Y/N gets more than she bargained for when getting to know the mystery creature that's been living in her shop silently for the past few years. She never would've imagined the sort of adventure he would lead her to, nor did she expected to be close w...
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The familiar chime of a bell marks my entrance inside of a relatively small building compared to the other two crammed beside it, though that isn't to say the interior is cramped. My feet find plenty of room to venture deeper, the heels of my boots clacking against the wooden floors, without feeling crowded by my surroundings. I pass shelves of colorful plush toys set against navy walls, posed mannequins wearing tailored suits and dresses along with racks of other clothing and accessories, mentally taking note of any missing spaces that would need to be filled before opening.
This place belongs to me, Y/N L/N, and I spend so much time in it, it's practically my second home. Pins and Needles is what I called it, basically a sewing shop if you want to streamline it. I opened it a few years ago, and while it might not be the most exciting job, I am passionate about it. I always dreamed of having my own shop and did all I could to make it a reality. I even found a place close to home, which certainly made things easier, considering I don't own a car. Outside of that, every day tends to be a struggle.
I, thankfully, get a steady flow of customers, enough to scrape by, but with the cost of owning this place, rent for the apartment and the basic necessities to live... Yeah, my day mainly consists of working hard to get enough money to live at least semi-comfortably. I'm sure to make a wide variety of designs and do my best to get the word out. Adding cute plushies certainly was a good move too. Who doesn't love a cute stuffed animal? I try to look on the bright side of things.
It can be hard at times, but it could be worse. I'm doing what I love, and besides, sewing relieves stress for me, which is ideal, not just because stress is bad but because I particularly have a bad reaction to too much of it. Since I was young, I struggled with a serious medical condition, and its biggest trigger happens to be anxiety and stress. I run the risk of dying if I don't keep myself in check, so we can add plenty of doctor's visits to the bill as well. Fits start as a usual panic attack, where I struggle to breathe, but can extend into an awful seizure. Sometimes, I vomit or cough up blood. It took ages to find the right medication to suppress it. In truth, it used to be much worse, leaving me bedridden for days in some cases.
I still remember the worst instance, about a week after graduating high school when my mother kicked me out. I always felt a bit lonely in her presence, like she didn't want me but took care of me out of obligation. Handling my condition was a lot for her, so I tried not to be too much of a burden. Still, I loved her. She was never mean to me, and she was there at every hospital visit, every school play I made costumes for and when I struggled. It broke my heart when she locked me out, leaving me with nothing, telling me I was old enough to be on my own and that I was no longer her responsibility.
