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[intoduskoutofdawn]

<3 simply great <3

Why, hello! Okay, I needed a break from other things, so I decided to finish this thingy. Nobody stopped me, so there you have it, haha ;)

Insomniac neighbors AU (:D) Fluff of sort?

Jake/MC. And Richy (mentioned), alive and well,

little over 3k words.

Read below or on Ao3.

Quiet was the night.

The faint murmurs of the city seeped through the open window, blending seamlessly with the gentle hum of his computer. The soft glow emanating from the screen delicately illuminated the room without overpowering the senses.

Outside, the city was sleeping. He sat alone, relishing in the tranquility around him. With a soft exhale, he allowed his eyelids to drift shut, surrendering to the serene stillness. A perfect way to spend the sleepless night.

His bliss did not last long, though. 

The tranquility he had just savored shattered like fragile glass as a series of loud thumps resounded from the apartment above, rudely intruding upon his peace. Rhythmic. Regular. Purposeful. It was as if someone—or something—was relentlessly pounding against the wall.

With a frustrated click of his tongue, he glanced upward, his thoughts already swirling with annoyance. This wasn't the first time, oh no. It was the third consecutive night of such disturbances. Three damn nights in a row, his sanctuary invaded by these unwelcomed noises. And, as the noise persisted, irritation simmered within him, threatening to boil over.

Because the nights, the nights were meant to be his and his alone. 

He closed his eyes once more in a futile effort to block out the noise. Yet, the relentless thumping persisted, refusing to be ignored.

Fine. Enough was enough.

With a sudden jolt, he stood up, the chair he had been sitting on spinning and nearly tipping over as he strode purposefully toward the door. He paid little heed to the possibility of disturbing his neighbors' intimate moments. Ready to demand they screw their bed to the wall, or simply screw each other elsewhere, he stepped into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. Without any hesitation, he began climbing the stairs two at a time. Before he could even start second-guessing his decision, he found himself knocking firmly on the door of the apartment directly above his own.

The thumping stopped immediately. For a brief moment, there was silence, then the sound of footsteps approaching.

Just as the door began to creak open, he wasted no time in venting his frustration. "Finally! I don't know if you even realize, but it's the fucking middle of the night and—oh, shit."

A step backward was his immediate reaction upon seeing the woman before him. It wasn't just the anger etched in her eyes, nor the furrowed brows and crossed arms that silenced him. No, it was the startling sight of her—all covered in red stains. From her shirt to her hands, even her face, she resembled a character straight out of a slasher movie. And when she casually wiped her sweaty forehead, leaving behind a conspicuous streak of crimson, his shock only deepened.

"Uh-huh. It's the middle of the night. And?" she sighed, seemingly unfazed by her unsettling appearance. "Do you need something? You're the one standing in my doorway, yelling."

“What the h–hell…” Stupefied, he could only manage a dumbfounded gesture, pointing incredulously at her with both of his hands, his eyes widening.

Her frown deepened at his reaction, but it was only after a moment that she glanced down at herself and her hands, noticing the streaks of red. With an amused scoff and a roll of her eyes, she dismissed his alarm. 

"Oh. It's paint, genius. I'm painting," she casually fixed a lone strand of hair that had fallen onto her forehead with her fingers stained red. "If I were a murderer, I'd be more careful. Don’t you think?"

His breath caught in his throat as he registered her words, a wave of relief washing over him. 

"Well, I suppose I'd rather confront a murderer, then!" he retorted, his voice regaining its composure. "At least I wouldn't have to deal with the constant banging on the walls at night, it seems. What the hell are you even doing?"

"I already told you, I'm painting," she shot back, her narrowed eyes fixing him with a glare. "And, excuse me, but aren't you that loud guy living in the apartment under me? The one who slams his doors no matter what, and always blocks my bike with his?"

"Am I? Well, maybe because your pretty urban bike with that ridiculously huge basket always takes up two spaces, mine included," he countered. "Learn to park, maniac. It’s not that hard! And keep it down! I’m trying to work!"

The young woman's laughter echoed through the hallway, genuine and hearty. "Unbelievable. And what are you doing at night that my painting bothers you so much, huh?"

"None of your fucking business what I do," he barked, jabbing an accusatory finger in her direction. "It's quiet hours, so either you stop banging on the walls or I'll report you. And then your bike!"

"Damn asshole," she hissed, her grip tightening on the door handle.

"At your service," he replied with a mocking bow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Have a good night, psycho. Red does not suit you, by the way."

Whether or not she heard his parting words remained uncertain, as she promptly slammed the door shut in his face. Fuming with anger, he turned on his heel, ready to storm back to his place. But as he reached the door and patted his pocket, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, you’ve got to be kidding…" he muttered aloud, his hand coming up empty. He grabbed the doorknob, even though he knew it was a futile gesture without his keys.

Could he be that stupid? Could he really leave his apartment with nothing, not even his damn phone?

Apparently, he could.

With a frustrated grunt, he considered banging his forehead against the door in a fit of vexation but quickly dismissed the idea as both stupid and potentially painful.

And definitely loud.

Left with no other option, he reluctantly decided to seek help from the landlord. He cursed his luck because, of course, the landlord lived right next door to that dreadful neighbor who could easily pass for a murderess in the right lighting. Nevertheless, he really didn't like the idea of spending the rest of the night stranded in the hallway.

This time he climbed the stairs with deliberate steps, determined to handle the situation with a little more finesse. Walking to door number 33, he knocked softly, hoping the guy, by some miracle, wasn’t sleeping yet. Or was already awake. Whatever was closer. 

Yet, the silence that greeted him was quite deafening. Undeterred, he knocked once more, this time with slightly more force.

His heart skipped a beat as the door behind him creaked open, and a familiar voice broke the silence. "What happened? Is the landlord too noisy, too?" 

He spun on his heels, fingers clenching into tight fists at his sides. "Mind your own business, huh?" he retorted, frustrated. 

The young woman chuckled, pausing in her task of wiping away the stubborn red streak of paint from her face with a damp towel. "Richy's out for the night," she informed him, nodding toward the landlord’s apartment. "Whatever you need from him, it'll have to wait until morning."

"Well, isn't that just fucking perfect," he growled, more to himself than to her. 

Her laughter bubbled louder at his exasperation, head tilting slightly in amusement. Quickly, she covered her mouth, though, mindful of the late hour and not wanting to disturb the neighbors further. 

"Let me guess, genius," she remarked with a hint of amusement, her smile softening. "You locked yourself out. A smarty-pants like you? Aww, that’s so sad…" Her lips pursed in mock sympathy as she tried to wipe her hands of the remnants of red paint.

He snorted in response but remained silent. With determined strides, he made his way towards the stairs, fully prepared to spend the night wandering the city until morning. Passing her by without so much as a glance, he was about to descend when she called out to him.

"Okay, wait a minute," her voice caused him to pause mid-step. "I think I can help you out."

“No, thanks,” he snorted, turning to her, “You just want to gloat at my misfortune.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she shook her head. "Maybe a little," she admitted playfully. "But you're the asshole here. I'm just the good-natured maniac whose pretty bike you keep blocking."

Her bluntness caught him off guard, and he regarded her with a mixture of surprise and skepticism. After a moment of contemplation, he let out a resigned sigh, realizing that he was indeed in a bit of a bind with very limited options.

"Come in, will you?" she urged when he didn’t respond. "I'll go get some tools."

"Tools?" he echoed, but she had already vanished inside, leaving him with no choice but to follow.

After a moment or two, he sighed and cautiously crossed the threshold of her apartment, his eyes scanning the space to locate where she had gone. The layout of the place mirrored his own, a spacious studio with an open living area. However, the differences in décor were quite obvious—unfinished paintings leaned against the walls, an easel stood in one corner with a canvas in progress, and sheets of paper littered various surfaces, each with vibrant splashes of color. The faint smell of fresh paint lingered in the air, and somehow it wasn't unpleasant at all. 

On the floor in the further corner of the room, his gaze landed on a toolbox, its lid slightly ajar. Beside it lay a hammer and a small painting, only partially framed.

The culprit of the noise. 

"Hey, what did you mean by tools–" he started, his voice trailing off as he took a few steps toward the bedroom, only to freeze in place.

She had already taken off her paint-stained flannel shirt and was in the process of pulling a red t-shirt over a snug tank top, the fabric clinging to her figure a little too perfectly. He felt a pang of unease, suddenly aware of his accidental intrusion into her personal space.

He barely had a moment to process his embarrassment before she turned around with a smile as she noticed him there, her laughter hitting his ears. Then, with a playful shake of her head and a casual run of her fingers through her messy dark hair, she made her way back into the living room. 

"So you're not just an asshole, but a voyeur, too?" she teased, her tone surprisingly light given the circumstances. "What a combination!"

"S–sorry," he mumbled, feeling a flush of embarrassment color his cheeks as he looked away. "I didn't mean to. I was just–" He clicked his tongue in frustration, struggling to find the right words. "In my defense, you disappeared, and I just wanted to–"

“Relax, eh? Let's open your door,” she interjected, her laughter cutting through his stumbling explanation as she patted him on the shoulder and moved toward a large toolbox.

"What? H–how?" he stammered stupidly, his gaze following her movements as she crouched next to the box, her fingers deftly rummaging through its peculiar contents.

"Yeah, well… Have you ever taken a closer look at me or my apartment?" she quipped, a wry lift of her eyebrow accentuating her point. "I'm the absolute embodiment of forgetfulness and scatterbrained tendencies, in case you haven't noticed. How many times do you reckon I've accidentally slammed that darn door and found myself locked out? Those locks might seem sturdy, but truth be told, they're quite easy to pick…"

He snorted in disbelief. "Wait, wait, hold on... Are you seriously thinking about picking my lock?"

"Why not?" she shrugged casually, as if it were the most natural suggestion in the world.

He opened his mouth to make a cutting remark, but found himself at a loss for words.

"Yup. You're crazy. I'm leaving," he declared, raising his hands in resignation as he turned towards the door.

“Well. Good luck, then!” she chuckled skeptically, waving to him with a small, thin screwdriver and what looked like a hairpin. “I hope your doormat is comfortable… You should know that Richy is on a date, and I guess it went very well, so I have no idea what time he'll be back. Might as well be late in the afternoon. Or in the evening.”

He paused, a mix of disbelief and fascination flickering across his face as he turned back to look at her. Despite the paint smudges and the aura of chaos surrounding her, there was a peculiar glint in her eyes that felt oddly genuine and dependable. Bold. Daring.

"This can’t be happening…” he muttered, his fingers instinctively finding their way to pinch the bridge of his nose.

She only chuckled further, “If it makes you feel any better, the first time it took me about 3 hours to get inside.”

“So you've… really done this before?" he inquired tentatively.

She burst into laughter, her amusement almost contagious. "Yup. I do this every two weeks or so. My own door, of course! But don't let Richy in on my little secret. I just don’t want to bother him too much..."

He hesitated, uncertain whether to trust someone whose toolbox contained an eclectic mix of brushes, paints, and all variety of tools. As he pondered, his gaze drifted to the paintings adorning the walls behind her.

"Hey… Did you paint those yourself?" he asked, pointing to the colorful canvases, most of which were saturated in shades of red.

"Of course. Why do you ask? Want some proof?" she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest, the screwdriver still held loosely in her hand. “Or are you about to critique my masterpieces?”

"No, I just— I... I've seen similar ones. All over the city. In different places," he explained, his voice trailing off uncertainly.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, her gaze narrowing as she processed his words, rising from her spot on the floor. "You mean that street art?"

He fell silent for a moment, his eyes lingering on her still paint-splattered face. "Are they yours? They are, aren’t they?"

"Planning to report that too?" she shot back, a hint of sarcasm lacing her tone as she held his gaze. "Just like my bike and the alleged noise at night? You know you have no evidence for any of it!"

"No, it's not that," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm just curious. I really like those paintings. The ones in the city, I mean. I never would've guessed someone like you could be the artist behind them."

“I didn’t say I was.”

"Come on," he gestured towards the red figure on the canvas, "They're identical to the ones in the city. These simple, faceless cat-like characters doing all sorts of amazing little things. Cleverly hidden in various, unexpected places."

"No, they're most definitely not identical," she huffed, striding up to the painting. "Can't you see something's missing in mine?"

"Yes, those big eyes painted with thick black lines, right? Sometimes other details, too. Very distinctive."

"Distinctive my ass! They're just stupid doodles that someone painted on real things!" she retorted, her frustration evident as she gestured toward the artwork.

"Do you really think so? People seem to like them. Have you seen all those pictures all over the web? They got quite popular, at least in the city. They even got a name, what was it…" He rubbed his stubbled chin, trying to recall.

"Night Watchers," the woman sighed, resigned.

"Right," he grinned with an odd sense of satisfaction, "Night Watchers. I like it."

"Well, I don’t!" she snapped, pointing her sharp screwdriver at him once again. "Those doodles are crude and primitive. And so are those who paint them!"

"Fine, fine!,” he laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “You're strangely defensive here, and we're just talking about graffiti, you know? Are you sure they're not yours?"

"Forget it," she sighed, taking her keys and waving them in front of his nose. "Come on. I’ll get you and your arrogant ass home."

He opened his mouth to protest, but seeing her determination, he realized there was no point. Without hesitation, she strode down the corridor, and he hastened to follow.

