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Luis had considered his life over at least 20 times in the past week alone. Whether the burn of all-too-tight rope danced along his wrists, or whether the damp rocks falling overhead felt ever so slightly too eager to tumble. Luis thought he’d die– that this was all about to be over, that he was done for. How funny it seems only now, God has fixed him a savior.
Luis choked on the decrepit air. Ah, his battered lungs had undertaken enough abuse already from cigarette after cigarette (and Lord knows he’s been smoking more lately). God forgive him for it, but Luis wasn’t all too keen on scaling the claustrophobic tunnels of a questionably sound cave. He trusted his decidedly informal tour guide, yes, but that didn’t mean he had to trust the scenery said tour guide brought him to.
“Amigo,” Luis spoke out, careful to let his tone be easy and assured. Even if the Hells reached up to grab Luis by the ankles, he was sure he’d have something pretty to say about it– that he’d keep coy. Compared to that fun little hypothetical that he chose not to linger on, this overarching, crushing, suffocating (he emphasized suffocating) feeling of doom and death meant nothing.
As Luis began to speak, he registered as Leon’s head tilted ever so slightly, as if perking up. Not exactly rapt attention, considering Leon seemed a little preoccupied with his navigation, but listening all the same. Still, his gaze remained fixed ahead, and his steps were swift and remarkably light.
The crackling sounds of pebbles rustled, the dust peppered from the ceilings, the way Leon sucked in his breath with each step, as if the ground would fall out from beneath them. For perhaps the 21st time, Luis told himself that his life was over. His chest constricted, and he feigned a cough to shake himself out of it.
His impromptu companion would do for a distraction.
Luis put on a smile, letting his body language shift as a string of meaningless, honeyed words fell from his tongue. As Leon’s head turned just enough for Luis to catch a glimpse of his expression, he couldn’t read it, and decided to tell himself it couldn’t be anything more than surface-level annoyance.
———————
“Mierda–” Luis coughed, lungs hungry and aching, sucking in the sweet, sweet oxygen he’d been freshly exposed to. As his eyes wandered and took in proper scenery for the first time in forever, he took note of the golden-haired savior standing over him.
His throat protested as he tried to form words on his tongue– dry as sand, brittle as bone. He held back the coughs and gasps.
“You got–”
Luis only got through two words before he heaved dryly, nothing escaping his lips but dry air and painful coughs. Sweat dripped off his brow, and his wrists ached.
“You got a smoke?”
Even through the haze of his eyes and the palpitations of his heart that filled his eardrums, he could register a look of exasperation on his little savior’s expression.
“Those things will kill you, you know.”
The cogs in Luis’ head rapidly turned as he worked to make heads and tails out of his situation. As his gaze dissected every part of the man cutting the bindings of his confinement, countless ruminations flitted about his head.
He’d make all this worth his while, somehow. Luis was nothing if not crafty– and he had a certain “gut feeling” about this newfound helper of his.
———————
“I take it you like thrill rides, eh, sancho?”
Leon, ever the strong and silent type, let out a dry scoff at Luis’ remark.
“Who are you calling sancho?”
Luis just smirked, but did not respond.
“I see no other reason for you to be so drawn to this,” Luis continued, gesturing vaguely at the cart he was currently sat in. “Ah, but we’re in a rush, aren’t we?”
Leon seemed preoccupied, fiddling with the thing as they prepared to set it in motion. Luis let his gaze wander towards the gaping void ahead of him, and quickly whipped his head away so as to not let his imagination get the better of him.
“I could do with a little less adrenaline in my life, actually,” Leon sarcastically responded, seeming ever so slightly amused. He stood up properly, dusting off his knees.
“Go on, give us a push!”
“I am so over this,” Leon muttered beneath this breath. Even so, he gave the cart a quick shove, and quickly settled in it, behind Luis.
As Luis caught a glimpse of the drop ahead, his breath caught.
22nd time’s the charm, right? He was definitely dead.
———————
Luis may be particularly adept at stringing together words of little substance to form a gratuitously pretty picture, but no amount of witty remarks and sharp quips could fool himself into feeling anything but dread this entire day.
And yet, as Leon muttered something about ‘practice’ and ‘upgrades’ and directed the two towards a slightly rundown shooting range, Luis took it as a moment to catch his breath. More often than not, he was heaving instead of breathing, and Luis couldn’t say he was particularly a fan of this new little habit.
