If The Shoe Fits

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He was there, and rather suddenly, in that small, dimly lit kitchen there was very little else that mattered. As his arms snaked around her, Ella forgot about trying to be strong, forgot about trying to hold herself together. She poured her tears into his chest until she'd soaked straight through his shirt, her arms slung round his middle as if she were clinging to a buoy in the middle of the ocean. It was unfathomable, the comfort she found in him, and it felt the tiniest bit unfair, considering he'd been through a whole lot, himself, that night.

But she wasn't nearly as tough as she pretended she was. She was terrified. She had never been more frightened in her life and it wasn't something she could shake off, like dust from a carpet. She could taste the vile, sour chemical at the back of her throat, the chloroform and feel the cloth wrapped around her nose, her mouth. She could still feel the weight of that vest heavy as lead, still feel Kevscoff's hand, cupping her knee, hear the twisted reassurance that she was alive because it better suited his plans... And she was scared to the depths of her core.

When she could pull herself together, which took embarrassingly longer than she was prepared for, she leaned against her heels without fully relinquishing her grip on the back of his shirt, wide-eyed gaze tipped up to his, damp and undoubtedly smudged with make up and rimmed in red. Damnably, unfairly, after everything he'd been through, he still managed to smell like heaven, and that warm whisper of his scent lingered as she pried herself away, forcing herself to grasp some degree of self control.

With a shuddering breath, she turned, a little too quickly towards the sink to scramble up the bits of ice and the rag that she'd found, clutching it in her palm. It was half melted, the rag sopping wet, but squeezing it out she twisted round again and held it out to him. Words escaped her, because everything she could think to say felt pathetic and needy, like a clingy little girl. And God, did she need him to believe she could handle herself - she knew if he thought for one second she couldn't, he'd turn her away, tell her to go home, to stay put. She had to help. She needed to - for her sake, for his... for a lot of other reasons that seemed foggy in her brain at the moment.

With her free hand, she brushed at her damp cheeks, frowning softly, meeting his eyes with a touch of hesitancy, "...I um...You... you should be resting."
 
Her blonde hair atop her crown bristled against his cheek and nose and carried a subtle sweetness. Ezreal wasn't expecting this sudden wash of emotions overtaking him as Ella cried into his shirt. He fought back his own tears enticed by her quiet sobs, and a lump formed in his throat in protest. He did this. He threw her into circumstances she did not deserve. His hand moved to stroke her hair, her body trembling against his as all that had happened to her culminated in the aftermath.

And then she pulled herself away, reddened eyes casting up to look at him with notations of turmoil that still lingered despite her efforts to push it all aside. The way she turned back to the sink to gather up the soggy cold cloth that wrapped around the melting ice made him jolt a bit forward. He wasn't expecting the sudden movement, and considering everything that happened he wasn't sure if she was on the verge of collapse. But she pressed on, her hand holding out the pack of ice to him as a silence filled the spaces between them. He brought a hand up slowly to receive it, but his eyes were still fixed on hers in worry.

"Thank you," he said softly. It was all he could say that didn't sound stupid. He wanted to ask if she would be okay, but he already knew the answer. Ezreal held the damp cloth in one hand, unsure of where exactly it would be most effective. His whole body still carried its pain all over despite the intake of alcohol and consumption of Tylenol.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he finally asked. "Anything at all."
 
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The funny thing with grief was the more you held it in, the more restrictive it could be... The release, which beforehand seemed like it might be the most terrifying experience in the world, was as clarifying as it was gratifying. As her cheeks dried, her mind cleared, and despite a somewhat shaky, uncomfortable feeling, she felt marginal relief. Their troubles were far from over, and she understood that these things didn’t just fade because you had a good cry, but as he took the ice from her, she was relatively confident she wasn’t going to fall to pieces again.

She wasn’t alright. Not by a long shot. Inside, she felt as if the bomb had already exploded, blowing great big holes in all of her emotional barriers, and that wasn’t likely to fade away anytime soon, but until now she had lived a rather sheltered, naive existence and it only reasoned it might be difficult to adjust. But she didn’t feel that quaking, that desperate fear anymore, and in part she knew being with Ezreal was helping.

He spoke, and she could hear the turmoil in his voice - of course he was concerned. She’d essentially crumbled apart in front of him, and after all that he’d been through, it had to be taking it’s toll. Yet even after having the tar beaten out of him, after all Kevscoff had done and threatened to do, he was worrying over her. It was endearing and sweet and all of the reasons that made it so easy to care about him.

