Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The city glittered below like a thousand careless secrets waiting to be stolen.

Whizzer Brown adjusted the cuff of his tailored black suit as he stood on the rooftop across from the Grand Lexington Hotel. A soft wind stirred his hair while he peered through the scope of his surveillance lens.

There he was.

Marvin.

Millionaire. Public darling. Private problem.

Whizzer smirked. He knew Marvin’s type: rich, sharp-edged, trying too hard to look untouchable. Men like him were predictable. And that made them easy.

His earpiece crackled softly.

“Visual confirmation?” Cordelia’s voice from the van down the block.

“Got him,” Whizzer murmured. “Worse dressed than the photos, I swear. That tie could blind a man.”

“Focus, Brown. You’re here to watch, not flirt,” came Charlotte’s dry response.

He rolled his eyes. As if he’d waste charm on someone like Marvin. Still… broad shoulders. A mouth that looked like it forgot how to smile.

Marvin stepped onto the penthouse balcony, phone to his ear, scowling at whoever was on the other end. Typical. Probably scaring some assistant half to death about a missed contract.

Whizzer tapped the tablet balanced on the ledge beside him. Marvin’s file flickered to life on the screen.

Name: Marvin.

Age: 34.

Assets: Multi-million tech empire. Offshore accounts. A private island no one’s allowed near.

Suspected activity: Selling restricted meteorological tech on the black market.

Mission: Confirm. Infiltrate. Extract information. Possibly terminate.

Whizzer grinned. He loved this kind of job. The slow burn. The game.

“You’re in tomorrow,” Cordelia reminded. “Midnight gala, fifth floor. We made sure you’re on the guest list. Don’t blow it.”

“A dance with danger,” Whizzer murmured, watching Marvin refill his glass with something expensive and dark. “Just my style.”

Charlotte sighed in his ear. “Brown, you can flirt when the mission’s over. He’s not your type anyway.”

“Who says?” Whizzer smirked, zooming in. “Look at him. Nervous little thing. He’s hiding something for sure.”

Marvin slammed the balcony door shut and stalked across the room, pacing, drink in hand. His shoulders were tense. His fingers twitched.

“Guy’s sweating,” Whizzer muttered. “What are you afraid of, sweetheart? Someone watching you? Someone like me?”

“Don’t get cute,” Cordelia snapped. “He’s dangerous. Maybe more than he looks. Government wants dirt. You find it.”

Whizzer gave a lazy stretch, the skyline sparkling behind him like a hundred silent witnesses. Tomorrow, he’d be in the ballroom. Velvet jacket, champagne in hand. Just close enough to let Marvin feel him there. A brush of fingertips. A glance.

But not yet.

Tonight was for watching.

Marvin stopped pacing. He sat heavily on the bed, raking a hand through his dark hair. For one small second, the mask cracked. His face—lonely. Raw.

Whizzer blinked, momentarily surprised.

Then he smiled slow and wicked.

“See you at the party, darling,” he whispered.

The lens clicked shut.

Tomorrow, the game began.

The balcony door slammed harder than he meant.

Marvin gripped the glass tighter, staring out across the city skyline, his pulse a frantic, stuttering thing beneath his skin. He hated this part of the night. The quiet. The waiting.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Another message from Mendel. Probably another warning. Another “You’re making enemies you can’t afford.” He ignored it. He was used to threats. Warnings. People wanting things from him.

Let them want. Let them wonder.

He sighed, rubbing his temple. The deal was supposed to close tomorrow — another contract, another secret sale, another government crawling up his back pretending they didn’t know what he was doing. But they knew. Everyone knew. They just couldn’t prove it.

Not yet.

He glanced over his shoulder. The suite was still and spotless, but he felt eyes on him. Heavy. Unsettling. Like someone was watching from out there in the dark.

He shook his head sharply. Paranoia again.

Still…

Marvin set the glass down and stepped back toward the balcony doors, peering out into the night. The city stretched wide and endless, lit with gold and glass and shadow. No movement. No figures.

But his gut twisted anyway.

His fingers lingered on the glass.

Someone’s coming tomorrow. That much he knew. The gala wasn’t just another business stunt. Someone had pulled strings to get invited — and someone wanted him nervous. On edge.

He wasn’t stupid.

“Let them try,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ve survived worse than this.”

His phone buzzed again. Another message. Another warning. He didn’t look.

Instead, he stared into the night, heart loud in his ears, certain — absolutely certain — that this game, whatever it was, had already started.

And tomorrow, whoever was coming for him…

He’d be ready.

Marvin leaned his forehead against the cold glass of the balcony door, closing his eyes.

God, he thought, breathing in slow, shallow pulls. I hate this.

The silence pressed too hard when the city wasn’t loud enough to drown it. When the lies and the numbers and the contracts went quiet for the night, the memories always crept in. Slipping, bitter and sharp, through the cracks he left in his head.

He’d been alone for as long as he could remember.

As a boy, the kids at school had called him names. Laughed behind his back. Pushed him down. Knocked books from his arms in the hallways. The thin, awkward boy with the odd face and the stiff voice, always out of place.

And he took it. He learned to scowl early, to bark sharp words like armor, to shove back harder than they did. It made him harder. But not stronger.

Only once — only once — had someone stood up for him.

A boy. Tall. Ridiculous hair. Smile like sin. Swaggering down the hallway like he owned the world.

“Hey,” the boy had said, stepping between Marvin and the pack of jeering mouths. “Pick on someone your own size, losers.”

And they left. For that day, they left. Because the boy was beautiful, and fearless, and the kind everyone wanted to be.

Marvin never got his name. Never dared to speak. Never had the courage to thank him.

But he remembered. God, did he remember.

Even now, years later, when he was rich and feared and bitter and cold — sometimes, at night, that boy slipped into his thoughts.

The only person who’d ever shown him kindness.

Marvin’s hand tightened on the balcony rail. He swallowed hard.

It didn’t mean anything, he told himself. I was a stupid, lonely kid. Just grateful. Just weak.

He was straight. He had to be. The world was cruel enough without being something else for them to tear apart.

But sometimes — late, drunk on brandy and exhaustion — he’d wonder.

What if he’d said something? Turned around? Asked his name?

His chest ached, quiet and hollow. Pathetic. He hadn’t thought of that boy in years. Not really.

He pushed the memory down, locked it away where the rest of the shame lived.

You’re Marvin now. No one touches you. No one gets close. You win. You always win.

Still…

A part of him, buried and tired and small, whispered: What if you saw him again? Would you even know? Would he remember you?

Marvin pressed his palm flat against the glass, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the city.

“You’re such a goddamn fool,” he muttered.

He sighed, turning away from the window. His glass sat untouched on the table. The bed loomed, cold and empty.

Tomorrow would bring strangers with sharp smiles and hidden knives. He could handle them. He always did.

But tonight — tonight he’d sleep alone. Like always.

Like he deserved.

Chapter Text

The Grand Lexington’s fifth floor gleamed like liquid gold.

Velvet drapes, crystal chandeliers, the sharp clink of glass against glass. Laughter—false, brittle—drifted like perfume across the crowded room. Everyone was dressed in black and silk and secrets.

And Whizzer Brown wore the best secret of all: himself.

He strolled in with the lazy confidence of someone who belonged there. Loose dark curls, dazzling smile, tuxedo sharp enough to cut glass. The woman on his arm—Cordelia in disguise—laughed too loudly at nothing, exactly as planned.

"Target, ten o’clock," Cordelia murmured, slipping away with a glass of champagne. "You’re up, Brown. Play nice."

Whizzer barely glanced sideways. No need. He felt the weight in the room shift before he saw him.

Marvin.

Standing near the balcony doors, drink in hand, staring out into the crowd like he hated every soul in it. Tense shoulders. Tight jaw. Tie straight as a blade.

Still lonely.

Still lovely, in that sharp, ruinous way.

Whizzer felt a slow, wicked grin creep to his lips. Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea.

He drifted across the floor, a shadow with a smile.

"Mr. Moneybags," he purred under his breath. "Show me your cards."

Their eyes met—just for a flicker of a moment—across the crowd.

And Marvin stiffened. Just slightly. A small flick of surprise, of confusion, breaking through that cold perfect mask.

Whizzer let his smile widen. Easy. Careless. Inviting. The kind that said, I’ve seen you before. I know you.

But of course... Marvin didn’t know him. Not yet.

Whizzer plucked a glass from a passing tray, pretending to study the bubbles. Watching Marvin from the corner of his eye.

The way the man adjusted his tie. The way he refused to shift his stance, like staying still would keep the world from touching him.

God, he’s wound tight, Whizzer thought. Like a thread ready to snap.

Charlotte’s voice tickled in his earpiece. "Brown. Focus. Find out what you can. We need proof he’s dirty."

"Relax," Whizzer murmured, sipping his drink. "I’m working."

He circled the room, casual, smooth, letting the crowd press him closer. Letting Marvin feel him coming.

A brush of air behind him. A shadow flickering in Marvin’s gaze. His head turned—just enough to see Whizzer near.

Whizzer smiled. Slow. Dangerous.

"Funny seeing you here," he drawled aloud, stepping into Marvin’s space like they’d known each other forever. "Didn’t think you were the gala type."

Marvin blinked, startled. "Do I know you?"

Whizzer gave a soft laugh. "No. But you will."

His voice was silk-wrapped steel. Just enough charm to crack the armor. Just enough ease to make Marvin wonder.

Marvin stiffened, wary. "I don’t talk to strangers."

Whizzer shrugged. "Neither do I. Lucky we’re about to change that."

He offered his hand, smooth and certain.

"Whizzer Brown."

Marvin eyed him. Frowned faintly.

"Marvin."

Just that. No last name. No title. Like the word was enough. Like it had to be.

Whizzer let his fingers brush Marvin’s for a moment longer than proper. Testing. Teasing.

Marvin pulled away, a flicker of something behind his eyes. Confusion. Recognition? No—impossible. The boy from high school was gone. Buried in years of bitterness and cash.

Whizzer smiled wider. "Enjoying the party?"

Marvin stared at him for a beat too long.

"...Not really."

Whizzer chuckled. "Didn’t think so. You don’t look like you have much fun at these things."

Marvin’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.

"I don’t see why you care."

"I don’t," Whizzer lied beautifully. "But you looked lonely. Thought I’d fix that."

Charlotte’s voice hissed in his ear: "Flirting, Brown? Careful."

But Marvin was watching him now. Curious. Suspicious. Interested.

Hook set.

Whizzer sipped his drink, keeping it smooth. Keeping it slow. Pretending not to notice the way Marvin’s gaze flicked down to his mouth. His chest. His smile.

"Relax, sweetheart," Whizzer murmured. "I’m not here to steal your secrets."

Marvin stiffened. Wrong word, idiot.

But Whizzer only smiled wider, effortless, easy, letting the danger melt away under the sparkle in his eyes.

"Just your time," he added softly. "For a drink. Maybe a dance."

Marvin blinked. Shock flickered behind his eyes like a struck match. Panic? Memory?

But then—he pulled back, cold returning like a mask snapping into place.

"I don’t dance," Marvin said flatly.

Pity. Whizzer loved a good dance.

He tipped his glass toward him anyway. "Then let’s drink instead. You look like you could use it."

Marvin hesitated.

Then — slow, reluctant — he reached for a second glass.

Whizzer grinned. The game was starting. Perfectly.

Above him, the chandelier lights flickered once. Like the city knew something was about to break.

And somewhere deep in Marvin’s guarded mind, a half-buried memory stirred — of a boy with wild hair and a brave grin in a high school hallway.

But he didn’t remember. Not yet.

The gala thrummed louder now—wine, perfume, low dangerous laughter behind glass smiles.

Whizzer’s focus, sharp as razors, never left Marvin.

He could feel it: the shift. The tension crawling under the floorboards.

Someone else was here.

Not Cordelia. Not Charlotte.

Another player.

He saw it in the man by the bar—a sharp-cut suit, sunglasses indoors, hand never straying far from his jacket pocket. Wrong kind of posture. Government, maybe. Or freelance. Mercenary.

Whizzer’s blood sparked. They’re here for Marvin. So soon? Sloppy.

Charlotte’s voice crackled soft in his ear. "We’ve got a tail. Third party. Not one of ours."

"I see him," Whizzer murmured, smiling lazily as Marvin sipped his drink beside him, blissfully unaware.

"Orders?" Cordelia asked.

Whizzer’s grin curled wider. Wicked. Dangerous.

"Going off-book."

"Whizzer—" Charlotte snapped.

But he’d already moved.

