⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ COME OVER 🧸ྀི — teasful banter w 5-8 ( wc 824 )
ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! havent posted in so long (a month) i forgot how i formatted my works LMFAOO anyways i hope u like it hehe @slytherinshua <33
you stepped out of your car and fixed the mask on your face. the sky has turned dark a long time ago. maybe if the air was clear, you would see the stars.
you made your way to the building. one could say it’s abandoned - no lights, cars, people.
but you knew better.
stepping inside, you walked straight to the secret passage. suddenly, 4-1 appeared from the entrance.
“oh, y/n” she smiled and looked back. “you’re here for 5-8? he seems to be in a bad mood. but then again, when does he seem to be in good mood?”
you giggled and she passed you by, patting your back.
on entering, you saw him right away. alone in the boxing ring, back facing you. but he probably knew you are here already, anyway.
“bad day?” you asked, closing the door. he just looked through his shoulder.
the subtle yellow light casted a shadow over him.
“not really. just tired” he sighed, turning around.
you entered the ring a little clumsily and he walked up to help you. his strong, hoarse, and a little sweaty hand pulled you in. you bumped into his chest.
“tired? i thought the 5-8 never gets tired” you teased and he just menacingly pressed your face further into him. you snickered and smacked his arm, shuffling away to rest your chin and look up at him.
“that brat, sawol, will tire out everyone. trust me. i’ll be the one laughing when you meet him” he smiled softly. he knew it was just a matter of time.
you stepped back and looked at him.
“and you? how was your day?” your fiancé asked, reaching for a towel that was hung over nearby.
“it was boring. missed my baby, worried sick about him. i made us some dinner if you’re coming over to my place” you said but it sounded more like a question. 5-8 often had to sleep in the dormitory.
he hummed in thought. it sounded tempting: he haven’t been seeing you much lately. not to mention when he ate your food and not that microwaved shit they serve at the canteen.
and to fall asleep with you in his arms…
“hm? i know you’re thinking about it” you grinned, softly jabbing at his chest. “come over, pleaaaase”
but he had to get up to work early. sleeping in his dorm meant directly going to work. and from your place… he would have to get up. early.
“i’ll drop you off” you added, poking his side.
he didn’t budge, obviously.
“you’re a minx, you know that?” he clicked his tongue, watching you.
“aaand i’ll scratch your back” you hummed, hand sneaking to smack him.
5-8 blocked your obnoxiously obvious attack and sighed in disbelief.
“and you’re too good at that” he muttered. you continued to try to wrestle him.
“at what?”
“convincing”
5-8 suddenly swooped you, throwing you on his arm. with a shriek, you continuously smacked his back.
“come on. want me to come over, fight me” he laughed and you just huffed.
“that’s just not fair. you know i don’t know how” with a whine, you kicked your feet. “put me down and i’ll show you!”
“yeah?”
you started regretting those words the second he began to put you back on the ground.
“you’re not taking this seriously” you huffed dramatically, seeing his amused face.
“oh, my bad. i should?” 5-8 asked.
you took the defensive stance, tightening your fists. you didn’t know how to fight but you sure did spend countless of hours watching your fiancé train.
5-8 rose his eyebrows, crossing his toned arms.
you swung your fist towards his chest but he ducked effortlessly. this continued for a couple of attacks when you decided to change your approach.
you loosened your stance and started circling around him.
“giving up already?” he followed you with his eyes, slowly turning his head.
suddenly you jumped at him, trusting him fully to catch you.
and, obviously, he did.
in an instant you wrapped your legs around his waist, like a snake. your arms locked behind his neck and before he could throw an ironic remark, you kissed him.
5-8 left a small sigh of relief, as if he was waiting for this the whole time. his hands held you strongly, not even a single muscle twitching. he knew his hands were made for holding you.
“you didn’t specify…” you murmured, leaning slightly away. your hair tickled his face “… what kind of fight”
5-8 scoffed and closed the gap between you two, chasing after your lips. easily making his way to your tongue, he let you play your games.
when out of breath, you pulled away. he grinned, collecting his breathing too.
“so? did i win?” asking with a grin, you tangled your fingers in his hair.
“well, i decided to cave in the second you offered” he shrugged. with a huff, you smacked his back playfully.
5-8 x gn! Reader, Enemies to lovers, Angst, Fluff, Fic [2.21k]
Summary - In the process of reprimanding you (his subordinate) for being late, 5-8 uncovers hidden feelings.
Warnings - Reader is slightly injured, nothing besides that.
A/N - Please, I just love him and his smile. This series is completed. Thank you all for reading! Feedback is appreciated.
It was the end of the work day for couriers, the hazy desert sun beginning to set just as everyone was pulling their trucks back into the Cheonmyeong Distribution Center. Everyone, except for you, that is.
Despite your efforts to finish all of the deliveries for your route on time, you couldn’t help the fact that a group of hunters set you back about thirty minutes. You didn’t even get to eat lunch, hunger gnawing at you as you finally delivered your last package to an upset customer.
