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The neon lights of the underground rave flickered like dying stars, casting jagged shadows across the faces of everyone. Callum sat at the bar table, even if there was nothing but empty glasses and bottles of alcohol that were left half-full, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the scarred mahogany table. His revolver felt heavy against his thigh, a cold, reassuring weight that usually kept his nerves steady, yet this night was different.
He had a reputation to maintain. In this twisted game of survival, Callum was the one with the steady hand and the quick trigger. He was the Vigilante, the judicious wild card of the Town who could end a threat in a heartbeat, provided he didn't accidentally shoot a fellow member and end up dead himself. It may have been seen as a blessing, but he had a history of bad luck, and it was a secret to no one at how his debt stretched everyday before he came here, and his luck showed in the matches. He has learned to not shoot the second he’s suspicious of someone, and should instead observe them first before gambling.
Then there was Hudson. To be frank, Callum never really realized he was there until they were a few nights in. And he wished he never noticed him either.
Hudson was charming, effortless, and devastatingly good at playing the part. As the town gathered around some random table with a convenient amount of chairs during the day, Hudson wouldn’t lean in close to some poor civilian, flashing a grin that made their cheeks flush, like Callum would’ve. Yet when a woman wanted to voice her suspicion on a missing doctor, just by Hudson's stare, she stumbled her words and stopped elaborating, distracting herself with chattering with someone else, ignoring whatever thought plagued her mind. Sometimes others would lead the conversation, but Hudson had no shame doing the same. He’d even ask the silenced player if they knew who the mafia was, and say who was suspicious, despite not being cleared himself.
But Callum saw him past his act. He was undeniably the dark Witch. He’d secretly hex people, weaving silences and curses that left the Townspeople choking on their own words, who could only aggressively shake their head praying someone would notice them, and if they didn’t? Well, their bodies would go cold next night. Callum knew it was him, because Hudson would always conveniently ‘accidentally’ bump into someone when he walked to the body, and that said person is always oddly silent during the morning, and found dead by night.
"You're awfully quiet tonight, Hudson," Callum said, staring at the man across from him. It was growing darker and darker by every second, and surely enough, it would soon be the dreaded nighttime. "A quarter for your thoughts?”
“Ah, don’t insult me. Everyone knows about your debts here.” Hudson said smoothly, an unreadable smile plastered on his face. Wow. Real nice.
Hudson probably noticed the frown on Callum’s face because he started chuckling. “So hostile. I thought we were having a moment.”
Callum finally met his gaze. His heart hammered against his ribs, and he felt like he would die from some freak heart attack at any moment. He wanted to pull his gun, to point it at that pretty face and end the deception, to prove to the Town that he was the hero they needed. But his hand wouldn't move. His fingers refused to curl around the trigger, even if his morals protested for him to shoot. Instead, he says:
“Do you know who’s the mafia?”
Hudson’s smile falters and he goes silent.
Callum takes it as an indicator to look away, staring instead at the place where everyone gathered together. He stared at the poor Shawn, the janitor who had to grab his load of keys and sort them out each time a new locker or door or even anything in general was locked. He looked exhausted from cleaning the bananas too.
“You’re staring again. Hello? Earth to Callum.” Hudson finally said.
“You didn’t answer my question. And I’m watching the room,” Callum simply replied, refusing to meet the other’s blue eyes. “Someone’s gotta keep count of who’s in the main area and make sure someone doesn’t get sniped.”
And before he could hold it back, he added. “Maybe I'm just admiring the view, Hud. You've got this whole room wrapped around your little finger. It's impressive, really.”
Hudson’s jaw tightened and he swallowed audibly. “Quite the assumptions you make.”
“Assumptions?" Callum leaned forward, and he’d like to blame his boost of confidence from the alcohol, lowering his voice until it was just a breath between them. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're putting on quite the show. The concerned citizen, the one who leads the conversation… all while you’ve been inflicting curses everywhere.”
Hudson doesn’t blink, but flinches slightly. "If you have something to say, say it properly. Don't whisper like some lovestruck boy."
"Oh, I'm not lovestruck," Callum said, yet the words tasted like ash. He reached out, his fingers brushing Hudson's sleeve, a gesture that was both a threat and an invitation. "I should have shot you three days ago when you sat next to me during discussion. One bullet, and all this mess would be over. All the mafias would’ve been found quite quickly afterwards, no?"
Hudson suddenly straightens his back, and Callum’s eyes widens at the sudden confidence, “But you didn't, huh? Either because you’re weak or terrified of what’ll happen to you the next day. Your body would be conveniently burned, yes?”
Callum’s smirk faltered for half a second. His history was a graveyard of missed opportunities and bad timing shots that went wide, luck that ran dry exactly when he needed it most. He knew Hudson saw right through the bravado. "I'm not terrified of anything, Hudson. I'm just enjoying the moment. Like you said."
"We may be in opposing teams, but even I can tell you've been playing a dangerous game," Hudson warned. "The Town is getting suspicious. The Mafia is getting nearer and nearer to their sweet victory. One of them even used identity fraud, y’know? All while you're sitting here, boldly flirting with the enemy, even when everything is falling apart, even if everything burns down.”
