Promise [Number 5 X Reader]

- Stone and the Boy -

November 1963, One Day Before Five's Arrival

You entered the small apartment with a sigh, tired from your job of the night: acting as a body guard for some random guy carrying around cigars and a gun - but those were the types you guarded for in the first place. The guys, a group that included your employer, your coworkers, and the people you guarded, all referred to you as "Stone." The name had been sparked by someone asking what the material covering your face was. When you simply answered "Stone," the guys had decided to call you that.

Except for Arthur.

Arthur was the son of your employer, a man you just called "Boss." Arthur had taken you into his home per the request of his father, who feared you'd be carted off as an unguarded minor - which was a win-win situation for Boss, considering his son was also an unguarded minor who lived in a different apartment from his father for protective purposes. After a bumpy first two weeks of cohabitation, you got along surprisingly well with the red-haired male - not to say he was mean at first, he was simply . . . guarded. It wasn't like you could blame him for that though, all things considered. After a month, he warmed up a considerable amount and you had learned he had recently turned seventeen years old, and that he spent most of his time figuring out what stocks to invest in - something that you may have helped out with a few times. You knew Boss was trying to groom Arthur to be the next . . . well, "Boss," but it always seemed like the kid had other things in mind - not that he'd ever told you, you had a sneaking suspicion the youth thought Boss wanted you to keep an eye on his activities.

"Hey, you're back," called out the cheerful male from further inside the apartment. "And in one piece, that's good," he continued as he popped into your line of sight. 

"Hey," you replied. "It's like, two in the morning, what're you doing?"

"Waiting for you," he said with a dorky smile. "And checking some of those stocks you told me about, they weren't lookin' too great."

"Just trust me, I know what I'm doing," you said, waving him off, and detaching your faceted mask from your face, holding the crystal in your hand.

"Mm-hmm," he replied, a disbelieving look on his face as he looked down at your uncovered face. "Says the child."

"Yes," you answered, sliding past him and setting your mask down on the kitchen table, "the child who is currently the most desired bodyguard in all of Texas. And that's not even mentioning that you're still a child."

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, only to close it soon afterward and scratch at his temple. "Fair point."

"Of course it is." A yawn forced open your mouth as you turned to the second bedroom in the apartment. "Alright, I'm going to sleep - and you should too."

"Worry-wart."

Your hand hit the doorknob and a pang ran through your chest at the term. Your mind conjured an image of a tan face with dark hair and brilliant eyes, "You're such a worry-wart," the voice laughed. In your head, both the image and the voice changed, cycling through the seven individuals who all said you worried far too much, only for your fears to be confirmed in the end. Not to mention, the promises you had carefully established to prevent such occurrences were broken; laid shattered and abandoned at your feet. Your stomach churned painfully at the memories you could never erase.

You knew from the tone of Arthur's voice that he hadn't meant to be cruel. He wasn't exasperated either, as the people from your memories had been. Arthur was simply teasing, you knew that well enough. So why did the term send such a physical reaction? Was it because it reminded you of the people you desperately wished to forget - or maybe it was because he wasn't one of those individuals.