𝟮𝟮𝟳 𝗠𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 [𝙏𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚]

13. 𝙎𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮

◑━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

Nadine was more relaxed about her revelation than she should have been. She should have been horrified at the idea of gaining a semblance of companionship or comfort from the volatile brunette beside her, yet all she could find within her deepest emotions was resignation. The intrinsic web of push and shove woven between them was already deeper than any meaningful connection she'd had in years, and the impending failure of their assignments was pulling the newly formed strings taut, seeing how quickly they might snap. Was she so selfish for wanting to cherish such overwhelming and sickening familiarity in the face of the inescapable?

The noirette decided no, she wasn't.

If Tangerine noticed she now stood closer as they walked, fingers dancing against each other like attracting magnets trying to repell, he didn't say anything. He did notice, but all efforts were focused on keeping his face set hard in grim determination, battling against the urge to smile. A real smile. He had come to a similar conclusion as Nadine, though his internal monologue was less rational and logical and more: 'fuck it'.

They were both going to die, and Tangerine would be rageful if not to give into instinct. He wasn't sure when snide remarks and teasing had paved the way to attraction and, unwillingly, care; maybe it was always there, hidden beneath some impressive facade. He was less sure when this had become instinct, but he was a compulsive man. He acted without thought or care, spontaneous and on instinct. The assassin was just waiting for the right moment. The most final, climactic moment of relentless, futile future to do so.

They kept walking in silence, minds ablaze with similar thoughts, very much distracting from any purposes they might have been imbued with. But when Nadine's pinky finger hovered against its dichotomous partner for a second too long, she found herself unable to retract it from the curl of Tangerine's own, keeping it in place. No eyes locked, no words said, no blushes blossomed. It just was.

"The fuck?" Tangerine muttered at the door between cars seven and eight, frowning when it didn't slide open. He, disappointedly, withdrew his occupied hand to slam the palm against the mechanism. Nothing.

"It looks jammed," Nadine narrowed her eyes. "Can you see anything through the window?" The brunette could, in fact, see something through the window.

"Slippery bastard." He cursed, seeing the stacks of luggage pulled against the door. It was most certainly the case thief's way if slowing them down, which begged the assumption he knew they were following him. However, it also meant they were going the right way, and he was running out of carriages to flutter away down.

"Try and knock them down," The green-eyed woman suggested. "Hit the door, and the vibration of the material might be enough to do it."

"Worth a shot," He shrugged.

Tangerine was beyond questioning taking orders, as it were, from her and did as instructed. The door rattled  as he barged his shoulder forcefully into it. A dull ache settled in the flesh around the joint, but nothing seemed to have moved. He slammed into is another time, gaining the attention of several passengers. The train was looking emptier now, though, other people pinpricked in seats like scattered ashes as oppose to the previous packing like slaughtered sardines in a tin. Tangerine felt something shift behind the door, but it did not give way.

"Let me," Nadine's voice seeped smoothly from where it was projected, hand gliding over his other shoulder to pull him back. "Can't be too hard."

The noirette kept her hand clutched into the fabric of his shirt for balancing, shooting a sarcastic wink to him. She inhaled sharply to tense her muscles before lifting her leg and kicking out, letting the heel if her boot make contact with the door in rattling force. A muffled crash sounded from behind it and she smiled brightly, flashing Tangerine a look of smug pride. Sure enough, the door slid open.