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huggingkrobus · 2 years

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Your Voice Makes My Ears Bleed

[ ❥ ] PAIRING: Shane x fem!Reader

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[ ❥ ] SYNOPSIS: Shane just wants a night alone at the bar, but God, you just won’t shut up.

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[ ❥ ] WORD COUNT: 1.6k

[ ❥ ] WARNINGS: A sprinkle of angst.

[ ❥ ] INCLUDES: Enemies to lovers :0

[ ❥ ] REQUESTED: Yes

[ ❥ ] NOTES: Unedited, read at your own risk (edit: this is part 1 and I cant think of anything to write for part 2 lol help)

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“9:25,” read the clock.

Like a hostile reminder: “Hey, you’ve been here for hours. You’re really wasting your life away, aren’t you? God, so pathetic.”

He wished he could smash that clock. Throw it to the ground and stomp on it. Probably get a piece of glass stuck in his shoe, then he’d have to buy new ones. That’s the only reasonable thing he could think of as to why he shouldn’t throw that clock off the wall right then and there: he didn’t have enough spare cash for new shoes.

The black-haired boy sat glass in hand, elbows propped against the familiar hardwood. Glossy and warm, accustomed and preciously glazed. Hundreds of rings sat dried on the shine of the bar. He knew they were all his. No one else ever sat there except him.

Maybe Pam. She came there a lot. Maybe she and Shane could have been friends if they’d talked sooner. Now it’s just weird, feels wrong. They’ve gone so long without talking that it’s just a silent agreement between the two of them to leave it at that. So they do.

Today, Pam got to the Saloon after Shane. Not too long after, but it made him feel bad. He never got there before her. Was it this bad?

It was so late at night that he wasn’t expecting anyone else to pay a visit to the Saloon, but the door creaked open again and, in stepped a taller girl beaming with youth. Some may have even described her as ‘perky.’ In fact, Shane was pretty sure Leah actually had.

“Evening, Gus!” you spoke excitedly. Shane cringed and wondered how anyone could be that way willingly. So bright. It’s 9:30 at night, tone it down.

“Good evening. Can I get you anything?” Gus gave his usual spiel while washing dishes to prepare for closing.

You leaned down onto the bar, tipping your straw hat slightly upward to get a better look at the menu, “Hmm,” you stared, scanning every line before looking back at Gus, “You got any Sashimi tonight?”

Shane rolled his eyes and tried not to scoff loud enough for you to hear him. Sashimi? Why would anyone like something like that? It’s just raw fish, how could something get worse than that?

You must have heard him anyways because when he looked back in your direction to continue eavesdropping, all he saw was your eyes looking at his, eyebrows pinched downward with what was either annoyance or anger. He was too drunk to tell.

“You got something against Sashimi, chicken boy?”

He looked at Gus, trying to avoid any sort of confrontation, but Gus didn’t look back. He was busy working.

“Of course, I have something against Sashimi. It’s raw fish and that’s it. How could anyone ever in their right mind-”

And that’s when he noticed you were laughing. A soft and joyful laugh. He was confused.

“I was kidding, I don’t care. Everyone’s got different opinions, I don’t mind. This isn’t even for me anyway. Pierre has had a Sashimi craving for days now, and I can’t seem to get my hands on the stuff.” You looked at him with what he tried to recognize as a sincere smile. All he felt was embarrassed. You looked back at Gus, “So, you got any Sashimi?”

Gus scrubbed a dirty plate and looked disappointed back at you, “Sorry kiddo. We were selling some last night, seems you missed it,” He paused briefly to turn off the sink and dry his hands, “Thankfully for you, I should be getting some more fish soon if Willy hurries up. That man’s been having a rough season, can’t seem to catch anything lately.” Gus leaned against the bar after speaking.

“Yeah, I heard about that. Real shame. Real early spring isn’t good for fishing I’ve heard. The cold’s going away and the fish don’t know where to go.” Gus nodded slowly in response.

After a brief pause, he spoke up again, “On the subject of fish, tonight’s special is fish taco if you’re interested. Might as well eat something before you leave.”

A smile grew on your face, “That sounds great Gus, I’d love one if you don’t mind.”

Gus turned around to begin preparing the taco, “It’s my job!”

