waking up at 5:30am today to THIS after the worst day ever yesterday feels like a reward from the universe, so thankyou universe. Also thankyou Kevin you’re a real one for this xx
guys i got fucking scammed at work today and now I’m £500 poorer and I feel like a big stupid idiot 😣 gonna have to read 1000 fics to try and take my mind off of it, this year can go to hell I swear to GOD
Post injury (and post Roy), Gator Tillmans life has been completely flipped upside down. Now serving out a suspended sentence, will being re-introduced to an old acquaintance be the motivation he needs to become a better man, to begin again?
synopsis: Spring has finally arrived, but with it, so has the rain. Gator is sick, and when you realise its not because of the weather, you take it upon yourself to fix it.
authors note: Hellooo lovelies, its another long one, the longest one yet actually! Turns out I'm incapable of writing a chapter that's under 5k words..... whoops! Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this one & that it was worth the wait!!
warnings: mostly fluff, teeny weeny tiny bit of angst
The cruel grips of winter had finally loosened enough for spring to ebb its way into Lehigh. It was still cold, though not quite as bitter, the air carrying a hopefulness that warmer days were not too much further away. The snowfall subsided some time in mid April, which was a welcome relief, but in its place came something that you thought was worse. Rain. You didn't mind it so much when it came in light showers, there was something quite exciting about dashing for cover under whatever shop awning was closest. But the rain for the past two weeks hadn't been that. It had been relentless, heavy downpours that felt almost biblical. The type of rain that makes you want to stay inside, tucked under several blankets with a big mug of tea and whatever knitting project you were currently working on.
You don't remember the last time you made it to work not soaked through to the bone, despite only having to get from your car to the diner door. Your coat finding a permanent home on the radiator out back so that it would be dry enough to slip back on by the end of your shift. You couldn't complain really, you were out in the rain for about 10 minutes max, which really wasn't so bad. Gator however, had gotten the worst of it.
He’d been coming to the diner almost daily since that first invitation, settling into a new, comfortable routine. He'd perch on a stool at the counter during the busy rushes, listening to the commotion of the room around him, tending a cup of coffee that never fully emptied before being topped up again. In the quieter moments, he was tucked into a booth, with you sitting opposite, usually with a generously portioned slice of pie on the table between you. This was your favourite way of spending time with Gator in the diner. You liked that you could rest your hand near where his laid on the table, brushing together ever so slightly, causing his fingers to twitch with nerves at the brief contact, which in turn caused your heart rate to quicken. You liked the way your knees bumped together under the table every time one of you shifted in your seat. You liked that he always absentmindedly reached for the sleeve of whatever sweater or cardigan you were wearing, rolling the fabric between his fingers as he spoke. You liked the quiet laughter that bounced between the both of you like you'd known each other a lifetime. You liked how every interaction left you with flushed, rosy cheeks and a grin that was near impossible to wipe off of your face. But most of all, you liked that finally, after all the time that had passed, you were getting to know each other. Really know each other.
Gator was trying his best to be open with you in these conversations, but sharing details of his life and of himself that he'd never really disclosed to anyone before was hard. Letting someone past the years of walls he’d built around himself scared him senseless. You knew this, which is why so far, most of the talking had been about you. You liked to think that you were a pretty open book, not really having any reservations about sharing details about every corner of your life with him. You hoped that listening to you would give him the confidence to start sharing more of himself. So, you talked.
You told him more about your home life with your mom, what it was like near the end and the loneliness that came with it. You told him about how you'd always wished you'd gone to college, how not being able to afford to go had always made you feel like you'd failed at becoming an adult, how it took years to convince yourself that this wasn't the case and that you could lead a fulfilling life without a degree. You shared how you got into knitting and sewing as a way to keep yourself busy, how the repetitive movements that come with the crafts helped ease your anxiety. How having something tangible at the end that you could use and wear, always quietly filled you with pride. Sure, the things you were sharing weren't anything particularly devastating, but it was honest, and it was showing Gator that he didn't have to be afraid to open up. That vulnerability was nothing to be scared of, at least, not when it came to you.
Eventually, little anecdotes about Gators life started slipping through in conversations. It was never anything major, but they still made your heart break for him. Stories about how he'd be sent to bed with no supper if he didn't finish his ranch chores on time as a child. How he’d wanted to be a vet when he grew up because he loved being around animals. How his favourite cookies were oatmeal & raisin, but nobody ever makes them as good as his mom used to. You remember how quiet he'd gotten after sharing that one, the memory of his mother causing him to shrink into himself. But it was still progress, his mother was obviously a sore subject, but he’d still felt comfortable enough to share something about her with you, even if it was just that she made good cookies. It was a step in the right direction at least, you knew that you were going to have a lot to unpack with Gator and that it was going to have to happen at whatever pace he chose, this isn't the sort of thing that could be rushed, he'd gone through a lot. But you knew it was going to be worth it in the end.
In the past couple weeks, since the rain began, he'd come through the door, sopping wet, trailing water with every step, hands bitten red from the pelt of the water droplets. You take his coat and his cap from him to drape across the other end of the radiator, in hope to dry them out enough to be wearable again, before returning to grab him a fresh mug of coffee. You always watched quietly as his hands wrapped around the mug, the heat soothing the dull ache from being out in the cold.
Today was no different. The rain still hammered against the sidewalk. Gator still came through the door looking like a drowned rat. But today, he was accompanied by a deep, chesty cough. It sounded painful. He'd been sniffly for the better part of a week but brushed it off every time you asked if he was feeling sick. But this cough? There was no way you were going to let him blag his way out of it today.
You lead him to an empty booth near the window, it'd become your go to in the time that he’d been coming in, and settle the coffee onto the table in front of him. You decide to cut the idle chit chat and get straight to the point, knowing that he'll be stubborn about admitting that he's sick, you want to give yourself as much time as possible to get him to confess. There's no way he can deny it today though. As if on queue with your thoughts, he lets out a strained cough.
“Sounds like one nasty cough you've got there.”
“S’fine, nothin’ to worry about.”
“Thats a load of shit Gator, you're sick.”
“M’not sick, s’just a little cold, seriously, m’fine.”
Gators last sentence was followed by another nasty cough, you'd laugh at the comical timing if you weren't so concerned by the sound of it.
“That cough doesn't sound fine to me, you shouldn't be out walking in the rain when you're sick like this, you'll never shift it” you retort, voice laced with concern.
Gator sighs, “it's just, it doesn't feel as bad when I'm here, think s’just dusty at the motel, makes it worse, s’probably just allergies.”
“Hm”, you sigh, unconvinced “that cough is definitely not allergies, but the dust probably doesn't help, don't they have cleaners comin’ around?”
“y’can rent rooms by the hour, s’not the sort of place that cares about cleanliness”,Gator snorts, a bemused smirk pulling tight across his face.
“Well forgive me for expectin’ them to still at least run a hoover around every once in a while”, you laugh back.
The conversation settles back into its usual routine after that, soundtracked by heavy droplets of rain pelting the windows. Every so often, you'd get up from the booth to do the rounds with a fresh pot of coffee, but it didn't take long. Understandably, most people didn't want to brave the weather outside, so the diner seated just a handful of the same, loyal regulars who’d been frequenting the diner for so long, that they were essentially a part of the furniture. At some point around midday, you’d disappeared into the kitchen to get Gator some lunch. Tomato soup heats gently on the stovetop, grilled cheese sizzling in the contact grill on the counter, the perfect comfort meal for a rainy day. Whilst the food is cooking, you make a start on a hot drink to soothe Gators throat, you squeeze half a lemon into a mug, followed by a generous helping of honey, before topping with hot water. You had a feeling that Gator was going to complain about the taste of it, but he’d thank you in the long run when his throat was less scratchy. Once the food is ready, you dish it up and load it onto a tray, along with the mug, and make your way back to the table.
