bbs- banana banana shot? (booty booty squad?)

Late (part 1)

IM SORRY FOR NOT BEING SORRY
--

He was late again. Bryce sat still, staring quietly at the door. The couch underneath him was big and empty without Luke by his side, and it felt weird being alone for so long.

The television was still on, playing Luke's favorite movie. Bryce had thought a movie night would be a great way to start their weekend, but it seems that Luke had other plans. He shakes his head in disapproval, then lays down across the couch.

Bryce is tired. He's tired both physically and mentally. He's tired of many, many things.

Bryce was tired of his kittens tearing up furniture. Bryce was tired of the older cat always hiding socks and little pillows. Bryce was also tired of waiting. He was tired of waiting for Luke.

If Bryce had a penny for every time he's been in this position before, waiting on the couch for Luke at three in the morning, Bryce would probably have enough money to buy himself a coffee or two. And he would drink both of those coffees, and then he would be able to stay awake long enough to see Luke come through the front door, whenever that might be.

This thought amuses him, and a weary smile forms on his face. The things he did for his husband were always so odd.

Then again… his life was never going to be normal, now was it? Bryce wasn't sure how normal life could be if you were dating a mob boss.

Bryce sighs in defeat, and finally stands up. Luke clearly wasn't coming home anytime soon. Maybe something went wrong with his plans tonight. Maybe he hit traffic, even. His point was that Luke wasn't home yet, and Bryce knew for a fact that if he spent even one more night on this old couch he would break his back.

So he stretches, yawns, and then makes his way to the empty bedroom.

The bed is big and comfortable, fluffy blankets thrown carelessly across it and big, soft pillows lay at the front of it. Bryce flops into it and wraps himself up, in an attempt to make this empty bed seem a little less lonely. Without Luke here to cuddle him, Bryce has to resort to bundling himself up like a child.

The warmth of the blankets overwhelm him quickly, and slowly, but surely, Bryce falls asleep.

-

When he wakes up, it's to the sound of something breaking. Something large and wooden…

The door.

Someone just kicked a door in.

Bryce sits up, now at full attention. He stays still, perfectly still in bed and as quiet as he can. Was that one of Luke's men? It had to be. Who else would know of Luke's address? Even then, that was a stretch because Luke does everything he can to protect Bryce.

Luke promised he would protect him, at all costs.

That explains why, not even a few seconds later, there's the sound of someone yelling and a lot of fighting. Glass is breaking, things are being slammed around, and there's multiple men in the house.

Bryce doesn't know who. He's never gotten very involved with Luke's mafia. He doesn't know anyone in the mafia besides Luke, and his friend Jonathan. And if Luke is fighting against them, then they must be bad.

But that wasn't a good thing at all. How was he supposed to react? He couldn't just run out the front door, they would see him! Same went for the back door, too.

Bryce is beginning to panic. He gets out of bed, holding on tightly to a blanket as if it would protect him. He doesn't know what to do, or where to go, and he can feel tears welling up in his eyes.

In the midst of his panic, the door to the bedroom bursts open, and some man Bryce has never seen before is now standing before him.

“That's sweet, the big bad Mr. Cartoonz married some Disney Prince lookin’ guy,” he chuckles, an Irish accent clear in his voice. The man leans against the door, clearly aware of Bryce's fright. “What's your name, cutie? You look too good to have married a piece of shit like him.”

Bryce opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. He bites his lip, trying to gather some kind of courage. Blinking the tears away, Bryce stands up a little straighter, as if that would dispel any fears he had.

“Bryce,” he says in a surprisingly loud voice. “My… my name is Bryce.”

The man chuckles, then pulls something out of his jacket pocket. Bryce doesn't need to ask to know what it is. The soft, almost silent click echoes through the room, telling Bryce all he needs to know.

It's a gun. A simple, black handgun, and it's aimed directly at his head.

“It's a shame I have to do this, y’know? Such a waste of a pretty face,” the man coos.

Bryce's eyes widen, and he stumbles backwards, shaking his head frantically. “No, no, y-you… you can't! You can't, oh- oh no,” he chokes out. “P-please… please don't do this.”

The man shakes his head, a malicious grin spreading across his face. “But I do. Someone's gotta kick that asshole husband of yours down a few pegs. And what better way to do it than to kill of his beloved husband, hmm? Not that he cared for you that much, anyways.”

“W-what? What- what does that mean?” Bryce's voice is small and quiet, his body shrinking back against the wall as if he would manage to disappear and escape with his life.

“You're a sweet boy, you know that? So faithful and loyal to someone who was never even there for you. It's okay, though. You won't have to put up with it much longer,” the man cackles.  

Before Bryce can ask any more questions, or even think to plead for his life, the gun is raised and a bullet comes flying at his head.