Freak Wizzy @fishiesticksworld - Tumblr Blog

Jul 31

Sweet Tooth - Part 6 (Ticci Toby x F!Reader)

CW: Explicit sexual content, rough sex, cunnilingus, shower sex, overstimulation, pet play, collar/leash play, praise, toxic relationship, jealousy, emotional whiplash, insecurities, petty crime, strong language, obsessive behavior, emotional distress, panic, self-destructive behavior, stalking, emotional manipulation, moral ambiguity, featuring appearances by Tim, Brian, Ben, and Jeff

Summary: A quiet stretch of days with Toby is interrupted by mounting unease and the ordinary weight of work and friendship, as something unspoken begins to shift beneath the surface.

Wordcount: 30k

Part 1: HERE Part 2: HERE Part 3: HERE Part 4: HERE Part 5: HERE

The days blurred together in a warm, hazy rhythm.

You and Toby fell into something that felt dangerously close to normal, or at least as normal as it could get with him. He used the keys like you’d asked. No more breaking in. He’d show up at odd hours, sometimes right after your shift, sometimes at dawn. You’d open the door and there he’d be: messy brown hair, crooked scarred grin, hatchets clipped to his belt, shoulders twitching with that familiar restless energy. He’d pull you into his arms before you could even say hello, burying his face in your neck like he’d been starving for the smell of you.

And you let him. More than let him, you craved it. The way he looked at you like you were the only real thing in his violent, chaotic world made your chest ache in the best way. The sex stayed intense, filthy, and loving all at once. In the quiet moments afterward, curled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat while his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, you felt secure. Safe, even. You told yourself the jealousy, the possessiveness, the way he sometimes went too still when Andy’s name came up, it was just damage. Trauma. You could handle it. You wanted to handle it. He was trying. He was keeping his promises.

You’d even started to convince yourself the car thing had nothing to do with him.

Andy’s sedan had been totaled, sure, but it made sense that some pissed-off customer had done it. People got unhinged over small shit all the time. Toby had sworn, looked you dead in the eyes with your hands on his jaw and sworn that he wouldn’t touch Andy. And he hadn’t. Andy was fine. Alive, complaining, but fine. So you pushed the lingering unease down deep and focused on the good. On how he’d started leaving little gifts at your door, a smooth river stone, a perfectly preserved pinecone, once even a small bundle of wildflowers tied with a strip of his own hoodie string. Things felt right. You were choosing this. Choosing him.

One afternoon before your shift you’d slipped into the pet store on the main strip, heart fluttering with nervous excitement. You’d spent way too long browsing, cheeks warm as you imagined Toby’s reaction. In the end you picked a sturdy black collar, soft leather on the inside, adjustable, with a sturdy metal ring at the front. Simple but strong. You paired it with a matching leash, black with a sturdy clip. The sweet cashier had given you a knowing little smile, but you didn’t care. You tucked the collar away like a secret, already buzzing with the thought of buckling it around Toby’s neck, tugging him close, calling him your good puppy while he melted for you.

You couldn’t wait to show him.

The shift dragged at a snail's pace. By the time you and Andy finally clocked out around 2:30 AM, you were both dead on your feet but riding that wired, post-shift high where everything feels a little funnier than it should. The gas station had been a circus, the usual mix of night owls, drunks, and weirdos, and you were starving.

“Pizza?” Andy asked as he locked up.

“God yes,” you groaned. “I’m about to eat my own arm.”

You ended up at a rundown little 24-hour pizzeria a few blocks away. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you slid into a corner booth, both of you still in your work clothes, hair messy, eyes tired but bright. Andy ordered a large pepperoni and two sodas while you claimed the booth and kicked your feet up.

When the pizza arrived, steaming and sloppy, you both dug in like animals. Cheese stretched in long gooey strings, sauce dripped down your chins, and neither of you cared. You laughed through mouthfuls, talking with your mouths full, the exhaustion making everything ten times funnier.

“Okay, okay, remember that guy earlier?” Andy said, wiping sauce off his cheek with the back of his hand. “The one who tried to shove three packs of smokes down his pants like we wouldn’t notice?”

You almost choked on your slice, grinning wide. “Yeah, stupid idiot. You told him you’d tase his ass if he didn’t empty his pockets. He actually believed you had a taser!”

“I don’t even own one!” Andy wheezed, slapping the table. “But the way he froze? Priceless. Thought he was gonna piss himself.”

You leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief as you recounted your part. “And then I lost it on him, ‘Empty your fucking pants right now you greasy little rat or I’ll shove that taser so far up your ass you’ll be lighting up like a Christmas tree!’” You demonstrated with a dramatic hand gesture, nearly knocking over your soda. “Fucker took off so fast he left one shoe behind. I still can’t believe it worked.”

Andy was laughing so hard he had to set his pizza down, holding his stomach. “You’re ruthless, dude. Brutal. I thought the guy was gonna cry. We make a hell of a team.”

You grinned, taking another big, messy bite. Sauce dripped onto your fingers and you licked it off without shame.

“Seriously though,” he said, pointing a half-eaten crust at you. “We could use that hatcheting hero again, man. More thieves than usual lately. If that psycho with the axes wants to swing by the store again and scare the shit out of a few more idiots, I’d pay him in free slushies for life.”

You froze mid-bite.

The pizza suddenly felt thick in your throat. You coughed hard, nearly choking as the words hit you. Hatcheting hero. The image flashed instantly - Toby with his hatchets gleaming, that manic crooked grin after he’d come back from “handling something.”

You forced a laugh, swallowing the bite down with a big gulp of soda. It burned a little going down. “That’s… dark as hell, Andy. But true.” You shook your head, still laughing even as your pulse kicked up. “Imagine if that guy showed up again one night and started chopping up more people. We’d never have another theft again.”

Andy cackled, oblivious, wiping grease from his hands. “Right? Free security. Best employee we never hired.”

You kept laughing with him, the sound a little too loud, a little too bright. Under the table your foot bounced restlessly. The pizza suddenly tasted heavier.

You steered the conversation away from the “hatcheting hero” topic with a deliberate laugh, wiping pizza grease off your fingers with a thin napkin that immediately disintegrated. “So,” you said, popping the last crust into your mouth and chewing sloppily, “you gonna walk me home tonight or what?”

Andy leaned back in the booth, patting his stomach with a satisfied groan. “Not tonight, actually.” He grinned, a little sheepish but mostly excited. “I’m heading straight over to my girl’s place after this. Gonna sleep over.”

You gasped dramatically, eyes widening as you leaned forward on your elbows. “Ooooh! Look at you, getting bold!” You wiggled your eyebrows, grinning wide. “First sleepover at her place? That’s a big step, mister.”

Andy laughed, the sound loud and genuine in the near-empty pizzeria. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a little bashful under your teasing. “Yeah, yeah. First time. We’ve only ever crashed at my place before. She’s got this weird-ass roomie and she lives way out in the middle of nowhere, deep in the woods. Kinda spooky, honestly. But she finally caved and sent me the address, so… I gotta be brave and make the trek.” His grin turned crooked, eyes lighting up. “She’s bad as hell though. Totally worth it.”

You raised your eyebrows, impressed. “Damn. Deep in the woods? That’s commitment. She better be worth the hike, Andy.”

“Oh, she is,” he chuckled. “I’m trying to play it cool, but I’m lowkey nervous. Walking through the woods at night to her place? Feels like the start of a horror movie. But I'll be fine. Just gonna show up, be chill, and see where it goes.”

You hummed thoughtfully, nodding along as you listened. “Keep me updated, okay? I need the play-by-play. Especially if her roomie turns out to be some kinda weirdo.”

Andy laughed. “Deal. You’ll be the first to know if I survive the night or get murdered in the woods.”

You grinned and reached down for your bag, pulling out your wallet. “Dinner’s on me tonight, by the way.”

Andy blinked, already starting to protest. “Wait, no, you don’t have to, ”

“I know I don’t have to,” you cut him off lightly, sliding a few bills onto the table and waving the waitress over. “But you’ve been struggling with the car stuff, and I’ve got it covered this time. Don’t mention it.”

He looked genuinely appreciative, his shoulders dropping in relief as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Man… thank you. Seriously. That means a lot right now. I owe you one. Big time.”

You just smiled and shook your head. “We’re good. That’s what friends are for.”

The two of you paid and stepped out into the cool night air. The rundown pizzeria’s neon sign buzzed faintly behind you, casting pink and blue light across the cracked sidewalk. Andy pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it with a quick flick of his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating his tired but content face. He took a drag and offered it to you without a word. You accepted, the familiar burn filling your lungs as you walked side by side for a little while, sharing the cigarette in comfortable silence broken only by occasional quiet laughs about the shift.

Eventually the path split. Andy slowed, nodding toward the narrow trail that cut into the treeline, the one that led deeper into the woods toward his girl’s place.

“This is me,” he said, taking the cigarette back for one last drag before crushing it under his shoe. “Wish me luck.”

You pulled him into a quick, tight side hug. “Good luck, dude. Text me when you get there safe. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

He laughed, squeezing you back. “That leaves a lot of options open. Night.”

“Night, Andy.”

You watched him head off down the dark trail for a moment, his figure swallowed quickly by the shadows and trees. Then you turned and started the familiar walk home, hands tucked into your pockets, the cool breeze brushing against your skin. The streets were quiet, streetlights casting long pools of orange light.

You walked tiredly, the strap of your bag digging into your shoulder with every step. It swung loosely against your hip, the soft thump-thump matching the slow drag of your sneakers on the cracked sidewalk. The night air was cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of pine from the woods that ran parallel to the road. You dug into your jacket pocket for a cigarette, lit it with a quick flick of your lighter, and took a long, grateful drag. Smoke curled up into the dark as you exhaled, shoulders finally dropping a little.

God, you just wanted to sleep.

Your thoughts drifted as the streetlights grew farther apart. Andy was probably halfway to his girl’s place by now. You wondered if her roomie would actually be as weird as he’d made her sound. Your mind wandered further, to the black collar and leash still tucked carefully in your dresser at home, to Toby’s face when you’d finally buckle it around his neck, to the way he’d look up at you with those dark, needy eyes.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Your heart lifted for a second, hoping and praying it was Toby.

You pulled it out, thumb already unlocking the screen,

joker 🤡:

wyd send pics

You snorted under your breath, the sound half-amused, half-exasperated. Of course. Typical. You’d been ignoring him for days now, left every message on read, never answered the late-night booty calls, and he still kept trying. You swiped the notification away without opening it and shoved the phone back into your pocket. Jeff was the last person you had energy for tonight.

You kept walking, cigarette dangling from your lips, thoughts circling back to him anyway. The way he’d pressed the knife against that guy’s stomach in the club. The cocky side-hug outside. The cracked phone he’d shoved into your hands. You shook your head, a small, tired smile tugging at your mouth. He was trouble. Pure, concentrated trouble. And you already had more than enough of that in your life.

The edge of your neighborhood came into view. Houses sat dark and quiet behind their fences. The treeline on your left grew denser, the shadows between the pines thicker.

A soft rustle came from the trees.

You glanced over, cigarette smoke drifting from your lips. Nothing. Just the usual night sounds, wind through the branches, a distant dog barking somewhere. You kept walking.

The rustle came again. Closer this time.

You narrowed your eyes, slowing your steps. You stared into the dark wall of trees. Still nothing. No movement.

You exhaled through your nose and kept going, telling yourself it was a raccoon or a deer. The same deer you’d seen weeks ago, maybe. Your boots scuffed against the pavement. The bag swung against your side again.

Then two hands slid over your eyes from behind.

“Guess who,” a rough voice murmured right against your ear, the words broken by that unmistakable stammer and the faint crack of a neck tic.

You screamed.

The cigarette flew from your fingers, landing in a shower of sparks on the sidewalk. Your bag slipped off your shoulder. Your whole body jerked hard, heart slamming against your ribs so violently it hurt.

“Toby–! You fucking asshole–!”

You spun around the second his hands left your face, already swinging the bag at his chest. It hit him with a soft thud. He just laughed, that low, cracked, delighted laugh that always made something warm twist in your stomach, and caught the next swing easily, pulling the bag out of your grip and dropping it to the ground.

“You’re such a dick,” you huffed, still laughing even as you shoved at his shoulders. “I almost had a heart attack, you absolute psycho–”

Toby’s grin was wide and crooked under the streetlight, mouth pulled into pure joy. His dark eyes were bright, pupils blown, hair a complete mess. He didn’t give you time to keep yelling. Strong arms wrapped around your waist and he lifted you clean off the ground like you weighed nothing, spinning you once, twice, your sneakers kicking uselessly in the air as you clung to his neck and laughed against his shoulder.

“Missed you,” he said into your hair, voice rough and happy and a little breathless. His neck cracked sharply as he spun you again. “Missed you s-so fucking much.”

You stayed wrapped around him even after he set you back on your feet, arms still looped around his neck, body pressed flush against his. The leftover adrenaline from the scare mixed with something warmer, something that always hit you the second you were this close to him. You leaned up and kissed him.

Toby made a soft, hungry sound against your mouth and kissed you back immediately, deep and enthusiastic, one hand sliding up into your hair while the other stayed firm on your waist. His lips were warm, a little chapped, and he tasted faintly of cigarettes and the woods. His neck twitched once mid-kiss, a sharp little crack, but he never pulled away. If anything he pressed closer, like he was trying to make up for every hour you’d been apart.

You eventually broke the kiss with a quiet laugh, still close enough that your noses brushed. Your hands stayed on his shoulders as you tilted your head, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Do you always lurk in the trees by my house like some creepy little stalker?” you asked, voice soft but teasing.

Toby’s mouth pulled into that crooked, unapologetic grin. His dark eyes glittered under the streetlight. “Yeah,” he said, completely shameless. “Maybe.”

You laughed and shoved him lightly in the chest. He barely moved, just swayed a little and kept grinning like you’d given him a compliment. You bent down to grab your bag and the strap, brushing dirt off it before slinging it back over your shoulder.

“C’mon, you absolute weirdo,” you said, nodding toward the last stretch of sidewalk that led to your house. “Let’s go.”

Toby fell into step beside you, his uneven gait matching yours, hatchets bumping softly against his thighs with every step. The night felt quieter now that he was walking next to you. His hand found yours almost automatically, fingers lacing through yours, calloused and warm.

“I was w-waiting for you,” he admitted after a few steps, voice lower, almost shy. His neck cracked to the side. “Your shift e-ended like… two hours a-ago. Figured you’d be home by n-now.”

You glanced over at him, squeezing his hand. “Got dinner with Andy after work. We were both starving and the pizzeria was still open, so we just… stayed a while.”

Toby’s fingers twitched in yours. The grin didn’t disappear, but something flickered behind his eyes for half a second, that familiar, restless shadow that always showed up whenever Andy’s name left your mouth. He didn’t say anything about it, though. Just hummed, low in his throat, and kept walking with you toward the soft glow of your porch light.

You felt the slight tension in his fingers when Andy’s name left your mouth and decided, firmly, that you didn’t want to start anything tonight. You just wanted him here, warm and close and yours, without the shadow of jealousy creeping in.

So you squeezed his hand and switched the topic before it could settle.

“What’d you do today, anyway?” you asked, glancing up at him as the two of you kept walking toward the soft yellow glow of your porch light.

Toby’s neck cracked sharply to the side. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, restless.

“Had some w-work to do,” he said, voice low and a little rough. “Helped T-Tim with something. Then I just… waited. Wanted to come see you.”

You lifted his hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it, right over a faded scar. Toby’s eyes flicked down to you, and that crooked, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His shoulders hitched once, but the smile stayed.

“How was your s-shift?” he asked after a moment, still watching you.

You exhaled a tired little laugh. “Wild. Some guy tried to shove three packs of smokes down his pants like we wouldn’t notice. Andy threatened to tase him, even though he doesn’t even own a taser, and I went full psycho and started cussing the guy out until he literally ran out of the store. Left a shoe behind and everything.” You grinned at the memory. “We were joking about it later at the pizzeria. Said the hatchet-swinging psycho from a while back might need to come back and scare the rest of the thieves off.”

Toby’s laugh came out low and cracked, genuine amusement flickering across his scarred face. His free hand brushed the handle of one of the hatchets at his hip.

“I’m a-available whenever,” he said, still grinning. “Just say the word.”

You laughed and nudged him with your shoulder. “It was just a joke, Toby. Calm down.”

He hummed, clearly still entertained by the idea, but he didn’t push it. The last stretch of sidewalk disappeared under your feet. You dug your keys out of your bag, unlocked the door, and pushed it open, stepping inside with Toby right behind you. The familiar scent of home wrapped around you both as the door clicked shut, sealing the night outside.

You dropped your bag onto the couch with a soft thud and stretched your arms high over your head, spine cracking in a long, satisfying arch. The motion pulled your shirt up just enough to bare a strip of skin at your waist. Toby was on you before you even lowered your arms, strong hands sliding around your middle from behind, pulling you flush against his chest. His lips found the side of your neck immediately, warm and a little rough, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses just below your ear.

You hummed, eyes slipping half-shut as his mouth moved lower, nuzzling into the curve where your neck met your shoulder. One of his hands splayed across your stomach, the other resting possessively on your hip.

“Shower with me,” you murmured, voice low and tired but already warming. “Come on.”

Toby made a quiet, affirmative sound against your skin, “Okay…”, and followed when you tugged him toward the bathroom. The light flicked on with a soft click, illuminating the small space in warm yellow. You turned to face him, rising onto your toes to kiss him once, slow and lingering, before you started peeling off your clothes.

