Chapter Text
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-N_WlRqDyK3i3gpY9TXNDq5KcJ1zCDR1L3oI_Gz4rCc/edit
MPL AU FF 4: The Crazies,
Snapped
(1)
This fanfic is based off of Lilydusk’s Midnight Poppyland, Asura’s Bride and various Secret Garden Series. This is not a recreation, however elements from MPL and AB are used for authentic purposes. NSFW content. Trigger Content. Please follow Lilydusk on WEBTOON and Patreon and read the real Midnight Poppyland and Asura’s Bride. Enjoy!
Who You Are Jessie J
Formula Labrinth
New Girl Labrinth
Mud Slothrust
*********
………..Tora!!!
……..Tora!!!
….TORRAA!!!
I said HEEL gotd-mnit!!! HEEL!!!
Tora inhaled sharply, the ringing in his ears making his head hurt as his eyes blurred into focus. He blinked slowly, trying to right his senses and calm his ragged breathing, the aftermath of his bloodlust strewn about the alley. He snarled down at the fresh corpse in his gore soaked hands, his urge to continue to maim causing him to exact three more blows before a hand clamped on his shoulder.
He didn’t exactly know when human touch became the most unbearable thing for him to endure, even from the opposite sex. But whenever he feels another’s skin against his own he can barely contain the wretch surging forth from the bitter and vile rage, the blinding hatred directed at everyone and no one the violating act draws forth. And like the rabid dog he now is, he turned and attacked the owner of that hand.
It was Martin, the one who made him this way. His handler, his trainer, his tormentor. The last person still able to get so close.
“Get him off!” He heard Scharch yelling in the distance. Another hand on his raised fist. This time he almost audibly gagged as his breath choked out of him, his body turning to eliminate the new threat. He took Claude down to the ground faster than he did Martin.
“Shoot it! F-cking shoot it!” Claude hollered as he utilized his MMA skills like his life depended on it under Tora’s raging fists. A gun cocked to his right, he launched himself towards the sound, tackling Sharch as he pulled the trigger, the bullet shooting upwards from the momentum of his fall instead of hitting its intended target.
“Boss we got a huge f-cking problem,” Shing’s usual calm and indifferent tone was shaking, “he totally snapped, he’s outta control.”
Tora looked up from his handiwork on Scharch right as Shing pulled the trigger, landing the tranq dart right in his throat. He roared at Shing, exploding from his spot on top of an unconscious Scharch while yanking out the dart to go after another one of his fellow clansmen, who instinctively threw himself behind a car. The drugs kicked in right as Tora vaulted himself over the hood to go after Shing. He hit the gravel, rolling to his back, the night sky spinning in circles before his world went as dark as him.
——
“This is for your own good, Tora my boy,” Vincent said calmly, “if you don’t do this there will be consequences.”
“What, like a bullet in my head,” Tora scoffed as he crossed his arms and rooted himself firmly against his car, “gotta do better than that, Vince.”
“You won’t be allowed to see Quinceton again.
Ever
. And I’ll burn Alice’s place to the ground.” Vincent said calmly. But his tone was weighted with absolute promise.
Tora tched, cursing himself for having such a soft spot for the old lady and the blonde princess.
“This could help you,” Vincent said quietly, “help you with them.”
“Stop,” Tora snapped, his eyes hardening as he glared at his shoes. “Ya just want yer dog retrained so he will come back when ya call it.”
“That too,” Vincent chuckled as he turned to go, “you have three months with this program, if you don’t show progress Alice is first on the list.” Vincent’s driver opened the door for him, his bodyguard’s holding their guns, eyes trained on Tora.
Tora could honestly care less if they shot him, but he knew if he lashed out they would kill him and burn Alice’s place to the ground anyways, and he wouldn’t be around to make them all pay for it. So he just stood by his car and used his words to unleash his anger.
“F-cking unbelievable,” he yelled at Vincent’s Bentley and motorcade turning out of the parking lot, “isn’t this what ya wanted from me?! Ain’t this what ya wanted ta make me into?!” But he was yelling into the air, the car too far to hear him.
“F-ck!!” Tora thundered, scanning for the first thing to attack. It was an outdoor trash can at the edge of the parking lot and he kicked it hard, debris scattering everywhere as the receptacle tumbled down the sidewalk. A door opened from the building now behind him, his name called as footsteps approached.
“Tora?” It was a woman. “Tora, I am approaching your right side, I have 6 ft of space between us. Can you turn and face me?”
