~Not all heroes wear capes. Some twirl cigars and destroy your alcohol.~
The rain ended its assault and I was now on my way back home.
Earlier back, I had taken off my coat and draped it over the strange mysterious girl in an odd fashion. I wasn't exactly aware of what warmth an equally soaked coat would provide but I think I might have offered it in semblance of the comfort my absence took with me.
We had sat there for such a long time, merely gazing at the stars and passing a conversation with unspoken words.
Neither of us wanting to depart, neither of us wanting to return back to our separate worlds.
So we just sat there, my hands in her hair, her fingers fiddling with the hem of my coat.
The lamp above us would buzz and blink every now and then.
We never did speak again but we understood, understood that the bench wasn't just a needed distraction but wanted solitude.
A silent comfort for both our aching souls.
And maybe I would be willing to share just this one time.
I had wanted to stay longer but my phone flashed on with a buzzing, crashing me back with reality.
And goodness, I just remembered sprinting out of my house without shutting the door.
So I set her sleeping head gently against the bench. Now regretting why I hadn't just roused her so she wouldn't die of the cold instead. I repeatedly reminded myself not to care. Queer enough that I found myself comforting her crying form, I wasn't inclined to making the situation any more queer.
I reached for the door handle in front of me, my brows furrowing in confusion as I did. It was locked.
Strange. I don't recall locking it while I ran off.
Concluding that it probably jammed in some weird way while I slammed it in my earlier state of panic, I retrieved my keys to unlock it.
The door swung open, a hoard of mess was revealed—one that I definitely did not leave behind.
Stepping gingerly over empty crumpled packets, cans and a half emptied bottle of tequila, my tequila. I clutched the handle of my gun tightly as I shuffled slowly and quietly through the disarray.
I was willing to give this raccoon a quick death after seeing my snack stash was raided, but my alcohol shelf? They laid their nasty fingers on my alcohol. Now I'd let them see another day without arms.
I looked around the dim room, the only light was from the television displaying the Titanic. And then I wondered how long this person had been in my home to have signed into Netflix and watched a movie halfway.
"Do you always leave your doors open?"
I went to move further but froze, my eyes spotting something sitting on the rug in the middle of the dimly lit room.
It was a strange figure, sitting amidst the chaos and darkness.
Sitting still, very unusually fucking still.
Oh hell no.
Now I wasn't one to fuck with paranormals, neither was I one to commit something exceedingly stupid for "the plot." I wasn't American.
So I switched on the light.
My gun was at a direct aim at the paranormally strange creature, only it wasn't a paranormally strange creature, just a strange creature; A teenage boy.
A teenage boy that sat folded across my floor, cladded in an armor helmet and a bullet proof jacket, twirling a lit cigar between his fingers.
I could barely see much of his features since only his side reached my perspective so I waited for the boy to utter something but then he didn't, merely taking a drag from his cigarette, throwing his head back and puffing it in the air.
This was ridiculous.
I trudged around him awkwardly until I came to meet the direction of his gaze.
Arms still stretched out, I clicked the gun, declaring my presence obvious if it weren't already fucking obvious enough.
The weirdo froze, a smirk twisting upwards as he lifted his hands in the air, a thin string of smoke drifted from between his fingers and dispersed around the room. I cringed as the foul scent graced my nostrils.
"Oh, hey Man," his voice came out smooth and careless despite the gun pointed straight at his skull. "Ain't seen you there."
The strange boy's features were visible now, he looked roughly about the age of eighteen to nineteen. Light brown skin and curly dark hair peeking through a camouflage helmet.
"I don't believe we've met." I lifted a brow, voice as enthusiastic as a sloth.
With the gun still aimed, I made sure to stay 10 feet away from him though in case he started to manifest some weird voodoo magic and vanishes with me or some rubbish like that.
Look yeah, today has been an exceptionally screwed-up day, I am not equipped efficiently to handle this level of abnormality casually nor am I abnormal enough to deal with this normally.
When he uttered nothing, I said, "And you are?"
He gasped, placing a hand on his chest in feign hurt. If he didn't stop whiling away my time he would hardly need to feign it anymore.
"I'd rather you save both our time and your life, of course and speak."
He grinned the most boyish grin I'd ever seen, pulling himself off the floor and taking an exaggerated bow.
"Behold—me. The one, the only, the guy who's gonna keep yo ass alive. Try to keep up." He flourished an imaginary cape.
"What?"
"Troy sent me here."
"Why?" I shook my head in disbelief, unable to fathom why Troy would send a random stranger to the home of an assassin. Asides to get them killed of course.
"Ain't it obvious? I'm the one runnin' this whole shit operation. You welcome."
"Why?"
The boy sighed, shaking his head as if I were slow. "Cause I'm the boss, Z. Big dawg. Head honcho. Captain of the damn ship—need me to draw a picture?"
