F.L.Y.N.N [ Book no.1 of "The Fouling Damned duo"]

01: 10 | societal pressure

~ Axel's POV~

" Yo. Axelllll!!!" Ems chirped, greeting me enthusiastically, as I entered the office.

You'd think that for a dismal, dim, dark, room, one would feel depressed just by the sight of even its double doors, painted all black, all gothic, victorian style, and its small, cramped space, white ceramic cups, half-filled with coffee or tea, hundreds of stacked papers scattered throughout. But for an office that seems to be almost makeshift, and even with hints of its gothic architecture emulated throughout, it seems lively and happy.

It's honestly probably because of my fellow co-workers, and my good friend, Esmeralda, and her new victim Weggy. Ah, well, as we call him... The poor fella has only been just hired by The Floyd detective agency, and nearly all of the people here seem to just call him names along the lines of Weggy... OOF.

But yes, Ems continued to call out my name as I entered this so-called office.

" AXELLL!! OH DARLING, AXEL-" She starts to scream, as she starts to call out from ye gods above, for me to respond to her weird-ass greeting. Ah, shit.

I think I just made eye contact with the little shitter.

" I see YOUUU!" She calls to me, and...

At that instant, Weggy enters the room, sneaking up behind her-

" Aw, Weiner! Why'd you have to do that..." She starts to complain, twittering about his so-called 'nonsense.'

" Uhm, Ms.Kim... FIRST OF ALL, my name is JEREMY... NOT Weggy, and most certainly not Weiner-" He starts to retort, flicking her arm angrily.

However, I butt in the convo, giving my best I-told-you-he-didn't-like-your-new-nickname look to Ems.

" Aww, damnn Wegss... You don't have to ruin the mood, Ems here is just kidding, ya know?"

" Wegs?"

" Yes?"

" MY NICKNAME IS WEGGY YOU DAMN SOCIOPATH!!" He angrily barks. And honestly, although I know that he doesn't mean it, and I know this is a joke-type-of-moment...

But I honestly... Don't blame him:

For calling me a sociopath.

****

There was once a time.

A time when it was like this.

As I trudged down the streets, the thick, opaqueness of the winter snow brought me back.

There was a time.

A time when it was like this.

YOU were out on a date with this girl.

A girl who wasn't even YOUR type, and a girl that had long, dark, glossy hair, and often claimed she was half Pakistani. YOU walked this same path, on the way to Times Square, YOU held her hand before mine, fawning over her hair, YOU braided her hair while you and she sat on this same bench, the one that faces some of your favorite shops.

Bittersweet are these Winter days, especially since I know who this girl is.

It's that girl... Tempest, isn't it?

****

As I sat there, reminiscing YOUR once pitiful girlfriend, sitting there, on that same bench that YOU and she had sat on. A bench that clearly doesn't have much meaning to it rather than the plain fucking fact that YOU sat here, wearing YOUR best outfit while with someone else.