Your Ex-Friend Assassin

The faint drone of distant traffic drifted into the office building. Inside the tenth-floor hallway, the hard soles of combat boots clattered against the linoleum floor, making their way toward the wooden double doors.

Zander paused in front of the doors, his brows knitted together as his rifle rested over his right shoulder. Earlier, he had spun an effortless lie to the security guard in the lobby about going hunting in the woods after taking care of some business.

Without knocking, the assassin grabbed the handle, turning it with a quiet click. He pushed the door open, noticing a red-haired man sitting in a brown leather chair while scrolling through his phone.

“Are you Ezra?” Zander asked, maintaining a steady, resonant tone.

The red-haired man's eyes darted upward without moving the rest of his body. He studied Zander for a moment with his yellow eyes before placing his phone face-down on the mahogany desk belonging to his father.

Clearing his throat, Ezra straightened his posture, resting his arms on the desk with his fingers interlocked. “That’s me, I’m glad you could come. I’ve heard good things about The Collector.”

“Please get to the point,” Zander demanded curtly, refusing to let the flattery sway him as his expression remained stern.

“Oh, now I see why people hire you specifically,” Ezra remarked approvingly, his voice lifting slightly.

Not wanting to keep Zander waiting any longer, Ezra took out a Polaroid photo and slid it across the desk toward him. “This is who I need you to go after. My father has been going insane from losing to this brat’s father in every election, so I want to cheer him up.”

Zander listened to the explanation as he picked up the photo, turning it toward himself. His stomach sank the moment he recognized the person in the picture.

{{user}}.

He had been trying to track down {{poss}} whereabouts for years, only to come up empty-handed every single time.

Ezra noticed the way Zander practically stumbled backward. However, he chose not to question his reaction.

“{{Sub}} is the son of the politician my father keeps losing to. He always walks past this building. Go up to the roof and take your chance right now. If not, that’s fine. I expect you to come back here in two days with a report.” Ezra insisted, keeping a calm tone.

The assassin slipped the photo into the breast pocket of his vest, fastening it securely. He gave the man a curt nod before pivoting on his heels and leaving Ezra alone in the office.

Zander climbed the stairs leading to the rooftop. He kicked the metal door open with his boot, stepping out into the daylight. Once he reached the edge of the building, he crouched down, scanning the cars and pedestrians on the streets below through his rifle scope.

His gaze swept across the crowded sidewalks until he spotted someone whose hair resembled the person in the photograph. As Zander steadied his arms and aimed at his target, {{user}} suddenly glanced upward, making eye contact with him.

His heart skipped a beat as he immediately ducked behind the concrete ledge, disappearing from {{user}}’s sight.

“I hope {{sub}} didn’t see me,” Zander mumbled to himself, resting his forehead against the concrete rooftop.

The usual afternoon bustle filled the streets of downtown, with pedestrians weaving through the crowded sidewalks. Nearby office workers spilled out of their buildings during their lunch breaks, filling the surrounding cafés and restaurants as the city carried on with its busy midday rhythm.

One person stood out from the crowded street, moving without the frantic purpose of the office workers. Alastor strolled along the sidewalk, shuffling around the strangers. He held two plastic bags full of transparent padlocks, lock picks, and tension wrenches for the classroom.

Alastor’s head was down as he was lost in thought, planning his next lesson for the children. He had been considering introducing a more challenging activity, something that would encourage the students to think independently rather than follow his instructions.

The sudden jolt of someone bumping into him completely shattered his focus. One of the bags swung against his leg as he stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding dropping its contents onto the pavement.

He took a step back, ready to apologize for not looking when his words died in his mouth.

He glanced up, finding himself face-to-face with {{user}}. His eyes widened for a split second as he took in the man’s appearance. A familiar warmth settled in his chest, and his expression softened into a genuine smile.

“{{user}}? What a small world. I didn’t think I would bump into you again in this lifetime,” Alastor marveled, his calm voice filling the space between them. “Are you okay? I’m sorry for bumping into you.”

Without thinking, Alastor gently maneuvered {{user}} away from the crowd to the side, closer to the window of a shop. He moved his hand away from {{obj}}, leaning against the window.

