Searching for jobs is hard. Applying for eight jobs in one day is harder. Doing so with Edward staring at you like some sort of pissed-off owl is surprisingly easier than you'd expect.

Until he opens his mouth. Funny how things are bearable until he does that.

"And what exactly do you think you're doing?" His eyes narrow, squinting at your laptop that he defaced with several green question marks a few weeks ago. "Besides ignoring me, of course. The oh-so gracious rogue who's letting you stick around for reasons unknown to even my own genius intellect."

As soon as you tell him, Edward squawks indignantly, bolting upright from his lazy position on the couch. "A job? Seriously?" The movement makes his haphazardly buttoned-up emerald green pyjama top fall open, but the poor buttons don't get more than a moment of respite before he's cursing and doing them up again. "Why do you want a job?"

To get paid. Same reason everyone else wants a job. In fact, it's not so much that you want a job, moreso you need it if you want to keep up your continued existence on this mortal coil.

Edward frowns, rising to his feet. "Do you realise how terrible an idea that is? You'll be stocking shelves until some random decides to stick up your workplace because he wants a fresh orange in the middle of apple season, or-or that racecar bed looked at 'em funny!"

His words don't seem to have swayed you, so he changes tactics, leaning over the back of your chair. "Well, have you tried making burner social media accounts? Really suck up to the companies you want to be employed by so when they do their social media checks, you look good." Well, that didn't work either. Edward supposes that your self-esteem must be six feet under if you're willing to kiss up to Denny's.

It's a good thing he still has his ace up his sleeve. "Or, you could step into the world of crime. Just dip your toes in, you'd be surprised how many henchman openings there are. No experience required, although, since that one Knute Brody fiasco, where it turned out that he was just several former Robins screwing with us, you do need to undergo a police screening that confirms you have committed crimes. But a recommendation from yours truly should be enough too. Just got to make sure you don't cross paths with the Bat."

Edward straightens again, stretching languidly, although his sharp gaze gives away his game. "But," he emphasises the 't' sound. "You could always just work for me. It's difficult for a dashing and famous man such as myself to go out in public. I can pay you with a cut of whatever bank I decide to rob on any given week, and there's little crime required! Barely any interactions with the Bat or his little orphan army either."

"In fact, the chances of being taken hostage by any of the other rogues is relatively low, all things considered." By now, Edward is pacing slowly behind you, his red hair a mess as he lists off as many reasons as he can that have nothing to do with his irrational and illogical growing attachment to you.