Thnks fr th mmrs

Dead On Arrival

      

        I managed to stumble out the door in just the nick of time, not that timeliness ever was a worry of mine. My boss was pretty laid back. Middle aged and a passion for vintage records weren't exactly imitating attributes.

       

         I stepped out into the dark pavement, and into the always reliable breeze. No matter the day, it was always there. Despite the goosebumps it gives you, its quite reassuring actually. Chicago can do that to people, since there really isn't anything else to be positive about here.

I sped walked down the street, my (h/c) hair flapping around wildly about as if I were a model on a runway. A brisk speed walk and I'll be there in a minute to spare. I zoned out to the sound of my shoes pitt pattering against the sidewalk, and thought of which comic book i should buy today. A good ol' vintage spiderman sounds nice. I bet the old man will give me a sweet discount too...

BAM! I was forcefully knocked down to the sidewalk, my head spinning and eyes blurry. I could feel a trickle of warm, thick liquid trail down my forehead. What the hell was that? I steadily  lifted my head up enough to see a hooded figure dash away, panicking and whipping their head from side to side. Most likely a pick pocketer.

I placed a hand to my head to check for pain, only for me to find a small yet steady stream of blood coming from my forehead. Well great. Once I could steady myself, I sprinted the rest of the way, half wobbly, half dizzy. I most likely looked drunk to passerby's, but I really didn't care at this point.

"Aye (Y/n), Your here finally, what was the holdup?" I was questioned once I dashed through the door and to the comics to stack. Taking a deep breath, I turned and dragged my feet on the old carpet so I was infront the counter the man was behind. His black bedhead mop was crazed with cowlicks today, and he was nosedeep in a guitarists monthly. He's been into guitars more lately. "Well, Mr. Armstrong..."

 

   He instantly looked up at me with a sassy and reassuring look. "Sweetie, how many times have I said that Billie is just a-ok?" He grinned until he saw my (h/c) bangs caked in red. "Oh (y/n), that looks bad." He looked panicky and jumped over the counter like an Olympic hurdler. He grinted his teeth and pushed my bangs aside.

    "How did this happen?" He looked at it for a second before jumping back over the counter to get the first aid kit. I sighed and sat on the ground, crossing my legs. "Some asshole wasn't paying attention and knocked me over, hurt like hell." I wiped some blood away and cringed.

He hopped back over the counter with some gauze and tsked. "Chicago's jam packed with asshats sweetie." He wrapped it methodically around my forehead, and what I would think would be checking for signs of a concussion. He was very protective of me, like in a big old fatherly figure sort of way.

When he was done, he hopped back over and looked at me like I was a child. "Take it easy and just stack what you what today, I'll handle customers and you can leave at 5 if you like!" I mustered a slight smile. He really was a big sweet papa bear. "Thanks Billie, I will." I walked back into the shelves, only to hear a proud "that's my girl!"

{{ okay guys sorry for not updating, I will do more if you guys want more. I decided to make billie a sweet fatherly figure in this because he just seems like he'd be that way , and he was friends with your father before blah blah blah I'm not giving out spoilers. So yeah. And dont worry patty cakes will come soon, I want to plan this out well cause I seriously doubt my writing skills. :0/ anywho comment if you want more and I'll write it ASAP, thanks! }}