As they reached his apartment door, the young woman wasted no time in kneeling down, her movements fluid and assured as she began to work on the lock. He watched her with a mix of fascination and disbelief, the scene unfolding before him like something out of a movie. Here he was, in the dead of night, entrusting a stranger with the task of breaking into his own home. and not just a stranger. It was a surreal moment, one he never could have anticipated.

"My name’s Charlie, by the way," she muttered suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence. Despite her focus on the task at hand, there was a hint of warmth in her tone. "You can tell me yours, or I can keep calling you an asshole. Whatever you prefer."

He snorted in slight disbelief, recalling the last name written on an intercom, “Okay, hold on. You want to tell me your name is Charlie Brown*?”

She turned to him, her expression serious and unfazed, “Charlie Brown. Got a problem with that?”

“No, it's…” he scratched his head, trying to contain his smile to a minimum, “It's just cut– curious. That's all. Fits an artist, I guess.”

“Uh-huh. So?” her gaze focused on the lock once more, “Do you want me to keep calling you an asshole?”

"Tempting," he conceded, leaning against the railing with a wry smile. "But my name is Jake."

“Well then, Jake…” Charlie's fingers danced over the lock, her touch deft and precise. With a soft click, the lock surrendered, and she pushed the door open. "Welcome home." Her grin was triumphant as she got up and gestured for him to enter.

“I'll consider this as compensation for disturbing my peace,” he sighed, stepping past her as he finally made his way back to his place. But then, as he glanced back at her, he nodded slowly. "Thank you, Charlie. You'd make a very good burglar."

“Yeah… No problem,” she rolled her eyes, “Suppose us insomniacs have to stick together. No matter how annoying you are.”

Jake’s shoulders shook with silent mirth, “Yes, well. It was… interesting to finally meet you, Charlie Brown. And you actually do look good in red… when it’s not all over you,” he casually pointed to her t-shirt.

“Screw you, Jake,” her eyes crinkled at the corners as she snorted at him, “See you around.”

He watched her vanish down the hallway, a smile lingering on his lips. Then, with a soft click, he closed the door behind him, careful not to make a sound.

. . ………………… . . 

She came to an abrupt stop, her fingers tightening around her phone as she squinted at the grimy wall of the aging city building. Until quite recently, it had served as a canvas for her creativity. The playful red figure mid-jump over the rope – the cable swaying from the electrical box nearby.

Now, however, it was something entirely different.

Thick, bold lines appeared on her little masterpiece. A bike now dominated the scene, but not just any bike. It was a truly whimsical rendition, making the red figure no longer leaping but riding that damn bike with carefree abandon. A large basket adorned the front, and right in it—a brush, and a screwdriver.

And there were those eyes. Those unmistakable, big, doodle-like eyes.

A laugh had to leave her lips, disbelief and amusement fighting with each other, as she read the small writing underneath. 

Coffee tonight? 

J.

“That damn asshole…” 

. . ………………….. . . 

*You all probably know this well, but Charlie Brown is a character from the comic Peanuts :) 

Thanks for reading! Leave a comment, share, let me know what you think ;) <3

[intoduskoutofdawn]

Better late than never, read this - it is great.

Hi everyone ! This is my first duskwood fanfiction. I already have an account on wattpad but I decided to create this account to share the duskwood stories I have in mind. 

English isn't my first language, so I hope there won't be too many mistakes. 

Well, enough talking! I hope you will enjoy this first one shot story!

Looking for better days

I open my eyes, it's still dark in the room. I can only hear the sound of the clock ticking. It feels so calm. Do you know that? This moment between sleep and awakening when your mind forgot the horrible things that happened? Well this is it, this tiny second out of time, when everything seems to be alright. Then it all comes back to me. The search for Hannah, the mines, Richy's confession, the fire… 

It was weeks ago, though I can't take it anymore. I start crying, again. I can't stop the tears from falling out of my eyes. Mechanically I stretch an arm out of my blanket to grab my phone. I only have one message from Lilly, telling me that Hannah's going to be out of the hospital tomorrow and asking me to finally come to Duskwood. 

As always, I just ignore Lilly's text. I haven't really heard from the others since Hannah has been found. Thomas and Cleo have focused on Hannah's well-being, Dan tried to reach me at first but eventually gave up on this. And then there's Jessy. I was the one who tried to talk to her. But she has never answered any of my calls. Lilly told me that Jessy has drowned in her grief. She's never accepted Richy's death. I can't blame her. 

Sighing, I open the chat with Jake and read my last messages for the hundredth time.

MC : Jake I hope you're okay. I'm so worried! 

MC : Jake it has been a week, tell me that you got out of the mine on time. 

MC : If you ever see these messages please, answer me. 

All of those messages remain unread. I had hope for a long time, but two weeks ago it all fell apart. Local information revealed that a body was found. And as Richy's body was already found and as there was no FBI agent officially reported missing, there was no place to doubt about this body identity. Lilly called me that day, and we shared the same thoughts. We truly believe this body belongs to Jake. Since that day I have never found the strength to talk to her anymore.

And now, she is texting me again! I furiously turn off my phone and go to the kitchen to make some coffee to clear my mind. My mug in my hand, I go to the window and open it. The cold air gently strokes my skin and I close my eyes, focusing on my breath and on the sound of the city that echoes beneath me.  

I let my mind wander in a vain hope it gives me the peace I need. Thinking about anything but Duskwood. But as always, it doesn't work. Duskwood is haunting me, Hannah is haunting me, Jake… is haunting me. Suddenly I open my eyes. 

I have to go to Duskwood. 

__________

Two days later I'm finally driving to Duskwood. I figured out that walking the streets of this city and meeting my friends is the only way I can get some kind of closure. Once I made my decision, I called Lilly to tell her I'm coming. She was surprised at first, but it seemed to make her happy. She told me I could stay at the motel and booked a room there for me.

Now here I am, driving to a city I didn't even know it existed a few weeks ago. I'm approaching the forest near Duskwood, I should be there in less than 30 minutes. The sun begins to set as I enter the forest. The shadows of the pines are drawing strange shapes around my car, it seems like I'm trapped in a sepia photograph.

On a panel, by the side of the road, I can see that I'm in the right direction toward Duskwood's motel. But I don't follow the indication and turn right instead, taking a small path that leads me further in the woods. I intend to stop by a certain location before I reach my final destination. I need it. 

I only have a 5 minutes drive before arriving at a small car park. I slowly get out of my car and take a deep breath before heading to Grimrock waterfalls. It's a simple and pleasant walk. I can even see a small picnic table standing near an overview of the area. I guess this place is mostly frequented by families during their Sunday's walks and by tourists on their holidays. 

Soon I arrive. The place is quiet, almost peaceful. But, as I turn my head to scan my surroundings, I spot a yellow banner disfiguring the landscape a few feet away. I slowly walk closer to the banner. From here I can already see the damage of the fire that had spread beneath my feet. Everything around the mine entrance has been burnt. I stare at the place with horror trying not to think about my friends who died in this place. 

My breath begins to become uneven and my vision blurs, I have to close my eyes to prevent my tears from falling on my cheeks. Here in the dark, I can only hear the sound of the birds and the waterfall. After a few breaths to calm me down, I open my eyes again. And, as I reach out to catch the yellow banner, a quiet voice interrupts me. 

"I knew I would find you here."

I turn around to face the redhead girl who has just appeared in front of me. 

"Jessy… How did you…?" I start. 

"I also come here sometimes. This way… I feel closer to him."

Jessy approaches and stops right beside me. Her gaze focuses on the scenery that lay across the banner. From here, I can notice her pale skin and the dark circles under her eyes. She seems to be exhausted, her eyes have lost their glimmering. Shyly, I take her hand and squeeze it carefully into mine. 

"How did you know I was here? In Duskwood, I mean." I ask her. 

"Lilly told me. It has been days since I haven't talked to anyone. But when I saw Lilly's text, I thought it would be time to… move on. I guess that's why you're here after all. To try to move on."

"Yes, you're right." I sigh, "I thought that maybe, I'd feel a little better if I came to Duskwood."

She finally looks at me and I see the concern in her eyes. "How do you handle this?" 

"Well, badly." Slowly I can feel the anger growing inside me. The whole situation is ridiculous, and I'm angry because no matter what, there's nothing we can do to change a thing. I feel so helpless. 

"MC… I can't imagine how difficult it is, not knowing what happened…"

"Do you know what's worse?" I cut her off. "The worst is I will never have the chance to know how Jake looks like, how his voice sounds, how it feels to feel the warmth of his body, to experience walking hand in hand with him!" 

"MC please, don't say that. We don't know for sure if it was Jake's body who was found in the mine" Jessy argues. 

"Who could it be? For all that we know, there was only Richy and Jake in this mine!" My voice is shaking now. "I miss him! I miss him so much. This is ridiculous! How - how can I miss someone I've never met?!" 

Jessy doesn't answer. She just stays here staring at me. Her eyes are scanning my face. What is she thinking about? I try to read her mind. I can see the pain, the sadness, but there is something else. Something that bothers me. Pity. I can see pity in her eyes. Why would she pity me?! I take one last deep breath and intend to walk back to my car before I lose my shit and yell at my friend. As I'm about to leave, Jessy gets closer to me and puts her arms around me. 

At first, I don't move. But after a few seconds I let everything out. I cry, like I have never cried. My sobs are so intense that I struggle to breathe. I have to hold Jessy's shoulder to keep me from falling to the ground. Jessy's still quiet and gently rubs my back in an attempt to calm me down. 

When I stop crying it's already dark around us. I quickly wipe my tears away from my eyes and cheeks, as Jessy pulls her phone out of her pocket to turn the flashlight on. "It's late, we should get back to our cars" she says. 

We walk in an awkward silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. Finally, we arrive at the car park. Jessy looks at me one last time before getting in her car "we're going to the Aurora tomorrow evening, you should come. Everyone would love to meet you." 

A light smile appears on my face. "Yeah, I'll try to stop by the Aurora tomorrow, then."

She smiles back at me and after waving hands at each other, we go our separate ways. 

__________

The next day I spend most of the time in my room, lazing in bed and watching TV. Jessy texted me in the morning to indicate that the group will be at the Aurora around 7.pm.

As the meeting time approaches I go to the bathroom to get myself ready. I put some makeup on and tie my hair in a ponytail. It's a ten minute walk to the Aurora so, for now, I'm still on time. 

I finally get out of the room and I hold my coat close against my body to protect me against the cold winter air. A man comes out of the reception and walks right toward me. 

It's a policeman. I have no doubt about this man's identity and my instinct tells me he also knows who I am. 

As he stops right in front of me I greet him "Good evening, Alan."

He smiles "Good evening, MC. Mrs. Walter warned me that you were staying at her motel. I was losing hope of meeting you." As I remain silent, he continues. "I need your testimony on Hannah's case. Everyone has already given me their version of the story. I need yours to complete my report."

"Is this only about Hannah's case?" I ask suspiciously. 

"As you know, I've only worked on Hannah's disappearance lately. Why would I ask you about anything else?" Alan answers innocently, but I could detect what he implied. 

" I see… When should I come to the police station?" 

"The sooner the better! What about tomorrow morning?" he states. 

"Fine, I'll be there." I answer unsure of myself. 

"Great! See you tomorrow, then" he says, turning his back on me and starting to leave.

"Alan!" I interrupt him. "The body that was found…"

Slowly the policeman goes back to me and puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. "MC, you don't have to worry about this body." 

"What do you mean?" I ask skeptical. 

"Goodnight, MC" And with these words, Alan leaves. 

I stay alone on the motel's car park, lost in my thoughts. What was that? What does it mean? Did Alan imply that this isn't Jake's body ? Is Jake alive? No, it can't be that. If he was safe, Jake would have told me. Maybe Alan told me not to worry about this body because Jake's dead. But, it wouldn't make sense. Maybe the FBI threated Alan not to talk about it. Maybe because Jake has been arrested, or maybe because he's still on the run looking for a shelter! Or maybe because… 

The first raindrops start to fall and make me jump. I pull my phone out of my pocket. 7.12pm. Shit ! I'm late. I check the Duskwood map to see where the Aurora is and hurry to go there. 

As I arrive at the corner of the street my phone buzzes.

Jessy : Where are you? We're waiting for you. 

MC : I'm on my way!

A few minutes later, I open the door of the bar. I wince, it's crowded and the music is deafening! Jessy's the first who notice me and she waves at me. 

I find my way to the table where my friends are. When suddenly, a blond girl hugs me tight. "Lilly!" I laugh. 

"MC! I can't believe it! You're finally here!" She leads me to the others and Cleo gets up and smiles at me. "Nice to meet you, MC!" 

I smile back at her. "It's nice to meet you too, Cleo. All of you!" I look at them and for the first time in weeks I don't fake my smile nor my happiness. 

Thomas greets me with a shy smile. "Hey MC." a girl is standing right behind him. Hannah. 

She puts her hands on my shoulder and looks deeply into my eyes. She has tears in her eyes, just like me. Finally she pulls me into a hug. "Thank you MC. For everything!" 

I walk away from Hannah's embrace and from the corner of my eye I can see a man, staring at me. With an embarrassed smile I go to him. "Hey Dan!"

Dan folds his arm and glares at me. "You ignored every of my calls. So now, I ignore you!" Lilly nudges him. "Dan! This is childish!" she says. 

I laugh a little at Dan's reaction. "Maybe I can buy you a drink to make it up to you?" Dan doesn't answer and looks away. "A whisky…?" 

