Project Hail Mary said "what if you were so deeply scared that you didn't want to try but then found out that all you needed was a hard push and somebody believing in you to realize you were capable all along" and also "sometimes growth isn't fighting your way back to where you were before but realizing that it no longer serves you and choosing to move forward instead"
"The fun thing for us for that end sequence was his costume -- what he would have left over from the ship. I don't really think you see it in the film but the trousers that he's wearing, they're cut from one of the flight suits. And we've done a belt buckle that's made of xenonite that Rocky would've made for him. And all of the sewing on it is a little bit - it's nowhere near as good as Jenny would normally do, so we had to purposely ask Jenny to do bad sewing at the top of his trousers, so it'd look like he would've done it.
And then our brilliant breakdown department, run by Tim Shanahan, they break everything down to look like it's 10, 20 years old. So his cardigan and the t-shirt's all faded. And even on the laces -- the laces in his chuck taylors -- because your laces always break after a certain period of time, so we found stuff that was on the ship, like elastics and stuff. There's a nice big close-up actually in the film, so you can see that they're not normal laces, they're like stuff that he would've got from the ship that he's made as make-shift laces."
Glyn Dillon, one of the costume designers on Project Hail Mary
Just watched both fall guy and grayman in a day because I adored the idea of chaos twins coltland and their silently overprotective older brother court
Summary: The twins, Colt and Ryland, are often left to babysit their niece, Claire. Their older brother, Court isn't a very good cook, but they make it work.
Word Count: 1.7K
Warnings: twin brother AU? also older brother AU? I don't know this is just soft brother fluffiness with Court, Ryland, and Colt.
A/N: I was not planning on writing this but uhhh here we are. I got on the Colt/Ryland twin brother train and then someone said older brother Court and now here we are. Here is some really soft, domestic brotherness. ENJOY <3 - Birch<3
"Hey, Colt?" the call comes from outside the house at the back porch. The sound of approaching shuffling footsteps rings out after a few moments and the screen door to the safehouse swings open a moment later with a whine.
The stuntman pokes his head out and hums, "Yeah, Ry?" His twin brother sits at a picnic table with a young girl working on some homework. Ryland twists his head at the sound of Colt's response and he gives his brother a warm smile. "Any idea when Court will be back for dinner? Claire wants to know and I can't remember what he said this morning before he left."
The twins' older brother was off working at the lumberyard. 6 in the morning to 6 at night. Long days, that's for sure, but it brought decent enough money with time off on the weekends and the odd day through the week. Plus, with Ryland's lowly teacher salary and Colt's film work... they all made it work.
Colt steps out onto the porch and takes a deep breath as he considers Ryland's question. The summer air is nice out here in the country. No pollution from the city, just clean, warm air and the sounds of bugs singing as the sun sets.
"I think he said he was going to swing by the farmer's market on his way home," Colt says, making his way over to where Ryland and Claire sit. "Something about grabbing some fresh meat and some veggies? Maybe he was thinking stew for dinner. So he might be a little later than normal, but it's almost 6:30 now. I can't imagine he'll be much longer"
Colt pauses behind Claire's chair and gently ruffles her hair with a fond smirk. Claire looks up from where she's working on some chemistry homework and she asks with a giggle, "Are we really going to let him cook again? Last time, my steak was so tough I couldn't even cut it with my knife."
Colt has to bite his bottom lip to choke back a laugh while Ryland grows a little sheepish and a little pink. His face twists to be stern, well, as stern as he can get. Teacher stern. "Now, Claire," he says pointedly, "Court is trying his best to take care of you, okay? We're all trying to learn how to cook so it's not just on one person. Take it easy on your dad."
This seems to quiet Claire a little and Ryland taps at the worksheet spread between the two of them. "Let's get back to this. So when we're looking at the orbitals of an electron, it goes s, p, then d and f...." Colt watches with fond amusement as Ryland goes full science teacher on Claire and the poor girl's face goes a little blank.
He leaves them to it, though, and ducks back into the house. He's on his way to the bathroom to wash his hands when he hears the familiar sound of a jeep pulling into the driveway. The muffler's falling apart so the engine is loud and unmistakable, and he hears its growl get louder as gravel pops out from under the tires.
Colt changes directions at the last minute and makes his way towards the front door instead. The engine cuts out a moment later and the driver's side door swings open. Court slides out with a quiet groan, wincing and stretching a little before he snaps the door shut.