In one smooth step, he slid between Marvin and the room, hand gentle at Marvin’s back, steering him toward the balcony like they were old friends sharing secrets.

"Hey—what—" Marvin stiffened, caught off guard. His drink sloshed.

"Smile, sweetheart," Whizzer whispered low against his ear, warm and soft as sin. "Someone in here wants you dead."

Marvin froze. His body locked. His eyes darted toward the crowd.

"Keep walking. Smile. Or you’re going to get shot in front of all these rich bastards." Whizzer’s voice was calm, deadly, velvet-edged.

Marvin swallowed, hard. His steps faltered.

"Don’t stop. Balcony. Now."

They slipped through the glass doors in a perfect casual glide.

The air outside hit cold. Distant sirens. City noise. Marvin spun as soon as they were alone, panic breaking past his mask.

"What the hell is this? Who are you?!"

Whizzer lifted his hands, all false charm and wicked grin. "Relax. I just saved your life."

"Saved—? From who? Why?!" Marvin’s voice cracked. The panic in him clawed to the surface—beautiful, terrified, real. "I don’t even know you!"

"Not yet," Whizzer murmured. "But you’re going to."

His gaze flicked back inside. The man in the suit was gone—moved, probably stalking for another angle.

No time.

"Listen to me, Marvin." Whizzer leaned in close, urgent now, no grin left. "Someone in that crowd was armed and watching you. Not to flirt. To kill. And not by accident, either. You’re being hunted. And unless you want to get dragged into a body bag before dessert, you’re going to do exactly what I say."

Marvin stared, shaking, furious and pale. "Who sent you? My competitors? The government? Mendel?!"

"Nobody you know," Whizzer lied smoothly. "And right now I’m the only person keeping you breathing."

A beat of silence.

Then Marvin’s mask snapped back on—cracked, but alive. His jaw tightened. Anger flickered hard and fast behind his eyes.

"Why help me?" he hissed. "What do you want?"

Whizzer smiled slow, dangerous, threading the lie like silk.

"Your trust."

Marvin flinched, stunned silent.

"I get you out of this alive," Whizzer whispered, soft and dark like a promise, "and you let me stick close. Long enough to keep you safe."

Marvin shook his head, desperate. "I don’t need anyone—"

"You do now."

Another flicker from the ballroom behind them—a glint of metal, a shape moving in shadow.

Shit.

"No time to argue, darling." Whizzer reached out, strong fingers closing firm around Marvin’s wrist. "You’re with me now."

Marvin’s mouth opened in protest—but Whizzer pulled him close, quick and smooth, wrapping an arm around his waist like they were lovers hiding from the cold.

"You’re going to trust me," Whizzer murmured against his ear. "If only because I’m the only bastard in this building not getting paid to put a bullet in you."

The danger hummed sharper in the air.

Let the game begin.

Marvin is trying to pretend he wasn’t unsettled. But he was. Deeply.

That man — Whizzer — breezed in like he owned the air itself. Like he didn’t know the rules everyone else in this room obeyed. The way he spoke… cocky, smooth, soft-edged like a devil smiling in silk.

Like him.

Like that boy from years ago. The one who’d pulled him out of the dirt in high school — laughing, careless, brave. The one who stood between him and the fists and the shouting, just for a moment, just for him.

God. That grin. That tilt of his head. That maddening ease.

Marvin stiffened.

No. No. Don’t go there.

He swallowed hard, dragging his gaze away to stare at the chandelier, the ceiling, anywhere but at Whizzer’s mouth, his smile, his goddamn eyes.

It couldn’t be. Couldn’t be him.

That boy was gone. Lost. Like everything else worth holding onto. Probably dead or boring or married with kids. Certainly not here, at a gala full of knives and secrets and the weight of men like Marvin.

And besides... Marvin wasn’t that kind of man.

Not the kind who thought about old smiles in the dark. Not the kind who ever looked at another man like that.

Straight. Always straight. Fierce, cruel, perfect. Untouched.

Whizzer leaned in closer, smelling of expensive cologne and trouble. "Relax, sweetheart. I’m not here to steal your secrets."

Marvin’s breath hitched — sharp, unwanted — because the voice was too soft, too close to memory, like echoes down a long, locked hall.

He snapped his spine straight, shoving the thought down.

"No one here’s getting anything from me," Marvin said sharply, the mask slamming back in place. "Especially you."

Whizzer just smiled, wider this time, like he knew. Like he’d seen past the crack for one shining second.

Marvin gritted his teeth, forcing the warmth out of his face. Get it together. He’s just another con artist. Another beautiful liar.

But in the back of his mind, quiet and aching, the old question stirred.

What if it’s him?

He crushed it. Hard.

The man in front of him wasn’t that boy. Couldn’t be. This man was dangerous. Clever. Maybe worse than the suits with guns and governments waiting for him to fall.

No one ever saved him twice.

He drained his glass and turned away, pretending the air didn’t feel thin, pretending his heart wasn’t pounding too fast, too loud.

Marvin could pretend. He always had.

But Whizzer’s voice followed him like a ghost anyway.

"Relax, sweetheart," Whizzer said again, stepping closer—too close, close enough to smell the faint leather and warmth in his breath. "You’re wound so tight you’re going to snap."

Marvin’s back hit the balcony rail.

He stiffened. "Get away from me."

But Whizzer only smiled — slow, knowing, dangerous.

"Why? Afraid of a little company?" His hand braced beside Marvin’s hip on the rail, boxing him in. His body tilted forward, casual but intentional, swallowing Marvin’s air.

"I don’t want company," Marvin muttered.

"I think you do." Whizzer's voice dropped low, velvet-smooth, curling in Marvin’s ear like smoke. "I think you’ve been starved for it."

Marvin’s stomach twisted. His fingers tightened hard on the glass in his hand.

"You’ve got all this money, this power," Whizzer went on, soft and cruel and perfect, "and not one single person who touches you like they want you. Like you’re worth something more than contracts and business cards."

Marvin flushed, furious — because it was true. Too true.

"Don’t play games with me—"

"I’m not." Whizzer leaned in closer, breath brushing Marvin’s cheek. "I don’t play games I know I’ll win."

The words sank deep — Marvin’s face went hot. His throat closed tight.

Whizzer chuckled under his breath, low and sweet. "You can tell me to stop," he murmured. "Anytime. I’ll back off."

Marvin opened his mouth — to snap, to insult, to lie.

But no sound came.

Because Whizzer’s thumb brushed his jaw, gentle, warm. His gaze stayed steady — no mocking there now. No grin.

Only... focus. Real and burning.

"You haven’t been touched in years, have you?" Whizzer whispered.

Marvin’s heart hammered, wild, betrayed by his own chest. He hated him. He hated this. He hated that Whizzer saw straight through the armor, down to the cold brittle heart he thought no one could reach.

"I said—"

"You didn’t say no," Whizzer breathed, tilting Marvin’s chin with two fingers. "You never say no to anyone brave enough to get this close, do you?"

God. God.

His pulse roared in his ears. His body—tense, aching, already betraying him with heat creeping low in his belly.

Marvin glared, desperate to keep the mask on.

"You’re disgusting," he muttered.

Whizzer grinned, devil-wicked. "Maybe. But you like it." His thumb swept across Marvin’s lower lip—light, teasing, perfect. "Or maybe you just like the part of you that wants this. The part you choke down. The part you think no one sees."

Marvin jerked his head away, breathing sharp and ragged.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Head," he hissed.

But Whizzer only laughed softly, leaning close again.

"I’m not in your head," he whispered against Marvin’s ear. "I’m in your space. In your air. And I’m going to stay here until you tell me to go."

Silence.

Marvin gripped the balcony rail behind him like a lifeline, staring hard at Whizzer’s perfect mouth, his wicked smile, the warmth bleeding off his body.

Say no. Push him. End this.

But Marvin said nothing.

Whizzer’s hand slipped to his waist — light, suggestive, resting low, thumb stroking the fabric of his jacket.

"You want to know the worst part?" Whizzer said, voice low and amused, warm as sin. "I bet you’d make such a beautiful bottom." His gaze flicked down Marvin’s body, slow, deliberate. "The kind that breaks easy when someone finally makes him beg."

Marvin gasped — sharp, furious, flustered. His legs tensed, his face burning red.

"Shut the hell up," he choked, swallowing hard. "You don’t know anything about me."

Whizzer grinned wider. "I know enough."

His thumb pressed gently into Marvin’s hip.

"You could throw me off right now, sweetheart. You could make me leave. But you won’t. Because you want this." His voice dipped lower, velvet-sweet. "Even if you can’t admit it yet."

Marvin’s breath came shallow, chest rising fast.

"Say the word, darling," Whizzer purred. "And I’ll show you what you’ve been missing all your life."

The world blurred.

Marvin snapped.

With a shove, he pushed Whizzer away, chest heaving, fury masking the terror behind his eyes.

"Stay away from me," he hissed, voice shaking. "Stay the hell away."

Whizzer raised his hands, grin never fading. "As you wish."

But his eyes—warm, burning, dangerous—said soon.

Marvin backed toward the door, heart slamming hard, rage and shame twisting deep.

Why did he feel like that boy from the past? Why did this feel like coming undone?

No. Not him. Not again. Never.

He fled inside.

And Whizzer leaned on the rail, smiling like the cat who’d tasted the cream.

The hunt had only begun.

Charlotte’s voice crackled sharp in Whizzer’s ear.

"You know," she said, teasing, "you and the target went to the same high school."

Whizzer’s brow arched. His eyes flicked toward Marvin’s stiff, retreating figure inside the gala.

"Did we now?" he murmured. "Funny. He didn’t seem the nostalgic type."

"Records confirm it. You overlapped. He probably doesn’t remember you. You weren’t you yet. But maybe… you could use that. Rattle him."

Whizzer smiled, slow and wicked.

"Oh, I think I already have."

Charlotte’s chuckle was dark. "Just don’t fall for the bait yourself, Brown. He’s your mark, not your memory."

He smirked. Too late.

Then Cordelia’s voice—tense. "Trouble. Northwest balcony window. Red laser—gunman setting up."

Whizzer’s eyes sharpened instantly.

"Who?" he snapped.

"Unknown. Not ours. They're aiming for the target."

Marvin.

Whizzer moved. Fast. Quiet. Like breath in the dark.

Inside, Marvin was halfway down the marble hall, dragging air into his lungs, furious and shaken.

Get away. Forget him. Forget the past. Forget those goddamn eyes—

A shadow flickered behind glass.

Whizzer’s voice roared across the room. "DOWN!"

Marvin turned—just as Whizzer lunged.

A sharp crack split the air — gunshot — shattering glass and sending screaming guests diving to the floor.

Whizzer slammed into Marvin hard, wrapping him in his arms, twisting fast as they fell behind a marble column. The bullet punched the wall where Marvin’s skull had been a heartbeat before.

They hit the floor, tangled, breathless.

Marvin gasped — heart slamming, body pinned. Whizzer’s weight crushed him down, solid, warm, his thigh between Marvin’s legs, chest pressed tight to his.

"Wh—what the hell—"

"Stay down," Whizzer growled, his hand flat over Marvin’s chest as the gunshot cracked again overhead. "Unless you want to die, sweetheart."

Marvin gasped, heart hammering, Whizzer’s weight pinning him tight to the floor — thigh pressed hot between his legs, breath warm against his cheek. His brain spun, panic and heat and rage tangling in his throat.

"Wh—what the hell is this—"

Whizzer leaned closer, his mouth brushing Marvin’s ear — low and intimate — voice like silk and poison.

"Relax. I’ve saved you before, remember?" he whispered. "High school. Behind the gym. The day they knocked you down. I pulled you up. Told you to keep your pretty chin high."

Marvin’s breath caught.

His body went stiff under Whizzer — every thought snapping into old, dust-covered memories.

No. No way.

That day — that hand — the boy with the cocky grin who’d told him to stand up, to fight — his only kindness in years of quiet cruelty —

It was him?

"You—" Marvin gasped. "That was you?"

Whizzer blinked. For just a breath, his mind blanked.

Wait. What?

That wasn’t true. He’d made that up. Pure bluff. An old psychological trick to shake a target’s nerves.

But Marvin’s face — pale, wide-eyed, broken open — told a different story.

Holy shit.

He believed him.

For once, Whizzer felt the smallest crack of real surprise. The play worked better than he meant. Way better.

So much better, it actually hurt to look at.

"Of course it was me," Whizzer murmured smoothly, recovering the grin, sliding a thumb along Marvin’s jaw. "I never forget a pretty face like yours."

