Work Text
Anti knits his eyebrows. He’s standing near a window, floor-to-ceiling, and he crosses his arms over his chest. The green-haired man looks down at the city and watches some people in their apartments from across the street, unaware that they’re being observed. He clicks his tongue and adjusts the leather gloves on his hands, pulling them back to feel more comfortable on his skin. The long coat hides his weapons against his back and he feels the weight of his gun and knife. Anti scowls when he hears muffled groans in the apartment he is in and there’s shuffling. He sighs, annoyed, and turns around to look at Blank still trying to tie up a man in a chair. The boy’s tongue is poking out as if he’s in deep concentration and brown strands of hair are over his forehead. Anti pinches the bridge of his nose and points at the victim, who’s crying and trying to beg for his life. “Would you fucking hurry?” Anti groans at Blank. “Listen, I’m doing my best here, buddy,” the boy murmurs. Anti scowls more but lets him be, interrogating the man in a suit until they get a new name for the next target. There’s a whole thing of business people owing money to each other and it’s a goddamn fucking mess. The hitman hates these type of missions. It’s pathetic. They just weep and beg for their lives, peeing on themselves and acting as if they’re innocent in their big luxurious houses. Blank assures him that this next person will be the last and then they can end this. Anti keeps glaring, back turned against them while he looks outside. This apartment is big and filled with expensive furnitures. The hitman sneers and faintly listens to Blank threatening the man very calmly. The victim’s face is bloody from Anti’s punches and he would have continued if it wasn’t for the boy rolling his eyes. Anti knows the kid’s still new to this world. He has too much to learn yet. He’s still too patient, too kind, but the green-haired man gives him a chance to do it his own way. Blank hasn’t even found his doppelganger yet. He could easily just walk away from this and, honestly, Anti hopes he does just that. The boy doesn’t deserve to see half of the things he has. The hitman’s green eyes wander through the buildings, floor to floor, trying to focus on the present. He’s always liked to observe, fascinated by human behaviors. It calms him down. There’s a glimpse of light that makes Anti flinch, sunlight being reflected from the right building across from them. He raises a hand to block the light from his eyes and, when it disappears, he looks over to see a silhouette on a small porch. Anti immediately looks away, like someone just fucking slapped him in the face. He looks down at the floor, eyes wide and hands clenching in his pockets, not daring to move. The hitman feels a thin line of anxiety suddenly dropping down into his stomach and he can’t quite understand what Blank says next. The world swims and it feels like everything is muted, underwater. He swallows, wanting to forget what he saw. It was still far, so maybe it was nothing but a trick from his eyes. Blank calls him again and Anti forces himself to turn around, looking at him while his heart picks up. “I got the name, I know who’s next on the list. What do we do with him?” he asks and the man’s crying, bleeding from his nose. Anti shakes his head, not quite present. He takes the gun from the back of his coat to shoot the man between the eyes, pulling the trigger and feeling the impact of the recoil on his right shoulder. Blank raises his arms, wide eyes. “What the fuck, Anti?!” The green-haired man murmurs that he should call the cleaning staff to get rid of the body and any other evidence. Blank curses out loud and says that this was unnecessary. Anti walks up to him, with large green eyes, and he must look insane because the boy takes a step back, swallowing. “You can still leave, you know? All of this. You’re too young for this shit,” the hitman says but Blank denies it. “Then call the goddamn cleaning staff so we can go.” They leave the building with a frown and the boy is quiet when they enter the car. Anti keeps his eyes on the road, trying not to think about what just happened, and he drives towards a hotel. The green-haired man ignores Blank when he steps out of the car, going to the elevator first. He walks into the hallway and slides a card to enter his own room, high up in this place, and he takes off his coat before running his hands through green hair. Anti paces around, puffing air from his mouth and dragging his hands over his face. The hitman shakes his head and remembers the silhouette of a man, that looked like him. He growls and sits on the edge of a cold bed, elbows resting on his knees. Anti stares at the white carpet, mind buzzing. It couldn’t be. It can’t be. He barely caught a glance of that man. It can be anyone just similar, a bit alike. Anti can’t fucking deal with a doppelganger right now. He just can’t. The hitman purses his lips and walks up to the mini bar in the bedroom, opening a bottle of whiskey. He pours some in a glass and drinks it in one go, feeling the burning sensation in his throat. He groans and drinks some more, waiting for the day to end. Anti has to go back and make sure that he’s wrong. That it was nothing but a trick. He won’t be able to rest without having an answer. The green-haired man picks up a duffel bag when the sun begins to set and he takes the long coat before leaving again. He makes sure that no one follows him and he enters the black car, turning the ignition on and speeding up. The streetlights are a blur from the corners of Anti’s eyes and he stops closer to that building. The hitman walks into the opposite one, buzzing a random intercom. Anti’s voice perks up when a woman answers it and he easily lies, saying he forgot his password and that he moved a while ago. The lady hesitates but Anti convinces her that everything is fine and that he’s just silly, chuckling between words. The door buzzes open and the green-haired man goes back to his usual expression, getting inside and climbing up the stairs with a scowl. Anti goes up to the rooftop, in front of that building, and he opens the duffel bag. He sets up a sniper rifle, listening to the clicking sounds of the weapon before lying down on the ground. He finds a comfortable position and looks through the scope. There, on the tenth