And then they did it, 'cause I'm god.

The hallway feels like it’s stretching ahead of you, doors passing in a loop. Your body moves from muscle memory. The sweat on your skin has long since dried, leaving an unpleasant salt cast. 

So so tired. You had barely chewed your food at dinner if only to get back to your room faster. All you can think about is a nice hot shower, fresh pajamas, your bed… The keys fight against the tender skin of your fingers. They’re cold against the reddened skin where your cards had chafed as you jab at the lock. 

“Fuck- just fucking… damnit.” You squint your eyes, skin feeling tight, lining the door key up perfectly but it won’t go in more than half way. “For fucks sake.” Frustrated, you shove the key, jamming it. Click. The door swings open, taking your keys with it. “FUCK- What?!”

Enjin looms in the doorway. His silhouette framed in the darkness as moonlight dips around his toned form before it’s devoured by the darkly inked expanses of his skin. Pajama pants are hanging low on his hips, towel draped over his shoulders. His bare shoulders… 

You whip your head to the side. The rustle of towel against hair is all that fills the silence. He starts, “You lost or something?” “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! GET OUT OF MY ROOM!” He cocks his head to the side.

One tattooed finger comes to tap the number on the top of the doorframe just above his head. The movement gives you a view of his exposed side. His waist is cinched, an edge of ink outlining his muscled flesh. You freeze. “If you wanted to shower together, you could’ve just said so. I would’ve waited for you.” He says in that taunting voice of his.  

The numbers are glaring as your eyes dart from the doorframe before you to the one next to it… Neighbors?  You thrust a hand out expectantly. “Give me my keys.” He arches his brows, turning to see the glimmer of your keys in the lock. He gives them a tug. “They’re stuck.” He laughs.

“Nuh uh! Seriously?” You lean forward to get a look. He smells so nice fresh out of the shower… “Jeez, really Y/N, trying to break in on me getting dressed! How lewd~” He pitches his voice up, pretending to cover himself. HE’S SO STUPID! You go to grab at your keys but with a jerk he’s removed them. 

Again, you place your palm up. He dangles them in front of you, a dimple appearing on his cheek. His hair is still damp, unstyled. Fuck. He’s so hot-SUCH AN ASS. You reach for them and he moves them higher. 

“Come on! Don’t be a dick!” Stretching your arm higher has your shoulder muscle burning, the sensation seeping lower to your back. He steps to you, holding them as high as possible with a shiteating grin. Warmth radiates off of his skin as you’re face to, well, chest with him. There’s a circular design inked into the center of his stomach, visible in your lower periphery. 

Your eyes trail up as you memorize the black and red waves and spirals that dance across his pecs. There’s an impulse to bring a fingertip up to trace the edges of the pattern that is quickly fought back. He’s too close… He looks so… You’re too tired to glare, hair matted to your forehead. 

The look in your eye signals that you won’t play along and he eases off. “You good? Need a massage?” “I need my keys.” With your last burst of strength you jump for them, missing, letting out a frustrated noise. 

“You’re blushing Y/N~” “I’m pissed, give ‘em back already! I’ve gotta shower!” Before he can respond, “ALONE!” Your face is indeed red when you meet his eyes. Biting back your pride you ask, “... Please, Enjin?” 

He smirks, lowering the keys. “Aww, good girl~ next time-” The way he says it sends a swirl of butterflies fluttering in your chest. “There won’t be a-” “Next time, just knock.” “stupid.” “What was that?” You don’t meet his eyes. “nothing.” He finally deposits the keys in your hand with a smug look.

“You’re cute when you’re all worked up.” Your face heats further. You’re frustrated, he’s so frustrating. That’s what this feeling is, right? He ruffles your hair and you swat his hand away. The clumpy way the locks rub against your scalp makes you cringe. 

His eyes glitter in the low light in a mischievous way. “If you need anything else, you know where to find me~” “Lucky me.” Your words dripping in sarcasm. 

He leans back against his doorframe, watching you. As he crosses his arms you see the flex, his sturdy build beneath the dark patterns. Shadow pools in the dip of his collar bone. You wish that you could capture this moment. 

You focus your gaze on your door. Opening the lock with sore, jittery fingers. He shifts his weight to lean further into the hallway musing, “We could do like morse code on the wall, one tap for ‘I miss you, Enjin’, two taps for ‘I-” The slamming of your door cuts him off. 

He lingers, staring at the space where you stood. It’s not a surprise when you don’t open your door again. He smiles, picturing your flushed face in the moonlight. He brings his hand up to smell the lingering scent of your sweat. It’s enough for him… For now. 

***

With a heavy click, you lock the door behind you. You feel like your heart is in your throat. Its thunderous beat burns your face. He’s an ass… Why are you getting so worked up? Are some muscles, tattoos, and a pretty face all it takes for you? 

It’s dizzying. The image of him in the doorway replaying in your mind. His body illuminated in the moonlight. The glint in his citrine eyes. What his mouth could do if it wasn’t busy talking… Or if it was, what he would say to you in that velvety goading tone. 

Maybe the hit to your head when you fell from the sphere knocked something important loose… You need a distraction, something, anything to cleanse your mind of its dirty thoughts. When you look around your sparse room all that you see are traces of him. 

The clothes he brought you, nicely folded. The stupid little notes. His clothes lying in a heap on the floor… You take out your cards, dribbling them back and forth between your aching hands as you pace the room. The sound soothes you, your heart rate leveling out. Your mind settles into a more manageable spiral.

With a sigh you place the deck on your desk next to his note. Wash yourself, wash off the thoughts. As you prepare to shower you toss your clothes on top of his. A small heap to be washed. 

The water is soothing, stripping away the sandy feeling on your skin. There’s a strange gnawing in your chest when your shampoo and conditioner smell different from his. It follows you now as you sit on the edge of the bed drying your hair. From the bottom of the heap, the dark fabric holds your gaze. 

With tentative steps you pick his shirt up. Shaking it, then holding it out in front of you. It’s so big, baggy… But it would fit him perfectly. You can picture his broad shoulders, where the hem would end, landing just below his collarbone, tattoos peeking out…

You hear his voice in your head, “Hmm, got some kinda fetish? Like what you see? Didn’t take you for the pining type…” Even in your imagination he pisses you off.

You throw the shirt back onto the pile, huffing back to your bed and leaping into it. The room smells like him now… You bury your face in your pillow, willing the sensation between your legs to go away. You wouldn’t give the voice of him in your head the satisfaction. 

***

It’s a fitful night of sleep, dreams haunted by the blonde. His large hands gripping you, his lips on your body, those hungry eyes. It was certainly a dream because he didn’t say a damn word. When you wake up, your body is still pulsing. There’s a bewildering wetness between your legs.

Jesus christ… You feel fuzzy, annoyed, but there’s a twisted part of you that’s eager to slip back into your dream. As your consciousness starts to drift away you hear an irritating grating voice. Enjin is chatting loudly with another equally loud man right outside your door. 

You wrap your pillow around your head in a soft cocoon. The muffled sound still penetrates. Their conversation is intelligible in snippets; brought… oh… nice… yeah, good... You sit up, groggy, body heavy, “SHUT THE HELL UP!” You shout, with no results. Yeah… looks great… nah the size is… 

You stomp to the door, swinging it open to see Enjin talking to another tall man with long blonde hair. He has headphones hanging around his neck, orange sunglasses, and is holding a bundle in his arms. He’d be quite attractive if he wasn’t so damn LOUD. 

With your entrance their conversation pauses. “I’m trying to sleep! Please be quiet.” “Someone’s grumpy~” Enjin teases. “HEY HEY! GOOD MORNING! LOOK AT YOU!” The man has too much energy for this early in the morning… 

Tempering your tone, you massage your temple, “Sorry, who are you?” “Name’s August-!” Your hand gently moves to cover your ear, the other hand rising to cut him off, “It’s… Nice to meet you, August, but could you two please keep it down?" 

"Hmm, didn’t sleep well, babe?” You glare at Enjin. “Y’know, you talk in your sleep~” There’s an icy chill in your veins that melts into a prickling heat. Everything from your chest to the tips of your ears burn, sending your mind racing. 

You don’t, right?! You’ve never talked in your sleep before… What could you possibly have said- “Oh shit!” He says cackling, “I’m just messing with you, you should see your face!” You swing at him as August sizes you up, cradling the bundle close to his side, his hands up and out like a photographer. 

“You are such an ASS, quit messing with me!” You sputter at Enjin. August is in his own world, nodding with satisfaction. “Woah, what’s with your reaction? Something you wanna tell me?” Enjin asks, catching your hand. “A PERFECT FIT! YOU REALLY ARE MY MUSE!” August’s voice halts your bickering with Enjin. 

You look at him perplexed, “Huh?” Enjin points down to your pajamas. “They’re not half bad, but make ‘em smaller and lacy next time, August.” You slip your hand free to land a chop to his throat, making him cough and gag. 

“YOU GOT IT!” August says enthusiastically. “NO, no, don’t ‘got it’ this is perfectly fine, uh, August.” Enjin dramatically gestures to August, still rubbing his throat and coughing. August nods as if understanding. “NO, ignore him!” 

You step between them, looking up to August. “These are really nice, I like them a lot, August. I really don’t need anything else.” He looks down at you, a bored expression on his face. “Don’t worry August, I’m sure that we can win her over, leave the convincing to me.” 

Before you can protest, August hands the bundle to you and gives a thumbs up to Enjin. His mood lightened, “I’VE GOT SOME IDEAS! I’LL KEEP WORKING WITH THE SAME MEASUREMENTS ‘N LET YA KNOW WHEN YOU CAN COME PICK ‘EM UP!” You move to stop him but Enjin places a hand on your shoulder, “He hates being interrupted, You should stay out of his way for now even if you are his muse~” 

This is a hell of a way to start the morning. You pinch the bridge of your nose, images of lingerie flashing in your mind. His hand remains, resting on your shoulder. It’s heavy, warm through the fabric of your pajamas. You squirm to move away, but it grips you tighter. “Hey, lemme go!” He leans close, giving you a few playful sniffs.

“Knock it off!” You say with a tense laugh. Your hand cups his face to push him back. His smooth skin, cheek bone, and there you feel his dimple appear against your palm. “You smell weird.” “That… Sounds like a you problem- maybe lay off the cigarettes.”  

He lets you go, stepping back to ogle you conspicuously. His eyes… There’s a glint there. It makes your stomach flip, gripping the bundle closer to your chest. You take a step back too, jokingly eying him up and down. Mostly jokingly.

He cocks his head and you brace yourself for whatever nonsense is about to spill from his lips. “Get ready and have breakfast with me before your training.” “Um.” “Not a request, I have stuff for you from the boss.” 

“Why don’t you just give it to me now?” “Gotta make sure you eat a better meal than you did last night. Zanka said it was like watching a snake eat, unhinged jaw and everything.” “That’s not- I wasn’t-.” 

He continues melodramatically, “He’s pretty convinced spherites are all barbarians. I don’t really have any evidence against that.” “What, you gonna cut it up and feed it to me?” “Your wish is my command." He winks and the corners of your mouth tilt up to your chagrin.

“Go on, get ready.” He starts walking away towards the dining hall. You stare after him. “Quit undressing me with your eyes and get ready!” He calls back. “I- Uhg!” You slam the door, locking it as you prepare yourself for the day. 

***

The bundle in your arms turns out to be a new outfit. The silhouette and color is slightly different but it still fits you perfectly. From Enjin’s note and meeting him face to face you’ve deduced who the man is and for as obnoxious as he is, August certainly is talented.

You gather the pile of clothes from your floor, being intentional to not search for the lingering scent of him. Dropping everything in a washer on your way to the dining hall. You notice the communal detergent is different from what Enjin used…

He’s waiting for you at a table, waving you down as you enter. He’s prepared a few plates of food for the two of you. And… He’d actually cut everything up into small pieces. There’s a tug and pull inside of you between being moved and annoyed. 

It’s almost certainly to tease you, but you’ve never had someone take the time to do that for you even as a joke. All you muster is a neutral, “thanks,” as you sit beside him. His lips curl into a smirk as he grabs a fork, picking up a bite and waving it around your face. “Of course, sweetheart. Open wide, say AHHH.” 

He circles it around, swooping low then high, pulling back right before you bite. Annoying, annoying, ANNOYING! Fuck it. You let your eyelids droop and mouth hang open for him, welcoming the food into your mouth with a soft, “ahhh.” His body stiffens, placing the bite gently in your mouth. You chew in harsh, pointed chomps as you regain your composure. 

The subtle shift emboldens you as you make eye contact with him, swallowing. He’s frozen. Are you being too weird? You snatch the fork from his hand and continue eating, minding your manners. The silence hanging between you is toying with your nerves. 

You finish your plates feeling pleasantly full. “Satisfied?” You ask, finally looking at him. His plates are noticeably still full. “Not in the slightest.” He grumbles. “I ate nicely and everything.” You huff. “At least tell Zanka I’m not an animal.” He holds you captive under his impish gaze, “You sure?” 

He points a finger to his mouth and with exaggerated eroticism says, “AHHH.”  His eyes are heavy, the deep pink muscle of his tongue leaves a glossy sheen on his lips and he drags it across them. 

You thrust a hand out, scooting down the bench. Turning away as you feel your face flush. That was so stupid, why did you do that?! Your stomach twists. You make a mental note to not dish it if you can’t take it.

“...Where’s the stuff from the boss?” You snip. “Oh.” He shifts on the bench, “guess I was too busy cutting up your food. I forgot it in my room.” You turn to him, irritation visible. “I’ll get it to you after training.” "I thought it was something important…” “It is, it is, but your training trumps that.”

You feel a bubble of irrigation growing in your chest. What you internally negotiated to an abrasive kindness, even consideration for you, starts to morph into power and control. Withholding something that is yours spikes your agitation.  He leans closer, “How about you, me, dinner?” “In your dreams.” You hiss venomously, rising. 

“Or yours. Or do you skip that part and go straight to-” You slap the shiteating smile off of his face. With the crisp sound, eyes turn to the two of you in the dining hall. Idle conversations peter out. In a harsh whisper you command him, “Enough! I’m tired of this, Enjin.” He cups his cheek, pink spreading. Spreading further than just the point of impact. Before he can respond you march away. 

The door slams behind you as Enjin stares after you. Silence hangs for a beat before ambient conversation restarts. The warm tingling of his cheek under his hand pulses. Damn it. He had pushed too far. The weight of your communication choker from the boss is heavy in his pocket. 

He nudges past it as he withdraws his pack of cigarettes, lighting one up. Inhaling and feeling the pleasant buzz of nicotine across his skin, dulling the edge of his nerves. He leans his head back, boring holes into the ceiling. 

He pictures your face, eyes low, mouth soft, welcoming him. Shit. You looked so good… Even now, his heart stirs. He couldn’t help but tease you at that moment. He presses the heel of his hands into his eyes, taking another deep inhale. He’d make it up to you somehow…  

As you trudge down the hall you make a stop to gather your clothes from the wash. You debate whether or not to leave his in a sopping heap on the floor. It vexes you to take them all with you to hang dry. 

