p.s. written in blue ink | sal fisher

the one where you go to the store and get tea on the apartment

"Thanks for coming with me."

"No problem. It's not that far of a walk and I needed to stretch my legs anyway," Sal excused, swiping at a few strands of hair that kept blowing into his eye. The texture of his mittens threatened to create static. All his hair would end up migrating towards his mask if he kept pawing at it (he'd learned that after Larry had rubbed a balloon all over him at Chug's birthday party last year. Joke was on him, though, he kept shocking him afterward).

"What're you gonna get for dinner?"

He thought about it for a moment, adding up the cash his dad had given him and juggling a few ideas of what he could purchase. You didn't have to think it over. He had seen the list in the elevator, a debit card folded within. Hopefully, they'd both be able to carry all those bags back without much trouble.

"Dad's not picky so just something cheap. Preferably microwavable," he finally said, falling back on something familiar. Pre-made dinners were simple and he didn't have to worry about a smoke alarm going off every five minutes. His dad was great at a lot of things but cooking wasn't one of them.

"God, I wish," you groaned. "That's so much easier."

"At least you get a good home-cooked meal."

"Yeah, but my mom's so health-oriented I never get to chow down on junk food. Luckily, my dad's a smuggler of sorts so we sneak stuff in."

"His name Han Solo by any chance?" he joked, looking both ways before starting across the icy street. You followed right next to him. He snorted as you slid over a hard patch, nearly losing your balance as you jumped up onto the curb.

"Nah, he's not that cool. Solo would be a cool last name, though."

The inside of the supermarket was warm until you were winding through the rows of vegetables and fruits where the refrigeration kicked in. You swung the plastic basket you'd procured from up front, nearly knocking over a pyramid of apples at one point. Sal also enjoyed your commentary on the food. Apparently, you had some strong opinions when it came to tomatoes.

"It makes no sense that they're technically berries. Berries aren't supposed to exceed the size of a fingertip."

"Strawberries are bigger than a fingertip."

"There are a few exceptions but none of them are as big as a tomato."

"You know, I think bananas count as berries, too."

"Can nothing in this world be consistent?" You blew out a harsh breath, handling multiple tomatoes before deciding on a few worthy enough for whatever your mother was making. "Guess life would be boring if everything was."

"Aside from your views on abnormally sized berries," he said, ripping some plastic bags from the roller next to you for your food, "do you like the apartments so far?"

You raised an eyebrow at him over your shoulder.

"You want the truth?"

He shrugged, having been put on the spot.

"It's a creepy building," you admitted. "Something doesn't feel right, especially about the guy who speaks through his mail slot."

"Mr. Addison? He's not so bad," Sal promised, fingertips struggling to pull plastic edges apart. Once that was accomplished, he whipped the long bag through the air to get it puffed up and ready for use. "He's just particular about his privacy."

"What if he's weird about it because he has something horrible to hide?"

Sal, who was still holding the bag open for your tomatoes, tried not to let your words sink in the wrong way. He realized how tightly he was gripping the edges of the bag when you paused from dropping a tomato in to meet his eyes. He looked away.