Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Address: 110 Irons Street, District I, Tulip Avenue

Subject: Victoria Punk Wrenchworks

Person of Interest: Eustass Kidd

Filed by: Loffler Residence, Wallace Residence, Takeda Residence, Trinidad Residence, Sokolov Residence, Costa Residence

Nature of Complaint: Repeated noncompliance with zoning regulations and local noise ordinances. Reports indicate unauthorized late-night operations (past 10:00 PM) involving high-decibel mechanical work, welding, and revving of modified engines. This is the fifth violation in the past six months. Additionally, the business has not submitted its updated occupancy and fire safety clearance forms, despite multiple notifications. Person of interest refuses cooperation in lowering volume and showing courtesy but states, “It’s a mechanic shop. Not a damn library.”

You ran your fingers through your hair, it’s always this name, this mechanic shop, this same complaint. You leaned back your swivel chair, your limbs stiffening from the shitty backrest they installed in your office despite you carrying the official ‘Atty.’ in your name with your name plaque plastered on your office door. Apparently, the city hall can’t afford a decent chair enough to cushion the assess of the attorneys that fund their city. You twist your heel to turn the chair to the side so you can stand up, you need not to read further down to know that this case requires an in-person legal follow-up by none other than a freshly bar exam passer to do the low-ranking errands. The case was forwarded to you as your first case and now that you're six months into holding your license, this never left your array of cases and came back like clockwork. 

After fetching yourself some watered down coffee from the attorneys’ break room, because you’ll sure as hell need it, you got in your white, SE corolla with a labored breath as you backed out the sun-baked parking lot of the firm you’re working at. The South Blue operated as usual—heat lines dancing off cracked sidewalks, children crossing pedestrians as it's a little past one, and traffic crawling down seventh street. You recoil from stepping on the break, aimlessly watching the 120-second timer of the red light as you have a sip of your coffee remedied by four packs of sugar. 

One more turn from the highway after sneaking in some deadly, sharp curve—Victoria Punk Wrenchworks will be in its full glory. It was impossible to miss, it’s a sight for fucking sore eyes. It was sickeningly gaudy even in the bright scorch of the Southern sun. The massive jagged lettering of the signage welded by a precision in rage-writing casted a blood-colored glow onto the cracked pavement below. It was a full demonstration of the mechanic shop’s loud identity and the owner’s flamboyance, his annoying lack of subtlety as the shop begged to be looked at, asking people to take a double look and take in the explosion that is his shop. 

There lay the skull-shaped exhaust fan, a mural of a flaming engine with a crown on top on the adjacent walls that framed the wide, foreboding entrance of the garage where two cars and two bikes were seemingly filling up the front of the house. You can’t forget the insufferable muffling and revving of engines, roaring audibly even when you’re still inside the comfort of your own car. You took a deep breath, clutching your steering wheel to gather your thoughts, your composure, and your drive. 

As you got out of your Corolla, you padded down your pencil skirt in red, tapped the tip of your heels in the pavement to fit them properly, hung your matching red blazer on one arm, and fished out your iPad to pull up the complaint form you knew by heart but were needed for formality’s sake. You were five minutes in the garage with the ear-splitting amount of metal scraping against each other and the awful smoke of gasoline and machinery filling your nares yet you already yearn for the comfort of your air-freshened car. Another back-and-forth, another signature you’d have to fight for while forcing yourself to stick to the legal way and not forcing your fist down this man’s ribs. 

The receptionist, who was busy blowing gum while painting her nails, already knew your purpose just from meeting her eyes when you parked on the driveway. “Boss is deeper in the garage, pink Rolls Royce. You’d see him, Attorney.” She gave you a playful smile, not an inviting one but a mocking one. You coming here regularly has maybe become an inside joke, a gag, a comical relief for the entirety of his gang.

And you hated the chuckles you receive waltzing across the array of cars and the sparks that barred your periphery. Rows of souped-up bikes, gutted cars with exposed engines. You didn’t miss the elbow nudges exchanged between grease-streaked arms, guys perking up from the sound of your heels clicking on concrete. The constant greeting of ‘Hey attorney , back again?’ from the other mechanics was met with a contemptuous smile as you gradually approached the pink Rolls Royce in the back of the garage. You, the uptight city attorney, was a giggle that tickled their throats because they find their violations so damn interesting. The sheer guts and mindset that you can talk sense into the asshat that sits at the center of the lion’s den. In this case, lied underneath the Rolls Royce carcass with his lower extremities peeking out of the vehicle.

It didn’t take long for the culprit to notice you when his men suddenly became louder and the familiar sound of your heels meeting concrete reigned over the drilling and revving across the garage. He rolled out of the creeper he was lying on, sitting up as he smiled shittily at you with his grime-stained cheeks. The paleness of his skin contrasted the red fury of his hair pulled up haphazardly by a bandana. A signature look he always donned. “Well, well. If it isn’t Miss Attorney, lookin’ extra rad today, ain’t cha? I like the red in you. Looks good.”

He propped an arm up with one knee, eyes tracing the length of your skirt down to your legs before meeting your fake-corporate-smile he knows all too well. He pushed himself up the creeper, fetching the towel hanging down his hips to wipe off the sweat dripping down his temples and shining down on his neck. “What is it this time? Engines’ too loud or did my aesthetic scare off brats again?” He placed his hands on either of his hips after placing the towel on one shoulder as he towered over you, the whiff of smoke, sweat, and pungent gasoline wafting over your nares as he approached you. “Or maybe,” he got a little closer, way too close for your liking you had to recoil a bit as he leaned down. You see his brows soften when he got a whiff of your perfume before holding up your gaze, yellow irises adamant in telling you the passion this man holds. “With the way you keep showin’ up, I’m startin’ to think you like seeing me all greased up, aye?”

You shut your eyes, taking a step back and a deep breath, Kidd returned to his original height with a satisfied grin on his dark-stained lips. You lifted your iPad to view the list of complaints laid out by each of the residences involved in the case. “Six noise complaints—two of which are under the 10-PM curfew of loud noises, three zoning infractions, and one very colorful letter from a grandma who swears your signage causes migraines. And more importantly, let’s not forget about the unsubmitted updated occupancy and fire safety clearance after your garage underwent major renovations as a special case that houses combustive materials. To add more to your violations, you had the nerve to throw a sharp tongue at an inspector asking you to tone it down.” You showed him the list but all he did was give it a swift lookover and had his eyes fixated on you the entire time you were reciting his violations with crossed arms, weight shifted on one leg, and a subtle tug on his dark-red lips. “I’m sure you know this by heart just as I do, Mr. Eustass. But if these complaints keep coming back to the city hall within 14 days, your shop will be forced into critical situations—a formal hearing for immediate closure of your establishment will be at bay and with the majority of the city being obstructed by your daily activities, I’m sure you know the consequences.”

Kidd chuckled, stepping closer to keep the same distance you two had earlier. A vein twitches in your forehead by the sheer audacity of this man. “Two weeks,” he rubbed his chin, clicking his tongue and pretending to think. “A lot can happen in ‘em, right, Attorney? But we both know that these complaints can easily go away if I want to. Hell, I could get that inspection done before the day ends, aye?” He shrugged, smiling as he looked around. “But where’s the fun in that? I have to admit, I like it when you storm in here with your adorably, neat self all proper and pressed, breathin’ down my neck like I’m your biggest problem.” He scrunched his nose at that last bit, canines tugging down his lower lip after wetting it with his tongue. You saw a glimpse of the metal ball dancing on the middle tip of his tongue.

“But alright, I don’t want your efforts to go to waste. I appreciate the sentiment of going all the way here, in the damning heat of South Blue. Maybe I’ll behave if you agree for a date or two.” He used the towel hanging on his shoulder to run it down his face. “I promise, I may wear a shirt next time. Maybe.” 

With the amount of times you’ve visited, seeing him shirtless was nothing out of the ordinary. Your nose flared, you brought your fingers to the bridge of your nose to pinch it. The sun was already hot enough to give you a headache and this motherfucker is skillfully making it progressively worse. “Mr. Eustass. I don’t go out with the citizens I work on, much less the person of interest that disrupts the serenity of the city.”

He bent down to his tools, seems to be done talking to you as he plans to get back to work. You couldn’t see it but his grin got wider, “Mm, got it. So I just gotta clean up my act then maybe I’ll qualify, huh?” He picked up a wrench, trying to catch your eyes. Hoping to maybe elicit a reaction other than contempt and irritation from you. 

“I’ll be back in two weeks. I’ll send in an inspector tomorrow and I expect some development.” You turned around, on your way out as you ignored that last bit he said. He was always a cheeky bastard trying to flirt his way out of a violation. Well, with you—you don’t know about the rest that calls him out on his bullshit. But that’s the thing, nobody calls him out on his bullshit just as frank and bravely as you do. Much more an interesting one like you.

Chapter Text

Today was a beautiful day. You woke up just in time before your alarm rang, fully well-rested and energized to take on the busy day ahead of you. You pulled yourself up the mattress you were comfortably sinking on, the thick duvet covers falling off your skin. Slipping out your bed, you made a beeline to the bathroom because of your insufferably short bladder. 

The silent whirring of the exhaust fan matched the birds singing from the early morning. You washed up, splashing cold water on your face to refresh yourself. After your quick shower, you pulled your robe tighter around your frame and padded into the kitchen, where the aroma of coffee fogged your senses.

While your espresso brewed, you flicked through your case notes on your iPad, already noting the upcoming deadlines as you crossed out the ones in progress. Violation appeals, pending permits, and neighborhood complaints waiting for your review. Sip. You closed your eyes and leaned against the counter, letting the bitterness of the drink ground you.

Eventually, you slipped into your usual attire—a blazer in ivory over a cream blouse tucked in your matching white, tailored slacks. You leaned into the mirror and dusted on some powder, followed by a subtle flush of blush and the same soft peach, cherry you always wore on your lips. But since the morning felt unusually kind to you, you decided to indulge. A touch of shimmer on the lids, a clean wing of liner, and a coat of mascara to pull it all together. Something about feeling a little extra made the long day ahead seem just a bit more bearable. 

You still had some allowance left before the usual time you leave your house, the hands of the clock pointed from seven a little past fifteen—another fifteen and you should be on your way. Nonetheless, you still went out your driveway after double checking if you had locked your front door securely. You rolled out your SE Corolla and to your surprise, traffic was also especially good to you. There is still half a minute left before the stop light turns from green to red. 

Before reaching the city hall, you’ve decided to go grab yourself some iced coffee. The one you usually get with caramel. You figured that since you’ve got some extra time today, why not also get yourself some scones for a snack. 

Coffee and pastries sitting next to the driver’s seat, you drove the last few blocks with the windows slightly down, letting the breeze in. South Blue’s morning sun was generous but not overbearing. Light trickled through the towering buildings as the city came alive with its usual hustle.

City Hall greeted you with its usual clean, polished lobby with echoing steps and the faint scent of fresh paper and coffee. You exchanged a few polite nods and tight-lipped smiles with familiar staff on your way up, your heels clicking crisply across the marble floor. But the moment you stepped into your office, the atmosphere shifted.

"Attorney," came the voice dry, defeated, and laced with quiet desperation. You blinked at the man already slouched on one of the visitor chairs by your desk, shirt rumpled and brows slick with sweat. The bags under his eyes suggested that he, in fact, hasn't had a wink of sleep ever since a certain point in this week. It was the same inspector you assigned to Victoria Punk Wrenchworks four days ago. He didn’t even wait for you to set your things down before going on a tangent about his experience.

“With all due respect, I can’t do it again.” He held up both palms in surrender. The man is way, way older than you—one that looks like he has kids in college. Yet he seems to have lost his composure on this one. “I really tried. But that guy, he’s impossible. Called me a-grandpop-fresh-outta-retirement . Offered me a beer at ten in the morning, then told me my clipboard looked like a damn menu. And that was before he started playing heavy metal while revving an engine just to make a point.”

You slowly placed your handbag on the desk. Already chugging your coffee and regretting not adding a double shot to it. “Classic Eustass. Did he at least submit the updated clearances?”

“Nope. Still nothing,” the inspector groaned, sitting up properly when you sat on your swivel chair. “I even took the liberty of reassigning it. Passed the case to Sinclair the day after you sent me. I thought maybe I was the problem, maybe I rubbed him wrong. Even though I was totally professional. But nope. He’s stubborn, more stubborn than my teenage girls. All he kept asking was when you were coming back.”

You rolled your eyes and picked up your coffee, sipping slowly once more. For the past five minutes you two are talking, you may have gone half of your venti cup. “Of course he did.”

“I told him I’m the inspector and this isn’t a meet-and-greet where you run the wraps, but he said—and I quote—‘Then I guess we’re all wasting time, huh?’.” He slumped in defeat, visibly exasperated as he tried recalling the absolute shitshow he had to endure. “Sinclair and I were not one to run out of patience, but this guy—he’s a different breed.”

You sighed, setting your drink down. “Look, I’m out of that part of the process. Field inspections are not in my scope. He knows that. I’ve got more important things to take care of.” No, because you will go insane if these are the cases that keep coming at you. You want something different, because you worked for this career for something that doesn’t involve babysitting a grown ass man who refuses to follow simple rules.

“Yeah, well,” the inspector muttered, rubbing his temples. “He doesn’t care. Man’s got tunnel vision and it’s stuck on you. No wonder this case has always been passed to you.”

And it wasn’t exactly protocol, but everyone in the office knew it. That even the chief of the firm deemed it protocol . Whenever Eustass Kidd’s name popped up on the complaint list, it somehow circled back to your desk. Funnily enough, it’s you who always comes to mind in handling this. Not because it was your job to deal with unruly mechanics or because you enjoyed the circus he ran—hell no. Part of the reason why this grunt work was assigned to you as your first case was because you’re a newly licensed attorney, it was a curse, and halfheartedly a blessing that you did too well on it. It was because you were the only one he didn’t completely steamroll out of the previous ones for the past two years since his mechanic shop was established. Every other inspector assigned either came back rattled or resigned the case altogether, he has a skill of running everyone’s patience thin. Not for you though, you seem to have a good leash on him after your first performance. And after a while, the higher-ups stopped pretending it was a random draw. You can keep the beast at bay. That, and the fact that he kept asking for you otherwise he’d brat about it, made it easier for everyone to quietly agree that you must handle his cases. 

It wasn’t that he respected you, at least not in the traditional sense. Kidd didn’t do respect, not the kind that came with badges or bureaucratic titles. But for some reason, when it was you standing on the edge of his grease-stained garage, he listened. Not always. Not perfectly. But enough. Maybe it was the fact that he finds you interesting, moreso adorable or one that is pleasant to his eyes. Or was it the way you don these corporate shit but manage to spout the same fire to measure up to him while still maintaining professionalism like it’s your second skin.

Unlike the other attorneys or inspectors he tuned out with a smirk and a few hurtful, choice words, Kidd didn’t treat you like background noise. With them, he’d crank the engines louder, toss out sarcastic nicknames, and somehow manage to make every compliance visit feel like a bar fight waiting to happen. He thrived off the discomfort, he liked watching them squirm. Not with you though, he enjoyed the little antics you do that you thought would go unnoticed but no—Kidd loved seeing it.

It was the way your lips would purse a bit but immediately return into a thin line as you tried keeping your composure. Or the way your nose flared but you have a skill of visibly not letting it get into your nerves. It was in the way your jaw would tense ever so slightly, like you were racking up a retort, yet you kept your expression smooth and controlled—managing to let out a professional yet biting remark. Or the way your eyebrows would raise, a subtle flicker of disbelief after his bullshit responses, but you quickly smoothed it over with a calm, composed demeanor, never allowing the situation to rile you up. You didn’t squirm. You didn’t raise your voice or bristle under pressure. You met him head-on, clean and cold, wrapped in tailored business casuals and a glare that made even him think twice. He would still push, flirt, provoke but there was always a line, and you made damn sure he didn’t cross it.

And so, after every visit with Kidd and consulting him about his violations and inconsiderations. Kidd behaved, but only for a while. Every time you showed up, he'd fall in line just enough to get the wolves off his back. Submit half the paperwork with to-follow documents never being followed, clean up just enough of the signage lowering its brightness and intensity, toning down the volume just enough to scrape by the city ordinances. It was never full compliance, but it was progress, and that was more than anyone else had managed.

But the second you were out of the picture, say a week or two, it was back to square one. The noise. The smoke. The complaints from onlookers and residents. The snide remarks. Inspectors quit, filed complaints of their own, or just outright refused to return. He was insufferable. The moment you weren’t there to hold him accountable—in person—he reverted.

Because Kidd didn’t fear consequences. He feared being dismissed, at least out of your care as he calls it. And something about the way you stood your ground told him he was being seen—not indulged, not tolerated, but seen. And for a man like him, that was dangerous. Addictive, even.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, already feeling the headache crawl up your temples. “Fine,” you muttered, opening your drawer to pull out the case file again. “I’ll assign someone new, someone preferably hopeful to not strangle him.” Your nails ran through the folder tags after reaching the letter ‘E’ and plucking his thick folder out. It was already half an inch thick with the amount of complaints he received from just two years upon the shop’s founding.

“Oh I already did, Finlay’s fresh out of grad school. He’s barely three weeks in, green and thorough just what you need. But—uh—I figured it might help maybe just a whole damn lot if you tagged along, Attorney.” There was a look in the old man’s eyes, almost pleading not for his own sake but for the city hall’s sake, the neighborhood’s sake.

You squinted at him, the suspicion clear on your face. “That’s not how this works, Inspector. I have other cases—”

“I know, I know.” He was quick to reply, holding up his hands again after exhaling. “But your presence might help, the Inspector will do his job. You can just… exist in the background so Kidd listens. Sort of, yeah? Plus, this won’t take long, right? You’ll be expediting it.” He smiled sheepishly, but it does make sense. You’re as quick as you are in as you are out most of the time, if not for his habit of prolonging things like flirting or just riling you up. But you’re efficient, and you can shut him up effectively so you’ll be on your way.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “He listens so he can get under my skin.”

“Exactly. Which is still more than the rest of us can get out of him.” He agreed, clasping his hands together. “Thank you. I’ll brief him, Attorney. Inspection will be at three.” The inspector said, already halfway to the door. 

You stared at the folder in your hands for a moment, thumb tracing the spine like you were summoning the patience to read it all over again. Eustass Kid. Still thick as ever and not a single permit updated since last quarter. You sighed, setting it aside like a heavy thought you didn’t have the time to carry just yet. You set it aside at your desk with a labored thud. There were still other fires to put out before three o'clock.

The day carried on in a rhythm you’d grown used to. A quiet grind of legalese, conflicting signatures, and zoning disputes from every corner of the city. You handled an appeal from a stubborn lot owner in Copper Avenue who swore his cows had a right of way across municipal property. Then a conference call with the developers in Aluminum Forests, still confused about protected heritage walls in their site plan. Another case had you cross-checking the conservation compliance for a whisky distillery expansion out in the Tungsten Highlands. Beautiful view, you thought absently as you skimmed the report. Shame about the dodgy paperwork. 

You didn’t mind the load. This was the work you enjoyed that dealt with the messy, stubborn, and oddly human drive of the citizens for the things they’ve nailed to the ground. You were good at cutting through it, reading between the pride and the panic, and making decisions that stuck. But when the clock ticked past quarter to three, there was no more delaying.

You gathered the folder again with its creased edges and marked tabs. Soon enough, you stood from your desk with a resigned breath. Your blazer slid off your shoulders as you were met with the heat of the afternoon, the garment resting on the backrest of the front passenger’s seat. The streets of South Blue outside your window were still bright, casting a yellow glow wherever the setting sunlight touches. You checked the time once more, then headed out. It was inspection hour.

The Victoria Punk Wrenchworks was tucked in the corner of Tulip Avenue, a place that reeked of iron and motor oil, where the buildings are littered in graffiti and cracked surfaces but his turf completely dominated the chaos. The signage was crooked, the shutter half-rolled up, and there was some kind of metal music already bleeding out from inside. The garage was as busy as ever, cars and bikes lined up in disarray—each one being worked on with the kind of noisy intensity that screamed organized chaos. Sparks flew, engines growled and tools clattered like percussion in a song only grease monkeys understood.

But just outside the garage, slightly out of place amidst the oil-stained concrete and the spitting welding arcs, was a parked sedan—clean, government-issued, and quietly judgmental. Standing beside it was a lean-built man dressed in the standard city inspection uniform. His posture was stiff, his pressed shirt already had a smudge near the elbow, and he looked like he’d been staring at the checklist in his clipboard longer than he’d been inside the garage. His lips were moving, muttering the code of conduct like a silent prayer.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, and you didn’t make it known you were there either. No need. You were keeping your end of the promise, you were just here to be existing in the background. And hopefully, being the reason Kidd didn’t scare this one off. But as you got out of the car, Finlay was quick to pay his respects and you just replied with a tight-lipped but genuine smile. He looked to be seriously comforted at your presence.

“Oi, clipboard.” Speak of the devil. The voice came from somewhere inside the belly of the garage, rough and grating with a grin in it audibly heard as he emerged from the array of cars. You heard the hiss of a power tool being shut off, followed by the slow, heavy tread of boots across concrete. “You the new guy? Or another sacrifice from the city?” His tone was dancing around amusement and a threat. He wiped his hands off up to his grease-streaked forearms on an already greying towel and tucked it inside the waistband of his tied down, mechanic overalls. The top half hanging loosely around his hips, the pockets weighing down from the tools. The redhead was now wearing a shirt, one that is obviously too tight for him. You can clearly see why the sleeves were rolled up out of necessity because it couldn’t contain the size of his arms.

Finlay looked up visibly startled, but valiantly straightened his spine. “Mr. Eustass, I’m here for the mandated quarterly inspection—per ordinance code 12, sub—”

“Aye, aye. Relax, lad. You look like you’re about to piss yourself.” Kidd stepped into view, broad-shouldered and grease-streaked, wiping his hands on a rag that might’ve once been white. His red hair was pulled back today with a bandana now designed with flame motifs as opposed to the usual skull graffiti, a fresh bandage near his brow half-stained by sweat and soot. Probably from welding something without protection. Again.

You were now leaning on your car doors, one leg crossed over the other as you donned your cream undershirt, sleeves folded up to your elbows so as to bear the heat especially in an oven such as inside the garage. Your blazer now discarded inside your car. Then his eyes caught you and for a moment, he grinned. Not his usual shit-eating one but something subtler, slower. Something that recognized you instantly and calculated how much chaos he could get away with now that you were standing ten feet from the door and something that ensured that he was in fact, gonna have a good evening today.

“This is a surpise. Look what the storm blew in.” He placed his hands on either side of his hips, walking past the inspector who measured up to his height, but not to his fire. “Didn’t expect to see you, Attorney. What brings you here, bonnie?”

You arched a brow, clarifying your name with the proper honorific. Refusing to acknowledge the nickname he bestowed upon you. You didn’t flinch. You purse your lips a little and let your stare do all the talking. Just how much you hated to be here.

“Mr. Eustass. A word?” You pushed your frame off your car door, turning to your heel against the uneven concrete to face away from the inspector as the reason you called out to him would be because this is a conversation between the two of you. It wasn’t a request, it was an order. He stood beside you and even with your heels, he was still a mountain next to you. Nevertheless, the command was obvious even if you were the one looking up at him.

“You asked for me,” you said, arms crossed over your chest as you met his honey eyes that the sunlight had made it somewhat translucent. “So I expect full cooperation—no games, no antics. You will cooperate with the inspector without theatrics, delays, or whatever stunt you’ve been cooking up.”

He tilted his head, boots treading closer than you already too are. This bastard really can’t stop himself from closing inches between the two of you. You subtly get a whiff of the sweat and metal that always comes with him. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I leave. And when I leave, so does any leverage you think I give you with the board. Forced closure.” You didn’t blink. “You asked for me, Kidd. So act like it.” He holds your gaze for a beat, lips twitching into something that could almost be called a smirk.

There was a long beat. Then a laugh. Quiet and rasped, almost like he couldn’t help it. “Still the same. Always so polite when you’re threatening me.”

You turned and walked back toward the entrance without acknowledging his remark, because frankly if you do, you’d be fuming. It’s what you do to cope with his bullshit. Eustass followed, that half-smile twitching on his face like he was both annoyed and a little entertained. Finlay blinked, glancing between the two of you like he’d walked into something far above his paygrade.

“You can begin, Inspector. I’ll be observing, don’t let me get in the way of your work.”

Kidd smirked, then finally turned back to him. “Alright, clipboard. Let’s get this over with. But if you get lost in the back, I’m not liable.” You saw Finlay nod with a gulp, doing his absolute best to keep his composure. Poor kid. You sighed and followed in with them leading before you, heels echoing behind them. 

The air inside the garage was thick, hot from the machines, pungent with oil and burnt rubber. The scent clung to the walls and soaked into the concrete enough to make the corners look black, actively evident which place received most of the steam and oil leaks from this place. A dull hum of heavy machinery and tools cutting through metal vibrated underfoot from the clanging of wrenches and drills. Finlay looked like he was walking into a pressure cooker because Kidd didn’t bother cleaning up, never. His eyes flicked around—at the tools cluttering the walls, the haphazard stacks of parts, the hiss of steam and the screech of a wrench twisting metal in the distance. The high shelves were a maze of tools and parts that had been carelessly thrown together, yet each tool seemed to have a place in the madness. He noticed the shelves with worn-down engine blocks, stacks of oil cans, and a dozen pairs of grease-streaked gloves piled high in a corner like an afterthought. A few old exhaust systems lay propped up against a wall like forgotten relics of another time. The place was alive with disarray, but in an oddly organized way that was both overwhelming and surprisingly efficient. Even though the place looked like it had been through decades of hard work, there was a feeling that this mess had a purpose, even if it wasn’t immediately obvious to someone from outside the world of mechanics.

“I’ll need to see the calibration sheets, and proof of your emissions compliance.” Finlay managed, voice almost steady as he read off the list on his clipboard.

Kidd barked a laugh. “Aye. Lemme just summon the magical archive fairy and see if she’s filed ‘em with the unicorn logs.” Finley’s face was priceless, torn between wanting to physically punt him or laughing. You shot Kidd a look from behind to which he caught with a grin, your glare silent but spoke volume in a way that tickled his stomach. He clicked his tongue as if reluctantly leashing himself.

“Alright, alright. Don’t start writing your report in blood, clipboard. Maddie’ll grab it for you.” He jerked his chin toward a nearby workbench, where a woman in overalls had her head buried in a greasy laptop. So that’s her name, the one woman always giving you a nasty smile when you ask where Kidd is. 

Despite all appearances, the further they went into the garage, the more obvious it became that the chaos was curated. Behind the grime-streaked glass, systems blinked awake when Finlay passed. Pressure gauges were marked to precision despite the grime almost covering the labels. Wiring was tied and color-coded despite being quite convoluted. The extraction system hummed to life on proximity sensors, vents kicking up without so much as a hiccup.

The inspector blinked, not second-guessing as it seems that everything seems organized, just in a messy way. “This… this is custom work.”

Kidd arched a brow, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he looked around his mess. “You folks really thought I’d let factory settings run my shop?”

Finlay crouched by the power relay panel, his fingers tracing the metalwork. It wasn’t just functional. It was akin to an expert curated by years of experience in mechanical and industrial engineering with its clean welds, modded control boards, even a secondary backup wired to a compact generator mounted high in a steel cage.

“I’ve never seen redundancies installed like this outside of military-grade garages.” Finlay murmured, almost forgetting he was talking to the same man who threatened to feed him to the transmission pit a couple of minutes ago.

Kidd leaned a shoulder against the wall, fascinated at the young inspector geeking out at the same shit he has a passion for. “That’s ‘cause they don’t know what the hell they’re doing. Every time one of your fine suits comes poking around, you think just ‘cause it’s loud and it swears, it ain’t smart. Not everythin’ in the damn protocol is as efficient as the one that ain’t in the books.” Whatever the fuck they’re talking about, it made you look at Kidd differently. Because if an expert such as Finlay finds Kidd’s setup impressive, maybe there’s a reason why this place is still successfully running in two full years ever since its launch. Which also explains why you always see an array of vehicles in here, never empty, always fully booked.

Finlay flushed. “No, I didn’t— I wasn’t implying—”

Kidd waved it off with a grunt and a smirk, shaking the lean man’s shoulder a little too aggressively Finley can hear his own bones rattle. “Relax, clipboard. You’re just doing your job.” You stood nearby, watching the whole thing with a raised brow, arms relaxedly clasped behind your back. When Kidd looked your way, he noticed how you were in the middle of yawning. You covered up your mouth with a handkerchief, your fingers adorned with a generous amount of golden rings holding up the fabric tight in your mouth. Clearly not in the mood for the antics but too tired to care.

“Long day?” Kidd asked, gaze shifting from the inspector scribbling on his clipboard then at you who was wiping off the sleep from your eyes.

“More than I’d like.” You folded the handkerchief carefully while keeping your posture sharp, stuffing the cloth inside the pocket of your slacks. “Especially when I have to deal with idiots who cannot go through a proper building inspection without an eye candy.”

Kidd’s grin returned, sharp and teasing. “You did somethin’ different today, didn’tcha?” He scrutinized you, narrowing his eyes as he fixated at the extra effort you added to your makeup. “Rad makeup you got there, bonnie. Brings out the color in your pretty eyes.” He was the first one to notice and that fact alone made blood rise to your cheeks, making your blush appear a shade darker.

“Finlay,” you asserted with a firm tone, as the conversation was starting to get derailed. Completely ignoring Kidd’s flirtatious advances and his lingering gaze. God, you were way too tired from your previous cases and the hearing you have to attend to where you will be defending a lot for a grandma’s garage sale will require you with much needed neurons rather than using them all up in a conversation with this idiot. “Fire safety hazards. We still have three more sections to go.”

“Right, please show me your fire safety precautions, Mr. Eustass?”

Finlay flipped through the last few pages of his checklist, brows furrowed, pen hovering above the final box before finally sparing a glance at the catastrophe before him. The garage was deceptively chaotic. Grease smeared the floors, rust dusted corners like permanent fog, and the walls looked like they hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in years. But beneath the grime? It was surgical and you saw the intricacy behind the chaos. Tools were hung with organization—wrenches classified by torque, screwdrivers categorized by size and tip type, cables coiled and zip-tied. Diagnostic consoles sat clean and humming in the corner, their wires tucked so neatly they looked like part of the structure. The lifts were solid, the hydraulics freshly oiled despite being visibly worn out, the floor markings for machinery zones still visible even under the grit.

“Mechanically,” Finlay muttered, scanning the lift tags. “You’re airtight. Every piece of equipment is logged and calibrated. Even the tire balancer has a current service date. That’s… rare.”

Kidd leaned against one of the workbenches, arms crossed, smug grin in place. He anticipated your reaction too. “Told you. No games, but she purrs.”

But Finlay hesitated, eyes flicking to the ceiling. “That’s where we get to fire safety.”

You followed his gaze. There was an overloaded power strip plugged into a socket meant for a single heavy-duty tool. Three more adapters snaked off it, trailing into opposite ends of the shop like veins feeding the beast. Nearby, an ancient fire extinguisher was unlabeled, half-depressurized, and hung askew on its mount. Emergency lighting was cracked and flickering. Kidd hadn’t even tried to conceal the fire exit, he’d just leaned a tire rack over it.

“What’s your fire evacuation plan, Mr. Eustass?” Finlay peeked over the suspiciously dark alley with a haphazard sign reading ‘FIRE EXIT’ which couldn’t even be lit on and was masked by dust. 

“Told the boys not to catch fire. Figured that’ll cover it.” He shrugged, not even flinching at the disturbed look you and Finlay gave him. You saw Finlay take a little longer look, almost as if stunned at Kidd’s lack of urgency before taking a deep breath and visibly crossing out a box before noting something. 

“And will you please tell me how does that work?” Poor Finlay was trying to be kind but you could sense how his patience was being tested. If it were up to you, Kidd would have shutted up by now and followed protocol with no questions. But no, you’re an overseer. Plus, this is also training for this greenhorn.

“If I yell loud enough, they’ll get the point.” 

Finlay moved on, he deemed that pressing on the matter will be pointless when it’s Kidd you’re talking to.”How do you deal with employee safety, then?”

Kidd glanced over and flatly remarked, rubbing the back of his neck as if already bored with it. “We got gloves.”

“May you please point me to the eye protection, masks, boots? Any documented trainings for operating machinery? What’s your emergency procedure if someone gets crushed under a lift?”

Kidd tapped his temple. “You lost me at protection. I tell ‘em not to get crushed.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered under your breath. Low enough for you to let out your frustration and disbelief at the situation. But Kidd heard it well enough, snickering to himself at your reaction.

To Finlay’s credit, he kept it professional. “To completely pass the inspection, you need proper PPE signage, an updated fire safety certificate, and at least one certified first-aid kit that isn’t covered in brake fluid.” He took a deep breath to gather what he lost from listing out the array of requirements Kidd had simultaneously failed to comply with. “All of this should be submitted in documentation form within twenty-four hours for monitoring. With the way things are, I’d say you pass about 70% of the test. Mostly because you have advanced, yet unconventional, mechanical systems.”

Kidd flashed a toothy grin and raised a grease-stained fist. To your absolute disbelief, Finlay bumped it. No hesitation, holding the same smile Kidd has. It was a nerd-to-nerd communication you feel left out on.

“That multi-point ignition system you’ve got on Bay 3?” Finlay said, eyes suddenly gleaming as he pointed at the far back where made a mental note worth mentioning. “That’s not even on the market yet. You installed that manually?”

Kidd scoffed, chest puffing up at Finlay’s praise. Because he’s impressive like that, and someone from the bureaucrats finally acknowledged it. “Built it from scraps. Junkyard haul. Tuned it myself over a month. She runs clean and mean, zero misfire tolerance.”

“No way. You tweaked the cam alignment to work with that aftermarket ECM, didn’t you?” Finlay clutched the clipboard close to his chest, the excitement clear in his gaze and tone. The same one Kidd holds.

“Had to. Took ages to sync the damn thing. But she’s got torque even God wouldn’t see coming. You sure know your stuff, clipboard.”

You stood off to the side, arms folded loosely as your gaze flicked between them. Kidd, the walking headache, the flirt who always said too much and cared too little when it actually mattered, was suddenly spouting engineering specs like he belonged in a lab coat. This wasn’t the Kidd you were used to. Not the one who refused to take anything seriously, not the one who tried to flirt his way through civic responsibilities. Seeing this side of him, one who is grounded in so much passion, knee-deep in jargon, made you think that he was not so much of a big, harmful disaster always coming your way. He was smart and impressive, no matter how rough-edged and unconventional it may be. You watched him explain the custom ECM setup they were both fanboying about that you had zero clue whatever the hell it means, casually referencing sensor arrays and valve timings like he was listing groceries, while Finlay nodded along as he became increasingly enthralled.

It was jarring. Not just because he clearly knew what he was doing, but because there was a kind of pride in his voice when he talked about his machines. One separate from the pride he holds when he thinks he has an effect on you as he whips up his awful attempts at flirting. Which has always left you bothered, just bothered and annoyed. But now, there was no smirk, no wink. Just skill that he was intelligently spouting off sense about. You found it interesting how a ball of ego and arrogance actually has something to boast about rather than tell everyone about his business. Loudly so.

As Kidd gestured toward one of the hoisted chassis, walking Finlay through the logic of why he’d rerouted the coolant system and swapped out the stock ECM for an aftermarket one he made himself. “Obviously, ‘cause I’m not trying to set this thing on fire during rush hour.”

He was in his element and you were somewhat drawn in at him acting serious for once, matching wavelengths and taking this Inspector seriously. Confident, grounded, not a trace of the smug flirt you'd grown so used to. Just a man who knew every bolt, every wire, and every hiss of his machines. Finlay, bless him, had lowered his clipboard and was now asking questions not for formality’s sake, but out of genuine curiosity.

You didn’t even notice the way your expression softened until Kidd’s voice cut through the mechanical hum, low and curved with that unmistakable edge as he reverted back to the bastard you always cursed out corporately.

“You keep staring like that, bonnie, I’m boutta think you’re impressed.” He shifted in one leg, smirk growing back on his tinted lips as he tilted his head slightly to the side. Because this was new, you rarely look his way and right now, you’re way into his world. You’ve set yourself up for more teasing with the way you’re too absorbed in watching him geek about his stuff.

You didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t get impressed by men doing the bare minimum of their job.” Even Finlay’s spit got caught in his throat he had to adjust his tie. Kidd’s smirk faltered by just a hair, if anything, it deepened. As with every clapback you did, lighting something in him particularly beneath his ribs, setting butterflies across his stomach. 

Finlay cleared his throat, he still has to do his independent checks but as you glance at your watch—you have thirty more minutes before the hearing starts. “I-I’ll just need a few more minutes to run through the structural safety and general maintenance stuff. Don’t mind me, Mr. Eustass.”

“I’ve got to go, my hearing starts thirty minutes from now. Good job, Finlay.” You nodded at the young rookie who, you could’ve sworn, blushed at your compliment as he stifled a nerdy grin. Kidd’s expression looks as if he’s expecting a star stamped on the back of his hand as well. But you turned your heel, sparing him one glance before completely heading out the garage. And just when you think you’re spared from this mechanical fiasco, Kidd follows after you.

“Hey Attorney, don’t I get a ‘good job’ too?” His posture was casual as he matched your pace, his tone coated with mischief. “Was it impressive? You were locked in, bonnie.”

You exhaled, not quite a sigh, more of a recalibration. You met his gaze, unblinking. “I acknowledge competence where it exists, Kidd. Don’t mistake that for flirtation.”

He smirked, something slower now, more grounded than cocky. You two reached your car right about now. But he was persistent, standing before your car door as he attempted distracting you with the thick muscle of his biceps as he crossed it over his taut chest. But your gaze remained fixated on his golden irises. The sun now casts a beautiful glow on his pale skin, the yellow much richer on his snowy skin making his eyes more transparent than earlier. “Wouldn’t dare. But you do make regulations sound sexy.”

You opened the car door, tone bone-dry as you practically pushed him with the edge of it with the least amount of delicacy. And he seems to be the only bastard getting off at being picked on. But in his case, it’s gotta come from you for that damned grin to appear on his lips. “And you make noncompliance look like a personality trait.”

That earned a low laugh from him, one he didn’t bother hiding. He took a step back as you slid into the driver’s seat, he watched you fumble around your keys. You fought off a yawn, having half the mind in inserting a key on your engine. Once you finally revved up your car and turned on your AC, he was still waiting outside. 

So you rolled down your window and he already had something to say. “Next inspection,” he said, voice raised just enough to be heard. “I’ll have the PPE signs and the fire extinguisher mounted right—just to impress you.”

“City Hall. Tomorrow morning. Once I’m out of that office, I won’t be giving you any more chances.” 

“Aye, aye. Ma’am.” He waved his hand off, brushing it off as if he’s got it covered. “Any chance you tell me what time you get off later? I’ll drop by as a gift.”

You rolled up the window without another word and only gave him an eyeroll, but as you pulled out of the lot, you found yourself checking the rearview mirror. He was still standing there with his shit-eating smirk you’re getting sick of, he was just watching. He waited for you to turn the corner before disappearing back inside.

The hearing was a grueling slog. You spent two solid hours defending a corner lot that a seventy-eight-year-old widow had turned into a garage sale, fighting tooth and nail against the city’s push for rezoning. These bureaucratic idiots couldn’t spare a 15-square meter lot for an old lady who actually contributes to the South Blue’s economy. Bureaucracy had a way of testing your patience, but today, you outperformed even yourself. Every objection met, every loophole shut down, every clause weaponized. The lot, defended. The old lady, Ms. Greggor, promised you free shopping sprees each time you visit her sale. Your voice was hoarse, your blazer wrinkled, and your shoes felt like instruments of torture as you feel blisters developing on your soles. 

You rummaged through the files as you walked up the air-conditioned lobby of the City Hall post-hearing, still thumbing through the last of the case notes when the City Hall receptionist called your name. Your eyes peeled off the three stacks of brown folders you tried fitting between your fingers.

“Delivery for you.” She said, holding out a drink tray with a single coffee cup resting in the middle. Confused, you took it, noting the ridiculous scrawl of your name on the side—your full title with butchered handwriting with an overconfident Sharpie and a questionable smiley face beside it. The lid was lukewarm, the order slightly off—two sugars instead of one, no syrup—but the scent alone made your headache lift just slightly. Kidd. That bastard really dropped it off, you didn’t take him seriously. You didn’t ask how he managed to charm the front desk lady, but you took the cup anyway. She seemed to hold a smile of mischief as she handed it to you, almost dying to ask how you’d managed to let that guy get you something. And gee, you’re wondering the same thing yourself. The thought lingered in your mind longer than you like, brain going places that you hadn’t noticed you were already on a detour to the nearest convenience store because the smell of caffeine had somewhat stimulated your hunger receptors.

You entered the convenience store with the stagnant depression clinging to its poorly lit shop. You took a while, almost spacing out as you chose over the sad boxes of microwaveable meals lined up on shelves. Out of sheer desperation and the impatience to not wait for a takeout, you grabbed the last box of a sorry excuse of a depressive oyakodon. As you stepped into line, coffee still in hand, you heard the low, familiar whistle. Kidd stood by the beer fridge, six-pack of canned rum dangling from one hand, his brows lifting when he caught sight of the cup in yours. He lined up right behind you. How great these turn of events are. 

“Didn’t think you’d actually drink it, bonnie. Funny seeing you here.” You’ve been seeing the most out of him lately and it’s highkey pissing you off. You caught a whiff of his cologne this time, not sweat, not smoke or iron. It was pungent, akin to metal itself but it clung into your nerves and made you swallow. He seems to have donned a different fit this time, a muscle tee and loose sweatpants. Pale skin in the absence of grime or sweat. He looked decent.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, it’s coffee.” The characteristic, mellow beeping of the cashier filled the silence of the convenience store. Your conversation with him being a tone louder than the silent sounds of the cash register. “I couldn’t read half of what was written, though. Thought it was a threat.”

He chuckled, the case of beer rattling as he shifted in one foot. “Guess you’ll have to see me again so I can clarify, aye?” He played on words as you two got closer at the cashier. A quiet beat passed between you, and you somewhat comfortably didn’t feel the need to say anything. Because he was patient and quiet as he watched you rummage through your wallet full of twenty and fifty-pound paper bills when he looked over your shoulder. Kidd was quick to place down a ten-pound banknote and a one-pound coin on the counter, telling the cashier that it’s for the both of you.

You were too tired to look over your shoulder, your makeup half melted from the day and your hair barely clinging onto a clamp, stray wisps brushing your temples. The cashier slid your meal into a plastic bag after microwaving it, the scent of overly sweet soy sauce already wafting through. You didn’t give Kidd the satisfaction of a thank you. Not yet. Instead, you walked out first, the automatic doors hissing open to the chill evening air. He followed, his footsteps obnoxiously easy to track. The dull clank of his six-pack broke the silence, trailing behind you like punctuation.

“You heading home?” He asked, not really expecting an answer.

You opened your car door, tossing the bag inside with the same grace as someone about to drop dead from fatigue. “Why are you doing this?” You shut your car door a little too harshly, crossing your arms over your chest after scratching the back of your head either from irritation or feeling overwhelmed with Kidd being everywhere you are.

Kidd leaned against the car next to yours, brow quirking. “Hey, nothin’ wrong treatin’ my Attorney, aye? I’ve been a bastard too long, just makin’ amends.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You don’t strike me as the repentant type.”

He sharply retorted. “Wouldn’t be, if I didn’t have a reason.” His eyes gleamed under the streetlight that blinked every half a minute or so, his red eyelashes casting shadows over his cheeks almost illegally and handsomely. Something about his eyes was genuine and you didn’t wanna believe it.

“You’re not that noble,” you said, viciously scanning his eyes for something remotely nefarious behind his suspiciously kind acts. “You don’t do things just to be nice. There’s always a punchline coming with you.”

Kidd smiled, that smug little curve of his lips that always looked one second away from turning into something annoying. But tonight, it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Then maybe I’m runnin’ low on punchlines,” he said simply, letting the six-pack dangle by his side. A shrug lifting his shoulders as the evening breeze of the 11 P.M. streets of South Blue soothed your senses. Some of the wisps of your hair sticking to your lips. “Maybe I just saw you get dragged through a helluva day and thought… y’know. You looked like you could use a warm drink. If that shit’s still illegal I’d happily go to jail.”

Your exhaustion cracked a little. Not enough to show, but enough for your muscles to stop tensing. The wind picked up, threading through the parking lot, catching loose strands of your hair and brushing them across your face. You didn’t bother fixing it and you just let out a sigh.

“Right. Well, I’m dying to go home. You wouldn’t want your beer running cold, is it?” You suggested, pulling open your car door as you tucked the messy strands behind your ear.

Kidd then hooked the plastic bag of his six-pack on one of the handlebars of his bike and fixed a helmet around his head. “Careful on your way home, bonnie. Or do I have to convoy you to ensure you don’t crash out?” It was now only his radiant eyes that could be seen as he lifted up his visor and got on his bike.

“Go home, Eustass.” You hadn’t got on your car yet, trying to fight off an uncharacteristic smile off your lips. Your restraints must be coming off from being exhausted because damn, you’re feeling a little too damn giddy tonight by the same man that was giving you headaches ever since you passed the bar exams. 

And just before he revs up his bike and back up the empty parking lot, you somehow found it in you to say the one thing your pride has been holding back. “Thank you, Kidd. I appreciate it.”

Kidd’s eyes flickered as he heard the words you had almost refused to say. He paused, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but it wasn’t the usual cocky grin. No, this one was quieter, more thoughtful. You could see it from the yellows in his eyes. He leaned back, the visor on his helmet glinting slightly in the streetlight.

“Anytime, bonnie.” He chuckled, voice low and teasing. He revved the engine once more, the smell of gasoline almost a drug to you. But instead of speeding off, he lingered for a moment longer, his gaze softening just a touch as he looked back at you. Almost as if taking his sweet damn time remembering this moment.

Chapter Text

Eustass Kidd was never, ever, on time. The redhead functioned on a schedule that answered to no one but himself, erratic and disorganized. Some chaotic internal clock that ticked only when it damn well pleased. That’s why his mechanic shop never had an opening hours displayed up front, or how his workers were always different and got their salary per day—whoever’s available to swing by gets their coin. Very spontaneous, never a planner.  

To him deadlines were suggestions, appointments were challenges, and punctuality never crossed his book. Ever. Because why would he willingly set aside time and be a convenience for anyone? That’s not Kidd, never Kidd. He blazes through life with zero structure and you suffer the consequences. That’s just him, never the reliable one, always late, always a fucking problem. That’s why when you told him to arrive before ten strikes, he showed up at noon. And he knows, a permanent smirk on his dark-red lips because he is very much aware of how much of a pain in the ass he was being. That’s why your so-called ‘reminder’ yesterday was wishful thinking, and you’re aware that you just said it out of courtesy. 

So when he was finally there, he strode in like he wasn’t two hour late. Hands deep in his pockets as he tried charming the rookie receptionist by asking where you are, “looking for this attorney,” he said in a relaxed tone that the receptionist was seriously thinking if this man really walked in the City Hall for legal matters. “Bit of a spitfire. Real hot, always in charge. Smells like expensive soap and flowers.” She blinked twice, looking back and forth between his annoyingly attractive grin and her computer that had her previous logs open. When no one was interesting enough to entertain his bullshit, he was escorted to the lobby to wait for the attorney he was referring to. Because the catch is, you’re also pretty damn late too.

You soon blew into the lobby like a hurricane barely ten minutes after him, phone pressed to your ear by your secretary as you talked with a very important client. One belonging to the upper classes of Scotland, along the lines of a noble who was greedy for city lots like the rich doesn’t have enough already. You were already occupied with signing forms, flipping through case files for the day, and motioning instructions for the people that came with you. A sweaty junior staffer trying to keep up with your pace as he balanced the files you keep stacking on his grip, and one law intern stifling her pants as she jotted down notes with an armful of documents. Your heels echoed across the lobby of the seventh floor, and Kidd sat on the far end of the hall, taking in the view that is you in your natural element.

“Tell the board of directors that I’ll review the annex and addendum at four today. If it’s not on my desk by then, it’s getting buried in next month's docket. Also, do something about that demolition notice because it’s right next to a damn daycare.” You snuck in orders while the client puts you in hold. Your brows furrowed, eyes commanding without so much as lifting a finger.

And Kidd, man… he was in a fucking trance. Your blouse was crisp, already quite creased from attending a few other hearings and in-person visits with cases. Your collarbone peeking, buttons hanging on by the grace of whatever God Kidd believed in as soon as he saw you waltzing in like you’ve got your own damn breeze. You had your hair up today, quite messy like how he saw you last night—but enough to tell the onlookers that you had a busy morning and it was a hardworking attorney at her best. But what Kidd couldn’t just simply let his eyes skim over was how you donned a pencil skirt today in mint green, high waisted as the blouse flared over it. His gaze lingered, it was almost criminal how fascinated he was like a heathen watching you walk. And he felt right there how you held the spotlight, the authority, the biggest presence in the room. And for the first time, it wasn’t him. That alone, stirred something in his chest like a coil around his heart.

You didn’t even glance his way, not when you passed the reception desk who had hoped to tell you a certain redhead is eagerly waiting for you. Not even when Kidd’s honey eyes trailed after you like smoke chasing fire with the scent of your perfume wafting over. And Kidd waited, because you looked like a woman with too many tabs open in your brain which clearly had no room for his name. Only when the noise died down, the interns and aides left your office to slump against the wall outside to breathe, and when your secretary finally told you you have an hour of vacancy before another hearing was when Kidd pushed himself up his seat to saunter down your office. No rush, he leaned his shoulder against the frame of your open door and knocked once. Enough to make him known.

You didn’t lift your head. Because right about now was the most relaxed you have been after four hours of working nonstop. You leaned back in your chair, head tilted to the headrest, one leg crossed over the other, one hand stretched over your forehead as you massage your temples from the oncoming migraine, and your jaw clenched as you tried catching your breath. Whoever that one can wait, you were busy trying to compose yourself.

“Guess I walked in during a hurricane, huh?” His voice had that same vibrato, that same rasp, that same grit that was eager to fuck with you. But despite it, there was an absence of mischief that usually comes with his tone.

“Eustass,” you took a deep breath, eyes still shut and you remained unmoving. The honorific dropping because you sure as hell knew he wasn’t here to be anything but helpful. “I have a heavy paperweight and no witnesses.”

Kidd snickered, letting himself in and sitting on one of the chairs after your desk. “Relax, bonnie. Just came to drop off the safety bullcrap.”

“My name is already on a plaque nailed on my door, and I have a one in platinum and glass here yet you still call me that.” 

He grinned, leaning back in his chair with a smug smirk as you finally acknowledged his nickname given to you. Only you. He has this habit of bestowing nicknames, but yours sound the prettiest out of his tongue. It also had the best intent, apart from the usual derogatory and mocking ones he gives to others. "Plaque, platinum, glass—still doesn’t change the fact you look better than half the stuff hanging around here."

“If you’ve got nothing else worth spouting about, I’d like an hour of silence before I get back to work.” You brushed your hand languidly in the air, spinning in your swivel chair to face away from him. “Please.” Your voice was firm but there was a hint of vulnerability that Kidd was privileged to witness. The lioness finally saying ‘please’? But jokes aside, Kidd didn’t want to be a bother this time. As much as he cherished the bickering you two always have, this man has apparently started holding back.

“Oh, I’m not done. Got a gift for you.” He raised a plastic bag, the sweat of the icy drink forming beads on the inside of the bag as he placed it on your desk. “Cold brew, two pumps of caramel, and three shots of espresso.” You stopped mid-turn, before giving him a flat rejection that he’s not even close to your usual order. Partially wrong, he at least got the caramel right. Your eyes flickered to the cup, the rattle of ice on the plastic cup almost a melody to your ears. You brought the straw up your lips, sipping as the sweetness of caramel cut through the bitterness of the espresso. The chill sent a pleasant shiver spreading from your palate down to your chest.

Kidd was watching you the entire time, anticipating your reaction if his guess somewhat hit the spot. His golden eyes tracking the subtle way your shoulders dipped and your brows softened when the coffee finally took residence in your tongue. How you leaned back your swivel and melted at the leather as an uncontrolled hum escaped your nose. Kidd leaned back, arms crossed, brows cocked. “Hm? Thought I didn’t hit?”

You lowered the cup and gave him an unamused, half-lidded, and far-too-tired-to-play-nice look. “You’re three miles off and coasting on blind luck. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Kidd smirked, slow and sharp, like he’d just heard the starting bell to a game he knew he’d win eventually.  “Three miles off?” He echoed, cocking a brow in disbelief. Oh, he won’t let that proof of victory slide. He dragged a knuckle across his jaw as he looked you over with a lazy sort of hunger. “Could’ve fooled me,” he said, voice low and amused. “Didn’t think a miss would have you hummin’ like that.” You felt your ribs cave in, almost as if the pumping muscle inside was trying to escape its cages from how erratic it became. Your neck felt hot, heat radiating up your cheeks. What the fuck is this idiot doing to you? You hate the feeling because you know damn well he won’t ever let this go. That he finally did something other than make a vein in your forehead twitch.

Then, with a shrug that somehow made the room feel smaller, he added as if the effect on you of his previous remark was not enough to rattle you senseless. “But hey, if that’s you off a bad guess... now I’m curious what you’d sound like if I actually nailed it.” He leaned closer, propping his elbow up your table as you got a closer look at his sun-yellow, traitorous eyes boring through you. Just waiting for you to fold, to admit, to surrender. He watched you through his thick red lashes, dimples showing as he bit his lip with a smile.  He soon grinned, all teeth and slow-burn arrogance, canines sharp and pearly-white.

You didn’t respond, at least not with words. Just another sip, and the tiniest twitch at the corner of your lips he didn’t need to see to know he earned before you completely faced away from him. So after professionally telling him to fuck off, Kidd gave up in eliciting that certain reaction out of you. Although that smile you tried to hide, it didn’t get past that bastard and he had that tattooed in the deepest portion of his brain. You hear him mutter a ‘later’ before hearing his boots disappear deeper into the halls, as if suggesting he’d do something so you two can bump into each other again today. Whatever it is, you want nothing of it. As you keep telling yourself.

Nonetheless, you have the feeling that whatever stunt he was pulling, this won’t be the last of it. As much as Kidd wanted to stay and bug the shit out of you, he still had some work to do back at his shop. He had work to do back at the garage, reports to submit, parts to order, a half-built transmission he’d probably sweet-talk into behaving. So he went on his way. But his presence lingered. Not under your skin, but right beneath your skull, beneath your ribs. Maybe it was the caffeine making you palpitate. Yeah, that’s probably it. 

But you can’t get his damn face out of your head nor resent that cup of coffee sweating on your wooden desk. As the taste of espresso stuck like glue on the back of your throat, your lips lingered around the straw, spacing out as you recalled this certain tulip-headed asshat that brought the very coffee you had found yourself drinking little by little. Almost as if saving it. You convinced yourself that yes, you do need to save it because it’s still a little past two. You still have several hours and two hearings ahead of you. 

But what fucked with you the most was that it started happening more than once. It seems as if that cold brew was the first one, the one you saved until it was nearly watered down. Another shows up a couple of days later delivered by the grease monkey himself, a new blend of vanilla and hazelnut. It was not your usual but you somewhat liked the sugar spike, placed you in a good mood for today. You didn’t mind the second one, you were way too busy to overthink it. “Sweet one this time, wrote my number there. Call me if I did a good job, bonnie.” He grinned, motioning a calling sign next to his ear before exiting out the door frame that nearly matched his height. 

Until it became a regular thing, sometimes every day, sometimes every other. Kidd’s deliveries became routine, but never predictable. It was a game now. A stupid one. Guess what the hell he came up with this time . You were stuffing folders on your leather flip-up bag for a legal compliance review you got pulled at the last minute, zipping up your bag as you tried recalling if you missed something. When your secretary knocked at your open door to catch your attention, carrying a hot coffee cup in one hand. A smile that was a little too playful for your liking. You can hear the teasing come a mile away.

“Again?” You said, almost exasperated but still ended up taking the cup from his grasp. You hear him shrug, a subtle laugh following after. 

“You should be thankful, Attorney. Not everyone has free coffee everyday.” You turned the cup a little, inspecting to find what he got in store for you. You anticipated what else kind of nonsense Kidd had at the side today. He always leaves some stupid scribble with emojis he made himself, one where you have to look a little longer to understand it’s not straight out of a witching insignia. ‘Matcha oat milk, cinnamon, single shot”, you shuddered at the thought. Especially with the smiley face that had pointy eyebrows and spiky teeth.

Either a mild hit or a total miss, it became part of your routine. You hated to admit, but it gave your day something apart from the ridiculous hearings about disputed lots by the same rich people who sold it off to their shady businesses and ties. Two retirees fighting over a rose bush planted an inch too close to the fence, small business feuds about signage or who copied whose bakery logo, and noise complaints between neighbors who live three feet from each other and insist the other one is playing “devil music” at 2 a.m. when it’s just a washing machine. His coffee and scribbles had at least lightened up your mundane days. You had initially thought that when Kidd had submitted his reports, it would be the last that you ever see of him. Because he was never really meant to stick around. But it surprised you how much he straightened up when his folder didn’t come circling back after two weeks. Radio silence on complaints, up-to-date inspection reports, and spotless compliance logs. But he somehow still finds a way to sneak himself in the back of your mind each day. 

There was one time when he went an extra mile and added something along with the coffees. Even went so far with ecclefechan tarts and scones. He personally handed you those. There was also ridiculous overkill of tablets that made your molars ache just from unwrapping it, thankfully, the hot pumpkin latte with pumps of fruit syrup helped. Not that it taste did, because you hated it. At this point, he’s letting you taste everything on the damn menu. But every time, you took a sip. You complained, scowled, rolled your eyes yet the cup always ended up half-empty. You found yourself buying seconds from that shop he always buys at because you craved for more.

The first time he got stopped by security, you overheard him giving them hell in that cocky lilt of his, as if he dared them to stop him from making a coffee delivery. He had a sleeveless tank on, a white one littered with soot. His overalls hanging down his hips as he got a helmet hanging in one arm. You were two floors up when the commotion reached your ears. Faint at first but when you hear that certain yell across the halls, you’re damn near sure it was him.

“Mate, what part of ‘coffee drop-off’ sounds threatenin’ to you? Come on, frisk me. See if I’ve got somethin’ disruptin’ public order or whatnot.” Arrogant with open arms, almost inviting a bar fight at the city hall, barking at the man doing his job. By the time you reached the lobby, he was leaning one elbow on the front desk, helmet tucked under his arm, smirking at the poor guard like he’d just been personally offended. His red, hair kept up by that same bandana you saw him come in two weeks ago. Lips dark red, almost purple. And his lined eye caught you, smirk turning into a toothy grin as he saw you walk out the elevator.

“Speak of the devil.” He watched you stand next to him, apologizing to the security who surrendered when you told him you already got the problem covered. Problem being Kidd. But he never really heard whatever you’re talking about, he was busy staring at you. Because even after he just got here delivering the coffee and tarts three days ago, he had to be seeing you and breathing the perfume you always donned. 

Kidd soon gave the security guard a shit-eating grin, as if saying he’s with you so he can hurry and fuck off about it. After profusely apologizing, you gave Kidd a glare. Eyes enough to ask what in the fuck is he doing. But Kidd still had that grin on him, as a matter of fact it deepened as he waved the bag of coffee and clootie dumplings in a transparent bag. He even followed you towards the elevators because you hadn’t taken it from him. Persistent as he is.

“You’re about two more antics away from getting banned,” you muttered, jabbing the elevator button. You then snatched the bag away from him, the sounds of the doors closing. Trapping the silence between concrete walls and the soft glare of fluorescent lighting. “New blend. Chocolate stout, cold brew, barista said lemon zest’s a new addition.” 

You haven’t had breakfast yet, the sight of clootie dumplings made your mouth water but you couldn’t say the same for the stout. “Why are you always adding obscure shit on my drink?” You rummaged through the bag to open the wrapped dumpling and stuffed it in your mouth.

“Yet you always finish it, aye?” He watches you silently with a smile, how you visibly melted when the filling of the dumpling interspersed with your saliva. But to his surprise, you caught him staring. A slight tint of pink on his cheeks, but he wasn’t embarrassed about it. More like you are, you looked away immediately.

“It’s been a month, Kidd.”

He furrowed his brows a little, almost as if not quite catching what you meant. You held up the bag, the ball of chewed clootie dumpling marking the inside of your cheek made Kidd snicker a little. “This. Consistent coffee drop-offs for four weeks now. Even going so far as having desserts.”

He tilted his head, “ah, so you’re keeping track, bonnie.”

“Why?” You remained steadfast, determined to pry an answer off of him. Because quite frankly, you’re bothered about it. You enjoy the free breakfasts, but you don’t enjoy the teasing, the whispers. 

Kidd crossed his arms, the transparent windows of the lift casting periodical shadows across his sharp features as the lift progressed through the floors. Eyes remained glowing and translucent with honey. “Somethin’ so wrong with it?” He licked his lips, the metal ball sparkling against the sunlit windows when the lift finally halted, reaching the seventh floor with no delays. “I don’t need a reason to keep givin’ you stuff I wanna give you. One holler and I’ll stop. ”

And you just stared like an idiot. The cup sweating in your palm. The strange mix of chocolate and citrus sitting bitter on your tongue. “If you keep giving weird combinations, you might as well.” And with that, you walked out the elevator with your usual clipped stride, coffee in hand and expression unreadable. Save for the faintest twitch at the corner of your mouth. Kidd chuckled to himself, following after you even if his mission was long finished. 

You stepped out of the elevator with Kidd trailing beside you, the smell of his latest coffee experiment still curling in the air between you. A strong chocolate-orange brew, daring and bitter, just like the man who brought it. His steps matched your pace a little too easily, too comfortable in a territory he had already found himself a few times striding with you.

And there goes the chatter. The moment you turned a corner to the legal wing, two paralegals near the water dispenser glanced up. Their gazes flicking towards the burly man in overalls, pale and sweaty biceps, and striking red hair—a familiar figure that had been regularly dropping off your coffee. They alternated glances from him and the coffee cup and clootie dumplings on your hand. One leaned in to whisper, the other bit back a grin, nudging her elbow subtly. You didn’t miss it, and neither did Kidd. Who had the nastiest scowl in his face. His mouth twisted into a sneer, upper lip curled like a growl was threatening to leave his throat. The glare he shot them would have sparked a short circuit in the goddamn water cooler. Long, pointed, seething. The giggling stopped, enough to make one of them fumble her cup. Because he was staring, glaring really long even as he walked with you. 

“Real subtle, greasehead.” You shook your head, taking a bite from your dessert.

“I like the attention, hate the whispers.” He said in almost a growl, voice dipping into something dark.

“Maybe if you didn’t make this an everyday thing, that won’t be a problem. Why are you still even following me?” You looked over your shoulder, at Kidd. Almost not noticing the man before you.

Before Kidd could sneak in a retort, the real kicker came when you walked past the conference hall and a deep voice called out before you. “Attorney.” A greeting, or a warning for something that’s about to come.

You halted mid-step. Kidd did too. You turned slowly, already bracing yourself. “Chief.” You acknowledged, posture straightening up as you were met with the intense aftershave of this older man donning the same crisp, navy three-piece suit consistently ever since you had been accepted in the firm. The old man must have a rack full of the same colors at this point. A few grey strands of hair streaking his brunette ones, slicked back neatly. It was Chief Legal Counsel Drummond—the kind of man who barely blinked during budget cuts and could spot a misused clause from a mile away. He glanced at the coffee and the dessert in your hand, then at Kidd, who still hadn’t moved. Kidd maintained eye contact, a little bit taller than your chief. 

“Is there a reason this insufferably disruptive garage mechanic is making daily supply runs to your office?” Drummond’s tone wasn’t cruel, but it was skeptical, clipped, and public. Eyes darted directly down at you as his expression remained firm. Technically, you weren’t in trouble. Kidd’s not your client, nor is he someone you’re working on or working with. It’s just somewhat of an ironic sight to see you getting comfy with the very problem you’ve been trying to solve ever since you became an attorney six months ago.

You opened your mouth, ready to diffuse it with something dry and professional but Kidd beat you to it. He stepped forward with a glare of his own, not aggressive, just unyielding. “Just makin’ sure your best litigator doesn’t keel over from exhaustion, sir.” One of the paralegals dropped her pen. “I help the city in ways I can, don’t I? Attorney?” You visibly shut your eyes, cringing at Kidd’s display of arrogance. He’s really making your situation worse. You hear a lone cough from across the halls. It had been audibly quiet ever since you arrived, moreso when the Chief of Legal Counsel appeared before you.

Drummond raised a brow in a manner you can’t quite read. Almost doubting if he found himself offended or amused. But with the slight shift from the thin line of his lips, you were doubtful of where his mind went. “I’d say the caffeine is working wonders. No complaints from her office in weeks. Not on your end at least.” There soon came a pause, as if Drummond knew exactly what was going on between either of you. 

Drummond’s gaze lingered on you, unreadable. But there was a hint of smile on his eyes, something telling that it clicked in his head “Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with the work.” Then he turned and walked off. You exhaled slowly, tension unwinding only slightly. Kidd turned to you, unfazed, as if that counted as a win. But it was only when Drummond was already far enough that you realized what he meant. And before you could clarify, he already disappeared from the corners and you were left with the deafening thuds of your heartbeat. With that, Kidd was ordered, vehemently by you, to leave as you felt your ears burning at the thought of Drummond concluding that something other than a legal relationship was going on either of you.

Chapter Text

You were aloof. You made sure to make it your number one rule that boundaries exist and why those boundaries matter. Which is why the only things people know about you is that you’re an attorney, a damn good one, and you’re not that sociable. Beyond that? Not much else. You were flawless in the courtroom, did your duties commendably better than the average, and you carried a good head on your shoulders. People didn’t need to know the person behind the title. Because it was more peaceful, more cleaner. You don’t care if people talked about you, absolutely not. You care about what they know about you and how they’d manipulate that into something so vile. So boundaries exist and you are adamant to make it enforced and impenetrable. You didn’t linger in break rooms for small talks, you kept it civil, you kept it organized. Always, never breaking character.

So you expected no visitors. But, for once in six months, you heard a knock on your door. A loud, banging one. Almost aggressive, almost eager. Was it your upstairs neighbor asking you if you believe in God again? Church doesn’t start until Sunday and it was Wednesday right now. It’s the middle of the week, a little further past September so it wouldn’t be your landlord collecting rent at the end of the month. You sat back, thinking if it was a parcel that you forgot you bought. But no, your latest purchase came in yesterday.

Sinking in the warm mattress of your couch you contemplated opening the door as the knocks had dulled in the background but were still ever so prominent, the mattress already worn down—a second hand personally delivered by your family out in the West. So after about five minutes of incessant knocking, you had pulled yourself up your couch, a blanket over your shoulders as your frame was engulfed in a thick hoodie that reached below your bum, its hood up with your ears feeling cold. You shuffled toward the door, throat dry, body hot and cold in uneven waves. You didn’t even check the peephole, just unlatched it with the tiredness of someone who hadn’t slept right in two days. You pressed a folded tissue near your nose, wiping away the mucus trickling down your runny nose before opening the door and almost shutting it immediately. 

“You doin’ alright, Bonnie?” He tilted his head, helmet still on as you need nothing but his eyes to tell how he came here with the same bastardly arrogance he always donned like second skin.

“How- Why?” You couldn’t form your sentences right, quite frankly you couldn’t really breathe well. Your eyeballs hurt from sneezing and blowing snot out too much. Your headache was pounding, especially when you stood up to get the door. Which by the way, as things are now, you wish you hadn’t. 

“You agreed over the phone, didn’tcha?” He raised a brow, almost confused at your confusion. You looked at him for a while, your head aching as you tried recalling what the fuck this idiot meant. 

Kidd showed up with his usual coffee in one hand, his motorcycle helmet hooked under the other one clutching a paper bag. He was carrying the one you liked a few weeks back, the one flavor he made a core memory out of. Hazelnut and espresso blend with caramel. With a whole month and a half of guessing, he seems to have figured you out. The experience was fun for him, and a rollercoaster for you. Besides, he needs to keep coming up with reasons to come back. Otherwise, he won’t intentionally give you funky drinks. 

As he circled around his bike, securing his keys on his loose pockets, he was in an especially good mood today knowing that he’d elicit that hum out of you again from the first time you tried it. The automatic doors slid open before him as the breeze of air-conditioning and the scent of freshly printed papers met his sweaty frame. The security guards didn’t so much as stop him, some even gave him a nod because they already recognized him and got in a skirmish with back then from a total misunderstanding that had to be solved by you. The receptionist was already smiling at him at the far end of the lobby, but looked shocked at his arrival.

“Oh, unfortunately. She’s not in today.” She started, heart breaking as she saw Kidd’s grin slowly got replaced with a scowl. Brows furrowed as his grip on the paper bag tightened. 

Kidd frowned. Not that kind of dramatic, exaggerated frown he wore when trying to make people laugh. He was worried for this one, genuinely. He drummed his fingers once against the counter. “She alright?”

“She called in sick earlier, and sounded pretty bad.” The receptionist had her face scrunched up. Recalling how you couldn’t even form a proper sentence without sneezing up a storm over the phone when she was marking you for filing a sick leave. 

“Got any clue where I can find her secretary?” He leaned further, placing an arm on the countertop, perching an elbow at the edge like he was exchanging backhanded deals. 

Legally, receptionists aren’t supposed to say anything when asked to give out private details—they’d dismiss the issue immediately with professional courtesy and a tight-lipped smile. But then, Kidd had a way with words, had a way with his eyes. He knows exactly how to get the words going when he knows that the receptionist finds him hot. The molten gold hue of his eyes sparked with a kind of genuine concern even beneath all the bravado that didn’t get past the poor receptionist. Plus, the receptionist was there ever since day one of the coffee drop offs. She never misses the slight light in your eyes, the twitch of the corner of your lips, the sudden reminder to rest after back-to-back hearings. All of which you tried hiding badly each time she was asked to hand in the coffee to you. 

“Try the file room down the west wing,” she muttered after a beat too long. “He’s logging the backlog files today, probably too stressed manning her office. Knock once. He hates being interrupted.”

Kidd gave a slow nod, then flicked the rim of the takeaway cup he’d been holding. “Appreciate it.” He was already walking before she could add anything else. Like he was eager to do something more than drop off your coffee. 

The file room was cramped, dry, and smelled faintly of stale paper and lemon floor polish. Kidd spotted your secretary hunched over a stack of folders thicker than a box of tissue papers. He didn’t knock. Just leaned against the doorframe like he owned the place.

“You look like hell,” he said bluntly. Your secretary was on the phone, clearly juggling six tasks at once, eyes wide and frazzled as he tried catching up with the tasks you asked him to do. Kidd raised a brow, holding up the coffee like a bribe.

“Uh-huh. Yes, Attorney,” the secretary said into the phone, it was on speaker. “I sent the brief to legal, yes. The addendum for the zoning appeal is included. Ah—hang on—Attorney, Kidd is—”

From the phone came your voice, thick and hoarse and obviously half out of it. “Just—just let him— Whatever he wants, I don’t care. Just don’t forget the addendums or they’re going to flag it again. God, my head—just get it signed. Please.”

The line went quiet with a final raspy exhale, the characteristic beep of the call and the panicked swiping away of the phone. Then he lowered the phone down the desk and looked at Kidd.

He stared, crossing his grease-stained arms over his broad chest. “Sounds like I got permission.”

“She’s delirious,” your secretary deadpanned, organizing the folders based on what was to be submitted and rescheduled. Kidd was not helping his case

“And she said ‘whatever I want’, didn’t she?” Kidd smiled, already backing out the door. “Look, I had initially planned to hand it to you so you can drop it off. But you look like you’ve got your hands full in savin’ the world.” If anything, Kidd is stubborn and he will get what he wants. It’s just pure luck that everything lined up. “I’ll be out of ‘er hair after droppin’ this off, promise.”

