[h2][center][color=orange]Archie[/color][/center][/h2][hr] "It's good to see you too, Taylor." As he strode into the shop Archie placed his damaged clothing on a table by a sewing machine. He sighed, turning around to take a seat. As he sat down, he watched her toss her rag into the sink, muttering [i]"Three pointer."[/i] under his breath as she effortlessly made the shot. For being so short, the girl had game. "Taylor, you know me well." He said, smiling at her foresight of his ruined clothing. The grin fell quickly as soon as she reminded him that he still hadn't told her why he needed new clothing so often. When she picked up two large mugs, he knew that he was going to be in for another conversation. He wasn't complaining, really! He loved talking with Taylor, she was a sweet girl and extremely successful in her own right. Talking to people like her made him feel like maybe the world wasn't so hopeless after all, but he knew that she had him right where she wanted him. They were alone, she had left off on a suggesting that he expand on his mysterious nature, and he didn't have much in the way of getting out of this. Deep down in Archie, he didn't want her to know for the wrong reasons. Yes, of course he was a dangerous individual and telling Taylor that would make her scared of him and potentially ruin one of the few regular and positive human interaction outlets he has left. While that reasoning was present, and extremely valid, Archie was hesitant to open up more so because he was afraid of getting too close to her. Archie comes in contact with a lot of bodies, and handshakes, and smiles, and laughter, and friendly moments. But a friend is something different. There’s usually a moment where it comes into focus. Sometimes it's been a smile that he didn’t expect and didn’t know he needed. A pat on the back, and invitation, a secret. Then there it is- he'd have a friend. But, Archie is an alcoholic, with a failed marriage, and a dead son. Even now he had a flask strapped to his hip. He had an apartment with rooms that he hadn't stepped in for weeks now because the feeling of failure weighs down on him like the world on Atlas' shoulders. Taylor wouldn't want to see that part of him, not even he wanted to see that part of him. Despite his brain telling him that it was wrong and selfish to let her in and that she'd eventually be too disgusted with him to bear his presence, his heart yearned for the acceptance that it hadn't had in a long time. So despite his better judgement he opened his big, fat, stupid mouth. "If you want to know, I'll tell you." He said, finally caving. He leaned over the table and rested his head in his hands. "I, um, I have a condition." He said. "Sometimes my body changes. I- I become a monster. I try to control it, keep it away from people, but it's huge and angry. I don't know when it started, but it's there and-" he continued, motioning to his shredded clothing, "It makes a mess. Of everything. It's hurt people, Taylor." He rubs his forehead and looks away from Nicole, refusing to meet her eyes. "I try to cope but... it's not exactly something you can visit a therapist about, y'know?" He fell quiet, not sure how to continue his rant. He didn't want to give her the details, unless she asked. She was the first person he'd told about his affliction, and his stomach was doing flips in anxiety- anticipating some kind of rejection. [hr][@chukklehed]