Want — A Dempsey

You’re beginning to think that A has an eye for hidden gems. First the flower show and now the dimly lit café they’ve taken you to. Some would say it’s an acquired taste, you would call it quaint. The café’s decor somewhat reminds you of the flower show you were at previously, with it twinkling fairy lights, perfectly architected wooden beams, and it’s signature ivy detailing. As the door opens, the bell above it pleasantly chimes.

The two of you tuck into a booth in the corner, one that’s away from prying eyes but also the chilly wind that floats in whenever the door opens. “How did you find this place?” you ask, beginning settle into your cushioned seat.

A’s hazel eyes glance around for a moment. Their fingertips glide up their chest to fiddle and unbutton their trench coat. “I found it randomly,” they reply, “after a night shift at the Everbrook.”

The human/supernatural organisation the two of you work for. It’d be a lie if you both said stress wasn’t somewhat in your job specification; yet working for such a company that happens to be the bridge between the human and supernatural world—it’s a privilege.

“It was around half past seven in the morning,” A begins, their coat on the back of the chair now, “and I needed somewhere to unwind that wasn’t at home.” The way their brows crease show that the memory they’re recalling is a somewhat difficult one. “It was a bad night. Really bad.”

Your lips purse together. On one hand, you’d love to pry and find out more. On the other, getting this far with A feels like an accomplishment. Them talking to you without instantly wanting to turn away, them being near you, spending time with one another, especially in a capacity like this. 

The former hand of cards end up winning.

“What happened?”

A places their hands on the table. They jab a callous on their hand, their brows furrow that bit more. Their forehead creases, it’s almost as though the feeling of that night is bubbling up again. If it was anyone else, A would’ve changed the subject by now, or even had let the silence wear out until it became uncomfortable. But, considering it’s you…they’ll divulge.

“I was out with Zeren,” A begins. You give a small nod, you know Zeren. Apart from the others, she’s the closest person to A. The one they’d practically call their best friend, if they’d ever let themselves admit such a thing. “We were assigned a particular case.”

You give a nod. A’s job at the Everbrook is as a hunter; to bring in criminals, rogue supernaturals, those who are somewhat society’s biggest threats. They do that with Zeren as their partner.

“A difficult case?” you question.

There aren’t many things A uses as a crutch, something to hold onto to keep them from swaying into an unwanted emotion. Not alcohol or cigarettes…maybe complete avoidance and sarcasm, at a push; but nothing concrete. It’s now that A would like that crutch.

Their hazel eyes meet yours, and there’s once again, the genuine wonder as to whether this is something to share. Zeren of all people kept the events of that night to herself, more so that people at the Everbrook wouldn’t gossip, but for her own sanity too.

“It was a murder case,” A says after a long pause. “The job’s simple: you find him, bring him in, let the law department deal with the legalities.” They lean back in their seat. “It didn’t go like that.”

The expression on A’s face is no longer one of solemn, but anger suddenly flashes in their eyes, entangled with a look of regret. “Zeren got hurt on my watch. A murderer slipped away.” Their fists clench. “I know every hunt won’t be perfection, but Zeren’s life was almost taken and I almost had to live with that.”

A isn’t necessarily the person you offer comfort to, you know that—or at least not in a situation like this. You can’t tell them that Zeren is probably still alive thanks to them, or that the murderer that slipped through their fingers will be caught the next time around. 

It’s not the way to get through to them.

But, there’s a certain dessert that will.

“You still like cheesecake, right?” you ask randomly.

Their brow arches. “I do. So?”

The corner of your mouth turns upwards. “Let’s share some. My treat.”

—

There are two things that are the way to A’s heart. Coffee and cheesecake. So you insist on getting them both, much to their dismay. Your hot drinks and two forks are placed in front of you, alongside a slice of cheesecake.

