The Silence Of Metawin.

Folie à Deux

A month later

He was past living on borrowed time, now he was outright stealing it.

The doctors had been surprised, but not as surprised as he, when his wounds had healed terrifically and with only minor infections, nothing a good cleaning couldn't handle.

He didn't know how he had survived, or how he was still alive.

It was common knowledge that Bright had been released from the hospital a few days ago, but he had yet to make his grand appearance. He had assumed that by now he would've made an attempt to kill him, kidnap him, or at the very least quiet him.

He knew too much now.

Win was as suspicious as he was curious.

He wanted to talk to someone, anyone, about what he had gone through and what he knew, but he feared that doing so would seal his fate. He had even tried to call Third, who had finally woken up from his coma and was now at home, only to be sent to voicemail after a few rings every time.

Two could play at that game.

If anything, Win should be the only one between them that was still mad, it's not like he was the one who had cheated. The fact that Third was mad at him for simply being mad was petty and extremely in character, reminding him of how toxic a relationship he had been in.

And so he waited. He told himself he was just enjoying his solitude and his dogs, recovering after a traumatic experience. But if he was being honest, he was waiting to see what Bright's next move would be, and he craved the security of his own home. The best part of 'believing' something truly had always been the 'lie'.

An answer soon came to him in the form of a letter and a flower left on his doorstep. The familiarity and sense of foreboding that struck him upon seeing it was a physical thing.

Under the offering was a pile of clothes, crisp and neatly folded. He timidly unraveled the first article of clothing and found that it was a suit jacket that fit him perfectly, probably tailored and custom ordered, considering who it was from. Under the jacket were pants to go with it.

Before he read the letter, he inspected and sniffed the flower that accompanied it for some time. It had been the purple one again, his favorite, but the meaning was now lost on him.

Win had shown up, on time, wearing the suit he had given him. It was like Christmas.

It was a nice suit, but if he had used merely that descriptor he knew Rachel would have his head. It was actually a stunning tweed suit, and its color scheme of brown and black complemented his eyes magnificently.

"You have beautiful eyes." He hadn't meant to say it aloud, but something about Win's presence pulled the truth out of him kicking and screaming.

His guest blushed and ducked his head, stuttering out a 'thank you.' He moved out of the way so he could step in. He began to take his shoes off out of courtesy but he stopped him, deeming it unnecessary.

Tonight was a special occasion.

It could also play out in a variety of ways, some bad and some good, depending on Win's choices.

He looked him up and down, pleased to see how nicely he had healed, no longer abnormally pale. His nervous ticks seemed to be back: his hands didn't know what to do with themselves besides tug and tease the lapels of the jacket, but that was highly acceptable. That meant Win was Win again.

He mentally applauded himself for being so wise before having entered that warehouse: phoning Tay Tawan and alerting him of their situation and location had proven to be in everyone's best interest.