oh no i dropped my noncon

Chapter 5 - i won't leave you

While he was the Crew Crief, Dallas always had to be on guard no matter the situation. One mistake could cost them getting shot or even arrested, not to mention that there were worse things that could've happened. The mindset he was forced to learn during his career followed him around, never fully disappearing. He suspects it's the same for the whole team, though he wouldn't dare ask.

Because of this, Dallas feels like something's up when there's nothing happening. For instance, he doesn't remember driving here, even though logically they would've had to. Did they use multiple vans?
Who drove? Why are they the only ones there? He must be getting old, maybe he took a nap? But then who took him out of the van?
Overthinking is Bain's thing, not his!

The ex-heister shakes his head, trusting that the gang is experienced enough to handle whatever might come next.

Someone yells his name from the waters, him turning around only to bear witness to Sydney throwing Joy, barely missing the ball and landing straight into Dragan; who was minding his own business. After that, the gang splits up into different divisions, having one person short. The others wave at him from the shore, beckoning him to join in.

Even though they look happy to a certain degree, he doesn't want to go right now. He wants to stay behind with Bain, at least for the time being.
Dallas makes an X with his arms and Hoxton says something along the lines of him being a "bloody partypooper."

"You're wearing that at the beach?" he teases, taking in their navigator's appearance once more. He's wearing his sandals in a way where Dallas could vividly imagine him wearing socks under them during winter.

"First time you've seen me like this, and that's what you decide to say?" the hacker speaks with a skeptical tone, disbelief coloring every word. Something in it makes his brain seize up in recognition, knowing a few layers deeper than he could recall.

It's not too clear what Bain's talking about, so he elects to ignore it for now. He can deal with it later.

The veteran deflates for some abstract reason, gluing his eyes to the ground.
"So you've made your choice," he whispers, "I guess I'll respect that and humor you."

Ocean waves lap at the shoreline, a little closer than before. He can see the team reel from the sudden motion, Hoxton flying forward to 'accidentally' punch Houston in the face in an exaggerated fashion. You're not fooling anybody.

The Mastermind turns his attention back to their guide, gazing into his bright blue eyes. They were a vibrant cerulean, akin to the pigment of the sky in the evening.
A silent question forms, nebulous in the sense that he wouldn't know what was wrong with that picture.

"Are you asking about...my eye color?" Bain starts to venture into unmarked territory, touching on something sensitive. Dallas slowly nods at him, not vocalizing his intentions.

"Well, do you like them?" he eagerly blurts out, pointing up to them and smiling. The ex-heister blinks at him, taken aback with how invested he was in his opinion.

The light from the sun grows softer under the veil of the atmosphere, shifting into a darker orange-golden that illuminates his form with more sincerity.

"U-uh, sorry about that. To answer your question, this was their normal color before...you know." Bain fidgets, staring down at his hands and arms to count his fingernails.

And Dallas...Dallas doesn't want to remember.

"But eye colors don't change," he points out, a little dazed from the sudden reminder of where he came from.

"Well apparently, mine do."
Their navigator tries to laugh to keep the conversation lighthearted, though it ends up coming out as a bitter chuckle.