Leon stopped his motorcycle when he reached the coast and thanked Thatcher. He made his way over to the water and he cautiously put in his hand and the water spiraled up his arm, making his skin less dry. He looked around to see if anyone was watching him, he sighed in relief when no one was watching him and he kept his arm in the water, waiting for all of his skin to not be dry.
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Thatcher moved to a sitting position, watching Leon and the water. He felt the surface of the rock, it feeling rough under his hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone to the beach. It must have been at least a few centuries ago.
Leon stood up after a few minutes, rolling down his sleeve, and walking over to Thatcher. "Just wondering, why are you even helping me?" He asked, sitting down next to Thatcher and staring at the ocean.
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Thatcher didn’t look at Leon, simply staring at the ocean as well. “Innocents shouldn’t be killed, but they are. And I owed you- you gave me a new shirt,” he said in a level, thoughtful tone.
"But I just did a small favor while you're doing me a big favor, you could possibly die while helping me," He said, taking out his phone and taking a photo of the sunset with a small smile on his face. He put his phone away and kept staring at the ocean.
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“Death.. I don’t believe that a simple human hunter could possess the strength to kill me. Someone would have to steal my own scythe, which is very much a part of me, and kill me with it. I don’t believe that a human would want to try and make the attempt,” Thatcher explained, but added on another thing. “But I.. appreciate the concern for my wellbeing.”
"Has anyone ever attempted to try and kill you?" He asked, glancing around to see how many people there were at the beach. He played around with the hem of his shirt while blushing slightly at how close they were.
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Thatcher looked away from the ocean, now staring at the sand in front of them. “In the 1600s during the time of when accusations of witches and other beings being persecuted where high, people did try to kill me. I was stabbed, burned, and drowned. I still feel pain like any other person would, so I felt like I would die, but I never did,” Thatcher explained, a frown coming to his lips.
"Oh…." Leon said, not sure what to say since he was terrible in these kinds of situations. He looked away and looked at the sand beside him, trying not to look at Thatcher, something he did when he wasn't sure what to do.
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“But it’s fine now, I suppose. Any scars and such that I have left are not visible to most people, so I don’t get asked about it often. It was a long time ago, and I was younger and more reckless with my work,” Thatcher said, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, brushing it back and out of his face as he turned his head to look at Leon.
"Okay then." Leon said, still looking away while fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He rested his hand on the back of his neck and started looking at the ocean.
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Thatcher stayed silent for a moment, watching Leon closely. He still had the urges to touch Leon, but in a more sensual manner. At the moment, he wished to do so as much as he had wished to kill the hunter before. But that wouldn’t be appropriate to do out in public. He looked away, licking his lips as he watched the ocean. “You said the man back there, Mason, wasn’t the one who killed your friends. How are you so sure?”
Leon glanced at Thatcher when he asked the question. "If he killed my friends, he would have mentioned them at some point because he killed a lot of my friends," He explained, looking at his shoes and dusting off the sand.
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“We should have interrogated him. Maybe he knows who did kill them,” Thatcher huffed, looking back over at Leon with frown on his lips.
"He probably would have named people who he hates just so we can kill them." Leon answered, glancing at Thatcher and smiling slightly at him.
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Thatcher gave a sigh, nodding his head slowly. “You’re right,” He said. “But what do we do, then? The longer we sit around, the more deaths there could possibly be.”
"Okay then, who's next? Is it Charles Hamna or Lucas Turner?" Leon asked, trying to remember who they were going to ask. He stood up and dusted off the sand.
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“Which one is the closest to where we are? Shifting back and forth for longer periods is just exhausting, so I’d rather go somewhere that’s closer,” Thatcher explained.
"You can always join me on my motorcycle," Leon offered."And I think Charles Hamna is the closest to where we are." He guessed and started walking to his motorcycle.
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Thatcher thought for a moment about the offer. He had never been on a motorcycle before, and it seemed dangerous. He got up a moment later, following Leon back towards the motorcycle. “Alright..” he said reluctantly.
"Okay then, I'm surprised you agreed," Leon started his motorcycle and sat on it while putting in the directions to Charles' house on his phone. He put his phone in a secure spot and double-checked it wouldn't fall out.
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Thatcher stood by the motorcycle with a perplexed expression before getting onto it behind Leon. “Am I doing this right?” He asked. “I’ve never been on one before.”
Leon chuckled. "You're doing it right and you can either hold onto me or hold onto the metal thing behind you." He explained, pointing to the metal thing behind Thatcher. He made sure his phone was secure again because it was very expensive.
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Thatcher thought for a moment before hesitantly reaching to wrap his arms around Leon’s waist. This was the closest he could get to him, now. He had the urge to just tell him to stop worrying about the hunters for a moment so he could just lay Leon down and feel his skin. But, of course, he kept his mouth shut.
Leon quickly started blushing and drove off to Charles' house. By the time they made it to Charles' house, Leon forgot that Thatcher was holding onto his waist, he parked his motorcycle close to the house and got off.
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Thatcher let go once they arrived and got off of the motorcycle. He looked at the house with a frown, stuffing his hands into his trench coat pockets. “I really wish you would let me take care of them afterwards.”
"I might," Leon said and walked to the door and knocked on it, a man in his early-thirties opened the door, he had light brown and chocolate brown eyes and pale skin. He grabbed Leon's throat and pushed him to the wall. "Why are you here? If you're trying to avenge your friends, it won't work," He said, glaring at Thatcher and started choking Leon. "W-We're just here to talk sir," Leon managed to say and was trying to get Charles to stop choking him.
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Thatcher’s eyes widened when the man, Charles, attacked Leon and put his hand on his throat. He gave a heavy glare, grabbing the man by the shoulder and, very roughly, jerking Charles off of Leon. “We came here to talk, and if you ignorant human wants to try and get violent or touch him again, I will make sure my hound slowly rips you limb from limb,” he growled.
"Oh so you brought a reaper with you to talk to me," Charles said, still glaring at both of them. Leon coughed a little. "You're the one that killed my friends that night, right?" Leon asked, glaring at him, his fingers itching to take out his dagger. "Yep, and I'm glad I put the cameras on them, a lot of sirens went past the bodies and now I can kill them if I ever meet them again," Charles explained, his voice filled with hatred.
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Thatcher’s fists were clenched tightly, his jaw clenched as well. He gave Leon a look, once again like he was asking for Leon to write the man’s name on the slip of paper. It was overwhelmingly frustrating that he couldn’t hurt or kill this hideous man.
