Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Style.

The space around him was familiar. 

The loud slam of the ball against the pins. The mechanical voice counting the wins, misses and strikes. Cheers of people and laughter filling the space.

He knows this place. Has grown between these walls, spending his nights with friends, working, playing. Usually, just being in the bowling alley, sitting at their booth with Kant, drinking beer and checking out cuties, is enough to make Style relax. 

He chugs down another beer, motioning the waitress to bring him another, ignoring Kant’s worried looks. 

Fadew has been missing for 165 hours and counting. 

No matter how many times Kant and Style called them, Fadel and Bison’s phones were off. They went to their house, but the doors were locked and sealed. 

They saw the news about Ruerat’s death. Watched Lilly’s interview, as she signed some deal for a new condo construction, Keen by her side. 

Nothing seemed out of place.

The older hitman promised to be back. The mechanic believes him. Fadel wouldn’t have just left without saying goodbye. 

Dropping back against the worn red leather of the seat, Style pulls out his phone, opening the last chat with his boyfriend. 

My Hitman Boyfriend 💞

I’m coming back. Wait for me.

There was nothing after that. His calls were left unanswered, texts stayed unread. Style sighs, scrolling through bubbles of lines he sent. He isn’t even sure what he is hoping for, if the brothers truly ran and changed their identity then there will never be an answer.

“Where the hell are they, man.” The phone slams loudly against the table top. “It’s been a week, Kant. A week.”

The tattooist shakes his head, expression forlorn. 

“I miss him. I want to touch him. Kiss him. Feel him. I want him to slam me against the wall and…”

“Ai’Tyle” Kant scolds, nodding towards the fiercely blushing waitress, who quickly disposes of their beers and flees. “Lilly must be after them. What if they’re hiding somewhere else. Or maybe they fled the country.”

The mechanic looks at his best friend sideways, shaking his head. “Fadew said he’s coming back. He wouldn’t have said that if he was planning to leave forever.”

“Hm.”

“Should we go to Captain Chris?”

“And say what?” The tattoo artist raises a brow. “Hey, Cap, our boyfriends got rid of Ruerat and then their Mother had them killed. We can’t prove it but they’re alive and hiding. Please find them and arrest them while you’re at it.”

“You sound insane.”

“You think?”

“What else can we do then?”

The tattooist scoffs, leaning forwards to grab his bottle, twirling it between his hands, eyes annoyed. “That’s what they expect us to do. Just sit here and do nothing. We couldn’t stop them and they didn’t let us help. Idiot, hitmen. They’re not superheroes.”

“Agreed!” Style proclaims, slamming his own bottle down after he takes a long sip. 

After a moment Kant shakes his head, his tone is filled with heartbreak, hand going to his wrist, touching the red thread with reverence. “In the end, there is nothing we can do. All that’s left is to wait and hope they come back to us.” 

Is that really all we can do? Style bites his lip, looking down the lane at the rows of pins.

The mechanic’s fingers drum against the white tabletop. 

He refuses to be useless. He refuses to be the one who always needs to be saved. 

Style wants to give Fadel a chance at a normal life. Hell, he wants to build a life with Fadel. 

The only person standing in the way of that is Fadel himself.

“I have an idea.” The mechanic slams his hands on the table, turning to look at his best friend. 

Kant’s fingers freeze over the thread as he looks up, sceptical. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Every time you say you have a plan, we end up in even more trouble than we were before. So no, we’re not doing it.”

“Fine.” Style crosses his arms, smirking. “I’ll do it by myself then.”

The tattooist narrows his eyes, assessing the other, like he is a very interesting piece of artwork he is trying to untangle. 

“I'm going to regret this.” He groans. “What is it?”

The younger man’s smile is bright. “ Lilly and Keen are the last ones who saw Fadel and Bison. I say, we follow Keen. He’s their brother, he might know something.”

“If we get caught, Lilly will kill us.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay home and wait for Bison to come back one day. You’re used to waiting, after all.”

That was a low blow. 

Kant grits his teeth, eyes going blank, before a new fire lights them.