Shane tuned the rest out. Boring conversations about things he doesn’t even pay attention to. He picked out a few keywords like ‘Saloon’, ‘coop’, and ‘video game.’ The cheerful and politeness of it all made him almost sick to the stomach. The word ‘chicken’ really brought him back to focus.

“Coop should be done tomorrow!” you started, “Then I’ll head to Marnie’s for a chicken or two.”

“And these are your first chickens?” Gus asked.

“Yes sir!”

“Shane here is an expert at all things chickens,” Gus pointed slowly at Shane while grilling a fish, “He may not look it, but I assure you he’s the guy to go to when you have questions.”

You glanced back to Shane with what he thought was a scowl in his drunk mind, “I don’t know if he’s the best to go to for advice,” You looked back at Gus to point at Shane, “Look at him,” you attempted to whisper, “I think I got this.”

And he knew that was personal. It’s not like you didn’t know each other. You definitely did. And that’s what made it hurt more. Your history wasn’t good, but it was long. Sophomore year of high school, chemistry class. You sat right next to each other. A copy and paste next to a guy in a stained hoodie. A recipe for disaster.

Your teacher was too dumb to see that this was a bad idea.

You hated him because he talked about chickens too much. He hated you because your lip gloss smelled like cupcakes, and it made him want to throw up. You hated him because his boots always had dirt on them. He hated you because your thousands of pens and highlighters always spilled onto his desk.

We could go on.

It was the little things at first, but they piled up fast. Before Shane met you, he was sure he would never have the heart to kill someone with his own hands, but by the end of the year, he was quite certain he was capable of murder.

You had no reason to hate each other now. Sure, you still wore that lip gloss, and sure, he still talked about chickens too much, but most of the stuff he hated back then had faded, right?

But when you said what you had said he knew you were no different. Old habits die hard, he guessed.

Usually, he would choose to ignore it. But this time he was drunk. And he was very bored. And you looked extra punchable today.

“I’m right here,” he said.

You smiled devilishly, knowing precisely what you were doing, “I know.”

“You think just because I’m a sad drunk you can say stuff like that to me and it won’t affect me,” He stood up from his barstool and drank the rest of whatever alcoholic contraption was in his glass, “You think just because we’ve been doing this for years that it’s still okay? I’ve been trying to change you know,” he moved closer to you, and you backed away as much as you could on a barstool, “Clearly you haven’t. I thought you’d be mature enough by now to have realized that’s not okay. Now that I’m an adult and I’m not okay. We’re not teenagers anymore.” his speech barely slurred, and as he began rounding the corner, he could feel it.

The dizziness kicked in, and he knew it was coming. His stomach churned, and before he could think, he ran out the Saloon door to the closest trash can.

And he vomited. This taste was familiar to him; the sourness that coated his tongue. It was a part of the routine. Get mad at yourself, drink, get mad at the world, drink, vomit, repeat.

His stomach felt empty. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket and sat on the stairs of the Saloon. The door creaked open behind him, and you sat down next to him.

“Hey.”

He didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry about that. Seriously.”

He didn’t even look at you.

“I didn’t think you’d get that hurt by it.”

He didn’t even want to look at you.

“I mean, you talk about chickens a lot, so I guess it’s pretty obvious you’d get hurt by a comment like that.”

Maybe it was the embarrassment.

“Still, I’m sorry.”

Or maybe it was because he hated you.

“Shane.”

Or maybe it was the sound of your voice.

“Christ, Shane, stop being so childish, why won’t you-”

And so he did the only thing that would shut you up. Maybe if he thought about it more he would realize that after he did it you would talk even more. Thinking ahead wasn’t his forte.

He kissed you. Quickly, only for a few seconds. But he put his lips on yours without thinking and it didn’t feel wrong.

He was the one to break away. He kept a hand cupped on your cheek for a few seconds until you pushed him away to speak.

“Goddamnit Shane, you taste like vomit!” You yelled, standing up from the stairs to walk a few feet away from where he was sitting. You crossed your arms, “Why did you do that? Do you hate my voice that much?”

“Read my mind.”

You rolled your eyes and stormed away, “Jesus Christ, you are insane.”

And so he sat on the cold, concrete stairs. Alone.

He’ll apologize tomorrow.

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[ ❥ ] ~ HUGGING KROBUS

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