Gator basically inhaled his food, stopping only briefly to hum in contentment or mutter ‘oh m’god’ to himself. The sounds made you smile to yourself, a warm, albeit strange sense of pride settling over you at the fact you’d chosen a meal that he was enjoying so much. The hot lemon and honey however, didn't go down as well. “Smells funny”, he said, turning his nose up as he lowered the cup back down to the table. “It's literally just water, lemon and honey Gator. Please just have one sip? It'll help to soothe your throat”, you countered, desperate for him to just accept that the drink would help him feel better. It took you ten minutes to convince him to take one sip. When he did, he let out a defeated huff, “s’not as bad as I thought”, before bringing the cup back up to his lips to take another sip. “See, I told you it was fine”, you giggled, amused by the fuss this fully grown man had made over a cup of hot water. He drank the rest of it without any more complaints.
The rest of the day slipped by easily. The rain continued to fall incessantly, rivulets of water streaming down the windows, casting the outside world into a hazy blur of passing headlights and umbrellas. Gators cough had persisted, the sound of it breaking through the quiet that the diner had settled into, raw and irritated. You’d also noticed throughout the day that he’d been rubbing the skin around where his eyes had once been, scrubbing his hands up and down his face from underneath his glasses.The action had made the skin visible around the edge of his frames gain a pinkish hue, the type of colour skin only turned when it was sore. You decided not to mention it, Gator always shut down when anything surrounding his eyes or his glasses was mentioned. The last thing you wanted to do was make him uncomfortable, especially whilst he was feeling under the weather. You did decide however, that Gator would not be walking home in the rain in his current condition, you couldn't let him. Now all you had to do was broach the idea to him.
If there was one thing you’d learnt about Gator these past couple of months, it was that he was stubborn as a damn mule. The idea that needing help equated to weakness was still deeply ingrained in his mindset, it was understandable, he'd spent his entire life having it drilled into him, but it didn't make it any less frustrating. The frustration was never aimed at him though, but at how a parent could fail their child so completely, filling their young, impressionable mind with lies about what it means to be a man. It made you so angry. It made Gator angry too. He was trying to be better, trying to unlearn what had been beaten into him as a boy. But it was difficult, despite being out from under Roy's thumb now, most days he could still feel the weight of it pressing down on him. Still hear his cruel words echoing around his mind. His father may be in prison now, but Gator was still haunted by him daily.
You learnt very quickly that today was a stubborn day. When you'd suggested driving Gator home he'd shot you down immediately.
“S’fine, don't need to go outta yer way f’me, you do enough f’me here”, he'd stated.
You huffed, thinking about the right counter argument to say. Optimistically, you were hoping that he'd just accept, but deep down you knew that was wishful thinking. Maybe one day he would be able to accept help without putting the defenses up, but today was not that day. You weren't going to let it deter you though. One way or another, you were driving him home.
“Its not fine Gator. You're sick, it's pouring rain still, you'll be soaked to the bone if you walk in this. I promise it's not out of my way, please just let me take you?”
“No, seriously, m’fine, i’ll be okay.”
You sighed as Gators shoulders curled inwards, you could tell that there was a part of him that wanted to say yes. That little bit of himself that was truly him. But you could see in the way that he'd scrunched his face up that he was struggling to let that little bit show. You knew you had to change tactics a little bit.
“Gator.”
“What?”
“Youre allowed to accept help y’know? It's human to need help. It certainly doesn’t make you no less of a man. Besides, you'd be doing it more for me anyway. If you walk, I'm gonna be worried sick the whole time, it's really treacherous out there. And I'd feel just awful knowing that I was dry at home and you were fighting your way through all that rain, wouldn't be able to sleep with all that guilt. You really gonna let me sit at home all evening and worry, huh?”
You knew it was cheeky to guilt trip him like this, morally grey even. But ultimately, it was in his best interest, so you let yourself off. Besides, if he wasn't going to accept help for himself, maybe he'd accept it if it was disguised as helping you.
Gator sighs a deep sigh, that halfway through turns into another brutal fit of coughs. His shoulders slump, as defeat practically washes over him.
“Fine.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Can’t have ya worryin’ about me, sure y’got more important stuff t’be doin’.”
You grin to yourself. Relief finally settling over you now that you knew he wouldn’t be struggling to get back to the motel through all that rain. And technically, what you'd said hadn't been a lie, you would have been worried sick about him. You'd come to care for him a lot in the past couple of months, and the thought of him sick and soaked through made your heart ache.
“Okay, well I just need to close up, should only be about 20 minutes, then we’ll get going,” you say, patting his arm as you drift back towards the counter to clean up.
Closing the diner has actually only taken 15 minutes, the quiet day had left next to nothing to do. Once you were satisfied that everything was clean, the appliances were off and the alarms were set, you got ready to leave. You take your coat from the radiator and slip your arms into it. Somehow, it's still slightly damp, despite being laid out on the warm surface all day. You sling your bag over your shoulder, stopping briefly to stuff some sachets of honey and an almost empty bottle of lemon juice into it before zipping it shut and picking Gators coat up off of the other end of the radiator. When you round the counter, he's already made his way to the door, waiting for you. You hand his jacket over which he shrugs on, also still slightly damp, and for a second you both stand in the quiet, mentally bracing yourselves for the dash to the car.
Finally, after putting it off for several more minutes, you swing the door open, taking in the heavy sound the droplets make as they reach the ground. You both step out and huddle under the small awning as you lock up, savoring the last few seconds of being dry. But you can't stand there all night, as much as you want to. So, with a gentle hand against the small of Gators back to help guide him, you make the short journey to your car. The brief journey is all quick, careful steps, soft giggles, pools of water splashing under-foot and the low, distant rumble of thunder.
You throw the passenger door open for Gator, bundling him in before rounding the front of the car and jumping in yourself. The both of you sit in stunned silence for a moment, clothes completely soaked through despite only being outside for a few minutes. The silence is broken by an almost disbelieving laugh slipping from your lips. Gator laughs too. Really laughs. That makes you laugh harder. The absurdity of the situation settling in. The water from your clothes sinking rapidly into the car seats.
“Oh my god, I swear it never usually rains this bad”, you huff out, still laughing, running a hand over your face to wipe away the excess water.
“It definitely don’t”, Gator responds, as he leans his head back against the seat.
You smile at the sight of him, sopping wet clothes, hair falling loose under his cap, a boyish smile painted across his face. It's a beautiful sight. He looks soft, content, happy. He looked so handsome like this, the thought making you blush. You let yourself take one more long look at him slouched in your passenger seat, soaking in all of his beauty, before slotting the key into the ignition and starting the car.
“Right, let's get you back before we freeze in here.”
The drive back to the motel didn't take long, soundtracked by quiet chatter and the incessant patter of rain on the windscreen. Thankfully, the spot outside of gators room was empty and the walkway was mostly covered, so you both managed to escape getting too much wetter. At this point though, your clothes are so wet that you think it'll be physically impossible for them to absorb any more water. But you didn't particularly want to test out that theory.
“Thanks f’drivin me back, really appreciate it.”
“Of course, any time, I couldn't have you walkin’ in that.”
The last of your sentence is drowned out by another cough ripping through Gators chest.
“That reminds me, I swiped some honey and lemon from the diner, thought I could make you a drink before I go? Help soothe your throat a bit before bed.”
“Uh, yeah um, yeah thanks, sounds good. Sorry, s’bit messy in the room, wasn't expectin’ any visitors.”
Gators rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, which only makes him more endearing to you.
“Oh, I don't care about a bit of mess, makes us human, don’t it?”
He huffs out a small laugh, before turning to the door and sliding the key across the wood frame until it sunk into the keyhole. The lock clicks, Gator pushes the door open and steps aside to let you enter first. But nothing could have prepared you for the inside of that room.
The thing that hit you first was the smell. A damp, stale, almost sicky musk filled the air. It was pungent, the sort of smell that got stuck in the back of your throat. Not a normal smell, even for a shitty motel room. You walk further into the room, by now, the light has been flipped on, giving you a clear view of the culprit of the stench. The walls were mottled, adorned with thick, dark splotches of mould. Black mould. It was everywhere. It clung to the edges of the curtains. It stretched its way onto the ceiling. It grew hairy behind the nightstand. But the walls were the worst. You could barely see the wallpaper beneath the expansive stretch of the infestation. It all made so much sense now, no wonder Gator had been so sick, no wonder he always felt better at the diner. The thought of him living in this room whilst it was blanketed in this fungus made your heart ache.
