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DAY 7
"Hey, take the trash on your way out, will ya?"
Honey pursed her lips skeptically in Harry's direction as she hung up her apron for the night. "Did you ever get that light fixed by the dumpster?"
The alleyway behind the coffee shop was eerie at night, even when the lights were working. She'd watched enough horror movies to know that if she were going to meet her demise by the hands of someone else, it would undoubtedly be in a dark alleyway while taking out the garbage.
"I have someone coming next week to fix it up."
"If I don't show up for my shift tomorrow, you know what happened to me," she raised her eyebrow teasingly, pointing at him warily as she reached down to pick up the trash bag.
"You'll be truly missed," Harry sighed jokingly, placing one hand over his heart.
"Yeah, yeah," Honey waved him off jocosely, making her way towards the back door. "I want pink azaleas on my grave, alright?"
She heard Harry smack his lips in disappointment at her death joke as she pushed outside, a tiny smile dancing on her lips.
Harry was a friend of the family, he had known Honey since she was ten years old. After the blip, Harry took it upon himself to take her under his trusty wing - a notion that Honey would forever be grateful for. Even though she was in college and had her own apartment, he continued to go out of his way to look after her.
As Honey crept through the pitch black night, the only light coming from a street lamp a couple of feet away and the full moon, her body froze at the sound of shouting. Dropping the trash bag gently, she kneeled to the ground quietly, peeking around the ominous alleyway to pinpoint exactly where the booming argument was coming from.
Her brown eyes eventually fell on two figures under the street lamp, one had the other pressed up against the brick with a shiny knife against the skin of their throat, making chills travel down her spine. As she slowly crawled closer, mostly out of curiosity, Honey's eyes grew wider as she realized that Steve Rogers was the one with the blade against his neck.
"Where is my fucking money?" the guy wielding the knife demanded in a growl.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Rogers chuckled lowly, the first time Honey had seen a smirk fall on his lips.
Of course he would slightly smile with a knife to his throat.
The rational voice in Honey's head told her to get the heck out of there, get on her bike, and flee the scene. But the more she watched the way blood was trickling down Steve's neck, she knew that her heart of gold would never allow her to run away now.
