AN:
Anyone up for crack?

Will supposes that maybe he should've expected all... this. After all, he's not exactly the most fortunate person and these sort of... events don't seem completely absurd when that's taken into account.

But give him a break for being at least a teensy bit surprised when he finds himself ogling the milk carton in his empty car with a scruffy note taped onto it.

Will's not exactly sure when this all began, because it sure as hell feels like he was born into this life with an iron fate of catastrophe, but, rationally, he thinks it's around about when he got home from work. The tedious drag of his shift ending at 11:45pm, exhausted out of his wits and still having to climb 5 storeys of stairs to reach his humble apartment. Probably it all fell into place after he peeled the soaking scrubs off his body, and changing into some much more preferable pyjamas, pouring out a bowl of midnight cereal to open the fridge and to only be met with pure horror.

To be met with no milk.

He lets on one hell of a pissed frown while groaning in agitation, scowling death at the previously promising bowl of Lucky Charms that sits — milkless — upon his countertop.

There was not much thought that goes into what he does next, cause all he knows is that he wants his fucking milk. He didn't even bother grabbing an umbrella despite the torrents practically chucking it down out there -- doesn't even change out of his panda pyjamas. All he did is slide on some beat down sneakers that happened to be tossed by his front door, begrudgingly grabbing some scattered change before departing.

It was too bad though, that the convenience store around the corner of his street was so inconveniently closed. And for a second, Will didn't even get vexed, just hugely disappointed. Standing there, in the god damn depressing rain that matted his blond curls to his forehead, peering longingly through the mud stained glass at the refrigerators.

Then, his anger did catch up to him and he decided to kick the brick wall. It didn't help. And now his toe hurts too.

Yet in spite of the slight, self-inflicted injury, Will had already made it to the point of no return. One way or another, he was going to get his milk if it was the last god damn thing he was going to god damn do. So, when he made his hasty return to his apartment, trudging up those fucking stairs for the second time within thirty minutes, all he did is snatch up his car keys before slamming the door behind him -- which is somewhat satisfying, but not nearly enough.

Will got into the car, dismissive of his dripping wet pyjamas that squelch as he takes a seat, and turned the key to spark the engine into ignition. His fingers leave damp marks upon steering wheel where he grasped it with a death grip, mindlessly staring dead onto the street ahead that zoomed away in the quiet. The radio was an indistinctive blur of layered sounds that droned on to fill the eerie silence — some random, top-charted pop song, Will assumed, but he didn't really give two damns.

When he pulled into the gates of heaven (the gas station parking lot) the ugly, too bright, fluorescent lights beckon him like a moth to a flame. It's an unaesthetic attraction beaming neon green to replace the starry night sky, the subtle draft carrying along tumbleweed and the pungent scent of petrol, but Will couldn't of been more than grateful to see this place. This place with the glowing '24 hour' sign and a tiny dairy isle the blond could see just beyond his window.

Will sighed in relief. Now he can go in, buy his fucking milk, go home to his already poured out bowl of Lucky Charms and munch until the morning sun comes up.

But, of course, that would be far too simple a life for William Solace.

So, when his car door swung open out of the clear blue, and a figure clad in all black makes itself known by hurriedly clambering into Will's passenger seat, Will's quite frankly too pissed to be dumbstruck.

"Drive!" the guy exclaimed urgently.

The blond's expression is enough to epitomise sheer audacity itself, "What? No! What the hell are you—? Get the fuck out!"

As those words were said, the chime of an angry bell rang in the desolate gas station, revealing a bearded man waving his fist around in the air, a cheap cell held in the other.

"Get back 'ere before I call the cops, ya punk!" the cashier bellowed and Will doesn't doubt that said 'punk' was sitting adjacent to him right then.

Will shot a glance to his left, there was a wild look in The Punk's eyes.

"Look," the guy started with a voice low and pseudo-sweet, "I have a knife and I don't want to hurt you. But gods help me, if you don't start driving real fast, real soon, then not even your pretty face will save you."

Will was so done with the day and it was only quarter past midnight.

"Look, dude, can't you just hijack some other car? I've had a shit day and I'm really not in the mood for this— and, fuck you're holding a knife to my neck."

"Drive," the man repeated the hilt of the blade cool on his throat. Will didn't dare test him.

With a shaky breath and pursed lips, he stepped on the gas pedal and, before he knew it, the car is screeching out of the parking lot.

The clear road ahead was lit with the glow of amber streetlights and the clouded moon. A few drunk pedestrians whizzed past but Will doesn't heed them a single ounce of his attention, his mind being a little more than preoccupied in the moment.

The stygian blade was almost searing. It's just there and all Will had to do is to hit a single speed bump to alter his fate in life or death — really, he's not too sure which outcome seems more appealing.

"So, erm," Will started though his eyes are still glued on the road, "Where are you heading?"