"You're getting old," Colt teases as he pushes through the door and jogs down the steps towards his older brother. Court looks up and glares at him playfully as he opens one of the rear doors to grab his grocery bags. Colt gives him a big, shit eating grin and rests his hands on his hips. "I could tell you that you sound like Pops, but I didn't."
Court shoves a brown paper bag full of apples into Colt's arms before he ruffles the stuntman's hair. "And I'm going to tell you that you're still a little shit," he replies in that low rasp. Court grabs a few more bags and sets several of these in Colt's arms, too. Then, he shuts and locks the jeep before leading the way to the safe house.
"Claire was just asking about you," Colt chirps as he follows Court through the front door. "And saying how shitty your cooking is." The former assassin can't help but crack a smile and sighs tiredly as he nods, setting his haul on the kitchen counter. "I am a pretty shitty cook," Court admits with a single huff.
Colt chuckles softly and then offers, "I'll help you out. Ry got on her for it, so no need to chew her out later. I think his form of punishment is in the form of worksheets. I've never seen someone so fond of worksheets before."
That makes Court look up at Colt with a wider smile. The two brothers look at each other for a moment before they both break out into quiet laughter. Their youngest brother certainly does like his worksheets. Neither complains, though. They trust him to keep Claire educated and up to date on all of the things a growing teenager should know.
Court eventually starts unpacking everything he bought and he prompts, "You just want to be a taste taster when the cooking's all said and done." Colt raises his brows and places a hand on his chest like he's offended. "Me?!" he gasps playfully, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I only want the best food for my growing niece!"
"You just want the title of favorite uncle," Court teases right back as he gets some knives and a cutting board or two out. Colt just breaks into laughter and joins his older brother, nodding, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're right. I do. But seriously, I will help you. Those two are just finishing up outside since it's a nice evening. I can grab them here in a minute."
The two of them get to work on dinner. One chops while the other seasons. It switches half way through. But Colt was right, meat and veggie stew is on the menu for tonight. It's easy enough to make, and they both think it tastes good enough. It's edible, at least.
Colt slips back over to the back porch where Ryland and Claire are joking around, electron orbitals worksheet completed, it seems. "Dinner's almost ready," Colt says gently as he pushes through the screen door. "Claire, why don't you clean up your school work and go say hi to your dad. Me and Uncle Ry will go set the table."
The girl doesn't need to be told twice. She's jumped up and gathering her textbook and papers in the blink of an eye. Ryland pouts just a little before tossing a playful glare Colt's way. He does rise to his feet and join his twin brother, though, poking him in the ribs. "Since when did I get volunteered for setting the table?"
"I believe the correct term is voluntold," Colt taunts as he ducks into the house, giggling. Ryland rolls his eyes but follows him in, holding the door open for Claire to walk in before him.
"Dad, Dad!" Claire calls out as she runs deeper into the house, and Court's mouth spreads into a smile at the sound of Claire's voice. Being called Dad will never get old for him. Ever. "Hey sweetheart," he replies as he opens his arm for a hug. The young girl crashes into his chest and squeezes him tight. His shirt smells like wood and he wants to groan at how sore he feels, but he wraps his arms around her and holds her close.
"Did you have a good day today?" Court asks after a moment of swaying her back and forth. "I'm sure Uncle Colt kept you busy with that movie marathon, right? He should have been teaching you some self-defense, too."
"He did!" Claire confirms, nodding against Court's chest before she draws back. "We watched a couple of movies in the morning and then when the sun came out this afternoon, he showed me how to punch. And then when Uncle Ry came home, we did schoolwork. Math and science. And so much of it. It's boring, you know."
Court bites at his tongue for a moment as Ryland steps into the kitchen at that very moment to grab silverware. He catches the tail end of Claire's report to Court and he jokingly lifts his hands in a I surrender pose as Court smirks at him.
Court simply replies, "Well, Claire, that is what he went to school for. I'm sure he'll have something else for you to learn here soon." Ryland just smiles as he flicks open a drawer and gathers the appropriate utensils, and that's when Colt saunters in, making his way over to find the plates.
"He's always got something for you to learn, that's for sure," Colt banters as he opens a cabinet opposite Ryland. "Be that science or if you're opening a can of sauce wrong." Ryland whips his head around and frowns at Colt, parting his lips to jab back at his twin before he thinks better of it and clamps his jaw shut.