He smiles back, the kind of grin he used to have before closing one of the cases Captain Chris put on him.

~~~ 🐧❤️‍🔥🐦~~~

Kant.

Keen isn’t what Kant expected him to be.

Not that he expected much from the middle child of the family, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

He looked impossibly - normal. Plain in the simple office-worker way, big round glasses, hair slicked back, shirt ironed and perfectly tucked into the dark slacks. His movements were smooth and intentional, as he entered the restaurant and placed his order, like a man who knew his place in this world.

No part of him was like Bison - wild and emotional - or Fadel - all sharp angels and no shit attitude. 

Kant relaxed against the sofa in the hotel lobby, the inside of the restaurant perfectly visible, while out of Keen’s peripheral vision, black glasses perched on his nose, tattoos hidden underneath the long-sleeved shirt. 

Style buzzed in his seat, leaning over the back of the armchair, trying to see better, foot hitting the table. 

“Ai’Style.” The tattooist called, pulling him down by the arm, just as Keen turned to look over his shoulder. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Kant snaps, voice low, once the hitman turns back. “You’re gonna get us exposed.”

Slapping his friend’s hands away, the mechanic scoffs. “Not all of us have been trained to be professional stalkers, you know?”

The tattoo artist rolls his eyes, fixing his glasses, eyes sliding over to Keen and back. “Says the guy who stalked Fadel for weeks. Where is that confidence now?”

“That’s not the same. I was pursuing Fadew. We barely know anything about Keen.”

“Hm. All I remember is that he was adopted at the same time as Bison and Fadel. Bison said he was pretty much useless on the field, so Lilly kept him as her assistant.”

Style looks over at where Keen is checking his phone, soft smile touching his lips as he quickly types something. “A person like that. Can he even kill professionals like our guys?”

Kant hums, zeroing in on the way Keen is holding the knife, fingers delicate, unblemished, cutting into the meat with surgical precision. “He doesn’t have to hold the gun to kill. With the kind of influence Lilly has, there can be other professionals working for her too.”

The mechanic bunches his cargo pants in his fists, turning to where the man is. 

“Fadel said he is the shooter at the Gala.” The tattooist comments.

“This guy!”

“Shh!” He snaps, pulling his best friend down by the nape. “If you’re gonna be this loud, just go and sit with him.”

This time, Style looks angry, as he pulls back. “I need to get even with him.” 

 Kant rolls his eyes. “How? You gonna kill him? You can’t even hold a gun.”

Nails leave scratches over the arm of the seat, Style bites his lips. “He hurt me. Now he hurt our boyfriends. We can’t let him get away with it.”

“Style…” Before the tattooist can say anything more, he sees Keen stand up, heading towards them. “Shit. Style move.” 

He urges, pulling his best friend off the seat and towards the corridor where the bathrooms are. Once hidden, the duo lean from behind the wall.

The hitman is walking slowly to the elevators, hands in his pockets, humming a melody under his breath. 

Kant holds Style back by the shoulder, waiting for the elevator doors to close.

“Let’s go.”

Keen gets off on the second floor. Kant and Style follow him, coming out the staircase just as the man is walking down the well-lit hall. 

The humming echoes louder here, making the tattooist shift and pull his best friend behind him. 

The man pulls out a key card as he gets closer to the farthest door to the right, fixing his glasses and checking the corridor. Kant pulls them both back into the staircase waiting for a beat before he edges out. Keen has disappeared into the room.

“What now?” The mechanic demands, coming out from behind the wall, hands on his hips. “Who is he here to see?”

The tattooist looks towards the door Keen disappeared to, eyes narrowed. Keen’s soft humming, his clean attire and eagerness to finish the lunch, constantly checking his phone and smiling. It wasn’t the habit of someone who was about to commit a heinous act or even meet a business partner. 

“I think… He’s here to meet his lover.”

Style snorts. “Lover? Who meets their lover in the hotel? Not much of a relationship if you can’t even be bothered to rent an apartment together.”

The tattooist can’t help but smile at his friend’s line of logic. 

The mechanic shifts in his place, head tilted. “Unless it's a secret relationship. Maybe they’re hiding from Lilly.”

Someone like Lilly wouldn’t want her sons to have weaknesses. On the news she was an impeccable wall of power, talking with conviction and authority, looking down her nose like the rest of the world are just peasants. Is Keen also desperate to hide his lover before Mother could get them? 

If it's a weakness it can be exploited. 

“Wow Style, your detective skills are improving.” 

Style rolls his eyes instead of an answer, pushing past Kant to walk down the hall. “Let’s go.”

“Where are you going?!” The tattoo artist demands, pulling the younger man back.

Down the hall a door creaks open. Then stops. 

“I’m gonna listen in. See who is in the room.” The younger man moves.

The light flickers, the bell of the elevator loud.

“Style…” Kant sighs, grabbing his friend's arm. “Let’s go back. Wait for them…”

The air shifts, as the tattoo artist hears a click behind him. 

The mechanic freezes half turned, eyes widening. Kant’s hand tightens around Style’s arm. 

The tattooist feels it. The cold, hard drop in his gut.

The realization strikes even before a cold barrel of a gun touches his back. 

Fuck.

~~~ 🐧❤️‍🔥🐦~~~

Kant and Style walked quietly, hands behind their backs, exchanging silent looks, as Keen held them at gun point pushing them towards the elevators and down to the garage. The lot was mostly empty, just a few stray cars here and there that looked like they hadn't been moved for months and no security cameras - Kant quickly confirmed with a look around. 

When his best friend looked at him in question, the tattooist shook his head, signaling for him to wait. The two of them have been in situations far more daring than this one before. Tied to chairs in basements, locked up in tiny rooms, beaten and shouted at to get information on who sent them. By comparison this is a far less dangerous situation. Minus a single, important fact. Everytime Style and Kant got themselves in trouble, they had Captain Chris and cops backing them up, ready to break in and arrest the suspects as soon as they made a mistake. 

The backup isn’t coming this time. 

“What’s going on?” The guy beside Keen asked, voice timid, as the hitman pushed the two friends towards the wall and ordered them to turn around.

The tattoo artist turned first, bumping his shoulder with the mechanic, ensuring the other copies him. Style has been strangely silent for the last ten minutes, looking between his best friend and the guy holding them hostage. Kant is grateful for that, Style can be a great help and support, but he rambles uncontrollably and often has an uncanny ability to push anyone’s buttons. It only gets worse when the younger man is nervous and right now, they’re both on edge. Thankfully, the mechanic staying silent allows Kant to focus on the issue in front of them, instead of worrying about what his best friend will chatter about next.

