dis private yo

Head pounding, I struggled to pay attention to the woman. She spoke in a British accent, talking about how to structure your mouth or something to say certain things. I looked around, wondering if there was any water, but the room was basically empty bar the table. Jean radiated angry energy, and I wondered if every single enraged particle was my fault.
Suddenly, the woman whose name I forgot pulled me out of my thoughts. "Anubis, why don't you try conversing with me first? Then we will see how well Jean can speak, then you two can talk together for the final test." I widened my eyes, slightly dizzy from the headache. Which accent are we even doing?
"Uh-" I rubbed my scar, deciding on a stereotypical and subtle one. "Hello, I'm Anubis, and tea is great." Michelle snickered, and the woman sighed away her laugh. I tugged at my tie, my cheeks burning up. I've always hated acting and accents.
"We'll work on that. A little over-exaggerated, and please do not introduce yourself with tea. Okay, Jean, you try!"

absolutley amazin
I let out a sad chuckle and wipe my cheek with my sleeve.
"For what?" I scoffed. "For leaving you. For fucking up your life in the first place. For getting us in this stupid situation, god, Jean, if I hadn't ever met you in church camp maybe we'd be somewhere fucking useful. I'm sorry for being a-" I stopped talking, realizing I might have been spilling too much. My fingers gripped the lighter until my knuckles turned white. I shouldn't have drank.

I bit my tie, trying not to laugh at his ridiculously terrible accent. "Who would've thought Jean, the perfectionist, would suck at accents?" I said, my mind suddenly clicking into a perfected Manchester dialect. The woman gave me a strange look of confusion.
I cleared my throat, headache suddenly gone. "My name is Anubis, I am twenty seven years old, born in Manchester, England," I winked at the last addition. "Jean, tell me, what is your favourite tea, dear?"

did i really spell favorite british way
"Anubis," he said snapping me out of my trance. I turned my head towards him to see he was standing up. "Shut the fuck up. Don't waste your time being sorry."
I blinked at Jean, bewildered by his reaction. "What?" I said quietly. "What are you talking about?" I was starting to feel rather sleepy, but this might be the only chance I get to hear Jean out. Not that I'll, not that I'll remember, but for now, I just needed to hear it. I just needed to know.

The rest of the day consisted of signing papers, taking photos for our fake passports and ID's, and a lot of teasing Jean. We finished everything scheduled for today at around 4, which meant we were allowed to explore the building for the first time. I detoured to our rooms, finally changing out of the dirty suit and into a comfy pair of joggers and a white T-shirt.
We walked through the halls aimlessly for awhile, almost silent if it weren't for the fact that I was humming. I wondered why Jean agreed to explore with me.
Eventually, we ended up in an older part of the building. I ran my fingers along the wall, collecting mounds of dust, when I hit a door knob randomly placed in the wall.
"What the hell?" I turned the door knob, but it didn't budge. No, why would anyone put a secret button door knob you could turn? Anyone would try to turn it. I pushed the door knob and it sunk into the wall. Above us, an attic door swung open with a rope ladder falling onto me. I sent Jean a mischievous smile.

I climbed in after Jean, ending up in a small, well-kept room. Clearly, somebody has been in here frequently and recently. There was only a desk by a window and a couple suitcases. Immediately, I rushed to the desk, memorizing where everything was before I sifted through them. Nothing that stood out.
I moved to the suitcase closest to the desk, but I noticed a journal next to it. "Aye, GG, come check this out. It's a diary, let's read it." Jean made his way to me as I opened the diary to the most recent entry.
March 20,
They don't know yet. No one does. Sometimes I think about my past, wondering if I should go back to it. I wonder if they will after this. It's strange to meet people with interests like yours, but it's so refreshing to know you're not alone. I hope they're not smart enough to find out. If they were, they would've known by now. Soon, everything about my plan will piece together perfectly. No one has questioned my presence or my decisions yet. Someone's coming. I am getting anxious by the day.
M
"M? Do you think this is Michelle's diary?" I said, glancing at Jean, wondering if he had any idea what we just read.

