Archive of Our Own ^beta

Enamored. 

Putting the emotions Wolf had for his teammate into words was difficult, but if he had to, enamored was a good start.

Perhaps, "being crazy for him" wasn't too far off, either. He often found himself making irrational decisions to defend the other in the midst of an assault, whether that'd be to take bullets, peppering his torso in bruises through the bulletproof vests, or if it was going berserk on a poor tazer or cloaker getting just a bit too close to the Brit. 

This behavior was what landed him in an increasingly awkward conversation with Dallas. His pose was one of judgmental concern; not much unlike a dad whose kid had acted out. Wolf couldn't blame him considering the amount of times Dallas had had to drag him out of police swarmed rooms by the collar.

After a period of silence with the crew leader looking to be in thought, he clasped his hands on the table before looking at Wolf. 

"Are you doing okay, Wolf?" He asked.

"Huh?"

Dallas gave a light, strained smile, unsure of how to pursue the issue. 

"You've been.. acting a little more reckless, recently. More wounds, more bruises.. You've been rushing into fights," he paused. "Are you doing okay? Chains and I have been discussing benching you for a bit, see if it calms down." Wolf tensed, but tilted his head. He knew Dallas and Chains were the more responsible ones of the original four, but he wondered why Hox hadn't been a part of the discussions. He knew Wolf the best, after all. Dallas continued.

"Hoxton didn't think anything was wrong, not sure how he'd think that. Said you were just going through an episode." He sighed. "Honestly, most of the other heisters haven't noticed much of a difference, but they haven't worked with you for as long as we have." He looked to be in conflict.

So Hox hadn't noticed anything different.

Huh.

It's not like he'd expected, or even wanted praise or recognition for his "selfless acts," he was no martyr, after all, but the fact that the other hadn't noticed a thing hurt . 

His focus was brought back as Dallas leaned forward a bit, calling his name. 

"Wolf? Hello?"

"Yes, sorry," he mumbled, eyes fixed on the table. 

"You're gonna be staying back for a while, alright? No heists until you start acting like yourself." 

Wolf's chest hurt. He wanted so badly to tell Dallas no, to argue that he was fine, that there were plenty of heists that he came back from mostly unscathed, that these heists were his main outlet for.. everything. That he needed these heists to feel whole. But instead he was emotionally frozen. 

"Okay," was all he managed to let out. Dallas cracked a small smile, sympathy clear in his eyes. He stood up and leaned over the table, giving a firm pat on Wolf's shoulder—which Wolf had to stop himself from flinching at—before looking at the clock on the opposing wall. 

"It'll be alright, you'll be back out in no time, I promise. Although maybe now you'll have time to work on those new sentry designs you've been meaning to do, huh?"

It was a weak attempt at cheering the Swede up, but it was an attempt nonetheless, which a miniscule part of him still had to appreciate. "Thank you, Dallas," he forced a smile, giving the other a nod before he watched him leave.

Wolf then proceeded to plant his face in his hands, letting out a groan.

" För helvete ."

-

To say having been benched had been rough would be an understatement.

The lack of action had caused him to sink his focus into work, causing him to isolate himself. Unintentionally, of course. It just sort of happened.

He'd spend long nights at his workstation in the safe house, occasionally earning some concerned looks from Wick as the assassin would leave for the night, coming back the next day to Wolf being in the exact same spot. The others in the safe house barely knew, other than occasional check-ups and when Wolf was either crashing while seated at the kitchen island or on the living room couch.

He would sourly note the days gone by without a visit from Hoxton.

His feelings were a mixed pot, for sure. 

"Hoxie is a busy person, and he grew more independent after prison. It's nothing about me, it's just him being occupied with things. We live a busy lifestyle," were one side of things. The other?

"Oh god, I messed up, he hates me. He's tired of my bullshit and it's gotten so bad he's thrown out our years of trust and friendship because I was that insufferable. It wouldn’t be the first time someone did that."

That second one was a big reason why he had trouble sleeping, even on nights he was in his own bed. 