Tora turned, scowling briefly at the curly haired redhead with red glasses before glaring behind her at the building she just exited. She was petite, middle aged, and dressed like a sun worshipper, colorful bohemian attire, lots of earth beads and Birkenstock sandals. She was covered in freckles. Tora snorted.
“ Yer a head shrink?” He sneered.
“I am,” she smiled down at her toes, “I’m Doctor Shrien. We’ve been expecting you. This way please,” she turned and headed back towards the building she had emerged from.
Tora obediently followed, he didn’t have a choice in the matter anyways. The building was a large, plain, L shaped brown brick one story building, with no signs out front, windows completely tinted black and solid metal doors, the address the smallest size legally allowed. He knows about this place, the mafia sends the ones who they don’t wanna put down for losing their sh-t here. ‘The Farm’ as it was called in his world.
It was a clan neutral place, and the staff worked hard to make sure no paths of rival gangs and clansmen were crossed. They have to mix in the mobsters with the civilians with group therapy, but this place was the only place that won’t snitch on the mafia, earning them a generous backing from all the kingpins. The structure might look basic, but due to the money pumped into it from the underground they are a state of the art mental health facility with all the cutting edge research and resources right at their fingertips.
And now Tora has been sent to The Farm. At least he gets to be in outpatient therapy. For now. He has been benched from all duty for three months for daily sessions, if they determine he needs more radical treatment they will send him off to inpatient.
He doesn’t want to go to inpatient. He refuses. Everyone he’s ever come across who’s gone isn’t the same. They lose their edge, their hardness, something necessary for survival in his world. They don’t last long once they get back from inpatient, they either die or disappear.
F-ck that. He already has his own death mapped out, determined to go out in the most bad-ss fashion possible, in a legendary blaze of glory that will earn him immortality from his story being passed down from generation to generation. None of it included how he became a pansy-ss after getting out of the looney bin.
Once inside the reception area the door closed quietly behind him, but it still sounded like the clang of iron bars to him, he grunted and tensed in reflex, his eyes wildly scanning the new and modernly nautical spa styled confines. Dr. Shrien glanced over her shoulder, but kept her pace, forcing Tora to stay moving as well.
“Doing okay?” She called behind her to him as they trudged through the empty lobby to another metal door that was painted a soft blue. She tapped her card to the scanner and the door opened to a long and narrow hallway in the same blue and white wainscoting tones.
“Define okay,” he grumbled, “I gotta start seeing a f-cking shrink.” His eyes kept habitually assessing and memorizing the layout, where the cameras were, impressed to see there were no blind spots.
Dr. Shrien laughed as she paused before a white door. “Lots of people see shrinks,” she shrugged as she tapped her ID card again and opened the door, “you’d be surprised who comes across this threshold.”
That piqued his curiosity.
“Oh yeah? Anyone famous?” He asked as he made his way through the door she had pushed through. He clenched his hands to fists, he didn’t like how fast they were moving, he couldn’t get his bearings down with the sudden change in color scheme and theme. Now it was supposed to be reminiscent of a forest, with bamboo and trees and green tones all around. They were in another small lobby area.
“Very famous,” she chuckled, then, as if she had a sixth sense she slowed her pace and paused before she opened another door. “We have very specific and well planned pathways to ensure rivals don’t cross paths. We’re running behind schedule so excuse the fast pace. Behind this door is another hallway where we will travel to Intake. Okay?”
“S’fine,” Tora shrugged, feeling a fraction of tension ease off of him from having some sort of idea where they were going.
“Good,” and Dr. Shrien had them brisking down another hallway, their steps quickening with purpose. “I have no idea how many cameras we have but it’s a lot. Only the doors to the passageways are coded access, but once we get where treatment will take place you will be free to leave on your own volition.” she explained as they made their way through the hall. There were so many doors in this one, all of them labeled with symbols and colors. Tora figured they were getting close to Intake, which did nothing to calm his nerves.
“We’re here,” she said as she tapped her ID again and reached for the door handle. “It’s going to look like a medical clinic, okay? The staff have already been briefed about your aversions to contact, so most of the metrics we need you will have to take yourself.” She said as she led them into the smallest lobby that looked like any standard reception room for a clinic.
“S’fine,” Tora said, his teeth already grinding from how empty this place has felt, “ya ain’t gonna make me strip down are ya?”
“No,” she chuckled, “we aren’t that detailed. There’s a clipboard already waiting for you at the counter, fill out what you can and when you’re done just ring the bell and someone will get you. Welcome to the Therapy Center, or as the mafia calls it, Welcome to The Farm.”
