Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"So, what do you think?"

"Less than impressed."

"All of this for that kind of money? You must be joking." Erestor was giving him his trademark stink eye. "Are you trying to drive a hard bargain or are you just being a deliberate thickhead? I'm not your realtor, but even I think some serious regrets are gonna be had if you turn down the offer."

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. Sure, the loft broke expectations and then some, was in turnkey condition, and the pricing was almost too sweet  to not raise some red flags. Some would even call it a dream deal. He imagined anyone with a limited budget and endless optimism would be absolutely thrilled to come across this gem of a find.

"If you are worried about making a rash decision or walking into a hidden pitfall, don't. The reason you were given first dibs before it's officially put up for sale is because the guy who owns this place owes me big time." Erestor experimentally ran a leather-gloved finger over the kitchen island countertop and made a face when it encountered a speck of dust. No surprise there, his fastidious obsession was legendary after all. "And also partly due to his having a huge, rather unsavory kind of debt that needs to be settled fast. Like yesterday."

Despite his legal businessman and law practitioner front, there were rumors of Erestor having a deep and influential footing in the underworld. Glorfindel was one of the few people who actually knew that they weren't all rumors, partly because his own considerable skills were sometimes employed by the man. Against his will in the beginning, to be sure, but the money was good and Erestor was the soul of discretion unless the situation called for something… more overt.

"I'm not worried about that."

"Then what is your problem?" Erestor's tone grew annoyed.

Glorfindel didn't move nor turn away from the source of his grievance, namely the expanse of floor-to-ceiling glass panels making up a large portion of one side of the wall that opened onto a balcony of equal breadth, a space just a tad too generous and comprised of a tiled concrete deck and steel railings.

"My problem is hitting us right in the face. There’s too much sunlight and privacy exposure," grumbled Glorfindel none too leniently. "I can understand balconies with a breathtaking ocean view or a scenic swath of wilderness in the countryside. But what is the point of having a balcony in the middle of the city when there is another building right across said balcony blocking the view? Unless maybe, perversely, that is the intended view for the occupant."

Not only was the neighboring building a mere stone's throw away, quite literally－with the alleyway that ran between the buildings more pedestrian-oriented than intended for moving vehicles, both the loft and the apartment unit right across their location had balconies... facing each other.

Worse, that wasn’t the only balcony the opposite building had. Glorfindel counted two more on the same floor and three more on the lower level. Wonderful.

The unpalatable thought of having balcony neighbors could only be topped by having nosy balcony neighbors. Glorfindel shuddered just thinking about it.

Erestor walked up to his side and took note of the situation. "All I see is just a minor security issue. Nothing a man of your trade and expertise couldn't fix easily to meet your professional standards, unless..."

Erestor had a long list of facial expressions specifically designed to nark him off the rails, or just nark him on general principle, like the one he wore right now. "Wait. You can't be serious. Since when did your introverted side grow so rampant that the concept of urban neighbors makes you uncomfortable?"

"I appreciate the irony of ridicule from someone like you," retorted Glorfindel.

"Oh,  but I do like people. Just as long as they remain useful," replied Erestor impenitently.

Glorfindel commended the stark honesty in his flat tone. "Spoken like a true, cold-hearted crook who drinks his coffee black and regards puppies and kittens as an utter nuisance."

Again, Erestor wore one of his grating looks that made Glorfindel think he took that as a compliment, or enjoyed making people see him that way. He made his way through the open balcony door, paused to look around before passing judgement. "Lack of quality view aside, this balcony seems to be made with you in mind."

What Erestor meant to point out, as Glorfindel joined him and discovered for himself, was the fact that the balcony had an interesting construction of pull-up bars, ceiling mounted to the solid beams that made up the balcony roof structure. It wasn't obvious at first, and could easily be mistaken for part of the building aesthetics, or even bars for hanging decorations.

Glorfindel could actually see himself appreciating the unexpected bonus as physical training had always been right up his alley－if only he could get over its distasteful placement. "You're out of your flipping mind if you think I would willingly train in front of a whole building of neighbors. I'm not a shameless narcissist."

Erestor gave a low, amused chuckle. "Why not? I'm sure you'd make an old lady's day, watching you flex those delectable muscles while pruning her roses. You'd be contributing to her longevity. "

The reason Erestor made such a joke was understandable when one took a look at the balcony garden across where they stood. Yes, balcony garden, and not the kind that placed a couple of potted plants for appearance' sake, but honest-to-Eru  lush garden－the kind that would have sprung from a botanist's laboratory or someone's serious hobby. The balcony door itself appeared like a hidden portal amidst the thriving greenery.

Glorfindel would not be surprised if a saintly middle-aged lady was behind such a magnificent pocket oasis in the middle of the stone and concrete. Maybe having that kind of neighbor would not be so bad, he conceded. One of them, anyway.

Later, in hindsight, he hoped he hadn't looked like a gaping fool when the neighbor’s door providentially opened and out walked the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen, carrying a small tub planter and a watering can. He watched with unabashed interest as the man headed straight to a wooden table to put down his wares without paying attention to his wider surroundings, then moved around to collect some gardening tools from their storage.

"Hello there!"

Glorfindel resisted cuffing one of the most stone cold ruthless figures in the underworld, not because he himself feared repercussions from the man, but more as courtesy. He would have loved a few more moments to study the young man in his element, but trust Erestor to always be the one to swiftly ruin any dreamlike, magical moment with cut and dried reality.

The stranger jumped, almost dropping the sack of organic garden soil he was carrying.

Erestor put up on most beguiling smile. "Sorry to surprise you." He wasn’t sorry at all, of course. Quite the contrary. Glorfindel bet it gave the sadistic man a tingling thrill to spark the reaction of an unsuspecting prey startled by a casual greeting from a predator in disguise. "Could you tell my doubtful friend here that he's making a mistake not taking up the offer on this wonderful place?"

The sweet-looking young man looked genuinely confused with the question at first, but seemed to catch on pretty quickly. "I wouldn't know anything about that, actually. I can tell you it's a nice neighborhood, though." He gently put down his bag of soil on the table, smiled cordially and made himself available for further questions as his hands moved about taking care of his business with practised ease.

"Very nice indeed," said Erestor under his breath.

Glorfindel's instinct prickled with alarm. Erestor had that look he usually wore before he was about to drop a bombshell of a last-minute change of plan and turn Glorfindel's smooth-sailing mission upside down. His calmness straining under a growing foreboding, Glorfindel breathed an ominous warning as discreetly as he could. "Don't you dare ask if he's single and gay. I swear to Eru-"

"Are you by any chance single and gay?" Erestor asked out loud, smirking like an evil cat, screwing with Glorfindel's life just because he could.

Glorfindel watched in horror as the young man froze mid-transfer of a seedling with its compact soil from the tub planter to a bigger planter. He looked at them like they had just made the sky rain dead birds out of the blue or perhaps casually invite him to a dinner from which he would never be seen again. Glorfindel wished he could say that it was an utterly ridiculous notion to think that both he and Erestor were in any way dangerous or capable of nefarious deeds, because well... to be honest... they kind of were. But definitely never involving innocent people.

When the initial shock wore off, the man stepped back and almost absentmindedly reached out his hand to touch the closest dense body of foliage, which happened to be a tall shrub bearing white flowers with gold stamens Glorfindel distantly thought he had seen before but could not recall the name of. The contact seemed to calm him somewhat, very briefly, before he remembered what was being asked. Then he became too flustered to make eye contact anymore, blushing so hard he looked like he might need a cool washcloth.

"I-I need to-um... go..." came the stammered reply.

Glorfindel really couldn't blame him for pulling the plug on them. The man looked every inch the guileless but wholesome guy-next-door. He most likely didn't run into questionable people like him and Erestor too often and didn't quite know what to do with himself in this kind of situation. He watched with a suddenly heavy heart as the man disappeared inside his apartment without delay, a bit too stunned himself at how fast the table had flipped on his luck before he had a chance to say something.

And he owed it all to the infernal servant of Morgoth standing next to him.

"That's a bright neon 'yes' sign if I’ve ever seen one," remarked Erestor blithely.

"No, it's not! That's a bright neon 'creeps' sign from us that chased him away!"

Glorfindel was overcome with the devastating need to apologize to his neighbor-to-be (yes, he was calling him that already in his mind; the tiny trident-wielding, Erestor-lookalike horned devil that was sitting on his left shoulder was cackling madly at him) and start over again. This was not how he wanted their first interaction to play out. He desperately wanted to knock on the man's door and untangle the misunderstanding between them. Yet somehow, making an aggressive move so soon after this debacle seemed like a terrible idea and borderline warranted a 911 call.

And to add insult to injury, they hadn't even gotten to the point of introductions. He would like nothing more at the moment than to at least get the man's name.

Glorfindel just couldn't believe his ears when Erestor casually added, "More like one creep and one possible creep. Don't worry, you've still got a chance. You do perform exceedingly well when given extra handicaps."

"Is that why you always spring your bloody surprises on me? Just to test my performance under crisis? How incredibly cocky of you to think that my patience with your bullshit has not already turned into a field of landmines!" Glorfindel would love to see Erestor's reaction when he finally crossed the line, made one wrong step－accidentally or not, and shit blew up in his face one day. There would be no love lost between them if things went south in the most spectacular way.

"Though I pride myself on my infallible planning and execution skills, I always operate on the mindset that when it happens, it happens. Especially since in our line of work, complacence is one's worst enemy." Erestor seemed to always have an answer for everything. Must be another inherent trait of criminal masterminds that usually went hand in hand with acute narcissism, as evidenced by Erestor’s smirking bastardry. "So you're welcome to come at me anytime you want."

Glorfindel would damn well do that when the time came, just for the right reasons and not because Erestor might expect it.

Suddenly Erestor pulled out his smart phone and began typing in something. The timing was so out of the blue it made Glorfindel instantly alert with the sneaking suspicion Erestor was about to display yet more jackassery.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm thinking you must be wondering who the cute guy is," answered Erestor without lifting his eyes from the screen.

Glorfindel moved so fast that not even Erestor saw him coming. Before he had a chance to blink, the phone was gone from his hand and well on its way to e-waste disposal as it took an arching swan dive into the pavement some thirty feet below, bidding adieu with a loud, sharp crack as it comically bounced and split apart in the air.

Glorfindel rose to his full height, a few inches taller than Erestor, to stare down at him unrelentingly. "I will find out his name, and when I do, it will be from his lips, not yours."

Erestor didn't even bat an eye watching his expensive phone meet its tragic, unexpected demise. Glorfindel knew the man made a habit of switching his phone to a new one on unpredictable intervals so as to prevent tracking or tampering of any sort. The kind of world they were both immersed in was one where there was no such thing as being too paranoid. Furthermore, Erestor was more of 'you don't find me, I find you' type of guy in his dealings.

"That will be deducted from your next payment," he said simply without fuss. "It never ceases to amaze me how after all the bloodshed you've been in and the darkest sides of humankind you've seen in your life, you can still be such a hopeless romantic." With Erestor, one could never be sure whether he was giving a subtle compliment or a veiled insult－most likely both. "I suppose a background check is a definite no, then."

Glorfindel shot him a glare so glacial it left no doubt that he wasn't joking. "One of these days, I will kill you with my own hands."

"But not today, because I just found you an amazing, perfect home," declared Erestor somewhat too cheerily, like he just won a bet Glorfindel didn't realize he was a part of. The blond ex-soldier would never admit it in a million years, but his frenemy－no, fremesis －was right, and looked insufferably smug, knowing he was right. Fuck it all.

He lit up his phone and made some calls.

The first step to apologizing and making things right was becoming actual neighbors.

Chapter Text

"Setsugekka" (雪月花), while literally meaning "snow, moon, and flowers", comes from a poem by Bai Juyi and is used to describe serene beauty. "Setsugekka" is also the name of the white cultivar of the Okinawan Camellia sasanqua flower.

♦Source: Wikipedia♦

🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂

Their second meeting was in early morning when the veil of autumn rain was shrouding the world in somnolent grey. It was the kind of morning where the distinction between dreamscape and reality felt slightly blurred.

Glorfindel was feeling melancholic after his first night's sleep in his new place. He dreamt of his mother, smiling at his younger self as she trimmed the stems of the flowers she expertly arranged one by one in a crystal vase like a work of art. Memories of her would always be his closely guarded treasure. He remembered that flower's name now, the white-petaled camellia with its bright, golden center. It always had been her favorite flower. How could he have forgotten?

Setsugekka, her lips moved soundlessly, pronouncing the word.

It meant Snow, Moon and Flowers.

He felt his child self nod innocently, even as his adult awareness wept inside. Seeing his mother in his dreams always brought bittersweet sadness. He would forever miss her so much.

When he awoke, for an irrational moment the sound of falling rain outside made him all the sadder. It brought him back to the day he watched the ivory-hued coffin being lowered into the ground, all the tall adults around him shielding him from the rain with their black umbrellas. Glorfindel was secretly glad that they chose such a pristine, bright coffin for her, and dressed her in pearly white just like the angel she had been in his life. Whoever made the arrangements, he knew it certainly wasn't his father.

His bare feet padded to the kitchen, the first order of the morning ritual being to turn on the coffee maker before going to the bathroom. Minutes later found him a touch freshened up and blissfully nursing a hot cup of his lifeline.

The rain hadn't stopped, its whimsical cadence a soothing yet nearly irresistible song of seduction to crawl back into the inviting warmth and comfort of his bed. But sneaking a few more hours sleep was the last thing on Glorfindel's mind as he spotted the all too bright lone source of light coming from the next building.

One particular apartment and its balcony were lit up. Somebody was also a morning person like him, rain or shine. And that somebody was a sight he had been waiting to catch again.

Glorfindel had almost forgotten how it felt for his heart to skip a beat, but that’s exactly what it did. It had been a long time since he last felt the stirring of something beyond the base need to quench some fleeting lust.

The sliding door to his balcony hissed open softly, rolling thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Good morning," he called out without hesitation, his voice drowned out slightly by the white noise of the rain.

Blue eyes blinked quizzically and looked up from the line of tiny, cup-sized pots with various stages of seedling growth spread out on the compact work table along with a pen and notepad. Glorfindel wasn't sure how the man would react, or whether he remembered him from Erestor’s blunt comments more than a month ago or not, and was delightedly surprised to receive a smile in response to his greeting.

"Good morning," his neighbor called back.

They did not talk after that, each returning to their own preoccupations. Glorfindel felt reluctant to initiate any conversation and just wanted to savor the cool, lulling sound of the sizzling rain with his cup of coffee. His neighbor went about his business tending his garden as usual, strangely not appearing uneasy at the absence of small talk or any attempt to dispel the blanketing silence.