Wick had offered assistance before, whether that would be to get some food for him, or to awkwardly ask if he needed company. While grateful for the offer, Wolf would always decline, causing the other to visibly lose his tension in relief. Not that either of them hated spending time with each other, but neither of the two were very good conversationalists except for with specific people.

Like Hoxton for Wolf, for an example. 

Or, well. He used to be.

His sanity was edging the fine line between "alright" and "horrible." Tinkering by himself and burying himself from the world was okay for a bit, but after a while it started wearing on him. Despite feeling, to be blunt, like absolute fucking shit, mania had started setting in, causing random fits of giggles to appear despite no outside stimuli. Energy filled his body, his fingers itching for a fight. For a gun. For action.

While Wolf hadn't noticed, Wick was any minute away from grabbing Dallas. He had seen his fair share of personalities, and while he trusted the team, then uncontrollable giggles following a sort of stasis was never a healthy sign. 

The aforementioned assassin jumped lightly as the sudden sound of the chair scraping loudly across the concrete, as well as a loud "YES" resounded through the basement room. " Till sist! "

Wolf grabbed the improved sentry gun he had been working on, storming up the stairs, perking up at Hoxton's voice coming from the kitchen. He bounded up, interrupting a conversation between the other and Clover as he loudly dropped the sentry on the table, a grin on his face as he panted lightly. Clover took the hint and exchanged a look with Hoxton before going off to the security rooms. 

After a few seconds of, to Hoxton, awkward silence, Wolf finally spoke up.

"I finished the new prototype Hox! I know we still have to see it in action, but I'm sure it'll work great! I used a different kind of metal so it's lighter, although it's more breakable, I can bring more and distribute them more evenly!" He waved his hands around, laying the senty on its side to showcase the ammo compartment and the battery in it. "I also changed up the type of-"

"Wolf." Hoxton cut him off.

"Huh?"

"This is great an' all, and I know I'm not all the sensitive type, but don'tcha think we should, I dunno, talk?" Hoxton looked over his face, his brows furrowed. Wolf felt his excitement reel back, suddenly feeling almost self conscious. He could practically feel the dark eyebags that were there with no doubt, and his coatless outfit displayed the wrinkled dress shirt, the tie missing and the collar a mess. 

"But.. we are talking." Wolf knew that's not what Hoxton meant. 

Wolf was going to continue to pretend. Hoxton wouldn't let him.

The Brit let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand along his smoothed down hair. "Wolf ya' know what I mean. First you go out like an idiot in one of your episodes, get ya'self hurt n' whatever. N' then you go isolating yourself for days, practically avoiding m- avoiding everyone for weeks, only to come up here lookin' like fucking shit." Hoxton couldn't look Wolf in the eyes. If he had, he'd notice that Wolf was seething.

He had been avoiding Hoxton? He had been avoiding Hoxton? If he wasn't so pissed he would've laughed. Not only had Hoxton not noticed any of his intentions during heists, it'd almost gone to the point he was convinced Hoxton had eluded the areas Wolf had been in. They had been coworkers, friends, partners for years and yet he still didn't realize that Wolf pulling away was an escape, a flawed coping mechanism.

When their eyes finally met once more, Wolf was unable to read the meaning in Hoxton's. Guilt? Annoyance? Frustration? Wolf wasn’t sure. All he was able to see was a concoction of emotions twirling in those eyes he had come to adore as much as he had, and his rage faltered slightly.

“Hox, we have known each other for how many years?” He kept eye contact. Hoxtons face contorted mildly, taken aback by the question, but answered without a moment's hesitation.

"Five years, with the.. two year break in there.” Wolf felt his emotions wash over him, and he broke eye contact, his previously tense body slacking. He let out a small groan, running his hands across his face. 

“Five motherfucking years.” He threw Hoxton a quick glance before picking up the previously forgotten sentry and going towards the stairs, planning on returning to his work desk. He heard the kitchen chair scrape across the floor as Hoxton hastily stood up. Idiot was gonna scratch the floors that way.