You can’t shake the gnawing irritation as you go through another day of training with Zanka. It turns out to be a pretty good motivator. Pushes you to practice more with your cards, testing each move with intention. 

Your ‘vanishing’ move piques interest, especially yours. A revenge plan starts to materialize in your mind. As you throw the cards one after another, you learn that it won’t work through clothing. It’s most effective from direct contact with skin; the more skin it touches, the more complete your invisibility until the card is removed. 

Fuck him, you can get into his room and take what the boss gave to you. This thought echoes in your head as you practice. As you perform each move successfully you feel confidence blossoming in your chest. You can do it. 

Zanka ended earlier than yesterday. Though, you feel equally as ragged and exhausted. The skin of your fingers is a troubling shade of red as new callouses form where your cards rub against them.  

You bring your arms up to wrap around his neck, pulling him to you in a crashing kiss. Your taste on his lips. He positions himself over you, pressing his body against yours. Warm… Hot… He’s so hot. He devours your mouth, restraint pushed to the limit. You roll, switching positions as you straddle him. 

His hair splays out on your sheets. You press one hand on his chest, the other lacing into the hair at the back of his head as you stoop to capture his lips again. Feverishly you drag the hand on his chest to pull up his shirt. He assists, ripping it over his head. 

You perch yourself on him, staring down at his chiseled chest, torso, rising and falling heavily. There’s a deep purple welt on his ribs. With soft finger tips you outline the mark, instinctively he cringes away. 

“What is this?” “I… The fight… It looks worse than it is.” You lean down pressing a soft kiss to the discolored skin. “I have so many questions.” You mumble against his ribs. He brings a hand to rustle your hair, “I have so many answers.” His voice is heavy. “Later,” you say, pressing a kiss where purple meets skin.

You move your way down, hands tracing the angles of his toned muscles as he flexes, sitting up. “Hmm?” He grips your chin, bringing your lips to meet his. His hand is rough as it works its way under your shirt. His skin against yours feels searing hot. You grind against him, pushing him back into the mattress.

He looks up at you, eyes heavy, mouth hanging open with a ragged smile. The sight fans the flames reignited in you. Intoxicating. You want to be drunk off of this feeling, off of him. You pepper kisses down his pecs, the long line carving the muscles of his abdomen. To the indentation of the flesh of his hip that disappears under his pants. Your back arches as you work your way down that scandalous V line. 

You fumble with his belt and say with a low breath, “take it off.” Your voice carries a tender authority, hammer dipped in honey. You could tell him the sun was green and he’d not even look to confirm. That is the part that scared him.  The visions of you he’d fantasized about at a distance aligning before his eyes.  

His belt is off in a moment, landing with a jingle on the floor. You work torturously slow, the sound of the zipper of his pants slices through the ambience of the apartment. He sits up suddenly, startling you. He pants, a look of desperation on his face. “y/n, y/n, y/n… Are you sure? Are you sure that this is what you want?” 

There’s an unfamiliar edge in his voice. He’s at his limit, restraint held back by one fraying string. You feel it, rippling off of him. Raw desire. You lean in to kiss him again with feverish intensity. Between kisses, “Yes, yes, I’ve wanted this for longer than I care to admit.” 

A rough hand grips your jaw, holding your face to his as he maneuvers to kick off his pants. He breaks the kiss only to tug your shirt over your head, joining the pile on the floor. 

He pulls you close, sucking at your neck. His teeth on the tender skin. You whine, pressing the bare skin of his chest to yours. What was tender before is harsh. He bites at the fleshy skin of your chest.

The desire intensified the night he saw you at the nightclub. That dress, your skin shimmering in the low light. He wanted to bite you, taste you. As if reading his mind you whisper in his ear, “Mikey, I want to taste you.” 

He looks up as you kneel over him. He reclines slowly, letting you take the lead. You hold his eyes as you move down his body, tracing a nail over the outline of him through his boxer briefs. It twitches, making him clench his eyes shut. 

You play with the elastic of his waistband as you softly palm him through the fabric. There’s a prominent wet spot at the tip. You return his favor, sucking at it through the fabric. His hand is in your hair, gripping hard. “Ahaha-” He releases you just as quickly, hand shooting back to grip your headboard. You look at him, face flushed, pupils eating away at his embery eyes. 

You relent, sliding the elastic down, letting him bounce free of its confines. His breath hitches. He’s engorged, tip an angry red, veiny and better endowed that your imagination had given him credit. You smear around the liquid that leaks from the tip. 

Stroking down with little pressure. He groans. You close a hand around him, positioning your lips at the top. You lock with his eyes, letting your tongue dart out to lick the new bead that had formed there. “Fuck-”  he laces his hands in his hair, gripping his own to stop himself from fucking your throat. 

You take the tip into your mouth, circling your tongue around it before popping off to let saliva drip down. His whole body is taut. Every muscle of his core flexed. You stroke down the wetness, giving him a lazy smile before you take him back in your mouth. Working lower and lower, using your hand to close the gap that doesn’t fit. You feel him in the back of your mouth before you start your ministrations. Up and down, wet, sloppy, noisy. “Holy shit-” You relax your throat, pushing yourself to take him deeper with each stroke. His hips buck, making you gag. “F-fuck- sorry- I-” His body moving on its own, meeting your movements, the hot wetness of your mouth. 

He’s getting louder, groaning, panting, knuckles turning white. “So good, y/n.” You trace the flat of your tongue up the vein on the underside of his dick. He rolls his head back. “Y/N” his voice is heavy. He flexes and relaxes his hands. 

“Mikey~ sweetheart,” Your voice is sweet, teasing, “so eager” you repeat his words back to him. With that, his hand firmly grips your cheeks. He has a dark look in his eyes. “God you’re so hot” You mutter. He presses his other hand into his eyes. Breathing deeply, he releases your face.

“What do you want?” You say before you take all of him to your throat. “FUCK! Those. Aren’t. The rules… This time.” He manages between your strokes. You pop off to respond, “Then I’m looking forward to next time.” 

You suck in your cheeks, tightening the grip in your hand as well. He lets out a deep groan. You had barely begun before he grunts, “fuck- shit- I’m gonna come.” Instead of words you proceed to take him deeper, intensifying your grip, pace. 

“Coming-” He pants before you thrusts deep into your throat, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes. His hands are frantic, fighting to grab your hair, ride out his orgasm in your throat. One finds itself digging into the sheets next to you, the other gripping your headboard.  

You gag from the thrust, doing your best to swallow as much of him as possible. You taste him in your mouth. Swallowing again. He slumps onto your bed, tugging you up to rest in his arms. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Thank you.” You mumble into his chest. His chest bounces with light laughter, “Thank you.” He covers your head and forehead in a smattering of kisses. You trace swirls on his chest. He closes a hand over yours, “That tickles.” He pulls your hand up, kissing your fingertips. 

His eyes are far away, breath steadying; yours matching his. A featherlight finger tip outlines the bow of his lips. They smile under your touch, “That too.” “I didn’t take you for the ticklish type.” You concede with a grin. 

“Thank you for trusting me.” His voice is low. “This feels like a dream… Are you real?” You pinch his cheek. He tears his eyes from the ceiling to stare at you. His eyes are still miles away. The smile on your lips starts to fade. It’s creeping back in, the gravity of the situation. 

He holds you closer, “I’m sorry, Y/N. For the lounge, for being a dickhead, for last night, everything…” His embrace is steadying as he pauses. Your thoughts begin to swirl, feeling the chill of the air on your exposed skin. “I forgive you, Mikey.” You brush his hair to the side, “Your apology is more than accepted.”

“I suppose I didn’t really fulfill your last request, do you have any forgiveness to spare?” “I think I can do some digging.” You tease. He smiles softly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “What’s on your mind?” 

“You… You scare me.” Your brow furrows. “Not in a bad way.” He kisses the tightened space between your eyes. “I’ll take that as a glowing review of my technique.” It feels forced to say. He lightens, chuckling, “That too.” 

His eyes drift back to the ceiling. “I… I don’t want to lose you…” You study his face, his features. “I don’t want you to get hurt or to be the one who hurts you.” “I understand what you mean,” You reply. He wraps you tighter in his arms, burying his face in the top of your head.

From this position he says, “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” His somber tone makes your heart rate spike. “Mikey… I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want to lose you either. So… Please don’t…” Your face feels prickly, an unpleasant electricity thrumming in your veins.

“I’m sorry because I can't leave anymore…” With his words, the tension in your body dissipates. “And I’m so sorry for all of the trouble that will cause you.” “I can handle it, I’m the badder scary, right?” “I don’t want you to have to…”

“You’re really driving a hard bargain.” You poke at the tender spot on his side earning you a hiss. “Guess you’re stuck with me, Mikey.” “If it’s what you want then I would be the happiest man alive.” “Try it again with feeling.” You tease, fruitlessly wrestling to free yourself from his grasp. 

You sit bolt upright. Fuck! The clothes! You scramble out of bed, collapsing inelegantly to the floor with a thud. The door knob is cold against your palm as you haul the door open, abruptly halting. Your clothes are neatly folded in a pile in front of you with a note on top. 

“You should really remember to lock the door, princess XO E”

It would have to be a new habit you develop... You scoff going to pick up the clothes when you notice something else folded underneath. You cradle it all in your arms as the door clicks shut behind you. Locking it dutifully you flip the note over.

“P.S. August gave me some clothes you can use while he designs your outfit (See him soon to give him your measurements or the next time you forget to lock the door he’ll take ‘em while your sleeping, just ask Rudo)

P.P.S. You could keep wearing my stuff, ZERO complaints from me, hot stuff”

He’s so STUPID, but you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. You set your clean clothes on the empty desk, withdrawing the set beneath to inspect it. The outfit is more stylish than you expected. A hazy memory of someone’s voice asking you to be a model drifts through your mind; a dream?

When pressed to your body over Enjin’s clothes, it looks like it’ll fit you like a glove; good eye. You fiddle with the hem of his shirt, the fabric feels comforting between your thumb and forefinger. His scent still lingers, woven into the material. 

Hesitating you slip out of his shirt and sweatpants and flip through the small stack of clothes to find undergarments. Another smaller note flies out with the movement. “Oooooh~ Y/N, I’m blushing!” You crumple that one and toss it into the tiny waste bin next to your desk. What you find is not what you had worn when you arrived, shuffling through the clothes they aren’t found but you don’t let your mind linger on it too long. Maybe he had spared your feelings and just thrown them away, hell maybe you threw them away and have successfully repressed the memory. 

After dressing you smooth the fabric of your new outfit against your body, it hugs you perfectly; thick but not heavy, tight but in a way that’s comforting. Through your window the sky tints blue at the borders, welcoming the sun. There’s an edge of drowsiness that’s crept in but you push it back as you make your way out into the hallway.

It’s a while of you wandering before you encounter anyone else who’s awake. You’ve wandered into what appears to be an entrance. The sound of paper being flipped through is what initially drew you to the space. Semiu sits behind a large desk, working her way, diligently through a book. A magazine? As you approach, shapes form on the pages. Salacious, erotic images of women on the full spread.

You avert your eyes. “Good morning!” You say, announcing your presence. She makes no move to hide her reading material as she sighs back, “Damn, is it morning already?” “Last I knew that’s what light outside means, I guess it could be different here.” 

“Nah.” She says, flipping to the next page before continuing, “The boss just got back a little bit ago. He’s gonna freshen up but you can meet him in a bit. I’ll let him know you’re up.” She brings two fingers to a choker that matches the one you saw on Enjin last night. 

The sound of your feet fidgeting mingles with a muttered, one-sided message from her into the accessory. Tall, red stone walls, no windows, thick wooden doors, warm light from the fixtures behind Semiu… Your eyes scan the space. Everything feels warmer, welcoming in a way that pure white marble never could. 

“You can look around, but try not to get lost. Boss’ll be ready for you in twenty.” You nod, doubting she notices as her eyes haven’t left the page. You don’t want to disturb her further, walking with soft footsteps across to the adjoining hallway. You find that there are many long hallways, room after room, no wonder she warned you not to get lost. 

Time drifted, but you weren’t sure if it had been five or fifteen minutes. Erring on the side of caution you wander back to the entrance, lingering in the hallway. As you lean against the wall you let your mind occupy itself. 

That last poker night. The drunken bastards. The missing money from the pot, typical. It was that greedy bastard, you knew it, saw it. He always skimmed, but it had been too much, too new of a guest, and not enough empty bottles.

Flustered he had shouted, “A slight of hand- she must’ve grabbed it on the deal, search her! It’s somewhere on her, get her!” They had chased you through the halls, ripped at your clothes. That fucker. You had broken through a window to jump out but it wasn’t long before the Apostles caught up to you.

You swore up and down your innocence. Useless. Your words were meaningless against the condemnation of the nobility. You were filth, dirt, a liar, a thief, preying on the good graces of such a dignified family. He tacked on crime after crime, tying up all of his loose ends around you in a perfect bow and a noose around your neck. What a joke. Your chest flares with indignation at the memory.

The voice of Semiu echoing through the space snaps you from your reverie. “He’s ready.” You push off the wall, trudging past her to follow the direction her finger points. It’s a short hallway before you’re met with a closed door. 

Hesitating, you give a gentle knock. “Come in.” A warm voice replies. The door is sturdy as you push it open to enter a cozy office space. You’re met with a handsome man sitting behind a very full desk. Morning light beginning to filter in through the window behind him. “Please have a seat.” He motions to a plush set of sofas sitting one across from the other. 

You take a seat cautiously, eyeing the man before you, the boss. His skin is dark, hair pulled up, the tips of his ears are both pierced with wide silver caps, now catching the light behind him. “Coffee?” You sit up straight. With the action he chuckles lightly, “Figure I’ll need something to get through all of this.” 

“Y-yes, I’ll get some right away! Where… Can I make it for you, boss?” Your eyes dart around the room. His slate eyes are intense but kind. They read you easily. “Where are my manners? I apologize, that’s an offer. You don’t need to concern yourself with things like fetching food or drinks anymore, though that’s just an assumption based on what I’ve gathered from your background. I won’t complain if you’re as eager to take on missions.” His voice is deep and gentle, a hint of humor at the end as he chuckles at his own joke.

You hesitate, a similar discomfort to what you felt last night. He closes his eyes with a soft smile before he rises, preparing the beverage before sitting across from you on the matching sofa. He places a teacup full of the dark steaming beverage in front of you before sipping his own. 

“Thank you, boss…” “Please, my name is Arkha Corus. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. Though, I’m not your boss yet.” There’s a flash of panic. “I-I don’t have anywhere else to go. Please, I’m a hard worker and a fast learner.” His eyebrow quirks, “Please, don’t misunderstand. You’re more than welcome here, I just mean it’s entirely up to you.” You release a breath, feeling your body relax.

“I… I’d like to stay, if that’s okay. I still don’t really understand what’s happening… I’m not entirely sure this isn’t all a dream.” You laugh humorlessly. The bitter taste of the hot beverage coats your tongue as you also take a sip. “I’m sure that you have many questions, I’ll do my best to answer. I also have some questions for you.” 

The conversation is comfortable. This man is unlike your master in every way; a perfect antithesis. You feel like an actual person under his gaze and not set dressing. He queries you about your life in the sphere. You answer wholeheartedly, no reason to restrain. 