Eventually, you made it back to CM and parked, feeling eyes on you as you climbed down from the driver’s seat and pushed the door shut. You fixed your gaze on the wheel well coated in dirt and adjusted the straps of your gear, prolonging the inevitability of being reprimanded once again.
You knew the moment you turned around, 5-8 would be on your case. You hadn’t seen him when you pulled in, but you knew he was there. He always was.
After several moments, you decided that you couldn’t keep pretending to be inspecting your truck and pivoted on a heel to make your leave. You nonchalantly took your hat off, patting your hair down without interacting with anyone around you.
People always lingered in the garage when their shifts were over. But for some reason, it was like there was an audience waiting specifically for you to arrive late and get yelled at today.
Having made it halfway up the stairs and to the locker room, you thought you might have been in the clear. Just a few more steps, and you’d be out of sight. Though, you weren’t lucky often, and certainly not on days like this one that had been lousy from the get go.
“2-6,” you heard your name called from behind you. It stopped you dead in your tracks, all hope of making a quiet escape lost. With an impatient tone, 5-8 added, “Come here.”
This wasn’t the first time you were late, not even the first time this month at that. And as with any time 5-8 spoke, everyone gave him their attention. It wasn’t long until their focus shifted to you, unmoving from your place with one leg positioned on the next step.
You took in their stares before your sight landed on where he and 7-3 stood. The look he gave you was a serious one, as always, making eye contact for a few seconds while you contemplated what to do next.
That same gaze never failed to intimidate you, but it also made your cheeks burn and heart race. Part of you wanted to stare him down and make him just as uncomfortable as he made you. But you ended up turning away, unable to process the mixed emotions he constantly stirred up.
You didn’t appreciate how 5-8 drew attention to your tardiness, or his lack of understanding for the rough day you had. Your busted eyebrow spoke for itself, dried blood caked on the side of your face since the incident with the hunters earlier. Not to mention your UV glasses had been broken during the fight, which unsurprisingly left you with a bit of a headache.
All to say, you were tired. You didn’t have the energy to engage, and you definitely weren’t about to have the whole fleet watch whatever was bound to unfold. So against your better judgment, you ignored 5-8 and trudged up the rest of the stairs.
A chorus of amused laughter and murmuring about your defiance echoed throughout the garage and followed you till you made it inside the secluded locker room.
Immediately, you pulled a duffel bag out of the storage locker, setting it on the bench to shed layers of your uniform and toss pieces of gear inside. One by one, your uneaten lunch became buried. Then, you headed over to one of the sinks, watching the water run red as you rubbed the side of your face.
The previously dull pain was now sharp as you cleaned the wounds, but the abrupt opening of the door down the hall somewhat distracted you from the sting. Heavy steps were closing in as you dabbed at the blood with a towel. Obviously, you knew who they belonged to before his presence was officially made known through the reflection of the mirror.
5-8 said nothing at first, only observing as you awkwardly tried to position a butterfly stitch on your brow without adhering too much of it near your eyelid. Once you settled on a placement, he finally decided to speak.
“You know Ms. Jeong orders oxygen every Friday and files a complaint if we’re even a minute late on delivery.” He was well aware, as she was a particularly stubborn customer on his previous route.
With a heavy sigh, you responded, “I can’t choose the day of the week the hunters decide they want to cause trouble. I apologized to her. Twice,” you added. Now that the consequences of ignoring him caught up to you, you found you were only able to look at 5-8 through the mirror. “I’ll start early tomorrow to make up for it.”
“Tomorrow’s your day off.”
“Then, I’ll come in anyway,” you huffed again, trying to maneuver around the large man so you could finish packing your things. You zipped the duffel and shrugged on your personal jacket, movements slowing gradually as you came to a realization.
“How did you know I was planning to take tomorrow off? Last time I came to you with a request, you told me to go to management because you ‘weren’t a schedule coordinator’.” You quoted him with your fingers, arms then dropping to your sides.
He didn’t answer to your expectant look right away, racking his brain for a plausible cover. After all, he didn’t want to admit that he regularly checked when you would be working for his own peace of mind.
“Well,” he began as he inserted his hands into his pockets. “I heard there’s a chance for tornadoes this weekend. We usually get an uptick in orders before bad weather. Wanted to check and make sure we had a reliable fleet scheduled for the next few days.”
“Must have been glad to not see my name on the roster then, huh?” You scoffed, throwing the duffel strap over your shoulder. “Fine. I’ll stay home-”
“No, I want you here,” 5-8 interjected almost too quickly.
Confused by the way he contradicted himself, you harshly responded with, “Which is it? A minute ago you were opposed to me coming in on my day off. Now, you’re saying you want me here. Pick one and let me go home.”
The thing about 5-8 was that anything he was dealt, he would give right back. And while he could understand you were tired, it didn’t excuse the attitude you continued to give him.
“You think you deserve a day off?” He asked, his tone just as severe as yours. He had intended to be firm and get some respect out of you, but ended up striking a nerve instead. A vague pain was visible in your expression, and he came to regret not thinking about his words carefully enough before he said them to you.
