Self-Love | R&R

Working nights is a double edged sword- while, on one hand, it's nice to avoid any sort of rush in coming home and not having to get up at the crack of dawn, the other side is the dreary feeling that comes when one finally crosses that threshold after a long night to the sun bearing down into their windows, and the acknowledgement you're not one with the waking world. Dragging his hooves, the pheromoo who elected to have a job that was at times physically demanding as soon as the sun came down felt that reality bear down on him. A weary hand fumbling fruitlessly with the lock, he eventually hears that long-sought after click to nearly collapse just then and there. On good nights, Locke would come home, eschew his work clothes, maybe go on a brisk run while the day was still young and be home and in bed before noon.

This, clearly wasn't one of those nights, shoulders taut and strained from handling some, more than rowdy patrons. While having issues with the clientele wasn't always a Given, the season really did seem to bring the peacocking and bravado that tokens of affection or needs to Affirm place often do. Not wanting to feel those drunken flailings to his trapezius once he woke, Locke wasted no time in stripping his clothes, silently grateful of the fact he lived alone as he let them drop unceremoniously in the hallway on the way to the bathroom. Cranking the tap, the tub hissed triumphantly, music to his ears as steam began to fill the room. Considering the confused rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains to bid him good morning, there was no real need to turn on the lights, the natural lighting giving a gentle cozy patina to the room as he slipped into the water.

He didn't know exactly When he had drifted off, the simulated hug of piping water and his own exhaustion getting the better of him. First thing he'd actually notice was the now frigid water that had entered his nose as his face submurged, an action that caused Locke to sputter and flail as he jolted back to reality. Gasping for air, eyes wide, and a smattering of now cold bath water against the tile, he groaned out a sigh of annoyance and shifted to move himself out of the water. Fur clung to his body heavily, silently cursing his long coat as it inevitably caused more tracking of water against the floor. Reaching for a towel, he began the arduous process of drying himself, that pinch between his shoulders twinging as he stretched too far one way leading to a recoil.

Yeah, not.. looking forward to work tonight.

Unless? No, I can't-

Locke tried to recall the last time he had called out. He had, never called out. But this isn't worth calling out, is it? I'm just tired. That's not grounds for skipping work. Sure my muscles ache and I'll be miserable but, that's quitter talk. I can do this it's Nothing I'm making a big deal out of Nothing I-

Clearing a lump in his throat he didn't know was there, Locke's train of thought is caught off guard by a familiar wetness that served to be no fault of the bath against his cheeks. A shaky hand moved to dry the tears that had fallen, only to curl into a fist as the large man collapsed into himself for a couple silent, tiny sobs, hiding his face from eyes that weren't watching out of fear of artificial judgement.

As if on auto pilot, the pheromoo drifted out of the bathroom clad in no more than the towel around his waist, reaching the strewn remnants of his uniform of the day. Fishing out his phone, he languishes at it with a glassy dead stare as still he hesitates to actually commit. Flipping it open, thumb dialing the number of his employer, and holding it up to his ear. When the line answers, he nearly flinches, but swallows dryly and forces the words to come out.

"....I'm, sorry I- I'm not gonna be able to make it to work tonight. Can you get someone to cover my shift?"

"No problem, take it easy, okay?"

"....Yeah."

Click. 

Well, that was... Easy? Really easy? Surely he'd feel guilty for it later, but for the time being it was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Drifting to his bed Locke just about collapsed into his mattress, letting his eyes fall shut and without the need to set an alarm was out like a light.

What awoke him were the pangs of hunger before anything else, rolling over in the balled up nest that had inevitably formed by tossing and turning. Relegating that issue to someone else more qualified, he blearily brought attention back to his phone to order take out, where he remained curled up in bed for a number of minutes more. The only thing to stir him from this hibernation was the realization that, yes he was still buck ass naked, and though delivery men took kindly to that in pornos he wasn't about to test his luck with that roulette in the real world. Shuffling on a pair of sweatpants and a worn to the point of illegibility graphic tee that had Definitely seen better days, his eyes can't help but wander to the kitchenette still as he stifles a yawn. While the dining was decidedly someone else's problem, caffeine could certainly help.

It was late afternoon as Locke hovered over the coffee pot, brewing a fresh pot and swinging open the fridge door to grab the milk he'd made the night prior. He considered himself a lucky one that his own milk took well to creamer, the sweet rose notes delicate enough to not be cloying, though a subtle sweetness reminiscent of turkish delight. Sure, some would probably argue it closer to tasting perfume, but to each their own- At least he found himself fortunate to have a different scent than his flavor in his line of work, 'not many would take me too seriously as a bouncer if I smelled like rose hips' he mused to himself internally with a scoff. And with that, there was a ring at the doorbell, no doubt delivery.

The pizza was no more than a memory after about half an hour had passed, the first slice having already come and gone once he had picked it out of the underpaid delivery boy's hands to place it down on the coffee table. Drawing his knees up to his chest as he sat along the couch, mug cradled and subsequently dwarfed in two hands, his gaze halts at a book left dejected on the coffee table. Cocking his head to the side, he reaches for it, and it all comes back. Fingertips delicately graze against the embossed gold title against stormy blue hues, The Voice of The Sea. Supposedly a good read, a fantasy epic about a roguish swashbuckler with a heart of gold who saves a woman from a band of pirates only to find out she's the reincarnation of a princess from a lost kingdom underneath the waves. And,, she's also like a sea serpent? Or something? One of the myriad of titles Locke had heard of idly online and proceeded to order with the promise of reading it later that he just had a hard time keeping with his busy schedule. Well, no time like the present, thumb slipping between the pages and cracking the book open with one hand, nursing his coffee with the other, unable to contain the humbly pleased smile that bloomed from his lips.

Reaching the final page, Locke triumphantly let the book lay closed, a yawn cropping up he didn't expect. Surely I wasn't reading That long- No, it was the dead of night, and judging from how he usually kept his schedule it was probably moreso leaning towards early morning. Well, it was fun while it lasted, really needed the break- back to work, tomorrow, I guess.. Or-

I guess I have more reading to catch up to.

An uncharacteristically mischevious smirk made it's way across his cheeks, flipping his phone open, to send a text to his boss post haste. A part of him still felt guilty but, it was a little tittilating? Like playing hooky, something about the risk versus reward and, sure he earned it after all this time. The least the bossman could do.

Locke is Typing...

Hey.

I really hate to do this two days in a row but-