"Right?" Sport replies, voice all quiet like they're the only two people in the room.
"Right." Freddy's tongue wets his lips, searching for the next line. "So she's got most of the same powers as Superman, only she's a girl. Like a teenager. She saves the world and tries to stay hopeful."
Sport's smile is so small and private. Freddy wishes he would ratchet up his bravado again, stop the shop from shrinking around them until he has nowhere to go but down. "That sounds pretty good to me. You got another copy kicking around?"
"I can check." Brown cuts in.
"Wow now!" Sport steadies him with a hand on an arm. "He's the stock guy, right? Ain't he supposed to check the stock?"
Freddy doesn't wait for permission. He sets the boxes down at his feet and walks over to the boxes just opposite from the counter. He flips through for ten seconds before he finds an issue from the start of a two year old run that he remembers being pretty good. "Here, start with this one."
When Sport reaches out to take it from him, his fingers slip over the top of Freddy's and he grips tight for all the time it takes to blink before taking the comic to the counter.
Freddy's hand feels like it's been dipped in hot wax.
Letting out a low whistle, Sport reaches for his wallet. "This one must be popular. She's sexy."
"She's a kid." Vega says, flatly.
Sport shrugs. "Age is just a number, my friend."
"I ain't your friend."
"Sure you're not." Sport grins at him. "How much?"
"A dollar." Brown takes the cash, and all the while Freddy is standing there, his hand clutched against his stomach and the stock box waiting to head into the backroom.
On his way out the door, Sport turns back to them all to doff the air where his hat should be. His eyes linger on Freddy, warm and deep and Freddy could swear the affection in his face is real. "Y'know, if this guy ain't paying you enough, I got ways to fix that."
"Stop trying to poach my staff!" Brown sneers. Sport slips out the door without another word.
The long beat of silence between the three of them is deeply uncomfortable. Freddy is the one to break it, rushing over to his box and trying to get the door open to vanish into the backroom.
"What a creep." Brown hisses, under his breath.
Vega nods. "Orange, stay away from him."
"I'll try." Freddy replies, meekly. It's the first time he's spoken to the guy directly since the afternoon he came in when Brown wasn't around.
The backroom is even colder than the main floor, but there's no one around to see Freddy sink to the floor, clutching the box to his chest and trying to slow his heartbeat down.
The Cabots, Sport. Fucking New York City. He can't breathe. He has to get out. There's nowhere else to go.
Distantly, the sound of Brown and Vega's continued negotiations permeate the thin wooden door. They go back and forth and back and forth and it doesn't do Brown any good. He still gets saddled with the same proportion of the agreed sum he has to launder as any other week. Like they're gonna get a single legit customer when the place stinks and the street stinks and everything stinks.
Freddy stays in the backroom till he moves past shivering and decides he needs to move before he gets frozen in place. As he rises to his feet, the faint static building at the back of his mind becomes a real world sound, peppering the windows as the rain comes down, ready to flood the drains.
Re: Sport/Orange - shady skeevey stuff - 11b/?
"Right." Freddy's tongue wets his lips, searching for the next line. "So she's got most of the same powers as Superman, only she's a girl. Like a teenager. She saves the world and tries to stay hopeful."
Sport's smile is so small and private. Freddy wishes he would ratchet up his bravado again, stop the shop from shrinking around them until he has nowhere to go but down. "That sounds pretty good to me. You got another copy kicking around?"
"I can check." Brown cuts in.
"Wow now!" Sport steadies him with a hand on an arm. "He's the stock guy, right? Ain't he supposed to check the stock?"
Freddy doesn't wait for permission. He sets the boxes down at his feet and walks over to the boxes just opposite from the counter. He flips through for ten seconds before he finds an issue from the start of a two year old run that he remembers being pretty good. "Here, start with this one."
When Sport reaches out to take it from him, his fingers slip over the top of Freddy's and he grips tight for all the time it takes to blink before taking the comic to the counter.
Freddy's hand feels like it's been dipped in hot wax.
Letting out a low whistle, Sport reaches for his wallet. "This one must be popular. She's sexy."
"She's a kid." Vega says, flatly.
Sport shrugs. "Age is just a number, my friend."
"I ain't your friend."
"Sure you're not." Sport grins at him. "How much?"
"A dollar." Brown takes the cash, and all the while Freddy is standing there, his hand clutched against his stomach and the stock box waiting to head into the backroom.
On his way out the door, Sport turns back to them all to doff the air where his hat should be. His eyes linger on Freddy, warm and deep and Freddy could swear the affection in his face is real. "Y'know, if this guy ain't paying you enough, I got ways to fix that."
"Stop trying to poach my staff!" Brown sneers. Sport slips out the door without another word.
The long beat of silence between the three of them is deeply uncomfortable. Freddy is the one to break it, rushing over to his box and trying to get the door open to vanish into the backroom.
"What a creep." Brown hisses, under his breath.
Vega nods. "Orange, stay away from him."
"I'll try." Freddy replies, meekly. It's the first time he's spoken to the guy directly since the afternoon he came in when Brown wasn't around.
The backroom is even colder than the main floor, but there's no one around to see Freddy sink to the floor, clutching the box to his chest and trying to slow his heartbeat down.
The Cabots, Sport. Fucking New York City. He can't breathe. He has to get out. There's nowhere else to go.
Distantly, the sound of Brown and Vega's continued negotiations permeate the thin wooden door. They go back and forth and back and forth and it doesn't do Brown any good. He still gets saddled with the same proportion of the agreed sum he has to launder as any other week. Like they're gonna get a single legit customer when the place stinks and the street stinks and everything stinks.
Freddy stays in the backroom till he moves past shivering and decides he needs to move before he gets frozen in place. As he rises to his feet, the faint static building at the back of his mind becomes a real world sound, peppering the windows as the rain comes down, ready to flood the drains.