!”
The world dizzyingly pulsed in your eyes at your incredible gall, so much so that you didn’t even have the time to process Almond’s bedroom before your feet carried you into the ensuite.
You closed the bathroom door as gently as possible, the action belayed by quivering fingers. The footsteps and knock that you dreaded did not come, though, even after you waited a whole 30 seconds. Dead silence greeted your ear when you pressed it to the door.
Were you good?
Ten more seconds and the chances of you being thrown out on your ass seemed to grow slimmer. Maybe they had been zero all along.
Alright, then. You could do this. You did it before and apparently, the key to unlocking your deepest desires was just a pint of courage, liquid or otherwise.
Confidence!
It paid to be direct—you should know that from your job—otherwise you had the feeling that Almond would just keep beating around the bush as long as you let him. Okay, maybe this meant you were taking advantage of his kindness again, or that he was just humouring you, or some other realistic hoo-ha, but now was not the time to think like that.
Now was the time for action, temporarily and forcefully unfettered by the chains of unrequited something.
You slapped your cheeks, giving this pep talk to your reflection in Almond’s sink mirror. You had done it once before; you could do it again. Or rather, you would try your damndest to do it, succeed or fail, so that you could have a clear answer to this once and for all.
“Let’s go,” you whispered.