Rainy Days

Chapter Fifty-Five: Man, Everyone Is Trying to Kill Jordie and Five

[valley hill beach, ohio–friday, midday]

JORDAN WOKE up to the sound of a door slamming. Yawning, he stretched carefully, moving Five's head off his lap and onto a pillow. Getting to his feet, he decided to go and pee because he felt like peeing.

As he went into the bathroom, his mind slowly started to wake up. Someone was coming up the stairs, but he assumed it was Maria and washed his hands. The soap smelled like watermelons.

Stretching, Jordan went into the kitchen again and finally have it a real look.

The rooms where small, a window over the sink. Cupboards where over a counter, with a stove and an oven as well. The fridge was a pristine white, a few pictures on it; closer inspection revealed Maria and a boy who could've been her twin. The table was circular and small, with only four chairs. A coffee machine rested on the counter, and although he really wasn't a huge coffee drinker (Ron was, though, which was a smidge concerning since the boy was only eleven), Jordan decided that he wanted some.

Quietly, he started the machine and then waited for Maria.

~{}~

Harry was surprised that Five or his faggot boyfriend hadn't tried to kill him yet. He wasn't exactly using stealth. He'd already slammed the door, tipped over a vase, and scared the shit out of Maria. Why the hell hadn't they reacted?

Probably sleeping, he thinks. Or fucking.

They're probably fucking. Five was always a bit of a whore. Never stopped the damn flirting when he was in the office—with lowly janitors or high-up officials. Didn't matter who. He was rarely there, anyways; only six times in the whole career. But Five was a slut.

Harry scoffs to himself and arrives at the second floor, eyes widening in surprise at the sight:

A messy head of black curls is standing at the counter of the kitchen, pulling down two mugs. The coffee machine is beeping, the dull blue of the sky's fading light washing over the room. The bedroom door is open to reveal a young boy that is most definitely Five asleep in bed, drooling slightly and cuddling the spot where the boyfriend must've been. It's an obscenely domestic scene.

Harry's heart pounds, a sudden hot, sharp anger pulsing through his bloodstream. God, why the hell do they get to have the sweet scenes in his house? Five and his–his whore. This little slut making coffee at sundown, in Harry's house. No. That shit will not go.

"Maria?" The black-haired boy speaks without turning around; he's focused on pouring coffee. "Sorry, I should've asked before using your coffee machine. And asked if you even wanted some, but I made enough for three. Five has a thing for coffee, and I dunno, figured you might want some too."

Harry pauses in his steps; this guy was thoughtful enough to make three cups of coffee? An extra for Maria? It almost makes him feel guilty about the knife in his hand, how he's already scanning for the quickest and quietest way to kill him. Five wasn't a top assassin for over twenty years to sleep through murders.

"Maria?" The boy set the cups down, his shoulders tensing. "You good?" He turns around, and freezes when he sees Harry.

"Who the fuck—" but his eyes trail to the knife and the words die in his throat. "Five!"

The boy hurls a coffee mug at Harry, the hot liquid splashing into the floor. He dodges the ceramic easily, a shard hitting his back when it shatters against the wall. Harry glances at the bedroom, and sees Five rubbing his eyes and yawing, not aware of the danger just yet.