Shaking her head, she managed a small, weary smile, “I could use a shower and something to change into…” She’d been manhandled by one too many creepy strangers and every inch of her felt soiled, dirty somehow, “And um… I… could I… would it be okay if I stayed here, tonight? I don’t wanna go home. I don’t want to have to explain where I’ve been or try to lie about what happened. I don’t think I can face my stepdad right now.”
 
Part of him was grateful Ella had suggested staying at his place first. He would have insisted regardless, but he didn't want to come across as his parents did to him. They constantly told him where and when to go and how to go about it or even refused to let him venture out even for a couple of hours. Ezreal didn't want to place more frustrations on her by keeping her cooped up due to his growing paranoia in her safety. But in his apartment high in the clock tower, he knew she was safe.

He nodded his head somewhat and began to walk out of the kitchen. "I have a guest bedroom," Ezreal said to her. His steps were shuffled, his weight carried at a slight limp that favored his right leg. Duke and the doctor were still behind the front door that led to the elevator. The open concept apartment made the bedrooms obvious to the eye, for they were the only rooms closed off for privacy. His hand pushed open the guest bedroom door revealing a minimalistic decor in whites and cool grays. The bed was king sized as well with a singular stretch of a pillow across its length.

"The guest bath is right through that door," he said. "I don't have any women's clothes here, but I have some t-shirts and athletic pants that have a draw string. So they'll stay on. Or I can get Duke to get you something, if that would make you more comfortable."

"Ezreal?" Duke called from the doorway. There were quiet murmurs of multiple voices, calm and conversational as their feet pattered through the entrance.

"I'll go see what that's about and let Duke know you're staying so he can go home," he said to Ella. "Everything you need for your shower should be in there, but just let me know if there isn't."
 
Contrary to his relief, Ella didn't feel so great about asking to stay. It wasn't that she didn't want to - but it was a challenge, not feeling like she was inconveniencing him. Not feeling like she was dragging him further into the mess... dragging it out. She wanted to believe, despite her meltdown, that she was strong enough to take care of herself, but the truth of the matter was, she just wasn't. She needed him... she needed to feel like she wasn't alone, like she had someone to trust, someone who cared.

Following him out of the kitchen and to the guest room, she nodded absently as she considered whether it would be considerably more inappropriate to ask him to stay in the room while she showered. She didn't like the idea of being alone, she didn't like the idea of closed doors and uncertainty. Before she could grasp the nerve, however, Duke had called him away and standing in the doorframe, Ella knotted her hands together, staring at the bathroom with unconscious dread.

It took a minute or two before she willed herself forward and entering the bathroom she turned on the shower and slipped out of her clothes, folding them on the counter in a neat, orderly pile. She shook her hair loose from the bun, tugged off her necklace and watch, checked for towels and laid them out beside her clothes, ensured herself that there was shampoo, conditioner and soap, as well as a rag, and finally, when she'd exhausted every possible angle of procrastination, she climbed beneath the water stream.

The water was hot, but it felt surprisingly refreshing to sluice away the day. Still, even with the curtain open, the door ajar, she felt anxiety creeping in and after roughly ten minutes, she turned everything off and looped a towel around her. Idly, painfully, she had to consider how long it would take before she felt comfortable on her own again... Part of her worried she might never.

In the guest room, she sank down on the edge of the bed and tugged her knees up to her chest, hugging them close and resting her chin on the soft terrycloth with a small sigh. Whatever she had gotten herself into, whatever came from this disastrous evening, one thing was clear... nothing was going to be quite the same again.
 
A change of clothing was set out on the bed for Ella as she took her shower. Duke was sure not to disturb her or make any loud movements, and even set a couple of normal pillows upon the bedside for her to choose from if she did not desire what was already there. A note was folded and placed atop the folded set of clothes.

Eloise -

If you would rather have clothing more to your liking, don't hesitate to call my number below. My cousin, Shannah, insisted we call in doctors to check Ezreal over, so if you hear any unfamiliar voices, it will just be Doctor Martin, Doctor Tully, and Shannah. Make yourself at home. Instructions for the TV remote are in the living room. I had to go home for a few but I'll be back to check up on the two of you. Call me if you need anything.

