Mr. Rogers And ME [BL]

Lirael Thalorin raised both of his hands, shifting quietly into a less uncomfortable position on the stool behind the counter.

A dark, menacing gun barrel was pressed against his head, while not far behind him, the coworker on shift with him at the bakery today lay bound up like a pretzel and tossed in a corner, sobbing miserably. Although Lirael understood that this was the most instinctive reaction of an ordinary person have when they faced with a life-threatening situation, he still couldn't help but feel a headache coming on, the veins at his temples throbbing.

...Seriously, you're a grown man. Is it really okay to cry like this?

If the timing weren't so inappropriate, Lirael would have loved to stuff the counter's cleaning cloth into that guy's mouth. His hearing was already ten times more acute than that of an ordinary human, which, in theory, was a great advantage. But in a situation like this, it became tenfold torture. To make matters worse, the robber standing above him was currently emotionally agitated, shouting in a heated standoff with the police outside the store. The constant yelling made him want to pull off his ears to block the noise.

How did things even end up like this?

Lirael cast a weary glance at the gun aimed at his forehead, then another at the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent sneaking along the wall outside the window. The agent discreetly flashed a reassuring gesture at him through the glass. Lirael sighed silently, suppressing his urge to act and settling into his role as the hostage, all while feeling a complex and painful sense of hopelessness toward the world.

Twenty minutes earlier—

He had walked into the store with a backpack slung over his shoulders and greeted his coworker, who was already standing behind the counter organizing the cash register. Lirael took off his headphones and put on the apron designated for kitchen use. Glancing at the order sent by the boss, he headed into the back room to prepare the materials needed for the day.

It was currently the hottest time of year in New York, with the sun blazing overhead like a furnace, turning the entire city red-hot. Although the walk from the subway station to the bakery took less than five minutes, by the time Lirael entered the store, his shirt was already soaked with sweat. Strands of his black hair clung to his neck, making him look somewhat disheveled.

"Why don't you tie up your hair?"

From behind the counter, the coworker he was working with today glanced at Lirael's disappearing figure through the door and couldn't help but mutter.

"Or just cut it short. Keeping it this long just looks hot. I think short hair would suit you anyway. Besides, with that face of yours, it's not like the girls are going to stop liking you."

The comment was clearly tinged with harmless jealousy, but Lirael didn't mind and didn't bother responding. Instead, he casually brushed the strands of hair hanging near his ears and gave a small, helpless smile.

In fact, it wasn't like he hadn't tried cutting it before.

His hair used to be much longer than it is now, nearly reaching down to his waist. In order to blend into 21st-century human society, Lirael had ruthlessly cut off most of it. But the remaining length was something he absolutely couldn't touch. It wasn't a matter of vanity or maintaining an image; it was simply because if his hair were any shorter, he wouldn't be able to hide his pointed ears, which set him apart from ordinary people.

Lirael was an Elf, a Noldor Elf from the world of Arda, created by Eru Ilúvatar.

In his memory, he had lived for a very long time. From the days when most of the Noldor Elves rebelled and left Valinor during the Years of the Trees, all the way to the War of the Ring when Sauron was finally defeated, he had wandered across the vast lands of Middle-earth, seeking his own destiny. After the war ended, the Age of Men had finally arrived. The Elves gradually chose to sail west from the Grey Havens to Aman, and although he had been meant to return with the Elves of Rivendell, she had refused Elrond's invitation. Instead, she chose to remain in Middle-earth, to stay on the land he had walked upon for so many ages, sinking into a deep slumber.

That slumber lasted several millennia. It wasn't until S.H.I.E.L.D. agents dug him up in some deep forest that Lirael finally awoke in this strange, unfamiliar era. To his dismay, he found himself an out-of-place intruder, a living relic from a bygone age.

Thus, he had no choice but to start learning the ways of modern human life, striving to fit into this world. He even took a part-time job at this bakery. Though the pay wasn't much, it was enough to support himself, and the job didn't require too many 21st-century skills. Lirael felt he couldn't ask for more.

He opened the oven, took out the tray of freshly baked cookies, and packed them into a box. After double-checking the order to ensure everything was correct, he picked up the box and walked out of the kitchen, ready to hand it off to his coworker for delivery to a customer who had placed their order the night before.

And then, everything went wrong the moment Lirael pulled back the curtain.

Before he could even react, the cold gleam of a handgun was already pressed against his forehead. His coworker, who had been behind the counter serving customers, was now lying face down on the floor. The few scattered customers in the shop screamed and fled, pulling out their phones to call 911 as they ran. It didn't take long before the police arrived, surrounding the bakery.

Lirael felt his luck had truly run out.

Of course, he knew what a gun was. In fact, he'd had his fair share of trouble with these things when he had first awoken, courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D. While he hadn't expected this era to be any more peaceful than his own time, being held at gunpoint in broad daylight seemed like too much. Not only had this ruined his job and disrupted his plans to make a living in this new world, but it had also left a deep scar on his already weary soul.