Taste of Iron

One: Clean Up On Aisle Atlas

One: Clean Up On Aisle Atlas

Atlas kept one foot after the other, struggling to breathe. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on as he saw glimpses of his destination in front of him.

"Just a little more," he mumbled, talking to himself. "You can do this."

Atlas smiled, he had finally made it. He was almost there, almost. Just a couple more steps and he—

The blue-haired man cursed out loud as he tripped, all the paper bags in his arm falling as his face crashed with the cold, hard ground. He groaned, sitting up as he rubbed his cheek, hoping that it wouldn't leave a bruise. He sighed heavily, looking around to see all the groceries on the floor, some had even gotten squished under his body weight.

He turned his head, glaring at the TV remote that was clearly the culprit. How did it even get on the kitchen floor from the living room? A mind-bending mystery that Atlas would never figure out the answer to.

Atlas surveyed the damage. Most of the items had made it, though all the eggs were broken and Atlas knew that he had to clean them up as soon as possible otherwise they would begin to stink real bad.

"Should've just taken an extra trip," Atlas muttered as he stood back up and began picking up the groceries. Who was he kidding? He would rather hold ten bags and try to carry them all at once than make two trips to his car.

By the time Atlas was done cleaning up, he was exhausted. He had spent a long day at work, sweating away in the heat of the kitchen where he had recently started as the head chef. He had reached before breakfast service began, and had stayed until after dinner to help clear up. Fortunately, he made it just in time to the grocery store before it closed. Only for his clumsy self to make yet another mess.

Every inch of him felt grubby, and he desperately needed a shower before getting into bed and passing the hell out. He grew excited just thinking about the amazing sleep he was going to have. Oh, his soft, warm bed was just calling his name at that point.

The water washed away the grease and some of Atlas's tiredness. He lived for moments like these when he could just take some time for himself and de-stress. He walked out of his bathroom, one towel wrapped around his waist as he used another to dry his hair.

Atlas had brought home some leftovers from the restaurant, and thankfully they were unharmed after his majestic fall. Some duck confit sounded—

Atlas paused in his tracks, his eyes widening in shock as his gaze fell on a man he had never seen before, standing right there in his living room. Atlas was frozen still as the two stared at each other, none of them making any move as Atlas dropped the towel he was using to dry his hair on the floor.

The man was tall, he must've been well over 6' though Atlas was not much smaller at 5'11". He seemed to be of Hispanic descent, with dark brown hair and eyes, and a light stubble covering his face. If Atlas had met him outside of these circumstances, he probably would've found him hot. But in this scenario, Atlas did not know whether to run at him or away from him.

What should you do if you see an intruder standing casually in your house when you're only dressed in a towel?

"Before you even think of screaming—" the intruder paused as he lifted a corner of his shirt. Atlas's eyes followed his actions, gulping at the gun that was tucked in the man's waistband. "So don't, yeah? And the same goes for calling the police."

"Just...just take whatever you want, dude," Atlas spoke, raising his hands in defense.

"Take whatever I want?" The intruder blinked, looking around the apartment that was filled with old and mismatched furniture. Most of the stuff Atlas had was either left there by the old tenants, or shit that he found for free on the streets. Safe to say, he didn't really have much.