“Motherfucker you can’t just leave like this.” His voice was controlled, but stern, filled with frustration and light confusion. It made Wolf pause. He fiddled with the barrel of the sentry that was held under the arm on his opposite side, his back to Hoxton. He continued. "Listen, I don't know what's going on, Wolf, but I'm-" he paused. "Fuck, I'm fucking worried about you." 

His heart felt both light and heavy at the same time, filling the entirety of his chest. He didn't know. He didn't see any of the feelings behind any of his actions, or at least he said so. Was that a good or a bad thing? Who knows. He for sure didn't. 

But he also cared. Hoxton cared enough to worry about him. To reach out a bit.

After a minute or so of silence, Wolf spoke up, his heart in his stomach. “You’re not dumb, Hoxie. I think you know.” He may not have known just how much he meant to Wolf, but he had to have known that he was acting the way he was because of Hoxton. He continued down the stairs, returning to his work station, leaving behind the Brit to stand in the kitchen.

-

It had been half a week since the kitchen encounter with Hoxton, and he hadn’t talked with him since. He had pushed himself to take care of himself properly, if only to convince Dallas that yes, he was ready to go back out. It’s not like they went on heists every day, since some were in different states which meant travelling, and other times they had to lay low for safety, and of course he’d had to get used to sitting occasional heists out since sometimes the others were better fits for certain situations, but knowing that he’d been forcibly benched made the situation all the worse.

That meant that the day he heard a light knock on the door frame to the shared space he had with Wick, followed up by light footsteps on the concrete floors caused him to whip his head up. Dallas whistled at the sight of the newly reconfigured sentries, nodding in an impressed manner. 

“You’ve been busy!” He said. 

“Forcibly so,” Wolf thought in response. He simply let out a small sound of affirmation.

Dallas walked over, crossing his arms as he leaned against one of the work tables, careful not to push or touch anything on it. 

“So, Bain has another contract for the GO bank not far from here. I was hoping to get in there with Houston for a quick in and out without the cops being alerted, but I was hoping to bring you and Hox in for support in case things go loud since you guys know the place. You think you’re ready to go back?” The mentioning of him going on a heist again made his head perk up, but the mix between being a quiet backup and having to be alone with Hoxton made him nervous.

“Hoxton?” He asked meekly. Dallas raised a brow.

“Yes? Is.. that an issue?” Wolf felt his hairs stand on end, searching for an excuse.

“Ah, no, o-of course not. But.. Won’t that be an issue with Houston? Wouldn’t it be better for Chains to come along?” Dallas’ confused expression lingered on Wolf’s, searching for the real reason behind the question despite not finding it. 

“They’ve worked together before, it’ll be fine, and Hoxton has always been better with Snipers, and we’ll need that. Honestly, I’m expecting it to go loud since they’ve majorly upped their security, but Houston knows of the place, so if anyone can go quiet it’s him.” Wolf lightly gulped, but nodded, his face blank. Dallas looked at him before speaking up once more. “If you’re not up for going back, I-”

“No, don’t.. Don’t worry about that, I’m just a little, uh, sleep deprived right now. Sorry.” He looked down, fiddling with the small brand tag on his sleeve. Dallas nodded before pushing himself away from the table, standing straight.

“Alright, uh, briefing is gonna be in two days, heist is happening on the day after that. The..” He looked at the calendar sloppily hung on the wall, “twenty-first,” he finished. Wolf nodded and Dallas walked off, presumably looking for one of the other heisters to talk about some bull that Wolf didn’t have enough energy to give a shit about. 

At least he’d—hopefully—be back in action.

-

Briefing had been fine. Majority of it was Dallas going over the blueprints with Houston for the stealth aspect, as long as everything went according to plan as Wolf hoped it wouldn’t.

It’s not that he wanted to risk his teammates' lives, but he needed his release from the forceful “vacation.” His hands were fidgety, his fingers trigger-happy. He craved the violence he had gotten so used to, and oh so comfortable with. He ignored Hoxton who, for the most part, sat back in his seat with—much to Dallas’ chagrin—a beer in his hand that he’d lazily sip at while waiting for the part where he became relevant.

