It was difficult to fathom how the odds could sometimes work in his own favour, especially with all the terrible things he had done over the span of eight years- assassination, murder, arson, robbery… fuck, there was more that could be added to the list, but they were so specific it didn't even seem to matter anymore. Two more jobs were left for him to do, and they were both in the same fucking city someone he happened to know resided in. Had Lady Fate finally pulled the lucky string for him? It seemed that way, but at the same time he could feel the anxiety unfurling in his chest as he weaved through the sea of people, sticking out like a sore thumb among many well-dressed people on the wide sidewalk of the city. Down the street was the apartment building where the person he knew lived, on the top floor in a rather nice apartment building (from what he had heard). Let's simply say he was… well known among many of the criminals in the city and across the state. He's a criminal defense attorney, someone who defends individuals who are charged with criminal activity. Honestly, it would have been useful if he had kept in contact with them after he left out of the blue two months before high school graduation, extremely useful in fact… but it was in the past. After he finished these last two jobs, hopefully with the others help, he could retire early and be set for life with the money he had saved up. Yes, he had quite the amount of money- but even despite that he refused to sleep in nice hotels or buy expensive foods to treat himself. He didn't deserve things such as those.
A breeze swept through the area and the Frenchman tilt his head down as he walked, mostly to avoid the looks people sent his way and to protect his face from the cold. The tip of his nose felt like it could fall off, along with his ears- if he looked at himself in a mirror, he wouldn't be surprised if they were a bright red. A gloved hand came to the lower half of his face and he rubbed it slightly in an attempt to warm himself, moving off to the side and away from the crowd of people and next to a building- the apartment he had been looking for. After a brief moment of arguing with himself over going in or not, he sucks in a breath and pushes past the double doors, sending a glance over to the lady behind the desk as he made a straight line towards the elevator. It took her a moment to realize someone had entered the lobby, looking up from her computer expecting to see a familiar face, such as someone who lived there or usually visited someone who did… but unexpectedly, it was someone she didn't recognize. With a small tilt of the head, she opened her mouth to speak or to welcome him, but when the brunette sent her a cold stare her mouth fell shut once again and she slowly returned to look at her screen. He didn't need any questions about who he was at the moment, because if he had to be honest? He wasn't quite sure.
Was he good? Bad? Dangerous? Well, a definite yes to the last one… but what and who was he anymore? He had grown from being a small French child coming to America and trying to figure out his English, to a kid in the fourth grade helping with a rebellion against adults, to a middle schooler being sent to a Catholic school for a good two years, only to return to the small town in High School as an even more rebellious, bitter shithead. Now he was a mercenary. Was he liked by people? Really, there had only been two or three people who were fond of him in a… special way, for special reasons.
About a few seconds after pressing his dirty thumb to the elevator's button, the doors slide open and he steps inside, coughing into his elbow as his thumb traces along the buttons on the inside. Emergency button? Skipping that, obviously… with a small grunt of sorts, he squints to get a better look down to them, head tilt slightly as he looks them over. His eyesight wasn't the best when he wasn't digging or in dark areas, and was stubborn about the idea of having to see some eye doctor to maybe get prescription glasses. Glasses were for fucking pansies! Finally, he finds the button after a shameful and embarrassing long while, pressing down on it so the outline turned a light green. Then, the elevator made its way up, the male stumbling a little to the point he had to hold onto the railing along the wall. When it came to a slow stop, he sighed in relief and watched as the doors slid open, being greeted to the sight of a hallway- the wallpaper was a maroon colour with a yellow-gold trim running along the bottom, and the low carpet on the floor was a dark black, most likely to hide specks of dirt shoes would track into the building. When he steps out, he looks to the left and then to the right, raising a brow as he tries to figure out where he has to go. On the doors were small gold painted plaques with numbers carved in so it caused a little dip. He moved to the nearest door and stared at the number- 504. The person he knew lived in 511, which must've been quite a few doors down. With a small nod and with that in mind, he slowly makes his way down the hallway, counting the numbers down as he passes each door. 507… 509.. And then, of course, the fateful he clears his throat, he steps forward and stares at the plaque, taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes. His hands were shaking, and he swore his eye was slightly twitching. Fuck, he really should've taken a hit from a cigarette quickly before heading inside… but really, it was too late to turn back, just like how it was too late to make up everything and the potential emotional pain he had caused this person to suffer. It really, really wasn't common at all for him to care about how others felt, but when it came to this man... This man he had known for nearly all of his life? It really just snipped one of his heartstrings. Again, he has to take another deep breath before raising his hand up, bringing it down onto the door with three knocks. Brief and loud. Behind the door he could hear the shuffling of feet and the sound of someone muttering under their breath. If there was at least one thing other than complaining about where he had been, he'd certainly complain about the time. Six in the evening wasn't too late to have visitors, was it? It really wasn't like he'd know. Now he could hear the sound of a lock sliding, the small dingling of the chain attached to it… then, the door opened.
