The car streaked through the night, streetlights blurring into long, pale ribbons against the glass. Inside the cramped cabin, the metallic tang of blood from Cease began to rise, clashing violently with the sharp, clinical scent of disinfectant wafting from the driver's seat. Alert gripped the steering wheel, his leather gloves emitting dry, rhythmic creaks. He was forcing his breath into a steady cadence, trying to ignore the gore invading his sanctuary.
"Stop looking at me with that 'I want to throw out the trash' expression," Cease broke the silence. He grabbed a stray rag from the floor and began wiping the blood from his cheekbone. Finishing, he dropped the soiled cloth and stretched languidly, his joints popping. His eyes were glazed, still harboring the lingering tremors of a blood-high.
"Hey, pull over at a convenience store later," Cease licked his lips, his throat parched. "I need a bottle of Vodka. Or anything with an ABV high enough to drown out this ringing in my head."
Alert cut a sideways glance, his face twisted in blatant revulsion.
"Are you trying to surprise your heart by making it work double time? Instead of drinking, you could try sleeping to mitigate the adrenaline crash."
"No, you don't get it," Cease chuckled, leaning his head back against the seat and staring at the roof. "That euphoria... it's like a fire."
"And you intend to let it burn as bright as possible, even if you're the fuel? Listen, once you've burned out, there's nothing left but ash. Is that what you want to be?"
"Is there a problem with that?"
"Could you ask a smarter question? Tch, fine... I won't force you. What brand?"
Cease let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"Oh, and here I thought you were starting to feel sorry for this life of mine."
"Sorry? Does one enter this line of work expecting people to pity their soul?"
"You know, Alert... sometimes I wonder. If I died right in front of you, would you actually shed a tear? Or would you just note in a report that 'subject ceased breathing at such-and-such hour'?"
"I would keep a lock of your hair."
"What?" Cease stared at Alert's profile, searching for even a flicker of humor, a twitch of the lips—any sign that this was just a tasteless joke. But there was nothing. Under the rhythmic flicker of passing streetlights, Alert's face remained as still as a frozen lake.
..
....
"I'm starting to regret asking."
"Surprised?" Alert remained composed, his gloved fingers tracing the leather steering wheel.
"Beyond surprised."
"Do you still want that drink?"
"Yes. You only said that to make me lose my appet—"
"No, darling."
The moment the word slipped out, Cease's entire body locked up as if a high-voltage current had surged down his spine. A hitman who had bathed in blood, who could laugh in a field of corpses, now felt goosebumps erupt along his arms. He held his breath, staring at the back of Alert's head. From this angle, he couldn't see his face. The way Alert called him "darling" sounded like metal scraping against glass—sharp, thin, and utterly hollow.
"Don't... don't call me that," Cease rasped, trying to force a scoff to mask the mounting dread, but the sound came out pathetically shaky. "It sounds like a razor blade against my throat, for God's sake."
Alert didn't look up. "Why? I'm in a good mood, darling," he repeated, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating with a distorted sense of satisfaction.
"I thought you were annoyed just a second ago."
"But watching your reaction... it's far more fascinating than I anticipated. Quite fun, actually."
"You make me want to jump out of a moving car."
...
"I think you need to see a psychologist..." Cease muttered, a phantom chill crawling down his spine.
Suddenly, Alert swerved his body toward the passenger side. A gloved hand snaked out and clamped onto Cease's chin. The distance was so small that Cease could smell the sharp, clinical scent of disinfectant on Alert's breath.
"I am a psychologist."
The moment was fleeting. Alert released his grip and turned back to the wheel, his gaze snapping back to the road as if the encounter had never happened.
Cease sat frozen, fingers trembling as he touched his chin, where the pressure of Alert's grip still lingered. His heart, already racing from adrenaline, now hammered with a primal fear mixed with an inexplicable thrill. He looked at Alert—who was back to being that infuriatingly calm "doctor."
"You..." Cease started to speak, but then went silent. He realized that in this psychological chess match, he had utterly lost.