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The Scout is getting attached to Miss Pauling.
A little too attached.
And the administrator has noticed it.
Her employees can not have romantic relationships.
Especially not Miss Pauling.
So, what's a better option than to replace the woman Scout loves so much, and have a man take her place?
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Just how desperate does one have to be to take a job with no proper description, has no requirements except being a man, and has no given address?
(Y/n), or now known as 'Mr. (L/n)', would know, for he had taken the job. The long numbers next to the word salary pleased him, so he decided to take the job. It couldn't be that bad?
If being knocked out, brought into a dark, small room with only a booming female voice overhead, wasn't the definition on bad, then he might just reconsider going back to his old job. Which he should have, now that he thinks about it.
Only when a woman clad in purple, Miss Pauling was her name, started explaining the basics of his job, and did he realize what he had signed up for. Miss Pauling had told him all he had to do was "Track the amount of kills each each Merc had for the day and make sure either teams are not communicating."
"Kills? Mercs?" Came (Y/n)'s shaky voice. "Right..." mumbled the woman. "I forgot, the mercenaries kill for a living." She continued.
(Y/n)'s face drained of color, his lips pulling into a thin line. He realized what he's signed up for, and now he's can't leave. His signature is there on that paper, binding him for life.
"A-and, I'm supposed to be replacing you?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not entirely." She said. "You just have to monitor the Mercenaries, make sure they kill, and don't interact with the other teams outside of the battlefield."
"And you?" He asked after a deep breath. "I'll be handing some... other business." (Y/n) nodded, not sure he wanted further clarification.
That was months ago. Now, he's gotten used to his job and (somewhat) the blood.
His job is simple. Get in, get the daily kill report, and get out. Monitor the Mercs. And DO NOT get close to the mercenaries.
Except he might have failed the last one.
He's on good terms (to some extent) with the Mercenaries, and that's fine. But his heart pulls him to one particular Merc clad in red. And welds a bat. And hated him for a large majority of his time here.
Scout
Scout's walls slowly lowered, and he got closer to Mr. (L/n), only for them to randomly spring up again for some time before going back down. And now the Merc is attached to Mr. (L/n) whenever he comes over. Which is every day.
And that is bad.
But alas, he can't help it.
Mr. (L/n) lets out a sigh as his scooter comes to a halt. Standing in front of him is the disguised BLU base building. He gets off the bike, taking his clipboard out afterwards. He makes sure the stand is out before walking into the building.
Unsurprisingly, the common room is empty. Despite not doing much yet, his back already has that pain from being bent for too long. "𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘵." he thinks with a frown.
The thought of sitting on the dingy couch that's barely holding up comes to his mind but then shakes his head at the possibility of walking around with a massive grime stain on his purple suit.
Instead, he sits at one of the stools at the bar counter, deliberately picking the one without a permeant ass indent. Sitting doesn't sooth the ache in his back, but it would be better to sit when he can. He plants his face on the counter, knowing he wouldn't be able to rest once the Mercs arrive.
As if on que, the sound of shouts makes its way to his ear. With a soft sigh, he gets off the chair and straightens his suit, picking up his clipboard. The Mercs, who all look either tired or dejected, walk into the common room, their blue attire stained red.
The thick scent of blood makes its way to Mr. (L/n)'s nose, but he doesn't mind. He's gotten used to the stench. What he's not gotten used to is dismembered limbs, one which Soldier is waving around.
Mr. (L/n) lets out a strained gag as his hand shoots up to his mouth. "Mr. (L/n), my hand is cut off!" shouts Soldier as he waves his limp hand around, getting blood everywhere. Mr. (L/n) looks away as he takes in deep breaths, trying to soothe the nauseating feeling arising in his stomach.
"Soldier, stop doing that!" shouts Medic. He turns back to the Mercenaries to see them either shouting at each other or, well... shouting at each other. Medic walks off, grumbling as he does so. Mr. (L/n) follows him, "Ja?" asks Medic as he pushes the door to his lab open.
