The Man with the Thick Eyebrows (Paul x Reader)

Grudge

Third Person

   "I need a drink," he mumbled to Patryck as he lit a cigarette.
     "Paul, you've been venting for the past hour," he said, whispering in exhaustion,"Can't we go tomorrow?"
     "Who said anything about we?"
     "I'm not sure I trust you with alcohol at the moment," he yawned. The sound of his feet hitting the concrete ground made Paul sigh.
     "Fine," Paul uttered, cracking his back as he stretched. He turned the light on, wiping sleep from his eyes. Paul was in blue striped boxers and a wife beater, his eyes had small bags under them and his stubble was starting to grow out. He knew he'd need to shave soon. The man and his friend slipped into something casual, as when they were reading the handbook they found it was fine to not wear the uniform after twelve a.m., and it was nearly one.
     Patryck opened the door, his hair brushed. For the past three nights d been in the army, Paul had been keeping his friend up to ungodly hours, talking about how stupid the White Army and their leader was. The only thing he couldn't bring up was that as the three spent more time with (Y/N), he began to enjoy her company. She tried more and more to make their life easier. Obviously, Paul had asked her not to interfere, but she cared, and that honestly made him happy. He still hated her, and he would continue to hold onto that grudge, even if he was losing his grip on it.
      He jumped as Patryck tapped his shoulder, giving him a scowl as he hid a smile.
      "Ready to go?"
      "Yeah."

-Now, for the first official timeskip of the book-

Patryck's Point of View

 

    Paul was drunk. No, not drunk, he was drowning in whiskey and tears. I was rubbing his back as his friend held his head, crying into his palms.
     "But I don't wanna hate "er!" he slurred, giving him a fearful look. I was confused. How could he not hate her? We came on a whole mission to kill her, and if anything I was the one expected to find something nice about the enemy. Sure, she tried to make their lives easier, but what she did could not be forgiven.
      "Don't worry, Paul, it's just the alcohol," I explained with hope, before feeling as if he was just sucker punched in the gut.
      "No, it's not. It's why I wanted to get drunk in the first place," the man said. I knew he needed to help him, but I didn't know how, and I didn't want to tell Tord, because then Paul'd be forced to befriend her, just for information.
     "Paul..." I whispered,"You know we have to kill her, right?" I asked in a soft voice.
     "I know," he said, his voice shaking,"but you don't seem to get that I'm not going to like it."
      I rubbed my eyes. Paul didn't know how he felt. Sure, (Y/N) was nice, but couldn't he remember how we felt as we were gathered to say our goodbyes? Knowing that he could put us through that and not wanting to torture the person responsible for our fear made me angrier than I'd been in awhile, but maybe it was just the alcohol.
     "You fucking pussy!" I shouted,"your 'feelings' getting in the way of our mission," I continued. I didn't care who heard what at this point, and I was nearly happy when I saw Paul's scared face. We never fight, but right now? It felt good. I raised my hand in a tight fist, my other hand holding his collar. I was about to punch him, part of me screamed no, but an over whelming part of me roared yes. When I punched, how ever, it never landed. His collar was released from my grasp, and I opened my eyes to see (Y/N), cradling a drunk Paul.
     "What the hell, Patryck?" She asked, concern in her eyes. I knew I couldn't tell her. I crossed my arms, looking down. Paul was visibly scared, through he tried to calm himself down. The alchohol wasn't helping him look his usual, stoic self.
     "It doesn't include you, ma'am," I said, forcing the venom from my voice as I looked at the woman who had stolen him from us.
     "I don't care who it includes, you both are my soldiers, and I thought you were friends," she said with her stone voice.
     Paul shifted in her arms, a dusty blush on his tired face. Of course they were friends, but why would Patryck do that? It wasn't like him.
     Patryck huffed, looking down,"My friend here seems to think you're amazing. It's like he doesn't remember when Tord and I were pulled in to say our goodbyes, how that felt. Four days at his bedside, just hoping he would wake up, and it was all your fault," he hissed, turning and running off in a huff. He hoped he hadn't compromised anything, but mentioning Tord at all could have gotten them both killed.
     Meanwhile, (Y/N) sat there, Paul still in her muscular arms. She sighed, a tear slipping from her eyes. She just wanted to help. She didn't want him to hate her. She put Paul down, sitting onto a stool at the bar.

Paul's Point of View

   I knew Patryck didn't mean it. He was simply a bit tipsy, but it was still terrifying to know he was ready to deck you. I tried to understand how he felt---what I put him through---but I just wanted to make him understand that I couldn't help it, and that it wasn't a crush, just something more friendly, and I could get over it. I knew that it wouldn't be over until a bullet was between her eyes though, and now more than ever it was important he be the one that did it. He toyed with a pistol on his belt, feeling it in his hand. He had to shoot, but he just... and then whe was pulled out of his thoughts as he noticed her drinking. Absinthe. In (Y/N)'s home country, (H/C), it was illegal, but in Nemo's Point, no one had to know. She slammed down the green glass, holding her head in her hands. 
     "God-fucking-damnit," the leader whispered, catching my attention.
     I looked at her pale face, brushing the hair from it and over her ears. She looked like she would throw up---this clearly hadn't been her first drink. (Y/N) gagged, standing as quickly as she could, limping towards the sink. I instinctively pulled her hair back as she threw up, plugging my nose. She stood there hacking for a good thirty seconds after she threw up, sending another wave of vomit. I  looked for a towel, finding one as she began to stand back up. I passed it towards her drunkenly. She gave an uneven smile. I guessed it was my turn to care for her, as I let her lean on me. I had to carry one cruch, as he struggled to walk and keep her up. I had to awkwardly ask for directions every so often with slurred words, soon making it to her office, and then to her room. I lifted her onto her bed, making sure she was alright. I turned to leave, when I felt a tug on my back. I turned to see her, eyebrows knitted closely together.
     "Don't leave me," she whispered, (e/c) eyes glazed with layeres of worry. She scooted to the edge, giving me room. I looked around, before awkwardly taking off my shoes and hopping into bed, putting a body pillow between us. I stayed up for afew hours, still and tired, but unable to sleep. (Y/N) was snoring ever so lightly, her arm draped over my stomach. I knew Pat would be pissed, but I found myself growing fond of our new leader. I knew we could make good friends once they knew eachother well, and this was the first step to it.