“Then let it burn," Callum murmured, reaching up and tucking a stray lock of brown hair behind Hudson’s ear. His touch was lingering, far too intimate for two people who were supposed to be hunt each other. "At least the fire will be warm."
Hudson grabbed Callum’s wrist, his grip painful and firm. "You're infuriating."
"And you're impossible to kill," Callum countered. "Even when I try."
It was a lie. He hadn't even tried to kill him.
Every time his hand drifted toward his holster when Hudson was near, imagining the gun kissing his forehead as he fired, his heart betrayed him. He knew Hudson was the reason conversations died and bodies turned up cold, but he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. He hated the way Hudson manipulated the world, hated the way he played God with people's voices, but he hated even more that he wanted to be the only one Hudson couldn't silence even with his spellbook in hand.
Hudson let go of his wrist, but he didn't back away. His stern expression didn't break, but there was something raw underneath. "One day, Callum, your luck will completely run out. And I won't be there to catch you when you fall."
"Then I'll make sure I fall into something good," Callum whispered. He leaned in, his lips brushing Hudson’s ear. "Like you."
Hudson pulled back, his face contorted into an expression of anger, but his breathing was shallow and his face was faintly tinted with pink. "You're going to get us both killed."
"Probably," Callum agreed, flashing that deadly, confident smile again. Maybe it wasn’t the alcohol speaking this time. "But what a way to go."
Hudson didn't pull away. For all his stern warnings and his controlled, cold demeanor, he stayed planted exactly where Callum wanted him. Callum could see the small details now, the way Hudson’s pupils blew wide until his irises were just thin rings of color, the way his chest rose and fell in quick, shallow jerks.
"You think this is all a joke, don’t you?" Hudson said, though his voice had lost its edge, softening into something more vulnerable. "You’re not taking my warnings very seriously.”
"I think we're already past pretending," Callum murmured. He moved closer, closing that final inch of distance until he could feel the heat pouring off Hudson’s body. "I’m just waiting for the right moment.”
Callum’s hand slid from Hudson’s hair to the nape of his neck, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin behind his ear. He was playing with fire, and he knew it. He was the Vigilante he was supposed to be hunting evil, not falling into them. But Hudson felt like the only real thing in a town full of liars. Even some of the town members were lying to themselves for no reason at all. Hudson maybe lied to everyone else, but he was honest with Callum.
Hudson made a sound, something between a hum and a sigh. Suddenly, he grabbed the front of Callum’s coat, yanking him forward.
The kiss was a collision. It wasn't sweet or gentle, like those romantic movies, it was actually quite violent, a clash of mouth and teeth. Callum pressed Hudson’s back against the edge of the bar, his hands roaming possessively over Hudson’s shoulders, while Hudson fought to close every gap between them. It was everything Callum had been denying himself. The anger, the hunger, the terrifying need to possess the very thing that could destroy him. Thank god they were at an angle where the group of people couldn’t see them, and most people separated in pairs anyways, for some unknown reason.
There was no Town, no Mafia, no roles to play. There was only the taste of whiskey and the bruising pressure of Hudson’s mouth against his.
It felt like a dream Callum could sleep in forever.
But then, through the cracked doorway leading to the alley behind the tavern, a shadow moved. Callum’s instincts, honed by years of watching for threats, flared to life even through the haze of desire and intoxication. He pulled back just enough to glance sideways, his eyes narrowing, still glued to the witch in front of him.
In the dim light of the alley, he saw it. A figure one of the Mafia emerging from the darkness. They moved with efficiency, approaching a lone figure who had been stepping out for air, and the glint of a gun. And sure enough, a victim slumped to the cobblestones without a sound.
Callum’s blood ran cold. His heart hammered against his ribs so much that it hurt. His hand instinctively dropped toward his holster, his mind already calculating the distance, the angle, the shot. He needed to move. He needed to stop them. At least see them. He needed—
Hudson’s hand flew to Callum’s jaw, his fingers digging in with surprising strength. His other hand pressed hard against his chest, holding him firmly in place.
"Don't." Hudson murmured against his lips.
Callum tried to twist away, his gaze locked on the alley where the killer was already retreating into the night. "Hudson, someon—"
"I know," Hudson cut him off, "Not tonight. Focus on me, yeah?"
Callm opened his mouth to protest, to demand why he was letting a murderer walk free, but the words died in his throat. He felt it. That familiar, hollow emptiness that preceded the Witch's power. It wasn't physical pain, but it was as if the very concept of speech had been erased from his brain. His lungs worked, his throat moved, but nothing came out.
Hudson saw the panic rising in Callum’s eyes, the righteous fury of a man who had just witnessed a crime he was powerless to stop. And instead of letting him break free, Hudson leaned back in.
He smothered Callum’s attempt of a protest with another kiss. A cruel mercy, really.
Hudson pressed his lips to Callum’s with an intensity that forced Callum to focus on nothing but the sensation, drowning out the memory of the blood in the alley. The ex-gambler fought it for a second, his body rigid with helpless rage, but Hudson was relentless.
Callum closed his eyes, tears of frustration pricking at the corners, and surrendered. He let the kiss consume him, letting the silence swallow the screams he couldn't make, knowing that when he finally could speak again, he would have to live with the fact that he had chosen this kiss over the truth.
The Witch used his power to seal the Vigilante’s lips, and his mouth to seal his fate.