"Are you certain that you took care of that private investigator?!" The man's voice echoed through the empty warehouse, filled with anger.
"Y-yes, boss. I'm sure of it," the guy with blonde hair stammered nervously.
"If that old man is still alive, I will fucking kill you!" the boss warned, his tone menacing.
"And you!" He pointed a finger at another man standing beside the blonde guy. "Why does this guy look exactly like him?!" He threw a set of images at the man.
"I... I don't know, boss," the other guy replied, avoiding the boss's gaze.
"We need a plan to eliminate anyone who gets in my way!" The boss paced back and forth, his frustration palpable in the tense air of the warehouse.
___
Fighter had been vacuuming the carpet in the living area while munching on an apple he bought yesterday. He had returned from a late morning jog, having woken up unusually late. To distract himself from recent troubling events, he kept busy, trying to avoid thoughts he shouldn't dwell on. A few feathers had already fallen, and if his superiors found out, it could mean trouble.
Saint had left for work early, and Fighter hadn't noticed his departure. He wasn't even sure when Saint had returned last night. But waking up in the middle of the night, Fighter found himself in Saint's arms, with Saint's hand resting gently on his head, holding him close to his chest.
Fighter turned off the vacuum cleaner and furrowed his eyebrows, wondering who could be knocking on the door on a late Monday morning. He walked over to answer it, and there stood a beautiful girl in a dress.
"Hi. Is this where Saint lives?" the girl politely asked.
"Yeah... Who are you?" Fighter asked, although he had already seen this girl twice before. He needed to understand why she was looking for Saint.
"Oh, I'm Saint's girlfriend. Is he inside?" The beautiful girl smiled brightly, gesturing toward the apartment as if asking if Saint was home.
"Ah, g..girlfriend. He's at work," Fighter replied, feeling a mix of surprise and confusion.
Fighter could not believe what he had just heard. Saint had a girlfriend. His knees felt weak, and his heart ached as if it had been struck repeatedly by a heavy hammer. He struggled to compose himself, not wanting to show his defeated feelings to the beautiful girl standing in front of him.
"Oh my god! Right! I forgot he has work today. I should take my leave. Thank you."
Feeling overwhelmed and unable to stand, Fighter closed the door behind the departing girl. His legs gave out, and he sank down onto the couch. Hugging his knees tightly, he buried his face in them. Finally alone, he couldn't hold back anymore—he broke down in tears. Every emotion he had been suppressing flooded out, leaving him shattered and vulnerable.
Fighter's world felt like it was crumbling around him. The revelation that Saint had a girlfriend left him shattered and filled with painful questions. He couldn't understand why Saint hadn't been upfront about it. Had Saint been playing with his feelings all along? Were those tender moments, the attempted kisses, just a charade?
The confusion cut deep, echoing the insecurities he had fought so hard to suppress. Was he not worthy of Saint's love and honesty? Did his feelings not matter to Saint? Fighter grappled with these doubts, questioning whether his differences made him unworthy of genuine affection in Saint's eyes.
The pain was raw and consuming, leaving him lost in a sea of unanswered questions and self-doubt. He felt betrayed by someone he trusted deeply, and the hurt ran deep as he struggled to make sense of Saint's actions and his own emotions.
He looked up to nothing while tears running endlessly from his eyes.
"Why did you send me here..." Fighter's voice cracked with sorrow.
The weight of betrayal and heartache settled heavily on Fighter as he painstakingly picked up each feather, a tangible reminder of his pain. He felt utterly lost, overwhelmed by the depth of his emotions and the shattered trust he once held in Saint.
"I can't... Take me back..." he whispered through his tears, the words a plea to turn back time, to erase the hurt and confusion that now clouded his heart. Fighter's world had been upended, and he longed for the comfort of a reality where Saint's feelings had been true and his presence meaningful.
Fighter woke with a heavy heart, his eyes red and swollen from hours of crying. The room had grown dim with the setting sun, casting long shadows across the floor. With a deep sigh, he gathered his strength and slowly rose from the couch, the weight of his sorrow still clinging to him like a heavy cloak.
He bent down and meticulously collected the grey feathers scattered on the couch and the floor, each one a painful reminder of his shattered trust and the emotional turmoil he had endured. As he moved with a slow, deliberate pace, his thoughts raced with unanswered questions about Saint and their relationship.
Dragging his feet, Fighter made his way to the bedroom, his movements mechanical and devoid of the usual energy and optimism that defined him. He deposited the feathers into the trash bin, covering them as if to bury the pain they symbolized. Standing there for a moment, he stared at the closed lid, his mind swirling with a mix of hurt, confusion, and disbelief.
With a heavy heart, Fighter turned away from the bin and headed back to the living area, where the remnants of his emotional storm still lingered in the air. He knew deep down that this pain would not easily fade, and the scars of betrayal would take time to heal.
Fighter's evening was heavy with sorrow as he sat on the patio, a can of cold beer in his hand. The once serene blue sky had darkened to a somber grey, mirroring the color of the feathers that had fallen from his wings earlier. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him.
Opening the beer with a clumsy motion, Fighter's grip slipped, and the lid nicked his finger, drawing blood. He winced at the pain but paid it little mind, focusing instead on the bitter thoughts swirling in his mind. Each sip of the beer seemed to echo his anguish: Saint's lies, his unexpected girlfriend, and the betrayal that cut deep into his heart.
A tear slipped down his cheek as he wiped it away, the taste of betrayal bitter on his tongue. By the third gulp, the dizziness set in, reminding him of the exhaustion that weighed heavily on his shoulders. Fighter knew he needed rest, a respite from the tumultuous emotions of the day.
With a heavy heart and weary steps, Fighter set the half-empty beer can aside and made his way back inside. The warmth of the apartment enveloped him as he headed to the bedroom, shedding the weight of the day. Collapsing onto the bed, he closed his eyes, seeking solace in sleep, hoping that tomorrow would bring some measure of clarity and peace.
Saint arrived home early, around 7:00, and found Fighter already asleep in bed. After completing his own nighttime routine, Saint tried to wake Fighter, pulling him close.
"Fight, have you eaten dinner?" Saint asked in a gentle tone.
Fighter stirred but didn't respond. He buried his face in Saint's chest, hiding his exhausted state. With a scrunched face and biting his tongue to hold back tears, Fighter hugged Saint tightly, feeling both comforted and saddened by his warmth.
"You're so warm, Fight."
Inside, Fighter admitted to himself,
'Saint, I'm hurting...'