"You know, daily report?" Asks Mr. (L/n). Medic lets out a sigh as he nods. Before he can start, someone slams into the lab. "MEDIC!" Shouts soldier. Mr. (L/n) doesn't look back, knowing that he will see wont please him.
"Ja?" Asks Medic, his shoulders slumping. "MY HAND!" Soldier continues. Medic doesn't say anything. He just gestures to the operating table with a gloved hand. Soldier storms towards them and sits down hard, earning a metallic creak from the table.
"Hello, Mr. (L/n)!" Greats Soldier. "Hey, Soldier." Mr. (L/n) says. Watches as Medic fixes the Medigun onto its stand hovering above the operating table.
As Medic somehow manages to fix Soldier's hand, he tells Mr. (L/n) about his perspective of the match and about how he had done. Mr. (L/n) does his best to keep his eyes on his notepad and ignore what Medic's working on.
After Medic finishes up, Mr. (L/n) practically bolts out. Soldier tries to stop him, but Mr. (L/n) told him he would come back later for the report, and that he needs to get to Spy before the Frenchman disappears.
Glancing around as he bolts away from the lab, Mr. (L/n) rushes for Spy's smoking room, hopping he would be able to catch Spy on his way in. As he turns the corner, he almost runs into someone. Mumbling an apology, he takes a step back. "Why is Мальчик running?" comes a gruff voice, the thick Russian accent slipping through.
Mr. (L/n) looks up to see Heavy towering over him. He quickly grows nervous. On his first day, he thought the (RED)Heavy was scary, always looking at everyone with a face that was a borderline frown and towering over them, but he turned out to not be that bad. The (BLU)Heavy is... quite the opposite in behavior. He's gruff and scary, and their first interaction was Heavy holding a mangled Scout.
"Speak." commanded Heavy. "Uh- I was going to Spy's smoking room." Mr. (L/n) quickly answers. "Why?" asks Heavy. Mr. (L/n) hesitantly lifts the clipboard. "I will help." the Merc says. Before Mr. (L/n) can respond to what the latter said, he gets lifted by the back of his collar.
Mr. (L/n) lets out a surprised noise as they start moving. The front of his collar, along with is tie, dig into the base of his neck. Mr. (L/n) scrambles to get a hand in between his hand and the collar, pulling it a little forward to allow himself to breath. It doesn't help much, but something is better than nothing.
As they near Spy's smoking room, Mr. (L/n) spots Engineer scratching his beard as he walks towards them. Once Engineer spots them, which is pretty easy, his expression changes from relaxed to panicked and concerned. "Woah, slow down there!" he calls out. "Your goin' t' kill the boy!"
Heavy comes to a stop. "Heavy is not killing Мальчик." says Heavy. "When holdin' him like that ya most certainly are." Engineer points out. Heavy looks down to see the almost chocking Mr. (L/n). He drops the shorter male, walking off without another word.
Mr. (L/n) rubs one hand around his neck with a hiss. The other hand is occupied as he pushes himself up with a groan. "You alright there?" asks Engineer as he approaches. Mr. (L/n) nods, lowering his hand. "What exactly was goin' on there?" he asks, leaning against the wall. "Well." starts Mr.(L/n). "I was going to Spy's smoking room, and I bumped into Heavy. He asked me why I was running, I told him so, and he picked me up and started running."
Engineer scratches his beard as he listens. He lets out a small hum as his explanation ends. "Well." he starts as he lowers his hand. "I'd reckon you're too late. He might be anywhere now." says the Texan. Mr. (L/n) lets out a sigh, letting his shoulder slump in disappointment. "I should have guessed." he mumbles.
"Don't be too bummed out. He'll have to be back soon." adds Engineer. Mr. (L/n) nods. Straightening up, he lifts his clipboard. "I can start off with your side." the assistant says. Engineer grins at the latter.
