Chapter Text
In the publishing business it's common to use a pen name. So, that's what Y/N did. She was Sam Greywell whenever her story was a fantasy. Juliet Younstung for romance. Harry Sawyer for Sci-Fi. And last, and by no means least, crime was Taylor Savage. It was almost like having a secret identity. Or four. It was an innocent little secret that didn't harm anyone and actually increased the net for Y/N's audience.
The thing about nerds is that, sometimes, they can be extremely misogynistic, especially those in more 'masculine' circles. To combat that, female writers have a tendency to keep their name and themselves out of the limelight in the hopes that they don't have to come into contact with all the abuse that women get for...being women that have jobs?
Tricking misogynist nerds into reading a book they believed was written by a man worked, and worked well, as Taylor Savage had developed a bit of a following. Her crime books had become quite popular in America, which wasn't all that surprising. Americans love violence. And guns. So her darker, more psychologically troubling books were incredibly popular there for some strange reason that she was reluctant to look further into.
So, she was advised to move there. To enrich herself in the culture. To get the vibe of the suburbs. To feel the fear of random and unprompted acts of violence that she didn't really experience as much in Europe. But to a degree much less than actual war-torn places. Honestly, she just needed to get a seat to observe the chaos .
At first, she'd thought about moving to Gotham. She'd been to Gotham far too many times in her life. Everything always happened there. And with the Joker running around constantly, it basically was a warzone there these days. Her godfather had advised her against it, then in the same breath, recommended Evergreen, Charlton County, as it was safe enough that she could survive on her childhood kickboxing skills and pepper spray but exciting enough to have at least two superheroes patrolling at night.
It was weird. Originally, she'd thought she'd feel somewhat emotional about the move, but once she'd arrived at her new house with the boot of her hire car filled with everything she owned, she realised she didn't really give a shit. Sure, she was going to miss her father; other than that though, she was fine with leaving everything behind.
And it was nice to have a place that was hers. A house that she actually owned, which is somewhat crazy in this housing market, and could turn into whatever she wanted. It had a yard that she could turn into a garden, or add a hot tub, or both. She could paint the walls any colour she wanted. Maybe wallpaper instead? The possibilities were endless and completely overwhelming.
Yet, as she stared around at the piles of boxes around her feet, she sighed, "Fuck this." She turned on her heel, grabbed her purse from where she'd dropped it next to the door, and began her exploration of this new town. She'd find something else to do. Anything else. Anything but shift through possession and wonder why she so quickly decided to fly away and separate herself from everyone she's ever known.
Walking the streets of Evergreen as the sun began to set was beautiful in a strange way. Quiet. Peaceful. There were just a few birds chirping, a few cars passing by, and a gentle breeze. It wasn't quite home, she noted, but it could be. It had the potential to be, given the time. However, Evergreen hid a small sense of familiarity behind its buildings. Every city is the same if you look hard enough. The buildings were all the same. The sky was the same. She was the same, after all.
After walking past five nearly identical coffee shops, she noticed a small yet lively restaurant: Fennel Fields - the home of authentic Italian cuisine, apparently. She entered and was immediately greeted by a man in an apron, a notebook in his hand. He seemed to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. His dark hair was slicked back and his beard was trimmed. His shoulders were wide. His face was classically handsome. He was the type of guy you'd assume would be prom king in high school, the type to rely on a football scholarship, only to injure his Achilles tendon and, therefore, ruin his future of getting professional brain damage on a weekly basis in one fatal kick.
Maybe he was better off as a server. Or maybe Y/N was judging this random stranger before he'd even opened his mouth.
"What can I get you, little lady?" He asked as she sat down. "I'd recommend the eggplant rolls with spinach and ricotta. It's our meal of the day."
'Little lady? Fuck you,' she thought. Maybe her gut judgement was right. It usually was.
Giving the menu before her a quick run-through – one which didn't let her actually absorb any of the words she'd just looked at - impulsively, she ordered, "Tiramisu," before she mentally answered the question, 'Do I even like tiramisu?'
"A dessert girl, eh?" The waiter asked, and she just looked up at him completely expressionless. "Alcoholic?"
Why would he ask such a thing?
"Uh, yeah, I've been to a few, um, what you guys would call AA meetings," she replied, feeling uncomfortable about being asked such a personal thing by a stranger in a restaurant. It was rude, unbelievably so. Then, a realisation dawned upon her. "Ohhh, you mean the food? No, I'll take the non-alcoholic one. That one is the one I, uh, want."
The waiter hummed and jotted her order down without looking at the page before him. "Any drinks? Any caffeine to get you through your evening?"
"Coffee, black, two sugars, please."
Then the waiter was gone and she sat alone at a table, observing everything around her. People watching, as some would call it. There weren't that many other customers. An old lady with her ipad on the table was to her right and the woman had her text so big that Y/N could read all about her grandson's successful surgery without even trying to. A couple who'd very clearly had an argument before their date sat in the corner, neither of them saying anything and giving the other the silent treatment. There was a family near the front of the store that was extremely loud, the two kids wailing incoherently about something.