There in the doorway stood a man in his mid-twenties, standing at about 5'7". He had slicked back blonde locks that could easily be compared to golden wheat from out in the farmer country, and the gorgeous blue eyes he sported was as blue as the sky on a nice summers day. The Frenchman's own dark olive greens locked with the blues and there was an extended moment of silence between the two, the one thing being heard were the light breaths the both of them gave off. They stared each other down similarly to boxers eyeing each other from opposite corners of a boxing ring, waiting for the bell to be rung, signaling the start of a round. Though tense, there was a sense of an awkward tone settling in the air. The male in the hallway gives up with the stare and averts his eyes from the other, clearing his throat as he looks down to his boots,
"I reckon you're going to let me in, Gregory?"
The blonde in the doorway opened his mouth to speak, though it shut before a word could slip. He must have been about to say something that'd cross the line, something possibly so insulting that he had to bite down on his own tongue. It took a short moment for him to gather his thoughts and seize them from jumping around in his brain, once having that done he was able to reply. "I don't know, Christophe. Are you going to explain yourself and make up for the eight years you've been missing?"
"Well, if you let me inside of your apartment to 'ave a sit-down and a chat over a drink, then we'll both get what we want in the end. Won't we?"
There was a small tsk that came from Gregory as he looked the other over, his lips pierced as he slowly shook his head. "Oh, but I really don't want your filthiness to get all over the furniture and floors… the cleaner just stopped by this afternoon, and it'd be a shame if I had to call them in again twice in the same day. So, instead of us have a 'sit-down', as you yourself put it, as soon as you set a boot in my apartment I require you to make a beeline straight for the shower and get the hell in. You look as if you've been living in the gutters. Hell, with how I remember you being when we were younger, you probably did and took comfort in doing so." His arms cross and he steps aside so that Christophe can move inside, eyes following the dirt-caked Frenchie as he made his way in. Christophe in return gives him his own glare before slipping his arms out from the straps of his backpack, letting it fall to the floor against the wall before making quick work untying his boots. They were military boots- expensive ones he had gotten from his mother on Christmas, back in his Sophomore year of high school. Despite the many years of being worn and from what he had been up to, they were surprisingly in decent shape. There was wear on the heels and by the toes, but that was to be expected with nearly every pair of shoe one were to own. Once stripped of his boots and his coats, he stands back up straight and looks to Gregory.
"It's extremely funny 'ow you think I'm really going to get in the shower. No way in 'ell am I getting in."
"And it's certainly a wonderful joke for you to think I'm going to stop being persistent. Really, I thought we were friends since elementary- do you not remember how I was back then? I've hardly changed, rat. Come on, hurry along." Gregory gestures for Christophe to follow him, wasting no time to walk through the living room and past the small kitchen to his bedroom door. He stops in the doorway and turns his head to see if Christophe was following as told, and surely enough he was trudging over. Surely enough he was, though the expression plastered upon his face was far from falling under any pleasant categories. "Come on, hurry it up, I wish to waste no time getting all that muck and grime off your skin and out of your hair. God knows what colour the water will run when we first get you in. Brown for sure, but I think red may be a possibility."