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Stopping outside the RED base, Mr. (L/n) braces himself. Mostly for the job at hand, but partially for Scout a̶n̶d̶ t̶r̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶o̶ k̶e̶e̶p̶ i̶t̶ p̶r̶o̶f̶e̶s̶s̶i̶n̶o̶a̶l̶. He gets off the scooter, making sure the stand is up. He takes his helmet off, hanging it on the side mirror. Mr. (L/n) gets his clipboard before walking towards the base.
As he approaches the entrance, he can already hear the shouts from inside. Soldier is obviously the loudest, and he's screaming something about 'BLU scum'. (Y/n) enters the building, making his way to the common room.
Stepping into the common room, he is greeted by the sight of Soldier marching in front of the one and only couch as the rest of the team (except Spy, Medic and Engineer) are crammed around or on it.
Scout jumps up at the sight of Mr. (L/n). "Hey, Mr-" he gets interrupted by Soldier's hoisting him up by the collar. "SIT DOWN, MAGGOT!" He shouts at the suspended Scout. The others take this as their opportunity to scatter. The only one staying is a drunken Demoman, his head lolling to the side. "Huh?" The Scot mumbles as he lifts his head up. He promptly let his head slam back down against the cushions
"Soldier, could you put Scout down?" Mr. (L/n) asks. Soldier's lips curl into a frown. "So I can ask you about the match!" Mr. (L/n) quickly adds. Soldier carelessly drops Scout, walking towards Mr. (L/n) with a wide grin. Scout scrambles to get up and dusts himself off.
"We won!" Starts Soldier the second he stops in front of Mr. (L/n). "We beat those BLU scum and sent them running with their tails up their asses!" The American booms. Mr. (L/n) tries not to make a face at what Soldier said as he writes it down, wording it more professionally.
"I killed 23 this round! These BLU maggots are nothing but puny sissies!" Shouts Soldier. Mr. (L/n) nods. Scout approaches. "Well, I-" Scout tries to say, only to get interrupted by Soldier. "SHUT UP, MAGGOT!"
Soldier continues to diss the BLU team with each sentence as he explains his perspective of the match. Once he's done, he claps Mr. (L/n) hard on the back before walking off, seemingly forgetting about his previous meeting.
Scout walks up to (Y/n), his hands interlocked behind his head. "Mr. (L/n)." starts the runner. "Ya wanna hear how I did?" he asks. The question is a little useless, since Mr. (L/n) job is to basically listen to the Mercs' point of view of the match and write it down. He nods.
Scout grins when he sees the action. His hands unclasp and come down to rub themselves against each other in front of him. "I'm guessin' you know we already won. But, Of course we did, I'm on the team!" he says with a grin. Mr. (L/n) nods. "And how many kills?" he asks.
A sheepish grin forms on Scout's face. "Uh- well..." he mumbles, a rand raising to scratch the back of his neck. (Y/n) gives him an expecting look. He mumbles something that's barely audible, looking at the ground. "Huh?" Mr. (L/n) mumbles. "17." the runner says a little louder.
Scout bites down on his bottom lip as he glances to the side, reaching up to fiddle with his dog tags. Mr. (L/n) notices the latter's expression. "Don't look down, you did great!" he says. "Really?" the Bostonian asks as he looks up. Then, with a grin, he says "I mean- Of course I did great. I'm literally THE Scout!"
Mr. (L/n) lets out a small laugh as he looks down to write it down, ignoring the funny feeling in his stomach. "Oh- oh- And, I smacked the head of Spy clean off!" Scout continues proudly. The pen in Mr. (L/n)'s hand pauses. He looks up at the runner. "What?" he asks, his voice a little concerned.
Scout doesn't seem to notice the shift in the assistants voice. "Yeah! I saw that Spy creepin' 'round and I smacked his head clean off. It just popped off!" he continues, swinging his arms to demonstrate. Mr. (L/n) face scrunches up as he imagines the Spy's head come clean off. "𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦." he thinks. "𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦."
Scout goes on about the match and Mr. (L/n) listens, writing down what seems important. He can't help but stare at Scout at some point, taking in his features and drowning in the sweet sound of his voice.
