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Winnie Bosko, all things considered, has a fairly care-free life. Sure, some might consider being a sniper for a crime ring to be one of the least stress-free occupations, but it had its upsides! Like working hours! And benefits! Though he hasn’t even officially started his ‘tenure,’ he’s already made more money than his past two jobs combined. Circumstances beyond his control may have landed him here, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be positive about it! His mentor, the top assassin in the family, is all smiles all the time, so it isn’t that strange for Winnie to do the same!
Speaking of, the enigmatic man places a hand on his shoulders and surveys the dingy alleyway several stories below them. Even without the help of a scope, the older man has no problem combing the area with his eyes and chuckling to himself.
“Well, I’m sure you may have been expecting something a little more fast-paced, but that’s the nature of being an assassin,” the man says airily as he stands up straight. “There’s so much waiting and watching… but you mustn’t lower your guard, even for a second. Though I’m sure you already know this, being such a promising recruit~!”
His smile is sharp, but Winnie refuses to look anywhere but where his target will be. He knows the price he’ll pay for messing up.
“I know I have a lot to prove… I’ll make sure not to let you down!”
At least Winnie’s skills can’t be called into question – he had aced every one of the training protocols, after all. Even someone as ridiculously talented and decorated as Norman recognizes that. It’s the only reason he had agreed to mentor Winnie: he saw someone who could be molded into the ideal assassin. Despite all of this, Winnie knows it will just take one small mistake for any goodwill between the two of them to be snuffed out entirely. He hears the man sit down behind him, feels the man’s eyes continue to analyze him.
“Honestly, it shocked me to hear that our newest hitman is related to someone near the top, but unlike with a certain someone, it seems nepotism didn’t carry you this far. Good on you~! You’ve already proven yourself to be twice as hardworking… though I guess the bar is fairly low, as you know.”
Winnie does his best not to flinch upon hearing those words. His uncle’s deception, albeit unintended, still stings both Winnie’s pride and heart. The rifle is already in position and adjusted, but Winnie can’t help but mindlessly fiddle with the parallax adjustment and the power rings. He starts counting his breaths as his heartbeat begins to slow as he tries to still his hands. He lets his lips curve into something resembling a smile.
“I appreciate your praise, sir! I have to admit, I didn’t expect my talent to be marksmanship, but I’m glad it can be put to use!” Winnie tries to match Norman’s energy, but ever since the end of high school, his cheer has dulled and it takes even more energy to maintain his mask. He wonders if Norman puts effort into maintaining his façade, too. Bizarrely, such a thought makes Winnie want to try even harder as his smile becomes just a touch more genuine. “Maybe I’ll even end up with a higher kill count than you!” What a strange prospect to be competitive over. Well, if this is how Winnie’s life has to be from now on, he might as well strive to excel.
In response, Norman claps his hands together and lets out one short laugh. “Well, that’s certainly the spirit we like to see! Setting such an impossible goal for yourself is truly commendable~!”
Winnie sheepishly chuckles in response. “Well, some might call it foolish…”
“Depending on the results, I suppose both can be true, correct? You’ll just have to make good on your word~” There’s something heavy in those words, but Norman doesn’t allow the moment to linger. “Ah, here I am, chatting your ear off while you’re focusing! My apologies!”
Norman’s saccharine demeanor is both a blessing and a curse in Winnie’s eyes. On one hand, he has never worried about him lashing out in anger. On the other, it makes the man nearly impossible to read. Winnie would like to believe that Norman isn’t trying to get under his skin, but blindly trusting someone’s goodwill is a mistake Winnie is not eager to make again. Even now, he doesn’t know what the other man is expecting from him in terms of a response.
As if on cue, the beeping of a pager rings through their small room, drawing Norman’s attention away from Winnie. After a few seconds, he hears the man let out a near-inaudible chuckle.
“Well, it looks like I’m being summoned for a… special meeting with one of our clients. Negotiation is such a useful tool to have, isn’t it~?” The smile in his voice sounds more genuine this time. It unnerves Winnie, just a bit.