Court and Claire share a look and then both chuckle. The former assassin eventually juts his chin towards the table and says, "Go sit down. We'll be in in just a moment, sweetheart."
Claire backs up a few steps and asks, "Could I please have an iced water to drink for dinner?" All three brothers nod at the same time and reply, "You bet," in unison. Claire points at all of them with a weirded out look and gushes, "You did the thing. You promised you would stop doing the thing."
Court, Colt, and Ryland all look at one another as they each gather their respective items and shrug. Once brothers, always brothers.
Summary: When music from down the hall is relentless, you find yourself stuck between a rock and a hard place with the man your heart beats for.
Word Count: 5.4K
Warnings: blood/gore/violence/murder directly in line with canon, angsty vibes in line with canon, swearing, happy ending(?)
A/N: Special thank you to @blade-driver for fueling this rot non-stop. I hope you enjoy some hot Driver, bc I know I sure did :) - Birch<3
The music playing down the hall is louder than it has ever been. It passes through your walls as if they are made of paper, drowning out the sound of your TV and the sizzling of your dinner on the stovetop. It's enough for your head to throb with a pulsing ache, and you know you won't be able to manage to sleep until it dies down.
It's not a bad time of night to go for a walk. The thought gently washes to the front of your mind. It's past my normal bedtime, but there's no way I'm sleeping normally tonight. You mull it over before peering out your fourth-floor window to see a clear sky and the stars managing to shine through the city lights for once. Time to get out of here.
You go through the motions of getting ready to leave your sparsely decorated apartment. Slipping on a comfortable pair of sneakers, you tuck your dinner in the fridge, shut off the TV, and throw on a sweatshirt in case it's cool out. Don't forget your keys, phone, and yep, should be good, you think to yourself.
Ensuring your phone is safely stored in your pants' pocket, you pick your way to the front door of your apartment. You casually swing it open, and the music, which you can now place by the Latin rhythms, grows louder. A grimace pulls on your lips while you shut your door and fumble with your keys, locking your door as quickly as you can.
With annoyance on your features, you shove your keys into your other pocket and spin on your heel to head toward the elevator. You can feel the bass rattling the floor, thumping deep in your chest. Now, you can pinpoint the noise coming from Standard and Irene's apartment, as if the choice of music wasn't a telltale sign.
Since Standard had gotten out of prison, they seemed to host a party every other night, keeping you up and causing you to lose sleep. You let a sigh slip out of your nose as you sluggishly drag one foot in front of the other, your (colored) eyes half-lidded, riddled with exhaustion.
The apartment door off to your right swings open hastily as you go to pass it, making you blink in surprise. You step to the side as you regard the man who appears in the door frame, silent as ever. Driver.
He had a habit of being out at night, and with the loud evening, you couldn't blame him for wanting some peace and quiet. Still, the tall, blonde-haired mechanic catches the edge of your eye, making you halt in your tracks. You can't help the wave of butterflies that bounces around your stomach as you take in his appearance.
He's got his white scorpion jacket on, one you've found him in many days and nights. A pair of jeans and boots hang on his legs and feet, a tired but pleasant look in his blue eyes. His soft blonde locks are tucked off his forehead, barely combed back, and out of his eyes.
"Hey," you breathe out as you turn to face him, watching as he steps out of his apartment and shuts the door behind him. All without taking his eyes off of you. "Hey," he murmurs back, the sounds of your voices drowned out by the loud music still bursting from down the hall.
Driver can't help but let his eyes wander over you. He immediately places the tired look on your own face, no thanks to Irene and Standard's party. But frankly, you're as adorable as ever. You've got that twinkle in your eyes, that kind smile on your lips.
Then you're speaking to him, "What are you up to tonight?" Your voice is gentle, tender, despite cutting through the harsh music. It makes Driver's lip curl upwards as he turns away from you slightly, locking his apartment door behind him with a skilled hand.
"Trying to get away from the noise," is his dry response. He faces you again, ensuring his door is locked, to gauge your reaction with a single glance. You roll your eyes knowingly, the smile on your mouth only growing as you chuckle back, "I get that."
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he finds your gaze again, holding it level. His mouth is still set in that soft, kind smile you've always known him to have, and he asks, "You?"
