ENA x Gender Neutral! Reader
Y/N has been living in their new home for a few weeks now, almost a month. One day, they have a dream that feels a bit too real... And shit gets crazy.
:)
A slowish-burn. I'm gonna try n make this as realistic as possibl...
a strong urge toward a particular way of life or career; a vocation.
"those who have a special calling to minister to others' needs"
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// A/N: tbh i kind of hate this chapter but y'all have been waiting for a while and i hate to stall too long! i will most likely edit this another time. this one's short (apologies) but it contains something i'm sure you've all been anticipating :) //
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"Six-one-seven-four." They repeated to themselves aloud. What significance does this number hold? Why would it even appear in their dreams in the first place?
Well, that's what they thought at first. Now they're in their car, in the same neighborhood seen in their mind. The sight in front of them looked exactly like what their dream foretold. To a T.
They stopped their car and parked it on the side of the road, walking towards the house with the address number...
"Six-one-seven-four. Holy shit." Y/N stood in front of the very house where their dream ended. It was pretty underwhelming, actually. A garage sale was being held there, with a few other people looking through the boxes that held items for sale.
Fold-up tables lined the driveway, only three. Cardboard boxes held larger items, and smaller ones were laid throughout the tables surface.
Plushies, blankets, books, all sorts of things were on display. Y/N's observation was suddenly interrupted by a gentle female voice.
"Hello dearie. Are you looking for something?"
Y/N turned around to the source of the voice, and looked down to see a frail elderly woman. She was wearing a solid pink dress, a white vest over her shoulders. One of her shaky hands was holding onto a cane that kept her upright. Her gray hair was tied into a neat bun.
Snapping out of it once more, Y/N replied. "Oh, um, not anything specific. I was just walking around."
The woman chuckled, going back to a folded chair where she sat behind Y/N. "Look around if you'd like." She said, as she sat down.
Our protagonist shrugs, going over to the main attraction. Nothing really caught their eye at first, it was mostly old person house junk. Out of the corner of their eye, however, they saw a splash of bright colors. Walking over to it, upon closer inspection Y/N sees that it's a painting.
A woman stood face-front in the portrait. Half of her face was yellow, the other blue. Her hair had been styled in a strange, yet fitting way. The yellow side of the woman held a smile, and her face looked kind in general. Despite the strange cubism approach, Y/N felt drawn to the painting. They picked it up gently and held it by the wooden frame, flipping it over slightly to look for a price tag. There was none.
They then walked over to the old woman yet again, holding the artwork. "Excuse me ma'am, how much is this?"
"Oh, for you dear, free. I've been meaning to get rid of that old thing for a while." She smiled, and Y/N beamed.
"Oh, thank you so much, miss!"
"No problem sweetums. Don't be a stranger!" She waved goodbye as Y/N walked away with the painting in tow, careful as to not damage it.
Entering their car, they put the painting upright in shotgun, fastening themselves in, and promptly driving home.
Once home, the painting went into their living room, hanging above their mantle.
Y/N admires it for a moment before going to get their bag, looking for the slip of paper that Atlas had given them.
They found it, thankfully, and grabbed their phone. They dialed the number given, and it rings for a few moments, before a click was heard and a voice picks up.
"Hello, this is Darcy from Fry It!. How can I help you?" A mature woman speaks, and Y/N quickly tries to make themselves sound presentable.
"Hi, it's Y/N. I was interested in the open cashier spot?"
"Oh, yes, of course. Come by tomorrow at 11:30."
"Thank you!" They hung up, and put their phone away.
The rest of the day was uneventful, and before they knew it, they were in their bed, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.
...
They awoke the next day by two hands gripping their forearms, shaking them gently. One felt cubic, in a way?
