Work Text:
It’s hour two, and you’re beginning to wonder if you’ll ever hear anything else besides the constant sound of alarm.
You roll over once, twice, a dozen times over. Thirty minutes ago you found out that there was no fire. It took about an hour to figure out that nobody was coming to fix it, and two to give up on the idea of sleep entirely. Duct taping towels over the fire alarm didn’t work, and neither did the third or fourth call to the leasing office.
You were gonna give them hell in the morning.
Eventually, you relent, and in a desperate attempt to preserve your sanity, you move out into the darkened hallway; one, for the lack of windows, and the other to stop your raging headache.
Your complex couldn’t even bother to write an email about the hurricane. If you had to fall asleep out there, so be it.
That would have to be someone else’s problem.
Except, what you don’t expect is to find company in becoming that problem. You assumed, given how bad the storm was, that you’d be the only one left.
A straight-faced blonde man stands parallel to your door across the hall, arms folded across his chest as he stares out into the hall. He must’ve been new here, at least—his face was. Handsome features and sunken eyes, composure stiff, his entire being on edge. Not usually someone who would go unnoticed around here.
The man looks at you.
Oh god. You were staring. Stop it.
For a split second, you’re embarrassed for him to see in your pajamas, but quickly relinquish that feeling when you remember that it’s far past midnight. He’s the weird one to still be in jeans and a t-shirt!
The blonde says something that blows away in the wind. You step forward to try and hear him better, “What?”
The door to the hallway slams open, crashing hard into the wall beside it, sending a wall of water in from outside. It stings your skin, droplets sharp and cold. A sudden grip on your arm tightens as he drags you out of the way by the elbow.
The man is now on your left side, putting himself between you and the door. His blue eyes scan yours in concern.
“Not much better out here,” the man mused.
You step away from him, waving your hands absently at the general situation. “What happened?”
He releases your arm as you move back, suddenly red-faced for having grabbed you like that. “Idiot teenagers playing around with the fire extinguisher. The smoke probably set off the alarm and unlocked all the doors.”
“And were the two idiots who don’t have a house to stay in during the hurricane.”
“Exactly,” he chuckles, “names Leon.”
You close your robe and hold out your hand, giving him your name with it. He takes it, eyes crinkling in amusement at the formality. “You also trying to escape the noise?”
“Mhm. Couldn't sleep. How long have you been out here?”
“A few hours, I guess.”
“Doing what?”
“Just… watching,” he shrugs, “I don’t care for storms.”
“Not from around here, are you?”
“I’ve been all over. They always seem to find me.”
“Well, could you take it somewhere else? You’re kind of cramping my style.”
Leon’s hair drops in front of his eyes as his head shakes, and a smile plays across his face. He slides down the wall beside the door to his apartment, and without being told, you follow suit.
You were nosy. Probably not your most flattering trait, but you couldn’t help it. Silence made you itch.
“So what is it you do?”
“I’m a professional killer,” he answers in a completely serious tone.
You pause.
“Do you have to do postgraduate work for that? Or can you jump right in? I’ve been looking to switch fields.”
“It’s an open market. I can write you a letter of recommendation if you’d like?”
“Oh, would you? That’s very kind.”
He, surprisingly, is the first to break, the corner of his lip twitching up without meaning to. When the laughter dies, another wave of silence surrounds you, punctuated by the exit door flinging open and close beside you.
He glances at your apartment door, decorated by a silly doormat covered with birds and a quirky welcome sign. “You live alone?”
Ouch, but fair. You could make the same assumption of him based on his lack of decoration.
“Yeah, you?”
Why were you telling him this? You must be certifiably stupid. He lives right across the hall, for Christ’s sake! Why couldn’t he be a hired killer?
He gives a short nod. “You shouldn’t sleep alone during a hurricane. Best to stay awake in case something were to happen.”
“I'm not alone now?”
Immediately, you regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. Far too intimate and trusting to say to a complete and total stranger—especially for one who evaded your question about what he does for work.
To your surprise, Leon scoots over and offers you a spot beside him, and, as exhausted as you are, you don’t have the will to say no.
You furrow a brow at him. “Are you sure?”
He pats the ground beside him as if he were coaxing a feral stray to shelter. “I got you.”
The sensible part of you still resists, but is quickly won over by your dire lack of sleep. You could’ve done it standing, but you to lean against the wall instead, facing away from him and curling on your side. Praying to God you wouldn’t snore.
“Hey,” you turn to him from over your shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
A crack pounds at the inside of your skull, then another, then a third.
Your head feels heavy, the inside of your eyelids is far more inviting than whatever was going on out there.
But your mind won’t let itself rest.
With another crack, you’re snapped awake, stumbling into consciousness rather than falling graciously. Your body jolts. You find yourself looking up at eyes that watch you, again, with concern.
Looking up from his lap, actually.
You leap back, trying to create distance from you and whatever was going on. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, just thunder. You didn’t drool too much.”
Your face gets hot. “Oh god.”
“Really, you were only asleep for forty minutes.”
Before you could reply, a high-pitched chime begs for attention over the sound of the rain. Leon takes a pager out of his pocket and grimaces, brow creasing and eyes darkening with the storm. He stands and heads inside, not bothering to close the door behind him. You resist the urge to take a peek at the inside of his apartment.
After a moment, he returns, sheathing his jacket and pocketing the pager.
“You’re going?” you ask, not trying to hide how baffled you are.
“Duty calls,” he answers without his usual coolness.
“The fire department—that's only five minutes out—can’t come and fix this, and yet you of all people have to go out in this weather?”
“What can I say, I’m married to the job.”
“You don’t make nearly enough money to go out in this. If you did, you wouldn’t be living here.”
“I have to.” He states, simple and earnest.
You scoff. “You and this job of yours should get a divorce.”
“I’ll need a witness.”
“Tell me where to sign.”
A part of him considers.
It’s quiet for a beat. Leon zips up his jacket, and a part of you wants to bargain with this stranger for his life.
What could be more important?
You sigh. It wasn’t your place to argue. “Be safe, okay?”
“I’ll try to take the storm with me on my way out,” he straightens. “Stay awake if you can?”
Doubtful. You nod.
“Take the back roads; the highway is probably flooded."
He salutes, manages a cheerful, boyish grin, and braves the storm outside. Leaving as quickly as he came, and taking a piece of you with him.