You shuffle slightly, letting one of your hands rub over the material of your sweatshirt covering your arm, and then you sigh out, "Going for a walk." You motion down the hall to the next door and mumble, "They've given me a bit of a headache."
Driver's eyes flash briefly with an undetectable emotion. It's not anger; his brows hadn't furrowed, and his smile never faltered. He takes a step closer to you, his presence flooding your senses as his eyes soften. They're calculating, as always.
"Want to go for a drive?"
The simple question has your once-calmly beating heart slamming against your chest; the gentle smile on your mouth widens to give Driver a toothy grin. A second passes, and you realize you were perhaps too eager with your reaction, and you glance away, tucking a stray lock behind your ear.
Driver eats up the shy look on your face. You're beyond adorable. Again shuffling on your feet, you nod and say lightly, "Yeah, that would be nice." Without saying another word, Driver juts his chin toward the elevator, his body encouraging yours forward silently.
You step in front of the blonde-haired mechanic, willing your nervous system to calm the fuck down. It's just Driver. He's taken you out on drives before. He's taken you out to eat at a couple of restaurants. Hell, he's even picked you up from work when your car didn't want to start.
The two of you leave Driver's apartment door, setting off for the elevator in silence. The beat of the drums and strumming of guitars grow louder yet, making the thump in your forehead pulse stronger. Your eyes flutter shut as you come to a stop by the elevator doors, willing the throbbing sensation to go away.
Driver moves around you to get to the elevator panel, his long digits scouting out the down button before slowly pushing it and returning his hand to his pocket. His eyes then focus on you and the crease that now lines your brow.
Before he can stop himself, he's pulling his left hand out of his pocket and reaching toward your blissfully ignorant face. His fingers hover in the air millimeters away from your cheek before he takes a step closer toward you, flooding your personal space.
Then, Driver lets his hand settle on the skin of your cheekbone, his rough fingers carefully swiping under your eye. The warmth his touch brings has you lurching forward in surprise, almost right into his chest. You catch yourself at the last moment. Or better, Driver's hand on your cheek steadies you.
The sounds of the elevator creeping up and down the shaft and the Latin music seem to dull as your eyes flutter open. They search for the bright blue of Driver's, your lips parting at the soothing tenderness of his touch.
You can see the concern in his eyes. There are a million silent questions there, but the main one that you see is: Are you alright? You don't realize you start leaning into his grasp after a few seconds of holding his gaze.
Driver doesn't realize he's leaning into you, either. He's so enraptured with the shade of your wide, (colored) eyes, he can't help but stare. You force yourself to take a shallow breath when all of the air seems to be sucked out of your lungs, and that's when you catch the scent of his cologne.
It's pleasant. It's rich and slightly smoky. You immediately think it matches his look when he's got grease smeared on his cheek and dirt caked into his jumpsuit. There's something else to his scent, but a part of you thinks it might just be what makes him so... Driver.
The distance between you is rapidly decreasing as you wait for the elevator. Your heart rate cannot say the same; it steadily beats faster and faster as your gaze flits back and forth nervously between his eyes. You can feel air sighing from his nose fan out across your face, and a twinge of nerves takes hold of your chest.
Just as his nose goes to brush yours, the elevator dings. It's arrived on the fourth floor. Without saying anything, Driver swallows thickly and softens his already gentle grip on your face. He takes a measured step backwards and releases you, your eyes wide with loss.
His arms drop back down to his sides silently as the doors to the elevator slide open. His blue gaze remains on you, his brows slightly furrowed in thought. You give him a reassuring smile despite your heart sitting in your throat, and you turn to regard the elevator shaft.
The doors lock open, and inside, you can see a man wearing a tan suit. He's got dark brown hair, and you see him glance between you and Driver with interest. He doesn't move for a second despite the elevator coming to a halt on his designated floor.
He glances at the button panel inside the elevator and states dumbly, "Sorry, uh, wrong floor." The man in the tan suit's words fall a little flat to you, but who are you to judge? It's later in the evening. It could just be a simple mistake.
You give him a polite, tight-lipped smile before shifting your body to face the elevator. Driver's gaze lingers on you as you move, silently slipping into the corner of the elevator on the far side of the unknown man. There's a yearning in Driver's gaze, but you miss it as his gaze flits up to meet the man in the tan suit.
