` overindulges ⊹ ( norman jayden ) ;
“ GOOD CHRIST. IS IT CHRISTMAS, OR ARE THE KENNEDYS IN TOWN? If only they could get this kinda turnout at the polls. ” He glanced at Matt’s face. In the immaculate white-tile heart of the teeming department store, a labyrinth of thronging shoppers and festively sartorial displays had shunted them like reeling pachinko balls to the center of the fragrance aisle, and even Norman’s chemically insensate nostrils were not impervious to the assault. Over a cloying rendition of Silver Bells, the hiss of pump-nozzle atomizers rose like the whisper of a gas-leak, and the hundred gleaming shop-girls detonating their hundred gleaming bottles of perfume put Norman in mind of a hand grenade erupting in a rose-garden.
His partner wore the grimace of a man marooned in space, and judging by his uncanny silence, oxygen-levels were running low.
“ Alright. We’re through here. ” Norman took him firmly by the arm, and drawing himself professionally upright, marched him decisively towards the exit. “ Step aside, please – On your right – Pardon me, ma’am, comin’ through – ‘Scuse me, wouldja mind – ? ” He strode past the make-up counters, the great plinths of eyeshadow like enormous water-color sets waiting for a titan’s brush; past the holiday gift-sets and stratiform shopping bags of customers perusing fingerprinted cases or fumbling through handbags and wallets; past a man’s extended elbow – just a little too close – catching his sharp exhale of ‘ watch it, ’ with a wry turn of the lips. “ Sorry, pal. Matter of national security. ”
In lieu of a wink, he gave Matt’s hand a conspiratorial squeeze, and brushed towards the door.
( @vigilawyer // starter? or random lil holiday-ramble bc i couldn’t fit it in an ask. ;; )
he’d never been particularly fond of department stores, least of all the inevitable, teeming expanse of cologne-counters and sample fragrances. vaguely, he could recall his childhood self -- prior to the accident, prior to his heightened senses developing -- going on a last-minute christmas shopping spree with his father, worn-down after a particularly brutal twelve-round match just the night before. bruised left eye, split knuckles bandaged up callously and jammed into his coat pockets; his nose crinkling as they walked through the perfume department, grabbing matt’s hand, walking faster ( ‘c’mon, matty. no time for dawdlin’.’ ) in an attempt to escape the barrage of sickly-sweet scents that threatened to float their way, should they stay in the area a moment longer. it didn’t help, not in the least. matt recalls leaving the store, taking a long, deep breath of the crisp winter air, and still having the scent of eau de fleur parfum stuck in his nostrils. back then, he hadn’t truly been rid of it ‘til the next morning. now, he’s not certain he’ll even manage to survive the trip out of the complex.
or, rather -- he might not have been certain initially, but norman must’ve caught sight of his face at some point, at the poorly-disguised expression of discomfort and lack of oxygen, because he’d grabbed him by the arm posthaste, and led him immediately through throngs of people and scents alike. an elbow brushed them here, a mean word had been muttered in their direction there, but norman paid it no mind, dismissing their haste as a matter of national urgency. and matt ... -- well, the fumes that threaten to choke him might as well have been noxious gas, at this point. but lack of breathable air or not, he’d be damned if he didn’t allow himself the slightest bit of laughter at his partner’s handling of the matter. norman jayden, always crisp and professional and to-the-point. norman jayden, treating everything as a case to work, a job to run, a matter of sensitivity and urgency. matt sometimes felt it was doubly so, when it came to him -- moreso now than ever, having let him in on his secret. but he doesn’t mind it, or so he’s come to find. if anything, he’s added this bit to the tower of reasons he adores the man; a tower which only ever seemed to grow in height, never dwindle.
they reach the exit. norman leads him through the door and back out onto the street, into the frigid, dry air that the winters of new york city were infamous for. in true, theatrical fashion ( or partly that, anyway ), matt’s mouth falls open, and he takes a long, deep breath in. the intermingling scents still linger in the back of his nose, like a shooed fly that just keeps coming back, keeps buzzing around for more; he’ll ‘tune’ them out as best he can. ❛ what do you think, special agent jayden? mission complete, no casualties ... ... ❜ and he laughs in earnest, his hand clasped tightly in norman’s, fingers intertwined. he’s warm, matt thinks; a shield against the chill of the afternoon. a shield against a great many things. absentmindedly, his grip squeezes, as he himself grins almost sheepishly. ❛ granted, we might not’ve found what you came in here looking for, but, ah -- i’d still call it a win. ... what? you wouldn’t? ❜