wroetostar one-shots

assassin au pt 3

she's implied to be not nice in this fic but kay is a wonderful person and i love her <3 

1132 words

"simon, i fucked up."

simon sighed and spun around in his chair to find vik standing in the doorway of his bedroom, wringing his hands anxiously.

"i know, vik," he said flatly. "where were you last night?"

vik turned bright red. "i... went out," he said evasively. "with a friend of mine." 

"uh huh," simon drawled. "and would that friend's name happen to start with h and end with arry lewis?" vik averted his gaze and didn't answer.

"look," simon exhaled slowly. "vik. i love you. you're a great friend of mine. but i can't in good conscience allow you to continue with this contract while knowing that you're compromised."

"i'm not compromised," vik argued half-heartedly, but fell silent when simon gave him a flat, unimpressed look.

"you slept with harry lewis, vik," simon deadpanned. "i'm not trying to shame you or whatever, you know i don't give a shit about who you like to fuck, but you have a hickey on your neck, and it was given to you by the man you're meant to kill." vik turned redder, if that was even possible, and tugged up the collar of his long-sleeved black shirt to try and conceal the purple bruise on the soft skin between his neck and his shoulder.

"simon, what do i do?" he asked, desperation gleaming in his dark brown eyes. the taller man said nothing, he just held out his arms and let vik rush into them. he felt simon's lanky arms wrap tightly around his waist as his own arms reached up to encircle simon's pale neck, burying his face into his chest. 

"i can't let you keep this contract, vik," simon said, chin resting on the top of vik's head. "i have to give it to someone else, or tell the client to cancel their contract with the sidemen." vik felt his stomach lurch at the thought of simon or josh or any of the sidemen killing harry.

"cancel the contract," vik muttered. "it's selfish, but please, simon - "

"i'm going to," simon said, hugging vik tighter. "none of us would've been able to do it, vik, you know that. we love you. but the important question is - what are you going to do now?"

"i don't know," vik said, carefully extracting himself from simon's arms and wiping his clammy hands on his grey sweatpants. "i like him, i really like him. simon, i can't just let him die." his eyes burned.

"i know you can't," simon replied, face lined with sympathy, because he had been in vik's exact situation before. "but someone wants him dead, vik. someone wants him dead, and if it's not you who kills him, it'll be someone else. there's plenty of killers for hire in london who'd be happy to make a couple hundred bucks off harry lewis's life."

vik's eyes gleamed. "do you know who the client is, simon?" he asked suddenly, the cogs in his brain whirring. simon gave him a suspicious look.

"i'm not meant to reveal the identities of those who offer contracts. you know this."

"simon, please," vik begged, eyes wide and earnest. simon gave him a long, hard look.

"vik - " he started, and he could tell what simon was going to say. he was going to say no. he was going to say no, and he needed this, because this was the only chance he had to maybe save harry's life.

vik had always been the kind of person to get attached easily. he had also always been the one left behind - first by his father, when he was a kid with a sunshine smile that was destroyed by a truck and a drunk driver. then by his best friend lachlan, who moved to australia; he said he'd message, but he never did. then by his girlfriend kay, who after two years of dating broke up with him through a text and started dating his friend two days later. now his mum was going to leave, and soon harry was going to leave; he knew he couldn't prolong the inevitable, he knew that his mum was dying and all the money in the world couldn't keep her alive for that much longer, but he could save harry. he couldn't save his father, he couldn't make lachlan and kay stay, he wouldn't be able to save his mum, but he could save harry.

"simon, imagine if you'd had the chance to kill the guy who wanted talia dead," vik said, grabbing at straws. the colour drained from simon's face and he fell silent. "imagine if you were able to kill them before they could give the contract to someone else."

he could see the turmoil in simon's brown eyes, and vik drummed his fingers anxiously against his black jacket.

"... logan paul," simon finally said, voice heavy, and vik's shoulders slumped, the gleam of anticipation fading from his eyes. "i genuinely have no idea why the pauls are taking interest in a veritable nobody, but i didn't ask any questions."

logan and jake paul were famous in the london underworld for leading black market drug rings and also taking up assassination contracts on the side. what they weren't known for is issuing assassination contracts, which was why them wanting harry lewis dead was so interesting - because harry seemed completely normal, and also because if the pauls wanted anyone dead, they would easily be able to do it themselves instead of hiring other people to do it.

"logan paul," vik murmured thoughtfully, heart sinking. "simon, i can't kill logan paul, you know i can't." his voice was small and quiet. 

simon looked like he was grieving. "i know you can't," he said, not wanting to give the shorter boy any false hope. "vik, he's going to die. the least you could do is kill him as painlessly as you can, because you know what the pauls are like with their marks. i have no idea why they didn't just kill him themselves in the first place, but if we refuse the contract they'll almost certainly just go finish the job."

vik grimaced and nodded in agreement. the paul brothers were notorious for being messy and careless with their kills, often making them as bloody and painful as possible for the victims. he imagined logan paul carving up harry with a knife and a wide, sadistic smile on his face, and his eyes stung. 

"you're right," vik said. "i have to do this, i have to give him a quick death. i can't let them do that to him."

he looked down at his hands and imagined them wrapped around the handle of a knife, the blade buried in harry lewis's pale neck, where he had rested his head only hours ago.

he felt sick.