Keen quickly fixes his glasses, slight sweat glistering on his brow. “I’ll explain everything, Nont.” He appeases, briefly turning to look at the man, his eyes softening, features losing the harsh lines he sported when he first captured the other two. “I need to deal with them first.” 

When he looks back, his gaze is harsh again, fingers tightening around the barrel of the gun. “Fadel and Bison are out. You guys could have been free. Yet here you are, way over your head. Follow me.”

“What did you do to them?” Style demands, trying to step forward, but Kant pulls him back with an arm over his chest. At his friend's annoyed look, he shakes his head. No matter what kind of a shot you are, no one can miss from this close a distance. 

Keen snorts, adjusting his pose. “Mother wanted them gone and I took care of it. They won’t be bothering anyone anymore.” He looks between the two of them, left eye twitching slightly. 

“You…”

“Don’t listen to him, Style.” The tattooist’s timber is low, calm, eyes sparkling as he keeps eye contact with their perpetrator. “He doesn’t have the gut to do it.”

“Really? You think you know me? Your boyfriend also thought he is better than me, they ended up in a ditch.” He steps close, pressing the gun to Kant’s chest. “I’ve known about you from the start. About who you are. What you do, where you go. I’m the one who put the GPS in your cars.”

Kant raises an amused brow. “You were also the police informant, weren’t you?”

Keen freezes and the taller man snorts. It took him a while to figure out who the snitch could be. This person has known about their every move, every mission, details about Fadel and Bison that Kant could have never gotten his hands on, not in their first life and definitely not right now. He was an asset, good enough that Captain Chris got off Kant’s ass, following the informant’s lead. Hell, the nark even found out about Ruerat and Lilly. 

It wasn’t until after Bison told him about their third brother and Babe revealed that Keen was the one who took him to see Lilly, that all the pieces fell into place. 

“Wouldn’t your dear Mother be upset that her obedient son sold her out to the cops.”

The tattooist could feel Style’s gaze at the side of his head, his best friend also putting all of it together. “That means you know. You also know she murdered your parents. Then why stay with her?” The mechanic sounded enraged as he demanded answers.

Kant tilts his head. “What did Captain Chris promise you for selling out your brothers and Mother? A normal life?”

“I walk free. That bitch gets what’s coming for her. Ruerat is dealt with and I’m free to be what I want.” A brief look at Nont, watching them with wide gaze. “Be with who I want.”

“Why did you have to kill them then?!” Style shouted. “You could have helped them. All of you want the same thing.”

“No we don’t!” Keen snaps, aiming his gun at the mechanic now. “They always belittled me. Always looked down at me. Like I’m nothing. Like I'm a useless waste of space.I proved them all wrong. I went to the Captain because I knew he would tell you about Ruerat and Lilly. I know Bison and Fadel will be hurt. They will go after Ruerat. I shot you, because it would piss Fadel off and he will return to stop Lilly. I did it. I orchestrated it all so they will come back, finish the job and help me get revenge.”

Kant relaxes against the wall, smiling genuinely now. He feels Style’s shoulders against his loose tension too. “Lilly is alive though. And Cap isn’t going to let you walk free, Keen. Trust me. I’ve worked for him. I know that man will use you till he can’t anymore and then send you to prison himself.”

Keen shakes his head, gun back on the tattooist, grinning like a cat. “That’s because you’re stupid. I left Mother for last, so I can look into her eyes and kill her myself. That way I can take my revenge. Prove to her that she made a mistake by underestimating me. Then I’ll disappear. You Cap won’t find me. No one can.”

“You still suck at this, don’t you?” Infuriatingly smug voice goads from behind the hitman. Keen jumps, eyes widening, hand shaking around the gun. “You did all that, and we’re still alive.” Fadel smirks.

“Fadew.” Style breathes the man’s name like a prayer.

Kant not far behind, smiling through the burning in his eyes. “Bison.”

Bison winks at his boyfriend from behind Nont, holding the said man at gun point to his head. “If you spent half as much time as you waste gloating on actually learning how to do your job, you might actually succeed. At least once.”

With their hands raised in surrender the two men turn around, Keen’s eyes wide and filled with hate as he looks at his brothers. “How?” He snaps. 

Kant wonders about that too.

