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Chicken Out, Once Again

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A raven-haired man stood at the front of a sleek white door of a modern house. Some scratches and bruises scattered across his body here and there, his clothing full of rips and loose fabric. The man just came out of a somewhat-brutal fight that possibly included rookie hooligan thieves and a few knives. The man had faded scars though, which meant what he dealt with was natural for him.

A bouquet of flowers were being held tightly behind his back with his right hand. Mocha eyes faced the ground, his brows furrowed, biting his lip under nervous habit. He silently tapped his foot as he gathered the courage to do what he planned to do.

The house that the hero stood in front of was surprisingly normal as a shelter for a villain. He expected either a more discreet location or an intimidating dark mansion where no light could pass through the clouds above it. Instead, the sight that greeted him was a white, sleek, two-story modern house that seemed to have cost a lot of money. The structure made for it must be designed by a well-paid architect. A large, round pool sat behind the residence. Surrounding it were beige colored tiles. Ivory and blue decorated beach chairs sat under an umbrella next to a table which were obviously meant for relaxation. The outer walls looked as if as they were painted recently, no cracks nor dirt collected on the corners that were hardest to reach. He couldn't help but awe at the simplicity and decency the owner had when it comes to taste.

He could feel tension filling up his brain at the thought of this man being out of his league.

The sights and sounds the place had to offer distracted him for a bit before remembering what he came there for. As he was reminded, he suddenly felt unsure of himself. What if he wasn't enough? That his posture and everything about himself weren't that great and that he would be rejected? What if the man he was after humiliates him after his confession? He didn't fear the villain killing him, knowing that during their fights the masked man had many opportunities to eliminate him. He was still standing there alive, it was proof enough for him to only worry about the reaction that comes after his next action. These thoughts rung through his mind for the past weeks until then. Since he stood there, he started to hesitate more. A shaky hand kept going back and forth, acting on the conflicting thoughts of "What ifs" and "Just do it you fuckwad". After moments, a dirty gloved finger fiercely pushed the plain button sitting next to the door. A chime rang from the inside.

At that moment, he focused more on the what ifs. His throat felt dry and his head felt like it was spinning. He silently hyperventilated before dashing straight for the bushes where he would hide in plain sight.

The entrance opened and out came a confused dark-brunette man in a blue hoodie. His pale complexion looked soft against the sunlight. He leaned out the frame of the door and turned his head around to find whoever activated the noise of chimes, eyes darting for any strange sights within his front garden. When he confirmed himself that the culprit was nowhere to be found, he went back inside and slammed the door. A voice could be heard muttering about pranksters and hooligans messing with the wrong person.

When that was over, a breath released itself and the bruised man made a silent dash out the garden. 'Maybe next time.'

The second time it happened, the same man stood at the porch once again. This time he was wearing an owl mask and a better outfit that consisted of a red collared jacket, white shirt, and black slacks. The bruises he had before had gotten better and his posture seemed to be more straight. He took a deep breath as his fists clenched the same flowers that he brought on his previous attempt.

A scratchy voice of a young man whispered to himself, "Come on, Vanoss... You can do this. You. Can. Do. This."

Once again, his shaky hand slowly went up to press the button next to the familiar door. Thoughts raced within his mind, bouncing off his skull and making him feel a bit dizzy and nauseous. He tensed when he finally pressed the button. Quick heavy thumps can be heard from the inside.

"I can't do this--I CAN'T DO THIS!"

He then panicked and dashed away in to the darkness just in time for the familiar blue figure to open the door. Vanoss hid and watched from afar as icy blue optics frantically searched again for the same culprit. His expression held more annoyance than before, slouching and crossing his arms. The sound of a growl escaped the man's throat as he stomped back to the hallway of his house. Another door slam and he had gone back to his own business.

Once again, the owl man chickened out at what he needed to do.

The same thing happened again and again for several weeks. At near dawn when the sky reached its red-orange hue, Vanoss would try to do what he originally planned only to run away and never confront the man wearing blue. As the number of failures progressed, he gradually grew nervous at the thought of his “crush” getting annoyed then spout out curses to his face. The cycle seemed to last forever.