The blonde-haired mechanic moves a second later, the Latin music flooding the elevator as it had in the hallway. Driver's strides are long and sweeping as he moves into the confines of the elevator, splitting the difference between you and the stranger.
Deathly silent, Driver reaches forward with his right hand, pushing the ground floor button. He doesn't ask the man where he's going. Odd, considering the man didn't push a button to go to another floor.
The thought brushes through your mind, but you can't bring yourself to care. You're too tired, and the elevator doors are sliding shut, giving you a break from the loud, obnoxious music. Driver comes to stand next to you, the inner mechanisms of the elevator slowly ringing out as the doors click shut.
The man in the tan suit glances over at Driver after the elevator slowly starts to descend, the blonde-haired mechanic's gaze set straight ahead of him. It's hard for the man to read Driver's cold expression. He gets the feeling that he interrupted something when the doors opened.
You opt to glance tiredly at your shoes, your hands resting by your sides, swinging slightly in boredom. That's when the man in the tan suit carefully glances away from Driver using the corner of his eye. He blinks away, staring evenly ahead, just as the blonde next to him is.
Now, it's Driver's turn to peer over at the stranger. His blue eyes have shifted from being cold and emotionless - now his gaze is dark and weary. Untrusting. Taking his time, Driver's eyes trail down the figure of the man on his right.
His suit is impeccably fresh for being so late in the evening. Finely pressed, newly put on. Driver's mind reels. Why? His blue eyes sink lower over the man in the tan suit's frame. Despite the stranger's suit being finely pressed, Driver notices a lump on the right side of the man's jacket.
Driver's stomach drops. It's a lump he knows well. Too well.
Then, the man in the tan suit shifts his weight slightly, the opening of his suit jacket tugging back a few inches. Driver's suspicions are confirmed as his eyes settle on the handle of a pistol tucked inside the tan suit jacket.
The blonde-haired mechanic's gaze drifts away slowly as horror and realization wash over him. What can he do? What can he do? Driver's eyes float to his feet as his jaw works for a second and then sets in a hard clench. The blonde locks of hair that had been neatly tucked back now dangle over his forehead, taunting him.
Without wasting another second, Driver knows he needs to move. His right hand clenches into a fist as he tries to work out a plan in his head. He needs time. But he doesn't have that luxury. And you're here. The thought of you makes his heart beat harder and his stomach lurch.
You.
He moves before he thinks about it. He needs to keep you safe. And if this ends poorly... He can't entertain those ideas. Driver sweeps his right arm back toward you, releasing his fingers from the tight ball they had contorted into.
His long, lithe fingers grasp you by the arm, curling around your limb and gently pushing you behind him. It's a soft push, one that you willingly follow as your eyes leave your sneakers. Your eyes come to a soft landing on the back of Driver's blonde head, his eyes still trained directly in front of him.
You don't stop moving into the farthest corner of the elevator until Driver releases the pressure from his hand, instead loosely holding onto you. That's when he turns to his right, following the length of his arm to look at you over his shoulder. He slowly releases his hand from your arm as his wide, blue eyes catch yours.
The usually bright blue of his eyes has softened, full of some kind of emotion you aren't sure you can place a name on. His right hand still hangs in the air from where he moved you, and now it reaches forward. His knuckles graze your stomach, showing you that he's still here. Still with you.
Then, the blonde-haired mechanic reaches forward with that same right hand, slipping it around your waist with a certainness that makes the dormant butterflies in your stomach flutter. He fully faces you now, taking a long step into your personal space, flooding your senses.
Your eyes can't help but focus on him, looking up at his tall figure blocking the man in the tan suit, and shielding your eyes from the light on the ceiling. Surprise and confusion lace your features as flashes of memory hit the front of your head from moments ago.
But you don't stop him. Not when he's leaning into you slowly. Deliberately. Holding onto you like you're his world. His everything. The conviction in his eyes makes your heart slam against your chest, threatening to burst as your eyes flash from his and down to his mouth.
Driver continues his steady but slow swoop toward your mouth with no hesitation. It's methodical. Calculated. Just like him. It feels like you're living in slow motion, but you know that's not possible. His eyes have you pinned in place, focused on you and nothing else.
Realization hits you as to what his intentions are, and this time, there is no question about it. Driver's head tilts to the right as he finishes his descent to your lips. You let your eyes snap shut, and then it's like walking through the gates of heaven.
