Pull the trigger (Norman x Ray)

Chapter 7: (Ray) ❤︎︎

I stared at my phone as a text from my boss appeared on the phone.

Boss: Did you really think that I wouldn't catch on?

Boss: You have one last chance to complete your mission before I deal with you and your target.\

Ray: I'm sorry boss. I promise to get the job done.

Boss: Remember, Ray. No one will ever treat you better than I do. Don't betray me or I swear I'll make your life hell.

You have already made my life a living hell. How worse can you possibly make it? I looked up to see Norman walking toward his car, so I shoved my phone into my pocket.

...

I opened Norman's door and unbuckled his belt. "Norman, what the hell! Are you okay?" He nodded, still in shock.

"I guess you were right. I am a bad driver." He laughed nervously before rubbing his eyes.

"You're such an idiot."

We stared at each other for what felt like hours before Norman jerked me towards him. I winced as I fell onto him, "Ray, we're still in the middle of the street. So, as much as I love looking at you, you need to get back into the car."

"Right, yea." I looked down, hiding the blush that was slowly creeping on my face.

"That was pretty close." Norman sighed, shaking his head.

"Imagine if we actually got hit. I'd kill you in the afterlife if you got us killed in such a lame way." I laughed.

"I worry about you sometimes." Norman turned away from me and started the car again.

We reached the park a few minutes later. It was getting a little darker by then. Norman and I walked through the open field as the wind blew against our faces. I don't get to go out often. Or at all really. We sat underneath a tree and watched the sunset.

"Sometimes I feel like the sun will explode when it goes down." Norman randomly said.

"Where the hell did that come from?" I laughed.

"You have a cute laugh." I stopped laughing and looked at him, but he wasn't looking at me.

Why did he make me feel like this?

I have received many fake compliments, but he made me feel good about myself. It's barely been three weeks, and I've already dug my grave here. Why do I feel so free around him?

Norman.

What a stupid name and what an insufferable face.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, making me turn away from the snowy-haired boy's face. It was a text from the boss. Norman turned to look at me with a questioning look on his face. "It was just my uncle. He was wondering how I was doing."

"So, how long have you been living with your uncle?" Norman turned back to look at the view.

"Almost eight years."

"Huh. So what about the other two years." 

"What?" 

The other two years?

Oh, those two years.

"If your parents died when you were seven and you've lived with your uncle for 8 years, you'd be 15. But, you're 17."

"I was in an orphanage," I muttered, shuddering at the thought of that awful place. 

"That's weird. The report never said anything about you living in an orphanage."