Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

You slammed your fists against your thigh, let out an audible groan, and rolled your head back to look up at the fabric taxi roof. The traffic in Cyber City was terrible at all hours, but you didn't expect the car to come to a complete standstill.

"Listen, pal," the taxi driver turned to look at you, "the address you gave me ain't far from 'ere, if you take this road and keep walkin' straight you'll get'ere." You took a deep breath and nodded.

"I guess that would be the best option–" the man cut you off before you could finish.

"I also don't want to keep hearin' you groanin' and sighin'. Yer startin to annoy me." He held out his hand and made a motion for you to pay up. You were about to sigh again but cut it off by inhaling deeply. No use annoying him any further.

You pull out your wallet and take out twenty five dark dollars. The man scoffs and shakes his head, "Imma be stuck in traffic for hours," he makes another grabbing motion with his hand, "you better pay that full price." He grinned, and you scowled. Muttering under your breath, you gave him the rest of your cash and hopped out of the car before he could ask for your debit card number.

It wouldn't be a far walk back home, but after a long day of work the last thing you wanted to do was walk. Especially not in the ever present darkness of Cyber City. Especially not down an even darker alleyway. The taxi behind you honked, startling you. You flipped off the sleazy driver before walking down the alleyway.
It wasn't awful, honestly.

...

Okay, it was really, really bad. Horrible, even. You could hear the scurrying of little maice and it made your blood run cold. Every shadow was twisting and waiting for the moment you turned your back to strike.
You suddenly heard a bang from the dumpster next to you. Before you could turn around, a loud and obnoxiously raspy voice filled the alleyway. "HEY hEy HEy hey—"

You whipped around and swung before whoever it was could get the jump on you.
When you finally get a look at whoever or whatever it was that you just hit, you see a small, pasty man with an awful receding hairline. He was holding onto the side of the dumpster he was in with one hand while the other cradled his cheek.

"WO WOW WOW! hot shot! YOU CAN C3RTANLY KNOW HOW TO strike out!!" The man grinned and looked up at you. His speech pattern was all over the place, with some of his words seeming out of place with the rest of the sentence–varying in tone and volume. He suddenly broke into a loud coughing fit that somehow managed to sound like laughter.
The guilt of punching a seemingly defenseless old man made you hover over him as he coughed. "Sir, are you okay?! I am so sorry, you came out of nowhere!" The man waved his hand and you took notice of the three different watches on them.

He then sprung up, causing you to move back, "DON'T YOU WORRY hot shot!! IT TAKES MORE THAN THAT TO knockout Spamton G. Spamton Number 1 Rated Salesman1997!" He grinned at you. His teeth are stained yellow with one of his teeth on his right missing and one of the left ones was chipped.

You tilted your head as you fully took him in. Not only was his hairline receding, but his greying hair was slicked back, making his forehead bigger than it seemed. You honestly couldn't tell if it was sweat, grime, or oil keeping his hair so shiny. His face was just as shiny, probably from sweat, with wrinkles under his eyes, forehead, and cheeks. The five o'clock shadow was not doing him any favors, as he seemed to have small cuts on his face from where he tried to shave it down. His nose was crooked, it seemed to have been broken and never fixed correctly.Most interesting of all were the sunglasses resting on his crooked nose. They were pink and yellow, visibly clean and had a small crack on the yellow side. They blocked your view of his eyes but they seemed dark-ish. You noticed that they didn't ever seem to stop on you for longer than a few seconds before they jerked away.

Your eyes moved down and you noticed he was wearing a blazer, blazer. The sleeves were too small for him, showing off his six watches–three on each arm–and his rings which ranged from multilayered gold to gemstones. His shirt was also not just a dress shirt. It was obviously dirty, but it looked more like a tank top that was too big for him, with some of his chest hair peeking out. He was wearing a gold cross necklace and, as you looked back up, matching gold earrings.

The man looked so familiar, but you just couldn't put your finger on why. He was like someone you had passed once, or maybe someone who had stolen some cash from you. Maybe if he was younger, you'd be able to place that feeling of familiarity building in your chest. Maybe the air wouldn't feel so thick to inhale- but that was probably just the rancid smell of rotting food and poo. He looked like… huh, he looked like an Addison. If the Addisons were washed up and lacked all form of self care.