Jean slammed the book, nearly hitting my fingers. ""We shouldn't even be here, fix the desk and let's go before anyone catches us," he said in a panic.
"Since when did you ever care about where we should and shouldn't be?" I muttered, obeying him and cleaning up the desk to it's exact state. We climbed down the ladder, and I pressed the door knob switch, retracting the attic door and ladder.
"What are you two doing here?"
I turned around in a frenzy, begging that no one caught us in the attic. Michelle was standing at the end of the hallway, looking at us curiously. I was about to make up an excuse when Jean stuttered out the worst thing he could possibly ever say. "Making out." My face turned extremely red, as I resist the urge to strangle him.
"Uh, yeah," I say, reaching my arm around Jean's side. "Didn't the bodyguards tell you? We're - er - dating!"
Michelle raises her eyebrows. "Maybe you should, do that in your room, boys. People walk the halls every day, wouldn't want anyone to catch you, right?" she says, eyes flickering to the door knob, then the attic room, and back to us.
"Of course, apologies."

I ripped my wrist from Jean's grip and glare at him. "You talk like we know people. Who am I going to tell? Your family?" I rolled my eyes and walked off, thoroughly embarrassed that Michelle thinks we're together now.

The days passed, identical to the last. More training, more documents, more accent classes, more suspicious glares from random workers. I was awfully sore from training, but we improved drastically. Although, this could be due to the injections we had during our health check. They claimed it was just so we don't get sick, but I had seen the package label and the shots were definitely steroids. We didn't mind.
Today was our last day. We had a flight to London in nine hours. Michelle arranged one last meeting with us, so she could give us all the supplies we would need.
Jean and I were already sitting in her office when she came in with a giant suitcase. "Hello, boys. These are special weapons we designed, made for you. It'll explain why we measured your hand and such. I do hope you use these nicely." Michelle says, opening the suitcase. There were three knives, a pair of brass knuckles, silver darts, and a handgun.
"One knife, reusable silver darts you can put poison in, and brass knuckles for our blondie here." She takes out each item, placing the knife in my hand. I inspect the weapons, noticing my name carved into the knife. Everything was lightweight, made of steel and brass mostly likely. I looked to Jean, as Michelle explained his weapons.

I gaze over everything on her desk. These were all ours. Suddenly, I had a strange urge. I wonder if we were able to do a hit man case in Europe. They would never know. I doubt Michelle put tracking devices in our stuff, knowing if she caught us the entire department on this case would be suspicious of her and her ability to do background checks.
"Oh, one more thing. You two already know you have to share a room, however I figured one bed would be more comforting than separate ones, considering the circumstances." I throw my head in my hand, sighing. I was ready to kill Jean, at this very instant. I could shove this knife into his eyes right now. Right fucking now. This was his fault.
Through clenched teeth, I murmured, "Oh, that's great."
"Okay! That should be it. Everything regarding this case will be in this suitcase," Michelle smiled, gathering everything back inside. "Oh, I almost forget, there's also some people there to assist you, and loads of cash that'll last for awhile. There'll be a taxi waiting for you outside at 4 p.m. to take you to the airport. Good luck, boys!" She slammed the case shut and pushed it to us. I stood up and shook her hand.
I stood at Jean's countertop, already packed and prepared. I hated wearing suits, especially on planes, but we were FBI agents now. "So, something still doesn't add up. Why are we, criminals, doing criminal things for the government? The government?"

I follow Jean out to the front of the building, listening to his small rant. He shoves our bags into the trunk as I made my way to the passenger seat. Before I opened the door, I looked to Jean, smirking.
"Use any fancy word you'd like - businessman, entrepreneur, but you're still a criminal regardless. Don't act like you've worked with the government before, Jean. We're in the same boat. But, whatever, Dad, I'll do as I please." I open the car door and duck inside. The taxi driver starts the engine, and brings us to the airport.
After a good half hour, we finally arrive at the international airport. I didn't have the guts to tell Jean I've never been on a plane - much less in an airport.

I struggled trying to maneuver through the crowds of people. Walking while simultaneously pulling luggage behind me was rather exhausting. I caught up the Jean in the express line and checked in our luggage and tickets, grateful that he was aware of what he was doing.
We made our way to the security check, our fancy shoes hitting the marble floor. I gazed up at Jean, wondering how he was doing. If he was wearing sunglasses, he would probably look like some kind of superstar.
Finally, we arrived at the fast lane. The TSA attendants eyed us cautiously, but we both pulled our badges out of our jackets. I spoke first, wanting to sound cool. "FBI, the International Affairs Department granted us permission to bring weapons onto the plane, we're working on a case." The woman inspected the badges, then our tickets.
"Agent White and Agent… Anubis? What a peculiar name," she glared at me over her glasses, suspicious. I shrugged. "Okay, give me the department's number and I will call to check. It's just for security measures." We gave her the number, and she spoke on the phone for awhile, but when she hung up she seemed convinced. "Alright, have a safe trip!"
Being fake FBI had its quirks; I felt like a superior, significant man ready to kill someone.
After going up several escalators and trains to get to our terminal, we made it to the mall section of the airport with about 20 minutes to spare.