“Jesus christ”, you mutter, walking towards the wall to get a closer look.
“Hey, I said it was messy, didn't think it was tha’ bad though.”
“It's not messy, Gator, it's mouldy.”
He pauses briefly, confusion laced in his voice.
“What?”
“This room is covered in black mould, it's everywhere, it's what's been making you poorly.”
“Well shit”, he huffs.
“You can't stay here Gator, it's bad for you to be exposed to this, it's gonna make you really sick. Your injuries aren't even fully healed yet, I'm worried it'll make them infected.”
“S’not that easy, I aint got nowhere else to go”, he snaps, a defensive edge to his tone. He regrets it almost immediately.
“Sorry, s’just, m’still not allowed back at the ranch, might not ever be allowed back, dunno yet, don't even really want to go back there, but s’the only place I have, aint got nothin else.”
Gators shoulders dropped as he spoke, the weight of the realization that he might never be able to return to the only place he's ever called home, no matter how many bad memories it holds, sits heavy on his chest. The sight of him looking so defeated breaks your heart, so you make a somewhat bold suggestion.
“You could come and stay with me? I've got a spare room and truthfully, I hate bein’ in that house alone. It's too big for one person, too empty with just me. I’d appreciate the company. Plus, there's not a single speck of mold in sight. So you might actually stand a chance at kicking that cough, huh?”
Gator considers the offer quietly, carefully. You can see the conflict stretched across his face. The quiet starts to make you nervous, was the offer an overstep? Had you made him uncomfortable? God, had you messed this all up by pushing too far? Your spiral is interrupted when Gator starts speaking again.
“Y’sure I wouldn't be intrudin’? I jus’, I don't want ya t’get sick of me.”
His words come out small, tentatively.
“Of course you wouldn't be intruding, Gator, and you don't ever have to worry about me getting sick of you, I don't think I could even if I tried”, you admit sheepishly, a flush of pink that had become all too familiar to you in the past few months spreading across the apples of your cheeks.
He still seemed apprehensive, fidgeting nervously with his fingers, turning the idea over in his mind. He really doesn't want to live at the motel anymore, it would be nice to be somewhere more permanent, somewhere that felt like a home. But he was scared, no, terrified. What if he fucked it all up? What if you hated living with him and that made you not want to be around him anymore. What if you thought that he was a monster if you ever found out about all of the shit he did for his dad? The thought of losing you made him sick to his stomach. The past couple of months had been the happiest Gator had ever been, he didn’t even know it was possible to feel this way. And it was all because of you. You cared about him. You were patient when he was having an off day, you never got mad at him for it. You did little things that made his life easier, like making sure the handle of his mug was facing towards his right hand or making sure things were in reach so he didn't have to spend too long feeling around. You never said anything about it but he always noticed. And he always thought that needing help made him weak, making him feel even more useless than he already did. But you did it quietly, in ways that still made him feel independent. He wasn't used to being cared for, to being shown affection that he didn't have to earn. It felt strange to be cared for so unselfishly, he didn't feel like he deserved it, but you continued to do it anyway. It made him like you even more. Like didn't even come close to being the right word anymore, his feelings for you had surpassed like a long time ago. He was falling for you, hard. He wanted more with you but he was scared to pursue it because he thought you deserved so much better than him. That fear still wasn't enough to stop his breath from catching every time you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, it didn't stop the warmth spreading through his body every time you said something nice to him. Which is why he was so nervous about the offer of moving in. He didn't want to do anything that would ruin what you had right now. You were the best thing in his life. The thoughts spiralled around his head at a million miles an hour.
You noticed how wrapped up he was in his thoughts, concern and fear painted across his features. You knew he was thinking himself into a hole. In an attempt to stop him, you place your hands against his upper arms, gigging them a gentle squeeze, drawing his attention back to you and not to whatever terrible place in his mind that he’d let himself spiral to.
“Hey, I really want you to move in, wouldn't have offered it otherwise, hm? I know you're nervous, but I promise you it's going to be okay.”
The admission makes your heart break, his shoulders had dropped which made him look so small, almost timid. You hated that life had been cruel enough to him to make him feel this way, like he was always at risk of losing anything good in his life. Slowly, you guide him closer, pulling him into a hug. His face finds the crook of your neck as his arms wrap loosely around your waist. One of your hands finds its way to the back of his neck, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back. You continue the movements before whispering quietly to him.
“Youre not ever gonna lose me, okay? And you're sure as hell not gonna ruin this. I know you've got baggage, a lot of it, but I do too. We can unpack it together, there's gonna be nothing in there that'll scare me away okay? I'm not naive, I know you've done some shitty things, but I care about you, and these past few months have shown me how good you are. If I didn't believe that, then I'd never have invited you to move in. I really like having you around, that's not going to change if we live together, okay?”
Gators arms tighten around your middle, face nestling deeper into your neck as he takes in your words. You both stay like this for a short while, your hand never stopping the gentle movement across his back. Eventually he lifts his head so that he can speak without it being muffled against your skin.
“Okay, only if y’sure.”
“Im sure, Gator, I promise.”
“I need t’call Officer Higgins, see if movin’s gonna be okay, dunno how it works with the tag.”
“Okay, you call him, and I can start packing your stuff up if that's okay with you?”
“Yeah, s’okay, ain’t got much here anyway, won’t take ya long.”
So that's what you do. Gator makes the call whilst you reach down his duffel bag from the top of the wardrobe. You work your way around the room, filling the bag with his few belongings. The clothes from the drawers go in first, then the toiletries from the bathroom, along with his toothbrush. Finally, his phone charger. You do another lap of the room to make sure you've got everything, but that's it. He wasn't kidding when he said there wasn't much here, the bag is barely half full when you zip it up. As you drop the packed bag down by the door, Gator hangs up the phone in a huff.
“Higgins said they can't update the system till tomorrow, gonna have to stay one more night.”
“Thats not happening, give me the phone, I'm gonna talk to him.”
Gator holds his phone out for you to take, Higgins contact still open on the screen. You dial the number and wait for him to pick up. When he does, you don't waste a second laying on the sweet diner girl voice, you'll try anything to get him to change his answer. At first, he tells you the same thing that he told Gator, that it can't be sorted until tomorrow, which makes you mad. You try to remain calm as you explain the condition of the room, as well as how sick it's been making Gator, how you're worried it's going to give him an infection where his wounds are still healing, but Higgins remains firm on the conclusion that nothing can be done. Refusing to accept this as the only solution, you continue the back and forth. As you're talking, you take your own phone out, taking pictures of the mold that covers vast stretches of the walls and ceiling, as well as a picture of the rash that is visible from the edge of Gators glasses. You select all of the photos you've taken and send them to Higgins, telling him to look at them. The line on the other side goes quiet for a moment as Higgins opens the images, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. “Give me 20 minutes doll, I'll go into the office and sort it, didn't realise it was that bad.” You grin, thanking him over and over again, quietly proud of yourself for getting it sorted. Higgins says he’ll message when it's okay to go before hanging up. You hand the phone back to Gator and sit on the bed beside him.
“So?”
“It's sorted, he's going to the office to update the system now, said he'll text when he's done.”
“God, you're good”, Gator smiles, relieved that he won't have to spend another night in this room, despite the previous apprehension of leaving.
You decide to wait for the go ahead from the car, not wanting to spend any longer than necessary in that disgusting room. Once Gators sat down in the passenger and his bag is placed in the trunk, you take a quick trip to the front desk to drop off the room key. They key gets handed over to the man sitting behind the desk, along with a few stern words about the cleanliness of the establishment. The man looks completely uninterested in the fact that you're annoyed, takes the keys from you before looking back down at his computer screen without saying a single word. You roll your eyes at him before stomping out, deciding it's not worth the time or effort to argue, as much as you want to. The rain is still beating down heavily on the sidewalk, you wrap your coat tighter around yourself before bee-lining to the car. You practically throw yourself in once you reach the door, desperate to escape the downpour.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence in the car, Gators phone chimes with the message you had both been sat waiting for. Higgins had given you the go ahead that the system was updated and that you were good to go home. You smile at Gator, giving his knee a squeeze, before starting the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot.