Another gunshot rang — closer — sending splinters of marble skittering near them.

Marvin shuddered beneath him, chest heaving, mind spinning.

It’s him. The boy. The only one who ever cared. All this time…

He swallowed hard — shame and heat and confusion twisting in his gut.

"You… saved me then…" he muttered, staring at Whizzer with something raw, something cracked wide. "And now… again… why…"

God. He looked wrecked.

Too wrecked.

Whizzer smirked on the outside, devil-calm — but inside, something pulled tight and uncomfortable.

Why the hell did this guy remember that day? That beat-up high school memory he’d just made up for kicks?

And why did it hit him like a fist to the heart?

"I’ve been watching you a long time," Whizzer purred — lying smooth now, playing it to the hilt. His hand skimmed Marvin’s waist, low, possessive. "Even then. I knew you’d grow into this."

Marvin’s throat bobbed in a hard swallow — heat flushing his face, his body still trembling under Whizzer’s.

"You were the only one who was ever kind to me," he whispered — soft, breaking, true. "I thought I imagined you all these years."

Whizzer’s fingers froze for half a heartbeat.

Shit.

He hadn’t expected that.

Another gunshot cracked nearby — but Whizzer barely noticed.

This was bad.

No — good for the job. But bad in a way he couldn’t name.

He leaned in closer, swallowing down the strange twist in his gut.

"Guess I was real after all," he murmured against Marvin’s cheek. "Real enough to save your life... twice."

Marvin shivered under him — breathing fast, eyes dazed, lips parted, crushed under Whizzer’s weight — too close, too warm, too willing.

God. He was beautiful like this. Breakable. Open.

And Whizzer had lied to make him this way.

"I hate you," Marvin whispered — voice low, shaking. "I hate that it was you."

Whizzer smiled — but inside, the guilt flickered sharp, unwelcome.

"Sure you do, sweetheart," he murmured. "Sure you do."

His thigh pressed tighter between Marvin’s legs, watching the flush creep high on Marvin’s throat.

Another shot. The glass above them shattered.

But Whizzer barely heard.

For the first time in years — maybe ever — the fox felt the trap snap tight around his paw.

What the hell have I started?

Chapter Text

Later, after the shots stopped, they ducked into a quiet hall.

Marvin was breathless, back against the cold marble, face flushed and staring. His hand gripped Whizzer’s jacket tightly, pulling him close like an anchor.

"Why didn’t you ever tell me?" Marvin whispered, eyes wide, searching. "Why now?"

Whizzer swallowed hard.

Before he could answer — before he could lie — Charlotte’s voice crackled in his earpiece, soft, low, deadly calm.

"Keep going, Brown. He’s opening up. Don’t kill the moment. He believes you. Use it."

Whizzer’s jaw clenched.

Marvin was looking at him like that. Like he mattered. Like Whizzer was the boy who saved him. Like this was fate finally circling back.

God. His eyes. They were shining.

"You saved me back then," Marvin whispered, voice breaking soft. "I thought about you every day after that. I thought… maybe someday you’d show up again. And here you are. Like I wished it."

Whizzer’s stomach twisted, guilt gnawing raw in his throat.

It was a lie. All of it. He hadn’t known Marvin then. He’d made it up — just a ploy, a hook, a way to break the target’s shell.

But Marvin — damn him — was falling to pieces right in front of him.

And Charlotte, sweet and merciless in his ear, murmured:

"Stay with it, Brown. He’s cracked wide open. You can get him now. Don’t you dare break this. He trusts you."

Whizzer shut his eyes for half a breath. Swallowed the guilt. Pushed it down.

Do the job. Be the fox.

He opened his eyes — warm, gentle, fake.

"I couldn’t tell you before," he said softly. "I wasn’t supposed to. But when I saw you tonight... you looked at me like you still remembered. Like you wanted to."

Marvin’s breath hitched. His grip on Whizzer’s jacket tightened.

"I did. God. I did," Marvin murmured, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, so painfully honest. "You were the only person who was ever kind to me. I thought... I thought maybe it was all in my head. But you’re real. You’re real."

Whizzer smiled gently.

Liar. Monster.

But his hand reached up — tucking a stray lock of Marvin’s dark hair behind his ear, soft as a lover.

"I never forgot you," Whizzer whispered, low and warm. "Never once."

Charlotte sighed in his ear, pleased. "Good, Brown. Very good. Keep him close."

Marvin shivered under his touch, staring up at him like he was the only thing left in the world.

And Whizzer’s stomach turned sharp.

What the hell am I doing?

But he didn’t stop.

He leaned in — lips brushing Marvin’s temple — slow, comforting, careful.

"Stay with me now," Whizzer murmured, his lie smooth as silk. "I’ve got you. I’ve always had you."

Marvin closed his eyes — breathing soft and shaky — tilting into him, trusting, breaking.

Whizzer swallowed the guilt like poison.

The game was working.

And for the first time in his career, Whizzer Brown felt like maybe — just maybe — the fox had finally bitten something that could bite back.

The city glowed low and soft outside the car windows — gold and blue and restless.

Marvin sat beside Whizzer, hands fidgeting in his lap — but smiling. Really smiling. Eyes bright. Face open in a way Whizzer hadn’t seen before.

"So…" Marvin said shyly, "my place is close. I can guide you."

Whizzer glanced at him, one hand on the wheel. "Sure. Lead the way, sweetheart."

Marvin flushed — ducking his head — but grinned wide.

"Right on 7th… two blocks down. Big building with the ivy on the side. I… I always thought you might walk past it someday. Funny, huh?" He laughed — soft and real.

Whizzer forced a smirk. "Yeah. Funny."

Marvin’s glow only brightened — like the moon rising.

"I used to dream about this, you know," Marvin said gently, voice small but rich with wonder. "You showing up again. Talking to me like we used to. Like that day behind the gym. When you pulled me up. You were the only one who cared."

Whizzer gripped the wheel tighter.

His knuckles whitened.

Liar.

Marvin turned in the seat, watching him — eyes so warm. So alive.

"I was such a mess back then," he said softly, like confessing a prayer. "Always quiet. Always scared. No one ever noticed me. Except you."

He smiled. Radiant.

Whizzer swallowed thick — throat tight, guilt gnawing like glass.

"Left here," Marvin said, nodding. "And… thank you. For tonight. For saving me. For being real. For being here."

Whizzer barely breathed.

Marvin laughed — pure and light.

"I probably sound stupid," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I just… I feel like I’m sixteen again. Like I’ve been waiting my whole life to finish that moment. And you — you showed up. Like fate finally noticed me."

Whizzer’s chest twisted sharp.

Fate. As if the world cared that much.

He pulled the car smooth to the curb in front of Marvin’s building.

Marvin turned to him — smile soft, glowing, pure joy in his tired eyes.

"I haven’t been this happy in years," he whispered. "Maybe ever."

Whizzer stared.

God.

The job was working.

Perfectly.

And it felt awful.

Marvin opened the door, glancing back shyly.

"Want to come up? Just for a minute? We can talk. Like before."

Like before. Before that lie. Before Whizzer broke him.

Whizzer smiled.

The fox always smiles.

"Sure, darling," he said low. "Lead the way."

Marvin beamed — soft and bright — and Whizzer followed, guilt heavy in his chest, heart sinking deep.

This was the only time Marvin had ever been truly happy.

And Whizzer Brown knew — he was going to ruin it.

In the surveillance van down the block, Charlotte’s hands pressed firm on Cordelia’s bleeding side, face tight, breath shaky.

"Stay with me, Cord," she muttered. "You're fine. Just a graze. Stupid backup—too slow—"

Cordelia hissed, teeth clenched, sweat on her brow. "I’m fine. Patch me up. What about Brown? Is he still in the building? Check the mic—"

Charlotte frowned — tapping the comms console — flipping Whizzer’s earpiece feed on.

A crackle. A voice.

Marvin’s.

"…I haven’t let anyone in here before," Marvin was whispering, soft and glowing. "Not like you."

Charlotte’s hand froze on the bandages.

Cordelia blinked, dazed. "What’s—"

"Shh."

The feed crackled louder — clearer — like they were right there in the room.

"So… you always dreamed about me, huh?" Whizzer’s low voice purred through the speaker.

A thud. A breathless gasp. Marvin’s gasp.

"Y…yeah…" Marvin stammered — the sound of a couch creaking, fabric rustling. "Since then… since you saved me…"

Charlotte’s eyes widened.

"No way," she breathed.

Cordelia squinted — pale — head tilted weakly. "Are they—?"

A soft moan crackled through the mic.

"Show me," Whizzer whispered, voice dark and low.

Another gasp — Marvin’s, trembling, breathless.

The couch creaked again.

"God," Marvin panted softly, "I wanted this… since then… since you saved me…"

Charlotte froze — mouth open, staring at the console like it had betrayed her.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered.

Cordelia grinned weakly through the pain. "They’re screwing. Right now."

The earpiece buzzed again — more gasps, a muffled moan — clothes dragging, fabric sliding.

"Harder… please…" Marvin breathed, barely audible.

"Oh my God," Charlotte hissed, slapping a hand over her mouth. "Whizzer’s actually doing it."

Cordelia coughed a laugh — winced — holding her side.

"He’s fucking the mark while we’re bleeding in a van. Unbelievable. Legendary bastard."

Charlotte shook her head — stunned, furious, half-impressed.

"I told him to play along — not this much," she muttered. "Brown, you damn fox. You’re actually—"

Marvin’s voice broke soft through the speaker — whispering Whizzer’s name like prayer.

Charlotte swallowed — cheeks burning.

"This is so messed up," she muttered.

Cordelia groaned. "I’m dying. And I’m listening to porn."

A soft thud, a long breath, another shaky moan from Marvin filled the van.

Charlotte pressed her fingers to her temple, stunned.

"He’s good," Cordelia rasped, smirking faintly. "Real good. Target's so gone."

Charlotte glanced at the bandaged wound — then back at the blushing console.

"Yeah," she whispered bitterly. "But he’s gone too far."

And in the van — while Cordelia bled and Charlotte shook her head — the soft, broken gasps of Marvin loving a lie filled the air, cruel and sweet.

The mission was going perfectly.

And they couldn’t stop it.

The light crept through the cracks in the curtains — pale, soft, early.

Whizzer Brown lay flat on his back in Marvin’s bed.

Eyes wide.

Throat dry.

Chest tight.

Marvin slept beside him — curled small, loose, a quiet smile touching his lips. The kind of smile Whizzer hadn’t seen on him all night — or probably ever.

He looked peaceful. Safe. Like a boy who finally got what he’d wanted since he was sixteen.

And Whizzer wanted to be sick.

His hand twitched on the sheet. Marvin shifted, barely — pressing closer in his sleep — trusting him, even in dreams.

Goddamn it.

The earpiece was still in Whizzer’s jacket pocket. Turned off. Blessed silence now. But Charlotte and Cordelia had heard. The whole thing. Every gasp. Every lie.

He could feel it — Charlotte’s furious stare, Cordelia’s knowing smirk — even from here.

He could feel Marvin’s happiness.

That was worse.

Whizzer ran a hand down his face — breathing slow, tight.

This was supposed to be simple.

Get close. Earn trust. Break him. Walk away.

Not this.

Not the soft glow on Marvin’s face. Not the way Marvin whispered his name like he meant it. Not the warmth of him pressed against Whizzer’s side, like he belonged there.

He didn’t belong there.

He was the lie.

Whizzer glanced down.

Marvin’s lashes fluttered gently — a faint smile still curling his mouth, bare shoulder rising and falling slow with sleep.

"Stupid kid," Whizzer muttered, voice low, rough. "You’re gonna get your heart broken."

He almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

But Marvin made it too easy. Too sweet. Too open.

That lonely boy in high school — dreaming of a hero who saved him behind the gym — Whizzer had made him real. And Marvin swallowed it whole.

He never stood a chance.

And Whizzer?

Whizzer was the one who would tear it all down.

Soon.

Soon.

But not yet.

He turned his face away from the sunrise, pressing a fist to his mouth — breathing slow — swallowing the knot in his throat.

Mission first.

Even if it killed him.

Beside him, Marvin sighed soft — shifting closer — warm, safe, happy.

Whizzer squeezed his eyes shut.

The guilt sat cold and sharp in his chest.

Morning had come.

And the fall was getting closer.

Chapter Text

The guilt burned like a slow coal in Whizzer’s chest.

He slipped quietly from the bed — careful not to wake Marvin’s small, warm shape beside him.

