Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Life was awfully dull.

In the deep city streets filled with smog and pollution where everyone was working to live, it always seems to be a bit somber, of course it was. It's quite saddening, really.

Maybe it was because Alexander didn't work in the best part of town, or maybe it was because of the amount of customers he had to deal with everyday. Maybe it was the amount of grease he was inhaling everytime he clocked in that was finally getting to him after all these years. Who knows.

He didn't enjoy working here. Of course, it wasn't the worst place by any means, he could've been in a much more egregious job position than this one, but he could've done far better than a shabby little burger joint. Maybe if he had went to college his life would've been different. Maybe everything could've been different. If he's being honest, it's a miracle he even got hired in the first place, his resume is horrendous (not to mention he's gotten fired from multiple different jobs more times than he could count), but whatever, if the only place he could get a somewhat decent occupation as a little nineteen year old Scottish boy is at a dodgy, mouse infested fastfood restaurant with a cheesy name, then so be it. Because who was he to complain? Wasn't really up to him, anyway.

On the plus side, it's been a pretty slow day, and nobody else bothered to clock in today besides Alexander. Including his manager. So he had taken it upon himself to take a quick smoke break, considering how there's not gonna be anyone in there in the next few minutes of the foreseeable future. It wouldn't take long anyway.

Cigarettes aren't good for you, he knows that, because his parents would give him the most lengthy lecture on the scientifically proven side effects and the long-term consequences of it. Back then, he would've listened, he always did. Usually. But it doesn't matter either way, people die from plenty of stuff all the time, be it self inflicted, natural causes, or just by sheer misfortune. So what difference does it make? Nobody is going to care if he keels over and dies someday, nobody is going to notice. And honestly, he doesn't even mind it, his story isn't something for people to focus on anyway. It's not a very good one either, he's quite average. But it's a shame, really. Real unfortunate, because life isn't good for the unprivileged. It never is.

Alexander frowned and watched as the smoke curled up into the dreary sky, whilst the breeze bit at his fingertips. It was awfully chilly out here. Usually, he wouldn't have minded it, or could've simply ignored it for the time being. That is, if his cigarette wasn't almost completely snuffed out from the wind. Which unfortunately was hard to ignore. Because now he didn't have an excuse to be slacking off.

He was definitely starting to regret coming out here. Mostly because Alexander isn't very much of a deep thinker, and being in solitude usually brought up things he didn't particularly want to think about during work hours. Or ever. Not to mention, it was barely spring, there was still snow on the ground and he didn't even have a jacket on. Usually his mum would've scolded at him for that, but he was in a hurry this morning and things happened. It's hard to remember such trivial matters nowadays. Actually, it's getting much more difficult to remember those kind of things in general. Now, he'd hate to cut his break short, but he really didn't want to catch a cold out here.

Yeah, that wouldn't exactly be ideal, no.

Alexander sighed and flicked whatever was left of his cigarette to the ground, stamping it into the mixture of half-melted snow and gravel, before spinning on his heel and pushing the door open and stepping back inside. The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the cold spring air outside, and it was still just as muggy as when he first left. Everything was the same actually, it always is, the mice scampering across the grimy kitchen floor, the soft hum of the heater, the buzz of the aged fluorescent lightbulbs that were protesting their very own existence, the unwavering silence. It was the exact same as it always was. Unsanitary. And there wasn't a single person in there, it's not like he expected anything else to happen anyway.

Honestly, at this rate, Alexander might as well head back home. Although, all he really did today was come to work and smoke a cigarette, and he did just get back inside. But his folks are probably waiting for him to join them for supper. Probably. He hopes they are. Which means, he's got places to be. However, it's pretty likely that he's gonna be here all day. Since the chances that anyone would want to stop by to get some mediocre food on half expired burger buns is essentially slim to none. Considering how this place is a health and food safety hazard just waiting to happen. So, why was he even here? For money? Yeah, right. This barely counts as minimum wage, actually, and nobody bothers to show up to work nowadays. Honestly, he can't even blame them for it either, because they spend their whole day waiting for customers when nobody wants to pay this slop, let alone eat it. So that really does beg the question, why is he still here? Well, he doesn't know. Mainly because he has to. It's not like he has a choice.

Especially not now, because at some point during Alexander's internal rant, someone decided they'd take the time out of their day to stop by. So he looked up from the countertop he was staring holes into, and eventually noticed the man that had just walked in. He couldn't really see his face because of how far away the door was from the counter, but what he could see was that wearing a suit (specifically in black), and he had on a fedora. Alexander isn't one to judge others' stylistic choices, but this is one that was pretty peculiar. The man was quite tall, tall enough for him to be forced to crane his neck to try to maintain eye-contact. Despite the fact he wasn't expecting anybody to show up today, he's not a bad employee, he can't afford to be. So he put on the brightest smile he could muster, and proudly stood there like he had been doing something productive this entire time and like he was totally happy to be here. Because who wouldn't be!

"'ello sir! Welcome ta' Sizzle & Serve, what can I get ye?"

A moment passed, and then two, then three. Before the man eventually tipped his hat in silent greeting, which was a bit of a delayed reaction, but Alexander didn't mind it. He waited for a proper response, but it never came. He couldn't tell if this guy was just really nervous, or if he came with other people and he had to order for them, or if he just didn't know what to get. Maybe all of the above.

They stared at each other in silence, before Alexander finally dropped his smile and awkwardly fiddled with his shirt sleeve. Quietly diverting his gaze to stare at a cobweb in the corner of the room that was threatening to snap. Fluttering everytime it caught a slight gust of wind from the heater. It was a fragile little thing. And although it wasn't the most entertaining thing to look at, it was atleast something to distract himself with. Because frankly, the eye-contact Alexander is typically supposed to uphold was starting to freak him out. A lot. It felt far too personal, something about it was just unnerving. Maybe it was an intimidation tactic this guy had, perhaps it was meant to be one that demands respect, or, maybe nothing was going on at all, because surely he just was reading way too deep into this. He always is. Maybe the silence was finally getting to him, maybe it was just the awkwardness in the air, who knows.

Alexander sighed and slowly tapped his fingers on his arm, listening to the soft chitter of bugs in the walls, and the agonizingly slow tick of the clock on the wall. There's a reason he doesn't like coming to work when nobody else is there, and this is precisely why. The confinements of his mind is a neverending nightmare. One he just can't seem to escape.

Eventually, his train of thought was broken as soon as he heard someone clear their throat, "What's the best thing y'have here?"

Alexander furrowed his brows and shrugged, sparing a quick glance at the menu behind him for no reason in particular before turning back around and rubbing a knuckle into his eye. "Well, everythin' 'ere is kinda gross, honestly. But I suppose the milkshakes are... somewhat decent?"

They're cleaner.

The man nodded and looked over his shoulder, staring through the glass doors for a moment before shrugging. "That'll do."

Alexander's smile quickly spread back over his face and he nodded eagerly, digging out a notepad and pencil from his pocket, sloppily writing down the order. "Anythin' else?"

He tilted his head and tapped his foot on the ground, almost like he was mentally going over the list he made in his head, or maybe it was him recounting exactly what it was he planned on getting in the first place. Which is essentially the same thing, but it doesn't matter. After a bit of intense thinking and silence, the man sighed and crossed his arms. "You've got onion rings, right?"

Alexander nodded, "Aye, we do."

He grinned and nodded, gesturing a hand to prompt him to get a move-on. Which he definitely should. They have been here for awhile, probably a bit too long. He had to get home, and he's sure this other guy had somewhere to be aswell. Unless he didn't, the details weren't exactly important to him. Alexander smoothed his hands over his trousers, turned around, and skipped back into the kitchen like he was a wee lad frolicking through a field of dandelions and daises.

If only he were.

Cooking is not Alexander's strong suit.

Perhaps it was a bad choice to even get a job in the fast food industry in the first place, considering how culinarily-challenged he is. But beggars can't be choosers. Atleast they gave him free food. Sure, maybe management got a lot of complaints because he burns 90% of the food he makes, but it could be worse, right? He's still doing what he's supposed to. Even if it's a little unconventional.

It took about 15 minutes to even get anything done, and that's at the very least. It definitely could've been longer, honestly he wasn't keeping track of time. There's not really a reason to, but all that matters is he got it done.

At the moment, he was watching as the man rummaged through his wallet to pull out a few dollar bills. He's been standing here for 3 minutes (and counting) waiting for him to pay for his food. Alexander isn't one to complain about people's being unorganized, because he definitely falls into that category, but this is a bit excessive. Thankfully, however, the man found some loose change and set it on the counter. He was about a dollar short, but Alexander didn't have it in himself to complain. He'd just cover it himself later, it wasn't even worth the inconvenience to ask about it.

