Six of crows imagines

My reason

You felt like crying.

Scratch that. You were going to cry.

You were going to cry and possibly throw something, anything. You wanted to grab a knife and chuck it at the wall repeatedly until there was a hole.

You wanted the wall to feel the same pain as you.

Like there was a hole in it.

Ironic.

Kaz Brekker, dirtyhands, the bastard of the barrel, shattered your heart. And he probably didn't even know it or cared.

Kaz only cared, for one thing, money. You couldn't blame him for that. Money was something necessary in Ketterdam. You needed money to stay alive and above the rest.

But money also puts a sign on your head. A big red blinking sign that probably says something like "big kill, big money."

You weren't stupid. You were very well aware of how big of a sign Kaz had on his head. Plenty of people wanted his head on a spike. You almost want to add yourself to the list.

"What?" You asked, voice small.
"Don't make me repeat it."
Kaz doesn't bother to look at you. His eyes stay trained at his desk, filing through paperwork for the slat. He scribbles on them, whether it be a signature or a check.
"I don't understand."
"I've made myself clear."
"No."
"I'm not asking."
"I don't want to."
"(Y/N), this isn't up for debate."
"Well, it should be! I should be allowed to have a say in this."
"You don't get one!" Kaz said harshly, finally meeting your eyes. "Out."
You want to refuse, sit there and scream at him for the rest of the night. But you can't. Kaz Brekker won either way. It doesn't matter if you sat in his office the rest of the night and argued. His say was final. You would only be denying the inevitable by fighting.
You stand up, blinking through the tears forming in your eyes. The words slip past your lips before you even realize.
"I hate you."
You slam the door shut behind you, missing the way Kaz's face drops, and his pen explodes from the force of his grip.
He had kicked you out like that. Stripped you of everything you are. One mission gone wrong, and you were booted back onto the streets of Ketterdam.

He had kicked you from the Dregs.

It wasn't even your fault. You didn't understand his reasoning. You got shot, and the next thing you know, as soon as you've recovered, you're alone.

And honestly, if Pekka Rollins himself asked you to murder Kaz, you just might. The Dregs weren't a gang; they were a family. They were home to you.

A home that you hadn't had in a while, but it wasn't just the Dregs. It was Kaz Brekker. The bastard of the barrel was also the person that held your heart in his hands. He was the person you went to at midnight when you didn't know what else to do.

He was the person that listened to you.

He was your person.

But you weren't his.

You grabbed the knife off the table and throw it as hard as you can at the wall.

You miss.

You grab the knife, wiping away the tears blurring your vision, and aim again. This time it lands in the wall. You clutch it and throw it again.

And again.

And again.

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The Crow Club is still as lively as ever as you walk past it. You contemplate going inside, but you know better. A shadow catches your eye behind you, but there's no one out here but you.