1.2 | The Prince of Thieves

Chapter 17

A/N: For those who are unaware, I am currently on my internship. I am taking night classes as well. I am prioritising school and work until end November, when my exams are over. Come end November, I would have more time to write. As such, do understand if future updates are irregular. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

~

'What do you plan to do?' Mickey asked. He had been standing silently beside him for the past half an hour, kicking idly at the dandelions that grew in patches by the barricade. Now they lay dead and crumpled, their white tufts caught in the cracks of the brick pavement.

Leon flicked at his cigarette in response. Ash broke off and was carried by the wind into the harbour beyond. As his eyes traced the grey flecks in the air, he noticed the dandelion seeds that had clung to his pant legs, then shot Mickey an annoyed

'Dandelions can't grow on clothes,' he muttered under his breath.

'Come on,' he urged. He dropped his spent cigarette and it rolled into a crevice where other odds and ends had rolled. Then he turned about with a frustrated huff and leaned heavily against the railing, causing it shudder. 'Do you want me to catch her for you?'

A frown formed between his brows at the suggestion. He knew what Mickey meant. It was a tactic they used sparingly; trapping a girl close to a boss to get at the boss himself. Results turned out well most of the time. Yet, it had never involved anyone they were closely acquainted with.

And this time, he thought, with a tiny bout of anger bursting in his chest, it's someone I used to love. How ironic, that he had once exploited the emotions of others, and now it was being done to him like some vicious cycle. Finally he understood how other men had felt when the people they trusted were no longer on their side.

'No,' he said simply. Morosely. His own cigarette had been reduced to a tiny stub, and he crushed it between his thumb and finger, before letting it fall.

Mickey nodded once; an exaggerated, heavy gesture, then clasped him by the arm.

'Then let me know when you're ready, yes? Ya sdelayu eto za vas.'

~

The duvet was a suffocating source of warmth. He seemed to feel every inch of its weight. He kicked it aside, careful not to kick her, and felt the welcome breath of air on his skin. Yet, he struggled to get comfortable again. Leon turned this way and that way, restraining an annoyed huff at the scratchy sheets against his skin.

Behind him, she had stirred, her sleepy face turned curiously to him, but he ignored it and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

He stalked into the kitchen, not bothering to switch on the lights. He easily reached out for his mug and filled it with water in the darkness, then gulped noisily at it, relishing the soothing flow of cool liquid down his throat. He returned his mug back onto its hook with more force than necessary; ceramic scraped noisily against wood, and his mug knocked into hers, letting out an audible click.

Soft footfalls approached him from behind. He looked over his shoulder as she approached, and bundled herself into his back. Then a pair of arms wound themselves around him, drawing him comfortingly close.

'Can't sleep?', she murmured.

The left over annoyance from the events of the day reared its ugly head, and he hated himself for every moment of it. He grunted; a brusque sound from the back of his throat but she tightened her hold on him anyway. There was a breath of hot air through the fabric of his shirt when she yawned, the press of her forehead against his back, and slowly, he felt himself give way to her. He turned about, folding her to him, then dropped his face to her neck and took a deep breath in.