He looks again at me and after a few seconds, he answers. "Okay. Maybe a whisky would help me forgive you!" 

I smile while I make my way to the counter and wave at the bartender to get his attention. "Hi Phil! You said there'd be a stool here for me if I ever came to Duskwood."

Phil's eyes widen "MC! You're even more beautiful than I imagined!" of course he's already flirting with me. "Tell me, what do you want to drink?" 

"Two whisky please." Phil nods and comes back with two glasses of whisky. Then he looks right into my eyes and puts his hand above mine, which lies on the counter.

I stand here, frozen, watching at our hands. "So tell me MC, how long do you intend to stay in Duskwood?" he asks. 

"I… I don't know, a few days, I guess."

"So, long enough to have a drink with me. I need to thank you for getting me out of jail." he smiles.

"Oh! You know, It wasn't really me who got you out of jail. " I blush. 

Suddenly my phone buzzes in my pocket. I take this opportunity to pull out my hand from Phil's grip and take my phone. 

I watch my screen in amazement. I can't hear Phil talking to me, I can't hear the music anymore. The world around me has just disappeared. I have longed for weeks for this moment. My heart is going crazy in my chest. And I read the words over and over again on my screen.

??? : Hello MC. :) 

[intoduskoutofdawn]

I didn't know it until you brought it up, but yes...there has to be more Poke!

Poke: First a fall, I am a serious businessman. Jake: Did you mean, first of all? Poke: Yeah! So if you want to make an opponent with me-- Jake: ...an appointment? Poke: Whatever. Ain't those words cinammons? Jake: Synonyms? And absolutely not. Please learn how to spell or stop texting me. Poke: Are you giving me an all tomato? Noah fence, but that's rude. Jake, almost having a stroke: I am not sure whether I should be amazed or offended by your stupidity. Poke: Haha, to shay! Jake: *dies*

[intoduskoutofdawn]

Hey! Do you plan to write some more of your Jail stories in the near future? :) (because I really like them!)

Hi, I'm glad you enjoy them. Well, I have some ideas floating around in my head (sometimes I wish I could draw). I started to write two one shots simultaneously, which was a mistake since I had to stop. But anyway, most likely there will be more at some (unspecified) point. <3

[intoduskoutofdawn]

Uh, hi. so this is the first time I do this, but I have a story on Wattpad called Until The Very End. It's a Fear The Walking Dead fanfiction. So if anyone interested, here's the link to the story. https://www.wattpad.com/story/330632276-until-the-very-end

And I'm very thankful if you check it out or vote or comment. <3

[intoduskoutofdawn]

You’ve heard of one shots, now get ready for none shots! It’s when you think of an idea for a fic and then don’t write it

[intoduskoutofdawn]

<3

First Date Data // Duskwood one shot

One-shot // Jake's POV // Fluff(ish).

How could that first date go? And how much could Jake overthink it?

No warnings // 4,3k words.

. . .

Standing alone in front of a large red neon sign, alone, in the shadows, with my eyes locked on the parking lot, I wonder how I got myself into such a preposterous situation.

This is a false statement.

I know precisely well how I got myself into this preposterous situation.

Another false statement.

Is the situation, in fact, preposterous? How can one even assess the preposterousness of a situation? Where is the line that makes something preposterous or not? Can something like this even be done? Of course it can, everything can be done with enough time, data and willpower.

And coffee.

This is something I know almost too well from my own experience. I wish I didn't know that, it would make things much easier. That way I would be convince most of the things I did were impossible, therefore I wouldn't do them.

But every little thing I've done has brought me here. To this place. Right here where I stand. Alone. Alone for now.

Do I regret any of it?

It depends.

What a convenient answer. I can do better than that. This is the worst answer anybody can give. Of course it depends. Everything depends on everything else, there is no denying it. Nothing is simple black and white, things are rarely either 1 or 0.

Rarely, but not never. I do know all about that. So I'm asking myself again, do I regret anything?

Negative.

Because, as ridiculous as it sounds, am about to have a date with a girl. A woman. And this is what makes the situation preposterous.

It's been only a second or two since I looked at that red neon sign. I think fast, I always think fast, but now my mind is working as fast as greased lightning.

This statement is neither false or true. It's nonsensical.

But it doesn't change the fact, that the thoughts in my head are scattered. I never allow that. I simply cannot allow that. It's inefficient. How can you act productively when your mind is wandering?

You cannot. It's a simple answer. That's why you don't do it. Yet here I am.

I am standing in the shadows, just at the edge of the light from a nearby lamp. Red neon makes everything shrouded in a red glow of horror.

There is no such thing.

This is what happens when your mind wanders. Ridiculous thoughts. Inaccurate observations. No logic. True nightmare.

This is when I decide that's the end of that thread of thought.

I did a couple of things before I came here. First one: reconnaissance.

Reconnaissance is the first step of Hacking. It's also the first step of absolutely everything else. Everybody should know this. Sadly, not enough people do.

I came early. I know this restaurant. I suggested it myself. Being on familiar terrain, you are less likely to step on a mine. Knowing the area, you know what to expect. What to avoid and where to run, if necessary.

She doesn't know it. She's never been here. I have the advantage. Except, we're not enemies. It would be a little easier if we were. I know how to throw my enemy off guard. How to confuse them. I know how to beat them.

It won't work here.

We're not enemies, yet it seems we're not entirely on the same side. Things can go wrong. For me. For her. 'For me' option is much more probable.

The second thing I though about: introductions.

Should I bring her something? Should I wait inside or outside? Should I eat something before, or should I go there actually hungry?

This was the first time when I thought: Google it.

I am not a man with great experience when it comes to real dates. I don't do dates. I don't just simply go to places like this one. I am, however, a man with a great ambition.

I tried to solve this conundrum logically. I weighed the pros and cons of every single eventuality.

I ended up not Googling it. My answer: bring nothing, wait outside, don't be hungry. Did it make me feel better?

Not enough data to answer this question.

It's five past zero hour.

A thought runs through my head. Another preposterous thought runs through my head. She is not coming, she was never coming. It was all a sham.

I can simply check where she is. Should I do that? The answer to that one is simple, I shouldn't do that. I should never do that. It's unethical. It's wrong. I should never do that. Period.

I sometimes do that.

A car approaches. It's a cab. For a minute or two nothing happens. I'm on standby.

Then I see her. She gets out of the car, smiles at the driver, waves goodbye.

He's a lucky guy - I think - he's already done it all. Met her. Talked with her. Made her smile.

This man is irrelevant, he shouldn't bother me. I'm trying to erase him from my memory.

I think about her again. Her hair gleams in the yellow lamplight as she looks around. Her black dress flutters slightly in the evening breeze. Her dark jacket is too light for today's weather, but she doesn't seem to care.

I'm taking a step forward. I'm coming out of the shadows. Now the same lamp illuminates me as it illuminates her.

She turns once more and then sees me. Her eyes rest on me and for a moment the expression on her face is absolutely blank.

It's blank. What's the meaning of this?

It doesn't mean anything.

Am I not looking good? Of course I'm not looking good – she's wearing an elegant dress and I'm wearing a hoodie. I didn't sleep last night. My hair is never right.

Is she disappointed? Am not what she expected?

It doesn't mean anything!

Her rosy lips twists slowly in a tender smile, her eyes seems to sparkle with something I'm simply unable to decode.

I'm not moving. I should move, but I'm not.

She is the one who comes closer, her heels clicking steadily against the hard ground, each click like a countdown.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

C o n t a c t .

She is not saying anything, she just looks at me, that gentle smile never leaves her face.

"Hello," I say my well-rehearsed line, "It's nice to see you."

The corners of her mouth turn up even more, a quiet laugh leaves her throat. I'm not sure if I'm under or overanalyzing this.

"It is more than nice to finally see you, Jake," she says, her voice like this crispy, evening breeze, "How are you?"

How am I?

How-am-I?

There could be many answers to this very, very simple question. Suddenly it's not even a matter of 'how', but 'if am I even here'.

It's surreal and I feel out of place. It started like an innocent dream and now it's slowly turning into a nightmare. I can see the red glow of horror on her face, the neon sign is still there, it's still taunting me.

She tilts her head when I don't give her an answer for a few seconds.

"I'm good" At this point I have no idea if this statement is true or false. "I hope you are as well."

The neon sign blinks as she laughs, this sound surrounds me like a cocoon, her hair are glistening again, goosebumps disappear from her skin, her cheeks are flushed. So are mine.

"You're just as I've imagined you would be!" she says, she shakes her head, she giggles, she bites her rosy bottom lip.

She holds out her hand to me, she presses her lips together, trying not to smile. I don't mind her smiling.

I shake her hand. She squeezes it tightly. Her touch is warm, it's spine-tingling. I'm suddenly very grateful she decided a simple handshake would be enough.

This is not my first encounter with a woman. I try to remind myself.

This is my first encounter with this woman.

I'd be lying if I said I don't know much about her. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't trying to find out even more. Too much. I'd be lying if I said that since she met me, some of her preferences have changed. I'd be lying if I said it didn't work somewhat in my favor.

She's known for a long time I could always find out more.

Ding, ding, ding! I figured it out. It was her plan all along. She wrapped me around her finger. I mindlessly fell into her well-designed trap. I like it as much as I hate it. I never fall for any kind of traps.

"Will you accompany me inside?" I ask. I rehearsed it as well.

She doesn't answer.

Correction.

She doesn't say anything, but nods eagerly. Her hair falls over her shoulders and her face like a waterfall. Golden waterfall of shining waters.

Fine.

The next thing I Googled. I admit it.

All the old-fashioned male-female customs seem to annoy everyone, especially nowadays. And yet, during a date, everyone expects you to know all of that. It's almost a paradox.

Pay for her. Don't pay for her. Open the door. Don't do it. Help her sit. Don't even go near her.

Which rules are acceptable and which should be rejected altogether? It was absolutely beyond my cognitive abilities.

The Internet is full of information, and if you put your mind to it, you can find whatever answer you want.

I was able to find the right one. I am ready to open the door. I am ready to go inside first. I am ready to hold the door open for her and let her inside. I am ready to talk to the waiter.

When we start walking, she does something unexpected. My whole elaborate plan goes to hell. She takes my hand, she rushes to the door, I am forced to follow her blindly. She opens the door and runs inside, then she lets go of my hand.

My mind froze as soon as her hand touched mine. I went unresponsive. My body moved on its own.

With her help.

Laughing, she looks around the restaurant. It's not too fancy. It's not too lousy. It is perfectly balanced, as all the things should be.

Then it hits me. I'm no gentleman. She's no lady. Not in that way, anyway. I'm simply a man with his eyes locked on a woman of his dreams.

We don't need to follow those rules. She doesn't want us to follow those rules and she's just showed me that. We are far beyond that phase. It is our first date and we're far beyond that phase.

I recover when the waiter asks her if we have a reservation. Then he looks at me questioningly. There is still a gentle smile hiding at the corners of her mouth. It never leaves her face.

I take it from here. We have a reservation. I made sure we had a reservation. I was checking as often as possible if our reservation wasn't, in fact, cancelled or changed at any point.

It goes smoothly from here. As far as I understand the meaning of the word 'smoothly', that is.

We follow the waiter. She looks at the table. It's near the window, at the far corner of the room. Secluded, but in a good way. It's the best table in the whole restaurant. I know that. She notices that. She glances at me as her brows raise a little.

Is she impressed?

Again, not enough data to answer this question.

We sit opposite each other. The table is small, our knees are almost touching. She looks at me when the waiter hands us the menus. She still looks at me when she opens hers. I look at her when I place mine on the table, still closed.

An unbroken silence falls between us. Somehow it's not uncomfortable at all.

How is that possible?

He puts the menu down for a moment. She starts taking off her jacket.

Is it warm in here? Should I rush to help her? Is it an invitation to touch her?

This wasn't planned. Why exactly haven't I planned that?

Before I can do anything, the jacket is off, she hangs it on the chair. The lacy sleeves of her dress end in the middle of her forearm. Her scalloped neckline is not too low, it's not too high.

It's enough for my imagination.

A quiet, small, uncontrolled, almost unnoticeable sigh is leaving my throat.

She notices it. Damn it, she notices it. She is perceptive. She's more perceptive than she wants me to know.

I know.

"I like your dress." I say, there is no point denying it "It looks good on you."

She's not embarrassed. She knows how she looks in it. Still, she lowers her head, she gives me a lopsided smile as she tosses her hair back.

She likes the compliment.

"Thank you. I was hoping you would."

How could I not?

Silence.

She nibbles on her bottom lip, as she looks at the menu again. I don't look at the menu. I don't have to look at the menu. I'm looking at her.

I've seen her many times before. I saw her pictures. She's sitting so close to me now and I can't help but wonder how beautiful she is. It's like I'm seeing her for the very first time.

I am seeing her for the very first time.

"What do you recommend? I assume you know this place." she says, she smiles, she glances at the menu, then back at me.

A spark. There is a spark in her eye. This is not a simple question. She doesn't want recommendation. She wants me to amuse her. I want to see how much I've planned this. She knows I planned this.

Yes, I planned every single second of this date. Yes, the decision tree for that evening is almost infinite. Almost, yet I know it all. And yes, the food is the least important part of our meeting.

"I like number four, number fifteen, sometimes eleven. For you, however, I recommend number seventeen. Number twenty-two to drink. You're going to like it."