————
Thirty minutes later Tora found himself with some crazy -ss headpiece on, the needles to the machine it was connected to squiggling up and down as he laid on a chaise lounge and looked ahead of him at the large screen mounted in the wall. He was in a room that looked like a one on one therapy room, it was like a study with bookshelves full of psychology sh-t, paintings and office decor, lots of plants, the chaise lounge he was filling up, a desk and another leather chair across from the coffee table next to him.
The staff had been friendly, sure to keep their distance and not look him in the eye for too long. He was grateful, the longer he’s here the more he wants to maul something. And it’s only been 40 f-cking minutes. No windows… he thought, that’s what his problem is. There’s been no windows and he feels like he’s in a giant box, suffocating.
“And how about this one, Tora?” The male voice asked through the speaker system as another image flashed on the screen.
“I need a cigarette,” he answered, his voice echoing his agitation.
“Knock yourself out,” the man replied, “let me know when you’re ready.”
Tora instantly lit up a cigarette, his exhale a slight sigh from the comfort of nicotine flooding his system. “It just looks like ink on paper, spilled ink on paper,” he gruffed, rubbing his eyes as he drew deeply on his cigarette. He’d rather be in a turf war than this right now.
The image changed again, the needles scratching on the paper and the paper strip rolling neatly in a container under it, the sound of the clock ticking and his breathing deafening in this quiet -ss room. Why was it so quiet here? He didn’t like quiet, quiet made him uncomfortable. Sh-t goes south when it gets quiet.
“Blue and black ink spilled on paper,” he clipped. “Are ya gonna actually show me a picture or do I gotta keep looking at the same sh-t?” The needles scratched louder as he spoke, drawing his eye to it, “what is this sh-t measuring?”
“Brainwaves,” the voice casually answered, like hacking his mind wasn’t as invasive as it actually is, “trying to figure out what makes you tick.”
“Sh-t, just ask. Everything. Everything makes me tick. This small -ss quiet room, these f-cking ink spills ya keep showing me, that weird plant in the corner, being trapped in The f-cking Farm,” he growled, sitting up and drawing on his cigarette, tching at the headpiece he was wearing.
“It’s just a few more images, try and get through them,” the male voice soothed. “Then we will have some answers for you, and will get you some fresh air.”
——-
“No,” Tora snapped with absolute finality, his arms crossing as he leaned against the brick building. He was in a small outdoor yet private zen garden he would’ve never known was here, surrounded by stones, a micro waterfall, plants and a few sand pits with rakes. Dr. Shrien and the guy over the speaker, Dr. Ono, were standing in front of him, discussing the results of his assessment. He drew on the cigarette he had wedged between his lips, his eyes hardening in warning.
“Tora,” Dr. Shrien began, staring at her hands clasped in front of her and her tone patient yet firm, “you have one of the worst cases of Complex PTSD we have ever come across. Normally this level of severity could be treated outpatient with medication and a lot of sensory deprivation, cognitive, behavioral and individual therapy… but with your um… skill set, you are a danger to society. To yourself.”
“You’re a time bomb that no one knows when it’s gonna explode. Inpatient is your best option for success,” Dr. Ono chimed in. He was a short and stout older man with thick round glasses, short dark brown hair that was all over his head like a mad scientist and was dressed like some grandpa from a sitcom under his white lab coat.
“I’m not going to inpatient,” he repeated, his stomach churning from having it all laid out like that, “might as well put me outta my misery now,” he huffed, “people who come outta that place don’t last six months in my world. There’s gotta be another option.”
Dr. Shrien and Dr. Ono exchanged looks.
“There is a new, experimental option out there. But it’s only been tried in theory. It’s radical, and results are completely unknown… and also it is incredibly risky,” Dr. Ono said carefully.
“Yeah, let’s do that one,” Tora agreed, not even caring if it involves castration, “anything but inpatient. I’ll even participate, give it an honest go.”
“If you’re serious about this, prove it,” Dr. Shrien challenged. She held out her hand, Tora instantly knowing where this was heading and deciding he may do inpatient after all if it meant avoiding this .
“Come over here and shake if we have a deal.”
************
Poppy sat in the tiny room, her mind repeating objects in her head to help keep herself grounded. Table, chair, clock, Frieda Kahlo painting, succulent plant… none of it was helping. So she gave in and started pinching the soft underside of her forearm, sighing in relief from the familiar comfort of the bruising pain. Then she remembered, camera. There are cameras in here.
