nocturnum
this is the most company Omen has had in a while... he doesn't mind it one bit
Omen x Agent!Reader
parts [2], [3]
You watch Omen, who sits across from you in the break room, as he cleans the weapon in his hands. It’s a Phantom—you can tell as much by the rounded barrel and the shape of the body—but its design remains unfamiliar to you, piquing your curiosity. All the agents had customized their guns to some extent and you were no exception, but this variation was one you had never seen before on Alpha Earth or Omega Earth.
He doesn’t acknowledge your attention at first, not out of malice, but his own concentration. He’s already redone the red wrapping that covers parts of the handguard and the stock, and combed through the purple feathers that run along the top of the body. Now all that’s left to do is dust and polish. His gloved hands run along the raised wrought iron edges with sharpened precision as he runs the worn dusting cloth over the surface. These are the kind of tasks he enjoys; ones that demand his attention and force his wandering mind into a rare silence.
It’s not until you shift slightly, keening to get a closer look at his handiwork from over the table, that he remembers where he is. He glances up to your face, commits to memory every detail of the look of amazement on your face, and fails—as usual—to realize that he’s admiring. He doesn’t notice that his hand has slowed to a stop and yet, his mind remains tranquil all the same as he stares at you unabashedly.
It’s not until you glance up at him and toss him an easy smile that his mind begins to race and he’s quick to avert his gaze back down to the task at hand. You’re a relatively new recruit, though you swiftly found yourself in the good graces of the other agents. Cheerful, easy to talk to, and reliable—even Viper couldn’t find a reason to be cross with you. Omen had initially kept his distance as he does with all newcomers to the protocol. It’s easy for him to isolate himself; who would want anything to do with a monster like him?
You did, apparently. It started with sitting together in the breakroom. Short conversations turned into longer, more natural discussions over meals at the mess hall. Now, it’s only expected that where one goes, another is sure to be nearby.
Only now do you break the comfortable silence.
“Did you modify this yourself, Omen? It’s beautiful.”
Omen eyes the skull emblem that sits on the receiver. It stares back at him now and every time he aims down the sight and every time he pulls the trigger. Its eyes don’t glow now; the safety is on and the magazine is empty and he’s somewhere safe, far away from battle and bloodshed. But he can imagine their eerie red glow all the same. He thinks of the rush he feels when he watches a body crumple to the ground, lifeless. It sends satisfaction running through his veins, a twisted sense of gratification, but beautiful?
It’s a thoughtful pause before he responds.
“Yes, I did.”
You hum watching as he continues to massage the metal with polishing cloth under his thumb.
Omen has never been one to mind silence, in fact, he’s found that he craves it more often than not, but there’s something about this moment that he can’t quite explain. The thought of you standing up and leaving the room creates a pit in his stomach that he can’t ignore. It leaves him wracking his brain for something to add, to selfishly keep your attention on him for just a little while longer.
“And what of your’s? Killjoy has your Phantom, does she not?”
He doesn’t look up, but he can see you in the periphery of his vision. He sees the way the expression on your face morphs into one of pleasant surprise, that he remembered you excitedly mentioning last week that Killjoy agreed to help modify your stock rifle. Of course, Omen remembers. He remembers everything you say.
“She does! She hasn’t been able to do much work on it the last few days since she’s been on missions, but she said she has time this weekend and thinks she can get it done by Monday…” Omen continues polishing his rifle as he listens to you talk, pleased with his work.
You prattle on about the modifications—adjustments to the shape of the body to make it more rectangular, a purple paint job, RGB lights. You talk about other modifications you’d like to do on your other guns when you have the time.
Omen doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to; you always know that he’s listening. It shows in the way he remembers the details.
“I’m excited to see it! It was really fun to modify my Classic. I can’t wait to work on the others.” You chirp as Omen finishes the barrel.
Wordlessly, he sets down the cloth and admires the way the metal glints in the light. He angles it towards you for you to see.
You nod approvingly.
Then, Omen speaks. “I’m sure it will be…” He admires the way you look across from him, eyes bright, “beautiful.”
He loves the way you beam at him.
“Thank you, Omen! I think so too.”
He stands up, gun in hand.
“The reloading mechanism of this gun is special too. Care to join me in the Range? I can show you.”
“Would I!” You bound up next to him in matched paces. He’s much taller than you, forcing you to crane your neck.
He stares down at you as you walk together towards the door.
Yes, he thinks, quite beautiful indeed.
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