He hacked again and spit up to the side of the dumpster. "CHECKING OUT MY dress to impress Babey?!" The strange dumpster man half-shouted as he adjusted his blazer and slicked back his hair. "FOR JUST THE LOW low LOw LOW PRICE OF nineteen hundred kromer YOU TOO C-C-C-COULD LOO K LIKE me."

You made a face of disgust, and he waved his hands to stop you from leaving. "NO NO NO BETTER, I COULD MAKE YOU hyperlink blocked."

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted, "Why do you talk like that?" You covered your mouth quickly. That was so rude, you can't just ask people why they talk like that. However, the strange garbage man seemed to find that hilarious as he let out shrill, shrieking laughter and low, gravelly hacking up all at once.

"NEXT YOU'RE ASK ME HOW I BECAME bigger, better, bolder THAN THAT WASHED UP CRT," he wagged his finger, "but I don't give out those details for free, hot shot." His sudden calm and intense voice sent shivers down your spine. You should get out of here, you thought, glancing around. The end of the alleyway wasn't far if you could just–

The man–was it Samuel? Steven? Whatever- jumped out of the dumpster with surprising agility for someone his age. He was now standing in front of you and he looked much shorter than he did inside the dumpster. He was probably around 5”2, but he was hunched over, rubbing his hands together in an almost mischievous manner. "LISTEN B-BABEY," he stuttered, but it sounded more like a glitch in his throat, "I HAVE the deal of a lifetime JUST FOR YOU. YOU CAN SCRATCH MY BACK AND I'LL scratch that itch!!!"

You did not want to touch him.

"Uhh...sir–"

"Spamton G. Spamton Number 1 Rated Salesman1997."

"Right. Yeah. Uh–Spamton, sir, I don't really want to, uh, make a deal...." you trailed off, looking back to the dumpster where you saw a pillow. Before he could cut you off you pointed at it. "...do you live here?"
He laughed, and the hairs on the back of your neck rose. It somehow sounded more genuine than anything else you've heard all day–the drone of everyday life, the city noise, the taxi driver, everything was monotonous nonsense but this man stood out so starkly. He was so...odd. Captivatingly so. Someone you were unable to pull your eyes away from.
"DO I live love laugh HERE? DO nectar sucking flies LIVE IN FLOWERS?" The man–Spamton- waved his hand in front of your face, "I'M JUST COLLECTING sweet goods FOR MY booming business!" You nodded slowly and, somehow, Spamton's grin widened. You felt something gnawing in your gut as you stared at the grimy pillow. You held onto your work bag tighter and felt the crinkle of your uneaten lunch bag.

"NOW NOW look, don't touch!" He shut the lid of the garbage in your face and you could feel the trashy air wafting straight into your nostrils. It took all your self control to not gag or punch him again. You took a step back and Spamton followed you. His head twitched. You held up your hand to stop him and when you took another step back he stayed there. Looking at him from father away you could see just how skinny he was. His clothes could only hide how sunken in his cheekbones and how thin his arms were. The jewelry you noticed earlier hung off of him and you were surprised you hadn't noticed how often his watches shifted or how he had to adjust his rings.

You shifted and felt your bag crinkle again. Opening up your work bag, you took out the plastic takeout bag that held your lunch. You looked back at the trash man for a moment and held it up to him. “I'm, uh, sure there's not that much food around here…” you hesitated. What in the world were you doing? “And I, uh, didn't eat my lunch…” The man took another step towards you and with jittery hands took the bag from you. He looked shocked, and you could see his eyes widen from behind the mismatched glasses.

When was the last time anyone had looked at him without a trace of disgust or pity? You definitely were disgusted, he could tell, but not by him. Spamton felt his ears ringing with that all familiar piercing telephone ring and he jolted.

“DON’T EXPECT three for one special TREATMENT, MY DEALS ARE non-negotiable.” You laughed and shook your head.

“Honestly, you’re doing me a favor. I probably wouldn’t have eaten it anyway,” You waved your hand and turned around, taking another step toward the end of the alleyway. Spamton stayed frozen in place and watched you leave.

“Let me know if you like it,” you spoke absentmindedly. As you walked away you turned back to him and held open all ten fingers, closing them and opening them rapidly, “I hope you’ll give me a ten outta ten!” You laughed again and turned back around, and with a final wave you were gone.