- Duke
555-3242
The apartment was otherwise quiet apart from the soft murmurs coming from the other side. A digital clock upon a touch screen next to the door softly displayed the time as half past three in the morning. Just like Ezreal's room, the guest bedroom had no windows, and the only doors led to either the guest bath, and empty walk-in closet, or the rest of the apartment.

Ezreal was with the doctors, his shirt removed as he laid upon the kitchen table. The doctors had brought in an assortment of equipment for the occasion, and a laptop was set up to act as a monitor to display the ultrasound of his torso. The knicks and cuts were patched over across his skin, though bruising was far more prominent in deep violet hues. He ran a hand down his face as he looked up at his coffered ceiling unaware that Ella was done with her shower.
 
It was several minutes that she sat there, in that silence, in that dark room. Only when her hair had begun to stick to her skin, goose-bumps flecking the bareness did she shift, finding both the note and the clothes that Duke had laid out. In part, she was glad that Duke's cousin had insisted on the doctors, but a slightly more self-centered part of her grimaced at the thought, knowing it was going to be some time before she could see him again.

She slipped into the t-shirt, which ran long and tried the sweats, but after several attempts at rolling them up on the bottom and tightening the waistband, she gave it up for loss and slid instead beneath the comforter. She wanted to see Ezreal, but she didn't want to be in the way, and there was a private fear that the doctors would want to look her over as well. It was the last thing she wanted, strangers poking and prodding, asking questions... opening doors and pouring in anxiety.

She forwent the television, knowing there was nothing on that could distract her, and instead tugged the covers close to her chin and sank back against the pillows. Admittedly, in spite of her nerves, it was easily the most comfortable bed that she'd ever curled up in and without much effort, she drifted off into a tense, tumultuous sleep.

It was roughly two hours later that the dreams came... filled with visions of Kevscoff and Pinkette, of bombs ticking away and Ezrael tied to a chair, being forcefed Carbonara by his mother with men in dark suits standing by, holding bats and crowbars, guns and knives. She held on... her subconscious twisting and turning until Kevscoff put the gun to Ezreal's temple and his finger flickered over the trigger. It was then that she woke with a startled, truncated cry, bolting upright fast enough to make her head spin.

Ezreal's room was easy to find, even in the darkness, and with lithe feet, Ella picked her way through the apartment until she came to his door. Lightly, she tapped her knuckles against the frame before slowly, she pushed it open, slipping inside. It was with a mingled sense of need and mortification that she sank down on the edge of the mattress and reaching out, she gently brushed his arm, "Ez... you awake?"
 
They had given him more effective pain killers after determining he was not suffering from internal bleeding. It was enough to knock him out, so much so that he did not wake at the sound of Ella's knocking. He felt strange, as if he were in a dream as he felt her fingers against his skin. There was a brief moment when Ezreal looked at her and said nothing, her blonde hair catching the faint light outside his bedroom that placed a halo around her darkened silhouette. His brow furrowed in confusion at the sight of her in his haze of consciousness. His mind knew something was not right, and it took a bit to remember. What happened hours before sobered him through the fog enough for him to suddenly jolt in clarity. Pain shot through him in protest stopping the motion short and forcing him back down onto his pillow.

"Is everything alright?" he asked as he pushed back the covers from his chest. He then used slower movements to prop himself up by his elbows. Ezreal pushed back his hair from his face and scooted up against the backboard to relieve the tension on his body. Should he not have gone to bed without checking on her first? It hadn't been too long since the doctors had left. He had even taken the time to call Duke to update him on his diagnosis, or lack there of. His father, for once, had also left him an ominous text about coming over for a meeting. And yet he didn't check on Ella. He thought perhaps she needed space away from the source of all that had happened. He searched her over for signs of distress or further harm or any note of alarm.
 
Almost immediately, before he woke, even, Ella felt ridiculous. She'd had a bad dream... that was all. Rationally, she knew that. She knew what she'd seen in her mind wasn't real, that it hadn't happened, and she knew it would fade as the evening did and that she'd wake the next day and probably never even remember it happened. But no rational thought could make those images fade, could make them feel any less horrifyingly real. Her hand shook as she pulled it away from his arm and flinching, she watched him sit up with far too much effort.

The doctors had left a healthy supply of medication on his nightstand, but they'd also left, which she supposed was good new. Seeing him, however, the bruises apparent, even in the dim lighting, she couldn't help but think he looked worse now than he had when they'd first gotten back.

And she'd woken him... the poor guy...

