Basically Strangers (revised)

[8 - Stranger With A Mission]

[8 - Stranger with a Mission]

After the river incident, you drove home to warm up and get cozy. You turned on the television and cuddled into a blanket on the couch. You flipped to the news.

“As you can see from our eye in the sky, the car was completely submerged. No one saw the car hit the water or the perpetrator swim away from the vehicle.There is no word on the hostage, but witnesses at the Franklin Bar are suggesting it was a move made by the rumored anti-pedophile ring.”You chuckled to yourself.

“That’s kinda funny,” you mutter to yourself.

“Witnesses say the perpetrator was at the bar confronting Xander Simmer, son of Benjamin Simmer, the founder of Simmer Appliances, about alleged sexual misconduct with a minor and cocaine use at a frat party. Printed photos found littered around the bar have proven that the rumored happenings did in fact take place. Xander Simmer is now under investigation and officials are looking for the adolescent girl or the shirtless men in the photos.”

“Serves him right,” called Arin.

“If you have any information about the suspect or the hostage from the crash, please call the number on your screen. Until we find them, the internet is thanking the rumored anti-pedophile ring. Up next, local Angelstone Disease Control Center shut down for-”

“Boo!” exclaimed Arkin from the kitchen. “Booooooo!”

“Aye, aye, aye,” you laughed. “Why are you booing the anti-pedophile ring?”

“Aye! No, no, no, no, no. I’m booing the fact that some underground ring that doesn’t exist is getting the credit for our heist.” You craned your neck around the corner to look at him, who was making soup to warm you up from the cold water.

“Really now? Do you wanna go talk to the police then?” He chuckled and shook his head.

“No, no, no, no, no. Don’t go twisting my words.” You chuckled. “Soup’s just simmering for a bit now. Should be a little while ‘til it’s done.”

“Good,” you said, standing up and walking to him in the kitchen. “Go get the razor, let’s get rid of that nastiness.” You pointed to his goatee. He rolled his eyes and suddenly pushed you against the wall, one hand above your head and the other at your hip against the wall.

“C’mon, little one,” he chuckled. “It distinguishes me.” You were blushing madly, feeling his breath against your face. A million thoughts ran across your mind, all of which were not child friendly, and none of which you would oppose.

“No, it makes you look like a creep,” you joked. He put a finger on your chin, tilting your head back.

“C’mon,” he said in a low tone. “You like the way I look. It makes me daddy.” You smirked.

“And what does that make me?” you responded in a teasing tone. He bit his lip.

“Well, that makes you a pup.” You rolled your eyes and pushed against his chest, pushing him off. He was laughing as you walked to the bathroom to get the razor. “I was joking! I was joking! I was joking!”

“Yeah cause if you wanted to kiss me, you could just fuckin’ do it, dumbass,” you laughed. Arkin paused, feeling a shiver run up his back. Were you being serious? He could just kiss you?

Dog.

He was shaken out of his idea from the sound of the electric razor turning on.

“Fuck,” he chuckled as he bolted through the apartment. You chased close after him. Before the night was over, Arkin’s face was shaven and you laid on the couch. Arkin was on his laptop that he had brought from his office. You were watching some stupid animated movie. You didn’t know why Arkin was so adamant on watching animations with you. He treated you like a child. You weren’t complaining, he gave you snacks and a home and a life.

You really liked him. Really, really liked him. Maybe even-

“So,” you said, trying to stop your thinking. You didn’t want to think like that, especially when he’d never see you like that. “What’s the next mission?” Arkin rolled his eyes with a smile.

“They’re not missions, they’re jobs, YN. We’re not agents.” You groaned, playfully whimpering.

“C’mon. It’s more fun to call them missions. Like we’re spies!” You draped your arms over his chest from behind. He nuzzled your hand softly.

“Okay, okay, little one. I’ll call them missions. Wouldn’t want my little toddler to get bored, right?” You scoffed.

“I’m not a toddler!” He looked at you with his arms over his chest.

“So I shouldn’t buy ovaltine and juice boxes? And I shouldn’t pat your head or let you sleep in my bed?” You glared at him.

“Now that’s not fair.” He chuckled.

“C’mere, kiddo. Let’s look for a new ‘mission’.” He chuckled and played with your hair for a moment before you pushed his arm away.

“Fine, jobs,” you groaned.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he chuckled, grabbing you and pulling you close. “It’s cute. We’ll call them missions, little spy.” He sat on the floor, you laid on the couch with your head on his shoulder. He was the family you never had. And maybe, just maybe, you were okay with being a little kid around him.

“Okay, so how do you get jobs?” you asked.

“Missions,” he corrected with a chuckle. “I get them when I get them. But for now, I’m going to work on my main job. Designing-”

“Little torture machines?” you asked. He rolled his eyes.

“Sure, pup.”

“I’m not a pup.”

“Sure, pup.”

*****
938 words total.

Everytime I publish a new chapter, I sing that Bo Burnham song in my head. "Hey look I made you some content!"

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