In his peripheral, he caught a slight shrug of black jacketed shoulders, "Just keep driving ahead, I'll tell you when you need to turn."

"Great," the blond mutters, "That's great."

There was silence besides from the spluttering whir of the engine and his fingers drumming anxiously against the steering wheel and the gods forsaken radio. It lasted for about forty nine seconds before Will couldn't take it any longer.

With a curious notion that Will justified as frustration, he glanced over towards the man in his passenger seat who, unironically, seemed to be lax. Though there's clear discipline in the way he clutched his knife, it was also accompanied with a discreet trembling that didn't even look existent but Will knew it was there. However, the rest of his expression was as emotionless as a plain sheet of paper. (Only that this paper also somehow happened to have sharp lines and high cheekbones and was devastatingly handsome.)

"What did you even do?" Will blurted because if curiosity killed the cat, the blond assumed he'd come out of this whole fiasco a little bit dead either way.

The Punk sighed from aside him, somewhat disappointingly, "I'm sitting here, holding a god damn knife to you throat, and you're asking me what I did?"

Will gulped at that, which was a dangerous thing because the sharp of the blade is so close to breaking through his skin. It was as if the AC was suddenly set to full blast, like there was frost accumulating on the windows because the blond swore the temperature had dropped by at least two thousand degrees at the not so subtle suggestion. He'd crane his neck if he could, unwind the knots tied within and brush off the goosebumps risen upon his nape. If he was really, actually driving with a killer here, is doing what he asks really worth it in the end?

Don't freak out.

Stay calm.

Don't freak out, just do what he asks and stay quiet.

"So y—you've... uh... killed p— killed people?"

When the criminal's reply is left wordless, just shifting a little in his seat, Will can't imagine an outcome without his blood smeared on his seats and this guy dressed in inconspicuous black and carrying a blue plastic bag in his lap driving off in his shitty car to god knows where — his own body lifeless on the pavement.

Then, there was a laugh. Loud and frenzied. The type that didn't let you catch your breath even if you tried, not the maniacal, psychotic chuckle that Will had half expected.

The knife was promptly withdrawn from his throat and Will slouched back into his seat, not even realising he was as tense as a bowstring.

The laughing didn't cease, though, and the blond threw an incredulous look over his shoulder to watch the criminal clutch his stomach and wiping out physical tears.

"You—you," he began breathlessly, bursting into hysteria between his words, "You should've seen your face—! I wish I got that on camera! You went as pale as a fucking ghost, oh my god—"

His laughter was wholesome and genuine and slightly attractive and it couldn't of pissed Will off more.

"Of course I'm gonna be fucking terrified when there's a potential murderer in my fucking car!"

"Oh boy," the criminal wheezed, "Nah, I only steal shit. I'm not that screwed up."

"Oh well I suppose that makes this all okay then, doesn't it?"

Will was not too certain whether the criminal's hum of agreement was sarcastic or not. Quite frankly, he didn't think he wanted to find out. If it isn't, then the blond's in the presence of a juvenile bellend who sees no issue with lawbreaking or crimes against property. But if it were sarcastic, then hell, Will would go ballistic at the sheer audacity of it.

With a dumb and unrestrained brainwave, Will spoke, "Then I'll just pull over then, you've already said you don't want to kill me."

The criminal just twirled the blade skilfully between his gloved fingers, "You want to test that theory, Sunshine?"

Will wasn't intimidated, though. No, he was just sour, "If I pull over and you slit my throat, at least it won't be in vain—?" It was a stupid thing to say, and Will hated how it came out more like a question than anything else.

The criminal casually pulls down his hood to reveal a bed of scruffy, raven hair, "Cause of death: 'Gave up his live to stop a guy who robbed from a gas station.' Now that truly sounds like a patronising tombstone."

Switching gears with an agitated swipe, he darted a scowl at the raven haired criminal who looked all too pleased and comfortable for his own liking. The lack of response on his behalf let a flood of smug satisfaction brim the air, buzz with an unspoken victory.

With pursed lips, Will followed the directions The Punk gave him without much choice of his own. Upon questioning about where he was heading once more, the raven haired man didn't say much to that, just that he had a friend who could practically sweet talk her will into anything.

What really unnerved Will though is the mention of this so called 'friend', who was indeed likely to be more than just a 'friend' to him. He felt like slamming his head against the horn of the steering wheel for letting it bother him.

"Just a left down here, Sunshine," he said, and Will narrowed his eyes into slits.

"Stop calling me that," the blond gritted, unamused.

The criminal just grins boyishly over his shoulder, dimple and all, "Got a name then, Sunshine?"

The blond considered lying, but at that point, what use would that be?

"Will."

"Nico," he replied, hitching his feet up onto the dashboard that didn't necessarily bother Will as much as it should've. Though he did try his best to ignore it... but only because he didn't wanted to go berserk... not to avert his gaze from ogling those legs.