Your shirt hit the floor first. You felt his dark eyes on every inch of newly exposed skin, tracking the way your hands moved. When you reached for the button of your pants he was still fully dressed, just staring, neck twitching once, shoulders hitching with a restless little tic.

You giggled, the sound soft and fond. “You’re allowed to undress too, you know.”

Toby blinked, then huffed a short, almost embarrassed laugh. He carefully unclipped the twin hatchets from his belt first and set them on the counter with care, handles facing away from the edge. Only then did he start stripping: hoodie, shirt, jeans, boxers. Piece by piece until he stood naked in front of you.

You let your gaze roam. The thick white bandages were gone. The bullet wound on his left shoulder had mostly closed, the skin around it pink and new, the worst of the swelling faded. The ugly purple and yellow bruises that had bloomed across his ribs weeks ago were now faint shadows, almost gone. He still looked battered in places, scars layered over scars, the permanent ones catching the light, but healthier.

Toby’s eyes dragged over you just as openly. You stepped in close again, hands sliding up his bare chest, and kissed him deeper this time. He answered immediately, mouth opening under yours, one hand cupping the back of your head while the other settled low on your back.

You broke the kiss only long enough to tug him toward the shower. The water hissed to life under your fingers, steam already beginning to rise. You pulled him in with you under the spray, the first rush of warmth making you both sigh. Toby’s arms wrapped around you again the second the water hit your skin, pulling your wet body against his. His hands slid up and down your back, slow and possessive, as the water cascaded over both of you.

“You’re s-so fucking beautiful,” he murmured against your temple, voice rough and cracked with that familiar stammer. His lips brushed your wet hair, then the shell of your ear.

The water poured over both of you in a steady, warm cascade, steam thickening the air until the small bathroom felt like a private world of its own. Toby’s mouth was already on yours again, kissing you deep and hungry, tongue sliding against yours like he couldn’t get enough. His hands roamed freely now that you were both naked under the spray, one splayed across your lower back, the other sliding down to cup and squeeze the soft curve of your ass, fingers digging in just enough to make you moan into his mouth.

You pressed closer, wet skin sliding against wet skin, and let one hand trail down the hard plane of his stomach. Your fingers wrapped around his cock, already thick and fully hard, the head flushed dark and leaking against your palm. You gave him a slow stroke from base to tip, thumb swirling over the sensitive head to spread the precum that was already beading there even under the water.

Toby’s hips jerked forward into your fist with a broken little sound. “F-fuck,” His neck cracked sharply to the side, shoulders hitching as a string of tics rolled through him. “Baby… you’re gonna k-kill me…”

You smiled against his mouth and stroked him again, slower this time, teasing. Your grip stayed loose enough that he had to chase the friction, hips rolling in small, desperate circles. “Love this dick,” you murmured, voice low and warm. “Love how hard you get for me the second I touch you.”

He groaned, forehead dropping against yours for a second as water ran down both your faces. “Need you so b-bad,” he rasped, the stammer thicker now, voice wrecked already. “Been thinking about you all day… about your pussy… about burying myself in you and n-never coming back out–”

His mouth left yours only to travel lower. He kissed along your jaw, down the wet column of your throat, then lower still until he was mouthing at the soft swell of your tits. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking over the stiff peak while his free hand continued kneading your ass. You arched into him with a soft moan, hand still working his cock in lazy, torturous strokes.

“Toby…” you breathed, the name half a warning, half a plea.

He released your nipple with a wet pop and looked up at you through wet lashes, dark eyes glassy with need. “Let me ffff-fuck you,” he begged, voice cracking. “Please. I n-need to be inside you. Need to feel how t-tight you get when I stretch you o-open–”

You didn’t answer with words. You simply turned under the spray, presenting your back to him, and braced both hands against the slick tiled wall. Toby made a low, almost animal sound of pure want. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he yanked you back a little, forcing you to bend at the waist so your ass pressed flush against his cock. The thick length slid against your ass, the head dragging through your already slick folds, and you both hissed at the contact.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, one hand sliding up your spine to press between your shoulder blades, keeping you arched for him. “Presenting like such a g-good girl… so wet for me already…”

He lined himself up and pushed in with one slow, relentless thrust. The stretch was perfect, thick and deep and overwhelming after days of wanting him. You cried out, the sound echoing off the tiles as he bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, cock buried to the hilt inside your clenching heat.

“Mm–fuck–” Toby’s voice broke into a stuttered moan. His hands clamped down on your hips as he started moving, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in hard enough that the wet slap of skin on skin cut through the rush of the shower. Every thrust rocked you forward against the wall, your tits swinging with the force of it, water cascading over both of you.

He fucked you like that for long, relentless minutes, deep, punishing strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. His tics made the rhythm stutter and jerk unpredictably; every sharp crack of his neck or hitch of his shoulders drove him even deeper, ripping broken moans from your throat. One of his hands left your hip to reach around and palm your breast, squeezing and rolling the nipple between rough fingers while he kept pounding into you from behind.

“Take it,” he panted against your shoulder, lips brushing wet skin. “Take every fucking inch… this p-pussy was made for me, r-right?”

You could only moan in answer, pushing back to meet every thrust, the dual sensation of the warm water and his thick length stretching you open making your thighs tremble. The pleasure built fast and sharp, but before it could crest he suddenly pulled out, leaving you empty and aching. You whimpered at the loss, but Toby was already turning you around, strong hands under your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly.

Your back hit the cool tiled wall. Your legs wrapped automatically around his waist. He drove back up into you in one powerful thrust, the new angle letting him sink even deeper. You both groaned at the feeling, him buried to the root, your walls fluttering around him, water pouring over your joined bodies.

Toby’s mouth crashed into yours, the kiss open and filthy and desperate. Tongues tangled, teeth scraped, shared breath hot and wet between you as he fucked up into you hard and fast. Every upward snap of his hips punched a moan out of your throat that he swallowed greedily. His hands gripped your ass, spreading you wider so he could bury himself even deeper, the wet, filthy sound of your bodies meeting echoing in the small space.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growled against your lips, voice barely coherent. “Gonna c-cum so deep inside this p-perfect fucking pussy–”

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, kissing him just as hungrily as he kept slamming up into you. The water ran over both of you in rivulets, dripping from your hair, sliding down your chests, gathering where your bodies joined. His rhythm grew more erratic, tics making his thrusts stutter and drive even harder. You felt him swell inside you, felt the first hard pulse of his release as he buried himself to the hilt with a shattered, broken moan and came hard, thick ropes of cum flooding deep inside you in long, pulsing waves while his whole body shuddered against yours.

He kept grinding through it, hips rolling in small, desperate circles as he emptied every last drop, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. Only when the last tremor left him did he go still, still buried deep, still holding you up against the wall like he never wanted to put you down.

You were still trembling, still aching, still right on the edge. You nuzzled against his wet cheek and let a teasing little smile curve your mouth.

“Aww,” you murmured, voice husky. “You came and I didn’t even get to finish. Rude.”

Toby’s laugh was low and breathless, still shaky from the intensity of his orgasm. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the soft spot just below your ear.

“We’re not d-done,” he promised, the stammer soft and earnest. “Not even close. I’m gonna take care of you in bed… make you cum so h-hard you forget how to talk. Gonna eat this puh-pretty pussy until you’re shaking a-and then ffff-fuck you all over again until you can’t take any more.”

You giggled, the sound bright and fond even as your walls clenched around his still-twitching cock. Your fingers threaded into his wet hair, tugging gently.

“Such a good boy,” you whispered against his lips. “My good puppy.”

Toby’s eyes fluttered half-shut at the praise, a soft, broken little sound escaping him. He kissed you one more time, slow and deep and full of promise, before carefully lowering you back to your feet under the warm spray.

You reached for the bottle of body wash still sitting on the little shelf inside the shower and squeezed a generous amount into your palm. The scent of clean soap mixed with the steam as you rubbed your hands together, then started working the lather over Toby’s body. You were thorough - slow strokes across the broad planes of his chest, down the hard lines of his stomach, over the fading bruises that still painted his ribs in soft yellows and greens. Your soapy hands slid along his arms, over the knuckles, then lower to wash between his thighs, careful and teasing around his half-hard cock that twitched under your touch.

Toby stood completely still under the spray and let you do whatever you wanted. His dark eyes never left your face. There was something almost worshipful in the way he watched you, pupils blown wide, mouth slightly parted, a soft, continuous little sound of contentment rumbling in his chest every time your hands moved over him.

When you’d washed every inch of him, you tilted his head forward and worked shampoo into his messy brown hair, massaging his scalp with your fingertips. He made a low, almost broken sound of pure pleasure and leaned into your hands like a dog being petted. You rinsed the suds away carefully, making sure nothing got in his eyes, then stepped back under the spray yourself.

“Your turn,” you said softly, smiling. “Wash me.”

Toby didn’t need to be told twice. He reached for the body wash with eager hands, lathering them thoroughly before starting on you. His touch was soft - slow circles over your shoulders, down your arms, across your collarbones. He paid special attention to your tits, soaping them thoroughly, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peaked under his touch. He washed lower, hands sliding over the soft curve of your stomach, then lower still to clean your thighs with careful strokes that made your breath catch. He even turned you around to wash your back and the curve of your ass.

When both of you were clean, you shut the water off. Steam still clung to the air as you stepped out onto the bathmat together. You grabbed a towel and started patting Toby dry, his chest, his arms, the fading bullet wound on his shoulder, the damp ends of his hair. He stood there and let you, a soft, almost shy smile tugging at his mouth the entire time. He looked so happy to be pampered, so quietly content under your hands, that something warm and possessive twisted in your chest.

You dried yourself off next, quickly, and the second the towel hit the floor Toby’s hands were on you again. He kissed you deep and slow as he guided you out of the bathroom and down the short hallway toward the bedroom, never breaking the contact of his mouth on yours. His hands stayed low on your bare hips, thumbs stroking the soft skin there as he walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress.

You suddenly remembered the little present still waiting in the dresser and a slow, wicked grin spread across your face. You pulled away from the kiss just enough to speak, hands resting on his chest.

“Sit on the bed for me.”

Toby groaned softly, clearly not wanting to stop touching you, but he obeyed immediately. He sat on the edge of the mattress, naked and still slightly damp, dark eyes looking up at you with open need. His neck twitched once as he waited.

You stepped closer, standing between his spread knees, and cupped his face in both hands. “I have something for you,” you said, voice soft and warm. “You’ve been such a good boy for me lately… and good boys like you deserve a little treat.”

His eyes widened. The expression that crossed his face was pure, unguarded surprise, like the idea of receiving something just for being good had never even occurred to him. His mouth opened a little, but no words came out.

You giggled at the look and stepped over to the dresser. First you pulled open the top drawer and took out the new pair of panties you’d bought specially for tonight, black, delicate lace that sat high on the hips and dipped low in the front. You stepped into them slowly, letting the soft fabric slide up your legs before settling them into place. The lace framed everything perfectly.

Toby stared, completely transfixed. A rough, almost pained sound left his throat.

“That’s the h-hottest fucking sight I’ve e-ever seen,” he muttered, voice thick and broken with the stammer. “Jesus–”

You smiled over your shoulder at him, still standing by the dresser. “That’s not all.”

Then you reached deeper into the drawer and pulled out the black leather collar and the matching leash you’d bought days ago. The metal ring on the front of the collar caught the low light of the bedroom as you held both items up for him to see.

Toby simply sat there.

His mouth was open a little. His dark eyes were locked on the collar and leash like he couldn’t quite believe they were real. His shoulders hitched once, then went completely still, that dangerous, focused stillness that only ever happened when something hit him deep.

“No f-fucking way…” he muttered under his breath, voice cracking. “No fucking way…”

You giggled at the completely wrecked look on his face and stepped closer, standing between his knees again. The soft leather dangled from your fingers as you tilted your head, smiling down at him.

“Do you like it?” you asked softly. “I promised I’d get it for you… and I did.”

Toby nodded immediately, the motion almost frantic. His eyes stayed locked on yours, glassy and desperate and so fucking hopeful it made your chest ache. He looked up at you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

“Yeah,” he breathed, the word barely more than a whimper. “Y-yeah… I like it. I like it so much–”

You brushed your knuckles gently along his scarred cheek. “Do you want me to put it on you?”

He nodded again, harder this time, swallowing thickly. His throat bobbed under the motion. “Please,” he whispered, voice small and broken and utterly pathetic in the best way. “Please put it on me. Thank you… thank you so much, I, fuck, thank you–”

You smiled, warm and possessive, and carefully opened the collar. The soft leather was cool against your fingers as you brought it around his neck. Toby stayed perfectly still for you, head tilted just enough to give you better access, eyes fluttering half-shut as the leather settled against his skin. You buckled it snugly, not too tight, just enough that he would feel it with every breath and every tic, and smoothed the leather with your thumb.

“Look at you,” you murmured, voice low and fond. “So pretty like this. My good boy all collared up for me.”

Toby let out a soft, broken whimper. The second your hand stayed near his face he turned into it, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your palm, then your wrist, then the inside of your forearm. He kept nuzzling and kissing your skin while you petted his messy wet hair, fingers threading through the damp strands. His whole body was trembling with how badly he needed this.

You reached for the leash next and clipped it securely to the metal ring at the front of the collar. The soft click of the metal connecting seemed almost deafening in the quiet bedroom. Toby’s cock was fully hard again, flushed dark against his thigh, twitching visibly every time the leash shifted.

You stepped back just enough to take up the slack and gave the leash a light tug.

“C’mon, doggy,” you said, voice soft but firm. “Down.”

Toby moaned, a deep, wrecked, almost pained sound of pure need, and obeyed instantly. He slid off the edge of the bed and dropped onto all fours on the bedroom floor. His head hung slightly, the black collar stark against his throat, the leash trailing up to your hand. His cock hung heavy and dripping between his thighs as he waited on his hands and knees, breathing hard, completely surrendered. He looked up at you from under his lashes, dark eyes glassy with devotion.

You gave the leash a short, sharp yank.

Toby moaned brokenly at the sudden tug on the collar and immediately crawled forward on his hands and knees until his face pressed right into the soft lace of your panties. His breath was already hot and ragged against the thin fabric. He nuzzled deeper with a desperate little sound, nose rubbing along your covered slit, mouth open as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to the damp material. You could feel the way his whole body shuddered from it.

“You didn’t make me cum in the shower,” you teased, voice soft and mocking as you looked down at him. One hand stayed firm on the leash while the other threaded into his messy wet hair. “That was pretty selfish of you, puppy. Are you going to make it up to me now?”

Toby nodded frantically against your crotch, still mouthing at the lace, still breathing you in like he was starving. The collar shifted against his throat with every movement.

You tsked softly and gave the leash another light tug, forcing his head to tilt up just enough that his glassy dark eyes met yours.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes,” The word cracked out of him immediately, stammer thick and desperate. “Y-yes, please, yes, I’ll make it up to you, please let me, please–”

“Good,” you murmured, the single word full of warm approval.

You tugged the leash a little higher and slowly spread your legs wider, giving him better access. Toby groaned like he’d just been given permission to breathe and leaned in again, mouthing hungrily at the soaked lace. His tongue pressed flat against the fabric, dragging over your covered clit in long, eager strokes. The heat of his breath and the wet pressure of his mouth through the thin barrier felt so good it made your thighs tremble. Every exhale of his sent a fresh wave of warmth straight through the lace and into your skin.

You rolled your hips forward just a little, rubbing yourself against his face in slow motions. The soft scrape of his nose, the heat of his open mouth, the way he immediately chased every shift of your body with more desperate kisses and licks, it all sent sparks of pleasure coiling low in your belly. Toby whimpered continuously against you, the sound muffled by your panties, completely lost in the privilege of being allowed this close.

After a few more moments of grinding against his eager mouth, you carefully stepped backward. Toby followed, crawling on all fours as the leash stayed taut between you. Your legs hit the edge of the mattress. You lowered yourself down slowly until you were sitting on the bed, thighs still spread, the leash held loosely in one hand while Toby stayed on his knees between them, staring up at you with pure, wrecked devotion.

You leaned back on your elbows against the mattress and slowly spread your legs wider, the soft black lace of your panties already dark and damp between your thighs. The leash stayed loose in one hand, the other resting lightly on the bed beside you as you looked down at Toby still kneeling on the floor.

“Time for puppy to eat,” you said, voice low and warm with amusement.

Toby groaned like the words themselves had punched the air out of his lungs. He didn’t waste a second. He leaned in, caught the delicate waistband of your panties between his teeth, and started dragging them down. The lace stretched and clung for a moment before sliding over the curve of your hips. You watched every second of it, the way his mouth worked carefully, the way his dark eyes stayed locked on the prize he was uncovering, the soft little whimper that left him when the fabric finally cleared your thighs and dropped to the floor.

The second the panties were gone he dove in.

There was no teasing, there rarely was with him. Toby buried his face between your legs like a man starved, tongue flat and eager as he licked a long, filthy stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. The wet heat of his mouth made your head fall back with a broken moan. He groaned right into your pussy, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive skin, and then he really started eating you.

His tongue was relentless, broad, messy strokes through your folds, then focused little flicks over your clit that made your thighs jump. He sucked the swollen bud between his lips and lashed it with the tip of his tongue at the same time, the dual sensation so intense your free hand flew down to fist in his wet hair. The collar shifted against his throat every time he moved. The leash stayed loose in your grip, but every now and then you gave it a light tug just to hear the soft, desperate sound he made against your cunt.

“That’s it,” you breathed, voice already shaky. “Look at you… such a good puppy, face buried in my pussy like you live for it. You do live for it, don’t you?”