floor, Anti sees brown hair and pale skin. The boy’s sitting on a couch, watching something on the television, too distracted to notice a sniper on the roof. Anti’s breath is caught in his throat when he sees the person laugh but he hears no sound, eyes turning into half-moons. There’s no way in denying now. It is his double for sure. Same face, same mouth. The hitman knits his eyebrows, watching the boy through the scope, and his heart clenches. The kid rests his cheek on a hand, smiling at something that makes him chuckle, and Anti’s finger touches the trigger of his gun. He swallows and he knows that he should contact Felix first, let him know about the situation. But it was so sudden. Unexpected. Anti didn’t even try to fucking find him, for fuck’s sakes. It’s something he always thought to avoid, to never come across his double and not have to deal with him. It seemed rather unlikely for that to happen, especially there. Anti pulls the trigger slowly, wondering what could happen if he continued. He aims at the man’s head and it’d be too easy to end this right there and then. He could apologize to Felix later, saying he had the perfect opportunity to wipe him out, and call it a day. The man is too fond of him to be that upset. Anti presses his lips together. Something stirs in his heart when the boy giggles again and part of him wants to hear how he sounds like. The hitman takes his finger off the trigger and sighs, moving up to see without the gun. The brown-haired man gets up from the couch, walking around his apartment casually and without a worry in his mind. Anti purses his lips and puts the sniper rifle to the side, grumbling and picking up a cigarette from his pocket. He lights it with his matches and smokes on the rooftop, watching the kid in the middle of the night. His green locks softly move with the wind and he stays there, just staring at the boy. The brown-haired man walks barefoot, disappearing every now and then between his windows. Anti rubs his temple, thinking what the fuck he’s doing, and he drags from his cigarette. He should take the shot, he really should. But he never experienced seeing someone like this. He never felt... this. He heard stories from other hitmen before, about how weird it feels to see their doubles. As if you’re looking in a mirror and knowing something is slightly off, but not being able to put your finger on it. The green-haired man didn’t think he would feel that at all. His lips part in deep thought, smoke leaving his mouth, and it feels like he’s watching another life he could’ve had. It’s strange and it makes him confused. Anti doesn’t like it. He glares and fidgets with the white object between his fingers, not knowing what to do with himself. He doesn’t tell anyone. Anti keeps that moment to himself, still debating whether or not he should kill him, but wanting to have that memory only to him. He wants to be selfish about this and he fucking should. It’s his doppelganger, anyway. It’s no one else. No one can take that away from him, that’s for sure. The hitman does come back to that rooftop every now and then, wanting to keep track of that boy and make sure that he’s still there. At first, Anti only learns his routine. The brown-haired man leaves every day around two in the afternoon and comes back to the apartment at seven, sometimes eight. It’s only when Anti begins to wonder about his name that things get worse. The hitman starts imagining how people call him, green eyes following the boy’s movements from that damn rooftop, and he wonders how he sounds like. The green-haired man follows him one day. He puts his hands in his pockets, wearing all black and a beanie to hide his green hair, and he slowly walks with a good distance behind the kid. Anti waits a couple of times, turning corners and keeping his head down in the middle of the crowd. The brown-haired man walks peacefully, carrying a small backpack, and he’s still far away from the hitman to hear anything. Anti clicks his tongue when the kid goes to a subway and he has to be extra careful there, watching him between wagons. It’s so odd to see someone like him. The man’s just sitting there, browsing on his cell phone, looking rather bored and tired. He’s wearing earphones and Anti wonders what kind of music he’s listening to. His cell phone buzzes and he scowls, taking his eyes away from the boy to pick it up. A familiar code shows up on his screen and he holds back a growl. “What?” he murmurs. “Jeez, hello I guess,” Blank’s voice reaches his ear. “We’ve got a lead to where that last guy is. Turns out he bought a lake house last summer and that sounds like a good hiding place, in my opinion.” “I’m busy,” Anti whispers, looking back at the brown-haired man from the other side. “And your opinion doesn’t matter in this business. You are being naive.” “Isn’t that your opinion about me, though?” Anti’s eyebrow twitches and he tightens his hold on his cell phone, holding back the urge to crush it. “Busy with what, anyway? We don’t have anything planned for today and I-” “I said I’m busy and that’s all you’re gonna get. Consider yourself lucky. Text me the location later.” The subway comes to a stop and he hangs up the cell phone, looking at the man standing up and walking out. Anti goes back to following him, fresh air finally hitting his face when they’re out of there, and his eyes widen at some point when the kid stops, slowly turning around. The green-haired man turns his face away, pretending to look at a store, and he pulls his beanie some more. Anti waits a few seconds before looking to the side again, seeing that the boy returned to his path. After a few blocks, he enters a restaurant, and the hitman knits his eyebrows. He didn’t think he would be working at a place like that. The green-haired man doesn’t enter, not right now, and he just stares through a large window. The kid waves at some people and picks up an apron, pushing a door to walk into what appears to be a kitchen. Anti can’t see him anymore and that upsets him. But at least he knows where the man works now. He stays around the block for a couple of hours, watching people get inside the restaurant, and he smokes while leaning against a brick wall. Anti once again doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. All he has in his mind is that boy. The hitman breathes and thinks about him, he