“Not really,” you replied, shame beginning to sink in. “But if you want a reliable fleet, that probably shouldn’t include me.”
“I never said you weren’t reliable,” he countered, sensing that the dialogue was becoming increasingly tense.
It always was that way between the two of you. Whether there were underlying emotions within that tension, he couldn’t be sure. He knew how he truly felt about you, but had no way of knowing if you were also masking your feelings with hostility. You just hadn’t been able to get along in the year since you had joined the team.
“You don’t have to say it.” You raised your voice slightly, starting to feel overcome with vehemence.
“Every day, I see disappointment when you look at me. I hear it in your voice. I know that I’m late sometimes and that I make mistakes. I know I’m not perfect or as strong as others, like 4-1. I don’t need you to tell me that I’m not reliable because trust me, I know.” Your voice started off strong, but it gradually shrank as your eyes flitted to the floor.
5-8 felt his chest tighten at your self deprecation.
“When I see you smile at 4-1, I feel like I’m going to go crazy. I don’t know why it bothers me so much,” you paused, brows knitting together as you worked through reasoning in your head. “I used to think it was because I wanted to be like her. But I think deep down, I just wish you would smile at me like that.”
You wanted him to want you.
By your careful words and soft hesitation, he was starting to make out that your feelings went beyond a professional level. He was reading between the lines, but it seemed you weren’t comprehending the real meaning behind 5-8’s issue with you being late.
It was not so much about disappointing the customers as it was about him worrying for your safety.
Any time you were late, he couldn’t help but wonder if you were in a situation where you needed help. Much like today, he wouldn’t even take his weapons or gear out of his truck until you had returned. Radio in hand, awaiting your signal, he wanted to be sure you didn’t need him.
Though now that you were meekly standing in front of him, your words spiteless and vulnerable, he realized that you needed him in a much different way.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt this… competition with 4-1,” he said, tone softening a bit. “It’s just that I don’t worry about her like I worry about you.” In receiving his apology, he watched your face fall, noticing you had taken that the wrong way.
“It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable, or strong. You’ve always held your own. But I worry because I just can’t imagine anything happening to you,” he explained.
“What?” you asked breathlessly. It was a slight shock to hear that coming from him, or anyone for that matter. Having lived in the slums until somewhat recently, no one had ever concerned themselves with your existence, let alone your well-being.
5-8 stepped closer to you, a gentle hand reaching to cradle your bruised cheek. He searched your eyes for a reason not to say what he was thinking, expecting to find hurt and anger like before. But, all he found was longing and adoration staring back at him.
He was sure now that you felt something for him too.
“You’re the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person when I go to sleep. I think about you when I eat, wondering if you’ve eaten too. All I do is worry about you.” Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, nervously wringing your fingers together as he continued, “I know we get on each other’s nerves, but I hope you can understand that I’ve never looked down on you, not once.”
“You… I-I’m…” You didn’t know what to say, his proximity and warm touch making you blush.
For all of this time, you tried to suppress your desire by convincing yourself that 5-8’s legendary status was superficial in some way. You searched for reasons to dislike him so you wouldn’t have to give him the satisfaction. But you were finally facing the facts.
There was no denying his charm, no matter how annoying he was to you sometimes. He truly was the best of the best: a strong, natural born leader with a selfless soul. He was what everyone loved him for and everything that you loved.
As you came to terms with your feelings, 5-8 could tell that you were flustered. And for the first time, he smiled at you. At least, this was the first time that you actually witnessed it. It was a genuine smile full of care and comfort, instantly putting you at ease.
The corners of your mouth lifted too, eyes shining with relief as he pulled you into him more with his other hand on your waist. You looked up at him, no longer feeling intimidated by the way he towered over you. You felt safe.
With 5-8 holding you like this, it was wildly different than any interaction you had prior to now. But you didn’t want him to let go, not ever. Your excitement only grew as his face inched closer to yours, and your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation of what you thought was surely coming next.
“You didn’t really think I would kiss you at work?” he teased. His mouth was hovering just over yours, a sly grin playing on his lips as your eyes shot open in disbelief.
Embarrassed, you shuffled backward and mumbled, “Never mind. I still hate you.”
He chuckled, leaving a quick consolation peck on your head before saying, “Go eat something. I know you haven’t yet. Rest for a while and come to the gym later. I’ll wait for you.”
Summary : During a heated sparring match with 5-8, Mirae’s skill and sass draw more than just attention. Tension and a shift neither of them fully acknowledges.
The training hall was already alive with motion by the time Mirae stepped in.
Barefoot fighters moved across the mats in pairs—some trading swift punches, others locked in quiet grapples. There was no music, no shouting. Just the soft thuds of bodies hitting padded floors, the occasional grunt of exertion, and clipped instructions from senior deliverymen helping some rookies with form.
The air was warm—humid with sweat and recycled oxygen—but not unpleasant. Familiar, in the way all necessary routines eventually became.
