Thirteen: Freak

*thanks to B, gelfling65, km300, Ghosty, SonderandWhimsy, and PieForLife for your support!! <3

***

The date started the way many first dates do. Sage and Ash were seated promptly at a little two-seater table by the window, which Sage was sure would thrill his friends, given that it provided them with a front row seat to the action. Soft yellow lights cast them in an intimate glow that was sharply contrasted by the stark blue streetlights popping on along the street outside promptly at seven. People bundled up in coats and sweaters for the coming fall passed back and forth in front of the window, utterly oblivious to the awkwardness going on just a pane of glass away from them.

After a waiter came by to bring them drinks and take their orders, they sat in silence for a solid two minutes while Sage searched his brain for something to say that wasn’t loaded with awkwardness.

Sage wasn’t sure if Ash felt as uncomfortable as he did. It was actually pretty hard to get a read on the guy. He sat very still, not fidgeting with nerves the way Sage was, but he was still relaxed, as if he saw nothing tense whatsoever about the situation. He had his gaze fixed politely on Sage, as if waiting for him to break the ice. Sage avoided those dark eyes, playing nervously with the edge of the white tablecloth covering their small round table.

Finally, Sage cleared his throat. “So, what do you do for work?”

There. A perfectly normal question to ask on a first date. Abe could kiss Sage’s ass, calling him ‘rusty’ just because he hasn’t been on a date in a while. Tsk, as if.

“…Freelancing,” Ash said after a short, but noticeable pause. Sage tilted his head curiously. He must be a pretty talented freelancer if he was able to afford clothes like the ones he was wearing. His shirt alone probably set him back three hundred dollars at least.

Sage had just opened his mouth to ask what kind of freelancing he did when Ash spoke up again, spinning the question right back around at Sage.

“And what do you do?”

“Design. I make ads for companies. So what kind of freelancing - ?”

“How old are you?”

A bit thrown off by the sudden shift in conversation, Sage didn’t answer right away. “Uh, I actually turned thirty this past Saturday.”

At this, Ash’s eyebrows twitched like the day had some sort of significance for him, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly. Sage frowned curiously, but Ash didn’t seem keen on explaining himself.

“How old are you?” Sage asked in return.

“Twenty-seven. You’re very beautiful.”

“…” Sage was getting whiplash. And there was heat creeping into his cheeks despite his utter confusion with the way the conversation was going. Ash said it like it was fact, like everyone in the world definitely agreed with him. He didn’t say it in a flirty way, either. It wasn’t meant to make Sage swoon and fall into his arms. It was like Ash was just saying whatever popped into his head at each moment.

“Um. Thank you,” Sage said finally, unsure what else to say in response. He’d never been very good with compliments. An awkward silence descended over them. Or, over Sage at least. Ash appeared to be completely at ease, taking a sip of his wine with his eyes locked on Sage over the rim of the glass. It was suddenly difficult for Sage to swallow.

At that moment, another couple was sat at the table next to them, chattering excitedly as they took their seats, talking just loud enough that Sage and Ash could hear their conversation perfectly. Thankful to have something to focus on apart from Ash’s terrifyingly intent stare, Sage listened while taking a sip of his water.

“Didn’t you hear about that? It was all over the news. There was a string of murders downtown and the police have no leads whatsoever,” the woman was saying as she removed her coat and purse, hanging them over the back of her chair. She leaned over the table once she was seated, lowering her voice for privacy, though Sage could still hear her loud and clear. “They’re saying it was a hit ordered by the mafia. In particular, it was ordered by the head of the mafia in Fairview, the one everyone calls the hopeless husband – ”

At this, the man accompanying the woman snorted. “I always thought that was a silly name for a crime lord. Do they mean hopeless as in he’s lost all hope, or hopeless as in he’s a complete dope – ”

“It means,” the woman stressed, looking annoyed at her partner’s flippancy, “he’s hopeless because he’s lost his wife, whoever she may be.”

“Okay, so what, he’s killing a bunch of people because he lost his wife or some shit – ”

“No,” the woman interrupted again. “He’s had that name forever. The reason behind these murders must be something else. The only thing the victims have in common is that they’re all wealthy men in positions of power, but otherwise, the method used to kill them was different every time, and no physical evidence was left behind to point to a culprit.”