She quickly tucked her hands under her thighs, deciding to tug at the buttons on the leather chair she was sitting on. The space she was in was set up like a small conference room with bookshelves on opposite walls, four matching chairs around a coffee table, and a whole wall of floor length windows. And a door. Two doors. She could leave if she wanted. That’s what they told her.
But she couldn’t. She has to prove she was okay. She needed to prove she was okay. She tucked her right arm deeper under her, realizing the pressure of her body weight gave her the comfort she had to stop giving herself due to the risk of someone seeing her on the cameras. The bandaged stitches over the slit on her wrist her pink long sleeved shirt hid burned and ached from her thigh. She almost groaned out loud from the endorphins. It hurt. It hurt so much she forgot she was trapped in this place.
She didn’t mean to do it. She had just had a really bad night. She was emotional, angry and had been drinking, the blade slipped. It was an accident , she called 911 herself, and she kept telling everyone it was an accident but no one believed her after seeing all the patches of tiny scarred lines in various spots on her body. She even spouted facts that cutters don’t usually escalate and at some point grow out of the phase.
“Your ‘phase’ has lasted quite some time,” Dr. Ono had frowned. “Years.”
“I hadn’t had an episode in a while,” Poppy had defended, “I have been phasing out.”
“You haven’t had an episode because you haven’t had a need for one, you don’t leave your apartment.”
Agoraphobia. That’s what they said was wrong with her. Agoraphobia caused by PTSD along with some other issues they think she has. And apparently cutting herself was her coping mechanism. She didn’t appreciate how bluntly they told her, but when they suggested inpatient she almost had had a full blown episode. She can’t be sent away from her apartment for that long. She has a job, all her things are there. And who was going to keep her stuff organized or water her plants? She begged them for another option. She agreed to this experimental thing without them even explaining it. And then they told her to prove herself by waiting in this room for thirty minutes.
She glanced at the clock, biting down on her smug smile, 25 minutes…. Just five more. See? She’s fine. She doesn’t have to go on medicine, or have her Granny drop everything and move in with her. She’s not a nut job or an invalid. She can take care of herself just fine. She was so proud of herself she even tucked her hands back in her lap and stared out of the window, giggling at the birds. She keeps her blinds closed at her place, the sun felt nice. Yeah… I’m okay.
The door opened and Dr. Ono entered. Poppy tensed, her eyes instinctively darting to the other door. She swallowed her pounding heart back down to her chest, bit her lip hard enough to leave a mark and forced herself to meet his gaze, her brow dampening from her efforts.
Dr. Ono smiled, “you’re in luck, Ms. Wilkes. We can begin treatment right away. Now, are you absolutely sure about this?”
“Yes,” Poppy quickly agreed, “whatever it takes.”
“Okay,” Dr. Ono breathed, a brief flash of worry crossing his features, “we will bring him in.”
Him??
“Him?” Poppy squeaked, her blood pressure skyrocketed from the idea of another person crowding this already constricted space.
“Yes,” Dr. Ono smiled as he grabbed the door knob, “don’t worry, Dr. Shrien and I will be here for your meet and greet.”
What?!!
“O-Okay,” she wheezed, now openly pinching herself again. Dr. Ono glanced at her hand but opened the door, “okay, we’re ready for you.”
Dr. Shrien walked in first, and then…
He was big. And muscular in a way that screamed dangerous. Deadly . And his golden eyes were feral in their intensity, his wild and thick shoulder length onyx hair in a half ponytail, and with his handsomely strong facial features, his gauged earlobes and deep olive skin he looked exotic. She’s never seen anything like it.
He was wearing black jeans, taught around his sculpted legs, black and white low tops, a black v neck tight at the chest and loose at the torso and a black and grey zip up hoodie. He glared at her, and she knew her eyes were wide, her shock evident on her face. She gulped, frozen in place, her fingers twisting a bit of skin at her forearm as she looked down at her feet, keeping him in her peripheral.
He snapped his gaze from her to scowl at the room, eyes rapidly scanning… then resting on the other door. She noticed him relax slightly, his eyes staying trained on that escape to freedom. She understood the sentiment, wanting to fly out of here herself, now more so than ever.
“Poppylan, this is Tora. Tora, this is-“
“I heard it the first time,” he gruffed in a rich and deep husky baritone, crossing his arms as he fixed his gaze on the windows behind her. “These bullet proof?” He blurted, frowning.
That’s an odd thing to ask… but is it? She turned to stare out the window now as well, wondering what could come crashing in if it was made of cheap glass.