Toby moaned his agreement straight into your wetness, nodding as best he could without ever pulling away. His hands came up to grip your thighs, spreading you even wider so he could get deeper. He pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in slow, filthy thrusts before dragging it back up to your clit again. The wet, obscene sounds of him devouring you filled the quiet bedroom.

You tugged the leash a little harder, forcing his head up just enough that his glassy eyes met yours while his mouth was still working. “Don’t you dare stop. You didn’t make me cum in the shower… so you’re going to stay right here and eat this pussy until I soak your face. Understand?”

“Y-yes–” he gasped against your folds, the stammer thick and broken. “Yes, yes, please, gonna make you cum, gonna make you cum so hard–”

He doubled down. His tongue circled your clit in tight, rapid strokes while two fingers pushed inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot that made your vision blur. The combination of the relentless suction on your clit and the steady pressure of his fingers had your hips rolling against his face without shame. You used the leash to keep him exactly where you wanted him, tugging whenever he tried to come up for air, forcing him to stay buried and working.

“Fuck–” you panted, watching the way his face glistened with your arousal. “You love this, huh? Love being used like this?”

Toby’s answer was another long, wrecked moan and an even more frantic pace. He sucked your clit harder, fingers pumping faster, the wet sounds growing louder and filthier by the second. His free hand gripped your thigh hard enough to leave marks, holding you open while he worshipped every inch of you with his mouth.

The pleasure built fast and sharp under his desperate attention. Your thighs started trembling around his head. Your free hand tightened in his hair. The leash stayed taut in your other fist as you pulled him even closer, grinding against his eager tongue.

“That’s it, right there, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop–”

Toby obeyed like his life depended on it. He kept the exact pressure and speed you needed, tongue lashing your clit while his fingers curled deep inside you, and the orgasm crashed through you hard. You cried out, back arching off the bed as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his fingers, gushing against his mouth. Toby moaned like he was the one cumming, eagerly licking up every drop, sucking and lapping through the entire intense wave until your legs were shaking and oversensitive.

Only when you finally tugged the leash and pulled him back did he stop, face shiny and flushed, lips swollen, dark eyes completely wrecked with devotion as he looked up at you from between your spread thighs.

You were still trembling, still riding the soft aftershocks that fluttered through your oversensitive pussy, when your eyes dropped and caught the movement between Toby’s legs.

He was on his knees between your thighs, one hand wrapped tightly around his own cock, stroking himself in fast, desperate pulls. His eyes were locked on your still-twitching body, on the way your cunt clenched around nothing, on the shiny mess he’d left between your legs. His cock was flushed dark, the head glistening, and every stroke made his hips jerk forward like he couldn’t help himself.

You gave the leash a sharp, hard yank.

Toby’s head snapped up with a broken groan, the collar biting into his throat. His hand froze mid-stroke.

“Did I tell you you could touch yourself?” you asked, voice still a little breathless but firm.

He shook his head immediately, eyes wide and guilty. “N-no, shit, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry–” He yanked his hand away like he’d been burned, both palms pressing flat against his own thighs as he stared up at you. “I didn’t mean to, you just looked so ffff-fucking good, I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry–”

You watched him for a long moment, still holding the taut leash, letting the silence stretch until he was visibly trembling with the need to be good again.

“Can I… please?” he finally asked, voice small and polite and wrecked. “Can I fuck you? Please. I’ll be so g-good. I swear.”

You tilted your head, a slow, teasing smile curving your mouth. “You want to put that desperate little dick inside me after you came in the shower without permission and then touched yourself without asking?”

Toby nodded frantically, then leaned in and started nuzzling the soft skin of your inner thigh, pressing open-mouthed kisses higher and higher until his lips brushed the crease of your hip. He kept looking up at you the entire time, dark eyes glassy with pure need.

“I’ll be good,” he whispered against your skin, the stammer thick. “I’ll make you feel so good, I’ll fuck you e-exactly how you want, puh-please, please let me–”

You watched him for another beat, then gave a single, satisfied nod. “Okay. You can fuck me.”

The sound that left him was almost a sob of relief. He exhaled hard, shoulders dropping, then carefully spread your legs wider with both hands. He shifted forward on his knees until he was right between your thighs, the head of his cock dragging through your soaked folds. The contact made both of you moan.

Toby looked up at you one last time, seeking permission even now, then slowly pushed inside.

The stretch was perfect. Thick and deep and overwhelming after the orgasm he’d just given you. You moaned as he sank in inch by inch, your walls still fluttering and sensitive around him. He bottomed out with a broken groan, hips flush against yours, the collar shifting against his throat as his neck cracked sharply to the side.

“F-fuck–” he breathed, forehead dropping against your sternum for a second.

He started moving.

Slow at first, long, deep rolls of his hips that dragged every inch of his cock against your sensitive walls. The wet sound of him sliding in and out of you filled the quiet bedroom. You kept the leash in one hand, the other resting on his shoulder, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your palm with every thrust. His tics made the rhythm uneven; every sharp crack of his neck or sudden hitch of his shoulders drove him deeper, punching soft gasps out of your throat.

“That’s it,” you murmured, voice low. “Fuck me. Show me how badly you needed this.”

Toby obeyed like the words were law. His pace picked up, hips snapping forward harder, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder. He gripped your thighs and spread them wider, angling deeper so every thrust dragged against that perfect spot inside you. His cock stretched you open on every stroke, the thick head kissing your cervix when he bottomed out. The collar kept shifting with his movements; the leash stayed taut in your hand, a constant reminder of exactly who was in control.

“You feel so fucking good,” he panted, voice cracking. “You were–fuck–m-made for me–” He thrust particularly hard on the last word, making you cry out. “Gonna fuck you until you cum a-again, gonna make this pussy s-squeeze me so t-tight–”

You tugged the leash, forcing his head up so his glassy eyes met yours while he kept pounding into you. “Look at me while you fuck me. Don’t you dare look away.”

Toby’s moan was pure wrecked devotion. He kept his eyes locked on yours even as his hips snapped faster, even as another violent tic jerked through his shoulders and drove him even deeper. Sweat and leftover water from the shower still clung to his skin. His face was flushed, mouth open, every thrust punching soft, desperate sounds out of both of you.

He fucked you like that for long, relentless minutes, deep, hard, possessive strokes that kept you right on the edge again. Every time you clenched around him he groaned like it hurt in the best way. Every time you tugged the leash he moaned louder and fucked you harder. The wet, filthy sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, mixed with the soft jingle of the metal ring on his collar and the broken, stammered praise that kept spilling from his mouth.

“So good, so ffff-fucking good for me, my p-perfect girl, my owner, taking e-every inch like you were m-made for it–”

He never looked away. He never slowed down. He just kept fucking you with everything he had, collared and leashed and completely yours, while the last of the aftershocks from your first orgasm melted into the building heat of the second.

You tugged the leash just enough to make him look at you, a slow, teasing smile curving your lips even as his cock kept dragging deep inside you.

“Think you can actually make me cum again, puppy?” you asked, voice soft and mocking. “Or are you just going to fill me up and leave me aching?”

Toby’s eyes went wide and desperate. He nodded hard, the collar shifting against his throat with the motion.

“Y-yes, yes, I can, I will, please–” His voice cracked. “Gonna make you cum so fucking hard, I swear–”

Before you could tease him further he moved.

Strong hands gripped your hips and roughly flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth motion. The sudden change made you gasp; the soft sheets pressed against your tits and the sensitive peak of your clit as your body settled flat. Toby didn’t give you time to adjust. He spread your thighs with his knees, lined himself up, and slammed back inside you from behind in one deep, brutal thrust.

The new angle was devastating. Every stroke dragged his thick cock along your front wall while your clit rubbed relentlessly against the mattress. The dual stimulation made your eyes roll back. You still held the leash loosely in one hand, the leather trailing back to the collar around his throat as he started fucking you hard and deep.

There was nothing gentle about it. Toby’s hips snapped forward in a relentless, punishing rhythm, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and filthy in the quiet room. Every thrust forced your body to grind against the bed, your clit catching friction with every movement. The stretch was perfect, the depth almost too much; he bottomed out so hard you could feel him in your belly. His hands stayed locked on your hips, fingers digging bruises into the soft flesh as he used you exactly the way he needed.

“Fuck, so deep–” you moaned into the sheets, the sound muffled and broken. “Toby–”

He only groaned in answer and fucked you harder. His tics made the rhythm uneven and even more intense; every sharp crack of his neck or sudden hitch of his shoulders drove him deeper, punching the air from your lungs. The collar jingled softly with every thrust. The leash stayed loose in your fist, a constant reminder that even like this, even while he was railing you into the mattress, he was still yours.

It felt so good it almost hurt. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. Your mouth fell open against the sheets, soft, continuous moans spilling out with every deep stroke. Your pussy clenched and fluttered around him, already so close again it was embarrassing.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, Toby’s hand left your hip.

You felt the pad of his thumb press against the tight ring of your ass, slick with your own arousal. He rubbed slow circles for a second, giving you just enough time to feel it, then pushed the tip inside.

The dual penetration made you cry out.

Your whole body jerked. The thick stretch of his cock in your cunt combined with the intimate intrusion of his fingers in your ass was almost too much. Toby groaned like he’d just been given a gift and kept fucking you through it, thumb working deeper in time with his thrusts. The new sensation pushed you right over the edge.

You came hard.

Your orgasm ripped through you with a loud, broken moan that turned into a sob of pure pleasure. Your pussy clamped down around his cock, pulsing and gushing as wave after wave crashed over you. Your thighs shook uncontrollably. Drool soaked into the sheets beneath your open mouth as your eyes rolled back, the pleasure so intense it left you shaking and gasping. The constant grind of your clit against the mattress only prolonged it, making the climax stretch out until you were trembling and oversensitive.

Toby followed almost immediately.

The feeling of you cumming around him, the way your walls milked him, the way your ass clenched around his finger, was too much. He buried himself to the hilt with a shattered, stuttering moan and came hard, thick ropes of cum flooding deep inside you in long, pulsing waves. His hips kept jerking through it, grinding against your ass as he emptied every last drop, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, the collar still warm against your back.

He stayed buried deep for a long moment afterward, both of you breathing hard, bodies locked together and trembling. His finger slowly slipped free. His hands stroked weakly over your hips. The only sounds left in the room were the soft jingle of the leash and the quiet, broken little whimpers still leaving his throat as he came down.

The two of you just lay there for a long time, completely spent.

Your bodies were tangled, skin slick with sweat and leftover water from the shower, the sheets a mess beneath you. Toby’s weight rested heavily against your back for a moment longer before he carefully pulled out and rolled onto his side with a low, exhausted groan. You followed without thinking, turning toward him and immediately curling into the solid warmth of his chest. One of his arms came around you at once, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

Toby’s breathing was still uneven. His neck twitched once against the pillow, a soft little crack, before he pressed his face into your hair.

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice rough and cracked and almost shy. “That was… the b-best thing I’ve ever experienced. Seriously. Nothing’s e-ever felt like that.”

You let out a weak, breathless little laugh and tipped your face up to kiss him. The kiss was slow and lazy, all soft lips and shared breath, no urgency left in either of you. When you pulled back you reached up with one tired hand and unbuckled the black leather collar. The soft click of the buckle releasing was quiet in the dark room. You tossed it carelessly onto the floor somewhere near the leash, then immediately burrowed back into Toby’s arms.

He made a soft, contented sound and held you tighter.

The two of you traded a few more lazy kisses, unhurried, gentle, the kind that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with simply being close. His fingers traced slow, absent patterns along your bare back. Your leg slid over his. The last of the tension melted out of both of you under the quiet weight of exhaustion and satisfaction.

Your eyes drifted shut first.

Toby was still murmuring something soft and broken against your hair when sleep finally pulled you under, warm and safe and completely drained in his arms.

Morning light spilled soft and gold across your little kitchen. You'd slept in late, tangled up with Toby half the night, and now the two of you sat at your small table in the warm quiet, still drowsy around the edges. You'd thrown together the best breakfast your bare cupboards could manage, scrambled eggs, some toast, coffee. Toby sat across from you in a borrowed t-shirt, his messy brown hair sticking up worse than usual, poking at his eggs with a fork. Every so often his neck cracked to the side or his shoulder hitched, but he looked calm. Content, even. The soft morning version of him you loved best.

You smiled at him over the rim of your mug. "You slept okay?"

"Mm." He nodded, mouth full. "Best sleep I've had in… I dunno. Long time." He swallowed, and that crooked scarred grin tugged at his mouth. "Your bed's b-better than m-mine."

"My bed, huh. Not the company?"

"…That too," he mumbled, cheeks going faintly red under the scars, and you laughed.

It was such an easy morning. You felt light, unhurried, cozy in your short nightgown with your feet tucked up under you on the chair.

You were halfway through a bite of toast when your phone vibrated against the table. You swallowed, wiped your fingers on a napkin, and picked it up. The screen lit up with a new message from Andy.

It was a picture.

Andy was propped up against a pile of pillows in a dimly lit bedroom, a blunt held loosely between two fingers, a lazy half-smile on his face. Curled into his side was a girl, only the long fall of black hair visible, her face hidden against his chest as she slept. The lighting was soft and golden, the whole image warm and intimate.

Andy:

yo first sleepover at her place survived still alive 🙏 totally worth the hike thru the woods lmao her roomie was weird asf but lowkey hella bad too 😂

You couldn’t help the soft giggle that escaped you. You set the phone face-down on the table and took another bite of toast, still smiling a little.

Your thoughts drifted as you chewed.

Andy. The car. The way he’d looked when he showed you the photos of the wrecked sedan, tired, frustrated, trying to laugh it off but clearly stressed. Money was already tight for him. The side hustle was the only thing keeping him above water, and now he had to eat the cost of repairs out of pocket because he couldn’t risk the cops poking around. It was fucked. Really fucked. You hated seeing him struggle like that. Part of you wanted to help, actually help. Maybe move a little product for him, take some of the weight off his shoulders, make enough to at least cover the worst of the damage. It wouldn’t be that hard. You already knew half his regulars from the gas station. People trusted you.

You were still turning the idea over when Toby’s voice cut through the quiet. “What’re you thinking about?”

You glanced up. He was watching you over his coffee, dark eyes curious, a faint tic pulling at his shoulder.

For a second you considered brushing it off. Changing the subject. Keeping the peace. But you wanted to be honest with him. Especially after last night. Especially with how close you felt right now.

You set your toast down and met his gaze. “Andy,” you said quietly. “I was thinking about how rough it’s been for him since that thing with his car. He’s already struggling financially, and now he’s got to cover the repairs himself because he can’t exactly go to the cops. It’s… a lot. I was thinking about maybe helping him out. Selling some stuff for him. Just to take a little pressure off.”

Toby’s face fell the second the words left your mouth. It was like someone had flipped a switch. The soft, sleepy contentment vanished. His expression went tight and closed-off, dark eyes flattening as a sharp tic jerked his neck to the side. He set his fork down a little too hard.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he said, voice low and immediate.

You blinked at him. “I want to. I hate seeing people struggle like that. I don’t mind helping out.”

“Well I mind.” The words came out sharper than usual, the stammer thickening under the sudden tension. “I don’t want y-you doing that s-shit.”

You stared at him across the table, the easy warmth of the morning already cracking. Toby kept going before you could answer, shoulders hitching hard.

“What’s so special a-about Andy anyway?” he asked, the name tasting bitter in his mouth. “It’s always Andy this, Andy that. Andy Andy Andy. Why’s he the o-one you keep running to h-help?”

You set your mug down slowly. “He’s my friend, Toby. That’s what friends do.”

Toby scoffed, a short, ugly sound. He leaned back in the chair, arms crossing tight over his chest. “He’s a g-grown man. He can handle his own shit. He d-doesn’t need you getting mixed up in his puh-problems.”

“Can’t you understand the concept of friendship?” you asked, frustration starting to bleed into your voice.

“I can,” he shot back, another violent tic cracking through his neck. “But you’ve got me. Why do you n-need him?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. It was so stupid. So completely, ridiculously stupid.

“You have friends too,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. “Tim. Brian. You help them out all the time, right? This is the exact same thing.”

Toby shook his head immediately, the motion sharp and stubborn. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours, full of that restless, uncomprehending intensity. “It’s not the same,” he muttered. “It’s not. You don’t get it.”

He looked genuinely unable to process the comparison, like the idea of you helping Andy the way he helped his own people simply refused to fit inside his head.

"Toby." You reached across the table and took his hand. It was tense, trembling faintly. "Caring about Andy doesn't take anything away from you. That's not how it works. It's not–it's not a competition. You're my boyfriend. That's completely different from a friend. They're not the same thing at all."

"But you spend so much time with him," he pressed, voice cracking, eyes glassy now. "All those s-shifts. Just you and him. And now you w-wanna–you wanna do his little drug thing with him, s-spend even more–"

"Because he's my friend and he's struggling," you said gently, but firmly. "That's all it is."

You watched him try to hold the two ideas in his head at once, his own fierce, bottomless loyalty on one side, and the concept of you having any of your own on the other, and watched them refuse to fit together. Something behind his eyes just wouldn't reconcile it. To him, his loyalty to his friends made perfect sense; it was as natural as breathing. But your loyalty to anyone who wasn't him registered only as a threat, as something being taken from him, a slice of your attention he wasn't getting.

He didn't understand it. He genuinely, completely didn't. And you didn't know how to explain a thing so basic that it shouldn't have needed explaining.

"I just don't like it," he finally muttered, staring down at your joined hands. His voice had gone smaller. "I don't like h-him. I don't like you c-carin' about him."