A few of your responses pique his interest, particularly the artwork your master was so fond of. He gives you a rundown of life here on what is called the ‘ground.’ What jinki or vital instruments are. You withdraw your pack of cards, feeling safe with him to show your treasure. 

“Work with them, speak with them. You might be surprised what they’ll say back.” He states, finishing his cup of coffee. He rises, you follow. "It’s a pleasure to have you join us, Y/N. I’ll get everything set in motion for you, whether you’re a cleaner or a supporter.” He extends his hand. You take it.

His shake is firm and reassuring. “I’ll get you a choker so that you can stay in touch with everyone.” “Choker?” He motions to the accessory around his neck identical to the ones on Enjin and Semiu. “Try to relax and settle in.” He tells you, sitting at his desk, partially obscured by a stack of paper. “... Thank you. For everything…” “You’re very welcome.” 

With a nod you make your exit, finding your way back to Semiu who gives you an approving glance.

***

The coffee that the boss made for you has sharpened your senses, fully alert and awake. If not a bit antsy. After some milling about you find yourself in some kind of study. You take a seat at a table and take out your cards.

It’s hard to tell how much time has passed since you started, but the cards are warm to the touch after your machinations. One trick after another perfectly executed. It could be your imagination but they feel more responsive than before. 

You feel silly, but lean down, looking at your cards fanned in your hands. “Hey guys… Uh… Thank you… For everything.” You whisper. There’s a small buzzing, a fuzzy vibration in your hands which makes your heart skip a beat. 

The chair clatters as you jump up, darting from the room. Your face is split with a wide, excited smile as you bolt down the hallway, eager to show someone your discovery; mind full of questions. 

As you round a corner you collide with a body. “Woah ho ho, careful there, princess.” A familiar voice says. Two large hands grip you, preventing a fall. You’re too excited to be annoyed by the nickname.

“Enjin, look!” You hold your fanned cards in his face. “... That’s… Nice… Am I supposed to, like, pick one or?” “No, stupid- look at them!” “... They’re… Nice… Oh these are sooo nice, Y/Nl!” His voice is dripping with a snark. 

You huff, “C’mon! Be serious! They were doing something.” He hums, entertained. “Come on…” You hush your voice, whispering to the cards, “You can do it, do it again, show him.” The two of you stand there staring at your cards as he stifles a laugh. “I think your next line is, ‘is this your card’?” He teases.

You glare at him, “Uhg! They must be allergic to idiots.” He quirks an eyebrow, comeback locked and loaded. With a wave of your hands you grimace, “low hanging fruit, Enjin, spare me.” “Well, I wouldn’t call it low hanging, but I am hung.” You toss a card at his face in annoyance. In a split second he’s dodged, but both of you are shocked as the card glows and makes a hairpin turn to shoot at his turned face. 

He crashes into the wall to jump away. An angry red line rises on his cheek where the card nicked him. It’s stuck in a crack on the floor. “Holy shit, I didn’t mean to-” The card vibrates, appearing to charge up to shoot again. You thrust out a hand and the card shoots to it, pressed into your palm. 

“Now that’s a card trick!” His excitement is now mirroring yours earlier, eyes alight. You’re still hopped up on adrenaline, eyes locked on the reddened skin. The teasing edge of your voice wavers with it as you ask, “Is this your card?” His boisterous laughter bounces off the walls. 

A door crashes open, “Shut the hell up, Enjin! Some of us are trying to sleep.” A grumpy Rudo shouts. Another door down the hallway creaks open and a sleepier voice calls out, “What’s going on out here?”

Enjin fully ignores Rudo to call down the hall, “Hey Zanka! We have another giver on the team! Think you’d be up for some training today?” Zanka rubs sleep from his eyes and with a yawn he says, “Sure, I can take care of it.” “That’s our Zanka!” Enjin says with pride. He’s a ways down the hall but you swear you see a stupid smile on his face, poorly hidden by the hands rubbing at his eyes. 

“Volume…” Rudo groans, closing his door and clicking the lock. “She can join in with Rudo, we’ll go through some exercises.” Zanka says, thumb on his chin as he mentally prepares a schedule. “Sounds good! I’m popping out for a bit, but I’ll be back later to see the end of training.” He turns to you in a lower voice,  “Then you can show me what you’ve got, sweet stuff.” “Y. N.” You enunciate your name to him. 

A question pops into your mind; where are you going? You shove it back. “Let’s go Y. N.” Over-enunciating your name. He shouts over his shoulder to Zanka, “She’ll meet you out there!” Stepping around you, guiding you down yet another hall. 

The training area is dewey, the coolness of the night still lingering. The graffiti on the wall comes into view as the sky above becomes bluer and lighter. Taking a deep breath, the fresh air fills your lungs. “He’ll be down here soon, think you can survive without me?”

“I think I’ll thrive.” You walk to a bench situated to the side, taking a seat to shuffle through your cards more. Curiosity and a tinge of confidence creeping in. “That’s my girl.” He calls to you. “Not your girl.” You call back, shooting the cards from one hand to the other with a flourish.

His dimples are pressed deep as he smiles, taking his exit with an exaggerated bow. As his footsteps fade, the sound is drowned out by the fluttering of the sturdy material of your cards. Experimenting, you move your hands further apart, testing the limits of your shuffle. There’s a magnetic feeling. That no matter how you move your hands the cards will always find their way from one to the other. 

As your experimentation continues, you add unnatural ripples to the stream. Waves and spirals as the cards fly from left to right, right to left. You’re thoroughly entertaining yourself when you hear Zanka’s voice as he enters, Rudo not far behind him looking groggy.

Proper but brief introductions are exchanged. Pleasant. That moment may have been the only one before he brought down a hellish circuit of physical tests. The sun was bearing down on you and Rudo before he yielded for your first break. You feel like you’d run a marathon, whatever spark of confidence you had kindled was extinguished. 

Chugging water and scarfing down lunch like your life depends on it. You hear a new set of footsteps enter the training area. It’s the redheaded girl, Riyo. “Looks like Zanka’s working you half to death.” She says with a smile that barely touches her eyes. “He sure is something.” You say with a humorless laugh. 

“Hear you’re joining us as a giver, nice to meet you, I’m Riyo.” “It’s a pleasure. Well, mostly… I’m Y/N. ” You wipe the sweat from your hand before shaking hers. “Mind if I sit in?” She asks, her eyes studying. “I don’t see why not.” Before you finish she’s sat down next to you.

You want to talk with her more, it’s nice to have another woman around. Your hopes are dashed as Zanka calls you and Rudo back. With an exaggerated huff and look at Riyo who matches your eye roll, you’re off. 

What had been endurance training in the morning had now turned into sparring. The ability to fight even without a vital instrument is surely the difference between life and death, but your body was protesting in dramatic fashion. You and Rudo kick, punch, dodge, over and over, Zanka calling out commands. 

You feel eyes on you. You chance a glance to the benches and see Riyo, eyes unblinking. Her fingers are interlaced, elbows resting on her knees as she stares you down like an animal stalking its prey. It’s unsettling, a feeling of apprehension bids for attention as Rudo connects a kick to your side, sending you toppling. 

“Shit!” Rudo exclaims. “Y/N don’t let your guard down and get distracted!” Zanka chides. “Yeah, yeah.” You dust yourself off. You hear Riyo’s voice calling from the side, “Zanka, this is fun and all, but isn’t it better to practice fighting with their vital instruments.” Zanka pinches his brow, “For the last time, it’s crucial to build up a foundation-” “Right, right, but I wanna see her ability. I can spar with her!” 

Her voice is light, but there’s a look in her eye that puts you on edge. While you feel dubious about the source you were getting restless from not practicing with your cards. “I’d actually really like to practice with my jinki more too… I’m still not sure what all I can do…” 

Zanka sighs again, looking at Rudo and seeing a losing argument; three against one. “Fine, but take it easy, Riyo.” The redhead jumps up happily. You take out your pack of cards and flutter them out around you. Seeing them hover in the air gives you a thrum of excitement. If you use your imagination, what could you do? 

You're drawn from your thoughts by her approaching voice. “That’s nice and all…” She’s twirling something shiny on her index finger, “but scissors beat paper.” With a flash of green, she transformed the object in her hand into a large pair of scissors. Shit.

With a leap, you jump to the side, before she collides with you. With a sweep of your arm, three cards fly out of the spread, locking onto her as a target, she jumps back and away before honing in on you. With a jump and a kick she brings down the blades in your direction. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact when everything goes dark, the sound of a heavy crash in front of you. Your eyes open and you see yourself surrounded by a fan of oversized cards. “A shield?” You hear a muffled voice from outside. These cards really can protect you. Your heart clenches, gratitude. All those nights wishing to put a barricade between you and that man, to disappear from his lecherous gaze.

You kneel and prepare your next move, listening for her footsteps. Damn, you’d have to figure out a way to get visibility when using this. You hear her jump back to your left and you bolt out from the right, throwing three more cards in her direction. The domed fan of cards dissipates and whips around you. To disappear… 

You form the emotion in your mind and send another card whistling at her. She takes measured leaps, back, right, then launches herself in the air. You roll, avoiding the strike she brings down. She whips around and you ready yourself for her next attack. She turns quickly, scanning with her sharp eyes in a full circle. Zanka quirks his head, looking from her to you. Rudo calls out, “What’s wrong, Riyo?” “She, like, totally disappeared!” 

There’s a beat of silence as you and the boys share a long stare. Zanka puts his hands into a “T” and walks onto the court. “You can’t see her?” He asks looking again from her to you. “That’s what I said, right.” He puts both hands on her shoulders and turns her to face you. “Nope, nothing.” She states in a light voice. 

Zanka rests his chin on his hand, inspecting. Rudo walks between the two of you, waving a gloved hand. “She can see you, dipshit.” Zanka says. “Ah-” He looks intently at her back causing her to twist too. “Huh, is that…?” She reaches and peels a card from her skin. 

As she does, she looks directly at you, actually seeing you. “Woah! That’s so totally cool!” She gushes! Her face is cheerful, the calculating look gone from her eyes. The card zips from her hand to join the rest floating around you. “Huh…” You look at your hands, the cards. They had listened to you all along…

You’re interrupted by the loud clapping of hands. “Well that sure is something!” Enjin’s voice reverberated. She continues, tossing an arm around your shoulder saying excitedly, “She could be like a super spy!” You recall the cards into a neat deck in your hand, smiling as she jostles you. 

“I dunno, her offense and defense wouldn’t be bad in a fight either.” Zanka muses. Rudo nods a bit too emphatically, he’s clearly lost. “She’ll need more training.” Zanka continues, you say a prayer, body aching. These kids have so much energy.

Enjin lights a cigarette and reclines on the bench. Around the filter he says, “Keep up the good work!” That’s just cruel, napping right there while you’re busting your ass. You want to kick him but Zanka has you and Rudo continue with physical training as Riyo bids you all a farewell. You feel them, his eyes on you. 

Unlike Riyo’s calculating gaze, his is hungry. It’s annoying, distracting… So why do you miss it as soon as he leaves? The sky is tinted with deep orange by the time Zanka relents. Rudo looks like his soul has left his body and honestly you feel worse than that. “Passable work today, rest up and we can do more tomorrow.” Don’t cry, don’t cry. 

“Thanks for your time, Zanka. I learned a lot.” You give him a tired smile. “I learned about all the new places my body can sweat.” Rudo huffs from his spot on the ground. “Make sure you stretch and eat a good meal.” He gives you both a wave and departs.

It’s just you and Rudo, you join him lying on the ground, surface still warm from the sun. “Is he a demon or something?” You ask. “He’s worse.” Rudo replies. You look up to the sky, colors shifting. “Say… What was it like for you?” “Hmm?” “I mean, up there in the sphere?” He props himself up on an elbow.

“It was…” His eyes darken. “Some parts were ok… Mostly bad.” You roll to your side so your bodies are facing each other. You want to know more, but the troubled look on his face gives you pause. “Can I ask how you ended up down here?” You hedge. He’s silent for a long time. “... You said when we first met that you ‘didn’t do it’ well, it’s the same for me…”

 “Well, whatever we did or didn’t do, I’m glad you’re here.” You say, looking as he faces you. You continue, “Even though our lives up there were different, it’s nice to not be alone down here.” 

You see his tired brain mulling over the words. “Yeah.” Is all he responds, huffing and bouncing up to his feet with a wince. He moves to leave but says back, “See you at dinner.” Before entering headquarters. 

Alone, you lie on the ground, feeling the air shift to cool as the purples and pinks chase each other to the horizon. You’re not alone here.

Your rest is all too short before the car screeches to a stop. Your eyes flutter open as the door cracks and lets in the cool air of the evening. “C’mon, we’re here, let the doc take a look at you” The overly loud driver says ushering you out the door, offering an arm to you.

Strong. You resent having to grip his bicep to steady yourself. He’s like one of the marble statues in the master’s courtyard. Your eyes drift down, tracing the tattoo that disappears under the sleeve of his coat. “You look like you’re about to die, hurry up. HEY DOC. CODE BLUE, RED-” 

He stoops, searching for your eyes, “CODE PRINCESS, GET TO HER STAT!” He shouts with melodious drama. You let out a curt laugh at his lack of severity. You do feel like you’re on the brink of something scary, unknown. 

He carries you more than you walk into the clinic. You take a seat at the edge of the infirmary bed. The doctor is fully focused on one of the car’s other passengers before an eye darts to you, back, then locks on. 

“My GOODNESS! What happened to her?!” “Found her wandering out in the waste.” He says nonchalantly. “WANDERING?! WASTE?!” He’s sharply jostled as the doctor bustles over to you. The room swirls in a pleasant way, as if you had finished off one of the expensive bottles of liquor locked away in the manor’s study. 

There’s a crash as the door in the back of the infirmary slams open. “YO, GRANDMA, WHAT ARE THESE? THEY TASTE LIKE SHIT?” You look over in a daze. A smaller blonde woman clings to the man who kicked open the door, “That’s so rude, August! You can’t say that!” 

She fights against him as he continues his very vocal review of the sweets. “Grandma?!” The word choruses among the group. You feel like you’re back in the kitchen, cooking with the kids. Their unfiltered, very harsh critiques of the chef’s “healthy” snacks. Those two little ones had been your only light in that hellish manor. An obtuse bigger brother and a very sweet, soft spoken younger sister. 

You can’t stifle your laughter as the memories swirl in your mind. You can barely feel it when their eyes turn to you. “YO, GRANNY, ENJIN, WHO’S THAT?” Enjin? Is that his name? “August, be quiet! We’re in the treatment room! Don’t be so disruptive!” The younger woman pleads fruitlessly. 

“Found her out in the wastes,” Enjin repeats clearly bored. “Seems like she went through it.” “IS SHE ANOTHER… SPHERITE?! YO, RUDO CHECK OUT HER FIT!!! WHAT EVEN IS THAT?!” The man with long blonde hair is upon you, inspecting your clothing intently, making you squirm. “AUGUST! She’s a lady, don’t look- GRAB- at her like that!” The blonde woman says in a hushed, harsh tone, pushing him back. 

