STALEMATE [MAFIA] [MXM] ✓

5: FOR ONCE

No. No, no, no, no— this can't be happening. There's no way. Salem refuses to believe it. That is not who he thinks it is, despite the fact that everything adds up. Sure, he may have the same build, and similar clothing choices. He may be the same height, might have similar tattoos and piercings and such.

Salem can't be right, though. He just can't be. Salem must be losing his mind, or maybe it's wishful thinking. Salem refuses to believe it's anything else. It has to be because the guy has been on his mind so much lately, due to recent events. That's all it is!

Still, Salem would never forgive himself if he didn't make sure.

Slowly, he turns around. He maintains distance, continuing to stand about twenty feet away from the guy. His secretary girl is no longer next to him. She's standing off to the side, writing things in her notebook. She has glasses on now, but otherwise looks the same.

The guy appears to be looking back at him, but it's hard to tell with the mask. Salem just stares at him in the dead silence, feeling so many things at once. He wants to sit down, feels almost sick. God, he hopes he's wrong.

Deep down, however, he knows he's not.

"Say that again." Salem says, and his voice sounds dead, yet at the same time, almost... scared. He is so sick of being in a constant state of confliction. Of having to handle this all on his own. Sure, he hasn't experienced it in a while, but it still sucks.

The guy doesn't respond. Salem narrows his eyes. He's not playing games with this, he's almost positive that he heard correctly. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that he has to be right. He knows that guy so well, he'd recognize him anywhere. Even the fact that he's not replying should be answer enough.

Salem takes a step forward. It's got to be him, nothing else makes sense in the context.

Salem knows that guy inside and out, has memorized his entire body, everything about him, any minute detail about his life, Salem remembers. He would recognize him anywhere. Any time. Even if a century went by instead of three years, he would know exactly who that is.

Salem would know that voice in death.

"Say it again, Atlas."

He still isn't answering, and Salem begins to walk towards him, pace agonizingly slow. He's already starting to shake, already getting emotional. He isn't showing it externally, something he's almost mastered, but it doesn't mean he's not feeling it.

Salem finally reaches in front of the guy, and he can only imagine the expression on his face. He must look so troubled, so stressed and confused and fucking terrified. He's a billion things at once, but there's one that stands out above it all:

Hope.

Oh, Salem would never admit it, but he fucking hopes.

Salem reaches up and takes hold of the bottom of the guy's mask. He lifts it up, hand shaking worse than ever, and nearly collapses at the sight he's met with. He finds himself feeling surprised, despite the fact that he'd already figured it out.

"You're welcome." Atlas repeats finally. Salem feels like he's in a dream. Or a nightmare. No, actually, it's more a purgatory of both.

"No." Salem says, taking a step back. He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. What the hell is he supposed to do? He was doing so fucking well! He was finally starting to move on with his life, finally starting to make peace with his lack of romantic companionship. "No, no, no, no—"

"Salem."

Just when Salem thinks he can finally move past this! Any time Salem thinks that the biggest flaw in his otherwise pristine record is out of the picture, the guy shows right back up. How is Salem supposed to live a normal life like this?! He doesn't care about Atlas at all! He doesn't love him anymore! Of course not—how could he? He had to write a report on two mutilated dead bodies that were most likely put there by this guy, and that was just yesterday!