He can't help but to it.
Once Scout's done, Mr. (L/n) goes off to find the other Mercs.
The classes may have scarily similar (yet so different) facial and physical features, but their behaviors vary. One major difference in the two Scouts is that the (BLU) Scout would leave to do his own things after his briefing, and the (RED) Scout would trail behind Mr. (L/n).
Today is no different, with the runner following Mr. (L/n) around. He goes on and on as they make their way around the base. The only time he stops talking is when Mr. (L/n) is talking to another Merc. During that time, Scout bounces from foot to foot, pokes at things around him or pulls at his dog tags. All of these are signs that the Merc is getting restless.
The other Mercenaries give him the usual "Don't bother him, Scout.", but the response they get is "I can be with whoever I want at whatever place!"
All the Mercenaries usually put up with Scout.
All except Spy.
"Mon Dieu, leave Mr. (L/n) alone." says Spy as he spots Scout behind Mr. (L/n). "Your not my dad! I can be with whoever I want at whatever place!" Scout shouts. Spy's face remains almost neutral with a hint of annoyance evident.
Spy pulls the door open without another word. Mr. (L/n) isn't really surprised, knowing what will happen next. Spy would find a quick way to shoo Scout away. From the corner of his eye, Mr. (L/n) spots something shiny. He directs his attention to it as it creeps out from behind the door.
Spy's butterfly knife stares back at him, making itself so obvious to the point that Scout notices it. (Y/n) moves a little to the side. A nervous laugh comes from behind him. "You won't actually use that on me, right?" Scout asks, his voice holding a nervous hint.
"Medic hasn't gone anywhere." Spy responds, his tone is flat, but the message seems to go through. "Right, I'll just- uh- go do... things..." Scout stammers out. (Y/n) turns around to see Scout awkwardly shuffling away, not turning his back to the latter. The runner waves at (Y/n) with a grin before finally leaving.
"Il est tellement énervant..." grumbles Spy as Mr. (L/n) turns back around. He takes a mental note that the Frenchman's weapon has disappeared. "Did you say something?" He asks. "It's nothing."
"What are you here for?" asks Spy. Mr. (L/n) lifts his clipboard up, not saying anything. Spy's lips form a thin line in dissatisfaction. "Let's get this over with."
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Mr. (L/n) straightens his blazer. He walks into the common room which is dark, except for the light of the TV, where Soldier, Demoman, and Scout are crammed onto the couch. Pyro is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, leaning against it. They let out a muffled giggle.
Mr. (L/n) walks behind the couch, not wanting to disturb the four. He feels something rub against him. He mumbles a small apology as he continues to walk. "Yeah." Scout mumbles. Mr. (L/n)'s lips curl up into a small smile at the thought of the latter. He just can't help but do it. He hears shuffling from the couch, but doesn't look back.
He steps out into the garage, where Engineer is (unsurprisingly) still working. His hard hat is upside-down on the floor, like it had fallen and no one bothered to pick it up. He doesn't spare the latter a glance. "Where are ya goin'?" asks the Texan. "Home." responds Mr. (L/n). Engineer finally looks up with an expression that takes (Y/n) a moment to decipher is surprise.
"What're you doin' here this late?" Engineer asks. "Today just took longer than usual." Mr. (L/n) says with a shrug. "Alright then, have a good night." Engineer says before going to work. "You too."
Just as he is about to leave, someone comes in from the common room. "Mr. (L/n)!" comes that oh-so pleasing Bostonian's voice from behind him. "Yeah?" he asks looking back. Scout shuffles towards him, almost tripping over a big pile of scrap on his way.
"Hey." Scout says as he leans against the wall. The runner flashes Mr. (L/n) a grin. "Do you need anything?" Mr. (L/n) asks, his grip tightening on the clipboard. "I'm sorry to bother, but could ya two talk outside? Not tryin' to be rude, but I really need to focus." Engineer interrupts.