You indulge in the dessert first, non-verbally inviting A to do the same. It takes a long moment before they speak again. It’s after a sip of coffee, two, as if it’s liquid luck to give them the courage to ask their question. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” 

You almost laugh. It’s classic A Dempsey to think that niceties come with a price, to be something not ‘just’ done, but also with a hoop to jump through. 

“You were nice first,” you throw back. “Last time I checked, you’re the one who asked me out.”

There’s something of a smile that A presents you as thye twist their fork between their fingers. “I did,” they say before frowning slightly. “I might’ve killed the mood a bit but…”

You shake your head vigorously. “You didn’t,” you say quickly. “You were being open and honest.” You blink. “I think I’ve always wanted that from you,” you add softly.

The last of your words make A lose their appetite, somewhat. Something a sweet treat can’t bring back. Honest is a word you could use to describe A, and maybe they’re a little too honest at time. Open…that isn’t something in their vocabulary. It’s as rare, some would say as rare as pig flying, but, then again—they’re not people who are in A’s inner circle. 

You are.

“And this date was something you wanted too?” they question, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

You can sense A’s feeling, and you’re quickly wracking your brain for a way to make them feel at ease. Coffee and cheesecake was the only thing in your locker. That opened up a portion of A, but if you’re wanting to go deeper, a new tactic is needed. You’re almost worried that you’re out of cards and out of tricks. 

But, if this is about vulnerability and being open, maybe setting a portion of your heart on the line is what’s needed today. 

You nod. “For a while I’ve wanted it,” you admit.

“Since when?”

You cock your head to the side, almost wondering whether A’s taking advantage. It’s not like them to throw back to back questions in someone’s direction. They lace their fingers together. 

“I only ask because I’ve been thinking about it for a while too,” they say rapidly, dispelling your negative thoughts. Their eyes then soften, the warm brown taking over the green for a split second. 

“Since when?” you throw back, hoping that you will get the answer you’re craving. 

A brings their cup to their hands, letting it warm them. “Since…” they begin, trailing off, deep in their thoughts, “there wasn’t immediate sarcasm on the tip of my tongue when you spoke to me. Or, when your name slowly began appearing in my journal entries.”

They avoid your gaze. “I don’t know,” A continues. “Truthfully, it crept up on me. And I’ve never been good with…emotions.”

You watch them in awe, a smile spreading across your mouth. “Believe it or not, I think you’re doing a great job right now.”

A doesn’t agree. They’re the same person that was raised to believe that putting your heart on the line is a show of weakness. Cowardice. Some of the worse things A could ever be…yet, they don’t feel like that at this moment. Sure, they feel exposed, but there isn’t too much negativity paired with that.

“Don’t let it get to your head or anything,” A declares, a scoff escaping their mouth soon after. “The Gods would hate it if you developed an ego.”

You chuckle. “I’d like to think they’d let me off this time.”
—
After leaving the café, there isn’t really a destination in mind for you and A to go to. But, before long, you realise you’re both walking back to your apartment. The silence between you is somewhat comforting—well, you’d call it that. No words spoken, but the Lehsian traffic keeps things sounding lively.

Yet, all A can do is overthink. Overthink how this date went, overthink as to whether they’ve overshared, or whether this date was a good idea at all. For what seems like their whole life, there’s the feeling that they’re unlovable, that people with either get frustrated, or bored, or pissed at being kept at an arm’s length—and leave them.

Leave for A to be alone in a world they’ve tried so hard to navigate, in a way that’s like moving pieces on a chessboard.

But, maybe there are people that can’t be pushed away. The more you push, the more they’ll dig. Like a detective with a lead on a case. They’ll dig until they’ve hit a treasure chest, until they’ve found the jackpot. Until A’s guards are down enough and you’re fully able to reap the reward.

The others did it. Zeren did it. And, if we’re going in chronological order, you’ve been next to do it. Or, you’re at least on the cusp of breaking down the demi-god/dess’s walls.

“This is me,” you say, interrupting A’s thoughts as you both find yourselves outside your gate.