But she was there. She'd come for a reason and even if she felt horrible, felt absurd, she wasn't going to wake him for nothing. Blushing, grateful for the darkness, she shifting, straightening up a little as she fiddled with the hem of his oversized shirt to keep her hands from quivering.

"I'm sorry..." She whispered, and her eyes misted over with tears that she tried to blink away, "I... God, I feel so stupid. I just... I can't sleep."
 
This was not something he had ever come across in his life, yet the solution naturally flowed as though he were accustomed to comforting his friends on a more personal level. Raising his arm, he beckoned Ella to rest upon him; to come closer so that he could once again wrap his arm around her. "Come here," he said quietly to her. "No need to apologize." Ezreal gave Ella a soft, reassuring smile, his chest jumping with a huff of a laugh. Perhaps it was the medication he was on that gave him confidence in the groggy haze it placed on his mind to numb his pain, but he didn't think twice about it all.

"TV on," he commanded. The television across the room illuminated before them, filtering the spaces with a cool hue. The volume was muted, and the channel was tuned into the Food Network where a rerun of a cooking show was mid-way through the recipe. He wasn't all that interested in what was showing however. It seemed more as meant to be a distraction.

"I used to watch TV for hours when I couldn't sleep," Ezreal explained. "Sometimes with the volume down or off because I wasn't supposed to growing up. But after a while I'd end up falling asleep. I guess because I'd focus too intently on what was going on trying to figure out what they were saying. Or maybe it's the way it all looks in the darkness where it strains the eye enough. I don't know. Got any channel preference?"
 
He wasn't apprehensive... there was no tone of annoyance, no huffy sigh, no frustration in his gaze. He didn't lecture her on how he needed to sleep, on how important it was that he wasn't disturbed. He didn't remind her that she was an adult, and needed to behave that way. He was warm and inviting and despite probably feeling worse than he looked, his concern for her felt so genuine, so compassionate. But then, Ezreal was different. She knew that well enough by now.

Tears stung her eyes and blinking, Ella inched closer, hesitant at first, then less so as she curled up in the crook on his arm. Her hand rested against his chest, splayed over his heart and feeling the steady tic-tac of the organ beneath her fingertips was more of a comfort to her than she'd expected it to be. Feeling more at ease, she laid her head down, bare legs folding gingerly beside his, and as the television turned on she squinted at the brightness, surprised to find her eyes had already grown a little heavier.

"I wasn't allowed to watch tv..." She murmured quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, "My stepdad thought it was a waste of time when there was plenty to clean around the apartment or work to do at the restaurant." Never mind her stepsisters grew up in front of the box, watching mind numbing programs that didn't seem to do them much good at all. They were shallow, vapid young women with a terrible habit of expecting someone else to do their work for them... usually that other person being Ella, "This looks good... I always liked the idea of cooking shows. Thank you... For... for letting me stay."
 
He hadn't realized how healing her presence was until Ella rested her head upon him. Ezreal cradled her with his arm and suddenly felt a relief. His body, even in its medicated numbness, felt less tense. He could feel a flutter in his heart as she spoke, her whispering voice a somber lament of her past and her hardships. The overwhelming desire to provide for her an ease in her trials was still present.

The hostess of the show smiled brightly as she poured something within a pan. Her silent instructions were clipped by a close up of her progress. Ezreal found it nostalgic in a way, even though his mother was never really one to bake or cook regularly. The concept, however, was soothing in a way, and mindless when muted making it a perfect combination when insomnia hit.

"You're always welcome here," he said. His hand brushed up her arm. "I'm glad you wanted to stay. I was... a little worried for your safety going home. Your step father won't punish you, will he? For not coming home tonight."
 
His fingertips brushed along her arm and her skin prickled with goosebumps as she curled a little closer to him, letting her eyes shut for a moment, blocking out the light, blocking out the anxiety she still felt from those terrible dreams. A bare foot hooked around one of his, and effectively she felt a bit like one of those monkey babies, clinging to their mother in those nature documentaries, but he was warm and comfortable, and the soothing lilt of his voice rolled through his chest and into her ear, a subtle scent of whatever maddening soap he used drifting up and filling her with a sense of calm.