The tattooist moves fast, grabbing the gun from the middle brother and follows Style, as they walk around and stand next to their respective boyfriends. Keen now at the end of the barrel and Nont looking terrified. 

~~~ 🐧❤️‍🔥🐦~~~

Bison.

One week earlier.

Pain came first. Like an uninvited guest, it slammed through him, spiderwebbing outward, stretching numbness to his fingertips. The taste of copper and dust were old friends, triggering a memory he could no longer place.

Something nearby was ticking. Slow. Patient. Like a time bomb. Like a predator waiting to pounce.

When he tried to breathe, pain bloomed in his side, sharp enough to steal the air right back. He gasped anyway. That was when he smelled it. Gas. Thick and sour, crawling into his nose.

Bison blinked his eyes open. Mud and tiny stones cut into his cheek. His vision was a veil of smoke, his mind empty, confused, littered with shards of glass. Each piece carried a fragment of what had happened.

Fadew.

The name came not as recognition, but as need. Panic surged through his numb limbs. Where is my brother?

He tried to push himself up.

The world screamed.

White-hot pain shot through his side, tearing a breathless sound from his throat. His hands shook as he rolled. Breathing hurts. Something shifted inside him, burning.

Bison looked down through the blur, a low whine slipping from him. A shard of glass, jagged and obscene, like an iceberg breaking through a crimson sea, was buried deep in his flank. It moved when he breathed. A sickening, internal friction.

He didn’t care.

He turned toward the car. A mangled mess of rubber and metal, resting on its side.

“Fadew.” He croaked, his voice nearly lost beneath the groan of the settling engine.

He dragged himself closer, leaving something warm on the pavement. Every inch hurts. Every inch mattered. Somewhere near the engine, gas dripped and crackled against the ground.

The closer he got, the sharper the pain became. His side burned. His body screamed. None of it mattered.

Nothing mattered except his brother.

Through the spiderweb of the cracked window, he finally saw him.

Fadel hung upside down, unconscious, held by the seatbelt. His eyes were closed. One shoulder twisted wrong. Blood slid slowly from the cut above his brow, dripping onto the ceiling of the car. 

With what little strength he had left, Bison reached for the door handle and pulled.

Metal groaned, then gave way, falling aside and barely missing his head.

“Fadew!” Bison shouted, pain ripping through him as the shard shifted deeper. He clamped a filthy hand over his side, unsure whether to touch it or leave it alone, his eyes never leaving his brother. “Fadew, wake up!”

His strength gave out. He slumped against the doorframe, shoulder hitting metal, breath coming apart.

“Fadew.”

A tender cold touch to his cheek breaks through his fading consciousness. 

Slowly, Bison blinks his eyes open, looking up the hand currently caressing him like a precious artifact. His breath hitches when he recognizes the hooded figure, face hidden behind the hood, aura around it like tongues of fire, ominous and imposing. 

The Tool doesn’t move, doesn’t remove its hand. It stays still. Waits. 

I’m not in danger. The younger hitman realizes then. Instead of relief, terror floods his veins. 

He blinks. Turning to look at where his older brother was still hanging upside down, like a sacrificial lamb, bleeding on the hood of a car that’s about to explode. 

“You can’t take him.” Bison tries to sound strong, confident and fails. His voice is weak, lips trembling as he turns to look at the Tool. 

The hooded figure says nothing. Its touch adoring on his cheeks.

The younger hitman closes his eyes, too tired to stay awake. When he blinks them open the Tool is gone. The warmth on his cheek, the only sign that he was really there. 

The ticking against the stones is more insistent now. Echoing loud through the white noise in his mind, cutting through the fog like a butter knife.

“Bison…” Fadel moans, voice barely heard over the metallic groan, the car lets out when the man tries to twist. 

Bison breathes a sigh of relief, turning his head to look at where his older brother is squinting at him through a narrowed, crimson gaze.

We’ll be fine.

~~~ 🐧❤️‍🔥🐦~~~

One week later.

Bison twists to the side, gritting his teeth to mask the pain that shoots through him. He keeps both hands on the gun, eyes on Nont, ignoring the slight cold sweat that gathers behind his neck. Kant gives him a questioning look, relief in his gaze softening into worry as he sees his lover favor his left side slightly. 

In the younger hitman’s mind the week after the crash exists only in pieces.

Dirt under his nails. Blood on his hands that never felt like his own. Fadel’s weight against him, too heavy, too warm, refusing to be left behind. The safe house comes back in flashes. Bandages. Painkillers. Muted arguments over who was worse. Long hours spent drifting in and out of awareness, healing just enough to stand, to aim, to plan.

When Bison could finally stay upright without the room tilting, they stopped waiting. That was when the brothers came back.

Keen’s eyes lower to Fadel’s arm in a cast, held by a makeshift sling, lips stretching in a triumphant little grin. Fool, he thinks it’s a weakness. Fadel doesn’t need two hands to deal with someone like Keen.

Their brother isn’t the only one who notices the older hitman’s injury. Style also zeroes in on the sling, placing himself as close as humanly possible to his boyfriend, hands hovering over the arm, unsure if he is allowed to touch or not. Fadel lets him come close, but doesn’t take his eyes off Keen, watching his every move, his weapon in a tight fist aimed at the other man’s forehead. 

“Keen.” Nont’s voice shakes as he looks between the five of them, probably the only innocent person among their lot of misfits. “Who are these people?”

The man looks at his boyfriend, not able to hide his worry, before turning back, head held high. “Let Nont go. He has nothing to do with this.”

Fadel scoffs, shifting to keep Style behind him, even when the mechanic kept trying to shield the man’s injured arm with his body. “You dare ask me to spare your boyfriend. When you almost shot mine.”

Bison feels himself sway a little, fatigue overcoming him. Before he could lose his grip, the younger hitman feels Kant’s arm around his waist, pulling him close, a solid, heated line against his side. The shorter man gives a brief nod, allowing his boyfriend to hold him as he keeps his aim.

“If you kill me Mother will know you’re alive. She’ll come after you. Captain Chris too.” Keen vomits out, trying to reach his boyfriend’s hand, but Kant pulls the man away and towards himself, keeping him in a choke hold. With a silent sigh, Bison lowers his gun, able to fix his stance, eyes on his brothers.

