Chapter Text
Thorin rolled from the side of his bed to the middle, raking a hand through his hair. The black locks fell from the lackluster bun he had tied earlier that evening, splaying onto his pillow like water on ink. Working nights and living during the days in the sunlight hadn't been a problem until recently -- Thorin was currently fighting a ragged set of migraines, this one the fourth of the week. He figured the weather, rainy and dreary as London liked to be, had been affecting his head, causing the fog to grow in his temples and dance to the cranial region the longer he kept his eyes open. Thunderstorms streaked rain across all of the windowsills in his flat and the tin roof that he lived under, another painful, wet night ahead of work before him.
This was going to be a tough one, speaking as he could barely glance at the clock long enough before his head pounded on and on. Regardless, the man strolled out of the soft covers on his mattress and shuffled into a pain of trousers, fixing a hairbrush through his hair before peeking an eye open in the mirror. Bags drooped under lusty blue eyes, lines above his dark eyebrows. A scowl was living where a soft smile would usually crack when he looked into the mirror. Thorin Durin was pretty, almost model-like sometimes, but he did nasty work under the watchful eyes of the Fundin brothers.
Dwalin and Balin, his bosses, were currently awaiting his arrival.
Thorin was an errand boy for the owners of a very famous iron-working business in East London, where they made knives, guns, and all-things sharp and dangerous. He usually spent his evenings driving the Porsche around the alleys, picking up money from the dealers, dropping off weapons to the thieves and bank robbers of the underground. It seemed unthinkable that a man such as his standing, the last-living son of Thain, a wealthy banker, would be working in these conditions, but it paid well. Besides, he had known the brothers since primary school -- as long as he wasn't burdened with the fear of death or bad finance, he wasn't scared of a little blood and dirt.
Rolling into the kitchen, Thorin shuffled his lumber legs into a pair of boots and flicked on the coffee machine, watching with a yawn as it dripped black coffee into a paper cup. He popped his pills and massaged his head, sipping peacefully in the silence of the house. His flat was a fine one, on the top floor of an industrial-chic building, open-concept and as lonely as bachelor pads went. From beyond weary, sleepy eyes, Thorin glanced down at his phone and read over his instructions for the night.
He sighed, frowned at the time, and dumped his coffee in the sink. Before throwing on his coat, he dipped a kiss to the front of a photograph on the table.
A smiling Frerin promised his return every time he left, regardless if he was a picture or a memory. To know that there was a life worth living, for someone he loved, gave Thorin all of the strength in the world and more to do his job the best he could. If Frerin had known before that haunting night in the fire that his brother was going to be the consigliere of a mafia, he probably wouldn't have lept from the window. He had always worried that Thorin was too sweet for his own good and that one day, he would say yes to an agreement that he couldn't escape.
As the moon moved further into the sky, the man boarded himself in the driver's seat of his car, tugged his keys from his pocket, and listened to the engine purr. The pain in his skull brain grew with the hum of the car as he sped off into the evening, expecting nothing less than a bullet wound when he returned. He hissed a string of curse words, muttered a prayer to Mahal, and broke the speed limit by at least eighty. The streetlights flew as he danced through the streets, the radio off and his mind empty now that he was awake. Dwalin was calling on the dash and Balin blowing up his messenger before he reached the first red light, demanding a reroute to upper London for a gone-wrong burglary. Ahead, four cop cars were perched, abiding to stop him for speeding.
God, he really needed to get a new job.