You sighed, softening. You brought his hand up and pressed a kiss to his scarred knuckles. "I know. But you don't have to worry about him. Okay? He's not–there's nothing there. He's a friend. You're the one I want. You know that."

Toby was quiet for a long moment. His eyes stayed down. And then, slowly, the tension began to bleed out of him, the stillness releasing, the tics returning, his shoulders dropping by a fraction.

"…Okay," he said finally.

Just that. Okay.

And you smiled, relieved, thinking you'd smoothed it over, thinking you'd gotten through to him. You went back to your toast, the warm morning settling back over the kitchen, the movie of the night before and the argument already fading into just another little bump.

But across the table, Toby wasn't looking at you anymore. He was looking at nothing, fork still in his hand, his expression gone strangely blank. And that single quiet okay sat in the air exactly like the last one had, the one he'd given you on your couch, in the dark, with his hand over his heart.

Whatever you'd just explained to him, he hadn't heard the part you meant.

He'd only heard that you'd be spending even more time with Andy.

You could feel the weight still hanging in the air, so you did what you always did, you smoothed it over, steered somewhere gentler.

"You want more juice?" you asked, nodding toward his empty glass, keeping your voice light.

Toby blinked, pulled out of wherever his head had gone. His neck cracked softly. "…Yeah," he said. "Okay."

You pushed up from your chair and grabbed the carton off the counter, padding back over. You tipped it carefully over his glass, watching the orange fill it back up, then set the carton down. Before you moved away, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, right at his hairline where the messy brown strands stuck up.

"You mean so much to me, you know that?" you murmured against his skin, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "Like, so much. I hope you get that."

He went still under your touch, but the good kind this time. Soft. His shoulders eased. He let out a low hum, tipping his head just slightly into you, chasing the warmth of it.

His hand came up and covered yours where it sat on his shoulder, his fingers cool and calloused, holding on. "You mean e-everything to me. More than–" His voice caught, a little rough. "More than a-anything."

You smiled and let the moment stretch, your cheek resting against the top of his head for a beat, breathing him in, that faint pine and smoke and him. For that moment everything was warm and simple and yours.

You gave his shoulder one last squeeze and slipped back into your seat, reaching for your coffee. Toby picked his fork back up, and the quiet that settled over the kitchen this time was gentler, the tension of a few minutes ago finally dissolved.

He ate his eggs. He drank his juice. He gave you that crooked little grin when you caught his eye across the table.

And if there was something still turning slow and quiet behind those dark eyes, something you couldn't see, something that hadn't let go the way you thought it had, well. You didn't notice. You just finished your breakfast in the warm morning light, happy, and none the wiser.

Toby didn't sleep right for three days.

He'd come back from your place with that easy morning still clinging to him, your kiss on his forehead, your voice telling him he meant everything to you, and it should have been enough. It usually was enough. But it sat wrong in his chest this time, curdling slow, because underneath the soft stuff you'd said was the other thing, the thing he couldn't stop turning over: I've been thinking maybe I could help him out. Bring in some extra cash.

He paced his room until the floorboards felt personal to him, until he could've walked the width of it blind. His neck cracked hard against the quiet, over and over, tics stacking on top of each other the way they did when his head wouldn't slow down. He'd stop by the window, stare out at nothing, then start walking again.

He's my friend, you'd said. That's just what friends do.

He believed you. That was the maddening part, he actually believed you weren't lying, weren't cheating, weren't doing anything wrong by your own accounting of it. And it didn't matter. Believing you was never the problem. The problem was Andy existing in your life at all, taking up space that Toby wanted for himself and couldn't have, no matter how many times you explained the shape of it to him. He understood loyalty. He didn't understand sharing.

The car hadn't fixed it. He'd thought it would, thought wrecking the thing would put a wall up, make Andy skittish, make him small. Instead Andy just kept existing, cracked windshield and all, still working the same shifts as you, still texting you, still apparently needing help, and now you wanted to give him money. Time. Attention. More of you than Toby already didn't get enough of.

He sat on the edge of his bed with his laptop open, the old thing wheezing under his hands, and just looked at the search bar for a long time before he typed anything.

The idea had been sitting in him since that afternoon in Ben's room, since Jeff's rant about rats and snitches, since the offhand, disgusted way he'd mentioned tipping cops like it was something lower than killing a man. Toby hadn't thought about it again until now. But now it wouldn't leave him alone, because it fit the two conditions that mattered to him more than anything else: it wouldn't break his word, and it would work.

He thought about it the way he thought about most things, in a slow, private, half-lit way, turning the idea over without letting it fully catch the light. He wasn't hurting Andy. He'd promised not to hurt Andy, and this wasn't hurting, not with his own two hands, not in any way you could point to and say you broke your promise. This was just... telling the truth. Wasn't it? Andy was dealing. Andy did have drugs on him. All Toby would be doing was saying something true, out loud, to people whose whole job was dealing with things like that. That wasn't revenge. That wasn't cruelty. It was almost, and this thought arrived in his head fully formed and terrifyingly reasonable, it was almost responsible. A public service. Somebody had to do something about a guy who'd feed a girl a pill she didn't ask for and drive her home glassy-eyed while calling it a favor.

He was protecting you. That was all this was.

He believed that completely, in the way he believed most of the things he told himself, without a single crack in it.

His neck cracked hard. He got up, paced again, sat back down. He thought about your face when you'd said sorry, I know, but he's my friend, and something ugly twisted low in his chest, jealousy dressed up in the clothes of concern, indistinguishable to him from the real thing. He didn't examine it that closely. He never did.

By the third night he'd stopped pretending to himself that he was still deciding. He was just waiting now, waiting for the house to go quiet, for Brian's door to shut, for the version of himself that could actually go through with it to show up instead of the one still pacing.

It showed up around 2 AM.

He sat very still on the edge of his bed, laptop glow lighting the underside of his jaw, and dialed the number he'd found, the anonymous tip line, the kind that promised no names, no comebacks, nothing that could ever point back at a guy in a house full of killers who wasn't supposed to exist on paper anyway. His hand didn't shake. That was the strange part. All the tics, all the noise that lived under his skin every other hour of the day, gone, the second it actually mattered. Still and cold and focused, the same as he got right before a kill.

The line clicked over after two rings. A recorded prompt first, brief, then a real voice, clipped, tired-sounding, like it was the hundredth call of the night.

"Tip line, go ahead."

Toby's fingers tightened on the phone. His neck didn't crack. Nothing in him moved.

"I wanna report somebody dealing," he said. Flat. No stammer at all, the words came out of him smooth and even, like something else was driving.

"Okay. You want to stay anonymous?"

"Yeah."

"That's fine. Go ahead whenever you're ready."

He stared at the dark wall of his room for a second before he spoke again.

"Guy's name is Andrew Cole. Goes by Andy." He said the full name carefully, like he'd practiced it, like it mattered that it came out right the first time. "Works the night shift at the gas station off Route 9. The one by the old feed store."

"Mm-hm." The voice on the other end didn't sound surprised, didn't sound anything. Just writing it down. "And what's he dealing, do you know?"

"Pills. Weed. Some coke sometimes." Toby's jaw worked. "He keeps stuff on him. In his car too. And I think there's more at his house."

"You have a description of the vehicle?"

"Old sedan. Beat up. Windshield's cracked, hood's all messed up too." A short pause. "Somebody already got to it once."

"Okay." A pen scratching, faint, somewhere on the other end. "Understood. Anything else you want to add? Anybody else involved, anything like that?"

He thought about you for half a second, your face at the table, he's my friend, that's just what friends do, and shoved the thought down flat before it could climb any higher.

"No," he said. "Just him."

"Okay. We appreciate the call. You don't have to give us anything else if you don't want to."

"I don't."

"Alright. Take care."

The line went dead.

Toby sat there with the phone still against his ear for a few seconds after the call had already ended, the dial tone humming faint and then nothing at all. He lowered it slowly into his lap.

The room was very quiet. His shoulders didn't hitch. His neck stayed still, the tics gone the way they only went right before or right after something final.

I didn't touch him, he thought again, turning it over like a stone he could hold onto. I kept my word.

He set the phone on the nightstand, screen dark, and lay back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling until his eyes finally slid shut.

Toby woke up the next morning and felt lighter than he had in days.

The weight that had been sitting in his chest since the kitchen conversation with you was simply… gone. He lay still for a few seconds, staring at the cracked ceiling of his room, and waited for the usual spiral to start. It didn’t. Instead there was only a quiet, steady sense of rightness. He’d done what needed doing. He’d protected you. He’d removed the threat without ever laying a finger on Andy, without breaking a single word of the promise he’d made while your hands were on his face. Andy would be gone soon enough, arrested, locked up, out of your life, and Toby hadn’t even touched him. That made it clean. That made it good.

He sat up, stretched until his shoulders popped, and felt the last of the tension drain out of him. The tics were quieter this morning, the constant static under his skin turned down to a low hum. He pulled on a hoodie and padded downstairs.

The house was empty and quiet. Brian was still out on whatever job he’d taken. Jeff and Ben were nowhere to be seen, probably still crashed from whatever they’d been up to the night before. Tim’s usual sprawl on the couch was absent for once. Toby made himself a bowl of cereal and ate it standing at the counter, then carried the rest into the living room and dropped onto the couch.

He turned the TV on low and let some mindless daytime show drone in the background while he scrolled through his phone. His cracked screen lit up with your name. He smiled, a real, soft, almost shy smile, and started texting.

boyfriend 🪓:

morning slept good?

Your reply came almost immediately. He read it twice, the corner of his mouth pulling higher, and typed back. The conversation stayed light and easy: how you’d slept, what you were doing, little pieces of nothing that somehow felt like everything. Every time your name popped up on the screen his chest went warm. He stayed like that for a long time, legs stretched out, phone in one hand, the other absently scratching at the back of his neck whenever a small tic tried to surface.

Eventually the stairs creaked.

Tim came down slow, favoring his bad leg hard, crutches tucked under both arms. The bandages around his thigh were still thick and clean, Jack’s work. He looked tired and irritated in equal measure, but when he saw Toby already occupying the couch he just grunted and limped over.

“Hey,” Tim muttered, dropping onto the opposite end of the cushions with a wince. He reached over without asking and plucked the remote out of Toby’s hand, flipping through channels until he found something with more explosions and fewer talking heads.

Toby didn’t argue. He just shifted to give Tim more room and kept one eye on his phone.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the kind that only happened when neither of them felt like starting shit. Tim eventually broke it with a low grunt.

“We’re heading out tonight,” he said, eyes still on the screen. “Mission. Longer one. Out of state. Brian said we’ll probably be gone a week, maybe more. Leaving as soon as he gets back this evening.”

Toby glanced over, still half-smiling from whatever you’d just texted him. “Alright.”

Tim snorted. “That’s it? Just ‘alright’?”

Toby shrugged, then let a crooked little smirk tug at his scarred mouth. “How you g-gonna go on a mission with that l-leg, huh? Gonna hop after the target?”

Tim’s head turned. He reached over and cuffed Toby lightly upside the back of the head, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make a point. “You don’t need a good leg to shoot, asshole.”

Toby laughed under his breath and looked back down at his phone, thumbs already moving across the cracked screen.

“Whatever,” he muttered, still half-smiling at whatever you’d just sent him.

Tim shifted on the couch, adjusting his bad leg with a low grunt, and pointed the remote at Toby like it was a weapon.

“Hey. Don’t forget you need to gather the supplies and weapons for tonight. Brian’s not gonna want to wait around while you dig through the shed like an idiot.”

Toby groaned theatrically, still staring at his phone. “Okay, okay.”

He stayed seated a little longer than necessary, finishing the last of the easy back-and-forth with you before he finally locked the screen and shoved the phone into his pocket. With another exaggerated sigh he pushed himself up off the couch. On the way past Tim he reached down and gave one of the crutches a playful little shove with his boot, making it slide a few inches across the floor.

“Careful with those,” Tim snapped, swatting at him. “I’ll break the other one over your fucking head, Tobes–”

Toby only chuckled and nudged the crutch back into place with his foot. “Relax. I’m going.”

He stepped out into the mild afternoon air, the front door clicking shut behind him. The yard was quiet except for the soft rustle of wind through the trees. Toby crossed the uneven ground toward the old shed that sat half-hidden near the treeline, boots scuffing against dirt and scattered pine needles. He pulled the door open with a familiar creak and stepped inside, blinking against the dimmer light.

Shelves lined the walls - tools, old tarps, crates of various sizes. He started searching for the ammunition boxes first, moving a few dusty containers aside, checking labels. His neck cracked once as he crouched to look on a lower shelf.

That was when his eyes landed on the heavy metal toolbox sitting near the back wall.

He paused.

He suddenly remembered Jeff’s bed. The one Smile had destroyed. The one he’d promised to fix so Jeff would stop crashing in Ben’s room.

Toby stared at the toolbox for a long second, weighing the two tasks against each other. The mission supplies could wait a little longer. Brian wasn’t back yet. And he’d given Jeff his word.

Might as well get it done today.

He set the ammunition boxes he’d already pulled aside back onto the shelf for now, grabbed the toolbox by the handle, and hauled it up. The weight of it felt solid and familiar in his grip. He stepped back out of the shed, kicked the door shut behind him with his heel, and headed toward the house again, boots heavy on the steps as he went back inside.

He climbed the stairs two at a time, the heavy toolbox swinging at his side. He stopped first at Jeff’s door and tried the handle. Locked. Of course it was locked. He gave it one more useless yank, then let out a short, irritated sigh and turned away.

Ben’s room, then.

He walked the short stretch of hallway and stopped outside the familiar door. Knocked once. Waited. Knocked again, harder.

Nothing.

“F-fucking…” Toby muttered under his breath. He didn’t bother with a third knock. He just turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted him made him freeze in the doorway.

Ben and Jeff were both asleep in Ben’s bed, wearing nothing but boxers.

Ben was curled on his side facing Jeff, long blonde hair a complete mess across the pillow, one arm tucked under his cheek. Jeff lay on his back, one arm thrown over his face to block out whatever light managed to sneak past the curtains. His long black hair was tangled and spread everywhere. One of his legs was messily thrown over Ben’s, bare chest and waist on full display, thin but toned, the usual scatter of old scars visible along his ribs and stomach. The sheets were half-kicked down around their hips.

Toby just stood there staring.

It was ridiculous.

He could still hear Ben’s voice from days ago, high and defensive: Nah, not in a gay way, man, it’s just his bed broke…

Right.

Toby shook his head slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching. He stared at the two of them for another long second, taking in the complete lack of personal space, the way Jeff’s leg was still draped over Ben like it belonged there, the quiet sound of their breathing.

Then the decision settled in his chest, warm and mischievous.

He stepped fully into the room, lifted the heavy toolbox, and dropped it. The metal hit the wooden floor with a loud, echoing CLANG that bounced off the walls. At the exact same time Toby cupped both hands around his mouth and screamed at the top of his lungs: “WAKEY WAKEY!”

Ben jerked awake with a sharp gasp, eyes flying open. The second he registered the warm body next to him he scrambled backward like he’d been burned, yanking the tangled sheets up over his chest and giving Toby a pure death glare from the far side of the mattress.

“Yo, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” Ben’s voice cracked, high and offended. He clutched the sheets tighter. “Knock, man! Fucking knock!”

Toby just shrugged, still standing in the doorway with the toolbox at his feet. “I did.”

On the other side of the bed Jeff let out a long, pained groan and dragged both arms up over his face, completely blocking out the world. He stayed like that for a few seconds before finally peeling one arm away just enough to crack a bloodshot eye open and look at Toby with pure, exhausted hatred.

“The fuck...” Jeff’s voice was low, raspy, and thick with sleep. He didn’t even bother sitting up. “It’s not even two yet, you piece of shit. Why the hell are you waking us up this early?”

Toby shook his head slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

These two really did live on a whole other planet. Different rules, different norms, different concept of what time of day was acceptable for being conscious. He glanced between them one more time, Ben still plastered against the wall with the sheets pulled up like a scandalized Victorian, Jeff half-dead and completely unbothered by how little space had been between them thirty seconds ago.

“I’m h-here to f-fix your bed, Jeff,” Toby said, deadpan. He nudged the toolbox with his boot. “Remember? The one Smile ate.”

Jeff let out another long, suffering groan and dropped his arm back over his face.

Ben just kept glaring.

Toby shifted his weight and jerked his chin toward the door. “C’mon. Get up, Jeff. Your d-door was l-locked when I tried to get in.”

Jeff let out one last long, suffering groan, then finally dragged himself upright. He sat on the edge of the mattress for a second like the effort might kill him, then pushed to his feet and stretched, arms overhead, back popping, the motion pulling his thin frame tight. He grabbed a wrinkled black shirt from the floor, tugged it on, then stepped into a pair of dark sweatpants that had been kicked halfway under the bed. Toby simply stood there and waited, toolbox at his feet, watching the whole sluggish process with mild impatience.

Once he was dressed, Jeff crouched down and reached under Ben’s bed, fishing around until his fingers closed on a set of keys. He pulled them out with a soft metallic jingle.

Toby’s brow furrowed. “What do you k-keep in your r-room that needs this much security? You g-got the door locked, keys h-hidden under the bed–”

“‘Cause I’m not about to have one of y’all sneakin’ in and goin’ through my shit,” Jeff said flatly, standing back up and jingling the keys. “Or liftin’ my stash. I know how this house works. Trust nobody. That’s rule one.”

Behind him, Ben caught Toby’s eye and mouthed, exaggeratedly, he’s paranoid, rolling his eyes for full effect.

Jeff didn’t even turn around. “I heard that.”

“You didn’t even see it–”

“I felt it, Ben.”

