"I know you've asked for a break, but we really need you urgently on this job. There's nobody else who can do it."
Running a hand through his hair, Keary asked frustratedly, "Can't it wait a day?"
"Unfortunately not," came the reply. "They're moving the shipment in a few hours, and it'll all be gone before dawn. We need to hit them now, or we'll miss the opportunity. Of course, we'll make it worth your while."
The man at the door held out a thick manila envelope. Keary considered for a moment, then sighed and took it. "I'll be right there."
"Will you need a ride? We can't bring you to the exact location, but maybe close by."
"No, it's fine, I'll get there on my own. All I need to do is go in, fuck things up, and get out, right?"
"Yes."
"I'll let you know when I'm onsite."
"Good. We'll hear from you."
Keary closed the door, leaning against it to collect his thoughts. Then, gripping the envelope, he went back up the stairs.
The door to Cardin's room was closed. That wasn't a good sign. He knocked softly, then entered.
"Hey."
Cardin didn't respond. He had turned into a formless lump of mortification and shame under the blankets. Mouth twitching, Keary sat down on the bed. "Hey. Cardin."
The lump shifted anxiously away.
Keary fought down a laugh before speaking again. "Listen, I'm really sorry about that. I've got to go somewhere, and it's quite urgent. It'll probably only take a few hours, but I'll be late if I stay any longer. Will you be alright?"
No answer.
Standing, Keary sighed. As much as he was dying to finish what they'd started, he really had to go. "Again, I'm sorry. I'll be back by sunrise, I promise." He touched the lump softly where he guessed Cardin's head would be. "I'll see you soon."
He was just out the door when he heard a muffled voice murmur, "Travel safe…"
...
Cloaked in the quilt, Cardin watched Keary's figure, sleekly clad in black, leave the house on a muted motorbike. He remained curled up at the window alcove in the living room, long after the bike had trailed out of sight, drifting in and out of a restless slumber.
Just as the sun was peeking up over the skyline, he seemed to hear footsteps coming up to the front door, and jolted out of semi-consciousness.
He said he'd be back at sunrise.
Clambering up from the alcove seat, he flew to the door and flung it open.
"Keary!"
His abrupt appearance startled the person at the door, a clean-shaven man in a tri-coloured windbreaker, black joggers, and white running shoes. He stood with his arm outstretched, as if he had just been about to knock. They stared at each other, bemused, the man taking in Cardin's ruffled curls and unkempt state as the blonde blinked at him, trying to comprehend why there was an unfamiliar man at the door instead of Keary.
"Uh…" the stranger began uncertainly, "I'm very sorry to disturb you this early in the morning. I only moved here recently, but I seem to have gotten a bit lost on my morning run, and I don't have my mobile on me. Would you be so kind to let me borrow your phone to give my housemate a call to come pick me up?"
A British accent? Too exhausted from his lack of sleep and the prolonged state of unrelieved passion and worry to hide his disappointment, Cardin brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, then gestured carelessly into the house. "Sure, yup, of course. The phone's right in here."
"Thank you very much."
Cardin stepped aside to let the stranger in, then started to close the door. "It's just right behind the sof—"
He didn't get to finish his sentence as a thick arm was hooked swiftly over his face to clamp his neck in a tight grip. Even as his hands flew up to try and free himself, a weight crushed him against the front door, and a gruff voice, no longer British, harshly demanded:
"Where is it?"
Is this another dream? Cardin barely had time to wonder, briefly struggling to push away from the door before bringing a leg up to his chest and kicking hard into the door. The force sent the both of them sprawling backwards, and the impact of the fall made the attacker loosen his grasp just enough for Cardin to twist out of it. He scrambled to his feet, attempting to sprint away, only to find himself hit the floor again heavily as the attacker grabbed his ankle, tripping him. He kicked out, but his foot met empty air as the stranger was already bearing down on top of him.
"Come on Belyayev. Where the fuck is it?"
"Where the fuck is what?" Cardin shouted, grappling against the hands that kept coming towards him. "I don't fucking know what you're talking about!"
The phone rang.
"Just hand it over!" the man growled. He managed to catch Cardin's left wrist and pinned it down roughly.
"I said I don't fucking know"—Cardin curled his right arm around his face, then twisted outward as hard as he could, lashing out furiously—"what the fuck 'it' is!"
His elbow connected with the attacker's nose with a crunch. The man reeled back, spewing blood and curses, and Cardin dashed behind the couch toward where the phone stood ringing. Grabbing the receiver, he managed to yell, "Keary, help! Someone came into the house, he—" before something slammed into the side of his head and all he knew was darkness.
...