#just like me...

In a moment of weakness, you realized he had only looked small when compared to his friend and now you were staring at his naked back. He turned just as you took the first step toward the stairs.

“Why are you here?” you asked, very, very inconspicuously. “How are you here?”

“Why you- You told me, didn’t ya?” he said, looking a bit baffled, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “After Roadie fished ya from the river and we sneaked past the security bot?” He illustrated that by walking his fingers on his arm, “I hoist you up the side of the building? You hit me on the head and I left through the vents? No?”

He recoiled, mumbling to himself as if discussing the validity of his own story for the briefest of seconds, before shaking his head and continuing.

“Gotta right chewing for not collecting me and me pal’s payment last night, I did, but ya seemed a bit out of it and I am nothing if not a gentleman,” Junkrat twiddled his thumbs, giggling, “Not every day a bloke gets asked to just… blow up things… usually folks try to stop me from doing that…”

It took you a second to process his words, because it was just so surreal, seeing him walk around next to your stuff, leaving soot marks and sticking his head inside your fridge, demanding you get more groceries and don’t forget the boba and some hot chips wouldn’t hurt either an-

“Wait, what are you talking about?” you shook your head, completely forgetting your plan and your phone. “What payment?”

“Hundred grand, like we agreed!” he moved on to the cabinets, entirely oblivious to the way you gripped your head in a panic, “I accept all major forms of currency. No checks. And no food stamps… Nah, I might do food stamps just for yo-”

“A hundred grand?!” you said, so loud that it made him jump. “I don’t have that kind of money!” you lifted your hands in frustration.

Junkrat lifted a single eyebrow. “Looks to me like you got plenty of it,” He gestured all around, sparing special attention to the hovering vacuum cleaner, which had been erasing a trail of dust marks left in his wake. “Nice house and all…”

“It’s exactly because I live here that I don’t have it!”

He put his mechanical hand up, totally ignoring everything you said.

“This happens more often than ya’d think, you know! Usually goes like: suit gets a hit on him, begs for his life, offers to pay double, yadda, yadda… But your thing was fun too!” he went on, really trying to sell it. As if the problem was client satisfaction. “My company guarantees discretion in every job! Well, er… often.”

“That is not a job, that is crime!” you accused him.

“Same difference!” he replied, furrowing his brows. “I cut you a pretty sweet deal there, mate! You know how much specialized arson’s worth these days? Not a hundred grand!”

This was a trial. It had to be.

“Look,” you walked closer, trying to not to sound too pathetic, “That was a mistake, ok? I wasn’t in my right mind.”

Junkrat looked genuinely confused. 

“But… we shook on it?” he asked, more to himself than anything. Then he became even louder: “Well, can’t really unburn a building can you? And why would you?”

(...)