sleeps and dreams about him. The brown-haired man is everywhere he goes, in a way. Still without a voice. Anti throws the end of his cigarette on the pavement floor, crushing it with his combat boots, and he walks away when the sun starts to set. The green-haired man wants to get closer, so he will wait for the boy to return back home. He will wait for him to fall asleep. Anti would complain about so much waiting in any other scenario, but this is different. He needs to be very patient and careful with this. He can’t mess this up. The freckled man doesn’t get tired of watching him, though. Something about that man is hypnotizing. Anti never felt so drawn to a person before. Not that fast. He imagines himself being next to the kid, comparing their heights and little differences. The green-haired man shakes his head and drags a hand over his face. He ignores his cell phone buzzing a second time and he stops by a food place to put something in his stomach. Anti hasn’t eaten all day, just following the boy around, so he sits down on a stool and orders some tea with a piece of lemon pie. The man sighs, eating quietly and paying with cash. This will be enough to keep him going a little more and he welcomes the drink in his lips. When night falls, he walks up to the back of the building and he jumps over a dumpster so he can pull the fire-escape ladder down. Anti quietly climbs up the stairs, knowing where to go, and he stops on the tenth floor. The green-haired man notices the lights out and he gets closer to a window, seeing it locked. He takes out a lock pick from his coat, sliding underneath and fidgeting with it. Anti knits his eyebrows in concentration and there’s a low click in the air. He opens the window and his boots doesn’t make a sound when he steps inside the man’s apartment. Anti stands straight, green eyes wandering everywhere. He sees that dark couch up close and the silence rings in his ears. He hears just his breathing and he stops in the middle of the living room, taking it all in. Anti brushes his fingers on the couch, looking at an empty mug over the coffee table, and he walks up to a round table next to the kitchen. Everything is organized, clean, with flowers here and there. He sees portraits of that boy, his friends and family. Notes left by them. They call him Jack and he has blue eyes in these pictures. Anti tilts his head, more curious than ever, and he opens the man’s fridge. The artificial light in the kitchen cast an orange glow in front of him and he sees a lot of ingredients that somehow brings him a sense of relief. Like he’s glad that the boy takes care of himself in a way that he can’t. Anti closes it and he takes his time, not entering the bedroom yet. There’s a little table next to the front door and he finds a wallet. Anti opens it, staring at his ID, and his lips part at the name. Sean William Mcloughlin. Does he prefer Jack? Is that it? Regardless, he’s from Ireland. That’s good enough information to search about him later. He goes into the bathroom, turning on the light and seeing himself in the mirror. The man with the green eyes purses his lips, removing the beanie and ruffling his messy curls. He’s too self-conscious of his freckles, the dark circles under his tired eyes and the white scar on his neck. Anti tugs on his black gauges, humming, and he opens the man’s medicine cabinet, looking at everything carefully. He opens shampoo bottles and he likes the sweet scents, nothing too strong. Soft. He quietly opens the bedroom door, his own heart picking up now, and he sees the boy fast asleep in his bed. Oblivious. Resting after another day. Anti clenches his hands a few times, swallowing, and he steps closer. His heart beats like a drum and he can’t believe how close he is. The boy - Jack - is lying on his back, hand over his stomach and mouth ajar. The covers are up to his waist and he’s wearing a grey t-shirt, not much skin showing. Anti narrows his eyes, scanning him up and down. Jack’s hair is not as curly as his, nor is his beard as full as the hitman’s. He stands there, next to the boy’s bed, watching him like a creep. This man has no idea an intruder is in his home. Anti holds back a deep breath and he slowly raises his hands in the air, hesitanting a bit but leaning down. His hands hover over Jack’s face, wanting to touch but not quite daring yet, and he wonders if the boy’s skin is as soft as it looks. Anti closes his eyes and gently breathes in his scent, nose almost brushing against the man’s cheek. He moves down to his neck, staring through half-lidded eyes at that pulse there. It’s so tempting to just open his mouth, stick his split tongue out and lick that pale skin. Anti’s face scrunches up, knowing he’s getting into a dangerous place in his mind. The green-haired man feels a pang in his heart, aching for something he doesn’t understand, and his lips part. He’s so goddamn close, he swears he hears the kid’s heartbeat. What a shame it is that he can’t see those blue eyes in person. Anti’s cell phone buzzes, bringing him back to reality, and his eyes flutter when standing straight. Jack knits his eyebrows and takes a deep breath, grumbling in his sleep and turning around. The hitman presses his lips together and walks out of the bedroom, picking up the call in the kitchen. “Oh, you do know how to use a cell phone,” Blank says. “I’ve been trying to contact you for hours, Anti.” The freckled man leans against the counter, looking up at the ceiling with hazy eyes. He feels so high, intoxicated by that boy’s scent. “Speak,” he whispers.
“Boss wanna talk to you.”