They stand opposite you, less than a few feet apart and look up to your window. They’ll practically be fine with looking at anything other than your eyes. A leans forward and unhooks your gate for you, gently pushing it open.

They give a curt nod. “Thanks for this afternoon,” they utter. “For the company and etcetera.”

“Etcetera?” You cringe. “Really?”

A rolls their eyes before groaning. “Which part of ‘I don’t do emotions’ did you not understand?” 

You take a step forward. “And which part of ‘you’re doing fine’ did you not understand?” you shoot back, brow raised in a challenging manner, ready for this (playful) argument to fully breakout in the middle of your street.

A sighs. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.

Confidence. There isn’t going to be anything to stop A overthinking these few hours with you, so they may as well do what they’re thinking.

A leans forward, even if it is tentatively, tilts their head and places a soft kiss on your cheek. Your eyes flutter closed at the action. A lingers beside you, their head next to yours, their warm breath hitting your cheek and there’s the immediate feeling of them wanting to rest their head on your shoulder.

But they pull back. They go to straighten up, that is until your hands find their way to their jacket. It’s a gentle grip, enough to keep them in place, enough for you to turn your head. A move forward and your nose would be brushing their. A move further than that…

A’s lips part instantly. There’s a question on the tip of their tongue, the same question that’s in their expression. They’re hoping you’ll make the first move, hoping that you’ll will them forward.

But that’d be easy. Too easy.
They whisper your name. All before edging closer and letting their forehead rest against yours. “Tell me what you want,” A says quietly, so quietly that you almost miss it.

“Do what you want.”

It’s not like a movie, where a person loses all control and takes. It’s careful, and calculated, and strategic. Yet, somewhat fast all the same. The back of A’s hand travels up the small of your back before settling on your neck. Their fingers curl around it, matching the grip you have against their jacket.

It’s a swift motion. A steady motion. Pulling you forwards, and for once, not pushing you away. A’s eyes close at the last moment before their lips meet yours. You’d imagined kissing A, admittedly, you’ve done so more than once. Wondering what it’d feel like, when the moment would happen. 

This has answered your questions. 

A’s lips are soft, yet a little cracked. A perfect description of them, yet it’s not the element you focus on. You focus on the placement of their other arm, it snaking its way around your waist and drawing you closer. Leaving no space between you.

You focus on the light tap of your teeth colliding, yet it doesn’t ruin this moment between you. It only reminds the two of you of how much you’ve wanted this, the way that this kiss becomes feverish. Yet, control is something A prides themselves on in many a situation, and it’s the same they’ll do now.

There’s the thought of pulling back for a fleeting moment, not for air, but to assess the situation. Yet, A goes for something completely different. The edge of their tongue slides across your bottom lip, and you respond to the invite with ease.

Your fingers have delved into the waves of their hair, you sigh against their mouth, thinking that this is exactly where you want to be. A’s the first to pull away, to your dismay, their eyes are hooded, and despite having the opportunity to do so, they don’t immediately put distance between you both.

“I should let you go,” they whisper, arm slowly dropping from around your waist.

You stiffen slightly, A doesn’t need supernatural powers and instinct to feel that. They instantly shake their head. “I don’t mean it like that,” A says quickly. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I meant it like that.”

“Ah.”
“I just mean that I know you’re at the Everbrook early tomorrow. I don’t want to waste more of your day.” As A takes a step back, their hand on your neck moves to rest on your cheek.

You lean into it, slowly turning your head to place a light kiss on their calloused palm. “It wasn’t a waste.”

A imagines that this is what it feels like to be intoxicated. To feel a kind of high that overwhelms and calms you all at once. “Okay,” they mutter, willing themself to let untangle from you, but they can’t seem to. 

You continue to stare at one another; thinking of the moment that’s just gone between you, and when you’ll both get to do it again. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” A asks.

You nod. “You will.”

They lean back in, pressing a kiss to your other cheek, letting their lips linger. And, from that moment on, you know they’re the only person you’ll be thinking of for the rest of the night.