With a resigned sigh, the secretary looked up at the ceiling, placing his hands on his hips to catch his breath. He figured, you need someone to check up on you. He plans to, as your secretary, but with the mountain of orders you gave him it’s nearly impossible. Trusting this redheaded grease monkey was probably not the best decision but with how tight the situation was, there was no choice. But in all honesty, something genuine emanated from Kidd. Like the eagerness to visit you wasn’t from the sheer greed of just meeting you. It was something beyond eagerness, something genuine. Making him feel like he could trust Kidd this time. “125 Flat 4E, Cobalt Lane, District III, Hibiscus Avenue.”

“Aye, thanks.” Kidd went on his way, fixing his helmet on his head while throwing the receptionist a wink on his way out. He got on his bike, revving up his engine, and stopping by his house to fetch you something other than catalysts for a sugar spike. Something to warm you up, to fill your stomach. Even he was surprised at his own actions, thinking ahead and the like.

The ride to your apartment was long, it was damn far from the City Hall, much farther than his shop. It was thanks to his bike that he was able to get there in thirty minutes with all his deliverables. Drumming his boots on the concrete like a giddy motherfucker as he waited first in line at the stoplight. One more corner street, one more curb, one more alleyway and he’ll see your flat. 

Your head hurt when you realized it, you reached over for your temples, trying to massage it although you knew damn well that won’t cut it. The door was still open before you, but you felt the shot of pain across your head. Your stuffy nose had contributed to the way your ears rang, going fuzzy along with the aching of your eyes. Kidd was mumbling something about how your place looks neat after having a peek from the outside, his height giving him an advantage to look over. But you didn’t catch it. You were busy trying to get a hold of yourself before your vision started spinning. You tried stepping back but your knees buckled before you could reach the couch.

“Shit. Easy there, Bonnie.” Kidd caught you with one arm, placing his helmet and bag of food down the floor to support you fully. The timbre of his voice was too close to your ear, it almost buzzed. A quick shuffle of boots on polished wood inside and the soft clatter of his stuff hitting the cement outside. 

“I got it, get off me.” You were dismissive, but your tight grip on his shirt was enough to tell Kidd his next course of action. Once you realize it though, you let go. So did Kidd, so being the asshat he is, he loosened his grip on you to prove you wrong—which was enough for you to stumble and fall. You let out a whimper, a congested one. But before you could completely fall, he snickered before wrapping one arm around your back and the other under your knees before you could protest. As if you could though. 

“‘Course you can.” He mocked, not a single grunt or labored breath escaping from him as he lifted you effortlessly. His helmet and deliveries completely forgotten outside your doorstep. “You’re burnin’ up, barely standin’ but alright, tell me off with you not needin’ any help.” You avoided looking up at him, thank God for the hoodie because it covered how red you and your ears were. You’re sure as hell he’s looking down on you with a smirk.

As his boots thudded against the hardwood floor, he ventured deeper into your apartment. Quaint and contemporary, looks just the same as the others. Medium-rise ceilings, a heater plugged adjacent to the couch. The television passively playing in the background. Emptied cup noodles on the coffee table next to legal papers that were half-read. A few crumples of tissue paper scattered on the carpet. The kitchen and dining area was a fusion, evidently neglected from the unopened wine bottles lining the back and an array of canned goods on the shelf below it with dust gathering atop each and an espresso machine shiny and pristine atop the marble countertop seems to be the most used. A periwinkle blazer hung over one of the countertop chairs, forgotten, seems to be what you’ll be wearing before you finally decided that you would be totally incapable today. Further confirming this, was the pair of low heels in white, kicked off haphazardly. 

After Kidd had briefly observed your apartment, heart rapid against his chest as he witnessed a part of you, he brought you over your couch. His grip secured the entire time, surprisingly gentle for such a rough bastard you’ve known him for. You felt the rise and fall of his chest, periodic and relaxed as opposed to the beat of his heart and your ragged breaths. But for once, he wasn’t smug, no teasing. He was quiet as he adjusted you against the cushions. “I’m just having allergies, not a damn cripple. You didn’t have to do that.”

His hand lingered at the small of your back a second too long, as if gauging if he placed you down right. “Wouldn’t want you gettin’ there, ‘s why I picked you up, aye?” He rolled his eyes, letting a few beats pass before you hear the faint rustle of the paper bag and the shut of your door along with the dull hum of your heater. “My nana cooked this. ‘S nutritious she said, will keep you warm.”

“How’d I know it won’t be poisonous?” You discerned the plastic casserole he was holding, steam rising from it but you couldn’t really smell well from your stuffy nose—the appearance was enough to tell that it’s far from being one.

“I've been eatin’ it everyday since Fall started, I’m damn sick of it.” He placed it down your coffee table along with the coffee and the shortbreads and souffles he initially bought. “Hazelnut, espresso, caramel. Figured you’d need a decent one today.”

Kidd soon found himself comfortably sitting on your other couch, legs sprawled wide apart, helmet abandoned on your floor, staring at you like you were the only thing worth looking at today despite your snotty, feverish appearance. He watched you reach over for the warm soup first, watching you sip it slowly from the casserole—fumbling when it was too hot for your tongue. It was not long before the warmth settled in your chest, chewing on the lone beef bits made you crave for more and you were sipping on it again. “Liked it?” A tone of pride in his voice, almost overjoyed at getting you fed and that you seemed to be enjoying it.

“Kidd. Why are you really here? You didn’t have to come all this way,” you started, voice gravelly and muffled by your stuffy nose. Kidd’s expression changed and he shrugged, almost as if not knowing the answer himself. But he did, he just couldn’t say it without turning into a red mush of feelings. His inked nails drummed idly on his knee as he tried coming up with a sharp and gritty retort like he used to. But nothing, all he was thinking about is his massive fucking crush on you.

“Dunno,” a lie, something to prolong the moment as he racks his brain on how to respond to this without losing his cool. “Got used to seein’ you a lot, and when they told me you’re holed up in ‘ere bein’ sick and sneezin’ like that… it didn’t settle right for me to continue crankin’ back at the shop. Plus, coffee’ll go to waste.” 

You intently watched him as he tried finding words for his feelings. One leg bouncing up and down, hands clasped together down the space between his legs, ears red as he avoided your gaze. “You’re worried about me?” A smile made its way to your lips, suddenly, you feel like teasing him.

“Aye. Somethin’ wrong with it?” He cocked a brow, finally meeting your eyes. You held the stare longer than usual, arm propped up against the armrest with the casserole bound to get lukewarm in your lap. 

“Not really,” you traced the accents of the plastic casserole, the details on the sides, warm under your fingertips. “It’s to be expected out of a stubborn one like you. Consistent since day one. Whether it was pissing me off or dropping off coffee.”

“Mm, ‘s odd not havin’ someone naggin’ me about emissions and improper jack stands. Day got quiet.” He confessed, quick and almost accidental. It hung in the air longer than he meant to.

“So you miss it?”
“Aye, I missed you.”

Quick, sharp, and it made either of you realize just how much of this conversation was going the course neither of you anticipated. It made your hearts rattle out of your ribs, deafening in your ears. You couldn’t look away, not when your pulse was hammering loud in your head and something stupidly warm was curling in your gut. Contrary to your flustered expression, Kidd remained resolute. No mischievous smirk, or taunting glances ready at your expense.. He held your gaze earnestly, as if what he said wasn’t a slip of the tongue. His own set of ears as flushed as the red in his locks. Which by the way was messily disheveled, more attractive than usual. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, tugging your hoodie further over your face. Increasingly feeling the embarrassment over the unattractive state you are in. You turned your head away, suddenly all too aware of the state you were in. Your lips were chapped, nose full from too much snot, your cheeks blotchy and burning which was evidently not from fever this time, but from how hard you were trying not to spiral. Some strands of hair sticking on your face from the cold sweat you had no control over. A sickly state that had zero business being seen by another human being, let alone the one you might’ve stupidly started to grow fond of. Kidd didn’t say anything at first, just cocked his head a little, like he was trying to figure out what, exactly, he was seeing in front of him. His brows drew in faintly, more amused than confused.

“Like what, Bonnie?”
“Like that . Because I look like crap.” He didn’t miss that eye roll you gave, as you munched on the shortbread on one hand while the casserole was clutching the other on your lap.

Kidd leaned his forearms on his knees, the space between you charged now. His lips curled into a slow, mischievous smile. "Nah," he muttered, the smirk softening into something more that you couldn’t quite catch. Or better yet, couldn’t admit because it felt a little too real. Something you couldn’t name yet, but definitely felt. "You don’t look like crap. Not even close." 

He let it hang there, didn’t rush to fill the silence with a joke or another jab. He was busy looking at you, steady, a bit soft, like he couldn’t quite help it. You’re already fighting a losing battle, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks from the casserole that you can almost see the bottom of from how much you’ve been chugging on it. Which by the way, was filled to the brim when he entered. You couldn’t hide the way your chest tightened, or the way your stomach twisted. Because right about now, this didn’t feel like one of his games where acts stupidly arrogant just to elicit a reaction out of you. It’s the way the amber of his eyes held yours a little too long, almost as if asking your gaze, begging you to keep looking as he memorized it even amidst the glassiness your allergies induced. Or it’s the absence of the smirk in his dark-stained lips, but a soft, genuine smile as he sat in your living room, already finding a space of comfort for himself. Or is it his presence that you appreciated the most, that somebody—even if it was him—was here to at least take care of you after years of being all on your own. A feeling you’re not used to, which nestled deeper beneath your ribs. At the thought, at the realization that this man you initially thought of as an asshat being a pain in the neck, a good-for-nothing grease head who looked after no one none other than himself, one that was arrogant enough to bend the rules to his own, was capable of things like this. Telling his nana about you so he can bring some soup in, asking his best mate to cover for the shop because he plans to be here all day even if it means nothing to you, totalling over to twenty pounds a week just so he can have a reason in seeing you and watching you melt at the shit he brings, and going ten kilometers across town just to idle around with you.

“You know,” he cleared his throat. “Might as well owe me a date or two with how good I’m treatin’ ya, aye? Let’s circle back to where all this started.” He chuckled, leaning back on the couch once again.

“Alright.” You said in a heartbeat. Not thinking, not weighing the consequences. Not shutting him down for once. One you find yourself not regretting despite not calculating whatever comes after. And he was too stunned for it, he couldn’t believe it quite frankly. The red in his ears quickly radiated across his fair skin that it made you giggle uncontrollably. So much that your throat was starting to hurt. For once, Kidd lost his cool. And you are the reason why.

“W-what?” Was all that he managed to reply. It’s comical really, where’s all that bravado and arrogance just because you answered to his bullshit for once? All down the drain just because he heard you agree, processing what it now means. Where it all leads. That he finally reached the point he was striving towards.

“I said alright, are you deaf or are you just not used to receiving a yes?” You raised the soup to your lips again, voice dry and muffled behind steam, chewing on some of the meaty and vegetable bits when it felt significantly less warmer than before. You stared at him with a fever-heavy gaze, face half-hidden by the hood but your eyes sharp enough to make him shift. The certain mischief he always holds was now in your eyes as you watched how he’ll choose his next words. 

“I didn’t really— Damn, really? Ain’tcha bluffin’? You fuckin’ with me or somethin’?” He scratched the back of his neck, seeming to be at a loss on where to put and what to do with his hands. Kidd’s jaw tightened as his mind scrambled to find some kind of comeback, something to cover the sheer shock on his face. He looked like he was still processing your words, like the reality of it hadn’t quite set in. The heat in his ears flared even hotter, the heat spreading down his neck and up to his face further than before, and he found himself glaring at the floor with his thoughts scattered. The playful arrogance he usually carried now felt awkward, foreign.

“I don’t bluff.” But you weren’t laughing, weren’t backing down. The fact that you were serious was both thrilling and terrifying for him. He glanced up at you, your gaze cool and challenging, and damn if it didn’t make his heart hammer in his chest. You could see the tension in his shoulders as he shifted again, uncomfortable in his own skin. He wasn't used to being on the other end of this, being vulnerable, especially not like this, especially not with you. “Still think I’m fucking with you?”

Chapter Text

Kidd donned his usual uniform, no shirt and his yellow overalls that became brown overtime. Grease and sweat smeared across his torso and forearm, head ducked under the frame of the beat-up Ducati like he’d been living in it. The kind of job that took hours of pulling apart the whole engine just to replace one stubborn piece, checking every bolt and belt tediously. Yet the redhead thrived in it—in the characteristic ear-splitting screech of the engine as he tried starting it up, the loud hum of heavy metal playing through a dusty speaker, and the acrid tang of oil and heat thick in the air. The kind of job most folks would lose their minds over from the utter chaos and disorganization, but for him? It was therapy, he was in his element and he was calm, focused, methodical. Which is exactly why Killer narrowed his eyes from across the shop, socket wrench still in hand as he observed his best friend fucking over a motorcycle the entire morning.

“Everybody’s been asking what fuck’s gotten into you? You alright?” He called out. “Since when do you spend the whole morning chasing a cold start on a twin-cylinder? You’ve usually fired up two bikes and rebuilt a gearbox by now.” Kidd didn’t even look up, just grunted as he reached for another wrench. His ears were already red. He didn’t answer right away. Just grunted, wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and cranked the starter again. No ignition, just the same spluttering cough.

The blond leaned on the workbench, amused now. “You’re forgetting spark timing like a rookie. You hungover or just distracted?”

“Instead of yappin’ about shit, shut up and hand me my phone, Kil.” Kidd yanked off his glove on the right with his  left hand, soon to receive the phone Killer had tossed his way. His best mate didn’t budge, still waiting for an answer at the unusually offbeat behavior of his boss-slash-best friend.

‘So, where are we going?’ 

Your contact icon with your name lit up at the top of his screen just below the time telling it was half past eleven. Your message nestled above his ignored stacks of notifications, missed calls, parts shipments, follow-up appointments. All things he’d usually snap at Killer to sort through. But all he chose on reading was your message, eyes completely skimming over the old, more important ones. Killer couldn’t help but cock his head to the side, obviously discerning what got his boss smiling a little too kindly over his phone after hearing a sound that signaled a text. His eyes honed in on your message like it was the only thing worth reading today. The corner of his mouth ticked up, a soft smile on his lips.

Killer raised his hands in surrender, watching Kidd like he was looking at a damn puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. “You’re so far gone, aren’t you?” He muttered under his breath. 

Again. Ignored. Kidd racked up his brain on whatever witty clapback to tell you to keep you on your feet. Because he sure is right now, he is damn sure he won’t want to get back to tinkering with that bike anytime soon. He wants to keep watching you try and reply something after you clearly have your patience thinning at his reply.

‘Thought you left the fun part of planning to me? Won’t tell. It’d ruin the fun, Bonnie. ;)’

You were flipping through case reports, finalizing because you had a pretty relaxed day today and had some extra time to do your pending works. The kind of mundane legal work that was already too natural for you. Today was relatively calm—no last minute hearings, no raging clients, no looming deadlines. You finished up your tasks just in time since you will leave early. Classified what to finish today and what could wait tomorrow. Court summaries, finished cases, compliance memos, post-review evaluations—cross-checked and submitted. But as you comb over your last two pending files of appeals folders, you hear your phone vibrate. Your screen lighting up with his name on top of your heavy-on-the-eyes emails overcrowding you lock screen. Your face scrunched up, narrowed eyes as you tried discerning whatever to reply to the bullshit he just sent you right now. Your thumb hovering over your keyboard, the writing cursor blinking on the text box. He could probably see you contemplating your reply right about now and is enjoying it.

‘I need to know what to wear. I don’t want to be overdressed. ’

Kidd had to sit down and take off his other glove. Oh, he was giddy. The stark contrast between either of you is what he enjoys so much. Killer just left him to his own devices, the Ducati long forgotten. Kidd bit down a grin, thumb hovering above the screen before he hit send. Leaned back against the cracked vinyl of the shop couch like he just won something. And all Kidd could think about now was you, probably rolling your eyes, cheeks warm behind that desk of yours, pacing your reply like it didn’t already affect you too. There was a skip in his chest that had no damn business being there, not after a morning full of stripped bolts and seized valves. But it was there anyway. All because of a text from you. All because you asked where to ho and what you should wear. Like it wasn’t already a done deal that you’d be showin’ up and he’d be absolutely floored, whether it was a hoodie or heels.

‘Whatever it is, I know you’d be hot in it.’

Your thumb froze mid-hover, nibbling at your nails on the other hand as you fought off a smile, your eyes feeling like it might spontaneously combust. Your leg crossed over the other with your ankles swinging in anticipation. Heat climbed up your neck at an alarming rate, cheeks blooming red—part fever, part outrage, and part crazy at the pace your heart was beating that it might actually explode. You kept on blinking as if the words might change if you stared at them long enough. You didn’t even notice your secretary knocking multiple times at your door, asking about those appeal folders to be submitted at noon.

“Something– or someone is making you smile?” His tone was confused, partially mischievous. “Wait- have I succeeded?”

“What are you here for?” You let out an exasperated sigh, instantly dropping your phone without even having the chance to reply to the idiot that had been the reason for your erratic behavior. 

“You know,” he clutched his clipboard close to his chest. “With you being absentminded is enough to tell that you’re hitting it off with him.”

“Who says it’s a him ?” you shot back, trying to sound cool and unbothered, but the way your voice cracked halfway through had your secretary grinning like he just cracked a case.

“Oh, come on, the last time you smiled like that, we won a malpractice suit and the opposing counsel tripped on his own briefcase. And you didn’t even smile that wide.” He leaned a little too confidently against the edge of your desk. “Plus, who else have been consistently at your feet for the past two months”

You scowled, half hearted. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I was going to ask about those case appeals? Are you gonna keep texting him or submit that by noon?” He was quick with it, a mischievous brow quirked up as if he knew he already hit the jackpot with that question. 

“It’s open in my desk, I’m going through it right now.” You replied almost annoyed, but the smile you were trying to hide betrayed it. He only gave a smug shrug before walking out, clearly satisfied with himself. You grabbed your phone the second the door clicked shut. Almost too eagerly.

‘This isn’t about you. It’s because I don’t know if wearing heels would be a good idea.’
‘Aye, go ahead. I like it when you do though, you get a tad closer to me.’

With that last exchange you gave up. You dropped your phone face down on your desk like it was burning you. But you couldn’t keep it in anymore, you were physically too into it that your cheeks were starting to hurt. God, he was too much. You leaned back in your chair to regulate your breaths, arms crossed like you were mad. But the heat from your cheeks radiating across your body was driving you nuts. And you’re sure as hell he’s in the same position right now with his typing bubble taking a little too long.

‘Do you ever respond to a question properly?’

Three dots blinked for a beat too long. Like he was typing, deleting, thinking, and probably grinning like the cocky bastard he was. Then it came through,

‘Gotta keep you on your toes somehow. With how you’re overthinking it, I’m starting to get the idea that you’re too excited for this.’

Kidd sent the reply, tossing his phone across the couch with his arm spread atop the backrest and his other hand covering his eyes, soon combing through his hair. You got him smiling while biting his lips, his smiling muscles were hurting. He opened one eye to snag a look at the clock, six more hours until five. Until he finally picks you up.

‘I’m also getting the idea that with the way you’re beating around the bush. You have nothing planned.’

Kidd knew it was bait and he still took it. Something to rile him up, a challenge to see if he really has the reins in this. And he’s fond of it, that you’re willing to play his little games too.

‘I may look like I got the worst ideas but trust me, you’re gonna have fun.’

‘Just wear something you can move in so you can actually have fun.’

After reading his message, you finally put your phone down. Maybe it’s a good idea to stop. Because you two have been texting back and forth and you still have to submit something. It made you panic a little when you calculated how much time you have left. It seems you’ve gotta skip lunch today. Which was a bad idea because halfway through getting ready, your stomach was still growling. When you got home, you reheated some leftovers that were simply just not enough to leave you full after rushing a couple of hours earlier. 

You had a dilemma with choosing an outfit, stuck before your closet because your date couldn’t be bothered to tell you where you two are spending the evening so you could match your outfit to the event. The choices were between a black form-fitting, cropped, ruffled blouse paired with loose, ripped jeans or a black strappy bodycon dress with an ivory, knitted cardigan. The former felt underdressed for a dinner date and the latter looked too risque for a casual date. But either way, you could hear the teasing come from a mile away. You didn’t want to look like you are trying too hard but you absolutely are. You don’t know why this was such a big deal to you, now you’re second guessing yourself why did you agree in the first place. Maybe that lawyer part of you was now too discerning, too keen on the details, on the consequences you didn’t bother calculating.

‘You getting ready? ’

You jumped at the notification, the four hangers you were holding almost coming off your grip. There’s still an hour before five, the agreed pick-up time. You were still in your robes, just got off a bath as you soon felt embarrassingly cold from standing in front of the mirror hovering over the garments over your frame. Overthinking it too much.

‘Are you that eager to see me? There’s still an hour.’

‘Aye. Ditched work early.’

A smile had crept its way on your lips, no longer needed to hide as you were all alone with your phone. Your phone that had been in your hands far too frequently today. You sat down at the edge of your bed, placing your set of clothes down beside you.

‘What’s the rush? I’m not going anywhere.”

‘Couldn’t sit my damn ass still.’

‘Starting to overthink what you’ll be wearing too.’

Kidd still had some shaving cream spread across his jaw, one very thick layer between his top lip and the bottom of his nose which continued spreading when he smiled upon sending the text. He couldn’t even wait to finish the layers of cream on his face because he wanted to see what you said next. Eager to reply to you.

‘Now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ve narrowed my options to two and I still couldn’t pick one.’

‘Yeah? Let me in on it.’

‘Nope. You’re not the only one keeping a secret.’

God damn it. You both tossed your phones elsewhere while smiling like an idiot, not even thinking about the ‘task’ you two tried to be busy on. The anticipation, the thrill, the idea of being in each other’s radar had you both nuts. Soon enough, you decided on the blouse and loose, ripped jeans. He said something to move on so maybe, it involves active activities. Although the dress could work with rubber shoes, you’d be thinking if your dress is riding up. You paired the blouse with a gold, dainty necklace, kept your everyday rings, and a pair of subtle, chained earrings hanging down until your jaw. You kept your hair down, clipping it a certain way so it wouldn’t look exactly disheveled when the wind blew but not enough for it to look styled. And fifteen minutes before five, you were finding your sneakers, one in plain white to contrast your outfit. With the shoes still missing on your shelves, the sudden aggressive knocks told you that he was, in fact, here. 

You were starting to sweat trying to rummage through, and got even more overwhelmed when he was incessantly knocking. You stormed out the door, opening it visibly exhausted and ready to berate him. Your embarrassment to show him your chosen outfit all down the drain.

“We talked five, not four-forty five. I can’t find my fucking shoes.” You twisted the knob with a little too much force that it hit the wall in the doorway. An audible thud characteristic with the minor fit you threw. Kidd was about to muse at you, take you in outside of your usual business casuals, but he couldn’t help but flicker his gaze down your bare feet, a pair of socks in one hand.

“If that’s how you ask for help, you gotta give me a heads up.” Kidd donned something similar to what you had on. A slightly cropped, black tank clinging onto his taut frame like second skin from the faux leather—your eyes trailing down the sneak peak to his toned abdomen, his belly button peeking ever so often when he shifted on one foot. Sleeveless as it framed the thickness of pale arms, no streaks of grime or soot this time. Below, his baggy, denim pants hung heavy and loosely down his legs. “Hey… we kinda match, bonnie.” He crossed his arms, and it did not fucking help your case.

So you just stormed away, trying to find something to replace the shoes you had initially planned for your outfit. Kidd let himself in, he assumed so. After all, it’s not his first time here. Your perfume lingered in the air, taking residence in his naris and he revered it. 

“Find a comfortable one. Unless you can handle walkin’ around in stilettos.” Kidd followed you towards your shoe rack, the shuffle of clothes and the alarming urgency to leave filling the silence.

“You could’ve waited outside, sent a call or something.” You sighed, fetching the only sneakers you had that unfortunately weren't in white, but one in rose. Completely resigning yourself to what you have currently. You must’ve left it back at your parents when you stayed for Christmas.

“Think I made it clear I wanna see you.” You hid the blush in your cheeks with your hair as you wiggled your foot inside each shoe.

“We’ve got the evening together. You’ll get sick of it.” Once you get settled in, shifting to fix your foot in the shape of the shoe. Eyes looking up at him as you two lingered on your doorway.

“Have a feeling, I won’t.” His voice was quiet, like whatever he will be saying will only be meant for you even in the absence of others. “You look nice, bonnie.” He held your gaze for a while, observing how you melt, how you turned red, how your eyes looked anywhere but his.

“You’ve got the entire night to look at me so don’t waste it here.” You dismissed, exiting before him but you donned the same smile as him. Kidd got the bike warmed up as you locked your apartment. 

Once you finally descended down the streets, Kidd was already on his bike with his helmet on, looking annoyingly attractive. He motioned for you to come closer, holding his spare helmet in the other hand. You reached over for it but he pulled it further away from your grasp, you glared at him through his visor.

Kidd shook his head, as if telling you that you got the wrong idea. He laughed softly. Then, with surprising tenderness, he placed it over your head and soon deftly adjusted the liner.

“Chin strap,” he instructed, guiding your hand to the buckle. Cold, fingertips with inked nails over your warm ones. “Firm, not choking.”

You fumbled slightly. “I’ve ridden a bike before. I know how these things work.” Kidd’s other hand steadied your jaw, tilting your face so he could snap the strap into place. Ignoring your protests.

“Mm, I believe you, bonnie. ‘Course you had.” He nodded, you can sense the smugness in his eyes, most especially his lips even through the helmet. “Don’t care though, ‘cause I wanna do it for you, aye?” He was staring at you through the visor, evidently so, that you started to blush. You brushed it off and got on behind him. He was quick to fasten your hands around his waist, asking you to hold on tight as he swiftly breezed through the streets of South Blue. 

The sun was already setting, casting purple and orange across the sky. The cool breeze came to a halt when you two stopped by the stoplight, Kidd’s feet propped up by the asphalt as the bike lopsidedly braked. That’s when you got a whiff of his cologne, pungent even through the helmet. Metallic—not the smoky and rusty kind—but the kind that settled deeper in your nerves, one that made you lean closer. Beneath that was the faintest sweetness of caramel, akin to the one that you’d always find him adding in your coffee as soon as he learnt that it made the knot between your brows less tighter. He soon noticed your affinity to it when your grip on him became tighter. 

He looked over to the side, “gettin’ comfy, bonnie?”

You almost jolted off the bike at his sudden remark, but well, you were quick with your reply. “This is the first time I smelled you not of rust or smoky metal, I think I deserve to indulge.” Your touch visibly got tighter, but not tight enough to suggest something. It was sure as hell touchy enough to make Kidd forget about the damn spotlight and had to be honked by the ones behind him to realize that it was a green light already.

Shortly enough, you two arrived at a carnival. He parked his bike at the gravelly parking lot and you both made your way to the entrance where the ticket booths are. The air smelled like buttered popcorn and sugar, the occasional shriek of metal wheels grazing across rails cutted through the chatter and squeals of weekend-goers. Beads of candy pinks, lemon yellows, electric blues stippled your periphery. Gaudy lights strung across towering rides and striped booths. The ferris wheel loomed tall in the distance, rimmed with glowing bulbs that blinked in rhythm, casting a soft, dreamy light over the crowd below as the sun was slowly disappearing behind it and darkening the skies. Every time one of its passenger cabins creaked to the top, you could hear muffled laughter or the squeal of someone pretending not to be scared. You are so going to ride that.

“Impressed?” He looked over to you, a grin on his red-stained lips as he observed how your eyes light up and how a soft smile made its way to your lips as you observed the nostalgia of this place.

“Mmm,” you nodded, a bit hesitant. Genuinely, this was a good pick for a first date. Because honestly, you wouldn’t peg Kidd to take you to some fine dining restaurant. Kidd didn’t strike you as the candlelit-dinner type. He wasn’t exactly the quiet-conversation-over-wine-and-violins kind of man. No, this? This made sense. 

It’s just not him, this, this carnival is more like him. An adrenaline rush, flamboyantly colorful, and was alive and loud—something that is completely him in all the right ways. It matched his energy. He thrived in places where he didn’t have to sit still, where there were things to do, to compete in, to joke about. Here, he could tease you into trying games, show off a little without being over-the-top, and make you laugh without even trying.

To Kidd, he knew you needed something like this too. Something less stiff than your usual world of case files and courtrooms. Something that would make you loosen your shoulders and maybe laugh out loud in the middle of a rigged balloon-popping booth. He’d like to see that part of you for once, and maybe be the reason for it too if he’s lucky.

 “It’s been a while since I’ve been to one.”

Kidd noded, thumbs in his pockets while the rest of his fingers with inked nails hang loosely outside the surface of his jeans. His chest puffed up, seemingly proud he made the right decision. “Figured. New attorneys get too coked in their shit. I figured, you need to loosen up, have a little fun, aye?”

You gave him a sidelong glance, feigning a scoff but unable to hide the twitch of your lips. “I loosen up just fine.” You replied, crossing your arms. But the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth goes unnoticed by the sole reason for it. “But… yeah. You’re right. This is… nice.” You looked around again, growing shy as you tried loosening your restraints just a little bit. Kidd memorized how the glow of the lights casted periodical warm tones on your face. Reveling on the moment as you both waited in line. “Kind of forgot what it feels like to just enjoy something without thinking too much.” Your eyes met his, a little softer this time. You’ve still got to remind him not to get too comfortable. “Don’t let that get to your head though.”

Kidd grinned, not even trying to play it cool. At a loss for words at how much his heart was beating and how giddy he felt. You two opted to buy the midnight pass, just in time to enjoy the carnival until the weekly firework show every Friday. 

Further in, there were claw machines stuffed with plushies—wide-eyed frogs in a bag, pastel bears in suits, even a shark with a hat that kinda looked like Kidd when he scowled. Some booths had rows of small, glittering prizes: light-up rings, candy necklaces, keychains with little ducks inside water globes. Still pretty full, because the night carnival opens at three. Barkers hollered with practiced enthusiasm, luring people to try their luck with darts, balls, hammers, and hoops. You saw Kidd in your periphery with his head slightly tilted like he was already scanning the stalls for something specific. And apparently, he found it. You followed his line of sight. A classic test-your-strength setup, complete with a small, punching bag hanging, a LED scoreboard above it, and a smug-looking couple already first one on the line for the prize of a man-sized teddy bear. With Kidd looking this eager, you two are about to be the second.

“Kidd, no,” you groaned when you realized his line of thought. Based on how you knew Kidd, his ego is way too huge to pass up on challenges. You know that he already has his eyes set on having a high score, you’re half sure that he doesn’t even care about the prize. “I’m not lugging that thing around the entire date.”

He turned to you with a grin, that cocky kind of glint already flaring in his eye. “C’mon, don’t you want to see me win this?” He was already bolting towards the stand, the couple initially there were still wearing their school uniforms. But with the way Kidd was sizing them up, he looks like he’s about to commit a crime. You trailed behind him reluctantly, eyes flicking between the two teens in uniform and your grown, adult date. Kidd was cracking his knuckles like it was a title match. The kids, to their credit, didn’t look intimidated. If anything, they were whispering and giggling. Because what is this old man doing?

“If the uniform is not enough to tell you to hold back-”

“This is a carnival, not a damn daycare. Pretty sure they know what they signed up for.” He rolled his shoulders, already doing warm ups as he bounced on his feet—throwing punches in the air. Ah, not even an hour in and you were already so embarrassed going out with him. “I’m punchin’ the thing, not them, bonnie.” 

You clocked the situation immediately: a burly, red-haired menace squaring up to a strength test game to his so-called opponent, who had his girlfriend taking a video of him as the young boy got ready to punch. Six hundred, twenty-one.

Kidd’s turn soon came. He stepped up, dropped a coin in, and the machine lit up in a flurry of lights. His punch landed with a satisfying thud, the bag swinging violently before locking in its latch from the force and the score flickered. Nine-hundred thirty. 

Kidd, in the glory of his own arrogance, pridefully blinked at the scoreboard, leaned back, and looked at you with the same ego-streaked smile and fiery eyes. “What did I tell you, bonnie?”

You pressed your lips together, taking everything in you to look unimpressed, hiding the fact that your heart had already sprinted past the finish line the moment he threw in the first punch. You find him painfully attractive, and it hurts your head just thinking about it. Kidd didn’t even flinch. Didn’t blink. He just… lined up his stance and threw the punch like it was instinct. The way the machine rattled with force when he punched the bag, almost had you and the barker worried if the thing would topple over. How the highschool couple jolted a little when Kidd’s punch resonated even in the noisy carnival, already losing hope in winning. And even before the score appeared, Kidd was confident that the lights around the machine would blink and a winner would arouse. The redhead was confident. Turns out, he was the highest scorer. Even those who played before him who only got past nine-hundred. 

“You beat every high scorer in town, congratulations.” You smiled uncontrollably and saw his chest puffing up, that little flash of arrogance he does each time he feels himself. He soon handed you the giant plushie, snickering as he saw you struggle trying to carry it without the plushie swallowing half of your frame. He was clearly enjoying the view. “Alright, enough showing off. Let’s do basketball next.” You brought up wanting to play now that you’ve seen Kidd give that booth a shot.

“Oh? You play?”
“Just have a good aim.” 

The two of you stood side by side, a two-hoop set-up right in front of you. The lights flickered around the frame, blinking red and blue while the automated voice counted down from three. Kidd was rolling his shoulders like he was about to step into a ring, stretching out his fingers with the kind of bravado only he could pull off.

He huffed, clearly trying to bite down a smirk. Trying to rile you up before the match started. “A good aim won’t help when your arms are noodles.”

The buzzer went off, and the sound of chain nets rattling soon filled the air as the two of you started shooting. There was almost an audience forming around you, all had one thought in their head. Curious to see how this couple turns out. Because Kidd was already one tall motherfucker, one could mistake him as an actual player. Kidd’s first few shots were solids with clean arcs, clean swishes. He bounced on his heels in between, swiftly catching the next ball with one hand next to his height. Soon launching it with barely a second of aim. Every shot was confident like he was showing off, well he is. He even leaned into it a bit, pierced tongue caught between his teeth, one eyebrow cocked whenever he made a shot clean. The chains clattered like applause each time the ball swished through.

“Not bad,” you said under your breath, focusing your gaze on your own hoop.  Shooting balls a little more flawlessly than he can. “You sure this isn’t your day job?”

“You watchin’ me instead of your hoop?” He teased without turning. Balls skillfully making it in the net amidst his teasing.

“Multitasking,” you answered, eyes narrowing. But his rhythm stuttered the moment he caught your score ticking up faster than his. He glanced over once, then twice. By the fifth time, he missed.

“Fifties already? Damn.” He muttered under his breath, scowling at his own hoop like it had personally wronged him. The ball clanged off the rim, rattling the iron chain net like it was mocking him.

You, on the other hand, had that quiet, dangerous precision with your wrist flick just right, shots landing one after the other. Your score had already passed his, and it wasn’t slowing down. When the timer buzzed, your scoreboard flashed high and proud. A hundred and fifteen and Kidd was off by five points.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Kidd turned toward you, brows furrowed, jaw tight. But there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he was trying to hold in a grin—you blink and you miss it. Let’s not say that he was not that mad he lost this time.

You arched a brow, all smug. “You were saying?” You pridefully claimed your reversible octopus plushie. The plush was as big as your face, grinning wide in a violet hue on one side and scowling red on the other. You purposefully flipped the plush to red before giving it to Kidd. “Use this to show how you’re feeling when I beat you at games.”

He scoffed, shoving it into the crook of his arm. But his heart was already thudding in his ears. “I’m not carryin’ this ‘round all night.”

Ten minutes later, it was still tucked under his arm. Even as you two went to the ring toss both. He clutched the plush on his free arm while he battled with a little kid. The red, angry plushie snug against his side like a reluctant companion he didn’t want to admit he was growing attached to, almost matching his energy when he became a little too competitive in shooting the bottle with a thousand points on the furthest shelf.

Kidd’s eye twitched when the little boy landed a third perfect ring. “Oi,” he muttered, side-eyeing the kid. The little boy was smiling widely at his step closer to victory, flashing a toothy grin with his incomplete set of teeth. “You practicin’ for the Olympics or somethin’?”