Christophe snorts and stops before him, nodding slowly. "The latter is a possibility, as much as I 'ate to admit it."
Gregory had merely said it in some sort of way of joking, though now that Christophe had confirmed in was a possibility, a sense of worry overcame him. Though, as he always does he pushed to the side and out of the way before turning back around. He doesn't need to worry about Christophe, not after he left him. Not at all! Besides, Christophe was tall, and had a bit of muscle to him. He could easily win a fight against anyone he damn well pleased. He was the rowdy type of guy, and it was possible he most likely got into fights on a regular basis. Or not, depending on what he had ended up doing over the years, Well… actually, what kind of things could he have done? What kind of things would leave him with dried specks of blood throughout his hair, and what would leave him coming to his apartment looking as if he was with the pigs in the pen for a day? It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. For now. That's what he reassured himself of as he lead him through the bedroom, making sure Christophe steered clear of the bed as he stepped into the master bathroom. Even if it was labeled as a 'master bathroom', it was rather… small. Big enough to fit a shower-bath, a sink and a toilet, along with a rack for necessities such as toilet paper and his products. There wasn't a closet to store things, which was something Gregory had been hoping for when seeking out an apartment in the city, so he had to make do with what he could fit.
"Let's get this over with… I'm assuming you're going to bathe me because you think I'm incapable of doing it myself?" Christophe pulled his dirty grey t-shirt off from over his head, throwing it to the side before catching sight of himself in the mirror. He hadn't seen himself in a reflection in a while, and now he realized why Gregory was so disgusted over his appearance, the reason why people had been giving him looks in the streets- he really, really looked like a disgusting homeless bum. A whine or a whimper got stuck in his throat and he quickly looked away, running his hands through his hair so that small dirt flakes fell to the tiled floor. He really let himself go, didn't he? Sure, he had always had low standards when it came to his appearance and grooming, but… now he really even didn't meet them. Christophe wasn't one to typically feel terrible about himself, but here he was, feeling absolutely low.
"Caught sight of yourself?" Gregory asked Christophe, a hint of a smirk coming across his features.
Christophe looked to him with an annoyed look, rolling his eyes and undoing his belt. "Just start the shower, for fuck's sake. Start the damn shower."
Gregory had acknowledged the fact the other was being quite hostile, as he was himself as much as he hated to admit it, but this was worse than how Christophe had been acting before. His nose wrinkles and he draws the shower curtain back, turning the water to lukewarm so it didn't burn the Frenchman. Or did he want to? He debated over it for a few seconds before deciding against it, not wanting to worsen Christophe's mood more than it already was. There was already a clean washcloth and some products in the shower rack, so he didn't need to worry about replacing anything. Good. That meant he could get this over sooner. Gregory turns back to face Christophe, keeping his eyes above the waist to avoid any other emotions being aroused. "Step in and get under the water, I'll be in in a moment."
Christophe hadn't thought much about what Gregory had said as he stepped into the shower, until it dawned on him. No. No way was he going to be letting Gregory in the shower with him, not this fucking soon. He remembered an identical scenario to this happening in Junior year, and he certainly wasn't going to let it happen again. "Wait a fucking second, Gregory." His head pokes out and he catches the other already getting to work to get his shirt off. "I am not letting you in the same shower as me. That's where I draw the line for this, you can draw the curtain back and stand there, clothed, but I am not letting you come within a foot or two of me naked. I remember what 'appened in Junior year clearly."
"Oh, Christophe…" Gregory simply smiles and shakes his head, setting a towel on the floor by the shower. "It wasn't that bad if you remember it, aren't I correct? You're the type of person to drown out memories if they don't suit your tastes. I know you like the back of my hand, Christophe, even if you think I've forgotten after all these years. Besides, it isn't my intention to do anything like that with you, unless you just so happen to initiate something. I imagine you haven't been laid in a while."