"Okay, Dad," I muttered, walking off. I had been around Jean for far too long and was in desperate need of food. I wandered around, watching people rush to their gates, families chatting excited for a vacation, loners sleeping on the ground. There was a small bakery selling sandwiches and pastries.
"A BLT, thank you. Actually, make that two," I said, realizing Jean was probably hungry as well. Trying to win back your friend with food, I see.
As I walked back, the flight attendants began to call each class forward, starting with ours. I chucked the wrapped sandwich at Jean's face, when suddenly it hit me. This would be the first plane I've been on. How would it go? Would I throw up? Will it crash? What if I die from lack of oxygen? Or some terrorist shoots me? Is the turbulence bad? How cramped is it? Anxiety crept up my veins, whispering a million unlikely scenarios, causing every muscle in my body to start screaming lmamdalsdoajdmsofme

I stare down as we made our way through the walkway. What if someone spills shit all over me? What if the plane doesn't take off correctly and an engine fails and-
"Are you hiding something?"
I jumped, looking up at Jean. "What are you talking about?" I walk slower, trying to make Jean lead. He enters the plane first, the flight attendants greeting us. The plane is large. In first class, there were four seats per row, two on each side, but each seat had it's own personal space. My eyes glazed over the dull, but clean airplane. Jean throws our carry-ons in the storage above our seat. He proceeds takes the window seat, leaving me to the aisle. I sit down realizing I was breathing heavily. The air was too thin and cold. I wiped my palms on my pants, then try to loosen my tie, then look down at my hands to see that I'm shaking. Me, Anubis, hands shaking, because of a plane.

"Wait a minute, you have been on a plane before, right?" I hid my burning face in my palms, beyond embarrassed that Jean saw me with shaking hands.
"No," I confessed. "Laugh at me all you want, call me a fucking coward, but no, I have never set foot in a plane before." The flight attendant started to go through the safety procedure as I frantically search for my seatbelt. My anxiety skyrocketed, leaving me breathing even harder. My mouth felt dry, and no matter how many times I wiped my hands, they continued to be sweaty. I ripped off my suffocating tie and buried my head in my hands again. I was going to die - of a plane crash or of pure humiliation, who knows - but I never wanted to stab somebody more in my life. Preferably myself.

The plane began to move, but I was too distracted to notice. In an instant, my anxiety was pushed down by pure anger. "You think this is fucking funny?" I said, as I grabbed Jean's shirt and tie and swung my fist. My knuckles connected with his jaw and I shoved him back to his seat, no longer thinking of the whole I'm-in-a-plane situation. "Fuck you."
By the time I slunk back into my seat, I realized we were already in the air. My head swiftly turned to the window, however I felt a sense of serenity rather than fear. The city wasn't too pretty, but the sunset was breath-taking. The sun's rays shining above clouds, creating a temporary heaven in the air. The yellows and oranges complimented the light, puffy clouds. The plane leaned left, showing off the sky just a bit more. I wanted to lean even closer, but Jean would probably punch me back.
As I took in a deep breath, the pilot makes an announcement, "Thank you for flying Britline! Sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight!"

I wasn't entirely sure when I fell asleep, but apparently I skipped dinner. My stomach felt empty, but I spotted an unopened package of peanuts in the pocket in front of me. I glanced out the window to be greeted with darkness and the blinking lights of a city. Jean was sleeping soundly, with his book on his lap. Glancing at the title, I discovered he was reading How to Get Away with Murder. Nerd. I smirked at the sight of a bruise on his face.
Tapping on the plane screen, I checked to see where we were. We're here already? I thought, wondering if I truly slept the entire seven hours. It was 5 am, London time. Suddenly, the pilot announced our landing. I reached over and grabbed Jean's shoulder, shaking him awake. "Hey, wake up. We're landing."

The plane ride was thankfully over. I yawned and stretched as everyone slowly stood up in the plane. The lights flickered on, allowing me to put my tie back on. We made our way out of the plane and met with a driver with our names on a sign. As we jumped into the car, a sudden memory came across my mind. "GG, remember Rose? When she invited you and I to her party, and you broke her heart? You were such an asshole when you were 16." I chuckled, hoping Jean remembered.

just putting this here for reference later