Spamton looked down at the bag, and for the first time in years, all he heard was silence. He chuckled to himself, a soft smile on his face, “S-S-SUCKER.” He felt his throat closing in on itself and he hacked again, “I NEED A come to where the flavor is.”

…

As you opened the door to your empty apartment, you shivered at how cold it seemed in there. “I need a cigarette.”

You shuffled in your bag and pulled out the cheapest Queen™ branded cigarettes on the market before shoving them into your pocket and throwing your bag down by the door. You tossed off your too-tight shoes and sighed in relief. Walking on the hardwood floor all the warmth and energy you had accumulated from walking around town was quickly zapped from you. You walked over to your fridge and groaned at how empty it seemed. Almost rotten vegetables, expired yogurt, a half drank bottle of Queen branded whiskey, and eggs. You took out the whiskey and opted to grab one of the plastic cups sitting on your counter. Opening the freezer, you took out three ice cubes and dropped them into your pathetic plastic cup.

You walked across the empty living room to the slightly more decorated balcony. Three plastic chairs and one sloppily put together table. You remember when you first moved in, it was the one thing left by the previous owners. You pulled it out from behind some boxes and it completely fell apart. You spent that whole afternoon using any loose screws and nails you had to put it back together. It was still falling apart, but nothing a little glue and tape couldn’t fix. Plus, it was a great ashtray.

You flopped onto one of the chairs and it shook under your weight. You put the cup down on your table and it wobbled a bit. Twisting off the whiskey cap you poured about two shots worth into your cup and swapped the bottle for it. You lingered on the picture of Queen on the bottle and shook your head. No point dwelling on the past. You took out your cigarettes and refused to look down at her smiling face, throwing it onto the table face down. The bright blue lighter you always left on the table beckoned you as you grabbed it and lit your awful tasting cigarette. It never went down smooth and it always tasted awful. Beggars can't be choosers, you suppose.

You thought back to the homeless man, Spamton. He looked so familiar, it itched at you, you wish you had asked what the G. in his name stood for. Maybe Gaddison, you chucked to yourself.

Taking a long drag of your cigarette, you smacked your lips at how awful it tasted. Taking a sip of the whiskey didn't help much. As you looked out over Cyber City, with lights so bright they rivaled the stars, you wondered what he thought of your food and how he was probably down in one of the hundreds of alleyways in this maze of a city having to fight a maus to keep it. How cold it must be for him to sleep in a metal tin.

Maybe…maybe you’d walk home from work tomorrow again, just to see what he rated your food.

Chapter Text

You woke up to the sound of your alarm clock blaring an unrecognizable song. Groaning obnoxiously you slam your arm against the clock to shut it up. Your thin blanket was on the floor and your pillow was at your feet for some reason so you were laying flat on your bed. You closed your eyes and took a deep shuttering breath, your stomach churned and you felt the acid beginning to rise. You shot up and ran towards the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time.

You vomited up stomach bile, your dinner of cigarettes and alcohol left nothing to throw up. Heartbeat pounding in your ears, you leaned your head against the toilet seat. Your bathroom was filthy, and this just made it worse. A pile of dirty clothes in the corner and a sink that hasn't been clean since you moved in. When was the last time you cleaned the floor here? You could feel the blood rushing towards your head and it made you gag.

After a few minutes you hobbled up and turned on the shower. You couldn't go to work reeking of vomit. Peeling off your clothes you all but threw yourself into the freezing cold shower. It shocked you awake. Immediately, you fumbled for the knob to change the temperature, and for a moment you felt relief. Then the water began boiling your skin. You yelped and fumbled once more before finally getting your desired heat. 2-1 body and hair wash would have to be done for today.

After washing up you walked over to the dirty mirror and wiped off the steam that had accumulated on it. You looked at yourself, pulling under your eye, you noticed just how large your eye bags had gotten. A bit of makeup could cover it up. “Could be worse,” you mumbled to yourself.

Walking out of the bathroom you noticed the now empty bottle of Queen branded whiskey on your bed and rubbed your temples, humiliation running through your body. No self control, shame on you. Stomach grumbling you walked out of your room towards the kitchen, still in your towel. You knew there was nothing but maybe you could whip something up.