Frankly, for a man so well dressed, people would usually assume that he'd have some semblance of wealth. Or perhaps that he actually carries enough cash on him to snag a few precooked onion rings. Naturally, that's what Alexander had assumed, but it seems to be quite the contrary. However, to be fair, this is the more run-down, shady end of town, so it's easy to deduce that he just doesn't carry anything of high value in hopes it won't get stolen by someone. It doesn't look like he's very used to it whatsoever.

He's being too nosey. This isn't his business.

When he finally drew himself back from his musing, the man was still staring at him. Not particularly out of awkwardness anymore, but more so in silent intrigue. Curiosity, if you will. In all honesty, Alexander didn't know what prompted such a thing, he's not an interesting person. That's what he's been told. Not to mention, he's just some random employee. He's just supposed to serve people their orders an then send them on their way. That's not interesting in the slightest. So he has no idea what this guy could possibly find that was so riveting about him. Unless he's silently judging him.

That feels so much more likely.

Whatever the reason, he didn't comment on it, neither of them said anything. There was no reason to. He scooped up a few of the coins and dollar bills and shoved them in his pocket, the man muttered a quiet 'thank you', and Alexander waved goodbye. He left it at that.

At least, that was originally what he had planned. He was going to finish up this guy's order, clock out, close up shop, go pick up a snack from the gas station, hop on his bike and head back home. The usual. But life must've had other plans, it always did. Because he heard the soft clatter of metal on the old tiling of the floor, it felt familiar, too familiar, familiarity is the one thing he dreads. It's never anything good. He looked over the counter and noticed it was a lighter. Which was indeed familiar. Clearly it wasn't his, and it definitely looked like it's used before. The paint was chipped in some spots and the spark wheel was a bit rusted. That wasn't Alexander's. So he went to get it, waving the man back over before he could leave, handing it back to him and grinning.

"Hey, ye smoke too?"

The man slowly nods. Almost hesitantly.

Alexander chuckled and wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve, "I do too, my ma an' pa used t' tell me not to, but..." He slowly trailed off, and shrugged.

"But?"

"They aren't around anymore."

Alexander nervously smiled, and the man simply looked at him with what he could only assume was pity. He didn't say anything about it, neither did Alexander. He would've tried to change the subject, or he would've attempted to make up an excuse to prompt him to leave, if he wasn't immediately cut off by the noisy honking of a car parked on the street. The both of them looked at the exact same one. The man let out a rather disgruntled sigh and shook his head, simply waving it off. Those were probably his mates, or maybe it was someone he knew. Whether or not his assumption proved to be correct didn't matter, the man only seemed to be inconvenienced by it and didn't make any moves to leave. Alexander was beginning to regret starting this interaction in the first place, he just wanted to get this over with so he can go home.

"Are those yer' friends?"

"Somethin' like that," the man paused and looked back over at Alexander, blankly staring at him. The eye-contact was starting to get a bit unsettling. Maybe that was the goal. "I think I'm just payin' 'em to get on my nerves."

Alexander slowly blinked and tilted his head in confusion. The man must've noticed, because he vaguely gestured towards the car and continued his sentence, "they work for me. Don't do much, but they're nice folks, really."

That sure does explain a lot, maybe that also explains why he just got paid in pocket lint.

"Cool, cool. That's nice. I barely get paid anythin' here, honestly. Bunch o' cheapskates for managers, I swear that's what this is." Alexander groused and crossed his arms, "I mean, I'd switch jobs but, don't really got the money for that, y'know? Can hardly pay the water bill. I dinnae wanna sound greedy but, could probably sell a kidney if it could get me some money. Family's a bit broke."

He's talking too much.

"That's a shame, ain't it?"

"Aye, it really is."

The man tilted his head and smiled, bending down to his level while straightening out his coat sleeves. "You're real funny, kid."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. May have a job opportunity for ya, actually." He bargained, "If you're up for it, of course. It pays much better than what you've currently got goin' 'ere."

Alexander stared at him in awe and eagerly nodded. This was the opportunity of a lifetime and he wasn't gonna miss his chance. Screw this job, screw his co-workers, screw his manager, screw this whole restaurant, actually. He's done, he's quitting, cheers. This may be the best day of his life.

"Do I have ta' sign a contract for this, or...?"

He shook his head.

"Then I'm down!" Alexander exclaimed and firmly shook the hand of the other man. He may be a bit naive for agreeing to something so easily, not to mention how they just met less than an hour ago. But if this isn't some elaborate scam that he's actively falling for, maybe this'll change his life around for the better. Maybe he'll finally do something right for once. He's not willing to question the ethics of anything about this.

"Name's Alexander, but ye can jus' call me Alex. Heheh."

The man tipped his hat and then pat Alexander on his shoulder, "Mafioso."

Interesting.

"S'nice ta' meet ye."

"Likewise."

After a few beats of silence, the car on the street honked again. It was longer, insistent. Which must've stirred Mafioso, to decide it must've been time to leave now. He dug a crumpled up piece of paper out from his pocket and sloppily wrote down his name and phone number, handing it to Alexander before turning around and quickly leaving. Neither of them said goodbye. Once he got to his car Alexander looked down at the piece of paper. He wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do with this, but he felt like he should keep it anyway. Just in case. He really doesn't know what he's gotten himself into, realistically he should've said no, it would be the logical thing to do. He doesn't know these people, and they don't know him. But desperate times call for desperate measures, hopefully it'll work out.

He should probably get going too.

Chapter Text

It's been a few weeks now since his last encounter with Mafioso, and it's safe to say it's been pretty uneventful.

The same crumpled up piece of paper from then has been sitting in some drawer in his bedroom for days now, and he hasn't touched it since, he's not sure why he hasn't though. It was mainly because he hasn't had time to, but it was also because he was a bit doubtful that this was actually a genuine proposal, it felt too good to be true. Naturally, he's not a very big risk taker, never was. He generally wasn't in the right position to do so. And, not to mention that if he did quit his job and this offer wasn't actually legit, he'd probably never land another job again, or at least not something that had a somewhat decent pay.

So obviously, out of fear of doing something that tremendously stupid, he had left it alone, and he was going to leave it like that until further notice. Or until he got desperate enough to try and talk with Mafioso again. He clearly wasn't planning on doing that today, but unfortunately, Alexander's self restraint doesn't last very long, at all. So he had finally decided to dig the paper out of his drawer, and he's been staring at it for the past 30 minutes or so. Sure, maybe it was a bit excessive, and very ridiculous, but he's extremely indecisive. The cons could very well could outweigh the pros, or just be a complete waste of time. Yes, perhaps this could actually be something worth taking a risk for, but the chances for that aren't very high.

However, after thinking long and hard about it he eventually decided he'd go check it out. Just to see. Worst case scenario is that he gets kidnapped, which isn't very likely to happen. So this'll probably be fine. It'd do him some good to see the sun again anyways.

So, with his mind made up, Alexander got up and slowly creaked his door open, rusted door hinges squeaking in protest. Nobody's bothered to change them, the house has been in a constant state disarray for a rather long time now, whether that be because his family is getting too old to take care of it properly, or because nobody really cares about the state this place is in. Who really knows for sure? The air was still, unusually quiet, it smelled vaguely of dust, cigarettes, and old carpet. Nobody seemed to be home except for Alexander, he's not sure when they left.

He wasn't exactly planning on going outside today, he was supposed to be taking the day off. But that was until he had decided that maybe it was time to do something about the paper that's been sitting in his room for weeks. Unfortunately for Alexander, he doesn't have his own phone, so he'd have to make a quick trip down to the public telephone booth down the street. He wasn't entirely sure if the one here even worked or not, nobody seems to ever use it. Even if it did work, it's probably not a good idea to have a job interview over a house phone. It's not very professional. To be fair, there was nothing that Mafioso had done that seemed very professional either, but Alexander just wanted to make a good impression.

That's what people usually want to do.

He slipped on his jacket and grabbed a handful of quarters, twisting the door handle open and stepping out into the crisp spring air, squinting his eyes as the sun gleamed directly into his irises. The payphone wasn't very far away, it shouldn't take long to just walk there, since it was about half a block away, just on the corner by the local gas station. Not a long walk at all.

The neighbourhood wasn't the best place to stay, it's the kind of place people usually try to avoid. And rightfully so, someone had stolen his bike the last time he came down here and then left it in an alleyway. So it's safe to say staying around here isn't a very good idea (at least not for long periods of time), but it's all that they can afford. The place has got its perks, there's a lot of downsides that come with it too. Like the fact the phone booth smells like both piss and week-old vomit and that nobody has bothered to clean it up. But it's alright, he's not gonna be here for very long, this'll be quick.

After crossing the street and narrowly avoiding getting run over by a car again, Alexander shuffled inside the phone booth and closed the door behind himself, it was quite cramped, but at least it got the job done. After fumbling to get a few quarters out from his pockets and dialing the phone number. It rang once, and then twice, then a third time, before someone finally picked up the phone. The person on the other end didn't say anything, so Alexander figured they were waiting for him to say something. That would be common courtesy after all.