Bang.
Luis shifted his weight from leg to leg, watching as Leon fired towards target after target. Ah, a frightening accuracy, but of course, Luis would expect nothing less. For every stolen moment Luis was able to get, piecing together little fractions of Leon’s storied life, gathering small little details and intricacies perhaps forgotten by the man himself, Luis began to get a picture. And, well, that picture happened to fit a man who really knew his way around a gun.
Bang.
Leon was almost appallingly quick with each reload. Each movement, every flick of his wrist– a practiced action, perhaps engraved into his mind more closely to his identity than the name he bore. In a way, that gun may as well be fused with his arm. Cold steel, unfeeling bullets– it felt a little too obvious for the ever-stoic Leon. Luis critiqued life’s poetry skills in his head.
Bang.
It didn’t matter what firearm was seated in Leon’s palms. When you live and breathe this bitter kind of life, you begin to forget there was ever a time a “you” existed without that familiar sting in your heart.
…Or perhaps, Luis projected. Perhaps he was alone with that sentiment.
Bang.
The ghost of a smile found Leon’s face as he set a new highscore. Luis held his breath for a single moment– ah, it had been far too long since he’s seen that kind of look on… anyone’s face, really. The notion of having the stone-faced Leon being the one to remind Luis what being content looked like was a little ironic.
Perhaps he was too hasty to be so harsh on life’s writing skills.
“ I got a little too into that,” Luis joked, to what seemed to be Leon’s chagrin, judging by the vaguely amused scoff he let out. Luis surprised himself to find the smile on his face a little more genuine than he’d anticipated.
Perhaps, this kind of respite was not entirely unwelcome.
———————
Luis took a sharp inhale of his cigarette, free hand fiddling with the lighter. The cart had taken it out of Luis, and he was surprised to find when he requested a moment to smoke, Leon had obliged without convincing. Shifting from foot to foot, eyes staring blankly ahead, Luis could feel anxiety seeping out of each and every one of his pores. Like a waterfall, his constricted chest seemed to relax just enough that Luis felt like dropping dead was at least postponed for another hour.
The familiar clicking of Leon maintaining his handgun occupied his ears. It felt bitterly humorous that the sound of a weapon had become strangely comforting. There was safety in routine, wasn’t there? What could be more routine than making sure your gun can be relied on?
And yet, even with the familiar sting of smoke in his lungs, even with the idle sounds of a workshopped handgun, his mind wandered to places he’d try to bar off. A distinct tap, tap could be heard– the dripping of water, it reverberating through the claustrophobic walls. Luis shifted his gaze to the sound’s source, eyes fixing on the small puddle that had begun to form beneath. Luis felt all too trapped– the sun had begun to feel like a distant tale of a bygone era, and his cigarette pack was lighter for it.
His fingers tightened around the cigarette. When had smoking become not enough of a distraction for him?
He turned his head away from the dripping water, from the puddle which seemed to be growing disproportionately quickly in light of the small droplets dribbling down. The tapping began to feel irregular, and it began to somehow drown out the sounds of Leon’s fidgeting. Luis felt a little small and all too big at the same time.
Luis gripped his fraying cigarette a little too tightly, and he watched as it crumpled in half–
Hastily caught by Leon, who he hadn’t realized had walked so close until now. He examined the broken half of the cigarette, the ember dancing at its end illuminating a warm glow.
“Littering? I thought better of you,” Leon spoke ironically, considering he stamped the thing out on the ground to extinguish it, and left it there. His tone felt lightly mocking, a little bit demeaning– and yet, there seemed to be a little bit more. Luis didn’t want to meet his gaze, not yet, he didn’t know why. He didn’t bother thinking too hard about it. Didn’t want to.
Luis felt his chest tighten, rushing to straighten his posture. He lowered the cigarette– out of sight, out of mind– and adjusted his jacket.
He tried to laugh. It wasn’t as convincing as he would’ve liked, in truth.
“Ah, but you flatter me, amigo,” Luis joked. “I figured you thought very, very little of me.”
“I never said I didn’t. Maybe littering is low, even for one such as you.”