His mouth hits yours with a fervent passion. Warm and soft. Familiar and foreign. Old and new. Driver tilts your head back as he lets his mouth slot against yours, pouring his heart into the kiss.
His brows furrow with an intense concentration as you accept his kiss, your hands fumbling to grip onto the elevator railing behind you. You let Driver use you the way he wants, you're helpless with the way his lips dance over your parted mouth, his nose bumping against yours.
When Driver feels no resistance from you, he slowly straightens his back. His body shifts from directly in front of you to blocking your entire frame from the man in the tan suit. You hardly even notice it, not when your brain is thinking of one thing, and one thing only.
Driver.
The move is fluid and natural - it feels protective and encompassing all at once. You could stay in this moment, the taste of his mouth on yours addicting. It's slightly minty, like he was chewing on spearmint gum not long before leaving his apartment.
His body frames yours, keeping you out of sight from the man in the tan suit. Driver wants to let himself enjoy every moment of your lips pressed against his, but he can't. Not when he's the only thing separating you from the man with the weapon.
The blonde-haired mechanic rolls his broad shoulders ever so slightly to hide the angle of your face from the stranger. He lets his mouth work over yours, slow and tantalizing. Driver wants to remember the taste of your mouth, the feeling of you pressed against him, and the way your mouth chases after his.
But it's not enough for him. He tilts his head again to deepen the kiss, pressing your back against the elevator wall. You can feel the handrail press into your spine, but you let Driver move as he wants. Your hands flutter down to your side, unsure where to rest as the blonde-haired mechanic shifts back in front of you.
There, Driver is pouring every single emotion into his kiss. Every late-night drive. Every afternoon spent at the diner. Every morning you passed him on your separate commutes to work.
The soft touches on the arm. The grazes of his knuckles against yours when passing him a greased rag. The way you would smile at him while making a shared dinner. The comfort of your head slumping against his shoulder when you fell asleep in his apartment.
All of these emotions and memories run to the front of Driver's mind as he again straightens to his full, looming height. He doesn't dare break the kiss; he needs his mouth on yours for as long as possible. He pulls your mouth up with his, your back flattening as his hand splays out against your spine, stretching it.
Your weight shifts forward and onto your toes as your mouth follows his, the kiss remaining slow yet desperate. With the emotion Driver is infusing into the kiss, you return it with as much vigor as you can. Your lips burn from the way he's kissing you, but you can't stop, not even with your lungs aching for respite.
But as soon as he's kissing you - he's drawing back painfully slow. Your body follows him as if it's become addicted in only mere seconds. His body pulls away first, the distance between your torsos increasing steadily.
Then it's his mouth drawing back, like he wants to stay connected to you forever, but he knows he can't. His lips slide over yours in longing before they separate from yours, remaining parted to try to retain the feeling of your mouth on his.
Driver pulls away from you, his eyes shut in want and wonder. But then they're peeling open to look down at you as he leans back. His blue eyes are dark and half-lidded, taking in the blissful look on your face. Your eyes are still shut, but they flutter open to meet his a moment later, hazy and dazed.
Your mouth hangs open like you want to say something, shock making your nerves thrum with electricity. He has you speechless. The two of you stare at each other in silence, a million words shared with just one look.
There is so much conviction and meaning in Driver's eyes - you know he's trying to say something. But he can't bring himself to say it. Not with the gun on the stranger's hip.
Driver's eyes flit from your wide (colored) ones down to your mouth, his emotions twisting with the dark realization that you don't understand the panic in his eyes. You've never seen him panicked. How would you know? It makes his jaw clench tightly again, and then he's leaning close to you.
He fills your space naturally, and you let him. He analyzes your face, contemplating his options. Say something. Push a button. Let the man in the tan suit move first. None of the options are the right choice.
The blonde-haired mechanic lets a shallow sigh out through his nose, the air gently fanning across your face. You are just starting to get comfortable with him being so near. Your eyes flit from his down to his mouth, same as he had done to you. They only linger on his pink, plush lips for a moment before snapping back up to his eyes.
Then - he moves.
His head whips to his left, where the man in the tan suit is watching. He had been watching you and Driver from the corner of his eye, sharp and waiting. Patiently, like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey.