Ben huffed and flopped back down onto his bed, yanking the blanket up around himself. His cheeks were still faintly pink, the leftover embarrassment from being caught curled up with Jeff clearly not fully gone. He glared at the ceiling like it had personally offended him.

Toby bent down, grabbed the heavy toolbox, and followed Jeff toward the door. Just as they reached the threshold, Ben got in one last petty shot, muttering just loud enough to carry:

“Take your busted-ass bed and your paranoia and go, then. Some of us are tryna sleep.”

"Love you too, man," Jeff called back dryly, not looking.

Toby followed Jeff the short stretch of hallway to his room, the toolbox still hanging heavy at his side. The floorboards creaked under their boots.

“Ben a-always wake up that cranky?” Toby asked, glancing sideways at him.

Jeff snorted, the sound low and raspy. “Only when some twitchy fucker wakes him out of his beauty sleep.”

Toby rolled his eyes hard enough that it almost hurt. He let the silence sit for half a second, then added, completely deadpan:

“Maybe he’s j-just cranky ‘cause he w-won’t have someone to c-cuddle with anymore.”

Jeff stopped dead, turned halfway around, and gave Toby a look of pure, exhausted disbelief, the kind of look someone gives a toddler who just said something profoundly stupid.

“Yo.” He pointed a finger at Toby’s chest, voice flat and almost pitying. “That’s weird as fuck. Do I look gay to you? Be honest. Do I look like I cuddle? The answer is no.”

Toby just blinked at him, completely unimpressed.

Jeff kept going, clearly on a roll now, one hand waving lazily like he was dismissing the entire concept of physical affection.

“We share a bed ‘cause we’re bros. That’s it. Logistics. Not… whatever weird little fanfiction you’re writing in that twitchy head of yours. Ben’s a homie who happens to own a comfortable mattress. I tolerate him. He tolerates me. End of story.”

He turned back to the door, jammed the key in, and twisted it with unnecessary force.

“And for the record,” Jeff added over his shoulder, still in that same casual, belittling tone, “if I was gay–which I’m not–I could do better than Ben. I’m not that desperate.”

Toby tilted his head, completely deadpan. “What’s w-wrong with Ben? He’s a c-cute guy.”

Jeff blinked. For a solid second his brain visibly short-circuited. The usual lazy smirk faltered. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again like he was trying to find an exit ramp that simply wasn’t there. He stared at Toby as if the words “cute guy” had been spoken in a language he’d never heard before.

Finally he just waved one hand in a vague, dismissive arc, clearly choosing the nuclear option of pure deflection.

“If he’s so cute, you go cuddle him.”

Toby had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He simply shook his head once, slow and unimpressed, and stayed silent. That silence was somehow louder than anything he could have said.

Jeff turned around with a muttered “unbelievable,” shoved the door the rest of the way open, and stepped inside like the conversation had personally offended him.

Toby simply followed him in.

Jeff's room was plain, an eerie contrast to the colorful, lived-in chaos of Ben's just down the hall. Where Ben's space was warm and cluttered and human, Jeff's felt like a cell. The air hit you first: something faintly chemical hanging in it, sharp and stale, the kind of smell that got into your throat. The walls were bare, like nobody actually lived here so much as slept here between things.

There wasn't much to it. A pull-up bar mounted in the doorway to the closet. A couple of weights on the floor. A collection of knives laid out along a shelf, the one thing in the room that looked cared for, cleaned and ordered with a precision that was almost unsettling.

A small desk sat shoved in the corner, a sketchbook and a scatter of pencils lying open across it. The second Toby's eyes drifted toward it, Jeff reached over without breaking stride and flipped the cover shut, tossing it carelessly onto the pile of clothes beside the desk. Toby caught only a flash of it before it closed, some rough, half-finished sketch, the vague shape of a girl maybe, but it was gone too fast to make out anything more than that, and he didn't think much of it.

And then the bed. Or what was left of it.

One whole side had been torn clean off, the frame splintered and gnawed, one of the legs bitten straight through. Smile had absolutely demolished it. The mattress sagged at an angle where the support had given out.

Empty pill bottles crowded the nightstand, and a scatter of little baggies lay here and there across the floor and surfaces. It was tragic, honestly. A bedroom could say a lot about a person, and this one didn't have anything good to say, no photos, no color, no softness anywhere. Just weapons, exercise, whatever numbed him, and a broken place to sleep it off.

Toby drifted further in, taking it all in with a flick of his dark eyes, then crouched down beside the ruined frame to inspect the damage. His neck cracked to the side.

Jeff leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching. "Yeah, Smile went to town on it," he said, voice easy, almost fond. "Little bastard. Shoulda punished him for it, honestly." A shrug, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. "But he's such a good boy, man. Couldn't do it. Just gave him a treat and let him off."

Toby hummed, stepping closer to crouch beside the wreckage. He didn't particularly want to be here. Being alone with Jeff wasn't exactly his idea of a good time, the guy grated on him, always had, with that smug lazy drawl and the way he looked at everything like it was beneath him. But a deal was a deal. Jeff had helped him out, given him what he needed, and Toby didn't leave debts hanging.

So he just wanted to get it over with.

He ran a hand along the busted frame, checking where the wood had split, testing how bad the damage really was. "…Okay," he muttered, mostly to himself, neck cracking to the side. "Gotta get the b-broken piece off first. Then, y-yeah. Could probably brace this side, get a new l-leg on it…" He kept mumbling through it, half a plan forming as he turned the toolbox around and flipped the latches open.

He started laying tools out on the bare floor, sorting through what he had, his mind already working the problem. The sooner he fixed it, the sooner he could leave.

He measured the split in the frame, worked the busted piece loose, sorted through the toolbox for what he needed. He was good at this, better than good, and it showed in the easy, focused way he moved.

Jeff watched him for a while, mildly amused, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Then he got bored and drifted over to his nightstand, rattling through the row of empty pill bottles like he was looking for one that wasn't. He found a half-empty baggie instead, dipped a finger in, and rubbed a little of the powder along his gums, working his jaw at the numb bite of it.

Toby glanced up and shot him a flat look. Didn't say anything. Just went back to the frame.

Jeff started pacing, restless, cracking his knuckles one at a time. "So where'd you learn all this, anyway?" he asked, nodding at Toby's hands. "The handy shit. Fixin' stuff."

Toby didn't look up. He fit a screw against the wood and started driving it in. "My dad," he said, casual, like it was nothing. "Used to get d-drunk and b-break shit. Furniture, doors, w-whatever was around. All the t-time." A shrug, another crack of his neck. "Somebody h-had to fix it after. So. Learned h-how."

Jeff paused mid-step. He blinked, clearly not expecting the offhand little trauma dump, and for a second he genuinely didn't know what to do with it. He snorted, more out of not knowing what else to say than anything. "…Damn. Aight." He scratched the back of his neck. "Well, somethin' good came outta that, at least. You're handy as hell."

"Mm." Toby didn't look up, just kept working, driving the next screw home.

Jeff let it drop and went back to his pacing, checking his phone, thumbing something out before shoving it back in his pocket. Toby ignored him and kept at it until he hit a spot he couldn't manage alone.

"Come here," Toby muttered, jerking his chin at the frame. "Hold this."

Jeff groaned, dragging his feet, but he came over and crouched down. Toby positioned his hands on the piece he needed braced, and Jeff held it, gripping the wood while Toby worked the joint back together. Up close, Jeff watched him, his eyes intent, like something was turning over behind them.

"So," Jeff said after a moment, still holding the piece. "Your little stop-a-plug thing. How's that goin'?"

Toby's hands didn't slow. "Fine."

"Fine as in you did it, or fine as in–"

"Fine as in d-drop it," Toby said flatly, fitting another screw.

"Uh huh." Jeff didn't sound like he was dropping it any time soon. "You gonna do the cop thing, or you gonna do the smart thing and just handle it yourself?"

"None of your b-business either w-way," Toby shot back, a little sharper. His shoulder hitched.

Jeff hummed, watching him work, and didn't push it, not on that. But something was still ticking behind his expression, and Toby could feel him looking. After a beat, Jeff shifted his grip on the wood and said, casual as anything:

"This got somethin' to do with that girlfriend you supposedly got yourself?"

Toby's hand stopped. Just for a second. Barely a hitch. Then he kept driving the screw, jaw tight, not looking up. "…Who told you I got a girlfriend."

"House talks, man." Jeff shrugged, still holding the piece. "Tim, Brian, they've been on your ass about some girl for weeks. Whole house knows." His mouth curled into that lazy, needling smirk. "Honestly I didn't even believe it. Figured you made her up." He tilted his head, studying Toby's face. "But you got real quiet just now. So. She's real, huh."

Toby's neck cracked hard to the side. He fit the next screw with more force than it needed. "None of your business."

"Didn't say it was." Jeff was grinning now, clearly enjoying himself, sensing he'd hit something. "Just puttin' it together, is all. You got a girl. And now, outta nowhere, you're askin' me and Benny how to take down some dealer." He let that hang. "Funny timing."

Toby didn't answer. His hands kept moving, steady and mechanical, but there was a tightness in his shoulders now that hadn't been there before, a stillness creeping up under the tics.

Jeff didn't get an answer right away, and that just seemed to feed him.

"C'mon, man," he said, grinning, still holding the wood steady while Toby worked. "That a nerve I hit? Twitch got a soft spot after all." He clicked his tongue.

Toby's jaw worked. His hand slowed on the screwdriver. "Shut the ffff-fuck up, Jeff, or I'll leave your b-bed like this."

Jeff huffed out a laugh, holding up his free hand in mock surrender, that lazy grin still plastered on. "Aight, aight. My bad." He didn't sound sorry at all.

Toby went quiet after that, driving the last few screws in with more focus than the job really needed, jaw tight, clearly chewing on something behind the silence. Jeff let him stew, watching him work with that same idle amusement, until Toby finally broke it himself.

"…If you had a g-girl," Toby said, not looking up, "you'd wanna p-protect her. Right? Keep her o-outta harm's w-way."

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Guess so."

"That's a-all this is." Toby set the screwdriver down and reached for the next piece, jaw tight. "She's mixed up with some sh-shady people. I'm just lookin' out for her. That's it."

Jeff snorted, a short disbelieving laugh. "Lookin' out." He shook his head, grinning wider now. "Bro, you're a killer. You're literally one of the shadiest motherfuckers I know." He laughed again, louder, genuinely entertained. "The fuck are you talkin' about, protectin' her from shady people. What do you think you are?"

Toby's neck cracked. He didn't even want to be having this conversation, not with Jeff, of all people, but he pushed through it anyway, stubborn. "I'd n-never hurt her. I keep her s-safe. That's different." He tightened the last screw, testing the joint with a shove of his palm. "Other people muh-might not have her back like that. Not the way I do."

"Uh huh."

"You don't even got a g-girlfriend," Toby added, a little sharp, like it settled something. "So you wouldn't get it a-anyway."

That got a real laugh out of Jeff, short, cocky, genuine. He rolled his shoulders back against the wall. "Nah, man, and I don't want one either." He said it easy, like it was obvious. "Bitches are all the same anyway. Stupid as hell, every one of 'em. Only good for one thing, and it ain't conversation." He smirked, the kind of smirk that made it clear exactly what he meant, not bothering to soften it at all. "Get what you want, get out. That's it. That's the whole system, man, works fine."

Toby didn't even look up from the frame, unsurprised, already braced for exactly this. He just shook his head slightly, screwing the last piece into place.

"That's what you oughta be doin' too, honestly," Jeff went on, warming to it now, arms crossing. "All this–" he gestured vaguely at Toby, at the whole idea of him, "–girlfriend shit. Feelings. That's just a distraction, dawg. Fuck her a few times, move on. It's that simple." He shrugged. "Instead you're over here buildin' whole conspiracies in that thick head of yours. That's not protectin' her. That's just you bein' insane."

Toby rolled his eyes, not even surprised, tightening the last screw with a final twist.

"I'm just sayin'–" Jeff adjusted slightly, watching him with something almost clinical now under the smirk. "You got issues, man. Clear as day. You're jealous as hell, you're buildin' this whole thing up in your head over some plug who probably doesn't even think about her like that." He shook his head slowly. "You're makin' somethin' outta nothin'. And it's gonna bite you in the ass. Watch."

Toby stood up without another word, ignoring him, and moved to the other side of the frame to finish bracing the last joint. There wasn't any point arguing with Jeff. Never had been. The guy was just a piece of shit, plain and simple, and trying to explain anything to him was like trying to explain it to a wall that talked back and got off on it.

He worked in silence after that, tics rolling through his shoulders every so often but his hands steady, methodical, driving the last screws home and testing the frame with a firm shove of his palm. Satisfied, he sat back on his heels.

"Try it," he said, jerking his chin at the bed.

Jeff stood up and dropped onto the mattress, bouncing once, testing the give of it. He hummed, nodding along, then stretched out fully on his back with his arms behind his head like he was settling in for a nap. Then, smirking, he started thrusting his hips up lazily into the air a few times, laughing under his breath.

"Gotta make sure it holds up for all activities," he said, grinning over at Toby.

Toby just stared at him, flat, utterly unimpressed.

Jeff snorted and sat back up, patting the frame approvingly. "Yeah. It's fine, man. Thanks, I guess."

Toby grabbed the toolbox and started tossing the tools back in one by one, latching it shut. Jeff watched him from the bed, arms braced back on the mattress, that same lazy look on his face.

As Toby headed for the door, Jeff called after him.

"Hey. One more thing." He waited until Toby glanced back. "Let it go, dude. Chill out a little." He shrugged, easy, unbothered. "Maybe you're the one who needs a plug, way you're wound up lately. Come to me if you need somethin' to take the edge off."

Toby shook his head, muttering, "You're an idiot," and pushed the door open.

Jeff just laughed, low and unbothered, as Toby stepped out into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him.

Things had been going pretty normal that day.

You’d woken up alone in your bed, the sheets still faintly smelling like Toby from the last time he’d stayed over. The morning had been quiet, a few lazy texts back and forth with him while you moved around the house. He’d told you about the mission sometime around noon. Longer one this time. Out of state. Probably a full week.

You’d stared at the message for a while before typing back something light, something understanding. It was just part of his job. Part of his life. You’d known that from the beginning. The strange hours, the sudden disappearances, the way he sometimes came back quieter or more wired than usual, it was all baked into whatever this thing between you was. You had to get used to it.

Still. There was a bad feeling sitting low in your body that wouldn’t leave.

You tried to blame it on the fact that Toby was about to be gone for a week. That made sense. You’d miss him. The house would feel too quiet. But the truth was the feeling had been there since the second you opened your eyes that morning, a low, persistent unease, like something was wrong even though nothing had happened yet. Like the air itself was holding its breath.

You tried to shake it off. You did the dishes. Wiped down the counters. Folded a load of laundry that had been sitting in the basket for two days. Put on music while you moved through the small rooms of your house, trying to fill the quiet with something normal. The weird feeling stayed anyway, a dull pressure behind your ribs that never quite went away no matter how many chores you checked off the list.

By the time the afternoon started tipping toward evening, you had to get ready for your shift.

You stood in front of your closet and pulled out the usual: a clean work polo and a pair of shorts that sat low on your hips. The fabric hugged the curve of them nicely, practical for the heat that still lingered even as the day cooled, but flattering enough that you didn’t feel completely swallowed by the gas-station uniform. You slipped the polo over your head, smoothed it down, then stepped into the shorts and tugged them into place.

In the bathroom you brushed your hair out until it fell smooth around your shoulders, then leaned in toward the mirror. Your reflection looked back at you, a little tired around the eyes, but fine. Normal. You tried to focus on positive things. The fact that Toby had seemed lighter today. The way he’d been texting more.

You told yourself the bad feeling was just nerves about him being gone. You almost believed it.

You grabbed your bag, keys, and phone, then stepped out the back door into the mild evening air.

And stopped dead.

Four–no, five–deer stood scattered across your small backyard like they’d been invited. One near the fence, two by the overgrown patch of grass where the mower never quite reached, another half-hidden beside the old shed, and a fifth standing closer to the house than any wild animal should’ve been. They were completely still, heads turned toward you the second the door opened.

You gasped softly.

The deer didn’t bolt. They just stared, large dark eyes locked on yours, ears twitching once but bodies frozen in place. The silence between you felt heavier than it should have.

You stared back, heart giving a weird little kick against your ribs. “…What the hell are you guys doing?” you asked, trying for a light tone even as something uneasy curled low in your stomach. “Throwing a party in my yard or what?”

None of them moved. The closest one blinked slowly.

You let out a breath and shook your head, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Alright. Fine. You can keep being here, I guess. Just… don’t eat my sad little garden.”

One of the deer, a sleek brown one with a pale patch near its throat, took a single step toward you. Just one.

You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up. For a second you wondered, absurdly, what they were trying to tell you. If they were trying to tell you anything at all. The weird feeling that had been sitting in your chest all day sharpened, just for a moment, into something almost like a warning.

You forced a small, unsure smile at them, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Okay. Well. Be good, I guess.”

Then you turned away, stepped off the back porch, and started walking toward the gas station, the soft weight of their eyes following you until the trees finally cut them off from view.

You hurried the rest of the way to the gas station, the strange encounter with the deer still sitting heavy in the back of your mind. By the time the familiar fluorescent glow of the storefront came into view, the sun had dipped low enough that the lot was already washed in that flat, early-evening light.

Andy was already behind the register when you pushed through the door. He had a bright blue slushy in one hand and was chuckling at something on his phone, the sound low and easy. The second the little bell above the door jingled he looked up and grinned. “Sup.”