The boy with the same ginger locks looked up with a smug smile, not missing a beat. “I’m just better, old man.” You sense Kidd tense up at the insult, although you knew that the little boy was just trying to respect him. A child having the same arrogance and fire as him has finally come face to face with him and he’s fuming. You choked on your laughter behind your palm, watching Kidd’s pride deflate by the second.

“Oh-hoh,” Kidd drawled, straightening his stance as he reached for one more ring. “Big words for someone who can barely reach the counter.”

The kid puffed out his chest, not completely understanding his insult. “My dad says I have excellent motor skills.”

“Did he ever say you're also a sore loser?” Kidd tossed another ring in the thousands, this time nailing the bottle with just enough flair to make it spin a bit. The little boy’s eyes widened. Seemingly overwhelmed that Kidd had his thrown rings at the thousands as opposed to his hundreds and tens, he missed his next shot. Kidd grinned, wicked as his canines flashed. Kidd was indulging, but the child seemed to have taken it the wrong way, and got scared more like it. “‘S wrong? Lost your mojo, champ?”

The boy scowled, grabbing his last ring like it was a weapon. He threw it and it bounced off the rim. His desperation was evident but Kidd nailed another, and another, and another. Until the little boy looked way too red to know what is left from right. It was a matter of seconds before Kidd was declared the winner of the game, when eventually the boy ran out of rings and Kidd remained to have the highest score.

You were no saint either and you felt bad yourself, because you were struggling not to laugh. The petty tension between a grown man who acts like a child and a literal child was absolutely unhinged. The kid blinked, clearly processing defeat. His lower lip quivered. “That’s not fair…”

Kidd crouched down slightly, the octopus plush still cradled under his arm, squished between his biceps. “Life’s not fair, wee man. But hey—y’put up a good fight.” The child burst into tears.

You gasped, some parent trouble waiting for you guys. “Kidd!” You tugged in his arm, because he didn’t seem to back down even if the child started sobbing.  “What?! I was bein’ nice!”

After convincing him to just give the prize of a plushie of a big banana with googly eyes to the child, you two had possibly dodged a tedious and petty lawsuit from a very protective parent—one that is unnecessary and dramatic. A flustered mother who judged Kidd way too harshly by the look in her eyes, swooped in to collect their sobbing child while shooting you both a dirty look. You elbowed Kidd sharply in the side. The kid had gone from competitive to wailing in under two minutes, and the flustered mother who swooped in to collect him looked ready to slap a court summons straight across Kidd’s face.

You gave the mother a polite, awkward smile while she shot both of you a withering glare, clutching her teary-eyed son like you’d mugged them both. Kidd, unfazed, simply tucked his hands into his pockets and watched them go with mild annoyance on his face.

“That lady mad at me for her son’s poor performance?”
“Give it a rest, you jackass.”

He scoffed, rubbing the spot you hit him on. “I was tryin’ to build character. World’s tough, y’know. Can’t be handin’ out wins just ‘cause they cry.”

You looked at the child who was still glaring at him, then at him who was about to punt at the child if it weren’t for you elbowing him. “You’re unbelievable.” 

You soon noticed that the octopus you won was still tucked under his arm as he backed up the booth to oversee the area of the food stalls—bright string lights, striped red and white roofs, and obnoxiously catchy signages. “Y’wanna grab a bite? I’m starvin’ from winnin’ too much.” 

With an almost natural pace, you two strolled at the carnival and noticed that the skies became totally dark. Breezing through the crowd that slowly got thicker as the clock struck six. “You mean losing to me and bullying a child into crying? You know, I have a feeling you like picking on kids.”

The varying lights of the carousel casted a bright glow of pink and blue on one side of his face as you looked up at him, passing by the eager kids lined up on one ride. “You're also forgettin’ I let you win so you wouldn’t sulk, bonnie.”

“You’re accusing a lawyer of false information? You’ve got some nerve.” He snorted, clearly unbothered. You followed him through the crowd—cold arms occasionally brushing his which were comfortably warm, pressing closer to his torso and suffocating in his metal-kissed cologne, and even felt his hand on your back to steer you away from the swell of people clogging the path into the food area and escape the crowd. It was almost instinctual, smooth, like he did it without thinking and you didn’t even mind it.

“You alright?” He asked, barely audible over the crowd. Soon enough, you two escaped the horde and entered the peaceful food area with a variety of spices wafting through your naris.

You nodded, eyes forward. “Yeah. Just trying to make sure I don’t trip over your ego.” You managed to anchor the conversation back to how it usually was with the two of you. 

He huffed a laugh, the sound rumbling low and warm beside you. “Careful, then. It’s massive.” He then led you towards the stalls lighting up in pulsing neon and paper lanterns. Savory and sweet wafted through the air, there you smell the scent of fried batter, melted cheese, and caramelized sugar. 

“Sit down. I’ll grab us somethin’.” He nodded, gesturing towards one of the empty benches just outside the food strip.

“I can walk. We’ll finish ordering faster together.” You argued, fishing out your wallet already mid-sentence.

“Nah,” He paused in front of you, blocking your way and placing your hands down, which was already checking your coins and bills. He pressed the stupid octopus towards your chest, almost telling you to take it with you. His cologne clinging to the stuffy immediately. “You’ve done too much tonight—won a rigged basketball game, cheered me on, and looked pretty under the carousel lights. Think you need a break for it.”

Your mouth opened, searching for a retort. You’re not sure if you’re flattered or offended. “Kidd,” you sighed, bringing your wallet up as you stayed stubbornly in place. “You’ve been paying for everything since the damn coffee, at least let me in on the expenses before you go bankrupt.”

He tilted his head, brows quirking under his red fringe tucked by his pure black bandana. “‘Kay and? I already told you, bonnie. I got it covered, it’s on me. Don’t worry, I’ll get you that twister fries you was eyein’ earlier.”

“And I also told you, I don’t like freeloading.”
“You ain’t.”

You were stubborn but he was even more so. You can tell when there’s no winning a case so you opted to just give in. It’s actually ridiculous that this rough-around the edges freak, who had a face sculpted by the Norse Gods themselves, insisted on spoiling you for no other good reason than because he fucking wants to.

“If you’re so insistent, repay me with somethin’ else later, bonnie” He gave you a wink, poking your chin a little before turning to one of the stalls. Yeah, that last bit of his remark and that gesture he did fucked with your brain that you were left standing in the middle of the food area for a while. It lingered on your mind, together with his signature cocky grin that was now growing on you more than it pissed you off. 

And despite the sizzling of burgers next to you, the cheese melting off the corndog and the sinfully good smell of it, or the sweet crunch of churros as it was being broken apart in cubes—you were keen on looking at him ordering at a store selling greasy burgers and chicken skewers. You sat down the giant teddy bear next to you and propped up your elbow at the table, cheek resting on your palm as you observed him. He kinda looked like he had a scuffle with the vendors, even going so far as pointing at the pans with his arm over the tables.

Soon enough, Kidd weaved back through the crowd. His broad shoulders bumping with folks aside with casual ‘scuse me’s, muttered with curses only heard to his own as he picks on the ones blocking his damn path. His eyes scanned the tables until they landed on you, his scowl now replaced with a smirk tugged at his lips when he saw you trying to look like you weren’t watching him the whole time. “Oi, bonnie. Scoot.” He nudged your thigh with his, sitting next to you on the same bench as he placed two trays on the table.

“There’s a seat across-”
“Aye, aye. Don’t care.”

You try and ignore the fact that he just sat here just so he can become close to you, focusing on the food he placed before you that had already made your mouth water. “Three, fat sticks of butter chicken skewers. The twister fries you’ve been eyein’ like a man starin’ down a cold pint after a long shift, hope you like sour cream. And mango punch, only fruit that was sweet and ain’t weird.”

“Good call.” You grabbed the fries anyway, pretending you weren’t that predictable. Kidd replied with a satisfied grumble, knowing he hit your preferences exactly while you try to act cool about it.

The redhead soon grubbed into his own order, a chicken burger with its gravy spilling out as he bit onto it. Tearing into it his canines like he hadn’t eaten in a week. “Opted for somethin’ not heavy, so you don’t puke on me on the coaster.”

He cared even though he has an unconventional way of saying it. “I’ll pay half of the amount at least, what is it?” You fished out your wallet once more.

“Hell no, not acceptin’ that.” He shook his head, licking a bit of gravy off his thumb. “You try to pay me, I shove that shit right back in your wallet.”

You stared at him flatly, watching him gobble up that chicken burger like a starved dog. “Look-”

“Mm-mm, don’t even think about it.” He said through a mouthful, shaking his head. “I asked you out, it’s on me.” He repeated, like he was going to as many times as it was needed.

“You’re really impossible.” You rolled your eyes, forced to resign your wallet back to your bag. You soon huffed, tearing off your skewers a little too spitefully.

Kidd smirked, finally setting his burger down and grabbing a napkin to wipe off the mess that is his mouth. The lights of the carnival reflecting in his eyes as he looked over at you. “Nah,” he said after a beat. “You just ain’t use to someone doin’ nice things for you without askin’ somethin’ in return.”

That made you look at him, your saliva running dry amidst the chewed chicken on your mouth. It wasn’t even an insult or a mocking remark, nor was it an attempt of flirting. He was simply stating what he observed. “Most of the newbies get worked up, and they do it for somethin’ in return. Prestige and a raise, is it? Figured it’s the same with you attorneys.”

You were quiet. Kind of mad because that felt a little degrading. But well, there’s some truth to it. But Kidd still wasn’t done, “I’m not lettin’ you pay jack tonight. I asked you out on this date because I want you to relax. Not a single coin comin’ outta you. Got it?”

Your heart was rattling out of your ribs, flipping like the carnival rides in the background as a beat of silence enveloped the air around you two. You weren’t used to being the one overanalyzed, usually it was you fashioning that in the courtroom. But you’re getting chewed up by the same man who had his files thick of violations on your cabinets, schooling you about taking it easy.

“You tricked me, not ask. I just humored you.”
“That’s where I miscalculated. Didn’t think you’d actually bite. I ain’t complainin’ though.”

After talking, bickering, and finishing your meals, Kidd dragged you to the darts’ booth to let off some steam before hopping on the hardcore rides. He justified his actions by telling ‘you can handle all that hurlin’ when you beat me at darts’.’ It goes without saying that Kidd made it a competition between either of you, riling you up and saying the right things to piss you off. Rolling the darts across his thick, calloused fingers before shooting with precision. He may talk a lot of shit, but he does live up to what greatness he says he is. He actually won without you even having a chance to try your luck because he did it all in one go—he didn’t even try losing to give you a chance. He brushed it off saying he wouldn’t go easy on you. Fair enough.

Next, was whack-a-mole where you got your dignity back. Because apparently, this game is not a good match for Kidd’s patience so you won this one. His patience was thinning the moment he missed one mole, said it was mocking him by peeking then disappearing like a damn dolphin. Kidd soon didn’t waste time heading to the rollercoaster, where you felt fear running down your spine. You didn’t even want to get on it, but Kidd was annoyingly persuasive and used an argument something along the lines of ‘ you survived law school, this’ll be a breeze.’

Lies. Boldfaced lies. The ride soared. Dropped. Twisted. You were seeing God. You clung to the bar, your screams swallowed by the wind, while Kidd laughed the whole damn time beside you. He was carefree, hands raised, head thrown back as he had the time of his life. At one point, he looked over mid-loop, just to check if you're not blue or some shit.

Once your feet touched solid ground again, you stumbled forward a bit, still catching your breath. Kidd placed a hand on the small of your back to steady you, his palm wide and warm stretching across the small of your back because the gravelly ground felt like jelly to you.

“Still with me, bonnie?”

“Barely,” you exhaled. “You’re evil.”

“You did great. Very brave .”

Your laugh was too breathless to be dignified. As you walked on to shake off the adrenaline, your attention snagged on a tent draped in dark velvet, the sign reading something in Russian stitched in faded gold, a translation below that it was a fortune-telling tent. The inside glowed faintly, flickering with a suspicious red light. Kidd followed your gaze.

“Oh no,” he said, already groaning. “Don’t tell me we’re goin’ in there.”

You were already walking toward it, tugging at the octopus plushie on his arm so he could come in. “I went with you on the rollercoaster, go with me on this one.” You looked up at him with almost a dramatic plea in your eyes that made Kidd’s heartbeat a little too fast, especially when your fingertips lingered on his arm. The sheer excitement in your gaze, the way it lit up in the lone neon lights across the field. It was disarming him of every arrogance he has. If anything, it made his scowl deeper as he looked away. Telling you to ‘goddamn get on with it.’

Inside, the tent was warmer than expected. Kidd had to duck slightly because he was way too tall for the inside of the tent, looking entirely out of place. The air was thick with incense that clung to your clothes. The red light bathed everything in an eerie glow, casting shadows against the velvet walls and beaded curtains. A table sat in the center, draped in deep purple cloth, and behind it sat a woman who was older. She was covered with scarves and rings, eyes lined with kohl. She didn’t ask names. Just motioned for you both to sit. Kidd lowered himself beside you with a soft creak of the chair. He sat close. His knee brushed yours, but he didn’t shift away and neither did you. The plush octopus was still under his arm and you were trying to not let the giant fucking teddy bear get in the way while the fortune-telling happened, Kidd was snickering at every shuffle and sound of struggle you make as you delayed the session amidst the silence. Even the lady was looking a little annoyed.

The woman spoke. “One card each. That’s all I need.” She cleared her throat, shuffling her cards with utmost precision as someone who had been doing this for years before extending her hand out to Kidd. He quirked a brow, slightly taken aback that he was first. You had to nudge him so he realizes he gotta move. Kidd plucked out, The Emperor .

The lady chuckled lowly, “control, authority, confidence. This card speaks of power and pride. An iron will and…” The lady had to clear her throat to stifle a laugh, going unnoticed by Kidd whose face was contorting with each word she says. “Possibly a fragile ego.”

Kidd barked a laugh. “Oi, woman. Fragile? This—” he pointed to himself, “—is premium-built.”

“Perhaps too firm in your convictions. There’s a difference between confidence and fear of being wrong, my dear.”

You tried so hard not to laugh. Your hand flew to your mouth. He looked at you sharply as you arched your back to hold a laugh.

“Don’t push it, bonnie.”

“I didn’t even—”

“You were gonna.”

“Okay, Emperor,” you snorted.

He leaned back in his chair with a groan, muttering something about “witchcraft” and “targeted attacks.” Looking around the tent thinking how tacky it is.

Then it was your turn. You picked out, The High Priestess .

“Wisdom, secrets, inner knowing. You carry more than you say, see more than you let on. Mysterious… not easily swayed. Too isolated.” She started, a smile creeping its way on her dark-stained lips. Kidd nodded, as if agreeing with her. You raised a brow at him. She then placed the two cards next to each other. “But this is interesting. The Emperor and The Priestess don’t often sit together easily. One speaks, the other watches. An unconventional pair indeed..”

“Hey, she’s onto somethin’.” You felt Kidd’s knee nudge you lightly under the table, his actions deliberate. But you remained your gaze fixed onto the cards and at the lady. Actually interested at what she means, or maybe avoid letting your heartbeat deafen you.

Once the session was finished, you thanked the fortune teller. But as you were about to leave the tent and Kidd was waiting outside, the lady called out to you. “Hold onto that one.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

She looked to the tent opening where Kidd had just disappeared, then back to you. “That man out there—his energy is loud, reckless… he may not seem like it, but he’ll change your life. You’ll see.”

Your mouth parted slightly, but she was already pulling a curtain over the booth, fading back into shadows and incense. You stepped outside, just in time to see Kidd with your twister fries again. He was chewing one, squinting at a map of the carnival like he hadn’t just been spiritually roasted by a woman with fifteen scarves and one eyebrow ring. He glanced up, noticed you staring, and tilted his head. “What? She asked for a tip or somethin’?”

You shook your head, shoving the piece of advice the lady gave you at the back of your mind so your heart would calm down. You soon asked him what’s next. A few more steps and you passed by an old-school photobooth—striped curtains, weathered frame, a dozen sample photo strips plastered on the side. Kidd slowed, then halted.

“C’mere.”
“What?”

He was already pulling back the curtain, naturally holding onto your wrist in a manner that you didn’t mind one bit. “We’re doin’ this.”

You snorted but let yourself be tugged inside. The space was tight, the bench barely fitting the both of you. His thigh next to yours, his arm warm behind you. The monitor lit up as he pressed some buttons, clearly having done this before, and the countdown started.

“Three—” The machine voiced out and you weren’t ready.
“Two—” You turned to face him, but he was already looking at you.
“One.” Click.

The first photo flashed at the screen for two seconds—both of you staring at each other. He had one eyebrow quirked and his signature grin as he looked at you. You were evidently caught off guard at the proximity, half a smile forming when you met his eyes before you two exchanged laughter at how fast things were going when the camera clicked. But Kidd was well aware that the photo will look like that, deliberately keeping his gaze fixed on you.

“Okay, that was way too fast. You didn’t give me a heads up.” You nudged a fist at his shoulder lightly and he chuckled.

“Aye, aye. Do it properly this time,” he muttered, shifting closer. “Smile, bonnie.”

The nickname has always made you smile. That’s why your smile was a little brighter this time, your head tilted slightly towards Kidd’s. He had one arm behind you while the other was thrown up in a devil-horns gesture, tongue stuck out in the most chaotic rockstar fashion like he was mid-concert. It was stupid. It was loud. It was very him. And you were smiling too hard to even try pretending otherwise.

For the next shot, you remembered the incredibly huge teddy bear right next to you and his octopus plush sitting on his lap. You lifted the teddy bear, trying your best to not appear like it’s swallowing you whole. Kidd had no trouble because he can lift his octo-plush up with both hands just fine without drowning, he couldn’t contain his laughter while you struggled and the camera had captured the raw joy from that moment as you two tried not laughing hysterically.

“You think that’s funny, huh?”
“Very.”

The last flash came right after you tried to force Kidd’s octopus plush on top of the teddy bear like it was wearing a hat. The thing just rolled off dramatically and hit you square in the chest. You let out a sharp laugh, genuinely tickled at how dumb the moment was, doubling over slightly as you hugged the bear for support. You had forgotten the camera was even there.

Kidd, though? Kidd wasn’t laughing anymore. While the countdown ticked on, he had gone oddly still and silent, just watching you with a tender smile on his lips. The kind of stare that pressed in without asking permission, soft and unguarded. No smugness, no bite. Just him looking at you like he wanted to commit every second to memory until the camera clicked. That shot captured you, mid-laugh, with your head tilted back and joy painting your features while beside you, Kidd sat with his body slightly turned your way, chin down and eyes trained on you with a stare you could mistake as not belonging to someone on a first date. You didn’t notice until the preview popped up on the screen.

“Ah, God. My sides hurt.” You placed your hands on either side of your waist. “Why do you look unimpressed? You’re not even looking at the camera.”

His voice softened, almost like he wasn’t even talking to the camera anymore. “I’m impressed,” he said, a breath of a chuckle in his tone. “Just more by the real thing.”

Kidd was first to leave the booth, not before you catch the red in his ears when he exited. Although you were on the same boat, it’s just that all the red rose up to your cheeks at an embarrassing amount. Kidd was teasing you about it when you two fished out the four-photo strip being printed just outside the booth.

Kidd soon asked the barker for a pair of scissors, cutting it in the middle where each side had two photos. He handed you one and asked you to keep it so you can have a look when you miss him a little, that alone earned him an eye roll from you he anticipated the moment he opened his mouth. While he opened his wallet and shoved it almost a little too delicately between a hundred-pound bill and his driver’s license. You were still watching him when the distant sound of laughter and bumping metal caught your attention. He followed your gaze. “Wanna hit the bumper cars? Adrenaline still spikin’ after the coasters?”

The lights above the bumper car arena flickered in rhythmic flashes in neon reds, electric blues, and streaks of yellow painting every surface of the steel floors. The music was loud, energetic, the kind that made your pulse skip and your grin widen. Kidd was already seated in his car, revving up his car like some maniac rally driver, hair glowing like fire beneath the carnival lights. His grin was wolfish as he called across the pit to you, telling you how he won’t go easy on you.

The ride kicked off with a jolt and a siren. Kidd made a beeline for you the moment the cars came to life, expertly maneuvering through the chaos with single-minded purpose. You swerved just in time to avoid the first hit, letting out a triumphant laugh.

“Missed me!”

“Just warm-up,” Kidd yelled, spinning around to chase you again.

You both weaved through the swarm of riders, laughing and taunting, bumping into strangers and each other in rapid bursts of motion. Kidd’s car collided with yours multiple times, just hard enough to jostle you.

“Don’t get soft now, bonnie.” He said as you looped behind him, whistling at you.

“Soft?” You echoed, ramming his side with satisfying force. “You wanna see soft?”

“Oi!”

His laughter rang out, bouncing off the metallic walls, bright and unfiltered. The kind of joy you didn’t see often from someone who acted like the world owed him a fight. Soon enough, you were focused on turning your wheel, trying to outmaneuver him when his car slammed into the side of yours with far more power than before. Your body slammed against the stiff backrest with a sharp thud from the recoil. Your head snapped back with the motion, and a thud had numbed a particular area in your head. Enough to make the world tilt for a second. Then the lights spun a little too fast, halos forming around them as your vision created beams to make you dizzy. 

Kidd’s laughter had stopped when he darted his eyes across the arena and noticed your car wasn’t moving anymore as it settled in that far corner where he left you. The ride was still in motion, the chaos continuing around you, but his eyes were on you alone, wide and searching.

You lifted a hand slowly to the back of your head. “Ow... what the hell, Kidd—”

“Shit.” His voice was low and urgent now, nothing like his earlier teasing. He immediately drove towards you, “Are you—? Damn it, are you alright?”

The lights above blurred for a moment before refocusing. The adrenaline had worn off. The siren blared again. The round ended. The cars powered down. Kidd was out of his seat before the others even stopped moving, ignoring the barker yelling something about staying seated until told otherwise. He was beside you instantly, brows furrowed, taking your arm to steady you gently after undoing your seatbelt. He offered you a hand, then his other hovered near your back, cautious and ready in case you needed the support.

“I was just—fuck, I wasn’t tryin’ to hit that hard, I swear.”

You looked at him. He wasn’t just flustered. He looked like he was ready to punch himself. “I know,” you said, tone softer than before. “I can still walk, okay? It-it just hurts a bit. So you’re buying an ice pack.”

He let out a breath that was half a relieved laugh, “Aye, of course. I’ll buy a dozen.”

As he sat you two down one of the benches, the musical chaos of the carnival never halted amidst the bump in the road you two encountered—quite literally. Kidd was frantic beside you, offering you more ice packs needed when one was already enough as you placed it behind your head. He was insistent on checking if there were some bleedings even though you told him there was nothing. You hit your head hard, but not that hard that you may have a concussion.

There Kidd was, overthinking. Yes, he was overthinking for the first time in a while. A man who not only bulls through everything was now on the verge of tears as he thought about the possibility that he may have hurt you enough for you to not go out with him anymore. What he did, certainly set off a bad impression. Although you didn’t really mind, it’s part of the experience, you guessed. Even that alone didn’t stop Kidd from incessantly checking your head, going through your hair then deeper in your scalp to check any bleedings or intense bruising.

“Kidd, I’m fine.”

“Won’t hurt to check.” 

“It’s starting to when you’re over there combing all the time, the spot is still painful but it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

You echoed as if that’s ever gonna get through him. Because he really wanted to punt himself and throw himself across the loch. “This was nothing, I cracked my skull open when I was young because I was skating a lot. Like a whole lot. Without helmets even. So imagine the falls from that compared to this.” You tried lightening up the situation, you don’t even know why you feel obligated to make him feel better when he’s the reason why your head was throbbing. Maybe it was the fact that he was pouting, yes, this big, red hulk was pouting that you’re pretty sure he’s not even aware of. Or that the way he tugs on your arm when he wants to check your scalp again was a little softer, gentler. Or the way he holds up the ice pack for you when he notices you’re growing numb even with just one shift. Because he actually feels bad.

“You did?” Kidd said almost wide eyed. “Never really expected that outta you.” 

“That I know how to have fun? Pft.” You rolled your eyes, letting him take over in holding the ice pack. “But, unfortunately. I haven’t had the chance to skate on ice since I was fifteen.”

“Think I can do somethin’ ‘bout that.” He grinned, like he was relieved that you’re coherent and that you’re sharing bits of yourself. He loved how he could see the evident blush in your cheeks as he made that offer. You didn’t shut him down nor agree, which was enough to get him back on his usual behavior. 

“Take me on the ferris wheel first, it’s a few more minutes until midnight. I don’t want to miss the fireworks.”

Kidd stood behind you as you two got lined up and he was unusually quiet, discerning your scalp every few seconds as if to check if the bruise had grown limbs and started talking.

You looked up at the towering wheel, lights flickering in cascading rainbow hues against the night sky. “Give it a rest, Kidd. You didn’t have to look like you were about to call the ambulance.” You murmured, lips tugging into a crooked smile as you turned to him.

“Couldn’t help it,” Kidd muttered, his arms crossed, the octopus plush tucked in his elbow again. “Seein’ you hurt ain’t on my list.”

You were about to fire back something teasing when a gentle bell rang from one of the speakers overhead, followed by the announcer’s voice: “It’s five minutes to midnight. We’ll be dimming the lights for five minutes during midnight to give you the best view of the stars and the fireworks.”

The carnival lights on each booth and stall gradually began to fade. Not to black but to a low, golden hum like a heartbeat slowing. The music softened. The laughter and screams dulled to murmurs as it was the only noise around. Then, the wheel’s operator waved you both forward. “Next car.”

You entered first, settling into the seat as Kidd followed, sitting across from you that his leg brushed against yours from the cramped space. The door clinked shut. Then the slow ascent began and you felt the breeze from the open windows. The world below shrank with every creak of the wheel, the loch now visible as you approached the peak.

“Be real, bonnie. You alright?” He asked, watching you more than the stars now blooming across the sky. His voice was low, deep like he was matching the hush the world had suddenly dipped into.

“Yeah,” you said, quietly as you relished in the cool breeze of the evening. The wind had given Kidd a blessing of a view as it brushed the hair away from your face. “It’s been a good night.”

Kidd chuckled under his breath, eyes glued on you. “Didn’t think you’d say that after I nearly gave you a concussion. Had me thinkin’ we’d end the night in an E.R.”

You turned your head to look at him, catching the way his profile was haloed in faint light. It was around the time you found yourself appreciating his messy red hair, soft scowl as he anticipated your reply, and eyes that, for once, weren’t looking for the next punchline but are on a mission to catch yours.

“Honestly,” you said as you shifted in your seat to face him better. Your legs now between his as he kept his thighs spread to make room for your legs. “I think that might’ve been the part I’ll remember most.” No more sharp remarks, no more pretending his presence wasn’t affecting you and your heart, no more backhanded insults just to elicit a reaction from the other. No, this proximity, this atmosphere, this moment was enough. 

He quirked an eyebrow, gaze drifting back to you. He let out a scoff as he crossed his arms. “You mean the head trauma?”

“That and the part where you looked more scared than I was.” You paused, your smile barely hiding itself as you visibly let out a low laugh that tickled your throat. “It was kind of… sweet. And a bit hilarious.”

That caught him off guard. Kidd cleared his throat, shifting in his seat, the plush toy on his lap squeezed a little too tight. His breath caught in his chest as he felt his ears become way too hot. God, he can hear his own heartbeat going wild in his own ribs. So much so that he didn’t notice that the fireworks were already starting when you two reached the peak. 

You basked in the colors on the dark sky, the explosion of colors casting all kinds of glow in your face. The reflection on your eyes and the sparkle it emits, the puff of your cheeks as you smile, in absolute awe of the show before you. It casted brilliant colors across the sky—bursts of red, gold, violet. You had turned toward the view, elbow resting on the edge of the Ferris wheel cart, chin in your hand, gaze tilted upward in awe. Your lips parted just slightly in a quiet, amazed kind of smile. The kind that people didn’t notice themselves wearing.

But he noticed. Kidd didn’t look at the fireworks. Not once. He sat turned slightly toward you, shoulder brushing yours, but he hadn’t spoken since you said that remark between teasing and confessing. Because he was too busy memorizing the way you looked right now. How it felt, this moment right here. How months ago—he was just on a mission to piss you off, to stare at you because he finds you hot. And now, he wanted to relive this moment at all times, in all places.  There was something about this moment that slowed time and made him forget to breathe. A core memory he’ll be replaying again and again as he falls asleep tonight. 

You then turned your head back to him, about to say something about the last firework that looked like dancing chibi whales. But saliva got caught in your throat when you realized that he was already looking at you, for the entire time. You probably looked dumb while musing at the stars, you thought. But no, he mused at you not with a smirk, not with a raised brow, not with a ready comeback on his lips. 

The last crackle of light faded outside the sky, the hum of the carnival began to rise again from below but he didn’t stop looking, not until you smiled with a soft, embarrassed smile. The one that crinkled at the edges like you couldn’t quite believe this was happening either.

“…What?” You asked, voice barely louder than the wind as the car was slowly descending.

Kidd just leaned back a little, his grin curling slowly as he muttered, “Nothin’. Was enjoyin’ the view.”

You didn’t bother fighting your case that the fireworks were not on your side, because there will be a lot of teasing and your heart wouldn’t be able to handle all that especially after all that happened tonight. You two got off the car and had unanimously agreed to go home, heading for the exit in a comfortable silence.

“How the hell am I supposed to fit this on our ride home.” You carried the amusingly enormous teddy bear. Unable to sit behind him with that thing.

“Give it here, I’ll place it up front.” He said in between laughter. The ride home was pretty quiet, he was noticing how your head was sliding over his shoulder and how your grip was loosening so he hurried up to your home. 

“I had fun tonight.” You said, parting words as you entered your apartment and he remained outside. “Come here, I’ll give you a kiss.” 

Too flustered to reply, Kidd was frozen stiff on his toes and you exploded into laughter. “I’m just kidding!” You said in between laughs but oh, he wasn’t having it. 

“No take backs, bonnie. Come on.” He took a step closer with narrowed eyes, voice lowering just a notch. 

You were still laughing as you reached for the door beside you. “Goodnight, Kidd.” The door clicked shut, but you waited just behind it, pressing your lips together as your heart banged against your ribs. You rolled your eyes with a smile, walking deeper into the apartment as you clutched the photo strip he gave you with an uneven cut. Like it was something a little more permanent than just ink on glossy paper.

Chapter Text

You were on your way back to the city hall after a long hearing at a code enforcement arbitration near your neighborhood. Which means you're one hour away from the city hall. You were hoping to make it back in time for the afternoon debrief with the team for another meeting about a new case. The arbitration was about a small dispute between a café owner and the property management about signage compliance. It was nothing too major, but the kind of tedious back-and-forth that required your full presence because someone forgot to file the updated permit last year. Classic. You were five minutes out of the complex, halfway through a voice note to your secretary about rescheduling your meeting when your dashboard lights died. Then your steering wheel started stiffening up. No power, no heater, completely radio silence. You barely made it to the shoulder of Steel Rails Avenue before your car gave one last wheeze and completely died on you.

No matter how many times you try to start the damn thing, it just won't. You were now stuck in a deserted road, with the morning chillier as Winter approaches. Because no matter how much you disliked the only solution you can think of, you'd have to actually go with it. And with the way things are, you have a meeting with the city hall one hour from now. You have to get back. So you scrolled through your contact list, skimming off the alphabet until you reached the letter 'E'. Hitting call with a shaky thumb. 

"'Mornin' bonnie."  

That voice, that rasp in his voice each time he says your nickname like it was the most natural thing from him. That the moment last night remained at the forefront of your brain. You can even see his face as he talks to you over the phone, the smirk evident on his greeting.

"Are you... busy?"

"If you wanna go out, bonnie. I'm dow-"

"No."

"Alright, damn. What is it then?"

"My car broke down. I'm in the middle of Steel Rails getting absolutely cooked." His way of speaking grew on you. Months ago, you wouldn't even find yourself a foot near this bastard.

"Oh, you are?" A hint of amusement coated his town, followed by the clang of a wrench in the background. He seems to have dropped everything and is already on his way to his bike with the faint heavy metal blasting behind him as he moves further away from the convertible he was working on. As if Kidd had already known the purpose of your call and how it’d involve him being closer to you.

"Hey, if you've got things to do I can call back to the city hall to get it towed-"

"Don't. Stay where you are, bonnie. Pin your location." He hung up. Almost like an order that he decided for himself. You were starting to think if this was a good idea, calling him that is. 

Fifteen minutes later, he arrived on his bike. The low growl of his bike engine reached your ears before you saw the familiar streak of red coming down the road peeking over his helmet. Kidd pulled up, dust kicking off his boots as he parked behind your car. He swung a leg over the bike with ease after anchoring his helmet on one of the handlebars. His coveralls were half-zipped down, sleeves tied around his waist, revealing a plain black shirt loosely fitting on him. Maybe the chilliness is finally getting to him that wearing a shirt seems to be an option now. He looked good. Ridiculously so. 

“That was fast.”

“Special client’s waitin’.”

He circled around the front of your car to pop the hood open with a practiced flick, rolled his shoulders, and leaned in. You stood to the side, arms crossed, watching as he had his head ducked under your fucked up engine. You did your best to look like you always do, unbothered and unfazed. But it was hard because—God help you—there was something stupidly attractive about the way he worked. His fingers brushed over the battery cables and prodded at a hose, carefully examining which part to manipulate. Focused and meticulous, you adore seeing him this serious. Maybe it’s the fact that a couple of days ago, that carnival date, had changed something in you. Made you see another part of him. And whatever that freaky Russian lady said, no matter how full of shit it may be, fucked with your head in all ways possible.

He muttered things to himself saying, “Alternator’s not givin’ you what you need,” and “That belt’s loose, slippin’ when the engine heats up.” One where the way he says the jargons somewhat puts you in a trance to see him talk about things you have zero idea on. He pulled out a mini flashlight and held it up, then offered it to you without asking, as if ordering you to hold it up for him. He didn’t even look at you, too focused on observing the mess that is your engine. He looks nice when he shuts up. 

You stepped forward, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as your fingers grazed his. One of his hands braced on the side to prop himself up, sinewy arms flexing each time he bends down and his arms stabilized his weight. The other arm was tinkering with the engines, undeterred by the grime that got in contact with his nails. He didn’t need to ask to know how long you’ve owned this nor if you ever get these checked.

Then came the part where he asked, “You been hearin’ a high-pitched whine when you drive, or more of a grindin’ sound?” He didn’t even wait for you to answer before tapping the side of the engine and shaking his head. “It’s cuz your starter’s clingin’ on for dear life. Could try jumpin’ it, but your poor old corolla ain’t gonna last a day.”

“That bad, huh?” You asked. Trying to stay focused and not look at his grease stained forearms just a few inches near you. It was evident in your face that you were thinking about how you would make it back to the city hall and it didn’t get past Kidd. 

“Gimme ten,” he said, already walking back to his bike to grab tools. “I’ll patch her enough to get you back to town. Then we’ll figure out the rest.”

You blinked. “We?”

He didn’t even turn around to look at you as he rummaged through the mini toolbox he was carrying back to your hood. “Aye. I need somethin’ pretty to look at so I can work quickly.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, mostly to hide the way your cheeks were heating up. But Kidd caught that, he always does. Especially, when he’s the reason why. “You’re shameless.”

He returned with a ratchet and a voltmeter, not even bothering to respond right away. Instead, he crouched by the hood, cracking it wider before glancing up at you. “Mm-mm, efficient.” He corrected you. “Am wipin’ that frown off your face so you can hold the damn light properly.” He placed his toolbox down the asphalt, cracking it open as he fished for a ratchet and voltmeter. “I can work better and faster when you stand like a doll next to me.” 

“Just get to damn work already.” You said, kicking off his boots with the pointed end of your heels because your cheeks were the only thing keeping you warm. There was this usual zooming of vehicles on the highway as Kidd called you out on everything your car was doing wrong. A flaw of its owner. 

“Right. So this here—” he gestured toward a wiry mess. “Your battery's not grounded right. Loose clamp. Could’ve vibrated itself loose with all that rough drivin’ you do.”