Glorfindel felt no discomfiture at all and he was glad his neighbor seemed to not mind his quiet presence nearby, both of them sharing the same ephemeral bubble of this peaceful moment. After a while, he deliberately turned his back and lounged casually against the railing, a move he made out of thoughtful consideration, though not entirely virtuous.

Just as he would expect, the tinted, reflective coating－coupled with the right amount of lighting from inside his neighbor's apartment and the lack of it from his own place－enabled the spread of glass panels－the very thing he had loathed at first－to reflect the scene from his neighbor's balcony.

Amazing how a problematic nuisance could quickly turn into a blessing when one happened to be in the presence of the right neighbor.

It couldn't strictly be considered spying if he had not planned the whole thing, right? He merely laid his eyes on his own innocuous, marvellous godsend of a glass wall and whatever was reflected in it.

Also, there was a less obvious yet calculated approach behind his current action.

It was called desensitizing.

Sure enough, after a few moments he saw his neighbor in the reflection taking a tentative peek at him once, or maybe several times, which were all good and what Glorfindel hoped for, before the man let out a breath and took the opportunity to stretch his body like a cat just waking from a nap, then carried on with a more relaxed posture.

Glorfindel smiled to himself.

Leisurely enjoying his coffee (and ahem, the vista), he lost track of how long they remained on their respective balconies. The rain was letting up, making way for the still sleepy and sluggish sun to properly rise and shine so the day could finally begin.

He had been watching his neighbor going from corner to corner, trimming excessive leaves and overcrowded stems from a number of evergreen shrubs and climbing vines. There seemed to be a method to his pruning; he did not just cut away mindlessly but removed just the right amount needed by each plant, or at least it looked that way to the common eye. His last stop was the plant Glorfindel remembered from their first meeting, now in even fuller bloom than when he had first seen it.

Legolas did not prune much, just a couple of unhealthy leaves. With tender fingers, he took one bloom into his hand and carefully ran his thumb over each unfurled petal with the contemplative finesse of a specialist doctor examining a patient. Then he nodded, seemingly happy with his own verdict.

At length, he took a step back and allowed himself a moment to simply bask in the healing comfort of his well-cared-for sanctum, like a proud parent admiring how well their children grow and flourish.

He looked like a mythical being born in the mountain forest, a prince of some woodland realm; someone not belonging to an ex-soldier's harsh and arid world.

Glorfindel had a sudden urge to turn around and see that face as it was, trace the lines of quiet contentment and beckoning kindness with his own eyes. To make sure he was not a dream. His gardening work appeared to be done, so as his neighbor stood there, their eyes eventually met.

And he did not look the slightest bit unnerved, Glorfindel noted. His plan seemed to be working.

"Setsugekka, isn't it?" He nodded towards the white blooms in question. "The name of that flower."

Caught by surprise, but definitely a pleasant one as far as Glorfindel could tell, the beautiful man beamed at him, eyes bright like the encroaching light of the sunrise to the eye of a weary traveller after a long night's journey without rest. "Yes, it is."

"I'm Glorfindel. It’s nice to meet you."

"Legolas," the long-haired blond responded in kind as he put down his secateurs and walked to the edge of his balcony to make talking across the expanse easier. "Legolas Greenleaf."

Glorfindel's heart was pulled to the snow, moon and flowers...

...and warm smiles that hugged his cold, winter core.

Chapter Text

Their third meeting took place a few days later at a grocery store. Glorfindel had been busy installing security cameras in his new home (as well as hidden compartments for clandestinely placed guns and throwing knives for extra security measures) among other mundane things, like arranging furniture and hanging paintings, to make the near empty place more habitable. The loft was spacious and laid out on an open floor plan, with the exception of master and guest bedrooms, bathrooms and storage closets. The ceiling was high and the overall space felt big enough to be lived in by several people.

In other words, a perfect place to start a family. Which included a dog. Or several dogs.

And a certain enchanting forest spirit also came to mind.

Right then, he had to chastise himself for letting his wayward daydream stray off path way too far, way too soon.

After several days of constant take-outs and deliveries, he was in the mood for a good old home-cooked meal. Plus, his fridge was in dire need of replenishment anyway. Grabbing his keys, he made a short trip to the nearest grocery store he could find which, fortunately, happened to be a huge supermarket top-rated for quality meat, seafood and fresh produce. It was like walking in a culinary vault of epic proportions. Glorfindel had little doubt that he could find even the rarest spice on earth in this place. They even had a remarkably vast, well stocked section of wine and spirits from all over the world.

Glorfindel was not much of a drinker and more of the beer type of guy, but he grabbed an expensive bottle of wine and  another of scotch just in case he needed to entertain guests, along with several packs of craft beer.

Next, he made his rounds starting with staples like pasta and canned tomatoes, olive oil for cooking and some seasonings. He was never a fan of any particular dressing or condiment, but while mulling how to cook his steak that evening his hand absently picked up and deposited a jar of mayonnaise into his cart. Even as he walked to the far end of the store to visit the meat and dairy section he was thinking of putting it back in the shelves on his way to checkout.

But then, as the butcher cut and prepared his order, he had a change of mind－swayed by the sudden thought of nice, cold potato salad. So after getting the milk and cream necessary for his daily coffee, he circled back to the entrance, where the freshest produce of the day was located, to add some potatoes to the onions and bell peppers he had picked up earlier.

He didn't like stocking up on too many kinds of herbs, so as he stood in one of the fruit and vegetable aisles contemplating what to buy that might universally work with almost anything he might fancy cooking when the mood struck, he overheard a loud exclamation from a little boy not far away.

"Mommy, that man is eating in the supermarket without paying!"

That immediately caught his attention and made him turn around, expecting to find some stupid shenanigans, like a disgrace of a human being helping themselves to some free grapes or cherries on the pretense of taste-testing, and certainly not his neighbor of all people.

When he saw it was him he did a double take.

He wasn't imagining things. That was indeed Legolas.

The boy chimed in loudly again despite being shushed by his mother. "Why is he eating raw leaves like a bunny? Wait, I know... He is a weirdo!"

The mother didn't bother correcting her kid and opted instead to teach the wrong kind of lesson. "Yes, yes, he is a weirdo. Now shut your mouth and move along or I'll leave you behind with him."

That scared the unruly son into behaving somewhat. Sowing seeds of fear and intolerance from a young age, as well as calling a stranger names behind their back, the blatant rudeness of the duo rubbed Glorfindel the wrong way so much he was glad the source of his growing rancor didn't linger long in his vicinity. He pushed his trolley to approach the lone man facing the leafy vegetable bins, wondering why Legolas was so transfixed and seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.

Glorfindel managed to get close enough to Legolas' side to hear the younger man's soft mumbling as he was immersed in examining one of the leafy greens neatly tied in bunches. He looked lost in his own world, shopping basket in one hand as the other smoothed a thumb over a veinous leaf, rubbing circles and pinching lightly along the stem all the way to its base. He repeated the process a couple of times on different specimens from different batches. Then at the end of his analytical exploration, he snapped off one of the smaller leaves with a length of reddish stem, put it in his mouth, and... started to chew.

"Watering volume appears to be good, additional rainfall not too overbearing. Rich soil condition with most likely zero application of N fertilizer. The soil pH can be improved slightly, though. Too far leaning in the acidic spectrum, but still acceptable. Time frame from harvest to retail... to this moment... estimated between 24 to 48 hours. These are good, healthy leaves..."

Glorfindel took a quick look at the price tag because he had no clue what sort of vegetable it was. Malabar spinach, it read. "You can tell all that just by touching and tasting the leaf? That's... kind of amazing."

Driven by spontaneous wonderment, Glorfindel realized too late that he had spoken out loud. To his relief, Legolas jerked but a little before he raised his eyes and answered him point-blank like an uni professor randomly intercepted by a student for a quick question. "Harvested fruits and vegetables, or any plants, are still alive until they reach the stage called senescence. As long as they are still alive, they speak to me. They tell me a lot of things."

"Let me retract my words... because even 'amazing' sounds lacking to what you can do." Glorfindel didn't think he was being unctuous at all. One had to be ignorantly dismissive and blind to not see the greatness of such a gift in agriculture and plant conservation.

Legolas gave him a long, searching look－as if gauging his sincerity. "Usually when I say that, people look at me like I'm an escapee from some psych ward."

Glorfindel was doing a poor job concealing his grimace of disgust. "I'm sorry you're subjected to such quick, petty judgement. Those people don't know any better."

"Some of them do know." Legolas looked back down to the red-stemmed greens, picked the smallest bunch he could find and put it in his basket. "They're just not as trusting of my words as you are."

'Well, they don't know your balcony garden like I do.' Glorfindel kept the comment to himself, thinking he should pace himself and let Legolas talk more. The more he talked about himself, or any subject of his personal interests, the more pieces of puzzle Glorfindel could collect to piece together and figure out the mystery picture that was Legolas Greenleaf.

Legolas had started to move away from the Malabar spinach display when something caught his eye. His hand hovered in the air, the rapt look prior to Glorfindel's interruption returned in full force, fixed on another vegetable display right in front of where Glorfindel stood. Ever the gentleman, the older man stepped to the side. Legolas approached a bit cautiously, encouraged by Glorfindel's smile, and laid his hand on the frilly lobed leaves.

Glorfindel understood the kind of trance that seized Legolas, he knew he would fall under the same spell when set loose in a master bladesmith's workshop or historical and modern arms expo.

"It doesn't bother me... considering I'm not really an escapee, more like a graduate," said Legolas without really paying attention, too absorbed in 'being spoken to' by the greens.

Maybe he did not quite expect for such a bewildering piece of puzzle to be dropped so suddenly, though...

And it did not sound like Legolas was trying to make a light-hearted joke. Glorfindel decided to store that piece of information to process later. Better keep the conversation on neutral ground and away from being too prying.

"What kind of vegetable is this? I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm green about greens," asked Glorfindel. What better way to keep Legolas pleasantly engaged and relaxed than talking about his beloved passion? Of course it didn’t hurt either to channel his inner dad-jokester when the right opportunity presented itself just to make the other man smile－and smile mirthfully Legolas did. Score!

"You're looking at garland chrysanthemum," explained Legolas. "This one came from the community garden up north at the Niphredil Community Center. They grow the most exquisite selection of ornamental and edible chrysanthemums."

He further elaborated, "This supermarket has a unique policy of purchasing from local smallholders and small-time growers with the shortest credit terms. Less than seven days, I believe. It really boosts agricultural and horticultural productivity and diversity in the area. They even accept homegrown produce as long as it passes their quality check. I like shopping in here. You never know what you may find grown in someone's backyard that ends up being sold here."

"Have you ever tried selling your own produce?" asked Glorfindel, intrigued.

Legolas shook his head. "I'm more into research. And help people solve their plant problems." He turned around and pointed to a direction. "There's a huge community bulletin board installed in the checkout area. People post all sorts of things, from missing pet flyers to requests for specialized help, even just plain questions that people are welcome to leave their answers for, which sometimes can escalate very quickly. All in all, it's a very helpful medium to raise the spirit of communal fellowship. I sometimes help answer plant-related questions there."

Now Glorfindel wanted to see that bulletin board. That was one heck of a brilliant idea pulled off by the supermarket's management, beneficial in both commercial and image-building aspects, but he also saw one unavoidable problem.

"Doesn’t it get crowded with endless ads, even illicit ones?"

"The management is very strict with that. No commercial ads are allowed, not even their own sales ads. They hired a special staff to organize, promote and moderate that board." Legolas had chosen a bundle of the chrysanthemum leaves and tucked it carefully in his basket. Glorfindel couldn't help taking note of the items he bought－leafy greens, cucumbers, tomatoes, scallions, carrots, a medium-sized kabocha squash, shiitake mushrooms, one block of tofu and one of tempeh, miso paste, vegetable stock... and one large bottle of mayonnaise. The quantity suggested that Legolas was only shopping for one person, which was good news for him.

"Are you a vegan?" Other than the mayonnaise, everything seemed to point to that deduction. Not a vegan then, a vegetarian, maybe. Glorfindel thought it better to ask directly than make one-sided assumptions. Legolas looked him in the eye for a brief moment, surprised maybe, by their turn of conversation. He looked down on impulse to scan the shopping haul inside Glorfindel’s cart and Glorfindel thought he saw him flinch slightly... at something－was it the meat wrapped in brown butcher paper?

Legolas answered, hesitantly, with a voice that sounded distant. "Not really. I just... can't eat meat."

'Can't'. That was an unusual choice of word that made Glorfindel pause. He would be lying if he said he wasn't the slightest bit curious and desirous to know more. Not by choice or predilection, was it for some prohibitive reason－like a religious practise or...?

"Is it a medical condition?" he asked. Meat allergy was practically unheard of, so rare most people would scoff and call it a fictional allergy, but Glorfindel's long years of friendship with one of the world's most famous doctors－as well as a renowned director of one of the country’s top hospitals－had taught him to always keep an open mind (and a pinch of salt at discretion). In Elrond's own words, the worst thing one could do to a sick person was not believing they were sick.

"... Something like that," hedged Legolas softly, inching away from where the wrapped meat was.

Glorfindel waited for more elaboration, but it was not forthcoming. "What about dairy and eggs?"

"I'm fine with them, but... not terribly fond of them, either. I'd take boiled eggs, though." Legolas' fingers hovered over the onions and paprikas in the trolley, as if he wanted to pick them up but eventually decided against it. Glorfindel was beginning to think that maybe food had not been a good icebreaker after all, when all of a sudden Legolas began to chatter enthusiastically.

"That mayonnaise is really good, right? It's not a well-known brand outside of our region, and is made by a currently fourth generation family-run business. They don't cater to nation-wide distribution. I'm so lucky this store never runs out of its stock. I can't eat my favorite food without it."

The fact that he had picked the same brand of mayonnaise as Legolas had escaped his notice until now. What a strange yet lucky coincidence. With the mood auspiciously lifted, Glorfindel felt his face bloom into a smile in response. "Oh? What is your favorite food?"

"Cucumber sandwiches."

Crap. He just snorted with laughter, and in turn Legolas made a face that exacerbated his escaped laugh. Now he was walking away with an (adorably) offended look and Glorfindel had to manhandle his rather heavy trolley to catch up with his brisk pace.

"Hey, hey! Wait up! I'm sorry for laughing! It's just... you make me want to make a proper sandwich for you, even if it's a meatless version."

"What's wrong with a cucumber sandwich?" challenged Legolas while giving him the side-eye.

"Well... that's more a picnic fare, not a meal."

"Of course not! I like having it with my morning tea. Or afternoon tea. I like having it with my tea, period."

"My apologies, then. It makes a perfectly acceptable choice for breakfast and a tea time snack." Glorfindel nodded solemnly.

Legolas slowed down his steps and muttered a bit petulantly, "... Nothing wrong with having it as an occasional meal either."