Luis feigned offense, even as his shoulders untensed ever so slightly. Then, he felt bile in his throat. Suddenly, he felt sick, and suddenly, he felt a vague sense of dread well up in his gut. Suddenly, Luis whipped his head upwards, up to meet Leon’s eyes head-on. Leon seemed briefly surprised by the sudden action, and Luis’ adjustment in posture arranged so there was a distinct lack of personal space for both parties. Luis was expecting himself to shrink away and quickly tear his gaze elsewhere, as seemed to be so in character for him as of late. And yet, there, he began to study Leon’s expression. It had always nagged at him how frustratingly hard it was to read, and how Leon barely gave enough time for Luis to actually dissect it.
Soon, Luis told himself, he’s going to whip his head away and turn his attention right back to his gun. Leon always seemed in a rush to cut eye contact short, to always be preoccupied with something. So Luis studied his face while he had the chance, before Leon inevitably did what Leon does.
In the depths of those eyes, those eyes that radiate exhaustion and exasperation, there was a distinct feeling of fear he didn’t let bubble to the surface. One would never guess, that confident demeanor, those sarcastic remarks and the uncanny reflexes which clung to Leon like a second skin– but Luis felt no surprise. He’d always gotten the feeling– as if he grew a sense for it, a sense for detecting a brooding that matched his own; lying beneath the surface like a cancer ready to eat one alive. There, always there, but subdued and quiet.
Luis continued to ruminate– what else did he see? Suddenly, he felt his heart tug at him, its grubby fingers prying at his brain and hijacking his better thought. Luis had an avoidance for thinking too hard about certain things, certain topics with relations to each other that he liked even less than the topics themselves. He found that Leon and how he regarded Luis himself was one such topic. And yet, now, his mind was clear as he properly thought about it. Luis couldn’t read Leon at a glance, and in truth, he wasn’t sure if Leon truly was simply entertaining his antics, or whether he found–
“Luis?”
Suddenly, the world came back to him. He realized he’d been staring in complete silence for a minute. It should’ve felt awkward. It should’ve. Why didn’t Leon turn away? He always turns away.
“Lo siento, I was–”
Luis swallowed, cutting himself short. He tried to quickly gather his wits, to bring back that bravado and have something suave to say about everything. Finally, Leon put some distance between the two. Luis let out a shaky breath, reaching for a fresh cigarette, searching his pockets for his lighter. Where was his lighter?
“You dropped it,” Leon suddenly spoke, outstretching his hand and placing the lighter in Luis’ palm.
Luis made an ‘ah’ sound of acknowledgement, whispering out a ‘thank you’ as he kept his gaze fixated on the lighter. And yet, he’d been running from Leon’s eyes so much, only to find that it really wasn’t that bad staring back. He sheepishly raised his head again (though he wouldn’t admit to himself it was sheepish), and for once, understood the expression Leon was giving him.
…
Don’t look at me with those eyes.
“We should keep moving,” Leon spoke, and as Luis expected him to do long, long ago, he turned his head and moved. Luis stared at the unlit cigarette he’d pulled out, and the lighter that had been returned to him. He had half a mind to complain about his break being cut short, but for some reason, the words didn’t even form in his throat. A weird feeling burnt in his chest, and Luis exhaled shakily as he pushed himself off the wall.
For a reason completely separate to all the ones before, Luis felt like he’d die for the 23rd time.
———————
It felt a little odd– a break like this, a mere outing to a shooting range, could it truly be afforded in a time like this? Even as the question pervaded Leon’s mind, he found himself stepping foot in its familiar pirate-themed interior once more. No doubt, he’d blame it on Luis, who had a tendency to complain about his own supposed fragility– and as of late, Leon’s supposed fragility, too. “Careful, I am useless so fatigued,” (as if he wasn’t already useless) or “mi amigo, this will all be for naught if you keel over from exhaustion” (as if he wasn’t perfectly fine). Obliging to this was to get Luis’ nagging out of his ear, if nothing else.
And still, as he felt the familiar recoil of the firearm that always seemed to be in his hands, as he placed a hole squarely on the forehead of the fraying cardboard cutout in front of him, there was an odd feeling nestled in his chest, making a home between his ribs.
Luis often said things of little substance between shots, most commonly when Leon had been afforded a moment to reload. Whether Leon would ignore him, scoff quietly or have his own sly remark to respond with, for some reason, he’d come to expect and, well, not exactly loathe the impending words.
