“MOTHERFUCKER PUT ME DOWN!”

Devil yelled, trying to wiggle out of the large man’s grip as Stoic booked it down the hall, carrying him like a football. He fired behind them, managing to hit a few guards as all too satisfying pops of blood and viscera showed he had struck his mark. Stoic gritted his teeth as he hauled Devil down the hall, careful to keep him out of the line of fire. If anyone was going to get shot, it needed to be him. Because that's what he was being paid for, and no other reason. It wasn’t as if his heart felt like it would explode at the thought of Devil getting more hurt than he already was. No, he had a job to do, then he would never see him again. Devil managed to look up, and smacked Stoic’s side for attention.

“Elevator! ELEVATOR!”

Stoic noticed it too. Its doors were actively shutting. He took a breath, pouring all his remaining energy into speed as he bolted for the tiny safe haven. They heard the sickeningly pleasant ding as they slammed into the red-carpeted walls. Stoic fired off a few more rounds as the metal doors slid shut, managing to blow the last guard's head clean off right before their view was obstructed. 

The two men slowly lowered to the floor, panting heavily. Devil sat up, groaning as he pressed his hand to his side. A bullet had just barely grazed him, but it was enough to hurt like a bitch. He looked over at Stoic, who was cleaning his glasses off with a small cloth he had pulled from his pocket. He had a few gashes littering his muscular frame, dripping streaks of crimson down his pecs and abs. A single bullet wound had landed near his right hip, though it was quickly hidden from sight as Stoic wrapped a roll of bandages around it. Devil groaned, hissing in pain as he leaned back against the wall. On any other day, he would chew the person escorting him out for letting him get shot. For picking him up. For touching him at all. But this time? This time was different.

Because Stoic had genuinely just saved his life. 

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