Staring at the empty fridge you pulled out the almost rotten vegetables and the eggs, that could work. You took out a small pot of water, sprinkled in some salt and placed the eggs in. Waiting for it to boil, you poured yourself a cup of tap water. Drinking it from one of the many plastic cups that sat on your counter.

Once the water came to a boil you slowly lower in the eggs with a spoon. After burning your fingers no less than five times you take out your last pan to cook up your vegetables. One carrot, three broccoli, and a handful of spinach. You set the stove to high heat and started to peel the carrots, cutting them up into bite sized pieces and throwing them into the pan with the broccoli and whatever oil you had sitting around. You put the lid on both pots and walked back over to your room.

Shuffling around in your busted up drawer that you had to fight to open, you found underwear and socks- the only clean pair left. Your underwear had a small hole at the top and the socks were mismatched, blue and green of different sizes but they would do.

You moseyed over to where your closet was, and opening the door revealed more about you than you cared to think about. A pile of going out clothes that hadn't been touched in ages and some formal wear hanging half-hazardly off a broken hanger. The only thing in rotation was the three pairs of work clothes you make sure to hang up. Just like your underwear and socks, this was your last clean outfit for the week. You took it off of the hanger and walked back over to your bed. Tossing your towel onto the ground you began to get dressed.

Your shirt was too tight.

You walked back over to the bathroom, which was now free from steam. Leaning down to the cabinet underneath the sink, you took out a small cardboard box of makeup. It was full of old expensive pallets, lipsticks, and base products like blush and concealer. It was probably all expired but country girls make do. You shrugged and pulled out the first thing available, your concealer, and smeared it under your eyes You touched your cheek and took a long stare at yourself in the mirror, maybe... maybe it would be nice to get dressed up again, even if there was no one to get dressed up for anymore.

You shook away the thought and took a step back, you looked fine from a distance. Maybe no one would notice how messy your hair was or how tired you looked. You smiled to yourself and it looked forced, so you tried again. Better. As you continued to try to master your smile you smelled something… almost like burning.

Fuck.

You bolted out of the bathroom and straight to your kitchen. There was smoke coming out from the pan and the water was beginning to boil over the edge of the pot. You rushed over and grabbed the pan, pushing it over to one of the off heaters. Taking the lip off of the pot immediately mellowed out the water, it was still boiling but not over heating. Thank the Angel the fire alarm doesn’t work.

The vegetables were burnt on one side but they were still edible, you left the eggs too long and you knew they'd be hard boiled instead of soft. You took a deep breath and turned off the stove top, taking the vegetables off the heat and flipping them so that the remaining heat could cook them. You turned around to the sink filled with dishes and turned it on, turning back around you grabbed the pot and poured out the boiling water. The eggs banged against the dirty dishes in your sink, cracking slightly.

You shimmied to the side and opened up your cabinet, huh? Where was your?

You felt a warmth spread through your body, your finger tips burned as you held onto the handles of the cabinet.

You gave away your lunch. Including the container you designated to carry it around.

You huffed and looked around your tiny kitchen. There was a dirty tupperware container sat next to the stove, a long expired piece of meat sat inside, but it would have to do. You had left it there by accident three months ago, and it almost became a staple of your kitchen. But nothing ever stays for long. You took a step to grab it and slipped, falling face first into the crumb riddled floor.

You laid there in disgrace for a moment before pulling yourself back and wiping off your uniform. Your nose hurt, luckily it wasn't bleeding but it might bruise later. You reached up and touched it, flinching a bit before snatching up the tupperware. Covering your still wounded nose you threw out the rotten meat into your all too small trash can and walked slowly towards the sink. Not bothering to move the eggs you used what little soap you had left you cleaned out all the gunk from your tupperware container.

When you were finished violently scrubbing the container, making sure to get every caked on piece of the oil-butter mixture off the sides, you grabbed the soapy eggs and washed them off. You dropped them into the tupperware and they cracked again.

You took an almost dance-like 180 degree step and turned around. Clearly fooling around in your kitchen with your socks on will continue to be in your future. You grab the pan with all the half burnt vegetables and half hazardly poured them and all the oil into your still wet lunch container with the cracked eggs. You could peel them at work.