“Of course, top of the line, and they are one way, no one can see in,” Dr. Shrien reassured. Poppy breathed a small sigh, she didn’t even think to worry about the windows, but now she was glad he asked the question.
“Let’s all have a seat, shall we?” Dr. Ono suggested, “Tora, find a spot that’s comfortable for you.”
“Right here’s good,” he clipped from where he was still standing by the first door. But he was blocking it. Poppy felt her breathing change, her fingers pinching her in earnest now as she began shaking.
“Poppy?” Dr. Shrien asked, “Poppy are you okay?” She took two steps forward, but Poppy shook her head.
“Please,” she gasped as she stared at her hand torturing her skin, the bruise already forming, “don’t come any closer.” She felt her tears pour out, her body rocking as she found a new spot on her arm, hoping fresh pain will help soothe her.
“What’s her deal?” she heard Tora gruff.
“Door,” Poppy whispered through her panting, determined not to give anyone the idea that she can’t handle herself, “you’re blocking the door.”
“Christ, kid, just f-cking tell me ta move. No need to get all worked up about it,” he snapped as he strolled the 5 feet to the nearest corner, propping himself against a bookcase and crossing his arms again, “see? Let’s get this sh-t over with.”
Poppy looked at the door. He had actually moved. Her relief was followed quickly by embarrassment and anger at herself. What happened to being fine and being able to handle herself? They’re gonna send her away for sure now.
“Poppy, are you better?” Dr. Shrien asked.
“I am. Thank You,” she lied, forcing her hands back in her lap, “if you would like, I don’t mind if you sit.”
“Good,” Dr. Shrien smiled as she and Dr. Ono seated themselves across from her, the chair next to her remaining empty. Tora had chosen to stay rooted in the corner, but his topaz eyes were watching them like a hawk.
“You have both volunteered to participate in this trial treatment in lieu of inpatient. Failure to comply and adhere to treatment guidelines will result in immediate inpatient admittance. And we have the means necessary to make that happen,” Dr. Ono began, sliding his eyes briefly to Tora on the last bit. Tora only snorted, his eyebrow and corner of his mouth lifting in a subtle sneer, as if he wanted to call Dr. Ono’s bluff.
“What do we need to do?” Poppy asked, she had a pit in her stomach. Did she make a mistake, jumping into the unknown like this?
“Well,” Dr. Shrien breathed deeply, “this was rather serendipitous how it all worked out today. You two, theoretically, have the highest rate of success with total compliance.”
“This is basically an aggressive form of Exposure Therapy,” Dr. Ono chimed in, “that is why we have to know you both are willing to do this. And we reserve the right to pull the plug at any moment.”
“For f-ck‘s sake out with it,” Tora barked from the corner. Poppy jumped from his outburst, pressing a thumb hard into her bandaged wrist. She quickly clasped her hands together, fully aware they are assessing her right now.
But Dr. Shrien and Dr. Ono ignored Tora, their eyes studying Poppy. They are worried about me… she thought. She had no doubt that the man in the corner was violent. Which only caused her nerves to ratchet up. Why on earth would they put her in the same room with him ?
“I know what yer all thinking,” Tora growled, eyes narrowing, “and f-ck all of ya for thinking I’d harm her. Believe it or not I don’t hurt women. Pieces of sh-t,” he spat, glaring icily at the Dr’s. That’s a relief…
“See, that’s the problem, Tora,” Dr. Shrien began with a smile as she glanced at him, “ you’re not the one we’re worried about. You’ve been trained and disciplined your whole life. There are some things that are ingrained in how you identify yourself. But that’s not the case with her. ”
Me?! Why me?
“I’ll be okay,” Poppy said quickly as Dr. Shrien looked back at Poppy, Tora momentarily stunned into silence.
“Denial is dangerous,” Dr. Ono warned.
“I’ll be fine ,” Poppy said, meeting his gaze with a fierce determination, “I told you all, it was an accident. And I’m gonna prove it.”
Dr. Ono and Dr. Shrien exchanged uncertain looks. The seconds they held their gazes felt like hours. Finally they relented.
“Okay,” Dr. Shrien said. “Poppylan, Tora, meet your new roommate.”
———-
“So, lemme get this straight,” Tora began again. He had sat down in his shock on the edge of the only other chair, feet away from Poppy and had been trying to wrap his brain around what they were saying for the past 20 minutes. Poppy had said nothing, too out of sorts to speak. She was focusing on keeping her wits together with everything she had.