“Let her.” The younger hitman snaps. “We’re ready for her. For them both.”

They talked about this during their week in the safehouse. A simple plan to finally end Lilly’s reign and then get the cops off their tail. Disappearing forever.

“The only useless pawn in this game is you, Keen. Time to pay back for hurting my boyfriend and us.” Fadel pulls back the hammer. 

Keen gulps, eyes wide on them. “Wait. Wait. I have something to tell you. I can get you all you need to ruin Mother.”

The brothers rolled their eyes in unison. “What are you plotting now?”

“You remember when you asked to quit, so you could be with your ex-boyfriend?” The man prompts. Bison looks at Fadel, whose expression is tight. “He didn’t leave you.”

Style looks at his boyfriend, Kant and Bison turning towards him briefly, noticing the way his shoulders twitched, eyes narrowing.

The younger hitman could guess what happened. They all can.

“What are you saying?” 

“Mae put a hit on him. She didn’t want to let you leave.”

Fadel grits his teeth, swinging his gun menacingly. “And you followed through?”

“It wasn’t me. She hired someone else.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“She told me not to say anything! If I snitched she would have had me killed too.” Keen screamed back.

The silence around them was fragile and deadly. 

Fadel’s expression shifted through fury into pain back to anger once more, as he cursed and turned his back at them, taking a few steps back. Bison raised his gun at Keen, giving his brother a minute to gather himself back. Style shifted with him, wanting to reach out and pull the older hitman close, but he clenched his fists instead standing to the side, eyes zeroed only on his lover.

Even with his back to them, they could see the way Fadel’s shoulders shook, hand around the gun tightening to the point of pain, veins over his arm prominent. 

When the older hitman turned towards them, he looked high-strung, like a spring about to be released. He looked at Style first, then at Bison and Kant, before turning to Keen once again. 

“Your boyfriend's coming with us.”

Kant pulled Nont further away, Bison following him to Kant’s car. 

“Fadel, stop!” Keen rushed forward. “Don't hurt him! He doesn't know anything!”

Fadel didn't use his gun. He stepped into Keen’s space and delivered a single, calculated punch that sent the middle brother sprawling across the concrete. Keen hit the floor in a heap, glasses skidding away, staring up through a blur of hate and tears.

The older hitman stood over him, the makeshift sling across his chest a reminder of the "gift" Keen had given them on the highway. He lowered his weapon until the cold barrel was pressed directly against Keen’s forehead.

“Get me every file, every bank account, and every dirty secret Lilly has.” His voice was a low, vibrating growl. “Do that, and I might let him live. If you snitch to the Captain or your Mother, I’ll send you his finger in the mail.”

“Decide, Keen.” Bison added, leaning heavily against Kant’s car but keeping his aim true. “Do you love him more than you fear her?”

Style didn't say a word. He just walked past Keen, delivering a parting kick to the man's ribs, a debt repaid for the bullet in his own shoulder, before taking Fadel’s uninjured arm.