You groaned theatrically as you stepped into the cool-ish air of the store, already peeling your polo away from your lower back. “God, the humidity is disgusting today. I feel like I walked through soup.”

Andy took a long pull from the slushy, the straw making a hollow sound at the bottom, then ran a hand through his short buzzcut. “We lucky as hell the shitty AC’s still workin’ in this place. Another week of this heat and I’d quit on principle.”

You snorted, tossed your bag into the back room, and came back out to lean against the counter beside him. The two of you fell into the usual easy rhythm, complaining about the slow afternoon, about the weird guy who’d tried to pay with loose change the day before, about how the ice machine was making that grinding noise again. After a minute you straightened a little and glanced over at him.

“Okay, random, but… I had like five deer just standing in my backyard when I left. Straight up having a meeting or something. They just stared at me.”

Andy hummed, eyebrows lifting. He took another sip of the melting slushy before setting it down on the counter. “Dude… I actually saw a deer on my way to work too. Kept following me for like a good ten minutes. Every time I looked back it was still there. Hella weird.”

You felt that low, uneasy pressure in your chest tighten another notch.

Andy leaned his elbows on the counter, voice dropping into that half-serious, half-amused tone he used when he was about to say something strange. “Me and my girl were talkin’ about it a few days ago, actually. She lives right by the woods so she sees deer all the time. Apparently it’s like a static thing, people ‘round here been reportin’ weird static-like noises in the woods for ages. And deer can hear on a different frequency or some shit. She said they can sense when energies are off.”

He paused, then laughed it off with a little shake of his head, reaching for the slushy again. “She’s into some weird obscure stuff, man. But hey, let’s hope no one put bad energy on us or some shit, right?”

You leaned your hip against the counter and tilted your head, a small smile tugging at your mouth despite the lingering weird feeling from the deer conversation. “Guess that means the two of us might need to cleanse our auras or whatever the fuck spiritual people call it,” you said dryly.

Andy threw his head back and cackled, the sound bright against the quiet of the empty store. He pointed his half-melted blue slushy at you like it was sacred. “Nah, see, you got it all wrong. You just take a slushy from the machine. That’s where real salvation is. Cherry, blue raspberry, doesn’t matter. Instant spiritual reset, I’m tellin' you.”

You laughed, the tension in your shoulders loosening a little, and pushed off the counter. “Alright, fine. Point taken.”

You walked over to the humming machine, filled a cup with a mix of blue and red until it turned an unholy purple, and came back to lean against the counter again. The first icy sip made your teeth ache in the best way. For a moment the two of you just stood there in comfortable silence.

You turned the cup slowly in your hands and glanced over at him. “Hey… you ever figure out who was behind the car thing?”

Andy’s expression shifted. He shook his head, taking another pull from his own slushy. “Nope. No clue. Asked around a little, some of the regulars, a couple people I know. Nobody’s sayin’ shit. Or nobody knows. Either way, I’m still out a windshield and a hood.”

You hummed, chewing on the inside of your cheek for a second. “How’s the business going otherwise?”

“Little slow,” he admitted with a shrug. “Not too bad, though. Enough to keep the lights on. Could be worse.”

You stared down at the swirling purple ice for a moment, then looked up at him properly.

“I’ve been thinking,” you said, quieter. “I know I was joking about it before, but… I actually want to help. For real. I could move some stuff for you. Take a little of the pressure off. Just until you get back on your feet with the car and everything.”

Andy’s eyebrows shot up so fast it was almost comical. He set the slushy down hard enough that a little blue liquid spilled over the rim.

“Woah. Nah, man. No way.” His voice was firm, no room for argument. “I’m not lettin’ you get involved in bullshit like this. It’s no good. I was just a stupid kid when I started and look where it led me–felonies on my record, money problems every other month, some asshole trashing my car. It’s not a life I want for you. Not even a little.”

You opened your mouth to push back, but he kept going, shaking his head.

“I mean it. I’ll manage. I always do.” Then his expression softened, the hard edge fading into something warmer. “I’m just lucky as hell to have a friend like you lookin’ out for me. That already helps more than you know.”

You felt the quiet sincerity in his voice and let out a small breath. Instead of arguing further, you stepped closer and gave him a one-armed side hug, leaning your head briefly against his shoulder.

“Just say the word, okay?” you murmured. “Any time. I’ll always be there.”

Andy bumped his shoulder lightly against yours in return, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why you’re my favorite coworker.”

Before the moment could tip any further into soft territory, Andy cleared his throat and pushed off the counter, already reaching for a half-empty box of chips under the register.

“Alright, alright, c’mon. Shelves need stocking before the night rush hits. Get to work.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and gave his shoulder one last affectionate squeeze before stepping back.

“Yes, sir,” you said with an exaggerated little salute, already turning toward the back room to grab another box.

And for a few minutes the strange weight that had been sitting in your chest all day loosened just enough to let the ordinary rhythm of the shift take over.

Hours slipped by that afternoon.

Toby went back to his own room, killing time the way he usually did, scrolling through old messages from you, pacing a little, letting the quiet of the house settle around him.

Then Brian’s voice cut through the hallway, sharp and carrying.

“Toby! Downstairs. Now.”

Toby sat up, the easy haze of the afternoon evaporating. Mission time.

He pulled on his hoodie, clipped both hatchets to his belt with practiced ease, and checked the weight of them against his thighs. One last glance around the room, then he was out the door and taking the stairs two at a time.

Brian was already halfway out the front door, a couple of long cases tucked under one arm, the keys to the truck jingling in his other hand. Tim came after him, moving slow and awkward on the crutches. For a guy built like a brick wall, he looked almost comical, big frame hunched, crutches swinging, every step careful and stiff. A stumbling deer in a man’s body.

Toby fell into step beside him.

“Need a hand, or–?”

Tim shot him a look so flat and annoyed it could’ve curdled milk.

Toby snorted under his breath and left it alone.

The three of them loaded the rest of the gear into the bed of the truck in near silence, ammo boxes, extra weapons, a couple of duffels. Toby took the heavier crates without being asked, stacking them neatly while Brian checked the straps. Once everything was secure, they climbed in.

Brian slid behind the wheel like always. Tim claimed the passenger seat with a low grunt, carefully lifting his bad leg in after him. Toby took the back, the crutches ending up propped against the seat next to him when Tim shoved them over the center console without looking.

The engine turned over. Tim already had a cigarette between his lips, the lighter clicking once before the tip glowed. Smoke drifted toward the cracked window as Brian pulled out of the driveway and onto the narrow road that led away from the house.

They were on their way.

The truck rumbled down the narrow road, tires crunching over gravel before the asphalt smoothed out. Toby settled into the back seat, unclipping both hatchets from his belt and setting them carefully on the floorboard by his boots so they wouldn’t dig into his legs. He stretched out as much as the cramped space allowed, one knee propped against the back of Tim’s seat, and left the black bandana pulled up over the lower half of his face. The fabric was familiar against his scars, a shield protecting him from the world.

Outside the window the trees thinned. The road curved toward town.

Toby’s eyes tracked the familiar landmarks as they passed the old feed store, the faded billboard, the stretch of road that always meant they were getting close to the gas station. Your gas station.

His stomach flipped.

He sat up straighter, neck cracking hard to the side. “Hey,” he said, voice already edged with urgency. “Can we–can we m-make one stop? Real q-quick. Five minutes.Tops.”

Brian’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. Tim didn’t even turn around.

“No,” Tim said flatly, cigarette smoke drifting toward the cracked window.

“C’mon–” Toby leaned forward between the seats, the bandana shifting with the movement. “We’re gonna p-pass the g-gas station anyway. I just w-wanna say buh-bye before the mission. It’ll be fast. I swear. Just f-five minutes.”

Brian’s voice came low and unimpressed. “No.”

Toby’s shoulders hitched. “Please. I’ll be in and out. You won’t e-even have to turn the e-engine off. I just–I gotta see her before we leave for a w-whole week.”

Tim finally glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Jesus Christ. Listen to yourself. You’re beggin’ like a dog.”

Brian’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Down bad as hell, Tobes.”

“I’m not–” Toby’s voice cracked into a thicker stammer. “I’m not down bad, I just–it’s one stop. One. We’re a-already goin’ that way.”

The truck kept rolling. Toby kept talking, the words tumbling out faster, more desperate, the bandana muffling some of the edges but not the need underneath.

“Five minutes. That’s a-all. You can time me. I’ll r-run in, say bye, run back out. Please. Brian–”

Brian drove in silence for another few seconds, jaw working. Then he let out a long, put-upon sigh and flicked the turn signal. “I gotta fill the tank anyway,” he muttered. “That’s the only reason we’re stoppin’. You get five minutes. Not six. And if you’re not back in the truck when I’m done, I’m leavin’ your ass.”

Toby’s whole face lit up under the bandana. He clapped his hands together once, sharp and triumphant. “Fuck yeah–”

His phone was already in his hands, thumbs flying across the cracked screen as a wide, crooked smile pulled at the visible corners of his eyes.

boyfriend 🪓:

on my way stoppin by the station real quick before work be there in a min 🖤

In the front seats, Tim and Brian exchanged a long, silent look.

Tim raised one eyebrow and mouthed down bad around his cigarette. Brian just shook his head once, the corner of his mouth twitching with something that was almost pity.

Just when you’d resigned yourself to a long, boring shift and an entire week without seeing Toby, your phone buzzed in your back pocket.

You pulled it out, already half-expecting another sleazy text from Jeff or a spam notification, and then your whole face lit up. It was Toby and he was coming over.

A high-pitched little squeal escaped you before you could stop it. You bounced on the balls of your feet, doing a quick, ridiculous victory dance right there between the chip aisle and the drink coolers, phone clutched to your chest.

Andy looked up from the register with the most unimpressed expression he’d ever worn. “Damn. What, the STD test come back negative or something?”

You snatched the empty purple-slushy cup off the counter and chucked it at him. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder as you laughed. “You’re such a douche. My man’s stopping by to say bye before a job, asshole.”

Andy let out a long, dramatic whistle, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Woohoo, bandana boy!”

You flipped him off without heat, still grinning so hard your cheeks hurt, and started pacing the length of the store like a caged animal. Every few seconds you glanced out the front windows, heart kicking harder each time headlights swept across the lot.

Then the familiar beat-up truck finally pulled in and parked near the pumps.

You were already moving. “Be right back,” you muttered over your shoulder, barely waiting for Andy’s answering snort before you pushed through the door and into the warm evening air.

You were a little too excited to think straight. For a few bright seconds all you could focus on was the fact that Toby was here, that you’d get to see him, touch him, kiss him before he disappeared for a whole week. The truck, the other people inside it, everything else faded into background noise.

Then the driver’s door opened.

Brian stepped out to pump the gas. That blank, unreadable face. Those cold eyes that never seemed to soften. A second later Tim leaned out the passenger window, cigarette glowing between his fingers, dark eyes already tracking the bare length of your legs under the shorts. The second their faces registered, the happy flutter in your chest stuttered and died.

You remembered, weeks ago, the same two men coming in here, crowding you, talking down to you, trying to scare you off Toby like you were something disposable. The way Brian had looked through you. The way Tim had smirked and called you all those nasty things. The cold, ugly feeling of being sized up and dismissed by people who clearly thought they owned the boy you loved.

Your smile faltered.

Toby climbed out of the back seat a moment later, messy brown hair sticking up in every direction, black bandana covering the lower half of his face. Even with most of his expression hidden you could tell he was smiling, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the eager little bounce in his step as he came straight toward you with open arms.

You hurried over to him. Your arms wrapped tight around his neck at the same time his hands settled low on your waist, then lower, openly cupping your ass through the shorts like he didn’t care who was watching. You leaned up and pressed a firm kiss right against the fabric of the bandana where his mouth was. He made a soft, happy sound against your lips and kissed you back through the cloth, fingers squeezing once.

From the open passenger window Tim let out a low, amused whistle, still smoking, still staring.

You broke the kiss just enough to turn your head and shoot him the absolute filthiest look you could manage. “The fuck are you staring at, you limp-dick asshole?”

Toby’s laugh came out muffled and delighted against your cheek, arms still locked around you like he had zero intention of letting go.

Tim chuckled low from the open passenger window, tapping ash onto the pavement with a lazy flick of his wrist. The cigarette glowed between his fingers as he leaned his good elbow on the door frame, dark eyes still fixed on you with that same infuriating, amused glint.

“Aww, c’mon, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice thick with mock sweetness. “You still mad about all that? Don’t tell me you’re gonna hold a grudge forever. Aren’t you gonna greet me the same sweet way you just did Toby?”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, still half-wrapped in Toby’s arms but twisted enough to glare fully at Tim. “Ohhh, wouldn’t you like that, you fucking sleaze?”

Tim’s grin widened. He glanced over at Toby, jerking his chin in your direction like he was sharing a private joke. “Damn, Tobes. You really know how to pick ‘em. Girl’s got a mouth on her, huh?”

Toby rolled his eyes. His hands stayed possessively on your waist, but his voice came out muffled and irritated. “Tim, shut up. Be n-nice. P-please.”

You weren’t finished.

You stepped half out of Toby’s hold just enough to square up toward the truck window, one hand still fisted in the front of Toby’s hoodie like an anchor.

“Not so big and strong now, are you?” you shot back, voice rising. “Not with your leg almost cut clean off. Yeah, I heard all about it. Guess I got my revenge through Toby after all. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before you try to scare some girl off just because she likes your buddy.”

That one landed. Tim’s smirk flickered. Something colder flashed behind his eyes as he took a slow drag off the cigarette and exhaled through his nose. “A little limp ain’t gonna stop me from shit, sweetheart,” he said, voice lower now, less playful. “And you should be real fucking happy your boyfriend’s here right now. Real happy.”

Brian still hadn’t said a word. He stood at the pump, one hand on the nozzle, the other resting on the side of the truck, watching the whole exchange with that same blank, exhausted expression. He just shook his head once, slow, like this was exactly the kind of headache he’d expected the second Toby begged them to stop.

Your hands flew up in pure sass, fingers spreading as your voice climbed higher, words tumbling out fast and sharp. “Oh, I’m supposed to be happy? Happy that the same asshole who came in here weeks ago and treated me like garbage is now sitting in the passenger seat smoking like he owns the place? Fuck you. Seriously. Fuck every single thing about the way you and your blank-faced buddy over there tried to run me off. You don’t get to smile at me like we’re friends now just because Toby dragged your broken ass along for a pit stop–”

“Alright–!” Toby’s voice cut through the rising argument, half-laughing, half-exasperated. His neck cracked hard to the side as a string of tics rolled through his shoulders. He wrapped both arms around your middle and physically dragged you backward, away from the truck and closer to the front of the store, putting deliberate distance between you and the open passenger window.

“Enough,” he said, still chuckling under the bandana even as he kept pulling you with him. “Both of you. Shut up. C’mon.” His voice cracked into a thicker stammer as another tic jerked his head. “F-fuck, just… enough. Please.”

He kept walking you toward the relative safety of the storefront, one hand splayed protectively across your stomach, the other still gripping your hip, laughing under his breath the whole time like he couldn’t decide if the whole thing was hilarious or about to turn into a full disaster.

You let Toby drag you farther from the truck, sneakers scuffing against the pavement, but Tim wasn’t finished.

“Trashy little thing, ain’t she?” he called after you through the open window, voice loud enough to carry. “Mouthy, short shorts, jumpin’ on Tobes the second he steps out like she’s in heat. Real classy, sweetheart. Real fuckin’ classy.”

You twisted in Toby’s arms just long enough to spit hard in Tim’s direction and flip both middle fingers high in the air.

“Eat shit, you crippled piece of–”

“Enough!” Toby’s voice cracked sharp and final this time. He spun you the rest of the way around so your back was fully to the truck, one hand coming up to cup your jaw and force your eyes onto his. The bandana still covered the lower half of his face, but his dark eyes were intense and pleading under the messy hair.

“Just let it go,” he muttered, thumb brushing your cheek. “They’re not w-worth it. Seriously. Not worth it.”

You exhaled hard through your nose, still bristling, still half-ready to keep going. “I don’t understand how you put up with them all the time,” you muttered, voice low and frustrated. “I really don’t.”

Toby only shrugged, the motion small and almost absent. Whatever irritation he’d felt toward Tim was already fading; his attention had locked onto you completely. The way he was looking at you, soft, hungry, completely focused, made the last of your anger start to leak away.

You sighed, reached up, and hooked two fingers under the edge of the black bandana. You dragged it down under his chin in one smooth motion, baring the scarred mouth and the crooked little smile that was already forming.

Then you kissed him.

Toby responded instantly. His hands dropped to your ass and squeezed hard, pulling your hips flush against his as he kissed you deep and open and hungry right there under the fluorescent glow of the gas station lights. A soft, happy sound rumbled in his chest.

“Missed you,” he murmured against your lips between kisses, voice rough and warm. “So fuckin’ happy I got to see you before we left… you look so g-good… these s-shorts are k-killin’ me…”

His fingers kept kneading, openly possessive, like he’d already forgotten Brian and Tim and the truck and the mission entirely.

You stayed like that for another long moment, trading slow, lingering kisses under the glow of the station lights, the rest of the world temporarily irrelevant. You could feel the quiet happiness rolling off him in waves, the way he kept leaning in for just one more kiss like he was trying to store the feeling for the week ahead.

Eventually you pulled back just far enough to speak, noses still brushing. “Come inside with me,” you murmured, thumb stroking over the scar on his cheek. “I’ll grab you some snacks for the road.”

Toby’s eyes lit up immediately, that crooked, boyish smile spreading across his bare face. For half a second he looked purely happy again.