“I don’t drive rough.” You defended your case, quickly retorting so he can stop spouting nonsense. But the expert himself knows what he’s talking about so you’re fighting a losing battle. 

“You brake like you’re tryin’ to kill God.”

You nearly dropped the flashlight. Kidd was struggling with how much you’re moving, but is also laughing at himself with his effect on you. “Excuse me?!”

He grinned up at you, enjoying every bit of your annoyance. Because he was spitting facts, in Kidd’s eyes, this looks fucking battered. “I’ve seen your tires, bonnie. They’re holdin’ on harder than your patience right now.” You spluttered, not dignifying that with a response.

“And this here,” he continued, tapping the side of a relay. “Probably why your engine won’t crank. She’s gettin’ juice, but not enough. Might get lucky if I bypass this... just don’t touch anythin’. You’ll electrocute yourself.”

“It’s interesting how you think I’ll stick my hand in that mess.”

“Just sayin’, if you fry yourself I’ll have to do CPR and I’m not sure you’re ready for that level of intimacy yet.” It pisses you off how he’s always so quick with it. So quick to make your heart race, to meet your eyes and grumble out a retort. Hitting the right nerves to make you feel giddy and pissed at the same damn time. And as embarrassing as it is to admit, you keep wanting to feel that rush whenever he’s around. 

You roll your eyes, turning away to pretend to watch the highway just enough so he won’t catch the way your lips twitch. “Focus on the car, grease monkey.”

He ducks back under the hood, a smile on his lips. He was muttering to himself in that gravelled voice that makes your chest tight, even when he’s just prattling off about parts. Next thing you know, he steps back while wiping his hands on a rag. “All done, bonnie. Give it a go.”

“You confident you fixed it up?” You pushed your frame off the car, pulling open your door. But before you could enter, Kidd was quick to retort something.

“Never doubted ever since I saw the mess under the damn hood.”  He crossed his arms, implying that he already knew what to do the moment he opened your hood. Soon, he was watching you duck under your car and shuffle around to lodge the key in. 

“That mess gets me places. Eventually.” You shrugged, the door kept open so he could hear you. He sauntered towards that open area so he could hear the sound of his surefire victory.

He made a noise, something between a scoff and a laugh. “Aye, ‘s a miracle you made it this far, bonnie.”

You didn’t answer, just turned the key and the engine came to life, smooth and steady. No sputter, no protest—that easy. You didn’t have to look over and to ascertain that he already had a knowing smirk, one that you’ve soon grown fond of as opposed to the headache it usually leaves you breezing through menthols. You kept your expression flat, but you knew he caught the slight pause in your reaction. He didn’t miss how your hands stilled on the wheel for half a second longer than usual.

He leaned his forearms casually on the roof, head ducked in to charm you on his success. Absolutely waiting for you to look his way. “Seems I have impressed you yet again”

“Relieved more like it. I was thinking you’d stall just so you can flirt more and let me miss my meeting.” You were smiling and Kidd was too. There was fire in your remarks, each bicker, each clapback that meant to be a mocking jeer but with the way your and his eyes shined against the fall morning—there was something else. Something about to the way the breeze was a bit colder but you felt warm inside. The way the last of the leaves on the trees and bushes had fallen off of their branches, softly landing on the cold asphalt delicately mirrored the slow rhythm of time in that very moment. How his eyes never left yours—aside from holding your gaze, he was memorizing how it looks dimmed inside your car, how your mascara and liner looked especially good today, or that your eyes were actually brighter from reasons he had hoped and assumed to be true. 

You didn’t mind time passing as the proximity between you and him remained close, amidst the urgency. Because lately, you found yourself fond of the way his eyes crinkle when his grin widens. Or how he does that nose scrunch each time he feels giddy because of your back-and-forths. How his smile wasn’t actually freaky as you assessed initially but actually gave you a ticklish feeling inside. His overbearing self and loud voice that you always had to brace yourself with was now familiar, like you expected it, getting used to it. But this time, his remarks aren’t just because he wants to rile you up. No, it’s something else, something genuine that you still didn’t want to quite put a name on. 

He gave a low laugh, teeth flashing. “You want me to stall, bonnie?” You didn’t rise to it. Just put the car into gear and glanced at the time on the dash. “City hall’s twenty minutes out. I’ve got ten.”

“Mm-mm,” he clicked his tongue decisively, shaking his head. “Only way you’d last is if you went straight to the shop. Otherwise, you’ll be runnin’ two miles on foot just to make it to that meetin’.”

You shifted the gear, agreeing to his terms because who else do you gotta listen to other than the grease-stained expert waving you forward like he owned the damn road? So you convoyed his bike, driving straight to his workshop with anxiety riding on your back each time you hit the brakes. Every step on it felt like a test of your trust in him. By the time you pulled into the lot of his garage, there was a space reserved for your Corolla. Kidd was already reaching for his tools upfront. 

“Mads, clear me for the day.” Kidd called, loud enough to be heard over the low thrum of music spilling from the bay. “I’m takin’ this one in full.”

You blinked as you stood beside him, already shuffling on your wallet for the payment. “Forget that, bonnie. We’ll square it later.” He brushed you off, walking towards his bike. 

“You’re not doing this for free, Kidd.” You fished for a few hundred pound bills, sandwiching them in your fingers. “I’m paying.”

But before you can give it to him, he was already on his bike handing you his spare helmet. His was already on, ready to go. “Cmon, let’s get you to that meetin’. What time you said it was?”

“Ten minutes ago.” You were hesitating, but accepted the helmet having no more choice.

Kidd let out a snicker, lodging his key in as he felt your weight shift the bike and your frame pressing against his back. “Good thing, I’m fast.”

“You want me owing favors? This is too much, Kidd.”
“That’s the whole point, bonnie.” He smirked over his shoulder, kicking off the kickstand and zooming out the garage towards the city hall.

As soon as Kidd hit the brakes, you practically jumped off his bike, nearly tripping over your heels. Kidd gave a low whistle to let you know he’ll leave and to also mind your steps. You just waved a hand at him and disappeared into the city hall. You being late gnawed at you as soon as you slipped through the doors of the municipal conference room. Heels muffled against linoleum, expression frantic. It was not supposed to happen, never in your book. All heads were immediately turned to you as the tall mahogany doors closed with a thud.

“Attorney,” the assistant director acknowledged you with a glance over his glasses. “We’ve just started going over the redevelopment contract terms.”

You gave a polite nod as you took your seat. “Apologies. Car trouble.” Your tone was clipped and neutral. You recalled your adventure with that redhead, masked by the adrenaline that only calmed now.

“We’re on the indemnity clause,” your secretary added from your right. “It’s vague. Developer’s side left it open-ended.”

You skimmed the highlighted section in your packet, reading over the letters and the gears had already turned in your brain. “It won’t hold. I’ll flag it for redraft and email my comments before the end of the day.”

But your mind kept stuttering, caught on earlier moments. Kidd, bent over your engine, grinning like he already knew it would work without even a shred of doubt in his head. The authority, the precision, the sheer expertise of a man working in something he’s passionate with. One you mistook initially for ego and pride. It wasn’t supposed to linger. It wasn’t supposed to warm the back of your neck during a meeting where you were the sharpest voice in the room. But it did, you just can’t get it out of your head.

“Legal will also need to confirm if we’re protected in case of delays,” another voice chimed in.

“Section nine’s standard,” you replied, tapping the paper. “But I’ll make sure the language doesn’t get twisted in arbitration.”

You flipped to the next page. Still, your fingers itched with memory. The scent of engine oil still clung to your blazer no matter how many times you adjusted it. You could practically feel his hand brushing yours when he passed you your bag before you got off his bike. It was all a quick exchanged but remained permanent in the back of your mind.

When the meeting ended, you were quick to check Kidd’s messages on the phone. Of course, for updates on your car. Solely on that. He told you to pick up your car by tomorrow morning, said it’ll be all done and ready for you at that time.

Morning came, and you made your way to the shop, ten minutes early. You told yourself it was efficiency, not anticipation. Definitely not the weird pull you’d started to feel when you heard his name or saw a text pop up from his contact.

The garage was already buzzing when you arrived. Kidd was outside, crouched near your front bumper, sleeves rolled up and a smear of oil and soot on his jaw. A sight you’ve grown accustomed to.

You caught him mid-sentence, calling over his shoulder. “Oi, Heat! Get that invoice done for Solterra, but tell ‘em it’ll have to wait—my priority’s back.”

You noticed the heavy metal was toned down as you entered his turf, but the chaos of vehicle carcasses working up the gears of his workshop. Your brows rose, a hint of amusement in your tone as you went inside. “Priority?”

He looked up, smirk blooming instantly. It’s like his eyes lit up when he caught sight of you coming closer, decked out in a peach business casual that looked way too good on you. He had to physically stop himself from putting an arm around you like it’s normal as you donned a soft smile he was so fond of seeing. One that showed that you loosened your restraints even if it’s just a little bit. But maybe it was starting to be normal. Especially with that soft smile you wore—half-hidden, barely there, but real. The kind that only showed when you thought he wasn’t looking. And he’d grown addicted to catching it.  “There you are.”

You walked over, gaze skimming the exterior looking shinier than usual. “You polish the casing?” You asked, suspiciously impressed yet again.

He wiped his hands with a rag, standing beside you close enough just that your elbows touched as you gave your car a lookover. “Bonus service. Changed your coil, fresh spark plugs, new relay and belt. Oil’s topped off, filters changed. Basically gave her a makeover.”

You raised a brow. “She better not explode.”

“She won’t. Not on my watch.” His voice dipped a little at the end, losing the usual cocky edge. Like it wasn’t just about the car anymore. Like he meant you too. Though, you could be imagining it.

You turned your head slightly, catching the faint oil smudge along his jaw. “You’ve got something,” you said, pointing to your own face at a spot near his cheekbones. He swiped at the wrong cheek.

“No, other side.” He tried again and still missed.

You sighed, laughing a little and hearing him curse. You soon pulled out a folded handkerchief from your coat pocket. You stepped in, closer than you usually allowed yourself too. Closer than either of you probably expected. The cloth brushed his skin as you wiped, deliberate and gentle. Your fingertips brushing by his cheeks with a delicate touch. “Don’t come and greet your clients with that dirty ass face, Eustass.”

His breath hitched, and his eyes searched your face. He couldn’t really hear anything else, not even your remark as you also reached over the sweat trickling down either side of his temples. And you weren’t done, you went in so far as to tilt his chin with your other hand because the soot extended far down his jawline. Kidd stood there, frozen like a statue carved out of molten embarrassment and dumbstruck affection. It wasn’t the contact itself, it was how natural it felt. Like you’d done it before and you’d do it again. His ears went red first. Then the back of his neck. 

“The fuck was that about, bonnie?” His voice broke somewhere between a growl and a stammer as he avoided your gaze when you finally met his. He was embarrassingly red and it made you realize, is this how Kidd feels each time he teases you? Reveling the effect you have on him when you squirm under his remarks, motivating you to act smug about it.

“Hm? It isn’t like you to lose your cool.” The soft fabric glided across his skin like feather, your grip on his chin making his brain short circuit. He got a whiff of your perfume again, a scent he had always found himself missing. “All clean now.” 

Behind you, metal clanged. Muted whispers broke out with chuckles and arm hits.

“These idiots are gonna get it.” Kidd muttered through gritted teeth but he looked at you like you’d just handed him the damn moon. “Damn. You’re dangerous, you know that?” He followed, murmuring with his voice low and hoarse now. The distance between either of you remained despite the absence of your hand on his face.

You quirked a brow, tone dry. “Because I wiped your face?”

“Naw. ’Cause I’m gonna want that again.” You faltered, but only for a second. Not even hiding the smile he elicited from you. Then you tucked your hanky away and clicked your keys open.

“Well,” you said. “Try not to dirty your face so much next time then.” You sighed, reaching for your wallet. “Alright, how much?”

He immediately stepped back, discarding the rag he had been clutching on for dear life. “Forget it.”

You paused. “Kidd—”

“I said forget it,” he repeated, tone soft but stubborn. “It was minor work, didn’t even took me a whole twenty-four hours. I just tweaked some shit a little.” With Kidd’s response, you hear some of his workers snicker as they seem to disagree. 

“Killer, is it?” You called out to the blond up front, working on a BMW motorrad. Kidd had a scowl on his face, wondering why are you talking to his best mate and how did you know his name. The same blond looked up with a puzzled face wondering the same thing but still nodded. “What time did he leave last night?”

“We close up at eight in the evening, he stuck around longer than that.” 

“And he arrived today when?”

“Earlier than the rest of us. Rare occurrence.”

You shot back a stare at him, now that all the evidence is laid out. Kidd was visibly glaring at his best mate who shrugged, raising both of his soot-stained hands in surrender before getting back to work. Like hey, don’t look at me, mate, I just answered a question. You didn’t waste anymore time nor did you indulge in his stubbornness to accept the ten fifty-pound banknotes. You were quick on stuffing it inside the chest pocket of his coveralls.

“Oi, this is too much-”

“Not another word.” You dismissed him, walking past him to circle around your car. “I know how car mechanical rates work. And… that’s also for everything else.”

The snickering behind you doubled. Behind you, someone muttered, “She’s got him trained.”

“Mate over here thought he could win against a lawyer.”

“Bet boss won’t shut up about this all week.”

Kidd barked over his shoulder, “Oi!” If anything, it only made the teasing worse. His cheeks were already dusted with color, caught between embarrassment and that fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

As you got settled in your car, Kidd leaned his forearms on your window. Getting his cool back when the engines were running smoothly as you revved your car. Proud in that smug, cocky way he always wore like second skin. “Told you she’d run better than before. I even tightened the clutch so you wouldn’t stall again, just in case you forgot how to drive.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering an ‘asshat’ lowly but just enough for him to hear. But then, you felt a little too bold. Feeling like you owe him more than five-hundred sterling, the shit he does that does more than quicken your heart rate and give your stomach a birthday party. Or that you actually are endeared by the very fact of his presence—you figured you might as well ask him out. What’s to shy about it now? You stared at him for a beat. Then, casually, too casually, you said. “You free Friday?”

Kidd was taken aback, but he kept his composure. A smirk plastered on his lip, one of amusement and flattery as opposed to the usual shit-eating ones. He playfully placed a hand over his chest. “Bonnie, you askin’ me out?”

“More like in. I’ll cook for you, my place.”

“This for real, bonnie?” He asked, almost as if he couldn’t believe it himself. LIke the constriction in his chest is actually making his breakfast rise up his throat. 

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.” There was a pause, as if he was trying to see if you’re fucking with him. Then his grin softened, smaller this time. More genuine. 

“Aye. I’ll bring rum.” You laughed despite yourself and shook your head. Of course he would. “Seven sharp, Eustass.”

And just like that, you drove off leaving behind a man who couldn’t stop smiling, and a garage full of coworkers who immediately erupted into fits of celebratory rallies as they refused to give Kidd a break. Kidd who was still as red as his hair and couldn’t even breathe properly because of your effect on him..

Chapter Text

The kitchen was warm with the smell of sizzling bacon and buttered tattie scones crisping up on the pan. Chicken Balmoral was in the oven, the scent of haggis and whisky cream sauce had your place smelling like the damn Christmas morning. You woke up three hours past noon, sleeves rolled up, hair loosely tied back, and flour dusted on your cheek. You hadn’t really slept well after last night with back-to-back hearings and affidavits. The oversized shirt you threw on was halfway buttoned, sleeves slipping off your shoulder every now and then, revealing the soft hem of black cotton shorts that peeked out when you moved. You didn’t exactly have the luxury of time to get ready when you woke up with half the day ahead of you.

Then a knock came sharp and unexpected. You froze mid-stir, spatula hovering above the cream sauce on the stove. A quick glance at the clock almost confirmed what you feared. One hour early. No, he wouldn’t. That’s Eustass Kidd we’re talking about who was never, ever early. He strives to be an inconvenience to everyone. Being this early into your agreed meeting time, when you’re half out of bed and smelled like the damn kitchen was proof enough of that fact. God, he can’t see you like this. But do you have any choice? Especially with that incessant knocking. 

A couple of ignored minutes and he’s already calling out your name. So to halt the embarrassment from your neighbors overhearing this loud Scotsman, you marched to the door, muttering under your breath. Of course, he’d show up unannounced. When you opened it, there he was with a leather jacket slung over one shoulder, a Titan rum under his arm, and that insufferable smirk already crawling up his face when he caught sight of you. He donned a loosely-fitted, knitted vest in black streaked in red graphic, claw marks and leather pants to keep himself warm. The contrast of the shiny, black chain around his neck against his pale skin made your eyes linger. Despite the vest being loose, the sight of his sinewy arms and broad chest wouldn’t be quite right to call the clothes loose.

“Since when are you early?” You snapped, eyes narrowing. You brought a hand up to fix up your shirt, remembering the rag you’re wearing you call clothes. You initially thought that: well, it’s comfy so why bother? Maybe your thought process would have been different if you would have known Kidd will appear an hour early. You could’ve prioritized bathing rather than whipping up a three-course meal to at least look presentable to your date.

Kidd lifted both hands in mock surrender. “Don’t wanna get stuck in traffic and keep you waitin’. You said Friday. It’s Friday.” 

“It’s six.” You flatly retorted, reminding him that you told him to meet at seven.

“Time is a social construct, bonnie.”

You groaned, stepping aside begrudgingly to let him in. He stepped in, gaze flicking over you quickly. Oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder, bare legs, flour still on your temple. His grin dropped for half a second, gaze softening and lingering like he couldn’t help it. His breath soon caught slightly before he tried to play it cool again. 

“I can smell the haggis from here, god damn.” Kidd muttered, voice dropping low in a way that meant more than just appreciation for food. His stomach already growling at the busy sight of the kitchen and the spices filling his naris.

As he finally let himself in, Kidd was kicking his boots off the doorway. You reached to place a hand on the back of your neck to massage the pain aching there, realizing just now that it was already hurting from being on kitchen duty since three in the afternoon. “What’s still cookin’?”

“Sauce for the toffee pudding and chicken in the oven. Chicken needs about ten more minutes. Tattie scones and pudding are chilling over the rack.” You placed a hand on your hip, giving the mess that is your kitchen a look over as you combed your fingers through your hair to keep the falling strands away with the lax way you had put up your hair. Kidd clocked the reaction, the slight wince in your eyes, the drowsy getup like you just got out of bed.

“Sit down. I got it.” He placed his leather jacket down one of your couches, asking you to join them. 

“No, you’re not touching anything.”

“Already am.” He said, already stepping towards the stove and fetching the spatula you’ve been initially holding. “I can cook, bonnie.”

“Kidd. You’re my guest.” Your tone was firmer this time.

“Don’t care.” His back was already turned, not bothering to look at you. “Let me stir the sauce and keep an eye on the oven. You go cool off. I won’t fuck up the food I’m also gonna eat, aye?”

You stared him down for a beat, but there was no real fire in it. Just fatigue and the flutter of something warmer in your chest. Something about seeing him all busied up in your kitchen set a fire in you. Something you can’t put out, that was maybe already there even before this moment—just an ember, waiting to be set ablaze. But then, a warm shower sounds amazing right now.

“You burn the sauce and I’m throwing you out with that.” You were quick to turn around and waltz in your room. “I’ll freshen up.” 

Water ran hot a couple of feet away from the shower as your palms braced against the sink, the mirror fogging faintly. Your pulse still hadn’t slowed, not from rushing in to get dinner prepped, but from the sight of him standing in your kitchen like he belonged there, engraved at the front of your brain. Boots kicked off neatly, jacket flung over your couch like he’s done it a dozen times before. How he’s acting a little too comfy, too domestic. But you don’t mistake it for complaining, no no. As a matter of fact, you like it. You just hated that you didn’t get to doll yourself up before he came, he had to see you when you looked like a damn dumpster fire. With that last thought, you disappeared into the fog of your shower room.

But Kidd. Kidd stirred the sauce slowly, humming under his breath. Not a real tune, just a lazy rhythm of the last song he was blasting on his airpods on his way here out of habit. He’d never admit it, but this? This was the part of the night he’d been thinking about since Tuesday. Since the second you invited him like it was second nature. He wasn’t the type to sit still, and waiting around for Friday damn near drove him mad. That’s why he came early. And the second you opened the door in that sleep-rumpled shirt, the tips of his ears went hot and he knew he was so deep in this thing with you.

Your kitchen smelled like a warm hug. Brown sugar, chicken, spice, butter. Your handwriting on a recipe card near the sink, some spots had drops of batter. Your utensils were matched, just like your outfits, your mannerisms, the way you do things—all organized as opposed to how Kidd prefers to live his life. Then his gaze trailed to the tacky fridge magnets next to the countertop separating it from the stove, it was from some museum trip that seems like a hundred years old if Kidd were to date it. It was domestic, lived-in. His eyes darted over the picture frames nailed against your walls—some of you and your family, you when you were adorably little, your graduation pictures from elementary, high school, college, and law school gave Kidd something to smile about as he sort of witnessed you grow up. He almost lost track of time if it wasn’t for the hot smoke almost burning him from keeping his hand over the stove too long.. 

He turned the stove off then carefully transferred the tattie scones to a fresh plate after placing the cover of the pan on the sauce. Next, he peeked into the oven, careful not to let too much heat out. Chicken was crisping up nicely, and god it smells good. He grinned. 

Back in the bedroom, you ran a hand over your freshly combed hair and took a breath. You weren’t just getting ready for dinner. You were readying for the shift—acknowledging that somewhere between his coffee drop-offs, the back-and-forths that meant a little more than teasing, the shit that started as a gag turning into something more serious. That Kidd had started to mean something more than a passing thing. He was still loud, still brash. But here he was, in your kitchen, waiting. Setting the table as he waited for the chicken. Kidd stood there for a second, arms crossed, surveying the spread if everything was in place. Chicken balmoral rested in the center, tattie scones stacked beside them, and the sticky toffee pudding still waited on the counter, cooling under a mesh dome.

It was not long before Kidd had seen you on his periphery when you went out of your room. You donned something simple yet elegant even if it was just an at home dinner—a black tube dress and a white, knitted cardigan so you won’t be cold and to keep you covered at least. Although, as Kidd gave you a lookover, he snickered when he saw you retain the same fuzzy slippers you have for your home. You glaring at him shut him up though. 

“You were pretty quick to put all this together, aye? You look amazing, bonnie.” He leaned by the edge of the table, his phone long forgotten in his hand when he watched you saunter close to him. Your makeup, despite being light, didn’t get past him as he was busy admiring every bit of it.

“The smell of chicken was enough to make me hurry.” You smiled at him, genuine this time. Kidd’s lips quirked up, eyes not leaving you even as he leaned back just slightly against the table when setting his phone down. God, he was holding so much back just to not reach over and pull you close. Your perfume colonizing his naris more than the scrumptious food set in your table was enough to drive him stupid. And it didn’t help that you were this close.

“And here I thought it was my charm draggin’ you out of the bathroom quicker.” You rolled your eyes, but your laugh gave you away. He caught how your shoulders softened, how your posture relaxed, how the tension that usually clung to you like a second skin had melted into something more natural. Something closer to comfort.

“You’re getting real cozy in my house, Eustass.” You remarked, something softer accompanying that last bit with his name. Something that made his breath hitch.

“Hey, I’ve got food covered. I also got you dolled up and pretty right in front of me. Ain’t so bad cozyin’ up in ‘ere, don’tcha think?” He  poked your chin, an act making you lean closer subconsciously. It was subtle yet his pulse stumbled a little, Kidd would miss it if he looked away. But Kidd took a moment to take everything in, you in. From the way the knitted cardigan draped over your shoulders loosely, the way the simplicity of the black dress still looked fucking phenomenal on you, then back to your face. Always to your face. “Can’t help it, bonnie. Feels nice that way, bein’ here with you.”

Your heart skipped a bit at how simply he said it. “Even with the fuzzy slippers?”

“Especially with the fuzzy slippers.” He corrected with a grin. Eyes holding yours for too long, either of your crinkled ones doing the same. “Let’s grub, hm? I know we’re both starvin’.”

“I bet you’re already snacking on them while cooking.” You circled around your table to sit at one of the chairs. Earning a laugh from Kidd, completely guilty. You tucked your legs comfortably beneath you as you gave him a look that was more amused than accusatory.

“Somethin’ the matter if the chef tastes his handiwork?” He got seated himself, dragging his chair closer to you as he reached over for the rum he brought. An excuse to squeeze closer to you in a manner where your arms brush from time to time. You didn’t mind, the warmth he brought was much needed.

“Oh, right. Chef. Chef who plated the scones, stirred the sauce, and checked the oven.” You echoed, raising a brow. You watch him twitch the cap open with ease and fetch your glass along with his. Setting them aside together before pouring the contents on an adequate amount, his slightly way more than yours.

“And saved you from burnin’ the sauce and keepin’ that shit bland.” He handed you yours, taking a small sip from his. He reveled on the way your eyes widened and how you recoiled with a hand on your chest, clearly offended.

“Bland? I know how to season food, bastard.” You interjected, defending your honor while you reached for the tattie scones. “Besides, what’s with the rum so early in the dinner?”

“Ah, I like drinkin’ them before eatin’. Keeps it rich down my throat. You should try it.” He cut into the chicken with unhurried ease, the bacon-wrapped exterior crisp and the creamy haggis stuffing steamed out in the cool air. “Although, I’m doubtin’ your tolerance.” His grin, with his canines tugging on his red lips, was enough to tell you he knew the right buttons to press.

Your eyes were already narrowed at him even if he was placing the chicken down your plate. “I’ll swap out your dessert with supermarket biscuits.” Kidd gave you a chuckle, clearly satisfied when you got annoyed. Affectionately.

You actually followed his advice and the rum was tasting a lot better than you remember. As you dig through the dishes, you can’t help but melt into your seat as a hum leaves your nose when the flavors of your handiwork have deliciously bore fruit. Kidd was not a silent eater either, he was shamelessly talking through a full mouth about how good the haggis was. He looked at you as if you wouldn’t run out of things to win his heart. You snorted, face warm from the praise and the rum. “Manners.”

“Aye, aye. Just appreciatin’.” He shot back with a grin, licking his thumb where the sauce had dripped. “But hey, tell me somethin’ bonnie,”

“What is it?” You looked up from your plate, stuffing yourself with a spoonful of chicken before answering him. You saw him looking over his shoulder, torso slightly turned to glance over your living room.

“What were you like during law school?” You soon took note of him looking over your graduation pictures, feeling slightly embarrassed at the baby faces of the previous pictures that he probably laughed about.

“Guess.” You clasped your hands together with your elbow propped on top of the table, chewing on your food. You were curious about what he'd say, anticipating if he had gauged your personality well. 

He turned around to flick his eyes once more toward the photos before settling back on you. “You were the type of lass to punch someone verbally.”

“The fuck does that even mean?” You snorted, breaking into a laugh at his choice of words. But well, he was spot on.

“You always had color-coded notes, didn't you? Always had highlighters, sat in the second row ‘cause you didn’t wanna look eager.” The knot on your brows formed loosely, almost amused at how accurate he was. “And,” he added with a smirk as he chewed the remaining of his scones so he wouldn't choke. “Always the first. Acted like you didn’t bother being second but locked the fuck in just to get back on top.” He sat back, finished with his essay as if he did some backdoor stalking on you. “You got that achiever and a scary-ass aura around you, yeesh.” He playfully shivered. But really, it was you shivering at his spot on guesses. Almost like they weren’t guesses, almost like he was really there.

“You got it.” You surrendered, taking a sip of rum. He clapped his hands once, then puffed up his chest—a celebratory gesture. “I was nose deep in my books, never really had a lot of friends.”

“Lotta boyfriends probably.” He butted in, almost too sure of it.

“Mm-mm, just a couple. Didn’t really last.” You shook your head, poking on your scones. Kidd tilted his head, amused at that piece of information.

“Think I’ll last longer than the rest of ‘em?”

You blinked, your fork going stiff on your hand as your wrist seemed to be locking because you were frozen. His tone wasn’t teasing, not entirely. Maybe because it was the absence of his smirk, or that his gaze was somewhat focused, somewhat real. Or maybe it was the rum in him talking as he already poured himself several glasses. Or maybe it was the rum in you, already stinging down your chest that made your restraints a little looser. Or the way your knees under the table keep bumping into each other, not recoiling after but settling on the contact subconsciously and quietly. You soon swallowed your pride more than your food. “Are you planning to stick around that long?”

His grin returned, wider and toothier this time. “I don’t plan things, bonnie. I execute. ‘S why I’m still ‘ere, ain’t I?”

You bit your lip to hide your smile from spreading, but soon let it go as you see him smile too. Ugh, God, your heart’s about to pry open your ribs. “You’re a little hard to shake, I’ll give you that. Very persistent.”

“Determined.” He corrected, taking a bite of his scones without looking away from you as if you’re gonna disappear. Completely enjoying how you got flustered, it’s like a pat on the back now that you’re being open about his effect on you.

“Your turn. What were you like before this whole mechanic era?” You gestured to his entire frame beside you, emphasizing your point. 

Kidd raised a brow, pretending to think while taking another sip of his rum. A couple of glasses in already and he’s still got a good head on his broad shoulders. Made you think if his tolerance is a bottomless pit. “Bit of a hardhead, if you still couldn’t tell. Missed most of my classes if they weren’t metallurgy or engineering.”

You snorted. “Shocking revelations.”

“But I was good. Got pretty good grades ‘cause I knew my engines. Numbers only didn’t make it a hundred ‘cause I was always absent.” Arrogance all over the atmosphere you could almost taste it. He had his arms crossed as he reminisced back in his college days. “Just needed the machine in front of me, got no notes or whatever.”

“Right. I figured you were smart.” You agreed and for a moment, Kidd was about to say something cheeky. “But I wonder if that was the same with dealing with your peers. I get the feeling you’re quite… unconventional in that aspect.” Your tone prolonged, like you were hinting at something

He squinted at you, half-impressed and half amused like you caught something he missed. “Peers? Fuck about ‘em?”

Your hands remained clasped together as you leaned your cheek in them, watching him narrate things intently. “You know. Professors, classmates—one with rules and expectations.” You lifted your glass lazily, feeling the rum sit in after your third glass. “I bet you didn’t exactly fit in group projects and deadlines.”

“Aye, naw. I was a bit of a pain in the ass.”

“A bit?” You raised a brow, looking at him over your glass as you had a sip.

“Okay, I fucked around a lot. Got in trouble most times ‘cause I had my own shit.” You bit back a smile, resting your chin on your palm as you watched him, more curious than ever. “Argued a lot. Physical and verbal.”

“So you’ve always been… confrontational?”

“Call it honest,” he corrected. “I don’t like dancin’ ‘round things. If I’ve got somethin’ to say, I’ll say it.”

Your lips twitched. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”

He leaned in a little, like he could already taste the retort you were holding back. “What, you prefer the quiet types?”

“No,” you said, without missing a beat. “Just takes effort not to knock your teeth out sometimes.”

The little stories, the back and forths made you two lose track of time and completely miss the fact that you two had finished up the dinner you had prepped despite having large servings. Because one story, one word, one memory led to another. You two always had something to share with each other at a certain moment. Every bite had been paired with laughter, teasing jabs, and stolen glances that lingered a bit longer with each story. So much so that neither of you noticed that the rum had already been emptied down to the last quarter and that the residual food and sauces had now gone hard and sticky on the plates. 

Kidd had this habit of leaning closer when he reached the climax of his story. His voice would be dropping lower like it’s only meant for your ears. You, on the other hand, found yourself mirroring this habit without realizing it. At some point, your elbows were now touching, your stomach hurting from the funny stories that led to you two pushing each other comically—you two had to be constantly in contact.

“So you really almost blew up your dorm stove?” You asked, biting down a grin as you rested your chin on your palm.

He scoffed, clearly unrepentant. “S’what I get for thinking I could boil canned dinner soup and weld my last minute project at the same time.”

You let out a soft laugh, one that lingered in silence that followed. You knew it was getting late, but you didn’t mind looking at the clock. You wanted the moment to last. And so did Kidd, who was busy looking, staring at you.

“What were you working on?” You pried, standing up to gather the plates and other wares.

“Some rusted excuse of a mechanical duck. Thing didn’t even quack right. But it had to move—gears, joints, and allat.” Kidd rubbed at the back of his neck, smirking.  “Looked like a pissed-off duck by the end of it.”

You chuckled under your breath, eyes narrowing in amusement. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I was. Got full marks, though. Professor called it ‘expressionist.’”His grin deepened, eyes searching yours like he was waiting for you to poke fun again.

That made you laugh. You tilted back slightly from your seat, still giggling when you stood to start clearing some of the dishes. The weight of the evening finally nudged you to move when you felt your ass hurting from sitting too long. Kidd followed suit without hesitation, collecting the bigger casserole and bowls from the main dishes to trail after you in the kitchen. 

“Of course you did. That’s you.” You placed down the plates and wares you were carrying while he did the same with his share of cutlery. 

“What’s that supposed to mean, bonnie?” His tone was playful, almost suggestive. Because he’s quite in the dark if you’re making fun of him or complimenting him.

You silently laughed to yourself, reaching over for the foam and bubbling it up with soap. “Only you could turn a failure into a pass. You’re amazing, aren’t you?”

“‘S one of my talents,” he shrugged. Turning to one heel and crossing his arms over his chest. Because really, he couldn’t really keep a still stance. He was all giddy and standing next to you made it more difficult to contain. As if he was not being obvious about it.

“I got this, Kidd. You can turn the TV on if you still want to wait for me. This’ll be quick.” There was almost a kind invitation on your tone, almost as if a suggestion that the date wouldn’t end with just finishing dinner. 

“Nah, I’m good here, bonnie.” He insisted, a subtle smile on his lips as he leaned by the tile counter of the sink, arm propped up the cold surface as he watched you foam up the dishes with a little too much amusement. 

You kept your eyes on the sink, cheeks warming despite the cool water running on your hands. Soon, you picked up the glasses first and scrubbed them. “What? Never seen someone do dishes before?”

“Not like this,” he said, quieter now. You raised a brow, shooting him a glance yet he didn’t look away. He still has arm planted, head tilted slightly as he watches you. Not in a teasing way this time, lately it ain’t even like that anymore. Lately, it felt slower like he was memorizing something. Almost like he was foreseeing something in the future with this domestic sight, and you’re in the center of it. 

There was a strange calm that settled between the two of you, despite the faint scent of dish soap and leftover food. Kidd wasn’t saying anything, and that was the odd part because this motherfucker always had something to say and make it everybody’s business. But now? Nothing.

Just the sound of dishes clinking under water as you progressively go through them under his gaze. The soft hum of the kitchen light above. And his gaze, warm and unwavering, like he was content just being there, in watching you. There were some jokes, some remarks here and there, some brief stories and laughs—but he remained in his stead, comfortable beside you. He even helped you dry some dishes before placing them in your dish racks.

Even when you padded your hands on the cloth hanging over the oven handles to dry them, he kept a soft gaze over you. Either it’s the rum, the proximity, or the scent of interspersed perfumes from his and yours that had fucked with every restraint in your bodies because you and Kidd felt that it was begging to be addressed. To just lean in, discard all that embarrassment, and connect your lips.  

And Kidd wasted no time in doing just that, even if your hands were still busy with the cloth. And you didn’t budge either. It’s not that you were offended, so much so that you got frozen, no no. This is exactly what you need and before you could stop yourself, you were already roaming the surface of his biceps, fingertips cold from the water against his warm arms. That’s why Kidd felt more motivated placing your hands to now circle around his neck. One of his remains on the base of your head, extending down to your neck so he could guide you to his rhythm. The other had a firm grip on the small of your back so he could hug your frame in a way that it felt just right that you would both fit in each other’s embrace. 

As opposed to popular belief, Kidd didn’t kiss like a barbaric neanderthal. It’s the way that his piercing grazed your tongue with careful, deliberate strokes. He wasn’t starved as he pressed your frame against his, he was insistent on keeping you close so he could kiss you better, take his time with you. He received your kisses in a way that you’d gradually adjust to him, get comfortable with him. Tilting his head so you can kiss him at an angle you’re comfortable with. Adjusted to his pace like he needed you to want it as much as he did.