Mirae hovered near the doorway, yet quickly moved away towards some benches. Dropping her bag, tugging off her jacket and rolling her shoulders. She scanned the room, eyes flicking between familiar faces until they landed on one that made her pause.
5-8 stood near the far end of the hall, arms crossed, gaze locked on a pair of rookies sparring like he was running probability equations in his head. Motionless, except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. But somehow, he was still the most kinetic thing in the room. Mirae found herself watching him longer than she meant to. Not because she was assessing threat or form, though both were impressive, but because she wanted to. Because something about the way he held himself, grounded and alert, made it hard to look away.
“Caught staring again?” 4-1’s voice was dry and close, her presence sudden and smug. Mirae didn’t flinch. “I was just checking if his scowl’s deepened since last week. You know, scientific curiosity.” 4-1 smirked. “You’re not slick.”
“Never claimed I was.”
They stood together a moment, the hum of motion and training filling the space around them. Then 4-1 bumped her elbow gently. “He asked for you today.” Mirae blinked, pausing for a second before looking at her, her confusion evident. “What?”
“For a demo round, said he needed someone who could ‘keep up.’” She chuckled before quickly adding “His words, not mine.” She shrugged, eyes glancing towards where the man in question had not moved from his spot. A slow heat curled in Mirae’s chest, part challenge, part something she didn’t want to know. “Since when does he make personal requests?”
4-1 just shrugged, but there was mischief written all over her face. “Since you started wiping the floor with everyone else?” She smirked refocusing on 3-9. Mirae rolled her eyes and moved toward the center mat, weaving through other fighters. She didn’t need confirmation to know 5-8 had seen her coming, felt their gazes as he turned before she was even within earshot.
“3-9” he said simply.
“5-8” she quickly shot back as she folded her arms over her chest. “Heard you were looking for someone with fast reflexes for an intense workout.” She quickly glanced at him before she started stretching, getting ready to spar with the taller male. “I need someone to demonstrate advanced technique.” She raised a brow. “And I’m your best option?” she questioned him “You’re the only one who keeps on challenging me.”
That shut her up for half a second. “Fine. But if I end up bruised, I’m stealing your protein bars.” He said nothing, but rolled his eyes and just gestured to the open mat. As he turned to walk towards the mat, 3-9 turned around towards where 4-1 still stood, before walking backwards and mouthing ‘HELP ME’
As she duck under the elastic bands and stepped on top of the sparring mat where 5-8 already stood, the rest of the room seemed to instinctively give them space. Conversations quieted. Pairs paused. Even the rookies stopped to glance over, shifting back with subtle awe. Everyone respected 5-8. But 3-9? She’d earned a different kind of attention.
Mirae bounced lightly on her heels, loosening her limbs and rolling her shoulders. “Don’t go easy on me just because I’m pretty.” She smirked at him, trying to see if she could break through his shitty attitude today. 5-8 blinked once. “I won’t. Something about his tone made her skin prickle. Then they moved.
He was on her in an instant—no warm-up, no test hits. Just a fluid, practiced strike aimed straight for her ribs. Mirae blocked it with her forearm and pivoted, responding with a sharp jab that nearly grazed his chin. He tilted out of reach, not wasting any energy.
She pressed in, foot sweeping low to throw him off balance. But sadly he saw it coming and jumped it easily. “You’ve been practicing,” he pointed out between exchanges. He took a deliberate breath before going after her, feinting a jab at her shoulder before changing its direction to her ribs. She grunted as she barely dodged, this riling her up, her need to win rising with every move they made.
“Hard not to when you get jumped by hunters.” Grunted the womanwhen she ried to hit a kick to his Shi that was blocked. They continued in a blur of motion—fists, feet, and muscle. Mirae moved fast, nimble from years of real-world fights with people who didn’t care about form. But 5-8 was something else. Efficient. Predictive. Like he was already five steps ahead of her every time she moved.
Still, she kept him moving. They broke apart briefly, circling eachother,bouncing on the bals of their feet. “Come on,” she goaded, “I thought this was supposed to be hard?” 5-8 sighed softly at her impatience before responding. “I’m pacing myself.”
She scoffed at him in disbelief. “As if, you love moving fast and now you wanna slow down? That’s a first.” Clenching her fists before anticipating his next move. He struck again. This time, she didn’t dodge in time. His palm hit her shoulder and spun her off balance—but she caught herself, dropped low, and surged upward with a punch that reached it’s destination between his ribs.
He didn’t react. Just nodded. “Good.” Mirae narrowed her eyes. “You saying that to throw me off?” she grumbled at him. “No, You’re improving.” He simply acknowledged, insinuating that its was becoming more of a challenge for him to keep up very time the sparred. “Is that the best you can do?” She asked him circling around the mat.
There it was again, that flicker in his expression. Something just shy of a smile. Not quite warm, but aware. The fight picked up again. Her breath came sharper, sweat curling at her temple. Her arm was still stinging from a blow she blocked earlier. But she paid it no mind as she grinned through it, her need to win taking over.