Troy is well aware by now that I worked alone. Let alone work together with some pesky teenager who claimed to be in charge.
"State. a. name."
He stuffed a hand in his pocket, putting on a nonchalant expression that looked so very practiced, but I could see the deep admiration in his brown eyes, the excitement to work with me. It's seeping through his boyish grin. He was just resisting the temptation to spout some cringe nonsense like "I'm your biggest fan" and make this sad for both of us.
"Name's Xavier, pleasure to meet you, Heterox. Big fan."
There it was.
"Zayn," I filled in before he could get used to the title, though I was sure it was a name pronounced by most. "Pleasure's all yours, I'm sure."
He chuckled, the glint never failing to leave his eyes. Great, another smug and stupid asshole I had to acquaint myself with. When Troy said the rookie would be coming with me, I had never thought it meant living with me.
He switched the cigarette between his right fingers to his left then stretched them out for a handshake, one I'm sure he's been dreaming of all his entire life.
Dropping my hand that held the gun, my eyes scanned his lean figure. From his unbothered stance I could already tell he was weak, and his hands were too uncalloused, too unscathed, too delicate looking.
He looked like he had never thrown a punch in his life. Good grief, his nails were even polished.
Eyeing his outstretched hands for a moment too long, I stretched mine to receive the handshake, at least that was what he thought before I twisted them, eliciting an unnecessary loud scream.
"The hell, man? What was that for?!" It didn't take much to break his nonchalant expression. He cradled his pained lady fingers, the cigarette now at the corner of his lips. So very weak. The same nasty pretty little fingers that touched my tequila.
Was this what Troy wanted me to work with?
"You appear to be the stupid rookie Troy has sent."
"Stupid?" He iterated, brows drawn in offense.
"Are you not?" I taunted with a scoff. Randomly breaking into an assassin's home and pulling a face like that was asinine.
"I'ma have you know my 'stupidity' finna come in real handy for this mission. 'Cause unlike your other missions, you actually gon' need me for this one."
"I doubt but please do enlighten me further on why your existence is suddenly relevant to me?"
"The Quinns? Yeah they at my school bro," he said as if it was some achievement of some sort.
"And that proves your significance, how?"
"You finna go undercover." As expected.
I stared at him.
"Well, Heter—I mean Zayn, I'm gonna help you adapt." He said, masking in nonchalance once again as if helping Heterox wasn't a big deal to him.
I snorted, straightening and folding my hands with a glare.
"Troy supposedly now thinks I need help adapting?" This is definitely just a sad excuse to make me bring the rookie along.
"You do, bruh."
"I can adapt just fine, thank you."
"Not like that, you can't."
"What?"
"You look like you gon' kill every student that crosses your path," he paused, a smile etching his lips. "And not just the men… but the women and the children too."
I stared at him, unamused. "Shut up."
"So we agree—you need me?"
"It's too cold for jokes, kid," I mutter but his cheeky expression didn't falter. My eyes drifted to Xavier's clothing, darting to my half drunk alcohol and finally landing on the chaotic surroundings of my usually impeccably neat house.
I had a lot of questions but I started with the most disturbing one.
"Mind explaining what possessed you into that…interesting choice of attire?"
Xavier tittered, scratching the back of his neck and taking off his camouflaged helmet. "Figured you'd try shooting me so I came prepared."
"I was bloody close to it. Was it truly beyond you to arrive tomorrow and simply ring the doorbell?"
"What kinda assassin rings the doorbell, man? C'mon now. Besides, I was tryna make a memorable impression, ya feel me?"
No I didn't feel him. I resisted the urge to face palm. It was definitely memorable—mostly because the kid almost turned his first impression into his last.
"You've certainly made an impression. And a mess. Well done."
Xavier ran a hand through his mop of curls, eyes darting to the satchets, cans and pillows littering the floor. "Ma bad."
I patted his shoulders lazily, resisting the urge to throw my fist into his face to compensate for my alcohol. "Good night, kid. Clean this up," I muttered briefly, beelining to my room, a yawn leaving my lips.
"Oh and Xavier?" I paused, making an attempt to be a nice little host. "There is an open guest room down the corridor and a loaded gun at the table. Make yourself at home. Literally, it seems."
Xavier plopped down onto the cream carpet, glueing his eyes onto the screen once again. "Before you go, dude, you might wanna introduce me to your roommate sometime."
I stared at him silently, tilting my head in question. "I live alone."
He shrugged, chugging down the half empty bottle of alcohol. "Watch out for them racoons then."
"Easy on the alcohol there, Kid. I think we both know where the raccoon is."
All Xavier gave me was a confused look, the sound of the TV now feeling annoyingly deafening as I headed to my room.