“I trust you can keep watch for, say, two or three hours on your own, no? There’s no need to call for replacement backup when you have this so thoroughly covered.” Of course, this is a rhetorical question. The message is clear: don’t be a burden.
“Yes, sir. I won’t take my eyes away from this alley!” His own cheer is desaturated, but his words still satisfy Norman, who takes one last look out of the window on his way out.
“Very good~! Remember, it isn’t just our pride at stake here – these people have made our clients feel unsafe. We need to let them know exactly what happens when they engage in such foolish behavior. Do not hesitate, okay~?”
Even with his eyes still glued to the scope, Winnie can feel Norman’s heavy gaze on him, but he refuses to fold under pressure. He can’t.
“I understand. I’ll get this mark, no matter what!” Winnie proclaims cheerfully, as if he’s about to make a big sale for their company instead of killing another human being.
Like every other disturbing thought that plagues his daily life, Winnie simply shoves it down deep into the recesses of his mind where he’ll hopefully never have to think about it again. He can’t employ rational thinking here. He just needs to empty his mind of everything other than the drills that Norman and Manuel ruthlessly ran him through for the past few months.
Steady your breathing. Get your heart rate under control. Don’t let your hands shake. Cut off your emotions. Focus on the present. There’s no way around it, so don’t look for one. A threat to the organization is a threat to you and your family. Kill them, so they can’t kill you first. Eliminate uncertainty, eliminate fear, eliminate doubt.
Eliminate them.
Those two words are all that’s left in Winnie’s mind as the world draws into sharp focus, colors losing vibrancy and sounds becoming muffled.
Eliminate them.
Minutes or hours pass, but Winnie remains glued in his spot. When movement flashes in the corner of his vision, he places his finger on the trigger, slow and deliberate. The signal jammer warbles next to him, but even that fades to nothingness in Winnie’s ears.
Eliminate them.
He doesn’t feel remorse, fear, excitement, or disgust as the figure walks cautiously towards his line of sight – all he feels is a sense of inevitability. The man looks young, Winnie notes idly. He can’t see his mark’s face, but he thinks his disconnected sense of self would feel grateful for that. As the man finally stops right within Winnie’s crosshairs, he reaches into his back pocket to retrieve a phone. It’s the perfect shot, and Winnie squeezes down on the trigger, only a breath of space remaining between this man’s life and death.
Kill him.
They say that, in a life-threatening situation, time slows down to an almost painful degree. As Winnie nearly fully depresses the trigger, the young man turns to the side, offering Winnie an unobstructed view of his profile.
The world is suspended for a moment, quiet and painful.
Realization assaults Winnie’s senses before his mind can catch up as the world seems brighter and more vibrant. His heart begins beating once again, and it’s the only sound that echoes in this hollow, empty room. It tears down the farcical calm and replaces it with something much more visceral, because even after years of separation, even with a berth of distance between them, Winnie will always, always recognize the face of the person who changed his life.
“Augustine…?” Winnie’s voice is small, disbelief staining its edges while comprehension races past its breaking point.
With just a word, everything comes crashing back into place, loud and messy and terrifying. The person Winnie is now and the hopeful, naïve self of his past have always been separated by a pane of glass, like the world’s worst funhouse mirror. All it takes is one small crack to completely shatter the illusion of separation, to extinguish any hopes that he can still control this.
It’s too late to stop the shot – Winnie knows this explicitly. While he still feels frozen in fear, hands suddenly shaking from the imagined cold, his body gives one last attempt to change this unthinkable outcome. Just as the bullet is fired, his shoulder jerks upward, just barely hitting the butt of the gun and changing the trajectory of its bullet slightly downwards.
The burst of sound rattles Winnie’s teeth as his shoulder takes the brunt of the recoil, already in an awkward position from his attempt to stop the inevitable. He hisses in pain, but his eyes stay open and locked on the scope.