Then she caught him with a surprise feint and jabbed toward his shoulder. He blocked, but not fast enough to stop her from getting in close—close enough to see the way his eyes flicked down for a split second.
Not to her fists. To her. She almost missed his counter because of it. He twisted, grabbed her wrist, and swept her feet in a motion so smooth it left her on her back before she could blink. She groaned, staring up at the ceiling.
“I’m starting to think you just enjoy tossing me around.” She muttered, still catching her breath as 5-8 extended a hand. “You’re the only one who keeps getting back up.” She glanced at his extended hand before taking it. His grip was firm. Steady. Their hands lingered for a second too long, the space between them crackling with the kind of quiet energy neither of them acknowledged.
When he let go, her fingers tingled. “You smiled,” she said, dazed. “Didn’t think it was possible.” She chuckled to herself
“Get back to drills,” he rolled his eyes , turning away. But just before he left the mat, he looked back. And Mirae, still catching her breath, felt like she’d won something no one else had even realized they were playing for.
The clatter of bodies and clipped commands picked back up as the sparring ended, but Mirae stayed bend over with her hands leaning against her knees on the mat for a few moments longer, before rolling her shoulder out and quietly catching her breath.
4-1 appeared at her side with a bottle of water, already smirking. “You’re making a habit of that, huh?” 3-9 glanced up at her, straightening herself out and softly pulling the bottle of water from her hands. As she took sip of the water, cooling her down and quenching her thirst. She tried not to look embarrassed knowing fully well what she was on about. “Of what?”
“Looking like you’re about to get your ass handed to you, and somehow turning it into a public spectacle. You do realize the rest of us need to use this mat later, right?” Mirae stretched her arms over her head, then brushed away the sweat that was dripping from her forehead with her wrist. “Please, they should thank me. I’m raising the bar.”
“Raising the bar?” 4-1 scoffed. “That wasn’t a bar, that was tension thick enough to slice with a rusted ration knife.” Before Mirae could argue, someone approached them—a rookie, by the look of the barely-scuffed boots and the anxious, too-eager to please expression.
“3-9, right?” the rookie asked, voice overly casual. “I was wondering if you could help me with a hold I’ve been struggling with. It’s one of the close-contact grapples—upper body positioning?” He questioned her quickly looking her up and down.
Mirae blinked. “You sure you don’t wanna ask 4-1? She’s better at the up-close throws.”
“Nah,” he told her and smiled. “I’ve seen you in the ring. You move like you actually enjoy it.” he quickly added. 4-1 arched a brow, clearly unimpressed. Mirae tilted her head, then shrugged. “Sure. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
They stepped a few feet over to the side mat. Mirae adjusted her stance, showing him what he did wrong, and showing him what he should be doing instead. “You’re telegraphing too early. If your opponent sees your shoulders turn, they’ll never let you close in.” She explained to the rookie, looking at his posture before she decided it was easier to just let him do it and correct him.
He quickly took the stance when she stepped in to correct his posture, reaching out to adjust the angle of his elbow. He chuckled, and Mirae frowned slightly—confused, until she felt the light, deliberate weight of his hand settle on her shoulder. Too casual to be an accident. Too familiar to be nothing.
Before she could say anything, a shadow loomed behind the woman. 5-8’s voice cut in, flat. “7-4. You need help with grip transitions?” He inquired, raising his brow and crossing his arms.their position looked almost fake as the tall man towered over Mirae, who’s back was still turned towards 5-8.
The rookie startled, pulling his hand away like he’d touched something hot. “Uh—no, sir. I mean—yes. Just needed help with the grapple technique.” The poor boy tried to explain himself.
“Then you’re on the wrong mat.” 5-8 said, stepping in between them with effortless precision. His expression hadn’t changed, but the tension in his jaw was unmistakable. This one is solely used for sparring, and she can’ t help you with this anyways, 4-4 is way better at that.” Liar. She has beaten him several times on the mat using grip transitions. Yet she was curious as to where this would lead, so she let 5-8 just talk.
Mirae blinked, waiting for his response as 5=8 started glaring at the guy. The rookie, who mirae now learned his name was 7-4 cleared his throat awkwardly. “Right. Sorry. I’ll, uh, go back to my section.” He nodded to no one in particular.
He backed off fast, nearly stumbling over his own feet in the process. Mirae turned to glance at 4-1, who was very, very visibly biting back laughter. “What?” Mirae hissed, narrowing her eyes. “Oh nothing,” 4-1 said innocently. “Just wondering how much pressure it takes to make a rookie sweat that hard in under ten seconds.” She chuckled, not able to hold her laughs in completely before quipping back in. “You should ask 5-8. He seems to have it down to a science.”
Mirae opened her mouth, but then noticed 5-8 wasn’t walking away yet. He was still just standing there, not able to take his eyes off of her as she conversed with her friend. But the air felt charged again, the same way it had during the fight—like they were in motion, even while standing still. “You didn’t need to scare the poor kid off,” she muttered under her breath as she stepped past him, walking over to the benches where her stuff was messily thrown on the floor.