“SHE’S A TOTAL SMOKESHOW! BONE STRUCTURE! CURVES! SHE’S THE TOTAL PACKAGE” “AUGUST, SHUT UP! YOU CAN’T SAY THAT!” Her nervous voice cuts through the air. “BE MY MODEL! PREFERABLY MY-” He’s cut off by the young women smothering his mouth in her hands, “ENOUGH!” The doctor bellows. “Sorry, Grandma!” The woman practically weeps. 

You can’t hold back your laughter. It feels foreign, pleasant. You can’t remember when you laughed last. Without stifling it or holding back. “I think she’s concussed”, the young man with grey-blonde hair and choppy brows you saw in the car says with concern. 

“Lay down, dear!” The doctor barks at you. The kind words not matching the facial cues or volume. It takes zero convincing for you to recline on the firm surface. “Dehydration, exposure, multiple contusions…” The doctor mutters, working in a flurry, bald head glistening in the fluorescence. “I… I could help, Granny.” The timid woman states, body curling in on itself. “Do your worst” you chuckle, the ceiling becoming wavy as you feel your grip on consciousness slipping. 

You don’t remember much after that. A shock. A sensation like slipping into a warm bath. It feels so nice. Muscles relaxing, aches fading. You drift off, for how long you don’t know. When you wake up you’re in a sterile room, moonlight filtering through the window next to you. 

You sit bolt upright, scanning the room, Several beds line the walls, curtains drawn back as you are the only occupant. Your heart is in your throat, thundering away. You grip the starched fabric of the sheets covering you. It feels a shame to soil the bed with your filthy clothes but there is a relief to not having been changed. 

You feel more yourself, kicking your feet over the edge of the bed, throat burning, screaming for water. With what strength you’ve recovered, you stumble to the restroom in the corner, twisting the knob until cold water is pouring into your hand to be slurped up by you. You slump there, guzzling water until you hear a voice pierce the darkness. 

“Good god, you could call for a nurse. Here I am, at your service.” You jolt back, mouth dripping with faucet water. “I get the sense that’s not your primary role.” “What gave me away?” “Your hellish driving for one” This earns a chuckle. “Here” He tosses you a water bottle which bounces off of your arm to the ground. He stares at you with a dumb look on his face.

“You should work on your bedside manner.” You sneer, stooping to retrieve the bottle. “You would be my first complaint” His voice is laced with flirtation. You turn to chug the water. Between gulps you say, “Doubt that- Expect more.” You pause to breathe deeply, feeling every finger, toe; your whole body returning to you after fighting against them to continue the torturous march through the desert. It feels like a bad dream now.

You inhale again, breath tainted by the stench of your clothes, your filthy body, days of sweat and agony. “Shower.” You demand more than say. “ I could rearrange my schedule” “No, dickhead, I need a shower.” He stifles a laugh. 

With dramatic flair he continues “I thought you’d never ask! You’re a walking biohazard! Is this how spherite nobility live?! The battle of the odors?” You feel your face prickle. “Shut the fuck up! You don’t know anything!” He’d struck a nerve and he knew it. One of the few things you had in that life was your hygiene, washing off the grazing touches of the master and his fiendish friends. Your too hot baths and your deck of cards.

You’d shuffle them, hands dried gently on a towel draped over the edge of the porcelain. Above the tub, flipping through the cards over and over, water a good motivation to accomplish the card trick you were attempting. 

His hands come up “Sorry, sorry, it’s not actually that bad, I’m just messing with you.” Liar. “Whatever. Just… I need to shower, show me where to go.” “Are you sure you’re good to-” “Yes” You say exasperated, “please, I can’t stand the smell any more, I need to shower or take a bath or SOMETHING… Please…” He nods, gesturing out of the restroom for you to follow him. 

The door of the infirmary swings open and the creak along with two sets of footsteps are all that echo down the hall. You curl into yourself, trying to contain what you smell, it makes you feel sick. 

It feels like an eon before he swings a door open. You step inside, seeing a somewhat disheveled living space. Posters on the wall, open hair wax, clothes tossed on the back of a chair. It has a strong scent that matches the man before you.

“... Where is this?” “It’s my room, you can wash up here while we get your room situated.” You stand there, unmoving. “It’s not weird if you don’t make it weird.” He huffs, running a hand through his hair. 

“Keys.” “Excuse me?” “Give me the keys and leave.” You extend your hand expectantly. His dimples appear on his cheeks, “Yes princess.” he says with fake chivalry. He drops a heavy keychain into your hand, the metal jingles as it falls into your hand. You point to the exit which he steps to, hands raised. He starts to say something, pointing into the room, but you close the door in his face and lock it.

After scanning the room and seeing nothing suspicious you enter the bathroom. You close and lock that door for extra security, keys shimmering up at you from the porcelain sink. You peel off the layers of clothes that feel crusty against your skin. 

The water is buttery and perfectly warm. For such an asshat he has decent products in his shower. Who cooked here? You work up a lather, rinse, and another before conditioning. It feels incredible to scrub your body clean with your nails and soap. 

You are eating up every moment as the room fills with steam. That is until you realize you didn’t plan far enough ahead. You turn off the shower head, realizing the only towel in the room is his. You weigh your options, attempting to dry yourself as much as possible with swift sweeps of your hands across your skin. 

You finally concede and dry yourself with his towel, mentally promising to wash it. The next obstacle is your soiled clothes staring at you from the floor as your hair is cocooned in this man’s towel. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, feeling cognitive function returning and cursing yourself in colorful language. 

With a hand you wipe away the mist on the mirror, inspecting yourself. What injuries you had seemed to be healing rapidly. You turn, inspecting your back. Old scars and bruises overlap in a tapestry of what cruelty that bastard was capable of. 

As your skin dried you pump some of his face lotion and body lotion respectively.  Who cooked here?! You inhale. It’s him, his scent. You rub in the body lotion extra hard on your sore skin, shaking thoughts from your head. 

You tousle your hair, now using the towel to wrap yourself as you venture into his room. It feels so intrusive, but you’re just borrowing it’s not stealing (which the master would have delighted in punishing you for). After pawing through a drawer you take out the first shirt you hand grips. 

It’s entirely too big for you, thick and dark in color. You open a lower drawer and withdraw a pair of grey sweatpants, also too large. You picture him in these clothes and quickly thrust the image out of your mind. 

You feel intoxicated, his smell on your skin, the scent of his clothing. What’s wrong with you? You stomp back to the bathroom and gather up your filthy attire, towel safely slung over your shoulder as you snatch up the keys from the counter. 

You unbolt and swing the door open, the tall figure leaning next to it jumps. He sizes you up wearing his clothes, a hungry look in his eyes. “See you made yourself at home.” “I’ll wash everything, just show me the laundry room.” “Ma’am, yes ma’am!” He salutes. 

“I’m not a ma’am.” You say, giving a gentle elbow to him. You’re met with a rock solid core which makes you start ahead two steps. “This way.” He brings a hand to your shoulder, swinging you around with ease. 

“Y-yeah.” You turn your head to scan the wall next to you intently, counting up the numbers. He trails behind you. “So…” “So…” He breathes in his scent mingling with yours. As if to fill the silence he starts, “Givers. We’re people who can channel an item we’ve cared for deeply. Something that has a soul.” 

Your mind wanders back to a lesson with the children, “we must care for our things, treat them like friends and be kind and gentle with them.” It had hurt you to see how frivolously the master and his wife had burned through perfectly good things. Replacing them each season with what was new and trendy. Consumption, waste, gluttony, greed.

You had done your best with the younger members of the family, teaching them to treasure what they had. Your hand instinctively palms at your deck of cards in the pocket of your dirty clothes. 

You turn your eyes down, withdrawing the deck and depositing them in your his sweatpants surreptitiously.. “I guess I can understand that… I don’t know if I’m that. I mean, this is all really... New? For me…” “Of course. I mean Semiu saw you and, well, you can meet her and ask but… You’re probably in the right place, let’s say that.” “I don’t really understand, honestly.” “I need to keep my mysterious, sexy nature, princess. Plus it's more fun to watch you figure it out on your own.” 

You throw a dirty look over your shoulder to see his finger pointing to the right. “Right here, literally.” You make a sharp turn, he clicks on the light. Depositing your clothes in a washer and his towel in another, he sets detergent and softener on the machine next to you. 

“Not as easy to come by as you’d expect, princess.” You snatch them up. “Stop calling me that.” “But you’re my-” “Don’t even finish that sentence.” “You’re a-” “Uh uh.” You shake your head. He reaches across you, punching in the proper buttons to ‘wash’ as you step back. 

“Thanks.” “Anytime princ-” you reach up to physically grab his mouth, “Y/N. That’s my name." "Anytime, Y/N” he mumbles into your hand, the tips of his ears ever so slightly reddened. You release him. 

“I’m starving…” You turn, looking up and down the hallway. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he points down the hallway behind you. “Dining hall is down on the right.” He states, lacking the tenacity you’ve grown to expect from him. 

“Well, what’re you waiting for?” “Yes ma’a-Y/N. Right this way, Princes-Y/N.” “You suck at this” You laugh. “Bedside manner 3/10. Nurse…” “Enjin” He supplies, “I’m doing the best I can.” He jostles your shoulder. “I’m bad at this part, ask anyone.” “Hmmm.” You shove down the thoughts of the one who recommended your haircare, your skincare…You don’t want to hurt your feelings. 

You smell it before you see it. A warm dining hall. Before you know it a balanced meal you could’ve only dreamed of is set on a plate before you. You barely sit before you’re scarfing it down, bench creaking as Enjin plops down next to you, two drinks in hand. 

“Say, how old are you?” “Are you seriously asking a woman her age?” “Nah, you’re right, it’s just, this is wine-” “Old enough, I’m flattered” you swipe it from his hand. 

Bodies mill around you, one pauses. “Why are you eating like that?” It’s the ruby-eyed young man, Rudo. He looks at you with contempt. You chew and swallow hard, “Like what?” “You’re nobility, right?” You choke a bit on your food, chasing it ungracefully with a swig of wine. “I- uh - I think that we got off on the wrong foot. I’m not any kind of nobility. I was a servant to a noble family. Honestly, it was a total nightmare.” 

His eyes are still suspicious. The man next to you stiffens. The alcohol of the wine is hitting you quickly. “Servant, slave, I didn’t mean shit. Wait, see, look” You lift your shirt, twisting to show the disaster of your back unabashedly. Pointing to a notable slash on your shoulder blade stating, “Didn’t refill his glass fast enough” as easily as if you were saying the sky was blue.

His ruby eyes widen then narrow. He sits down hard across from you. “Is that really what it’s like on the other side?” His mind seems to be working overtime. You lower your shirt, seeing his reaction, maybe it was too much. “...Yeah. It was hell. Everyday.” 

His eyes lock dangerously on the table. “It was, well, horrible, but… I’m sure it was different for other people, I just had a real monster as my mast- head of house…” You sputter on, words pouring from your mouth to fill the air. “...Spherite? That’s what we are, is that right? I don’t really get it, but I heard it a lot…” He simply nods. There’s an uncomfortable silence between the two of you.

Your hand naturally drifts to your pocket, palming the deck of cards nervously; an old habit. “I, uh, I guess it was different for you too, huh…” You say. His eyes are burning holes in the wood. “I’m so… Disappointed.” He says in a low, venomous voice, his gloved hands clenched tight enough to make the material squeak. 

“The other side… That whole world is rotten to its core.” You lace your fingers and rest your chin atop them. “Looks like we have something  else in common...” There’s a resonance with his anger. In a low voice you continue, “If I could burn it all to the ground, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

You take another deep gulp of the drink, “I’m… Sorry.” The words sound unnatural as they leave his lips. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions when we met.” He raises his head, a grotesque expression on his face. You hear the man next to you sputter and feel the mist of the beverage spraying from his mouth. 

Wild roaring laughter and the table bouncing as a large tattooed hand slaps it. “What is that face, Rudo?!” The deep, sappy voice of Enjin fills every corner of the dining hall with its warmth. 

Rudo’s face twists into his natural scowl. “Shut up old man! It’s a smile! You do that when you apologize.” “HAAAAHHAAA WHAT?!” He dabs wetness from the corners of his eyes. Rudo scoffs, turning to stand. You place a hand gently on his glove, “Rudo, right? I really appreciate your apology.” 

You look deeply in his eyes as he freezes. “And you don’t have to smile when you apologize, just- whenever you feel like it. Like when you’re happy.” You press two fingers to your cheeks pulling up to smile like you had done so many times to distract the little ones if they cried. “Like this.” 

He looks like he could cry. You press your fingers to his cheeks and mimic the previous motion, an affectionate gesture that would always end tantrums with giggles. “But you don’t have to force yourself to smile if you don’t feel like it, especially with me.” 

 He whips his face to the side, rubbing his cheeks lightly. “Y-yeah.” He departs swiftly, unceremoniously. “Me next,” the man next to you teases. You ignore him, diving back into your meal with some self-conscious restraint. He leans back with a ‘hmph.’ 

Your eyes scan the room, recognizing some faces. You feel him leaning in to invade your space. “Whatcha lookin’ at? Checking out Gris’s ass?” You slap at him which he dodges. “Sounds like you are,” You shoot back through a mouthful of food. 

“Guess you never got a proper introduction.” He points a long, tattooed finger, “that guy there from the car with the scar is Gris. Total tank, but I’m stronger” You hear the smug smile in his voice. You follow his finger, “You met Rudo but, oh, that guy with the greyish hair and eyebrows is Zanka. He’s the most skilled Jinki user here.” His voice swells in volume with the compliment. You see the man, Zanka, straighten and raise his head proudly all while acting like he wasn’t listening to the conversation. 

“Jinki?” You ask inquisitively. “Yeah, it’s like our tool, I think I mentioned it earlier. The item givers can imbue with power.” “Wow, big word, Enjin.” You tease. You see a flash and a toothy smile, “I’m full of surprises.” He’s too close. “Who’s that?” 

You point in a random direction, trying to distract him, yourself. “Riyo, she’s another giver.” He rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward, finger darting around, “Tomme, Follo, they’re supporters, Gris is too, just means they don't have jinki but they're all tough as hell even without it… Huh. Yeah, guess that’s everyone that’s here now from earlier.” His eyes scan the room. 

You watch his irises, a brilliant gold, eyes framed with thick, heavy lashes. His profile is stunning. Earlobe heavy under the weight of a large, black earring. You look lower, seeing the black and red ink swirling on the side of his neck, slightly covered by some kind of choker before disappearing under the collar of a shirt similar to the one you’re wearing. 

“Like what you see?” Your eyes dart back up. His dimple pressed in with a suggestive smirk. Eyes lock. You fight against the warmth spreading on your cheeks. “NO- not no- I mean… I like your tattoos.” You clear your throat and drink to the end of your glass. He rises picking up both glasses in one hand. 

“Seems like you can’t hold your alcohol, you’re turning red.” “Uh, yeah. Right.” You busy yourself with the last few bites of your food. “I’ll get you some water. Want anything else?” Your stomach growls as if on cue. He chuckles, “Wait right here.” He walks away, shirt billowing across his broad back. 