"Right." Mr. (L/n) grows embarrassed. "Sorry." he mumbles. He taps Scout's shoulder before walking out of the garage. The sound of footsteps tell him that Scout is following him. The night makes it hard to see. Mr. (L/n) squints as he walks to make sure he doesn't step on any stray desert reptile.
Once they are a good distance away from the garage, Mr. (L/n) turns to scout. The latter's features are illuminated my the glow of the moon. Mr. (L/n) can't help but stare, letting his eyes roam around Scout's face.
"𝘎𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭." Mr. (L/n) internally curses. "You wanted to ask me something?" he says. "Huh?" Scout mumbles. "Right." his hands move up to fidget with his dog tags. "I wanted to ask if you had some free time." he asks, his hand moving from his dog tags to rub the back of his neck. The runner is noticeably avoiding eye contact.
"Free time?" Mr. (L/n) asks, puzzled. "You know? Time to relax?" Scout asks, his hand moving from his neck to the bandages wrapped around his other hand. "Scout, I know what free time is." Mr. (L/n) says. "I want to know why you want to know that?"
"Well, I wanted to know if we could hang out sometime. You know? Just you and me?" his hands move up to rub his face before going back to his dog tags. Mr. (L/n) is so focused on trying to focus that, at first, he didn't realize what Scout said.
"What?" asks Mr. (L/n), finally looking at Scout's face. Scout doesn't say anything else, he just looks around nervously, avoiding eye contact. "Let's see..." Mr. (L/n) mumbles, looking down at his clip board. He flips past the reports to the last page, where his schedule sits.
After a moment of silence, he looks up at Scout. "The only time I'm free is on New Year's Day." he says. Scout lets out a sigh. "That's really far away." the assistant continues. Scout doesn't say anything else, he just stares at Mr. (L/n), who stares back.
The silence between them is thick and awkward. That is until Mr. (L/n)'s eyes land on Scout's lips, and the world around him seems to dissolve. Mr. (L/n)'s eyes stick to Scout's lips. They are thin, a rather soft shade of pink-grey, and the cracks on it are barely illuminated by the moonlight.
Mr. (L/n) couldn't help but stare at them. "𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳?" he thinks, unsure if it is just a trick of his mind or reality. He doubts this until he feels something brush against his own lips.
With a jolt his eyes focus on what's in front of him. The only thing he can see is Scout's face up-close, and the only things he can feel are Scout's lips rigid against his, and their noses squished against each other. Mr. (L/n)'s cheeks immediately heat up at the sight. He mindlessly closes his eyes, tilting his head to the side so their noses aren't squished up against each other.
With a start, Scout starts moving his lips. Mr. (L/n) feels the latter's hand snake up his arm before finally resting in his hair. He moves his lips against Scout, dropping his clipboard and resting his hands on Scout's shoulders.
Scout's tongue runs along Mr. (L/n)'s bottom lip, asking for entry. The latter obliges, opening his mouth for the other male. The heavy taste of (Bonk!) cherry soda and the subtle taste of bubblegum makes it's way to his mouth as Scout's tongue explores his mouth. He feels Scout's hand tighten it's grip on his hair.
Cracks in skin catch against each other as their kiss deepens. Mr. (L/n)'s hands move up from Scout's shoulders to his neck. Scout pushes him back, getting his back to rest against the wall. Mr. (L/n)'s lungs start to burn. He hurriedly releases Scout's neck and taps his shoulder.
Scout releases Mr. (L/n)'s lips, pulling away. He loosens his grip on the latter's hair, resting his head on the assistant's shoulder. Mr. (L/n)'s chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, pushing against Scout's. His lips are wet and bruised, the lingering taste of Bonk and bubblegum settling in his mouth. The lingering taste of 𝘚𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘵 settling in his mouth.
His chest rumbles with soft laughter at the thought. "What?" asks Scout, his breath heavy. The warmth of his breath tickles the spot it hits, making it feel like Mr. (L/n)'s skin is on fire. Mr. (L/n) takes a moment to get his thoughts straight. "I just... never thought that the day where I get to kiss you would come." Mr. (L/n)'s answers, mind still reeling with the thought of Scout's breath against his neck.
