Cold Hands

Blood stained pillow

Toast's POV

What the fuck?

Toast watched Rae as she continuously slapped the boy's face. This was him? The dude? Kjellberg's major player?

All Toast could see was this random kid passed out on the floor.

His eyes, scrunched in pain, were surrounded in way too much eyeliner for Toast's taste, and his hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in ten years.

His outfit exuded some sort of unruly vibe, all black and grey, deeply saturated colors which made the numerous rings and chains pop in contrast.

When they'd found him, he'd been literally convulsing in what looked like agony, but Toast was somehow more scared by his current state.

He was splashed out on the floor, not moving at all, except for the jerks in response to Rae's slapping.

Toast, in shock, was moving almost as little as the boy, observing how his knuckles went white because of the force he was using to grip onto the hem of his shirt.

Bit, black nails ruffled against the t-shirt underneath, tucked poorly into ripped, dark skinny jeans.

Must've been the involuntary cry of pain that 'Corpse' released that snapped Toast out his stupor and found him on his knees next to the boy.

"Hey, hey, hey! Buddy!" Toast snapped his fingers near to Corpse's face, trying to get his attention. Somehow it worked, as he opened one eye slowly. "Hi! Stay with me here. Are you okay?"

No words answered his question, but a deep grunt followed by the weakest of nods assured him.

Holy molly. This was Corpse. That rumbling that had been his voice seemed like it'd seeped out of the underworld. It was the iconic voice, the fear of everyone in the criminal sector in London. But those were worries for later.

The almost fainted child in front of him seemed like a more prominent priority.

"He's sick." He heard Rae whisper, to what he answered by shooting her a glare which was meant to convey "Ya think?!"

"Does this happen often?" Toast muttered, uneasiness cursing through his veins. Was this really the way to meet the underboss of what was England's biggest mafia? What if he decided to kill him because he'd seen him in a weak state? Shivers ran down Toast's spine.

He'd been expecting Rae to answer, so he almost jumped in surprise when it was the young man who did, Toast feeling his entire chest rumbling as he spoke.

"It depends. It used to never happen. But now it just... appears out of nowhere randomly. From twice a month to once every three months. I don't know."

"Oh." Toast yelped in response, intimidated by the underboss' sharing of information to what was virtually a stranger.

"I'm guessing you're Rae's proposal for new member, yes?" Okay, maybe he wasn't such a stranger. Did Corpse really know who he was? "Pewds and Jack never meet with new soldiers, I usually supervise, or just one of the capos, but never them. You're special, though. Rae's brother."

"Damn. Well, yeah..."

"Pewds never would've hired you if it wasn't for me, you know?" Toast backed away from his face a bit as the younger man blinked a couple of times, seemingly more and more lucid by the moment. He felt him squirm under his arms, regaining his posture and pulling himself up. Where the fuck was his core strength coming from after having a seizure? "I trust Rae, I love Rae. She's one of my closest friends. But I don't know if our big man told you, he doesn't like family ties in this business. Makes things messy."