Stupid. He’s so stupid. You chew hard. It felt weird, not making your own plate. Having someone do something for you. You’ve always played the other role in the dynamic. You hear the scrape of your plate on the table before a new one takes its place, overflowing with heaps of food. Water placed next to it.

“I’ll finish off whatever you don’t feel like eating.” Enjin says, sliding back into his spot next to you. “You didn’t have to do all of this… Thank you.” You take a few bites before casting a glance at the quiet man. He has a stupid smile plastered on his face. You cough, beating your chest as you battle to chew and stifle laughter. “Anything for you, Y/N.” 

His voice, though teasing, is soothing, safe. Has anyone spoken to you in such a way? Maybe a distant memory. Parents whose faces have blurred over time, memories at the edge of your mind. You slow, feeling full for the first time in ages. You slide the plate to him wordlessly. 

You look around, smiling faces, ambient chatter. There’s a swelling in your chest that has you pressing into it with a clenched hand. “You stroking out or something? Should I call Eisha back?” You shake your head ‘no.’ “This is… really nice.” The candor of your voice is disarming. “I…” I’m so happy. “I’m kinda tired. Is there somewhere that I can sleep?” 

“I can help with that.” A woman walks with clicking heels to the end of the table. She’s tall, toned arms, and a scandalous waist. Her glasses glint as she looks down at you. “Semiu! Hey girl! I was just about to offer-” He leans into you suggestively. 

“Shut the hell up. You’re working my last nerve.” She tilts her glasses up to massage the bridge of her nose. She places a set of keys on the table with a gentle jingle. She stares at you intently. Are her glasses glowing or is it a trick of the light?

She pushes the bridge up with a manicured finger and says, “Rest up tonight, you can meet the boss tomorrow. It’s up to you, but you’ll have a roof over your head here anytime.” She turns on a heel to walk away. “Thank you, uh, Semiu.” She gives you a slight wave.

You pick up the key. Your own key. You’ve carried that heavy ring of keys for years, all for the endless rooms of the manor. None that belonged solely to you; no way to lock yourself away from the life you had before. It feels heavier than any other. You grip it tightly. 

You feel his eyes on you. His chin resting in his palm. There’s a look in his eyes you can’t place. For all his sarcasm and flirtation there are little moments like this that take you entirely off guard. “Rest up, I’ll still be as dashingly handsome tomorrow.” There it is. You roll your eyes, rising to leave. “See you in your dreams~” he calls after you. 

You ignore him, turning down the hallway. You feel a food coma setting in. Your eyes are heavy as you count down the numbers until they match the one on your keychain. With a resounding click, you creak open the door to your room. It’s sparse, tidy, and yours. You collapse onto the mattress, asleep before your head lands on the pillow.

There’s a ringing. A pungent smell, snapping you from the darkness. Your sensations focus, body prodded and jabbed against the plastic beneath you. Lungs beg for air, but oxygen is denied. A white hot electricity shoots through you. Your body is heavy, aching against the animalistic strain for you to move. With a rough crinkle of plastic you sit upright on the heap of garbage bags. 

The air is heavy, rancid. An acidic burning in the back of your throat fights to be released. This must be hell. Your eyes burn, body heaving as the bile in your stomach spills from your mouth and nostrils. 

Rage. The air, if you can even call it that, is putrid. Disgusting. Your cheeks are hot, wet, eyes welling over. That motherfucker, motherfucker. You claw your way down the heap, gagging and gasping in the hot, rotten air billowing from the mountain of thousands of black, shimmering bags. 

As you tumble to the sand you finally get a full inhale of scalding hot air. A desert? You’ve heard of it in books, so distant from your life before. A sea of sand, what this must be. Small grains slipping between your fingers. 

Hell. This is hell. Heat sweeps in waves around you, warping the earth like water. You stumble away from the dump. The stench clings to every inch of your skin, each inhale tainted with filth making your hollow stomach churn. 

Those filthy clothes, filthy even when fresh and washed. A symbol of your role, rank. They’re rank. They were nothing more than your shackles in that hell of a house. The house that consumed you, worked you to the bone. 

You’re lucky you’re not starving on the streets. Lucky you, working for such an established family. How kind of them to take in a sad little orphan like you. Your stomach lurched again. Like in those looming, marble halls. They were a different hell. Each step, move calculated. 

“Luck” others would call it. You should have been grateful. You were for a brief moment. The only light was the children. The babies you nannied from the time you were but a child yourself; too young to be poisoned by the world they were growing into. 

There were years before the master called on you for his poker nights. The sun was chasing the sky to sunrise, so dark as night sank in. Hours ticked pass. Cards shuffling between your hands. Your hands. 

The hands of the master and the other wealthy men in the room wandered. Reaching, stroking, groping if you didn’t maneuver correctly. Exhaustion of the day hanging heavily over you like a wool coat. You practiced, practiced, practiced. 

The deck of cards, what you could do, shuffle… Performance was the barrier between you and them. A trick, a slight of hand, something to distract what attention they had left after those expensive bottles of liquor lay empty. 

They were your 52 friends in the manor. You shuffled them daily, flipping, fanning, cutting. Over and over. Make it impressive, distracting, entertaining. You’re worthless if you don’t have this. Without this you’re only you and if you’re only you then you only have one thing those men want... 

The memory brings a chill in the blistering heat as you trudge forward, aimlessly. You know they’re there without even touching your pocket. You feel the worn pack of cards against your hip. They were your treasure. All you need if not a glass of water or a plate of food. 

You gulp, throat still raw. Everything hurts. You look up to an inky sky. Had you really fallen? Survived? Is this your punishment? Everything the master had promised to a “wretched bitch” like you. The wind changed. Coldness clinging to you as the overbearing heat is swept away all too quickly.

Night. Is that what it is here too? You continue limping forward, fighting the resistance in your muscles. All that waits if you stop is death. You wouldn’t give those bastards the pleasure. Fuck that. Fuck them. You want to wrap your fingers around their throat. Squeeze until their eyes bug. 

Squeeze harder as their nails dig into your wrists. See fear in that bastard’s eyes. Feel the hot stickiness of blood dripping onto your fingers. Slamming his head into the damned white marble of the foyer until it’s stained crimson. Again and again and again. You repeat with each step forward. 

You would kill him. Kill them, all of them. Spare those children the wrath of his fist, his belt, his drink, his touch. That furnace of anger fuels you to walk until you lose time, count, steps. Until the sky lights anew. Forward. You wouldn’t let this end here. Not yet. Not yet. As you persist.

***

Thoughts were blurring. Was it once dark and twice light? Was it day or night? Two days? Three? You were hallucinating. Pools of what looked like water were sand. Mirages darting away from you every time you got close. You had no more tears to shed. 

In the wind you could hear the whisper of the children laughing, master yelling, his wife chiding you in that perfectly icy way. You lick your shredded, dry lips, tasting iron. This was it. You hear a distant humming. Rushing towards you. You finally relent. The cease in movement makes your muscles lock painfully. Your body won’t let you take another step. 

If this is the end you curse him with every ounce of your body, soul. It’s closer, a roaring. You close your eyes, embracing the end. Breathing the rippling, sandy air deeply. It bears down on you. Like a roaring engine. 

An engine? SCREECH. You're hit with a wave of hot sand that makes you sway. CLICK. A door is swung open. “H-hey! What? Are you okay?!” A deep, flustered voice calls to you. You don’t have the strength to answer. You crack an eye open against the hazy air to see a handsome face with a scar snaking across his left eye running towards you. 

“Huh, we found another spherite straggler all the way out here? Rudo, come get a look at this!” Another voice calls out. It’s nonchalant, calm and sweet like honey. Cutting through the nerves of survival instincts. 

For the first time in years you feel like you can relax. Your blurry vision tracks the new voice. Dimples, golden halo, deep eyes. An angel? You’d see plenty of paintings in the master’s house. Angels from heaven coming to the land of humans with messages. Protectors. 

“Damn. You look like shit, princess.” You’re delirious. You try to raise a hand to slap him but it locks up halfway, shaking. “Don’t push yourself. Yo, these clothes look different, but they’re spherite, right, Rudo?” Spherite? What is this guy saying? 

A third smaller face. Ruby, disdainful eyes bore into you. “Yeah, an elite… What’d she do to get dumped here?” You swallow, throat feeling like sandpaper. “... Nothing... I didn’t do it.” you choke out, wanting to cry, scream, anything. “Hmmm, must’ve been pretty bad.” The tall blonde says to no one in particular. 

“We can’t just leave her out here, she’ll die.” A higher female voice calls from a distance. You squint seeing a pretty young woman with a curtain of dark hair leaning across the backseat to call out the open door. “I guess we’re going to the doc’s anyways…” The tall blonde says absently. 

“Say, are you a giver?” He asks leaning into you. You recoil, “Are you some kind of pervert?!” You croak out. “Let’s save the questions for later” the handsome, scarred man mediates, arms moving up and down in a soothing tone to the taller man. 

He laughs, dimples dipping deeper into his cheeks, “Am I a pervert?! Do you have a dirty mind or what?!” He cackles. “Shut UP! Sorry, uh, sorry miss. It doesn’t mean anything bad. We really are going to the doctor. Please let us take you with us.” There’s a sincerity in his deep blue eyes. 

It’s hard to say no to him. You shuffle a step towards them, muscles protesting. “Damn, how long have you been out here.” The tall blonde says, scooping you up. “D-don’t!” You cough out. “OOff, you stink like shit” You feel your face flush, eyes prickling with tears that couldn’t form. “Put me down!”

He’s already placing you gently in the car, whistling to a redheaded woman and motioning with his head for her to jump in the back seat as the younger red-eyed man scoots to the middle. You curl into yourself, hoping to contain the rancid smell of your impact in the trash heap and voyage through the desert. 

It’s hopeless, the smell burns even your eyes. You hear the front doors click open. “You’re safe now. We’re really not far, just hang on.” The scarred man says to you over his shoulder. “Faster with me driving” His dimpled companion quips from the driver’s seat, revving the engine. 

“So you’re some kind of nobility? Is that right, Rudo?” The redheaded woman asks, leaning over the seat, into your bubble. You cringe away from her as the car jostles forward at breakneck speed. “No, nothing like that…” 

“Her outfit. It’s for the noble families up there… She’s probably an heiress or something” The white-haired boy, Rudo, next to you bites, refusing to look at you. Defensively you say loudly, shredding your throat, “I’m not… I’m… I was-” You’re cut off by a particularly brutal bump. 

“Quit bickering back there, kiddos!” The driver shouts back, cranking the music. “We only have a little ways to go. With cracked fingers you press at the buttons of the door, cracking the window. The sound of rushing air is soothing; praying it takes some of the smell with it. You press your face to the cool glass of the window. Within moments you feel yourself slipping into a sleep that has been clawing at your consciousness for days. 

A young, dark-haired man wrestles in the trunk and finally produces a fresh bottle of water, “Here you go, drink this.” Moving to hand you the bottle. “Oh, she's out.” The redhead states, amused. “Let her rest” The driver says in a low voice, driving becoming more intentional. The white-haired boy scoffs. The driver gives him a hard stare through the rearview mirror, he turns to glare out the opposite window. 

“How’d she make it so far without a mask?” The man furthest to the right of the back seat asks. His hair is long and immaculately styled, finger tapping a lip piercing that bobs with each vowel. “Good question…” The mountain of a man from the back starts, “Poor thing must be exhausted” “That’s not exactly what I meant but…” The long-haired man responds. 

The music swells further as a tattooed hand twists the volume knob, “We’ll be there soon, let’s all just chill.” The driver states. There’s a resounding hum from the car as they trek through the wasteland.

Rotting on the sofa all day is wildly preferable to remembering even a second of the previous evening. To say you’re mortified wouldn’t even come close. Those feelings aren’t ready to be processed. Your phone has been turned off entirely, the wall of missed calls and messages from the past few days getting the best of you. 

There’s a particular message from Naoto Tachibana that you’re not brave enough to open. Youtube playing through your earbuds on your computer, the TV at a volume loud enough to drown out your thoughts, and a game are your only companions today; anything distracting is welcome. You still aren’t able to shake the memories that pop into your mind. Everytime you think about it, you feel yourself cringe with an unrivaled intensity. But something else stirs in you.

The memory of his scent. The firm muscles of his back. The way they flexed as he maneuvered the monster of a bike with expert precision, the power of that bike’s ferocious engine. You feel the space between your legs awaken. You’re bewildered. Something must be fundamentally wrong with your brain chemistry. You distract yourself by showering, washing off the memory of last night. Taking some extra time to relieve the sensation building up. When you finish, you slip into some light loungewear and move back to your nest on the couch. 

Picking your game back up, you’re ready to dive in when the doorbell rings. Freezing is your first response before weighing your options. You could just pretend you’re not home… But the TV could definitely be heard from the hallway... There’s a knock this time. You rise slowly, taking light tip-toes to the door. Another knock and then a voice. 

“Hey, you’re not answering your phone… Can we talk…?” You recognize the voice without even looking out of your peephole. It’s Mikey. You rest your head against the coolness of your door, feeling your heart drop. The sensation is pleasant against the prickling heat spreading across your face. You aren’t ready to deal with this. He sighs, just loud enough to be heard from the hallway. There’s a rustle of plastic, “I brought your favorite.” You peek out the peephole, he’s holding up a plastic convenience store bag heavy with drinks and snacks. There’s a melancholy tugging in your chest. 

He had come all this way, he even brought a peace offering. The image that had accompanied you in the shower still has your mind a little fuzzy but a pit forms in your stomach. You take a deep breath. Trying to ease the unpleasant feeling. The feeling that creeps in before a confrontation; a break up. Let’s just get this over with. You click the lock to open, cracking the door. He looks surprised. 

Immediately losing your tenacity, backing away from the door. “Is it ok?” He asks. You nod, giving him access. Moving slowly to take a seat at your counter, crossing your arms over your chest, hiding yourself as you realize your lounge outfit is thinner than you would normally wear around guests. He steps into your entryway, looking around. Slipping off his shoes, he walks towards you slowly as if to gauge your response. Your heartbeat increases. You hate this, the anticipation of whatever conversation was to come. 

There’s a crinkle of plastic as he places the bag on your counter next to you before backing off to lean on the opposite counter. His hand gently grip the edge, creating a cushion between the surface and his back. There’s a soreness in his knuckles where they rub against his pants causing him to adjust his grip and lean forward slightly. This movement, the curve and flex of his arms is caught in your periphery.

         “So…” He starts. You’re unable to meet his eyes, to even look at him. The silence makes your nerves spike. Let’s just rip the bandaid off. You’d never have to see him again. The thought made your chest hurt. Is that what you really want? You fold, breaking the silence with, “I honestly- can we please just forget last night ever happened.” He pauses, you can feel his eyes on you, which does nothing to aid your frazzled brain. 

“No.” He says simply. You blink, the chair creaks as you straighten, turning slightly in his direction. “No?” “No. I told you last night I would make it right. I meant it.” You huff, a curt laugh, feeling your throat tighten. A hard swallow, a steadying breath as you roll your eyes to stare at the ceiling. 