The bullet cuts through the air like a knife before ripping a hole in Augustine’s side, causing a burst of red to paint the back wall of the alley. It’s supposed to be a sight Winnie will eventually become desensitized to, but bile builds in his throat regardless.
His breath is caught in his chest as he watches Augustine shift onto his back foot the moment the bullet makes contact with his side, preventing himself from crumpling to the ground and leaving him even more vulnerable to a follow-up shot. Without missing a beat, Augustine darts down the alleyway and into the backdoor of the abandoned apartment complex. If it were any other situation, Winnie would once again be filled with awe at how amazing Augustine is, but his mind is already in overdrive.
Why is Augustine there? There’s no way he’d ever be foolish enough to join such a dangerous line of work! It was why they’d grown distant, after all… not that he ever told Augustine the reason, of course. He knows without a doubt that Augustine would have tried to help him out of such a bleak situation, and Winnie couldn’t let that happen.
Now their lack of communication has, once again, come back to bite him in the ass. He grinds his teeth together, cursing himself, cursing whatever god is watching over them, and finally cursing Augustine for causing Winnie to care. He’s going to have to walk this bloody path no matter what, and that is something not even Augustine can change. He has no authority, no power to change the organization. He’s just a hired gun, for all his blood is worth.
So, realistically, what can Winnie even do?
Before he can even finish that thought, his legs are already moving. There is no other option – when it came to Augustine, Winnie acted first and thought later. Even after all of these years, even after they went their separate ways, Augustine always brings out a part of Winnie that he thought he'd long since lost.
He could deal with the consequences later. He would accept any punishment. None of that mattered right now. If he doesn’t get to Augustine first, he’s as good as dead.
As Augustine Orlov stumbles through the abandoned building, hand clutching his bleeding side, he can’t help but wonder if he was some sort of ruthless killer in his past life, because he clearly has bad karma that’s constantly fucking him over. It isn’t like he even wants to join a crime organization – not particularly, at least.
It never seemed glamorous to him, unlike some of his peers enamored with movies like Scarface or Miller’s Crossing. No, Augustine had dreams of being a hockey star, traveling the world and never living in anyone else’s shadow ever again – it’s what he’d wanted since he was old enough to hold a hockey stick. Unfortunately, life rarely pans out the way one hopes, so when it became obvious he would never reach the same level of talent as real stars, he resigned himself to a life of mediocrity.
It was fine, for a time. Though sometimes it felt like he was merely floating through life rather than actually living it, he was at least… not miserable. Maybe a little empty, definitely a little lonely, but he just assumed that’s how all adults felt. It was fine. He was fine. As long as he kept working himself to the point of exhaustion, he never had to linger in the world of what-ifs and lost chances.
Some people might call that depression. Augustine preferred not to call it anything.
Everything changed when his mother fell ill. Augustine was already barely making enough to support himself and his mother – something the loan companies saw, so his requests for loans were constantly rejected. When he finally found a company willing to lend him the money, his usual cautious nature was already worn down to dust. There was no denying it was a shady business, but if Augustine waited any longer, there was a strong chance that his mother would die.
She’s the only family he had left, and Augustine couldn’t help blaming himself. She is such an amazing and talented woman, and yet she chose to raise Augustine as a single parent instead of chasing her own dreams. Despite her statements to the contrary, Augustine always felt like he had stolen her life. If he didn’t do everything in his power to save her, the person he loved and respected most in this world, then he would never see himself as anything other than a failure.
He signed his own death warrant the day he took out that loan.
There was no way he would be able to pay for her continued treatment without spending the next 15 years in debt. Hell, with the way the company kept inflating their interest rates, Augustine seriously doubted he’d ever be free from debt. He had become completely reliant on them, and those sharks smelled the blood in the water. Each time they came to collect, the crushing weight of it all grew even heavier. They would harass him in his house, at the grocery store, at his job – no place was safe.
One outburst was all it took to completely ruin Augustine’s life for good.
It didn’t matter that the other man was drunk, or that he was harassing Augustine in his own home. As the man gripped his broken jaw, gasping in pain, Augustine was hit with the fact that he truly, irrevocably, fucked up.