The drive back home didn't take long, you spent the time describing your house to Gator, mostly the layout of it, so that he had some sort of idea of what to expect when he got there. You mentioned that it was all one storey, with just a couple of steps to get up and down the front and back porches, which you assumed he'd remember from all the times he'd stood on it with you. He has another coughing fit as you turn onto your street, you make a mental note to start the house tour in the kitchen so that you can finally make him another hot lemon and honey to soothe his throat, knowing how sore it must feel right now. You pull the car into the parking space outside of your house and kill the engine.
“Ready?” you ask.
“Yeah, m’ready.”
This time, when you get out of the car, you don't race around trying to dodge the rain, knowing you can go inside and get changed straight away. You grab the duffel from the trunk and round the passenger side of the car, where Gator is standing waiting for you. With a hand at the small of his back, you guide him towards the porch steps, his cane making small sweeps in front of you both. You remind him that there are only three stairs, so he knows how many steps he'll need to take. Once you reach the door, you're quick to unlock it, wanting to get you both inside and dried off. You hold it open as Gator steps over the threshold, closing it behind him, finally locking out the miserable weather. Wet jackets get hung on the coat hooks in the entryway, before you lead Gator through to the kitchen to get started on his drink. You show him towards the table so that he can sit down whilst you wait for the kettle to boil.
“Well, welcome home”, you say with a warm smile, glad that he agreed to come. The sight of him sat in your kitchen, with his floppy wet hair sitting against his forehead, warmed your soul.
“Thanks, really appreciate this, y'know.”
You continue preparing his drink as he speaks, pulling the stuff you need from your bag, before hanging it on the back of the chair. You grab a mug from the shelf and empty the ingredients in, when the kettle clicks off, you fill the remaining space in the cup with the freshly boiled water.
“I know, I'm really glad you're here”, you say, as you place the mug down in front of him, before settling into the chair opposite him. “I’ll give you the grand tour when you're finished with your drink.”
“Cant wait,” he laughs, taking a sip from his mug, letting the warm liquid coat his throat. You can see the relief on his face as he drinks, glad that the drink is helping to ease the pain, even just a little bit. As you sit there, your tummy growls, reminding you that neither of you have eaten since lunch time. “Ill make us some dinner after we've walked around the house, do you fancy anything in particular?”, you ask.
“M’happy with anything.”
“How about pasta? It's already kind of late and I'm starving, pasta’ll be quick”, you suggest.
“Pasta’s good, haven't had that in ages”, Gator agrees, as he finishes the last of his drink, setting the mug back down gently on the table in front of him.
“Perfect , pasta it is, now, tour time?”
“Yeah, tour time”, Gator says, smiling.
You guide him back to the front door so you can start at the beginning. Carefully, room by room, you show him the house. Starting in what was now his room, you apologise for the fact that it's full of your excess yarn and fabric, but he tells you it's fine. You show him where on the wall the light switch is, as well as any outlets he might need. You walk him towards the wardrobe, the dresser and then the bed, so that he has an idea of where they are in the room. You describe the colour of the walls, the dark stain of the furniture, the spotted cow hyde rug that stretched across the floor, the thrifted artwork that hung on the walls. Although he couldn't see any of it, you wanted to make sure he could at least picture what it might look like in his mind. You wanted it to feel like home to him too.
You described every room in this way, sparing no details, pointing out everything that you thought might be important. Where the tv remote lives in the living room. What side of the toilet the toilet roll holder is screwed to. Which drawer the cutlery lives in and what side of the door the fridge handle is on in the kitchen. Again, always guiding him to where the light switches and outlets are in each new room you enter. Gator’s mostly quiet throughout the tour, adding small comments here and there, but mostly just taking in the new space. Memorising where the important bits are, though he has no doubt that you'll happily show him again if he forgets.
Finally, you make it to the last room, your bedroom. You go through the same process of showing the important stuff, before describing how it looks. The plethora of frames on the wall above your bed. Your cozy patchwork comforter that you made from thrifted fabrics. Your collection of sylvanian family babies that live on various shelves. But the best bit of your room, your window seat, you decide to save until morning, so that Gator will get the full experience, it's not quite the same at night.
When you're done, you dip back into the bathroom briefly to grab a couple of towels so that you can both dry off the last of the rain that's clinging to your hair. You also take this opportunity to change into a fresh pair of pyjamas, not wanting to spend any longer in your soggy clothes. Gator feels his way back towards his own room so that he can do the same, replacing his damp outfit with something comfier from his duffel. When he re-emerges from his room, you've already made your way into the kitchen to start on dinner. The pasta is already boiling away on the hob whilst you chop up some veggies to fry off and add in, so that there's at least a little something nutritious in the dish. Gator finds his way back to the same seat at the kitchen table he’d been sitting in when you first arrived home, settling back in and listening to the sounds of the food cooking on the stove. You're humming quietly to yourself as you stir the contents of the pans, just some song you'd heard on the radio at the diner earlier, but it makes Gator smile. He's only been here for an hour or so, but already, this is the safest and most comfortable he's ever felt. In such a short space of time, you'd shown him more care and consideration than he'd experienced in his entire life. He didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky, he knew he absolutely did not deserve it, but he was grateful that he had this anyway.
When the pasta finished boiling, you drained the water into the sink, adding the cooked veggies and the jar of sauce to the pan, giving it a good stir to coat it all evenly. You grab your favourite bowls from the cupboard and plate up, pausing to grab the bag of grated cheese from the fridge and shake a generous amount onto each serving. You set the bowls down on the table, before sinking into the seat across from Gator once again. You're both starving, so dinner is mostly quiet, with the exception of gator humming in contentment at the taste of the meal, as if he was eating something gourmet and not just pasta and jar sauce, a seemingly recurring theme for today. You both finish eating in what can only be described as record time, now both comfortably full. Gator thanks you more times than is necessary for cooking as you both retreat to the living room for the evening.
The tv gets flicked on as soon as you reach the remote, fiddling around in the menus until you find the audio description setting, and switch that on too. Gators already made his way around the couch and sunk into the squishy leather cushions, head lulling back as he got comfortable, glasses still perched on his face. You sit down beside him, close, but not too close, before flipping through the channels for something to watch, settling on some documentary about sea creatures. The audio description voice starts describing the scene that's playing out in the gaps between the usual narrations.
“Y’didn’t have to turn that on just f’me”, Gator says quietly, not sure how to deal with having his needs considered.
“What? Of course I did, if we're gonna both sit in here with the tv on, then we should both be able to know what's going on, and the audio descriptions do that for you, this is your house too, I’m gonna do everything I can to accommodate you and make sure you’re comfortable here.”
God, he was so gone for you. Nobody had ever cared for him like this. Nobody had made him feel this way before. Like he actually mattered. You'd always been good at that though, even years ago when all you had were those brief conversations on the porch, you'd always thanked him so genuinely that he left feeling like he'd actually done a good job at something for once.
“Still, s’nice of ya, appreciate it a lot, think this might be the comfiest couch I've ever sat on”, he says, as he melts further into the cushion.
“It's great isn't it, best couch I've ever owned”, you laugh, looking over at him. When you do, you notice that he's scratching under his glasses again.
“Is your skin still bothering you?”, you ask, voice laced with concern.
“Can I have a look? Just to make sure it isn't anything serious?”
Gator stiffens at the request. He's not let anyone besides the doctor at his checkups see him without his glasses. He's terrified of what it looks like underneath them, the thought of having to take them off makes his palms get clammy.
“I, uh, I don’t know, no, no s’fine, sure it's nothin’.”, he manages to get out, his knee starting to bounce nervously.
“Gator”, you say softly, “whats going on in there, hm?”
He runs his hand across the back of his neck, "I've not taken them off in front of anyone except the doctor”, he admits. “Just don't wanna scare ya.” The words come out quiet, his knee bouncing more aggressively than before.
You place your hand on his leg to try and slow the movement. Rubbing your thumb in small circles in an attempt to soothe him.
“Youre not gonna scare me Gator, I promise. Just wanna make sure everything's okay under there.”