“Mikey… I’m mortified. I-I, last night feels like a nightmare, the last week - hell - even longer, I feel like I’m losing my mind - this place - this fucking city I-” A deep breath through your nose, feeling your lungs fight to expand against the tension in your chest, head slumping forward. There’s a searing heat, the frustration, the shame, thoughts swirling. The quick, rhythmic thumping as you bounce your leg unconsciously. 

Your teeth dig into your lower lip, the dull pain anchoring you. “I hate this.” You mutter, just above a whisper. It hangs in the air. “I hate…” feeling like I’m a pawn, like an idiot who can’t see what’s right in front of them, useless, useless, useless. You feel suffocated, thoughts and feelings fighting for dominance. “Me?” His voice is gentle, but it slices through you nonetheless. You don’t need to think before your head is shaking ‘no.’

“Well that’s a relief.” His voice is light, it is light. You want to wrap yourself in it, to let it pull you out of the depth, the darkness you feel yourself drowning in. “I hate… feeling useless - like - a burden… Not understanding what’s happening…” “...Well, I take it you never read my messages.” You shake your head ‘no’ again, feeling like a petulant child. He leans his head back, saying mostly to himself, “What am I gonna do with you?”

You had forgotten, or willingly ignored that he had been messaging you in the time since the lounge party. “I’m sorry…” you turn fully to face your TV, your stomach twisting uneasily. He sighs again. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

You don’t move, shoving down all of the intrusive thoughts of what you do have to apologize for. He laughs dryly. “How about this? Anything. I’ll do anything you say. Anything you ask to make this right. You just say the word. But I can’t forget… And… I’d prefer not to leave.” He seems to be choosing his words carefully.

“Mikey…” You start, exasperated. “Anything.” He says lower. You don’t have to look, you feel his energy shift. “I’m serious-” “So am I.” He counters. It feels safe here, somehow, having him near you. One of your hand trails to the bag, next to you, crinkling the plastic between your fingers - it’s relaxing, distracting. The optimistic side of you is begging to humor him. “Anything?” You ask tentatively. “Anything.” He says in that finite tone of his.

You feel around the bag, plastic damp from condensation, pulling out your favorite convenience store drink. How did he know? You stifle a smile. “...Open this.” You say. He’s across the counter from you in an instant, removing the drink from your hand, opening it, and returning it in one fluid movement. You take a sip while you think of your next request, the pit in your stomach seems to lessen. 

Why not test your power. You look around your room. “Um… Lock the door please.” He moves and clicks the door closed. “And straighten up my shoes while you’re over there.” He does. “This is weird, are you like my butler now? Or a dog?” You joke, feeling more like yourself with him. 

“Is there one you’d prefer?” He jokes back, returning to his spot in the kitchen as the atmosphere lightens. “Hmmm. I don’t know. This could be a good loophole for my apartment’s no-pets policy. How about… Sit.” He plops down next to your seat on the kitchen floor with no hesitation. “Good boy.” You joke, patting his head. His hair is soft under your palm. 

It’s creeping up on you. That veil of warm fuzziness that coats your brain, loosening the grip of sadness and anxiety in your chest. It makes it hard to focus. It quiets the voices. The embarrassment. You finally meet his eyes that are looking up to you from the floor. Fuck. 

His cheeks are dusted with a rosy blush and… His pupils are completely blown out… You feel a twang somewhere deep inside you that ripples through your entire body. The veil fully falling over your brain. Your eyes devour his face like this. It’s better than you could have imagined. 

Your eyes trail down his body. His sharp jawline, the way his shirt drapes and reveals his angular collar bone, the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing gets heavier. The taper of his waist, you look lower and see a prominent bulge in his pants. Your heart skips and begins again at a thunderous pace. He must see the subject of your gaze as he adjusts to cover himself slightly. He starts, voice low, “It’s… I…”

In a soft voice you ask again, “Anything?” Testing the water. A dark look flashes across his face, “Anything.” He replies, just above a whisper, the word taking on a new meaning. You pause. There would be no going back from this moment. Whatever fears or nerves were trying to get to the logical side of your brain were being held down by the warm, gooey, honey now filling your mind. You feel that tingly warmth spreading across your skin. 

“Close your eyes.” You request gently. His eyes close slowly, finally releasing you from his captive gaze. You take a moment to admire the man before you; no one else, no judgment. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your heart clench. You wish you could freeze this moment, unmoving in a space where only the two of you exist. 

For him, it’s almost unbearable. The darkness of his eyelids, knowing you’re right in front of him. He hears the gentle scrape of your chair on the floor, your light footsteps. You hesitate, hand hovering over the defined structure of his broad shoulders, the warmth of his body seeping through his clothes. He jumps slightly, feeling your fingertips on him. With a gentle hand you caress from his left shoulder between his shoulder blades to his right as you walk a small circle around him, goosebumps rising on his skin in the absence of your touch. He sits there, dutifully, his lashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks.  

He hears the soft thud of your knees on the ground as you kneel in front of him. He can smell you, fresh and clean from the shower. He breathes in deeply, memorizing your scent. “What happened to your hands?” You lift his right lightly, looking at the rough skin of his knuckles. “...Fight.” You lightly rub your thumb over the reddened skin, seeing the color lighten and return with each touch. 

“Last night?” “Yeah… After…” “You dropped me off?” “Yes.” You massage his hand gently. “Should I ask?” You say with a soft laugh. “You can. If you want. Anything.” His breath is steady, deep. You place his hand back at his side. “As long as the other guy looks worse than you, I guess it doesn’t matter.” Your mind is busy conjuring the image. “Was there ever any doubt?” A smile ghosts his face.

 It’s honestly hard to picture. He’s always composed, unbothered. What did he look like, how would he act then? You imagine the fire in his eyes, his fists connecting with a blurry face. That side of him. Violence, it shouldn’t be attractive. He can feel you leaning closer, the puff of your breath on his lips. You linger there, mere millimeters from his face. It shouldn’t… “...Can I kiss you?” You barely got the question out before he crushes your lips together.

Pouncing into action the second you gave him permission. He cups your face in his rough hands, kissing you deeply and passionately. Slowly, though he’s clearly making an effort to restrain himself to do so. His lips are warm and soft. You taste him, after imagining for so long. You want more, need more. He pulls you closer to him, feeling as though you could melt into his heat. You run your hands through his hair, tangling one there as the other trails down the side of his cheek, ending at his neck. You trace light patterns there in the sensitive expanse of milky skin. 

He groans into the kiss and you feel a small prodding on your lower stomach. You’re dizzy, finally breaking the kiss for air. Your mouths are glossy as the two of you breathe heavily, oxygen rushes back to your brain. He busies himself, planting small kisses all over your face. 

You can’t stop the little laugh that escapes at the affectionate gesture, a flood of happiness rushing through you. He smiles against your forehead as he plants another kiss there. Pausing as he breathes you in, his arms tighten around you in a possessive embrace. 

You hum, thumb still rubbing soft strokes up the column of his neck. He breathes deeply again, placing a firm kiss on your temple. Moving his lips down to your ear. He has to be able to feel how hard your heart is beating. He gives a gentle nip to your earlobe that makes you jump, you feel the corner of his mouth tick up where it’s pressed to your hot cheek. He speaks softly in your ear, “Any further requests?” The ache between your legs is begging you to be relieved yet again. 

You feel like you’re in another dream, like you’d snap awake at any moment. You run your hand through his hair again, feeling it slip like silk through your fingers just to remind yourself that he’s real. “I…” You can hear your heartbeat in your eardrums. 

One of the hands cupping your face drifts down to your neck, mirroring what you do to him. Your breath hitches. He notices. “I need you to ask. I want to hear it…” He says, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. The sensation makes you shiver. 

You’ve had sex before, different people, different flavors. They were fun in the moment, but the one through line is that it never really felt like it was about you. These feelings, this situation are uncharted waters for you. 

“... I… What do you want?” You whisper, nuzzling into him. You feel the anxiety breaking through the warm goo of your mind. He pulls back, eyes seeing right through you. His face softens, “Those weren’t the rules.” He says gently, punctuating the statement with a light kiss to your forehead. 

“Last night I took something from you without asking. I want to ask, but… It’s yours. You should tell me. CAN tell me. Say what you want, Y/N. It’s yours. It’s done.” You feel a fresh rush of blood to your face. “I want you.” You confess again. He presses his lips to your throat earning him a soft gasp. “Tell me.” He says into the sensitive skin there. “Tell me, baby. I want to make you feel good.” He gives a slow, scalding hot swipe of his tongue up the column of your neck for good measure. You feel a shiver down your spine.

“I… Um… It’s been awhile…” You confess abashedly. “Since I… Since someone… I usually… By myself…” You pant. One of his hands trails from your neck, tracing a line between your breasts. His chest separates from yours ever so slightly to give him access. You feel a twinge as the sensitive buds rise to firm tips beneath the light fabric in the absence of the warmth of his body. You feel another throb against your stomach as he sees the peaks form through your top. “I usually… touch… myself. Will you… touch me?” You ask, feverishly. 

“Good girl. Asking so nicely.” You feel a flutter in between your legs at the praise. You shift on your knees, the tile beginning to dig into your skin, leaving small impressions. He sees the movement, pulling back looking around for a moment before scooping you up. 

He glides with you to your small bedroom. Maneuvering around the door in a fluid motion. He seats you gently on the edge of the bed with a bounce, you lean back on your elbows. He pulls back a bit. Devouring the view of you, nipples beaded under the thin fabric covering them. The heavy rise and fall of your chest. The unmistakable wet spot soaking through the fabric of the lounge shorts. 

“Fuck.” His voice is low. You feel a wave of embarrassment under his intense gaze, clocking the wet spot in your shorts too. You try to cover yourself. “Let me see, pretty girl. Don’t hide from me.” He moves to hold your hands, falling to his knees in front of you. “Oh fuck. I- I’m so sorry… Your bike seat.” The thought penetrates through your filter.

You feel that familiar wave of shame wrack your body yet again. “Don’t apologize.” He says in a serious tone. “You don’t have to, you don’t know. You don't know what that did to me… I’m sorry, sorry for my carelessness, for putting you in that position...” He leans into you from his spot on the floor shaking the thoughts from his head, pressing you to recline on your elbows once more. He’s over you, kissing you deeply. “Say it, babe. Say it again.” He says into the kiss, a needy edge to his voice.

“Touch me, please.” He kisses you hard, his body relaxing as he ghosts a hand up your leg, pushing up the edge of your shorts before increasing the pressure to knead small circles into the meaty, sensitive skin at the top of your thigh. You whimper. His touch is so close to the spot that really craves it. 

His thumb pushes further up, not even reaching the edge of your panties before he is swiping the slick wetness that is leaking from you. “Look at my pretty girl. Already so wet for me.” You feel yourself clench which earns a dark laugh from the blonde. “So eager.” “Please.” You struggle to control desperation in your voice.

He presses you into the mattress, pulling himself up to hover over you before locking his lips back to that cruel spot on your neck, his other hand wrapping around your throat in a firm but comfortable grip, adding pressure to the kisses he plants. Small noises escape your lips. 

The bulge in his pants twitches against your leg. He groans into your throat, the vibration euphoric. He relents, kissing a trail down to your collarbone, giving a quick nip to the skin there. You inhale sharply, the movement of your body held back firmly to the mattress by the hand caging your neck. His hair tickles as he moves his head lower. He nuzzles into your breast. “Oh baby, look at you.” He adjusts his grip on your neck, letting you look down. His eyes meet yours from his lower position. He gets a devilish look seeing you watch. 

His tongue darts out from between his lips, licking you through your shirt. A wet spot forms over the bud. “Oh fuck.” You say. Holding his gaze as he continues. He gives a gentle nip to the soft flesh before sucking through the fabric. The added layer of sensation had the knot deep inside of you twisting. Your head falls back on the soft mattress as he continues sucking and nipping through your shirt. Your chest rises to meet him. All the while massaging the slick edge of your panties.

He gives a firm lick before pulling back, the wet spot is cold so quickly under the cool air of your AC. He trails kisses down your ribs, lips meeting skin where your shirt has ridden up. He kisses down to the waistband of your shorts. In a swift motion, he grabs behind your  knees and loops your legs over his shoulders. An electric shock courses through your body. Your hands dart to his silky blonde hair, holding him back from the wet spot between your legs. He inhales deeply, suggestively. 

“What are you doing?” You say, your voice coming out higher than expected. “Following your instructions.” He teases, that smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Anything you don’t like or don’t want, say the word and I’ll stop.” He says. Despite his serious tone, his dilated eyes and rosy cheeks betray him. Your grip loosen on his hair. A sharp smile stretches across his face, pleased at your signal for him to continue. He nuzzles into the warm wet of you. He breathes deeply, finally able to smell you and not the ghost of you on his bike seat. 

His nose presses into you, prodding that bundle of nerves. Your hips buck unconsciously at his touch. He hums into you with approval. His mouth locks around you, tasting you through your clothes. A low, guttural noise escapes you. He sucks the wetness there, the sensation wholly foreign. He has to fight to control himself, the taste of you on his tongue makes him throb against his thigh. It’s so much better than he imagined, your sweet juices, leaking from you as you twitch for him. But he wanted this to last. Unlike you, he isn’t nice enough to not bully you a little bit. He pulls back, licking you from his lips hungrily. 

He works painfully slowly, a finger coming to rub a firm line over your slit through the sopping fabric. Your whole body shivers, finally being touched after being teased for so long. He comes back up to latch back onto the wet spot of your shirt, warm again in his mouth. He continues rubbing firm strokes over you, that searing spot of pleasure as your hips move to meet his fingers. 

Finally, he peels back the fabric of your shorts, discarding them, rubbing you through your underwear. Fuck you’re dripping wet, the bundle of nerves is swollen, puffy and begging for more attention. He hums into the sensitive bud in his mouth. Circling your clit with a long, steady finger. “Oh fuck, babe, that feels so good. Mikey, please.” He chuckles, your nipple between his teeth. 

“You're so wet for me~” He says, dipping a finger into you through the thin fabric of your panties before moving them to the side. You groan. His thumb returns to the bundle of nerves, building up a firm, steady rhythm as two fingers begin to massage and stretch you. You feel warmth pooling in your lower stomach, a tightening sensation. FUCK so soon?! You clench your eyes shut, willing the sensation back, but it grows stronger, more intense with each stroke of his fingers. “What do you want, sweetheart?” Your breathing shifts, head empty save for one thought, “I-I’m gonna come.” He smiles. “Yes, darling, come for me.” His rhythm steady, the pressure building up a warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of your stomach. He rolls his tongue over your nipple, adding to the tension. 

It’s too much sensation for you after already coming earlier in the shower. That you've lasted this long is no small feat. “F-fuck c-coming.” Is all you can manage as the wave crashes over you. Your whole body tenses, your walls clenching around his fingers.

You see stars. Warmth spreads all the way to your fingertips as you sink pleasantly into your mattress, body suddenly heavy. He removes his hand, releasing your neck and presses it into the mattress next to your head. The other hand is withdrawn, bringing his fingers up to lick your juices off of them as he hovers over you. You groan, hearing the wet noise, imagination filling in the blank as your eyes stay closed. 