"Boy, you really like your cucumber sandwiches, don't you?" teased Glorfindel. He could see that Legolas was merely being a challenging good sport and not seriously taking offense. So no harm, no foul. "Aren't you worried about your cholesterol level?"

"I counterbalance my high mayonnaise intake with abstinence of meat and deep-fried food," huffed Legolas before giving the other man's trolley a critical look. "Your choices aren’t exactly a model of a healthy, balanced diet either. I recommend adding more natural fibers and antioxidants to your dietary plan. They do wonders for slowing the aging process spurred by the high consumption of meat and alcohol."

Ouch! Glorfindel put a hand over his heart with a mock wounded look. Apparently his acting was convincing enough to make Legolas have a second thought, which morphed quickly into full-blown guilt and shame.

"The arrow strikes the old stag,” Glorfindel said dramatically. “If you need me I’ll be perusing the fiber aisle.”

"It was you who started first!" cried Legolas indignantly, but his impetuous outburst did not last long and deflated quickly into contrite humility. He bit his lip and looked away. "I'm sorry. That was presumptuous of me... and callous."

"It's okay..." Glorfindel paused for effect. "I hope I'm not too old a fossil to be seen walking with you."

"I said I'm sorry already!" Red-faced from letting his emotions get the best of him, Legolas sped up his steps again as they approached the checkout area.

Glorfindel had to play a bit of Mario Kart with his trolley to avoid collision with stacked displays and other shoppers as he tried not to get separated from Legolas. He had to admit, there was something undeniably pure about Legolas that made teasing him so much fun! But seriously though, enough was enough－for now at least. The last thing he wanted was for his over-confidence in his charm to backfire when he was making progress with his neighbor. Yes, progress. Hopefully.

He managed to stay abreast long enough to extend his regret before Legolas slipped into an empty checkout counter. "I'm sorry for teasing you. Are we good?"

Legolas didn't answer him, merely nodded.

Chapter Text

The cashier on duty was a round-faced woman in her mid-forties with deep-set eyes and the unsympathetic look of a hard-boiled parole officer. Although her hard looks may have been the result of her heavy layers of make-up. She took one look at Legolas and started ringing up his purchases with a grunted, “Did you find everything you need?” Not exactly candidate material for employee of the month, but she served well enough in Glorfindel's book and that was all he needed, not her indifferent hospitality－so he took the next spot in the queue line, despite empty counters further away.

The woman finished the checkout and packing away Legolas' groceries with such efficiency that Glorfindel expected to catch up with him in no time. He hoped he could give Legolas a ride home, if he came without one. If he didn’t, then maybe he could invite him out for a coffee sometime. Or tea, yes. Legolas was a tea person.

Glorfindel was kind of busy reviewing the little notes he had gathered in his head of the things he learned about his neighbor today when he distractedly heard a perky greeting. "Well, hello to you, sir. Pretty sure I have never seen you shopping here before. I know because I'm good at remembering faces. I bet my salary you must be new to the neighborhood. No need to feel shy, just speak up if you need help with anything. I will fix you right up!"

No, Glorfindel wasn't feeling shy, he was downright flabbergasted! What happened to the woman's no-nonsense treatment of customers? Why the sudden friendliness and gushing chitchat? He didn't ask for this, dammit! Her hands paused often while scanning his considerable amount of grocery items so she could offer him coupons, discounts for bulk purchases; her bottomless well of insights meant to aid him in making the right decisions in shopping for his money's worth. Even unasked-for advice on how to best cook his steak! Bloody hell!

This wasn't good. Legolas was heading for the exit...  Glorfindel hadn't bothered asking him to wait for him and he came to regret it now... but no, to his relief, Legolas turned in another direction. Thank the Valar! Glorfindel's eyes strained to not lose sight of that platinum blond head.

In the area right before the main exit that opened directly to the parking lot, there were many stalls and kiosks that sold food and drink, mostly of the takeaway kind. This created quite a congestion of foot traffic, as people lined in queues or simply loitered around snacking and chatting with friends, with their shopping trolleys full of bagged groceries waiting on the side. Some of the food stalls were so popular they had long queue lines taking up the hall space. Needless to say, the situation made it difficult for Glorfindel to keep track of Legolas' movements among the sea of moving and stationary bodies.

Legolas kept walking to the far end of the hall and soon it became obvious where he was headed, because there it was, the bulletin board he mentioned before, in larger-than-life dimension, occupying a more than twenty five feet long and fifteen feet high wall. It was a stretch to even call it a bulletin board. A bulletin wall would be more accurate. Made from an interesting combination of black chalkboard on the top part and cork wall assembled from two-toned cork tiles like a chess board at the bottom, it looked more like one giant menu board in some fancy restaurant than a community board.

The chalkboard part was too high to reach without the use of a ladder and likely reserved for the board administrators. The space was utilized in an artful, scrapbook style filled with simplified maps of the store floor, inspirational quotes, and what-to-do-ifs instructions with cute drawings of the store mascot providing the information. Everything was hand-drawn/written in colorful chalks with the clever artistry reminiscent of the creativity of prolific school children.

The lower cork wall part was well within reach of the public, or with assistance from the staff. There the content and display became quite chaotic, as expected, yet some semblance of order appeared to glue things together instead of letting them run riot. The moderators must have run quite a tight ship and not tolerate a visual mess that would discourage people from approaching the board.

Legolas browsed the rest of the board cursorily as he was heading to a certain point. He would pause when something caught his eye, though it appeared not important enough to stay his feet for more than a moment. He stopped at one of the board corners, looking for one of the more nondescript notes compared to other leaflets that vied to stand out with colorful prints and bold letters. After a telling pause, Glorfindel watched him put down his stuffs on the floor near his feet to take out what appeared to be a pen and some paper from his jacket pocket and wrote down something. Then he walked off to the side momentarily and came back with some tacks to nail his note to the corkboard.

Glorfindel had tuned out the incessant chatter and barely paid attention to the cashier, which unfortunately was misconstrued as not minding the attention, which in turn made the delusional woman grow bolder with her clichéd advances. Glorfindel was growing impatient with the godawful long wait and chose a bad moment to recall his wandering mind back to the present situation, right on cue it seemed, as the woman tried to pull off an ill-suited, cringe-inducing, girlish giggle.

"Say, I can't help but notice how... broad and muscular your chest looks. The kind that's made for romance novels, if you catch my meaning. I sure hope you're close by whenever I feel dangerously anemic."

For the love of Almighty Eru!

"Lady, you need to call it quits and get your job done, because I need to be elsewhere. Right. Now!"

He was actually more pissed with being held up than the blatant masking of sexual harassment as jokes. He didn't want to look too closely and allow himself to notice how the woman even had the fucking audacity to shiver and bite her lower lip while looking at him like a scared doe as he forcefully told her off, no doubt lost in her own sick fantasies－Nope, don't go there! Get the fucking hell out!

Glorfindel needed a good scrub and a long shower after this.

And then his bad luck decided to rain on his parade even more, because lo, by the time he managed to wrench free from the hairy trap and regain his freedom, Legolas was gone－nowhere to be found no matter how hard he looked and searched, desperately hoping he wasn't too late.

He was too late.

The disappointment hit him hard, but maybe there was still a small consolation to be found. He had a curiosity that needed sating, so he made his way to the last spot where he saw Legolas standing, wondering what he would find there. It barely took him any scouring at all to hit the mark. There was a thread of handwritten notes, trailing closely one after another in a clear sign of exchanged communication. Glorfindel read the messages from top to bottom...

⭐⭐🌟⭐⭐

Where can I find the place that sells Medinilla plant?

I need it for my school project.

P.S. I hope it's not too expensive...

Signed, Loretta

⭐⭐🌟⭐⭐

Dear Loretta,

I have the plant you're looking for.

You can go ask the nice lady at the Lost & Found counter. She will give it to you. Good luck with your school project.

P.S. I also attached a note on how to care for the plant.

Signed, L

⭐⭐🌟⭐⭐

Dear Mister/Miss L,

Thank you so much! You're so awesome!

I will take good care of it and post a picture here at the end of my assignment.

Signed, Loretta

⭐⭐🌟⭐⭐

Dear Loretta,

You're welcome. ☺

You can do it. I look forward to your picture.

Signed, L

⭐⭐🌟⭐⭐

Glorfindel's heart just melted at the wholesome exchange, his finger poking at the little smiley face Legolas drew on his note. Valar, please help him win the man's heart. He was not afraid of challenges, but it was beginning to feel a lot more than just a challenge. What he felt gradually growing in his chest was more like a new sense of purpose, a life's dream－funny that, because he was never a dreamer. He knew better than to pursue any kind of perceived ideals, because the real world was made to be a letdown, and whatever bubble of dreams one had made oneself believe in would eventually burst sooner or later. Even the so-called ultimate goal of living the dream wasn't the perfect happy ending it was cracked up to be. Shit happened－it always did and would continue to do so. It could easily unmake everything one had spent their life building, pursuing. So no, Glorfindel didn't believe in dreams. Life wasn't about achieving dreams, life was all about surviving.

But... for the first time in his life, he understood the feeling of foolish dreamers, those who dreamt of things so out of reach, so futile, they got laughed at for the sheer absurdity of it all, yet still... they couldn't help but dream.

Well, Glorfindel's dream had a name now.

After having finished loading his groceries into his car, Glorfindel closed the back door and idly swept his eyes across the vast parking lot. Most of the parked vehicles were populating the spaces near the building exit and spreading out. His own SUV being parked further away on the outer perimeter left him with almost no other car behind him, so he had an unobstructed view of the rest of the lot that was closed in by a nine-foot tall chain link fence and what appeared to be a byroad bisecting stretches of homes and small shops. Just turning his eyes a fraction too soon and he would've missed a familiar figure appearing out of nowhere, walking along the fence with his brown grocery bag.

Funny how he always managed to find Legolas when he least expected it, and the cursed opposite seemed to apply when he was turning every stone looking for him.

Glorfindel must've broken some kind of rapid response record for getting out of the parking lot with minimum pause and zero wasted movement. Anyone watching the CCTV footage would no doubt classify his video under 'reckless driving' and 'pretty darn cool if you know what you're doing'. It took him a while to reach the back street as the exit from the store's parking lot spilled directly onto the main road, but thankfully this time the traffic flowed in his favor and all but green-lighted him to catch up with his target.

As soon as he came within hearing distance, he killed his speed and let his car slow down to a crawl. He sounded a short honk, which made Legolas look over his shoulder, but he did not stop walking. Rolling down his window, Glorfindel slowed down his car even more until it just rolled in idle speed alongside his neighbor.

"Hey, let me drive you home," offered Glorfindel.

"You don't have to," Legolas answered without taking his eyes off the ground he was walking on. He nimbly stepped over patches of wild weed in the concrete cracks dotted with tiny white flowers. "It's not that long a walk. The footpath will take me home faster than the main road."

Either Legolas was genuinely unaware of the opening move Glorfindel was trying to make, or he was  politely saying 'I don't trust you enough to get into your car'－a wise vigilance in any case. Glorfindel would worry more if Legolas trusted new people too easily.

"You must show me around the neighborhood sometime."

"There isn't much to show, really. You'll learn your way in no time. I don't go out much, anyway."

Another wall. Another wide canal to cross. Yet it barely dented his resolve, since never for one moment he thought it was going to be easy.

"I saw your posts on the bulletin board. That was very kind of you to help the girl with her school project."

Legolas shrugged his shoulder like it was no big deal. "You don't know the whole story, though. Several people tried to claim that plant by posing as the girl's parent or relative making a pickup on her behalf. Someone even went so far as to make their own child pose as Loretta. Luckily, the lady entrusted with the plant is people smart and managed to circumvent them all, making sure the right Loretta get her important gift. She's the true hero of the story."

Glorfindel was stumped for a speechless moment. "Why in actual hell would anyone try to steal a young girl's plant for school assignment? That is just plain evil."

"Out of greed, maybe. Or envy. Not evil, though. I know evil." A gust of cold wind made Legolas pull his jacket close. "The Medinilla plant I gave her was Medinilla magnifica, which can be quite pricey and hard to come by, especially in this area. With a little patience and care, the plant will bloom in a few months and the flowers can easily fetch a couple hundred bucks."

Legolas had said something that made Glorfindel's mind jerk to a halt－and it was most certainly not about exorbitantly expensive flowers.

'I know evil.'

It was said without any hint or air of dramatics, it was said simply like any other fact of life, like a truth he knew from personal experience. Glorfindel didn't like the unsettling feeling that churned in his gut as he thought about that. He knew evil. He had seen what it could do in the eyes of the victims of child prostitution rings, he had walked among the ravages it left in the wake of a terror bombing or mass murder. Long ago, he had sacrificed part of his soul so he could stare evil in the eye and deliver violent, deserved deaths to those who embodied it.

Legolas, however, should never be made to know evil, or face it. The very thought made every cell of his being clench in helpless rage.

The younger man kept walking with his head bowed, whilst Glorfindel insisted on driving－or creeping－slowly, side by side for a time without exchanging another word. Despite being tongue-tied, Glorfindel didn't want to give up and go home just yet. If Legolas hadn't trusted him enough to get into his car, then he would watch over him as far as he could. He knew it sounded crazy but something about Legolas made him want to always make sure he was safe.

Also, he wanted to try pushing his luck just a little bit further. "What do you mean with-"

BANG! This time, it was his car that jerked sharply to a halt as his lightning reflex kicked in, slamming the brake just in time when something, or someone as it turned out, just flew out of nowhere and threw his weight into blocking his car's path by planting his fists on the car hood with all his might.

"HEY!! What the fuck do you think you are doing?! Leave him alone! I'll have your fucking sorry ass jailed for harassment, you goddamned fucking stalker!" The angry man walked around his car quickly to reach the other side, worry etched in his eyes. "Legolas, are you okay? Is this son of a bitch pestering you?!"

Chapter Text

A brief jingle of keys and the front door opened to let in the homeowner and his two guests. One of them promptly gave a low whistle and a breathless 'wow' upon setting foot in the living space which was worthy of a palatial bungalow.

"This place is HUGE! Are you sure this is not a converted warehouse? You can rent out half of the space to a family with kids and live-in in-laws and still have plenty to go around."

Converted warehouse seemed about right, actually. Though there was no record of actual use as a storage facility in the building’s provenance, the building itself had a freight elevator which they had just used to come up to third floor, so the argument remained moot. Maybe the original warehouse construction had been repurposed for high-end residential property, or maybe the warehouse-style building had been the intended part of the design all along.

"Your guess is as good as mine." Glorfindel motioned for his guests to put down the groceries they'd helped carry in, onto whatever surface they wanted, and let him handle the rest. He carried and moved the heaviest load, namely the booze, to the kitchen first then dealt with refrigerating his meat purchase before distributing the rest of the groceries around the kitchen.