“O-okay, you uh, you can look, but will you take them off? I'll just pussy out if I have t’do it.”
You giggle slightly at his choice of words, before scootching closer to him on the couch.
“Course I can”, you reach your hands up so that they’re hovering by the frames, “ready?”
Gator just gives his head a small nod, not trusting his voice. Slowly, you pull the glasses away from his face and set them down on the armrest. The first thing you notice is that the redness is much worse where the skin has been hidden under the glasses, you're going to have to get some cream on that to try and soothe it a bit. Once you've finished assessing the irritated skin, you look at him properly and god, he looks just as beautiful as ever. It just looks like he's got his eyes closed, his long lashes sitting against the top of his cheeks, nothing scary at all. There's some slight scarring around his eyes but it's not particularly noticeable. You can't help but run your thumb lightly across his cheek. He lets himself lean into the touch, enjoying the softness of it.
“Say somethin’”, Gator whispers.
“Youre just as handsome as you've always been Gator, haven't got anything to worry about, promise.”
Your faces are so close together that he can feel the warmth of your breath against his lips, the feeling makes his own breath hitch. The proximity, the fact that Gator allowed himself to be vulnerable with you and the view of his beautiful face, unobscured by the sunglasses, cracks something open inside of you.
You bring your other hand up to his face, smoothing your thumbs across his skin, slowly leaning closer until your foreheads are touching. You pause, giving him the chance to pull away if he wants to. But he doesn't, instead, he leans forward and closes the gap, pressing his lips gently onto yours.
Guys I’ve decided to lock in and try and get chapter 3 finished today so that I can post it by the end of the weekend!! It’s been ages and I really want to get this new part up so that I can start getting to the fun things I have planned in the next few chapters 🤭🤭
This is not really related to my blog at alll, but I had my masters graduation yesterday & today I started my first proper fashion job!! Life is feeling crazy in the best way and it feels so good that things feel like they’re finally falling into place after so many years of feeling like it was never going to happen 🥲 idk why I’m sharing this here I guess I’m just feeling proud of myself, I had a shit start to the year so it feels nice that things are finally getting good.
Anyways, gonna try my best to get chapter 3 finished this week xxx
synopsis: Gator returns to the diner, where he spends the day wrapped up in quiet, honest conversations. The softness makes him panic, but you make it your mission to prove to him that he is worthy of softness in his life. Teaching him a new way to see the world, and more importantly, you.
authors note: Weee chapter two!! Its another long one so buckle in, also not loads happens & its very dialogue heavy sorry!! But I think its needed for this chapter whilst they get re-acquainted with each other, anyway, hope you enjoy it!!
warnings: brief mentions of death, I think that's it? its mostly soft gator ugh, but if I've missed anything please let me know!!
The dull winter sun filters through the sheer curtains of your bedroom window, casting everything in a cool glow. It’s felt brighter recently, the heavy curtain of the coldest season finally lifting, getting ready to let the warmth of spring take over. You squint into the light, your hand coming up to shield your eyes from the worst of it as you drag yourself upright. It was early, too early, but you were on the opening shift at the diner today, so you had no choice but to get up. You’d been working there since you were 19, but somehow the early mornings hadn’t gotten any easier.
The floorboards were cold under your feet, the sensation helping to shake the sleep from your body as you padded slowly towards the kitchen. You needed a coffee before you could even begin to think about getting ready for the day. You flipped the switch on the coffee machine, grateful to your past self for setting it up before you’d gone to bed last night. The machine whirred to life, the smell of the freshly brewed drink drifting through the kitchen as it started to drip through. The scent alone was enough to make you feel slightly more alive. You grabbed your favourite mug from the cupboard, a slightly wonky cup decorated with tiny stars - you’d made it at a pottery class last year, and filled it to the brim, leaving just enough space for a dash of milk.
You carried the mug carefully back to your bedroom, settling into the window seat that took up most of the back wall. It was your favourite spot in the whole house. Several cushions sat in the corners of the nook, a few too many maybe, but you told yourself that it made the seat cosier. A soft knit blanket sits draped at one end, you pull it up over your legs as you tuck yourself into the corner. The view from the seat was beautiful, you thought so anyway. The house backed onto a small stretch of woodland, trees standing tall at the edge of the yard, swaying slightly in the breeze. And if you look close enough, further in the distance, there’s a break in those trees that gives way to the lake. The water reveals itself through the shrubs and the branches, glittering gently in the winter sun.
You gave yourself a few minutes to sit and watch the world wake up, trees waving in the wind as if they were saying good morning to you. Sitting in this window, looking out at that view, was the only place in the whole house that the silence actually felt peaceful. Everywhere else, it settled too deep, not in a way that felt comforting, but in a way that felt cold, empty.
You lived alone, you had done for two years now, since your mom passed away. She’d drunk herself into an early grave. Your dad had died several years before in a freak accident on the ranch that he worked at, and your mom had turned to alcohol as a way to cope. Her and your dad were high school sweethearts, totally besotted with each other since they were 15 years old, she’d never been without him. So it was understandable that the loss broke her, but it felt like you’d lost both parents the day your dad died, your mom was never the same after that. It was like someone had switched her to auto-pilot, and she was just coasting through life. Honestly, it felt like she’d forgotten about you completely, so consumed by her own grief that she didn’t even stop to think about the fact that her child had lost their father.
The drinking had started slowly, she’d kept it mostly hidden from you, but over the years, as the grief settled deep into her bones, she cared less and less if you, or anyone else for that matter, saw. And the booze made her cruel, a constant string of insults spewed towards you anytime you came in contact with each other. You knew it was because you shared a lot of the same features that your father had, and looking at you was a constant reminder of the loss she had endured. And you understood that, of course you did, but it still hurt. She could barely bring herself to look at you most days.
Near the end, when there wasn’t an hour in the day that your mom wasn’t drunk, she’d taken to making a nuisance of herself at the bar downtown. This meant that every night, you were called to said bar to come and retrieve her. The cruelty you received was relentless, the whole bar quietly watching the scene unfold. Most of the time the bar tender would help you wrangle her out of the front door and into the back of your car, always shooting you a pitiful look as he headed back inside. It became routine. But after a few weeks of angry bar pick ups, you were at your breaking point. It was around this time that you’d started working at the diner, so between the late night pick ups and the early morning shifts, you were barely sleeping. You’d get 4 hours if you were lucky. You were exhausted, not just physically, but mentally too. Carrying the weight of this alone was taking its toll on you, you didn’t know how much more you could take.
The first time your mom had been brought home in the back of a cop car, you were utterly mortified. Cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson as you tripped over an apology, avoiding making any eye contact with the officer, trying desperately to explain that the bar usually just calls you and you don’t know why they’ve bothered a deputy with the task of wrangling your drunken mother. Because to your shock when you’d opened the door, you’d been greeted by Deputy Gator Tillman. What was more shocking than this however, was the fact that he was nice to you.
You knew his reputation, this stern, cocky, short tempered Deputy that took shit from nobody. He’d been similar in school too, he was the grade above you, one of the popular kids, mostly because of his last name. You’d never interacted back then but you’d observed from afar, most often from the top row of the bleachers. Even back then you could practically see the ego radiating off of him. For some reason though, you’d always found it quite endearing, and his bad attitude wasn’t enough to stop you having a crush on him.
It was confusing, the man that stood on your porch didn’t match up with the stories of the perceived temperament. Sure, he looked the part, with his slicked hair, bulky tac vest and holster strapped tight around his cargo clad thigh. But the demeanour was different, softer than you were expecting, he spoke to you gently, offered you an understanding look, like he knew what it was like to have a difficult parent. He gave you his card and told you to call if your mom gave you any trouble. Told you to just call him Gator, dropping the formality of his title. Suddenly, you didn’t feel quite as alone anymore.
That night was the first of many, a new routine settling in. Gator would bring your mom home from the bar, help you get her through the door, and then stay to chat for a few minutes on the porch. The conversations were never anything crazy, mostly just small talk, but you looked forward to it none the less. It quickly became your favourite part of the day, the quiet interactions somehow making the exhaustion settle a little less deep than before. The interactions were fleeting, you’d get 10 minutes max before Gators radio crackled to life with a new call out that he had to attend. It always left feeling disappointed, never ready for him to leave when he did. A part of you thought that maybe he’d felt the same way too, he always lingered for a minute longer than he should have before he turned to leave. You wondered if maybe he needed these quiet interactions as much as you did. But maybe you were just reading into things, still, you liked to think that your late night rendezvous on the porch meant something to him too.