“So yer saying… me and her… we gotta live together for the next three months? And we can’t be farther than 12 f-cking feet apart at all times no matter what, 24/7?” Tora asked for the tenth time.
“Yes,” Dr. Ono responded as if he had never heard the question before. “This is non negotiable.”
“How am I supposed to take a sh-t or jerk off in peace?” He snapped angrily, hands flapping in exasperation. “What about my place? Ya expect me ta just not live in my own place for three months?! How am I supposed ta work out?”
“It’s simple, take her with you.” Dr. Shrien shrugged.
That yanked Poppy out of it.
“What?” Her and Tora both said in unison, with differing tones.
“Look, no offense sweetheart,” Tora said to Poppy, “but I run at least 7 miles… a day .”
“7 miles…” Poppy can’t recall the last time she walked one mile let alone run it.
“Well you two will just have to figure this out.” Dr. Ono said, “we told you this was radical and unprecedented, never been done before.”
“Now it’s time for you both to know some pertinent things about each other. From here on out you are responsible for protecting each other’s privacy. Okay?” Dr. Shrien cut off Tora’s line of redundant questioning once and for all.
“Okay,” Tora and Poppy both said. Poppy was eager for this part, she wanted to know exactly who they sidled her up with.
Dr. Shrien nodded as she flipped open a file to recite from, “Let’s start with you, Tora. Tora, 28, has an extreme form of Complex PTSD from his lifelong involvement as a mafia enforcer which has compounded with the beginning stages of Paranoia, Claustrophobia, and Anxiety and suffers from bouts of Insomnia and Night Terrors. He has multiple triggers, but he has shown remarkable ability to navigate through his fear and episodes of panic. However, and this is important Poppy, he has an exceptionally strong, volatile, aversion to any and all physical and prolonged eye contact.”
“Just call me crazy,” Tora muttered as he sank into his chair, his arms crossing as he glared at the door.
Mafia??!! Enforcer??!! Volatile??!!
“And now for you, Poppylan Wilkes, 23,” Dr. Ono continued from the file in his hands before Poppy could even process what she just heard, “Poppy has a major case of Agoraphobia which subsequently triggered a minor case of OCD and body dysmorphia, with all of these diagnoses stemming from her PTSD due to life threatening incident. She has self harming coping mechanisms and tendencies as a result of her trauma that recently escalated into a failed suicide attempt.”
“I told you guys already, it was an accident, ” she snapped, angry that no one believes her.
“Her denial of her conditions only exacerbates the danger she presents to herself. She also adamantly abhors physical contact, and isolates herself from human interaction to avoid close proximity to people and suffers from anxiety induced Insomnia. Tora, please be advised that she sleepwalks, especially under duress,” Dr. Ono finished.
“So… you’re just gonna put two crazies together under the same roof? Two crazies that hate people, and make them live 12 feet apart from each other for three f-cking months?” Tora scoffed, “how the hell are we matched to have the highest success rate?”
Another really good question, actually… Poppy had been wondering that herself.
But Dr. Ono and Dr. Shrien stood up, ending their session, “just stick to the program and we will all find out.”
———-
“You uh… you wanna lift?” Tora asked, his hands in his pockets as he jerked his head towards his car. They were outside in the parking lot, their matching bracelets that will beep and record if they get too far apart securely fastened on their wrists. Poppy had gotten a taxi to this place and had every intention of getting one back but they wanted her and Tora to begin treatment immediately.
“Do I have a choice?” Poppy tched as she stared up at him from the 8 feet of space between them. He towered over her, she was at his chest. She looked away quickly, remembering he hates it when people look him in the eyes for too long. It’s a shame, they were beautiful.
“Not really I guess,” he scratched the back of his head, “I would offer that you can ride in the back seat but-“
“I get it,” Poppy said, “you don’t know me.” Paranoia.
“You drive? If so you can drive and I can ride in the back-“
“No,” Poppy shook her head and bit her lip, staring at her pink low tops and boyfriend jeans, “I can’t, and I don’t know you either. And it’s… imbalanced if you’re in the back.”
“Ah.” He had a hint of understanding. She didn’t like when things weren’t centered or balanced. A big guy in the back being chauffeured by a tiny girl in the front was off to her.
“So… I guess I gotta go to my place and get my stuff. Unless you wanna find a place together?” He ventured.
“No!” Poppy said quickly, her eyes briefly meeting his before staring down the semi populated street, “no, I need to be in my own space.”
“Okay. Uh, I guess this is gonna take a few trips.”
“That’s fine.”
“…There’s no elevators.”
“Sh-t.”
-End