Basically, all they knew was that there was a large shipment of cash coming in, and much higher security than there’d been previously due to their prior attack. Due to their lack of information, they had figured that things would eventually go loud, but the further they got without police being called, the safer the whole situation would be. If they could even get the tellers away from any buttons, they’d already have a better situation than they would otherwise. The layout hadn’t changed from the past, other than potentially more cameras, as well as possible siren triggering lasers in the vault entrance. Not that it mattered much to Wolf, however.

Hoxton would normally have been much more attentive, but since he wouldn’t be of importance until things went loud, he didn’t bother paying full attention, rather focusing on his half empty beer and occasionally throwing lingering looks at Wolf.

Wolf tried to ignore those. 

The heist itself, however, felt a little awkward.

Dallas and Houston kept their eyes on Wolf, obviously worried and/or concerned about if he was good to get back in action again or not. Hoxton's eyes would linger as well, although with a different expression.

Wolf was caught between wanting to become one with the corner of the van while looking at his fumbling hands, and wanting to excitedly howl from the aggressive energy in his body. He knew the action was an if.

If the alarm was tripped.

If Wolf could control himself.

But he was still excited, his fingers twitching, his muscles tightening every moment he wasn't out there killing cops.

"Alright, everyone remember the game plan?" Dallas asked before checking with Bain over the earpieces, ensuring that all additional ammo, doctor bags, and an armor bag for him and Houston had been properly stashed away. Everyone nodded or made sounds of confirmation, satisfying the crew lead. Dallas gave a curt nod, eyes lingering once more on Wolf before switching his gaze to Houston. "Alright, let's roll." 

And they were off. Wolf looked at Hoxton before awkwardly shuffling out of the van, placing himself in a secluded area near the wall before lighting a cigarette. They had to stay a decent length away from any civilians due to their bulky armor being more obvious.

Hoxton broke the silence after taking out his own cigarette.

"You ready for this Wolfie?" 

First words after their argument. God that nickname still made him soft. Despite the aggression and fire in his blood making him roaring to go, he couldn't help but smile softly. 

"You know it, Hoxtifier!" He flushed as the Brit let out a small chuckle. 

"Good to have you back, mate." They fell back into silence as Wolf took a heavy drag of his cig, indulging in the slight calming effect the nicotine had on his nerves. There was a second of stiffness in the air.

"While I'm sure it was nothing compared to you, those two years were Hell for me." Wolf muttered, seemingly out of nowhere. It had just spilled over for Wolf, now.

"What." It was less a question, and more a request, an order to stop. His body had frozen, the cigarette burning without use. Wolf didn't want to stop, the mix of the nicotine and the thrill of being on a heist again filling him with a sense of invincibility.

"If you ask the others, they'd confirm. I never was myself before you came back." His heart was pounding. "I wasn't sure what to do with myself. You got me better than they did."

His thoughts were interrupted as he felt fists grab at his collar, pulling him down an inch, the Brit's still lit cigarette now on the asphalt parking lot. Wolf froze.

"Listen, we can have our little heart to heart sometime else, but not on a fuckin' heist, alright?" Wolf just stared at him. "We'll talk about this some other-" Hoxton was cut off by alarms ringing, followed by the sound of their earpiece going off.

"Hey guys, things are about to get hot in there, go help them! And remember to bring the thermal drill!" Bain's voice played, a large smile forcing its way onto Wolf's face. Hoxton released the taller man's collar, letting out a "holy 'ell, that was quick," before grabbing at his mask while Twitch sped off. Wolf eagerly followed suit.

"Let's break some necks," Hoxton said. Wolf couldn't have asked for more as he hoisted the drill bag onto his shoulder and gunned it for the bank. 

-

Pain ran through his body, fueling him on. Wolf unlatched the small hatchet from his belt loop, embedding it repeatedly in an already injured cops helmet till it broke through, making Wolf smile at the sound and feel of metal cutting through solid bone. 

