dedication: to Michelle 'coz she's the Lucy to my Natsu. And to Les 'coz she ships Gruvia, like, that much. Also 'coz I've known her (kinda more like watched from the shadows) for almost five years now since we were both awkward fangirls (still are).
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hollow point
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.1
It's going to rain.
Juvia stares beyond the foggy glass of the window and sighs, because it seems the weather report has lied again. She hates the rain and gloomy weather; it reminds her of messed up childhoods and shattered first loves. And so, she abandons the freshly made cup of tea sitting on the counter, steaming with wispy clouds that taunt and mock her. Instead, she chooses to rest her face in the comforting fabric of her over-sized sweater.
The perpetual aroma of dried leaves and exotic herbs were starting to give her a sizable headache. Well. That's what she gets for working in a tea shop five days a week.
The bell on the door jingles; Juvia barely looks up in time to witness the customer stroll in, classic sneakers thudding softly on the polished wood floor, almost floating. He glides to the register, swift and silent, like a blur.
Finally.
It's a wonder this store manages to stay afloat with only the odd patron walking in every several hours. (Turns out, most of the people that decide to come in only do so for the free samples.)
There is a head of tousled charcoal hair, messy but tame all at once, that connects to a face that is prettier than it is handsome. And then, those eyes. Oh—those dark, haunting eyes. Juvia feels the temperature drop significantly, and somehow, she swears, her veins freeze.
"Hey," the stranger starts. And she is not proud to admit that she shudders. But still, she does, because his voice kind of sounds like death and clouds and the calm before the storm.
Juvia loses her own voice, and merely nods meekly in acknowledgment.
"What do recommend?" is his inquiry. He tilts his head to the side, and she almost wants to hide somewhere.
"Um, it depends," and in all honesty, she is rather disappointed in how feeble she makes herself to be. She clears her throat, beating her chest with mild force. There, that should do it. "What is the occasion?"
His blacker-than-black eyes shift back to her from the box of a random display he seemed interested in, and he answers, "Something that helps you sleep."
"I hear chamomile works—"
"Good, I'll take a pound."
And then he slaps a large bill onto the counter top's wood finish before she can even calculate the cost, hand pausing slightly as she punches the numbers into the register. Sliding the neatly packaged bag towards him, she eyes the strange customer with caution and interest. He's looking around the shop, eyebrows neither furrowed nor raised, and she finds that he almost looks quite bored.
"I'm sorry, just out of curiosity," Juvia brushes a strand of indigo hair behind her ear and takes her time returning his change. "What's your name?"
He blinks, slowly, and says, "Gray."
"Like the color, right?"
The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly. "Not much of a color."
And so, Juvia stares at this man, who is all black and white, and thinks vaguely to herself, what a fascinating person.
Gray looks out the window and clicks his tongue, shoving a hand in the pocket of his black jeans. (It's funny that he decided to wear those with a blazer and a dress shirt.) He is sans a tie, so she notices the glint of a silver cross where his neck is exposed courtesy of an unbuttoned collar. Juvia has a hobby (not really); it involves her blatantly staring at random people, but that's just her observing them. She likes to pick out all the little details that make a person's back story.
(It's a pretty fun hobby when you don't have many friends.)
"Looks like the rain's lightened up." He comments, grabbing his bag. "See y'round, Juvia."
Juvia stops short and glances down at the front of her sweater. And then, her blood runs cold because she realizes she had forgotten her employee name tag today.
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Lucy sighs, dragging her feet on her way out of the classroom. Blowing stray strands of gold from her eyelashes, she digs her way into her bag for her bus pass. There's a hole in her new tights (where her thigh is), she completely failed her last astronomy midterm, there is what feels like a rock in her boot, and on top of all that it's drizzling (she is sans an umbrella, obviously).
Oh, great, now her bus pass has decided to disappear.
"Lovely," she mutters, shielding her head with the sleeve of her jacket. What could be worse than being stuck on campus at night in the rain with no way of getting home? (Actually, she could list many things...)
"'Scuse me."
Lucy looks up and blinks at the smooth voice. There is a young man with dusty pink hair, clad in a slim-fitted white suit (plus scarf), holding an umbrella upright.
Pink hair.
White suit.
These are the type of people she doesn't want to associate with. Weird people who decide to bother irritated people (like herself) at the wrong time. He looks completely clueless, and she really doesn't want to have to be mean to him, but she isn't a charity either.
"Can you point me in the direction of Astronomy 001 with Professor Scorpio?" He asks. There is an easygoing smile planted on his lips, though most of his expression remains masked. But somewhere, peeking out from the falsely dulled façade, is something wicked, warm but dangerous (like fire).
Lucy raises an eyebrow slowly. Professor Scorpio's night class (which she just came from) is his last section of the day, so why...?
She could run. She really could.
But then, he cocks his head (as if reading her thoughts), and there is a threatening glint in his eyes that shine almost green for a second, as if to say just try it.