Eventually, when your moms liver finally stopped working and she slipped away in her sleep one night, the loss cut deep. Not just because your mother was gone, but because with that, you’d lost the closest thing you’d had to a friend.
By the time you’d drained the last of the coffee from the bottom of your mug, you were left with just enough time to apply some light makeup, finger comb your hair and get dressed. You settled on your favourite worn jeans with a white long sleeve tee that had layers of ruffled lace along the hem that you’d sewn on a few months back. Over the top of that, an oversized fuzzy grey cardigan with big balloon sleeves, it had taken you just under 2 months to finish knitting it. The buttons were slightly mismatched, having been cut from different thrifted garments, but you thought that it gave the cardi character. By the door, you stuff your feet into your trusty brown leather boots whilst reaching to grab your coat and bag from the hook on the wall. Springs edging in slowly, but it’s not quite warm enough yet to skip out on the extra layer. You make your way out of the house towards your car, the last of the winter frost crunching under your feet.
The drive was peaceful, there’s never many other cars around this early in the morning, which you liked. It felt like you had the whole world to yourself. The drive was short, only about 15 minutes or so, but it was always a nice pocket of time to think. Today's topic of thought, Gator. You couldn’t stop thinking about how he sounded when he spoke to you, boyish delight with just a hint of what you thought were maybe nerves? It surprised you, how genuinely pleased he’d seemed to be interacting with you again, you hadn’t thought much about how he’d felt about your late night conversations years back. Mostly, because you were scared that he’d just seen it as part of the job and that he’d not felt the same connection you did. For that reason, you’d chosen not to dig too deep into what those interactions were to him, as a small act of self preservation. But that afternoon in the diner, the slight tremble in his voice, maybe he had felt similar to the way you did after all. You’d find out soon enough if he took you up on your offer and came by the diner again. You really hope he does.
You pull into one of the spaces to the side of the diner, away from the main parking lot, and hop out of the car. The short drive had made you forget just how brisk the air still was, sucking in a sharp breath as you beeline to the door. The lights flicker on as you flip the switch, blanketing the diner in a soft, warm glow. That alone made you feel warmer. Behind the counter, you flip more switches, arguably the most important ones, the ones that powered the coffee machines. They whir to life, filling the space with a soft buzz. As they were warming up, you hang your coat and bag on the hook on the wall behind the counter and start getting the beans ready for the first batch of coffee. You like to have the first pot of coffee ready to go before you flip the sign in the window to open, saving your regular pool of early morning patrons from waiting around too long for their caffeine fix.
The morning passes easily, a steady stream of customers trailing through the doors, wanting nothing more than full coffee cups and the occasional chit chat. You were grateful for this, it meant that you could breeze through the rush on auto-pilot and gave you a little extra time to shake the sleep from your bones. Between checking in on customers, wiping down tables and clearing empty dishes, you dip behind the counter to take a swig of your own, now lukewarm, mug of coffee. You could turn a blind eye to the tepidness of it, you weren’t drinking for enjoyment. This cup was purely functional, you needed the energy. You still had the lunch rush to get through yet. You’d definitely need another coffee before then, but you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.
By 9am, the crowd in the diner had thinned, with most people having filtered out to head to work, leaving the same handful of regulars to occupy the space. Quiet settled across the room, not completely quiet though, the coffee machines still whirred, the radio spilled out quiet music and traffic reports, and the customers that still remained chattered away amongst themselves. This was your favourite type of quiet, the kind of quiet that felt alive and warm, not empty, like the quiet you were so used to. Like the quiet of your house. That quiet felt hollow and vast, it amplified the sound of every bad memory that echoed through the walls. You hated being in that house. You hated living alone even more.
The chime of the bell above the door snapped you clean from your thoughts, plastering a smile back onto your face before turning towards the door to greet whoever had come through, hoping you’d be met with a familiar face. Turns out, the person who had come through the door was familiar, but it wasn’t who you were expecting. It was Maureen. Maureen owned the diner, she’d taken you in when you were 19 and she’d looked out for you ever since, she’s the only person in this whole town that you considered a friend. Her shift didn’t start for another hour, you furrowed your brow in confusion as she settled her coat onto the hook behind the counter, wrapping her apron around her waist.
“Why are y’here so early?”, you asked, confusion still etched on your face. Maureen chuckles,“Well, good mornin’ to you too, sugar”, she jests, before continuing, “The Tillman boy came in asking for you yesterday.” You can already feel a faint heat rising to your cheeks, “oh, he did?”, you managed to stutter out. “Oh yeah, he did. He got all sad and pouty when I told him it was y’day off, real kicked puppy kinda look. Made me feel dead guilty, so I told him you’d be here this mornin’, an’ then he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face, he seems quite taken by you,” she hums. The heat is settling deeper now, “oh well, we used to chat a bit when he’d bring mom home from the bar, I guess maybe I feel familiar to him, think he could just do with a friend, y’know?”, you tried to justify, as if you hadn’t been hoping he’d walk through the door all morning. “You could do with one of those too, sugar”, Maureen adds. “One of what?”, you ask coyly, you already know exactly what. “A friend”, she states, giving you a look that says ‘you know I’m right’. You huff quietly through your nose, “ got you don’t I?”, you retort. Maureen is standing next to you behind the counter now, offering a gentle pat to your cheek, “I jus’ mean, be nice for you t’have a friend your own age, sugar”. And she was right, you knew she was, but admitting it out loud would also mean admitting that you were in fact, lonely. And you were too proud to do that.
Barely 15 minutes after your conversation with Maureen, the bell chimed again. This time, the sound of heavy boots and a cane sweeping the floor followed it. You looked toward the door immediately. And sure enough, cautiously shuffling his way towards the counter, was Gator Tillman. You smile to yourself as you grab a fresh mug and the coffee pot, watching as Gator shuffles tentatively onto the stool, Maureen shooting you a knowing look as she refills cups across the room.
“Good morning Gator”
“Oh um hi, yeah, g’mornin’, you're here”
You fill the cup on the counter and angle the handle towards Gators hand.
“Why’d you sound so surprised?” you giggle softly.
“Uh, dunno, jus’ you weren’t here yesterday s’all”, he mumbles as he feels for the cup to take a sip.
“Oh yeah, I heard you stopped by, I should have mentioned that it was my day off, sorry about that.”
Gators cheeks flushed at the thought of you finding out he’d been here looking for you.
“S’okay, needed the practice anyway, still gettin’ used to gettin’ m’self round. Not too good w’this thing yet”, shaking the cane in his hand as he speaks.
Maureen had made her way back to the counter as you chatted with Gator, setting her empty coffee pot down under the machine to refill it. She came up beside you and squeezed your shoulder gently.
“It’s quiet, why don’t you take a break sugar, there’s an empty booth by the window you kids can sit in, s’comfier than the counter”
You give her a small smile, already starting to make your way around from the back of the counter. Gator shifts himself back off of the stool he was perched on, reaching for his cane.
“Thanks Maureen, shout me if it starts gettin’ busy.”
As you reached Gator, you picked up his coffee cup and steered him gently towards the empty booth. Gator hated the fact that he needed help like this, but he was finding it hard to be angry with the feeling of your hand pressing lightly into his back. You both settle into opposite sides of the booth, the vinyl cushion squeaking underneath you as you shift your weight. You placed Gators mug back in front of him, again, angling the handle towards his hand in hopes to make him reaching for it just a little easier. Maureen had come quietly to the edge of the table bringing a second cup for you, a fresh pot of coffee and two slices of apple pie.
“Here, Maureen brought us pie, you like apple?” You questioned as you slid the plate towards him, a fork already tucked underneath the front of the dessert.
“Yeah I like apple, I’ll eat anythin’ really.”
You chuckle softly at that.
“So”, you start, pausing to take a bite of your own slice of pie, “must be weird gettin’ used to not being able to see, huh?”