Money wasn’t enough, from that point on. If he didn’t want to end up in jail for assault, he had to do exactly what these parasites told him to do, and what they wanted more than anything was to get their foot in the door of “the big leagues.” Dread washed over Augustine as he listened attentively, more and more color draining from his face as he realized that the people his handlers wanted to rub shoulders with were bona-fide crime bosses. With their thumb directly on Augustine’s pulse, all he could hope for was that he’d somehow rise within the ranks quickly and get enough power to protect both him and his mother from these snakes.
Fighting tooth and nail is a familiar companion of Augustine’s, and if he is fated to go down, he’d be sure to go down swinging – make them regret ever threatening his family.
At least they were kind enough to pay for his suit – something he’ll have to pay back twice over, they reminded him. As odd as it might seem, getting fitted for a proper suit made Augustine feel… important, somehow. He felt like he finally had some sort of direction in life, some sort of goal, after losing…
Well, in any case, he finally feels like he’s moving forward, and his suit is a symbol of that. A symbol which now, of course, has a huge bloodstained hole in its jacket and undershirt. If Augustine were in a better mood, maybe he’d ruminate about how this is poetic, in a sense – despite its veneer of elegance, he is trying to join a group that has no short amount of bloodshed – but right now? Right now, Augustine is pissed off and in pain and struggling to focus on not dying, so forgive him for not gazing at his navel properly.
As Augustine sneers at the imaginary audience in his mind (and abruptly wondering just how much blood one would have to lose to start hallucinating such a thing in the first place), he makes quick work checking all of the doors on the first floor, finding all of them to be locked or jammed shut. Grimacing, Augustine shoves open the door to the stairwell with his remaining good shoulder and barrels to the next floor. The sniper was probably on the 5th floor or higher when he was shot, right? So he should have enough time to check the second and third floors for a room he can barricade inside before being sniffed out immediately. He just has to pray that his luck hasn’t already run out, but with every locked door, he feels the chances of survival falling out of his grasp.
There’s a loud bang and some shouting on the floor below just as the knob in Augustine’s grasp yields and turns. Every ounce of blood that isn’t escaping his side pounds in his ears when he all but dives into the room, slamming the door shut and falling heavy against it.
A layer of dust coats most of the room, though there are conspicuously-shaped smears on one of the counters near the sink. The air is stale; an indiscernible musk lingers with a note of mildew. The heat has long-since been cut, allowing the early winter chill to seep through the windows, which only have threadbare curtains for the facsimile of privacy. The only pieces of furniture of note are a barren mattress, stained and falling apart, and an upturned milkcrate in the center of the room. Grimacing, Augustine opts to stay propped up against the door, forgoing comfort in favor of hygiene.
His breathing is ragged and wet, and his eyesight is black around the edges. Still, he lifts his left hand off of the wound to assess the damage, and
That’s a lot more blood than he expected. Did he always have this much blood? It swirls in patterns of reds and blacks across his hand and waist. The sight causes the sting of a very familiar pain, one that makes Augustine want to cry and laugh in equal measure. He decides to scowl instead, smothering the wince that bubbles up as he reapplies pressure. Fuck, now that the adrenaline is fading out, the pain is becoming harder to ignore.
Augustine closes his eyes and clears his mind. One breath, then another. It feels like he’s dying, but the sensible part of him knows better than to give up. He’s been on death’s doorstep before, been lost in the throes of tremendous pain, but he didn’t give up then! He and Winnie–
He squeezes his eyes shut even tighter before he can finish the thought, but just the name causes his heart to start feeling like it’s bleeding out, too. There shouldn’t be any regrets, Augustine logically knows. They mended their friendship and cleared the misunderstandings – staying in touch as long as they did afterwards was practically a miracle, and the distance that grew between them was predictable. Even if they aren’t present in each other’s lives anymore, Augustine can always cherish the time that they had together while still moving forward.