He had a minor laceration in his upper arm, and he'd taken a kick to the head by the now dead cop, but he was doing okay. Between being preoccupied and holding himself back, he'd stayed away from Hoxton, no matter how much it pained him to see the other potentially be in danger. 

GO Bank wasn't too big of a deal, although they had been ready by the button due to the previous attack. As it was the old group, plus Houston, they all worked well. In the heat of everything, the two "rivals" could get past their problems. 

Almost.

"How could ya' fuck up that quickly!" Hoxton had shouted at Houston. Dallas interrupted.

"Quit it, Hox, it was my fault. A guard with a loose trigger finger turned the corner on me, missed the shot but alerted the whole damn building." Hoxton sneered a bit, making Houston roll his eyes after muttering out a small "idiot" at the Brit. 

Wolf heard the conversation, but had his focus on setting up the drill so as to not miss any of the action at the time. 

Bile had dropped the cage and the team had split up, Wolf and Houston guarding the cash and valuables while Dallas and Hoxton brought the cage parts to the right spot, mainly using cars to move to the backside parking lot. 

Houston looked mildly disturbed at Wolf’s aggression. Wolf ignored it, he had better things to focus on.

Houston respected him, in his own way. While rash and loud, he was fairly efficient, and definitely not afraid to get messy. 

"Wolf, brother, ease down on the post-death decapitation there. Eyes on the money," Houston yelled above gunfire, mostly keeping the technician out of danger during his escapade. Wolf huffed a little, shakily pulling himself to his feet, getting back to cover with Houston. 

The new sentries were a big help, keeping any unsuspecting S.W.A.T away from the money, now lying in bags in the vault. Admittedly, much to Wolf's dismay, most of his time was spent on reloading the sentries, although it wasn't nearly as bad as before the switch-up. He got the most out of it, firing rounds into heads in between rounds, switching out the ammo compartment for each of his babies. He was barely even thinking about Hoxton. All focus was on killing, while looking out for Houston beside him and the money as a secondary objective.

He should've felt bad, he thought. His teammates were first. But the heated rage running through his veins, ready to let out everything he'd had locked up was far, far too tempting to ignore.

That is, till his mind was pulled back as a voice called over the headphones.

"You guys doing okay?" Dallas said. He was out of breath, most likely from hauling the cage. Houston beat Wolf to the punch.

"We're fine. How's the cage coming?" 

There was a pause. Wolf was abscently listening while replenishing the machines ammunition once more.

"Hox's hurt. It's not bad, but Houston, I need you to bring one of your med kits out here. We're in the building to the left. Wolf, you stay and protect the money. Will you be alright with the sentries?" Dallas didn't sound panicked, so it couldn't be too serious. That didn't stop him from worrying, though. 

"Got it, on my way." Houston gave Wolf a firm nod before gunning down a few cops in the way, leaving Wolf behind, whose body was running cold. Tick, tick, his heartbeat felt like the sound of a clock.

“Damnit, Wolf, respond!” Dallas called again.

"That'll be fine," he muttered. He didn't think he would be, though. The earpiece was quiet for a second before it made a static noise, making Wolf flinch.

"Don't be such a wuss , Wolfy," Hoxton let out, his voice a bit strained. "Motherfucker got me in the arm and the bullet's lodged in there. Didn't hit nothin' and it's not even my dominant arm." His words were harsh, but they were carried by a sense of light care. Wolf's throat was still tight, but he felt a little more calm. His brain went haywire with questions like, "oh god, how can he shoot anything other than a pistol? How will he reload? Won't it slow him down?" Retorted with, "stop worrying, Dallas is with him, he wouldn't let anything happen to him. Not again. " 

So Wolf did what he was told, staying at his spot, defending the money, despite everything in his body telling him to go help.