Anti’s blood runs cold but it doesn’t show on his face. He just tightens his hold on the cell phone and hums. He hates that Blank says boss, too. He doesn’t have one. The hitman’s immediate thought, though, is that they know what’s happening. That Felix knows exactly what Anti has been doing for the past few weeks and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if that’s the case. Still, the freckled man says he’s on his way and he leaves the apartment through the window. Anti locks it again from the outside and he huffs, climbing down the stairs. He has the urge to look back but he doesn’t, just placing his hands in his pockets and walking away. The green-haired man finds his path to their base and it’s nearly one in the morning by the time he gets there. He hasn’t slept in a while and seeing that warm bed, with that boy in it, was incredibly tempting. Yet, there he is, wandering through their hallways and knocking on a double black door. When they open for him, Anti sees a silver-haired man standing in front of someone tied up in a chair. There are bookshelves on the wall behind him and a corner with a mini bar, along with a couch. He nods at the guard by the door and then looks at that scene, tied-up man whimpering and begging with his eyes. His hair is damp, sweat on his face, and there are burn marks all over his arms and neck. No doubt he was shocked several times. The silver-haired man smiles when looking at Anti and he makes a motion with his fingers, calling the freckled man. The hitman clenches his jaw but obeys, stepping closer. “Felix,” he murmurs. “You wanted to speak with me?” “Yes, I’ll explain to you in a minute,” the man says. “I just wanna teach this one here not to lie again.” Anti feels a thin line of anxiety crawling under his skin but he just nods, waiting. Felix doesn’t like it when people lie to him, at all. The silver-haired man murmurs more about what this hitman did, new to the job just like Blank is, and apparently he stole some money he shouldn’t have. Anti sees Felix play with a silver ring around his finger, twisting it to the left until a small sharp end shows up. It reminds the green-haired man of a crow’s claw and he purses his lips at what’s about to happen. The guy in the chair squirms and tries saying something through the gag, tears in his eyes. The silver-haired man grabs his hair, tilting his head, and the small claw touches the guy’s face, above his right eyebrow. It sinks into his skin, moving down to his eye and cheek while leaving a sharp line of blood. The man’s screams are muffled and Anti watches with a deadpan expression, knowing that this is Felix’s way of marking whoever betrayed him. Blood goes into the man’s eyes, making it red, and his face is smeared by it. It might be a small thing to do, but Anti can only imagine how painful it must be. It’ll be a scar for him to remember his mistakes and to know who he belongs to. The green-haired man takes a deep breath and the guy can’t open his right eye anymore, not for now. Felix hums, content with the result, and he takes a tissue from his suit pocket to clean his ring. He looks at the guard and tells him to get the hitman out of there, and Anti knows the wound will be taken care of as well. The silver-haired man closes his ring and smiles at the freckled man, moving to sit down on his chair behind his desk as if everything is perfectly normal. Anti stands, slightly leaning forward, and he fights a yawn. Shoulders hunched down. “You will be needed in another mission,” the man says. “Blank will take over this current one and get it done. It will be good for him, being by himself. I want you somewhere else.” The hitman scowls harder the further Felix explains the new mission. He’s not bothered by abandoning this one with Blank, sometimes that happens and he’s right about the boy needing some practice on his own. But this new mission is stupid, just killing a bunch of people in a meeting. “That’s half across the country,” Anti says. “Do you have a problem with that?” the silver-haired asks, smile leaving his face, and the freckled man clenches his hands in his pockets. He thinks of the boy, Jack, and how far away he will be. The hitman shakes his head and Felix’s smile comes back. “Very well, then! Why don’t you spend the night here? You look exhausted. I’ll make sure you leave tomorrow morning and you’ll have your fun, hm?” Anti doesn’t question the man this time and just hums, nodding shortly and turning around to leave the room. The hitman knows where he has to go, passing through large familiar hallways. Anti spent the first years as a hitman there, training properly and learning about weapons. About infiltration and how they should behave in certain situations. How to persuade. The green-haired man had to be taught how to take care of injuries, what to do in case of an emergency. Anti would wake up at four in the morning every day to run with a group in their field and he has lost the count of how many guns he had to dismantle, only to put it back together in seconds. The freckled man had his own small room, everyone still has, and Felix made them go through it all. They mostly stay at hotels nowadays, always on the move. He steps inside his old bedroom, the closest thing he ever had from a proper home. Although, it never really felt quite right to call this place by that name. Something still seemed off. The room is practically empty, not much personality showing. They had to keep everything simple and there are marks all over the walls from Anti’s knives. The hitman brushes his fingers at his desk, used mostly to place his guns and other weapons. There’s a single bed in the left corner, nightstand next to it with a simple lamp, and the moonlight casts into the room through a small window in the middle. The green-haired man walks up to the nightstand, opening the drawer to see his old books. Anti brushes his fingers over a cover of The Hobbit, touching the yellow pages from use. It was one of the few things he made sure to bring it from his childhood house. There are a couple of other books underneath it too, covers also fading. He leaves them in the drawer, though. The freckled man can alway go back to them, knowing they’re there. Anti removes his combat boots and coat, lying down in bed and listening to it creak under his weight. The mattress is too thin but he doesn't mind it at the moment. He puts a hand on the back of his head, sighing, and he thinks of Jack. That boy. He was so near, nose almost brushing against that pretty skin. If it wasn’t for Blank calling him, though, he doesn’t know what could’ve happened. It was probably for the best, otherwise he could’ve been caught. Anti touches his stomach, rolling up his shirt to feel his happy trail and scars. He purses his lips. The green-haired man has a dark thought kissing his mind and he stares at the ceiling, thinking about it. It’s been a while since he last jerked off, always going places and dealing with Blank’s shit. Seeing Jack like that also did things to him. He knits his eyebrows. It doesn’t feel that right, though, so he focuses on just feeling himself and not thinking