"'ello, this is uhm... Mafioso? Right? I'm the guy y'met a few weeks ago, Alexander, remember?"

"I remember you."

Alexander nodded, and twirled the phone cord around his finger, "yeaahh, heh, I was just callin' 'cause of the job opening ye had? Is that offer still on the table...?"

Mafioso hummed thoughtfully, and went quiet for a moment, before clearing his throat and speaking back up, "I think I could probably make somethin' work."

Alexander smiled, and idly picked at a hangnail on his thumb. The answer was a bit noncommittal, but he didn't question it. "Cool, that's cool. Uh- thanks."

The line went quiet for awhile, neither of them said anything. There wasn't much to say, really. He could hear the faint, meaningless chatter of people on the other end, but other than that nothing of importance was said. He was a bit hesitant to pry into this guy's personal life, but there was nothing else he could've done. He's not very good with small talk, but he's willing to take a chance at it, he couldn't just let the conversation end without making plans to meet up. Alexander rocked on the heels of his boots, and gave it a few more seconds before he finally attempted to continue this conversation again, "so... uhm- do ye like your job?"

Silence, deafening silence.

"No? I'm jus' takin' that as a no." Alexander muttered, "I don't really like mine either."

This was just getting worse and worse by the minute, the longer this discussion went on, the more awkward it got. To the point where the people he had originally heard in the background weren't even talking anymore, it was just straight up silence now. He wasn't getting anywhere with this. Alexander wasn't sure if Mafioso wasn't fond of small talk, or if he just wanted this interaction to be over as soon as possible. Which, he gets it, of course he does. But he could at least try to do the bare minimum here. It's not that hard to put actual effort into keeping a decent conversation going, but maybe that's just Alexander's opinion. It doesn't matter, maybe the call just dropped or something.

After a few minutes of heavy silence, he simply assumed that this interaction was over. Hopefully he'd see him later, maybe that'd actually get him somewhere. "Right. Okay, well uhm, I have to go, so... I'll jus' call you back later."

After not receiving anything else in response, Alexander simply sighed and dejectedly put the phone back on its receiver. Shoving his extra quarters back into his pockets, he nudged the door open with his shoulder. Actually looking both ways down the street, and then walking home. This was probably a massive waste of time, and he knew it. It's a shame, really. Maybe he really is too naive.

He's not falling for something like this ever again.

It was late.

A rather ungodly hour, far too late to still be out on the streets. He should've been at home right now, snuggled deep in his blankets. But no, instead, he'd been rushed out here at stupid o'clock before he had even got through the door properly. See, Alexander did end up heading home, after a good amount of sulking and self-reflection. And as soon as he got inside, his uncle was there and immediately handed him a few dollar bills and asked him to go pick him up some oatmeal. Apparently they were out, and he must've been hungry, and he also needed it today. It was very ridiculous, and it definitely could've waited until tomorrow, but he didn't have the heart to complain, he never does. So Alexander had to turn right back around to try and find a store that could still open at 1 am. Fortunately, he did find one, it wasn't anywhere near where he lived, but it worked out. After acquiring what he needed, he was on his trek back home, boots biting into pavement.

Aside from the occasional car driving by with their brights on, it was very dark. To the point where he'd have to squint just to see where he was going, which clearly didn't do anything, but it was nicer to trick himself into believing it was helping. The air was thick, and awfully chilly. Naked tree branches swayed back and forth in the light breeze, and sent fallen leaves whizzing away into the endless void infront of him. Alexander never did mind the dark, even when it complicated things. Infact, he found peace in it. But the lack of streetlamps (or light in general) was a starting to make everything a bit unsettling. Being alone wasn't a problem, it's the thought that he isn't. Which obviously wasn't true, but it was a good enough reason to start picking up the pace.

After a long few minutes of walking, the world eventually muddled into a routine of repetition, as it usually does. A car will drive by, brakes would sigh, and wind would blow the bare branches on a tree, and rinse and repeat. It eventually got to be a familiar enough pattern that he let himself slip into rhythm of things. The streets feel different at night, almost like he's stepped into an different world entirely. There's noticeably less people, and less noise, there's no kids running around, nor is there any dogs barking at random passerbys on the sidewalks, it's just quiet. Which isn't a bad thing, silence can be quite nice sometimes. But the point still stands. This isn't one of those times.

Perhaps it wasn't the best decision to try and walk home, he probably should've caught the bus instead, maybe he should've just called someone. There were definitely much better ways to go about this, apparently he just went the complicated route. He was about to call it quits and turn back around to go find a bus stop. He was about halfway down the block when a car slowly cruised by and parked right beside him, brakes letting out an agonized screech. At first he didn't even notice they were there until they honked a couple times. It was a bit uncalled for, and very unsettling, considering how that's the only person he's really seen stop in hours. Now, he can usually ignore that sort of thing, or assume that it doesn't have anything to do with him. Which, usually nothing ever does, but apparently it did today. He watched as the window rolled down and a man with sandy blonde hair, round sunglasses, and tophat tilted his head and pointed at him, "Are you Alexander?"

Alexander stared at him and looked both ways down the sidewalk, before pointing at himself and smiling nervously, it was concerning that this stranger knew who he was, but he wasn't sure he wanted to question it. "Aye, that's me. Who are you...?"

The man didn't answer. He simply stared at him as he looked him up and down, brows knitting together in incredulity before he shrugged and vaguely gestured a hand towards the car door. "Just get in the car."

Alexander's smile faltered slightly, and his gaze slowly drifted to the rusted car door and back to the man who was staring back at him expectantly. His car didn't look very street legal, it was almost like he found a piece of scrap metal, painted it yellow, strapped a couple of wheels to it, and called it a day. He was extremely hesitant about hitching a ride in a stranger's car (if you could even call it that) this late at night, especially while he was alone. But at the same time, he didn't exactly want to know what could happen to him if he didn't take a risk here. Both options seemed to have equal consequences, but either way, he doesn't have much of a choice here. He's a right fool, a very daft one. But whatever happens, happens.

After Alexander thought about it, and inevitably folded under zero pressure, he decided he would try it just to see what happens. What has he got to lose? Oatmeal, perhaps. He tugged the car door open and slid inside, shutting it behind him once he got situated. The inside wasn't much better than the outside, infact– it was probably worse than how the outside of the car looked. Some of the leather was peeling up from the seats, the windows seemed a bit smudged. And there were also cicada shells wedged in-between the cushions, which have definitely been there for awhile now. And, to his surprise, there was not one, not two, but actually three people in the car (not counting Alexander). He had no idea who these people were, but it didn't really seem to matter. Alexander swallowed thickly and averted his gaze to the window, pretending like he didn't see anything whatsoever. The silence in the air was heavy, suffocating. There wasn't much to talk about, if anything at all. It would be a lie to say the tension levels weren't already high, but it only seemed to have gotten worse.

Alexander tethered his hands together on his lap, and awkwardly cleared his throat. "So, uhm- do ye come 'ere often?"

"What do you mean by here? This car? If so, then yeah, pretty often..."

"That's nice. You've got... a real nice car."

The man hummed softly in response, methodically tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. They both decided to leave it at that. He should probably just keep his mouth shut for once, maybe the silence was a good thing, he hoped it was. Nobody really seemed uncomfortable except for him, the man sitting next to him was just tinkering with his watch, the man driving was well... driving, and he wasn't even sure what the person in the front seat was doing. Honestly, he didn't wanna know. He pressed his cheek against the cool window freckled with dirt, watching as the buildings passed by. it felt like they were driving in circles, but he couldn't be sure.

"So, what're you doin' out this late?" The man asked, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

He shook his head and rubbed a hand down his face. "Had tae go on a shoppin' trip. For oatmeal."

"Oh- that's uhh, interesting... mm, hey boss, what'dya think?"

"If you're hungry, you're hungry. Doesn't matter to me." A deeper, more familiar voice piped up, followed by an amused chuckle.

Alexander's brows pinched and he sat up straight, peering over at the other man in the front seat. He couldn't see much, but the silhouette of a fedora was enough for him to know who he was riding with. It's not very often that he remembers what certain people sound like, he usually doesn't have to, but it would be hard to forget someone like him. Alexander eventually drew himself out of his dwam and tilted his head. "Mafioso?"

His shoulders tensed for a moment, almost like he didn't expect Alexander to say anything to him directly, or to even acknowledge him being there in the first place. He quickly regained his composure and looked over his shoulder, tipping his hat immediately afterwards. "Hey."

"'ello. Didnae think you'd be out this late... uhm, how did'ya—"

"Saw you around," he interjected, "just figured you'd be still out."

That's concerning.