You shuffled around turning every which way to find the lid before locating it in the sink. Obviously. You popped it on as you trotted over to where your too-tight shoes sat untouched since yesterday.

Your messenger bag also lay discarded on the floor but you paid that no mind as you'd be joining them. Sitting on the floor you were able to ineffectively maneuver your lunch into your bag with your left hand while struggling to put on your shoe with the other.

You stood up, bag on your shoulder with your shoes adjusted as comfortably as you could make them. Another day, another dollar and another fight with the suicidal entity that lives in your head.

…

It was going to rain. It honestly wouldn't have been an issue if it weren't for the amount of groceries you were carrying. You weren't sure if you would be able to balance all of them, your bag, AND an umbrella. You honestly couldn't decide if your arms were shaking because of the weight of them or if the freezing cold wind was to blame. You could feel your body begin to fold in on itself but you forced yourself upwards and continued on.

Your home wasn't far. You may be a quitter but you weren't about to let your valuable dark dollars go to waste. You marched on and in the corner of your eye you spotted the metal overpass for the Central Cyber City Cpark (No I Couldn't Come Up With A Better Name lol)

How did she get that to fit on such a small sign?

You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, people shoving pass you in quick succession, almost making you fall over. If you went to the park then you could rest your legs instead of having to push through and risk falling, letting all your food go to ruins. Or you could go home and not risk ending up in a storm.

Your legs began to shake.

That's all the convincing you needed. You cut through the crowd of people in order to get the open metal gate. Pushing some much harder than you meant to.

The metal was rusting but what could be done. Queen refused to listen. If Queen was going to allow her city to fall to ruins so be it, it wasn't your problem anymore. If things went to shit you’d be on the first bus out of here.

They could probably use a washed up guitar player in TV World or Card Kingdom. Maybe you’d even go back to Home Town, if push comes to fuck you over. Again.

The park, her clever naming conventions would not work on you, was mostly empty. There were a few children on the small playset, one Ambyu-Lance running around, and a few Plugboys conversing on a bench. You felt a gnawing sense of emptiness referring to these other people by their company names; Plugboys, Ambyu-Lances, Addisions, Swatchlings, they were names given to you by whatever company you worked for.

You stopped being yourself just to make a few dollars.

But you knew that no matter how much you lamented it, you’d keep walking, you wouldn't stop and talk to them, or learn about them. Just like they’d never stop for you.

Trotting deeper into the park you noticed a bigger than average bench and decided to collapse onto it. You shuffled with the bags, making sure the ones on the bench wouldn't fall over and that the ones on the floor were close enough to your feet that nobody could snatch them up. You leaned back completely, staring up at the darkening sky and took a deep breath, the wind was howling and the smell of rain permeated your nose. You reached into your pocket and pulled out MTT branded cigarettes. You had smoked your last pack during your lunch break and your coworker gave you his as he was “trying to quit”

You didn't look down as you pulled out a cigarette, however you glanced down to make sure it wasn’t your lucky one and shoved the box back into your pocket. You hated seeing his stupid face everywhere.

Why couldn't he just disappear for good?

You could hear running down the path but paid it no mind, you just needed a moment alone with your borderline nicotine addiction. Reaching into your other pocket you pulled out a lighter. If you could calculate it right, maybe cutting through the park would cut down on your time home and you might just get there before the rain beats down on you.

The running got closer as you lit the cigarette.

You tried to picture the city map from when Queen would show it to the two of you. She always took such pride in it. She would take you arm-in-arm and point out everything she thought you'd enjoy. It never crossed your mind that you would be one of the tiny people running through this maze of a city. You could remember that day clearly, the day she showed you and him the map.

She told you all about her amusement parks and how the Central Cpark were built to cut through the bustle of the city. How an old friend of hers suggested it. She told you that with a little sweet talk she could get you anything you dreamed of. A fat load of shit coming from her, but you remember it making your heart flutter with anticipation.

Sweet talk came naturally with her. That night, on the ride out of her mansion, he wouldn't stop going on and on about her. You would almost be jealous if it weren't for his arm wrapped around your neck and too tall legs laying over your thighs. “We are gonna be the biggest thing this city has ever seen! Do you think she’d give us a hotel if we asked?”