Then the cycle came to a stop. The endless circle turned out to be a segment of a line

It was midnight. The stars shone brightly above the clean air of the residence. At this point not only did the blue man start to get tired of it, but so did the owl-masked male. He lost all hope of getting to confess what he wanted to say to the resident. Many times had he wanted to give up and leave whatever topic he had alone. Yet, something within him wanted him to keep on going for no reason. He decided to do it once again, heart beating faster than before.

Deep inhale. His shaky hand reached the doorbell. One more ring. He told himself that if he failed then, he'll give up and continue on with his life never being able to tell the delirious man about his feelings. A noise rang through the house once a finger reached the button.

Silence. It was the only thing he heard from the other side for minutes.

His palms were really sweaty and he nearly forgot to breathe. Despite that, he kept his composure for a few moments and brought in a silent inhale.

Slowly, the anxiety he held within him started to deteriorate. The feeling replaced itself with disappointment and lost hope. He decided it was time to run off like before. He turned around towards the exit of the front garden and took a step forward, prepping for another unseen escape.

Then door banged open and a hand harshly gripped his shoulder.

Everything blurred until he felt his back slammed against the indoor wall. He found himself in the orange lit house face-to-face with blue orbs and a Voorhees mask. After seconds of glaring at the owl-faced man, the blue eyes that were once on him glanced at the wilted flowers grasped within dark gloved hands. The expression underneath the mask had the look of sudden recognition.

The false-faced in blue chuckled and asked, "Are- are those for me? That's what all- all of this is about? Is this what this is for?"

Silence was the only answer he received. Pale fingers held the rim of the owl head and took them off, revealing a timid, yellow-ish tanned man with nervous eyes that would look anywhere besides the other's mask. Heat filled the cheeks of the darker haired, finally focusing his sights on the floor. The paler of the two barely caught Vanoss' blush.

He used his signature laugh before giving more questions. "You're nervous, aren't you? What is Mr. "Hero of Los Santos" doing, constant-er,” he paused for a moment to process what he was going to say, “...constantly ringing my doorbell like a lost pupper then running away like a little bitch?"

Brown eyes widened at the fact that just had been stated. "How...how did you know?!"

"I grew tired constant dis-disturbance and decided it was time to get security cameras. I then realized that it was you who rang it every damned time. And every time I tried catching you as I run down the fucking loud-assed stairs, you'd be gone by the time I fucking get there!"

More unique laughs came from the man in question, finding the situation ridiculous. Soon, Vanoss joined in with his quiet and nervous giggle.

A moment later after holding the culprit against the wall, he inquired, "So...it's...it's quite obvious that you wanted to fucking tell me something. Does it have anything to do with the dead-ass flowers?"

The taller man's voice came out more suggestive than expected, but the shorter wasn't able to process that it and was clueless. He choked on a lump in his throat trying to get the words out. His once calmed mind now raced again at what he was going to do. Thoughts ran around everywhere. He feared of what would happen next. Then he finally pushed himself to say it.

"I-I-...I..."

"Well?" There came a laugh that showed obvious amusement by the attempt, "You gonna say somethin'? Let it out!"

"I...I like you, Delirious.” He muttered the words out, lips quivering at what would happen next.

He didn't receive anything from the older man after the confession. When he looked up though, he did receive a sudden kiss on the forehead by the latter who took his own mask off. When that happened, all the words that jumbled in his brain ceased to a halt. His head felt like the aftermath of a stampede—calm but messy. Then the questions in his brain started to gear up again. Only less rushed.

He barely heard the other's soft laugh. “The feeling is motherfuckin' mutual, Vanoss. Ever since the first day we fuckin' met. But...I have...I have a question. Why would you, a goody-two-shoes, want someone like me, a bad ass villain?”

Vanoss only stood quiet at the question and seemed to just be staring.

“Vanoss?” Delirious asked, concerned for his rival-slash-crush.

Delirious hardly had time to react before he felt lips crashing onto his own, hands roughly dragging the rims of his hoodie down to the other's level.