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Unless You're a Raccoon
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2025-09-29 00:24:27
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I Will Find You The Good, The Bad, The Ugly
We spent the next hour in the gentle choreography of sick-day survival: a few more sips, a single cracker accepted like a summit treaty, peppermint refreshed, the fan on the noise machine clicked on to crowd favorite, curtains tilted to let in winter light without glare. I cleaned the bathroom without comment, because there are gifts you don’t wrap in words. I swapped her damp pillowcase with one from the closet and made a note to return tomorrow with laundry detergent if she’d let me. I texted Banks to log a sick day for “Ward” and to cover her emails so she wouldn’t feel like she’d abandoned a ship that sails fine without one sailor for a day.Around ten, after a brief, less dramatic return to the bathroom, her body decided to negotiate. The nausea backed down. The headache—the one that blooms behind the eyes on days like this—made a bid for center stage and then pouted when I turned the lights lower. She lay on her side, facing the back of the couch, one hand curled under her jaw l
I Will Find You Sick Day
RemyThe phone rang at 6:02 a.m., slicing clean through the steam of my shower and the quiet that lives before the shop wakes. I almost never get calls that early unless something is on fire—literal or otherwise. I grabbed the towel, hit accept, and said her name before it could turn into a question.“Holland?”A breath. Not the calm, measured one she’s been practicing, but the ragged kind you use when your body is staging a revolt. “I think… the Chinese got me,” she said, voice hoarse and small. “I’m so sorry for calling. I’ve been up since like… three? My stomach is—” She swallowed and I could hear the swallow go wrong. “I’m not going to make it to work.”Worry landed in my chest like a dropped wrench. Pierce went alert—ears-up, nose-forward alert—and then sat back, watchful, waiting for instructions. Sick, he said, not alarm, just assessment. We go. We take care.“Don’t even think about work,” I said, already moving—phone to shoulder, shirt until it didn’t matter which, socks, boot
I Will Find You Soon
She had a blanket draped over the back of the couch, the kind that looks like someone’s grandmother taught someone’s granddaughter how to make it right. A stack of takeout menus, a notebook with a lemon on the cover, and the remote sat on the coffee table like artifacts from a comfortable culture.“Order now or later?” I asked. “I can be persuaded by anything that arrives in paper boxes.”“Let’s order first,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a way that was more practical than coy. “I won’t survive this movie on lemon bars alone. Chinese okay?”“It’s your religion,” I said, and earned a pleased noise I filed under yes, again. She dialed with the ease of a person who already had this plan in her bones before I asked my question upstairs. I loved her for that—having wants, voicing them, letting me meet them instead of guessing.She rattled off an order that sounded like comfort with a side of heat: steamed dumplings, fried rice, broccoli with garlic, General’s chicken
I Will Find You A Soft Place to Land
RemyBy late afternoon the building had that Thursday hum—phones quieting, printers spitting their last forms, the shop rolling toward second shift’s rhythm. I’d signed two fleet renewals, fixed three problems that didn’t need my title to fix, and stared at the email draft to the Council long enough to know I shouldn’t send anything until morning. Pierce paced in me like he does when the day is mostly human: patient, watchful, ears pricked toward a single scent that lives downstairs.Ask her, he said, not in words so much as a push toward the stairwell. But don’t chase.“I know,” I told him, and left the office before I could talk myself into five more responsible tasks. Responsible can be the habit that keeps you lonely.The lobby door was propped with a rubber wedge and the winter air threaded through, carrying metal, coffee, and Holland. She sat behind the counter with a pen tucked into her bun and a crease between her brows that meant someone’s form was lying to her. She looked up
I Will Find You Unless You're a Raccoon
HollandSilence breathed between us, not awkward, just present. I broke it because stillness after a day like today can turn into rumination.“Are you busy?” I asked.“No,” he said. Not for you. Not I can make time. Just no. “Do you want to talk?”“Yes,” I said, relief sliding down my spine in a warm line. “Nothing important. Just—fill the quiet for a minute.”“All right.” He shifted; I could hear the chair creak. “How’s the apartment? Be honest or Banks will find me and demand a postmortem.”“It’s… perfect,” I said, and felt my face do that ridiculous smile thing again. “Comfortable without trying too hard. The couch is a hug. The lemon soap claims to ‘brighten’ and I wanted to be smug about it but it sort of did. George pretended not to notice me, which I found soothing. There’s the cat you mentioned who is not his cat but absolutely his cat.”“He refuses to name the cat,” Remy said. “On principle. Which is how you guarantee that a creature will adopt you out of spite.”“100 percent
I Will Find You Borrowed Quiet
HollandThe Maple Corporate Suites sign looked exactly like Banks promised—so boring it felt like camouflage. A rectangle of brushed metal, a font you forget while you’re reading it. The garage gate lifted after my fob beeped, and I slid into a numbered spot that already felt like it belonged to a person who doesn’t make scenes.George stood at the security desk exactly where the packet said he would, a paperback stacked beside his elbow. He had the kind of face that looks like it’s been practicing neutrality for years, and eyes that missed nothing. A gray tuxedo cat curled on a folded sweatshirt under the counter lifted one paw, decided I was not a threat or a tuna can, and set it down again.“Evening,” George said, as if it were any other day that ended in y. He glanced at my laminate. “Ms. Ward. Third floor, corner. Elevator’s right, watch your step—the second cab starts a tad low, and I don’t want you thinking it’s a trap.”“Thank you,” I said. My voice sounded like me but softer.
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