The running stopped suddenly in front of you and you shot up. You wouldn't be caught distracted! No little poppup would get the upper hand on you and steal your hard earned food! Whipping your head back and forth, you didn't see anything and none of your items seemed to be missing so you sat back down. You leaned back to stare at the sky once again but a much darker shadow quickly overtook you. “HE- HEY HEY HE HEY hot shot!”

You screamed and instinctively moved to headbutt the man. He took a step back and you shot up, turning your whole body to look at him. He looked just as bad as yesterday. The little man's arms were outstretched, almost as if he were asking for a hug, “WOAH WOAH W0AH IS THAT ANYWAY TO GREET AN opportunity to age in place FFF-F-FRIEND?” In the light he looked more gangly than you'd expect, his limbs were much longer than they should have been for such a short man.

“You scared the fuck out of me.” You took the cigarette out of your mouth as he laughed and almost comically cut himself off to spit off to the side.

You sighed and turned away from him, sitting back down. You heard the rustling of fabric as he- and you can only assume- jumped over the bench to sit next to you. “IF YOU LET ME get off the street YO-YOUR more doctors smoke I’LL LET YOU,” you felt the washed up salesman put his arm around your shoulder, “PUT IT OUT-T-T ON your ol pal SPAMTON FOR 5.99 kromer.”

His grip on you was tight but not enough that you wouldn't be able to pull away if you wanted. You could feel how thin his arm was and you wonder for a moment if he ever had any meat on his bones. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and he was staring at you with such intensity. It reminded you of how…

You turned to look at him, “You promise?” Your voice was laced with a flirtation you hadn't decided if it was fake or not.

He nodded vigorously and you chuckled at him, reaching down to where your thighs were touching and pulled out the MTT branded cigarette box. You shoved the box into his chest, with more force than you meant to, and he barely flinched. He just fumbled to grab whatever you had given him. Huh.

He held the box in his hand and raised an eyebrow at you, “DO I LL-LOOK LIKE AN idiot? WHA T IS THIS charity?”

You looked away from him with a smirk, “ ‘m tryna quit,” cigarette still in your mouth you mumble loud enough for him to hear it, “Plus, I hate having celebrities watch me smoke.”

Spamton opened up the box and blinked when he noticed it was almost completely full, only one or two cigarettes missing, “NO silly strings ATTACH3D?” You turned back to look at him and shook your head.

You took another drag and smiled at him as he began to fumble for a cigarette. His hands were shaking and he was cursing to himself but he didn't ask for help. “I don't need anything from you, unless you're gonna start charging me for your company?”

With a cigarette in hand he looked up at you through his glasses. For a moment you could see his bloodshot eyes staring at you before his head jerked to the side, “G-GOOD IDEA hot shot, 100 kromer FOR EVERY countdown WITH 1 handsomeGuy! (ME)!” He laughed maniacally and you moved to stand up.

“Sorry pal, I don't have 100 kromer on me. So I guess I'll never see you again,” You shrugged and he grabbed your upper arm with what you could only describe as a death grip.

The man pulled you back down onto the bench, “HE- HEY HEY HE Y special offer today only ALL PRODUCTS 100% off!” He pointed at the cigarette that was now in his mouth, “ONE lightner IN RETURN!” You smiled at him and nodded, leaning in as you grabbed the back of his head. His hair was surprisingly soft for how greasy it was, it was also very thin. A part of you wondered if you pulled at it he'd make any noise or if he'd sit there and take it. You felt the twitching man go still and you expelled the perverse thoughts from your mind.

Your cigarette wasn't dead yet so you knew you could buttfuck him with no issue.

Positioning your cigarette across from his was easy and it lit up in a second. You took your hand out of his hair and leaned back making sure to wipe the grease off your hand. He took a drag from his cigarette and laughed, “NO take me out to dinner FIRST?” His comment caught you by surprise and you choked on smoke. Hunching over you were let out a gross mixture of laughter and smoke.

Spamton grinned from ear to ear and subconsciously brushed his hair back. It had been so long since anyone had laughed at his jokes or even let him this close. He closed the gap between you and began to pat your back, it didn't help much and he knew that but he did it anyway, “twinkle twinkle little star how I wonder where you are,” he awkwardly sang to you- it wasn't what he had meant to say but he said it anyway. That's how it was for him now. You had started laughing harder at his singing and it only caused his own grin to widen.