The apartment was silent. Still. Barely lit by the creeping gray dawn.

Whizzer moved smooth, sharp, quiet — old habits slipping back like muscle memory. The fox stalking the rabbit.

The desk drawer first.

Receipts. Bills. Some letters — old, folded. A photo.

Him.

A younger Marvin, awkward smile, skinny in a school hallway — arm draped around another boy. Not him.

Whizzer swallowed. Kept going.

Bottom drawer. Old notebooks. A sketch of the city skyline. A journal.

He reached for it. Fingers closing —

"Whizz…?"

His heart jumped.

He spun, smooth, fast — guilt hidden behind a soft grin.

Marvin sat up in bed — hair a mess, blanket loose around his waist, eyes blinking sleepy and golden in the half-light.

"You okay?" Marvin murmured, rubbing his eyes. "What’re you doing?"

Whizzer smiled — warm, easy, practiced. "Just stretching, babe. Early habit. Don’t mind me."

Marvin yawned — then smiled soft, glowing again. Trusting.

"Don’t go yet," he whispered, holding out a hand. "Come back."

Whizzer hesitated. The journal warm in his palm. The mission pressing behind his eyes.

But Marvin — sweet, soft, bare — opened his arms gently.

"Please?" he breathed. "Stay in bed."

And like a rope around his neck, Whizzer felt the weight pull him back.

He let the journal fall quiet into the drawer — shut smooth — and crossed the room slow, climbing back under the blanket.

Marvin smiled — wrapped his arms tight around Whizzer’s waist — warm, real, breathing soft against his chest.

"That’s better," Marvin murmured sleepily, cheek resting against him. "Stay, okay? Just for a little while."

Whizzer stared at the ceiling — the weight of the lie sinking deeper.

"Yeah," he whispered bitter, brushing Marvin’s hair gently. "Just for a little while."

Marvin sighed — soft, content — holding him like the world was safe.

And Whizzer felt the trap tighten.

The sun was fully up now. Golden light slipped across the apartment floor, warm and soft — like the morning after a perfect dream.

Marvin stood by the door, barefoot, hair messy, grinning like a boy who finally — finally — got what he’d been aching for since he was sixteen.

"You sure you have to go?" Marvin murmured, fingers curling in Whizzer’s shirt gently, tugging him close. "You could stay. Sleep more. Eat. Talk."

His smile made Whizzer want to scream.

But Whizzer smiled back — easy, warm, false.

"Next time, sweetheart," he said low, brushing Marvin’s jaw with his thumb.

Marvin flushed — leaning in — stealing a soft, clumsy kiss.

It made Whizzer freeze inside.

So easy. So trusting.

Marvin pulled back — bashful — and dug in his pocket.

"Here," he mumbled, shy, scribbling something on a slip of paper. "My number. In case you… y’know… wanna call. Or come back. Or something."

He tucked it in Whizzer’s palm — glowing, proud, like this was the bravest thing he’d done all year.

Whizzer felt the paper like a brand against his skin.

"Thanks," he said softly.

Marvin beamed — opened the door.

Whizzer kissed him once more — fast, quick, guilty — and stepped out.

But the moment the door clicked shut, the smile vanished from his face.

Cold. Sharp. Fast.

He reached into his jacket — slipping out the small packet of papers he’d grabbed while Marvin stretched, sleepy and soft in bed.

Financial records.

Contacts list.

A photo — old, hidden in the drawer — a face Whizzer knew from the Agency’s "persons of interest" list.

Gold.

He tucked them deep in his coat — heart pounding slow.

Mission: on track. Trust: secured. Target: blind.

But his chest still burned.

In his hand, Marvin’s little paper number crumpled soft between his fingers.

Whizzer stared at it.

Then shoved it deep into his pocket.

"Goddamn you, kid," he muttered bitterly under his breath, turning down the hallway — coat heavy with secrets.

Behind him, Marvin shut the door — warm, happy, safe — dreaming of love.

And Whizzer walked away with pieces of his life in his coat.

The perfect thief.

Soon.

Soon the fall would come.

But for now — he lay still in the warm wreckage of trust.

The safehouse table clattered softly as Whizzer laid out the papers.

"Financial reports. Private account lists. Old contact numbers. Even a photo of someone Agency flagged three years ago." His gloved finger tapped the papers smooth, satisfied. "The kid’s better connected than he looks."

Charlotte stared — arms crossed — unimpressed.

"Congratulations," she muttered. "You seduced a rich lonely man into handing you his life."

Cordelia sat nearby, arm bandaged, biting an energy bar, eyeing Whizzer with a tired grin.

"Classic Brown. Heartbreaker and thief. Like clockwork."

But just as Whizzer picked up the photo to show Charlotte—

His phone buzzed.

He glanced down.

Marvin. Calling. His name glowing on the screen like sunshine.

Cordelia let out a soft wheeze. "No way."

Charlotte choked on her coffee. "Don’t you dare answer that."

Whizzer grinned — wicked and lazy — and swiped to pick up.

"Hey, babe," he purred, voice slipping smooth and warm like butter. "Miss me already?"

On speaker — Marvin’s soft, happy laugh.

"Maybe…" Marvin teased gently. "Just wanted to say thanks again. For staying. For everything."

Whizzer glanced at the table — at the evidence of betrayal spread like treasure under his hands.

"Of course, sweetheart," he crooned, eyes gleaming. "I meant every second of it."

Charlotte silently shook her head, biting her knuckle to keep from laughing out loud. Cordelia was grinning wide, mouthing "You're so dead."

"I feel stupid… but I keep smiling," Marvin giggled. "I’ve never been this happy waking up before. You’ll call, right? Promise?"

Whizzer chuckled low, full of sin. "You’ll be the first, angel. Promise."

Marvin sighed, breathless, soft. "Okay. I won’t bother you. Just… yeah. Talk later."

"Later, babe."

He hung up smooth.

The room fell silent.

Charlotte burst out laughing, hand clamped over her mouth.

"You are such a bastard," she wheezed, eyes shining. "Marvin’s in love and you’re robbing him blind!"

Cordelia shook her head, smirking. "God, I forgot how fun you are when you’re terrible."

Whizzer only smiled dark, folding the stolen photo smooth.

"Let the kid dream a little longer," he said softly.

The table glinted with secrets.

His phone still warm in his pocket.

And the lie spun tighter.

Chapter Text

The office was silent, glass and steel and cold light.

Marvin sat at his desk — perfect posture, pressed cuffs, face smooth and unreadable. Like always.

His assistant shuffled in quietly, setting papers on the corner of the desk. Another dull report. Another quiet file.

Across from him, Mendel tapped the tablet.

"Sir. The Hong Kong account movements came through. I’ll forward you the files. And…"

He hesitated.

Marvin lifted his gaze, blank, bored, sharp as a blade.

"And what?" Marvin said, voice smooth, chilly.

Mendel swallowed. "A Mr. Ross called. Wants confirmation on the Shanghai expansion —"

Marvin’s phone buzzed softly.

He glanced at the screen.

And everything shifted.

His hard mouth twitched — just barely — softening. His eyes lit faint, like dawn breaking under storm clouds.

Whizzer’s name glowed on the display.

Marvin’s hand brushed the phone — thumb lingering on the screen like something secret, something warm.

A faint smile ghosted his lips.

The first real smile Mendel had ever seen on him.

A human smile.

But only for a moment.

Marvin caught himself — blinked — face slamming back into its usual stone.

Cold. Distant. Rich. Untouchable.

He slid the phone aside, clearing his throat.

"Continue, Mendel," he murmured flatly. "Don’t waste my time."

But Mendel stared, wide-eyed, fingers frozen on the tablet.

"Sir... you — you smiled just now."

Marvin’s gaze snapped up — sharp, warning.

"No, I didn’t."

Mendel swallowed. "I… thought I saw —"

"You didn’t," Marvin said coldly, crisp, final.

Silence fell. The office returned to ice.

But Marvin’s hand still rested quietly on the phone. His thumb brushed the screen again — soft, secret — hidden from view.

And the faintest heat lingered in his chest.

The conference room smelled like stale coffee and sweat.

The Boss sat at the head of the table — cold eyes, clean suit, folder in hand.

"Excellent work, team," he said, voice smooth and sharp like a blade. "Brown. Cordelia. Charlotte. The intel you gathered on Marvin will open every door we need."

Charlotte leaned back, smirking wide. "Told you Whizzer would get him eating out of his hand."

Cordelia snorted. "More like drooling into his sheets."

They both laughed.

Whizzer said nothing.

"Don’t get shy now, Brown," Charlotte teased, elbowing him. "You seduced the ice king himself. Got him to smile. You deserve a goddamn medal."

Cordelia grinned. "I almost feel bad for the poor bastard. Almost."

"Enough," the Boss said smoothly, flipping a paper. "Our plan moves forward thanks to Whizzer's work. The target trusts him completely. Marvin’s private data, contacts, financial links — everything. You played your part perfectly, Brown."

Whizzer stared at the folder.

At Marvin’s life spilled out on paper.
The bank lists. The old school photos. The gentle crumpled note with Marvin’s number in the corner — kept — for reasons Whizzer didn’t understand.

His throat tightened.

"Good job," the Boss said again. "Stay close to him. We’ll call when Phase Two begins."

Charlotte snickered beside him. "Better start planning your wedding, lover boy."

Cordelia laughed, nudging his arm. "Poor Marvin. Bet he thinks you care."

Whizzer swallowed hard.

His chest felt heavy. Sharp. Wrong.

He could still feel the warmth of Marvin’s hand pulling him back into bed that morning. The soft kiss at the door. The smile no one else had seen.

"Good work, Brown," the Boss said one last time.

Whizzer didn’t answer.

His eyes stayed on the papers.

On Marvin’s smile — burned behind his eyes like guilt.

A warmth no one was supposed to see.

Chapter Text

The safehouse was silent. Cold.

Whizzer stood alone by the window, phone pressed to his ear, listening.

The Boss’s voice crackled soft in his earpiece — smooth and final.

"Phase Two confirmed, Brown. Eliminate the target.
Within seventy-two hours."

Whizzer’s breath caught. His heart squeezed tight, like a fist in his chest.

"Eliminate…" he repeated softly.

"Yes," the Boss said. "We can’t risk him slipping through our fingers. You’ve got his trust. Use it. Get it done."

The line went dead.

Whizzer stared at the dark glass.

Marvin.

Marvin — sleepy and warm in the morning, dragging him back to bed with soft hands and sleepy smiles.
Marvin — glowing, trusting, calling him in the middle of meetings just to hear his voice.
Marvin — who smiled for the first time in years because of him.

Terminate the target.

He ran a hand through his hair, breath shaking. His stomach twisted, ice cold.

Then his phone buzzed.

A text.

Marvin:
“Are you free? Come over… I kinda… missed you. Sorry. Dumb, huh?”

Whizzer stared. The screen blurred for a moment — breathless — too real.

Another text blinked.

Marvin:
“...Please? Just for a while. I feel better when you’re here.”

Whizzer swallowed hard.

His hand trembled.

They wanted him to kill this.
To kill the first person who ever made him feel like something more than a weapon.

The choice burned behind his eyes.

And his thumb hovered over the screen — over “I’m coming over.”

"Fuck…" he whispered, heart pounding.

He typed back.

Whizzer:
“On my way, babe.”

And hit send.

The room stayed cold.

But in his chest, something cracked — sharp, deep, and bleeding.

The elevator chimed softly.

Whizzer stood there — heart thudding slow and heavy — staring at the rich polished door to Marvin’s penthouse.

He could still feel the Boss’s words burning in his ear.

"Terminate the target."

His thumb hovered over the bell.

Before he could press it —

The door burst open.

“Whizzer!”

Marvin’s voice.

Soft. Bright. Happy.

Whizzer blinked — startled — as Marvin ran to him barefoot across the marble floor like a kid who’d waited hours for him to come home.

Marvin grabbed his coat, pulling him close, eyes shining.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Marvin breathed, grinning — beaming — like seeing Whizzer was the best part of his entire day. “I really thought I’d scared you off or— or that you’d ghost me—”

His hands clung to Whizzer’s collar, pulling him down to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his mouth — laughing soft against his skin.

And Whizzer stood there.

Frozen.

Shaking.

He couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He was supposed to be the wolf. The liar. The thief.

Not this.

Not wanted. Not needed. Not this real.

Marvin cupped his face gently, smiling up at him.

"Stay tonight?" he whispered, hopeful. "Please? You make everything feel… less awful."

And Whizzer broke.