She couldn't tell what was happening on the television, but she couldn't have cared less. His words were ultimately far more relaxing, and shaking her head, she laughed softly at his question about her step-father, "...Probably... But I don't care. Actually, no." Shifting a little, she shrugged, "He probably won't, because the chances of him even noticing I'm not there are like... one in a billion. He's probably still reveling in the spotlight. Catering a party that was hit by supposed terrorists? He'll be the most popular catering company in the city after tonight. Probably forgot I was there..."

Biting her lip, she pushed up onto her elbows a little, laying her chin against her arms so she could see Ezreal properly, her lip curved in a slight frown as she studied him, "He's not all bad. He just... I was never meant to be a part of the deal, you know? He loved my mom, but I was never his kid. So, when she died, I think he just sort of forgot how to deal. Or maybe he couldn't deal. Honestly, since I lost her, you're the first person who's really even noticed me. Though I guess that makes a little more sense, now. I um..." Biting her lip, she smile faintly, "I know it was you. In the alley that night, with Pinkard. I... I think maybe I always knew. But it wasn't really clear until Duke showed up. I recognized him... his voice. Seemed a little coincidental. Anyway... I never got to say thank you. So... thanks..."
 
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Ezreal's eyes stared blankly at the television screen. His mind was too preoccupied with Ella's thoughts to really care. It was a fixing point and nothing more. It was sad to him that her stepfather cared so little of her. As much as him being upset with her disappearance would have been bad, it was far worse knowing that she suffered the exact opposite of his concern. It made him wonder if he took his parents for granted, or at least his mother. Her reassurances of his character did not feel wholesome, and he looked down at her with a small frown of his own.

The swelling of his bruises had died down considerably leaving blotches of purple and red and blue like a butterfly's wing across his nose and cheek. He absent mindledly roved his tongue over the cut on his lower lip, but paused as soon as she called out that night in the alley. If she had always known or suspected it was him, then he really was bad at hiding. It was almost amusing enough for him to laugh, but instead all he could manage in his state was a small smile.

"Well," he began, "I guess that's a little embarrassing... That you found me out I mean. But you're welcome. I'd been, um, following him for some time. I've seen his criminal records, but I had never witnessed him do anything until then. I called the police and all but... They're not exactly fast in response time sometimes. There's something really wrong with this city, Ella. Me going out like how I was that night started out as me reading a private email on my dad's computer. It's gone from someone threatening my family to... a complete mess. I wouldn't have changed that night or done anything differently, but I still am sorry I dragged you into this."
 
To a point, she could respect his apology. After all, it had certainly never been her intention to get wrapped up in quite so drastic a situation. She was a quiet girl, who preferred to blend in to the background - not some action hero, accustomed to having bombs strapped to her chest and guns waved in her face. But at the end of the day, while she wouldn't exactly have signed up for it, she wasn't entirely with regret. Meeting Ez had changed her life - and maybe it wasn't all good, but the parts that were made it worth while.

He'd protected her from Pinkard, before he'd even known who she was, but he hadn't stopped there. He'd come back to the restaurant to check on her - to see to it that she was really alright, and yeah, it was true that that was what had gotten her into the mess to begin with, but it was also entirely endearing and a little foreign to her, having someone care that much about her well being. The fact was, she was glad she'd met him... whatever the circumstances.

"I'm not..." She murmured, "I mean... I would have preferred maybe running into you on the subway or something, but I'm not sorry for what happened. What you're doing, Ez? It's important. And it's really honorable. And maybe it's a little bit crazy, and it's definitely not conventional as far as how I imagined dating might be, but I'd be lying if I said I regret it. Meeting you. And honestly? It kind of means a lot to me, that you cared enough to find me, even after everything you did. You're a good person. Not like anyone I've ever met before, and I could never be sorry for that. Not ever."
 
A chuckle escaped him, softly and barely heaving his chest in the airy laughter that came with her words. Ezreal felt exactly the same, really. Any different circumstance for them to have met would be far more ideal, but he couldn't ignore that he was very grateful to have met someone like Ella. She never seemed to care about his money or his family status and rather took more interest in himself as a human being. He couldn't recall the last time he could say that about any one of his friends during his father's political career. Was their money even legitimate? He found his thoughts straying back to concern in their situation. He had stirred the pot and put a target on his head... and on Ella, too.

His medicine took hold of his consciousness soon after allowing him to rest. Eloise would find herself in the quiet of his room, television on and Ezreal's hitched and raspy breathing. But by the morning light he was up and in his kitchen, music gently playing over the speaker system while he cooked breakfast. Bacon sizzled in a cast iron skillet next to the eggs he was scrambling atop a sleek induction stove top.