You let out a final hacking cough and leaned back to look at him, “Mr. Spamton you are a riot,” you sighed dreamily, “I haven't laughed like that in ages.” His hand is still resting carefully on your back.

Even with how dark and gray the day was, he could see it. Heaven.

Spamton pulled his hand back and took a quick drag of his cigarette, “I’LL BE HERE open 24/7 FOLKS!” Your eyes felt like knives stabbing into him. He wasn't big enough. He was a bum on the street harassing you and he knew that. Even his own words betrayed him, he wanted to make you laugh without adverts. He adjusted one of his many rings.

Most of all he wanted your gaze away from him, he needed to get bigger. His eyes darted around for anything to change the subject to before he spotted your groceries and shot up, “WAIT checkpoint here.” He'd scratch your back for yesterday.

“Uh Mr. Spam-” before you could ask him what he on about the little man darted off into the tree line, disappearing from your field of vision in a split second.

You waited as the sky began to darken considerably. You repeatedly checked your watch and every passing minute filled you with dread. You had finished your cigarette and Spamtons, which he had conveniently dropped while running off. You considered not smoking it and letting it burn out. However, the idea of placing your lips somewhere his had touched crumbled your resolve. The downpour was gonna be heavy and Spamton was nowhere in sight. You were about to pack up when you saw the greasy man running on the path back in your direction, he looked to be dragging something along. You stood still as he ran over and when he came to a halt in front of you, he handed you- what you could now identify as a shopping trolley.

“What-”

“I TOLD YOU I’D instant itch relief!” He grabbed your shoulder, “AN please don't take my eyes FOR AN EYE.” The way he spoke was so guttural and genuine it caused your stomach to flip uncomfortably. His grip on you tightened as he seemed to freeze up. It might have been a trick of the light, but you could have sworn his glasses darkened. It seemed like every part of his body went limp for just a moment before he suddenly burst out laughing.

You just stared at him before he bent down and began to put your groceries in the trolley, “DON’T MAKE AN what the heck is electronic mail MAN DO A-A-AALL THE wear hard hats!” You huffed and began helping him. Lifting your bags into the cart was much easier with two pairs of hands. Even if he was dropping every other bag.

Once you were finished you took his hand which was hovering over his side and forcefully shook it "Thank you Mr. Spamton." You took his hand which was hovering over his side and forcefully shook it. He reacted instantly, muscle memory kicking in. The man placed his other hand on his hip and he returned your hand shake with equal amounts of vigor.

“I WOULDN'T WANT TO LEAVE MY number one rated BUYER ALL alone on a late night!” You chuckled and Spamton felt his hands go clammy. If you had noticed you hadn't said anything, and he quickly pulled away. He saw your mouth open before you shut it suddenly and pointed up.

The sky darkened significantly and you could feel small droplets of water begin to fall down, “Wanna get outta here?” He nodded and you began to walk towards the exit. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him adjusting his watches.

“N0W N-N-NOW hot shot DON’T THINK IM A twobit ¥#0&3.” How did he do that with his mouth? “I WONT GO HOM3 WITH YOU FOR hey buddy you got 20 dollars!” You laughed and interlocked your arm with his and leaned into him more than you meant to. He smelled really bad and the addition of the rain only made it worse. It took all your effort not to gag.

The rain started to come down harder. It wasn't unbearable and if it started to rain any harder you could pull out the small umbrella you kept in your bag.

“You're helping a poor defenseless individual get home,” you batted your eyelashes at him and he scoffed.

“I DON’T WO-WORK FOR free! free! free!”

“Well now you do,” you stuck your tongue out at him, “plus my house isn't far. Think of it as getting your steps in.”

He rolled his eyes and cracked his neck to the side opposite of you, “ALL I DO IS walking more! Stress less! NO meat on the bone.” The black haired man flexed his free arm and you tried not to laugh in his face.

“Well, you work well as a meat shield,” the street had significantly emptied and you noticed some Virovirokun beginning to slink off into the hidden corners of the city, “I’ll throw you in the way of any danger.” You especially noticed how Spamton seemed to stare at the Addison that was quickly packing up, even as they avoided his gaze.