It takes her only a moment to realize that her voice has disappeared somewhere (along with her bus pass).
He smiles wider, crooked and amused, like he had just solved a difficult puzzle. "You're Lucy Heartfilia, aren't ya'?"
"No," she quickly denies, shaking her head.
"A lady shouldn't lie," he drawls, stepping closer. "You're gonna have to come with me, Miss Lucy."
She swallows, hard and thick, wishing she had pepper spray or a rape whistle, at least. She had read many articles on the trafficking of young woman (around her age, really) and none of them had a happily ever after at the end.
"And if I don't?" Lucy raises her head, pushing out her chin in a dignified manner. She may seem brave now, but putting up a shaky fight doesn't seem as good an idea as she had thought.
He even laughs, a hearty laugh, like she had just finished telling him a well-constructed joke. But he stops suddenly, and the fire in his eyes (along with the severity of his tone) is enough to sink her heart of all the hope she may or may not have been clinging on to in sad, sad desperation. "Then I'll shoot you in the legs and carry you, myself."
And it would only take a fool not to know he isn't joking.
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Her cellphone rings for the fifth time.
"Hello?" She answers, sleepy and not really bothering to check Caller ID.
"Juvia."
Ah. Rubbing her eyes, she lifts her head to check the time on her Hello Kitty wristwatch. 9:25PM.
"Oh, Gajeel, I'm still working—"
"Juvia, shut up and listen."
She wakes up a little more at the urgency in his voice that rumbles deeply on the other side of the line. It's very unlike him to sound so... nervous.
"They know that I'm living with you."
Juvia frowns hard, unconsciously pushing the phone closer to her ear. Over the course of the three months the two have been splitting the rent for a small apartment, she hadn't known (or even suspected) it was a secret. And one that wasn't supposed to be found out by certain people, apparently.
"Wait, what—Who?"
"Doesn't matter. Just—Hold on, did a guy with spiky black hair come in today, real quiet?"
Juvia scowls even further, thinking back to the strange customer earlier that day."Yes, but..."
"Shit..."
"Gajeel?"
"You need to get out of there. Stay at a friend's place, find a hotel, whatever, just don't go home."
At this point, she must have felt over fifty different emotions wash over her in a wave of a three seconds. Most of them, she couldn't exactly pinpoint, but she did recognize two very blaring ones: confusion and fear.
It takes her another moment to realize that Gajeel had already hung up, so she shoves the phone into her back pocket and scrambles to gather her belongings. Her cup of tea, already chilled, sits untouched on the counter.
"Sol, I'm leaving early today!" Juvia calls out to her manager. There is no reply, but she doesn't hesitate to give the door a firm push anyway. The bell jingles, and Juvia is greeted by a rush of cold air that pushes back the hair on her face. The lingering scent of asphalt after the rain teases her nose.
Gajeel's words echo and whisper, tickling her ears with uncertainty, and so she opts to sing a happy song in her mind and jog to the back parking lot. (A gray car, a gray car—look for a gray car.) It's hard to see anything at night in the city, even if artificial lights litter every corner. But there are two figures barely visible underneath the dim brightness of the street lamp in the lot, and immediately Juvia knows both of them.
One is her manager, Sol, and the other...
(Her veins freeze over, frostbitten.)
Gray inhales, deep and relaxed, and the orange glow of his cigarette pulses once before he tosses it to the concrete and stomps on it. His arm drags upward, lazily, and he aims something at the other male, nonchalant and bored as always, as if casually offering him a hit. It's moments like this when the world seems to stop spinning on its axis, and you don't really know what to do but watch. All Juvia sees in these next four seconds that feel like a lifetime include Sol's twisted face crying in anguish, the lights flickering above, and the shiny metal of the gun in Gray's hand.
And then, she only registers the soft curve of his lips before his finger slowly squeezes the trigger, smoke pouring out like hot lava. Her heart stops when there is a flash of blinding lights and colors, and a deafening shot rings out, echoing far into the distance. And for what feels like a century, the bells in her ears reverberate and block out all other sounds of the night. The shockwave ripples through her entire being, down to the very bone.
Oh, she is afraid.
Because Gray stands there in the smoke from his shot, like an artist who has just painted the streets with a masterpiece.
Sol slumps to the ground with a dull thud, and Juvia feels her knees crumple under the weight of her own body. There is a hole in his head, blown off face of the earth (no—it's all over the place, staining the walls and the streets and her car), and every where she looks is redredred. She sits, eyes wide in a flurry of emotions, but she does not scream. (For if she does, she might not be able to stop.)
Moments of earsplitting silence pass by, and then Gray's hollow footsteps stop before her. Juvia flinches and exhales, shaky breaths, not really knowing where to look. (But his serene expression almost calls to her.)
And she doesn't know what to think when those cold, icy orbs land on her cowering figure, and the barrel of the revolver, still hot from its last round, is aimed right between her watery, blue eyes.
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[You have (7) missed call(s).]
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