Then the realization hit.

His expression flickered. The smile dimmed. His shoulders hitched once as a small tic rolled through him. “…Is Andy in there?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Toby. Please. Do not start.” You reached down, laced your fingers through his, and gave his hand a firm squeeze. “Just come inside. Two minutes. I’m not asking you to hug him or make conversation. Just… walk in with me, let me grab you some stuff, and walk back out. Please.”

He stared at you for a long second, jaw working under the scars. The internal battle was written all over his face, jealousy, reluctance, the stubborn need to keep you to himself warring with the fact that you’d asked him nicely.

Finally he let out a long, defeated sigh. “Alright,” he muttered, voice low and reluctant. “Fine.”

He still hadn’t pulled the bandana back up. In the anxious little spiral of realizing Andy was inside, it had completely slipped his mind. And you’d gotten so used to seeing him bare-faced, in your bed, in your shower, kissing you in the dark, that you didn’t even think to remind him either.

Hand in hand, the two of you turned toward the glowing entrance of the store.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside, Toby right behind you, his hand still loosely linked with yours.

Andy looked up from his phone behind the register. The second he registered both of you his face split into a wide, easy grin. “Well shit, look who it is.”

Toby went rigid beside you. You felt it immediately, the way his fingers tightened around yours for half a second before going slack, the sudden tension that locked his shoulders, the sharp little tic that cracked through his neck. His eyes flicked to Andy, then away, then back again. And in that same moment you watched the realization hit him: the bandana was still pulled down under his chin. His scarred face was fully exposed under the harsh fluorescent lights.

He tensed even harder, like he was bracing for the comment. The stare. The mockery.

It never came.

Andy barely glanced at the thick scar that cut across Toby’s cheek and mouth. His attention stayed light, open, completely unbothered as he stood up from the stool and came around the counter with an easy, friendly energy.

“Nice to finally actually meet you, man,” Andy said, already sticking his hand out in that casual way. “I mean properly.” He grinned wider. “What’s good?”

Toby froze. For a second he just stood there, towering a little over Andy, hands shoved deep into the front pocket of his hoodie like he didn’t know what else to do with them. His dark eyes darted around the store, the chip racks, the drink coolers, the scuffed linoleum floor, anywhere but Andy’s face. The welcoming tone, the complete lack of judgment, the easy invitation into small talk… none of it was what he’d expected. You could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes as he tried to figure out how to respond to someone treating him like a normal person instead of a threat.

You gave his arm a gentle squeeze and smiled.

“I’m gonna grab you some snacks for the road,” you told him softly. “Be right back.”

You let go of his hand, snagged a plastic bag from under the counter, and headed for the candy aisle. The familiar rows of brightly colored wrappers greeted you. Without thinking you started dropping Snickers bars into the bag, three, then four, then a fifth for good measure. His favorites. The same ones he’d shoved in his pocket the very first night he walked into this store with that restless energy and those dark eyes, back when he first became your thief.

You lingered near the candy aisle a few seconds longer than necessary, listening.

Toby’s voice came first, low, a little stiff, the stammer thicker than usual under the weight of being perceived. “Uh… y-yeah. S’good. Just… passin’ through.”

Andy laughed, easy and warm, like they were already old acquaintances instead of two people who’d never properly spoken. “Man, I feel that. You want a drink or anything while you’re here? On the house. Coworker’s boyfriend tax.”

There was a short pause, then, to your quiet surprise, the low, rough sound of Toby actually chuckling. Just once. “I’m good,” Toby said. “Thanks.”

You smiled to yourself as you dropped two energy drinks into the bag alongside the pile of Snickers. Andy was good at this. Too good, maybe. He had that natural way of making people feel like they didn’t have to brace for impact, and hearing Toby slowly uncoil even a little under it made something warm settle in your chest. This was what he deserved. Ordinary kindness. Someone looking at him without flinching or calculating. Maybe, just maybe, he’d finally start to see that Andy wasn’t the threat he’d built up in his head.

You headed back toward the counter just as Toby spoke again. “I’m… headin’ out for a job. Week, maybe. Out of state.”

“Cool, cool,” Andy said, nodding. “Hustle never ends, right? Don’t worry about it, I’ll keep an eye on her while you’re gone.”

You reached them then, plastic bag swinging from your fingers, and let out a bright little laugh. “What do you need to keep an eye on me for?” you asked, bumping your shoulder lightly against Toby’s arm as you came to stand beside him. “I’m a model employee.”

Andy pointed at you with a grin, already talking to Toby like you weren’t even there.

“Bro. She tried to get in on the side hustle literally a few hours ago. Straight up offered to help me move product ‘cause she felt bad about the car situation. Uhh, long story short, somebody trashed my car. Anway, I had to shut that shit down immediately. Told her no way. It’s a bad idea. Messy as hell. I’m not draggin’ her into any of that.”

Toby went still. You watched the information land, the way his dark eyes flicked to Andy’s face, then briefly away, the small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture. He hadn’t expected that. Not the refusal. Not the protective edge in Andy’s voice. Not the simple, uncomplicated fact that Andy had looked out for you without being asked.

Toby nodded once, slow. “…Yeah,” he said, voice quieter. “She’s… like that. Always lookin’ out for people she cares about.”

The words were simple, but there was something careful underneath them. Something that sounded almost like respect.

You felt a soft rush of affection and leaned into his side, wrapping one arm around his waist in a quick side hug as you held the bag up. “Here you go,” you said, smiling up at him. “On me. Don’t say I never get you anything.”

Toby took the bag, fingers brushing yours. For a second his eyes lingered on Andy again, not hostile this time, just… thoughtful. The kind of thoughtful that came with the slow, private realization that the version of Andy he’d been carrying around in his head might not have been the full picture.

Andy leaned his elbows on the counter, still grinning as he looked between the two of you.

“Man, this boyfriend tax is gettin’ expensive,” he joked, nodding at the overstuffed plastic bag in Toby’s hand. “Snickers, energy drinks… you’re lucky as hell, dude. My own girl needs to start comin’ in so I can spoil her with the same treatment.”

You laughed, bumping your shoulder lightly against Toby’s. “Totally. She should. Free snacks for life.”

Then, because the moment felt easy and warm in a way you hadn’t expected, you added, “You know our whole relationship basically started because of Snickers, right?”

Andy raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“He came in one night and straight-up stole a bunch of them,” you said, glancing up at Toby with a teasing little smile. “Just shoved them in his pocket and walked out. Then the next day he actually came back and returned them. Looked so guilty about it I couldn’t even be mad.”

Andy threw his head back and laughed, a loud, genuine bark of amusement that filled the quiet store. “You’re kidding. That’s the most ridiculous origin story I’ve ever heard.”

Toby’s face went faintly pink under the fluorescent lights. He shifted his weight, free hand rubbing the back of his neck as a small tic hitched through his shoulder. “I–it wasn’t–I was gonna pay, I just… didn’t h-have cash on me that n-night,” he muttered, the stammer thicker with embarrassment. “And then I f-felt bad. So I brought ‘em b-back. That’s all.”

Andy was still laughing, shaking his head in pure delight. “Dude. That’s actually kind of wholesome. You’re lucky you returned the stolen goods, though. We’ve got some hatcheting maniac running around the neighborhood who apparently loves to hack up thieves. You might’ve ended up on the wrong end of an axe.”

Toby’s eyes flicked to yours, quick, knowing, giving you a private little smile, and then he actually laughed. A real one. Low and rough and almost fond.

You felt your own cheeks warm. You laughed too, maybe a little too quickly, trying very hard not to look as guilty as you suddenly felt. The memory of Toby in the woods with those same hatchets, the way he’d once pressed one to your throat in the heat of the moment, flashed through your mind and left you biting the inside of your cheek.

Outside, the truck’s horn blared, long and angry.

Toby’s head turned toward the sound. The easy moment cracked. “That’s me,” he said, already stepping back. He gave Andy a short nod, almost awkward in its sincerity. “See you around.”

“Yeah, man. Be safe out there.”

You followed Toby out the door and into the warm evening air, the plastic bag still swinging from his fingers. The second the door swung shut behind you, you reached for his free hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Thank you. For coming in. And for… giving him a chance.”

Toby stopped walking. For a second he just looked at you, and something complicated moved behind his dark eyes, guilt, sharp and unmistakable, mixed with the quiet weight of a realization he wasn’t ready to say out loud. He nodded once, slow. “I was wrong,” he muttered, voice low enough that only you could hear it. “About him. He’s… alright.”

Then he leaned in and kissed you one last time, deep and lingering, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face like he was trying to memorize the feeling. Behind him Tim was yelling something crude through the open passenger window and Brian laid on the horn again, but Toby ignored both of them completely until he finally had to pull away.

He gave your hand one last squeeze, then turned and walked toward the waiting truck, the plastic bag of Snickers and energy drinks hanging at his side.

You stood there in the glow of the station lights and waved until he climbed into the back seat. Then, just before the truck pulled away, you lifted both hands and flipped Tim off one final time, before turning and stepping back inside the store.

Toby barely got the back door shut before the full weight of it crashed into him.

Brian pulled out of the gas station lot without a word, the truck accelerating onto the darkening road. Tim cracked the passenger window wider and lit another cigarette, the familiar smell of smoke drifting back. Everything looked normal. Ordinary. Just another drive out to another job.

But Toby’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He stared down at them in his lap, at the scarred knuckles, the faint tremor running through his fingers, and felt the panic rise so fast and so sharp it almost choked him. The plastic bag of Snickers and energy drinks sat on the seat beside him like an accusation. Andy’s easy grin.The way he’d refused to let you get involved in his 'side hustle’. The simple, uncomplicated kindness of a guy who had looked at Toby’s scarred face and hadn’t flinched, hadn’t mocked, hadn’t treated him like a freak.

And Toby had called the cops on him.

Anonymously. Coldly. Sitting on the edge of his bed in the dark like it was nothing more than taking out the trash.

For what?

The thought looped, vicious and relentless. For jealousy. For a threat that had never actually been a threat. For the stupid, possessive spiral that had convinced him Andy was dangerous when all Andy had ever done was be your friend and turn down the exact kind of help that could’ve dragged you into something messy.

He’d fucked it up.

He’d fucked it up so badly there was no clean way to undo it.

Toby pressed his back against the seat and tried to breathe through it, tried to keep his face neutral, tried to look like the same restless but functional version of himself Brian and Tim expected on a job. His neck cracked hard to the side. Then again. The tics were stacking, coming faster, his shoulders hitching in sharp, uneven jolts he couldn’t control.

Tim glanced back once, frowning around his cigarette. Brian’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and stayed there a second longer than usual.

Toby couldn’t hold it.

The pressure in his chest kept building until it felt like something was going to crack open. His breathing went short and shallow. His hands curled into fists so tight the nails bit into his palms. Every mile that passed only made the reality sit heavier: the tip was already out there. Someone had already written Andy’s name down. All of it already in motion, and Toby had been the one to set it moving.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He folded forward suddenly, elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his shaking hands.

“I did something r-really b-b-b-bad,” he said, voice muffled and cracked and small.

The truck went quiet except for the low rumble of the engine and the soft rush of wind past the windows.

Tim twisted halfway around in the passenger seat, cigarette paused halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”

Brian’s eyes were already locked on the rearview mirror, sharp and attentive. “What.”

Toby groaned into his hands, a low, miserable sound. For a second he almost swallowed it back down. Almost decided to keep it locked behind his teeth where it couldn’t make everything worse. But the guilt was too big, too loud, too corrosive to sit with alone in the back seat of this truck for the next several hours.

He dragged his hands down his face and looked up, eyes wide and glassy, the stammer turning every word into a frantic, uneven rush.

“I–I got it all wrong. I thought–thought he was a p-problem. I thought he was gonna drag her into shit or, or worse. I was so fffff-fucking sure. And I–” His voice broke. He had to swallow hard before he could keep going. “I called the c-cops. Anonymously. Told them his n-name, where he w-worked, that he was d-dealing, e-everything. And I was wrong. He’s not–he’s not what I thought. He’s actually a–a nice guy a-and he’s just her friend, nothing more, he–he even has his own g-girlfriend–and I still–I still fucking did it. I m-messed it all up. I messed everything up.”

Tim stared at Toby in open disbelief, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers.

Toby couldn’t stop talking now that the dam had broken. The words kept spilling out, tangled with guilt and rising panic and the sick, helpless knowledge that some things couldn’t be taken back no matter how much he wanted them to.

“I thought I was puh-protecting h-her,” he whispered, almost to himself. “I really thought I was. And a-all I did was fuck over s-someone who didn’t deserve it. Someone who’s a-actually good to her. Fuck. Fuck–”

His hands were back in his hair now, fingers twisting hard in the messy strands like he could physically pull the panic out of his own skull. His neck kept cracking, sharp and violent, one tic after another stacking until his whole upper body jerked with the force of them.

“I c-called and I told them e-everything and now it’s too l-late and I can’t take it back and s-she’s gonna h-hate me when she finds out and I p-promised her I’d be good, I promised–”

“Toby.”

Brian’s voice cut through the rambling like a blade, cold and raised just enough to demand attention. His eyes were locked on the rearview mirror, dark and hard.

“Slow the fuck down. You called the cops? On who?”

Toby let out a long, broken groan and dragged his hands down his face again. “Her friend. The guy from the gas station. I–I r-reported him. Anonymously. For d-dealing.”

The truck went deadly quiet for half a second.

Brian’s knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. When he spoke again his voice was low and dangerous, the kind of quiet that was somehow worse than yelling.

“In what world,” he said, each word precise and freezing, “did you think it was a good idea to get cops involved in anything? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

Tim twisted fully around in the passenger seat now, bad leg awkwardly braced, cigarette forgotten. His face had gone from confused to furious in the span of a heartbeat.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Tim’s voice rose fast, almost yelling. “Cops? You called the police? What the fuck is wrong with you? You got a problem with somebody, you handle it yourself. You don’t go running to the same people who would lock every single one of us up and throw away the key if they ever got the chance. What the hell were you thinking?”

Toby shook his head hard, fingers still knotted in his hair, pulling at the roots.

“I promised her,” he said, voice cracking into a near-whine of pure distress. “I promised her I w-wouldn’t hurt him. I s-swore I wouldn’t lay a f-finger on him. So I thought–I thought if I just told the t-truth, if I just made a c-call, it wouldn’t count. It wouldn’t b-break the promise. But I was wrong a-about him. I was so ffff-fucking wrong. He’s not a threat. And now I fucked e-everything up and I can’t f-fix it and she’s gonna find out and–”

His breath hitched. He yanked harder at his own hair, a raw, frustrated sound tearing out of his throat as another violent string of tics ripped through his shoulders and neck. He couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t breathe right. The guilt and the panic and the sick knowledge that he’d set something irreversible in motion were all crashing together at once, and there was nowhere in the back seat of the truck to put any of it.

“Toby–hey–hey–”

Tim twisted fully around despite the bad leg, reaching back with both hands to try and catch Toby’s wrists and pull them away from his head. “Stop. Stop it. Look at me. Breathe, you little shit–”

Brian kept one hand locked on the wheel and reached back with the other, trying to grab whatever he could, a shoulder, an arm, anything to calm Toby down. The truck swerved slightly before he corrected it.

“Toby. Enough.” Brian’s voice was sharp, cold, and louder than usual. “You’re panicking. Pull it together.”

Toby barely seemed to hear them. The guilt had nowhere left to go except outward in pure distress.

“Stop the c-car,” he begged, voice cracking and frantic. “Please, just stop, turn around, I can s-still warn them, I c-can still fix it, it’s not too l-late, I can tell her–”

“No.” Brian’s answer was immediate and final. “We have a mission. An important one. There is nothing you can do about this right now. You should have thought about that before you decided to be a stupid fucking idiot and involve the cops in the first place.”

Tim still had a firm, almost aggressive hold on Toby’s arms, keeping them pinned away from his head as best he could in the awkward angle of the back seat. His voice rose into a near-shout, equal parts anger and something that might have been concern.

“Calm the fuck down. Right now. Some tips never even get acted on, you hear me? Just sit there, keep your mouth shut, and don’t do anything else stupid. Nothing traces back to you anyway. So stop. Stop.”

Toby’s breathing was still ragged. His whole body trembled under Tim’s grip. For a long, ugly stretch of road he kept fighting it, the panic, the need to undo what couldn’t be undone, before the fight finally drained out of him all at once.

He went still. Then he nodded once, small and defeated.

Tim slowly eased his hold but didn’t fully let go until he was sure Toby wasn’t going to lunge at himself again. Brian’s eyes stayed on the rearview mirror for another long moment before he finally looked back at the dark road ahead.

Toby slumped against the seat, staring at nothing. In the quiet that followed, the thoughts came in cold and clear.

Andy had looked at the scar, really looked at it, and hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t mocked. Hadn’t treated him like something broken or dangerous. In Toby’s entire life, that almost never happened. And that same person was the one he’d quietly destroyed.

He thought about you. About how much your friendship with Andy meant to you. About the way you’d smiled when the two of them managed even a few minutes of civil conversation. About how hard you’d worked to get him to give Andy a chance at all.

And underneath all of it sat the oldest, ugliest belief he carried: He ruined everything good that ever got close to him.

The truck kept moving into the night. Toby sat in the back seat with the plastic bag of Snickers beside him and said nothing more.

The long shift stretched on for hours.

By the time closing rolled around, both you and Andy were moving through the familiar routine on autopilot: wiping down counters, counting out the register, restocking the last few empty spots on the shelves, checking the locks on the back door.

