Elliott Miller is your average 23 year-old, only with a lost father and a resentful mother. When he goes back to his hometown to make amends, he inadvertently gets dragged into the activities of an illicit criminal group.
Enter Marcel Nixon, 25, wh...
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(Christmas Eve)
The exhaustion hit me the moment I stepped inside the apartment. I was sick of posing like a bored zoo animal all day in front of blinding lights with about a hundred layers of product caked onto my face. No matter how much I loved my job- and by job, I meant the hefty paycheck that came with it- I had begun to feel absolutely drained each passing week.
"Hey!"
I jumped, an embarrassing yelp escaping my throat as I felt a pair of strong hands encircle my waist.
"Did I scare you?" He leaned backwards looking a little concerned.
"I mean, a 'hello' would've made my heart rate spike up a little less but it's alright." Seeing him soften a little, I pulled his face closer and met his lips, earning myself a satisfied smirk.
"Long day?"
"Ugh, the longest," I groaned, trying to mentally block out the fatigue.
"Mmm," he hummed, pressing his lips to mine again.
"Weren't you supposed to head to HQ today?"
"Yeah, just got back."
That was when I noticed he was still in his work clothes, looking arguably more exhausted than I felt. I cupped his face in mine and looked into his tired eyes, furrowing my brows in concern.
"Looks like you've been through it too."
He chucked softly, though his shoulders sagged.
"Nothing a warm shower and takeout can't fix."
"Yeah, sure. I'll order."
"I don't deserve you," he mumbled. He kissed my temple again before loosening his tie and trudging towards the shower.
I collapsed onto the couch, scrolling through endless food options until I found something we both liked. As I placed the order, Marcel's phone buzzed beside me. I glanced at it out of habit as a notification lit up the screen, followed closely by a second.
Violet: J's sentence expedited Violet: Call me when you can
I shrugged it off, assuming it was usual business and went back to scrolling through memes. A little while later, the shower stopped and soon Marcel emerged in gray thermals and sweatpants, his hair slightly damp and curling at the ends. He looked visibly more relaxed and I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Smells like you ordered something good," he teased, sniffing the air dramatically.
"Well, we're about to find out," I rose from the couch towards the door and as if on cue, the bell rang with our delivery. We carried the bags to the couch, spreading everything out like a feast. I opened up the plastic containers while Marcel went to get the plates and cutlery from the kitchen.