Alexander paused, and leaned back into his seat. Rubbing his hands together like he was trying to squeeze blood from out of them. "Y'were watchin'?" He croaked, "bit creepy, isn't it?"

"Not really, it ain't creepy if you don't find out about it. Trick is ta' not get spotted."

"Right, okay," he sighed, "but why are ye here?"

Mafioso shrugged and looked out the window, expression shifting to a much more grim one. "We're just here to talk business."

Alexander blinked in surprise and straightened his posture, fixing himself up to look a bit more presentable. He would've worn better clothes if he knew this was gonna happen. Although, it's not like he has anything better, but it's nice to acknowledge what he could've done differently. He wasn't exactly sure what it was he agreed to, or what this job could even be about. Nobody really told him. Perhaps it's a bit shady, but it couldn't be any worse than where he's currently working at the moment. And if it is, at least it'll pay well. Mafioso cleared his throat to regain Alexander's attention. "You do know how to use a gun, right? Just checkin'."

Alexander's face scrunched in confusion and unease, "I've played call of duty."

They both stared at each other in silence for a moment, nobody really seemed to know how to respond to what he had said. A look of both intrigue and concern coloured over his face. "Alright, s'pose that's... somethin'. Is there anythin' else you can do?"

"Not really... no. But I'm a real hard worker!"

That's gotta count for something.

"Is that it?"

"Yup."

Mafioso slowly nodded, and the ride fell back into silence soon after. The man who was driving was kept glancing at him with this expression on his face that blatantly said 'what-do-you-even-see-in-this-kid?', and the other man who was sitting next to Alexander was looking out the window now, or essentially everywhere else but in his direction. The silence seemed to be getting more and more awkward as time went on. Perhaps it was because of Alexander's sudden intrusion earlier, or the pathetically-hilarious lack of experience on his part. Whatever it was, it was awfully embarrassing.

"Why do you wanna work wit' us?"

He shrugged and fiddled with a loose thread on his shirt sleeve. "'cause I need the money...?"

"And that's your only reason?"

"Yup."

It went quiet one more time, before Mafioso sighed softly and turned around to face him, reaching for his hand and shaking it firmly. "Y'know what? I like you. We can work with this."

Alexander smiled widely and shook his hand with equal enthusiasm. To say he was happy about this would be an understatement. "So.. does that mean ive got the job?"

"My God," he groaned, "you're already in the family, kid. What, d'you want me to send you a messenger pigeon or somethin'?"

"Oh. So I'm hired, okay, okay. Alright. That's cool, Thank you."

Mafioso nodded and let his hand go, dismissively waving a hand in the air as he turned back around. The rest of the car ride after that continued quietly, he could only assume that his interview was over. None of this really sounds legal, maybe it was just the way he was wording things, or Alexander's judgement was actually right for once. Even if what they're doing isn't exactly ethical, per se, he can't afford to give up this kind of opportunity. Not now, at least. A paycheck is a paycheck, and he's in desperate need of one. After a few minutes, the car slowed to a stop. Which must've meant it was time for him to go. He scooped up his packets of oatmeal and stepped out the car, smiling and waving as he watched the car speed off down the street. They didn't say goodbye, and he didn't know anybody's name (besides Mafioso's), but he didn't mind it.

He still had to walk home though, they didn't drop him off.

Chapter Text

It's nearly 12 o'clock.

Or at least that's what he thinks. He's never been very good at keeping time. Alexander has been holed up in his room for the past day or so, rotting on his bedroom floor for embarrassingly long amounts of time. He hasn't had much of a reason to go out, the news says it's something about a heatwave. Nobody has really complained about his absence (or lack-thereof), aside from a few frustrated envelopes from his manager and the concerned looks from his aunt on the days he dares show his face from the confinements of his room.

He knows she wants to say more, or to ask him if everything was alright. It's easy to tell what she wants to say, he's known her long enough to figure out what the weary glances in his direction means now. She never does comment on it. Perhaps it's because she doesn't want to intrude in his personal life, maybe it's because she doesn't exactly know what to say. The stress alone seems to eat away at her, like a disease gradually spreading before it leaves an empty husk of what once was. His uncle doesn't seem to mind it, though. He's always too drunk to tell up from down, it's starting to get a bit difficult to even tell if the guy knows the difference between reality and fantasy anymore. Alexander has reason to believe that he can't.

His family situation isn't very ideal, but at least it keeps him alive and off the streets. That's all that matters.

Alexander sighed and looked at the clock at the wall, hands ticking by at an agonizingly slow pace. Everything seemed to move much slower when he was at home. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours, and life eventually devolves into a constant state of boredom. It's almost never-ending, an incessant reminder of the fact he had nothing better to do today. Though, it was more-so he wasn't motivated to do anything else but lay here. And if it weren't for the rocks persistently tapping against his window, nicking the glass, he would've. Usually, he's able ignore this kind of thing, hes no stranger to folks keeping up a racket outside. So at first he had brushed it off as some kids trying to pull a prank on him. It's happened before, he assumed it could happen again. He could almost picture them scooping up a few rocks by his house, and repeatedly throwing them at his window 'til they got a response. However, when it didn't stop after a few minutes, and when he didn't hear the series of giggles and footsteps running away. That's when he started questioning things.

After a few more beats of silence, followed by the occasional tap of a rock, Alexander scrambled to his feet and crept over to his window, prying it open and peering outside. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until he looked down. He wasn't sure if he should be more concerned about the fact that Mafioso (and his two goons from a few days ago) has just shown up to his house unannounced, or if he should be concerned about the fact they're all throwing rocks at his window like a bunch of middle schoolers. It's a bit disturbing, considering how he hasn't even told them where he lives. Which is quite possibly the worst thing about this. He didn't really know them, but they sure did seem to know a lot about him.

Alexander's fingers dug into the splintering wood of his windowsill, squinting down at Mafioso in confusion. "Why're ye guys 'ere?"

"We're here ta' pick you up." Mafioso shouts. It wasn't very loud, he practically had to lean out of his window to hear him properly.

"What, why...? Don't I get a two week notice or somethin'?"

It went quiet for a moment, before all three of them shook their heads. "Na', we need you now."

He frowned and looked over his shoulder at his closed door, looking back down at the three men who were staring back at him. "Right now?"

"Right now."

"Alrighty. Jus' uhm.. give me a minute." He offered little to no hesitation and slowly nodded, giving them a quick thumbs up, as he fumbled with the flimsy lock on the window. Nothing in this house seems to work right anymore.

Alexander got changed in relative silence. Putting on the best clothes he had that didn't have stains of some sort. He was planning on going out on such short notice, especially in the heat. But he didn't have many options at his disposal. What was he gonna do? Say no? Yeah, right. Sure, he was an idiot, it's no secret, really. But he's not dumb enough to fumble a job he just got a few days ago.

He would hope so.

Alexander cracked his door open and crept down the hallway. The silence was heavy, like there were unspoken words that he shouldn't be around to witness. There's always this underlying tension, one that likely won't ever be resolved. It's like a dull pressure in the back of his head. It's not very noticable, but it's always there. Haunting every crevice of the house. After a few hesitant steps across the aging carpet, both the still-breathing corpses of his aunt and uncle crossed into his peripheral. His uncle had his feet atop the coffee table, ankles crossed. Nursing a can of beer in his hand like it was his lifeline. His aunt was practically melding with the decrepit old couch, dead eyes staring at the black void of the telly as she took a few drags from her cigarette, nearly down to the filter. They're both a sorry sight, one he almost loathes having to live with. They're nice people, just not one's meant to be parental figures. Alexander planned on simply scooting by, he certainly did attempt, but was quickly stopped by his uncle holding his hand up and pinning him with an offended look.

"Hey, now hold on a minute, where're you goin?" His uncle groused, immediately taking an uneven swig from his beer can.

"Out." Alexander deadpans, tugging his boots on and tying the laces.

"With who?" Aunt Maisie piped up, thin lips curling down into a frown.

"With some of my mates. Ye don't know 'em."

His uncle barked out a laugh and nudged his aunt with his elbow, who only seemed to nearly topple over from the force of it. "Oh, with some Mates. Now that's new, isn't it? Look at that, Alexander is makin’ some friends Maisie!"

He froze for a moment, and simply responded with a curt nod while grabbing his keys from off a table, palming for the brass doorknob. "Yeah, uh-huh, sure am. You all 'ave a nice day too."

"Oh, when y’get back make sure you pick up another pack o' beer, Alex!"

Alexander sucked in a frustrated breath, and nodded. Opening the door, and closing it behind himself immediately after.  It was silent for moment, until he eventually heard a faint chuckle as his uncle continued on with his drunken rambling. That house plagues his very being.