…Why then, in the last moments of his life, is he preoccupied with someone who has been only a voice over the phone for over two years? Why is he picturing Winnie’s face hovering inches from his? That stupid nickname that he hated… why would he give anything just to hear it one last time?
Maybe he had known it all along, but buried it beneath the feelings of inferiority and fear and anger. What he had hated most about Winnie wasn’t his ability to blow past everything Augustine had ever achieved, nor was it the way Winnie had clung to him – instead, what churned Augustine’s stomach the most was the devastating loneliness he had bestowed upon him. He felt invisible, replaceable, worthless.
Those midnight calls between the two of them kept the darker thoughts at bay, but as they began dwindling in frequency, Augustine couldn’t ignore the way he felt; couldn’t turn a blind eye to how miserable he became when a call was cut short. A twisted version of Winnie invaded his head, going on and on about how Winnie must truly feel about him, but Augustine refuses to fall for the same delusion twice – he knows in his heart that this spectre in the guise of his friend is only his own reflection. It’s his self-loathing taking the form of the person whose words would cause the most hurt.
His feelings were twisted and complicated and ugly, but Winnie had accepted all of them. He accepted him.
How could he not fall in love with a guy like that?
The realization comes too late, of course. It had been too painful, too embarrassing to accept before, but Augustine has nothing more to hide from himself now that he’s faced with his final regrets.
Augustine’s musings are cut off by the sound of the stairwell door hitting the wall, followed by the quick footfalls of his pursuer. He stiffens further and hopes his breathing isn’t as loud as it sounds in his head. The world closes in around him as he squeezes his eyes shut, completely focused on listening to what could be the harbinger of his death.
And so, because both the world and his own mind are constantly trying to tear him down, what he hears is not the gruff voice of some anonymous attacker, but something far, far worse.
Its voice is muffled, but painfully recognizable. Augustine’s mind had memorized every syllable, so of course it could replicate his voice to torment him further.
“Augustine! Can you hear me?” It calls out to him, tempting him towards disaster.
Don’t answer! Don’t acknowledge this delusion!
Augustine’s own silence echoes through the room.
“Augustine, please! I’m here to help! Just answer me!” Its desperation is thick on its words.
Don’t do it!
“Augustine!” The imitation’s voice begins cracking. It sounds like it’s crying.
It isn’t real, but
It’s not!
even if it’s a delusion
Don’t…!
there’s a wounded part of Augustine that can’t help itself.
“Auggie…!” He’s barely able to speak now, voice broken apart by his sobs.
...Don’t–
Don’t leave me again…!
“Winnie!”
Upon hearing the weak call of his name, Winnie freezes in his tracks. He rushes towards the sound and desperately grabs the handle of the door separating the two. He finds no resistance when turning it, much to his relief.
“Auggie! I’m here!” His voice is still shaky, but he forces the words out. It’s all the warning Augustine gets before Winnie barrels against the door, sending him tumbling down onto the ground, wheezing from pain and displaced dust.
“Augustine?! Are you ok? Can you move?” Winnie is immediately on top of Augustine, eyes analyzing his friend’s current state.
His side is completely soaked in blood, as is the hand that had been applying pressure to the wound. His body is stiff with pain, and when Winnie places two fingers on Augustine’s neck to check his pulse, he feels slightly cold and clammy to the touch, but his heart appears to be beating at a slightly elevated pace.
Finally, Winnie takes in Augustine’s eyes, which are glazed with unshed tears. Despite his pain, Augustine is keeping his eyes on Winnie’s own. His expression is a mix of disbelief and wonderment. Anything Winnie had thought to say is immediately forgotten.
“...You grew your hair out.” The first words out of Augustine’s mouth are so completely out of place that it shocks the concern out of Winnie for a moment.
“Oh, yeah…” Winnie dumbly replies, hand absentmindedly rising to fiddle with the offending locks.
Honestly, it wasn’t a conscious decision on Winnie’s part – moreso that he kept forgetting to get it cut, and finding little motivation to care about his appearance due to the state of his life, but now he’s regretting not trimming the split ends, at least.
