Challenge #3: Prompt #14 - Secondhand
Title: Thrift Shop
Prompt: Secondhand
Word Count: 1010
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: original (Pictures in My Head 'verse)
Pairings (if any): Brian/ Jordan
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/Underage): none
Summary: Brian and Jordan explore a thrift shop.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I look through the window of the second hand store and I have to admit I’m a little nervous. How will Brian be able to navigate the crowded and disorganized aisles?
I look up at him now, but he just seems calm and confident as always. “Yeah, it’s fine. Come on.”
He practically pulls me into the store. Brian seems to know his way around, he’s taking me straight to the cash register in one corner. I look around, almost overwhelmed by the amount of junk in the small store. I have to admit, I’ve never been a fan of antiques, collectibles, vintage items or whatever you want to label someone else’s junk. If someone else didn’t want it, why should I? The old, wrinkled store owner looks up from the newspaper he’s reading. The paper looks like it must be older than anything else in the store from the way it’s all yellow and falling apart. He smiles when he sees us approaching. “Oh hi Brian. I got some good stuff come in that I’ve been saving for you. Who’s the chick?” He actually winks at me. I wonder about this guy; he looks like he could have been alive in the Great Depression and served in WWII. He probably had some story to tell…
“Oh, she’s just a friend. Jordan, this is Mr. Turner, who owns this store. Mr. Turner, this is Jordan.”
We shake hands and I’m surprised how strong his grip was. “Wait here a minute. I’ll get the stuff.”
I glance down at the paper he left on the counter. It’s from two weeks ago. Weird. I squeeze Brian’s arm. “Who’s that guy, anyway?”
He just smirks. “Some character, no?”
I want to ask more, but Mr. Turner is already coming back with a small box of assorted goods. I peek into the box and I really don’t get it. It just looks like a bunch of leftover junk to me. Mr. Turner puts the box down with a flourish. He picks up a piece of torn velvet, probably from some old dress. He places it in Brian’s hand. Brian smiles and feels it for a minute. “It’s so smooth. They don’t make it like that anymore. Here Jordan, you feel it.”
He offers it to me, his aim just a little off. I take it, but I honestly don’t know how velvet is supposed to feel. I just stay quiet, “It’s nice.”
Brian seems happy with that so he hands it back to Mr. Turner. The store owner puts it carefully back into the box. Next, he takes out a small leather change purse and hands it to Brian. I look at it quickly; it just seems like something a kid made in camp, with messy stitching and shapes stamped by hand into the hard leather. Brian feels it in his hand for a long moment and a smile spreads across his face. “It’s amazing. Some kid put so much work into this… and it ends up here. I wonder why. Did they just forget about it in their pile of stuff to donate?”
He hands off it to me and I unsnap it nervously, taking out a few pennies. I was distracted, suddenly seeing Brian in a new light. How many people even thought about stuff like where something came from or how it got to where it was? We passed this store every day on the way to school, but most kids probably never even looked inside, I know I didn’t.
We go through a few more objects like that, but I don’t say much. I’m just looking at Brian, completely confused. He’s usually so quiet, but he seems to be totally enjoying himself now. Finally, he squeezes my arm to get my attention. “We should probably get going, but thanks, Mr. Turner. I’m sure I’ll be back.”
The store owner just smiles. “I’ll save a new box for you.”
I wait until we are out of the store before I speak up. “I still don’t get it,” I admit, shrugging a little.
“I don’t know. I think people don’t realize the real value of stuff. Of course I know that stuff is worthless, but someone loved it. What happened? It just seems like some crazy story. Besides, Mr. Turner’s store is one place I feel comfortable doing stuff like that. I know it’s lame.”
“No, it’s not,” I’m completely serious and I’m a little flattered that he’d let me in on his ritual. I know he usually stays with his small group of friends and he doesn’t seem to say much even in those circles. “I really admire you, Brian,” I blurt before I can regret it.
“Jordan, you don’t have to say that…” He’s chuckling, but his cheeks are red.
We’re walking down the street again, heading back to school. Brian begged me to come during lunch and by now, our free period is almost over. Its really amazing that Brian knew that without even checking his watch. It’s almost like he can just sense little things like that. I can already see the school coming into sight on the block ahead, but I’m quite ready to go back. Brian and I still aren’t really dating, we haven’t kissed or anything. We spend long afternoons in a park or the local cafe because my parents believe in something they like to call neutral ground. I know my friends might see us there, but I tell myself I don’t care, even though I really do. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t get past what my friends think or our different cliches. Just thinking about all that leaves me tired and feeling used up, like that leftover junk no one wants. I smile because I know at least one person appreciates the leftovers and he’s out here with me. I have to admit I’d rather be out here with someone who can understand the differences than inside with those who refuse to see.