“I didn’t say anything threatening,” he scoffed, his footsteps quiet as he followed her to her stuff. “That’s the problem. You never have to.” She muttered under her breath.
He didn’t respond, but as she started packing away her stuff, she swore she could feel his eyes glued to her back. A few seconds later she could feel his burning gaze leaving her as he returned to the other delivery men who were still training.
Worst thing about it? She didn’t hate his burning gaze following her almost everywhere she went
Sawol is tired of seeing the two of you fight over everything and hate each other, but for better or for worst, a traumatic event might be what was needed to bring 5-8 and you closer to each other.
Warnings : Slow burn, Ansgt, Hurt, Possible death
Words : 3K
A/N: Heya sorry for the long wait, I've been pretty busy in December, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!
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CHAPTER TWO
You pressed your hands against your eyes, trying to take away the sleepiness from them. You had been sleeping so deeply it took you some time to truly come back to reality and take in the situation. You watched as Sawol slammed the door shut, quickly running to the front of the truck. You could barely see him through the violence of the storm, but the low beam helped cut his silhouette from the dark. You squinted your eyes, trying to see what had made him come to a stop, that’s when you spotted the supposed dead body laying on the ground.
You felt your chest tighten with fear.
‘’It’s a trap!’’ you screamed at Sawol even though he couldn’t hear you.
The fear took your sleepiness away in an instant. You opened your glove box, grabbed your handgun as fast as you could and quickly threw yourself out of the truck without even taking the time to put on your mask. The panic rushing through your veins barely made you feel the heavy landing your ankles endured. The visibility was horrible, and you cursed yourself for forgetting to at least grab your goggles. The sand was violently slashing at your face, your eyes were burning, uncontrollable tears flying down your cheeks, but you kept running until you could reach Sawol. He had disappeared into the thickness of the storm.
A scream resonated not too far away, your grip on your gun tightened as you raised it in the direction of the noise. Worry was crushing your chest, you felt so close to throwing up. That scream sounded too much like Sawol. Taking a few careful steps towards the scream, you suddenly saw a few shadows appearing through the thickness of the storm. They seemed to be fighting and it seemed to be five against one, five hunters against your friend. Your running came to a sudden stop when you saw the lone shadow get hit and fall to the ground.
‘’SAWOL!’’ you screamed, afraid of the worse.
The hunters’s shadow turned in your direction at your shout, but you were already raising your weapon and firing away at them, rage disrupting your usually soft traits. It didn’t take you long to take care of the five shadows, watching them fall rapidly one after the other each time you shot. You had always been an incredible shot, that was your strength. Being a delivery woman, you knew you needed more than to know how to fight with your fist to survive. You were strong, yes, but there would always be a bigger enemy and that’s why you trained more than anyone with every weapon available to you, and guns were your choice of preference, always.
After observing the lack of movements from the downed hunters, you rushed to Sawol’s immobile body.
You fell to your knees next to him and held his head, calling his name repeatedly. His lack of response was worrying, but after looking for a pulse, you felt your entire body relax with relief. He wasn’t dead, only unconscious. You searched for his wounds, only to find the back of his head bleeding. If he hadn't been a mutant, you would’ve been extremely scared, but having already survived being shot in the head, you felt safe to assume he would be more than fine.
Taking a deep breath, you grabbed a hold of him and tried to lift him. He was truly heavy and it took you a lot of effort to get yourself as straight as possible. You slowly carried him back to the truck, taking a painful amount of time, as you breathed heavily from the effort it was taking you. Inhaling an insane amount of dust by doing so.
Getting Sawol’s unconscious body back in the truck took you an awful amount of time. By the time you were done, you could barely breathe. You hadn’t had any clean oxygen in too long, mixed in with the dust, you felt like your lungs were on fire. You weren’t really aware of how you made it back to the hangar, feeling on the verge of passing out any seconds, you uncontrollable fits of cough probably being the only thing keeping you awake.
As soon as you stopped the truck, you kicked your door open, but couldn’t control your loss of balance due to your weakness and crashed hard on the concrete floor. Your vision was blurry, you felt your name being screamed and strong arms wrapping themself around you. You grabbed onto their shirt, coughing loudly, managing to breath out Sawol’s name before passing out.
- - - - -
5-8’s eyes widened as he caught your truck rushing through the hangar dangerously fast. You brusquely came to halt a few meters from where he had been supposedly cleaning his truck for the last hour, looking for an excuse to wait for your arrival with Sawol.
Curious of your panicked entrance, 5-8 felt his worry raise. He started walking in your truck’s direction, only to see you falling from your seat and hitting the floor heavily. Panicked, 5-8 ran to your side, yelling your name. He grabbed onto you, lifting your head to face his. The man felt his heart drop at the sight of your wounded face. Your eyes were bloodshot and quite literally crying tears of blood. Your whole face was full of open wounds from the sand slashing at your face, blood bleeding out of your nose as well as surrounding your mouth from all the heavy coughing you had gone through.