about the kid. He unzips his pants, pulling them down with his boxer briefs just enough to see his cock. Anti lazily strokes himself, scowling in the dark, and he makes no sound. The green-haired man rubs his thumb on the underside of his cock, getting hard, and he holds back a grunt. Anti pulls his legs up when he’s leaking precum, making it easier to touch himself. He moves his hips up in the air and throws his head back, knitting his eyebrows and feeling warmth below his navel. His cock’s throbbing in his hand and he sees blue eyes, pale skin. Pink mouth. Fuck. Anti thrusts more in the air, keeping his hand still, and his balls tighten. The freckled man bites his lips, holding back a moan in the dark, and he jerks his shaft harder. Faster. The hitman tries not to think about him but it’s difficult and he’s so touch-starved. A low choked moan escapes his lips when he cums, jizzing over his stomach and hand, and he spams in bed. Anti swears under his breath, squeezing his cock and teasing himself a little more. He shudders, thighs tensing up, and he stays still for a moment to catch his breath. He blinks slowly, thinking he must be a fucking pervert now, and he sits up, vision swimming. He walks into a bathroom that connects to his room, washing his hands and cleaning the mess he did on his stomach. He brushes that weird feeling away and tells himself that he needed some release. It felt good, just a quick handjob to calm down his nerves. The green-haired man returns to his bed and just closes his eyes, wanting to catch a couple of hours of sleep before traveling. The hitman doesn’t really remember but, when he stirs himself awake, he knows that he dreamed of Jack. There’s that feeling in his mind, lingering, and he sighs. The sun hasn’t even come up, too used with that odd time, and he just washes his face and pees in that small bathroom. He gets dressed again and wanders through their base, just waiting for time to pass and receive orders. The man with the tired green eyes walks up some stairs and he leans against a balcony, looking down at a large training area. He’s surprised to see Smiley below, practicing Muay Thai with a previous hitman. There are huffs and shuffling in the background, and Anti rests his cheek on one hand while watching. “Heard you just got here and you’re already leaving today.” The green-haired man is unphased by that voice and he hums. “Maybe Felix wants to kick me out.” Pit clicks his tongue, saying Felix will never have the heart to do such a thing. He leans against the balcony next to Anti as well, and they watch Smiley fight below. He can feel the strawberry blond haired-man looking at him, though. “You look like shit,” he says, smirking. “I was inspired by you,” Anti replies, glancing at the man briefly to exchange a grin. Pit snorts but he insists some more, saying the hitman seems off. The green-haired man scowls when he asks if something happened. He blinks, seeing brown hair and pale skin. “Nothing happened. Just you, fucking pissing me off.” Pit has killed his double years ago, Kristoffer. Anti remembers asking him how it was and the Swedish man didn’t want to talk about it, not until a few days later. He was clearly shaken but then, he said he felt stronger and more focused. Anti calls it bullshit until this day, but Pit truly believes in what they’re doing, so he never questioned the man again. The hitman hears a loud thud, both looking back down to see Smiley on the ground. They huff and the man next to him shakes his head. “He never learns,” Pit murmurs. Anti hums. “He’s always been a brute. He doesn’t pay attention to his surroundings.” They keep chatting for a little bit and the green-haired man does it mostly to convince Pit that everything is normal. They do bring some memories from when they’ve started, old missions and fights. They talk about the time the freckled man sneaked into his bedroom, holding a bunch of hair products. He dyed his hair in Pit’s bathroom, between giggles and whispers. Both still young, seventeen years old. Dark was there too, crossing his arms and leaning outside the door with a glare. There’s a smudge of green paint on the Swedish man bathroom floor to this day and the hitman sees Dark’s scowl in his mind perfectly. Anti wonders if Jack will want to listen to these stories one day. Will he be interested in the hitman like that? Or just afraid? He holds back a sigh and zones out, fingers twitching for another smoke. Anti does see a guard from across the balcony at some point, nodding at him as a sign that it’s time to go. The green-haired man murmurs a goodbye to Pit and the guy tells him not to die. The hitman snorts and walks away, doing his best not to drag his feet on the floor. Felix said he should just relax and he’s probably sending Anti to do this because he trusts the freckled man the most. He doesn’t have much fun, though. The ginger-haired man hates traveling to another place and, despite feeling relief that Felix didn’t mention anything about his double, he’s in a complete different location for a few days. Anti stays in a shitty hotel, in a shitty bed that he doesn’t even sleep in, and he still has to move to another area. The hitman has to hide on a rooftop, close to a warehouse where the meeting will take place, and he sets up his sniper rifle with care. The green-haired man is wearing black gloves and a hoodie, this November weather finally starting to feel more chilly. Anti does a pretty good job as always, taking care of the main leader first, and he watches everyone panic inside the warehouse. They can’t get out because Anti locked the doors earlier and that is fun to watch. He leaves a couple of people alive, though, wanting to play around with his knife there and feel more like himself. The freckled man doesn’t rush on his way in and takes out his favorite knife from behind his back, finally looking at their terrifying expressions up close. He’s quick at fighting and he slashes a guy’s throat, blood splashing on his face. Anti pushes the last one against a wall and stabs his stomach a couple of times while grinding his teeth. He does freeze for a split second when looking at the man’s blue eyes and that boy comes to his mind. Anti lets out a shaky breath and twists his knife, listening to the guy groaning. The green-haired man takes a step back, watching him fall dead on the