“Then how do you know it’s a mafia hit? What if it’s just some serial killer? Or better yet, what if it’s Ink? He’s the villain that likes to kill people every now and then, right?”

Ink was a familiar name to Sage, as was this “hopeless husband.” He’d never met either of them, thankfully, but being a villain himself, he made it his business to know his fellow villains.

Ink was one of the few villains that had actually committed murder. Surprisingly, most villains tended to stay away from more despicable crimes like rape or murder. They tended to focus on theft, destruction, anything to give the city a headache. Ink, however, didn’t shy away from those things. He’d killed at least three people over the last ten years, and that was only a fraction of his rather impressive rap sheet. He was a psychopath to the extreme. Ink was one of those villains that Sage firmly hoped he never ever ran into. And honestly, he couldn’t blame the man for assuming Ink was responsible for these recent murders, which Sage had also seen circulating the news sites.

Although, the hopeless husband was an equally likely suspect, in Sage’s opinion. His background was considerably more romantic, even if it was all made up to protect whoever the real head of the mafia was. The rumors said that the hopeless husband used to be just a regular person – until his wife was brutally killed in front of him by someone in power, leading him to create his own crime syndicate in an attempt to one day take down the person who’d killed her.

While the hopeless husband’s particular faction of the mafia tended to be well known for peddling drugs and prostitutes, they were also known for organizing hits on powerful people – important businessmen, government officials, people like that. So if anything, Sage tended to agree with the woman in this case. The murders seemed like more of the hopeless husband’s MO.

“What do you think?” a low voice said, right up against Sage’s ear, and he jumped in his seat, swinging around to look at Ash with wide eyes. Without Sage noticing, Ash had leaned across the table in much the same manner that the woman next to them was leaning across her table to talk to her partner, lips practically touching Sage’s ear.

He gazed back at Sage, a hint of amusement in the depths of his black eyes. This close, Sage could see his own startled face in Ash’s pupils. Sage immediately flushed all the way to his collarbones, drawing back a little so Ash wasn’t so heart-stoppingly close.

“Huh?” Sage murmured intelligently, and immediately cursed himself.

“Who do you think did it?” Ash elaborated, a smile lurking somewhere beyond the surface of his placid expression.

Though embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping, Sage still answered his question, figuring that getting flustered was probably less attractive than just playing along. Sage cleared his throat.

“The hopeless husband, most likely. It seems like the kind of thing he’d do. If it was Ink, we’d know. He’s not the type to hide his crimes.”

And it was true. When Ink did something, he wanted the whole city to know it, so if these murders were his kills, he’d make sure he was caught in costume on a security camera or something, just to make sure everyone knew who was responsible.

Ash hummed at Sage’s response, thoughtful, but still with that sense of amusement to him, like he knew something Sage didn’t. “I agree. It makes the most sense.”

They watched each other in silence for a few moments, until Sage couldn’t take it anymore.

“What?” he snapped. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Ash shrugged. “No reason. I was just thinking that I’d like to offer you a sip of my wine.” He picked up his glass after saying so, turning it so the side that he’d drank from was turned toward Sage, tilting it slightly like he was just waiting for Sage to plant his lips there and take a drink.

Sage eyed the glass warily, utterly bewildered but still suspicious. He didn’t know anything about Ash. What if Ash slipped something in the wine?

“You first,” Sage said challengingly, and Ash raised an eyebrow, lip curving in definite amusement this time. He turned the glass back toward him, took a large sip, and swallowed while holding Sage’s eyes, turning it back expectantly. Sage poked his tongue into his cheek, a little peeved for reasons he couldn’t understand, and dipped forward, placing his lips against the glass right over where Ash had just drank from and allowing Ash to tilt the cup until some of the wine slipped into his mouth. It coated his teeth in a bitter and yet somehow sweet wave. It was a delicious wine, definitely. Certainly worth its price tag.

But somehow, Sage couldn’t find it in himself to truly enjoy the wine, because all his attention was on the man in front of him who had already caused Sage’s heart to nearly explode three different times, and they hadn’t even gotten their entrees yet.

It was going to be a long night.