The outside wasn't much better than the inside. Granted, apartment complexes aren't very good in general, but this one didn't seem to live up to the usual standards apartments uphold. It was more like a place you'd rent out if you had no other options left. And even then, it's not really worth it. The carpeted floor is moist with old rain water, there's centipedes in the hallways, skittering and weaving between the cracks in the walls, and there has been several cockroach infestations in the building. Not to mention there always seems to be rotting in the hallway. Maybe it's rat droppings, perhaps it's the rotting of old memories. It's gotta be something. Nobody really knows what it is or how it started, since it's never in eye-sight. Even if it was, nobody wants to do anything about it.

There's been some talk about somebody fixing up the place, something about making it 'better for the tenants'. But he doesn't know the ins and outs about it. It sounded pretty superficial anyways.

After double-checking that he locked the door, Alexander sauntered down the stairs, running his hand over the chipped paint of the handrails as he walked past a dead mouse in an old mouse trap, too blindsided by the bait to notice the danger they're unknowingly wandering into. Sometimes he felt like that, trapped in a house with people he doesn't want to be with, stuck in a world where nobody wants him around, forsaken into a world where everyone is out for blood. Specifically his. Though it's not a very comforting thought, it does prompt him to get a move-on, it's nothing for him to dwell on, anyway. It didn't take very long until he reached the end of the stairs and opened the front door to the building. Which was when he noticed Mafioso and his two other nameless goons standing off to the side.

He's walking into a trap, isn't he?

The man was staring at him with his hands on his hips, thumbs hooked through his belt loops. He tipped his chin in silent greeting. The other man waved and muttered something that he didn't quite pick up, and Mafioso—as always—tipped his hat. It was at this point he was considering turning back around and heading inside. It'd be a lie to say he wasn't nervous about what they needed him for, or how they found his address, but he might as well entertain their efforts after they came all this way to see him. Alexander cleared his throat and rocked on his heels, smiling a bit too wide for it to seem normal.

"Hi, again," he said, "what is this all abou'?"

"We're takin' you out on a job." Mafioso pointed out, waving a hand in the air. He said it with so much conviction that it almost felt like he was trying to point out the obvious. "Y'know, just to get'cha used to doin' this kinda stuff."

"Cool," He sniffled, "what are we exactly goin' tae do though...?"

It went quiet for a beat, and then two, then three, until it eventually spiralled back into their usual silence. The silence that only seemed to happen when he's around. Alexander couldn't tell if he didn't hear him, or if he was ignoring him. He went with the latter, but it wouldn't really be wrong to assume he didn't hear him. However, with Alexander's reputation, it seemed pretty unlikely.

Back when he was in school, the other kids said he was too inquisitive, too loud, too weird, too... something. It was always something. They always seemed to be absolutely livid with him, they would stare at him like if he said one more word they'd be done with him. Like they would take him outback to deal with him privately, perhaps to have a little scuffle on the playground until the teachers had to get involved. While nothing too serious took place back then, those kind of interactions have certainly made him try to dial back the more unsavoury parts about him, but Christ— he couldn't help it. It's sad to say, but maybe the habit transitioned into his adulthood as well, weighing down on every conversation he has. Like now.

"Did you hear what I-"

"It ain't nothing illegal." The man in the tophat answered, smiling smugly. "And you get paid, that's what matters, anyway. Yeah?"

Something told him it wasn't a good idea to believe this guy.

"Aye, I s'pose so..."

He nodded, and they all fell back into silence, which would only be momentarily broken by the rhythmic taps of their shoes on the ground. Alexander eventually decided to just leave it alone this time. These people don't seem too fond of small talk. After a minute or so, they made their way to a car parked on the side of the road. Which was coincidentally the same car he saw back at work, when he and Mafioso had first met. It was a bit surprising, he's not sure where that toolbox of a car had went, but if there's no cicadas inside it's probably alright. Though, he's not sure if he should be worried about where they're taking him or not.

Maybe he should.

The drive to wherever they were going didn't take that long.

Sure, maybe it was on the other half of town, and all the way in the city. But it wasn't as unbearable of a car-ride as the first few times he's been around these folks. The silence had lingered, and there multiple glances were cast his way during the whole trip there. But it seemed less overwhelming, less judgemental, less piercing. It made it easier to dampen, easier to ignore.

They had pulled up to a house, it seemed like it was in much better care than most of the homes he's been around. It was proper ugly, sure. And it seemed to be rotting a tad, since there was paint peeling off the bricks of the house and the lawn seemed to be getting a bit unkempt, but it's much better than what the standard usually is on the much poorer sides of town. It wasn't nice enough to be considered wealthy, but it wasn't bad enough to be considered poor. He had his fair share of guesses of who could've lived inside. Perhaps an avid gambler, maybe it was an entrepreneur with a family of three and a picture perfect wife, maybe some old man with a white collar job and a large sum of student loan debt from college. There was really no way to tell, not when they've been standing on the front porch for at least 4 minutes now. Mafioso had knocked on the door once, just one singular knock. When that didn't work, he ended up trying again, knocking after every 3 seconds. It felt like he was trying to count down the minutes until someone finally decided to acknowledge their existence. It was sort of reminiscent of a timer slowly ticking down on an oven.

Naturally, nobody answered the door.

However, there was definitely someone home. The car in the driveway and the panicked shuffling inside made it obvious. Mafioso bristles, tapping the back of his hand against the arm of one of his goons. Alexander gaze trailed after the motion and landed on a man, his posture stiff and rigid. There weren't really any remarkable features about him aside from the fact he had ginger hair. Like him.

Mafioso nodded his head towards the door, and the other ginger must've understood what he was asking of him, since he was on his knees in a matter of seconds, trousers creasing against the ground whilst he had a set of lockpicks clutched in his fingers. Clumsily attempting to pick the lock. It took a few tries, but there was eventually a soft click in the midst of the endless silence. Mafioso clapped a firm hand on his shoulder and nudged him out of the way, opening the door with way more force than necessary.

After crossing the threshold, it was at that moment Alexander realized he just watched someone pick a lock, and did nothing about it. And—at the moment—this could technically be considered as breaking and entering. They're all committing a crime. He's gonna go to jail for this and he's never gonna live it down. He's never gonna see the light of day again; his family won't bail him out. He nervously sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve as he cast a few uncertain glances around the house. The air felt still. There wasn't many decorations inside, apart from a few pictures hung up on the wall. It was a house, not a home. He could tell.

A minute passed, he took a step, floorboards creaking beneath his weight. He peered around the corner and into the kitchen, eyes landing on another man who was backed against a counter, blonde hair strewn about like he was caught in the middle of something. The scene felt like something he shouldn't have been around for. He shouldn't have tagged along to begin with. He shouldn't be around to witness any of this. Yet, here he is. Alexander sighed, and after taking a moment to regain his bearings and process his surroundings, he noticed that the man the tophat was standing in a corner, fiddling with his sunglasses, and the ginger was off to the side while he idly scratched his neck. All the while Mafioso was whispering threats to the owner of the house they were currently in. Leaning in way too close than what could've possibly been comfortable. To say Alexander was worried would be a massive understatement. He was distressed, and dare he say– scared. When he agreed to this job, he didn't know that this could've been included in the job description. Nobody told him.

The conversation that the two men were currently having only seemed to escalate further as time went on. His fingers were twitching against the granite of the countertops, itching for something, to do something. It eventually went silent, and Mafioso stood up straight with an almost unreadable expression on his face. The man pressed against the counter seemed to notice this, because he smiled nervously and quickly held his hand up in surrender.

"Listen, listen, buddy! I- uhm... I can get you your money, alright? I'm just... in a bit of a rough patch right now. You get it dont'cha? Can't we just talk it out–"

"We're not talkin' anythin' until you get me my money," he hissed.

"Okay, right. But I don't... I don't have your money," the man squeaked, " at the moment, at least. I just need a little more time t–"

"You must think you're real funny, huh? A little jokester aren't you?" He taunted. "Alright then. 'ey Bo, why dont'cha c'mere and teach this guy a lesson? Maybe it'll... y'know, prompt him a bit, to pay us back."

The man in the tophat looked up from his fiddling, and promptly nodded. Alexander could assume that was Bo. Bo slid his sunglasses back on and trotted off to grab... something. The man who was currently backed against the counter looked fearful, terrified almost. Eyes darting towards Alexander's like a silent plea for help. He wasn't sure what he wanted him to do, he was just as confused as he was. And as much as he hates to say it, he's a bit of a coward. He wasn't going to do anything either way. A few minutes later, Bo returned with a pair of rusty pliers, humming a soft little joyful tune. Mafioso—who currently had his hand firmly clasped around the man's wrist—forcibly had him hold his trembling hand towards Bo. He squirmed a bit, but eventually gave up on struggling against the two.