And yet, this dull ache– not a painful ache, no, not even close– that had settled in his chest was a new development. He was no fool– he understood this to be contentment. And yet, what place did contentment have worming its way into his life now, of all times? The very notion was laughable, perhaps even worth being scorned. In fact, Leon himself may deserve to be reviled for daring to feel this now.
Leon fired for the final time of the round, and felt a sense of accomplishment, despite the mundaneness of setting scores in an arbitrary game. Still, Luis always had something to say about this insignificant, regrettable (was it truly?) routine.
“Dios mío, not a shot missed! I’d think you’re trying to impress me,” he cooed, a sly grin atop his face as he strolled up from the barrel he’d been leaning on. “Well then, I am very impressed.”
“Give me a break.”
“What will you do?” Luis suddenly propositioned. Leon’s gaze flicked towards Luis, previously settled on securing the bandages around his forearm. Before Leon could ask for more details about the suspicious question, Luis spoke up once more.
“When you are successful, I mean,” Luis spoke. “With your mission.”
Like it was a guarantee. Like there was no doubt in the world– as if lady fate herself had fixed this outcome and it was only a matter of waiting.
Leon felt a little cautious of this question, a little suspicious of it.
“Well,” Leon started, watching Luis carefully as he began to speak. They’d just finished a scuffle, and in truth, Leon wasn’t as prepared for it as he would’ve liked to be. His mind had been in danger of getting away from him as of late, and it was only a matter of time until it bit him in the rear. Still, he wasn’t exactly happy about it.
“I’ll get out of here,” Leon spoke. He searched in his mind for what came after this statement– that was a given, so where are the true details? And yet, his mind was shockingly blank. Perhaps he should feel grateful; after all, it was his mind being filled that led to the gash he’d been dressing just moments ago. Yet, now, with a mind devoid of introspective thoughts, Leon felt frustration.
“Mierda, what a surprise,” Luis sarcastically remarked, and without realizing it, Leon felt a smile instinctively possessing his expression.
“Don’t give me that,” he barked, and he watched as Luis smirked in response.
A beat of silence stretched between the two, and Leon redirected his attention to the bandages on his arm. It was almost done, anyway, and after, they’d have to get right back into the fray. No rest for the likes of him.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” Luis suddenly began to speak, and Leon paused at the sincerity in his tone. It felt out of place– Luis seemed to wear his sarcasm and coy remarks like a second skin. In truth, Leon understood it as an armor, a defense. Reading too much into it? Perhaps– but reading too much into things, gripping tiny little details others would dismiss as unimportant? It was more than a little useful for his line of work.
“If I could get out of here… I’d take a bath. A real, nice bath.”
Leon thought about it. It’d been a long time since he’s had time to worry about things as trivial as self-hygiene. Suddenly, the idea of a nice, warm bath felt… well, nice. If he was in a reality where such a luxury could be afforded, then times would naturally be, retroactively, quaint and comfortable.
“...A bath. Yes, that would be nice,” Leon had simply stated, for once, allowing himself to settle in the odd warmth he didn’t quite want to welcome, but couldn’t stomach to shun.
———————
Ah, but that distant warmth– how it paled in comparison.
“Not looking good, eh, my friend?”
Paling in comparison to the burning on his hands– a fire that spread from the tips of Leon’s fingers to the center of his heart. An unpleasant fire, threatening to eat and eat and rip and tear. The distinct smell of iron filled Leon’s nostrils. This blazing inferno, this enveloping warmth was that of blood. By no stretch of the imagination was this coppery scent unfamiliar, the feeling of red, sticky vermillion coating his nails new, and yet…
“And such a loss to the ladies of the world,” Luis bitterly grinned, gaze flicking to Leon as Luis’ own hand gripped his side, as if holding himself, ensuring he wouldn’t burst from the seams. Not yet. Not yet.
Oh, to have the gall to smile at a time like this. No, to have the gall to create a time like this at all.
“Don’t talk,” Leon bit, unsure of why his words felt so frantic. He was hardly surprised by this– anticipated this, even if the exact circumstances were a little bit sudden. Luis had said it himself– he had a lot coming for him, and no matter how desperately you run from history, history remembers.