They left Keen broken on the dirty floor of the parking lot, a mastermind reduced to a pawn in a game he no longer controlled.

~~~ 🐧❤️‍🔥🐦~~~

Fadel.

Their safehouse was an old school building two towns over. Broken down and abandoned for years now, it has become a gathering point for troublesome teens and criminals escaping from the law. Like the four of them currently are. It was well past midnight when they got there, using darkness and the woods around as the perfect cover to hide the car and sneak inside the building. After locking Nont in the storage with some snacks and blankets, each couple found their own little corner for some privacy. At least that’s what Kant and Bison did.

Fadel left them at the cafeteria, to sort themselves out and walked out. He knows it’s unfair to Style, who has been worried about him for days and who has clung to him on the backseat of Kant’s car, eyes wide on the older hitman’s broken arm, lips thin, biting back the avalanche of questions. He knows he should stay and talk to his boyfriend. To let him fret and worry over him, then make some stupid joke, which Fadel wants to kiss off those red lips. He knows Style needs the intimacy to confirm that they’re fine and that Fadel is alive. 

He knows.

He just can’t. 

Not right now at least.

The older hitman grieved for his ex already. He stayed up for days after he disappeared. Left no stone unturned. No lead unfollowed. He met his family. Asked his friends. Tracked his movements. For weeks Fadel tried to find Fluke, not to get him back, but to ask, - “Why?” 

Why did he leave without a single goodbye? Why did he disappear when they were about to start a new life together?  If he wanted to end their relationship, why didn’t he just say so? Why? Why? Why?

The restaurant owner was angry for so long - at himself, at Fluke, at life, at the world in general. When Bison’s carelessness attracted the cops, the brothers were forced to move and with it, Fadel chose to forget. If Fluke wanted nothing to do with him, then it’s fine, it’s over. Someone who lives like this, who kills people, who has crimson stains on his past and death in his future, doesn’t deserve love in the first place.

If anything, losing Fluke only reinforced Fadel’s belief that he is better off alone. When he is inevitably caught and sent to prison or when he is killed by some stray bullet, he won’t have to feel guilt. There will be no one left to mourn him, to remember him and that was okay. Another nameless grave in the vast field he dug a place for himself. 

Then he met Style and that grave was no longer nameless. His life is no longer empty. There are people who miss him, mourn him and look for him now. If he dies someone will remember him. If he goes to prison, someone will wait for him. 

Fadel has never been loved like that before and it terrified him. It also made him stronger.

Go figure that the moment he lets himself dream of another life, a new life away from all the murders, destiny hits him with a sledgehammer. 

Fluke leaving him, ghosting him, with no explanation hurt, but he could convince himself that it was because he didn’t love Fadel and didn’t want the life on constant move that the older man was offering. 

Fluke didn’t leave him though, not by his own free will at least. He was killed. Murdered for nothing more than for daring to be in Fadel’s life, for loving him, for pulling Fadel away from Mother and her plans. 

For the first time in his life Fadel had an innocent person’s blood on his hands and he didn’t know what to do with it. He has been killed before. Has hunted, searched and ended lives for years, before and after meeting Fluke. But all of them were evil men and women. They were scums of the earth, trash that needed to be taken out before they hurt any more innocent people with their greed and cruelty. Fadel was doing a favor to the world and humanity by getting rid of this garbage. 

Fluke though… He wasn't bad or evil or even cruel. He was a normal guy with big dreams. With a family who loved and adored him, with a bright future and big goals he wanted to achieve, to make his parents proud. He was studying to become a doctor, and was planning to do his practice in some small no name village, where he can help people living away from modern healthcare. He always had change and warm food for the homeless. Made sure to carry candy in his bag for children and treats for strays he saw on the street. He was the kind of man who cried when they watched a stupid movie about a blue fish. 

Fluke was a good guy in every sense of that word. 

His only mistake was loving Fadel. Trusting the man who scared the demons under the bed. 

The older hitman’s walk led him to the bleachers. Sitting alone on top of the benches he thought of the days he spent with his ex and about the months that followed. His eyes burned with unshed tears, hand clenched between his knees, his broken arm uselessly balanced on one thigh, his heart breaking with every recollection. 

That’s how Style found him. 

His boyfriend kept his footsteps light, presence grounding instead of spitfire like he usually is, entering anywhere with a flourish, filling any space with his light and ambience. Style has never been mild, always unapologetic in being crazy and flamboyant.

As the younger man comes up the steps to sit by Fadel, gently wiping his tears, he is anything but loud. Fadel hates it. He loves him for it. 

“Are you alright? You can talk to me, you know?” 

The older hitman looks at him, trying to find an ounce of fear, regret or even doubt, anything really that will tell him that after learning about what happened to Fluke, Style is now scared for his life and wants to leave, wants to get as far away from Fadel as possible, before what happened to his ex happens to mechanic as well. 

He finds none of the things he fears.

All Fadel sees is limitless love, grounded understanding and unshakable devotion. 

Style is looking at him like he is ready to shoulder the world along with Fadel. 

The older hitman looks away first, feeling a sting in his eyes. “You know… I’ve always blamed myself. I thought he left because he was scared of me. He didn’t want a future with me. I didn’t want to get burned again, so I wanted to stay away from everyone.”

The mechanic slides his hand into his, linking their fingers together, careful not to touch the sling. “After hearing all this, I understand you better.” His lips curl up at the edges when Fadel turns to look at him. “Especially why you were so closed minded before.”

 “I didn’t want to have any expectations just to be disappointed.” His vision grows blurry, Style’s beautiful features barely visible. “I never thought he’d be dead because of me. If only I didn’t ask to quit my job, if only I didn’t get close to him… he’d still be alive.” 

He squeezed Style’s hand between his palms. Tears he’s been holding back finally breaking free. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Fadel. Lilly is the one who had him killed. If you’re gonna blame someone, then blame her. You have a right to love and to want a future.”

Such pretty words and he wants to believe them. He wants to trust them. 

“You see now, Style? The only thing my love will lead you to is death. Please leave me. I won’t even get mad at you.” Fadel pleads, ignoring the tears that are now descending down his cheeks, nose clogged making him sound chocked. “Live the life you deserve. Don’t leave it with me.” He squeezes his boyfriend’s fingers, afraid to let go.

The mechanic frowns, sliding close. “Why would you say this? After everything we’ve been through… It hurts me, you know?” Using the fingers on his free hand, Style gently wipes the older hitman’s tears, touch careful despite the annoyance reflected in his eyes. “I’m not the type to leave the one I love to save my life. I’m not selfish like that.”

Fadel can only look at him in admiration, helpless to stop his heart from singing as he perceives those words.

Style isn’t selfish. He is the most selfless, brave, kind, generous, noble, strong man Fadel has ever had the pleasure of knowing. A person who will give everything for the people he loves. Who has seen Fadel at his darkest and then most vulnerable and still chose to love him, to stay with him. 

The older hitman is grateful as much as he is afraid for his lover. 

He sniffs, looking at the mechanic’s determined gaze. 

“Love is something you fight for together. Stay by each other’s side through every obstacle. If I was afraid, I’d have run away the day I found out you’re a hitman. I love who you are, Fadel, that’s why I stay with you.” Fadel feels like a little kid, clenching to the other’s hand, eyes wide and big on him, like Style is his only saving grace. “I know for sure you’re the one I want.”

The older hitman allows his boyfriend’s to softly cup his cheeks, thumbs wiping away stray tears, turning him fully to look straight into Style’s loving gaze. 

“There’s no need to be afraid. You and I will be fine. Everything will turn out okay. Knowing how much you care about me makes me certain that I chose the right man. You deserve love just like anyone.”

The kiss that follows is the softest he has ever experienced. The kind that touches the soul and burns through the entire body, bringing everything back to life. Fadel has never been kissed so reverently before. He has never been loved like he is adored by Style. He doubts anyone in this Universe can love him like Style does. 

Fadel blinks his eyes open, when the kiss ends, only to blink up as the mechanic brings him closer, his lips warm against his forehead. 

Do I really deserve it? Is it really okay for me to have this? To have him? Is it okay for me to love?

He wraps one good arm around his boyfriend's shoulders and brings him close, locking the man in a tight embrace. Style embraces him back, both arms around his back, one hand on his nape massaging the taunt skin, fingers brushing softly at his hair, while he keeps him whole with his free arm. 

Fadel buries his nose in Style’s shoulder, inhaling the man’s scent, allowing himself to break, no longer strong enough to hold up his walls. 

Style lets him. He says nothing as Fadel folds into his lap, wetting his pant leg with his tears, sobbing into him, mourning for something he lost and never had, fearing for the thing he might lose forever. 

Safe in his sanctuary, as Style doubles over him, arms around the man, face buried in his shoulderblades, Fadeal breaks completely. Knowing that when nothing of the old but dust remains, Style will help him rebuild himself into someone stronger. A phoenix rising from the ashes.

