He stretched his arms over his head after a job, glancing down at the poor sod who had gotten on the wrong side of his knife. Blood pooled around the ground where his neck rested, crawling along the gritty cement and under his head, as if warming his slowly cooling skin as life seeped from his wide, glassy eyes. He didn’t know who he was, only his name and that someone really hadn’t liked him – hated him enough to slip an envelope into his mailbox and promise that month’s rent for the pigsty he lived in.
Wiping the bloody blade on the back of his pants, Aiden Wolfe slipped the sharpened instrument into the waistband of his jeans, making sure to walk very carefully so that he didn’t fall back and shank himself in the back. He left the alleyway the long way, being sure he didn’t leave any trace of himself behind – he didn’t need the cops to trace the body back to him now, did he? He wouldn’t be able to do his job, then, and he’d rot in a cell somewhere, more than likely.
Murderers often rotted in correctional institutions.
Slipping into the street, he walked into a gas station and disappeared into the bathroom, running the tap and washing the blood off of his hands and neck, looking at himself in the mirror. He looked thinner, paler, a little more tired than normal. He always looked like this after a job, though – it was like each job took away a bitch of his life, chipping it away until there was nothing left to hold onto, and he was just an empty shell with nothing to gain and nothing to lose.
His phone suddenly rang out, and he flinched, dropping his hands from his face, chin dripping, before he reached out and grabbed some paper towel, drying his hands and grappling for his phone. Flipping it open, he looked at the contact – unknown, how typical – and hit the green button, bringing the phone to his ear.
“…it’s done. Pleasure doin’ business wif ya, yeah?” He grinned as the other person merely hung up without saying a thing, shaking his head and slipping his phone back into his pocket. Vacating the bathroom, he picked up a pack of cigarettes and rifled out some loose change, paying for his pack and nodding to the cashier on duty as he stepped back out just in time to see a police car drive down the street towards his alleyway.
Turning on his heel with a merry little twist and a hum, he opened his pack of cigarettes and tapped a coffin nail out, slipping it between chapped lips and patting his pockets for his lighter. Finding it, he flipped the lighter open, watching the flame it produced with quietly contemplating eyes, before lighting the end of the white cancer stick and flipping it closed, dropping it back into his pocket as he inhaled sweet, bitter nicotine.
Toxic fumes followed him as he meandered his way down the street, towards where he wasn’t entirely sure. Usually, he’d go home after a job: have a quick shower, rummage for food, change his clothes, maybe even go to sleep. But tonight he didn’t feel like it. It was a relatively easy job, he hadn’t gotten blood all over his clothes for once, and he was feeling rather energetic. If he went home now, he was almost certain he’d go absolutely bonkers and break more things than he could afford to break.
He was pulled from his musings by the familiar towering figure of the quiet man who had his fingers tangled in his heartstrings.
Tegan Hobbes was standing by a convenient store, fumbling with his own lighter as he tried to light a cigarette, a bag of quickly bought groceries hanging off of his elbow. He was dressed in a suit as he always was, fedora tipped over his eyes so that he didn’t have to look at society (or society didn’t have to look at him, Tegan was never very clear on his reasoning). He had a slight frown pulling at his lips, cobalt blue eyes flashing gold in irritation, before he finally managed to create a spark with his lighter and ignite his cigarette, inhaling deeply and letting fumes escape through mouth and nostrils.
With a grin, Aiden traipsed up to the chemist, flicking his cigarette stub to the ground and not caring where it landed. Unless it landed on some dry grass, then that would just suck and he’d feel terrible for starting a fire without needing to. Shaking his head, the assassin-for-hire pushed his thoughts away, tripping to a halt in front of Tegan, arms outstretched to balance him. Tegan looked up at that precise moment to see Aiden stumbled to steadiness, his foul expression disappearing. In its stead, a quiet smile – barely a tilt of lips at all, more a thought than an action – appeared, and Tegan ducked his head to hide the expression.
“Allo, Tegan,” Aiden greeted, grinning as he shoved his hands into his pockets, carefully rocking back and forth on his feet, watching him with a happy expression. Tegan glanced up at him after a moment, the smile gone, but his eyes still soft and relaxed, softening to a gentle blue flickering in gold. “‘ow’re you this lovely ev’nin’?”
“I am..well, Aiden, and yourself?”
Tegan nodded, fiddling with his plastic bag for a moment, before he twitched a hand gesture, looking at Aiden with a silent question. “Ah…would you like to walk with me..? I was just on my way home, and would…enjoy the company.”
Aiden blinked, looking up at Tegan, before glancing over his shoulder, seeing an ambulance go down the street towards where his latest job had taken place. Pressing his lips together, he looked back at Tegan, smiling apologetically
“’Fraid I can’t’is ev’nin’, Tegan,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and heaving out a sigh. “I go’t’ge’ back t’my place, ‘m expectin’ a call.”
“Strange fella, s’all I can say.” His smile faded as he saw Tegan glance away, eyes flattening to a dark blue as he nodded, adjusting his hold on his purchases and shifting the brim of his fedora over his eyes. He was probably thinking something along the lines of, ‘of course he wouldn’t want to be around me’, which broke Aiden’s heart, it really did.
Without thinking (a practice he was prone to), Aiden leaned forward, practically collapsing onto Tegan as he lifted himself onto his toes and pressed a quick kiss to the taller’s cheek. He felt Tegan stiffen, his hand automatically lifting to steady Aiden and make sure he didn’t tumble onto the ground. Aiden pulled back slowly, glancing up with a smile as Tegan stared at him with wide eyes, before he reached up, plucked the cigarette from the chemist’s lips, pressed a chaste kiss to them, and stepped back, popping the coffin nail between his own lips.
He saluted the other man then, grinning around the cancer stick as Tegan stared at him, somewhat stumped over the turn of events, and he turned in the direction of his apartment. “I’ll see ya ‘round, Tegan! ‘Ave a good nigh’, now!”
He had been halfway across the street when the sound of footsteps closed in on him, and Tegan came around in front of him, grabbing onto his shoulder with one hand, plucking the cigarette with the other, and leaned down, pressing his lips boldly against Aiden’s. The shorter man’s eyes widened, back straightening, the feel of the knife held by his waistband pressing against his skin, before he pressed back against Tegan’s lips, only to have the chemist pull away, that idea of a smile once again flickering in his eyes and along his mouth.
“…I believe this is mine,” he murmured quietly, tapping ash off of his cancer stick, before he nodded and turned, walking away from Aiden without another word.
Watching him walk away, Aiden couldn’t help but grin.