Work Text:
A scream split through the cold sea air. Kaelix looked up from the boxes he was loading onto the forklift. That’s strange. He was working overtime today, and it was well over 8pm, which meant everyone should have gone home already. Although he wouldn’t really know about the other areas, seeing as how he was just a worker, much less than an area manager.
Working as a warehouse worker wasn’t the most appealing job, but between going back to job hunting and having sea air everyday for work, he would rather have the latter.
It was silent again, waves slamming against the dock in the distance. The cold breeze brought Kaelix’s attention back to the boxes in his hands. Then he looked at the direction the scream came from again.
Well. If his manager trusted him with the warehouse keys, then he should be responsible and not leave his post just like that. But he’s also a curious soul. And what if a crime just happened? Kaelix should be a responsible and upstanding citizen.
Dropping the boxes onto the floor, Kaelix made his way across the area to the next warehouse over. It was still pindrop silence, save for the ocean and the light breeze howling in his ears. The lights in the warehouse were on, indicating that the area manager decided overtime was morally right and his workers were not people too.
Kaelix moved quietly past the oversized rolling doors, ducking between pellets and boxes at least 5 times bigger than him. God knows what people are ordering these days.
He peered through a gap, trying to look towards the direction where someone was spilling incoherent words, mumbling loudly about a deal gone wrong.
“Listen, sir— I’m so, so sorry. I-it was just a small mistake. Small one. I- I can fix it! Just- just lower your gun and we can talk this out, yeah?”
Kaelix could only see the man, half on the floor, half moving away from someone else, presumably pointing a gun at him. Something in Kaelix told him to run, call the police, or do something. But another part of him told him to stay, see everything happen, get a better angle to watch it all go down.
He moved, silently, to the back of another large box, peaking through a gap.
Then, pointing a pistol to the head of the man was Freodore.
Freodore, the sweet, friendly barista in the cafe Kaelix always frequents. The Freodore that always remembers his order, asks him about his day, draws little hedgehogs on his coffee. That Freodore was pointing a gun at someone.
Kaelix couldn’t breathe. Something felt like it was squeezing his airway. He sat down immediately, lest he give in to the wobbly feeling in his legs. Surely he was dreaming. The man was still babbling on, trying to save his skin, but his voice was just white noise to Kaelix. He should run. Leave. Call the police. But something kept him rooted to the spot.
Kaelix peeked out again. Before he could focus his vision, a sickening wet crack echoed through the building. Freodore was holding the man by his collar— a man twice his size— slamming his head repeatedly into the wall. One of his hands was gripped so tight against his shirt, Kaelix would think the man couldn’t breathe, the other hand was shoved against his mouth, preventing any cry of help to escape.
Blood dripped down the gray concrete wall like watercolour, staining it a gaudy red. Freodore pushed him against the wall by his neck, choking out the last bits of air from his lungs. The man tried to gasp for any last bits of air he could afford, widened eyes framed by flowing crimson. He choked out one last cough, mouth gurgling with blood before going limp.
Kaelix watched as Freodore dropped the man like he was just rubbish on the street, heart pounding in his chest. He watched as sea green hair dipped to make sure the man was no longer breathing, the metallic smell of blood threatening to make him throw up. He watched as gloved hands checked for a pulse, eyes trained on slender fingers. He watched everything happen, and yet Kaelix didn’t move. Not an inch from where he stood.
Freodore straightened, narrowing his eyes then looking up slightly, as if sensing something. Kaelix took that as his cue to dip, slinking out of the warehouse quietly before breaking into a sprint when he was far enough.
His hands were cold and clammy, mouth dry, brain empty. He should not have been into that.
He should be thinking of calling the cops. Instead, his mind was replaying how hot Freodore looked slamming that guy into the wall. Calm, composed Freodore, breaking his cool for just a second. A crack in the facade he built up. A peek through the mask he put on for Kaelix. And Kaelix loved it, relished it, even if he shouldn’t have.
That night, as he lay awake in his bed, Kaelix could only replay the memory like a broken record player, light red blush forming high on his cheeks.