~~~ 🐧❤️‍🔥🐦~~~

Kant.

“Timeline is resenting itself.” Kant mumbles, as he cleans around Bison’s wound.

They’re in the school clinic, or what used to be one, Bison sitting perched on the cot bed with first aid kit and different supplies they bought on the way to the hideout next to him and Kant on a rolling chair between his open thighs, treating his wound. 

The gash is still red around the edges, the makeshift thread Fadel probably used to suture the wound, while being injured himself, is  messy and pulling at the ends in a painful way.  Thankfully the wound isn’t infected, but from the way his boyfriend keeps limping and his breath hitches whenever he tries to inhale a bit too deep makes the tattooist sure that they should have gone to the hospital. 

“Hm.” The hitman looks down at him, fingers clenching at the blue mattress underneath. 

Throwing away the cotton pad, the tattoo artist dresses the wound with fresh bandages, hands careful not to press too hard. “Same wound. Same broken arm.”

He remembers the events that led to his death way too clearly even after centuries avoiding thinking about it. Kant recalls clearly Bison’s birthday in the Bowling Alley, them having fun and dancing around. He remembers the crazy jealous ex threatening his girlfriend in the middle of the lanes and Fadel and Bison stepping in to help the girl. 

It makes his hands shake, breath coming in gasps whenever the memory sneaks up on him. Bison on the floor with a knife wound to his side, blood everywhere, staining the floor and his white shirt. 

Kant sat by his hospital bed for the whole night after the surgery. Holding his lover’s limp hand, promising him truth and honesty when he wakes up. 

“I promise, when you wake up, the version of me you will see is the real me.”

The tattooist swore, waiting for Bison to open his eyes. He didn't care about anything anymore at that moment. Just the thought of losing Bison, of never seeing him again was enough to make him feel like Kant was dying himself.

Then Captain Chris called telling him they’re coming to arrest Bison. 

The tattoo artist rushed back to take his boyfriend away before cops could come and then…

The next time he saw Bison awake, they were on the boat. 

Kant never had a chance to confess.

The hitman shrugs, pulling his shirt back on. “That's how timelines work, don't they? No matter how hard we try, the Universe is eager to balance everything back to how it was. Once the scales are upright, it will get rid of extra weight. Us.”

Balancing both hands on Bison’s knees, Kant leans close, eyes big and imploring as he looks up at his love. “We’re running out of time, Bison.”

Crescent- shaped eyes soften, as fingers comb through the tattooist’s long locks, pushing his hair back. “You’re scared of the boat.”

He shakes his head, careful not to dislodge the hand still in his hair. “It needs me there to get everything rolling. You don’t have to be the one to take me, as long as I die on the boat the countdown starts.”

“You're the first who dies. I'm the last. Kind of poetic, no?”

“No, it’s not.”

“No, it’s not.” The hitman mumbles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on the taller man’s forehead. “Sometimes I think, what would have happened if I listened to you. If I didn’t bring you to that boat, but maybe locked you up in our basement. Demanded the truth, demanded answers.”

“Bison, don’t…” Kant squeezes Bison’s waist, hands reaching to hold onto him. 

His boyfriend shakes his head, fingers tangled in his hair, their faces close enough to kiss, to see every shift in those expressive feline eyes that Kant fell for right away. “I know you forgive me. I know you keep saying that it’s in the past, but… The closer the Tool gets. The more I am faced with the real possibility of losing you, all of you, the more I keep thinking.”

“It was my choice to jump.”

“I didn’t give you a choice, Kant. I didn’t even listen. Then it was too late. And then, when I learned about your final gift to me, I lost it. I was so selfish. I broke the Vow just so that I can follow you through time and space, knowing that if we meet, if I remember, we both will be punished.”

The tattooist raised his hand, gently cupping the other’s cheek, thumb caressing the taunt skin under his eye. 