Finally, her eye landed on the door to the kitchen. It was straight ahead of her and the door was jammed open with a little dog-shaped doorstop just enough that she could see a man dancing whilst washing the dishes. He was completely in the zone, oblivious to the world and to the fact he was being watched by a very entertained customer. He swayed his hips from side to side enthusiastically, almost knocking the hat off his head with his rigorous moves. His left hand swooped up to hold it in place as his right grabbed a wooden spoon from the sink, brandishing it as a makeshift microphone and mouthing along to whatever song was blasting through his headphones.
Surely, in his mind, he was a globe-trotting boy band member who was performing to a stadium filled with thousands and thousands of adoring fans. Yet, in reality, he was simply a busboy having a great time not doing his job. Y/N let her head fall on her hand as she laughed silently. He was adorable, she thought, and she couldn't even see his face. The way he was having the time of his life was infectious and she found herself grinning so much that she was unable to stop. He dramatically jumped around, eyes closed, and did the signature boyband point directly at her. Now that she could see his face - and boy, what a face - she tried to examine his lips to figure out what the hell he was listening to.
Of all the songs that it could possibly be, she was ninety percent sure he was listening to Rihanna .
The dancing man finally opened his eyes and stared straight at her. He froze. His eyes widened in shock and his mouth opened slightly to form an embarrassed smile. After a moment, he sheepishly waved at her.
"Nice moves," she mouthed to him, causing him to playfully roll his eyes.
He regained his motor control and the first port of call was to push his glasses further up his nose with the spoon. It was an attempt to come off as suave, but he ended up poking himself in the eye in the process. He muttered a string of swears that could very easily be heard by everyone in the restaurant, and she was sure that the parents on the other side of the room just held their hands over their child's ears.
Without meaning to be rude, Y/N shoved her palm over her mouth to stifle an obnoxious cackle. How could she not? It was schadenfreude at its finest. But, as soon as he stood up straighter, she raised her hand to give him a thumbs-up as if to say, 'Are you good?'
A deep blush spread to his cheeks as he returned the gesture, and in an attempt to hide that redness, he bent down to pretend to tie his shoelaces despite the fact that they were already in a tight bow. He fiddled with the fabric and took a moment to calm himself before he tried interacting with her again. Yet, when he lifted his head, he realised that she was busy speaking to the guy giving her his meal.
That waiter was Philip. Adrian did not like Philip. Not one bit. Philip was an asshole, that was a thing he knew for sure. Back in their school days, Adrian was bullied a lot, and bullied by Philip, no less. And yet, they both ended up working at the same place so who was the real winner? Neither of them, apparently. But Adrian had one thing that Philip didn't and that was his sick-ass Vigilante moves. Fingers crossed that good ol' Phil would commit a heinous crime and Vigilante could put two bullets in him - one in the middle of the forehead and one straight to the dick.
Adrian wasn't great at reading situations and faces, but he could tell that the woman didn't want to interact with Philip any more than she had to. She was being polite; that was clear. He wasn't getting the memo, however, as he continued to talk to her after he'd placed her meal down.
"My friend calls me Phil," he stated. "What do your friends call you?"
"Y/N."
Her reply sounded robotic to Adrian, but that couldn't be right. Philip was far more socially competent than him, so why wouldn't he pick up on that?
"Y/N, that's a pretty name."
"Oh, thank you." She paused. To further signify that she wanted the conversation to end, she reached into her bag and pulled her laptop onto the table. "I'm, uh, going to get on with my work now."
Philip nodded and walked away quietly, his footsteps echoing as he disappeared. Adrian watched as Y/N's shoulders visibly relaxed now that she was left alone with her food. She glanced around the room once more and failed to notice him since he'd hidden behind the door and was spying through the gap between the wood and the frame like some kind of stalker. His disappearance ensured that she could focus on writing the first draft of her latest commission, only taking breaks to consume her dessert.
Something about the atmosphere there just felt right . The restaurant atmosphere was vibrant enough to be idea-inducing without being too distracting, so it was perfect for writing. She was frequently supplied with top-ups on her coffee. And she kept seeing that cute busboy out of the corner of her eye. She'd have to make it her go-to work spot.
Her focus was interrupted when a cheerful voice asked, "Uh, are you done with those?" and she immediately lifted her gaze to the speaker's face. In front of her was none other than the busboy. Up close, she got a better look at him, and she realised that he had the prettiest face she'd ever seen in her lifetime.
It was goofy, but that was due to his personality shining through his features rather than the features themselves. If anything, he was extremely handsome. The dark brown of his hair, coupled with his bright green eyes, gave him quite an attractive air, especially when paired with the dimples that appeared whenever he smiled, which he did often judging by how deep they were. Even that dumb ass hat that squished his curls somehow made him cuter than he already looked. He seemed to be around her age, maybe a bit older, and there he stood in front of her with a tray stacked with plates resting in the crook of his arm.
