Nicotine (Craig x Reader)

Chapter One

Numbers.

Numbers surround everyday life, from the number of batteries needed to power a remote, the number of gallons that fill up a vehicle, the number of hearts filled with hope, then crushed. Everywhere one turns, there are numbers. Ten fingers, ten toes, two arms and legs, two hands and feet, two hundred and six bones, one brain, one heart. Numbers are everywhere, yet very few bother to count.

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You rub your dry eyes as you stifle a yawn. The screen in front of you burned your retinas, line after line of numbers glaring angrily at you as you push yourself away from your desk. It was dark out. What time was it? You don’t know. You’ve been sitting here for who knows how long, your fingers tapping your keyboard nonstop as you urge yourself to finish the line of code.

Perhaps it was time for a lunch break.

Saving hours worth of progress, you stand and stretch your arms over your head, wincing with every pop and crack from your joints as you move. It wasn’t payday yet, and with only forty dollars to last you until the end of the week, you quickly decide to skip going to Whole Foods to make a homemade meal (not that you’ve had one in months) and go to City Wok. You knew it would be open until the late hours of the night, and with a quick glance to the clock ticking quietly on the wall, it was only ten at night.

You venture down the stairs, stumbling only slightly in the dark before flipping on the light switch. It blinds you momentarily but you push on as your need for food increases. Shoes already on, you snatch your coat from where you threw it on a dining room chair, and along with it, your scarf and hat. Your wallet and house keys were already in your coat pocket, so you leave and lock the door behind you.

“Shit,” you grumble, shivering at the cold. This winter had to be the coldest in years, something you weren’t very fond of.

Then why move to South Park, Colorado? Where else would you work in silence? Okay, yeah, there are a lot of places, but renting a house here was cheaper than in most towns in America. Not only that, but this was a town where if you kept your head down, no one would spare you a glance. Perfect for a programmer with absolutely no social skills.

Snow crunches under your feet as you trudge through the snow towards the Chinese restaurant. The food wasn’t great, and the cleanliness of the dining room was questionable, but it was affordable. It was also edible, but just hardly. You can’t really complain, though. You were the one giving the place business, especially since the Whole Foods opened up around thirteen years ago, so the owner knew your name, your occupation, and your order by heart. You almost considered him a friend. Pushing open the glass doors to the restaurant, you rub your hands together for warmth. A small bell jingles above your head.

“Ah, welcome to Shitty Wok!” a familiar voice greets. You look towards the cash register and smile. Tuong Lu Kim stands there, a cane resting against the counter as he picks up a pen and a piece of paper. “Hello, (Y/N)! How are you today?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Kim. How are you and the missus?” you reply. You walk towards the counter, placing your jacket and scarf on one of the nearby chairs. Although he knows your order, you and Mr. Kim like to chat a bit while his only chef makes your meal.

“We doing good. Wing is getting over her sickness.” A wave of relief crashes over you.

“Oh thank the gods. I was getting worried, especially with the weather getting worse and her health condition…” you trail off. Mr. Kim smiles, his skin wrinkling more.