Curious, she looks at the menu. She finds the numbers. One after another. She nods. She hums. Her whole face lit up.

"Not bad! Let's make it interesting though. I'll order it if you let me pick your meal."

A counteroffer. I expected nothing less from someone like her.

It's a game. We're playing another game and I'm not sure if I know all the rules.Then again, I've already established she doesn't want us to follow rules. So how can I play this game?

I'm resting my elbows on the table, I can't stop looking at her, but she's not bothered by it. It's like she wants me to look. This is the first time when I smile.

"I accept your offer," I answer briefly.

She giggles. She sets her menu aside. She rests her elbows on the table, she leans closer to me, her arms folded together. I notice a little mischief deep in her eyes.

She's mimicking me. It's yet another game.

I raise my head. She raises her head. I chuckle. She chuckles. She places her open hand in the middle of the table. Before I am able to touch her, the waiter comes back to us.

I order for her. She orders for me. I don't even register what he says to the waiter. It's a tunnel vision. I see her, nothing else.

We're alone again. As alone as we can be in a restaurant.

"Care for some small talk?" she asks.

"Always. Although I'm not good with topics." I admit, but she knows it well "I'd appreciate it if you'd start."

She likes the idea. This is what she wanted. She thinks for a moment or two. She puts her index finger to her chin as she looks up. Then she smirks. She puts her palms on the table and stares at me intensely.

"How long would you last in a zombie apocalypse?" her question throws me off. Her questions always throw me off.

I laugh. I laugh out loud.

She's wearing an elegant dress, I'm quite sure her make-up is thoughtfully matched to her outfit. She is a truly graceful woman and she's sitting across me, asking me about a zombie apocalypse.

Can it get more perfect than that? There's a part of me that wants to say 'yes', but I know it's not true. I don't think anyone could be more perfect than her right now. Than her in general.

It's a hypothetical question. There is no way to test this, yet I'm somehow certain of my answer.

"I'd survive. Long. To the very end, I'd say."

She nods her head slowly, she seems impressed by my answer, but I'm not sure if she believes me.

"How about you?"

"I am pretty sure I'd be dead on the day one." she giggles "I'd be good at being a zombie, though! You'd have to be careful, I would gladly eat your brain out!"

She makes me laugh again. I laugh louder. She laughs with me. I casually put my hand across the table, very near hers.

"If that really was the case, I'd definitely let you bite me." I say before thinking.

It's a purely theoretical scenario, yet I am sure this statement would be true.

She hums surprised, her eyes are wide. Her fingers touch my arm. It's a gentle lazy stroke, but I can feel them intensely through the sleeve of my hoodie. A shiver runs through my whole body to stop low on my back. She fixes her hair, she shifts a little. That small, innocent movement makes her knee touch mine.

Interesting fact:

If something touches your knee, you always feel it. You can't touch something with your knee and not realize it. This is how human body works.

It was intentional. Or maybe it wasn't intentional, but she likes the outcome. I try to follow every single game we're playing, but it's getting harder. It's getting out of control. I don't have that kind of attention span. Not while she's touching me.

Focus.

"Your turn." She says, an innocent look in her eyes, as if she didn't disturb my personal space at all.

I'm trying thinking straight. It's almost impossible while she's touching me. I am totally lost, my decision tree is long forgotten. I frown.

"I'm not sure I can top your question." I finally say.

"You don't have to. I like your questions."

Her hand moved, now she's stroking my hand with her fingertips.

"What's your strategy whilst playing hide-and-seek?"

I think fast. This question pops up in my mind. It wasn't planned. It was based on her question, it's not as good, though.

Her eyes widen even more, she bursts out laughing, her fingers tighten on my hand and now she's practically holding it. My heart's racing, my mouth's all dry.

Focus!

"Oh? I didn't know there is more than one strategy!"

I take a risk. It's not really a risk. I do realize that. After all, we are here together. She wanted to come here. She touched me first.

All in all, I take a risk. I wrap my other hand around her hand. She's trapped now. She's trapped between my hands.

Her touch is like an inductive charger. It's just a touch, but I feel it with every inch of my body. Our hands together. Our knees together. We, together.

Preposterous. Horrifying. There is no escape now. For me as well as for her.

"There's always more than one strategy for everything. You should always have more than one strategy in mind, whatever you do." I answer.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot who I am talking to!" she chuckles, her head tilted, she looks at our intertwined hands with a soft smile "Tell me about those hide-and-seek strategies, so I can tell you which one is mine."

Well. There are many, many hide-and-seek strategies. This is, after all, my favorite game of all. As long as I'm the one who's hiding.

She looks at me curiously as I spread her hand on the table.

"The basic one. You choose a place and you hide. You don't leave until someone finds you."

I touch the middle of her hand, I draw a small circle with my thumb. Then with my other hand I close her fingers on mine.

She laughs softly. She likes my way of explaining.

"And there is my strategy of choice." I continue as I spread her hand again "You keep your eye on the seeker, you move as they move. That way they can look for you forever. As long as you're careful, of course."

I gently run my fingers up and down her arm, I draw lines, I draw patters. I brush the hem of the sleeve of her dress. I'm not sure if my analogy is clear.

It doesn't matter.

There is this strange satisfaction in my chest as I see her face studying my every single move, her eyes curious as the goosebumps appear on her arm, she bites her rosy bottom lip again.

I got myself back together. I'm in control. My mind works properly again. My logical thinking ability is back. All I needed was a proper stimulation. My decision tree is useless now, I'm improvising.

"I'm afraid I'm the basic one, then." She says, disappointment mixed with amusement in her voice.

There is nothing basic about her.

"There's nothing basic about you."

She blinks as she glances at me.

Is it a good thing I speak before thinking now? Of course not, it's never good. One should never speak without carefully thinking about every single word.

Yet here I am. Again.

We are forced to take our hands off the tabletop. The waiter brings our order, we wait patiently for him to leave. I take a sip of my beer. She smells her jasmine tea. She tries her jasmine tea. She's delighted with her jasmine tea. I am delighted with her delight in her jasmine tea.

I chose it.

We eat. We try to eat. We mostly talk. I listen to her carefully. She listens to me carefully. There are some more stimulating questions. Some stories.

Our knees don't disconnect even for a moment. I laugh at her jokes. She laughs at the things I say. I have a feeling not all of them are funny enough to be the cause of her laughter, but she does that anyway.

The waiter wants us to order desserts, and we haven't even finished our dinner. We don't have time to finish our dinner. As I said before, the food is the least important part of our meeting.

Time passes quickly. We don't even notice it.

It passes too quickly.

The evening is gone in the twinkling of an eye. How is that possible?

Not egough data, although I have a theory.

When she goes to the bathroom, I take care of the bill. We are the last to leave the restaurant. The staff turns off the light behind us.

Now we're standing in this small parking lot, almost like before.

Much closer.

The neon sigh blinks. It's taunting me again. She puts her hand on my chest for a second and a half. My heart stops.

"Thank you for inviting me here. It was a very pleasant evening." she says, she looks down, I'm not sure what it means.

"It truly was." I admit.

This statement is so-damn-true.

"Should I order a cab for you?" I ask.

She raises her head, her eyes are saying something, but she remains silent. She takes a small step towards me, she doesn't take her eyes of mine. Her cheeks flushed from the crispy night air. I can't move.

"No." she answers me, her voice quiet, yet it's all I can hear "You should order a cab for us."

The meaning of those words hits me like an wrecking ball. My mind splatters all over the parking lot.

My hand moves on its own. I sink my fingers into her golden waterfall of shining waters. She hums quietly. She tilts her head as my hand go through her hair, to the back of her head.

I hesitate.

One second passes.

Two seconds.

I close the distance. I touch her lips with mine. I can taste a hint of her jasmine tea still on them. This gentle touch makes me shiver.

I want to pull her closer.

I don't have to pull her closer.

She clings to me like a second skin as I put my other hand low on her back. For three more seconds her soft lips are just stroking mine. We're both investigating. It's a reconnaissance. It's a first step. Everything about her is soft. Her hair is soft. Her skin is soft. Her lips are soft. Even her breath is soft.

How can it all be so soft?

Not enough data.

I can feel her smile as her fingers slowly pulls the string of my hoodie.

Then it explodes. I thought my mind was already splattered, but when I she kisses me deep, my mind is entirely gone. It is like it was never even here. There is no logic in this. There is no truth, no false. There is no strategy. There's absolutely nothing in my mind, except one single thought.

False statement.

This is not a single thought. It's a cluster of thoughts, images and feelings. Zombies. Hide-and-seek. Jasmine tea.

No logic.

How can her lips feel so good on mine? Her softness surrounds me. Consumes me. Her whole body curves into mine when we lose ourselves in this moment. She sighs softly when we finally break apart. Her rosy lips are almost red now. Her eyes wide like oceans.

She's not letting me go. I'm not letting her go.

"Am I correct in assuming you like coffee?" she asks. She smiles again.

"Yes. That's a very correct assumption." I manage to answer.

"I make a truly delicious mocha. Maybe you'd like to try it?"

Affirmative. Affirmative. Affirmative.

I nod.

"So get that damn cab for us." She laughs. She brushes my lips with hers again .

I pull away just enough to take my phone out of my pocket and order that damn cab for us.

We're getting into that damn cab.

There's no logic in this preposterous situation. I've never been so pleased with the lack of logic in something.

She's making me mocha in the morning the next day.

[intoduskoutofdawn]

Uhhhh.... cna Phil just go with Jake?

That depends ...

Shopping? Sure, why not? Although, Jake gets very impatient - especially when it comes to clothes.

To the movies? Definitely, but they got to let Phil pick because if Jake does it and the movie sucks - he's never gonna hear the end of it. "What the hell was that?" - "How am I supposed to know that beforehand?!" -" You can really pick'em." - "I picked you, didn't I?" - "Well, even a blind man may perchance hit the mark."

For a walk? That happens. Phil really enjoys going for long walks, Jake didn't think much of them but has grown to enjoy accompanying him.

To party? That's a pickle. Jake hates the bad air, the noise, and many people surrounding him. Phil doesn't really enjoy parties either, though he's the much better people person in general (fun fact: really hates dancing, but is actually a good dancer - therefore gets asked way to often). So they try to avoid the parties but occasionally end up on one.

Insane? Ouh, yes. Jake can basically break out in hour long rants about this and that, mostly it's related to computing and decoding - so Phil doesn't even know what he is talking about. Then it's time to distract the hacker, either with a totally unrelated comment on something else - that usually irritates him, and he bursts into laughter. Or you know, Phil just has his ways to make Jake think of something else. The bar owner, on the other hand, goes insane over any form of injustice (he's a bit traumatized by his unjustified arrest). But Jake actually adores that and helps him to get all the deposit bottles and cans from the Aurora to the recycling center and get the money usually to the animal rescue.

To therapy? Maybe they should, I mean there is no lack of issues. But then the therapist would probably point out that their issues actually make them such a good match and that this is called a compulsive or colliding unity and so on and so on... let's just call it love and be done with it.

On the run? (I know that is what you were asking in the first place ;) )

No. Sorry. Definitely not. Phil has a business and believe it or not, he also wouldn't leave his sister alone there. But it's okay, Jake knows that and would never ask him to abandon his life. Jake is the more flexible one, and he makes it work somehow.

Thank you so much for the ask, I had fun with that one! ;) I hope, I didn't disappoint you. Have a great day. 🖤🤍🖤🤍

[intoduskoutofdawn]

Traces & Trouble

| Jake x Phil

| The FBI is too late or early. It depends...

The idea came from a request and ran from there, I hope it fulfills in parts what was requested. Just had to post (the damn thing) now before it takes any longer.

CW: not sure as always, there is sexual content but I'm not too explicit.

A dash of dark fluid diving in the glass clouded up in the clear liquid, the long silver bar spoon flickered in the dim light as a slender hand stirred the drink slowly. Captivated, the young woman sitting at the counter kept her eyes pinned on every move of those hands. They belonged to the bar owner, who now set down the glass right in front of her. She lifted her look up to his face, a strand of dark hair parted his left eye, pointing down to a half smile.

"I think - you are going to love this," Phil Hawkins said with calm confidence, nodding encouraging towards the glass. The young woman threw a bunch of curly hair to the side and took a sip of the drink. Her eyes fell shut for a second and then she smiled back at the bar owner. "This is perfection. Freshness followed by a sweet ...and somewhat savory note. Perfect. So what's it called?"

"Oh, I'm not sure yet," the bar owner answered, "You just witnessed it's creation. But I kinda love the way you described it, so why don't I name it after you?" The young woman tilted her head and laughed. "Oh my, I never had anything named after me. Don't you think Tracy would be a strange name for a drink?"

"I think it sounds lovely. Could be 'Tracy's delight'. 'Fury Tracy'. 'Tracy's secret' -..."

Two men entered the Aurora Bar and caught Phil's attention.Tracy sour.

One man was tall, very thin with short blond hair, partet in the middle by an aggressively straight line. The other was shorter with patchy mudbrown hair, scowling eyes under bushy brows - while the blond was wearing an expensive looking dark coat, the other poked out of a fighter pilot jacket that made him look old.

"And there they are..." Phil muttered followed by a sharp exhale. He straightned and said with a firm voice, "Tracy, you will have to excuse me. Enjoy your drink and your night." The young woman blinked a few times in confusion, "I thought -" , she started to protest but was interrupted by the two men appearing right next to her with cold smiling faces - she took the glass and left the bar.