ground, and his heart races against his ribcage. The hitman gasps for air, large eyes focused on nothing, and his hands are shaking. He thought of that man being Jack instead, in his arms, groaning in pain. Killing his double. Anti’s chest hurts from breathing too hard and he falls on the ground, hand over his heart. It’s been years since he last had a panic attack and to say that this is a surprise to him, is an understatement. The freckled man covers his face and grunts, catching his breath and trying to focus. Keep himself together, he thinks. It wasn’t him. It’s not him. He runs a hand through his locks and sighs after a moment, swallowing hard. The hitman looks around the place, grounding himself, and he sees all these dead bodies. He thinks about all of this and how this is getting bad. He’s obsessed. Anti can’t even work without thinking about that brown-haired man and he just got fucking triggered. How stupid is that? It fucking sucks knowing he’s out there, though, away from the hitman’s eyes. He doesn’t like that. If there was only a way to have him in his sight, even if he had to leave like this… Anti remembers a name and he snatches his cell phone, scrolling down his list with trembling fingers. He looks for a code that matches that name, glaring at the screen. This kid he’s thinking of is not part of their organization, much like Dark now, and he can count on both of them if shit hits the fan. They work on their own rules and this kid already helped them in a couple of missions, providing deep information for infiltrations and blackmails. The freckled man cleans his knife against his black pants and he calls the person, listening to the long beeps.
“Hello?”
“PJ,” Anti murmurs. “I need a favor.” ✁ ✂ ✃ The green-haired man is standing in front a house, hidden in the shadows, and he has a glare on his face. Anti had to explain to PJ about his double and the man couldn’t care less. Good. He can’t afford losing that trust with that man right now. The freckled man gave Jack’s full name and asked him to search about the kid. While Anti was away, he read all the records PJ was providing him. School history, grades, friends that crossed his life, his family history. Everything. The brown-haired man works in that restaurant as an assistant more than anything, washing dishes and getting yelled at. Anti read about it all and, the more information he knew, the more obsessed he felt. There’s something about that boy that calls for him and he wonders if every hitman felt that with their doubles. He sees that weakness everyone talks about, that spark. That light. It shines so bright and Anti wants it all for himself. It’s maddening. He pulls his scarf up to his nose, hiding his face, and he slowly makes his way into the back of this house. It belongs to Jack’s manager and the man is a rude bastard. Part of Anti already wants to skin him alive just for being near the brown-haired man and being a son of a bitch. But this is not why he’s there for. Anti’s green eyes are used to the dark so it’s not difficult to walk around the house quietly, pocket knife in his right hand. He climbs up a lance of stairs and brushes his fingers on the hallway, finding the main bedroom. There’s a man sleeping in his bed and Anti watches him for a moment, tilting his head. He acts quick, turning the man to be flat on his stomach and not see his face, and he hears the guy gasping in sudden fright. Anti grabs his arms and places them on his back, twisting them until there’s a shout in the air. The green-haired man places his sharp pocket knife against the manager’s throat, urging him to shut the fuck up, and Anti uses his own weight to trap the guy against the mattress. “W-What is this? W-What do you w-want?! Oh g-god! Please, d-don’t kill me!” Anti presses the knife against his skin, shushing him. “You better pay attention to what I’ll say because I’m not gonna repeat myself,” he murmurs into the man’s ear. “You will fire Sean Mcloughlin. He will no longer work for you, do you understand? If this doesn’t happen in the next twenty four hours, some very naughty pictures of you will leak and you will be exposed. How does that sound?” “W-What?! A-Are you threatening me?!” “Did I fucking stutter?” Anti whispers and cuts the guy’s skin a little bit, listening to him whimper. “Did I make myself clear?” “Y-Yes! I’ll fire him! I will, I will! Please, don’t do t-this!” The hitman tells him not to move an itch and he slowly gets up, pushing the man’s face down into mattress out of anger. He sneers, finding this person disgusting, and he walks away. Anti hears the man sobbing, shaking in his boots, and he holds back the urge to roll his eyes. It’s amazing what a simple threat can do to a person and he mentally thanks PJ again for digging some rather promising pictures of that guy. The green-haired man pulls his scarf back down and the chilly hair hits his face in the middle of the night. He sighs and finds his black car parked a few blocks away, getting inside and driving to an usual hotel. He finally manages to catch some sleep again, crashing in another cold bed and burying his face into a pillow. Anti lies flat on his stomach, shirtless but still wearing pants, and there are sapphire eyes in his dreams. ✁ ✂ ✃ A couple of weeks pass and Jack’s been fired just like he wanted to. The guy did what he was told and Anti’s returned to observing the kid from the rooftop, occasionally sneaking into his apartment and looming over him. One night, Anti catches the boy touching himself in the dark. He hears pants first, casually walking into his apartment, and he didn’t know the boy had woken up in the middle of the night. The door is ajar and Anti watches him hump a pillow, face down to the mattress. The hitman closes his hands into fists, doing his best to keep his breathing steady, and the boy’s moans are muffled in the sheets. His back turned to the hitman. Anti shakes his head, flushing, freckles standing out. He takes a step back and leaves the apartment earlier that day. There’s a thought in his mind that he doesn’t deserve to see the brown-haired man like that, not yet. Sometimes Jack will shift in his sleep when Anti’s there, mumbling incoherent words that are never enough for the hitman to grasp a sense of his voice. Anti never touches him, though. Part of him thinks that he will ruin whatever this thing is. That he