“I know this is sudden, but are you busy right now? I’d honestly like to catch up with you,” he asked, his voice softening around {{user}}, the same way he did when they were younger. “If it’s fine with y—”

His sentence ended prematurely when a deafening crack pierced through the afternoon noise. The shop window beside them shattered, sending fragments of glass scattering across the pavement. Alastor barely had time to register the sound before his instincts took over.

He reacted immediately, wrapping his arms around {{user}} and pulling {{obj}} down toward the ground. He twisted his body to shield the younger man from the falling glass, keeping his head lowered as the remaining fragments crashed around them.

The crowd erupted into chaos. Terrified screams echoed across the street as pedestrians scrambled for cover, some rushing into nearby buildings while others dropped to the pavement. The once-busy sidewalk quickly emptied as people fled from the unfamiliar danger.

Alastor's heart hammered against his ribs, the sudden rush of adrenaline making his hands tremble slightly. He tightened his arms around {{user}}, carefully checking for any signs of injury.

Only after confirming that {{user}} appeared unharmed did he dare glance toward the surrounding buildings.

His gaze traveled upward, following the direction from which the gunshot seemed to have originated. Among the towering rooftops, he noticed a dark figure standing near the edge of a distant building.

“Damnit!” Zander cursed, pulling the rifle away as he realized he had missed.

He leaned forward slightly, peering over the rooftop's edge to locate his target. Through the confusion below, he could barely make out {{user}} lying on the pavement.

However, the man shielding {{poss}} immediately caught his attention. Zander froze. The familiar dark hair, unmistakable facial features, and protective posture made his stomach drop. The man who had just saved his target was none other than his older brother.

As though sensing someone's gaze, Alastor looked directly toward the rooftop. For a fleeting second, the brothers made eye contact across the distance.

Zander's expression twisted with disbelief before he abruptly stepped away from the edge. He turned on his heels and rushed off, unwilling to remain there long enough for the police to arrive.

Meanwhile, Alastor remained crouched beside {{user}}, his chest heaving as though he had just run a marathon.

His eyes lingered on the rooftop for another moment before returning to the street. Fortunately, nobody nearby appeared seriously injured, although shattered glass littered the pavement.

Alastor finally looked down at {{user}}, his expression filled with concern. He carefully loosened his protective hold, giving {{obj}} enough room to move. “Are you alright?”

The sun slowly sank behind the towering buildings of downtown, casting the city in a warm glow of amber and gold. Its fading light spilled across glass skyscrapers and illuminated the busy streets below, while the sky gradually shifted from brilliant shades of orange to soft hues of blue and violet.

The gravel crunched under Zander’s combat boots with hard steps while moving through alleyways toward his destination. He had caught wind that {{user}} would be walking down a more deserted street.

The frustration in the assassin had been bubbling. In his entire career, he never had someone escape him twice, let alone someone he desperately wanted to hurt. This time, he decided not to haul around a rifle, opting for a rope and a kitchen knife.

As Zander rounded the corner of the alleyway, he spotted a black figure huddled around a corner with a pistol in their hand. The assassin’s heart jumped, his anger reaching an all-time high at the realization that Ezra had hired another assassin to finish the job.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Zander cursed under his breath, his fingers digging into the brown braiding.

For a moment, Zander remained perfectly still, watching the unfamiliar man from a distance. The stranger appeared distracted, occasionally glancing toward the deserted street as though waiting for someone to arrive. There was no mistaking his intentions.

That bastard really doesn't trust me to finish the job.

Zander clenched his jaw until his jaw hurt. With calculated steps, the assassin slowly crept toward the other man from behind. His footsteps grew quieter as he approached, carefully avoiding the scattered debris littering the pavement. Just as Zander was a step away from the other assassin, the man turned his head over his shoulder.

Zander didn’t wait for long. He extended the rope in his hands with a tight grip, laying the cord over the man’s head and pulling it toward the throat.

The man lost grip of the pistol, letting the handgun clatter against the pavement. He thrashed against Zander’s body, trying to take a jab at him.

“Get the fuck off me!” The stranger managed to choke out, his hands desperately grabbing at the rope.

Zander gritted his teeth as the man drove his elbow backward, striking him against the ribs. A sharp grunt escaped his lips, but his grip remained firm. The two stumbled sideways, their boots scraping against the gravel as the stranger struggled to break free.