"Can I get you a drink? It's either coffee or beer. Unless you're in the mood for some wine or scotch?" He raised his voice slightly from the kitchen so it could carry over to the spacious living room area.

"I'd take you up on the beer if you got a chilled one," he heard a voice answer him. "Legolas doesn't drink alcohol. Don't you have any humble tea bags in your state-of-the-art kitchen?"

Glorfindel liked Legolas' friend, he had quite a bold personality and sass to match. "I'll see what I can find."

How did it evolve from the flare-up confrontation on the street to this about-face moment? Perhaps that bold personality had been the fuse that started it all, but who could have known it would also act as a catalyst to a more daring enterprise that brought an unexpected outcome.

Recovering from the jarring shock, Glorfindel had gotten out of his car quickly and raised both open hands close to his chest in a pacifying gesture, to show the newcomer who obviously knew Legolas that he posed no threat to them. Legolas froze in blank silence as the tirade went on, before he finally snapped out of it and reached out a hand haltingly to calm the man.

"Rúmil, stop! He is my new neighbor."

That did the trick effectively. The man called Rúmil looked Legolas in the eye to make sure he had heard right, then at Glorfindel, giving him an appraising yet still suspicious and a tad reproachful look. It wasn't the best first impression, for sure. Nevertheless, Glorfindel hung on and bore the silent judgement like a trooper. After a short introduction from Legolas, the following conversation was stilted to say the least, and sounded more like an impromptu interrogation. They made it to the point where Legolas was beginning to feel put on the spot for letting Rúmil's inquisitiveness go unchecked. Glorfindel assured him that he wasn't put off in the slightest by the well-meaning inquiries.

Still, he recognized a roadblock when he saw one, and rather than unwisely persist in getting stuck, perhaps it was high time to beat a strategic retreat. That was when Rúmil suddenly proposed an idea that blew his mind.

"Well, aren't you going to invite us to visit your new home?"

Glorfindel wondered whose slack-jawed expression amused Rúmil more, his or Legolas', because he was clearly enjoying the curve ball he just threw at them.

"Rúmil, that's out of line!"

"No, I wouldn't mind!" Even Glorfindel was taken aback by his own surge of vehemence, let alone the other men. He took a calming breath before he tried again, more sedately this time. "I would be honored to have you both as my first house guests. How about I give you a ride?"

"Great!" Rúmil took the initiative to move things along. "We'll make a brief stop to drop off Legolas' stuff, then head to your place."

Just like that; and here they were now, at his home.

Everything happened so fast Glorfindel's head was still reeling from the unexpected turn of events, but far be it for him to complain－not when it brought the object of his daydream inside his home for the first time.

Glorfindel would have a tough time keeping said daydream from advancing to the next level.

"Legolas! Check out this balcony. So big you can play mini golf here! I mean you've got a generous-sized balcony all right, but next to this one, yours look like a tiny terrarium," laughed Rúmil as he pointed at the green-covered balcony that belonged to his friend.

Glorfindel emerged from his kitchen bringing a beer and a mug of tea for his guests. "I like his balcony more."

"Yeah, I bet you do." Rúmil gave a subtle wink as he took his drink from Glorfindel's hand with a quick thanks. Glorfindel tried hard not to blush as he moved away to pass the mug to Legolas. He nodded to Legolas' soft, almost whispered thanks.

"I think it's amazing. I've tried counting how many different plants I can spot from my balcony. I have yet to finish at forty," admitted Glorfindel.

"If you think that is amazing, you should see the inside of his apartment," said Rúmil after taking a satisfying swig of his cold drink.

Way to drop a casual comment that made Glorfindel's brain do a backflip from surprise . But of course! How flagrantly obtuse of him to not surmise it himself! Even for a plant enthusiast half as passionate as Legolas, there was no way he would be satisfied with just a balcony garden and not have more plants invade every living space in his home.

Knowing Legolas, the idea of having an indoor jungle was not far-fetched at all.

And now Glorfindel had this growing desire to be invited into that indoor jungle. Into the abode of his woodland sprite.

Judging from Legolas' cluelessness though－as Glorfindel watched him pay no attention to Rúmil and himself and just stand there fingering the lone succulent sitting on a cracked pot on a console table near his balcony－he still had a long way to go.

Strange, he didn't remember that succulent being there. It must have been left behind by the previous occupant, and somehow survived a long period of neglect. Maybe it had been occasionally watered by the superintendent who dropped by for routine checks and cleanings prior to his move-in.

Still, the little plant was, for lack of a better word, dying－or maybe it was already dead, Glorfindel wasn't sure. He could still see some green flesh－very little of it though, as the plant was almost brown in its decay, its thick rosette leaves shriveling into oblivion.

Did Legolas think poorly of him now because of the withering plant? The thought did cross Glorfindel's mind, and he would try to explain as soon as it was brought up.

Speaking of which...

Glorfindel inched towards Rúmil, who was admiring one of the artworks decorating the wall, and leaned in slightly, keeping his voice low enough for the other man's ears only. "Did I do or say something wrong? He has been sparse with words since he walked into my home."

"I've got a newsflash for you, Legolas' 'chattiness'..." Rúmil amusedly air-quoted. "...only expands in proportional ratio to the quantity of all things plant surrounding him. Well, have you seen your place? Discounting that little pot of pathetic, moribund succulent, it's a barren wasteland devoid of Legolas' favorite mini oxygen factories."

Shit! Glorfindel wanted to groan in despair. "You're right! What should I do? I don't know how to keep plants alive. I'm cursed with the blackest thumb. I must be like the ash fumes of Mount Doom to a plant."

Rúmil shook his head, shaking a bit from suppressed laughter. He was only joking, but ended up being taken seriously. This new neighbor guy was too adorable. Every bit of information about Legolas was eagerly absorbed and taken very seriously. He didn't know how to be－or chose not to be－subtle at all, did he?

"You'll figure something out." Rúmil patted Glorfindel's arm consolingly... and was low-key impressed when his touch encountered solid muscle. Tall and broad across the shoulders, Glorfindel cut an athletic and powerful figure－not too heavyweight with bulging muscles and stumpy thighs but also not so lightweight as to easily lose ground in a clash of brute force. Barring the height, Glorfindel's physical form bore a striking resemblance to Haldir's. He wondered if Glorfindel did mixed martial arts like Haldir too.

Come to think of it, almost everything about Glorfindel had the same vibe as Haldir... even the way he carried himself, the way his eyes had a peculiar look... which was hard to explain in words, but something Rúmil had seen often enough in a number of people he knew, including his oldest brother, to recognize instantly. It was the same look shared by people who, in his vernacular, 'had seen shit and killed shit'.

Damn... If Glorfindel indeed had a military background, and had not fully reverted to being a normal, harmless, law-abiding civilian, then this would not go well with Haldir. Or Thranduil. Especially Thranduil.

"What did you say your job is again?" asked Rúmil innocently.

"I'm a contract-based temp worker. A jack of all trades, if you will," supplied Glorfindel. It was not a barefaced deception, it was simply a matter of not giving all the details－details that were on a need-to-know basis, and Rúmil certainly didn't make the cut yet.

"A temp worker," Rúmil repeated slowly, sarcastically. "Who can afford this big-ass apartment."

"Well, I've been known to fill quite a number of CEOs' shoes while they were vacationing or otherwise indisposed," grinned Glorfindel without missing a beat. Not to brag, but he'd been told quite a few times before that his smiles helped derail people from their thoughts, or at least pave the way for welcome acceptance, which was exactly what he was trying to do now. Of course Rúmil didn't need to know that those CEOs happened to be on someone's hitlist and therefore in imminent danger, nor the fact that Glorfindel had been disguised and replacing them as a body double until the threat was neutralized.

"Wow, you must introduce me to your placement agency." Rúmil still looked guarded.

"Not exactly an agency, per se, more like a network of acquaintances. If you're interested, I'd be happy to put out a feeler for you. But I'm afraid you must be prepared to travel abroad at any given time."

"Hm." Convinced or not, it would seem that Rúmil was finally willing to give the topic a rest.

Glorfindel used the chance to steer the conversation away from himself and more towards the object of his curiosity. "May I know what the two of you do for a living?"

"Rúmil is a brilliant costume designer for films and theatre productions," chirped Legolas, filled with pride, also finally making a sound. "His first TV mini series gig landed him a nomination for the Costume Designers Guild Awards."

Glorfindel was glad to hear him talk again. "That's truly marvelous. What about you?"

"I told you already. I do research and help people with their plant problems."

"Plant problems?" Rúmil butted in without delicacy. "I'll have you know that Legolas is a genius. A living, breathing, walking genius. He's on the government's shortlist of select individuals deemed intellectual treasures to be preserved at all cost in the event of an apocalyptic end of the world. Like in that movie where they built the Arks."

Glorfindel did not see that one coming, obviously. That their discourse would shed new light on his unassuming neighbor was something he actually hoped for. He just didn't know what a blinding light that was.

"Rúmil likes to make hyperbolic jokes," Legolas interjected in accusing tone. His outright denial would've worked if not betrayed by his own prevalent blush and difficulty maintaining eye contact.

"Are you some kind of prominent figure in the scientific world?" Glorfindel asked with more than a hint of awe in his voice.

"Of course not! Please don't believe every word he said. I'm nobody important," said Legolas most empathically.

Rúmil snorted in amusement. "How much do you want to bet that, if not for your father, the government would've long since stashed you away to conduct endless research in the name of 'bettering the world'?"

"His father?"

With just those two simple words, it was like a gong of warning had just been struck and the two friends looked at each other like they had just been caught on a tripwire. Rúmil had the guilty look of someone whose wagging tongue had said too much. He then tried to laugh it off, albeit a bit too loudly. "Yeah. Since no father in their right mind would want their children reduced to becoming the government's slave mule, right?"

Glorfindel cocked an eyebrow.

"Can I take it home with me?" asked Legolas suddenly without preamble. Held in his hands was the forsaken little succulent.

Glorfindel did not answer right away, partly because he could see an attempt to divert his attention, and partly because he needed a moment to remind himself that he was above petty jealousy over a succulent's good fortune.

"That's not mine. I found it already in that state. I'm sorry..."

Legolas blinked, not comprehending why Glorfindel apologized to him. "I know that. I've seen it left outside on the balcony before, long before you came. Do you still want it?"

It was Glorfindel's turn to blink now, in surprise. "I don't think that it's still alive... is it?"

Legolas shook his head. "This little one is a fighter. I can nurse it back to health and return it to you if you care to look after it."

"You can? I mean... that would be great. Yes, please." Glorfindel was a little dazed by the unexpected discovery, but he truly meant his words. Although it was just a tiny plant left behind and found by a fluke, Glorfindel wasn't someone who could turn away from a responsibility fallen into his lap, no matter how unforeseen it was. It would be so easy to just give it away, especially to someone like Legolas who no doubt would take good care of it, but... at the risk of sounding mushy, Glorfindel believed the little fellow had survived this long and found its way to him, despite the odds, for a reason.

Looking down and marveling at how such a small, negligible house plant could carry inextinguishable strength and the perseverance to cling to life, even though trapped in such a dire strait of existence, Glorfindel was strangely feeling emboldened all of a sudden. It was like the little plant was giving him a push, or a pull, to where he belonged. He reached out to clasp his hands over Legolas' own curled around the pot. The younger man jumped in surprise, which Glorfindel had anticipated and hence made sure his grip was steady to prevent Legolas from dropping the pot. Legolas' hands were cool to the touch, a bit too cold actually. Glorfindel felt a renewed determination to one day earn the privilege of being allowed to share warmth with those hands... and their owner when needed.

"Let me knock out something of a safety carrier for the pot. The look of those cracks is giving me trepidation."

"Oh." Legolas let out a breath, embarrassed for overreacting to a mere concern for preventing mishap, which he nearly caused if not for Glorfindel's alert prudence. He carefully extracted his hands and left the pot to Glorfindel's design, who then turned and headed for the kitchen.

Feeling curious as to what exactly Glorfindel planned to make, Legolas followed behind his neighbor. He watched Glorfindel open one of the base cabinets storing several flattened cardboard boxes and pulled one out. From the drawer right above it, he procured a box cutter and a staple gun. Together with the pot of succulent, he laid the tools on the broad expanse of his dining table.

First of all, Glorfindel ripped the cardboard into two halves－a feat that made Legolas fairly stunned, because he saw how thick that cardboard was. A double wall corrugated cardboard, and Glorfindel just tore it effortlessly like he would a piece of paper. One of the half pieces used as a cutting mat, he placed the other on top and drew light grooves over the surface with the cutter as a rough guideline before he started cutting into it.

Soon it became apparent that he was in the middle of fashioning a much smaller box, just about the right size to fit the pot snugly into it. The box would help hold the pot together as a container and minimize the threat of deepening fissures from breaking it apart.

"You have steady, dexterous hands," Legolas noted upon observation of how expeditiously Glorfindel worked. The man also had a good eye for dimensional accuracy without using any measuring tool. 

Glorfindel saw an opportunity to advertise his versatility and usefulness in case that might prove a potential way in. "If you ever need a handyman for repairs at your home, I'm at your service."

"Rather than help, I need to learn more trade skills to better self-sustain myself like you do. Things like plumbing and electrical wiring still make me feel horrendously inept," confessed Legolas.

"I believe that's why quid pro quo exists in the world. Besides, I can really use a trustworthy neighbor to help watch my place whenever I'm away on my job assignments."

Legolas raised his eyes from watching Glorfindel's hands at work to his face, to ascertain whether he was really asking or just making a small talk. Either way, he would still give the same answer. "You don't need quid pro quo for that. That's what neighbors are for. You can count on my assistance any time."

Glorfindel ceased all movements for a brief moment to regard his neighbor warmly. "How did I get so lucky?"

Legolas felt his face flood with warmth. Glorfindel was truly a man of many facets. He did not carry the usual trappings of a proud man of means, though his circumstances told otherwise. He had a punny sense of humor, yet he could easily transition into a smooth talker who rightly belonged among the elite socialites of the rich and glamorous, more than capable of sending many a sophisticated heart aflutter with a smoky-eyed smile and a slick turn of phrase.

Legolas was not sure what to make of the man yet. Was his solicitous (and somewhat flirtatious) friendliness nothing more than just his nature or was there something more? Legolas admittedly did not possess the savvy to divine what was going on, so he decided to just stick to minding his own business.

The heaviness of silence that fell between them was perforated by the sound of the staple gun as Glorfindel continued his work, nearing its completion.

"So when is the house-warming party? Are you planning to have one?" Rumil said, walking in to see what was going on.

House-warming party? Now that was a thought that had not crossed Glorfindel's mind before. Sure, he knew a few people he wouldn't mind inviting to his new home, but most of the people he knew he preferred to keep out of his personal life (and away from Legolas), Erestor being the notable example of those individuals.

