Context
Co-written with my long-term writing partner. The first half is prose; the second drops into bare dialogue, which is how the two of us trade a scene when the talk matters more than the room.
The work
Ryker’s hands twisted around the curved handle of the cart, shoving it forward and decidedly putting his gaze forward. Beef. Rice. Sauce. Noodles. Cayenne. Tortilla chips. Easy shit that’d keep him full at work and they’d get out of the crowded hell hole that was the grocery store. Except a can slipped from his hands and fell into the shopping cart harder than he meant, and he could just tell Saint thought he was throwing some kind of attitude. Except the bottom of the bag for the beef fell through and the whole thing fell to the floor. Except there was something on one of the fucking wheels and it kept making the most obnoxious clicking sound every few seconds.
“You need to calm down.”
His entire body felt hot. Pent up. He needed something. “I didn’t fucking do anything.”
“Do not curse at me.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m so sorry.” Ryker’s heartrate tripled in pace and he couldn’t help the roll of his eyes.
“Specialist.”
“Whatever.” The air felt tense and he couldn’t shake the feeling of Saint’s eyes on the back of his head. It didn’t matter. They just needed like two more items and they’d head for- Someone’s cart clipped Ryker’s, having jutted out of a side aisle without even an attempt to glance. The same attitude Ryker had when he opened his mouth, not bothering to look at who had the offending cart. “You ate up-”
Two hands were suddenly at his back, one clasping his shoulder with a tight grip-
“piece of-” The other hand rested against the top of Ryker’s spine in a fist, fingers quickly finding the ring at the end of his necklace there, “sh-”
“Down.” The word was punctuated with another pull, one that finally got Ryker’s attention. The word didn’t even finish before his collar got tight with a quick yank.
“I-” Wild eyes looked back up to look at Saint, a scowl evident even with the mask, thick brows pinched together. “But they-” The words didn’t want to work, the store didn’t want to cooperate, and people were insufferably stupid, and here Saint was, believing it was all his fault, that he was due for-
Ryker’s cheeks and eyes began to tingle with a familiar sensation, and his throat felt hot with the pressure.
“Apologize. Now.”
Saint’s face looked fuzzy. The hand on Ryker’s shoulder didn’t ease up, the fingers finding purchase around his collarbone. It was distracting and yet made the lady’s face suddenly appear in sharper clarity. Upset. Frustrated. Shocked.
“Sorry.” The chain relaxed, the tension that’d built up within Ryker suddenly dissipating.
“…Sorry.” Saint’s hand on his shoulder followed suit. Ryker’s dark eyes traced the tiles, counting them as he slowly shifted back, letting the lady past.
“Go on, miss. Sorry about that.” Saint’s voice immediately was lighter.
“Thank you.” It was awkward. Forced. But then she was gone, disappearing around the group of people waiting in line at the deli.
Saint: Specialist.
Ryker: W-what?
Saint: You’re jumpy. What is it.
Ryker: I’m...fine. I’m fine, now.
Saint: Now?
Ryker: It happens, sometimes. Just get angry. Then feel shitty. Then sad. Then I’m fine.
Saint: Why?
Ryker: Uh. No reason.
Saint: Ryker.
Ryker: 'mserious. For no reason. It just...happens. Can’t keep it in sometimes.
Saint: Hmm.
Silence.
Saint: You are fine. Stop walking like a kicked puppy. You said you are fine after, yes?
Ryker: (forced lightness) Yessir. (pause) I meant--
Saint: I know.
Ryker: Okay.
Silence.
Saint: Are you angry with me?
Ryker: No?
Saint: Is that a question?
Ryker: No.
Saint: Did I offend you somehow?
Ryker: No.
Saint: Then we are fine. I am not angry, or offended. But that woman was afraid. You can fuck with me, because I know to handle you. Do not get out of hand elsewhere, understood?