"Shut it." The brunette snaps, drawing the curtain shut with a harsh tug. "I'd rather be forced into something like that than do it with you."
"If you say so."
Christophe scoffs and moves to stand underneath the stream of water coming from the showerhead, head tilting back and his eyes falling shut. The slight roar of the water around his head prevented him from hearing the shower curtain open once again, with Gregory now stepping in. Well, what had alerted him about the others closer than wanted presence? The small gust of cold air that came from the curtain being opened, his eyes quickly opening to see the blonde standing there with a lazy grin plastered on his face. Christophe quickly backs up, wincing and hissing as his back roughly hits the knobs for adjusting the water's temperature. "What did I say?"
"I know exactly what you had said, Christophe, I simply chose to look past it." As a child would, Gregory sticks his tongue out, taking a few small steps towards Christophe. "Anyways, I'm making sure I get every single speck of dirt out of your hair, every single spot of filth on your skin. Christ, it feels like I'm bathing a dog. Are you a puppy, Chrissy?"
That struck a nerve. Being compared to a dog? Wasn't original in the slightest on Gregory's part, but every single time it would happen, a sense of anger would flood over Christophe. He knows he shouldn't freak out and curse the other out for doing such a thing- he did let him come into his apartment, and if he's even lucky enough he'll be able to stay the night… or a few. With his hands balled into fists, he takes a deep breath, and releases it with a small hiss through clenched teeth. "Just get this over with, will you?"
"Yes, yes, dear," Gregory gets his hands on a bottle of shampoo, flicking open the cap and squeezing some of the lavender coloured liquid into his hand. "I have a feeling we'll use up this whole bottle just by using it on you… doesn't matter, though. I have the money to buy hundreds of this brand."
"Mhm, I suppose you do, being a criminal defense attorney and all."
There was silence as Gregory stared at the other, a look of surprise spreading over his face. In an attempt to recompose himself, he clears his throat and slowly nods, stepping forward and bringing his hands up to Christophe's hair. "Er… you'd be right, Christophe, I am indeed a defense attorney for criminals across the state… my question for you is, how do you know that information?"
"We came to an agreement we'd talk after I bathe, didn't we?" To protect his eyes from the shampoo, he shuts his eyes tightly and tilts his head back into Gregory's hands.
"I- yes, I suppose we did come to an agreement previously about that, didn't we? Foolish of me to forget." A sigh slips from Gregory and he almost roughly massages the shampoo into Christophe's scalp, doing his best to get up any dirt that may have dried there. Dried blood was also a possibility of course, but it was likely the steady stream of brown heading towards the drain covered up any bits of crimson there could have been. Now that Gregory thinks about it, it's been a while since he's been this close to someone he actually likes. Well, likes is a rocky term to use at the moment, because Gregory is teetering between tightly wrapping his hands around Christophe's throat and squeezing until the other turns an unnatural shade of another color, or to wrap his arms around his torso and guide his back up against the wall and hold him there. Maybe if he does do the first he can defend himself in court? Would that be possible for criminal trial? It's faint, but Gregory chuckles at the thought, slowly withdrawing his hands from Christophe's hair and rinsing them under the water. "Rinse the suds from your hair and I'll prepare a washcloth. After I scrub down your body, I'll get another dollop of shampoo and do your hair again. Got it?"
"Mhm. Sure."
From the shower rack, Gregory grabs the washcloth and a bar of soap, scrubbing the bar against the washcloth before setting the soap back down onto its tray. While Christophe's rinsing, should he look him over? So he knows what he's dealing with before touching him, of course. Absolutely no other reason. His gaze slowly drifts from above Christophe's neck down to his chest, a small smirk coming over him as he does so. Sure, Christophe wasn't exactly a big muscular guy, but he certainly did have some muscle to him. A few faint lines of scars were littered across his collarbone and arms, a long one stretching the length of his hip as well. "Christophe, are those scars from uh… the incident?"