will corrupt the brown-haired man, destroy that light. Anti doesn’t deserve to be even in the same room as him and he wonders if the kid would find him horrifying. If he would have that same expression as his victims. The green-haired man pinches the bridge of his nose and focuses back in reality, opening a door that leads to an empty apartment. He knits his eyebrows at the state, finding it rather old. He just found this empty building and he’ll have to take care of the power situation. He could also pay someone to deal with it instead, who knows. For now, Anti walks inside and looks at a open kitchen to his right and a living room in front of him with an ugly couch. The television is outdated and the curtains have some stains on them, light barely entering the room through the small gaps. The freckled man adjusts his long coat, finding a bathroom to the left and a bedroom to the right. There’s a king-sized bed in the middle, two nightstands and a simple closet. He hums upon entering the second bathroom there, seeing a bathtub. Anti thinks this will have to do. He doesn’t need much anyway. The green-haired man didn’t expect to get that invested, that he would come up to such a stupid and reckless plan. Kidnapping. Anti tells himself that he will be doing the right thing. It’s the only way to have Jack that near and having no one getting in his way like before. The boy is already mostly in his own apartment anyway, not working anymore. The hitman can’t help but think that Dark would call him desperate, like an owner that can’t wait to have a puppy waiting for him whenever he comes back home. He glares at his own thoughts, brushing them away, and he closes the bedroom door on his way out. Anti still has missions to fulfill and Blank stays on his tail whenever he can, which is rather annoying. He needs to be careful about this. Nothing has to be rushed. The freckled man will have to wait for the Irishman to leave on his own and Anti smokes on the rooftop whenever he watches the kid, nonchalant. He does perk up one night, on November 28th. He sees Jack walking around his home rather anxious and looking at himself in the mirror. Anti holds back a grin, knowing he’s getting dressed to go out, and he waits. The hitman can only assume that playing video games all day can only go so far. He goes down the building when Jack leaves the apartment and he’s fucking glad that the boy takes a cab this time. Anti gets into his own car and follows the vehicle with care, aware that he has ropes in the back of his truck, and his heart races with anticipation. He scowls when they’re near a nightclub, though, and he parks a block away. He puts a gun against his back while leaving the car and his knife is in one of his boots. Anti grimaces upon entering the place, music blasting into his ears, but he blends in easily with the crowd. Jack’s at the bar, drinking, and the freckled man clenches his hands. His heart aches and the boy keeps drinking for a long time. The Irishman dances in the middle of the crowd, a bit awkward but careless. Anti takes a deep breath, imagining himself getting behind him and wrapping his arms around the boy. Leaning down to breathe in his scent, nose brushing against soft porcelain skin. Jack’s eyes would flutter and, drunk like that, he would easily melt in his arms. Anti shakes his head, cursing his mind, and he leans against a wall in the dark. The Irishman drinks more and the hitman’s heart beats like a drum when he goes to a quieter place, following him. Anti sees Jack’s back and he discretely takes out his gun, raising his hand in the air. The brown-haired man is resting his shoulder against a wall, sighing, and the hitman strikes the back of his gun on Jack’s head. The man barely groans, blacking out immediately with the strong hit, and Anti stops him from falling. The freckled man catches him, his own breathing losing pace, and he can’t fucking believe that he has the boy in his arms. Anti hides his gun and he acts on instinct, placing Jack’s arm over his shoulder and walking out of the nightclub as if they’re friends and one has drank too much. He huffs, adjusting the boy’s weight next to him, and the Irishman’s feet are dragging on the pavement floor. Anti looks ahead, green eyes wide open, and his breath forms clouds in mid-air due to the cold. The green-haired man grabs his car keys awkwardly, unlocking it, and he grunts when putting the boy in the backseat. The freckled man pushes his legs inside and Jack’s all limp, one arm over his stomach and the other hanging off the seat. Anti goes to the driver seat, tightening his hold around the steering wheel, and he has doesn’t move for a few seconds. He’s breathing hard, hyperfocused of everything, and he keeps looking straight ahead. Anti swallows and closes his eyes to calm down, frown leaving his face. The green-haired man drives calmly towards that building, going underground to leave his vehicle there, and the silence rings in his ears. He looks at Jack’s sleeping figure through the small car mirror and he purses his lips, knowing that there’s no turning back now. Anti will keep him safe. He will. The man with the green eyes has to carry the Irishman bridal style, huffing while entering the elevator. There are ropes over his shoulder and he looks down at the kid, staring at his mouth ajar and relaxed expression. His brown hair brushes against Anti’s neck and the hitman tightens his hold, walking into a long hallway that leads to his crappy apartment. He’s fucking thankful that he fixed the power, turning the lights on when he closes the door with his foot. The kitchen light flickers every now and then, but he doesn’t really bother with it. Anti puts the Irishman down on the bedroom floor and, only then, does he look properly at the man with the lights on. The green-haired man caresses his hair and touches his cheek, feeling that soft delicate skin. Anti doesn’t dare to go any further. He’s not like that. He will never cross such a line with anyone, ever. The hitman just admires him for a little bit, finally having some peace and no one in his way. It’s captivating to see his double and wonder about the life he could’ve had, the paths that he could’ve taken. The boy reminds Anti of when he was younger, before even becoming a hitman. Before meeting Dark, Pit and Felix. Just a stupid, depressed child, trying