The mission crumbled into dust in his chest.

His hands trembled as he touched Marvin’s cheek, thumb brushing the soft skin — watching this beautiful, foolish man trust him completely.

“I’ll stay,” Whizzer murmured. “Of course I’ll stay.”

Marvin smiled wide, pressing into his chest like a boy who never learned fear.

And Whizzer felt the weight of the order in his pocket —
Eliminate the target.

But right here — right now — he couldn't do it.

He held Marvin close.

And the guilt was killing him.

The room was soft, dark, quiet.

Whizzer lay beside him — eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling — feeling the full weight of the order burning in his chest.

Eliminate the target. Phase Two confirmed.

But Marvin curled against him — warm, small, too close — chattering gently into his chest like a man who didn’t know what danger smelled like.

"Whizzer… you know what’s funny?" Marvin murmured, voice slow and sleepy. "I think... I think we’ve met before."

Whizzer stiffened.

Marvin smiled softly, eyes half-closed.

"In high school. When I was fourteen. You saved me." His voice dropped quiet. "Those guys who used to beat me up — you stopped them. Told them off. You were this... brave boy who didn’t belong there. You gave me this little grin. I never forgot it."

His hand pressed lightly to Whizzer’s chest, right over his heart.

"And then you vanished. Gone."

Whizzer’s heart squeezed. His breath hitched.

He remembered me.
All these years.
God, Marvin…

"And then you came back. You. Now." Marvin smiled wide — soft, sweet, glowing like dawn. "I thought I was going crazy at first, but when I saw you… I knew."

His voice dropped into a whisper.

"Ever since you came back… I don’t feel broken anymore."

Whizzer swallowed, throat tight, chest aching.

Marvin leaned close, forehead against his cheek, sighing like it was the only safe place in the world.

"When you’re here… I forget the loneliness. The walls. My father’s voice. All the bad things. You make it feel like I’m okay."

A breath.

"You make me feel... loved."

Whizzer shut his eyes.

His stomach twisted, cold and sharp.

He was supposed to kill this man.

This man who smiled because of him.
Who trusted because of him.
Who felt safe because of him.

"I wish I’d told you then," Marvin whispered. "That I wanted you to stay."

And Whizzer wanted to say something — anything — but the words caught like glass in his throat.

He could only hold Marvin tighter.

And feel the guilt burn him alive.

Whizzer barely breathed.

Marvin lay half on his chest, voice quiet now, holding him like something precious.

And then — without warning — his fingers tightened in Whizzer’s shirt.

"...I’m scared," Marvin whispered.

Whizzer blinked. Looked down.

Marvin’s shoulders were shaking.

"I keep thinking... what if this all disappears?" His voice broke — small and cracking like glass. "What if you leave? What if I wake up and it’s all a lie? Like everything else in my life?"

His hands curled hard into Whizzer’s chest.

"People always lie to me. They take things from me. They leave." His breath hitched, sharp. "I—I can’t do that again. I can’t be alone again. I can’t—"

His words crumbled into a soft, hopeless sob.

And then the dam broke.

Marvin curled into Whizzer’s chest, shaking, crying quietly like a boy who hadn’t cried in years. His body tense, small, terrified.

"I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t know why you want me," he gasped, voice full of tears. "But please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. I can’t be alone again. Please. Please—"

Whizzer held him — frozen — throat tight, heart pounding like thunder.

And in that moment, he knew.

This was the end of him.

Of his mission.

Of the lie.

Because he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t ever kill this man.

The agency could kill him, destroy him, erase him — but he would never touch Marvin.

Never.

Marvin sobbed quietly into his chest.

And Whizzer stroked his hair, soft and shaking.

"I’m here," Whizzer whispered. His voice cracked. "I’m not going anywhere. I swear. I swear to you."

Even if it cost him everything.

Because in this moment — holding this broken man — Whizzer Brown knew:

He was completely, hopelessly, lost.

Whizzer sat up slowly, untangling Marvin’s arms from his waist.

“Hey… gonna step out. Smoke. Be back in a minute,” he muttered, forcing a soft grin.

Marvin — half-asleep — smiled faintly.
“Don’t take long,” he murmured. “I like you warm.”

Whizzer’s heart twisted.
God, this man.

But he turned. Slipped out the door. Into the cold hallway.

Pulled the earpiece from his pocket.

"Charlotte. You there?"

A soft click.

"Brown. You’re late checking in."

He swallowed.

"I’m... ready," Whizzer said lowly, staring at the marble wall. "Prep the team. Pull phase two into place. I’ll finish it. Tonight."

Silence.

Then Charlotte’s voice, soft and sharp:

"You sure? You sound like hell."

"I said prep it," Whizzer hissed. "I’ll end him myself. Like the order says. No mess. No noise. Just... make sure it’s clean."

Another pause.

"Understood. Team will mobilize. End it quick, Whiz."

Click. Silence.

Whizzer pressed his head to the wall.

His hands shook.

God, I can’t believe this. I’m really doing this.

"Whizzer?"

A voice. Soft. Behind him.

His heart stopped.

He turned, fast — eyes wide.

Marvin stood barefoot in the hall. Arms crossed.
No anger. No shock. No fear.

Just tired eyes.

"I heard everything," Marvin said quietly. "I woke up when you left."

Whizzer stared — throat tight, breath gone.

"And?" he croaked.

Marvin shrugged softly. Smiling bitter.

"It figures. I was right all along." He gave a quiet laugh — hollow and strange. "No one stays. Not really. Not with me."

Whizzer’s stomach dropped.

"You knew?"

"I suspected. I always do." Marvin leaned against the wall, hugging himself. "But I liked pretending. Just for once. That someone wanted me. Cared. Even if it was fake."

Whizzer stepped closer — guilt rising thick in his throat.

"Marvin—"

"It’s okay." Marvin smiled faintly.

"Do what you have to do. Finish the mission. I won’t run."

His voice shook.

"I’m tired of running."

Whizzer froze.

His hands trembled.

He couldn’t move.

Couldn’t speak.

And Marvin — quiet and small in the hallway — just watched him with those soft, tired eyes.

"I trusted you anyway," Marvin whispered. "Stupid, huh?"

And Whizzer knew.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t pull the trigger.

Not now. Not ever.

And this — this moment — was going to end him.

Chapter Text

The hallway was silent.

Marvin stood there — arms folded, waiting — like he was ready for the end.

But Whizzer wasn’t moving.

Couldn’t.

His heart thundered — sharp, raw, cold — as the quiet crackle came to life in his ear.

"Targets in position. Execute Phase Two."

His eyes widened.

And then — the door at the end of the hall burst open.

Dark figures flooded in. Black suits. Guns drawn. Masks cold and smooth.

The kill squad.

But something was wrong.

They didn’t fire.

They didn’t aim at him.

They aimed at Marvin.

Whizzer’s throat locked.

"Wait— what the hell are you doing?!"

The squad leader tilted his head.

"New orders. Phase Two updated. We take him alive. Boss wants his head cracked open properly. Information extraction. And you—" the masked man grinned darkly beneath the visor, "are dismissed."

Marvin blinked — startled — before two men grabbed him roughly, yanking his arms behind his back.

Whizzer lunged.

"Hey—HEY—let him GO—!"

A hard fist met his gut — knocking him to the wall — as Marvin gasped in pain, shoved down to his knees.

"Whizzer—!" Marvin choked, trying to twist free.

"No—NO! He’s not part of this anymore—he’s clear—" Whizzer gasped, chest burning.

But the squad only laughed.

"Sorry, Brown. HQ thinks you’ve gone soft. You’re compromised."

Another blow to Whizzer’s side.

He fell, coughing, blood in his mouth.

Marvin’s eyes locked on him — wide, helpless — as the squad dragged him toward the elevator.

"Whizzer…"

"I’m— I’m sorry—" Whizzer gasped, dragging himself up, but they kicked him down again.

He couldn’t move.

Couldn’t stop them.

Could only watch.

As Marvin — pale and silent now — was shoved into the steel elevator, cuffs biting his wrists.

"Whizzer…" Marvin whispered.

And the doors slid shut.

Gone.

Whizzer slumped to the floor.

His hands shaking.

His chest hollow.

His mission broken.
His life over.

And somewhere in the darkness of the hallway, the soft, cold voice of the squad leader lingered:

"Should’ve finished him yourself, Brown."

And then they were gone.

And Whizzer lay there — alone — staring at nothing.

Knowing Marvin was lost.

And there was nothing left he could do.

A door slammed.

Rough hands grabbed Whizzer by the shoulders — dragging him from the cold floor.

His vision blurred.

"Whizzer. Whizzer."

Charlotte’s voice.

A slap. Sharp across his cheek.

"Stay with us, damn you!"

He blinked — dazed — as light poured into his eyes. Cordelia’s worried face hovered close.

"Come on, pretty boy. No dying today."

"Wh-what—?" Whizzer croaked. "You—?"

Charlotte glared, yanking him up to his feet.

"Did you think we’d let them kill you? Or drag you off to rot like some traitor? We’re not them, Whiz. We’re your friends."

Cordelia snorted, slinging his arm over her shoulder. "Best friends, remember? Idiot."

Whizzer stumbled — breath ragged — as they half-dragged him down the dark hallway.

"But… but why?" he choked. "I screwed everything up. I broke protocol. I disobeyed orders. I couldn’t even save him—"

Charlotte whirled on him, shoving him back against the wall.

"Because you’re ours, you moron!" she hissed. "We don’t leave our own behind!"

Whizzer stared — stunned.

Cordelia nodded firmly. "We don’t let them break the best of us. Not like this."

His chest cracked.

The weight. The guilt. The shame.

It all came spilling out — fast and raw.

"I couldn’t do it," Whizzer gasped, clutching his head. "I couldn’t kill him. I wanted to. I tried. But every time he looked at me, like I mattered, like he— like I—"

His voice cracked, tears burning his eyes.

"He trusted me. Me. Like no one ever did before. Like I was something more than a gun, more than a job. And I knew— I knew I’d have to break him. Ruin him. And I—"

His knees hit the floor. He folded forward — shaking, breathless.

"I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t. And now they’ve got him. And it’s my fault. All my fault."

His voice broke on a sob.

Cordelia crouched beside him, rubbing his back.

Charlotte crouched too, voice quiet.

"We know," she murmured. "We know, Whizzer."

He choked — burying his face in his hands.

"I broke everything. I betrayed the mission. I betrayed him. And he— he still trusted me..."

Tears hit the floor.

"Why the hell did he trust me…?"

Silence.

Then Charlotte pulled him close.

"Because you weren’t just pretending," she said softly. "Not anymore."

Whizzer shuddered.

And he knew she was right.

The mission had died long ago.

And something real — something dangerous, something human — had taken its place.

"You're not a weapon, Whizzer," Cordelia whispered. "Not to us. Not to him."

His breath caught.

And for the first time in years—

He cracked.

And broke completely.

Chapter Text

His wrists burned.

Tight leather cuffs, digging into raw skin.
Arms pulled high above his head — stretched until his shoulders screamed.

He hung there, chest rising slow and shaky, sweat mixing with blood at the corner of his mouth.

The room stank of metal and fear.

Cold concrete walls. No windows.
Only shadows.

And them.

"Such a pretty thing," one of them sneered. "Not so cold and high now, are you, little prince?"

A sharp crack across his face. His head snapped sideways.

He barely felt it anymore.

His silk shirt — torn. Buttons ripped open. Skin exposed. Bruised.

He’d stopped fighting hours ago.

Maybe days.

He didn’t know.

Time didn’t matter here.

"You’re going to talk, rich boy," another voice whispered, close to his ear. "Tell us everything. All those pretty secrets in that fancy head. Or we’ll make you beg."

A rough hand gripped his jaw, forcing his head up.

He stared — hollow — through blurred eyes.

"Come on, Marvin. Beg. Be a good slut."

His throat made a sound — cracked and small.

No pride left.
No strength.

He was done.

So tired.

Maybe this was right. Maybe this was always how it was meant to end.

Alone.

Unloved.

Ruined.

He let his eyes close.

A breath.

"Sorry... Whizzer..." he whispered, voice dry and broken. "I... trusted you..."

The door exploded.

Light — bright, blinding — poured in.

Gunfire. Shouts.

Screams.

Something heavy hit the floor.

And then—

"Marvin—!"

That voice.

His eyes opened.

Whizzer.

Standing in the doorway. Wild. Furious. Bleeding. Rifle in hand.

"Touch him again and die," Whizzer snarled.

The guards turned — too slow.

Whizzer fired.