"How nice to see you again, Mr. Hawkins. I am sorry to interrupt your work," the blond man said with a strange voice that was both soft and sharp.

A voice like a carpet knife, Phil thought and leaned on the counter - taking the position of a watchful cat. "Somehow, I'm having trouble believing that you are truly sorry, Mr. Fletcher." A thin smirk appeared on Agent Fletchers face.

"Have you met my colleague Agent Byron Mills?" Phil reached out and shook the sweaty hand of the bushy browed man, "I don't believe I have."

Agent Fletcher kept talking while his eyes were darting across the room. The few customers of this quiet evening seemed to pick up on something and started leaving the bar one by one.

"Byron here doesn't live far from Duskwood. His wife was your tenth grade math teacher, if you remember?"

Phil decided it to be appropriate to imitate the cold smiles he was confronted with, as he answered,

"Ah yes, Mrs. Mills. Aren't you a lucky man... how is she doing?" The mean little eyes of Agent Mills slithered over to Fletcher, who apparently was the one assigned to do the talking.

"Mr. Hawkins, do you know why we are here?"

The bar owner stood up straight and took a deep breath,

"Well, I cannot be certain. But if I have to guess... for the same reason you were here the last time, for the same reason you confiscated my phone and my computer? - Another attempt to get information I don't have. Although - I'm wondering why you came here all this way and didn't bring me in instead. That seems rather strange to me."

Fletcher turned to Mills and whispered loud enough so Phil could hear every word,

"Do you hear that, Byron? There is that sharp wit, I warned you about," he stepped towards Phil and leaned his elbows on the counter. After focusing the bar owners face with a stern look, he spoke again,

"Mr. Hawkins, we have reason to believe that you are still - or at least recently have been in contact with the hacker named Jake."

The bar owner drove his thumb over his lower lip and chuckled. Fletcher continued,

"I could just come out straight and ask you where he is but I'm sure it would be in vain. So I am simply going to remind you, this whole affair could cause you a lot more trouble than it already has - in fact, I think it is about to inconvenience you a lot. Once more, I would like to urge you to be cooperative."

"And yet, you didn't ask me anything," Phil leaned back on the tall shelf behind him, "Pardon me saying this, detectives - but you showing up here, trying to be intimidating before you even start questioning me... - it is an awful lot of gesturing. So why don't you start asking before you accuse me of not being cooperative?"

Agent Mill's face had turned to an unhealthy shade of purple but he remained stubbornly silent. Fletcher nodded slowly as if he estimated the extend of Phil's intrepidity and then continued in a down-to-buisness like tone,

"Alright then, Mr.Hawkins, as I said - we know, that you are in contact with the hacker called Jake."

"Was. Correct," Phil stated.

"Jake was here - recently. We can establish that from the communication we recovered from your cell phone."

"Still - was. Past tense. As in 'isn't anymore'."

"You didn't give us a lot of information about that the last time we spoke,"

"Again, I answered and continue answering your questions."

"So correct me, if I'm wrong - this contact between you two dates back two weeks now?"

Phil's smile returned and his eyes lit up with a spark, "I like it how you say 'contact'- as if there is a less appropriate version of that word. But yes, two weeks, that sounds correct."

"The communication broke off at that point? With Jake's disappearance?"

- "Yes."

"And Jake did not try to contact you since then?"

Phil raised his shoulders shoving his hands into his pockets, "No. At least I wouldn't know. After all, you took away my ways of communication, Mr. Fletcher. I'm enduring a very reduced life style in that department. "

"Did you try to contact him?"

- "No." the bar owner met and held the piercing look the agent shot at him.

Agent Mills reached into his puffy jacket and pulled out a phone that he passed on to Fletcher. Phil could see that it was his own phone - the FBI had confiscated it a few days after Jake disappeared. Fletcher put it down on the counter and tapped on it with his long pale fingers.

"Mr. Hawkins, the reassembled content of the correspondence between Jake and you suggests a certain 'intensity' of your relationship at the time. We would like to explore our conclusion that you, Philip, would most likely be the person, who might know something about Jake's whereabouts."

Slowly Phil tilted his head,

"Oh I see...'making conclusions' about the 'intensity' of the relationship between the wanted hacker and the bar owner. Kinky." His eyes lit up again for a second, "But what are you asking specifically? If I know where Jake is? I do not."

Agent Mills eyes where bulging with contempt, he chewed "cocky bastard..." under his breath, but Agent Fletcher remained calm and composed- he believed him too, still lurking for something else.

"Philip, may I ask, how exactly it came to pass that the contact broke off so abruptly?"

Scratching his chin Phil answered,

"I assumed it had something to do with you but probably you are not interested in my speculations. He disappeared, quite literally. There is not more to it."

"All of the sudden? Without a word?"

"Correct."

"Where were you when he 'literally' vanished?"

- "Asleep, I suppose."

"He didn't leave you a message? He didn't say goodbye, he didn't tell you anything?"

"Of course he didn't. You have been trying to find him for a while now and quite frankly - it's not going well. Do you really think, Jake would be so dumb and leave traces like that?" Phil shook his head.

For some reason, Fletcher started smiling again.

"Recklessness happens sometimes, Philip. Like getting involved with the wrong person. It just happens, unintentionally. Getting attached to someone always leaves traces, you know. Don't get me wrong - I'm quite sure Jake is aware of that and maybe we are indeed too late - but then, maybe he couldn't help himself, leaving you at least with some reassurance that he is safe."

With a shrugging sigh Phil muttered, "Reassurance and safety, yes - you really don't know much about that hacker. "

Of course they expected to find the right strings to pull but it wasn't as easy as that.

Getting attached to someone leaves traces.

The echo of this sentence, spoken by a carpet knife voice, oscillated in the bar owners head. With an abscent gaze, he repeated, "I don't know where the damn hacker is, even if he is alive or not. I do not have any further information for you."

Fletcher intertwined his fingers and softened his voice,

"I'm sorry that this is happening to you, Philip. It must be hard for you. Jake vanishing just like that, without a word, after risking a lot - leaving you with the aftermath. And now... here we are." He pushed the phone over the counter, Phil didn't move to pick it up - he chuckled again, but it was a weary and breathless sound this time.

"So this is what you are counting on? Appealing to my resentfulness, Mr. Fletcher?" the bar owner asked, hardening his tone, "can I just ask - is there some chapter like this in the FBI textbook? Something called maybe 'The investigation of the abandoned lover'?"

Fletcher didn't answer right away, still assessing the bar owners expression.

- "In my time, it was called 'The rejected mistress', these books are very old and outdated, Mr.Hawkins", the agent answered cold, retracting to the last name base.

"So we can conclude this conversation with the statement that you don't have any information for us. Jake was here, vanished with no intention to come back." Fletcher folded his hands and lifted them weirdly towards Phil, who just nodded this time.

"Well...then I hope you won't mind if we check that for ourselves. Maybe you have missed something, Mr. Hawkins. I think our colleagues might be almost done with your apartment upstairs by now. We thought it to be appropriate to have this little chat here, while giving your customers some time to leave before we check these rooms as well."

Baffled, the bar owner drove a hand through his hair, closing his eyes and shaking his head,

"You got to be kidding! What exactly are you hoping to find here?" Fletcher had turned around on his heels, reassuring himself that there were no more customers inside the bar and waved a finger doorwards to signal the other investigators to enter.

"Traces, Mr.Hawkins", Fletcher twisted his lips into a half smile.

"Byron", he motioned his head towards Phil and Agent Mills reached into his jacket again, pulled out an envelope - most certainly containing the warrant - and handed it over the counter. Slowly Phil reached out, taking the envelope without looking at it.

"Who are you? His purse?!" he hissed sharply at Mills and turned away, walking outside the front door - not intending to stand and watch his bar getting turned upside down.

They wouldn't find anything. There was nothing here, that would lead them to the hacker. And why would they...?

Getting attached to someone leaves traces.

Maybe they overestimated his capability to get attached to someone, he wasn't exactly known for that. Neither was Jake, for different reasons - but still. How could they be sure, despite of the alleged 'intensity' of their contact, that there would be traces? What traces? Intensity - that was one! Intensity, memories, passion, withdrawal, ...traces. Damn it, Jake!

No. Wait. Not traces... - imprints. Leading nowhere. That is it.

Phil waited outside until it was over, until they all returned to their cars and slammed the doors. He shook the thin bundle of Agent Fletchers fingers without looking at him again.

Back inside the Aurora Bar it was solemnly silent. The bar owner stood still in the middle of the room for a while, considering if he should face the chaos they left behind. He didn't feel like it. Something was strange about all this. It didn't make any sense, why did they even come here?

"No fucking traces!" Phil shouted out to no one stretching out his arms.

Finally, he locked the front door, grabbed his phone and the envelope from the counter and turned off the lights.

As he walked up the stairs to his apartment, he couldn't shake the urge to understand the meaning of this - also there was an uneasiness creeping up on him and he stopped on the stairs. It all felt - unresolved somehow. There had to be more to it. But what could he do, standing alone in the stairwell? The door of the apartment was wide open, Phil walked inside and kicked it shut. Undecided he stood still again for a moment in the dark.

He didn't turn on the lights. The street light streaming through the windows drenched the rooms in a dim orange tone. It didn't look as bad as he thought, not like a tornado went through - fair enough, they had searched thoroughly. All his belongings were spread on tables, chairs and the floor - but in a sort of neat way, stacked and sorted. Turned inside out. Maybe they had taken some things, but there were no traces of the hacker, no messages, no photos. Of course not. They probably still didn't even know what he looked like in the flesh.

Slowly Phil set himself in motion towards the kitchen, that had a large window overlooking the street. All quiet now. Still staring out on the dark street, he put down the unopened envelope and phone on the kitchen counter.

Getting attached to someone leaves traces.

Phil crossed his arms and kept his look pinned out of the window. There was a slight prickle on the back of his neck...

No - fucking - way.

He felt a motion somewhere in the room behind him. Of course. The trace leads here.

"Why is it so dark in here?" a voice asked softly. Phil didn't answer, didn't turn around. The small lamp on the kitchen table lit up with a clicking and he could hear the creaking sound the chair made whenever someone was sitting down.

The bar owner lowered his head but didn't move otherwise. Stubbornly he tried to restrain his heart from throwing itself against his ribcage. His arms firmly locked around himself, he took slow, deep breaths fighting against his own anger, confusion and the longing to just turn around and let it all melt away.

"The door was open...I hope you don't mind," the voice had grown even softer, more hesitant as if testing the temperature.

Jake kept his bright eyes pinned on Phil's back and waited. He pulled the hood off his head and without an idea what else to do, he started straightening his hair - a rather useless effort, the dark strands curling up again.

It had all worked out - until this point. The hacker went over it again step by step. Changing the pattern of running to actually following the investigators - it was simple, simplistic even. And it had worked swimmingly, he just had to pick up the information and they led him right back here. In fact, they were not too late to catch him - but too early. Absurd, really. The hacker shook his head and smiled in disbelief.

So he had actually managed to come back - that's were the plan ended. In success. Yet it was now merely deflated by the fact, that he had not the slightest idea what to do next.

Jake's eyes were darting around. They really had taken this place apart. He bit his lower lip as the extend of the ramifications of his simple plan hit him with a sinking feeling in his stomach. What the hell was he thinking? Nothing much clearly, he cringed... No wonder Phil just stood there, silent and frozen.

Only now, the hacker started to question his own need to be back here - and it might be an entirely selfish one. He raised a hand to touch his temple as he always did when he sat contemplating. It was uncomfortably ambiguous, Jake had experienced an unknown stage of both exhilaration and mindsease - here with him. Somehow, it was all connected to that silent figure standing there.

It was true, Jake was never one to get attached to someone, he even seemed to have lost the need for it over the years. But then something about that Hawkins guy drew his attention and the hacker couldn't wrap his mind around it. Phil had met him with an unusual interest, not for what he did but for what he was apart from that - something even Jake himself had no grasp on. Though confusing and in a way challenging, it was easy to talk to him. The bar owner was never intimidated or even utterly impressed, like it usually happened on the rare occasions Jake actually talked to someone about himself.

It was annoying at first, the damn smugness! He tried hard not to care, but it was just too infuriating. And then intriguing. Jake found himself enjoying the attention, something he had always resented and kept meticulously away from him. Now, it put him at ease and excited him at the same time. Though Phil - confident at all times and seemingly fearless - wasn't impressed by the hacker, he sure was captivated somehow - by him, Jake. Strange. The hacker felt compelled to trust this guy. Even stranger.

And then something else had happened - a slight blush spread over the face of the brooding Jake. In fact, his memories were fractured and hazy. He remembered a kiss, smiling abscently as he did - it had taken him by surprise and then taken him over, taken him whole. And..., Jake shuddered - everything was blurred, too intense to recall what actually had happened. The world went away. Imploding, exploding - both...

"So..." ,

Phil's voice, though not harshly spoken, chopped into Jake's trail of thought like a hatchet. He winced, startled - almost forgotten that Phil was standing there. With wide eyes, the hacker stared at the other man, who had lifted his head but still refused to face him.

"... this was an announcement then," Phil stated, tapping a finger on the envelope. Jake frowned, took a breath to speak but then refrained, snorting.

"Now, now, Jake. You really should say something..."