But he had to admit he wasn't entirely averse to the idea. Not at all. Hosting a party meant hosting Legolas in his home again, a chance to wine and dine him despite the semi-public setting. The more he thought of it, the more hooked he was by the delightful idea.

Glorfindel erected his custom-sized box, tucked the pot carefully in it, and finished off with a couple more staples before he handed it back to Legolas with an earnest, searching gaze.

"Will you come to my party if I decide to throw one?  It'll be just a modest get-together with only a few close people." Glorfindel heard the unmistakable clearing of a throat behind him. "Both of you are invited, of course. And as many friends as you would like to bring."

"Do you prefer lady friends or guy friends?" ribbed Rúmil.

Glorfindel answered with a straight face, without breaking gaze with Legolas. "I prefer you." He relished the instant burst of choking noise from behind him before he continued in an innocent manner. "...bring friends that you hold dear. Fret not about the refreshments. I will make sure to serve a plethora of vegetarian options."

The invitation had Legolas up a tree. "There's no need to go that far. I don't want to put a crimp in your party."

"Nonsense. A crimp is exactly what every party needs. So you need not worry." Glorfindel gave a fluid response like he had prepared himself to persuasively overcome any resistance.

"But..."

"Please?" Yes, he was unabashed in resorting to any and all methods shy of performing a dogeza. "You are my first friend in the neighborhood. I would feel bereft without your company. At least allow me to thank you for saving the succulent by serving you good food for a night?"

Glorfindel could see his well-chosen words slowly but surely usher in results, judging by the conflicted look enmeshed with a good dose of guilt on Legolas' face, which made him crow inside. Just a little more nudge and he would bag this victory...

Legolas' phone suddenly came alive with the soaring melody of a climactic finale from a symphonic orchestra that would jolt anyone awake in the morning. Hugging the pot to his chest with one hand, he retrieved his phone with an urgency that spoke volumes of how important the call, or the caller, was. It was a no-brainer that whoever had been assigned such an imposing ringtone must be someone of commanding presence to him. Glorfindel discreetly caught a glimpse of the caller ID before Legolas turned off the screen, seemingly reluctant to take the call in less than private surroundings.

The call came from 'Adar'.

Glorfindel wondered if this was the same 'Adar' both Legolas and Rúmil took pains to not bring under scrutiny or discussion.

"I'm sorry... I need to go back now," said Legolas.

The party idea was a bust, then. No Legolas meant no party, simple as that. But of course that was not a fact to be aired out loud. Glorfindel wasn't really disappointed to have his plan thwarted－far from it, he believed there would be more lucky breaks in store for him. Just, unfortunately, not right now.

Legolas hesitated. "If... If you're sure I won't be too much of a trouble, for you and your friends... then I guess I have no reason not to come to your party."

Or maybe one of Glorfindel's lucky breaks had a change of heart and decided to make an U-turn, thus welcomed with open arms and a glorious fanfare inside his exultant mind. The house party, ladies and gentlemen, was back on track!

Glorfindel grinned from ear to ear. "Now I have a worthy reason to iron my shirt and break out my fine china."

Legolas smiled at the joke. Little did he know how much Glorfindel was willing to bend over backwards and spare no expense to make one pleasing (not quite) date out of this affair. He accompanied his guests to his doorway where they parted ways.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Legolas said before they left.

"The pleasure was all mine. Please swing by again anytime you want. My door is always open." Glorfindel meant every word he said. He would even give Legolas a copy of his apartment key if he didn't think it would raise more than just a questioning eyebrow.

Just as Legolas was about to depart, Rúmil, who hadn’t budged yet as he had a side agenda he needed to take care of first, said, "Do you mind going ahead for a bit? I won't be long."

Legolas nodded. "I will take the stairs and wait for you on the ground floor."

Rúmil waited until Legolas put enough distance between them before he turned back to Glorfindel, a hand went inside the inner breast pocket of his jacket to pull out something.

"Here. You can have my number."

Glorfindel looked down to the business card held between Rúmil's fingers like it was a foreign object of unknown value and did not move right away to take it. An afterthought later, likely after making himself see the wisdom of not appearing rude, he finally reached out to accept the slip of paper.

"Thank you."

"Oh please, I'm sure you're over the moon and just toning it down for my sake." Glorfindel appreciated Rúmil's deadpan humor and just laughed in guilty acknowledgement. Truly Rúmil was a great guy. He shouldn't be looking a gift horse in the mouth.

"I don't suppose you can give me Legolas' number... perchance?" asked Glorfindel, half joking half hopeful.

"Sorry. I'm not that kind of friend. If you want Legolas' number, you have to get it from him yourself." Understandably stymied, Glorfindel could only nod in agreement with the logic.

"My number is your insurance ticket." Rúmil began, his eyes suddenly turning dead serious. "There are a couple of things you need to hammer into your head. One, Legolas will not bring any friends to a new neighbor's party. Because I know him too well, and he is too ridiculously polite like that. Two, no way in hell I would let him put himself in a roomful of strangers without someone watching his back. So you better make sure I receive details of the gathering, or there would be one unforgettable hell to pay. In return, I will make sure he will show up at your party. I would not force him, mind you. But I will make sure to expel any cloud of doubt hanging over his head. How's that?"

Honestly, he could find no fault in Rúmil's terms. Glorfindel had nothing but the best of goodwill for the man who had just managed to raise himself a notch in his esteem. "I understand. You have my word you will be kept informed."

"Good." Rúmil gave Glorfindel a stern look softened around the edges by a sliver of gladness that they could see eye to eye, or at least where Legolas was concerned. He was about to turn away when he was caught by a sudden thought, a question that begged to be asked if only so he could lay it out in the open. "May I also have your word that I need not be concerned over wild oats being sown where they are not welcome?"

Glorfindel's posture straightened up instantly. They both knew that Rúmil wasn't asking for himself, neither was the significance of him choosing a plant-related expression lost on Glorfindel. So he gave the man an honest response with all the gravity he could muster.

"Absolutely. A drifting seed wishes only for a bed of embracing soil to put down roots and call it home."

The answer and the way it was conveyed seemed to satisfy the talented designer, who gave Glorfindel a light punch in the arm as a parting shot.

"Then I wish you the best of luck."

Chapter Text

The diner's shop bell jingled in contrasting gaiety to the sinister-looking guests who had just walked into the rustic but cozy place which smelled of baked pies and appetizing pot roast. Their look screamed danger and every patron enjoying their late lunch looked up from their plate or over their conversation partner's shoulder as if sensing the approaching peril. By all appearances, the men clearly did not visit the humble diner for a culinary outing, as their clothing carried the telltale bulges of concealed firearms.

The leader carried himself with swagger, like a king who held dominion over the land and lives of the lowly peasants. His chutzpah was no mere front, considering he was the oldest son and heir to the reigning head of the Dunland family, a powerful crime syndicate who had established their control over Rohan county since the Jazz Age. Though the diner's location technically did not constitute part of their turf, even people on the outskirts knew him by his sanguinary reputation and volatile disposition－a good reason to cut him a wide berth on sight.

He walked up to one of the tables already occupied by someone enjoying their late afternoon coffee and plopped himself down in the empty bench seat across from the man without a by-your-leave. The uninvited guest had the banal look of a rich, spoiled mobster heir whose wardrobe seemed to solely comprise nightclubbing outfits, as evinced by the one he wore even in broad daylight. His men were also sharply dressed in designer gear and leather jackets.

"What a dump this place is. I hope the coffee is less of a brown mud than this neighborhood. What's with these illegal immigrants running around as far as eyes can see?"

The contemptuous man briefly swept his eyes across the room. Indeed, as word of mouth went, and for some cloak-and-dagger reason, this part of the town had become a safe haven for undocumented citizens of questionable origin. The area was removed enough from the general hubbub of the city proper to stay relatively out of sight and out of mind from the policy makers and, to some extent, law enforcement. The settlement had grown and built itself to become a self-supporting community.

The dark-haired man, whose private respite for coffee had been rudely interrupted, showed no outward sign of agitation in the face of these dangerous gangsters, only mild annoyance.

"Mr. Niglosson Dunland. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this fine afternoon?"

"You can call me Nigel," the leader of the group said by way of an introduction. "A certain bird told me where to find you. I hear you facilitate all sorts of things for the right price. I'm here to make a job offer."

Erestor put down the coffee he was sipping, black and unforgiving like the dark abyss of his gaze. He already had a strong suspicion of what this walk-in meeting would entail. The number of enforcers crowding the diner made clear the vainglorious man had never taken 'no' for answer in his life and wasn't about to start now. Some of the diner’s guests had already made a beeline for the exit, those who weren't either too caught up in making themselves as unnoticeable as possible or too intimidated to cross the distance and brave the blocked path towards the door. The diner owner-slash-cook, his wife, and a young kitchen helper had situated themselves behind the counter, appearing to keep their hands busy and their eyes averted, yet ready to duck for cover at the first sign of violence. Saying everyone was tense and on their toes was like saying the ocean was slightly salty.

Erestor picked up his coffee again for another sip, looking unconcerned with the fact that he was surrounded by a group of trigger-happy mobsters. There was a certain calm elegance in the way he finished his coffee and set it aside before answering.

"I may have an inkling as to what you have in mind. But if you would indulge me all the same, I much prefer to hear it from the horse's mouth."

Sleek-haired, trimly bearded Nigel took the opening Erestor gave and glibly laid out his intentions.

"Everyone knows that the Dunland family have always been at odds with the Eorl family since time immemorial. Might even occasion a few open wars throughout our history. But at its core, we are still the mighty pillars of stability and economic prosperity in our interdigitated territories. For the longest time, there has been balance. Sometimes the scale tipped one way or the other, but never completely to one side－never under threat of being thrown off.

But times have changed. More and more new players from all over the country have joined in on the action, establishing their footholds in our domain and growing insidiously like ugly, bulbous cancers. The Blacks, Latinos, Armenians, Ukrainians, Russians... you name it. No shortage of those wannabe street gangs and crime lords. Even some Mexican and Colombian cartels are looking to start a new branch in Edoras, like some fucking fast food chain, if you can believe it."

"Much as I loathe to admit, they're growing stronger each day and not just in number but also financial and political power, no thanks to my father. Long has my father since grown soft in his geriatric years. All he thinks about now is doing business. He has let the weeds grow untrammeled. He would say: Threats should be dealt with as they come. Well, I say: Threats should be nipped in the bud. Our predecessors did not build our empire on a foundation of leniency and tolerance. It's about time someone in the family reintroduces the tried-and-true values of old and restores our long-held pride and apex hierarchy in this dog-eat-dog world." Nigel sounded smug, believing himself to be a compelling speaker who could persuade his listeners with his dubious charisma.

"From the sound of things, it would seem that you're looking to wage a war," remarked Erestor impassively.

"War? You must be joking. War implies adversary-worthy forces. Nah, more like weeding, or house cleaning," corrected Nigel.

"I see. I'm still waiting for the part where my services might fit into your campaign plan."

Nigel suddenly had the look of a sly cat sizing up a plump bird in a cage. "Before I launch into my personal crusade, I need you to arrange a sit-down for me and Théodred of Eorl family."

Erestor searched inside the vast vault of his memory for that name. "If I'm not mistaken, this would be the elusive son and heir of Théoden, the current family head, rumored to be in ailing condition since childhood. Very few souls outside his blood relatives have ever met him in person, courtesy of his father's painstaking protective care."

Rumored also was his cunning mind and progressive approach in captaining the family ship as the second in command behind the scenes. His cousin, Éomer, a laudably capable and charismatic leader of his men, was hailed as the brawn to Théodred's exceptional brain. In their unified hands, the future of the Eorl family was as good as secured.

"What business do you have with him?" asked Erestor.

"Does it matter?" Nigel sounded cross and terribly inconvenienced by the question. "Do you always probe all your clients with twenty questions first? I'm hiring you to bring him in for a chat, not to play mediator."

There was a slight tic in the smooth lines of Erestor's features, a ripple in the placid surface, that the boastful man had yet to wise up to the dire consequences of. As Erestor stayed silent and made no attempt to further their conversation unless an answer was provided, Nigel had no choice but to oblige.

"If you must know, I need to touch base and secure common understanding from both sides. What I'm about to do would benefit both our families in the long run. So I need them to wash their hands of any involvement with my quarries and stay clear of my path."

"For that kind of parley, why not go to the head of the family?"

Nigel grimaced in disdain. "You must be joking. Talking with Théoden would be like talking with my old man. One look of condescension alone would kill my mood to talk and awaken... other urges. They're relics of a past era who won't remain relevant for long. No, get me Théodred. If your reputation is every bit as true as what I heard and not just a tall tale to impress credulous clients, this should be a walk in the park for you. I see no reason why you should have any reservations."

Splaying one arm over the back rest, Nigel sneered and flicked his hand at Erestor in a gesture much like shooing a maid, wholly unaware of how darker and darker Erestor's mood had dipped and begun to shimmer dangerously, like scalding black tar, as he spouted one derogatory remark after another. "Just do your thing and go facilitate. Stop asking so many questions."

Dealing with this man really took a toll on Erestor's patience. Wordlessly, he sat back a little and just closed his eyes as he inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and then blew it out softly through his mouth, looking like he was sighing in capitulation. When he opened his eyes again, a strange light-heartedness took over his countenance.

"I'm afraid I must straighten out a grave misunderstanding between us. You're under the illusion that I would take orders from anyone who was willing to pay for my services. That's not how it works, not by a long stretch. I would chalk up your impudence to lack of exposure to my methods, and my spotless track record. But we needn't be too hung up on novice mistakes easily rectified. I would gladly help you learn by telling you this..."

Erestor leisurely took a few moments' pause as he was about to shrug off any pretense of civility for the rest of the conversation. He'd had enough of this obnoxious piece of excrement.

"I detest being doubted. I particularly despise being goaded to prove myself like some common errand boy. So the answer to your hiring interest is: No."

The ensuing silence was so ominous it plunged the whole room into the eerie calm before an angry storm. Nigel drummed his fingers, decked out with heavy rings, on the table. He had not issued any order, but a spike of tension pervaded the collective stance of his men, in tune with their boss' shifting mood. Shoulders tensed up; hands inched to rest on their respective guns, ready for quick draw.

"Perhaps this illusion you speak of is much larger on your part, to think that this offer is negotiable to begin with. It would be a shame if our promising acquaintance were to be cut short due to... crossed signals." Nigel delivered his veiled threat with a tight, fake smile. "As luck would have it, you caught me in one of my rare generous moments. So I’m willing to overlook your hasty answer and look forward to your swift cooperation."

Erestor swung along with Nigel's game, answering in the flippant tone this goon’s idiocy deserved. "Fine then. The cost of our doing business will be fifty million dollars."