Bo grinned a bit, and pinched the pliers around one of the man's fingernails. It was at that moment Alexander noticed the pure dread spreading across this poor guy's face. "No- no, wait, guys. We can talk about this, yeah? I'll- I'll figure somethin' out, promise. Just, please don't–" his sentence was cut short by a nearly ear-piercing yelp, followed by the subtle crunch of keratin being ripped away from flesh. Nearly akin to a turtle's shell tearing away from the rest of its body. It happened at least 3 times, until Alexander finally decided that he has had enough and quickly averted his guys to the floor and covered his ears with the sweaty palms of his hands. He felt sick to his stomach, he wasn't even supposed to be around to see this. He was quite tempted to leave, actually. He didn't even wanna come in the first place, he doesn't want to be here. He was willing to walk all the way back home, even if it was on the other side of town. He'd probably try to take his chances. He desperately glanced around the room to find a way out, for a way to leave, for a way to unsee such careless brutality. His efforts didn't really come with any rewards.

He took a moment to calm himself down and hesitantly looked back up, which is when saw the man sobbing. Strings of phlegm dribbling down his chin as he blubbered out meaningless promises. Apologizing for no good reason in particular. It seemed to appease Mafioso, since he set his hand on Bo's shoulder, almost like he was telling him to reign it in. He must've gotten the answer he wanted. Once he was free from his grasp, the man shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wallet, beads of blood dripping onto the peeling leather. They stared at him expectantly as he fumbled with the dollar bills, eventually just handing them the entire wallet after he realized he was taking too long. Mafioso looked through it, and smiled. Patting him on the back as he turned around to head for the door, the other two goons followed suit. "Pleasure doin' business with you."

Alexander lingered for a moment, staring at the man who was currently curled up against the floor and weeping. Nails discarded somewhere on the tile. There are some things that are hard for Alexander to forget, no matter how hard he tries. And it seemed like this was going to be one of those things. He frowned at him before following them outside.

He should've never come along, and he certainly shouldn't be riding home with these people, but what else can you do.

Maybe this really was a trap after all.

Chapter Text

It was raining again.

It's been raining for at least the past 15 minutes now. Cumulonimbus clouds hanging low in the sky, fat droplets of rain pelting against the roof of the car and running down the windows, drowning out his thoughts. He wasn't entirely sure if he should've been thankful for that or not.

Nobody in the car has said much, not to him at least. Some of them were talking to each other, but he couldn't really make out what they were saying over the pop music coming from the radio. As the lyrics slowly became more and more redundant as time went on.

Alexander wasn't afraid of driving, per se. No, not really. He was just a bit apprehensive, perhaps a bit wary of it.

Especially when he was in a car with criminals.

At least that's what he assumes they are. There were several things wrong with this situation, perhaps it was because they just tortured a man in the comfort of his own home, perhaps it was because they robbed him, perhaps it was because nobody seemed to bat an eye at the absurdity of the situation. Alexander has heard of gangs before, it's not unheard of. It's a pretty regular occurrence where he lives, but he never would've expected to come face to face one. If they even count as a gang. He's not too sure what they're supposed to be, aside from criminals. And even then, his assumption was still quite vague.

Alexander frowned and leaned back into the rumbling car seat, picking at a loose hangnail on his thumb. It felt oddly reminiscent of earlier, in the kitchen, with the man, and the pliers. It was almost like he could hear his screams bouncing around in his head, he could almost see the blood dripping onto the pristine white tiles on the floor. It was an unwanted thought, the memory alone made him jolt. He felt quite faint. Nauseous, perhaps. He had tried to block out the visual, to pretend nothing had happened. Nothing had really ended up working out for him. Nobody else seemed quite perturbed by what had happened, they were just going about their day like it was an average Tuesday, like they were so desensitized to what had just occurred that they didn't even have a reaction to it. Frankly, it made him feel a bit crazy, to the point where he was starting to believe that maybe he had hallucinated the whole thing. God, he hoped he did.

It was such a bizarre series of events, one that was weighing down heavily on his conscience. He could've done something, could've said something, he should've done something differently. There's no logical explanation as to why he didn't do anything. Maybe it was out of fear, maybe it was something else. He's never been one to do anything illegal, not intentionally at least. But he just blatantly watched a bunch of people commit a crime, and did nothing about it. That makes him a criminal too, right? Does that mean he's a bad person? What was he supposed to do now? He could ask them to pull over, to just drop him on the side of the road and let him walk home. However, he had this niggling feeling, almost gut-wrenching. It was tucked away in the deep crevices of his mind, the part he shouldn't listen to, but somehow always does. He felt like he should stick around anyway. He was going to.

He was in way over his head.

He could only hope that this was just an one time thing, perhaps it was a thing that the man had deserved. He doesn't know these people, he doesn't know exactly what they do either, but maybe that whole nail-pulling situation was warranted. Maybe the man had this coming for him for a long time. Maybe it was some life-long grudge they all had held against him, maybe he was a bad man, someone that hurt other people. Maybe they were just setting the record straight. Surely they had a reason for their actions. There's always two sides to a story right? He's not willing to ask about it, but he's sure they do. For the sake of his mental stability, Alexander's not going to let himself believe otherwise.

"Heyy kiddo," Bo pipes up, an unsettling grin slipping up his face as he glances over at Alexander through the rearview mirror. "Rats ate your tongue? Or however that goes... you uhh- hungry? Lookin' kinda pale over there."

His stomach nearly lurches at the offer, he has to cough into his fist to hold back the bile threatening to spill from this throat. "No, God- no. I don't... I dinnae want anythin', m'fine. Just thinkin'."

Bo tilted his head slightly and frowned, he didn't press him any further, but the inquisitive look on his face made what he wanted to say pretty clear. The ride fell back into quietness—as it always does—and Alexander wiped his hands over his trousers, silently hoping for the ground to open and swallow him whole. He was looking a bit peely-wally, and he's sure his discomfort was obvious. It wasn't hard to miss. Frankly, it was a bit embarrassing to feel so out of place amongst these people. They're probably judging him, judging him for his apprehension, for the fact had morals. It wasn't the best feeling, to be the only one with a sense of right and wrong. All that he really wants is for them to like him. He's sure they tolerate him, they wouldn't be bringing him around if otherwise. But he's not very convinced that they enjoy his company. Maybe he has to try harder.

Maybe he just has to get acquainted with them.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by the car suddenly screeching to a stop at a red light, which was followed by a few disgruntled honks blaring from the other cars behind them. Bo mumbled a few apologies before eventually going quiet. Alexander frowned and diverted his gaze to a small bus stop on the sidewalk, drops of rain rolling off the roofed shelter. There was a run-down bench inside, with profanities scribbled on in marker and paint chipping off of the legs. Behind the bench there was a poster with an ad for some canned alcohol plastered onto the wall. Which finally reminded Alexander of the side quest he was supposed to be on for his uncle. He didn't have much money on him at the moment, and he's definitely not old enough to buy beer legally, so he's not sure what he had exactly wanted him to do. However, fortunately for him, he was sitting in a car with a bunch of adults who could actually buy the stuff he couldn't.

He clears his throat and leans over to stick his head into the front seat. "Hey uhm- sorry, d'you guys mind if we stop at a gas station or somethin'? I'm supposed tae be gettin' my uncle some beer right now, but... y'know."

Mafioso seemed unfazed. "Maybe. We could probably stop if y'make it quick."

Alexander grinned and nodded. It was a bit shallow, but nobody seemed to pay it much mind. After a few minutes, the stoplight eventually switches back to green, and the car is rolling down the street again. The ride fell back into silence, windshield wipers screeching across the rain streaked glass. The music on the radio switching to some news station as Bo fiddles with the dials. Alexander yawned and looked back outside the window, watching the rain puddle on the ground, falling from the sky with surprising amounts of grace.

There were several people on the sidewalk, as well as two young lads making make-shift umbrellas with their arms. Sneakers stamping into the water-slick concrete as they ran down the street. That's probably what he should've done, he should've ran until he couldn't anymore. Probably should've skipped town entirely. But here he was, sitting in the back of a car with a bunch of strangers, driving to a gas station for them to get him some beer.

His aunt wouldn't be very happy about this.

He didn't get much time to dwell on it, since he was ripped from his train of thought by the car hitting the brakes again, tyres painfully squeaking against the puddles of rain on the road. It definitely wasn't a long ride to get to the gas station, there's stores everywhere, anyways. But it did take quicker than he had anticipated. Mafioso tapped Bo on the shoulder and nodded his head towards the gas station. "You don't mind goin' in the store, d'you? Y'know, it's just so you can keep Alexander a bit of company."

Bo shrugged a shoulder and went quiet for a moment, before turning to face Alexander, raising a brow as he watched him tense underneath his gaze. "I will be your supervisor, do not fret." He said with a snicker, quickly turning back around to take his key out of the ignition. "'ey Mafioso, you want me to tuck him in at night too or is he big enough to do it himself?"

