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Had it ever been this difficult? Sniper had his rifle in his hands but they were shaking enough for him to notice as he peered through the scope. Nausea swirled within him because although his eyes were on the distant battle, his mind was elsewhere.
He was listening for footsteps.
Sooner or later, somebody would find him and approach him; it was easy to approach a Sniper at their perch. They were tantalizing targets, and Sniper was certain of the predator he’d attract. Most of the other mercs were fighting pretty far from where the gunman stood, and it was unlikely they’d come around to his perch.
Of course, that was most of the mercs - not all of them. There was one in particular…
There. The footsteps that Sniper had been waiting for, light as always. Had the din been any louder, it would’ve been easy to miss them altogether.
If Sniper wasn’t sure who was coming up to him now, what with his back turned, the shifting breeze told him. After all, who else smoked cigarettes that smelled like spice?
“Took ya long enough, didn’t it?”
Sniper turned around, setting his rifle down on the window ledge, to see Spy poised to stab behind him. He looked a bit put off but after a moment’s hestitation, lowered his knife.
“I have been occupied,” Spy replied curtly.
“Were you really gonna stab me?”
“Mais oui. I was sure you were in the midst of sniping.”
“Really?”
Spy frowned.
“…Non. Not really, no.”
“Didn’t think so,” Sniper said, grinning.
“Well, now that I am here and you are not yet dead, answer me: why were you waiting for me?”
“I, uh, wanted to ask you somethin’.”
Spy nodded a bit and looked at the marksman expectantly. Sniper took in the sight of him. His posture was flawless and his entire stance was businesslike. But his expression, the look in his eyes - it was inviting. As inviting as the enemy Spy could look, at least.
“I-…” Sniper trailed off because he wasn’t sure how he’d do this. Nervousness bubbled up within him. How many lines was he crossing just with his thoughts, let alone the words about to come out of his mouth?
“I know it hasn’t been that long.”
“What has not been that long?” Spy asked, confused as to where he was going.
“Th-that long since we’ve stopped killin’ each other… as much as we used to, at least.”
Spy raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I think that what we have done in lieu of murdering each other has filled in the void of time we would normally spend murdering each other.”
Unexpected long conversations, was what the rogue meant. Sometimes a drink or two or five. Together.
Sniper nodded in confirmation. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. I kinda, uhm, well…” His arms were crossed and his fingernails were digging so hard into his skin that they’d have to leave bruises after.
“Look, there’s just… You - God, I’m bloody- fuck,” Sniper stammered. He exhaled loudly and bit his tongue.
Spy looked amused but he didn’t want to rush the man whose face was almost as red as his uniform shirt.
“Y'know I kinda just… y'know?” Sniper asked helplessly.
Spy laughed because, “No, I really do not know. None of what you have been saying for the past five minutes has been coherent.”
“Bloody fuckin’ hell, ’m sorry… I’m just not sure how I want to…” Sniper sighed. He groaned because his words were failing him tremendously.
Spy walked up to him to fix his collar.
Sniper shivered as the cloying yet acrid scent of cigarette smoke tickled his nostrils. He wanted to wrap his arms around the Spy and bring him closer. He wanted his hands on that deep blue pinstripe suit, immaculate even in the middle of war.
“What I want, it’s… ’M really… the way I feel, it’s hard to, um, explain.”
Spy took a little step back and looked up at Sniper, right into his eyes. “I understand,” Spy said, with a single nod.
With the eye contact, Sniper’s throat locked. He let out an absurdly high-pitched squeak and babbled some more nonsense. As if to compensate for his inability to speak, he took his hat off and dropped it on Spy’s head.
“Sniper-”
But Sniper was already out the door, hands on his blushing face.