Deep breaths fill you up, every inch of your body tingling. You open your eyes and see Mikey. His eyes, lids heavy, irises devoured by his pupils, hungry. You reach up and stroke his cheek. He leans into your palm before turning his head to plant a sloppy kiss on your palm. “Mikey?” “Mmm?” he hums into your hand. 

“... Again.” His eyes have a dark sparkle as you feel him smile in your palm. He tilts his head, free hand gripping your wrist as you feel the wetness on his fingers. He plants a kiss there, feeling your pulse on his lips. “As you wish.”

The bike roars. It feels different than the black bike you were growing accustomed to. This was more raw, powerful. As it rockets off, you slide into the muscled back of the man in front of you. You don’t have your trusted helmet to hide the crimson blooming on your cheeks. 

This bike felt different in other ways too. Your wardrobe choice did very little to protect you leaving you feeling as though you were bare and pressed into the seat. With each rev of the engine, a shock wracks your body. The vibrations of the bike thrum through you, deep into your core. Fuck. It feels really good. You can’t hear yourself think, body buffeted by the air over and over. Pressure enveloping your body.

You try to call out to Mikey, to ask him to slow down, to stop- fuck- revving in that way that has your thighs gripping the sides of the bike in a vice. He can’t hear you over the whipping wind and engine. You cling to his back, trying to readjust yourself to get some relief from the onslaught to the sensitive spot between your legs. 

The opposite is accomplished. There is a warmth pooling in your core. This can’t be happening. Your heart is hammering in your chest. Face pressed into his bare back as lights zip past, blurring into streams of fluorescent and red. You squeeze your eyes shut, using every ounce of willpower to regain control. Each time you breathe in, it’s just him. That deep, sweet scent of leather and toffee. Fuck, it was pushing you closer to the edge. 

The gears switching between speeds adding variation to the rhythm pounding into you. You feel the heat spreading from your core, pulsing down your legs, up your chest, all the way to your fingertips. It’s making you dizzy. Your breathing deepens. It’s a fucked up situation, you know it, but it feels too good. With another deep breath you feel yourself unraveling, squeezing the man in front of you. 

You see stars. Swimming in that warm, fuzzy feeling, blanketed in the smell of him. You feel yourself start to come down, but the vibration does not cease. The sensation is building again. Abusing that swollen, sensitive spot between your thighs. It's nearly impossible to hold back the noises that are creeping up. 

There's a throb of wetness that spreads on the seat beneath you. Fuck you were literally dripping. The sensation is too much. The vibrations are too intense. Then it’s gone. A yelp escapes your parted lips as the engine dies, leaving you feeling fuzzy and heavy. Your face is hot, eyes watering as you’re wracked with shame, embarrassment. You can make out the blurry shape of the front of your apartment building.

He easily wrestles himself from your grip, standing to help you off the back of the bike. When you resist, he turns his full attention to you, exasperated. “We have to go, I have to get back.” “I-I…” “You have to get off.” “I can’t.” You say, just above a whisper. Humiliation makes your voice waver. “What? You- Oh… Oh.” He really sees you this time. You can’t meet his eyes. You sniffle, tears finally overflow and patter on the spot he just occupied. “Oh fuck I. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t fuck I’m so sorry.” He’s the closest to flustered you’ve ever seen him. He’s pacing in a small rotation on the sidewalk, head in his hands. 

“Y/N I’m so sorry. I-” He lets out a frustrated noise, knowing he can’t stall any longer.  He scoops you up from the back of his bike. You try to protest, but he’s too strong and too fast he cradles you as he moves quickly to get you inside. You resign yourself to sniffling into your hands, trying to hide your face. He moves quickly, showering you with reassurance and apologies as he moves effortlessly up the stairs to your floor. You do your best to bite back little cries as you say, “I’m- so- sorry. I-I d-didn’t…” “Shh, shh. It’s ok, it’s ok. I know. I know. You’re fine, you're perfect fuck this isn’t how I- Everything is fine.” 

He places you on unsteady legs at your front door. With shaky hands you remove his jacket and hand it back to him, adjusting your skirt nervously. You can’t raise your eyes from the floor. All you can feel is your pulse in your face… And other places. He takes the jacket, still muttering assurances you can’t hear over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. 

He cups your face pulling your gaze up to those perfect whiskey eyes of his. “Everything is going to be fine. I’ll make it fine. Please trust me.” You wipe at your tears that won’t cease, nodding into his hands if only to have his electrifying touch off of you sooner. His phone has been buzzing incessantly in his pocket. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Please.” He says.

You look at him and catch the tint to his cheeks and the way his pupils are dilating. You pause there, the world around you holding its breath. “FUCK” He growls. He presses his forehead to yours, making you jump, before finally removing his phone from his pocket, backing away. “We’re going to talk.” He says in the same commanding tone as before. With that he finally answers his phone, sprinting down the hallway back to the stairs. You stand there a while longer sniffling. The sound of his bike roaring to life and peeling out echoes through the street. 

It's cold now that he’s gone. Your head is still spinning from what has just transpired. Finally you unlock your door and enter your apartment. You want to curl up and die as you bolt the door behind you. Flinging yourself on your bed, letting the emotions take over, new tears flowing more freely. You breathe deeply in an effort to calm down. 

You felt so bad. But so good. You whine as the memory returns, with it, a warm feeling in your core. Your body pleads with you to relieve the feeling building up between your legs. Waves of desire and waves of shame that follow.

***

Mikey POV

***

The rattling of the garage door closing is the only sound with him in the large, cool space. Everything hurts. But he’s had worse. With a skill acquired through practice, the pain is ignored and pushed down until it is a minor annoyance. He rolls the large bike to its spot in the back. The crown piece in a long line of vehicles. 

He hadn’t bothered turning the lights on. The room is dimly illuminated by the overhead light of the garage door and a desk lamp that had been left on. He'll have to yell at Baji, Kazutora, and Chifuyu about that later. He sighs, locking the kickstand firmly and resting the bike in its rightful space; leaning his body into the cool cement wall. It feels nice. 

He rests there rubbing absently at an especially sore spot on his side. That fucker Hanma had gotten a good punch on him. Just one before Mikey crushed him. He laughed humorlessly, his anger had gotten the better of him in that moment, unable to restrain himself. It’d been a long time since he’d fought so freely. With what he’d done to the tall man, Y/N wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him for at least a couple weeks. 

His mind wandered back to you, your chance encounter tonight. The stress of wanting to get you to safety and, in his rush and carelessness, the harm he’d caused. His eyes lock on the bike seat. Trying to draw out the wet spot you had left there. Fuck. Why hadn’t he noticed? A pang of guilt flashed through him. You had been gripping his back so tightly. He thought you were scared; his speed, your lack of safety-wear. Had you asked him to stop? 

He shook his head. Tomorrow. He was going to make this right tomorrow he promised himself. Tomorrow. The dark, sick part of him was tugging at the corner of his consciousness. If he had until tomorrow, then tonight was still free game. He convinced himself with little resistance. 

He stood there, still staring at the spot where you had sat. Something twitches low and deep in him. The feelings rising back to the surface. He pictures you there, sitting on the back of his bike. The quivering of your legs, the way you couldn’t look at him, the way the inky blackness of your blown out pupils would’ve given you away if you had, your face painted in a lovely shade of red. It had taken everything for him to hold back the moment it all clicked into place. 

He wanted you. He WANTS you. The memory had the material of his pants growing uncomfortable. “Fuck” he growls. He pushes off of the cement wall and falls to his knees beside his bike. He shoves his face into the seat breathing in deeply. Fuck. It was barely there but he could smell you. He inhales again, hoping to get more of you. The dark desire taking over, shutting off logic.

Fuck, he feels dizzy. The crotch of his pants was becoming unbearable. With a low sound of annoyance, he tears the zipper open and frees himself from the confines beneath. He lets out a sigh of relief as the discomfort dissipates, replaced with a pleasant, warm one. He feels your arms around him, holding tight to his back. “Lower, lower, lower” he pants out to his imagination. 

His head swims with flashes of you, gripping the seat. He imagines you meeting his gaze, heavy lids, lustful eyes, and fuzzy brain. He imagines your voice asking him. Saying the words he desperately wants to hear. He spits in his hand, starting firm steady strokes. 

He pictures you pulling him into your apartment, your bodies tangling as you trip over each other into that little bedroom of yours. The faces you’d make, the sounds. What he wants to do with you. He could imagine the ways you’d ask him the first time, in that tentative way of yours, for what you really want. He’d be more than happy to oblige. He groans thrusting deeply into his hand. He wants to know what you want, he needs it. He feels himself getting close. “Fuck. Please.” He groans, leaning back, resting his head on the wall. 

He pictures you pressed into the seat of that bike before him. Grinding into the leather. Finding that sweet spot, clinging to his back, breathing him in, working yourself up and over the edge, clenching and leaking all over his bike seat. Not letting him in on the fun. How unfair. The doctored memory is enough to have him shooting hot streaks of white onto the bandages around his core. The edges of his vision go dark. 

Closing his eyes, he can imagine your scent. Slowly, he’s coming down from the high. Dragged back by the hooks of reality sinking in. No matter how he reimagined the situation, you had sat there crying. You hadn’t wanted that. Had he been able to ease your embarrassment? Would an apology be enough? You would probably never want to see him again. What would he do then? That’s his curse. He’s never never been able to let go.

He had been going crazy the last few days. His messages to you have gone unanswered. That you had been ignoring him made the events of this evening even worse. “God damn it.” He whispers, his mind running away in awful directions. He rips the bandages from his torso, chucking the soiled items in the nearby trash can. He zips his pants, wiping his hand on a nearby grease rag. He trails his clean hand over the backseat of his bike. “Fuck.” He growls again, darkly. Its meaning different.

He’d have to play this perfectly. He couldn’t lose you. Anything. He’s willing to do anything to make things right between the two of you. With that, he tosses the grease rag to join his bandages in the trash. He kills the desk lamp and enters his home. Closing the door on the memory of what he just did.

You aren’t waiting long before you enter the grungy club. There are posters from past and upcoming shows plastering the walls. The lighting is dim and really only being cast from neon signs put up behind the bar or on the walls. There are some low stage lights towards the front of the venue. It’s all very rock and roll. 

Groups of people mill about, some smoking, others mingling with the musicians near the stage. You’d arrived around some type of set change. Miki skips over to the bar and greets the bartender. They seem to be friends. You join her, taking in the vibe. “What’re you having?” He asks. “Oh, I’ll take a diet coke straight up.” You joke. The buzz of all the sake you drank at the restaurant was dissipating and you’d like to keep it that way. “The usual.” Miki tells him, turning to you. 

The next group gets on stage, setting up their equipment. You watch as Miki makes heart eyes at the guitarist. “So how do you know the band?” You ask, quirking an eyebrow. “Oh, you know, just from going to shows around here.” She can’t hide her blush. “Hmmm. So then is that your friend?” You tease, nodding in the guitarist's direction. “Yeah, something like that," she says, an edge of yearning peeking through. She turns back to the bartender to receive her drink, a tall Cuba Libre.

As she does, you see it’s the guitarists turn to look longingly at her. You hide your smile in your drink as the bartender hands it to you. You hear the band start their sound check. As they do, you feel your phone buzzing. You pull it out of your bag and see it’s an unknown number. You decline the call before putting it back. “Let’s get closer to the stage.” Miki says excitedly. The two of you work your way up, close to the front as the band starts introductions. They’re brief and they dive headfirst into their first song. It’s amazing. It’s been a long time since you’ve been to a live show. There’s something special about feeling the music in the air, being thrown off from real instruments. 

It’s electric. The guitarist shreds up and down the neck of his guitar. Fingers flying across the strings. You get it now. Miki and him are locked in some kind of staring battle as the song continues. It’s intense, the tension building between the two of them. You can’t help but feel like you’re intruding on their intimate moment. The crowd presses into you as people move closer to the stage. Over the music, you feel your phone buzzing against your side.  You wiggle around, finally able to pull it from your bag. Holy shit. 20 missed calls from the same unknown number. 

You feel a pit in your stomach. What if it’s an emergency? You lean over to shout to Miki that you’ve gotta make a call. You doubt she hears you over the music but she nods slightly. You elbow your way out of the crowd looking for a quieter area to take the call. There's a huge mass of people trying to get in through the entrance. You get the sense that if you exit, you have a fat chance of getting back in so you opt to duck into the restroom. The music is still pretty loud but manageable. You lock the stall and unlock your phone. Hitting the number to call it back. It rings once before it connects. 

The other end is noisy too. You listen closer. It’s the same song that's playing here with a slight delay. You get a sick feeling in your stomach. The person on the other end is still not speaking. You finally break, “Hello? Who is this?” You hear a low, deep chuckle on the other end of the line. Your blood runs cold. “You sound so scared, treat. Now where did you run off to?” You feel yourself start to shake, quickly hanging up the call. 

What the fuck was Hanma doing here. How in the hell does he have your number? Your phone starts buzzing again making you jump. It’s the same number. You quickly decline and silence your phone. This can’t be happening. You feel your skin crawl and prickle with anxiety. You pull up your app and immediately request a taxi to the nearest street corner. You feel bad leaving her here, but you’re sure Miki will understand. 

Fuck. 10 minutes for a taxi?! You’re in the middle of the city, how could it possibly take so long? You request it anyways. You take a few calming breaths. There’s a knock on the stall door that makes you jump, “Hurry up in there!” A woman’s voice calls in. “Sorry! One second!” You were losing the fight with your nerves. With shaking hands you unlock the door and step out. There’s a tall woman waiting. She has heavy, dramatic makeup, several face piercings and dyed hair. She would’ve already been tall but her platform boots put her at least a head taller than you. As you stare up at her, a look flashes across her face. 

“Hey… Are you okay?” You must be shaking like a leaf. Words fail you and all you can do is shake your head ‘no’. She leans down and places a tentative hand on your shoulder. You manage, “I need to get out of here… Now.” She nods looking around the bathroom, a couple other women are keying into your conversation. “I-I have a taxi on the way, I just need to get out of here… It’s… It’s so crowded and-” You feel panic taking over your voicebox. Another woman approaches you from her place at the sink where she had been touching up her lipstick. “Hey, I work here. The entrance is basically barricaded with all the fucking groupies right now but there’s an emergency exit to the right of the bar. It goes into the alley on the side of the building, I can take you out there.”

You nod, eyes welling with grateful tears. She takes your hand. You whisper a thank you to the tall woman as you’re led out of the bathroom. You’re on high alert, scanning the crowd for the towering man with black and blonde hair. The woman helping you bulldozes her way through the crowd efficiently. This had to be some kind of fire hazard. 

In no time she's pulled you into the alley. “Will you be okay here by yourself, I can wait with you.” She offers. “No, no. This is fine. This is perfect. Thank you so much.” You say, your shaking subsiding. She looks like she wants to insist but instead nods, forcing a smile on her face. “Be safe.” With that, she steps back into the bar, closing the door. You take a step, scanning the dark space, the only exit back to the street is on your left. 

