ʀɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ...

He smells him first, that sharp, acrid something known only to cologne makers and sun-drenched wanderers. Mouth inhales instinctively, lightly, gasp marking the threshold between sleep’s oblivion and wakefulness. Fingers reach for softness, leathered hand tugging lightly on thin cloth as the spy moves slowly closer to the source. He knows nothing now, knows only the fact that he wants to be closer, whatever it is is warm and solid---. 

The spy is gone, jerked upright by realization; uneasy hatred, against himself, slithers behind hard sternum. Fool. Icy eyes blink against remnant sleep, gaze upon the flat expanse of the sniper’s clothed stomach used moments before as a pillow, the very same stomach now moving in response to quiet laughter. Icicles stab into the other’s eyes now, but the sniper does not look away. He never does. 

“What, woke up quick enough?” 

daggeriisms

Jack knew that flash of blue anywhere. 

The color belonged to the pariah’s of the town but its hue only made Jack grin widely. Jack knew this was the same person from before and little feet urged him to run. Yet, he hesitated, glued to the spot. It felt like a spell almost, like if he drew too much attention to themselves then the magic would be broken and the man in blue would vanish. Months in passing suddenly felt like decades. Plenty of days had passed, and what reason had the man to even to remember their encounter? The rest of the town had taken to forgetting. If rumor about RED and BLU even held an inkling of truth then occurrences like those of Sissmas day were ordinary. The high possibility that the masked stranger– or, a guardian, as he’d been more apt to personally describe him, could have forgotten like rest was… scary.  

Still, if there was a chance, he would risk it. 

So, doing his best to look as inconspicuous as possible Jack walked. One step, then another. Jack weaved through crowd with all the finesse and grace an eight year could muster which, truthfully, wasn’t much at all. When he felt he was close enough, Jack stopped. Moments tick in silence, where all Jack does is look at his shoes or find a newfound interest in a spec of dirt. Jack felt a buzz of excitement along with a nauseating mix of unease. This lasted for a whopping five seconds. No longer able to contain his excitement Jack lifted his hand in a small wave, and looked up at his guardian. 

“Hi again, Mister. Do… do you remember me?” 

Onyx eyebrows pursed in annoyance, another drag taken from crisp cigarette as the man in question subjected himself to yet another wait. Fifteen minutes had passed, of waiting for the BLU Soldier to collect his purchase, so they could go home. Bored mind questioned exactly why, as the soldier continued to berate the poor clerk, he had been asked to undertake this task. Limbs and brain would both rather he be at the base, tucked away as far as possible with a book and a glass of wine. Alas, he has ventured only as far as the nearest post, lean frame propped against it as he is treated to another chorus of shouts.

Then-- without warning, sudden voice catches his ear, rips attention from its grave and gives it new life. Icy crystalline blue eyes see nothing around him, no adult ventured forth to vex him in vain; gaze drops to a more child-friendly height, and-- he understands. A moment is taken, brief taste of nicotine on his tongue, as he resituates his memory. Pale gaze glances over youthful frame, once, twice, then lands on childish face at last. The boy looks alright, hair grown perhaps a little more than that when he last saw him. Stares finally connect, and something infinitesimally small settles in the back of restless mind. Perhaps he has been waiting for this, too.

Threat of poor memory lays heavy in the air between them, weighed down with uncertainty and fear. Did the spy remember? Apprehension soon gives way to praise, given easily to whom he considered deserved it; an attempt to soothe youthful nerves.