-

Bile had finally gotten the loot after the slow and painful process of gradually moving all the bags. The trip through the sewers was gross and painful, the wounds previously nullified by adrenaline becoming more stinging as their bodies drained of energy. Despite Wolf's worries, true to his words, Hoxton's wounds weren't too bad. They'd all had a bullet wound here and there, although that didn't mean they didn't have to get it out as soon as they were in a controlled environment. 

Regardless, as soon as the four clambered into the van, there was unenergized—although genuine—hollering. Dallas had pulled off his mask, clapping Houston on the back as Hoxton leaned back, satisfied, but still pressing his right hand to his bound wound. 

Wolf still hadn't taken off his mask, although that wasn't too unusual. He was thankful, as Hox decided to peer over at him. 

"Nice goin' Wolfy. Seems like those new sentry designs are workin' out nicely, huh?" Wolf straightened his back a bit.

"Uh, they still need a bit of work, but they're a big upgrade from the last ones." His heart melted as the Brit shot him a confident smile. 

"Don't undersell yourself, wanker," Hoxton muttered out before leaning his head on the van wall, ignoring the bumpiness. "God, I need a fuckn' beer or sumthn' after this." The others made their own noises of agreement, clearly tired out. 

-

It had been.. Wolf looked at his watch. Five hours, since the heist, and things had calmed down. Dallas and Houston had taken off for their own places, and Wolf and Hoxton had half-way collapsed on the couch, several beers littering the small coffee table in front of the projector playing whatever random shit they had put on. Neither were drunk, as both could hold their alcohol pretty well (and come one, the amount of beer it took to get wasted was ridiculous,) but a mild heat was spreading through them, though not enough to start fogging their minds.

Wolf spared a glance at the freshly bound wound: The other had been right, it wasn’t horrible, although the Brit would most likely be out of commission for a while until everything had healed properly. It had ricocheted off of a car, lodging itself in the meaty part of his shoulder, although only piercing a bit past the skin. It would cause a bit of pain for a while, at least.

He’d be benched, just like Wolf himself had for a while. 

“Fuckn’ ‘ell, ya’ staring a hole into me, Wolf.” He paused. “Well, another one, at least,” he stared at the wound with a small amused smirk. Wolf’s eyes snapped to Hoxton’s face.

“Ah, sorry..” He mumbled before turning his head to the bottle of his beer bottle. “I was just wondering what you were gonna do now when you wouldn’t be out there for a bit..” Hoxton looked at Wolf for a second before giving a light shrug before wincing.

“I ‘unno! We’ll see, won’t we?” He took another swig. “I’ll probably find some other damn papers to sort through. Ain’t too bad anymore, sorta came to like it, almost.” The Swede nodded, eyes flicking to the screen. There was a moment of silence, the atmosphere growing thicker as Wolf noticed Hox tense out of the corner of his eyes.

“What did you mean by that earlier, Wolf?” he asked, trying to come off as calm despite the stiffness both in voice and body. 

“Huh?” Wolf tensed. He knew what Hoxton meant. Hoxton knew that he knew. He always did.

“Before the heist. About my.. imprisonment.” He put down the bottle before pulling out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one before taking a heavy drag. It made Wolf think of all the times Dallas’ would get on his case about not smoking near the documents. The Swede pulled himself together a little, his body closing up. He gulped.

“... I was being serious, Hoxtab- Hox. I know it must’ve been awful for you, but I could never forgive myself for not trying harder to get you back.. It hurt. Real bad.” Hoxton looked at him, his cigarette hanging a little limp from his lips. Wolf took a small, shaky breath before continuing. “After everyone left me back in Sweden and I came here, soon you were the only person I felt connected to, and then I felt I did the same to you as they did to me, except worse .. Fan, hur ska jag säga detta..” He was wringing his hands, hyper-aware of Hoxton staring at him, his face full of emotions. 

Not ones like annoyance or disgust, but ones of fear, of empathy , of heartbreak. He looked as if those two years were playing through his head, understanding that feeling of being left behind. Wolf took a deep breath, turning his body before anxiously, gently, grabbing Hoxton’s free left hand. Hoxton didn’t retaliate, but didn’t pull away, either.