The greasy man whipped his head to look at you, “SKIP THE LINE OF PEOPLE WAITING TO beat you into an everloving AND LET ME $#* ON THEM!” You laughed and that seemed to make the rain begin to pour down even harder. You stopped walking which caused Spamton to still. You let go of him and saw, from the corner of your eye, him beginning to twitch again.

You reached into your work bag and pulled out the small umbrella. Opening it up, it seemed it would only cover the two of you and the food would have to be sacrificed to the rain Angel. Good thing they were wrapped safely in their bags.

“You hold it, let's keep going,” you outstretched the umbrella and he took it gingerly in his hand. You re-interlaced your arms and continued walking. He was quiet. Which, from what little you knew about him, seemed to be out of the ordinary.

He was still shaking and his head was twitching to the side but there seemed to be something on his mind.

“WHY DO YOU NOT HAVE A the thunders still here?” He looked up at you and you glanced at him. The thunders still here, hm…

“Oh!” You chuckled to yourself, “I’ve never felt like I needed a car, Cyber City's pretty walkable and to be honest, the traffic keeps me from getting one...” you trailed off and tilted your head to the side. “I heard that TV World has these big open deserts and people go there just to drive around,” you couldn't stop the thought of him entering your mind, “old friend of mine loved cars, he had this gaudy purple convertible. It was always in the shop but he loved it half to death. It would break down sometimes in the middle of the desert and I’d have to call a tow truck for him.” You looked over at him with a small smile and you couldn't describe his expression as anything other than 'intense’, “Do you like cars, Mr. Spamton? You look like a car guy.”

Spamton leaned back, straightening out and laughed louder than you’ve ever heard. You could even hear him over the rain, “hot shot I AM big shot wheels, I HAD THE best wheels! Best deal! Best prices in the tri-state area! CIRCA 1997!” He hunched back over and with the hand that wasn't holding the umbrella and grabbed your hand. “I AM THE biggest THE best THE slimiest,” in an instant he let go of your hand and hit his head before grabbing it again, “I HAD A Spirit of ‘76! THE last American convertible!”

You nodded along, imagining him in a convertible. He seemed like the type of scumbag to drive around in one, puffing on a cigar and whistling at ladies on the sidewalk, “was it-”

“9B111E.”

“Red?”

He nodded vigorously and you chuckled.

“Pick up any hot chicks back in the day?”

He laughed and even though- if you thought about it objectively- it sounded gross and raspy you couldn't help but think it sounded like music. An off melody for sure, but music nonetheless. Or perhaps a song played on an old out of tune piano that was missing a few keys. The rain came down harder and you couldn't help but to pull him closer despite the smell.

Spamton swiveled his head towards an alleyway and stopped suddenly, “IS THAT YOUR PHONE?”

“Uh… no?” He pulled away from you completely and you had to fumble to grab the umbrella before it fell as he began speed-walking away from you, “Wait! Spamton!” You dropped the trolley handle and outstretched a hand to grab him. He turned his head slightly to look back at you. You could tell he was jerking and twitching harder than before and his eyes held a panic in them you’ve never seen before.

“Don't… uh…” you held out the umbrella towards him and you felt the rain begin to soak through your clothes, “I don't want you to get wet.” You could see his eyes darting around before he jutted forward and took the umbrella from you before running off into the alley.

The rain soaked through you.

You took a shuttering breath and leaned down to grab the handle of the trolley before walking home. You really weren't far. The rain was beginning to hurt and you felt water getting into your eyes-the world blurring around you. It was definitely rain water and nothing else. You hadn’t realized how cold it had been.

You saw your apartment complex come into view and you sped up. Once you reached the door you relaxed seeing how empty the lobby was. You input the code for the door and it popped open. Shuffling into the building you almost cried with delight seeing the now working elevator.

The music was still busted but you didn't go into the elevator for the sweet tunes. You wiped off the water from your face and groaned at the thought of showering again. You could feel the tears coming down your face like scorching hot lava. You reached your floor and tugged the trolley along towards your door. You input the code and struggled to bring the trolley through the too small door.

You huffed and leaned down, hands on your knees taking in the uncomfortable cold of your apartment. You looked over to your balcony window and tilted your head.

There was a black cat staring at you. It almost seemed to… smile at you, before jumping off the balcony and disappearing into the night.

You were on the third floor.

“I need a cigarette.”