(Number Five x Female OC)
Highest Rankings:
#1 #numbereight
#1 #numberfive
#1 #benhargreeves
#1 #aidangallagher
#1 #allisonhargreeves
After one of her brothers died and one disappeared, Number Eight and the remaining members of the Hargreeves fami...
Back at the Academy, Number Eight peeled off her old uniform shirt that was torn and bloody, and threw it across the room, allowing it to land in a neat ball in the corner. She pulled a fresh, crisp white shirt from her closet and started to button it over her body, tucking it into her short skirt. "Nothing else but a god-damn uniform. After all these years, typical Reggie." She mumbled to herself, buttoning the middle clasp of her shirt.
"You ready to go?" Number Five appeared around the corner of her bedroom door, taking Number Eight by surprise. He had also changed into a clean uniform, and had a large backpack resting on one of his shoulders.
"Five! I'm changing!" She gasped, gesturing to her half button shirt.
Number Five shrugged. "Yeah, I don't care. We need to get going." He spoke, though he got slightly distracted by a mark on Number Eight's partially revealed chest. He approached her, slowly, confusing her.
"Is this from when you were shot? It's different." He said softly, placing a finger on the mark. Number Eight knew he was only being innocently curious, but standing there in a half open shirt, she couldn't help but feel her cheeks flush uncontrollably. Though, she didn't know what he meant when he said it was different.
"Um, yeah. Yeah." She cleared her throat. "I noticed it the other day. That shooter had a good aim." She chuckled, looking down at the scar that was perfectly in the centre of her sternum. It was a pale purple indent, about the size of a quarter coin. Number Five stared at the mark, sadness on his face. He went to sit on Number Eight's bed, slumping his backpack on the floor by the foot of the bed.
"Five, we're going to have to talk about it. What happened at Gimble Brothers? Who were they?" Number Eight said quietly, breaking a long silence. She finished fastening up her shirt, threw her blazer over her shoulders and took a seat next to him. Number Eight could tell that Number Five was in a dark place, and she was gradually growing more and more concerned. He wasn't telling her anything.
He sighed, putting his head in his hands. "It's just all so... messy, Number Eight. It's messy." He said, his voice quiet and cracking slightly. They were old colleagues, from the apocalypse. Clearly I pissed them off." He said, lifting his head to look at Number Eight. Her blue eyes were staring back at him, worried. The pair sat on the end of her small bed, pressed together side-to-side, just like they always used to do when they were kids. Instinctively, Number Five pulled a small piece of shrapnel out of the top of Number Eight's white hair. She smiled.
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"Thanks." A small chuckle escaped her lips.
"Did they hurt you? Hazel and Cha Cha?" Number Five asked, placing his hand back down into his lap.
"Wow, great names." Number Eight chuckled, then shook her head. "Nothing serious. A few scratches here and there. I've had worse." She said, pulling down the collar of her shirt to reveal a small cut that travelled along her collar bone. Number Five examined it closely, but was satisfied to see that it was nothing major.