Instead, he focused his vision on the rivulets of rain cascading down his windscreen somewhat depressingly. All he wanted was a carton of milk, but apparently even that was too much of a daunting task to have ever gone simply.

"Milk? That's why you're out right now? Soaked in the rain because you wanted milk?"

Only after Nico's tease did Will figure out he had announced that aloud -- but at this point he wasn't entirely surprised that his life seized the opportunity that lead to his misfortune -- and it triggered a sheepish blush to spill across his cheeks.

But, god, he was still so pissed.

"Yes." Will answered tightly, "Milk. This all fucking began because I had no god damn milk and I had already poured out my cereal. I walked to the shop down my street. It was closed. I got into my car, drove out here to an ordinary and generic gas station only to be held fucking hostage by you, a guy who stole god knows what -- what is even worth stealing from a place like that, fuck knows -- but yes. I just wanted some fucking milk, but here I am in sopping wet pyjamas carpooling with a criminally gorgeous robber in my passenger seat who has a fucking knife."

Will panted as if he just ran a marathon, eyes insane, a wide smile sarcastic cast over his lips. He's reached his limit, overloaded actually, and he swore that if Nico so much as sniggered he would just--

"Criminally gorgeous?" Nico grinned, and Will just about, almost, yanked the wheel out of it's socket.

In spite of himself and the boiling exasperation erupting within him, he tried to take calming breaths that didn't help to calm at all.

"Oh, come on, don't be like that, Sunshine," Nico cooed, "The silent treatment truly is hurtful, I thought he had something special going on here."

The blond's lips were pursed so tightly he can practically feel them turning blue.

"Don't get mad, Sunshine. I promise to make this all up to you later."

"Oh my god," the blond mutters.

"Not quite, but I'll take that as a compliment."

Will's eyed twitched, "Shut up," he said rather intelligently.

But he had walked right into that one, the smirk sinful across Nico's lips.

"Make me," he purred.

Will slammed on the brakes.

However, it wasn't in vexation. It wasn't anything to do with Nico or the situation that's actually reality and not some crappy, budget, rom-com movie or a shitty chapter in an even shittier book. No, it was because of a rather angelic hue of almost blinding white light. The true form of hope and redemption on a storming day. The door of the small store wide open. Not a single possible kidnapping burglar in sight.

Will practically threw himself out of the car once he had shadily parked it on the midnight street, not paying a single mind to any of Nico's firing questions and accusations. In his eager antics, he stomped into a muddy puddle that was sure to stain the bottom on his pyjamas but not even that could dampen his mood at this point. He was finally going to get it, he was finally getting his milk.

"You do remember I have a knife, right?" Nico reminded, a little alarmed. Good, Will was glad that he was the disconcerted one now.

"Milk," was all Will told him before he slammed the car door shut and practically raced to the shop.

It was utterly stupid, but he felt instantly rejuvenated as he stalked through the open entrance, nothing getting his way now.

He basically skipped to the dairy isle, his heart basically pounding in anticipation.

It would be all worth it in the end, because he deserved this milk more than fucking ever now. He deserved his god damn Lucky Charms.

But then, his exhilaration popped like a balloon, and he checked the isle seven times before letting himself deflate completely.

Will walked out that shop with shoulders sagged and wallowing in self pity.

"Bad day?" asked the friendly man behind the cashier.

"You let me down," Will replied blandly, before begrudgingly trudging out.

Because of course they didn't have any milk either.

The blond just plopped down into his car, forehead pressed against the steering wheel as he groaned in dismay. From then on, he had given up, and all he was going to do was to go home and burn all his cereal boxes right after he drops Nico off to god knows where--

Where did Nico go?

He only then realised the empty passenger seat, still outlined by the robber's frame and practically heckling at him. It was dispiriting, though, and Will can't believe he was admitting this even to himself but he quite enjoyed his infuriating presence... well, perhaps 'enjoyed' wasn't quite the word for it.

Will's glimpse caught onto something in the foot space of the seat, a blue plastic bag perched in place. Nico must have forgotten it when he ran off, and he probably wasn't even coming back so with a halfhearted 'fuck it' he grabbed the bag and peered into it's contents.

He gawked at it. Then rubbed his eyes so he wasn't just hallucinating. Then opened his eyes and gawked at it some more. It was like he had struck gold, and his the most reverent hands, he pulled out the seemingly holy carton of milks to stare as if it belonged behind glass in a museum.

There was a messily scrawled note stuck onto the side of it.

I hope you don't mind if it was stolen, but I figured you'd want it more than I did.
I told you I'd make it up to you ;)
-Nico.

The flip side had eleven, clear digits scribbled across it, a winky face after the last number.

And it was at that point, Will practically fell in love with a criminal.

AN:
I have nothing redeeming to say whatsoever.