"God, just go get the kid his beer."

Bo smiled and nodded, opening the car door and motioning for Alexander to follow him inside. The door was about halfway open before a gravelly voice suddenly piped up before they got too far away. "Heyy, uhh... Could ya get me some candy or somethin'? Please?"

"What do you want from me Wrenly? I'm not a candy connoisseur, just come in and pick it up yourself." Bo said, scrunching his nose in silent judgement. Alexander is just assuming that the other man is supposedly Wrenly.

Wrenly smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck, waving his comment off with his other hand. "I might just stay here. My legs just hurt terribly, y'know? Gotta rest up an' all that. Yeah?"

Bo shook his head and shut the car door, huffing out a noise nearly akin to a laugh. He hasn't been around these people for long, not long enough to really get to know who they really are past their act of professionalism. However, what he does know is that the amount of compliance that they all had with each other was admirable. It was done with a certain loyalty, with fondness more-so than tolerance. The difference isn't very big, but it's big enough for Alexander to notice. Nobody here really asks any questions. He should be more like them. He smiled awkwardly when he noticed that Bo was holding the door open for him, staring at him with this confused expression on his face. He whispered some half-hearted apology before stepping inside.

The inside wasn't very different compared to all the other corner stores he's seen. It's quiet, the silence only being broken by the mainstream music on the radios and the low humming coming from the freezers and fluorescent lights. There's tiles peeling off of the ceiling, and only one employee handling the cash register, tired eyes darting towards the door they had both walked through before instantly looking back down at the floor. He's been here a couple times, enough to know where the fridges decorated the back walls were. Which is where he went. Bo followed him silently, gaze looking much more distant—detached—than it usually seemed to be. Alexander rubbed a palm into his eye and pulled the door open. Iced over hinges squealing shrilly into the air as a cool breeze billowed over his face, numbing his senses.

He brushed his fingers across a couple packs of beer for a moment, brows pinched in concentration as he tried to find the right kind. His uncle was very particular when it came to beer, or just alcohol in general. If it isn't what he wants he won't drink it. And he'll send Alexander back to the store a thousand times over until he gets it right. Apparently that's all he's good for.

Alexander's frown deepened as he cradled the pack of beer in his hands, standing up straight. The silence seemed heavier than usual, and so much more uncomfortable. Bo was staring at him, and then Alexander realized he was staring right back. He should say something, he hasn't really said anything in awhile. Might as well do it now.

"M'not really a fan o' alcohol. Just seems like some sort o' twisted copin' mechanism, sometimes." he muttered, fingers picking at a peeling piece of wet cardboard on the packaging. "Unc swears by the stuff, but I just dinnae get it."

A pause.

"It's not just a coping mechanism, it's used in social events to take the edge off. Don't look at it in black and white."

Alexander made some unsure noise of agreement and nodded a bit shakily, smiling just a bit too tight for it to be genuine. It fell back into silence and Alexander forced his gaze forward, staring at their reflections in the frosted glass. He's no good at this, at conversations. He never has been, but the past few days around these guys have been extremely humbling. Typically, he's used to staying quiet, being the fly on the wall. Simply watching and observing. That's the version of him people like best, but most good things do come to an end. Since this is likely the most amount of conversations he's ever held. He's not entirely pleased about it either. Bo bounced on the heels of his feet as he stared up at the ceiling, clearing his throat to get Alexander's attention.

"Why even bother going in a store to pick out something you want. It was predetermined what you were going to choose." he says, hand reaching for the handle on another freezer, grabbing a box of hot pockets and staring at it in contempt. Alexander tilted his head in confusion, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn't. He was about to ask what he meant, but was quickly cut off as soon as Bo decided to keep talking. "I hate hot pockets..."

"Why? They're not that bad, are they?"

"No, they are that bad. Think of all the radiation it holds, it melts you. It melts all that you are until you are a controllable peon." he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Taste isn't what matters, I don't know why people focus on that instead of the risks."

He's definitely got a few screws loose. Several.

"Oh, I.. didnae know that they could do that." he says skeptically. "I s'pose I get yer concern."

He nodded silently, so did Alexander. Not wanting this conversation to continue any further than it already has. Bo looked back at the box contemplatively for a moment, foot tapping against the floor in deep thought. Staring at the box of hot pockets like it held the secrets of the universe. After a few more beats of silence, he eventually decided to just take it to the counter. Alexander followed, jostling the beer cans a bit as he set them down. The employee looked up from the ground at them. He's a young lad, one who was probably fresh out of school for a few days because of spring break. He looked tired, and like he had given up on life entirely. Shaggy blonde hair framing his pale face as his gaze swept over the two. The frown on his face only seemed to grow as he whispered some unenthusiastic greeting while he rang them up. Bo didn't seem very bothered by it, he never does.

Eventually, he finishes ringing them up and immediately goes back to staring at the floor. Alexander could only assume that he was probably waiting for them to leave, considering the way his fingers were restlessly tapping against the counter and his eyes kept flicking back over to the door. He looked over and watched as Bo rummaged through his wallet. He set a couple dollar bills down onto the linoleum countertop and nodded his head towards the door. Alexander hesitated for a second, as much as he wanted to get back home, he couldn't just leave without saying anything about what happened earlier. About those god-forsaken fingernails. About the money the man had supposedly owed them. He had so many questions, and now was about as good of a time as any.

"Hey, Bo? Why'd we- why'd you... y'know, hurt that guy earlier?" he asked tentatively, shoulders hunching up to his ears. "With the pliers an' all that. What is this all abou'?"

Bo didn't answer immediately, smoothing his thumb over the rim of his glasses as he thought about it. "Well, people are animals," he began, "of course; however, some more so than us. He was one of them scum. Mafioso can pick people apart from others, I trust his intuition and do what he says,"

"there isn't a reason to feel bad for those people, Alexander. Do as you are told here, and you don't feel too bad after awhile."

It went quiet once more and Alexander nodded, not willing to question anything about what he was saying. It seemed to please him, since he smiled a little wider and pat Alexander on the shoulder before turning around to walk back to the car. He followed, but his mind didn't. Something about the way Bo spoke was peculiar, just slightly off-kilter than the average person. He's far more philosophical, calculated, weird. It's definitely not a bad thing, but it does spook him a bit. However, he does seem to know what he's talking about. It brought Alexander a strange sense of comfort.

Maybe these were nice people, after all. He's sure of it.

"I- I think 'm gonna be sick..." Wrenly croaks, curling a hand over his mouth as he gagged in the backseat.

Bo's shoulders stiffened as he spared a quick glance into the backseat. "Uh... no. We ain't doing this again, Wrenly. Stick your face outta the car to puke, I just cleaned these seats."

Alexander smiled awkwardly and scooted closer to the car door, carefully holding the pack of beer on his lap as he side-eyed Wrenly. He wasn't too fond of the idea of getting vomit on his clothes, and nobody seemed too pleased with Wrenly's current state at the moment. He swallowed thickly and dismissively waved his hand in the air, a few sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Muttering something about how he was "alright".

Honestly, the ride back home hasn't been too bad, aside from the fact Bo has been swerving on the road for the past few minutes. It wasn't something that would happen very often, it was only when Bo said that he "saw something on the street". Animals, more specifically.  Which was beginning to happen pretty often. To be fair, the amount of veering has been quite jarring. It's not surprising that it made Wrenly a bit carsick, Alexander could also vaguely agree with the sentiment, but not to the point of nearly puking up all the contents of his stomach.

There were a few more words that were exchanged, before their voices faded into the background, blending in with the pop music on the radio (which Bo must've turned back on once they had gotten back in the car).

It was getting quite late, sun dipping low beyond the horizon and painting the sky a soft pink and orange, the streetlights began to buzz awake as the day reached its end. He's not sure how long he's been out, the day had passed by in a blur, one that was becoming far too convoluted for him to remember clearly. But it's probably been too long. Long enough to cause alarm, long enough for him to get in trouble with his uncle for not bringing his beer back earlier, long enough for his aunt to try and pressure him into having a heart to heart conversation with her about what could possibly be going wrong with his life. Which was the thing he dreaded most. She means well, but she never really seems to do well. Her intentions aren't always executed in the best ways possible.

He's tempted to tell them to turn around, to take him somewhere that isn't back home, to take him somewhere far, far away from that wretched place. He's sure they would, likely without question, but the words die in his throat, weighing heavily on his tongue. He can't bring himself to say anything. They've taken time out of their day to drive him home, it'd be rude if he complained about it.

The car eventually slowed to a sluggish stop outside his apartment complex, the noise on the radio going quiet from the sudden shift in atmosphere. Bo glanced over his shoulder at him, fingers slowly tapping against the steering wheel. "So... uhh... you gonna be back tomorrow? Sorry about lying, I do–I mean not do–I mean do... sometimes..."

