Hero & Villain

Lance | 1326w

  I wasn't ready to face the mess at my house, so instead I came to my hideout. I've been laying on the single twin bed here for almost an hour, absently running the tips of my fingers back and forth across my lips.

  I don't regret kissing him, and I only regret leaving a tiny bit. I wish I could have seen his reaction, but I know I wouldn't have liked it. He was probably a mixture of disgusted and angry.

  The phone I keep in my hideout for business calls is flashing with two new messages, but I don't plan to check them any time soon. I did enough bad deeds in the last few days, now I just want to wallow in my misery.

  And that's what I do for a full three hours, until my exhaustion finally overcomes me.

***

  I'm so out of it I don't hear the doorbell ring. Five times.

  I'm understandably startled when the door gets kicked in, banging into the wall with a heavy, crashing thud that startles me awake. I bolt out of bed and grasp my knife, then somewhat groggily jump behind a divider wall. I suddenly wish I had taken the time to put in a door. I slowly shift the knife in my grip until it's perfectly positioned to stab somebody, should the need arise.

  I hear them taking cautious steps into the first room. They're probably unsure if they have the right place; I left the first few rooms untouched, only the back two rooms containing anything of importance. And the most valuable stuff is, of course, hidden.

  Most Villains don't bother, instead leaving their stuff sitting around without a care if anyone saw. I used to be the same when I first started, but while I've learned and adapted, they haven't. Half of them can't go out on the street because they're sloppy and got their identities uncovered.

  Their faint footsteps grow closer, and with each one I slow my breathing so they won't hear. I can feel them peering into this room, looking for me before taking a single step past the threshold. Unfortunately for them, they choose to look the opposite way first.

  I viciously kick the backs of their knees, knocking them off balance. I use that momentum to shove them to the floor, and in the blink of an eye I'm upon them. I press one foot down onto their chest, making it hard for them to breathe as I crouch above them and hold the tip of my knife between their collar bones.

  I don't recognize them with their face covered like it is, so I press a bit harder with my knife as I yank their mask off. To my surprise, they don't seem concerned about their obvious disadvantage. Unfortunately, I still don't recognize them.

  "Who are you?" I demand, my eyes narrowing when they only smirk.

  Their dark blonde, shoulder length hair is pulled back into a little bun, though a few stray pieces seem to have escaped. They narrow their blue eyes right back at me, which is when I notice the almost unnoticeable stitching on their suit collar.

  I dig the knife in just enough to break the skin and cause their smirk to slip away.

  "Now hold up, I didn't think you'd actually hurt me. Ah, where to start? I'm a Villain from a different city. Thought I'd come scope the place out, and what better way to start than to meet the infamous Macer?"

  I raise an unimpressed eyebrow. "Your insignia told me as much, and you did not answer my question," I point out. "Also?" I purr, dragging the knife along their collar bone for about an inch, drawing a thin line of blood as they wince. "Don't ever underestimate me as a Villain."

  "Okay okay, point taken, flattery won't get me anywhere. I'm Crossword," They frown a bit, nose wrinkling. "Not very catchy, I know."

  I roll my eyes and stand, expecting them to follow. When they don't, I tap my foot impatiently and they give an expression that clearly says 'are you kidding me?'

  "What?" I snap impatiently.

  This time they're the one rolling their eyes. "I can't get up if you won't let me," they say, sounding exasperated. "You know, unless I want permanent scars on my wrists. How ugly would that be?"

  I let out a faint growl at that, my mind flashing to the scars on Calen's wrists. They don't make him any less beautiful. I force myself to stop thinking about him, and instead focus on the issue at hand.

  I look at their wrists, and can't help but widen my eyes a bit in surprise. They're practically shackles to the floor by... flames. The flames don't touch them anywhere, but there can't be more than a quarter inch between the flames and their skin.

  As soon as I start thinking about them, the flames vanish. How did I do that, I'm not Macer right now. I know I'm not, because my eyes aren't glowing and I don't feel any particular affinity to blood lust.

  "So uh, I only told you why I'm in the city. Why I'm in your apartment is a whole different story. Should I start at the beginning?" They ramble, while I consider my options. I could listen to them, or I could kick them out and hopefully get peace enough to sleep.

  "Masquerader sent me," they finish, and suddenly I'm interested in what they have to say. If she came anywhere near Calen again... "She said I could stay with her and in return do her a few favors. This is one of them."

  I wave my hand dismissively, urging them along. Masquerader often takes in so-called apprentices. "Get to the point," I groan, my patience waning the longer they continue to sit on the floor. They sat up and are currently leaning back on their hands, looking up at me with an annoyingly hard to read expression.

  "Ah, well, yes. She said she was curious and looked into whatever you did last night, and now she knows the identity of a certain someone, and also she wanted to let you know that the kid was taken."

  My eyebrows furrow for a moment, then I frown. She must have heard about the fire and wondered what my motives were. She probably did some digging, found some old photos of Calen and recognized him. I don't like that she knows his identity, but I can't change it. As far as a kid... I have no idea.

  "What kid?" I ask curiously, meeting their eyes as they shrug in response.

  "I don't know, she gave me zero details. Said you would know what I meant," They finally climb to their feet, letting out a groan as they rub their legs. "Damn, you don't hold any hits do you?" They mutter, as they straighten up again.

  They're only slightly shorter than me, the difference no more than an inch or two. They seem younger than me by a few years too, probably just got into the business.

  They clear their throat a bit awkwardly, then gesture toward the door. "Well, I'll be going now. Nice to meet you, hope to maybe work with you someday. Good luck with whatever that message was."

  They wait a few seconds for an answer, then huff and stalk out. I lower myself to sit on the edge of my bed, glancing at the clock to see how long I was asleep. Six hours, and I can see the light of morning filtering through the cracks around my curtains.

  I stare blankly out the open doorway as I think. The kid. The kid, the kid, the kid... do I know any kids?

  It takes much to long for the answer to arrive in my tired, drained, mildly emotionally unstable brain.

  The foster kid was taken by someone.