One dropped.

Then another.

A third tried to reach for Marvin — Whizzer slammed him into the wall, gun cracking against bone.

"Marvin—"

He dropped the rifle, rushing forward — grabbing Marvin’s face in shaking hands.

"Hey. Hey. Stay with me." His voice cracked. "It’s me. It’s Whizzer. I’m here. You’re okay. You’re safe."

Marvin’s breath hitched — weak, shallow.

"Whizz...er...?"

Whizzer cut the cuffs fast — Marvin collapsed forward — and Whizzer caught him, pulling him tight against his chest.

"I’ve got you. I’ve got you."

Warm arms. A heartbeat against his cheek.

Real.

Alive.

Marvin clung — what little strength he had — fingers curling weakly in Whizzer’s torn shirt.

"You... came back..." Marvin whispered.

Whizzer pressed his forehead to Marvin’s.

"Always," he breathed. "Always."

Behind them — more footsteps, gunfire, shouting — but Whizzer shielded him, weapon raised.

No one would take him again.

Not while Whizzer breathed.

Marvin sat on the worn couch in the safehouse — knees pulled to his chest — wrapped in Whizzer’s jacket.

It smelled like him.

Warm. Familiar. Safe.

His wrists were bandaged. His lip split. His eyes hollow.

But he was here.

Alive.

Whizzer knelt in front of him, gently tying the drawstring of the sweatpants he’d found in the duffel bag.

"These okay?" Whizzer murmured, voice quiet. Careful.

Marvin nodded — barely.

Cordelia slid a steaming bowl into his hands.

"Eat, sweetheart," she said softly, kneeling beside him. "You need something warm. You’re shaking."

Marvin stared at the soup.

His fingers curled around the bowl, brittle and slow.

Charlotte sat cross-legged on the floor beside him, holding his gaze. "Tell us," she said gently. "Tell us what they did. We need to know, Marv."

His throat worked.

For a long moment — nothing.

Then—

"They..." his voice cracked. He swallowed. "They wanted me to break. Wanted me to talk. Everything... passwords, accounts... connections..."

His hands shook.

"They kept saying I was... nothing. Just some stupid rich boy who got lucky. A toy to break. Said I wasn’t worth saving."

Whizzer’s jaw tightened.

Cordelia brushed Marvin’s hair back gently, murmuring comfort.

Marvin took a shaky breath.

"One of them..." he whispered, eyes distant, "said I was just good for... for being a body. A thing to use. They touched me. Hurt me. Called me their little slut. Laughed when I cried."

His voice broke — small and raw.

Whizzer’s hands clenched hard on his knees.

"I thought... I thought no one was coming..." Marvin whispered. "I thought you left me, Whizzer. That you lied, and I was going to die alone."

His head bowed.

"I gave up."

Silence.

Then soft hands cupped his face.

Whizzer.

His eyes — red and wet — stared into Marvin’s.

"I didn’t leave you," Whizzer said, voice low and fierce. "Never."

Marvin’s lip trembled.

"Never again," Whizzer whispered, pressing their foreheads together. "I swear."

Cordelia gently pressed the spoon to Marvin’s lips. "Eat. Please. For us."

Marvin opened his mouth — slow — tasting warmth. Salt. Life.

Charlotte pulled a blanket over his shoulders. "You’re safe, Marvin. You’re with us now."

His chest shuddered — a soft, broken breath.

Warmth. Real.

For the first time in days...
He wasn’t a prisoner.

He was home.

And he let the tears fall.

Marvin curled into Whizzer’s chest — small, quiet, trembling.

His face was pressed under Whizzer’s chin, fists clutching the fabric of Whizzer’s shirt like it was the only thing holding him to life.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Whizzer just held him. Arms tight, warm, wrapped around Marvin’s thin frame like a shield.

"I’ve got you," Whizzer whispered into his hair. "Sleep, baby. You’re safe. I swear."

Marvin closed his eyes.

He wasn’t shaking anymore.

Not as much.

Outside the safehouse — through the thin metal door — Charlotte and Cordelia stood tense, rifles ready, eyes scanning the shadows.

The comm crackled in Charlotte’s ear.

Her face went white.

"Shit," she breathed.

Cordelia glanced over sharply. "What is it?"

Charlotte swallowed hard, eyes darting.

"The agency flagged us. All of us. New orders sent down... 'eliminate compromised assets'."

Cordelia’s grip on her gun tightened.

"Assets."

"Us," Charlotte said bitterly. "Whizzer. You. Me. Marvin. They want us all dead."

Silence.

Then Cordelia muttered, "Figures. No loose ends."

Charlotte glanced back toward the safehouse door — toward Whizzer and Marvin tangled on the couch inside.

"Whiz doesn’t know yet," she said quietly. "He thinks they’ll just come for Marvin. He doesn’t know they marked him, too."

"And us?" Cordelia smirked faintly. "Guess we picked our side, huh?"

Charlotte sighed. "Guess we did."

Back inside — unaware — Marvin clung tighter, breath hitching softly as Whizzer rubbed slow circles on his back.

"I’ll protect you," Whizzer murmured against his hair. "No one’s taking you. Not now. Not ever."

But outside the thin walls...
The world was closing in.

And for the first time — all four of them were on the same kill list.

No way out.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

Whizzer gently shifted Marvin’s sleeping form — arms full of warm, fragile boy — as he carefully sat up.

Marvin didn’t stir.

Face soft. Breathing slow. Finally at peace.

Whizzer smiled faintly.

And then—

Click.

The secret earpiece buzzed in his ear.

"Whiz. You awake?" Charlotte’s voice, low and urgent.

He sighed. "Yeah. What now, Char?"

A pause. Then:
"We’re on the list. All four of us. Agency wants us dead."

Whizzer blinked.

Then snorted softly.

"Figured," he whispered, glancing down at Marvin’s sleeping face. "Took them long enough."

"You’re not... surprised?" Cordelia crackled in.

"Nah." Whizzer leaned back on the couch, cradling Marvin close like nothing had changed. "I always knew burning the bridge meant burning me with it."

"God, you’re insane," Charlotte muttered.

"Yeah," Whizzer grinned. "But hot."

A distant thud made Cordelia curse.

"They’re here, lover boy. Black vans. Four of 'em. Fully armed."

"Five minutes, maybe less," Charlotte snapped. "We gotta defend this dump."

Whizzer glanced around the room. Bare windows. Thin walls. Not great.

But workable.

He gently shifted Marvin — still fast asleep — pulling a blanket tighter over his shoulders.

"Stay dreaming, Marv," he murmured, brushing hair from Marvin’s bruised face. "We’ll handle the loud part."

Marvin sighed softly. Nuzzled closer.

Whizzer grabbed his sidearm and stood, stretching like this was a casual morning stroll.

Cordelia and Charlotte burst in, loaded rifles in hand.

"Well?" Cordelia grinned. "You gonna pout or shoot?"

Whizzer cocked his pistol, smirking.
"Both."

Charlotte rolled her eyes, dragging furniture in front of the door. "Three minutes. Tops."

Whizzer threw one last glance back.

Marvin — asleep, safe — untouched by the chaos about to tear down the walls.

Not on my watch.

He turned, gun raised.

"Let 'em come."

The storm hit the house.
Gunfire. Smoke. Shouting.

But inside the old safehouse...
Marvin slept.

Cradled by the warmth Whizzer left behind.

For now — he was safe.

And outside?

The devil himself — Whizzer Brown — was tearing the world apart to keep him that way.

Marvin stirred.

The distant scent of gunpowder clung to the air — sharp and bitter.

His eyes fluttered open.

The room was wrecked — furniture overturned, walls riddled with holes, smears of soot on the floor.

And there — standing in the middle of the chaos, wiping blood from his cheek — was Whizzer.

Bruised. Cut. Sweaty.

But alive.

Marvin’s heart slammed in his chest.

"Whizzer!" he gasped, sitting up fast, wincing as his sore muscles protested.

Whizzer turned — blinking — and smiled.

"Hey, sleeping beauty."

Marvin scowled hard. "You absolute idiot! Why the hell didn’t you wake me?! I can fight, you know! I’m not some useless doll you can tuck under a blanket and play hero while the house burns down!"

Whizzer just stared.

At Marvin’s face.

That perfect scowl.
The puffed cheeks.
The furrowed brow.
The flaring nostrils.

God, he’s cute when he’s angry.

"Are you even listening?!" Marvin snapped, standing shakily on the couch. "I could’ve helped! I could’ve picked up a gun! Or thrown something! Or stabbed someone—"

"You pout when you’re mad," Whizzer said softly, eyes shining.

Marvin froze. "What."

"Right there." Whizzer grinned — battered, exhausted, stupidly fond. "Your lip. It does this little pout when you yell."

Marvin gawked, mouth open.

Charlotte peeked in from the ruined hallway, smirking. "He’s been staring at you like that for the last twenty minutes, hon. Even while we were being shot at."

"Would you shut up," Whizzer muttered, waving her off, still locked on Marvin’s furious face.

Marvin flushed. "You’re such—such a moron—"

Whizzer staggered closer, smirking through the split lip and bruises.

"Couldn’t wake you," he murmured. "You were safe. Dreaming. The only peaceful thing in this hellhole."

His hand brushed Marvin’s cheek — warm and soft.

"I like it when you sleep. I like it when you pout even more."

Marvin swatted his hand away — red-faced. "Don’t you dare flirt with me when you’re bleeding all over the damn floor—"

Whizzer grinned wider.

"Too late."

Marvin glared — cheeks flaming — fists tight.

But his heart hammered fast and wild.

And Whizzer...
Whizzer was only thinking about him.

Not the wounds.
Not the smoke.
Not the near-death.

Only Marvin’s grumpy little face.

"Idiot," Marvin muttered, trying not to smile.

"I know," Whizzer breathed.

And for a moment — in the ruined safehouse — everything was quiet.

Just the two of them.

Alive.

Together.

“Sit,” Marvin ordered, dragging Whizzer by the wrist into the tiny safehouse bathroom.

Whizzer laughed — low, breathless — as he let Marvin shove him onto the edge of the tub. “Yes, sir. So bossy all of a sudden…”

“Shut up,” Marvin muttered, yanking open the first aid kit. His hands shook slightly — from nerves or anger or something worse — but he ignored it.

Whizzer grinned through his split lip. His shoulder was gashed, shirt torn, cheek smeared with dirt and blood.

Marvin frowned hard as he knelt in front of him.

"Fucking stupid. You could’ve been killed."

Whizzer hummed. "But I wasn’t."

"You could’ve been," Marvin snapped, pouring antiseptic onto a cloth and dabbing his cheek roughly.

Whizzer hissed. "Ow—careful, Marv—"

"Be quiet." His voice cracked — sharp, breaking under panic — but his fingers slowed, gentled.

Whizzer leaned into the touch anyway.

"Next time," Marvin muttered, "you wake me up. Got it? I can fight too. I’ve been trained. I’m not helpless."

Whizzer smirked. "But you looked so peaceful, baby. Couldn’t ruin that."

Marvin glared — cheeks red — but focused on wrapping the bandage tight around Whizzer’s shoulder.

"Stupid agent. Cocky, reckless—"

The door burst open.

"Awwwwwww," Charlotte sang from the hallway. "Look at the couple fighting in the bathroom!"

Cordelia leaned on the doorframe, grinning wide. "What is this? Domestic bliss in the middle of war?"

Marvin went scarlet.

"I swear to God—" Marvin began, standing up fast, “—if you don’t shut up, I will break your neck and feed you your own boots—”

Charlotte gasped. "Ooh, he’s feisty. Bet Whizzer likes that."

Whizzer — still grinning like an idiot — raised a weak hand. "I do."

"GET OUT!" Marvin snapped, flinging the antiseptic bottle toward the door.

They dodged it, giggling like gremlins, disappearing down the hallway.

Marvin ran both hands down his face and growled. "Why am I surrounded by children…?"

Whizzer grabbed his wrist gently.

Marvin blinked — looked down.

Whizzer’s eyes were soft. Warm. Careful.

"Hey," Whizzer murmured, "you fixed me. Thanks."

Marvin looked away, embarrassed, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

"...Shut up and keep sitting," he grumbled, digging for more bandages.

Whizzer grinned wider.

Best patch-up he ever got.

Whizzer sighed as Marvin finished tying the last bandage.

“Done,” Marvin muttered, sitting back on his heels. His face was still flushed. “Next time you pull that stunt, I’ll kill you myself.”

Whizzer chuckled. “At least I’ll die pretty. In your hands.”