"How's the eye?" She asked teasingly, handing her crockery to him. "What were you listening to?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. You must be seeing things."
She reached for a spoon from his tray and hovered it below her mouth, making sure to touch the dirty cutlery to her skin, announcing, "I distinctly remember that a spoon was a very effective microphone." With a smirk still firmly planted upon her face, she held the faux microphone towards him. "Busboy at diner is charged with one count of perjury and five counts of busting it down. How do you plead?"
"Guilty!" he promptly replied, and gently took the spoon from her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers as he lied, "And I have total faith in the justice system, I swear."
"Well, that makes one of us."
Quickly, he scanned around the room, searching for any of his co-workers and if they were looking in his direction or not. As luck would have it, the only person paying attention to him was Philip, and, truthfully, he was mostly looking at Y/N. Wouldn't it be cool if she paid more attention to me than Phil? Adrian thought. This could be a moment for him to get one up on his former bully if he were successful.
Adrian took off his hat, placed it on the table along with his tray, and slid into the seat next to her. "What you writing?"
"A book."
His entire being lit up and he seemed genuinely interested.
"About?"
Turning to him and trying her best crazy face, her grin grew wider and her eyes narrowed as she declared, "Homicide!"
Oh, she was a weirdo too. That's why they were getting along so well. They were kindred spirits, it seemed. And that made him feel good. It wasn't often that someone, a stranger no less, made him feel at ease. Socially, he knew he wasn't the easiest person to interact with, but she made it look effortless just by being herself.
Which also meant that his confidence was building. It had built enough that he'd slithered his arm very subtly to the back of her seat as he retorted, "I love homicide." And his excitement meant that he didn't realise how damning of a statement that was, especially for someone who could be linked to multiple crime scenes with one slip-up. "That tame, sanitised shit or the real, gory, eyeball-popping-out-of-the-socket shit?"
"I'm not a pussy. I just wrote a scene where this mob guy is periodically chainsawing off his victim's body parts. Starting at the dick."
"At the dick?!" Adrian laughed aloud, causing several heads around him to turn. "I have to read this. Can I read about the dick chainsaw? Please? Pretty please?"
Looking like a child about to open their gifts on Christmas, his eyes pleaded with her to give in. And give in, she did. It was a no-brainer. She wanted at least one friend in Evergreen and this guy could fill that role, so showing him the first draft of a really gruesome scene fulfilled his wishes and let her gauge his squeamishness threshold. If they ever got to the point of having movie nights, that information would be very beneficial.
Once she found the correct part of the document, she tilted her laptop towards him and allowed him to scoot closer to get a better look at the screen. As he read, his arm began wrapping further and further around her shoulders until his whole body was pressed against her side. His proximity should've made her uneasy, but it didn't. She couldn't deny it, though – being this near to Adrian felt nice and safe and warm - she could see why she was attracted to him. He smelt nice too; that was a plus.
Whilst he read, she rested her head on both her hands and studied his expressions. The more progress he made, the wider his eyes spread. Occasionally, his eyebrows would raise if he read something that he particularly liked. He looked down at the screen and then back up at her, not understanding how the most beautiful creature he had ever seen had written this horror.
"This is fucked up. Super fucked," he beamed, " Marry me."
The way she wrote seemed familiar to him, as if he had read some of her work before, which was strange since he didn't have much time for reading in his busy schedule. He practically gave it up when he became Vigilante a few years ago. Boy, the last book he could remember reading was 'Guerrilla' by Taylor Savage.
"Seriously, I'll get down on one knee right now. You're a sick, sick woman, and I wanna marry you. My friend Chris can be the witness. Have you been baptised? I have," he gushed, his words leaving his mouth a mile a minute. "Wow. Just wow. I don't know if you get this often, but this reminds me so much of a Taylor Savage novel."
How spot on! Y/N scrolled to the top of the document, where it read, 'Gunpoint Rose By Taylor Savage', and was definitely pleased by the way his jaw dropped.
"You're Savage? I thought Savage was a dude?!"
"It's my super-secret identity. Well, one of them."
A scoff was emitted from his throat. "It's not really super-secret if you tell people who you are. If I went around by a different name, hypothetically speaking, I wouldn't go into restaurants and tell people about it," He rambled, and then paused awkwardly. "Hypothetically, of course, that would blow my cover. What if the person you told went around town spilling the beans? I could tell people now."
She leant closer to him, her smile falling as she whispered, "You could," and looked at him directly in his heart eyes, strangely feeling comfortable doing so. "But who would believe you?"
At that moment, he wished he had his visor on so she couldn't see the dumbstruck expression that was plastered on his face. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he was increasingly close to being noticeably aroused. Before he could say anything, his supervisor appeared and ushered him to work, thus providing him with an excuse for a swift exit. He hurried to his feet and said a very quick, "Bye."
Y/N watched him leave and finally allowed herself to blush, lowering her head and the playful grin returning to her features. It had been a successful interaction in her book. And she hoped to have more with the blushing busboy in the rest of her time in Evergreen.