Post by Vincent. on Aug 18, 2011 1:48:52 GMT -8
[Music: "Zaris"—Mooncake]
[shadow=black,left,300]Part I: Pair of Guns[/shadow]
"…I had someone, once. "Soft silence and comforting darkness drifted dreamily through the room; nothing was visible but what was gently touched by the dim green glow of the digital clock, which read 2:34 A.M. It sat at the head of the bed, dutifully counting each slow-passing minute, displaying the time to no one in particular. They were both fast asleep. The faint green light was barely enough to distinguish their features from the enveloping darkness, but there in the bed slept two young men whose thin, warm bodies were very close, side-by-side. The motionless forms seemed perfectly fitted to lie beside each other. Even the slow movement of their chests seemed to match, to breathe as one entity. The arm of one was hung comfortably around the waist of the other, fingers loosely intertwined in the other’s limp hand.
Another minute ticked by on the clock. And then another hour. But the bodies remained peacefully as they were, as if for eternity.
"…We met in a bar. Both terribly drunk, we became rather friendly right away and ended up in bed together by the end of the night."Two men sat across from each other in the corner furthest from the door. It was dimly lit inside and the air was hazy with smoke and the music was loud enough to force them lean close together when they spoke. Both of their drunken gazes were fixed with mild scrutiny on the ass of the waitress as she sauntered away with the fifth pair of empty beer bottles. The man with short, messy-looking black hair turned back to his companion, whose violet eyes looked on in near-boredom.
‘Maaaan. What’s your take on that piece of ass?’
The violet-eyed, white-haired man was silent for a few moments, pursing his lips in forced contemplation.
“…Meh.”
‘That’ss all you’ve had to say about any of them, man. Not fond of females or ssomething?’
“…Hah, welll… They’re not my… first preference.”
Their eyes met, transfixed all of a sudden in a heavy moment of...
…Then, slowly, knowing grins crept across their faces and they began to chuckle quietly. It grew into an impassioned laughter, and continued on for almost a minute—at the end of which, they were locked in an almost sultry gaze, subtle smiles still on their faces.
"…I did not regret it as much as I thought I would, in the morning. I don’t think he did either. We decided to stick together for awhile… But we weren’t a couple. We decided right away to push past all the bullshit about relationships and just enjoy each other’s company until we felt like it was time to move on… But after a year, it really did start to feel like we were together. Strangely… the thought of it didn’t scare me. We were too content to care where it was headed, whatever ‘it’ was.
…Still, we lived separately. I was never comfortable with the thought of moving in together—because of my job. I had to keep it a secret. If he found out what I did for a living, neither of us would be safe. As an assassin I was to remain completely anonymous; the level of secrecy was so high that I never even knew who I was working for. I would receive my assignments and my payment through a long chain of nameless messengers. If my identity were to be found out, my life would be over. And so would his, if he knew…
Luckily, he seemed to share my sentiment on the matter. I thought he just liked his privacy. But I was closer to the truth than I… could have ever imagined."Early in the morning, the sun was barely beginning to pour through the blinds. The mattress lifted a little as the man with messy black hair stood up, stretching, letting the other lie there half-asleep for just a little longer while he would take a shower. As the door closed, violet eyes opened, gazing in blissful laziness at the blank wall. He sat up as he heard the muffled sound of the shower start up behind the closed bathroom door, and ran a hand through his white hair, yawning— he’d willingly accepted when he was invited to stay overnight, but with the arrival of the day, it was time to go back to real life…
He picked up his folded black pants from the floor and pulled them on, his eyes settling on the bathroom door. He considered jumping in as well before he took his leave, but decided against it and settled for picking up the other’s clothes which were strewn haphazardly across the floor. He carried them over to the dresser, folding them neatly, but stopped suddenly in the center of the room upon feeling an unusual weight in his hands. He reached into the pants pocket…
…withdrawing a pistol.
Had it been an ordinary pistol, he would not have been as concerned; but the gun he held in his shaking hand was, as far as he thought until now, unique. He had only seen one other…
His own. Company issued.
"…Imagine my surprise when I discovered we were working for the same guy."A minute had passed by in silence; his face had gone pale with sudden sickening terror and he just stood there, holding the gun and praying that he was just asleep. Just asleep. Just dreaming. Just paranoia creeping up from his subconscious—
When the bathroom door opened and their eyes met, a look of alarm came over the face of the black-haired man. He forced a panicked smile as he stepped forward.
‘Aha—that’s just... For emergenc—’
His voice trailed off as if he’d been choked, when suddenly he saw that the other was holding two guns. There was dread in both of their faces, dismayed realization…
“…I… I’m sorry…”
"…I had no choice."Blood seeped from a hole in the man’s head, and dripped onto the carpet. His wet black hair was covering his eyes. Lying on his back with his arms resting slightly askew, he looked like he could just be deep in restless sleep. Over and over again this wisp of thought circled in Vincent’s head until he almost began to believe it. Almost. The terrible, painful, ironic reality offered him no such comfort, however.
He was sitting on the bed, hunched over, elbows resting on his thighs. His hands were empty now, and hung limply. For a long time he merely stared in silence at his lover's body. After a while he lifted a cigarette to his lips with trembling hands, but failed to light it. His eyes closed.
When they opened again, it seemed as if the amethyst hues were devoid of emotion; the heavy grief had sunk deep into murky depths. He lit the cigarette and made his way for the door at last, leaving the matching pistols to lie side-by-side on the floor.
"…It was him or me."