Before Marvin could throw the gauze roll at his face, Cordelia burst in — again.

“Awwwwww, they’re so cute when they argue in bathrooms,” she sang, ducking as Marvin actually did fling the roll.

Charlotte peeked in behind her, laughing. “Honestly, this is more entertaining than cable. What channel is this? ‘Hot Agent Nurses Wounded Rich Boyfriend Live’?”

“Out. NOW,” Marvin snapped, grabbing the nearest object — a knife from the med kit.

“Eep—he’s got a knife—”

“I will throw it.”

“Worth it,” Cordelia grinned, dragging Charlotte away, still snickering.

Marvin groaned, rubbing his temples. “Children. Actual children.”

“Don’t worry,” Whizzer smirked, slowly standing — wincing slightly but steady. “I’m used to chaos.”

“Not funny.”

Marvin tugged him gently to the battered couch and shoved him down. Then — without warning — he flopped beside him, arms crossed, muttering, “You’re sleeping here. I’m not letting you walk with that shoulder.”

Whizzer blinked.

Marvin leaned against him — warm, small, scowling.

And trembling. Just a little.

“...Marv?”

A sigh.

“I thought I was gonna lose you.” His voice was small. Flat. Honest. “I woke up and you were bleeding and they were laughing and... I don’t like that feeling.”

Whizzer smiled softly. “I’m not going anywhere. You’d miss me.”

Marvin poked his bandaged shoulder — gently but firm. “Damn right I would. Idiot.”

Whizzer let his eyes drift shut — for just a moment — soaking in the warmth.

Then Cordelia’s voice cut through the air:

“GROUP MEETING, LOVEBIRDS!”

Whizzer groaned. “Can’t we have five minutes without them—”

“No,” Charlotte called, dragging papers to the center of the room. “Because you two made us targets too.”

Marvin sat up fast. “What?”

“Confirmed,” Cordelia said, tossing a photo onto the table. "All four of us. Marked. Kill squad’s next round.”

Silence.

Marvin looked at Whizzer — jaw tight. Whizzer met his gaze.

“We run,” Charlotte said. “Or fight back. No other way.”

Marvin crossed his arms. “I vote fight.”

Whizzer smirked. “I figured you’d say that.”

“And,” Cordelia grinned, “I vote for whatever keeps you two idiots alive long enough to make out dramatically when the danger’s passed.”

“Cordelia—”

“I’ll get the knife again—” Marvin warned, standing.

Whizzer caught his wrist and pulled him gently back down beside him.

“Later,” Whizzer murmured. “For now… sleep. Stay close.”

Marvin hesitated.

Then sighed — soft, small — and rested against him.

Whizzer held him tight.

“I’ll wake you this time,” he whispered. “Promise.”

Marvin grumbled — half-asleep already — and clung closer.

Outside, the storm waited.
But in the ruined safehouse — four fugitives, breathing slow in the dark — the world was quiet.

For now.

Chapter Text

Morning hit like a fist.

The distant hum of agency trucks, wheels crunching gravel, broke the fragile quiet of dawn.

“Move!” Charlotte barked, yanking the emergency bag from under the couch.

Cordelia threw open the back door, checking the alley. “Clear for two minutes — tops. Let’s go!”

Marvin jolted awake, heart hammering, Whizzer dragging him by the hand before he could even speak.

“Wha—Whizzer—?!”

“Run, Marv. Now.”

They bolted into the pale morning — across streets, down side alleys, ducking cameras and patrol drones.

The city blurred past — cold, steel, alive.

Cordelia shoved open the next gate, whispering, “Empty house — looks abandoned—”

They tumbled inside.

And straight into the middle of—

“Mendel, who the hell is breaking into our kitchen?”

Four heads snapped up.

A woman stood by the stove — messy bun, apron, knife still in hand — blinking in shock.

Behind her, a tall man in pajamas holding a coffee mug... and a little boy in dinosaur pajamas, staring wide-eyed at the sweaty, panting strangers in his living room.

“...Trina?” Marvin croaked.

Trina gasped — nearly dropped the knife.

“Marvin?!”

Mendel choked on his coffee.

“Wait—you know the rich crazy man in the magazines?!”

Jason waved from behind the couch. “Hi. You’re bleeding.”

Whizzer coughed.

Marvin stared — stunned, breathless, sweat dripping down his temple.

Trina ran forward. “What the hell are you doing breaking into my house at 7AM?!”

Charlotte peeked behind the curtain. “We’re being hunted, thanks for asking—”

“Hunted?!” Mendel shrieked.

Cordelia grabbed a bread roll from the counter. “Long story. Nice kid. Cute dinosaur PJs.”

“Get. Out.”

Marvin held up a shaky hand. “Wait. Trina. It’s me. Marvin. From high school. Remember?”

She stared. Then... softened — just slightly.

“Of course I remember, you idiot. You were my only friend before I transferred to Valley West...”

Whizzer blinked. Marvin flushed.

“Wait,” Trina squinted, pointing to Whizzer. “Isn’t that... the basketball boy? From junior year?”

Marvin froze.

Whizzer froze.

Cordelia snorted into her stolen bread.

“You mean the one he had the huge pathetic crush on?” she grinned.

“CORD—”

Trina gasped. "That’s HIM?!"

Marvin turned the color of a ripe tomato.

Jason giggled. “Mom, is that why Uncle Marvin was always weird at sleepovers?”

“JASON, go to your room!” Mendel yelped.

“Shut up—ALL OF YOU—” Marvin roared, flailing as Whizzer choked on laughter, clutching his bandaged side.

“You are the worst people I have ever met—”

“Marv.” Whizzer grinned, breathless. “This is the best morning of my life.”

Marvin fumed.

But Trina stepped forward — eyes wary but gentle.

“...You’re running from them, aren’t you?”

Marvin hesitated.

Then... nodded.

Her jaw tightened. “Then stay. Hide here. Mendel, grab blankets. Jason, no questions—just go.”

Mendel groaned but obeyed.

Whizzer blinked. “You’re letting us stay?”

“Duh.” Trina crossed her arms. “I’m not letting my only real friend from high school get killed in my kitchen.”

Marvin stared — throat tight.

Trina winked. “Besides... I always knew you had awful taste in bad boys.”

Whizzer grinned. Marvin groaned.

Cordelia whispered to Charlotte: “I like her.”

Charlotte smirked. “She’s staying. No choice.”

The chaos quieted.

For now.

The kitchen smelled like burnt toast and quiet panic.

Trina tossed eggs into a pan like she was defusing a bomb.

Mendel sat at the table, arms crossed, glaring like the mere existence of spies ruined his Sunday.

Jason sat across from Marvin, swinging his little legs. Staring.

Marvin picked at the edge of his sleeve.

“...So,” Jason said, “are you and that pretty man married?”

Marvin choked on his tea.

Whizzer, bandaged and smug, leaned against the counter. “Not yet, kid.”

Jason gasped, eyes shining. “You're GONNA get married?”

“No,” Marvin snapped.

“Yes,” Whizzer winked.

Jason clapped. Mendel groaned.

Trina smirked. “You always liked drama, Marvin.”

“I hate everyone here.”

Charlotte hummed. Cordelia took another pancake from the stack like this was a brunch date.

But Trina’s eyes softened as she slid a plate in front of Marvin — real food, warm, safe.

“It’s been years,” she said quietly, wiping her hands on a towel. “You vanished after high school. What happened to you?”

Marvin froze.

Whizzer glanced over — heart twisting.

“I... I got rich,” Marvin muttered. “Alone. Quiet. Like always.”

Trina sighed. “Still shutting everyone out, huh?”

He winced.

Cordelia whispered to Charlotte: “Is this... feelings time?”

Charlotte elbowed her. “Shut up. Let them talk.”

Marvin stared at the eggs.

“I thought about you, you know,” Trina said gently. “Wondered if you were okay. You were... so small back then. Always bullied. Except—” she glanced at Whizzer— “when he stopped them.”

Marvin stiffened.

Whizzer froze.

“I knew you liked him,” she smiled. “Even if you lied and said you were straight.”

Mendel gagged into his coffee. Jason giggled.

“I hate this house,” Marvin muttered.

But his face... glowed. Just a little.

For a moment, it felt almost normal.

Until Cordelia cursed.

“Rooftop. Laser drone. Incoming.”

Everyone froze.

“Get up,” Charlotte said sharply, gun already in hand. “Now.”

“Not the kitchen—!” Mendel yelped.

Whizzer grabbed Marvin’s wrist, dragging him toward the back stairs.

“Out. Roof. Now.”

Trina shoved Jason into Mendel’s arms, pushing them to the panic hatch.

“Marvin—GO—”

He hesitated. Met her eyes. Thank you.

She smiled. “Don’t die, idiot.”

The four agents bolted up the stairs — weapons drawn, hearts hammering.

The rooftop air hit like ice.

Two drones. Black. Glinting.

“Move!” Charlotte shouted.

Bullets sparked as they ran — diving behind chimneys, firing back.

Marvin gasped — dragged down behind cover by Whizzer, breathless.

“I can fight, you know!” Marvin hissed, drawing a blade from his boot.

Whizzer smirked. “You’re hot when you threaten me.”

“Shut up—”

“Guys, less flirting, more shooting!” Cordelia yelped, blasting one drone clean out of the sky.

The other veered — Marvin threw his knife — sparks — metal burst — and it crashed flaming to the street below.

Silence.

Panting.

“...I hate mornings,” Cordelia muttered.

Charlotte reloaded. “We need to run. They know.”

“Where to?” Marvin asked.

Whizzer smiled — soft, guilty.

“Wherever you want, Marv. I’m yours now.”

Marvin flushed.

Trina’s voice crackled through the stolen earpiece in Charlotte’s pocket:
“Don’t die, losers. My kitchen can’t handle another break-in.”

Cordelia burst out laughing.

And for one brief moment — against the skyline — they smiled.

Chapter Text

“Get in the damn car!”

Trina’s voice rang through the chaos as the back garage door slammed open.

A beat-up gray van sat coughing in the driveway — probably older than Jason — but humming, ready.

Marvin blinked. “Trina—”

“NOW, Marvin!” she barked, shoving a bag into Charlotte’s arms. “Mendel packed the first aid — I packed food — Jason packed, uh, gummy bears—”

“And my Godzilla toy!” Jason yelled from the hallway.

Mendel came sprinting with another box — breathless, sweating. “And burner phones — untraceable — cash — passports — my entire emergency apocalypse box—”

“—which you said I was crazy to keep!” Trina snapped, tossing a crowbar into Whizzer’s lap as he climbed into the passenger’s seat.

“Who’s crazy now, huh, Mendel?!”

Whizzer whistled. “Nice crowbar. I like her.”

Trina grinned grimly. “Shut up, pretty boy, and drive fast.”

Marvin stood frozen — heart pounding — staring at her.

Trina softened.

“Marv... I know you always ran away from things. From people. But not this time. Run — and live. Got it?”

His throat tightened. “...I’m sorry I left you behind.”

She smiled — small, real. “I forgave you years ago.”

Mendel grabbed Marvin’s shoulder. “Stay alive, kid. Or I swear I’ll drag your rich ass back from the grave to pay me rent.”

Jason waved from the kitchen. “Bye, Uncle Marvin! Bye gay pretty man!”

Whizzer snorted.

Marvin climbed into the van — Cordelia slamming the side door shut — Charlotte checking the rear.

Trina banged the hood. “Safehouse address is in the glove compartment! Private. Suburban. Old client’s place — no one can track you there. You’ve got a two-hour head start — GO!”

Whizzer grinned. “I like her so much.”

“I'll drive,” Charlotte growled.

The tires squealed — the van lurched — and they were off.

Inside the rattling van...

Marvin sat quiet — crammed between Whizzer and Cordelia — bag in his lap.

Whizzer glanced sideways. “You okay, princess?”

“Don’t. Call me. Princess.”

Cordelia cackled.

Marvin sighed... but secretly smiled.

Charlotte checked the burner phones. “The safehouse is clean. No bugs. No cameras. No neighbors. We can breathe there.”

Whizzer grinned. “Sounds romantic.”

Marvin kicked his boot.

The van bounced down the old highway, fleeing the city, leaving smoke, danger, and their old life behind.

But in his pocket... Marvin felt something.

A note.

Slipped in by Trina.

Marv —
When this is over, come home.
I still owe you a real breakfast.
Be safe, idiot.
— T.

He smiled. Soft. Real.

Maybe he wasn’t so alone after all.

Midnight, The Balcony

The suburban safehouse smelled like old books and quiet.