Nigel's eyeballs almost leapt out of their sockets. "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND!!! You want fifty million just for arranging a meeting?!! With that kind of money, I can hire an army of mercenaries to do my bidding. And trust me, they'd be taking no prisoners! Are you trying to rip me off?!! Rob me blind?!!"

Following Nigel's outburst and hand sign, the men sprung to action and held Erestor at gunpoint, leaving no escape route. Some of the trapped diner guests couldn't hold back their wail of fear and tearful chant of prayers as the situation drastically took a turn for the worse.

Nigel smirked cockily. "I suppose your life should be worth fifty million dollars and then some, eh? Easy-peasy. You take this job and you do it well, or I'll hunt you down and take pleasure in skinning you alive and feeding your flesh to the hungry sewer alligators bit by bit, all the while making your loved ones watch, before it's their turn next."

When Nigel thought for sure he had the defiant man cowed into submission and ready to acquiesce, Erestor did the opposite and leaned forward across the table, getting up in Nigel's face as close as he could.

"Do you honestly believe I would fall for your misbegotten ruse? You seek to score the golden egg at the price of a barnyard goose. You plan to seize the chance to kill Théodred and cripple the Eorl family in the most convenient way possible, yet you're too much of a rotten tightwad to even properly pay for the means to your end."

Erestor didn't give Nigel a chance to get a word in－not that the suddenly speechless man had any counter to those damning claims, based on the boggled look plastered on his face.

"Oh, you think you can get away with a cheaper bargain if you simply tender for an innocuous meeting as opposed to the steep price you must pay for a killing contract? You think you can outfox someone like me? Seriously. How on earth did you manage to get by for so long with your diddly-squat intelligence and delusions of grandeur?"

Nigel's men briefly looked to each other, their eyes conveying the same thought: this man was a nutjob with a raging death wish! There was only one way this would end as their boss appeared to be seconds away from capping Erestor himself.

Undeterred by the murderous look he received, Erestor plowed ahead. "You may have gotten away with pushing your luck numerous times before, but I can assure you, your residing Lady Luck is about to... 'switch sides'!"

As Erestor dropped what appeared to be a code word,  the cowering diner-goers, who so far had been doing a bang-up job looking ready to soil their pants, suddenly flipped their tables and revealed a hidden assortment of semi-automatic handguns. The cook and his wife both had shotguns pumped and aimed in a blink. The hunter had become the hunted. The shocked looks on the goons' faces was priceless. There was no crossfire, only one way extermination.

Amidst the flying bullets and his men's bodies dropping like flies, Nigel had the split second presence of mind to reach inside his jacket and pull out his own gun. But Erestor was faster. Way freakishly faster even than Nigel's adrenaline-charged fight or flight response. The gun was liberated from the man's grip in a maneuver that dislocated his wrist into a misshapen mess. The severity of the torn ligaments made Nigel see white spots and howl in pain. That, however, did not give Erestor pause from his savage assault. Nigel's face was smashed brutally onto the sturdy table and now he sustained a bleeding, broken nose as well.

Gasping in the throes of pain and dizziness, the wounded man regained some semblance of equilibrium enough to feel the cold steel of his own Desert Eagle's muzzle pressing down on the side of his face when he tried to lift himself off the table top. He then chose not to move, unable to take stock of the aftermath when he could no longer hear any gunshots.

Judging from the glaring absence of familiar voices, he had a sinking feeling that he was the one on the losing team.

Erestor leaned in and poured his scathing rancor in Nigel's upturned ear. "You, worthless piece of trodden crud on the sidewalk, insult me. Your thick, hideous skin and utter lack of respect insult me. Your situational blindness and over-inflated ego insult me. As a matter of fact, each and every foul breath you draw insults me. Your very existence taking up space in this world... Insults. Me. You are nothing more than a skin bag of solidified sludge not even worthy to be made into pig feed."

To think that someone dared to not just talk down to him but also make a threat to his face? He hated when wannabe clients failed to do their homework before they walked up to him and wanted to talk business. Erestor was more dangerous than the Interpol's most wanted list combined－all his current and former clients could attest to that. The fact that he managed to stay off inclusion in the list attested to just how true that was. Everyone who came in contact with him and possessed half a brain knew to tread carefully with him.

"You know what I do to people who insult me? I let their body decompose where nobody can or will ever find them."

"You won't get away with killing me! My father will rain bloody vengeance on you and everyone you care for! You will regret doing this!"

In his desperation, Nigel foolishly believed there might be some hope yet left for him if he managed to sufficiently threaten Erestor with the promise of retribution. What he did not expect was to hear Erestor chuckle, like there was an inside joke he was not privy to. From the faint reflection on the diner's window sign he was facing, he could see Erestor looking down at him almost sympathetically.

"You're more alone than you will ever know. Let that be your final nail in the coffin."

Erestor heaved Nigel up by the scruff of his neck and threw him back into a sitting position, all the while never shifting far from his own seat. The sound of gunfire filled the room again. Erestor retook his seat.

When all was said and done, the slumped figure who once had always walked away from any situation untouchable, even from the police department's reach, was now riddled with bullet holes. Close to a dozen guns fired at once, some more than once－it was hard to tell which bullet held direct responsibility for Nigel's death. No doubt an interesting puzzle to be solved by the coroner's office－if his body was ever discovered, which it wouldn’t be. Erestor was nothing if not a meticulous perfectionist in his line of work. This time, he had not fired a single bullet. Niglosson 'Nigel' Dunland had been a despicable lowlife that hadn't deserved to be killed by his own hands.

Somewhere in the shambles of the fresh carnage, a phone rang.

It was a burner phone, brought out quickly by the kitchen helper for Erestor, as well as a fresh cup of coffee.

"Thank you, Miguel." Erestor took the phone and answered the call after taking a sip. "I take it you've had your confirmation?"

The voice on the other side answered, "Yes."

The homely-looking men and women who mere minutes ago were vomiting bullets like trained soldiers, were now busying themselves cleaning up the site; righting the tables, sweeping broken plates and glasses on the floor, digging stray bullets from the wall and furniture, collecting shell casings, and moving the dead bodies. Erestor gave a sign to one of them, who walked to a fake plant decoration mounted on the wall and took off a hidden wireless camera who had been live-streaming the whole incident to Erestor's client. The man proceeded to drop the tiny camera to the floor and crush it with a mighty stomp.

"Say what you will about him, but I can see where he got his cold-blooded streak from. A chip off the old block, indeed."

Erestor's observation was met with a brief silence, before the raspy voice of an aged man spoke again.

"My son was an indiscriminate psychopath with the proclivities of a heroin addict. He killed, raped and tortured as a hobby, oft-times for no legitimate reason other than his own amusement. He had little brains to conduct business and all the belligerence in the world to start a war with the whole country. I could not, in my good conscience, let him continue to attempt ascendency lest he turn an empire built on nigh a century of my forefathers' legacy into a pile of ignominious wreckage."

"That, and because he was your least favorite son of your least favorite wife and you feared for your hidden bastard sons and daughters' lives. Quite a few of them have already gone missing recently, am I right?" Erestor cut his client to the quick, dispensing with needless flummeries. Making nice was not part of his contract, after all.

"Your son's atrocities knew no bounds. It was only a matter of time before he set his sights on your throne and removing the one last obstacle to his ambition. Too bad for him but lucky for you he wasn't born with the brain capacity to succeed in his domination plan. In fact, he was such an easy mark I almost feel bad for exacting disproportionate payment from you."

If insults were daggers to one's self-esteem, then Erestor was the master of delivering merciless, fatal blows. A good thing the mobster heir was too dead to care, else he would've thrown himself off a bridge driven by Erestor's endless verbal bullying, even after he had literally hit rock bottom.

"Disproportionate or not, you shall collect your due. The euphemism is redundant."

The dryness of the old man's comeback made Erestor nearly laugh out loud. Money certainly made the world go round, as the saying went, but having clients predisposed to sharp wits and tongues always made for an entertaining bonus of its own－one he was even inclined to reciprocate by throwing extra 'care' in the aftercare package.

"Then allow me to purvey the results as promised. In a few weeks' time, your son will disappear without a trace after going country-hopping on a bacchanalian tour of both the extravagant and the seedy kind. I will scatter social media crumbs, paper and money trails... everything you need to build a convincing story of a world adventuring gone awry. His 'unfortunate' demise will not be linked back to what transpired today. His death will be served on a clean slate for the rest of your family to grieve over."

In lieu of a verbal reply, Erestor's phone received an incoming text message－proof of a wire transfer to his offshore account, an eight digit sum. Satisfied, he casually snapped the flip phone in half and left the broken pieces submerged in his leftover coffee.

"Señor Erestor." One of the men approached Erestor after discerning he was done wrapping up with the client. "The woman who escaped from Camino de Guerra cartel's stash house. She's waiting for you."

Erestor told them to bring her in as he relocated himself to a fresh, clean table. A woman in her early fifties was escorted into the room. She looked like she should be lying in a bed in hospital instead of dragging herself up and about. Cuts and bruises abounded on her person, though most appeared to be superficial. What struck Erestor the most was the depth of the harrowed look in her sunken eyes. The woman appeared to have just crawled out of a living hell.

She sat across from Erestor and looked at him with dawning horror. She was told there was a powerful man who could be her salvation, the answer to her desperate situation and forlorn hope. Yet nobody warned her of what exactly she was getting into. She was just a lone, lost woman sitting before a man who exuded life-threatening danger as thick as the most vicious cartel ringleader. Why would he even want to help her with anything?

The same man who brought her in launched into her tale of woe while she sat there at a loss, her poor English skills not doing her any good in keeping up with or contributing to the recounting.

Her family came from a small farming village in remote Mexico. Their land had been forcefully seized by a drug cartel in an attempt to increase their marijuana production. Her husband had given his all to bring their family out of their soon-to-be hellhole of slavery and tried to cross the border, only to fall victim to a scam run by a human-trafficking ring. She had to watch those monsters kill her husband, deemed more trouble than he was worth, for putting up one hell of a fight to defend their two daughters, a sixteen and a ten year old girl. They were soon taken away from her and shipped someplace else, leaving her broken-hearted to the point of contemplating suicide.

She was sold and somehow ended up as a drudge for another cartel, toiling under their demands, from scrubbing their toilets to making their lunches. She thought for sure her days were numbered, just waiting until the moment those people decided not to keep her anymore. She knew this because the cartel did not bother concealing anything from her－a sure sign they weren't planning to free her alive.

But then, the unthinkable happened.

Being moved from one stash house to another, she had somehow made it to the part of the States that her husband had intended to reach all along, where lived one of his distant kin who had promised them shelter in a small rural town. Hope burgeoned in her heart, although she had no way of knowing where she was and how to escape from a heavily guarded cartel stronghold.

The answer to her prayers came when a fire broke out due to faulty wiring in some overlooked corner of the building in the middle of the night. For one reason or another, the place was undermanned on that particular day, making the security lax. In the helter-skelter panic of trying to rescue their principal stuff and cut their losses before the fire department arrived on the scene－and subsequently the police as well, the cartel members lost track of her.

She made her escape with the mad dash of a prisoner escaping death row.

She ran and ran until she felt intense burning in her lungs, until she was a mess of screaming muscles and crippling pain, until she felt dead on her feet and close to losing consciousness. Yet she still kept running. She ran as far away from the lights of the downtown area as she could. She ran until the sides of the road turned wooded and the hour approached dawn.

Delirious from extreme fatigue, the last thing she remembered was blinding headlights heading towards her, and the fleeting thought that at least she would die a free woman.

But life was full of unexpected twists and turns, even more so than the telenovela shows she loved watching back at home, when her life was simple and her family was still alive and whole.

Life had miraculously brought her from that fateful night to this moment.

By all accounts, she should be immensely grateful to be alive and learn to let go so she could move on with life. But she couldn't. She wouldn't. She had no desire to live without knowing the fate of her daughters.

So when an offer too good to be true was made by the pickup truck driver who rescued her that night, she immediately took it hook, line and sinker.

Faced with the man who wore an unreadable look even after being told her ordeal, she was beginning to question Erestor's character, and whether or not she had dug her own grave by coming to him for help.

At long last, Erestor spoke directly to her, "So you want me to find your abducted daughters."

"No tengo dinero para pagarte," was the first thing that came out of her mouth, acutely afraid of any misunderstanding that may arise. She looked hopelessly around, imploring her fellow Spanish-speakers to clarify it to the man. Erestor smirked and bowled her over by imparting his wisdom in fluent Spanish.

"Ah, yes. But money isn't the only form of payment I take. There are other things in the world worth more than a finite sum of money; your hidden potential, for example. Oh, don't sell yourself short just because you know nothing other than menial tasks and raising your children. I happen to be an avid collector of things and people of use, great and small. Alone, you may be discarded and forgotten, resigned to accept your lot in life, like a pebble kicked to the curb. But if you choose to entrust your life to me, let me shape and polish you to become one of many Go stones at my disposal, just like these men and women... You will become a part of a force to be reckoned with, a force that can take down anything, win any war."

Erestor swept his eyes across the room still smelling of gunpowder and copious blood spillage, the lingering sensory assault enough to make even a seasoned cop queasy. The sight of riotous blood spatters on the wall provided an incongruous, macabre backdrop to the group of people observing the exchange wearing a sympathetic look. They all stood semi-circling the grieving woman, like a promise of family bound not by blood, but by the darkness they had lived through, the strength of dredging themselves up from the cesspit of their suffering.

These men and women, Erestor thought with a brief flare of satisfaction, he had them trained well. They had proven to be reliable assets in any given situation.

"They were all once 'you'," continued Erestor. "They were no strangers to all-consuming grief and loss. They've been in the darkest places of utter despair and powerlessness that can entrap a human being. They all made a choice and never looked back."

Erestor rose from his seat with aplomb. "Now it's your turn to make a decision. Do so with wide open eyes. For there will be no turning back. You will find that betrayal is not something I suffer. Take your time to think about it."

The woman lurched forward as if she wanted to stop Erestor from leaving but was too afraid to touch him.

"No! Please don't go. There is nothing to think about. I would sell my soul to the Devil himself if it would save my daughters' lives. Please save them! I will do anything you ask, become anything you want. Just please!"

Erestor coolly smiled and switched back to English. "Then it shall be done, Señora. Regardless of their fate, dead or alive, they shall be returned to you. You have my word."

As Erestor gave his promise, he took the woman's hand in his and closed it over something he put on her palm. Sparing a nod to the rest of the company, who nodded respectfully back at him, Erestor left with a swish of his long coat. The woman dared not open her hand until the door closed behind the unnerving man.

She then looked down to find in her hand a piece of white Go stone.

Despite coming from humble upbringing and with a lack of formal education, the woman was percipient enough to know that Erestor left the little object as a reminder of the debt she would spend the rest of her life paying.