Christophe doesn't even hesitate to answer, nodding and opening his eyes once he was free of the risk of getting soap in his eyes. "Yes. They are. Some of them aren't from that, like the ones on my 'ands."
"The ones on your hands?" Gregory raised a brow and took a hold of one of the other's hands, raising it up to try and get a better look. Surely enough, there was one that stretched from the knuckle of his index to his wrist. The other markings were just knicks, Gregory guessing it was from him playing with a knife in his spare time. "Oh. Terrible."
"I suppose," Christophe cracks a grin and glances to the side, "but they're all old. I meant recent as in the past few years."
"Oh, yes, sure, I see. Despite the marks, you have nice hands… not that I mean that in a weird way. Some hands are just nicer than others. Yours are… big, bigger than mine obviously. See?" Gregory moves Christophe's hand so the palm shows, pressing his own palm to it to show Christophe. "My fingers are slimer, but my hands are still smaller than yours."
"Does it matter whose 'ands are bigger? It's like we're 'igh schoolers comparing dick sizes."
Gregory rolls his eyes and pulls his hand away, before making work with the washcloth around Christophe's face, starting with his cheeks. "Oh, I'm sure that's bigger than mine as well."
"I wouldn't be that surprised, you know. You're a twink, after all."
"Wait- excuse me?" Gregory's mouth falls agape and his brow furrows, head slightly tilting to the side in question. What does he decide to do? He moves the washcloth over Christophe's mouth and presses down, huffing and moving closer for their faces to be a few inches apart. "I'll have you know, Christophe, I'm far from being a twink. I am smarter than you in many ways, and faster on my feet. If anything, you'd be the one taking me if anything of the sort happened between us!"
Christophe raises a hand to pull the washcloth away, coughing and spitting to get the taste of soap out of his mouth. "Get me drunk first before I even bother consider letting you dick me. So, what I'm saying is, in your dreams."
"I've certainly made my dreams a reality this far, I can do it again!"
"Sure you can. Get the fuck out of 'ere, Gregory, I'm more than capable of finishing this shower without the 'elp of some scrawny British twink."
"No." Gregory grunts and sets the washcloth down before grabbing a hold of Christophe's wrists. "I will not, you filthy fucking mutt. Would you like to return to living out on the streets rather than stay in my expensive apartment?"
"I think I'd be much better off."
"Don't you even fucking dare say such a thing, DeLorne! If you didn't need me, you wouldn't have shown up on my doorstep this late in the evening! Do not lie to me!" Gregory forces the Frenchman's arms to his sides and lets out a small growl, moving close to the point their chests were touching. "You need me now. I bet you were just a homeless bum living your days on the streets with nothing but a backpack and the clothes on your back, using the money you got from strangers to fuel your cigarette addiction rather than buying yourself something to eat! You're scrawnier than I am! I can see your fucking ribs!"
"Get your 'ands off of me!-"
"You listen closely, DeLorne. You listen very fucking closely, got that? I will not repeat myself at all. I have been waiting for you to come back to me for years. I fell into a deep state of depression when you left me, and I felt like I could do absolutely nothing at all. I need you as much as you need me. You are mine, and I love you. You're too blind to see that! We were always supposed to be together and have our happily ever after, but you were so stubborn you kept turning down my advances! You rejected me time after time, and finally went ahead and left me! I'm the reason you left, I bet. Am I that terrible? Am I that fucking terrible, Chris?" His hands move from Christophe's wrists up to the other's cheeks, making sure their eyes lock together. "I need you. We need each other."
Christophe sucked in a breath, not even bothering to take the chance to grab Gregory's arms and pull them away. There was no point- this outburst was bound to happen. "I'm sorry. Just let me bathe. I'll talk to you after. Go."
Slowly, Gregory's hands move away and he steps back, drawing open the shower curtain and stepping out. "You always push me away, Christophe. You always push me away."