But even in that delicacy, Kidd’s hunger was still evident as he sucked on your lips. He made it sure that you knew he had waited long as he claimed yours. He was greedy, so greedy as he reveled on the hums and moans you tried stifling when he buried his tongue deeper; the metal ball cold on your tongue. His nails mildly dug on your waist, through the skin-tight fabric that made you squirm and tug on his vermillion locks. You taste the rum on his lips, and the cherry on his lipstick mixing with yours. 

Kidd was a handsy kisser and you are so weak for it, so you just let him. Let his fingers with red-inked nails dig against the flesh of your thighs as he sat you down beside the sink, on the cold, tiled counter. Because well, he was struggling kissing you with that height. And on your end, kissing a 200-centimeter meathead is actually putting a strain on your neck. A giggle was then exchanged between the small gap of either of your lips, before returning to a breathless makeout. He fastened your legs around his waist, while you pressed him closer by his trapezius. His hands roamed the bare expanse of your back, your cardigan long discarded. 

You hummed through his lips like you didn’t have a 7.A.M hearing that calls for a lot dispute between divorcees. So amidst all that, he was kind enough to let you go. Feeling your breath shorten as he aimed for one more suck. A smirk as he let go of your lips with a pop.

“You dig raspberries?”
“What?”
“Your lipstick. Tastes nice.”

You were a blushing mess and so was he, yet neither of you bothered hiding it. As a matter of fact, nothing can literally pull you or him out of each other’s eyes. So you two didn’t bother increasing the distance between both of you, so that the distance remained small enough for either of you to feel your breath against one another’s lips.  

“You kiss eagerly.”
“So do you.”

You rested your forehead against his shoulder for a moment, catching your breath, heart still thudding too loud. You could almost hear his hammering out of his taut chest as his hand lingered on your sides. “Kidd, it’s late. Can you go home without dying? We got through half the bottle.”

He hummed, one hand still firm at your waist, fingers brushing gently along your waist like it was natural to you and him. Not that you mind, because you really didn’t. You liked it there, you just find it hard to say anything. “’S all good. Half a bottle’s nothing. I’ve been out way later than two. Me and my mates once polished off a whole one—”

You pulled back, giving him a pointed look. “That. And the one where you slept at your dad’s pickup ‘cause you didn’t wanna get caught drunk out of your mind at four.”

Kidd grinned, head dropping a little with a guilty tilt. Endeared at how you remembered his anecdote from the amount of memories either of you had gone through. “Aye… that one.”

Your smile softened before you could help it. Completely hypnotized by each other’s gaze, time was lost and neither of you pulled away. Perfumes mixing on each other’s shirts, the hum of La Vie En Rose in the background, the dampness of your hand dried off from touching Kidd too much. The act itself made your heart beat uncontrollably, same goes for him as he stared at you with a half-lidded gaze. Drunk of rum and the kiss, swollen lips just begging to have a go at it again.

“Still got enough in me to get home,” he muttered, voice lower this time. The guttural tone making your fist on his shirt tighter by just a bit. “Just not sure I wanna leave.”

“I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” You say that but the way you looked at him said enough. You fixed up the neckline of his knitted vest, one that looked lopsided from you pulling on it too much during the act. The touch of your fingertips were electric against his warm skin. Even go so far as correcting the way his chained necklace fitted around his neck. You’re not sure if you’re just finding reasons to touch him because he looks so inviting. “I think our date ends here.” You gave his vest one final pat down, the contact on his chest got him biting his lip to stop himself from smiling too much because Kidd’s cheeks were starting to hurt.

“Aye. I’m glad you had fun.” He poked your chin, pulling away as his touch left you feel the cold of your apartment again. “Lookin’ forward to the next one.” He walked backwards before turning his heel and fetching his jacket draped over the couch. 

You snickered, getting off the counter to see him off. “What makes you think we’ll have a third one?” You acted coy, thinking you would still be on top of your game. But that was long gone as soon as you gave in earlier. He soon caught you off guard, receiving your lips with ease as you feel him smile throughout a quick peck while you were fucking melting with a silent, stifled moan. Once he pulled away, he didn’t need to say it to tell you the answer to your question—just a smirk to make you beet red again. 

“Later, bonnie. Caramel double shot at your desk tomorrow, aye?” You hummed with crossed arms as you leaned on the door, watching him as he got on his bike. He gave you one last look before going off, bike zooming away on the silent dawn. Leaving you with your mind and heart in a state that is anything but silent.

Chapter Text

It was a little past two. The chilly afternoon haze spilled striped, golden glares from your blinds across the expanse of your busy office. In your desk, were a scattered clutter of folders and annotated memos. You were elbow-deep in reviewing a settlement brief for a property dispute, drafting counter arguments for easement violations and zoning loopholes. Too lost at the swarm of papers and folders on your desk, you didn’t notice the clipped knock at your door.

“So your desk is still looking one file closer to a haystack.” The familiar vibrato of a voice that almost had caffeine singing in its tone cut through the shuffle of your papers and the mellow buzzing of your low-tech air conditioning. Sarcasm coated his words, an impassive expression that seemed to stand out. You’ve heard that voice in the courtroom an annoying amount of times that you didn’t have to look up and see who it belonged to. You know that he wore his crisp three-piece in black with a white spotted tie akin to a cow pattern, he had deep bags under his eyes yet it suited his demeanor, and coffee emanated from him like he wore it as cologne. 

“Hey,” you said, tone friendlier despite the hostile greeting. “Didn’t know you were back.”

“Landed this morning.” He walked in, setting a folder on your desk and sitting himself down one of your chairs. “You left your name on the Tsubaki case brief, figured you’d be on your toes for an update.”

Your eyes lit up, darting across your desk towards the crisp brown folder thick with colored tabs and sticky notes peeking out the sides. You’ve always had a penchant for complicated cases, much more overseas, possibly linking a gang that runs the entirety of Sapporo. These were the type of cases which required diving into obscure legal precedents, working with a tangled mess of documentation, and turning a mountain of facts into a clear-cut argument. It’s the headache that meticulous nerds like you and this fellow caffeine addict thrived on. “Of course, I referred you. No one else could handle international arbitration and a malpractice charge in the same hearing.”

Your fingers were already reaching for the folder, flipping it open to scan through the content. But his slow, measured voice stopped you before you could start geeking out too much. “You know, you’d get more done if you didn’t look like you’re about to lose your mind every time something this interesting shows up.”

You shot him a look, though your smile betrayed you. “You and I both know that the thrill is half the battle with these things. And this is gold, Law. You know how rare these international jurisdiction cases are?”

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze almost calculating as he watched you pour over the papers. “It was exhausting. It was mostly yakuza shit that I had a headache trying to delicately loop over. Otherwise, my head will roll.” His tone was flat, almost disinterested, but you could hear the undertone of caution. He ran his tatted fingers through his short, dark locks, slumping slightly over your chair. That’s when he elbowed your wallet by accident, just the slightest nudge at the edge of your cluttered desk. It slipped off with a soft thud on the shiny, tiled floor, flipping open in its wake. A few cards scattered out, receipts, coupons, and that two-strip photo that caught his eye. One that assures to be taken in those vintage photobooths stationed at some carnivals or arcades. That one damned photo, still ironed out straight because you had safely sandwiched it between the two credit cards that fell, almost buried among your receipts and IDs.

Law bent forward to pick it up, curiosity reining him in as he sensed something calling for ammunition to tease you with. When his eyes landed on the photo, his gaze darted over your face that lit up with a rare, unguarded laugh. It was like the faintest crack in his usually unreadable demeanor formed when a laugh escaped his nose at this foreign sight of you. 

“Interesting. You’re seeing someone?” He asked, holding the photo between his index and middle like it was some piece of evidence in cross-examination. There was the faintest curl at the corner of his mouth, made even more unnerving by the monotony of his tone.

You immediately reached for it, but he leaned back in the chair, holding the photo out of your grasp with that infuriating calmness as he pulled his arm away just barely out of your reach. “Redheads, huh? You really have a type.” He examined it again with a deadpan expression, like he wasn’t already having the time of his life watching you squirm trying to pry it off his grasp. His eyes glanced over the pale, burly man next to you, donning a lipstick as fiery as his demeanor—most probably the reason for your rare, unguarded smile.

“You’re the last person I expected to carry this kind of thing around in your wallet. You’ve grown sentimental for the past months?”

You groaned under your breath and tried to snatch the photo back, bending over your table but the man was insistent. Way too amused at the latest event in your life. “Give it, Law.”

But he didn’t budge, still eyeing the picture like he was dissecting a case file. “He looks… loud,” Law muttered, then tilted his head just slightly, his eyes narrowing as he predicted the kind of person Kidd was. “Screams trouble. Like he’d punch someone looking at his way. Big ego probably. Owns a bike, no?”

“Give. It. Back.” You couldn’t stop the exasperation that slipped into your voice. And if you were being honest, it scared you how accurate he was. You never really get the lawyer out of him, always scrutinizing, guessing, connecting the things he sees into something that makes sense.

“What date number is this— No, let me guess.” He wasn’t even listening, he was busy scrutinizing your suitor. He sat back in the chair with a calmness that didn’t match the teasing glint in his eyes. “I’m positive this is the first one, but red here already had his eye on you way, way before this development.”

With that last bit, the red in your ears had radiated down your cheeks to the very column of your neck. You were persistent on reaching over to just snatch it off him as he brought the glossy strip closer, examining if it really was you in the photo. You lunged forward, determined to snatch the photo back from Law as he raised it higher, scrutinizing the glossy strip. You were practically crawling over the surface of your table where you swatted some papers away as your next course of action just to succeed in acquiring it back. However, you didn’t take into account the proximity you put between you and Law and the sudden barging of the man in question in your office who completely witnessed the compromising position you’ve put yourself into. Law just shot him a deadpan look, not even minding you almost halfway over your desk. Clearly not aware of the severity of the situation, or he was, he just chooses to not give a shit like always.

“Damn, ain’t this cozy.” Came Kidd’s voice toned with something foreign, something you’re not used to. Something quite foreboding that tells you you’re cooked.
“Great timing actually.”

It was a sharp exchange between Kidd and Law and you hated how powerless you felt. In that swift moment where Kidd stood in your doorway with a paper bag of his usual sustenance and his helmet tucked under the crook of his elbow. He wasn’t storming in his grease-stained boots with that overbearing demeanor of his, but his eyes said plenty. Law held the same amount of fire Kidd had in his eyes—just quieter, more controlled. Something Kidd lacked as he constructed his next words. Because right about now, the same man you kissed under your dimly lit kitchen had his eyes laced with a silent type of aggressiveness, one that made a certain area in your stomach churn, hairs standing at the column of your spine.

“I’m getting curious to meet who’s got her smiling like this.” Law added, a subtle curl on his lips as he held up the photobooth strip again. Only making Kidd’s jaw tick, laughing silently to himself at how ridiculously riled up he’s feeling. It was pooling in his chest, something akin to the way you’re this close to this tatted up bastard who’s got droopy eyes and carries the same air as you. Some part of him wished it was him and not this motherfucker with a goatee sitting there with you getting all up close and personal. His grip on the paper bag tightened as he stepped closer towards your desk. You immediately returned back to your standing position to avoid further accusations.

“Oh yeah?” Kidd shifted in one foot, boots heavy against the floor. “Then I oughta make sure we sign it, get our initials in there. Might as well frame it too so there ain’t a damn confusion, aye?” He dropped the paper bag on your desk with a loud thud, more force than necessary. You notice the coffee cup shifting inside, precarious on spilling. 

You tried to mediate the situation, thinking of a response to calm Kidd down and stop Law from effortlessly taunting the other to bite his fucking head off. But unfortunately, Kidd was already shooting daggers at the dark haired, trained and ready to meet him head on just for breathing near you.

“Relax.” Law stood up, slowly as he closed the distance with calm precision from the taller, more fiery redhead. As Law measured up to him, Kidd got a whiff of his cologne—smelled expensive, smelled akin to yours, one of those Armani shit he finds pretentiously stinky. “No need to puff your chest. We got assigned a case downtown, I had to brief her and save her the effort to go through the chief.”

Kidd snorted, laugh coming out as more of a hiss than a rumble in his chest. “Brief her, aye? Must be real complex that she had to bend over the damn desk.” He jerked his chin toward the scene he’d walked into, the wallet still open, the photo still in between Law’s inked fingers.

“Kidd—” you stepped forward. But Law, annoyingly forward, offered a dry smile. 

“If your grasp of nuance matched your volume, maybe you’d realize not everything’s a threat.” He tilted the photo once more between his fingers. Before sliding it back in your wallet like it was its rightful place, looking a little too comfortable in touching your things it got a vein twitching in Kidd’s forehead. “But then again, subtlety isn’t really your strong suit, is it?” It was blunt, not intentional to rile Kidd up, it’s how Law states his observations. His responses never meant anything hostile but Kidd is sure as hell taking it that way. 

“Aye. I don’t show up here and shy about how I like ‘er so much.” Kidd looked at you then back at Law, “I make it known.” 

“So I’m told. You look great together.” Law's tone didn’t shift, still maddeningly neutral. “Clarity’s charming. But it doesn’t always make you smarter.”

Kidd let out a dry, humorless laugh, rubbing his jaw with his fingers like it might keep him from lunging forward and causing an accident. “Funny. Thought bein’ smart meant knowin’ when to shut the hell up.”

“Okay, that’s it, Kidd. Outside, now.” You held onto his leather jacket, tugging at the tight fabric as you dragged him outside. You two reached a corner that was distant from the chaos of the office, silent but enough for Law to see either of you from the windows. “What the hell is your problem?”

“‘m concerned about that tatted up punk being way too close to you.” He looked over his shoulder just to glare at Law, who couldn’t be bothered to return his glance. “He’s a new face. Fresh meat?”

You rolled your eyes, “Law came back from Sapporo from a really big case. He’s my senior as a matter of fact, but is actually the same age as me. He just crawled up the ladder a little too fast because he’s that brilliant.” 

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” He said, as if implying that you had a fault in it. But that’s when you realize how everything made sense, and it’s your turn to tease him about it. “He’s the best, ain’t he?” Kidd crossed his arms, clicking his tongue as his jaw clenched.

“You sound jealous,” you muttered under your breath, but it was sharp enough for Kidd to hear. You were trying to hide the smile creeping up your lips, biting the inside of your cheek to try and be serious for Kidd’s sake because he really looks pissed.

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair before shooting you a glare. “Pft, jealous? I ain’t jealous. You got it wrong, bonnie. I’m just not blind.”

“Really?” You tilted your head, amusement laced in your tone as you stepped closer. Observing and almost memorizing how flustered he looks. Being as red as his hair, his eyes looking everywhere but yours, and his hands not knowing where to keep themselves.  “Because from where I’m standing, it sure sounds like you’re keeping tabs on who I talk to now. Like it’s your biggest concern.”

Kidd shook his head in disbelief, inked nails grazing over his jaw before finally returning your gaze. More serious, more earnest in letting you realize his purpose for being pissed even if he was so red about it. “‘Cause it is. I don’t think you realize why I keep showin’ up at your feet and treatin’ you like a damn princess.” 

You blinked. “Hey, he’s just my colleague, Kidd. Why are you acting like this?”

“‘Course he is. For sure.” He tilted his head, meeting you head on as the space between either of you slowly decreased. “Mind also schoolin’ me what the hell am I to you too?”

You opened your mouth but then closed it, because well, you had nothing. It was already a reflex to have a back and forth with him but damn, he was so quick with it this time. The pause was too long and Kidd noticed. And for the first time, he just… stopped. Didn’t press, didn’t snap. Just looked at you like whatever fire he brought with him was put out right there in your silence. Maybe that’s the part that stung, he kinda gave up. But maybe that’s just you though. Because the moment you didn’t even try to answer him—he was already saying farewell, saying he’s got things to do back at his shop, and the like. The usual gruff excuse but his voice lacked the edge, it sounded tired. You didn’t chase after him. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t know what you’d say if you did.

At first, you didn’t think it would bother you. You had a packed afternoon ahead—opening arguments were due for the joint trial with Law. That should’ve distracted you, should’ve filled your mind with enough procedural noise to drown out everything else. The trial involved a convoluted crossover between municipal negligence and a wrongful death claim—you were representing the city against allegations tied to an unlicensed surgical clinic that had been greenlit by a crooked zoning officer, possibly tipped by the mob bosses your client pissed off. Your client tried to cut a plea deal after failing to pay off the mob-linked investors who backed the clinic; but he had no funds left to keep his end of the bargain. Law, representing the malpractice end, had your shared client on edge. But he didn’t really help getting your mind off of the ordeal with Kidd, Law wanted you to narrate it from day one.

Yet it was weighing on the back of your mind each time you had a break. Aimlessly checking your phone if there were any messages, even though you never really sent him one. Up until the final hour of your day, you were too tired to overthink and care about it. Even if it followed throughout the next day and he made no appearance. 

No text greeting you a good morning, telling about his plans on cranking up a carburetor or whichever engine he was working on. No phone call to tease you at lunch, asking if you had already finished up your coffee because you like it so much. More importantly there was no coffee, no drop off from the receptionist nor from him. Thinking about it all made you space out, that Law had to snap a finger before your face. 

“Focus. We have a trial at fifteen.” He tried catching your eyes, yours looking a little more tired than usual. You look muted. “Heard the plaintiff got a big shot lawyer from Italy, one looking after the mob boss. I know neither of us will choke, but at this point… I’m starting to have a shaky thought on you.”

“I don’t care even if the lawyer’s from the Soviet or fucking Andromeda, I’m fine.” You had a sip of your coffee, terribly plain and black in the absence of Kidd’s funky flavors and scones. “We make the client win, prove the truth, dodge loopholes. Easy.”

Law didn’t even look up from his notes when he responded. Just flipped a tab, scribbled something in the margin in a penmanship only he understands. “Text him.”

“What?” You scoffed, slouched deeper into your seat. Crossing one leg over the other and rummaging through your case files, as if attempting to do some last minute briefing on your opening and pretending to review your notes. “No need to. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

He paused then, pen hovering mid-air. That flat expression of his shifted by a fraction, just enough to tell you he was about to eviscerate you in a very calm, very Law-like manner. Something akin to his behavior in court when he gives the judge, the opposing attorney, and the client that look . 

“You didn’t do anything right either.”

Your brows twitched, but you bit your tongue. You are going to get powdered. Absolutely floored when Law placed his pen down and turned to you.

“You never did anything to correct the misunderstanding.” Law finally leaned back, folding his arms, eyes narrowing. “He’s a brute, sure. Emotional, reckless. But he’s not subtle, that for a fact I can vouch. He gives a damn, and it shows and I know you’re aware of that. Which makes it ten times worse that you didn’t say anything.”

You stared at him. Your throat was starting to get hot.

“You don’t like his coffee. No, you hate them. As you said the flavors had you squirming in your seat with beetroot and turmeric lattes. You liked that he showed up.”

You swallowed the saliva caught in your throat, quite heavier and harder to flush out than usual. 

“And now that he hasn’t, your ego wouldn’t be able to say it so I will and I will never stop saying it again. You miss him.” 

You let out a sharp breath through your nose, a bitter laugh hitching in your chest. Because you find it ridiculous, that he is right about everything. Typical Trafalgar. “It’s not that simple.”

Law didn’t blink. “It is, if you stop cushioning your pride.”

“No—” You stood, restless. Ignoring the insult as the chair scraped beneath you while you paced in the half-empty hall on a Tuesday morning. “It’s not. I didn’t correct him because I didn’t know how. He walked in, threw a tantrum, saw things out of context and just left . What was I supposed to do? Chase after him like a dog? Me?” You pointed to yourself, admitting to Law’s conclusion. From an outside’s perspective, it looks like the two lawyers were having their own trial.

“But you’re regretting it now, aren’t you?”

“Why do you even care?”

Law’s gaze didn’t shift, not even an inch. “Because you’re spiraling. And I’m the one stuck trying to keep this case together while you spend more energy dodging your feelings than preparing your arguments.”

You closed your mouth, lips pressing together in a taut line. Something between guilt and anger flushed through you. Anger at how right he was. Because as the past few days went by with not so much as a holler from him—it felt so different, like something was missing.  

That first morning was fine, he was probably swamped. A bullshit excuse you said to yourself so you can feel better. He was probably working on a busted axle or something he had to fix himself. Just a basis from one of the things he’d ramble to you over the phone on a rainy day like today. You even made your own coffee that day, black and bitter. Told yourself it tasted fine. But with this bastard conditioning your taste buds with new flavors everyday, it tasted like pure shit. Even though a couple months ago, black coffee was enough to get you through the day.

By the second absence, you ignored the way your eyes flicked toward the door every time someone walked past your office. But you knew damn well that the thud of his boots weren’t there, his voice greeting those he slowly became acquainted with, nor the sight of his bike was somewhere before the city hall’s driveway. You found yourself stalling, looking at your phone needlessly. You buried yourself in paperwork and told yourself you didn’t need the coffee nor the company. Pride is a funny thing.

Day three, every drink you tried just didn’t taste right. You must be acquiring a disease or something. Or maybe it was the fact that the photo of you and Kidd from the carnival was still tucked behind your wallet flap, taunting you with how happy you looked as you opened it up to get some pounds for your lunch. You found yourself lingering on the photo for too long, that the feeling was coming back again and blooming in your chest. That was the point where you started getting ideas. 

So you went with no plan, no excuse, nothing in hand but your pride that was already fraying at the edges. The trial prep could wait—subpoenas, rebuttal memos, even Law’s side-eyes. You left the court transcripts unfinished on your desk, barely glossed over the deposition notes from the toxicology expert, and hadn’t even looked at the subpoena revisions Law asked you to file before noon. 

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, uncertain. The engine of your car ticked behind you, cooling off with soft pings, the sound of a space being filled where silence could’ve helped. The quiet gushes of the winter wind making your ears and nose red. Front desk was empty this time and you see no other workers of Kidd who you had memorized by face with the amount of times you’ve frequented this place. You turned off your engine and had a hold of yourself. You stepped in just in time to see a pink-haired woman busied up on Kidd’s usual place at the garage. She had a white tank littered with grease, pink hair tied up haphazardly as some of it stuck to the sides of her sweat-slicked temples. She looks the part, entirely fitting for someone who works at this grease shop. She was busy on the worktable you always see Kidd in if not waist deep on the carcass of some engine.

You lost awareness that you were in fact, staring at her. Wondering who she is, why she is here, where everyone is. No familiar place, no usual ambience, no Kidd. It was only a matter of time before the pink-haired notices you hovering, your heels gave it away. She gave you a lookover, a smile creeping its way on her lips as she tugged her earphones away from one ear.

“Shop’s close, lassie.” She circled around the table, your eyes keenly observing how dirty she was yet her purple eyes remained radiant as she studied you. Her hip propping her up on the front of the table as she got closer to you. “What brings you here?”

“The owner.” Your voice stayed leveled despite her gaze swallowing you whole. “Is he in?”

“You his lawyer or something?” She crossed her arms, ankle tipping lazily over the other as she leaned at the front edge of the worktable, eyes still on you like her curiosity was something you should be worried about.

“Somewhat.” You introduced yourself, clipped but not impolite. “I believe it’s also time for you to introduce yourself too.”

“Right— of course, Attorney. Bonney, Jewelry Bonney.” She extended out a hand after tugging at one glove. Stark contrast to your soft, manicured ones was her calloused, rough hands. A fact Bonney lingered on, along with your ironed blazer, fine watch on your wrist, and the line of your slacks. Something’s off with this woman. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Really? This is the first I’ve seen you.” You arched a brow. 

“Night shift. Always the ones clients are confused about.” She shrugged, a smile still on her face. Like she was anticipating your reaction amidst the melody of heavy metal on one ear. 

“And what exactly have you heard about me?”

Bonnie tilted her head, pretending to think. “Boss’s been crazy about you.” Then she met your eyes again. “Like someone lit a fuse and told him to sit still. Sends a message he liked being told what to do. Quite an achievement you did, Attorney.”

You stilled, throat tightening and she sure as hell noticed it. But Bonney didn’t press, arms stretching out beside her to prop herself up. “Boss has got the winter flu, he’s holed up in his office.”

“Kidd got sick?” There was something else other than inquiry in your voice, you were worried, on edge. With the way you stepped closer, your eyes widened a bit, and your voice wavering. 

“Aye. No coffee runs, right?” She chuckled slightly, soon jerking her chin to the hallway beside the break rooms. “Office is through there. He’d have to be six feet under to admit it, but I’m sure he misses you more than you do.” That last remark made your cheeks warm, but thanked her anyway as you headed on your way to his office.

You were welcomed with a low clatter of metal and a rough, wracking cough that sounded like it came from deep in the chest. The door wasn’t even fully shut, you nudged it open and stepped into the room. You hear the whirring of the heater next to the door, and the ceiling fan creaking each time it finishes a cycle. It smelled like solder, rust, menthol, and something faintly herbal. The air was too warm, like he’d been running the heater on max just to keep his bones from locking up. Tissues were strewn across the small table and the floor nearby, some balled up, some half-used. And Kidd was hunched over his desk, elbows propped up, trying to fix a busted handheld meter with trembling fingers as a minute couldn’t even go by without him sniffling. 

He looked like shit. Hair messily down and damp with sweat, skin pale beneath the flush of fever, the neckline of his shirt askew, and his lips dry. But he still hadn’t stopped—stubborn, even while sick, still trying to patch things together with spit and willpower.

“How are you still tinkering with parts?” You said, not moving from the doorway.

“Look who finally showed up.” His head turned toward you, slow and reluctant. Voice stuffy, followed by a snot he sniffed right back inside.

“Were you waiting for me?” You shifted on one foot, arms crossed as you leaned on the door you shut behind you. 

He wiped at his nose with a crumpled tissue on his desk and tossed it at the bin he didn’t miss without looking. “For the record, I didn’t ask you to come. So no.” He didn’t spare you a glance, he pretended to be busy with putting the parts back together but miserably failed because he had to sneeze.

You didn’t waste any more time and sauntered towards his desk, sitting at the edge and swatting his hand away from the engine parts he was so busy on. You held one side of his cheek to turn his face towards you, making him look at you and catch his attention like you always do. 

“Just stop. Stop it.” Your words were firm but your touch on his cheek was fragile, delicate as your thumbs brushed over his defined cheekbones. “Get some rest. Come on, I’ll take you to your place. No need to stay here.”

Then, with grease-stained hands, he pried your hand off his cheek. Soon getting back to his work . “None of your business if I wanna be where I wanna be, doin’ what I wanna do. It sure isn’t the past three days, ain’t it?” Damn, never has he acted this cold and petty towards you. But well, you’re not one to complain because you deserve it this time. 

“We had a case, a big one involving gangs. I couldn’t afford to get distracted, Kidd.” You sighed, hands still lingering on his arm. His temperature was warmer than usual yet he was sweating cold. 

“We? Tch, it’s with that tattooed punk, huh? Figured.” He rolled his eyes, grip on the circuit board tightening that you were concerned if he’ll break it.

“He’s a medical malpractice attorney, he’s well involved with the case. It’s about some clinic using a fake license, nothing too crazy at first until gangsters got involved.” You briefly narrated in layman’s terms, tugging at his sleeves so he’d look your way again. 

He snorted faintly and went back to tinkering. “Ain’t that nice.”

You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes and sighing before stilling beside the desk. “Kidd.”

“Look,” your name came in after, bitter and firm unlike his usual tone. “I got things to do, some engines to clean and wirings to finish-”

You tugged at his sleeve again, gentler this time. “Kidd, I know I’ve been out of touch. You stopped showing up and I just somewhat autopiloted. I distracted myself because I was actually losing my mind.” You took a deep breath, cheeks red as you realize the words spilling out of you. “I came because I hated how quiet it got without you. I didn’t like how it felt so… incomplete.”

That made him pause. His hand stilled.

“So I guess those coffee runs meant something to you then.” His voice was hoarse but sharp, biting. Almost like his smile was returning on his pale lips, no lipstick this time. “That your way of sayin’ you missed me?”

He didn’t need to look at you to tell that he was, in fact, smirking. He placed the pliers down, meeting your eyes. And he didn’t need to do anything else for your hand to come crawling back to his face, your fingers interlocking with his crimson locks, then back to his jaw like it always belonged there. “I guess it is.” 

There was something more tender in the way Kidd moved after that. He leaned onto your hand, skin warm against your palm despite the chill clinging to his shirt damp with sweat. His eyes fluttered shut just for a second long enough to show he’d missed this too.

“I must be real outta it because I think I’m imaginin’ you touchin’ me like this,” he muttered, voice low and raspy. Yet his hands reached over to land on yours, double-checking if he’s dreaming or not. God, you were the one holding him but you were the one melting. You’re not sure if he’s aware about the things he was doing to you right now because he’s probably delirious, but you were most definitely going nuts. 

“Stop being an idiot, Kidd.” You couldn’t stop the giggle escaping out of you. You tried prying your hands off his jaw but he kept it in place, grin widening as he saw you flush redder than he feels he is. 

“You ain’t the only one missin’ someone ‘round ‘ere.” He tugged at your wrist a little too harshly so you can be closer. He grinned at you, “I wanna kiss you again, but I don’t want you gettin’ sick. But hey, seems you were the first one to fold so why don’t you give me one in the cheek?”

You couldn’t contain your smile, his cheekiness making your stomach feel like a flurry as opposed to your usual eyerolls. “Bastard.” You leaned in close, close enough for him to believe that you were actually gonna do it. “You’re all sick and dirty and you want me to kiss you?”

Kidd broke into a chuckle, carding his fingers through his hair to push it back—smug despite the grime dusting his jaw and the slight flush painting his cheeks—not from you this time, but the stubborn fever he refused to admit. “So much excuses yet you’ll still end up kissin’ me, won’t you?”

You rolled your eyes and reached for his coat, already tired of arguing with a man who didn’t know when to rest. A man who prioritizes to elicit a blush out of you rather than drinking his meds. “Come on, you're burning up. I'm driving.”

Before Kidd could get another word in, you were already tugging him by the sleeve, leading him past the warm orange glow of the garage lights, out through the clatter of tools and the smell of engine oil. Bits of snow had started to fall with the onset of twenties in December—light flurries catching on his lashes and locks as you popped open your Corolla's passenger door for him to enter.

He groaned dramatically, one hand still trying to hold onto his pride as he slumped into the seat. “Could’ve just said you missed me.”

You slammed the door shut in response and turned, only to find Bonney standing just outside the garage door, arms crossed, biting back a smug grin.

“Didn’t even take five minutes,” she said. “Told ‘em you were the only one who could drag him out without a forklift. We’ve been trying for days.”

Your brow arched, smile soft on your lips as your eyes darted on the coins and pounds on your hand. “You bet on it?”

“Twenty on you. Easy win.” She grinned and leaned closer in mock-conspiracy. “Honestly, I’ve never seen him listen to anyone like that. You’ve got him wrapped, sweetheart.”

You snorted, tucking your hands into your coat pockets. “He’s got a fever. Doesn’t count.”

“Uh-huh.” Bonney shrugged, turning to head back inside. “Sure. Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

You shook your head with a quiet laugh, walking around to the driver’s seat. Just in time to find Kidd leaning against the window with a crooked grin, eyes barely open yet still watching you like he had heard a thing. He was still cocky despite the headache being the only thing keeping him awake.

“You talkin’ about me out there?”

“Only nice things.”

“Mm.” He sniffled, snuggling closer to his coat and wrapping it tighter around his body. “You’re lucky I’m sick, I gave you somethin’ to talk about.”

You rolled your eyes again, but your smile goes unnoticed by the sole reason it painted your lips. “Seatbelt.”

“Bossy.” He rasped, voice thick with congestion but is absolutely amused.

The air was crisp when you started the car, headlights cutting through the first hints of fog rolling in over the city. It was in the middle of December, the trees had already bared their leaves and the ponds were already frozen. With the onset of snow, the nights have progressively got colder and right now it was sharp enough to sting your lungs when you breathed too deep.

“Which way to your place?” You asked, adjusting the heater to a higher hum when you see Kidd shivering beside you even as he tries to hide it.

Kidd dragged in a breath, eyes fluttering shut like even thinking took effort. “Go down Calcite... then left past the petrol station. Might be another turn after that.”

“Helpful.” You shifted gears, sighing as you backed out of the parking by the roadside.

“Best I got,” he mumbled, voice trailing off like he was already halfway to sleep.

“Hey,” you glanced at him, then back to the road. “Don’t pass out yet. You’re the only GPS I’ve got.”

He let out a weak laugh through his nose, eyes still closed. “S’fine. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

The streets grew quieter the further south you drove, flickering buildings of shops thinning out into more residential pockets. Porch lights flickered on as early evening settled in, and the sky was beginning to bruise from burnt gold to dusty blue. Traffic crawled as usual through a few intersections, but the world had that quiet edge to it like everyone else had gone home already, and it was just the two of you in motion.

Kidd stirred again, glancing over the last bits of people scattered around the sidewalks busied up in their individual businesses when the car came to a red light. That initial bitterness pooling in his chest once more as the silence settled between you. “You didn’t have to come get me.” 

“You wouldn’t leave the garage.” You were quick to reply, fingers around the wheel tightening.

“Wasn’t that bad.” He scoffed, trying to downplay his situation but was embarrassingly pinching his nose with a tissue to drain his nose after his statement.

“You’re sweating through your shirt and you don’t feel a breadth closer to thirty-seven degrees. Don’t argue.” You turned to him, voice firm, almost annoyed at his stubbornness. He was still fiery despite being sick, at least not verbally. He just gave a soft exhale and turned his face toward the window.

You just kept driving, stealing the occasional glance at him to check on his condition if it was worsening. At the way his hand rested against the door, black rings catching the fading light, how he blinked slowly like he was still trying to act fine, his occasional sniffles as he buried tissues in his nose to wipe off his snot.

“Third building down,” he mumbled after a pause, pointing lazily at the hole-in-the-wall dumpling parlor next to his apartment. “The one with the balcony.”

You pulled in quietly to the front of the complex, parking along the curb. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you fall asleep and I have to carry your stubborn ass up the stairs.” That earned a real laugh, rough and short but genuine. He can still hold himself up well, just needs support or he’ll topple over. He stole a glance at you as you hook one arm around his, almost as if he was thanking you yet not really saying it. Because well, he’s still bitter about previous encounters. So the walk towards his apartment was quiet, save for the shuffles, footsteps, and silent whistle of the wind of the winter. 

“Keys.” You extended out one hand, looking up at him to where he’ll gesture.

“Left, coat.” He directed, seeing you shuffle your free hand into the pocket he mentioned. Your fingers brushed past old receipts and a loose bolt before finally grazing the edge of his key ring—one shaped as two gears, one bigger than the other where it seemed to be a place for your finger to slip in. You tugged them free with a soft jingle, then glanced up at him again. He looked worn down—eyes glassy from fever, hair a mess from pushing his hand through it too many times. But his mouth twitched a little when your fingers grazed his, almost like he was biting back another smart remark. 

You didn’t press, and just slid the key into the lock. The door creaked open to a dim space. Warm, lived-in, but not messy. Just cluttered with his stacks of tools and parts sat neatly boxed near the wall. Jackets slung on a rack, one boot by the entrance, the other halfway under a bench. The faint scent of his metallic cologne that grew familiar to you, worn leather, and that burst of floral from his tulip-scented air freshener lingered in the air.

Kidd stepped in first with a grunt, toeing off his boots and wobbling slightly before you reached out to steady his elbow. He didn’t resist it this time. Maybe he was too tired, or maybe just letting you in a little. He headed first to his couch, sinking on the black leather and letting out a sigh when he felt his body cushioned.

“I’ll grab you a change of clothes,” you murmured, already heading toward what looked like the bedroom.

“‘S fine, I can get ‘em myself.” he called out behind you, voice hoarse as he collapsed onto the worn couch. 

“Stay, Eustass.” You didn’t look back and turned to one door ajar, one where you caught sight of his bed from the small space left by the door. Kidd didn’t fight it, gave in and felt sleep lulling him closer with his body melting on the couch. He just mumbled something incoherent and let his head hang as you stepped away.