“It’s all my fault that the Universe is after us. I broke your deal. I followed you. I haunted you like a Victorian ghost. I forced you to run and erase my memories and time jump so many times that in the end it caused a ripple in the time and space continuum. Now look at us, we’re running from the very thing we used to protect.”

“I’m glad you did it, Bison.” Kant cuts his lover’s tirade, eyes big and damning as he looks into his wide, questioning dark orbs. “I’m glad you ignored the fine print and defied Fate herself to chase me. I was scared and ran from you, but it wasn’t because I didn’t miss you, didn't want to be with you. I was scared that I won’t be able to resist choosing you and damning the whole Universe just for us to be together. You say you were selfish, so was I. I wanted us to be together, but I was so scared, so ashamed of my choices that I ran.”

“In the end we still found each other and fucked over the Universe.”

“We did.” They chuckles, bumping their foreheads together. 

Silence falls between them, as they sit their arms around each other, faces buried in the other’s neck, simply existing, simply absorbing the fact that they’re together. 

“We’re the ones the Tool wants. We have to find a way to keep it away from the others.” Bison finally mumbles, moving back, taking his boyfriend’s hands in his. It wasn’t lost on Kant, that Bison kept touching the string on his wrist, making sure to move his nails over it, kissing it with the pads of his fingertips.

Kant nods, lips pursed. “Let’s handle Lilly first. The Tool isn’t a threat at the moment.”

“Oh-ho. How do you know that?” Bison teases. “Did you already charm it too?”

“Jealous?”

The hitman snorts. “Of an intergalactic prosecutor? Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t worry, my fierce penguin.” The tattooist says coyly. “I prefer adorable Reapers.”

Bison snorts, pinching both his cheeks cooing. “Don’t kiss up to me too much. I know the kind of charmer you can be, Mr. Bambi Eyes.”

Learning up, using the other’s hold on him, the taller man whispers. “These eyes belong only to you, na.” Kant kisses the smile off his lover’s lips, his fingers finding the red string on Bison’s wrist. Keeping eye contact with his boyfriend, the tattooist raises the other’s hand to his lips and kisses the inside of his wrist, right over the threat. He can feel the pulse jump against his lips, making Kant smile.

The hitman’s cheek turns to a delicious shade of pink as he pulls his hand away with a pout. “If you’re so eager to please me, help me with something then.”

Kant raises an amused brow, waiting. 

When Bison pulls out the black and silver beaded necklace out of his pocket, swinging it between them, in front of the tattooist like a treat, Kant’s breath hitches, an unbidden smile gracing his lips. He bought this necklace as a birthday present for his boyfriend during their first life, after having seen it in the market one day and being immediately reminded of Bison. 

Kant thought of it as not only a symbol of their love, but also his silent promise to be trustful and loyal to Bison alone, to tell him the truth and to stay with him till the end. His heart broke when Bison threw the necklace into the water, demanding for Kant to prove his love by fetching it from the jaws of the monster that haunted the tattooist since his parents’ death. 

It was the biggest ‘I hate you. I’ll never trust you” he has heard and that was part of the reason why he jumped. To get Bison’s necklace, to prove to him that Kant loved him more than anything in this world. 

Seeing it here, centuries later and coming back in time, in reality he hasn’t given anything to Bison yet. It made him feel whole again. Like something broken and frayed inside of him finally untangled and rebuilt itself back. 

Strange really, after all the apologies, sacrifices and confessions, it was the presence of this necklace that made him truly believe that Bison forgave him, the same way he has forgiven Bison.

“I thought you threw it into the ocean.” The tattooist can’t help smiling, taking the necklace from the hitman’s outstretched hand. 

“I did.” Bison smiled bright, looking from the necklace back into Kant’s expressive, shiny eyes. “I picked it up when I dove in to save you. Kept it with me even after I couldn’t. It was there attached to my soul as Per and then, I gave it to Karn along with my soul and your journal for safekeeping. They’re my most valued possessions. It’s why my memories came back.”

Kant smiles, leaning up to clasp the necklace back around Bison’s neck, grin widening when the same content expression matching the feeling in the tattooist’s heart fills his lover’s expression.

“Bison and Per. I guess I really can charm everyone. Especially you.” He said cheekily, kissing the man’s cheek, before dropping back on his seat. 

The hitman raised a brow, indulgent. “One compliment and you are already so full of yourself, huh?”

Kant shrugs, lips pursed. “I can’t lose face in front of the man I love, after all.” Placing his hand on the shorter man’s nape he pulls him close. “That’s why I swear, I’ll get both of us out of this mess. Alive. Then we can go and see the Northern Lights.”

“Together?” Bison brings his pinky between their lips.

The tattooist smiles, linking their pinkies together. “Together.”

The kiss that followed those words was filled with longing and passion. Bison buried his hands in Kant’s hair, pulling him up and closer, until the tattooist crawled onto the hospital bed, straddling the hitman’s lap, his own hands roaming his back, lips biting into each other, tongues battling. Bison moaned into his mouth, which only made Kant growl and pull him closer, lapping at his lips, desperate.

They only broke away when breathing became a necessity, but neither went far. Foreheads touching Kant and Bison remained in each other’s embrace, breathing distance between their lips, eyes half-lidden and with matching smiles, as the hitman swayed them a little. 

The red thread around their wrists tightened.

The choice has been made. What comes next has to deal with it.