Jake leaned himself on the table, scratching his scruffy chin. "You are mad. I should have considered that. I must say, I really didn't," he would have added an apology but thought it might sound too pitiful, also he wasn't sorry.

"In fact, I was merely working out a way to come back here. Worked well enough...", he paused and flinched, "you know, this would be easier if you turned around. At least you can tell me to go to hell to my face," his lips twitched a bit and the hacker wondered if that was even true.

"Oh don't mind me, I prefer to hold on to my anger for a while here," came the answer in a sarcastic tone and the hacker frowned.

Truth be told, Phil wasn't even mad. He felt he should and tried to be - that damn hacker just sitting there, after they shut down his business for the night and rummaged through his place on the look for ...traces. And there he was, trapsing in, accompanied by a whole lot of trouble. But Phil couldn't be mad. Jake had a way in, no matter how much Phil tried to shield himself and cutting himself off from everyone, Jake just stumbled through it all.

"Well... fuck it."

Phil snorted and with a swift motion, he spun around, hoisting himself up to sit on the kitchen counter. He rubbed his eyes, wavering, before he finally fixed them on the hacker.

"You look like hell," Phil said after a while.

"Thanks," Jake smiled against his will.

The hacker's dark hair was messy and curling up in all directions, his face was pale with dark shadows under the eyes, on the collar of the black hoodie was a grayish streak of dust or paint. But Jake's gaze was sharp as ever, his eyes glistening with awareness.

"Aren't you going to throw me out?" Jake asked tilting his head.

"Very possible," the lack of conviction in Phil's voice made the hacker's ears prickle with raised attention, "first tell me, what exactly brings you back?"

"I'm actually not sure,"Jake leaned back on the chair and added, "some urge, I don't understand yet. Felt like a strong pull with you being the source of it," he held Phil's gaze with a glint in his eyes.

"May I observe," Jake lifted a finger towards the bar owner, "...you don't seem entirely unhappy to see me," a grin flickering on his lips.

"How endearing. And also - how full of yourself," Phil meant to sound indifferent but was smiling, wearily shaking his head. His dark hair fell over his face, sliding down from the counter - he looked annoyed and defeated.

"You think you are worth the trouble, huh?"

"I didn't say that," Jake frowned again and stood up from the chair, slowly dragging his feet he walked over to Phil.

"No, you don't think like that," the bar owner said pensivley, he lifted his head and looked at the hacker who came to a halt in front of him.

Jake could feel an apprehensive throbbing in his throat - understanding it was on him to overcome the distance, but how? The last time, he remembered, it was just sweeping him away. He didn't have to do a damn thing. But Jake understood that it had to be different now, his fault really - the air seemed weirdly charged.

Avoiding Phil's intense but stern look, the hacker pinned his eyes instead on the notch between his collarbone. Not knowing what he was doing, Jake lifted a hand and placed it right on this spot, a finger softly pressing down on the tail of the tattooed bat. He could feel the calm breathing of the other man, a steady heartbeat, and Jake was quite sure Phil's expression didn't even change a little.

"Didn't even realize that I got this far out of line," Jake murmured, grasped by disbelief over his own audacity.

"No, you don't think like that," Phil repeated. There was a smile somewhere in his eyes but Jake didn't look up.

"Too much trouble...," Jake shook his head and with a frustrated snort, he retrieved his hand. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain and winced in surprise as Phil harshly clasped his wrist.

"See, the thing about trouble is...- you have to see it through, Jake." He wrenched the hacker's hand around and released it at the same spot where it was before - finger on the bat's tail.

With narrowed eyes Jake glanced back at the bar owner, trying to read his expression - he didn't give away much. In a way, he looked like someone ready for a fight. The hacker pondered the situation, which was new and utterly unexpected. Again he searched his memories, only finding a very different set of circumstances. It had started with a kiss and then? Whatever had shattered his mind with an impact of sensation just...happened. Jake didn't cause it. At least he wouldn't know how he did it. A sinister smile appeared on the hacker's face - so that was it. He had to find the detonator.

Hesitant Jake placed his other hand just below Phil's chest bringing himself closer. Breathing in that familiar scent caused a compulsing glitch in the hacker's keen mind but he didn't let himself slip. It was important that he remained focused now. Phil was a tad taller than Jake and held his chin slightly up, deliberately keeping his lips out of reach. The hacker chuckled. Of course, he wouldn't make this easy. Gathering his will, he moved his fingers from the bat's tail up the left wing, feeling a pulse that was annoyingly steady - not matching his own shaking breath.

His fingers wandered further up and suddenly stopped at a spot between jaw and ear - feeling a very soft patch of skin. There was a twitch of the muscles underneath Jake's other hand on Phil's stomach, elevating the hacker's senses. His eyes fixed on the spot - where he struck gold.

A mischievous grin painted the premonition of success on Jake's face as he moved closer, letting his breath stream against the sensitive skin on the bar owners neck. Another eruption of tensening muscles reassured the hacker and he pressed his lips down on the spot, sucking the skin between his tongue and teeth, causing a sharp hissing sound to escape from Phil's lips. Jake moved his head back to take in what he had sparked off - only for a brief moment...

Like black ink pouring in, Phil's eyes grew wide, intensly darkening. The next thing Jake could feel was his own back crushing against a door frame and being claimed by furious lips, blazing a scalding trail down his neck and returning even hungrier to Jake's mouth, the taste of the tongue slipping in was sweet. There was that paradox again - a longing that had built up inside of him was finally eased and Jake wished he could linger in this kiss...why not forever? But at the same time, something fierce was waking up, an urge for more, for being consumed. The world seemed to have slipped away in the distance.

For another second, Jake fought for his mind not to leave him, but his will combusted under the rising heat and the sensation of eager hands digging under his clothes. Again, it all shattered, melted - Jake felt himself stumbling over something on the floor, an undeniable force shoving him backward. There was the sound of fabric stretching before it got torn away - leaving the bare skin at the mercy of hands, lips and teeth. Jake tried to hold on to something, clasping around but everything was moving, slipping away - the fall on the floor knocked the wind out of him for a second and he wasn't given time to catch his breath. His blood rushed out of his head and his nerves vibrated with pleasure that was almost painful, Jake was yielding to be devoured by this extasy.

A desperate sigh shook his chest, and suddenly, it seemed that the lips, which incinerated every single nerve in Jake's body, started smiling against his skin. The hands that held him down softened their touch - though it gave him the chance to take a breath, putting his scattered mind back together, Jake's body kept quivering, trying to contain what needed release.

Phil let his hands travel back up from the waist and left them on Jake's chest for a moment - it was a tender and soothing touch, he bend over the hacker's face that was turned to the side, grazing his ear with his lips. The pressure Phil playfully put on the pelvis of the body lying underneath him caused it to squirm, and the pleading moans coming from Jake were too delicious. But as he felt the heart under his hands beating faster and faster, Phil let off him, leaning over Jake's ear again,

"Shh, shh..." he breathed, "I'm sorry, Jake - I'm sorry...can't let you get away that fast," he straightned and sat back on his heels smiling down on the hacker, who turned his face and opened his eyes. Jake blinked a few times until his vision was clear. Of course, he wouldn't make this easy. Jake lifted his head, understanding he furrowed his brows,

"You want me to put up a fight, huh?" his voice hoarse but steady.

Phil tilted his head, tracing muscles on Jake's stomach with his fingers, one by one - his touch growing less gentle again.

