A Fugitive's Guide To Romancing dangerous Men[BxBxB+]

12: The Caress

~The present~

-Bruce-

Bruce has a confession.
He has been to the US.

Eleven years ago, his father wanted them to go on a vacation. So they packed up and flew to the US with no objection. More specifically, Atchison. A town very close to Worth County.

There his mother passed away. The details of that particular ordeal and how she died was still fuzzy to him but it had caused him to snap and attack his father when the man got back from one of his alcohol fueled nights.

That incident saw him shipped off to a mental asylum in which he made a… friend? He was then promptly released after his father was mysteriously found dead.

He didn’t care much for the circumstances surrounding the bastard’s death, he took the money the man had left over and completed his college education in Harvard, not once looking back.

Maybe he should have looked back, because now, a blast from the past, Miles Murphy stood tall in front of him gripping a gleaming chef’s knife tightly, very ready and willing to kill him.

If he could.

For some reason Bruce was filled with an unexplainable confidence and felt like Miles could do no harm to him. That no one could do any harm to him.

That’s probably the sleep deprivation talking.

Water pooled at Miles’ feet as he stood as still as a statue. If it wasn’t for the shallow movement of his chest Bruce would believe his previous statement true.

He had changed his mask to an eerie black one with red lines painted on it in a way that was utterly breathtaking.

How could he see through that?
It was rather dark and Bruce’s eyesight was atrocious so he didn’t see the obvious eyeholes carved into the wood.

After a few minutes of staring each other down Bruce began to inch backwards. The storage closet wasn’t too far, if he tossed a hammer at Miles’s head it’ll knock the man out (Or kill him…) and give him ample time to call the police.

When Miles didn’t move after he had put considerable amount of distance between them he spun around and made a mad dash for the door. Screw all other plans, he couldn’t almost kill a guy on purpose. He has too much blood on his hands for that to be on his conscience.

His startled gasp was cut off before he could hit the floor. A huge hand wrapped around his neck, smothering any hope of calling for help. A moment later, his head and back slammed into the wall beside the front door. There was a loud crack, and he briefly wondered if it was his head or the wall that had broken.

Before he could ponder further, he realized he couldn’t breathe. At all.
He could feel Miles’ fingers pinching the back of his neck as he squeezed, crushing the life out of him.

Reaching up with shaking hands, he found the cold fingers immovable as steel cables. When he tried to push himself up to gain some leverage, he found that his feet couldn’t reach the floor.

In front of him, Miles, black eyes shone from within his mask. His muscles didn’t so much as twitch as he held Bruce against the wall.
Ignoring his feeble kicking, the man slammed a hand against the wall beside his head.

If he had been slightly more conscious, he would have flinched.
Through the black spots clouding his vision, he was dimly aware that Miles was leaning into him.

So this is how he dies… He deserves it, for all the pain he’s caused, the blood he’s spilt, he shouldn’t even live another day. This is good, this is right. He stopped fighting for his life. Miles was exacting God’s will.

He should die, he’s finally getting what he deserves.

But he doesn’t.

A tiny bit of air suddenly made its way into his burning lungs.

Wheezing desperately, he almost cried as more and more air began making its way in.

The mouth-watering smell of baked goods hit him like a freight train and enveloped him, body and soul, making him feel warm, fuzzy, and protected.

Things he didn’t deserve to feel.
Bruce swore he felt a clothed hand brush his cheek and linger there before a cold shiver ran down his spine.

As if in response to his hope for survival, Miles suddenly careened forwards, pinning him first against the wall, before slamming him into the floor. A giant body landing across his chest was the last thing Bruce saw before his head slammed into the floor and everything went black.

He didn’t notice a powder blue kite floating lightly in his backyard, always there. Like a loyal protector.

***

A/N:
I’m inexplicably happy with this chapter.
Thoughts?