‘’Y/N… Y/N can you hear me?’’
You didn’t answer him immediately and tried, unsuccessfully, to focus your eyes on him.
‘’Sawol..’’
5-8 had barely heard you by how hoarse your voice sounded, but still understood. He blinked in confusion, suddenly realizing he had forgotten about his young protege at your pitiful sight, he gave a quick glance around him, seeing a few delivery men rushing over.
‘’Kid’s still in the truck, take him to the infirmary.’’ he instructed them.
They nodded and rushed to Sawol’s side. 5-8 turned his attention back to you, feeling his heart drop when he realized you had fully closed your eyes and looked unconscious.
“Y/N..? Y/N wake up!”
Tightening his hold around your shoulders, he placed his free arm under your legs and picked you up. 5-8 carefully made his way to the infirmary, keeping a strong hold on you. Your head was pressed against his chest, directly above his heart, making it resonate even louder inside of him.
A painful moan escaped your lips, you seemed to have gained consciousness again but hadn’t opened your eyes yet. 5-8 was honestly wondering if the loud beating of his heart woke you up. He looked down at you, your face distorted by pain. 5-8 bit his lips and started walking a little faster than before.
‘’Lay her there.’’ 4-1 ordered him as he entered the small infirmary.
He slowly laid you down on a cold metallic table, making sure to carefully put your head down on it. 5-8 barely realized his hands lingering on you, until 4-1 pushed him aside, resulting in a strange coldness on his fingers, already missing the warmth of your touch. He stumbled backwards, anxious by his own inability to be of any help in your recovery. He stared silently at you while 4-1 slid an oxygen mask on your face. A sudden coughing fit took you, making you sit up. 5-8 took a few shy steps towards you, wanting to help, but 4-1 just pushed him out of the room.
‘’Your staring is annoying and you're in the way, make yourself busy elsewhere. ’’ she said harshly but with a glint of warmth in your eyes. ‘’She’ll be fine.’’
She slammed the door right in front of him, leaving 5-8 feeling extremely confused. He blinked a few times, trying to get his thoughts back in order, and slowly walked back to your truck. The only thing he seemed to be able to do to help in the moment was taking care of your truck. He climbed in and moved it into your designated parking lot.
Even after being done, 5-8 couldn't seem to be able to remove his hands from the steering wheel. He was gripping it tightly, looking straight into the void in front of him, completely lost in his thoughts.
What had just happened?
He gripped his shirt, feeling his blood pumping strongly.
What were those feelings? 5-8 had always been so calm, had always managed to keep a stable grip on his emotions, keeping him in constant control of his actions. But when he saw you falling off your truck, your face crimson red from all the blood, he just lost it. He didn’t even think of Sawol until you called his name and felt ashamed at the realization.
There was one thing 5-8 truly hated, and it was to lose his ability to control himself, unconsciously, he had always been aware of your ability to make him lose his calm, and he hated it. This was the main reason why he found you so annoying, why he never wanted to talk or even think about you. This was the foundation of his hatred for you. But he would never admit it, nor what those kinds of feelings might actually mean. 5-8 closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He chased away his thoughts, not enjoying the rush of uncontrollable feelings it brought him and, and regained his usual emotionless state of mind.
As he opened the door, ready to jump down the truck, his eyes caught on your notes, safely tucked in the door’s net holder.
Without thinking, 5-8 reached for it, not able to resist the temptation. He opened it carefully, as if it was a precious relic and observed every page, one after the other, without being able to stop himself even though guilt logged itself in his stomach. His curiosity was way stronger. He had dreamed of laying eyes on those notes ever since Sawol had told him about your research.
5-8 couldn’t believe it, he honestly didn’t know what to think of it. Not really knowing what to do, he closed your notes, putting them back to where they belong. Still in shock, he mindlessly walked back to the infirmary.
His fingers slid across the pages full of charcoal. He liked the feeling, it was rougher than the pages of the books he had scavenged over the years, the paper of your notes were thicker, they felt nice under his touch. He truly understood why you cared so much about this book, yes it was your notes, it was months of your for you, but the book in itself was an antiquity, a precious treasure of forgotten times. Everything was screens now, they didn’t produce paper anymore, and when your pages would be filled, you’d have to look for a new one yourself.
5-8 didn’t know how long he stared at it, flipping through each page one by one. He read every note you wrote, admiring how detailed you were, calculating the percentage of pollution and warmth produced by the sun. He found himself enjoying the small doodles you had made all around. At first they were mostly your equipment and probably the landscape around the rooftop you went to. But then he saw some portraits here and there, mostly you Sawol, which made him smile. Sawol smiling brightly or sleeping on the ground. There were some other delivery men as well as sketches of trucks and some decent looking places in the hangar. When he reached an empty page, 5-8 unconsciously flipped through the rest of the book, making sure he didn’t miss anything else. He stopped himself near the end of your notes seeing a few pages darkened by the brush of your pencil.
