I needed to write some more angst (despite writing another one-shot early this morning), so here's another old idea of mine that became a little more personal as I worked on it.
I was reliving my childhood one day and this probably shouldn't have been in my childhood, but I believe it shaped my love for murder mystery books. I wasn't even halfway through watching gameplay for Volume 1 when I came up with this idea.
S/O to "My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys" for being played on a loop during the writing process.
And apparently, the last episode was released 10 years ago on this date, so perfect timing.
Disclaimers - I have yet to finish watching the gameplay for the rest of the game. I'm about to start Volume 8 as of publishing this. Apologies for any plot holes or OOC cause this takes place at the end of the series. Lastly, the cover art is by Molliartsie :)
Out of Habit:
As if his body is operating on autopilot, Mal awakes before his alarm deafens him into cardiac arrest. He's unsure of the actual time except that it's way too early for him to be awake. What day is it? He doesn't know except that he's supposed to go to work today. His body would never wake up earlier than the sun on the weekend or crack as if he didn't move at all during his sleep.
Despite stumbling out of bed, as he always does, he makes his way into the kitchen. He's done his morning routine enough times where, even when viciously hungover after late nights at the bar, he could make his way to the kitchen. He takes out two cold mugs from the cupboard and puts one on the rest in the coffee machine. He fills the machine with water and pours in some ground beans he always preps in advance.
Why doesn't he use a carafe if he's making two cups? Why doesn't he get a new coffee machine with not only a carafe option, but one with an automated timer? That way, he could stumble into the kitchen and have the coffee ready for him to pour into two cups.
Because, as with making two cups of coffee even after Sandra left him, some old habits were too stubborn to break. The human body is odd like that, choosing to remember certain actions and memories while repressing other ones. At least if he broke the habit of making Sandra a cup every morning, he'd save money on coffee and not suffer from a caffeine crash before noon after having drank double the caffeine.
Also, the coffee machine and his mugs weren't broken, so why replace what isn't broken? Besides, what really broke when Sandra left wasn't fixable at the time. He wasn't making her a coffee anymore.
"Don't you dare drink mine."
He would never drink hers. At least, not anymore. He did at the start when she started sleeping over because, well, old habits.
Mal turns towards the kitchen entrance and sees Natara wearing one of his oversized tees that drapes over most of her body. Ironically, it had the same faded tourist picture of the Golden Gate Bridge as one of the mugs. He wonders if the mug and the shirt came together, but he doubts it. Her dark hair barely kept and sleep still in her eyes; she had never looked more beautiful.
"Your alarm awoke me," Natara tells him as she walks into the kitchen.
"Sorry," Mal responds. Again, not the first time that's happened.
Loving someone doesn't mean you're never going to make mistakes … but sometimes you work around them. At least they share a similar work schedule and work at the same precinct.
Natara stands beside him as the coffee machine finishes the first cup's—the bridge cup— brew. Mal passes it to her and Natara smiles softly as she takes the warm mug in both her hands. She looks up at him, the steam from the brew evaporating to both their faces as they look at each other.
Mal holds her shoulder, the fabric of her— or his— shirt so thin on her body that he could feel the jagged scars that adorned her body before they met. Natara's eyes sharpen a little as she looks into his, keeping her gaze locked on him as she blows on her coffee and sips it. A small satisfactory noise escapes her lips before she smiles.
"Extra bitter, I like it," Natara tells him. "It's almost as if you purposely left yesterday's beans in there."
Natara kisses him and his hand that was on her shoulder travels down her arm. He tastes the brew on her lips and wants to savour it forever, but she parts. She puts the cup down on the counter beside the machine and hugs him. Both her arms wrap around his neck as his body automatically envelopes her against him. It was almost as if he initiated the hug because he holds her so tight, never wanting to let go of her.