Driver's left hand has been safely tucked in the pocket of his jacket, but now it flashes out faster than you can comprehend to deflect the man in the tan suit's advance. In fact, Driver's right arm raises toward the stranger's head as the stranger positions himself to attack Driver.
Immediately, you duck in fear, adrenaline shooting up your spine faster than you can blink. You're wide awake now. The fast movement has your already rapidly beating heart slamming in your chest, crouching down to avoid the fight.
Driver uses the momentum of his right arm swinging through the air to grip the man in the tan suit's neck with his large palm. With a forceful shove, the blonde-haired mechanic slams his opponent's head into the elevator wall in front of them. The stranger's head crashes into the spot next to the doors with a sickening thunk.
The sound makes you recoil, lunging forward into the opposite corner of the elevator to hide. From there, Driver doesn't waste his moment of attack. The man in the tan suit stumbles back, and Driver slides his right hand to the front of the man's face, slamming his back against the furthest wall of the elevator.
Driver's hands work at the stranger's face, disorienting him enough that he can throw his opponent into the corner where he had just kissed you. That moment is long gone now. Fear runs high in the elevator - all parties included.
The man in the tan suit hits the ground before you can move, and it takes your brain a second to lock in. Move! Move! Move! You skitter forward, lunging toward the corner of the elevator with the button panel where the stranger first appeared.
Everyone in the elevator has done a complete 180 in positions, Driver now stands over the stranger where you had been. You stand in horror where the man in the tan suit had been. Driver stands menacingly over the man in the tan suit as blood starts to seep from the stranger's head.
Oh my gosh. The thought hits you in horror. Your lungs aren't moving. You aren't breathing. What. Is. Happening? You can't bring yourself to look away. You know you should.
The stranger is out of breath and disoriented from the tussle with Driver, whose skin is shining with exertion, his muscles rigid and ready. It's... terrifying. The man who has been nothing but kind, loving, and sweet to you... is... scary.
Then, Driver draws his right knee up and slams his foot down once into the man in the tan suit's face. It makes a gasp of fear fall from your lips, horror flooding your already wide eyes. You brace yourself against the corner, a primal, instinctual fear making you freeze in place.
You watch silently as Driver brings his arms up to balance himself, then he again crashes his foot downwards and into the stranger's face for a second time.
Then a third time.
And again.
...and again.
All you can do is helplessly watch as Driver's foot bashes into the man in the tan suit's skull repetitively. Over, and over, and over again. After the first few kicks, Driver's left hand grabs onto the railing for balance as he mutilates the man, his blonde locks messily falling over his forehead and sticking to the sweaty skin.
Broken jaw. Smashed in skull. There's blood everywhere, pooling in the corner of the elevator. You can hear Driver wheezing out air with effort as he works, but you can't focus on that.
No, your subconscious manages to count seventeen individual stomps to the stranger's head - blood and brain matter oozing across the floor in thick, red and pink chunks. The biologic material covers Driver's right boot, soaking it in his opponent's blood.
His boot is slick as it comes to a rest under him normally, supporting his own weight. The lower part of his pant leg is splattered with blood and brain matter, too - his jeans now stained a dark red rather than the medium wash they had been.
You can't help but watch the blonde-haired mechanic in a fascinated horror - you didn't know he was capable of killing a man. He had been nothing but normal. Kind. Sweet. A little dry and quiet at times... but not this.
Then, as Driver takes a step back from the now mutilated man, the elevator doors slide open. Ground floor. You stumble out of the elevator in terror at the scene in front of you, your mind somehow both empty and scrambling with the facts of what had happened.
The blood pools faster now that the man in the tan suit's head lies undisturbed on the floor of the elevator. Driver is breathing hard, panting as his body runs high on adrenaline and short of oxygen. He can only stare down at the man he killed, silent.
His body is still slightly hunched over as he turns over his left shoulder to look at you. His eyes are wide and distant-looking when you first catch sight of them, a full sheen of sweat now coating his tan skin. You can make out a bead trailing the left side of his cheek, and then you glance down.
Blood has spattered over the front of his jacket thanks to the vigor of his kicks. It coats what had been soft, white material, but is now forever stained red.
It is dead silent.
There is not a single sound in the air. It's thick with tension, there's no doubt about that. Driver had just killed a man. And there's a level of unsureness that hangs in the air. What are you going to do? How are you going to react?