Luis sucked in a breath. Pained, choking on blood– helpless and holding onto a life that wasn’t holding back. Life has always dared to be so fickle, so eager to slip through your fingers just when you think it's staying. Leon felt a distant anger simmering in his gut. Yet another kind of warmth. He began to loathe it. The origin of his wrath, the reason for it… he had no will to investigate it. Not now.
As Luis fiddled through his pockets, affording Leon a key with his hands that would soon turn cold, but not yet, Leon saw himself a spectator to the firsthand experience he was currently living. Now this– this was unfamiliar, this was unwelcome and revolting and discontenting. A sense of powerlessness that would only get him killed, and killed quicker than he originally thought so.
Killed quicker than he originally thought so. Hah.
As Luis instructed Leon to cure himself and Ashley, he watched as his shaky hands fiddled with his lighter. Ah, that lighter– it became part of his common scenery, as did the man choking on his own lifeblood, crumbling on the wall like so. Leon listened to the distinct clicks, fruitless efforts to ignite a flame. In his other hand, Luis shakily reaches for a cigarette, lifting and dropping it as quickly.
As he goes to reach for it, he drops his lighter and curses under his breath, watching as Leon pulls a new cigarette, unstained by the filthy floor, and hands it gingerly to Luis.
Luis’ hand shook as his fingers reached forward, clamping around the little thing and smiling bitterly. Leon then reached for the lighter, flicking the thing, watching as the small flame danced around, illuminating Luis’ pained expression with a gentle, orange glow.
“Mierda,” Luis coughed as Leon lit his cigarette. He took a long, deep drag, and Leon watched as the smoke poured from his bloodstained lips. The tremor in his hands began to still as he lowered one of them to his side. Leon felt his fist clench.
“You know, I led a pretty shitty life,” Luis coughed between inhales. “But now…”
Luis coughed particularly badly, raising his hand to keep his cigarette from flying out of his mouth. Leon’s stomach lurched, a familiar pang of anxiety welling up, all too happy to accompany the crushing dread, lapping at his ankles and just begging to pull him down, impossibly lower.
“What do you think, Leon? People can change, right?”
Leon’s gaze was a mile away when he tore it back to Luis, then slowly lowered his head and reached for that damned lighter once more. His fingers tightened around it, that cold, unfeeling metal like a bucket of icy water.
What could he say? What should be said?
As Leon turned back to Luis, he barely recognized him, instead bringing his gaze downward to his hand. With hesitance and sincerity, he placed the lighter back in his hand. Leon– he’d been mulling over warmth for a while, and he’d just cursed it out under his breath. And yet, now that Luis’ hand was growing cold to the touch, he began to miss it once more.
“Mi cariño, no me mires con esos ojos.”
“Afford me this much right now.”
Luis thought for a moment. Then, a dry chuckle, followed by a long inhale. As he let out another puff of smoke, he smiled.
“Como quieras– as you wish, my friend.”
———————
Leon winced as he shut the bathroom door a little bit too loudly. His fingers clenched, and then left the doorknob, damp feet digging into the soft carpet of the hotel. It was odd– no, odd was too mild– alien, in this den of safety and comfort. It had been mere days since Leon had set foot in a land other than Spain, since the distant worries of parasitic infections and protecting Ashley with his life had blended into a deafening hum. He hadn’t forgotten, doubted he would forget, with the sting of agony swimming through his veins and pouring out each and every pore on his body.
A shaky exhale, and then, he raised his hands. Still wet, of course, considering he’d just bathed, and he studied their calloused surface as little beads of water still dribbled down his aching wrists.
“If I could get out of here… I’d take a bath. A real, nice bath.”
…Leon suddenly wanted to be dry. Immediately.
Leon stood up and made haste to dry off and dress, one foot in front of the other as he pulled a shirt over his head, glancing out a window, at the borderless expanse of the night sky.
Standing up, he instinctively reached towards the dresser, fingers scrabbling towards a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He loathed picking up the habit, and it definitely would cause him problems in the future, but right now, he couldn’t be bothered.
The sound of the lighter clicking idly passed through his ears as he swung open the hotel door. He’d been advised against activity during this brief period of recovery, but a walk really couldn’t do much harm. With a vain hope of it clearing his head, Leon took a long inhale in and tried to keep his eyes off the lighter.