There’s quiet for a moment, and then Gator lets out a short huff, almost like a laugh, but not quite.
“Weird’s one word for it, s’real shitty, I fuckin’ hate it but s’what I deserved, probably deserved worse.”
His shoulders slump as he speaks, a thousand negative thoughts spiralling around in his head. He shouldn’t have come here. You’re too good to be around someone like him. He doesn’t deserve to be happy after all the things he did. He doesn’t deserve your kindness.
‘Shit. I need to leave’, is all he can think now.
“I’m sure that’s not true, Gator”
“No, it is, s’true” he huffs. “I’m a bad person, I did real bad things an’ im payin’ the price for it, shouldn’t even be sat with you, don’t deserve nobody bein’ all nice t’me, you don’t want to be dealin’ with all this shit I got goin’ on. I should go, m’sorry for wastin’ your time.”
Gator starts shifting in his seat, getting ready to bolt out of there, away from you and the coffee and the pie and the niceness of it all. But before he has a chance to stand, you reach out your hand and place it on his, squeezing slightly. He stills at the contact.
“Wait, please don’t go”
The words come out quieter than you anticipated, but the weight of them still sits heavy between you. Under the table, Gators knee is bouncing rapidly, fuelled partly by nervous energy, but mostly by fear.
“Y’don’t want this, I’m no good f’you to be around, I’ll jus’ end up ruining everythin’, s’all I’m good at, jus’ one big fuck up. Y’don’t need that, y’deserve better than that.”
You can hear the pain in his voice as he speaks, his face contorting like it’s taking him physical effort to push the words out. He sounded so small, so scared. It broke your heart. There didn’t seem to be a shred of the easy, albeit cocky, confidence that he used to possess. At that remained was a broken shell of a boy who’d been dealt a shitty hand. You knew how that felt. You weren’t going to let him suffer alone.
“Don’t you think I get some say in what I deserve, hm?”
“Well yeah, bu-”, you cut him off before he could finish.
“But nothin’. I know you’ve done some shitty things, an’ we don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to, but that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. I know you’re not. You were always kind to me when you were bringin’ my mom home, y’didn’t have to be, but you were. Truth be told, those conversations on my porch were one of the only good things I had back then, I felt less alone because of you. I’m not gonna sit back and let you push me away because you don’t think you deserve good in your life.”
You inhale a deep, shaky breath as the words settle into the quiet that surrounded the table. Your hand was still holding on to Gators, so you gave it another gentle squeeze, partially to ground yourself, but also to reassure him, you meant what you said. You felt his fingers twitch slightly in your grip, before they closed around yours and squeezed back.
“Talkin’ to you was the best thing I had back then too y’know, never thought you felt the same. Life went t’shit after that, I mean, look at me”, he gestured to himself with his free hand, the last of his words coming out in a huff that sounded, almost, like a laugh. “You’re the only person who’s ever spoken t’me like I’m a real human and not jus’ some extension of my dad.”
You feel your chest tighten at his words, you'd never thought about the fact that he might have needed that time on the porch just as much as you did. Didn't think about the fact that he could be lonely too. Stupid of you really, to not put two and two together. The son of a Tillman, of course he was lonely, his daddy was a monster. You decided quietly then that you were going to fix this, that you were going to make sure that he never felt lonely again.
“I’d have reached out if I knew you felt that way too. I always just told myself that you were just doing your job, so when mom died I didn't want to bother you, I just assumed that you'd have better things to be doing.”
“Your mom died?”
“Yeah, just over two years ago now, her body couldn't take it anymore and she just didn't wake up one day.”
You drop Gators hand to take a sip of your coffee, now lukewarm, as you watch his face drop.
“I'm sorry to hear tha’, must've been hard.”
“It's okay, it was hard I guess, but honestly, it was kinda a relief. I know that sounds bad but she was so sad for such a long time, it destroyed her, it was destroying me too. So when she passed, all I could think was, thank god, she's not suffering anymore, y’know?”
“Yeah, makes sense, still sorry though, y’doin okay with it all?”
“I am, yeah. I've made my peace with it now. It's still weird being in the house by myself, but I've got more room to spread out when I'm sewing now so silver linings and all.”
“Y’still makin’ crazy clothes then?” Gator says through a smirk, turning the conversion somewhere lighter.
“Crazy?”, you say in mock offence. “I’ll have you know that I am very fashion forward, you'll be eatin’ your words when everyone is wearin’ my designs”, you say, grinning.
“S’that the plan, sellin’ yer stuff?”
“Eventully, yeah. Been savin’ for a while, I'd love a little shop one day but I'm a long way off from affording that, so I'm happy just makin’ stuff for myself for now.”
“Wish i could see it, the stuff you've been makin’, wish I could see you. Jus’ got this hazy memory of what y’look like.”
“You could feel? I know it's not the same as seeing but it might help? You feel and I'll describe how I look, might help you make a clearer picture in your head?”
You can see the apprehension in Gators face at your suggestion, his face scrunched up slightly as he weighs up whether it's a good idea or not.
“Okay”, he says, voice laced with slight uncertainty.
“Yeah?” you ask, giving him the option to change his mind if wanted to.
“Yeah.” he confirms, voice sounding more sure this time. You stand from the table so that you can slide into the side of the booth he's sat in. Gator can hear the shuffle of you moving, “wait, where are y-”.
“Scootch over, it'll be easier to do this if we're sat next to each other.”
“Oh, ri-right. Yeah”, he says as he shifts across the sticky vinyl of the seat.
You settle into the seat beside him, body turned towards him. You wrap your hand gently around his wrist, ready to guide him. “Ready?” you ask, making sure one last time that he wanted to do this. Gator nods, “yeah, m’ready.” You start with your outfit, moving his hand to run over the soft fabric of your cardigan, letting him feel the shape of the sleeves before moving his hand to trace the shape of the buttons, all slightly different sizes and shapes. You describe the colour of the cardi, telling him about how all of the buttons have been collected from thrift finds. Slowly, you guide his hand lower down towards the lace trim of your long sleeve. You watch as he closes his fingers around it, feeling the texture of the dainty floral fabric, again describing the colour and the day that you sewed the trim onto the top. When his grip loosened from the fabric, you trail his hand back up towards your face, stopping briefly on the way for him to feel the necklaces that always adorned your neck, one simple curb link chain, and another thinner chain with a clasp in the middle that held a jumble of different charms.
As you guide him up towards your face, you feel his hand start to tremble. Nerves settling in. You smooth your thumb over the back of his hand in an attempt to soothe him, redirecting him towards your hair. His fingers comb through the lengths, already trembling slightly less. You giggle as you tell him about the impromptu haircut you gave yourself at 2am in your bathroom a few weeks back, resulting in lots of choppy layers and new baby bangs.
“Y’always had bangs though? Even in school, how’re these different?”
“I know I've always had them, but the length of them is new, they're way shorter now, hence the name baby bangs, look, feel them.” You pull his hand up excitedly towards the bangs brushing your forehead, letting his fingers trail down the length of them.
“Huh, yeah. They are shorter.” The bluntness of his statement makes you giggle. Then, without any prompt from you, his fingers move towards your eyebrows, tracing the shape of the arch. The fact that he feels brave enough to start exploring on his own makes your heart squeeze. You can't help but smile. He feels the way your cheeks lift up under his palm. Part of him wants to ask what you're smiling at but he doesn't want to ruin the moment, so he decides against it. As he continues to trace his fingers over the contours of your face, you continue to describe parts of it to him. The moles that scatter across your skin. The way the side profile of your nose is different on both sides and that because of this you deem your left side the ‘good side’. The soft curve of your jaw that you’ve always wished was more defined. The colour of your eyes, how it shifts slightly in the sunlight, how you think that it's the only good feature that you have on your face.
“Thats not true” Gator states, in a tone that's so sure and unwavering that it surprises you a bit.
“Whats not true?”
“Tha’ yer eyes are the only good bit of your face, it all feels good to me, every bit of it. All the bits I remember from before too. Prettiest damn thing in this whole town, y’know that?”
