Chapter Text
Chaos stood on the balcony of his apartment watching the rain eat away at the rusted fire escapes of the neighboring buildings. His cigarette burned between his fingers, forgotten as he contemplated the absolute cosmic joke that had become his life.
Three weeks ago, he'd been doing what he did best—hunting. Tracking a rogue Elite in the New Herland District, the kind of job that made his blood sing and his muscles ache in that perfect way that only came from real combat. He'd cornered the target at a construction site, grinning as concrete dust rained down from the ceiling with each impact of their clash. That was where he belonged—in the thick of violence, where willpower was the only currency that mattered.
Then the call came.
EDT-6's handler, that perpetually exhausted woman with zero sense of humor, had summoned him back to headquarters. Not for a debrief. Not for a new target. It was something far worse.
"Protective custody assignment" She'd said, sliding a file across the table "Ten years old. Name's Edgar. Witness to a Syndicate execution. The kid's testimony could take down half the eastern district's operations, but only if he stays alive long enough to give it"
Chaos had laughed. Actually thrown his head back and laughed, the sound booming through the briefing room "You're giving me babysitting duty? I'm a hunter, not a fucking nanny"
The handler hadn't even blinked "You're the only one whose apartment security matches the threat level. You're the only one who can keep him alive if they find him"
That had been three weeks ago.
Now, Chaos stood in his apartment—his sanctuary, his fortress of solitude—and listened to the sounds of another human being existing in his space. The shower was running. Edgar was singing something, some pop song that had been playing on the radio three days ago, off-key and maddeningly cheerful.
Chaos brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled, letting the smoke burn his lungs before exhaling. The frustration had been building like pressure in a sealed container and he could feel the seams starting to strain.
It wasn't that the child was difficult. Quite the opposite, actually. The kid was polite, almost painfully so. He cooked meals without being asked, little simple dishes that reminded Chaos of his own childhood before everything went to hell—before he'd become more weapon than man. Edgar cleaned up after himself, stayed quiet when Chaos needed to work and asked permission before touching anything.
He was, objectively, the perfect houseguest.
Chaos crushed the cigarette against the balcony railing and watched the ember die in the rain. Three weeks of cohabitation. Three weeks of waking up to find the kid in his kitchen, wearing those goddamn shorts that showed way too much skin for a kid. Three weeks of movie nights, because the boy got anxious when left alone. Three weeks of shared space, air and existence.
Three weeks without privacy. That was the worst of it all.
Before this assignment, Chaos had maintained a rigorous schedule of stress relief. He was a man of intense appetites. The same iron will that made him a relentless hunter in the field made him a relentless lover in the bedroom. Men, women, sometimes both at once, whoever caught his interest and could handle the intensity he brought to every encounter. He'd fuck them senseless against walls, over furniture, on balconies exactly like this one, the city lights painting their skin while he worked out the violence coiled in his gut through the sweet release of orgasms.
And when he couldn't find a partner, when the hunt had left him too exhausted for social interaction, but his body still buzzed with unspent energy, he'd handle himself. Long sessions in his bedroom with the door locked, his hand wrapped around his thick cock, working himself to the edge again and again.
He hadn't had either in three weeks.
The bathroom door clicked open. Chaos didn't turn around, but he heard the soft pad of the boy's bare feet against the wood and the gentle clearing of a throat.
"Chaos? I'm done showering. We can eat now"
The kid's voice was soft, almost hesitant. Chaos closed his eyes and counted to ten, reaching for that iron will that had earned him his reputation. When he turned around, his expression was carefully neutral.
Edgar stood in the doorway. He was wearing those shorts again—blue cotton, cut off at mid-thigh, showing off those slender legs beneath, showing more skin than Chaos wanted to acknowledge. An oversized hoodie swallowed his upper body, the hem falling to the top of those dangerous shorts. His blue hair was still damp from the shower, slightly curling at the ends.
He looked.....Chaos swallowed hard...he looked edible.
"Yeah" Chaos managed, his voice rougher than intended "Be right there"
Edgar smiled, that sweet, little trusting smile that made Chaos's chest tighten "I made curry. It's not very good, sorry. I'm still learning"
"It's fine" Chaos said, moving past him into the apartment, careful not to let their bodies touch in the narrow doorway.
The kid followed him to the dining table, chattering about something he'd seen on the news, some celebrity scandal that Chaos couldn't care less about. But he found himself listening anyway, watching the way the boy's lips moved, the way he gestured with his hands when he got excited about something and how his cheeks flushed pink when he caught Chaos staring.
"Sorry" Edgar said, looking down at his plate "I talk too much"
"No" Chaos said. The word came out too sharp. He softened his tone "No, it's fine. I like....hearing you talk"
It wasn't entirely a lie. He did like hearing Edgar talk. He liked the sound of his voice, the innocence in his laughter, the way he said his name with complete trust, like there was no safer place in the world than right here in this apartment with a man who killed for a living.
They ate in silence for a while, the only sounds the clink of utensils against ceramic and the distant wail of sirens from the streets below. Chaos watched Edgar eat, watched his delicate wrists as he lifted the spoon to his mouth, watched his throat work as he swallowed. He watched the way the oversized hoodie had slipped off one of his shoulders, revealing a collarbone that looked like it was made to be bitten.
Stop it. Chaos commanded himself. He's a kid. He's ten. He's under your protection. He trusts you.
But his body wasn't listening. His body had been starved of release for twenty one days and it had now fixated on the only available source of stimulation with that single-minded intensity that made Chaos such a formidable hunter. Every glance at Edgar's bare legs, every whiff of his shampoo when they passed in the hallway, every accidental brush of their fingers when they reached for the remote control—it all fed the growing fire in Chaos's gut.
"Chaos?" Edgar's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts.
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay? You look.....tense"
The kid's eyes were wide, genuinely concerned. Chaos felt a flicker of shame in his chest. This child—just a kid thrust into an adult world of violence and death—was worried about him. The man who could snap necks without breaking a sweat. The battle junkie who lived for the thrill of the hunt.
"I'm fine" Chaos lied, pushing his chair back "Just tired. Long day"
Edgar's face fell, that sweet mouth turning down at the corners "Oh. Okay. I can clean up, then. You should get some rest"
Chaos should have retreated to his bedroom, locked the door and taken a cold shower until his body remembered its place. But something made him pause, something made him reach out and ruffle the kid's damp hair with a rough gentleness that surprised them both.
"Thanks, kid" He said, his voice gruff "For dinner. It was good"
Edgar's smile returned, bright as sunrise and Chaos fled to his room before he could do something he'd regret.