But you're drawn back up to Driver's wild gaze, his blue eyes dark and shadowed as he watches you. Waiting. His eyes are untamed. You've never seen that look on a man's face. Or any human, for that matter. He looks downright deadly. And it shakes you to your core. It's terrifying.
You know that the man in front of you is the man you've come to surely but quietly love - even if you haven't verbally told him your feelings. He wouldn't... do this to you, right? This was self-defense. The man in the tan suit had a gun.
Driver shuffles on his feet to face you a little more clearly, helping to draw your attention away from your spiraling mind. His brows start to draw together in a worried frown, and there you see the humanity in his eyes. It's a silent ask.
You have stumbled just outside the mouth of the elevator, your hands by your sides. You stare at him, again frozen in place. Your lips have parted, your eyes wide with horror. You're pretty sure your fingers have gone numb. But you can't really tell.
The blonde-haired mechanic doesn't say anything as he watches you, catching his breath. You can see the way his chest rises and falls, his eyes flooding with fear. Anxiety. Nervousness.
There's a pleading look in his eye. You aren't sure how, but there is. Despite being covered in brain matter and blood - Driver looks like a scared, kicked puppy at the pound. Waiting for a helping hand to gently caress him. To comfort him.
Any semblance of the violence you just witnessed is gone. This is Driver in front of you. Not a cold-blooded killer. So you focus on his heavy breathing in silence, trying to sort out your thoughts faster than you ever have before, your late-night drive long forgotten.
Movement in front of you has you blinking out of your locked-knee stance. It's the elevator doors beginning to slide shut. Without thinking of the consequences, you lunge forward, pressing your body in between the doors to stop them from closing on Driver.
Now that you're up close to the blonde-haired mechanic, you can see the emotion in his stormy gaze much more clearly. There's surprise. Intrigue. You stop in front of him, the elevator doors retreating back, and you shakily state, "Y-you, you need to t-take your shoes off."
He dips his chin down at you, his eyes still wide as he watches you. Not calculating. Not methodical. His blue gaze just flits over the features of your face rapidly, his breathing slowing as he focuses on you. You, standing in front of him.
Another bead of sweat rolls off his brow and slides down his cheek, but he doesn't bat an eye at it. You're not even sure he's blinked in the last few seconds, but then he's doing as you asked. He's toeing off his soiled boots silently, holding your gaze level as you stare up at him.
The elevator threatens to close again, but you once again stop it. Patiently. Then, Driver carefully reaches down and clasps both shoes in one of his hands, slowly standing up to his full height.
His eyes blink at you now, and you can see some of his usual self in his features. His jaw is still clamped shut, tense in the muscles there, but his eyes have grown less wild. Less untamed.
It takes everything in you, but you reach for his left hand, which is free of his blood-riddled shoes. Your fingers brush his tenderly, and his digits twitch against the soft touch. Driver blinks at you, his vision becoming even more focused, and then he lets you thread your fingers through his own.
Then, as smoothly as you can, you pull Driver out of the elevator, letting his socked feet pick their own pace. You can tell he's in as much shock as you. He couldn't believe you were here, holding his hand after witnessing that.
The blonde-haired mechanic can't take his eyes off of you as he lugs the blood-soaked shoes with him. The elevator doors slide shut behind him a moment later, carrying the gruesome scene higher into the apartment complex.
The two of you stand there for a moment in silence, staring at one another. You're both breathing heavily. Driver's heart rate and breathing are slowing down, resetting. Your's are speeding up. Logic is setting in. What are you going to do?!
You know you aren't thinking straight, but you step forward. Into Driver's personal space. His gaze is so finely concentrated on you that it feels like a laser cutting through you. His mind is running a million miles a minute, and his adrenaline is slowly wearing off.
Careful as if not to spook him, you bring your free hand up to cup the slick skin of Driver's jaw. Your fingers are trembling. Quivering with fear and anxiety, you can't stop it. Driver doesn't say anything, too enraptured with the way you're looking up at him, tightening his loose grip on your hand to be firmer.
He almost flinches when you make contact with his skin - his reaction causes him to rapidly blink at you. But then he softens. It's you. He quietly leans into your gentle touch, bringing himself forward to equally crowd into your personal space.
Then, in one smooth move, you shift your weight onto your toes and let your mouth crash against his.
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