Get out

Shirt

Brett was quick to retreat to his room, his cheeks still burning from the interaction, only giving a quick order to Victor to guard the door and listen out for any funny business on the way.

He sat down on his bed and took off his glasses before rubbing his face in an attempt to gather himself. Stupid feelings. They needed to go back to hell where they came from. He couldn’t allow himself to be this vulnerable with him.

It did feel nice to just talk to him, though, and to make sure he was as alright as the circumstances allowed.He enjoyed taking care of this prisoner, more than he should. Maybe it wasn’t so bad?

He gave himself a quick slap on the cheek to gather himself before going to his private bathroom to get some cool water in his face and to make sure no signs of his feelings were left on his face. It felt like his blush had stained his usual stone cold expression, making him feel more animated than usual. He couldn’t have that on the job. He was always on the job.

“You gave yourself one simple task. Get Eddy a shirt. Get the prisoner a shirt,” Brett muttered to himself in the mirror before turning on the faucet and splashing some water in his face. “Where do you get shirts? You can buy one. It would take up a lot of time, and it would be suspicious of how you really feel…”

He slapped himself again as he thought about how he felt before leaning on the sink. It was stupid. He didn’t feel anything, he told himself.
“You can get the boys to buy one. Maybe someone stylish knows what you’re talking about when mentioning quality…” Brett mumbled, staring at himself in the mirror while he thought about all his guys. The only one who came to mind was a business partner overseas, which was ruled out. “What am I thinking? Those sheep don’t know shit about quality.”

Brett got his glasses back on and ran a hand through his hair. How could getting a shirt be this difficult? It was a stupid shirt for his stupid assassin who couldn’t even complete the job. Maybe, if he’d just managed to actually kill him, he wouldn’t have to deal with stupid feelings from years ago?

‘Just grab one of your old ones from the closet. They’ll probably fit him,’ he thought to himself, almost slamming the bathroom door open as he stomped over to his walk in-closet. He grabbed the first shirt he found, some kind of regular white t-shirt he usually wore under his shirt or for bed. It would do.

Ray gave him a strange look when handed the shirt and given the order to give it to the prisoner.
“Can’t have him die from pneumonia. Just some rags from the back of my closet,” Brett muttered as he headed for his office to actually get some work done. Stupid Eddy for occupying his mind.