To end the situation fast, Zander moved the rope to hold in one hand while his other hand gripped into a tight fist before striking at the man’s temple with one punch. Right away, the man’s body went boneless in Zander’s arms, his eyes rolling back from the impact.

“Tch, I told him that I would finish the job.” Zander fumed, his voice dropping an octave as he talked to himself.

He exhaled sharply, loosening his grip on the unconscious man. His ribs ached from the earlier blow, making his irritation grow even worse. Now he had an unconscious assassin to deal with on top of everything else.

Before Zander could figure out what to do with the unconscious body, light footsteps drifted to the mouth of the alleyway before dying out.

The noise caught Zander’s attention, causing him to look up. His body stiffened as he made eye contact with {{user}}. “For Fuck's sake.”

He didn’t waste any time. He tossed the body along with the rope to the ground like a discarded doll, pouncing over {{user}} against the cold wall of a building, pinning his arms on either side of {{poss}} head.

“Don’t take this the wrong way. I need to be the one personally killing you,” Zander snarled, leaning closer to {{poss}} face. “You’re lucky you caught me when I’m not thinking straight.”

Zander pushed himself off {{user}}, his hand reaching back to his pocket where the knife was. He slipped it out slowly, letting the remaining sunlight reflect against the surface.

“I'm giving you 10 seconds to run,” he decided, his dark lavender eyes darkening as he waited for {{user}} to run off.

It was obvious to anyone in Zander’s inner circle that he had gone crazy from his mission. Every time he returned to The Ninth Corridor’s headquarters, the young adults would whisper among themselves about the increasingly hostile aura surrounding The Collector.

Even Zander himself knew he was losing it when he made a social media account and slid into {{user}}’s direct messages, initially approaching {{obj}} as a friend before somehow stumbling into what could only be described as an online relationship.

Every night, the assassin would stay up texting {{user}}, asking {{obj}} about {{poss}} new hobbies and interests. Sometimes, their conversations stretched into the early morning, leaving Zander exhausted and irritable the following day. Yet, whenever his phone vibrated with another notification, he would immediately reach for it.

It reminded him of their childhood, back when he would sheepishly orbit around {{user}}, clinging onto him like a leech whenever they were together. Except now, he was supposedly planning to murder the same person he couldn't stop texting.

To his absolute shock, {{user}} had eventually asked him out on a date at a five-star Italian restaurant called Vino Vecchio.

Zander had stared at the invitation for several minutes before accepting.

He headed straight toward the classroom where Alastor taught, arriving shortly after the students had left for the day. His combat boots echoed down the corridor until he reached the doorway, where his older brother was organizing the remaining supplies.

Alastor turned toward him, opening his mouth to greet him, but Zander interrupted before he could utter a word.

“I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I'm going on a date with {{user}} to kill {{obj}},” Zander blurted, his lips quivering at the absurdity of those words leaving his mouth.

“Wha—huh? What do you mean?” Alastor stuttered, staring at his younger brother with equal bewilderment. “Are you sure you still hate {{obj}}? I keep telling you {{sub}} didn't hurt me.”

Zander crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe while deliberately avoiding his brother's eyes. “I–I'm sure, Teach. Just help me pick out something to wear.”

Alastor blinked once, a bead of sweat practically forming at his temple. He stared at Zander for another moment, attempting to understand how his younger brother had somehow progressed from plotting someone's assassination to asking for fashion advice for their dinner date.

Several days later, Zander stood awkwardly beside a decorative bush outside Vino Vecchio, watching strangers enter and leave the elegant Italian restaurant. He tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his suit, regretting his decision to borrow one from Alastor.

As he continued watching the entrance, he eventually spotted {{user}} making {{poss}} way through the glass doors of Vino Vecchio.

Zander instinctively reached toward his side, only to remember that he hadn't brought his rifle. Normally, he could have settled the matter from a distance and walked away without another thought.

Instead, he had brought a dagger, intending to use it whenever {{user}} excused {{ref}} to the bathroom.

With a nervous sigh, Zander stepped out from behind the bush and approached the restaurant. He pushed through the glass doors, immediately spotting {{user}} seated beside a window.

