our new normal
i'm going to explode these gays omg they've been on my brains like crazy these days
Killer's used to to tasks, sure. Back when he was new and stupid enough to think that he was too important to be replaced. Back when every day was a set of tasks given to him by the hand that fed. Stand on this corner, they said. Carry this bag. Kill everyone approaching him. Don't ask question.
Now he's older, more obsolete in the grand scheme of things, riding a battered moped with a cracked speedometer and an insulated food box strapped in the back. His helmet is full-faced, protecting him from the glaring sun and distrustful eyes of anyone recognizing his much recognizable face. The tasks are different, but somehow the same. Pick up orders. Deliver them. Take photos. Move on to the next. He has no clear boss, but the apps he works for are bossy enough, bombarding his notifications with nearby clients and competitive bonuses and time-sensitive orders that need picking up before others swoop in.
The pay is horrible, but at least he's getting paid now.
Sometimes, he wishes he still worked for his old, much more malignant bosses.
It's raining today, something weather forecast didn't predict. It means more people staying inside and ordering takeout from the comfort of their houses or cubicles, so that's a good thing. The bad thing is that this might affect his date he arranged with Murder afterwards.
He stops at a small parking space in the tree's shade, a small congregation site for all delivery guys his kind to rest from the tepid rain. Some are lying across their old mopeds, taking a short nap from their work. Some are having their late soggy lunches, chatting among themselves like brothers in the same rickety boat.
Killer's phone buzzes not five minutes into his spaced-out break. A new order from a nearby noodle shop. Task received.
By eight thirty in the evening, his shoulders start to ache. He's been working nonstop for 30 hours after all. The app keeps offering tiny bonuses that he can't quite seem to reach, maybe because he's too slow to ensure delivery in the desired time frame. Maybe he should upgrade his moped into something nicer. More efficient. He wonders if he's accrued enough money for that yet.
He'll check once he's done his latest run of delivery. Delivering for 48 hours straight is a fun achievement. Another badge to earn for him, given by himself.
The next order sends him to a familiar industrial district at the edge of the city. Two bowls of pork rice, with extra chili oil. Nice.
He parks outside the front door to an office lot address. In the background, the factories glow in a row of orange heat, smog billowing like breaths from a slumbering dragon hoarding its gold. Like it's sleeping, eternally so.
"Order for... Ivaan?" He knocks on the door where a security guard sits behind. The door buzzes, and he's let in. Ha. These places will be so easy to infiltrate.
A clean-shaven, neat-looking office worker greets him and accepts the order. 10% tip. Not much, but better than nothing. Killer wishes them a good night shift, as per habit, then walks outside. He rides to where he knows Murder is working at, and waits, looking at inane cat videos to pass the time. Notifications from myriads of apps keep coming, but he barely pays them any mind.
Eventually, amidst the crowd, he spots Murder, who looks exhausted as always, even with his face mask on. The dark circles under his eyes are even deeper today, and his clothes look ruffled. He looks like he has only slept for four hours instead of eight, which tracks for his awful 6-to-9 work.
Killer leans against his moped, quickly checking himself in the rearview mirror -- good, he looks presentable especially with his mysterious helmet on -- before honking the horn. Murder turns his head immediately, sockets scrunching up in a smile-grimace.
"Hey there, handsome," Killer grins, waving his head. "You waiting for someone?"
Murder might have let out a huff, but Killer can't be sure. The hooded man walks towards him though, which is a glowing endorsement of his charisma. Killer leans back, smile stretching wider on his obscured face.
"Date stood you up?" he asked, tone cheeky. "Man, who would treat such a treat like you like that? Wanna take a ride... on my bike?"
Murder's sockets curve upwards, just a tiny bit, as if smiling. Killer grins wider.
"Is that a yes? Lucky for you, I have a spare helmet here." He takes off a helmet hanging from a small hook in the front and tosses it to Murder, who catches it with blue magic with ease. Angels inside, he loves his men who knows what to do with their insane command of magic. "Get on, handsome. Let me show you a good time."
Murder snorts as he puts the helmet on, this one without a visor. Killer quickly gets on the moped, and soon after Murder follows. The latter's arms wraps around Killer's waist and his cheek rests on Killer's back as the rider starts the engine. Aw, bunny is real tired today then.
"You wanna be my partner-in-crime today, bun?" Killer asks as he rides out of the parking lot. Night wind breezes past him, and Murder squeezes his arms tighter.
"Mm, sure..." the quiet skeleton murmurs, easily accepting the phone Killer gives him. The white light illuminates his cute face perfectly, but Killer has to focus on the road now.
The city blurs around them in traffic lights and neon signs and too-bright streetlamps and glaring LED headlights from fellow road travelers. Order after order, they pass by restaurants and hotel lobbies and tall apartments. Killer handles the driving and delivering, and Murder just sits behind him and murmurs the directions in a sleepy voice. Occasionally, Killer beams at a spot they see on the way: a cafe he notices just opened, a local game arcade, a spa too expensive for them to even use the parking lot at. New things, wonderful things that keep this city from being too stale for Killer's taste. There's always something to explore here, somewhere he'd like to bring Murder and/or Horror to experience with him.