His room felt nice, quieter, save for the loud band posters and pop arts attached on his wall as you let your eyes roam. His cologne was stronger here, not the kind that got you coughing—but the kind that settled comfortably deep in your nerves. The room wasn’t decorated in any curated way, but the pieces stood out where they were placed with thought, not style. An old rugby jersey framed up on one wall with his surname in bold capitals practically yelling at you, two trophies half-hidden behind a dusty model of a custom bike that he seemed to have made himself, a folded mechanic’s jumpsuit slung over his swivel chair. Your eyes soon darted across the photos on the edge of a corkboard—Kidd as a teenager, grinning with a chipped tooth and black eye, standing with his arm slung around a lanky teammate as he looked immeasurably bigger than the rest his age. Another of him in a family crowd, all loud red hair and loud red cheeks. You cracked a soft smile to yourself, endeared at the sight. Then pulled open his top drawer where all the bits of himself were displayed atop.

A few folded shirts neatly in a surprising manner. One still with a faint scent of detergent. You grabbed a cotton shirt and a pair of sweats before turning to go, quietly closing the drawer before stepping out.

“So you played rugby back in college?” The first thing you did when you returned was pry, holding out the clothes and sitting on the coffee table so you could face him. 

Kidd grumbled from the couch, opening one eye slightly. “Flanker. Blindside.” He took the clothes from your hand but didn’t bother moving to put them on just yet, he just placed the clothes on top of his chest as he covered his eyes with his arm.  

“Flanker?” You echoed, clearly unfamiliar with the term. That got one corner of his mouth to twitch up, amused.

“We’re the bastards who're always in the thick of it. Slam first in every ruck, chasin’ loose balls, and knockin’ the breath outta whoever’s holdin it.” He rasped, voice hoarse from the flu but still cocky. It was refreshing to see him zapped with a little bit of energy, away from his sulking behavior earlier. You could tell that this rugby thing is a big part of him—you knew that the moment his jersey, photos, and trophies were still well-kept in his room. 

“Of course, you’d have the most flashy position.” You tilted your head in amusement, keenly watching his smile widening as he tried to hide it. “You want help getting changed or are you gonna start coughing dramatically until I offer?”

That earned a lazy smirk, one fast enough for you to notice for him to hide it. “Depends how soft you’re feelin’ tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, “up now. Come on.” You tugged at his shirt, hitting his arm lightly when he refused to move. “I know you want to be taken care of.” 

Kidd acted bedgrudged sitting up, as if it was against his will even when it’s most definitely going the way he wants to. You reached over to place your hands on the hem of his shirt, one hand on each side as you pulled it over his head. You and him both know well enough that he can do it himself, but both of you insisted anyway. You two love the intimacy, the contact, the rhythm your hearts beat. 

You soon fetched a towel, wiping off the cold sweat on his chest and flanks, keeping your focus as you did your hardest not to get distracted by his insanely toned physique. Kidd knew, he knew that you were fighting tooth and nail just to continue drying his body off. So he placed one hand over yours, guiding you deeper down his abdomen. It had sweat, yes. But you knew he was doing it on purpose. Ah, this bastard. He’s lucky you’ve got to make amends, otherwise you’d make him do this yourself.

“You’re enjoying this way too much, huh?”
“Gotta make sure you get all of ‘em. Don’t wanna sweat over the new shirt.” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck just to flex his biceps. 

You moved over to his shoulders, sitting next to him as you worked your way down the span of his sinewy back. His skin was fever-warm beneath the towel, breathing even but slow, and you could feel the tension in his muscles. Maybe from the flu, or maybe from you being this close and intimate with him as he sat half-naked in his living room.

“You takin’ your time in there?” He tilted his head towards you, voice quieter yet that hint of teasing still there.

You scoffed, towel grazing down harder than your initial gentle pace. “You’re very sweaty, that’s not on me.”

“Mmm, right.” He nodded, obviously keeping his laughter from the way his back thundered. You then tossed the folded clothes on his pants or lap, discarding the towel on the backrest of the sofa. 

“Do that yourself.”

He raised a brow at you, refusing to accept the clothes on his lap. “Oh, so that’s where the nurse act ends?”

“If you can still flirt, you can still move.” You shot back, turning on your heel and not looking back when you knew you he’s very much pouting. “I’ll get some broth fixed up, you need food before you take your meds.”

As you sauntered towards the kitchen, one that had another room connected to his dining area but you still had a view of Kidd on his couch, you heard the shuffle of clothes to tell you that he’s already dressing up. There were some grunts, as if pulling over a shirt took monumental effort. Then you stepped into the kitchen and cracked open the fridge. Then you froze.

“...Kidd.” No answer.

You squinted, squatting down to clearly see the nooks and crannies of his fridge. Three brands of beers in cans and glass bottles. Chili paste that was already three-fourths consumed in a color that is slightly different from red. Half a carrot sadly sitting on one corner. A half consumed bag of spinach turned into a mystery soup at the bottom drawer.

“Kidd,” you called louder, voice coming deep in your chest.

“What?” He croaked back, unmoving from his comfort on the couch. Nestled deep in the blanket you handed him, one you fetched in his closet along with his clothes.

“Your fridge looks like fresh hell.” A snort came in after your statement.

“‘S not that bad.” You let out a huff of disbelief, ready to list out everything wrong with his fridge.

“Half of your greens are trying to start a new ecosystem.”

“Still edible, you’re exaggeratin’.”

With a sigh, you opened the freezer and let out an exhausted gratitude to the gods when you spotted neatly packed meat—good cuts too, frozen but not ancient. You took out one of the thinner steaks before checking his pantry—a.k.a. the cabinets above his fridge. There you found beef stock, ginger, garlic, onions, and some seasonings that are already on their last breath. You also decided to fetch the half-used bag of rice, something to keep him full as you thought to yourself.    

You rolled your sleeves up, tying your hair before washing your hands. Starting with the rice, you washed them before flicking the rice cooker on. You soon got to chopping the greens, ginger, and garlic first before the meat, the knife thudding against Kidd’s chopping board caught his attention. He watched you pour the beef stock he was saving for something he now forgot as he looked back and tried to remember. Soon, you dunked the ingredients you chopped up before seasoning it.

“I could get used to this, bonnie.” He mumbled, your cheeks warming up either from the broth you were busy stirring or the statement Kidd made. 

You didn’t answer right away, too focused on skimming off the foam from the surface of the broth. “Flattery won’t make the broth cook faster. Just a little more and you’ll have it.”

“I mean it,” Kidd added, voice low and rough from his cold. “Someone fussin’ over me, makin’ me soup, makin’ a mess in my kitchen.”

That made your heart stutter, almost making you space out and forget that it’s already done. “Someone’s gotta take care of you, I don’t mind volunteering.” You didn’t spare him a glance as you fetched two bowls to scoop some broth and rice, because you knew you would be too flustered to hold eye contact. “Come on, eat up.” You then placed the two bowls on the dining table, returning to the kitchen to grab him a pitcher of water and a glass. 

You saw him weakly making his way to the dining room, still clutching his blanket around his shoulders. You didn’t second guess holding out the spoon and bringing it up to his mouth after blowing on it subtly because it was still steaming. Kidd, with the most evident blush on his cheeks, leaned in as his lips parted to receive the food. While you kept your eyes trained on the spoon, focused on not spilling it on him, Kidd didn’t look away. He didn’t blink, not even when he hummed at the taste and chewed on the meat bits.

“Not bad, bonnie. Bit strong on the ginger though.” He caught the faintest red that tinted your cheeks from his remark.

“You’re lucky I didn’t throw in the whole root.” You say that but you scooped up some more of the broth, making sure to get in the greens and meat bits. And there Kidd was—watching you with a slight smile, ready for the next bite. “The ginger helps clear your sinuses, always works with the flu.”

Even though Kidd was perfectly able, he still let you feed him. Humming afterward from your remark and from the broth slowly making him feel better. Rice soon followed suit, the broth helping him swallow it better. “I’m really out ‘ere gettin’ princess treatment, aye? ‘m not complainin’ though.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest, and instead poured him a glass. “You’re only getting this treatment because you’re sick.”

He smirked, faintly because he barely had any strength behind it, he had just enough to annoy you entirely though. “Not so bad gettin’ sick then, matter of fact I better stay sick.”

You sighed, placing the spoon down. “If you think I’m only around because you’re sick, that’s not true.”

For a moment, Kidd realized that the air changed as it became charged. He noticed your change in demeanor, how you swallowed hardly and how your eyes were starting to get glassy. But you maintained your front, face still unmoving and earnest. “So get better, because I’ll stick around longer than that.” You brought the spoon up again, scooping up rice this time.

Kidd was quiet for a while, save for his eyes louder than his mouth as he watched you feed him. He noticed how you try to bite the inside of your cheek and cleared your throat every now and then to maybe not suffocate in the silence. So when he finished the bowls and the pitcher of water you gave him, burping every now and then, and had already taken the meds for his flu—he was quick to stop you from standing up and leaving to the kitchen with an excuse to wash the dishes. 

“Dishes can wait.” He tugged at your wrist, “help me sleep, my headache’s actually killin’ me.” 

“The meds will kick in, just give it a minute.”

“Just... don’t wanna be alone right now. Just sit with me.”

You didn’t argue, not when he looked ready to pass out standing. “Couch will be warmer, lie down now. Come on.” He flopped down on the couch like gravity was working twice as hard on him today, dragging the blanket with him

“Move over.” You sighed, settling in and he soon followed after. “I’ll sit with you for a while just until you fall asleep.” You muttered as you joined him, your tone gruff but your touch careful as you guided the blanket back around him.

Kidd grumbled as a response, shifting and leaning heavily into your side. And then, with the subtlety of a man who absolutely knew what he was doing, he let his head drop gently to your lap. You didn’t say anything, maybe you’re granting his wish just because he’s sick or you’re making amends or maybe because you also like the warmth that this position brought. When your fingers thread naturally against his hair, massaging his scalp as you brush strands away from sticking on his face. You revel on how Kidd visibly melted on your touch, leaning closer to your stomach and humming as he settled comfortably. 

“You’re really making the most out of this, huh?” 

“Helps me sleep.” 

You chuckled, shaking your head. You can’t believe you’re subjecting yourself to this, so much so that you like it too. “You know,” you sucked in your teeth. “I never really got to answer your question three days ago.” 

“Hm?” 

“I kept thinking about it. About why I didn’t say anything right away.” You wet your lips, voice barely above a murmur as your hands stilled against his locks. “How I was much of a coward trying to beat around the bush when I can just tell you how I feel.”

He was quiet, waiting. Hearing you laugh nervously as you fisted the blanket above him.

You looked down at him, at the way his jaw relaxed slightly, at the faint line on his brow that always stayed there even in sleep. “I make things harder than they should be, I know. But I like being around you, Kidd.”

You blinked down at him, fingers still entangled through his red hair. Maybe to try and alleviate the anxiety coursing through you. “You’re someone I ended up… caring about. A lot. And I didn’t expect that from someone who’s always been my headache since day one.” A chuckle was elicited out of the two of you with that last bit. “I didn’t plan on it, but it’s there. And I like it being there, I’d like you to keep being there.”

He stared at you, unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, he turned his head just enough to press his cheek into your lap. His voice came rough, low. “You mean that, bonnie?”

“I do.” For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just closed his eyes, like he was letting your words sink deep into the sore parts of him that hadn’t known comfort in a while. Then he exhaled, the breath shaky in a way that wasn’t from the cold anymore.

Kidd remained silent on your lap, as he let you massage his scalp, your nails digging was actually soothing the throbs of his migraine. “Thought I was just imaginin’ it,” he murmured, cheek still pressed to your lap. “Y’never said anythin’, but you always showed it. In your own prickly way.”

A silent laugh left you, further studying the way Kidd looks peaceful under your grasp. He looked a lot better than when you first saw him wasting away in his office, the color returned to his lips and cheeks and the knot between his brows appeared softer but is still ever present. “And that’s my mistake. I didn’t take into account that you'll catch the flu if we went radio silent for three days.”

Kidd huffed, eyes still closed. “Yeah, well. Near fuckin’ died.”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes, fingers trailing through the tangle of his hair with more fondness than irritation. “I know you stayed in that office so I can come and get you. You think you’re being slick.”

“I’m needy,” he corrected, peeking up at you with lidded eyes and the most pathetic pout you’ve seen from him yet. “And sick. And emotionally vulnerable. Take pity on me, bonnie.”

You chuckled through your nose, mumbling a ‘bastard’ to him but the intent was way different than the malice the insult carried. “But for the record, Law swings the other way.”

Kidd almost shot up from your lap, “yeah. He already has someone. So I had no idea why you didn’t catch on to that.”

“Wait— what?” He squinted, trying to recall any flags that point to your claim when he saw Law back at your office looking real comfy with you.

“You didn’t notice the ring on his finger?”

“Nuh-uh, when I saw you bent over that table reachin’ for him I was goin’ nuts.” He muttered, grumbling as he replayed the scene over in his head.

“You didn’t tell me about Bonney either,” you shot back, like he wronged you too. “Thought you called everyone ‘bonnie’.”

“Does it bother you if I do?” He smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. Like he isn’t even sick anymore and the sight of you getting jealous was all he needed to get better.

“Gives me the idea you’re playing me.” He caught that subtle pout you did.

“Nae, nae. Not at all, bonnie.” He nuzzled his nose deeper in your stomach, hands brought up to hold your wrist. “If I was, we wouldn’t get past coffee, believe me.” He chuckled, opening his eyes now. “Bonnie’s gay, by the way.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “She’s liked girls since before I even knew how engines worked.” He peeked up at you, amused. “Told me herself she thinks you’re hot when I showed her the photo strip.”

You blinked. “She—what?”

“Oh, now you’re flustered,” he grinned, cheek still pressed to your thigh. “It’s adorable you don’t realize how hot you are.” 

You didn’t answer. You only leaned your head down the headrest of his couch, carding your fingers through the softness of his crimson locks, lulling him to sleep so he can stop making your stomach feel like a birthday party. Soon after, your eyes flutter shut. Because finally, you can have some peace. No questions clawing at your chest, no doubt gnawing at the edges of your mind—because it was finally clear to you. It was finally time to get your head out of your ass.

Chapter Text

The two shiny vinyl tickets sat on one of your hands while the other had your phone, both sitting stagnantly and waiting for you to make up your damn mind about something so simple—as Law had phrased it. But it was in fact, not fucking simple. While you already had your feelings sorted out, the night a couple of weeks ago when you finally got your head out of your ass had already clarified that you two are more than something . But whatever your demons were screaming at you for, would be a big turning point that you’re not sure you’re prepared for. 

Sitting in your hand were two tickets reading out ‘A Winter Escape for Two in the Cairngorms: Celebrate Love in the Heart of Winter!’ screaming at you with its bright, sparkly letters in pink. It obnoxiously represented the upcoming holiday with its tacky, glowing cursive that had hearts for dots and glitter embossed on every edge. The fireworks screamed in the background, picturing the cozy log hotel in the middle of a forest covered in thick snow. Three-fourths of the rectangle vinyl card was adorned with little cherubs firing golden arrows across the card, margining it like confetti—a kind of gift you give for newlyweds, or couples celebrating a ten-year anniversary. The promo featured an indoor thermal spa with a view of the snow-drenched mountains, a skiing trail and a heart-shaped sleigh by the sunset, 90-minute in-house couple massage, a five-course dinner with a string quartet at a fancy ass dining area, and a complimentary breakfast-in-bed on the morning of checkout. Yeah, absolutely not. Whatever you two Kidd were, this package was definitely not for an emotionally-stunted attorney who has got her tail in between her legs about how to ask her maybe-boyfriend if they’re dating.

You stared at the pieces of paper like it had personally offended you, that these tickets were the prize that landed on you and not that breadmaker you were eyeing. Well it had, it was a punch to the gut—like it was ordering you to finally do something about that shit stuck in your throat. That night where you spent the night in his apartment because he was sick and wouldn’t let you go, fingers intertwined as you shared blankets and nestled in his arms. The kiss you two shared in your kitchen with your hands being half damp and partly lathered with soap. And the other past dates he took you on always ended the same way as that previous memory, a kiss he drags out enough for you to want for more under your dimly lit doorway.

Yes, you two have gone on several dates. More than you could count—once every week. Sometimes if your schedule permits it, it would even be twice or thrice. Kidd had taken you to all sorts of places around town, whichever adventure it may be. Skateparks with cracked pavements and loud teenagers you absolutely schooled with your fifteen years of experience, rowdy rugby games he had made multiple mates with by just yelling, arcades where you’d always go toe-to-toe with him and rile up a competition between both of you, and movie theaters where he’d always find the best spot farthest from the noisy children. You even spent Christmas and Hogmanay (New Year) with him. Former was more of you and him thing—a gift exchange, dinner you two cooked, it was the first time he spent the night. Latter was a celebration with his mates back at the shop—set off fireworks from his shop because it was a tradition, had barbecue and beer until dawn, and shared a kiss under the lights painting the sky. Through it all, he’d always have an arm around you, never leaving your waist or shoulders. Always having a point of contact with you, a source of warmth.

Whether it may be video calls when you two had no energy bantering because of a long day at work yet seeing each other was enough, overnight texting about random memes on a humor he had quite literally imposed on you, meandering phone calls during short work breaks, or when he’d just show up in your doorstep and you two will eat whatever meals or drinks he brought. Hell, you two are practically dating already. In half a year, you two had made something official enough to let the people around either of you be aware of, yet still pretty vague that you couldn’t put a name on it. Because Kidd was a man of many things, but he always went a mile higher than what a usual suitor does. And it got you thinking that maybe this time, what if you were the one to do something different. After all, it was two days away from Valentine’s.

‘Pick me up later. I clock out early at six.’

Not even a whole minute in, Kidd was already typing and it made you anxious. It made your stomach twist even though he was always like this. He was a man who replies surprisingly fast, which was a misconception when you first met him. Seeing that this man couldn’t even accomplish a report or submit a permit even with a three-day grace period. Maybe the weight of breaking a proposal has weighed in on you.

‘Oh? Where we eating?’

A silent smile tugged at your lips, your subtle laugh escaping from your nose as you picked up your phone again. Yet the fuzzy feeling stayed in your chest. Usually, when you get off early, you two would eat out. It would be new places each time, it was something to look forward to.

‘Wherever. Anyways, I’ve got something to tell you.’

Kidd took longer than usual to reply that you actually went back to work. Because he was in fact, overthinking it. The silence stretched and his thumb hovered over the keyboard, eyes darting around the screen to attempt and search some clues on your previous texts. And he recalled if he ever did something wrong, maybe pissed you off a little too far. Was it the billiards where he nudged the table leg so one of your balls wouldn’t make it? That was friendly competition, though. Or was it that he took the last few meat slabs of pork belly in the ramen shop and did not leave you any more? For the record, you said you didn’t want any. Was that a trick response?

The long silence made you laugh once more. Imagining the face he was already making.

‘Don’t overthink it, idiot. Look forward to it.’

Eventually, Kidd replied with a smirking emoji so you figured he was already fine. By the time the clock struck six, the office floor was nearly empty. Office hours are becoming shorter because snow is getting thicker. You stepped out the front doors bundled in your coat, arms crossed from the cold as the wind bit at your cheeks. In the distance of the parking lot, you saw Kidd with his helmet sitting on the engine bundled up on a layered hoodie. You saw him raise his visor and blink his bike lights even though he already has your attention.

“Spill.” He greeted, taking your bag and placing it on the rear rack of his bike then fishing out your helmet initially stored there.

“You’re dying to know, huh?” You said with a smile, taking the helmet from him but you instead hooked it under your wrist. Still not wearing it for the proposal you’re about to do.

“All fuckin’ afternoon, bonnie.” 

A chuckle left you, smoke escaping from your mouth at the exhale you did. You stalled at first, looking down at the helmet then at him who had his brows slightly raised trying to play off his burning curiosity with nonchalance.

“There was uh- a raffle at the firm.” You cleared your throat, casual amidst the rapidness of your heart. “I won two tickets, all expenses paid.”

Kidd’s anxious gaze flicked between you and the helmet, waiting. “To?”

You pulled out the glossy passes nestled in your coat pocket, handing them over.

“‘A winter escape for two’? Cairngorms? Highlands, aye?” He read out in a question. 

“Mhm. From that famous log hotel, fireplace, massages, dinner and breakfast, killer view—fancy romantic shit like that.”

“You askin’ me out, bonnie?” Oh, it pissed you off. You anticipated his reaction, his crooked grin evident even if you could only see his crinkled, amber eyes from the helmet. “Tryna be my Valentine, huh?”

“Sure.” You played it off as nonchalance, crossing your arms not from the cold but from somewhat caging your heart in to avoid it from escaping with how fast it was beating. But Kidd could see that you were smiling just as wide as he was.

“All those romantic stuff and it’s just the two of us alone, aye?” Kidd shot back, now stepping in your space with a wolfish grin. You knew exactly what he was talking about, but you still won’t fold, not right now.

“Why? You don’t want to?”

“Nae, it’s bloody perfect, bonnie. Almost like it’s fate you won this thing.” He waved the tickets at you. “The fact that the first thing you thought of was me got me pukin’ rainbows and shit.” 

You hit his shoulder playfully, “if I had asked anyone else I’d lose my coffees.” You riled him up, purposefully eliciting an eye roll from him. Yet you know a smile was underneath that helmet. 

The drive towards Cairngorms was loud, never had a dull moment when Kidd was your passenger princess. Kidd was quick to steal the AUX to blast his heavy metal while you two breeze through the thick snow and traffic. Travelling during the day of Valentine’s was never a good idea,  good thing you dragged Kidd out of his apartment before the sun rose today. 

Your and his baggages were already in your trunk—it was a unanimous decision to pack light because this was just a two day trip, after the day after Valentine’s, you two will be on your way. Kidd ought to not bring his bike because with the intense weather, it sure as hell will be buried in snow and he’d hate to clean that. 

You drove and were bundled up in layers of thick clothes. The scent of lukewarm coffee in hazelnut and sticky sweet from the scones you shared earlier still clung to the air. One where he was feeding you as you turned the sharp curves of the mountainous road. He’d have one hand holding the scone up while the other was next to your chin, scooping up any crumbled scones when you bite into one as you keep your eyes on the road. He was soon making fun of you as a messy eater.

The heater hummed low, warming the cramped interior of your car as you sat in winter traffic, snowflakes dotting the windshield like static. Kidd’s thigh pressed against yours, his frame too large for your driver’s seat, grumbling like a tiger in a cage. Here you are, stuck in the last stoplight that was headed straight to the hotel your Valentine’s awaits, singing to BVB that had somehow got stuck in your brain too like an unending loop.

“Oh? You’re vibin’ to it?” Kidd caught the faintest bob of your head and rhythmic taps of your nails on the wheel as the clock hurried to thirty more seconds. 

“It’s been on loop since we passed Red Line Highway and we’re approaching its end, do you expect me to be deaf and not hear it?” You tried shutting him down, even though the noisy music that never had a quiet millisecond or even a subtle beat drop had nestled its way to the sulci of your brain. Much like how this grease monkey you never thought you’d be spending Valentine’s with was now sitting next to you in your car, and somehow managed to find a place for himself in the chambers of your heart. It was something your past self would laugh at if you ever told her that you’d be hitting it off with the very headache that had you breezing through essential oils.

“Say all that all you want, bonnie. I’d know a metalhead when I see one.” He shifted in his seat, ass hurting from staying in a position too long because he was too tall for your car. Seconds passed and Kidd stared at you a beat too long, like he was observing when a bulb lit up over his head.

“Something wrong?” You gazed at him, brows raised as you felt him linger a little too long. “Not a metalhead, by the way.” You clarified with a sheepish grin.

“Nae, not that.” He shook his head, sitting properly this time. “It got me thinkin’ what kinda music gets you goin’. I know you’re lovin’ my taste but, I’m curious to see what’s yours.” 

You snorted, just thinking about telling him would be an absolute fever dream. “You’d make fun of me.”

Kidd had somehow caught your smile and is already grinning himself with how you try to hide your reluctance. “The fuck’s that s’posed to mean? Out with it, bonnie.” He nudged your elbow a little, the contact making you giddy. 

“...it’s Classical. Orchestral kind.” 

Kidd blinked. “Like, dead composer classical?”

“Like full strings and drums, not just pianos. Wagner, Saint-Saëns, Tchaikovsky.” You were already laughing, half-cringing. “Go ahead, say it.”

But he didn’t. He just leaned his head back against the headrest and gave you a look something not of mocking, not smug. Just thoughtful, like he expected it but was still surprised at how well it fits you.

“So heavy metal but symphonic , huh?”

You turned to him, laughing. “Could be? You’ve heard Tchaikovsky before? Think that’d suit you.” 

Kidd snorted, but didn’t argue. “Not by name, but I bet I’ve heard it in movies or some shite.” He drummed his fingers on his thigh absentmindedly. “Sounds like the type they’d play before a boss battle. Loud, dramatic, all-out war.”

You grinned. “Exactly. 1812 Overture has an actual cannon fire in it.”

That made him pause. He looked at you with new amusement, eyes narrowing a little. “You’re tellin’ me your dainty, lawyer-arse listens to songs with cannon fire in it?” He said with a little emphasis on the subject. 

“It helps me focus. Fills the silence in my brain or something.” You shrugged. “You know what? Queue it.” 

Traffic moved again, but slowly. The snow-covered roads ahead glowed under the bright afternoon. You shifted the gear and stepped on the accelerator as the light turned green, tires crunching over the packed snow. 

Kidd held up your phone, skimming through your playlists with a skeptical look on his face as he stumbled upon your Classical playlist. “A hundred twenty songs? You’re startin’ to scare me, bonnie. ‘S like you ain’t from this time or somethin’.”

That earned a laugh from you even though it wasn’t even funny. But well, maybe it’s the person that made you laugh and the feeling they evoke from you, not the joke per se. Which was happening more often that you didn’t even bother trying to hide it anymore. And Kidd had always caught it, always.

The hush of strings slipped into the car like a held breath. Like it introduced the silence Kidd’s music was lacking and either of you needed it. To have that moment to realize that with a few more yards, thanks to the traffic delaying it, the hotel wrapped in snow, tucked deep in pine trees will be a deciding moment for the thing you two have. Then came the first drumbeat of the overture. Low and firm, like a steady pulse. Then the strings again, rising, tightening, like a breath pulled sharp. It was slow, was terrifying, and warm all at once. 

Kidd later shifted beside you, reaching over and moving without a word. He reached to adjust your scarf, you didn’t realize how loose it became just until he fixed it up tight around your neck and you had felt the cold shoot up your spine. He moved deliberately, not rough nor was he rushing. Almost as if one with the beat that slowly built up to the chaos of the piece. 

“You’re shiverin’.” He muttered, turning up the heater then the music. You hadn’t flinched ever since he also adjusted your turtleneck, cold fingers touching your nape. You let it happen but you were a flurry inside, squirming as you bit the inside of this cheek. “Song’s got you a little too absentminded, huh?” You hear the smile in his tone and it rubs off on you. This was happening way more often than you’d like. 

Yet his hand stayed, tracing the column of your neck over the fabric as he watched your expression. At this point, you’ve warmed up damn nearly enough. Then his fingers combed through your strands, almost as if playing with them with the pads of his fingers, taking out the snow that got stuck in between or just running his hand through it. 

“Something like that.” You gulped almost too audibly, eyes darting left and right as you turned on your blinker and shifted a corner. 

“I like it.” He broke out, and you had to look at him with your eyes lit up as a smile tickled your cheeks. 

“You do? You heard the cannons, right?” With almost an exciting inquiry in your eyes, you turned to him then back at the road so you two wouldn’t crash. A display of surreal joy that Kidd got to witness this close as he sat next to you. That Kidd had to blink to see if this was real, not even hearing your question properly. Because it had all dawned on him the same moment the piece reached its fast climax.

What he most definitely heard was your voice, that gleam in your eye, how your cheeks puffed up and was reddened from the cold. As the overture swelled to its dizzying peak with the chorus of its canons screaming into a storm, it made his chest tighten. Maybe it sounded like deciding fireworks, as he realized how special his days now are going to be. 

It made him realize that he was lucky, just with the sight of you trying to mumble to yourself the street signs as you contemplate if you would be making a turn here. He couldn’t find it in him to answer right away, not when he’s busy memorizing this moment right as the overture reaches its maddening, triumphant crescendo again with its cannons screaming into a glorious mayhem. Yet it sounded like fireworks to him—akin to the one back at the carnival, to the jazz that played in your apartment when he kissed you, to the mellow roar of his engine each time he drops you off your place and you tiptoe for a kiss. Like a deciding moment going off in his chest when he watched your scarf unfurl again as you turned a street and the silent giggle you let out when you realized it.

“I heard ‘em.” He reached over when you finally hit the brakes, the cabin prettily sitting before your car as you placed it on park. His hands circling the scarf around your neck again and fixing the beanie on your head so it fits you perfectly, as all things about you are. Then he leaned back slightly, gaze lingering with a soft smile tugged at the edge of his red lips. “Didn’t see it coming though, kinda reminds me of someone I know.”

Your cheeks warmed up, watching him intently with a teasing quip forming on your lips because you know damn well he meant you. But then you realize it wasn’t one of his games where you two have a back and forth. Yet the way he looked at you made you forget how to say it. 

“Loud, brilliant,” he started, fingers travelling up to tuck strands of your hair covering the sides of your face. “Creeps up on you, knockin’ wind right outta your lungs.” You got the idea that he’s not talking about the piece anymore, which had already ended when Clair de Lune started playing. It made your neck warm and your palms clammy against your lap. Heat rose to your ears, closer to where his calloused hands lingered. 

Your heart was still being reeled in, not by the music, but by him. From the way his voice dropped, speaking a little quieter but that cocky rasp was still there. Amber eyes so gentle under the wintry sun casting shadows on his face, half-hidden by the collar of his thick windbreaker in red and black. You can still see some bits of snow nestled deep in his crimson locks like stardust as it sat disheveledly attractive atop his head. You were staring, realizing you still hadn’t come up with a retort yet. “Since when did you become poetic?”

“I am poetic. Just involves a helluva lot of curse words.” He tilted his head slightly, smile barely there.

“You’re so full of shit.” You said as a soft crooked smile tugged on your lips, quietly cutting the engine as you shook your head. You soon get out of the car, Kidd following after as you pop open the trunk. He insisted on carrying everything, looking like an absolute yeti as snow covered him and he looked even bigger while he lugged the baggages around. 

The snow crunched under your boots as you stepped forward, brushing it off on the ‘Welcome’ mat just outside the door. You glanced up at the lodge nestled between thick pine trees, its wood-and-stone exterior glowing under the soft, amber lights of dusk. Snow-frosted balconies, curling smoke from the distant chimneys, and windows lit warm enough to melt through the cold.

Kidd let out a low whistle beside you, bags slung lazily over his shoulder. “Ain’t this is a whole bloody ski palace.”

You pulled out the printout from your coat pocket. “They call it a ‘spa lodge’ on the brochure. Looks like they weren’t exaggerating.”

The front entrance had high vaulted ceilings, antler chandeliers, and the faint scent of pine drifting from somewhere down the hall. A nearby fireplace crackled as couples and families lounged near fur throws with steaming mugs of coffee and hot chocolate. You walked up to the reception desk—an elegant curve of polished oak manned by a neatly dressed concierge in burgundy uniform.

“Good afternoon,” they greeted you warmly. “Checking in for two?”

You handed over the tickets. “The tickets given for the raffle for the Valentine’s stay package—dinner, private spa, breakfast. All that.”

They typed briefly, then smiled. “Ah, yes. You’ve got the Valentine’s Highlander Suite. Includes a private hot tub, romantic dinner at the mezzanine, room service breakfast, and a couples’ massage booking for tomorrow at eleven.” They slid a sleek black keycard onto the counter along with two rose-pink spa bracelets. “Penthouse, topmost floor.”

Kidd leaned over your shoulder, muttering low enough for only you to hear, “Couples’ massage, huh?”

“Don’t get any ideas,” you murmured, though your smile betrayed you.

He grinned, brushing his hand against yours as you both made your way to the elevators at the far end. The hotel hallways were quiet, softened by thick carpeting and the occasional distant strains of classical music playing through overhead speakers. The room had a small golden plaque by the door engraved with The Highlander . Well, it was the only room on the twentieth so it wasn’t difficult to find.

Once inside, it was even better—vaulted pine ceilings, a velvet loveseat near a roaring fireplace, tall windows with views of the snowy ridges outside. A plush king-sized bed sat in the middle, wrapped in a red plaid duvet. 

Kidd set the bags down, gaze roaming across the space before landing on you. “Romantic as hell.” Kidd had already taken his jacket off, sleeves rolled, poking around the kitchen where three shelves of expensive alcohol lie.  

“You plan on cooking something while drunk?” You crossed your arms, leaning on the opulent pillar that parts the kitchen and the dining area. He does look like he’s about to cook from the way he scrutinized the fridge with a bourbon in his hand.

“It’ll only make cookin’ better, puts me in my element.” He took another sip from the bourbon he poured on one of the pilsner glasses he found lying around the rack. He grabbed two. “But I won’t.” He circled around the counter with the whole square bottle in his hand and the two glasses he fetched. Soon, Kidd plopped down the loveseat, moaning in relief as his frame sank on the mattress. “More interested in unwindin’ right now. You comin’ or what?”

You ought to join him, curling your feet inside your socks as he poured you a drink too. One that is less than his, but enough to warm your throat as you feel the sting of it line down your chest. “So, what do you wanna do while we wait for four hours for that fancy ass dinner?” You got settled in the couch, legs tucked under you as you draped a blanket above your lap.

“I’d like to enjoy bourbon with my Valentine. Quite the life, aye?” He shifted closer as he got comfortable under the massive, fleece blanket and then took another sip of his drink after. “Not so bad if we start sharin’ stories too. Kill time to know the real stuff.”

You eyed him curiously, head tilting as you licked the residual bourbon left on your lips. “Like what?”

“Like those offhanded stories you tell me when you see somethin’ that reminds you of the West, yeah? I wanna hear more about it, more about the shit you’ve been through.” He watched you look down on your glass, the liquor swirling amber in the bottom.

“I’m pretty boring and predictable.” You laughed sheepishly, meeting his eyes. “Are you sure you want to bore yourself with that?”

“Mm-mm, not a single borin’ thing ‘bout you, bonnie. Come on.” He shook his head, smirking as he remained steadfast in prying your walls open.

You looked through either of his golden eyes, almost forgetting every single thing about you before you chuckled and said the first, stupidest thing that came to your mind. “It was around Valentines’ too seventeen years ago, I was nine when I first committed a crime. I forged my mum’s signature so I could sign up for a mock court competition in the next town. Winner gets a free tour at Harvard.”

Kidd left out a soft laugh. “At nine? That ain’t stupid, that’s geniu—”

“It was a competition for twelfth graders. You know, the ones who are actually on their way to Harvard.” He stared at you before bursting into laughter, it was contagious because you started laughing too. It was hard to keep it in and pretend you weren’t already smiling at the boost of serotonin you gave to him. Or maybe you just remembered how stupid it was. 

“Did they find out?” Kidd tried to feign curiosity by asking an obvious and dumber question. He was still laughing in between his words. You hit him in the shoulder, a little more affectionate this time.

“I was the tiniest contestant who couldn’t even be seen because I was as tall as the podium.” Kidd belted into a more hysterical laughter, even throwing his head back as his laugh overpowered the soft jazz and fire crackles in the background. He was clearly way too amused at this.

“Alright, enough. It’s not even that funny.” 

“But it is.” He wiped the tears forming in the corners of his eye. So you rolled your eyes, nudged his knee, and told him it was his turn.

Kidd looked down at his drink, trying to focus on other things and get a hold of himself and not laugh again. “Aye, alright… I guess if we’re confessin’ dumb stories…” He stretched an arm over the back of the couch, behind you, grazing your shoulder as he shifted to face you. As you’ve noticed every time you’re with him, there’s always got to be a point of contact.

“When I was nine too, I took apart my neighbor’s lawnmower just ‘cause I wanted to know how it worked. Thought I could put it back together before they noticed.” He scratched his nose, grinning. “I didn’t.”

You laughed and the air was filled with giggles yet again, there was a lot of nudging and hitting and you watched the way his grin faltered into something more fond even if you were making fun of him. You weren’t even making fun of him, you were endeared because that was such a ‘Kidd thing’ to do. “Did you get in trouble?”