He felt his heart skip a beat as he opened the first page filled with drawings hiding at the end of your book. They were all drawings of him, pages filled with frozen moments of his life. He admired himself, painted with a smile on his face, saw himself boxing with a punching bag, cleaning his truck, giving instructions during some of their secret meetings. Many of the drawings were just of his face in many expressions. 5-8 felt warm, incredibly warm. He had difficulty breathing and tried unzipping the top of his vest, barely succeeding from how much his hands were shaking. He had completely forgotten about any precious thoughts of changing the weird feelings he felt towards you into hatred and annoyance. All he could think about right now was his heart beating so loudly he thought it might explode, and the fact that you had been watching him, drawing him.
- - - - -
Painkillers numbed every part in your body, you didn’t feel much of anything anymore, except for the burning of your eyes and your throat. 4-1 had left some time ago, saying you were fine, but that the sand had irritated your mouth, nose and eyes until they bled, and that your lack of clean oxygen was probably what had made you pass out in the end. There wasn’t much else she could do to help you, only time could heal your wounds now. You had been relieved when she told you Sawol was fine, that he had only passed out from the hit he had received behind the head, but that he’d probably wake up soon. She then had left you alone in the room with his sleeping body.
You climbed down the table slowly, your head throbbing from pain, and made your way next to Sawol, grabbing a chair and placing it next to his bed. You sat there a while, holding his hand and waiting.
The infirmary door suddenly opened behind you, making you jump in surprise. Hand pressed against your chest, you took a deep breath when you saw 5-8 standing in the doorway. He had scared the hell out of you. He raised an eyebrow at you, in a quiet request to come in. You nodded in response, not really surprised that 5-8 had come back, he was probably worried about Sawol.
But you didn’t feel ready to face the man, not when the memory of his strong arms holding and carefully bringing you to the infirmary filled your mind. After seeing him again, your thoughts were uncontrollably filled with him, you remembered his warmth and the feeling of his heart beating against your head.
The more you thought about it, and the more what 4-1 had told you sounded wrong. You hadn’t passed out from the lack of clean oxygen, you had passed from being in 5-8’s arms. Feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks, you turned your attention back to the sleeping beauty next to you, hiding your flustered expression to the man entering the room.
You watched from the corner of your sight as 5-8 walked around Sawol’s table until he stopped near his head. You watched silently as he delicately placed his hand at the top of Sawol’s head and gently caressed his hair.
“How is he?”
Your heart skipped a beat upon hearing his deep voice. You lifted your eyes to meet him, but when you opened your mouth to answer him, no sound came out of it, only a hoarse attempt to work ‘’Fine’’. You coughed loudly, and 5-8 quickly interrupted you before you could try again.
“Rest your voice, it’s fine.’’ he reassured you. ‘’It’s probably gonna take a lot more than whatever happened to kill this kid.’’
You felt a chuckle attempting to escape your lips, only to come out as another set of coughs. You groaned, face twisted with pain.
5-8 brows furrowed as he looked at you, an unusual warmth in his eyes.
‘’Sorry…’’ he smiled softly.
Your eyes widened at the sight, was he smiling… at you?
Feeling your heart beating furiously, you didn’t know what to do nor where to look to try and hide your reddening face. You didn’t know how to deal with this, was he kind to you only because of your state at the moment? This was unusual. You know how to deal with his annoying remarks, you were good at feeling annoyed at him as soon as he addressed you. You were also extremely good at observing him from afar, since the man was annoyingly handsome and quite satisfying to draw. But the moments of calm and joy you observed from him were usually not directed towards you and you didn’t have to deal with that heartstopper of a smile, not like you did at the moment. And you couldn’t help but love the way he softly smiled at you, eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t identify. And you couldn’t help yourself but hope he’d smile at you again and again and again…
You shook your head, trying desperately to chase away the flush of your cheeks and come back to reality. 5-8 was looking at Sawol, he seemed lost in thoughts as well. You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the pain of doing so.
‘’I… I’m sorry.’’
You knew those words were yours, but they were said in a voice far from yours, it was strange hearing yourself talk like this, and it definitely did not feel good. 5-8 looked at you confused, the expression on his face clearly asking you for more details.
‘’I-it’s my fau-fault he got hurt. I sh-should’ve be-’’
‘’Stop it…’’ he interrupted you more harshly than he would’ve wanted. ‘’You need to rest your throat.’’
You frowned, wanting to explain yourself, but he continued, surprising you with the softness of his words.
‘’Plus, Sawol is a grown man and a certified Delivery man, he’s more than able to defend himself. It could’ve happen to anyone.’’
5-8 stood up before you could even try to add anything else. He silently walked to the door, your eyes following him with every step. He opened the door, ready to leave, but stopped himself in his tracks and locked back at you from above his shoulder.
‘’Take some few days off, you need some rest.’’
You felt your heart burst into your chest as you watched him rapidly exit the room. you could swear you had seen some colors on his face.
A/N : I really enjoyed writing this chapter, some feelings are starting to show up! Hoping to see you for the next one. Much love!