“I-I don’t know how to say this properly. It was awful, Hoxie, and I feel like fucking shit for putting you through it. For feeling like I have the.. Space to be upset when you went through what you did.” He was shaking. He hadn’t been this open since before the day his ex-wife left him, back in Sweden all those years ago. His eyes were focused on the other man’s hand as he gently held it, running his thumb over his knuckles. He noticed his accent becoming thicker as he grew more nervous, words jumbling together. He bit the inside of his cheek. “I can’t stand to see you hurt. Whenever we’re on a heist I think of what I didn’t do, what I should have done, what could’ve been different. I constantly fear having to lose you again.” 

He was jittery, and he didn’t like it. Hoxton had still not said anything, and he was too scared to look up. Wolf would rob banks, face bulldozers and shields and tasers, he’d gleefully be on the list of America’s most wanted, but facing the one he loves? His heart couldn’t take it. He flipped his gaze to the floor, abruptly standing up. He needed to get out of here, even if that was just to wash his face. A hand on his wrist forced him back down, however, making him let out a small yelp as the other groaned at the strain on his shoulder.

“You can’t just fuckn’ say sumn’ like that and then run away.” Wolf felt his face flush in embarrassment.

“I’m sorr-'' the word was cut off as he was yanked over by his collar, a shaky pair of chapped lips being placed on his. He was frozen. He could feel the heat coming off of the others face, still red from the beer (and maybe nervousness.) He could smell the warm scent of the cheap alcohol the other insisted on getting. He closed his eyes, gently pressing back against the Brit. He could feel the slight scratches of his beard against Hoxton’s face, especially the scar, although if the other minded, he didn’t show a sign of it.

It wasn’t the most rose tinted kiss, but it was beautiful in it’s own way. Aggression, fear, loneliness, sorrow. Wolf thought he could feel the wetness of light tears between them. From who, he wasn’t sure. Could be either, or both, and he wouldn’t be surprised.

But shared between them was also longing, contentedness, previously long-forgotten trust, safety, love . 

When they pulled apart, both struggled to look into eachothers eyes, although Wolf just pulled him close, hugging the Brit to his body, careful of his injuries. The other tensed for a while before slowly relaxing, leaning his head on Wolf’s chest. A comfortable silence fell between them while they sat, Wolf gently brushing his hand along the others back.

“What are we?” Wolf asked, his chest blooming. Overwhelmed. Fearful. Paranoid.

Hopeful.

“Who knows, Wolfy. But we’ve got ‘ell of a long time to figure it out, yeah?” Hoxton responded.

The technician nodded and then paused. “How come you thought nothing was wrong originally, Hoxtifier?” Hoxton sighed.

“Denial, I guess. Not really dealt with romance since... God knows fuckin’ when. Put me through real mental olympics, you did.” He paused for a second. “Ya’ do know you aren’t at fault for me being taken in, right?”

Wolf shrugged. It would take some time to believe it wasn’t.

“Well stop it, then. You arse, if anyone it was Dallas’ fault,” he said in a joking tone.

Wolf nodded with a smile, placing a small kiss on top of the fugitive’s head. “Jag älskar dig,” he muttered. Hoxton let out a snort.

“Wolf, I’ve got no fucking clue what that means.” Wolf was quiet for a long time, making Hoxton pull back a little to look at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“It means ‘I love you’,” he whispered with a gulp, looking into Hoxton’s own eyes. He saw them soften, as well as the mental battle the Brit went through between being genuine or whether to be sarcastic in response. He eventually decided on burying his face in the other's chest once more.

“Love ya’ too, fuckface.”

Enamored. 

To be filled with a feeling of love for, or to be infatuated with.

It was what Wolf was with Hoxton, and so it seemed, it was that way for Hoxton with Wolf as well.

Between flying bullets, bags of loot, thrills, fear, and experiences, they had a small piece of sanity, of love, of normalcy. As they sat there, close, Wolf no longer felt as scared, and Hoxton no longer felt as alone.