“Oh, aye. Whole street heard about it.” He nodded, snorting afterward. “But instead of gettin’ grounded, my pa dragged me into his garage and said, ‘If you’re gonna break shite, you better learn how to fix it too.’ Spent every day after school with him, tinkerin’.”

You smiled, propping your chin on your knuckles. Seriously invested in his story. “That’s how you started.”

He nodded, thumb rubbing circles on your thighs as you two had subconsciously entangled your legs when you two were running your mouths. “That’s how I knew I never wanted an office job. I liked knowin’ how things worked. Liked makin’ ‘em run again, even if they came in ruined.”

There was something in the way he said it, low and thoughtful, like he’d be ready to tell you about all the memories he had from day one. And he did. The bourbon smoothing out the usual roughness in his tone and dropping your guard even just for a little. You looked down at the way his fingers kept brushing your skin like it was second nature, calloused under the soft touch he’s giving you.

“You’re really sentimental when you’re buzzed.” You teased, nudging him lightly with your knee. Your grip on the glass tightening when he started squeezing the flesh of your thighs absentmindedly. It had probably been more than an hour now, two or three maybe. Between the slow sips of wine and the warmth of the fire licking shadows across his jaw, you’d both started swapping stories—how he got into fights as a teenager for dumb reasons, the shitty pub quiz night that ended with you vomiting on a judge’s shoes, and his early shop days when he nearly blew up a customer’s engine from wiring it backwards. Every tale came with teasing jabs, slurred laughter, and small pauses where his hand would slip a little higher on your thigh.

He scoffed. “Tch. Nah, that’s just the spa brochure talkin’. You ever read that shit? ‘Reconnect with the one who holds your heart ’, the hell does that even mean?” He sipped on his mug once more, letting the bourbon settle longer in his tongue.

You giggled, the edge of your cup grazing your lip. “Sounds like you’ve been looking at it too long, you memorized it.”

“I read it out loud to Killer when I got back yesterday.” He deadpanned, then smirked when you laughed so hard you almost spilled your drink. “He told me to fuck off.”

That earned another round of laughter from both of you, closer now. Pressed side by side on the couch with his arm slung lazily behind you. Your cheeks were warm, either from the smell of bourbon from how close his mouth was when he spoke or that it was actually hitting you because you weren’t used to drinking liquor this strong.

“You gettin’ drunk?” He asked, almost teasing. Seeing how your glass was almost empty. 

“Maybe,” you whispered, breath skating across his skin. “Maybe not drunk enough. I can still have a couple more without fainting.”

Kidd chuckled under his breath, yanking the glass out of your hand and setting it on the coffee table along with his without taking his eyes off you. “Good. Then you won’t forget this.”

You blinked, and before you could ask what the fuck he means, his lips were already on yours. The bittersweet aftertaste of the bourbon became more evident when he had already used his tongue to play with yours. It was addicting, relieving, almost as if you were melting. Ironically enough in the thick snow that piled on the sides of the windows, you were the one on the brink of being a puddle. You smiled through the kiss, finally closing your eyes and letting him take the lead. The liquor and Kidd combined was already making you weak enough. 

And it didn’t get past Kidd so he made the most out of it. He elicited a squeal out of you when he carried you to sit on his lap, making things easier for the both of you. He slid your puffer jacket off so he could roam his hands across your torso, sliding his cold hands inside your knitted turtleneck. Your breath hitched against his lips. “Asshole,” you mumbled through the kiss, receiving a smile from him like it was motivation.

You never really think to mention it to him but you’ve realized it yourself that Kidd was a damn good kisser. You’ve got used to the metal ball dancing around your tongue when he becomes needy enough to let his tongue inside your mouth. It first unsettled you when it hit your teeth a couple of times the first time you two made out more than five minutes. And since then, Kidd has excellently, amidst his hasty kissing, avoided that habit.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair while your other hand was fisting his hoodie. You felt him grinning into the kiss, all cocky and pleased with himself as he had you fully in control even when you’re on top. He could notice how you tried to keep up with him as he had a firm grip on the base of your head—directing you where to angle your head, how to pace your lips, and guiding your hands so it lands closer to where his skin was. From the way his hands wander across your jeans to feel the shape of your thighs, down to your ankles and feet. How his fingertips grazed across your sides inside your sweater, cold against your warm skin, precarious against your bra as his hands slid further up. He felt you jolt at the contact, pulling away from you with his hands stopping halfway.

“K-Kidd—” You tugged at his shirt inside the hoodie, lips swollen and flushed when you two finally pulled away breathless. Aware at the position his hands are in.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” He whispered into your neck, voice ghosting against the column of it. His lips brushing against the skin where your pulse resides. He peppered kisses on your neck, making you look up so he could kiss deeper. “I mean it, bonnie.” He was gentle, soft, contrasting the way he held you under your sweater. Nails digging against your sides enough for you to feel it but not enough to leave a mark. At least, not yet.

Your pulse hammered under his lips as he traced under your throat at an unforgivingly slow pace. Your hands stuttered against his, practically shaking at the contact. “No, no. Continue. I just… God, my chest just feels like it’s about to explode.”

Kidd grinned against your collarbone, nose settling on the crook of your neck while he inhaled the perfume he always found himself always getting drunk over than any other liquor he had tried. “Got you too excited, hm? We can take it slow. It’d be bad if your heart can’t take it, ‘cause we’re just gettin’ started.” He tucked strands of hair behind your ear, foreheads pressed together as he keenly watched the insane red that painted your cheeks. He waited for you to catch your breath, for you to be one to lean over and kiss again.

But you didn’t kiss him, at least not right away. You didn’t like that he was the one getting the upper hand just because he caught you by surprise. So you acted like you were going to—hovering your lips inches from his, breathing hot against his lips as your fingers slid up at the back of his neck in a slow, teasing manner. You see him stutter, shiver, already trained to receive your lips but you won’t give it to him easily. No, not when he had you wrapped around his finger earlier. If there was one thing about your relationship, shit goes two ways. You were competitive and you wanted to challenge his pigheadedness.

“Don’t get too cocky.” Your voice came out softer than you expected, you saw the shift in his gaze. Something from pure arrogance to surprise to something more eager. “I only let you take the lead because the bourbon drove me nuts.”

“Aye, bonnie. Whatever you say.” 

Then you kissed him, pace a bit too fast. Your tongue sliding over his bottom lip, teeth grazing it hard enough to make him groan into your open mouth. One hand gripped his jaw to keep him there while you took his breath away like it’s the only thing keeping you alive. And he let you, arms loose around your waist because he was going limp at seeing you starved.

Your knees braced against his thighs as you started rolling your hips. The friction earned a low curse from his chest, grip on you tightening as he swallowed. Clearly, the tent in his boxers had a life of its own from what you just did. He tried to pull back to speak, maybe warn you about the behemoth moving beneath you, but you chased his mouth, capturing it with ease as you talked against it. “No talking. Unless you’re begging perhaps?”

“Fuck, bonnie.” He muttered, voice dropping an octave as you caught that hazy look in his eyes. Half-lidded with his lips swollen, lipstick smeared across the corner and to the top of his lip as you see him physically restrain himself from doing something that will lead to another. “It’s just four and you’re already rilin’ me up?”

“You’re complaining?” You tilted your head, lips pursing into a pout. Your hands soon work their way to sneak under his hoodie, feeling the defined lines of his stomach with your fingers trailing dangerously low.

“Nae. Not when you’re this fuckin’ excited gettin’ my clothes off me.”

His breath hitched, a soft groan vibrating through his chest as your nails skimmed just above his waistband after your fingers explored his toned abdomen, teasing, cruel. The way he looked up at you then with his drunk amber eyes, lips parted, jaw flexing like he was hanging by a thread. It was enough to make you forget whatever plans you had for the day because it took the entire afternoon of making out and talking and making out again before the intercom sang.

Ding!

The polite chime of the hotel’s in-room tablet lit up, followed by a soft voice from the intercom, “Good evening. This is a gentle reminder that your five-course dinner with our Valentine’s string quartet at the Scarlet Hearth Room will begin in thirty minutes. Please make your way to the mezzanine dining wing at your convenience.”

You froze mid-motion, blinking.

Kidd groaned, this time in pure frustration as he dropped his head against your shoulder. As if he wasn’t out of breath from making out too much, like his arm didn’t fall asleep when you two stayed in that position for two long. “Yer kiddin’.”

You burst into laughter, muffling it against his hair, trying to compose yourself as he squeezed your waist hard enough to make you jolt. “Five courses,” you reminded him, wiggling on top of him like a brat.

“Fuck those five courses,” he muttered, exasperated. “You’re already servin’ me somethin’ better.”

“Relax,” you spanned your hand across his taut chest, then brushed your thumb over his cheek before finally and reluctantly climbing off his lap. “We still have the hot tub to check out after. Let’s make the most out of this suite.”

He flopped back onto the couch dramatically, feeling empty now that your weight is off him. “It better be thick slabs of steak tartare shaped like a heart or I’m causin’ a scene.” You tossed a pillow at him before fixing your knitted sweater that he had willfully wrinkled, feeling his eyes follow you as you walked into the opulent bathroom to get ready. 

Eager was an understatement. Whatever Kidd felt, he expressed it through actions, like all things when it comes to him. Halfway through dinner, Kidd adjusted the entire table setup just so he could sit next to you and place his hand on your thigh instead of the original setup of being across you. He talked low, voice in that low octave that drives you insane. And his touch stuck to you like honey. One arm behind your chair, fingertips grazing your shoulder down to the bareness of your spine from your dress. You found yourself being as needy as he was too—you didn’t have to purposefully lower your volume so you could lean closer to make him hear better just so you could have a closer whiff at his cologne, but you did. And Kidd knows, that’s why he also acts like he didn’t hear you first just so you could lean in.

Appetizers came in first as the string quartet started their first piece. A large charcuterie board with cheeses you have only encountered today. Kidd particularly liked snacking on the gouda. He also requested whiskey instead of wine to be served, shameless really. But you liked that, always did.

“Bonnie,” he called out to you. Heart stopping each time you turn to look at him with that radiant glow of yours. “It’s only appetizers that are bein’ served yet you’re lookin’ at me like you can’t wait until after to do the shit you wanna do to me.” 

You almost choked on your prosciutto, “I think you got it wrong. You are the one who can’t keep it in the wraps. I should’ve covered up, because then you’d be looking at the food like it’s the meal, not me.” 

“Nae, I like this.” He reached over to plant a kiss on your shoulder, adjusting the strap that had fallen off when you bent down to pick up your purse that fell off the ground. “Can’t say I like how that damn waiter and cellist was eyeing you like a prize.”

“Oh, shut it. You see everyone as a threat. They’re looking at me fine.”

“They’re lookin’ like the moon came down just to sit across from me.” Kidd said it like it was a fact—not a compliment, not a flirtation, just truth . He leaned back into his chair, eyes trailing over you in a way that made your skin burn beneath the table. “And I’m sittin’ here tryin’ to not choke on the bloody risotto and salmon just because you’re lookin’ at me like that.”

You blinked at him, a little breath caught in your throat. “Like what?”

“Like you want me under the table.”

Your cheeks burned way hotter than you’d like. It was like you’re having a fever with the way your neck felt warm. “Behave, Eustass. Don’t accuse me of prurient acts when you’re the one who can’t keep your hands to yourself.” 

He let out a deep, amused hum, like you’d just proven his point. His leg brushed yours again under the table, slow and intentional. “I’m behavin’,” Kidd said, lifting his fork lazily. “You’d know if I wasn’t.”

You tried to focus on tearing your risotto apart yet Kidd didn’t even look at his plate. He just watched you, elbow on the table, the buttons on his silk dress shirt just begging to be opened, chin resting against his hand like you were more fascinating than anything else in the room. He’d take one bite, then stare again. Sip his whiskey, then stare again. Quiet, calculating, heat pooling in his eyes as you licked a stray bit of sauce from your lip without realizing.

By the time the main course came—a perfectly roasted lamb with some pretentious syrup on the side—you could feel him watching the way you cut your food, how your fingers wrapped around the glass to drink up and water down the lamb, how your shoulders moved when you leaned forward to murmur something in response to his earlier remarks about you geeking out about the quartet. He was quiet along with the melody of the quartet, but his desire was loud. His remarks were still snarky, still a back and forth between either of you, still flirty as he always got to be touching you. But you can feel him restraining himself, his touch felt like a ghost but you know he’s holding back hard. With the incessant way he licks his lips, biting it down to remind himself that he’s looking a little too hard and that his food is going cold.

“You know,” you said lowly, voice barely audible beneath the string quartet’s soft  strings. “Your food will go to waste if you don’t touch it.”

“You want it, bonnie? You can take it.” He moved over to hand the plate to you but you were quick to shake your head. 

“If we’re going to stay up all night, you’d want to keep your belly full, big guy.” You remarked before sipping your whiskey, not breaking eye contact over the glass. You saw Kidd visibly clench his jaw as he inhaled a deep breath, because he knew exactly what you meant. That whatever awaits the night will not end at midnight, that it’ll be exhausting for you two you’d wish you wouldn’t rush this evening.

By the time dessert came—a heart-shaped mousse cake, dressed with a sugared rose and tiny frosting florets—Kidd was damn near wrecked from the patience it took to sit still. He looked seconds from pushing the table aside and taking you right there with the napkin still folded on your lap. You scooped a little too hard into the mousse and a puff of frosting dolloped on the corner of your lip. Kidd watched you struggle and try to lick it off, but you just couldn’t get it.

“You sure you ain’t doing this shit on purpose?”
“What are you even on about?”

Kidd reached over, swiping his thumb on the corner of your mouth before sucking on the residual frosting all in one breath. You watched, frozen, as his tongue darted out to taste what he stole from you. And the way his jaw flexed, eyes never leaving yours. It was obscene, vulgar, enough to make you embarrassed because there were other people in here with you. “Frostin’ tastes better on you.”

You swallowed hard. Every inch of your skin is suddenly aware of itself. Kidd leaned back only slightly, but his voice dropped low again, darker, like gravel dragged through silk. “You keep testin’ me like this, I’ll end up makin’ a fuckin’ scene.”

You held your breath for a moment too long. The string quartet might’ve still been playing. The waitstaff might’ve still been circling. But none of it existed with the way he was looking at you now. Like you were meant to be had, savored, devoured like the last thing he’d ever eat. And you weren’t saved even if you were on your way towards the suite. 

“K-Kidd, s-someone might—” You melted at the way his hands dipped at the bottom of your spine, spanning over the thin line separating the bareness of your back and the fabric. His hands remained precarious along your rear, ghosting over it with the sheer thought of catering to his own desires and watching you be a mess over it. 

“The way to the penthouse will have a helluva lot of floors, no one’s comin’ now that we’re at the eighth. Relax.” He whispered low in your ear as you remained pressed on his chest. “Besides, I ain’t doin’ anythin’ yet, bonnie. Just holdin’ you real close.”

“You’re feeling me up and I’m fucking choking.” That elicited a laugh from him, but his grip only grew tighter. 

“Can you blame me? When you decided to slip on a dress showin’ half of what you’re always hidin’.” He bent down to place a kiss on your shoulder. You looked up at him, as the shadows cast on his face made the yellow in his eyes more prominent with that dangerous desire that gets your knees soft all of a sudden.  “With no one else in the elevator, it’s hard to behave.” 

“I’m serious, Kidd.” You said through gritted teeth. “Keep it in until we reach the goddamn suite.” But your hands weren't doing anything to stop him. Because deep inside, you like every bit of it. You like that he's tracing the dip of your spine and his breath is hot against your ear. You like that even if a family of three entered the elevator at floor thirteenth and the little girl was looking at you from behind, Kidd already had a hand on the curve of your ass, subtly squeezing it every now and then. 

It was not long before you reached the twentieth and Kidd had no choice but to let you go when you started walking first. He’ll let you go for now, you two’d end up the same way anyway. His boots threaded soon after you when you felt his presence behind you, almost pressing on your back but he still hadn’t closed the distance. Hands in his pockets as he waited for you to shuffle around your purse to find the keycard. “Y’got it, bonnie?” 

His voice had that same tone of teasing it always had, adding pressure to whatever heat was pooling deep in your stomach. Because he saw you struggling, and you know he’s smirking the hell out of it. “It’s dark.”

Kidd grabbed your purse away from you, holding it up to the light where his head almost reached the sconces. He plucked the keycard with ease, save for his fingers plowing through your lipstick, compact mirror, wallet, and phone. He handed it to you but there was a sharp, silent air that had you swallowing twice in a row. His fingers brushed yours, his touch searing hot on your skin. 

You slid the keycard and the door swung open with a soft click. Dimmed lights flickering from porchlights just outside the wide window cast an amber glow on your face. The living room after the hallway was illuminated by the chandelier hanging from the high-rise ceilings with the familiar loveseat sat as a centerpiece. The same loveseat where you two made out and got interrupted earlier. That thought alone made you gulp yet again, your skin prickling because you knew it was coming, since the damn elevator where he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

You soon hear the door shut after you, boots clicking closer when he reached the place you were standing. You felt the heat of him, could sense him standing still behind you with his barely there touches. Because as good as you are in keeping it together, Kidd wasn’t. He was thirsty, he was anticipating it. You kept your front, your composure, but you knew that Kidd sniffed the tension right out of you. You would have said something smug, something about him being eager and too obvious. But all that left your mouth was a shaky breath and your voice coming out a little lower than you expected. 

“I’ve been wanting to check out the hot tub for a while now.” 

You hated how lame that sounded, because you really want to have a go at the tub. You weren’t uncomfortable in the slightest, you were just tense . And you knew Kidd will make fun of you for it.

You were welcomed with the marble floors that were warm down your soles, pale gold fixtures glinting under amber sconces, and a panoramic window spanning an entire wall. The window gave a breathtaking view of the snowy mountains. In the center sat the tub built in decked cedar steaming gently with hints of pine and vanilla from hot tub essentials waiting on a polished, wooden tray. Next to the tub were velvet robes in red hung beside a towel warmer.

You half-expected a response from Kidd, but you deemed the tub a priority. You checked out the shit in the tub, sat two glass jars of hot tub-safe aromatherapy crystals in scents of shea butter and bergamot, a small bowl of rosemary sea salt scrub, a chilled bottle of rosé wine with two crystal flutes, and a covered dish of chocolate-covered fruits. You uncorked the jar of shea butter and brought it up to your nose to have a whiff of it.  

“You gonna stand there sniffin’ spa dust all day, or are we gettin’ in?”

Kidd leaned on the doorframe, shirt half unbuttoned from that needy makeout on the way up, already half in love with the idea of sinking in. You turned to face him, letting a few drops of shea butter crystals spill into your palm before you poured a handful into the steaming water. They melted on contact, releasing a soft, creamy scent that drifted up like a slow tease. “I’m appreciating the ambiance,” you replied airily, tossing a look over your shoulder. “Not my fault you’re always in a rush to get naked.”

He grinned, stepping fully inside the room, the warmth from the tub mingling with the heat radiating off his skin. “Rushin’ to get naked’s just the beginnin’.” Kidd murmured, voice low and thick with promise. He unbuttoned the rest of his shirt as he moved closer, hands tracing slow, teasing lines down your arm then to the small of your back where the knot that keeps your dress together resides. “It’s the part that comes after is what I’m excited about.”

Kidd kept your gaze while he unties the knot with such ease, one hand doing the job while the other crept up on the space between your shoulder blades so he could press you closer. You just tilted your head, locking your fingers behind his neck as the dress slipped off your skin and bunched up on the floor. “Always so impatient.” 

It took a lot of kissing and scuffling before you two got settled on the tub. Because Kidd was an eager man, that much you know of after several months of dating. He wasn’t the type to set the mood, to be slow and sensual. Because that man really doesn’t have an off switch. He kisses like you’re the air he needed to breathe. He was always hungry, like his hands didn’t know patience and his mouth couldn’t help itself.  It’s all completely intentional on his end, so it seems he was successful on such an overt approach. You two had opened the topic, Kidd was always commenting about how your ass looks good in those pencil skirts you own and how good you look on top of him and other dirty compliments that get you red. He was always forward with his intentions with you but never pushed it, he patiently waits until you fold. Even now, half-drenched and barely seated, he kissed you like he didn’t even notice that you two were half-submerged.

You were sat atop his lap, the water foaming from your waist down, fingers threading through his wet hair while yours stuck damply on your back. Momentary splashes of water when Kidd reached over to roam his calloused hands across your waist up to the expanse of your back to your arms locked behind his head. Foam painted his and your skin, slipping off every now and then when either of you moved. It would only take air to come between you.

“Right. You need to breathe.” Kidd chuckled, throwing his head back as he laughed while you place your hands across his taut chest, keen on not falling when his grip on you loosened.

“Can you relax? It’s just 10PM.” You rolled your eyes, all the while you also gasped for air.

“Ah, so you’re down doin’ this all night long? ‘Til our hands and feet wrinkle?” He grinned, nails digging on your hips submerged in the hot water.

“I’m saying,” you started, hands softly stroking his deltoids, then back up to the sides of his face. “You’ve got me all night. No need to rush.” 

Kidd smiled against your skin, breath coming out his nose, lips pressed on your jaw while his hands rode up and down your flanks. “Can’t help it when you’re so cozy on my lap, all naked just to get me goin’.”

Within seconds, your lips are back together again right where they belong. Kidd rolled your hips and you felt him throb beneath you, you didn’t make it obvious but from the way Kidd grinned and tugged at your lips, he’s aware. 

He began trailing his kisses down the column of your neck while you rubbed against him back and forth, the water subtly splashing with the movements. Kidd left marks—dark and purple, how he likes it. He nibbled on the skin after sucking on it, eyes half-lidded so he could see you claw at his arm while his teeth tugged at your skin. Kidd squeezed your waist with both of his sinewy arms while you create friction between your cunt and his length. As if anchoring you, telling you to keep doing it while he dragged his tongue down where your vocal chords reside. Vibrating against his tongue while you let out your moans. The metal ball cold against your skin when he reached your mounds. “Let me hear how good I make you feel, bonnie.”

Kidd squeezed your breasts together, smacking every now and then while he buried his face in between. He played with the bundle of nerves in the middle, sucking on the flesh around it while the metal ball on his tongue kept you mumbling out his name. You got used to the feel of his piercing, cold on his warm mouth as it grazes your tongue during wet kisses. And he knew how to use it. Kidd had to hold you in place because you squirmed so much when he rolled the metal ball around your nipples. He hollowed his cheeks, tugging on your breasts with his mouth as he looked at you. You with that begging in your eyes he only has the power to elicit. He lets one go with a pop then welcomes the other with his piercing as he takes a mouthful. He went on for a while, grunting and groaning against your breasts because other than the bliss you’re in, he gets absolute pleasure servicing you.

But the tide soon favored your end when you reached down for his length. Kidd grinned, shrugging to let you take the lead. A generosity he shows ever so often, curious how you’ll pleasure him. He lifted himself off the tub, just enough so he sat on the edge of the wood while you kneeled. It was hard around your grip and Kidd had a proud smile. As if telling you that this was your handiwork. Kidd held your chin on his hand, your face fitting in that huge grip he has, looking at you before teasing his length on the side of your face. His eyes held pride, arrogance, some sort of provocation asking— can you handle it? All in that quiet hubris he has. 

So you gave him exactly what he deserves. You started slow.

And you can see it from the way his grip on the edge became tighter that his knuckles turned white while you gave prompt, kitten licks on the tip. Your hands rested peacefully above your lap while you took your time licking every area you missed, spitting and coating the tip with your saliva. You knew his breath hitched from the way his chest stuttered, when you lick languidly along the edge but not really putting it in. He wants you to hold it, to take it all in and choke on it. But you took your time adjusting to his length—slowly, in a more controlled manner as opposed to the sloppy way he prefers it. When he reached over to touch you, maybe in hopes of controlling you—you glared at him. 

“Hands off. I do this my way or you don’t get one.”

You were unsure if Kidd was shocked, scared, or turned on. But from the way his cock twitched, you got your answer. Then you brought your hands up, finally wrapping your hands around it before taking him whole. Squeezing your eyes shut as you felt the tears come in.

“Fuck,” your name came after. 

Not bonnie, not sweetheart nor darling nor some Scottish pet name that he somehow wove into your name and it sounded fitting. Just your name rolling out his tongue when his cock reached so far down your throat. It sounded nice, and you were glad you heard more of it tonight. And when you looked up—he had his head thrown back, strings of curses in chorus with moans as he throbbed inside your mouth, his Adam’s moving up and down while he swallowed shakily, head thrown back with his neck littered with hickeys all beautifully done by you on full display, hands shaking because he wanted to touch you and hold you in place while you cry out the tears.

“So good. Keep goin’.”

There goes your name again. He looked down again and saw you let go, strings of saliva connecting your lips from the tip as it trailed down your chin. You coughed a little, wiping your mouth with the back of your palm. And it didn’t stop there, your hands worked in chorus with your mouth. Bobbing and pumping in a mercilessly slow pace. You may not have the metal ball like the ones on Kidd’s tongue, but he sure as hell was going nuts each time you let him reach the back of your throat. 

“That fast, Eustass?” You wiped your mouth once more after he shot ropes of his load down your throat. He looked away with the red in his ears and cheeks matching his hair.

As much as Kidd loves to be the one serviced, he wouldn’t pass on a dream he’d been having the first time he slept over. You were now bent down the flat edge while Kidd spreads you apart. 

Ever since you witnessed his piercing the third time you two met, that sinful thought had never left your mind like a splinter you couldn’t pull out. And while you had control over your thoughts, that is the constant pushing and shoving down of the dirty fantasy at the back of your mind, you’d be damned telling yourself that you’ll be experiencing that right now. Now, that same metal glinted below the waterline as he knelt, broad shoulders framed by steam, eyes locked onto your cunt like it was a challenge.

He dragged his tongue over you with the kind of hunger that made you flinch, took you by surprise as a moan left you. Hot and open-mouthed, nosing in deep like he’d been yearning for this. The metal of his piercing dragged over your clit, a cool flick of sensation that made your knees buckle—he chuckled low at that, steadying you with a bruising grip on your hips while his tongue does the work. The ridge of his nose buried deep inside your folds, his thumb pressing down the sensitive bundle of nerves while his tongue lubricated your folds more than it already was. 

You were shivering. Your thighs were shaking as he drank you up. You reached behind to tug at his hair, pushing his face deeper while you rubbed your heat up and down his face. Kidd hugged your thighs, growling every now and then because he was losing air but hell, he’s fine with it. He’s fine being suffocated by your cunt, if this was his last meal. He spread your folds apart with his index and thumb, spat on the middle, and dragged his tongue with his piercing cold on your heat just to slurp and drink you up. Your thighs shook in his hands again when he flattened his tongue, dragging slow over you just to prove he could be cruel about it. Lazy, knowing. The water rippled as he shifted, settling lower to press his face in deeper. And every time that piercing dragged across your clit again, it jolted through you like static, your hips twitching forward only to be reeled back in by his iron grip. 

“God, Kidd—” you gasped, fingers scrabbling uselessly against the edge. It was too much. Too much and not enough. You had embarrassingly dreamt of this when you two had made out more than thrice in a day, thought about it alone too many nights. But nothing in your imagination had prepared you for the way his mouth worked you up.

 He huffed a laugh against your cunt, mouth wet and chin dripping with your slick. “Y’close?”

“I-I am.” You let out weakly, heat blooming behind your eyes as you rake your nails down the slate you were propped on. He was kind enough to let you reach your climax quickly when he inserted two fingers in while his tongue worked up your clit.

And when you two finally grew impatient, Kidd positioned himself behind you. He gave your ass one smack, handprint marking one cheek while he admires your foam-coated body from behind. He rubbed the head in between your folds, as if knocking when he slapped his length in between. Enjoying the sight of how it parts just for him. “Ready, bonnie?” 

“Don’t be an ass.” 

The first stretch came in after your remark, you two shared a breath while Kidd propped his arms beside you, chin resting on your shoulder while he adjusts to your walls. Kidd grunted on your ear, low, guttural praises and curses as he called out your name. You gripped on the edge, knuckles white while you clench around him. You threw your head back to land on his shoulder while he stretched you out until he’s entirely in. You two stayed close, pressed, connected. 

“Keep your eyes on me, bonnie.” He reached to place a hand over your throat, keeping your head in place while he paced back and forth. And he revered the face you made each time he slips in and out. How you physically melt and go nuts. The only audible words that came out of your mouth was his name. You nodded at him as you looked up from behind, held close by his grip on your stomach and your throat. 

The hot tub buzzed beneath both of you, the slippery nature helped Kidd settle in you quickly as your foam-coated bodies moved in rhythm. Kidd himself was no quiet man during the act, as a matter of fact he’s way louder than you. That’s why you’ll know exactly the moment that he’s close. His unforgivingly harsh pace becomes sloppy in a manner that irregularly becomes slow and fast, his grunts on your ear become quieter, and his body limps more against you. So when that moment finally closes in and he pulls out, your back was already littered with his ropes. Kidd will pump it out full, squeezing every bit of his load while you whine with your ass up. That sight alone can make him come once more. 

“Fuck,” He panted your name out, sitting down on the opposite side of the tub because he was exhausted. You turned around with your lower limbs sore and your cunt pulsing. The water had given your skin a visible sheen—a sight that invited Kidd to touch you even before you sat on his lap. From your breasts, to the curve of your waist, to the plumpness of your stomach, down to your ass where he kneaded the flesh. 

“Don’t tell me that’s all the stamina a mechanic has.” You egged him on, eyes half-lidded from equal parts of teasing and desire. Just to keep the mood going, keep your cool and the air playful while you’re really throbbing from the emptiness he left. “Maybe I should’ve gone for someone in construction. Bigger arms, more endurance.”

That got him.

It also got you, because right now, that remark had bit your right back in the ass. He shifted his hips beneath the water, the sloshing of water spilling over the edge while he thrusted deeper into your cunt with an annoyingly, aching precision. “Construction?” He echoed in a dangerous sort of calm, like you feel a chill run down your spine but it had only motivated you to carry on with your act as you nodded. “Doubt they’d know how to put a little lassie like you in ‘er rightful fuckin’ place.” 

Kidd had a strong grip. His strength and big muscles didn’t come from the gym nor from working out, no no. It’s the kind that came from years of persistently cranking loose, rusted bolts from top to bottom, hauling half-dead engines back to life, and prying open hoods that refused to budge. As a result, his hands weren’t pretty—scraped, calloused, littered with deep, yet healed scars. It’s the kind of strength, intuitive enough to know how much pressure something could take before it broke. His fingers sank into your thighs, ruby-lacquered nails leaving crescents on your sides as he spread them wider under water with zero decency—catching you off guard from the whimper he elicited from you.

Kidd wasn’t gentle. You only saw those parts of him when you two are walking among crowds and he paves the way for you because one, he is a whole unit himself who stood seven fucking feet tall and a physique akin to a firetruck next to your averagely built peers; two, he hated other people touching you. Or those moments when your limbs were entangled and he needed head pats after long days at work. Or when you two are on a date and either of you reach for the other’s hand just to interlock them. But now? When it’s your first time together? That man was anything but gentle. He knew your limit and he still pushed past it because when he felt your grip tightening, your body shaking, and your cunt throbbing around him—it was the go signal for him to give you more. Even when you clawed on his muscular arms when he held your face firmly between his hands and he started bucking his hips upward, he was relentless.

“You ever seen a mechanic tear down a whole chassis and rebuild it by hand?” He said in a low tone, voice chorusing with the sloshes of water from his hasty pace. His canines tugged at his lips, grin so wide as he watched you melt and claw at his hands beside your face while you felt him pound deeper. You were trying to hold his gaze but your eyes begged to roll at the back of your head at how he hit the right spots. You barely got a response out, only moans and drools running down your chin. He shifted again, grinding deeper as he stopped moving. He lets his cock sit inside you, filling you up and conditioning your walls to the shape of him. “That’s stamina, sweetheart.”

Your legs almost slipped from his lap, but he caught them—quick, reactive, like a man used to catching things before they hit the ground. Water lapped at your skin with each thrust, the bubbling jets of the tub were no match for Kidd’s pace and the friction he induced even under water. “Y’think they’d know what to do with a stubborn fuckin’ engine that won’t purr unless you hit all the right spots?” His teeth grazed your jaw. “I fuckin’ doubt it.”

Shit, you’re barely keeping up. Your head rolled back while you cried out moans. You felt the back of your thighs burn and your knees go numb from incessant contact with the platform of the tub. Well, you had it coming, riling him up like that. You don’t even know anyone in fucking construction, he knows that too but he just wants to make you eat your words. Typical Eustass.

From the corner of your gaze, you see him laughing. Rumbling out his chest while you were audibly incoherent. His soaked, crimson hair slicked back, some disheveled when you pulled on it earlier. HIs grip bruised against your hips as he buried himself deeper, incessant and unrelenting. Your moan got stuck raw in your throat as the slap of water echoed the marble walls. You weakly graze your nails on his arms, visible scratch marks on them all from you. 

Kidd smirked, bringing his lips closer to your neck. He left soft kisses down the fresh purple marks he left while he had a stable hand on your back, aware that you can barely hold yourself up. “‘S the matter, bonnie? Thought we’re talkin’ ‘bout endurance.” His voice, which was rougher than usual, was velvet against your skin. Almost delicate while his lips graze over his handiwork that painted your skin. “You don’t get to tap out now, not when you were mouthin’ off ‘bout stamina.”

Kidd saw the effort, even commended you for it with a kiss on the ear. But nothing came out of your parted lips other than a breathy moan. Because he was still inside you, finally taking a break after rounds you lost track of. You felt slick, hot, overstimulated as your nerves were shot. Kidd was insatiable. 

His thumb still found your clit underwater, chuckling as your legs jerked and your hips twisted. He felt your weight press against his hand on your back as you barely got any strength holding yourself up. “K-Kidd, fuck you.” You managed to let out through gritted teeth as you felt another orgasm coming in. It only brought a smile on Kidd’s lips, because boy, he is not done. 

Kidd was still chasing his high. He didn’t stop until his skin burned from the scratches you left on the hand that choked you. He held you behind with the other arm, while he cursed out with a guttural moan, hips stuttering against yours. You have no idea how many rounds you had, nor how many hours had passed. But you’re aware that he had came multiple times and that his load was practically spilling out of you.

Soon after, Kidd didn’t let go right away. He let you two settle half of your bodies underwater while you’re all curled up on his lap, flush against his chest as you tried recovering. Your breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling against his, but the ache in your muscles softened with each steady heartbeat you felt through his skin.

He dipped his chin onto your head, fingers rough and calloused trailing lazy, careful lines down your back. “You good?” He murmured, voice low and rough like gravel, but soft enough to make you want to nod rather than curse him out for the audacity of even asking. He soon shifted to help you out the tub, carrying you with one hand under your knees and the other on your back. He placed you down the wooden bathroom couch with a soft leather cushion after fetching the robe for you and helping you wear it.

“I got it, asshole.”

All he did was let go, keeping his laugh in. Because for a second, he was worried he might’ve gone too far. When you curled up in his arms, all weak and vulnerable because he thought that he had drained the fire out of you. He was relieved that you still snapped at him, had the energy to clap back at his jokes when he told you you looked dead. 

“That right?” He drawled, squatting before you so he could poke your chin up. Annoying grin still on his face, crimson hair now slicked back with water. “Thought I’d have to call a fuckin’ ambulance. You were makin’ noises unbecomin’ of a lawyer.”

You gave him the laziest glare, the strongest you could manage, as you tugged the robe tighter around your chest. “Says the one who treated me like a fucking gearbox.”

Kidd broke into laughter, one that was loud and echoed through the walls. “Ran a full diagnostic, tightened every bolt, flushed the system.”

You let out a groan, dropping your head back against the wall. Kidd admired the splotches he made in your neck because he knew you’d have trouble covering all that up in the morning. Speaking of mornings, you feel a headache shot in when you glance at the window and see the sun peeking from the farther buildings. “Stop talking.”

Kidd laughed again, out of sheer endearment. He then picked you up again, the same way he did earlier, just to the bedroom this time. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get you somewhere soft ‘fore you burn out.”

“I hate you.”
“Aye. You looked real fuckin’ hateful earlier, didn’tcha?”