Alexander tilted his head in confusion. He was going to ask what he meant, he didn't remember him lying. Not that he knew of. However, he didn't dig too deep into it, simply deciding to just let it go. "Aye, I s'pose I'll be back."

I don't have much of a choice.

The unspoken words sat uncomfortably in his throat, begging to be said. Nobody really reacted to the unsaid implications behind his words. However, Bo frowned slightly and nodded, displeasure colouring over his face. Fingers stilling on the steering wheel. "Alright, see ya later.. uhh kiddo."

Alexander gave a half-hearted thumbs-up and opened the car door, hoisting the case of beer back into his hands. "'ey, hold on one second." A low, familiar voice piped up, he honestly forgot that he was even there. He paused and looked over his shoulder, immediately being silenced by the sight of Mafioso handing him a stack of money. Cash. He had a lot of it. He frowned when Alexander didn't make any moves to take it, waving it infront of his face to regain his attention. "That's your cut."

Alexander stared at him in awe, his free hand fumbling to grab the money Mafioso was just freely giving him. He was tempted to hug him and express his endless gratitude, but it felt like that'd be overkill. "Thank you."

"Ah, fuggedaboudit. Now go, get outta 'ere."

He smiled and laughed, and gave one final wave before stepping out of the car, wellies meeting concrete as he shut the car door. It didn’t take long until all three of them zipped away down the street, leaving Alexander standing on the sidewalk with a fat stack of money, a case of beer, and a lot of unanswered questions. He didn't dwell on it, forcing his life back into motion as he went back inside.

He walked lethargically up the stairs, fumbling through his pocket to find his keys before finally opening his apartment door. The shift in atmosphere was almost instantaneous. It seemed much more dim inside, the colours seemed more muted than usual. There's this sickly stench that seems to nearly be embedded in the walls, seeping of sweat and despair. He hates it.

Alexander sighed and stepped inside, kicking his boots off and setting the beer on the table. He was quite tempted to just sneak back into his room without saying a word to anyone, in some kind of feeble attempt of trying to go unnoticed. It never really seems to work out, it wouldn't really be polite either. He didn't bother. As he walked down the hallway, he noticed his aunt standing in the kitchen, stirring some charred sludge in a pot with a wooden spoon. She seemed to notice his presence, since she turned to look at him over her shoulder. Her face almost immediately dropped into a scowl as she set the spoon down on the counter.

"Where've you been?"

"Out, gettin' beer. Remember?"

"It shouldn't take hours for you to go get your uncle some alcohol, Alex. The store isn't very far away."

Alexander went quiet and shrugged, tilting his head away from her to look into the living room, where his uncle was currently snoring on the couch, blissfully unaware of the tension in the house. His aunt cleared her throat and snapped her fingers infront of his face, forehead wrinkling as she furrowed her brows, casting ugly crooked shadows across her skin. She had this certain look on her face like she wasn't going to let this go, like she was going to press him until she finally got the answer she wanted.

"Who was that? The people that drove you back home?"

"I told ye already, s'just some o' my friends."

"They don't look like the kind of people you should hang around with." She sighs, gesturing a vague hand out the window in the kitchen. A look of judgement crossing over her face.

Alexander stilled for a moment, crossing his arms as he stared at the ground. "I don't really think that's your decision to make. They're nice."

The room fell back into silence once again, only being broken by the continuous bubbling coming from the pot and the snoring coming from his uncle. His aunt was glaring at him, eyes squinted like she was trying to figure him out, like she was trying to see through the lies he was telling her. She ran a hand through her bleached blonde hair and sighed, carefully picking out her next words.

"Alrigh', what's up with you?"

"What—"

"You're actin' weird," she interrupts, "you haven't been to work in days, and you're bein' short with me. What's goin' on?"

"I'm not, jus' haven't felt like goin'."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, almost like she was trying to say 'i-don't-believe-you' . Her gaze drifted down to the wad of money sitting in his hand.  "Where'd you get all that money??"

Alexander frowned and diverted his gaze, finding much more interest in the ceiling. Shifting his weight awkwardly. There wasn't much he could say, she probably wouldn't believe him if he even tried to make an excuse. So he simply handed the money to her with a nervous smile. She took it, but she did look rather confused. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she looked uncomfortable. He couldn't tell why she would be.

Aunt Maisie set the money down on the counter and huffed out a frustrated sigh, cradling her face in her palms. She looked quite tired, tired to the point where he assumed she was going to send him away so she could have a moment to herself. So she could get a break from his infuriatingly vague answers. But she didn't. She looked back over at him and tilted her head. "Are you feelin' alright?"

He nods. "Aye, m'fine."

"Christ, stop doin' that," she sighs, "you keep lyin' to me, Alexander. You lie to me like I'm gonna be upset at your real answer or somethin'. I'm just worried about you—"

"You're not my Ma. You don't have tae act like ye are. Jus' leave me alone! Alrigh'?"

The slop that she was cooking in the pot eventually bubbles over the rusted metal rim of the pot, sizzling against steel with a sickening amount of finality. His aunt flinched and cut the stove off, hand lingering there for a moment before she leaned back against the counter. Her gaze looked distant, almost hurt. She had this shocked expression on her face, almost like he had just wounded her very soul. Almost like she just couldn't even believe the notion that he didn't see her as a motherly-figure. He's not sure why he would. Her fingers twitched against the granite countertops and she sighed. "Alright, you know what? Go to your room. I just— I can't deal with you today."

Alexander grunts and rolls his eyes, storming off and slamming his door behind himself. She didn't say anything about it. He can't stand her sometimes, he can't stand any of them. He slowly slid down to the floor, staring at the ground like he was trying to bore a hole into the carpet beneath his feet.

He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to stay here. He's stuck in the house with a woman who just can't understand why people don't want to talk to her, and with some lazy sod who has spent his years on a couch with a beer can in his hand. And it's not fair. It never was fair, it never will be fair. Life dealt him the worst hand possible and expected him to be happy with it. He wasn't.

Sometimes he wonders what life would be like if he was still living with his parents, he wonders if he would've turned out differently. If he would've been less of a failure. He hoped so. His mother would be disappointed if she saw him now, they'd probably tell him all sorts of things; "be a good lad," "keep your head on," "hang around better mates." And so on and so forth. He gets it, of course he does. It's a pain to think about where he's gone wrong, about what he's doing wrong. He can't really blame his aunt for being upset with him, he knows he would be too if he were in her shoes. Alexander should be meant for more in life, he should be achieving more than he is, he should be hanging around with better people. He gets it. They're just too overbearing about his faults. And he hates it. He hates them, he hates this house, he loathes it. He hates it because none of it is fair.

Alexander swallowed, hard . Tears welling up in his eyes as he sniffled, the world descending back into silence. He doesn't always mind the silence, but it does tend to pull his mind back into much darker places, reminding him of things he's desperately tried to forget, digging up things that he just can't afford to remember. If he focused hard enough, he could almost feel the gentle hand of his Ma patting his head, he could almost see her if he really thought about it, her freckled face smiling down at him, sunlight sparkling in her glossy ginger hair. He could smell her perfume floating in the breeze. She brushes his cheek. "Ma?" He faltered, hands grasping for nothing.

"My poor sweet laddie," she softly sighs from wherever it is she may be, whispering something more that he couldn't quite make out. He snapped out of it into the quiet. The silence brings back both the best, and worst memories. It's the kind of silence that usually muddles together into some strange bittersweet conglomerate of memories. It's the kind of silence that was still too loud to actually count as quiet, the kind of silence that echoes in his head, The kind of silence where the heaviness of it is unbearable, the kind of silence that Alexander can't bear to stick around for. The kind he won't stick around for. They're not gonna care if he sneaks out, anyway. His uncle is too sloshed to tell his right hand from his left, and his aunt is too busy moping around in the kitchen. Who's gonna notice if he slips out for a moment? He's not gonna be out for long, it's just for a breath of fresh air. Yes, that sounds nice, he thinks. He just can't stay here.

Alexander got up, tugging on some discarded beat-up sneakers in the corner of his room, wiping his tears on his shirt sleeve whilst shuffling over to his window, the same one that the boys were just throwing rocks at earlier. There's a fire escape just under the ledge, nobody really uses it, but he's sure he could probably make it work. He hooked his hands underneath the wooden frame of the window, bending down to stick one leg through the opening; followed by the other. Sneakers meeting metal.

It wasn't a very far jump down, not enough to kill him. Maybe it's not the best idea, but it's an idea nonetheless. And it's the only one he's got, so he's going with it. Perching a foot on the railing, and hunching down, his shoes land on gravel. Knuckles scraping against the small jagged rocks on the ground. Alexander climbed back to his feet, brushing the dust off his clothes as looked both ways he walked down the sidewalk like nothing happened.

Yes, fresh air sounded very good. Lord knows he needed it.