At first, Natara told him that he was grieving the end of his relationship with Sandra. It made sense at the time, it was so abrupt that she cheated on him and didn't stand a chance at winning her back. His "mythical soft spot," as Natara called her, would always have an important place in his heart because Sandra was his high school sweetheart, his first love, and his wife before it all came crashing down.
But Mal told Natara that despite that, he was amazed that they lasted as long as they did. Sometimes he could be an optimist and sadness is just as important as happiness.
Even then, Natara always offered a presence for him to talk to.
He could always depend on Natara. He would always be impressed by Natara.
They've been through so many terrible things before they even met. There are so many lives and stories under the scars on her shoulder.
Hell, Sandra already knew he was falling for Natara, probably already fell for her. Look at him: a man who fell for a woman who feared anything related to love.
And that was just the start.
Mal always brought her coffee in their early mornings at the precinct. Although she prefers a dark black roast, he would always jokingly get her a coffee with lots of milk and sugar. The first time that occurred, she asked why, and he told her that based on his experience in this line of work, it's a good enough whisky replacement while on the clock. Natara loved his sarcasm although he was being dead serious. She still drank it every single time.
Sometimes, Mal would come home so drunk from nights at the bar with Jeremy, Kai, Ken, Diego or Blaise that he showed Natara his police badge as ID since she would sometimes still be in her work pantsuit with her badge clipped on her, even that late at night. She tried to get his jacket off since he made it home and he was sweating, but his arms were too heavy to cooperate.
They've shared so many stories of their lives before police work. A lot of embarrassing childhood tales from dumb crushes to lying to their parents about benign things like not breaking something in the house or why they were late coming home from school.
Other times, they would slow dance in their bedroom with an unmade bed. Either they were too lazy to make it or it was laundry day and the new set of sheets were thrown in the middle of the mattress. There was a moment where Natara walked in with a fresh comforter but Mal was laying on the bed and wanted her next to him so she just threw it on his desk before jumping in beside him.
Often enough, they would be lying in bed after a long day at work, tired and tangled in each others arms. Natara would swear she wasn't tired, say she wouldn't take a nap, and then fall asleep. Mal wouldn't dare move, even when his legs went numb under the pressure of hers. Aside from never wanting to ruin her peaceful sleep, before they were more or less spending most of their days and nights and either or's place, he didn't want her to leave.
One of his favourite memories was a night where they were just lying next to each other. They didn't speak, but he was feeding her some cheap candies from a convenience store on the corner.
And then he gets moments like this: being so plagued by his thoughts and love that an embrace and her rubbing his back weaken yet empower him. He copies the gesture as he kisses the side of her mouth, resting his head in the nook of her shoulder with the scars. Maybe she needed to be comforted as well, he'd always tell himself. Look at him: receiving love and comfort from a woman who never wanted to fall in love because she was scared of the concept.
"I love you," Natara tells him. She knows he needed to hear those words.
She traces both sides of his jaw with one hand, tickling his stubble. A habit of hers that he's loved since the moment she started it. He isn't sure if he's ever told her, but he imagines she knows. Natara is a profiler: she's the best of the best when it comes to character analysis.
"Finish brewing your cup and then meet me back in the bedroom," Natara tells him. "As much as I would love to keep the hug going because I know you need it, I have to finish last night's profiling because you were too busy examining mine."
Mal laughs a little. "You kept studying me too, Nat."
"I always love the revision sessions."
Natara parts from the hug and takes her coffee. Thankfully, her cup was still warm albeit without steam emitting the surface. Mal starts the brew on his cup as he watches her go back to his room that became theirs with the more nights she spent over.
Mal almost told Natara how he felt earlier. If he did, would they be here today? Early mornings in his kitchen drinking the badly brewed coffee she loves so much that he wouldn't change one thing about it. He would've held back every burning sentiment he had towards her for the longest time possible if it meant he could stay in that hug forever.
Thank you to anyone who has read this story. Please let me know what you thought. If you have a story idea that you want me to write or a story that you want me to beta, don't be afraid to ask!
~ MysteryGal5