Prompt: Secondhand
Word Count: 1010
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: original (Pictures in My Head 'verse)
Pairings (if any): Brian/ Jordan
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/Underage): none
Summary: Brian and Jordan explore a thrift shop.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I look through the window of the second hand store and I have to admit I’m a little nervous. How will Brian be able to navigate the crowded and disorganized aisles?
I look up at him now, but he just seems calm and confident as always. “Yeah, it’s fine. Come on.”
He practically pulls me into the store. Brian seems to know his way around, he’s taking me straight to the cash register in one corner. I look around, almost overwhelmed by the amount of junk in the small store. I have to admit, I’ve never been a fan of antiques, collectibles, vintage items or whatever you want to label someone else’s junk. If someone else didn’t want it, why should I? The old, wrinkled store owner looks up from the newspaper he’s reading. The paper looks like it must be older than anything else in the store from the way it’s all yellow and falling apart. He smiles when he sees us approaching. “Oh hi Brian. I got some good stuff come in that I’ve been saving for you. Who’s the chick?” He actually winks at me. I wonder about this guy; he looks like he could have been alive in the Great Depression and served in WWII. He probably had some story to tell…
“Oh, she’s just a friend. Jordan, this is Mr. Turner, who owns this store. Mr. Turner, this is Jordan.”
We shake hands and I’m surprised how strong his grip was. “Wait here a minute. I’ll get the stuff.”
I glance down at the paper he left on the counter. It’s from two weeks ago. Weird. I squeeze Brian’s arm. “Who’s that guy, anyway?”
He just smirks. “Some character, no?”
I want to ask more, but Mr. Turner is already coming back with a small box of assorted goods. I peek into the box and I really don’t get it. It just looks like a bunch of leftover junk to me. Mr. Turner puts the box down with a flourish. He picks up a piece of torn velvet, probably from some old dress. He places it in Brian’s hand. Brian smiles and feels it for a minute. “It’s so smooth. They don’t make it like that anymore. Here Jordan, you feel it.”
He offers it to me, his aim just a little off. I take it, but I honestly don’t know how velvet is supposed to feel. I just stay quiet, “It’s nice.”
Brian seems happy with that so he hands it back to Mr. Turner. The store owner puts it carefully back into the box. Next, he takes out a small leather change purse and hands it to Brian. I look at it quickly; it just seems like something a kid made in camp, with messy stitching and shapes stamped by hand into the hard leather. Brian feels it in his hand for a long moment and a smile spreads across his face. “It’s amazing. Some kid put so much work into this… and it ends up here. I wonder why. Did they just forget about it in their pile of stuff to donate?”
He hands off it to me and I unsnap it nervously, taking out a few pennies. I was distracted, suddenly seeing Brian in a new light. How many people even thought about stuff like where something came from or how it got to where it was? We passed this store every day on the way to school, but most kids probably never even looked inside, I know I didn’t.
We go through a few more objects like that, but I don’t say much. I’m just looking at Brian, completely confused. He’s usually so quiet, but he seems to be totally enjoying himself now. Finally, he squeezes my arm to get my attention. “We should probably get going, but thanks, Mr. Turner. I’m sure I’ll be back.”
The store owner just smiles. “I’ll save a new box for you.”
I wait until we are out of the store before I speak up. “I still don’t get it,” I admit, shrugging a little.
“I don’t know. I think people don’t realize the real value of stuff. Of course I know that stuff is worthless, but someone loved it. What happened? It just seems like some crazy story. Besides, Mr. Turner’s store is one place I feel comfortable doing stuff like that. I know it’s lame.”
“No, it’s not,” I’m completely serious and I’m a little flattered that he’d let me in on his ritual. I know he usually stays with his small group of friends and he doesn’t seem to say much even in those circles. “I really admire you, Brian,” I blurt before I can regret it.
“Jordan, you don’t have to say that…” He’s chuckling, but his cheeks are red.
We’re walking down the street again, heading back to school. Brian begged me to come during lunch and by now, our free period is almost over. Its really amazing that Brian knew that without even checking his watch. It’s almost like he can just sense little things like that. I can already see the school coming into sight on the block ahead, but I’m quite ready to go back. Brian and I still aren’t really dating, we haven’t kissed or anything. We spend long afternoons in a park or the local cafe because my parents believe in something they like to call neutral ground. I know my friends might see us there, but I tell myself I don’t care, even though I really do. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t get past what my friends think or our different cliches. Just thinking about all that leaves me tired and feeling used up, like that leftover junk no one wants. I smile because I know at least one person appreciates the leftovers and he’s out here with me. I have to admit I’d rather be out here with someone who can understand the differences than inside with those who refuse to see.