to leave a shitty family. Always being beaten up by his parents, always running away from his own home and getting into trouble. Bruises from his father and burn marks from his mother. Fighting with gangs and doing whatever he could for money, at least just enough to leave that fucking city. Anti hums, remembering how naive he was. Jack has that look on him, that innocence. He takes the rope in his hands and ties the boy’s hands, connecting them down to his ankles. The hitman pulls him to sit down and rest against a corner, sighing. Anti already knew how fucked up he was, but this is certainly another level even for him. Obsessed with his double. Funny. Dark would laugh at him. His stomach growls and he knits his eyebrows, only now realizing that he will need food in the apartment. The fridge is empty, there’s nothing there. No toothbrush, no towels. Nothing. Alright, maybe Anti didn’t plan exactly everything. He just wanted to take the shot, the moment the opportunity showed. The freckled man leaves the boy locked up in the room and he finds a twenty-four seven convenience store, grabbing whatever is in front of him. It’s nearly three in the morning and he’s too exhausted, just throwing bread, cheese and water bottles into a small cart. He buys more cigarettes and he smokes one while organizing everything back in the fridge. Anti removes his coat, staying just with his black shirt, and he crashes on the couch, body sore and tired mind. He sighs while rubbing his temples and all he has to do now is wait. No one called him for any mission and, for once, Blank seems quiet. The freckled man’s eyelids are heavy, sandpaper-like, and it doesn’t take too long for him to fall asleep. The hitman never really has time for this, always sleeping slightly tense. As if he’s ready to jump on someone’s throat. Ready to attack. It’s stressful. Anti’s dreams are shapeless and they leave a bitter taste in his mouth, barely moving on the couch. He does knit his eyebrows when morning comes, faint sunlight casting into the place from a small gap between the curtains. He grunts and rubs his eyes, sitting up to stretch and crack his neck. The green-haired man stands up, walking towards the curtains to close it properly, and he goes into that second bathroom from across the room. He washes his face and rinses his mouth, unzipping his pants to empty his bladder. There’s a new sound that catches his ears and he perks up at that, running a hand through his green locks before standing in front of that bedroom door. He leans in, listening to heavy gasps in the air, and he clenches his jaw. Jack’s awake. This is it. Anti touches the doorknob, scowling to himself for being so slow and anxious, and he opens the door. The hitman stands still, green eyes meeting blue, and the boy presses himself against the wall. The Irishman’s face screams fear. Despair. He looks so full of life and Anti steps inside the room, crouching down in front of the kid. Jack’s hyperventilating, wide ocean eyes shining in the dark, and only the freckled man will ever see this. He tilts his head, scanning the man up and down, and he licks his lips. “I’ve been…” he whispers. “I’ve been watching you...” Confusion and yet anger shows on the boy’s face. “W-Who,” he speaks and Anti finally hears him, voice shaking but deep. Hoarse from being asleep and yet so strong. He likes it. “W-Who the fuck are y-you?!” Anti explains what’s going on, wanting to keep it simple, and Jack finds that an absurd. He’s trembling, fidgeting with the rope around his hands and ankles. The hitman shuts him up by cutting him with his pocket knife and gagging him up. Jack needs to believe that there’s people outside and that he might get into trouble by misbehaving. Anti gives him some time to calm down, to understand the situation by himself, and the green-haired man mostly waits. He sharpens his knives and makes something for him to eat, thinking about those bright blue eyes. Pictures make them no justice. Anti’s glad that he gets to see them now, that he gets to hear the boy. Who knew his double would be that compelling? At some point, he lies down in bed and drags from his cigarette. Jack’s glaring at him from that corner, calling him names through the gag, and the hitman sits down in front of him. The Irishman sniffs and his eyes are red, face puffy. Anti realizes that he doesn’t like that at all and he wishes that the boy never cried, that he wasn’t the reason for these tears. The green-haired man blows smoke between them and Jack’s shoulders fall down, leaning against the wall and sighing. Anti stares, sitting cross-legged, and he’s going to get into trouble for hiding his double. Jack’s gaze finds his and, between tears, there’s a new feeling in the air that they can’t quite understand yet. They don’t have any idea of what’s about to happen. No one really knows. Not even Anti. The green-haired man doesn’t know that he will fall in love. He doesn’t know that he will give anything to be with this boy. That he will protect Jack and fail, but will try again and again. The Irishman will show him a new world, new feelings that they both will have to learn. Anti, in this moment, is clueless about their future. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing right now, only that he had to have Jack. The thought of belonging to someone so deeply that it hurts him hasn’t crossed his mind yet, but it will. There will be moments that it’ll be hard to breathe. He will feel such a raw emotion, he won’t be able to move. It’ll be violent, full of agony and despair. Of lust, tears and yet calm moments. Jack is so lost right now, but he will find himself in Anti. They’re both so naive. The green-haired man smokes slowly from his cigarette, looking at a reflection of himself. They blink, unaware, in the middle of this cold dark room. December will come and there will be snow falling from the grey sky soon. Tousled sheets and muffled moans, face smeared by tears and hearts aching. Ropes will be cut and Anti will break the brown-haired man apart, only to put him back together. He will learn to be kind and this raw, painful love will sting in their hearts, leaving a mark. Jack’s ocean eyes are like a beacon in this fucking darkness and Anti will desperately drown in them, gladly being consumed by such beauty. He sighs and the boy sniffs. They have no idea. Not at all.