Andy leaned against the counter while you finished sweeping near the drink coolers, arms crossed loosely, still looking faintly amused from earlier.

“For real though,” he said, “it was actually really nice meeting him. Toby. Dude’s intense as hell, but… I don’t know. Cool in his own way.” He tilted his head, thoughtful. “That scar’s badass, by the way. Looks like something out of a movie. He military or something?”

You smiled, pushing the broom in a slow arc. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Something like that.”

Andy hummed.

You finished the last section of floor, then glanced over at him with a small, private little giggle. “He really is handsome, though. He doesn’t even realize it himself. It’s kind of ridiculous.”

Andy snorted, shaking his head as he grabbed the keys to the front door. “You’re down bad. It’s cute.”

The two of you finished the rest of the closing checklist in comfortable quiet, lights off in the back, security system armed, final glance around the empty store. You grabbed your bag from the break room and followed Andy out into the mild night air. The lot was mostly empty now, the truck long gone.

“Walk together?” he asked as he locked the door.

“Yeah.” You nodded, adjusting the strap of your bag. “I don’t mind taking the long way. We can pass your place first.”

Andy gave you a small, appreciative nod. Just as he finished turning the key in the lock, a low, familiar whistle cut across the empty lot.

You knew who it was before you even turned around.

Jeff. Of course.

Sure enough, there he was, strolling across the dark pavement with his hands shoved lazily into the pockets of his jeans, tall and completely unbothered by the late hour. His long black hair fell loose around his face, and that same cocky half-smirk was already in place like he’d been expecting to find the two of you out here.

You let out a quiet sigh and shot Andy a look that said really?

Andy only grinned, clearly trying not to laugh, and lifted a hand in an easy wave. “Yo.”

Jeff came to a stop a few feet away, that deep, dark chuckle already rolling out of him.

You crossed your arms. “We’re closed.”

“Awh, already?” He glanced past you at the darkened storefront, feigning pure disappointment. “Damn. Bad timing. Need a last-minute order, if you got it in you.”

He stuck his hand out. Andy clasped it in that casual bro handshake, already shaking his head with a small smile.

“It’s chill, don’t even worry about it.” Andy turned back to the door and started working the lock open again. “Favorite customer gets special treatment. C’mon.”

The second Andy’s attention was on the door, Jeff moved.

He stepped in close and smoothly slid one arm around your waist in a loose side hug, the contact warm and overly friendly. His voice dropped so only you could hear it, low and raspy against the side of your head. “Good to see you.”

You gave him a flat side-eye, even as the corner of your mouth threatened to betray you. “Uh-huh.”

You could smell him - cigarettes, sharp cologne, and something darker underneath that always seemed to cling to him. He was extremely tall up close, the kind of height that made you tilt your head back just to meet his eyes. And those eyes never left your face, dark and amused and openly interested, like the rest of the world had temporarily stopped mattering.

"Miss me?" he murmured, close to your ear.

"Not even a little," you shot back, but you huffed and patted his side once out of sheer tired reflex before stepping back out of his arm.

"You're relentless, you know that?" you added, shaking your head at him.

"I know." He grinned down at you, entirely too pleased with himself.

Andy got the door open and flicked the lights back on, waving the two of you inside. The store lit back up in its familiar buzzing fluorescent glow, and you trailed in after them, leaning against the counter while Andy circled behind it, dropping back into work mode. "Alright, what do you need?"

Jeff leaned an elbow on the counter, ticking it off lazily on his fingers. "Couple eighths of the usual weed. Handful of the blues, if you got 'em. And, uh–" he thought for a second, "–throw in some of that white too. Not a ton. Just enough to hold me over."

Andy raised an eyebrow, letting out a low whistle. "Damn, man, you're burnin' through this shit fast, huh?" He said it easy, no judgment in it, just the idle observation of somebody used to regulars.

Jeff just shrugged, unbothered. "Cash ain't a problem," he said simply, like that settled the whole thing.

Andy huffed a laugh and nodded, tucking the bag back under the counter. "Aight. Say less." He glanced between the two of you, an amused little glint in his eye. "Gimme a sec, gonna run to the back and grab it."

He shot you one last knowing, teasing look over his shoulder before disappearing through the door to the back room, leaving you alone with Jeff under the hum of the fluorescent lights.

You stood there for a second, very aware that you were alone with him now, the store gone quiet except for the low hum of the coolers and the faint buzz of the overhead lights. Jeff's eyes drifted over you, unhurried, down your shorts, back up to the wrinkled work polo, lingering just long enough to be obvious about it, before settling back on your face with that same lazy, unbothered smirk.

"Why you been ignorin' my texts," he asked, tilting his head slightly.

You laughed, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing loosely. "I've been busy."

"Busy." He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "At a gas station."

"Hey, gas station work is very demanding," you shot back. "Lot of responsibility. Lot of pressure." You gave him a flat look. "Also, you only text me in the middle of the night, Jeff. I know a booty call when I see one."

That got a real laugh out of him, low and genuine, head tipping back slightly. "Damn. Callin' me out like that." He nodded slowly, like he couldn't even argue with it. "Aight. Fair."

He went quiet for a second, patting down his jacket pocket like he'd just remembered something minor, something not worth making a fuss over. "Oh, here. Got somethin' for you."

He said it so casually it barely registered as an event, like he was handing you a receipt or a stick of gum, digging two fingers into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, a little worn at the creases like it had been sitting in there a while. He held it out without any ceremony at all, already glancing toward the back of the store like his mind was somewhere else entirely.

You took it, curious, and unfolded it.

Your breath caught, just slightly.

It was a drawing of you. Rough in places, the linework a little rushed at the edges, but there was real skill underneath it, the proportions right, the shading actually thought through, not just scribbled. He'd drawn you from that night outside the club: the shallow cut at your throat, the tousled hair, the short skirt. He'd taken some liberties, exaggerated a little here and there in a way that was undeniably a little vulgar. But it was drawn like he'd actually looked at you. Really looked, and remembered it, and then sat somewhere by himself and put it down on paper because he'd wanted to.

You didn't really know what to do with your face.

"I had no idea you could draw," you said finally, still staring down at it, turning it slightly like the angle might explain something.

Jeff just shrugged, hands going back into his pockets, rocking back on his heels, playing it off like it was nothing, like he handed out sketches of women he barely knew all the time and this was just Tuesday. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

He said it so lightly, so smug and unbothered, already glancing toward the back room like the conversation was basically over as far as he was concerned. But you stood there holding the paper, and it didn't feel like nothing. It sat oddly heavy in your hands for something so light, some rough sketch on a torn page, and underneath the flattered laugh you wanted to give him, some quieter part of you registered how strange it was, that this cocky, lazy, infuriating guy had apparently sat somewhere and thought about you enough to draw you. Carefully. From memory.

You glanced up at him, a little shy suddenly, unsure what expression you were supposed to be making. He was still watching you, and when your eyes met his, he didn't look away first. It held a beat too long to be casual, no matter how casual he was pretending the whole thing was.

You folded the paper back up slowly, more carefully than you needed to, and it must have shown on your face, something warmer than you meant to let slip, because the corner of his mouth curled up just slightly wider, like he'd clocked it and was choosing not to say anything about it.

"Thanks," you said, quieter than you meant to.

"Yeah," Jeff said, easy as ever, shrugging one shoulder like it cost him nothing at all. "Whatever."

But he didn't look away, and neither did you, and it sat there between you a moment longer than it should have.

You cleared your throat, forcing your eyes away from his, tucking the folded paper into your bag like it was no big deal. "So, um, did you hear what happened to Andy's car?"

Jeff raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. "Nah. What happened."

"It got trashed," you said, shaking your head. "Like, badly. Windshield smashed, whole hood clawed up, mirror ripped clean off. He thinks it was some customer who got pissed about his prices." You winced just thinking about the photo. "It was really bad, Jeff. Like somebody went at it with a bat or something."

Jeff hummed, unbothered, nodding slowly like this tracked completely. "Yeah, that's crackheads for you," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "Get all worked up over a couple extra bucks. Lose their whole mind over it." He said it like it was just a fact of the universe, nothing more interesting than the weather.

"Right?" You nodded. "It really sucks, though. He can't even afford to fix it right now." You glanced toward the back room, then back at Jeff, giving him a pointed, meaningful look. "So, you know. If you wanted to tip well tonight. For his good service. Just saying."

Jeff huffed out a laugh, catching exactly what you were doing. "Oh, that's how it's gonna go, huh." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something a little more teasing, a little more pointed. "Tell you what, I'll tip real good, if you stop ignorin' my texts."

You gave him a look, one eyebrow raised, fighting back a smirk. "That's blackmail."

"That's negotiation," he corrected, grinning.

You crossed your arms, tilting your head like you were actually mulling it over, drawing it out just to mess with him. "Hmm. I don't know. That's a pretty steep price for a gas station tip–"

That's when the door to the back room swung open, and Andy reappeared, black bag in hand, glancing between the two of you with that same amused glint from before.

He glanced between the two of you, brow raised. "What're you two chattin' about?"

"Nothing," you said quickly, a little too quickly, "just, stuff."

Jeff glanced at you sideways, that smug little smirk tugging at his mouth like he knew exactly how bad that answer sounded, but he didn't say anything, just let you squirm for a second and enjoyed it.

Andy just chuckled, setting the black bag down on the counter. "Aight, well. Here you go, man." He rattled off the total. "That's gonna be three-fifty."

Jeff nodded, already digging the fold of cash back out of his pocket, thumbing through it lazily. He counted out what looked like nearly double the amount and dropped it on the counter without ceremony.

"Keep the rest," he said, glancing at you again, quick and pointed. "Gotta tip a man for speedy service."

You bit back a smile, glancing away before he could catch it fully, something warm and a little exasperated sitting in your chest.

Andy's eyes went wide for a second before a grin spread across his face. "Yo, " He grabbed the cash, genuinely thrown. "Damn, man, you didn't have to do that. For real. Appreciate it." He reached out and pulled Jeff into a quick, easy bro-hug, clapping him on the back once before stepping away.

"No worries," Jeff said, unbothered, already tucking his order away into his jacket.

The three of you headed for the door, and Andy flicked the lights off behind you one last time before locking up, the store going dark and quiet at your backs.

Jeff turned to Andy first, giving him a lazy nod. "I'll be seein' you around, man."

"For sure," Andy said, still grinning, tucking the cash away.

Then Jeff turned to you, pulling you into a hug, easy and unhurried, one arm looping around you, and this time you actually hugged him back, arms coming up around him instead of just letting it happen to you. He leaned in slightly, voice low, just for you.

"Your turn to hold up your end," he murmured.

You didn't say anything back, but the way you held on a beat longer than you needed to probably said enough.

He pulled back eventually, giving you one last look, that same easy smirk in place, then stepped away and gave a final nod before turning and heading off across the parking lot in the other direction, hands back in his pockets, unhurried as ever.

You ran a hand through your hair, watching him go, feeling strangely warm despite the cool night air.

When he finally disappeared around the corner, you turned back to find Andy already watching you with a knowing little look on his face, eyebrows raised.

"Shut up," you said immediately, before he could even open his mouth, already laughing.

Andy just cackled, throwing his hands up. "I didn't say anything!"

"You didn't have to."

The two of you walked at an easy pace, the night quiet around you except for the occasional distant car and the soft scuff of your shoes on the sidewalk. Andy was still in a good mood from the tip Jeff had left, cracking little jokes about how he might actually be able to put a new windshield on the sedan next week if business stayed steady. You laughed along, shoulder brushing his every so often, the ordinary rhythm of the walk almost enough to smooth over the strange weight of the day.

You thought about Jeff’s drawing in your bag, and you almost mentioned it, the fact that he’d drawn you at all, the careful way he’d shaded the cut on your throat, but the words felt too complicated to drag into the open right now. You let the thought go.

You were mid-sentence about something dumb, still smiling, when you rounded the final corner onto Andy’s street.

The smile faded.

Several cars were parked at odd angles in front of his place. Not the usual neighbor vehicles. The lights on one of them were still flashing in slow, muted rotations, that steady, authoritative pulse of red and blue against the dark siding of the house. Another car sat darker, unmarked, but positioned in a way that blocked the driveway.

You slowed without meaning to.

Andy squinted ahead, still walking for half a second longer than you did.

“What the fuck…” he muttered. Then the color drained out of his face so fast it was almost visible. “Are those cop cars?”

You reached for something calm, something reasonable.

“Maybe it’s nothing,” you said, though your own stomach had already dropped. “Could be something next door. Or a welfare check. People call those in all the time.”

But the closer you got, the clearer the picture became.

Two officers stood near the front walk. Another was by the unmarked car, radio at his shoulder. The way they were positioned, not frantic, not searching the yard, just waiting, made it obvious they weren’t here for the neighbors.

They were here for him.

Andy stopped walking entirely. His breath had gone shallow. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no,” He glanced at you, eyes wide and already calculating, the same look people get when every exit suddenly looks smaller than it did a second ago. For a split second you could see the thought cross his face clear as day: run.

You stepped closer and caught his sleeve.

“Hey. Keep calm,” you said, voice low and steady even though your own pulse was climbing. “Don’t do anything stupid. It’s probably a misunderstanding. Just… breathe. We’ll figure it out.”

He didn’t answer right away. His breathing had gone shallow. The easy, joking version of him from thirty seconds ago was gone, replaced by someone who suddenly looked very young and very scared under the streetlights as the distance between you and the waiting officers kept shrinking.

You approached the house slowly, the distance between the sidewalk and the front steps feeling much longer than usual. The low crackle of a radio and the quiet murmur of voices carried through the still night air.

One of the officers stepped forward as soon as you were within speaking distance. His tone was polite, measured, the kind of professional calm that somehow made everything feel heavier.

“Andrew Cole?”

Andy’s jaw tightened. For a second it looked like he might deny it, but he gave a short nod instead.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

The officer asked a few basic questions, confirming the address, whether he lived alone, whether anyone else was inside the house. Andy answered in short, careful sentences. You stood slightly behind and to the side of him, heart beating hard enough that you could feel it in your throat. Every answer seemed to close another small door.

Then the officer said they had a warrant and would be searching the residence.

Andy turned his head just enough to catch your eye. The look he gave you was brief and unmistakable. I’m cooked.

Your stomach dropped. A cold sweat prickled along the back of your neck and under your arms despite the mild night air. You tried to keep your face neutral, but the anxiety was already sitting heavy in your chest.

One of the other officers shifted attention toward you. “And you are?”

You gave your full name when asked. Your voice came out steadier than you expected.

“How do you know Mr. Cole?”

“We work together,” you said. “At the gas station. We just closed up. I was walking him home.”

The officer nodded, making a brief note, then glanced at the bag hanging from your shoulder.

“Would you mind if I took a look at your bag?”

Every part of you wanted to push back, to ask why, to ask if you were being detained, to put some edge in your voice the way you normally would. The words sat right behind your teeth. But one look at Andy’s rigid posture and the tight line of his mouth made you swallow them.

You didn’t want to make this any worse for him.

“Okay,” you said, and slipped the bag off your shoulder, holding it out.

They checked the bag thoroughly but briefly, then handed it back with a short nod.

“Thank you. Miss, you may stay on the sidewalk for the moment.”

You stepped back as instructed, arms wrapped around yourself even though the night wasn’t cold. Two of the officers turned their attention fully to Andy.

“Mr. Cole, is there anything inside the residence we should know about before we go in?”

Andy’s jaw worked once. His eyes stayed fixed on some point past their shoulders. He didn’t answer the question. Instead he said, voice low and flat, “I want a lawyer.”

That was all.

They nodded like they’d expected it, then moved toward the house. You stood on the sidewalk under the streetlight and watched them disappear inside. The minutes stretched. Ten of them, maybe a little more. Every sound that came from the open front door, footsteps, the low exchange of voices, the occasional shift of furniture, made your stomach twist tighter. Andy didn’t look at you during that time. He just stood where they’d left him, hands visible, shoulders rigid, staring at the ground like he was already somewhere else.

When the officers came back out, the shift in the air was immediate and final.

They had found what they needed - Andy's stash.

Andy was placed under arrest in the front yard in full view of the quiet street. The cuffs went on with the soft, irreversible sound of metal closing. One of the officers began speaking the standard rights in a calm, practiced voice. Andy didn’t resist. He didn’t argue. He just stood there and let it happen, the last of the easy, joking energy from the walk completely gone.

Only when they started guiding him toward one of the cars did he finally look at you.

Your eyes had already started to sting. You could feel the heat building behind them, the first tears threatening to spill whether you wanted them to or not.

Andy saw it.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough but steady. “Don’t cry. It’s aight. For real.” He tried for a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll call you as soon as I can, okay? Just… hold it down at the store for me in the meantime.”

You took a step forward without thinking. “Let me come with you. Please. Just to the station. I can wait, I can find out what’s going on, I can–”

One of the officers moved slightly into your path, polite but firm. “Miss, I need you to stay back. Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”

“Please,” you said again, the word cracking. “He’s my friend. I just want to know where they’re taking him, how long this is going to–”

“Miss.” The same calm, professional tone. “Step back.”

You stopped. Your hands were shaking. The tears you’d been trying to hold finally slipped over and ran down your face as they opened the back door of the cruiser and guided Andy inside. He kept his eyes on you through the window for as long as he could, mouthing something that might have been it’s okay or don’t worry, before the door shut and cut him off from view.

The cars pulled away one after another, red and blue lights washing briefly over the front of his house and the empty street before the night swallowed them. You were left standing alone on the sidewalk with the heavy, sick knowledge that the strange bad feeling you’d carried all day had finally found its shape.

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