Rose Stained
TW: Stalking Mention.
His keys jingled in their familiar, welcoming song as the front door to the shop was unlocked. Everything was in perfect harmony. The door creaked in the correct key, the lights flicked on in their usual order and started humming their favorite song. Adison felt more at home in his shop than anywhere else. He stretched as the door shut behind him, his shoulders popping.
“Goooood mornin’ everyone!” His sing-song greeting rang out to the instruments and tools that filled the workplace. He didn’t need any other trolls to work with him, he found plenty of companionship with the things he repaired.
Counting the stock was a silly routine, Adi knew this well. The shop was locked- why would anything be missing? And sure enough, nothing was. Every saxophone was exactly where he left it. Not a single string disturbed on any violin. His haphazardly organized shelf of tools remained exactly as he had left them. His workroom was connected to the sales floor, all in order. A small row of pianos blocked the other half of the shop, but he knew all was right. It was with this satisfaction that Adison plugged in the coffee maker in the workroom and started up a pot of coffee.
While he waited for the machine to whirr to life, Adi went to check the mailbox just outside his shop. By the door, as it always was. He took the time to empty the lockbox as well. Vivace had stopped by and dropped off a check for last week’s emergency organ repair. Not everyone on the planet was capable or willing to fix the pipes on a grand organ, especially not on such short notice! The pay was hefty and nice, sure, but Adison also enjoyed feeling useful. There were a few curious students watching him as he worked. Organ parts need to be made on site, as the piping is too delicate to transport, so it was a fun time listening to them ooh and aah. As for mail, he never got any. He usually had all his mail redirected to Belere’s PO Box to avoid detection. He still checked because of habit, and of course, found nothing.
It was silly, Maesun had told him so themself. Why be afraid? Shrivo hadn’t made any attempts at contacting him or Nutmeg, so surely there was no issue. But for Adison, there was no such thing as too safe. He didn’t want to risk Belere or Abanny’s safety, even if the two could fend for themselves.
As Adison stepped back inside, the smell of fresh coffee filled the air, the AC unit started to whirr to life, and the door to the back room was open.
The door to the back room was never open.
Adison must’ve just forgotten to lock it. He shook the worry from his head as he set Vivace’s check on the counter. The row of pianos always blocked the view to the door, for a good reason of course. Adison slept in the back room when he stayed too late, or got tired. There was a bed, change of clothes, and other personal items. And the door was always locked when not in use.
He left fairly tired the other day! He was just exhausted and had forgotten. Adison closed the keys cover on one of the pianos as he passed. The soft click was a slight reassurance. He had forgotten to shut that as well! It was just nerves. Still, that didn’t stop Adison from being hesitant at the door. From another piano’s innards, he retrieved his strife, a sawed-off shotgun he had stolen from Shrivo. Polished wood covered in wear and knicks, with an old violet symbol now scratched out. Adison pumped the handle to load it properly, a warning to what he faced, and slowly nudged the door open with the barrel.
The room was dark. Keeping both hands on the gun, Adison used the barrel to flick the lightswitch on, and quickly moved back into a defensive position, aiming into the room.
The empty room.
It was empty, in perfect pristine condition. Just as he had left it. Adison exhaled shakily, unaware that he had been holding his breath. A nervous laugh escaped his lips and echoed in the small room. His shoulders slumped with relief.
Relief that melted into confusion. The bed was always haphazardly made, he never put much effort into it. But there was something on the pillow. Adi stepped closer, shifting the shotgun to one hand so he could pick up what seemed to be a letter. It was nearly pristine, save for a wine stain on the corner. His name was written on the center in flawless cursive writing. The i in his name was dotted with a small diamond.
Just like the others had been.
Adison’s chest ached with how fast his pusher started to race. The shotgun was tossed dangerously onto the bed. He held the letter tightly and fished a small pile of similar letters from his nightstand. They were spread out on the bed so he could compare the writing. On each envelope, the i in his name shared the same diamond.
He received no mail, because everything was directed to his moirail’s PO box. He had locked his back room door after all. But the front door had been locked as well…which meant she knew where he worked. And knew his hours, waited until he left. She knew he would be too concerned if anything else was misplaced. She knew the open door would be enough to bring him in, to guide him to the letter.
Adison looked back towards his shop, the instruments on the walls, the row of pianos hiding the back room. Anger bubbled in his chest. He didn’t want to open this new letter, it would be the same as the last. She would express frustration over him “taking her love” away. He didn’t even need to guess who her love was, of course he knew. Anger and panic rose in Adison’s throat, making it difficult to breathe. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, maybe it was frustration, maybe it was her, he wasn’t sure. But something made Adison tear the letter open with uncertain hands.
The suffocating smell of roses filled the room.
And Adison had never been angrier.