“It suits you,” Augustine’s words slur together slightly, prompting Winnie to remember the situation they are currently in.
“A-Anyways, we need to get that wrapped up properly, but I don’t have any bandages…” Glancing around, Winnie finds that the room has little to offer, much to his dismay. “Let’s get the blood-soaked clothes out of the way, too. Here, let me help you sit up.”
Augustine is already in the process of maneuvering around as best he can, attempting to sit up without disturbing his wound too much, but he relents and takes Winnie’s proffered hand, being all but dragged over to a wall to prop up against. With both of their efforts, they partially unbutton his jacket and shirt before easing them off of Augustine’s injury. Augustine winces when the fabric clings to the sticky blood of his wound, reflexively bringing his hand down to cover it once more, but Winnie coaxes him into letting him inspect it.
It isn’t pretty, but it looks fairly surface-level. The skin is ragged and torn apart around a gash that’s around the size of Winnie’s fist, almost looking like a bite was taken out of Augustine’s abdomen.
“Well, at least your guts aren’t spilling out. That’s good!” He begins taking off his own collared shirt before tearing it at the seams, leaving him with a relatively clean strip of fabric in the form of his former sleeve. He folds it over a few times before handing it to Augustine.
“Here, hold this against it. That should be better than just using your hand, I think.” As Augustine gets the makeshift bandage into place, Winnie shrugs back on his ruined shirt.
“Hmm… in this situation, is it better to lie down or sit up…? I can’t remember.”
Winnie continues fussing over Augustine, brushing away his bangs from where his sweat had them stuck to his forehead. All the while, Augustine looks at him like he’s some sort of puzzle he needs to solve. Eventually, the pressure of that gaze becomes too much for Winnie, forcing his hands to still. He wants to clear his throat, but finds that his mouth is painfully dry.
The silence sits heavy over them, as they both do their best to navigate what feels like a minefield of a conversation.
Augustine is the first to go.
“Why did you leave?” His voice is quiet and pained, as if he’s speaking to himself as much as he is to Winnie. The words wash over Winnie like a torrent of freezing water.
I was scared. I didn't want to burden you. I wanted to protect you.
I’m still terrified that you will hate me for becoming like this.
“I didn’t want to, but I didn’t have a choice.” It sounds weak even to Winnie’s own ears. His words only seem to anger Augustine.
“There’s always a choice, you know! You didn’t… you didn’t have to cut me out entirely!” The raw emotion in the words puts Winnie on the defensive.
“Was this your choice, then?!” He feels fresh tears well up in his eyes as he lets every ugly feeling finally overwhelm him.
The resulting silence is like a thousand needles piercing his skin. Augustine’s face is lined with hurt, and it’s enough to cause the tears to finally fall.
“Hic- I’m sorry, Auggie… I just– I don’t want to fight…” His voice is wet and broken, heavy with fear and guilt.
“What do you want, then?” Augustine’s voice is barely above a whisper, but the conviction behind it is strong. He’s egging Winnie on – to what end, Winnie couldn’t possibly know, but maybe all of that blood loss is taking a toll on his inhibitions. He turns his gaze away.
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he replies mournfully, taking the moment to wipe away his tears with his wrist. He’s already resigned himself to this – fighting against it is too painful.
But now, in the wake of his answer, Winnie wonders if betraying his heart ended up hurting him even more. Old wounds threaten to reopen with every silent breath.
“...I’ve missed you, you know.”
Winnie whips his head around, almost convinced he had misheard, but Augustine is looking at him with misty eyes like he’s something precious, and Winnie’s response is on his tongue before he can even think about it.
“I’ve missed you, too. I’ve missed you so, so much, Augustine.” Saying the truth out loud lightens the load on Winnie’s heart, even as his eyes sting and his throat burns.
“Izzat so?” Augustine slurs over his words, prompting Winnie to lean in closer to hear him. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.” A rueful smile teases Augustine’s lips before turning into something softer as their eyes lock.