Wood floors. Lace curtains. No cameras. No bugs. No danger — for now.

Marvin stood in the tiny spare room, folding Whizzer’s shirts with weird care, frowning.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, smoothing the fabric again.

Cordelia peeked in. “Look at you. Domestic little housewife.”

He blushed. “I’m not—”

“Sure, babe,” she winked, ducking away.

Marvin sighed. The safehouse felt too quiet. Too safe.
Like the eye of a hurricane.

He glanced at the old sofa where Charlotte cleaned her gun, humming.

Whizzer was in the kitchen... badly burning toast.

Marvin rolled his eyes. “You can’t even toast bread properly?”

Whizzer grinned over his shoulder. “I make up for it in other ways, sugar.”

Marvin scowled... but his face turned pink.

Whizzer leaned on the counter — watching him.

“Why are you folding my shirts, Marv?”

“I like... neatness.”

“And me?”

Marvin ignored him, tucking the last shirt in the drawer.

The house was silent.

Except for the balcony creaking in the wind — and Whizzer standing there, arms braced on the rail, breathing deep.

Marvin padded out behind him — quiet.

“You should sleep,” Whizzer said softly. “Tomorrow’s gonna suck.”

“I couldn’t.”

Whizzer glanced at him.

And broke.

“I can’t do this, Marv.”

Marvin froze.

Whizzer’s hands curled tight on the wood. “I can’t pretend. I can’t keep lying to you. You trust me. You look at me like I’m... something good. And I’m not. I’m not.”

Marvin swallowed. His chest squeezed.

“I was sent to destroy you, Marvin. To steal everything. I was supposed to let you die.” His voice cracked. “And I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because you—”

He stopped.

Marvin waited.

Because you smiled at me. Because you fold my shirts. Because you sleep next to me like I’m safe.

“I can’t do it,” Whizzer whispered. “Even if it kills me.”

Silence.

Then soft footsteps.

Marvin gently touched his sleeve.

“I know,” Marvin murmured. “I knew. But you... stayed. And that’s enough.”

Whizzer turned — and Marvin’s hand slid to his cheek.

“Stay,” Marvin said softly. “Please. Just stay.”

Whizzer shut his eyes.

“I’ll stay,” he promised. “For you.”

And in the dark — on the quiet balcony — they stood there.

No guns. No orders. No agency.

Just them.

For the first time.

“Holy shit.”

Charlotte held up the dusty box like treasure.

“Is that—” Cordelia gasped, “—a working old Nintendo set?!”

“Sure looks like it.” Charlotte grinned, dragging the wires toward the tiny safehouse TV. “Looks like whoever used this house before had good taste.”

“I love breaking cover with retro games,” Cordelia cackled. “Screw trauma. Time for Mario Kart.”

Whizzer lounged on the couch, half-watching as the two agents fumbled with cables.

Marvin peeked from the kitchen doorway, towel over his shoulder. “...You two are idiots.”

Charlotte smirked. “Jealous you can’t beat my high score, rich boy?”

“I have real hobbies.”

“Like folding Whizzer’s underwear?” Cordelia grinned.

Marvin flushed. Whizzer grinned wider.

“You folded my underwear, Marv?” he teased.

“Shut up.”

The TV flickered to life — Mario’s cheerful theme blaring — and Charlotte cheered.

“YES. Works like a charm.”

“We are not going to die today,” Cordelia said, plopping down with snacks. “We are going to play this stupid game and pretend we’re normal.”

Whizzer leaned close to Marvin’s ear. “They’ll be glued to this for hours...”

Marvin raised a brow. “And?”

“And I can think of a better use for your mouth.”

Marvin choked on air. “Whizzer—”

Whizzer grabbed his wrist — gently — and tugged him down the narrow hallway to the guest bedroom.

Meanwhile, in the living room...

“...Why is the bed creaking?” Cordelia frowned, pausing the game.

Charlotte smirked. “Because our little spy prince is getting very busy.”

Cordelia winced. “...You think he’s topping or—?”

“Marvin?” Charlotte snorted. “Bottom. For sure.”

The bed thudded against the wall.

“...Yep. Definitely bottom.”

Cordelia threw popcorn at the screen. “Focus, nerd. You’re gonna lose to my Yoshi.”

Marvin gasped — flushed and breathless — pinned beneath Whizzer’s weight.

“Whizz—ah—Whizzer—”

“Shh, pretty boy,” Whizzer murmured, lips brushing his ear. “Let them play their stupid game. You’re all mine now.”

Marvin shuddered — arching — fingers gripping the sheets tight as Whizzer rocked against him, slow and dangerous, like he owned him.

For once... Marvin didn’t mind being caught. Didn’t mind being wanted.

For once... he felt safe.

The bedroom door creaked open.

Marvin peeked out — shirt loose, face glowing.

Charlotte waved a controller. “Hey, lover boy. You ready to lose to my Princess Peach?”

Whizzer grinned behind him. “After him folding my boxers this morning, I think I already won.”

Marvin groaned, dragging him back into the room by his collar.

“Coward!” Cordelia yelled after them. “Face us like men!”

Their laughter echoed down the safehouse hall.

Chapter Text

Morning at the Safehouse...

Marvin padded into the living room, hair a sleepy mess, wearing one of Whizzer’s loose shirts.

He froze.

Charlotte and Cordelia were waiting on the couch. Grinning like wolves.

“Ohhh, look who finally emerged,” Charlotte cooed.

“Mr. 'I'm Not Domestic' folded his boyfriend’s boxers and got railed into the mattress last night,” Cordelia smirked.

Marvin blushed instantly. “I hate you both.”

Charlotte leaned on the armrest. “You were loud, sweetheart. Walls aren’t bulletproof here — or soundproof.”

“Mm-hmm. Poor old Nintendo probably got traumatized,” Cordelia added, fake sighing.

Whizzer strolled in behind him — smug — wrapping an arm around Marvin’s waist.

“Don’t tease him too much,” Whizzer grinned. “He’s fragile.”

Marvin elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“Ow! Okay, maybe not that fragile.”

Cordelia snorted. “He bruises your ribs, but blushes like a nun. Cute.”

Marvin huffed. “I can defend myself, you know.”

An hour later, behind the safehouse...

“Alright, rich boy,” Whizzer said, tossing Marvin a combat knife. “Let’s see if you can actually defend yourself.”

Marvin caught it easily. Twirled it once.

Charlotte whistled. “Someone’s hiding talent.”

Whizzer circled him slowly. “You sure you’re not just a pretty face with soft hands?”

“Try me.”

Whizzer lunged.

Marvin blocked, twisting the blade up — almost catching Whizzer’s throat.

The spy froze — surprised — grinning wide.

“Well... look who paid attention.”

Marvin smirked. “I took fencing in Switzerland. Rich kid secrets.”

Cordelia giggled. “Knew he had a dangerous side.”

“Again,” Marvin said, lifting the knife.

Whizzer chuckled low. “God, you’re hot when you’re serious.”

They sparred — quick flashes of metal — Marvin holding his own beautifully. Sharp, fast, precise.

Finally, Whizzer disarmed him with a playful sweep — pinning Marvin to the training mat — breathless, grinning above him.

“I win,” Whizzer purred.

“Barely,” Marvin gasped, flushed, grinning for real.

Charlotte leaned to Cordelia. “He’s definitely not fragile.”

“Definitely not a bottom in combat, anyway,” Cordelia snickered.

“Still a bottom in bed, though.”

Whizzer winked.

Marvin groaned. “I hate you all.”

But secretly… he loved this.

For once, he felt strong.

Alive.

Wanted.

It started with the burner phone.

Buzz. Buzz.

Charlotte snatched it up. “Unknown number. You expecting calls, Marv?”

Marvin frowned. “Only Whizzer.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

Charlotte answered, cautious. “Who is this?”

“Charlotte—” Trina’s voice was a sharp whisper. “Get out. Someone found the safehouse.”

The room froze.

“I don’t know how — but there’s chatter. Heavy chatter. Someone sold your location. You’ve got maybe five minutes before they breach.”

Charlotte’s eyes darkened.

“Copy. Thanks, Trin.”

“Get Marvin out.”

Charlotte hung up.

“Party’s coming early, folks,” she muttered, loading a fresh mag into her pistol.

Cordelia cracked her knuckles. Smirked.

“About time,” she purred. “Let Mommy clean the yard.”

Whizzer grabbed Marvin’s hand, tugging him toward the back exit.

“No,” Marvin yanked free. “I can fight. You taught me.”

Whizzer cursed under his breath — but nodded.

Cordelia stomped to the big window — yanked down the dusty curtain — revealing the front lawn crawling with armed mercs.

“Ohhh baby,” she grinned. “So many toys to break.”

Charlotte flipped two spare mags to her. “Make ‘em scream, Queen.”

The breach began.

Glass shattered.

Cordelia opened fire — pure demon goddess — mowing down the front wave without blinking.

Rat-tat-tat-tat.

Bodies dropped.

“STAY BACK!” she roared, switching to full auto.

Another squad rushed the porch — cut down before they could blink.

“NOT IN MY SAFEHOUSE, BITCHES!”

Smoke. Blood. Screams.

“Clear left!” Charlotte barked — headshot, headshot — flawless.

“Clear right!” Cordelia smirked — triple tap — pure murder.

“Someone remind me why I’m the gay spy in love and not the killing machine?” Whizzer muttered, dragging Marvin to cover.

Marvin grinned — adrenaline rushing. “Because you’d cry if you chipped a nail.”

Whizzer snorted. “True.”

More mercs spilled from the trees.

Cordelia laughed — high and terrifying — switching to her big gun.

BRRRRRRRT.

They dropped like flies.

“YES!” she cackled. “YOU LIKE THAT?! COME GET SOME MORE, YOU CHEAP-EYED SONS OF—”

Charlotte whistled. “Save ammo, Rambo.”

Five minutes.

All dead.

Silence.

Smoke drifting.

Cordelia lowered the machine gun — hair wild, sweat glistening, grinning like the devil.

“...I love my job.”

Marvin peeked out. “Remind me never to make her angry.”

Whizzer wrapped an arm around him. “Charlotte gets off from this.”

Charlotte kicked a corpse. “We need to move. Now. There’ll be more.”

“Trina warned us just in time,” Cordelia grinned, cracking her neck. “Sweet girl.”

Whizzer squeezed Marvin’s hand.

The safehouse was quiet now.

Bloody, scorched, but standing.

Cordelia wiped sweat from her brow — laughing — tossing her gun to the couch.

Charlotte smirked from the kitchen doorway. “You’ve still got it, Queen.”

“Ohhh, I’ve got plenty more.” Cordelia stalked closer — hips swaying — until she pressed Charlotte against the wall, breath hot in her ear. “Want a private encore, babe?”

Charlotte grinned. “God, yes.”

Across the room — Marvin peeked from the couch — wrapped in a blanket, curled into Whizzer’s lap.

He squinted. Smirked.

“Ohhhh no. Look who’s about to get busy.”

Whizzer chuckled. “Knew they’d crack first.”

Charlotte paused — glancing their way.

“Don’t start, boys,” she warned, fingers tugging Cordelia’s collar.

Marvin grinned wider. “What happened to ‘professional spies’? Tsk.”

Cordelia flicked him off without turning. “We just saved your spoiled life, rich boy. Let Mommy enjoy her reward.”

Whizzer snickered. “Careful, Char. You’ll break her back at this rate.”

Cordelia gasped — pretending to fan herself. “Break me, baby. Please.”

“Disgusting,” Marvin laughed. “In my safehouse?”

Charlotte smirked darkly. “You moaned louder than a dying cat last night, Marvin.”

Whizzer grinned. “True. Real soprano stuff.”

Marvin gasped. “Betrayal!”

Cordelia laughed — dragging Charlotte toward the bedroom. “Jealous little bottom boys. Watch and learn.”

Marvin blew a kiss. “Have fun breaking the bed, girls.”

The door slammed.

Marvin snickered into Whizzer’s shoulder.

“Think the headboard survives this time?”

Whizzer kissed his temple. “No chance. Spy girls go hard.”

Charlotte’s laugh — low, wicked — echoed from the other room.

A soft thump.

Then Cordelia’s gasp.

Marvin grinned sleepily. “God. I love this team.”

Whizzer chuckled. “They scare me more than the kill squads.”

Another thump. Another moan.

Marvin winced. “The walls, Cordelia. Have mercy.”

The night went on — filled with distant sinful noises and giggling boys under blankets.

For once… safe.

For once… a little normal.