A deep pink starts to flush your cheeks, taken aback by the compliment. As if he can sense the change in colour, Gators thumb starts to swipe gently across your cheek. You can't help but lean into the feeling of it.
“I don't know about that” you giggle nervously, your cheeks flushing impossibly darker.
“I do. I've always thought it, even at school. Was always so distracted when you were sat on the bleachers in all y’frilly clothes, with tha’ little sketch pad or all those balls of string at yer feet. Coach was always bustin’ my ass for not payin’ attention. Couldn't help it, you were jus’ so pretty I couldn't look away.”
Gator honestly didn't know what had come over him. Never in his life had he been so open about anything. He'd been taught that feelings were weakness. Maybe it was the feeling of your skin under his fingertips, or the fact that he was close enough to smell the sweet scent of your perfume. He wasn't sure, but it scared him shitless. If his dad were here, he'd call gator soft, as if that was the very worst thing he could be. But he wasn't here. He'd never be here again. And being soft doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore if it means it brings him closer to you.
“I didn't think anyone ever noticed me at school, especially not you” you confess, the pink of your cheeks burning so warm that you were starting to think it was going to become a permanent look for you.
“I noticed you. I always noticed you.”
You brought your hand up to cover his, which was still settled on your cheek. It's all you could offer him, words failing you at the confession. Your stomach feels like it's doing somersaults. You cannot believe that Gator Tillman, the popular jock in high school, the stern, ruthless deputy, had noticed you in school, had thought you were pretty. Still thinks you're pretty. God, you feel like a lovesick teenager. But the thought of it makes you giddy.
You pull his hand away from your cheek, so you can lace your fingers through his. again, squeezing his hand to ground yourself.
“Youre really sweet, y’know that?” you say, mirroring the phrase he'd said to you earlier.
“Nobodys ever called me sweet before”, Gator huffs out in a laugh, as if being referred to as sweet was the most absurd thing that he'd ever heard. He couldn't deny how much he liked it though, it was his turn now for his cheeks to flush a rosy shade.
“Well, I'm glad I got to be the first one.”
“And the only, y’the only person i’d let get away with calling me tha’”
Maureen appeared at the edge of the table. “Aw, so I ain't allowed to call you sweet too? That's a real shame”, she drawled as she settled her hand on your shoulder, Gator barking out a surprised laugh at her words. “Sorry to interrupt sugar, but the lunch rush is startin’, you okay to man the counter for me?”, she asks, bringing her hand up to smooth the hair at the back of your head. You hadn't even noticed that the diner had started filling up, too wrapped up in your conversation.
“Yeah, of course I am Maureen, I'll be over in just a sec”, smiling up at her, before turning back to Gator. “You can come and sit at the counter if you don't want to leave just yet, gonna be busy for a bit but I can stop to chat where I can”, you offer.
“I-its okay, i’ll get out of y’hair, dont want to be a bother when y’tryin to work”
“Okay, if you're sure”, you squeeze his forearm gently. “Let me at least box the rest of your pie up for you, I'll be back in a sec”, you grab the plate as you slide out of the booth to get a takeout box. At the counter, you slide the remainder of the pie into the box, along with an extra slice, before shaking out a paper bag to place the box in. You dip briefly into the kitchen to make a sandwich to add to the bag, you'd spend so long talking that you'd forgotten to actually feed him properly. You sneak a portion of fries from the fryer too, for good measure, before heading back out to the counter. You throw some napkins and some condiments into the bag before picking it up and heading back to the booth.
“Im back”, you announce yourself, placing your hand on Gators shoulder to let him know where you were. “I remember sayin’ I'd fix you something to eat, but I got too wrapped up in the conversation, so I packed you some fries and a sandwich to take with you, your pie’s in the bag too.” Gator shuffles out of the booth as you're talking, grabbing his cane from where it'd been balancing.
Gator grins at you, "you're a godsend, I' ve been livin’ off instant noodles for months. S’nice of you though, didn't have to do that f’me.” A nervous energy washes over him, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.
“God how are you alive” you laugh, “you should come by more often so I can feed you properly, your insides deserve some real food.”
“I’d- uh, yeah I'd like that. Could I maybe, uh, get your number? So can I check with you that you're free before I come in?” The nervousness is really settling in now. He was pretty sure that you weren't going to say no, but he was worried nonetheless.
“Of course”, you giggle, the fact that he's nervous makes you smile. “Pass me your phone.”
Gator fishes his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it before passing it to you. You open a new contact, filling your name and number in, before passing it back to him. “Thanks, do you uh, do you want mine?”
“D’you still have the same number that was on your deputy card?”, you ask, realising very quickly that by asking that you've outed yourself for keeping hold of the card for all these years.
Gator smirks, “yeah, it's the same, y’still got it?”
Great, your cheeks are flushing deep pink, again.
“Uh yeah, I've still got it, I'll put your number in my phone when I get home.” blushing harder as you talk. God, all you've done today is blush.
“Sounds good, I should get goin’ now, I'll, uh, I'll message you?”
“I’d like that”, you smiled, leading Gator towards the door. “Here”, you hold the bag towards his empty hand. He takes it, sliding it onto the wrist of the hand that he holds his cane in, so that he still has one hand free for the walk home.
“So, uh, I'll see you soon?” Gator asks as he opens the door.
“I’ll see you soon Gator”, you respond, squeezing his arm as he steps out of the diner.
You wait by the door as he walks away, waiting for him to turn the corner before coming back into the diner. You can't help but smile to yourself as you make your way back behind the counter to grab a fresh pot of coffee. Maureen notices immediately, beelining towards you.
“What? I do not.” you could try to deny it all you liked, but you knew she was right. Your cheeks were aching from smiling so hard.
Maureen tucks some loose strands of hair behind your ear, stopping to stroke your cheek before pulling her hand away
“S’nice to see you lookin’ so happy sugar, been a long time comin’.”
You shoot her a coy smile, cheeks once again heating up, before making your way around the counter to refill coffee cups.
When the lunch rush settles back into a quiet lul, you stop for a moment to pull your phone out whilst fishing around in your apron pocket for the card that Gators parole officer had given you, deciding that now was a good time to fill him in on today's events. You punch the number into the screen and type out a quick, polite message.
You: Hey Officer Higgins, just a quick update to let you know that Gator came by the diner today! I think we'll be seeing a lot more of him here too :)
The reply comes almost instantly.
Higgins: That's great news! Maybe I'll be able to stop worrying about him so much now, thanks for keeping me updated!
You send a quick ‘no worries’ in response, before locking your phone and making a start on wiping down tables.
For the rest of your shift, you couldn't wipe the smile off of your face. Maureen had said you looked like the Cheshire cat. She wasn't wrong. You spent every quiet moment thinking about Gator. Thinking about the fact that he'd called you pretty. That he’d sounded like he really meant it. It made you giddy all over again. You knew that every day wouldn't be as easy as this, Gator has been through a lot, and you hope that one day he'll share that with you so that you can work through some of it together, but for now, you're just happy he came. Happy that he thought you were pretty. Happy that he wanted to spend more time with you. Maureen was right, you needed a friend just as much as he did, and you were counting down the moments until you saw him again.
When your shift ended, you were in such a good mood that you practically floated home. You dug through the kitchen drawer to find the card that Gator had given you years ago, soft and a little frayed at the edges from all the times you’d held it in your hands, contemplating whether you should message him or not. You typed the number along with his name into a new contact, smiling down at the screen as you pressed save.
Later that night, a message notification pops up on your screen, confirming that you weren't the only one still thinking about the events of the day.
Gator: thank you for today, it was really nice, can’t wait to see you again soon :)
I’m trinket obsessed, love making specific playlists and re-watching the same shows on repeat.
I love do to anything creative, especially knitting & sewing (I just finished my masters in fashion design!), but I’m always looking for new ways to express creativity! I think I’d like to try painting next!
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I also won’t interact with any gossip of any sorts or anything generally negative, I want this blog to be a positive & safe space!
I’ve been reading silently over on my main blog @my-onlyy-angel for a while & it inspired my to dabble in writing. There are so many incredibly talented writers in this community & delving back into reading here really helped me through the loss of my beloved soul doggy at the beginning of the year.
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