"Turn right in three hundred meters," Murder says to him as they wait in a traffic jam. Killer laughs behind his visor.
"Which one, babe? There are like a dozen of alleys on the right here."
"The one in three hundred meters," Murder deadpans, then sighs. "Never mind. When you're near, I'll tell you."
"You're the best, bunny."
Murder pauses a little. "... This is kinda romantic," he says, pressing closer against Killer's back. "Guess nothing's more romantic than delivering overpriced lukewarm burritos together on a weekend."
"I don't know," Killer hums, kicking his pedal to start moving once more once the red light turns green. "We're spending quality time together, right?"
"We're working."
"Intimate knowledge of my day, even better."
Murder snorts, but doesn't contradict him. Killer takes that as another win.
At the apartment of their destination, they stop in the front yard as the customer told them to wait there and is taking forever to get down. Killer gets down from the moped while Murder still sits in the back seat, raising an eye ridge when Killer lifts his visor up.
"Nice place here, don't you think?" Killer grins, bonking the top of his helmet against Murder's. "Quiet. Clean. Lots of trees here. One day, I'll get us an apartment here."
"Really?" Murder smiles drowsily against his teeth. "With what money?"
"Mine. Or, well, ours." Killer chuckles. "I'm hard-working. We can get it in, well, maybe ten years or so, if we're saving just right."
"Mm..."
They stay close like that, under the single warm streetlamp casting elongated shadows on the parking lot lines. Their mouths almost brush each other, but they don't close the distance. They never do. Or, more like, Killer never does. He's seen Horror and Murder kiss many times. It's cute, yeah, but not something he feels like doing. For some reason, it feels too real for what he's playing with these two -- a simulacrum of a real relationship.
He's not like them. He has to remind himself that.
When the customer comes down, they profusely apologize while accepting the bag from Killer's nimble hands. Their gaze shifts from Killer to Murder, a hesitant polite smile on their face.
"Uh, sorry to ask but... Are you guys together?" they say. "You're very cute."
"Yep," Killer beams. "That's my boo right there. We're having a date but, you know, no rest for the wicked."
"Oh... Sounds-- Uhm..." The customer shuffles their feet, then reaches inside their pocket. "I have twenty dollars here. You guys should... take a break."
"Aww! Thanks a lot!" Killer smiles, accepting the cash. "Don't forget to leave a good review!"
"Thank you," Murder mutters to the customer, more reticent than his partner. The customer just blinks and smiles at them both.
"It's nothing. Have a good night, you two."
"We will!" Killer shouts as the person goes back to their apartment, then he turns to Murder, whistling. "Twenty dollar tip. We're rich."
Murder snorts, humoring him. "Enough for a yacht, I see."
"And a car. And trip to Bangkok. And a sauna day. And--"
And they keep working, until around one thirty in the morning when there's no more regular orders in the area. Killer stops at a convenience store near the river. One cashier mans the booth, looking bored as they flip through magazines. Killer and Murder pick out some cup noodles (with sausages because they have money today), microwave dumplings, and two cans of coffee. Feeling a bit fancy today, Killer grabs a pack of peach-shaped popsicles he's seen on social media lately, prompting Murder to eye him strangely.
They take the seat by the window, looking out from the front of the store. Murder starts slurping on his noodles while Killer slowly sips on the canned coffee.
"That one tastes like battery acid," Murder grumbles, his own can opened but abandoned on the side.
"All coffee tastes like that, I think," Killer chortles through the sips. "Besides, it's not the taste but the caffeine that makes me like it."
"It's because you have no taste."
Killer hums, a noncommittal noise. The river looks dark, decorated only by the shimmers of lights on its shiny surface. The scene is nothing spectacular, especially with trash bags littering the riverbed, but it's something to look at. Far away, he can hear the echoing horn of a cargo ship. It's time for Horror to go to work, he muses. They have such contradicting schedules, it's hard to organize some meetup between all three of them.
For a while, comfortable silence blankets over both him and Murder. Then, the quiet monster breaks it.
"What are you thinking?"
"Nothing," Killer hums. "Just, you know, work."
"... You ever miss the old one?"
Pause. Killer taps on the can, a habit he's learned from Horror of all people.
"Sometimes," he replies after a while. "I miss not having to pay rent."
"Fair."
"I miss having more people around."
"Mm," Murder makes a sound in his throat. "You have us."
A grin, artificial as ever. "I do."
"... I like you."
The answer comes easy. Practiced. "I like you too."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
A rustle. Murder throws the empty cup noodle in the trash can with terrifying accuracy. Such good talent wasted on working a bone-crushing assembly line job.
"Cool," Murder mutters, not looking at him. Killer can see the side of his skull turning a slight blushing purple.
"Cool," he echoes, grinning. His SOUL is deathly still. "You wanna go home now?"
Murder does.
Killer waves him outside, checking his phone. Almost two thirty, so they've spent around an hour on break. It's not optimal, but having some time with Murder is worth the dip in productivity, if only a little.
The engine sputters to life. Murder rests against his back again as he rides off into the night. He wouldn't mind if Murder fell asleep right here. The wind must be cozy.
Yeah. This new normal doesn't seem too bad.