The moment feels both foreign and familiar – an intimacy held for years, but never given a solid form. They both unconsciously shift towards the other slightly, as if afraid they’ll miss something.
The moment is unceremoniously broken when Augustine winces, with even the smallest movement sending sharp stabs of pain up his spine. Winnie reins himself back in, sitting up straight and shaking the fuzziness out of his head.
“We really need to get you to an actual doctor,” Winnie frowns. Augustine huffs in response.
“That’ll be easy with people trying to kill me,” he retorts, because not even severe blood loss can prevent Augustine from being sarcastic. Winnie opts to ignore it.
“Well! They might not be trying to kill you in particular! Did you ever actually join or were you just being scouted?”
“This was my first meeting,” Augustine grimaces. “I haven’t even met anyone yet.”
His answer causes Winnie to pause. This might be a good thing – if Augustine hasn’t even been recruited yet, there’s a chance this could all be written off as a misunderstanding. Still, something nags in the back of Winnie’s mind.
“...Do they know your name and face?”
“I can’t imagine the loan company would be extremely careful with my personal information…”
With that, it clicks into place.
“Was this a setup…?” Winnie whispers under his breath, tone stained with disbelief.
Was Winnie being played again? Was this all just a test to measure his loyalty – a means of making sure they stomped every fiber of defiance out of him? With how thorough their intelligence is, it’s definitely a possibility. His heart begins to race at the thought.
“You’re gonna need to speak up, Winnie,” Augustine calls out to him, snapping his focus back into place.
Winnie isn’t willing to risk this all being a coincidence.
“Let’s run away together,” Winnie blurts out, frantic energy lining every word.
“Are you– What are you talking about?” Augustine’s tone is incredulous. “You can’t be serious–”
“Come on, we have to leave now,” Winnie cuts him off before haphazardly scooping the man into his arms.
Though Winnie’s muscles protest, he’s too wired to care – not when the urgency of the situation is clawing at his throat. Being jostled around causes Augustine to hiss in pain, but even that isn’t enough to deter Winnie.
“Winnie, what the hell are you doing?!”
“If we’re fast enough, they won’t be able to stop us! If it’s you, I’m sure I can carry you for as long as needed…!”
“You aren’t thinking straight! Just slow down and talk to me, damn it!”
“We just need to skip town, and lay low for a while—”
“Winnie, stop! I can’t… I can’t just run away with you! I’m not going to leave my mom..! She needs me here!”
Winnie’s frantic movements come to a halt as Augustine’s words sink in. He swallows the lump forming in his throat.
“But… you could die…! If they want you dead–”
“You think I don’t know that?!” Augustine snaps. “Everything about this situation is terrible, but I’m not just going to give up!”
“Augustine…”
“Pretending the problem doesn’t exist isn’t going to get rid of that. You know that too, don’t you?” The energy spurring Augustine’s words starts sputtering out, but he forges onward. “Winnie, I know you’re scared, but whatever happens next I’m not just gonna take lying down. I’m tired of feeling like I have no say in my own damn life…!”
Augustine slumps against Winnie’s shoulder, already past his limit. His labored breathing shakes his entire body, urging Winnie to tighten his hold on the man. Tears blur his vision as he realizes that Augustine is absolutely right. Every time Winnie tried ignoring a problem, it only ever left him in a worse situation than when he started.
“Augustine… I understand. I…I can’t promise it will turn out well, but I’ll try my best.” He wheezes a laugh as the tears roll down his cheeks. “And hey, as long as we’re together, I won’t have any regrets. So do your best to stay alive for me, okay?” Winnie pauses when he feels Augustine trembling in his grasp, but to his relief, Augustine is merely holding in his own laughter, though a few low huffs break through his attempt to stay composed.
“You’re…so ridiculous…” Augustine sighs, finally releasing the tension in his sore muscles and leaving Winnie to carry his full weight. Winnie wonders if Augustine can feel his heart beating like a jackhammer against his chest, amplified by adrenaline, fear, and love.
