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Detective Badd was so graciously given a case one day prior to the trial. The original detective had given a convenient call to say that he had fallen ill. This case was being avoided like the plague, most likely due to the fact that it was a stalemate. No decisive evidence could be found to prove the current culprit’s guilt, or to indict another possible suspect. Badd reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a small handful of lollipops and laying them down on his desk. He fingered through, looking for any flavors that caught his eye. All of the rootbeer ones had already been swiped by his…friend…Byrne Faraday—they were his favorite afterall—and he himself had eaten all the strawberry ones because those were his favorite. He flipped over a piña colada flavored lollipop and was met with what he assumed was the last rootbeer flavored lollipop.
“Huh…guess he missed this one…” Badd said out loud to the empty office. He took the candy in his index and middle fingers, twirling it around.
Of all the flavors to like, Badd thought, why rootbeer…? What loser would ever enjoy rootbeer lollipops?
Slowly and with care he unwrapped it, revealing the syrupy, dark brown color underneath.
It doesn’t even have a good taste…strawberry and cherry are much better.
He brought the candy to his lips, setting it on them so that it was just the ghost of a touch. A glimmer of a feeling.
God…I wish Byrne were here…
The lollipop slipped into his mouth, the foreign, artificial flavor mixing with the taste of his saliva. His tongue swiped over it with gentle curiosity, savoring its flavor.
Byrne…
He closed his eyes as he focused on the flavor. His hand traced over his brow while he slipped further from the world, from the stress of his work, from the never-ending pains of his life…
“Badd?”
The candy-induced trance ended almost as soon as it had started. A rose tint began to paint his features as he saw who stood in the doorway: Byrne Faraday. The man who he had just subconsciously began to daydream about. The man who always either tasted like whiskey, cigarettes, or artificial rootbeer. He wondered what that man tasted like right now.
“Uh, earth to Detective Badd?” Byrne asked as he shut the door and walked over to the desk.
“Sorry,” Badd mumbled, “what do you need…?”
“That report” —Byrne pointed at the police report that was now covered in a handful of miscellaneous lollipops— “unless there’s something else you want me to need?” He winked, knowing damn well what he was doing.
“Oh, shut up, Faraday,” Badd said as the pink on his cheeks quickly turned a more violent shade of red. He brushed off the candies and handed over the report. “I didn’t get it completely finished. I got…distracted by…something.”
“Hmm?” Byrne cocked an eyebrow at that last statement. “Care to elaborate?”
“No.”
“Ah…”
A painful moment of silence hung like a noose between the two of them. Byrne was the one to break it: “Well, I will let you finish this up. Hopefully you won’t get distracted again.” Badd knew he didn’t mean for that last sentence to have bite to it, but it was all he could hear.
“‘M sorry…” Badd grumbled as he took back the report, beginning to feel guilty for making Byrne stay even longer. He had a kid to look after, but instead he was stuck in this hell-hole waiting for a colleague to finish some goddamn report that-
A soft peck on the lips stopped his thoughts. He went blank as he looked at the man who was now leaning across his desk so that they were merely inches apart from each other.
“How about you finish that at my place?” Byrne offered, a soft smirk creeping across his face along with an undeniable blush that spread like wildfire. It didn’t take a genius to pick up on his ulterior motive, but Badd still looked him up and down, looking for some kind of tell that showed he was being lied to or toyed with, but he found no such thing. It was a genuine offer. A promise.
“Fine…but I am not sleeping on that couch…”
Byrne chuckled; his laugh was so sweet it could rot more teeth than a cigarette. He stood up straight and began to readjust his signature bandana. “there’s no need to worry about that,” he said with a cheeky wink. He then pulled the lollipop out of Badd’s mouth, “I believe this is one of mine.” He slowly and deliberately pushed the lollipop into his mouth and left the office, leaving Badd sitting there with nothing but his thoughts. Those thoughts as rotten as one lollipop too many, one cigarette too many, or one whiskey too many.