"If you think you can..."

~~~

The bathroom mirror was still foggy but clearing up slowly while Phil stood there contemplating his reflection. He touched a bruised spot on his rips that had turned purple.

"Huh...it does leave traces."

[intoduskoutofdawn]

Hi are you doing ok? Thinking about names Jake would give Phil, cute names....

Hi ;) I'm doing okay, thank you!

So the pet names, huh... I imagine these two would actually enjoy using and hearing their real names when they talk to each other. And when a cute name is used, it's meant to tease OR something is wrong...

For example: "Hey honeybun, do you remember how you told me not to put your favorite pants in the dryer? You were so right about that."

Know what I'm sayin' ;)

[intoduskoutofdawn]

My headcannon was: the FBI is investigating and bringing in phil for questioning about jake and jake will have to protect phil. i think this would be so hot. is it something you could write?

Hi ;) I know this took me a long time to answer now, just letting you know that I did write something, then stopped, couldn't get it right, tried again and so on and so on...

Anyway, I will post it soon (promise!) but I had to change the idea a bit. Hope you will enjoy it anyway.

[intoduskoutofdawn]

Hello! Anybody still there? Trying to slowly get back into writing, I've committed to this Duskwood one-shot that I've never expected myself to write. A silly little thing, I'd say ;)

TW: alcohol, talking about stalking (both very mild) Genre: ...fluff? Word count: 5,3k Characters: Jake x Phil You can also read it on Wattpad.

With a quiet, contented sigh and a smile on his face, Phil finally let the last customer out and closed the Aurora door behind them. Then he turned around, taking a few steps towards the center of the pub, taking it all in. The wooden floors creaked softly under his feet, and the dim lighting cast a warm glow throughout the room. The air was thick with the comforting scent of dust, cigarette smoke, and the faint aroma of old, wooden furniture. He knew it wasn’t the most pleasant smell for most, but it was enough for him. Because for Phil, it was more than just a smell. It was a reminder of all he had, and almost lost just a couple of months back.

Every time he was starting cleaning up for the night, he somehow thought about the day he had been accused of a crime he didn’t commit, and thrown into the arrest for a few weeks, with barely no explanation. The memories still lingered in his mind, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

For quite some time, nobody really cared about him. They had other things on their minds, such as their missing friends being found.

He knew he wasn't a perfect person. People tended to either love him or hate him. However, at that time, those whom he thought were his friends didn't care, while those who couldn't stand him laughed behind his back. There was somehow no in-between. 

The bartender couldn't help but smile, still thinking. He was released from custody only because someone had paid his bail. Then, mysteriously, his lawyer found evidence of his innocence. There would be nothing unusual about it – lawyers have their own methods for uncovering the truth and exploiting legal loopholes, but the sudden clarity of this particular situation was nothing short of a miracle! At least it felt like that. Despite the happy outcome, his lawyer seemed eager to sever all ties with Phil as soon as possible. In fact, he refused to even accept any money from him, leaving Phil with a sense of both, gratitude and absolute confusion.

He hadn’t told his sisters about it. At first, he suspected they might have been involved, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He knew Jessy and Angela all too well and they were always quick to point out his flaws and mistakes, even the smallest ones. Surely, they wouldn't have helped him without a big, wonderful lecture about his life. So he just told them the case was solved, period.

He stopped caring about it and moved on.

At least, that's what he was telling himself.

He shook his head in frustration, trying not to overanalyze everything once again.

He walked over to the bar, slowly making his way through the tables, turning the lights off, picking up empty beer mugs and wiping down the surfaces. Unable to shake his thoughts away, he changed his music to a different, less modern one, to keep his mind off things, but it didn't help him either. Then he was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of the bell hanging above the door.

“I’m sorry, I already closed the pub,” he turned towards the sound, “Come back tomorrow, eh?”

Only then did he look at the person standing in the doorway and frowned. He didn't know them. He knew basically every face, every name in Duskwood, after all. He knew at least something about everyone... Those were the advantages of running the only pub in town! Rumors were coming to him, and tourists, if they appeared at all, came early and didn't stay long.

And yet… there was a stranger in front of him. 

The man didn’t answer. He just raised his brow slowly and glanced at Phil, then looked around the pub.

“Look… I'm tired, I've already cleared the tables... I can give you a beer to go, but that's it,” the bartender spoke again, his tone tinged with a hint of annoyance.

“I don’t drink,” the stranger said, his voice resonant and clear, his eyes meeting the bartender's.

Phil paused, the corners of his eyes narrowing slightly, as he tried to read the stranger's face, but it was particularly hard.

“So can I help you with anything else?” he said with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn't sure, but the stranger seemed to give him a small smile. Then he closed the door behind him and briskly walked down the two steps that led inside the pub.

“I just thought I could finally visit this place,” the man replied casually.

The bartender sighed deeply, trying to keep his composure. "Listen, man… I already told you, Aurora is closed for tonight," Phil said firmly, walking over to the door and opening it wide, "I'm sorry, but I can't let you stay here. Now be so kind and get out, or I'll call the police.”

"Oh? The same police that were stupid enough to arrest you?" the stranger’s words carried a mocking tone.

The pub was quite dark, with most of the lamps already turned off by Phil. But at that moment, the light of a street lamp shone in through the open pub door, casting a warm glow on the stranger's face, finally illuminating his features.

As the bartender glanced over at his unexpected guest, he noticed the fairly young man was likely around his age, if not a few years older. His all-black outfit, complete with a backpack definitely designed for carrying a laptop, gave him a serious and tidy vibe. Although his nearly black hair seemed neatly combed, it curled in absolutely every direction, as if to mock all of his efforts to keep them in check. As their eyes met once more, Phil couldn't help but notice his tired, dark eyes. Yet there was something about his gaze that radiated a sense of sobriety and awareness, almost as though he had seen more of the world than his appearance would suggest. It felt like a level of… maturity that Phil had not expected to see.

“Get out,” the bar owner repeated, but without much conviction.

The stranger laughed softly but ignored his words, and calmly, but surely, walked over to the bar. Laying his heavy backpack on one of the barstools, he sat on the other, resting his hands on the counter.

“Could I get some coffee?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at a little confused bartender.

Phil was not a person to be easily upset. True, sometimes he could say too much or react too harshly, but only with words. He was good with words and with people. But for some reason, the stranger didn't seem to care about that… and it was annoying.

“What do you want from me? Didn't you hear what I said?” Phil snapped, his frustration boiling over. He slammed the door shut, the sound reverberating through the room. Turning to the man, he stomped over, his footsteps echoing in the silence. Grabbing the stranger's arm, he spun him around on the stool with such force that he almost fell off his seat. Phil was surprised when the stranger didn’t really react with fear or surprise, but instead looked at him with an understanding gaze. It was as if he knew something that Phil didn't. The bartender's anger slowly dissipated as he studied his reaction, taking a small step back.

"Now, to answer your questions… First, I'd appreciate some coffee or something else with caffeine,“ the man repeated his wish, shifting on the barstool once more, “For your other concern… of course I've heard what you said, but I don't necessarily want to leave. The truth is, I feel like I owe you this meeting… or at least an explanation.”

Phil scoffed, “Oh, you think so?”

“Correct,” the stranger exhaled, “I should have done it sooner, but somehow, well... To be completely honest with you, Hawkins, I think you were getting on my nerves a bit too much," he added with a lopsided smile.

“So, you know who I am?” Phil's anger replaced curiosity in less than a few seconds.

The bartender quickly bit his bottom lip, refraining from asking the stranger more. He was well aware of one of his greatest flaws and even though he didn't like to admit it to himself too often, he secretly enjoyed being in the center of attention. No matter what.

“So… no coffee then? Well, shame,” the stranger rested his hands on the counter once more and pointed to a soda drink on the right side behind the bar, “So let’s put it this way. The truth is, I happen to accidentally know quite a bit about you, even though you probably don't know who I am. Before you jump to any conclusions - no, I am not your stalker; no, I am not trying to extort money from you; and no, I am definitely not involved in any scheme or conspiracy that would require your involvement.”

“You know about me… accidentally?” Phil repeated doubtfully, walking behind the bar and facing the stranger, “What kind of bullshit is that?”

“Oh, well…” he chuckled again, "I wouldn't say it’s bullshit. Not entirely, at least. You see, we both became involved in the same case a while back, and I was actually forced to learn more about you. You understand that I did not do this for my own enjoyment, although I must admit..." he hesitated, then cringed, "You are not very cautious with what you post online, that was so easy... So yes. It was, at least to some extent, accidental.”

“The same case…? Wait, wait, hold on…” Phil resisted the urge to grab his own head in surprise, “Are you… that guy? That hacker… or tech savvy guy, that disappeared after Hannah was found? No way it’s you… Police say he's dead. That he died during the mine fire.”

“I have two pieces of information for you,” the stranger leaned forward conspiratorially and spread his hands, “The first one... I’ve heard you were a good bartender. I somehow can’t picture that, you know?”

Phil looked completely confused as the man rolled his eyes slightly and nodded meaningfully at the soda bottle once more. Gritting his teeth, Phil blindly reached into the fridge, pulled out a bottle, slammed it against the counter, opened it with the agility of a truly experienced bartender, and pushed it towards the man, ending with a jazz hands gesture.

Annoyed jazz hands gesture.

The man only chuckled and nodded in approval, taking a sip of his long awaited drink.

“And the second thing?” the bartender urged.

“The second thing!” the stranger chuckled, “The second thing is… I don't think you trust the police after all the trouble they caused you, so do you think you should trust them if they say that guy is dead? You’re talking about that Ironsplinter mine fire, correct?”

“Yeah… there was no way he survived that.”

“Oh?” the man chuckled, “I think his chances were quite good, actually.”

Phil frowned, “How so?”

"Well..." the stranger spread his hands again. "I'm not an expert, but I know a thing or two about mines. Actually, I know a lot about many things, but it doesn't matter now... I won't bore you with the details because you probably don't care, but believe me, there are many safety features in mines like that one, that can help you survive fire, explosion, shockwaves... It's just a matter of knowing your surroundings well. The amount of air can be a problem during a fire like that, but it can also be remedied. So… maybe he didn't die after all. But what do I know?”

“That's… interesting,” Phil concluded, and the stranger snorted.

The bartender fell silent, analyzing every single word the stranger had said. It was already clear to Phil that he would not tell him anything directly, especially not about himself. The man didn't say ‘yes’ to anything, but he didn't have to. Phil already knew the answer to his question.

“Alright, I get it… So should I call you Jake, then? That was the name of that techie guy, if I remember correctly.”

“Was it, really?” the stranger smirked, “In that case, you can call me whatever you want, Hawkins. Jake is a name as good as any.”

“Really? Okay then, Techie,” he placed his palms on the counter, “You’ve said you owed me… why exactly? Why are you here?” Phil reiterated, still confused by the stranger’s presence.

Jake paused for a moment, his piercing gaze fixed on the bar owner. Phil was not one to be easily intimidated, but there was something about Jake that made him uneasy yet… intrigued at the same time. Was it his unwavering confidence, his carefree attitude, or maybe something else entirely?

“I understand that my visit may seem unnecessary, but I felt… compelled to come,” Jake responded, his tone measured and deliberate, “You see, there’s something about you that… let’s say, that doesn’t add up to me.”

“Oh…” the bartender nodded, feeling annoyed and somehow disappointed again, “So you want to accuse me for more things, then? Tell me I should rot in jail, like some other, wonderful people?”

“No... nothing like that,” the man chuckled nervously, his dark hair falling onto his forehead. He brushed the locks away with a casual flick of his hand, trying to hide the fact that he was clearly troubled. As he paused to collect his thoughts, his eyes darted around the room. Finally, he spoke again, his voice hesitant and uncertain, “I know someone anonymously paid your bail and I may know more about that. I may know a lot about that. And I believe it still bothers you, so I think I should share it with you. And, well… I suppose what I'm trying to say is that this meeting has been weighing heavily on my mind. I've been thinking about it quite often, trying to figure out what to say or… how to say it and I think I still don’t know… I mean… okay, here's the thing. Do you remember the second person who got involved in this case by accident?” Jake continued, “You… you invited her to Aurora. She never came here, but still, you did, and—”

“The girl? Shit… okay, now I think I get it,” the bartender sighed deeply and nodded, as he couldn’t believe it was that simple. It was always that simple, when there were feelings involved, “Don’t tell me… It hit your ego, didn't it? You liked her, right? Did you come to tell me I was not only released from the arrest thanks to you, but they actually arrested me because of you in the first place? You got jealous of that girl, and that's why I had a shitty couple of months? Was it your revenge? ”

The stranger shrugged, but his awkward smile said it all.

Guilty as charged. 

“Great... so you almost ruined my life over some chick I don't even know?! Only because I invited her here? I did nothing wrong! Couldn't you explain it between you two? You had to get me into this… And you still have the nerve to come to my bar and—”

“No, wait,” the alleged hacker silenced him with a gesture, “I mean… you almost got it right. I do feel guilty you were in that arrest for quite some time, but for a different reason…” the stranger rubbed his neck nervously, “What if… hypothetically, of course, what if I knew right away how to get you out of this? I knew you were innocent and I had proof for that? But... she was so interested in you... and you in her! And I didn't want you to be interested in her… I guess I was just… confused about you. Shit, it doesn't make sense, does it?”

Phil frowned, but slowly the meaning of the stranger's words began to dawn on him. He wasn't after the girl who helped solve the case. Jake was after… him.

He was jealous of… him?

Was that even possible?

He knew he should be angry. Furious even! It was about his life! Countless hours wasted in the arrest he didn’t deserve! Yet, somehow… The guilty look on the stranger’s face made it fade away. He'd be lying if he said he didn't wonder who that mysterious hacker was from back then, or why exactly he was involved in the case. He knew back then that the answers to these questions were just beyond his reach, but now, miraculously, he was sitting in front of him, almost vulnerable and almost exposed. His fascination overcame his anger. The stranger's eyes were full of remorse, and for a moment, he felt a twinge of sympathy.

Sympathy and something else, but he wasn’t sure what it was…

Curiosity!

It had to be just curiosity.

“My, my… So I think you are my stalker, after all…” The bartender hummed, taking two steps away from Jake, but somehow couldn't help but smile.

“No. No, no. Nuh-uh! This statement is definitely not true!” The alleged hacker protested immediately, pointing his finger at Phil as he blushed a bit, his heart pounding in his chest, "I know things about you, and I learned them without your consent, that is correct. Good luck to you with suing me. But I— it’s not my fault. And I didn’t— I wasn’t really— I just wanted to understand you better!" He paused and took a deep breath. "Didn't I help you after all?! You got out, didn’t you? And I am not a stalker! Jesus, I think I need a real drink… " he trailed off.

The bartender was taken aback by the unexpected outburst and blinked a couple of times in confusion. However, he soon burst out laughing, unable to hold it any longer, "Wow, you really lost your cool there, man… You’ve just admitted to some weird things…" he said between chuckles, "I didn’t think it was possible! In fact, you sound exactly like a stalker trying to explain himself, you know." The bartender knew his mocking tone only made the situation more awkward and uncomfortable for the stranger.

“Yeah.. Coming here was a mistake, I guess…” Jake scoffed, grabbed his backpack and was about to jump off the stool and leave the pub, but Phil, without thinking too much, grabbed his forearm. The stranger winced in surprise, but as his dark eyes met the calm eyes of the bartender, he slowly sat back down. 

“Alright, okay. You’re not my stalker, yeah?” Phil smiled, realizing he really didn’t want him to go, “But I think you still owe me more explanation. Fair?”

“F-fair,” the stranger muttered.

To Phil's surprise, Jake leaned forward slightly from his stool and across the counter, invading the bartender's personal space as if it was absolutely nothing unusual. The stranger's arm accidentally grazed Phil's shoulder as he gently pushed him away and reached for a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from behind the bar. Before Phil could even register what was going on, the stranger was already sitting back on his stool, pouring the liquor generously into the glasses.

“I… thought you said you don’t drink,” the bartented noticed.

"Yeah. And I thought you were a self-absorbed, narcissistic, brainless drama queen, and yet here we are, having a somewhat intelligent and engaging conversation with each other. How about that?”

Phil chuckled a bit baffled, as he watched the stranger swallow his drink down in one go, causing him to wince and grunt quietly. Then he slammed the glass back onto the counter with a loud tap and let out a loud sigh.