And she was fine with it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A phone call came in as Erestor stood waiting for his ride to arrive, which did not take long at all. A black sedan with the darkest tint windows permissible by the state laws pulled up right next to him. He fished out his phone before he got into the back seat. The driver wasted no time in ferrying him to his next appointment.

"Everything in order, Lindir? ...Good. Get Glorfindel on the job. Nobody is as gung-ho as him when asked to rescue women and children. Prep logistic and tech support to go with him. Ready the briefing files and have them boarded on our jet before nightfall."

Coincidentally, as Erestor brought up Glorfindel's name, Lindir was reminded of some troubling news that warranted a direct report to his boss.

"...What? Someone ran a background check on Glorfindel?"

Over the course of running black ops in the past, Erestor had amassed tremendous resources that could tap into any of the government or privatized database network, not to mention an army of coding wizards who had, over the years, built him the most advanced algorithms in information mining and tracking/monitoring that would make even the NSA salivate. Suffice to say, if he wanted to gather information or keep tabs on someone, they wouldn't be able to so much as sneeze without him knowing.

Every single person in history who had or had had involvement with his operation－all of his clients, field operatives, spies, hackers, informants and so on－he kept under various degrees of intelligence surveillance. So when someone tried to access their in-depth personal information, it would raise a warning flag in their system. To be informed was to be prepared, which was crucial to stay one step ahead of one's opponents.

"Have you reverse-traced them? ... Hm, interesting."

To see Erestor smile was a rare sight, much less one with such unguarded spontaneity that made him look almost... disarming. But the discrepant moment was quickly chased away by a dark chuckle more befitting a genius villain of his stature.

"That is quite a big name I never expected to appear suddenly in our orbit. Oh my, what has our dear friend got himself into this time?"

Oh, he could feel a disruptive element in the offing. There was an unfolding drama here which had roused his attentive curiosity from its prolonged torpor－a welcome distraction from the humdrum of his merry, felonious life. Plans must be made, though. Eyes and ears must be strategically planted for him to stay on top of the development, as well as get the juicy details.

"I'm fairly sure this has nothing to do with our on-and-off affiliation and everything to do with Glorfindel on personal level, so I don't see the need to make any move yet. Let's keep this one close to the vest for now and see how it plays out," instructed Erestor before he ended the call.

He could almost feel a phantom tingling on his skin from the mounting anticipation of unpredictable things to come, the corner of his mouth twitching dangerously from the onslaught of a full-fledged grin; because Erestor didn't do grins, no matter how capriciously stimulated he felt.

He, however, allowed himself the small pleasure of tasting the unique name on his tongue－that belonging to a man of surpassing wealth and prominence on an international scale. A man who would either augur well or ill to their futures.

"Thranduil Leafordham."

Chapter Text

With a large duffel bag slung over a shoulder, the tall man, dressed for travel, came out of the entrance foyer of Legolas’ apartment building and closed the grille door behind him. A slight slump and heaviness marked his gait, hinting at his disappointment. He went down the building steps and stood on the sidewalk in a kind of limbo, checking his watch to see if he no longer had any choice but to leave. Minutes passed, then the answer became apparent.

Just as he was about to hail a cab, a familiar figure rounded the corner of the street and headed straight his direction. His delighted surprise was so scintillating he had to forcibly bring his excitement to heel before he walked to meet the young man halfway.

"Hey! Just the guy I've been looking for."

Legolas stopped dead in his tracks, muscles clenching in instinctual alarm, before his mind registered the voice he just heard. "...Glorfindel?"

"Oh, sorry!" Glorfindel hurriedly took off his cap and blue-tinted sunglasses, self-consciously raking his fingers through his short cropped hair. "Didn't mean to scare you."

Glorfindel said that, guiltily, because Legolas had looked a touch scared and ready to bolt. Though standing quite tall himself, Legolas had a slim build that clearly wasn't made for physical confrontation; a fact his neighbor seemed to know well and which Legolas did not bother hiding behind a false bravado. At the first sign of a bodily threat, Glorfindel was sure he would run like the wind. Those long, shapely legs would carry him so fast even Glorfindel doubted himself able to catch up with him. He knew that because, as it happened, he had seen Legolas on one of his morning runs in the park. And, man, could he run.

"No, it's not you, I'm the problematic one." Legolas flailed a bit to explain. "I easily get nervous when approached by strangers, especially big guys with threatening auras."

Damn, now Glorfindel felt doubly guilty and wanted to set the record straight. "That's not true. Being afraid does not make you problematic, just human. I'm the one who should work on appearing less threatening, like a big but friendly dog."

Legolas paused, suddenly growing misty-eyed, touched by Glorfindel's kind words. He had been called many things, behind his back or to his face, by people who judged a book by its cover－coward, paranoid, xenophobe, even a doormat, for his obvious failure to grow a spine－though he took no offense. Not everyone could relate to this visceral fear Legolas had towards strangers or people he barely knew. Legolas didn't think someone like Glorfindel understood it either, nor would he ever experience it. But the simple message of 'it's okay to be you' he picked up on from the man was everything he needed and was astutely given.

"You certainly have that aura, too. Of a big, cuddly dog. Especially when you look happy." Legolas smiled like he would to a furry good boy.

Glorfindel had to clutch his duffel bag really, really hard to hold himself still. Because right at this moment he could understand the overwhelming, irrepressible urge that would cause a dog to launch itself at its favorite human. Eru have mercy on him. Think sobering thoughts. Think legal consequences. Think jail time.

"Are you taking a trip?" asked Legolas, eyes resting briefly on Glorfindel's duffel bag.

Good. Distraction was good. Distraction was welcome.

"Yes. That is why I've been looking for you. A job has come calling so I'll be leaving for a couple of days, maybe longer. I was hoping I could trouble you to watch over my place while I'm gone."

"Of course! And please, no trouble at all," assured Legolas without hesitation. "I have never been asked to house-sit before, so this is kind of new for me. But don't worry, I won't let you down."

The warm, ticklish flurry of sensation in his chest must be what adoration felt like. "I just can't thank you enough. Anyway, I've made a copy of my apartment key for you. Because you weren't home when I knocked on your door, I put it in an envelope along with my note and slipped it into your mailbox. However you want to do the house-sitting, you're welcome to use the key. I don't mind. And oh, the passcode to my alarm system is 736610."

"Oh, okay."

"If anything extreme happens to my apartment, don't take matters into your hands, please? I want you to stay away and call the authorities, or me. Absolutely nothing in this world is as important as your safety."

Presented with the possibility of something going horribly wrong while on his watch, his optimism faltering, Legolas began to feel less confident and more on edge. "I understand. Let's hope it won't come to that."

Glorfindel realized his mistake and cursed his old habit of always preparing for all eventualities, always thinking of the worst case scenarios even in the safest environment. It kept him alert in a good way, and calm in times of crisis, but not something he would foist on other people, especially if it would only drive them sick with worry and needless anxiety. He rushed to put Legolas' mind at ease. "Don't worry! I'm just being your resident, party-pooping, histrionic doomster. Nothing is going to happen, of course. I'll make sure to come home quickly before you get too bored."

Legolas nodded hesitantly. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

'I will miss you.'

Glorfindel swallowed the words wanting to escape his traitorous tongue and pretended to think.

"Nothing off the top of my head. I have left my number in the envelope as well in case you need to reach me," Glorfindel said coolly, even as his mind was racing with excitement. This was such a great excuse to give Legolas his number in a natural way. Now it was just a matter of waiting for Legolas to contact him first. And huzzah! One small phone number received, one big leap of progress made.

Glorfindel smiled secretively and put his sunglasses back on.

😎😎😎😎😎😎

It was only after he had left on Erestor's private jet that he realized his shortsightedness. Oh no, how could he have forgotten one important detail? Even his close friend, Rúmil, had said it; Legolas was too ridiculously polite. It was a safe bet to say that his neighbor wouldn't use his number unless for emergency reasons, Glorfindel was almost certain of it. Damn it, that was a missed opportunity! Instead of just leaving his number and nothing else, he should've been more instructive with his note. 'Please call or message me, even if it's just to talk. I would love to talk with you.'

"I wish I could talk with you more," Glorfindel absently murmured and sighed. His heart ached a bit at the memory of Legolas' soft smile as he waved him goodbye and wished him a safe journey. His life just needed more Legolas right now, anything he could get.

"Talk more? What the hell are you on... Wait, I don't believe this!" The voice in his earpiece squawked indignantly. "Did you just zone out on me?! In the middle of a freaking car chase?! If you're so keen on courting death, at least pick a time when you're not transporting an important package in your back seat!"

Glorfindel tsked in blatant displeasure at his mission partner. "Mind your blood pressure, Saelbeth. Calm down. I got this. This is hardly my first rodeo."

Saelbeth freaked out too easily over nothing. Glorfindel had been involved in so many car chases－both being the chaser and the chasee－the routine had practically become a breeze rather than a risky business. Moreover, presently he was burning rubber on the countryside freeway with sparse traffic and the sun high in the sky. The situation was more than tractable, even in Glorfindel's slightly distracted state. In the history of car chases he’d had so far, this one classified as tame enough he could brush his teeth and do a crossword puzzle on the side.

"Your neighbor must be really good in bed to have instilled such preoccupation in you."

Glorfindel tamped down the urge to snarl at the new audio intrusion in his earpiece, refusing to rise to the bait. Erestor really knew how to put him in a mood with minimum effort. What was supposed to be a straightforward and well-deserved rescue mission had somehow turned into a two-in-one deal with him getting the short end of the stick.

Clinching the success of his original mission by way of freeing more than just two girls held against their will, as well as inflicting enough damage on the vile syndicate that getting back on their feet in the foreseeable future would be nigh impossible, he was ready to go home and get back to his personal relationship quest. Then the jet made an unscheduled side trip to Belize.

Top level urgency, Erestor had reasoned for his detour. They were on a very strict clock and Glorfindel was the closest, deployable operative. The mission? To extract a recently jilted guy from crashing his ex-girlfriend's wedding in a last-ditch attempt to free her from her family's oppression and the arranged marriage she never wanted.

So the crux of the problem may have sounded a bit Princess Bride-ish, except... Why would someone be willing to pay an obscene amount of money to Erestor just to intervene in a wedding drama? Therein lay the rub. The guy was the son of a controversial politician in Belize, who was running for the Prime Minister's seat. He was well known for his radical and uncompromising stance in battling drug and arms trafficking in his country. The woman, on the other hand, was the daughter of the biggest illegal arms dealer ever to operate out of the coastline of the Caribbean Sea, who ran his belligerent business from the Yucatán Peninsula, reaching as far as Trinidad.

The scandal alone would end even the greatest rising political star.

Or it would be, if the love-blind son was lucky enough not to get caught and recognized. Because then his family, and possibly the whole country, was in for a shittier kind of hell.

Of all the stupid things a reckless youth could do to sabotage their own life and others who loved them, this was one of the stupidest. Well, one really couldn't choose their parents, just like they couldn't choose their progeny.

Peachy as the story may be, Glorfindel felt duped and did not appreciate the feeling of having little to no say in choosing what job to run or decline. There was a good reason why he refused to have permanent ties to Erestor's organization and－Eru forbid－call him boss. He suspected Erestor already knew that and yet took perverse delight in playing Glorfindel whenever he got the chance.

Glorfindel stole a quick look over his shoulder at the stubbornly thrashing, tied and gagged package in his back seat. The one he had nabbed from the wedding party, who had somehow managed to sneak into the bride's room and lie in wait for her. He would've gotten away without a fuss if not for the bride herself who had chosen the wrong moment to step into the room. The woman had caught Glorfindel about to throw her unconscious ex-boyfriend from the second floor window to the manicured bush below and immediately flown into hysterics, alerting the whole mansion full of crazy, armed and dangerous thugs.

Well, perhaps it was a bit overreaching to expect the operation would run smoothly in a den of enemies with too many unpredictable variables, considering the plan itself was hatched under such ridiculous haste and shortage of information. Which was why Glorfindel, with his flexible undercover skill, had taken steps to create a couple of diversions that would buy him some time to escape.

Among them, his favorite was a cardboard box full of firecrackers－mixed with a couple of smoke bombs and mini rockets－set on a timer. The explosive surprise was smuggled in with the help of Saelbeth's drone, then stashed under one of the white-clothed tables for the garden party. The resulting loud cracks and suffocating thick smoke were enough to fool the wedding crowd into thinking that they were under attack, and send most of the security guards scurrying to evacuate the VIP guests from the scene and ensure the safety of key figures in the family.

Thus Glorfindel managed to spirit away his target before the enemies made heads or tails of what was actually going on. Even as he sped away in his car, about to forcefully rip apart the main gates, he could hear the fire alarm go off as one of his incendiary devices triggered it, followed by more fires lighting up across the swanky seaside estate.

With their manpower spread too thin, the enemies ended up having no more than three cars of men to spare in giving chase to whoever had ruined their sacred big day. The culprit would no doubt find mercy in swift death if the pissed gunrunners ever got their hands on him.

Glorfindel, obviously, had no plans to get caught as he very much looked forward to returning home to his waiting neighbor. Would Legolas worry if anything were to happen to him? Well, of course he would; if only because he was one of the nicest human beings Glorfindel had ever met. He could see it in Legolas' eyes, ever so clear and guilt-free. They were a reflection of a kind soul incapable of wishing harm unto another living being, let alone inflicting it.

And the thought made Glorfindel more focused and determined to get back home unscathed.

His ungrateful rescued captive, however, was anything but of the same mind, as evinced by his rambunctious stubbornness every step of the way. When he came around, the first thing he did was raise hell, despite Glorfindel's cool-headed attempt to explain the situation. Worried that the young man might resort to some epic idiocy like jumping out of the car, Glorfindel was forced to pull over and waste a precious minute securing him with zip ties and duct tape.

Too bad Glorfindel couldn't really knock him senseless too much. Not when his family had paid an arm and a leg for his safe (and relatively unharmed) return.

Sigh... Why had he agreed to this again?

Well, maybe because he actually felt bad for the guy, for falling in love with the wrong person. No, that was not how love worked. Glorfindel didn't believe there could be a wrong person to fall in love with－unless they belonged in the abuser or psychopath category; just maybe, not meant to be.

Had Glorfindel not been in love himself, he would have advised the man to get over his unfortunate circumstances and find other fish in the sea. But that would be a load of hypocritical crap coming from him, because... were they to switch positions, he would not have given up until the bitter end too.

Sigh... He missed Legolas. He wanted to strangle Erestor.

"Keep the slurs to yourself. You're not getting anything from me."

"Sooner or later you have to share with the rest of the classroom rather than keep us waiting for too long. Better to feed the sharks a little chum rather than have them fixated on the scent of blood in the water, don't you agree?" proposed Erestor.

"What sharks? There is only one bullheaded swimming carnivore here I need to watch out for."

A chipper voice chimed in at the wrong time. "Actually, I maybe also kind of want to..."

