HELP WANTED ¤ harrison osterfield [hiatus]

0.1

He took a breath, sweat pouring down his skin, black material of his shirt sticking to him. He'd just watched one of his teammates get gunned down, and he still couldn't shake the image from his brain.

His back was pressed against a wall, head inches away from peaking around the corner.

He was shaking, but he took a deep breath, eyes closed, before he opened them again, and swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to do this. He had to. There was no one else.

A noise sounded to his left, and he gulped, heart beating fast. Tightening his hold on the gun in his hands, he wished himself good luck, before turning the corner, footsteps quiet as he made his way towards the danger that awaited him.

He had to do this. He could do this.

¤¤¤

She hummed, arms full of empty coffee cups and dirty plates. Her footsteps were gentle, as she had memorised the dance she did in the shop every day long ago. Setting down the dishes, she wiped away the sweat on her brow, hands landing on her hips.

She shut her eyes, thankful for a minute of peace, a minute by herself.

"Y/N!" They shot open, her head whipping to face the frantic older lady standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Her and her husband owned the small, popular shop she worked in.

"I've got to go down to the hospital. Mr. Richards has pneumonia again." The lady wrapped herself in her coat, hands fumbling around for her car keys. "Are you alright here by yourself?"

A glance at the clock made her nod. "Yes, Mrs. Richards. It's nearly closing anyways. Send him my prayers, okay?"

Mrs. Richards nodded, grabbing the rest of her stuff and bustling out the door. The distinct ring of the bell came, and Y/N's shoulders sagged. Thirty more minutes, and she would be off, free to go home and sulk on her couch, where she would probably watch Netflix until she passed out.

She began cleaning up the kitchen, washing dirty dishes before heading out to the main part of the coffee shop, where she cleaned off tables and swept the floors.

With ten minutes left until closing, she sat down, thin sweater pulled over her head, her keys and wallet clutched tightly in her hands. She sighed, eyes glaring at the ticking clock. "C'mon", she groaned, as it seemed to go even slower the longer she watched it.

Her body tensed at the sound of commotion outside, red and blue flashing against the turquoise color of the walls. She stood, widened eyes and erratic breaths.

Taking subconscious steps backwards, she froze when someone appeared in front of the door, figure shadowed.

Her hands hands fumbled along the walls, searching for the light switch. When her fingers skimmed across it, she flicked it, and the glow lit up the unknown person's face, and the first thing she saw were blue eyes.

Well, that and the bloody lip and black eye he was sporting. An involuntary gasp tore its way from her throat. He was staring at her with pleading eyes, and she was having an internal battle with herself.

Do I let him in? Oh of course not, he's being chased by the police. The police! But he looks so...sad.

She bit her bottom lip, the hand holding her keys so tight she felt it cutting into her palm. The lights from the police car got brighter, and she could hear the sirens very clear now. She scrunched her eyebrows together in thought.

The screeching sound of tires on the pavement. Oh god.

He was still looking at her, more panicked this time, adams apple bobbing up and down. Fuck. What do I do?