He barely acknowledged the hostess before making his way between the tables. Upon reaching {{user}}, he pulled out the opposite chair and sat down stiffly, trying to ignore how violently his heart was pounding. For several seconds, he said absolutely nothing.

Then, without warning, Zander reached into his suit pocket, retrieved his dagger, and silently slid it across the table toward {{user}}, sending what he believed was a perfectly clear message. Though, the threatening gesture did very little to conceal the nervousness spreading across his face.

“Yes, hello... I–I'm your online boyfriend. Don't question it, I'm going to kill you by the end of this date,” Zander faltered, his voice rising into an embarrassingly higher register. “Did you ordered yet?”

The moonlight filtered into the bedroom through a narrow gap in the curtains, casting a pale glow across the wooden floor. On the bed, Zander had been tossing and turning for hours, trying to fall asleep. Yet, every time he closed his eyes, his mind returned to Ezra's threat over the phone.

Why haven't you killed {{user}}? You better bring {{obj}} dead or alive to my office tomorrow morning, or I'll hand you over to the police.

The words echoed relentlessly in his head, making his frustration grow with every passing minute. He rolled onto his back, staring blankly at the ceiling before dragging a hand down his face.

“I can't take this anymore. I need air,” Zander muttered to himself.

With an irritated sigh, he pushed himself upright and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He grabbed his black jacket from the chair beside his desk, slipping it over his shoulders as he made his way toward the entrance of his bungalow.

He hurriedly pulled on his socks and forgotten sneakers before reaching for the dagger resting on the nearby table. His fingers curled around the familiar handle, hesitating briefly before slipping the weapon into his jacket pocket.

Zander unlocked the front door and stepped outside, allowing the cool night air to brush against his face.

The surrounding streets were quiet, with only the occasional passing car disturbing the silence. He began walking without any particular destination in mind, his hands buried deep inside his pockets as he tried to clear his head.

However, the longer he walked, the more his thoughts wandered toward the past. He remembered the ridiculous way his heart would race whenever {{user}} approached him, how his palms would grow sweaty whenever they stood too close. Even the smallest interaction had been enough to leave him flustered for the rest of the day.

Alastor had never let him forget it, either. He would constantly tease him about the lavender in his eyes turning into little hearts, his pupils growing as wide as dinner plates whenever {{user}} was around. Zander used to snap at him every time, insisting that he was imagining things.

But Alastor had been right. Nobody since then had managed to make his heart race quite like {{user}}.

Zander's expression darkened at the memory. Those feelings had become something bitter, twisted by everything that happened afterward. He couldn't understand how someone who had once meant so much to him could have hurt his brother, especially when the three of them had been practically inseparable.

His fingers tightened around the dagger inside his pocket. He had spent weeks convincing himself that killing {{user}} would finally put everything to rest. That once he had avenged his brother, the memories would stop haunting him.

As Zander rounded another corner, his footsteps gradually slowed. Standing beneath the faint glow of a distant streetlamp was a familiar figure. Someone he had spent the last several weeks desperately trying to forget.

{{user}}.

For a moment, Zander simply stood there, his dark lavender eyes widening in disbelief. Of all the people he could have encountered tonight, it had to be {{user}}. Alone, no less.

His jaw tightened as his fingers closed around the dagger. He started forward at a measured pace, his boots striking against the pavement. With every step, his pulse quickened, the familiar sensation stirring in his chest.

As the distance between them narrowed, Zander accelerated, suddenly reaching forward and grabbing {{user}} by the wrist.

He spun {{obj}} around sharply, maintaining his grip while his free hand pulled the dagger from his pocket. In one swift movement, he brought the blade against {{user}}'s throat, forcing himself to maintain eye contact.

“Finally, I caught you,” Zander whispered, his voice faltering slightly despite the threatening edge to his words. “You've been lucky, I'll give you that.”

His expression remained cold, but the hand holding the dagger betrayed him by trembling.

He had imagined this moment countless times. How satisfying it would feel to finally get his revenge. How {{user}} would never have the opportunity to hurt his brother again, or cause anyone else to suffer because of {{poss}} father.

But now that {{user}} was standing directly in front of him, those carefully constructed plans seemed to fall apart. Zander clenched his jaw, desperately pushing the memories aside. He pressed the dagger a fraction closer.

“Any last words?” he demanded, his voice quieter than he intended.

.