Now it's Scout's turn to laugh, and he does so, warm breath ticking (Y/n)'s neck. "Honestly, me too." he says. "The last person I loved was Ms. Paulin', and she just disappeared over night! But then you took her place. And- I'm not complaining..." Scout's words fade away as panic settles in.
Mr. (L/n) realizes the gravity of what he had done and an endless amount of possible consequences flood his head. He glances around, making sure no one is there, Then, he scans the ground, but the only things there are the dirt, Scout's hat and his clipboard. He doesn't know when Scout's hat had fallen, but hat his the least of his problems right now.
Mr. (L/n) pushes Scout away, ending his rant and earning a confused noise from him. "What?" Scout lets his arms fall to his sides. "I-I' sorry, I can't." the assistant mumbles, bending over to pick his clipboard up. "Is it because of what I said? I swear I don't like her anymore!" Scout hurriedly says as Mr. (L/n) straightens up.
Miss Pauling
He has taken her job (Or at least half of it), but that is not the bad part. The bad part is that he had been given strict instructions to not get close to the Mercs. And he had just done more than 'get close'.
"I'm sorry, Scout. I didn't mean to do that." he quickly says, trying to step away. Scout quickly blocks his path by placing his arms on either side of (Y/n). "What do you mean?" he asks. "I didn't mean to kiss you." Mr. (l/n) quickly responds, keeping his eyes on how the dessert in front of him.
"What do you mean by that?!" Scout shouts. Mr. (L/n) hurries to shush him, placing a finger on his own lips with a panicked expression. "No, don't shush me! You like the kiss!" Scout continues, staying loud. Mr. (L/n) grabs Scout's shoulder, his grip tight. "Scout, please don't shout." he hisses. "This is all a misunderstanding. I-I didn't mean to kiss you. I just-" he pauses, not knowing that to say. In his panic, Mr. (L/n) says the first thing that comes to his mind. "I was thinking of someone else!"
Scout's expression drops to something that looks like disbelief. Mr. (L/n) loosens his grip on Scout's shoulders, but doesn't let go. The runner's face twists into anger, his hands dropping to his sides. His bottom lip quivers as he glares. "Seriously?" he asks, his voice quivering. His buck teeth poke out from under his top lip and bite down hard on is bottom one in an attempt to steady them.
Scout slaps Mr. (L/n)'s hand off his right shoulder with a hand before walking off. (Y/n) watches as he disappears back into the base. He doesn't make any attempt to call the latter, he just watches.
With a shaky sigh, Mr. (L/n) walks toward his scooter. He inserts his key into the hole sitting under the seat and turns it to the side. He hears a soft 'click' before he pulls the seat up. Mr. (L/n) places his clipboard into the little cavity under the seat before slamming the seat back into position, perhaps a little to harshly. All the while biting down hard on his bottom lip while taking in deep, shaky breaths.
Mr. (L/n) clutches the keys hard in one hand while putting the helmet on with the other. He starts his scooter and sits on the seat, kicking the stand back before driving off. As he drives through the empty desert, he can't help but think about his rumpled suit from when scout had pushed against him, about his messy hair when Scout had gripped it, about his bruised lips from when Scout had kissed him and that after taste he left behind, about he he messed up.
He just can't help it.
The scooter comes to a halt. Mr. (L/n) rests his arms on its handle, letting his hands slide under his helmet visor. His hands come down to rest upon his eyes, letting the tears pool up in his hands. It runs down his hand in an uncomfortable way, seeping into his suit, but he doesn't care. A soft sob escapes him as his shoulders shake.
He can't help but sob at how he had messed up.
He can't help but sob at the remnants Scout left behind.
He can't help but sob at how he wants more.
He can't help but sob as he tastes the taste of Scout's lips, and how he might never get it again.
He can't help but sob, letting all of these conflicting feelings curl around his heart, squeezing it and suffocating him.
He can't help it.
"𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘶𝘱?"