Cooking might not have been his specialty, but it was something he had to learn due to his desire for distance and eventual independence. The slices of bacon he did have out on a plate were either extra crispy or a little on the floppy side. The eggs, at least, looked to be scrambling to an acceptable consistency. His negligence in breakfast preparation was likely due to his divided attention. On the counter next to him rested his laptop with his web browser open in several tabs. With one hand he scrolled through a year old article about his father's political campaign while the other shoveled the eggs with a spatula.
 
It had taken a considerable amount of time, but eventually, in the stillness, with only the fluctuating light of the television to keep her company, Ella drifted off. There were no dreams, this time around, her mind beyond exhaustion, and when she woke there was still a lingering grogginess. Somewhere along the line, Ezreal had extricated himself from where she'd curled up beside him and judging from the mouthwatering smell of bacon, she guessed he might have been feeling better.

Straightening upright with a stretch and a yawn, she raked her fingers through her hair and climbing out of bed, padded her way from Ezreal's room to the kitchen. Leaning against the doorframe, she watched him for a moment, silently, a small smile forming at the curiously domestic display. Pushing off the frame, she moved further into the kitchen and pulled herself up onto the counter beside his computer, bare legs hooked at the ankles.

"Morning... You look like you're feeling better." He was still a mess of bruises, and he would likely be, for a good while, but he was moving with more ease and the color had returned to his skin, his eyes clear and bright. In the end, they had both gotten lucky. She knew that, and she knew that he did as well. They could easily have both been killed, but the fact that they walked away with only some bruises and a healthy amount of fear was a miracle.

And it should have been a hint to quit while they were ahead, but judging from the tabs on his laptop, she was relatively sure that he wasn't throwing in the towel and frankly, she was glad for it.

"How can I help?"
 
Ezreal took his free hand to lower the laptop screen and smiled over at Ella. He felt a lot better that morning, even more so now that she seemed less shaken by the ordeal. There was a sense of safety in the air, at least for him, in his clock tower apartment. The city roads visible from his windows were already packed with cars in the morning rush as millions of citizens went about the start of their daily routines unaware of the scandals brewing in the dark corners of the city. Event with the coverage he found on the local news, nothing was being accurately represented, and Ella's kidnapping was deemed a riot by those who opposed his father's political campaign.

"You don't have to do anything," he assured. "But you can help yourself to whatever you like. I actually wanted to propose something to you."

He brought the pan off the stove top and set it to the side for a moment to grab a set of plates. Shoveling the eggs equally, he paused and mumbled something about the amount of eggs there seemed to be. Both plates had a more than generous portion, to which seemed to perplex Ezreal momentarily. "I'm afraid I'm not very creative when it comes to breakfast," he admitted as he handed Ella a plate.

"So," he continued as he grabbed the bacon plate and headed for the dining room table. "I was thinking of starting my own business venture and I would be in need of an assistant. Before I go into any details, though, would you be interested in leaving your current job, and if so, would that cause conflict between you and your stepfather? I don't want to cause you any stress or strife through this."
 
A brow quirked as Ezreal went on, and taking the plate from him, she sank her back against the wall behind her, balancing the plate on her lap. It was encouraging to see that he was feeling better, and more encouraging, really, to see the cogs working so effortlessly. She had been afraid, really, that their brush with danger might put him off his motivation, but it seemed quite the opposite, really...

Looking down at the plate, she chuckled, shaking her head, "Best I get usually is a poptart, and not even toasted. Won't hear me complaining. Besides..." Plucking up a piece of bacon, she took a bite, with a small wink, "There's bacon, and we all know bacon makes everything better..."

Hopping down off the counter, she followed him, a brow quirked at the sight of the dining table. Their apartment was small, and what room they did have was generally taken up by crap that the girls bought, or ugly ergonomic furniture her stepfather insisted was absolutely necessary for some ailment or another he had invented earlier that day. A dining table was a foreign feature, one that she had never actually utilized, as far as she could remember, outside of a restaurant.

He continued, and looking up, Ella blinked, a smile spreading slowly to her lips at his words, "...Ez. I'm pretty sure that I could win the lottery and give him every last dime and there would still be conflict between me and my stepdad. None of that matters, anymore. I want to help you, however I can, and if this is the best way, I'm in. What's the venture, anyway?"
 
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