“I’m only as ridiculous as this situation calls for, Auggie! But in any case, we need to decide what to do next…” Winnie pauses, wondering how much he should tell Augustine about his mentor, but decides to opt for full transparency – Augustine deserves to know what they’re about to get into.
“I’m going to need to talk to my… boss? I guess? Um… you might want to stay hidden while I do that… he’s a bit hard to read, and I can’t be sure he won’t just immediately kill you when he sees you alive, haha…!” Surely, if Augustine had the spare energy, he would roll his eyes and make a snide remark, but as it is, he can only let out a bone-deep sigh.
“I figured as much… Just do whatever you think is best. I trust you, Winnie…” Augustine brings his blood-free hand up and covers Winnie’s own before closing his eyes. “And before you start freaking out, I’m just resting my eyes. I can last a bit on my own, you know.” Luckily, it doesn’t seem like Augustine is lying – the makeshift bandage has all but stopped the bleeding, which is a good sign. Still, Winnie won’t be able to rest easily until it’s properly looked at.
“I’d really prefer getting you someplace cleaner, but I guess we can’t be picky,” Winnie sighs before kneeling down to gently deposit Augustine back onto the floor.
For a brief moment, both of them seem unwilling to break their awkward embrace, as if aware that this will really be the point of no return. Still, fate has always been on the sadistic side, so it’s also at that exact moment that Winnie’s phone vibrates several times from his back pocket. Lips pursed in a half-pout, Winnie reluctantly removes his arms from Augustine and reaches for his phone. Sure enough, it’s a text from Norman.
“...Well, lucky us! It looks like we won’t have to wait too long! He’s on his way back now…!” Despite Winnie’s best efforts, his tone is seeped in a deep unease. In an instant, he appears to be quite captivated by a water stain on the ceiling. His eyes stay fixed on that point as he forces his voice not to waver.
“You know, he sometimes mentions his ‘negotiation’ skills, but I’m pretty sure he’s just torturing people? Um, just in case, maybe you should change rooms after I leave, if you’re up for it,” Winnie chuckles nervously as his hand begins fiddling with his remaining sleeve. “I’d like to think I’ve gotten used to physical pain by now, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry! Right, Auggie?”
He’s met with silence. Even though every ounce of his anxiety is telling him not to, Winnie forces his eyes back onto Augustine. A scowl adorns his face – a mix of anger and guilt, but not a trace of fear.
“...” Augustine mumbles something under his breath, but Winnie isn’t able to catch it.
“Augustine…?”
“It’s nothing,” he squeezes out through gritted teeth. Winnie knows it isn’t nothing, but he lets it slide. “Just…don’t overdo it. Please.”
“Don’t worry! No matter what happens, I’ll do my best to keep you safe!”
“That’s not what I’m–” Augustine lets out a weak, frustrated sigh. “I just don’t want you being in pain. Think about your own well-being once in a while, you dolt.”
Such a simple sentiment leaves Winnie pitifully shocked – feeling cut open and insides bared. After a few long breaths, Winnie finds his voice once again. “...I understand. Thank you, Auggie. It really, really makes me happy to hear that from you, so I won’t let you down!”
“Hmph…good.”
Augustine’s half-formed smile in response twists up Winnie’s insides as irresponsible and embarrassing promises threaten to spill from his lips – anything to keep that flicker of joy on Augustine’s expression. This is neither the time nor the place; however, the possibility of that somewhere and somewhen existing in his future overwhelms him with yearning. It’s a small and fragile type of hope, but his desire to protect it solidifies his resolve to fight against all odds.
“I’ll be back soon. Just stay put and leave everything to me!”
As he grabs the handle of the door, Winnie shoots Augustine one more confident grin.
“I’m really sorry I shot you, by the way! I’ll make it up to you later!”
As the door slams shut and Augustine hears Winnie racing down the hall, he can only tilt his head back and groan at Winnie’s antics. And, if he has a lovestruck look in his eyes and a sappy smile on his lips, no one is there to call him out on it.