P. Stormcrow

Finn had become a regular at the O’Doul’s, though that was the first time she tasted their cooking. And now, even after Jackson dropped her off at her apartment, she was reminiscing about the hearty beef stew with a hint of dark beer in its stock. Then there was the bread with a perfect crust she could hear before ever biting into it. She hadn’t expected a pub that excelled with a unique alcohol selection to serve also such damn good food. But that dessert. Dear God that chocolate mousse.

It was almost enough to make her forget the horrors of what she saw and went through earlier.

Almost.

The eerie silence of her home didn’t help matters. For a split second, she wished she had a dog or a cat. Hell, she’d accept a hamster at this point. But she recalled most of the late hours she worked, and her general lack of ability to take care of anything, and let out a long sigh.

Why, of all nights did the neighbors choose tonight to be asleep for a change?

Well, there was one remedy she could rely on. She stalked to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets, making a point of ignoring the pile of takeout containers threatening to burst forth from the garbage bin. When she wrapped her fingers around the neck of a bottle and felt its weight confirming the fullness of its contents, she heartened with triumph. 

It didn’t matter what it was. She just needed enough to get the job done.

It was so quiet she swore she could pick up a clock ticking away somewhere though the one she owed had already tan out of battery. With more hurried steps than usual, she grabbed her laptop and set it up to her streaming service.

Come on. Any show.

Well, not any. But she picked a random action flick on their website and hit play.

Blessed sounds of explosions filled the room. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she snatched the bottle and sank into her couch. 

Finn didn’t remember when she passed out, but next she knew, credits were scrolling up the screen as her vision and consciousness returned. Her mouth was a desert while snow crusted her eyes. She lifted the rum still in her hand up only to discover she had already emptied it.

Great.

“All right. Here we go,” she muttered to herself. With a grunt, she pushed herself up and tottered on her feet as she struggled to regain her balance.

One step. Two steps. Easy peasy.

Another one. Left foot. Right foot.

She made it as far as the kitchen before she banged against the corner of the counter. 

“Fuck!” Pain flared from her hip as she covered the spot with both hands, casting her gaze around to find something that may help.

Was that a face staring back at her with a horrified, empty open mouth from the grain of the wood cabinets?

Oh God.

She stumbled backward and slipped. Crash. She yelled as more pain shot through the side of her body on the impact. The bottle she was still holding shattered on the ground next to her. A flash of the stupid doll surfaced before her mind’s eye. Damn it. The case was making her paranoid. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck,” she swore under her breath. She winced and picked herself up with infinite slowness, taking care to not touch any of the glass shard. It still didn’t stop her from cutting her palm and she hissed at the fresh burst of sharp pain.

“Finn!” Someone knocked. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she tried to call out, but it came out as a croak. 

The knocks became poundings, growing more insistent until she thought whoever it was may knock down the door. Shaking her head, she hobbled over and opened up.

Her new neighbor, Ethan, stood there, eyes dark with concern behind the thick-rimmed glasses, sporting a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie that he had neglected to zip up to the top. It gave her distracting glimpses of his well-muscled chest and she thought no one would look Thay good in sweats.

“Crap. You’re bleeding.”

Before she registered what was happening, he held her by the wrist and guided her hand up to elevate it while he walked her back inside. On the way, he darted into the kitchen and grabbed a towel to wrap it around the wound before he sat her down on her own couch.

“Do you have a first aid kit somewhere?”

Bewildered by how he took charged immediately, still woozy either from the fall or the alcohol, Finn tried to shake her head clear. “Bathroom. Cabinet under the sink.” She pointed to her right.

“Keep pressure on this.” Ethan hurried off.

She slumped back and stared at the ceiling with its peeling paint, wondering just what had hit her and who was this guy now in her apartment.

He didn’t allow her wonder for long as he returned with her kit. “Here. Let me see how bad it is and whether we have to take you to the hospital.”

“I’m fine,” she protested, but gave her hand over, anyway.

“Mmhmm.” 

His most noncommital reply should rankle her, but for once, she had no comeback as he examined then patched her up with expertise.

“How?” she started.

“Oh, I was up late preparing for things for tomorrow and I heard a crash.” He jerked his thumb toward the wall separating their units. “Thin walls.”

Finn shook her head, then stopped when she found it to be a bad idea. Instead, she raised her hand. “I mean where did you learn to do all this?” And so well at that. 

Ethan laughed. “Oh. I’m a middle school teacher and had all my first aid training. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of troubles and injuries the kids end up getting.”

That explained some things, including the take charge attitude. Also the way he kept saying crap instead of swearing unlike the rest of them. Even Mrs. Hudson down the hall swore.

Ugh, what was a guy like him doing in a neighborhood like this?

It was then she realized he was waiting for a reply from her. Her cheeks heated as it hit her at the same time that he had caught her staring. She cleared her throat. “Well, you should go.” She closed her eyes and steadied herself before facing at him again. “I mean thanks for everything. But you’ve got class in the morning and all. I’ll be fine.”

He glanced around the apartment and Finn’s skin flushed further, this time with embarrassment. It seemed that whenever she ran into him, she came off as a hot mess. Not that she wasn’t one, usually. At least she had been keeping it together for work so far. Her mind was wandering again, but it was hard to keep focus with the pounding headache. 

A smile played over his lips and amusement danced in his eyes. Fuck. Does he think I’m flustered or something?

“Why don’t I help you clean up the glass before I head out?” He rose from his seat on the couch.

Finn hastened to follow, but wobbled as soon as she stood. To her surprise, firm hands steadied her and she looked up to find herself pinned by his dark gaze. And his lips were so very close.

He really was damn good looking.

She really preferred to not be alone tonight.

She leaned in.

As if reading her cue, he did so as well, closing the distance, but instead of meeting her mouth to mouth, he placed a light kiss on her forehead. 

What?

“As much as I would love to kiss you, I’d like it even more if I am sure you still want me to when you’re not under the influence,” he explained. 

There was no sting in his voice, but his words hit her hard, nonetheless. Did she reek that much of booze?

If he read any disappointment in her expression, he didn’t call it out. Instead, he guided her with a gentle but firm hold towards her bedroom. “Why don’t you get some sleep and if you still feel the same in the morning, let me take you out on a date.”

“But…” 

He shook his head to cut off any more of her protests. Before she knew it, he was already helping her lie down. “Rest. I’ll clean up and let myself out.”

She should persuade him to stay. Seduce him or something like that. Instead, she closed her eyes as her befuddled mind shut down and weariness swept over her. For a moment, she tried to recall why she was so afraid of being alone for the night in the first place, but the question dissipated as slumber called her away at last.