“That’s some terrible whiskey, Hawkins,” Jake admitted, pouring himself another one.

“It’s my finest one, Techie,” Phil smirked, “And the most expensive one, too.”

“Still quite terrible, for my sophisticated taste… And don't call me Techie.”

“Then don't call me by my father's stupid name.”

Jake blinked a couple of times, as if realizing something, “Right. I forgot he was an asshole, too. Bigger than you.”

“You forgo— oh, Jesus…” the bartender whined, “Don't tell me you even know about my father? I didn’t post anything about that online… How the f—? How much do you exactly know about me, Stalker?”

“Again with the stalker…“ the hacker poked Phil’s chest with his finger, “Listen, the thing about your father is quite well-known around town, isn't it? It's not THAT weird that even I know it… and I didn't have to dig too deep to—”

“Damn it, Stalker.” Phil shook his head in disbelief, “You're a walking red flag. I should have thrown you out as soon as you came here. Why am I even still talking to you?”

“Oh, come on, I've never— I am not that bad.”

“Any other sane person would have handed you over to the police a long time ago, Stalker. You do realize that, don’t you?” Phil finally sipped his whiskey.

“But you won’t do that,” the stranger smiled as he clinked his glass with Phil’s, “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?”

“That's very possible. So what do you think about me, then? Besides that I’m a brainless douche, that is…”

The bartender's question had lingered in the air for a few seconds before Jake spoke up. His voice was clear and confident, matching the intensity of his gaze, "I have a couple of thoughts, actually," he said, pausing for dramatic effect, taking a sip of his whiskey as well, "Ready? First and foremost, I think that you have an overinflated sense of self-importance," Jake's tone was stern but not unfriendly, "Secondly, you have a habit of getting under my skin. I can't explain it, but something about the way you carry yourself and the things you say just... irks me, but that much you already know. It's like you're actually trying to push my buttons or something!" He shook his head in frustration. "And finally, I think you may be a ginormous asshole, but you're also… intriguing in a way that I don't—don't quite understand." Jake paused once more, letting his words sink in. Then he, once again, angrily poked Phil’s chest with his finger, "And I don't like it. Not. One. Bit.”

“Oh? And you’re very weird, Stalker. You know that, right?” A little pissed off by the stranger's behavior, Phil grabbed Jake's hand and moved it away from his chest, but didn't let it go afterwards. Suddenly he felt a strange warmth spreading throughout his whole body, an electrifying feeling caused by the touch of the hacker's skin on his own. The stranger looked straight at him, his big, dark eyes almost like they were trying to read his soul. The expression on his face reminded Phil of a deer in the headlights and it definitely didn't help him with getting rid of the hacker.

As Phil slowly released his hand, the silence between them engulfed them both. Jake’s breathing became heavier, and his cheeks, once pale, now glowed with a blush.

Phil couldn't shake the inexplicable fascination he felt for this… still quite enigmatic stranger. Every word and every action seemed to be shrouded in some kind of mystery, yet Phil yearned to unravel it. And when the stranger's hand touched his, he could have sworn they both felt the same way.

The bartender rested his elbows on the counter right next to him. Close enough to feel the slight touch of fabric of Jake's hoodie on his skin. The stranger's earlier confidence seemed to have disappeared, and the bartender couldn't tell whether it was the alcohol or Jake's confessions that had caused this change.

After a brief moment of silence, the stranger spoke up, "I'm sorry," he said, leaning forward slightly.

The bartender furrowed his brows. "What exactly are you sorry for? Because I could name a few things now..."

The hacker smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, "I didn't mean to be annoying," he said, his hand wandering to the bottle of whiskey on the counter. He placed his hand on it, but didn't pick it up, “I am not a people person, you see. I just… I wanted to get you out of my head. It didn’t work as I thought…”

Seeing the stranger about to pour himself another whisky, Phil placed his hand on the bottle, his fingers touching Jake's. The hacker hesitated for a moment, his eyes locked on Phil's intense stare.

The bartender's voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke, "Take it slow. You don't seem like much of a drinker, and if you want something from me, I want you to be clear-headed enough to ask for it. You're confusing enough without the alcohol. You should stick to your soda, Stalker."

Jake's eyes shifted from Phil's to the bottle, studying it intently as if seeing it for the first time. He pondered the reality of the situation and the implications of Phil's touch on his hand. All at once, the weight of the moment and the intrigue of the situation hit him, and he realized that Phil's grip on his hand was no accident.

The bartender paused for a moment, his eyes searching for the right words. "Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re quiet, so let me see if I have this right…" he began slowly, letting go of the bottle, "you’re saying that I’m getting under your skin, but I beg to differ. I'm pretty sure you actually like me, and you're just not quite sure how to handle it. That’s your dilemma, Techie.”

"If what you're saying is even true, which definitely isn’t," Jake said dismissively, "Would that even be a problem? Like… my problem?”

Phil leaned in closer to Jake once more, a small smile forming on his lips. His fingers traced the hem of the stranger's sleeve playfully as he leaned forward more, "Well, we could always make it my problem, too," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, “Because, believe it or not, you somehow… fascinate me, too.”

“Oh?”

"Don't get me wrong... You obviously have issues, and I have a feeling your mere presence means trouble. But, the thing is, I don't mind trouble. Life’s boring without it, right? And maybe I should keep an eye on you… to stop you from stalking me further. So… which is it? Do you like me or hate me?" 

Jake’s dark hair fell across his face, but Phil could still see the glint in his eyes, "I still can’t decide… Can I say it's both?"

Phil’s smirk grew wider, “It never happens, you know. People either love me or hate me. But you…” he shook his head, “You’re different.”

“Is that a compliment? Are you telling me I’m special? It could be good and bad, you know…” Jake chuckled as he playfully pushed him away, his hand stayed on his chest a little too long. 

Then Phil realized he was somehow already long gone... The stranger had somehow managed to wrap the bartender around his finger without him even noticing. The mischievous twinkle in Jake's dark, deep eyes was impossible to resist, drawing Phil towards him like two black holes. Phil found himself powerless to resist the pull, feeling as though he had absolutely nowhere to run.

“What?” Jake asked, noticing Phil was staring at him without saying a word, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I have an idea how to help you with your dilemma. Can I… check something?” Phil tilted his head, his heart beating faster.

“Um, what exact—” Jake wanted to ask, but he didn’t get to finish his question.

Phil was tired of guessing. He sighed, taking the stranger’s face into his hands, his fingers gently entwining with the strands of Jake's dark, tousled hair. As he leaned in, his heart raced, and he could feel the warmth of the hacker's breath on his lips. Yet, to his surprise, Jake tensed up, his eyes widening in a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. Phil's fingers tightened slightly on Jake's hair, reassuring and firm.

But slowly, as if testing the waters, Jake gave in. Their lips met in a gentle, exploratory kiss, like two adventurers setting foot on uncharted territory. Every touch was deliberate, every movement careful and slow, as if they were discovering a new world for the very first time.

It was a soft, lingering kiss, filled with unspoken emotions and a sense of longing that had been building between them for far too long. They moved with tenderness and care, as if both were afraid of making a mistake that might shatter the fragile connection they had finally found and agreed on.

Phil couldn't help but chuckle as he tasted the whiskey on Jake’s lips, a soft, breathless sound that reverberated between their lips. He sensed Jake's hesitant smile against his own, a silent acknowledgment that he finally realized what it was all about.

“Shit… you really did that,” Jake mumbled, as they broke the kiss, but they didn’t dare to move away from each other, “And you know what’s worse? I think I liked that…”

“Liked it, eh?” his voice low and hoarse, when he was looking deep into the stranger’s eyes that no longer felt strange to him, “Interesting… ”

Jake exhaled, his reddened lips still curled into a smile, “Don’t get any ideas, Hawkins…”

The stranger playfully pulled Phil's t-shirt, the fabric stretching as he did so.

Suddenly, the watch on the stranger's hand made a high, short beep, interrupting the moment. Jake’s expression changed immediately as he looked at the device. He sighed heavily in frustration, and without any explanation, moved away from the bartender, hopped off the stool, and grabbed his backpack.

Phil was left quite confused. He quickly jumped out from behind the bar and grabbed the stranger's arm, wanting at least some sort of explanation, “Hey, whoa… What is it?”

"I have to go. I'm sorry,” the stranger said quickly.

"Wha— Why?" Phil asked, still holding on to the stranger's arm, “Is it because we–”

"No," he replied with a slight smile, "But it doesn’t matter. You wouldn't believe me anyway."

"So.. you're just leaving me like that? After we–" Phil scoffed, "Will I… will I even see you again?"

The stranger thought for a moment, frowning. Then, he smiled slowly, grabbing the bottom of Phil's shirt, tugging slightly again, "Even if I wanted to come back here, which I do not confirm at all," he said, with a hint of teasing in his voice, "I would… probably come here tomorrow, same time. Purely hypothetically, of course. We could… get to know each other better."

Phil felt a rush of excitement. He needed to see him again.

"Is that so, Stalker?" Phil said, grinning, “You mean I could get to know you better. You already know all about me, right?”

The hacker scoffed, “Oh, come on…”

“I don’t want you to go,” the bartender admitted. 

The stranger smiled in a way that made Phil’s head spin, “Too bad, Drama Queen. I’m already gone.” 

“I’ll be thinking about our next, hypothetical meeting, then.”

A snort of amusement escaped Jake's lips, but his eyes betrayed his hesitation as he held Phil's gaze, “See you never. I demand coffee next time. And maybe some better whiskey…”

At that moment, it seemed like the hacker wanted to say or do something, but he only managed to muster a frustrated grunt. He shook his head, allowing his dark curls to tumble with the motion, and reluctantly, after a couple of long, long seconds, he finally let go of Phil's shirt. A sly smile then crept across his face, a spark in his eyes that made Phil's heart skip a beat. Despite his temptation to keep the stranger with him for even just a bit longer, Phil grudgingly let him leave. When the bartender looked into his eyes again, he somehow knew the hacker would keep his unspoken promise. 

With a final glance, the stranger turned on his heels and strode out of the pub, jumping through the threshold, disappearing into the night.

[intoduskoutofdawn]

(maybe this post is a bit naive, but if anybody's interested...)

I'm taking emergency comissions! :)

full character, bust, headshot, portraits / sketchy, black&white, or full color / small icon or pfp / simple background / it doesn't have to be Duskwood :)

If you want something specific, feel free to DM me :)

Payment via PayPal,

I'd be very grateful for any support, reblogs are also appreciated! :)

[intoduskoutofdawn]

*the group is learning CPR on a test dummy*

MC: So, assessing the situation. Are they breathing?

Richy: No, MC. They are not breathing. And they have no arms or legs.

MC: No, that’s not part of it—

Richy: Where are they? You know what? If we come across somebody with no arms or legs do we bother resuscitating them? I mean, what kind of quality of life do we have there?

Dan: I would want to live with no legs.

Richy: How about no arms? No arms or legs is basically how you exist right now, Dan. You don’t do anything.

MC: All right, well, lets get back to it. ‘Cause you’re losing him.

Dan: *pumps frantically*

MC: Okay, too fast. Everyone, we need to pump at a pace of a 100 beats per minute.

Richy: Okay, that’s uh, hard to keep track. How many is that per hour?

Lilly: How’s that gonna help you?

Richy: I will divide and then count to it.

Lilly: Right.

MC: Okay. Well, a good trick is to pump to the tune of ‘Staying Alive’ by the Bee Gees. Do you know that song?

Dan: Yes, yes, I do. I love that song. *clears throat, begins to sing* First I was afraid, I was petrified.

[intoduskoutofdawn]

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 // Duskwood one-shot

• Jake's POV // no spoilers • Genre: (kinda sorta) single character hurt/comfort, everyday live. • Words: 1k

✦ ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ✦

With great focus and attention, Jake closed the apartment door, turning the knob ever so gently to ensure a quiet shut. The oppressive heat of the day was finally beginning to subside, replaced by a cooler, refreshing breeze. He took a deep breath of this fresh, crispy air that invigorated his senses, brushing against his face and tousling his hair as he glanced back at the door.

It was getting dark. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the pavement, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him. As he stood on the doorstep, the dim glow of the newly illuminated streetlights cast an amber hue on the doormat beneath his feet. The sounds of the bustling city beyond reached his ears, a reminder that life was still happening all around him.

Strange.

In that very simple moment he actually felt a lot of things. The emotions that had been trapped inside him, like a deep lake beneath a sheet of thick, very hard ice, were finally beginning to surface. And when the door closed with a very soft click, the little spark that had been in him for some time, turned into a warm, soft, calm fire.

He smiled to himself as he let go of the doorknob.

Another step behind him.

He had been living as a free man for several years and his life was much more peaceful than it had ever been before. However, as he looked at the number 14 on the apartment door one last time, he thought to himself, no. This was not what he had imagined freedom should be like.

It wasn't freedom. It wasn't something worth... fighting for. There was nothing that would make him hesitate to close that door. He paused for a moment, still staring at that silly number as his mind wandered far away.

He was sure she cared for him... in her own unique way.

He didn't notice anything... malfunctioning at first. He loved her. After all, she was the one who gave him hope again! For her, only for her, he left his old lifestyle behind and wanted to change... for the better.

Was he better, though?

After their first, innocent fight, he thought that perhaps the stresses of everyday life had gotten to them. They had met under rather unusual circumstances, after all. People fight; there was nothing unusual in that, but... not like this. Jake couldn't help but wonder if they were two people who were desperately trying to make something work that was never meant to be. What had brought them together had simply ceased to exist, and slowly but surely, it stopped working.

It stopped working for him.

He smiled wryly as he realized she might not even realize he was gone. She wouldn't notice that all his things had disappeared... well, to be honest, there wasn't much anyway. The apartment still felt like hers. It was as if the walls themselves still belonged to her, and he was merely a guest in her domain. They had been living together for several years, yet he never quite felt at home there.

It took him a long time to realize that.

Much too long.

He chuckled to himself, recalling all the ridiculous moments he had simply given up. The times when he allowed himself to be pushed around or did things he didn't want to do. The times when he let her make him feel like he was nothing. Make him feel likea very insignificant part of her life.

They were brought together by a very big event, but it was a number of very small, commonplace, trite things that tore them apart.

Isn't it how it always works?

He had not expected that. Each and every day, his words like static on a screen to her, a noise she heard but didn't really listen to. And at the same time, she expected too much... much more than he could give her.

She only wanted him when she needed him, yet when he needed her, she was nowhere to be found. At first, he thought it was his fault - he even laughed at the idea that his secretive, introverted nature pushed her away from him and made her withdraw.

But he was wide open.

She knew his every weakness and took advantage of it. She forgot about his strengths.

It was her mistake.

One of many.

Jake knew he was good at a couple of things. Not every one of them was useful in his everyday life, though. Escaping was always one of his skills. He knew how to disappear completely without being found by anyone. Except... he knew it wasn't an actual escape. He wasn't really running away. He was simply... letting go.

Turning his back to the door, he took a deep breath and resisted the urge to glance at it one last time.

Another step done.

He wondered how quickly it would take her to notice he was gone. Well... this time he made sure she would notice him quickly... or rather the lack of him.

She didn't know the new wifi password, after all.

She didn't know the new alarm code.

She also had no idea how to change those.

He was never really vindictive... well, maybe a little. Or maybe a lot, but only in some, particular cases.

Perhaps he messed up with every single device they had in the apartment he could.

The one last farewell present for her, to simply remember him by.

Maybe old Jake was talking through him a little. The one he forgot about. That guy had a lot of issues, but he never let anyone treat him like she did.

Seeing her face would be priceless, as she tries to figure it all out.

He petted the neighbor's cheerful, friendly dog for the last time.

Then he adjusted his backpack, threw away his keys, and put on his hood before coming down the last step onto the pavement.

It hadn't been easy, but he finally did it.

And just like that, he was free. After being sidetracked for so long, he had finally regained his focus.

Although he had been a free man for several years, he now felt like he was getting his life back - a true sense of freedom.

[intoduskoutofdawn]

Waiting....patiently...but waiting. :)

Omg I was looking for smth about my COD oc, and ended up finding my Jake x Male MC fic

I never finished the game, but I kinda wanna finish the fic

[intoduskoutofdawn]

List of tiny Tales. :)

| I was asked to do this, so I did. With apologies - for I am a chaotic and unfocused (adding a very to both) person and putting things in order isn't really my thing.

The shorties:

The others:

Jake x Phil

Phil x femMC