"No, Saelbeth, you don't," interjected Glorfindel in icy tone. "Because I know where you keep your prized figure and miniature collections. And you don't want them to go up in smoke."

Everyone currently managing the active missions in Erestor's command center, fitted with the most cutting edge technology money could buy－referred to by the clichéd epithet “war room”, bit back their smiles when Saelbeth immediately clammed up after making a tiny whimper of horrified distress.

"To overtly indulge in worldly desires is to trumpet one's exploitable weaknesses." Erestor inserted his opinion, sounding like a pearl of wisdom from a zen master, or maybe a particularly sage fortune cookie.

"Do you have anything of import to contribute? If not, butt out of our comm line already!"

The line went silent for such a long spell Glorfindel thought he could finally finish the mission in peace.

He got his hopes up too soon.

"Ah, as a matter of fact, I do. Our exit plan appears to have been compromised." Erestor relayed as he watched one of Belize’s local TV news on the war room's video wall broadcasting an emergency landing incident on the runway supposedly booked for their use. Though the incident involved only a small aircraft and no fatalities were reported, it had, unfortunately, caused a thick plume of dark smoke in the sky, which promptly summoned news reporters from all over the area. A clandestine take-off from that same location would be unfeasible now.

"We need to reroute you to an alternate airfield. Lindir is sending you the coordinates now."

Glorfindel glanced at his car's GPS screen as it received the location update, and promptly cursed. "Oh for fuck's sake, that's the turn I should've made three minutes ago! You did that on purpose, you son of a bitch!"

"Whatever do you mean by that? Such a preposterous accusation. You need to apologize to my mother." Erestor smirked, with Lindir at his side shaking his head and sending a silent apology to the harried man.

The car tires made an unholy screech as Glorfindel applied brute force on the brake, and after the car decelerated enough, turned the steering wheel to make the car spin 180-degrees, before jamming on the gas pedal again, this time going straight at his pursuers. All too predictably, hot lead started to fly en masse in his direction, coming from several shooters. Glorfindel lowered his window, pulled his own gun and gave back as good as he got, though in a more efficient way. He hated wasting bullets on general principle. Plus, he had a strategy in mind.

The leading two cars previously on his tail, now on his path of imminent collision, started to take up both lanes in a cooperative gambit to make sure Glorfindel had very little space to maneuver his escape between the cars without the risk of getting glanced off or outright rammed into. The third and last car was lagging much further behind.

"Saelbeth, take over for me."

"Roger," came the techie's response.

A deep, mechanical sound whirred and beeped as a warning sign on the car's computer was overridden by a remote host. Glorfindel disengaged himself from the steering wheel and throttle once they were locked－a handy gimmick he had learned to appreciate in demanding situations like this. He nimbly switched car seats to the other side and opened the window.

"Now swerve back and forth," Glorfindel said before he slid out of the window and perched himself facing forward using the grab handle as purchase. Surprised by Glorfindel's sudden erratic appearance and how his vehicle moved in an unmanned state like a ghost car, the shooters' gun-firing tempo faltered in their confusion.

The window of opportunity was slim, but enough for Glorfindel to put his plan into action. The moment his car veered from right to left, bringing it in line with the first car of the convoy, he aimed his gun and took a clean shot at the front tire right beneath the driver. The resulting blowout sent the car careening to the wider part of the road where it was almost hit by the second car until Saelbeth swerved the car back to the right lane, this time almost in line with the second car.

Glorfindel gave a double tap, not to kill but to put holes and massive spider cracks in the windshield, obscuring the driver's vision and shocking them into a delayed reaction, and...

WHAM!

His plan worked. Car two nose-kissed car one at full tilt, the violent impact sending both cars in different directions, and managed to open up an accessible path for Glorfindel's car to pass through. To seal the deal, Glorfindel awarded a couple more bullets in car two's tires, so they wouldn't be doing any more chasing.

He smoothly slid back inside the car and resumed his driving position. The self-driving car was switched back to manual mode.

"Great work, Saelbeth."

"You too, Mr. Neeson－" There was a loud coughing noise in Glorfindel's ear, followed by a stuttered "...I-I mean! Nice work, Glorfindel!"

Glorfindel bristled in umbrage. He knew the running joke about himself among Erestor's minions, but so far no one was both stupid and ballsy enough to drop said nickname in his face. Saelbeth may be a brilliant techie, but that mouth of his was a goddamned leaky faucet. Things got spilled constantly without him meaning to. Erestor must have had this guy on a very short leash to allow the compulsive blabbermouth to work for him.

"Saelbeth... When this mission is over, you and I are going to have a little chat about boundaries and unsolicited nicknames," Glorfindel uttered darkly, to which Saelbeth garbled an indistinct plea to be spared. Their exchange provided an amusing entertainment to Saelbeth's fellow techies and analysts stationed in the war room, who felt sorry for him, yet also not quite.

Glorfindel turned his mind back to the current situation. There was only one approaching enemy car left to deal with. The guy in his back seat had stopped thrashing and looked a bit green. The wild ride must have started giving him motion sickness that would only grow worse if he didn't calm himself down. Or maybe the gravity of the situation he was mired in had only started to sink in. Either way, as long as it made the stubborn young man more docile, Glorfindel counted it a win. Better to have the kid settled for this next part.

Glorfindel secured his seatbelt and began to speed up, the sharp acceleration pushing them back into their seats with dramatic force.

"Brace yourself for impact."

The guy shot up as much as his bonds allowed and gave a muffled shriek sounding like "WUT?!!"

"Curl into a ball or something. There's a chance you may be hospitalized, but don't worry, you'll live."

His face growing pasty from Glorfindel's casual warning, the helpless man did as told with more than a hint of stifled sobbing, likely from having the worst day of his life heading even further downhill. Glorfindel felt like rolling his eyes. Perhaps this whole debacle would prove to be a character-building experience to this foolhardy, irresponsible babe in the woods.

The two cars sped at each other like two bullet trains intent on a showdown. Neither would budge from their path first. Shots were fired from the enemy car, some of the bullets ricocheting off his car’s bumper and coachwork in an almost tuneful beat. One lucky potshot managed to take out a rearview mirror, but Glorfindel remained unperturbed and did not bother returning fire, his sole focus on lining both his and the oncoming car nose to nose.

The rapid-fire assault got more heated before it began to flag, likely in response to the looming head-on collision that grew more and more inescapable with every passing second. No doubt by now, weaker hearts had been gripped by cold fear and mind-numbing panic. Not everyone woke up from their bed that very morning mentally prepared to stare death in the eye without losing their shit. Glorfindel was counting on it.

'Here it goes, the moment of truth...'

At the last moment, the enemy driver cracked under the pressure and gave in to the overwhelming urge of self-preservation. The man slammed on the brakes hard and veered the car out of the way. The move had been anticipated and in a smooth reflex, Glorfindel did the same in the opposite direction, causing both cars to narrowly miss a catastrophic crash by a hair's breadth.

A rattled breath wheezed in Glorfindel's ear, coming from Saelbeth.

"I'm just glad I'm looking at this from my computer screen in a hotel suite and not from inside the car with you!"

Glorfindel's eyes flicked briefly to the dashboard camera, the source from which the techie received a full theatrical view of his heart-pumping stunt just now. Sometimes he wondered if Saelbeth had no concept of self-censorship just to deliberately make himself an easy target out of some unacknowledged, repressed masochism.

"I'll be sure to add that to your future regrets should I ever catch you nosing around in my private affairs again." Glorfindel leaned down to pull his tactical gear bag from the car floor onto the empty seat. The pursuers would be back on his tail in no time. "Strapping you in the front seat for a thrill ride together. Against trailer truck traffic."

"Do not whip him into submission too much, Glorfindel." Erestor's grating voice was back on their comm line, the man pleased, as per usual. "Only I am allowed to do that."

"Sadists," muttered Saelbeth rather sulkily. "I get it now why you two are friends."

"We're NOT friends!"－"We're not friends." One irked and one dispassionate voice retorted at the same time.

"This!" Saelbeth snickered heedlessly. "I bet you two would slay the crowd on open mic night."

"Saelbeth..." It was exceedingly rare to hear Erestor's right-hand man, the ever low-key and dependable Lindir, to speak up unless the situation called for his discreet interference. He hoped his warning tone penetrated the techie's thick skull, for his own good.

Erestor spoke in turn. "No, Lindir. Let him. It's been a while since I last had a disrespectful lackey I could get a good workout on later."

"Oh come on, Boss. Even some part of you must have appreciated the humor." Even as Saelbeth tried to downplay the situation and get everyone to change the topic, he couldn't entirely mask the slight quiver of apprehension in his voice.

"You better tread carefully there, Saelbeth. I have four words of wisdom to warn you about your boss." Glorfindel let the suspense hang for an ominous moment. "Buttplug. Meets. Cattle prod."

The comm line went quiet for three whole seconds before it erupted with Saelbeth's frantic voice.

"Boss! I'm really sorry! You know I think the world of you, right? Your words are absolute, your judgement above reproach. I may be slow on the uptake at times, but I would never, ever dream of undermining your authority. You know that, right? Boss???"

Glorfindel chuckled fiendishly. Amusing as it may be, he hadn't invented any falsehood about Erestor's vicious qualities whatsoever. Very few souls knew that Erestor had been recruited by a government agency that technically didn't exist, to be trained in the dark art of interrogation that involved creative and extreme means of torture, the kind which any morally bound government would outright deny having any involvement with. He had made a thriving career of it in the past, working incognito for both sides of the law. The man was rather fond of being a feared monster himself, but he hated the whole “powers that be” who were responsible for creating him, and more monsters like him, in the first place. (Yes, Erestor, too, had been an innocent man, once upon a time.) So he had hunted down every single one of them and turned those people into a gruesome cautionary tale.

It so happened that Erestor's personal crusade was also the impetus that set their paths crossing as enemies when they first met. After a series of unaccountable deaths of personnel among the top brass that ran classified projects and operations in the army, found in various states of what appeared to be the outcome of prolonged and numerous tortures, Glorfindel had been assigned to provide 24-hour security for one of the military higher-ups. In a cunning ruse, he had managed to thwart the colonel's kidnapping and become the one taken to face Erestor instead.

From that point on, the game plan had automatically changed to identifying the mastermind behind the unsolved murders, then getting the hell out of Dodge alive. He had been prepared to endure a barrage of tortures, had even received special training for it. Nonetheless, it still took everything he'd had to survive Erestor's... skills, especially with his body and mind not suffering permanent damage. He would say that 'Luck' played a major part too. Even now, he still bore scars on his body from that unfortunate encounter.

Which was why Glorfindel, despite his easygoing attitude in working with a former enemy, wouldn't hesitate putting bullets in that man the moment Erestor strayed too far again and became a threat to innocent lives. He would make sure of that. Humanity could do without another ruthless sociopath with too much power in their hands running unchecked.

Saelbeth continued pleading for mercy, much to Erestor's thinning patience, until the sound of an explosion jolted everyone into a short, blessed silence. Two more explosive blasts followed one after another, even shocking the hog-tied young man in Glorfindel's back seat into sitting upright to see what was going on.

A quick scan through the rear windshield revealed scorch marks on the road, the by-product smoke, and the wildly careening enemy car still not giving up on the chase, but offered no explanation as to the cause. Baffled, he turned to Glorfindel, just in time to see the man calmly pull the safety pin on a hand grenade with his teeth while keeping one hand on the steering wheel, lean out of the window, then hurl the thing behind him like a bride tossing her flower bouquet into the air.

The guy dumbly watched the grenade make its arching way backwards, and the ensuing blast after some miscalculation on the enemy driver's part finally put an end to the relentless pursuit. The vehicle was knocked off its wheels and skidded ear-piercingly to a stop on its side.

The victory, no matter how haphazard it was, should be reason enough to breathe freely again. But relief chose to vacate the premises as the young man's slow brain finally wrapped itself around the fact that he was riding with one dangerous, crazy motherfucker who chucked explosives in alarming nonchalance. And perhaps it would be in his best interest not to push his luck by aggravating said lunatic.

Freed of his pesky stalkers, Glorfindel wasted no time speeding to his destination, eager to finish the last leg of his mission and go home. To Legolas. He knew he was getting ahead of himself, big time, but he couldn't help himself. And it felt right. So why should he deny himself when the thought of going home to Legolas warmed his heart and lifted his spirit as he waded through this shit creek?

The road led further upcountry into some backwoods area, the asphalt stretch gradually giving way to a dirt road that grew rougher and narrower until it all but disappeared and he was practically driving off-road. Glorfindel instantly had a bad feeling. Secluded airstrip in the middle of nowhere could only mean one thing.

Illicit operations.

His suspicion was proven right as soon as a tall gateway came into sight, with its guard station quickly coming alive like a disturbed ant nest－yes, if ants carried AK-47s set on mass murder mode.

On reflex, Glorfindel executed a handbrake turn, bringing the car to an immediate stop parallel with the gate so it could serve as their shield from the flying bullets. He got out and hauled the politician’s son from the backseat with enough force to send him spilling to the ground. Glorfindel pulled the shell-shocked young man to a sitting position and propped him on the closed car door while yelling into his earpiece.

"Where the fuck did you send us to?!! Why the hell are we under fire, again?!!"

"Oh. That's because we couldn't find any commercial airline service within a thirty-mile radius. A private-owned one, however, is readily available." Erestor paused for a short breath before delivering his punchline. "...one hostile takeover away."

Glorfindel felt the urge to strangle Erestor intensify. "Let me guess... Judging from the unstinting rounds these guys fire, the airfield belongs to the same cartel I just gaslighted and ran!"

"Yes. Did I forget to mention that detail? My bad."

By now, it should be considered the height of idiocy not to expect this kind of evil shit from Erestor. Also, it wouldn't be in Erestor’s character to pass up the chance to rub salt into the wound of his enemy, just because he could. When Glorfindel was done here, the cartel would be down a few more men and missing one light jet.

Sigh... Perhaps he should seriously contemplate retirement. It wasn't like Glorfindel needed any more money. He would be content to switch jobs to something peaceful and mundane, like becoming a ride-sharing app driver. Ever since he had set his goal to be with Legolas someday, he had planned to be honest with his neighbor. About everything. And he would also like to be able to say with certainty that the kind of crazy days he had right now were over, for good. Otherwise, it wouldn't be fair to Legolas to ask him to date someone who constantly risked their neck and might just not come back home one day.

As he reloaded his gun with a fresh magazine, Glorfindel summoned to mind the image of his kind, beautiful neighbor. Feeling his resolve strengthened, he tapped his earpiece to turn the device off. He didn't need, nor wish to listen to any more annoying chatter until he finished his business here. The last thing he heard before the comm line went dark was the voice of Saelbeth who had a late realization and piped up cluelessly.

"Wait... Can Glorfindel fly a plane?"