It’s as dirty as you would expect for the area, cockroaches scattering away from you. You cringe, opening your phone to check your taxi. Still 10 minutes away. What the fuck?! You try refreshing the app to no avail. You are about to order a new taxi when you hear raised voices coming from the end of the alley as two figures step into the privacy of the space. You jump back into the safety of the doorway, hoping the figures can’t see you there. 

“What in the HELL are you doing here Hanma?! You know what tonight is!” “I was just taking a detour, I saw a toy that was begging to be played with.” “What is that supposed to mean?” The taller figure laughs. It’s sing-songy and immediately makes the shaking in your body start again with new vigor. The shorter figure continues, “Oh, and I heard about your little display at the lounge the other night. Care to explain that?” “Just tying up some loose ends.” Hanma replies. “Well she’s a civilian…” He pauses. “What the fuck does that look mean? So help me GOD.” He huffs angrily. “I know you couldn’t care less, but you’re already costing me an arm and a leg in kickbacks to the metro cops. If violent crimes get involved again it’s your ass, you hear.” 

“Always thinking 5 steps ahead, Kisaki. You should learn to let loose.” “Oh what, like you? My contact in the department says Tachibana is getting smart. If you have to deal with him it’ll be a pain in EVERYONE’S ass.” “Ah that little fuck. I’d love to crush him.” “Well, it’ll be Toman you deal with. Unless you forgot that little wedding.” “Fucking annoying.” “I can’t with you. How about you use some of this extra energy you seem to have suddenly found for tonight.” “Booooo, let me play a little longer, it was just getting good.”

“Quit playing with your food and finish it already.” “How lewd, Kisaki~” “I mean it. Whatever it is that you’re doing with that girl, I want it done with. I need you focused. Fuck! You’ve already wasted this much time… We have to go.” The shorter man, Kisaki, says in a severe tone. “Yes, yes, you’ve got it boss.” Hanma says dully, seemingly tired of the tongue-lashing. 

With that, the two exit the privacy of the alley. You stay there, in the shadow of the door frame for what feels like hours. Making sure they were truly gone. When you muster the courage you pull out your phone, praying. 15 minutes away. You could’ve smashed the wretched device, fear induced rage flashing through you. 

You need to get to the main road. Surely you can just flag down a taxi there. Taking a few deep breaths you feel around in your bag. Your hand closes around something heavy and metallic. You clutch it in your hand, grateful that it had caught your eye on the way out the door earlier, as you make your way to the mouth of the alley, sticking close to the wall. You peek out around the corner. What you see surprises you. The entrance of the venue is still mobbed, but the street that had been swarming with people not 30 minutes ago is barren. It feels eerie. You take a few cautious steps into the street. When nothing jumps out to grab you, you quicken your pace making your way to the main road.

If what you had seen before was eerie then this was terrifying. The big, main street was completely empty. Not a car or soul in sight. You peered up and down the street, hoping to conjure a taxi with willpower alone. You felt the air shift before you could actually hear them. In the distance, a rumbling. You feel the ground shake beneath you, the air hum. A sea of bikes race past you through the deserted street. It all happens so fast. You take a few tentative steps back, whipping around and walking back down the side street, shoes slamming the concrete. You hear something in the roar of engines shift. One voice in a screaming choir straying. You hear it, you feel it rush up behind you and you break into a dead sprint, hand gripping the warm metal of your weapon. 

But you can’t outrun it as a massive, vintage bike rockets past you and screeches to a halt, cutting off your path. It is your first time to see this bike, but not its rider. Under the streetlight, an imposing figure with a halo of golden hair stands in your way. He’s in a unique outfit you’ve never seen him sport before; a full black, baggy suit-like outfit with a heavily embroidered jacket. A deathly serious look on his angelic face. “What. are. you. doing. here.” There's a tone you can’t place under his words. But his words command you. 

“I-I was here with my friend- Hanma was-” “Get on.” He says firmly. “What? No, I’m sorry. This is… I have a taxi coming…” “It’s not coming. You need to get on now.” You feel like your body could move under his instruction if you didn't will it not to, his words leave no room for argument. 

You look down, remembering your wardrobe situation. You gesture vaguely to your miniskirt, knife in hand and head whirling. He’s off of his bike in a flash, His jacket ripped off and fastened around your waist. It’s not ideal. You look away. He wasn’t wearing anything under his jacket, Only his midsection is partially covered with some kind of wrap. It cinched his waist even further in an utterly scandalous way. 

He’s back on his bike just as quickly. “Now.” He commands, pointing to the spot behind him. You don’t fight it any more. You put the heavy metallic weapon back in your bag, carefully climbing over to straddle the seat behind him. You do your best to adjust your skirt and his jacket to cover you. “What, no hel-met tonight?” You joke trying to ease some of the awkwardness.” “Hold on.” Is all he says in response.

You had kept your phone on ‘do not disturb’ for the last few days. Messages from Emma and Yuuki sit unopened. Even Senju and Yuzuha have tried messaging you. There was a pit in your stomach. You had so eagerly started to build your foundation and social circle with this group that you hadn’t set up anything to fall back on. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the foundation crumbled on Saturday night.

It’s a sick feeling, like you’ve peeked behind the curtain. The image you built up in your mind becomes disenchanted and reality sets in. You don’t have the energy to fight off the voice that goads, “I told you it was too good to be true.” But there is solace in your solitude. You never had trouble spending time by yourself before and you’re resigning yourself to being alone for now. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, but it’s always easier to be the person who leaves.

Life is routine. Work is routine. Wake up, work, go to bed. Wake up, work, go to bed. That’s how your week is going. You’re checked out today like you have been the rest of the week, absently wiping the counter behind the cafe register when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You jump. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. D-did you hear me?” It’s Shinji. You still haven’t really made up after your awkward conversation a few weeks back. Shifts with him have been tense.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” You say. “Oh, uh, Miki wants to do a shop dinner tonight… You’re the only one who didn’t respond to the chat so she asked me to ask you today…” He shifts uncomfortable from foot to foot. Right, the now not-so-new employee was trying to arrange a work party. “Oh… Sorry, I haven’t really been on my phone recently.” It’s not a total lie, but you had seen her messages. The thought of going out sounded exhausting. Knowing Shinji was going to be there is another factor that made you want to decline.

“W-well, the boss was really hoping we could all go out and celebrate… It’s, um, it’s some kind of anniversary for the shop.” Damn. The image of the kind, older woman flashes in your mind. She’s been so good to you. And Shinji, curse him, had perfectly keyed into your weak spot. It’s as if he could read you like one of the books he was always nose deep in. “With it being a holiday tomorrow and the shop being closed… I-I’m sure it would mean a lot to her…” “FINE. I’ll be there, I’ll go.” You surrender. 

He gives you a thumbs up before retreating to the bookstore. You sigh leaning on the counter. You finally open your phone, hiding it behind the register on the off chance someone comes in. You click on your messages and scroll until you see the ‘Cafe+Book’ group chat. Ignoring those messages from Emma, Senju, Yuzuha, Yuuki… Even Mikey’s. You see Miki has messaged you separately. You click the message. 

“Hey~ I hope you can come tonight! If you don’t have any plans after, I was thinking of popping over to a little live-show venue nearby! My friend is playing a show there tonight.”

You hesitate. 

“Hey! Sorry for the late reply! I’ll be at dinner, can I think about the live-show for a little bit?” 

To be honest you still haven’t fully recovered from your last night out. You haven’t touched a drop of liquor since and you didn’t have the inclination to change that tonight. She responds quickly, liking your message. 

“Well if you decide you want to go, this is the vibe” 

She sends an imageboard of a grungy rocker girlfriend look. Fuck it’s cute. Now that you think about it, you had just gotten that mini skirt - one that you had ordered ages ago but the delivery details had gotten sketchy. The ring of the deliveryman at your door had nearly sent you into a cardiac episode… Were you actually considering this? You pocket your phone and return to work. You would have enough time to run home and change after work… FOCUS! The day creeps by. If you went it could be a fun distraction. But last time you went to a club you can’t remember it. You should get out and make some new friends here in the city. But see how well that turned out last time… The voices are LOUD today! 

Finally, it’s time to go. You confirm with Shinji and make your way home to change. A certain miniskirt is still on your mind. You lay out the outfit on the bed, weighing your options for the hundredth time. You know you’d feel really cute and confident if you wore this. You’ve also been waiting for the right occasion to debut this outfit and one just fell into your lap. Fuck it. You’ve been on autopilot since the lounge. This is the first time you’ve felt anything in days. Plus you didn’t work tomorrow.

You change into the outfit. It’s perfect. Black tights hug your thighs as the fleshy part of your legs disappear beneath the mini skirt. You add some makeup to your eyes to match the look. You slip on some shoes and you’re ready to take on the night. You do a spin, the pretty smile on your face reflected to you from your floor length mirror. You haven’t seen that smile in a minute.

You type out a message, hitting send,

“Fuck it we ball. Let’s go to the show”

You skip out the door, a little behind schedule. Making the train just in time. The dinner is at a restaurant close to the center of the city. A real hole-in-in-the-wall type of place that’s been there for ages; one the city built around. From what you pieced together, the owner of the shop is friends with your boss. You slide the door open, entering the traditional restaurant. You’re met with a loud chorus of greeting from the staff. It’s lively here, more of an izakaya than a restaurant. There are a few other parties here and there, laughing and drinking heartily. It’s a really nice vibe. A server ducks out of the kitchen to greet you. He’s young, cute. He does his best not to stare at you in your outfit. 

“Welcome! I assume you’re here for Asami?” You recognize your boss’s name. “What gave me away?” You joke. “You cafe folk all have a particular look about you. Asami doesn’t hire just anyone.” He jokes back, matching your tone. From the way he talks about her and his lack of honorifics, it sounds like they’re close. You’re curious but hold back your questions as he leads you to the back of the restaurant; a private room. 

He slides open a door and you’re greeted by the smiling faces of your coworkers. Your boss sits at the head of the table. A soft look in her eyes. Shinji looks like he’s getting tipsy already despite his glass of beer not being even halfway empty. Miki waves enthusiastically, dressed in a similar style to you. She has this bright and energetic personality, like a human battery. She has a smattering of freckles and foxy green eyes. She’s also dyed her hair orange for the time being. One of the perks of working at the bookstore and not at a company. 

The two other employees were twin girls, Nana and Sana. They’re daughters of one of the boss’s friends, which is how you imagine they’re able to work despite still being in High School. They have soft hazel eyes and dark brown hair that they usually styled up in braids or an updo. Because they are high school students, they were only in the shop on weekends which meant you didn’t really get to interact with them unless you went in on your day off. They had a bad habit of slacking off on their phones and when you came in on Mondays you usually had a small pile of their work to complete before starting your own. But they were reliably there, on time, every weekend. 

You take a seat in the booth next to Miki who elbows Shinji to scoot over more. “It’s good to see you, Y/N. I’m happy you could come to dinner.” Your boss says in her motherly way. “I’m happy to be here! I hope you all haven’t been waiting for long. And sorry for not getting back about it sooner.” You do feel guilty. The twins are buried in their phones. Your boss waves off your apology with an ‘it’s not necessary’ gesture. She continues, “Now that we’re all here, shall we order some food?” It is a resounding yes. 

Your boss calls out for the staff. When the door slides open, a mountain of a man steps in. He’s older, dark hair streaked with white. You don’t know if he actually has a scary-looking face or if it’s just the dramatic eye scar that makes him appear so. He also has a body that looks as though it’s made of iron. Large, muscular arms built over years of training, the skin taught and sinewy. Adding to his scary image is the heavy ink that is visible on his fingers, hands, and forearms before it disappears under the rolled up sleeves of his chef’s jacket. The tattoos are done in a traditional Japanese style.

“Asami and company, what can I do for you tonight?” His voice is baritone and deep, but has a warmth to it that doesn’t entirely match his appearance. “Are there any dietary restrictions?” She asks the group. After all have been accounted for she tells the man, “We’ll do six tasting menus with whatever accommodations you can make.” The man smiles at her. “Coming right up.” He exits, sliding the door closed as he does. You make eyes at Miki. She matches them. Your boss sees the two of you exchanging nonverbal communication. 

She laughs, “That's Yama. He may look intimidating but he has a good heart. He’s an old and dear friend of mine.” You blush, embarrassed to have been caught by your boss. “I like his tattoos.” You say, meaning it. One of the twins scoffs, was it Sana or Nana? “You say that now, but when he’s parading around shirtless after one shot of sake it’s another story.” “Totally cringe.” The other adds on. Your big sis radar goes off, why has this man been around these high schoolers shirtless?! As if seeing your mind whirring, your boss supplies, “He’s also our Nana and Sana’s father.” Your radar shuts off, crisis averted.

As if on cue, the large man slides the door open, a massive, expensive looking bottle of sake in hand. He places it down on the table with a hefty thud. Seating himself at the other end of the table, across from your boss. Another server comes in with seven sake glasses, depositing them on the table before stepping out, closing the door behind him with a bow. Yama removes two of the glasses and his daughters whine, “Come on dad, just one glass.” One says. “It’s a special occasion.” Says the other. He huffs, looking annoyed, but slides the two glasses to them. “Just a sip.” He says, faking a serious tone. Oh, he is a big softy. 

The girls jitter excitedly. After pouring a small amount of sake in everyone’s glass he shares a long look with your boss. The feeling in the room shifting. Everyone grows quiet. He says in a low voice, “I’ve been saving this bottle for this night. I… I can’t believe it’s been ten years.” Your boss nods solemnly. You’re utterly lost, the mood getting heavy and serious so quickly. Your boss speaks, “Thank you all for coming. A special thank you to Miki for suggesting that we do this. As you may know, today is a very special day for the shop. It’s an important day for me too.” All eyes are on her, even the twins have put their phones down. 

“As you may know we renovated and remodeled the shop nine years ago. Before that, the shop was just a cafe. It was a passion project for me and my late husband. We wanted a space for the troubled youth in the neighborhood to feel safe. My husband and I…” A soft smile ghosts across her face. “Well let’s just say, we weren’t unfamiliar with that environment from our own past. Yama knows that too well.” He chuckles at the end of the table. “It’s the shop where we started our family. Our son grew up in that cafe. He was finding his way in the world. After my husband passed he was, well, in his rebellious years. Running with some little gangs. I gave him a space for him and his friends to hang out together…” 

She pauses. You’re hanging on her every word. “Well. On this night, ten years ago. I lost… Everything. There was a fight. It was just between high school boys. But it grew out of proportion so fast. That night, tonight, a rival gang came to the cafe while my son and his friends were there. They destroyed everything. They took everything. They took my everything…” 

Her face hardened, eyes refusing tears. Her fingers come to dance across the pendant around her neck, holding it delicately. Time may have dulled the pain in her but your heart breaks open for the woman before you, forced to be strong. Yama is not as strong and is fighting fruitlessly to stop the heavy stream of tears pouring from his eyes. You feel one of his daughters kick him under the table. “He passed away there in the cafe. I’ll never never forgive myself for not being there for my son in his final moments.” Your mind flashes back to the boy in the alley, begging for his mom as he knew he was losing the battle. You can’t stop them any more as tears spring from your eyes.

“At least I know he wasn’t alone. That gives me some peace. His friends stayed with him up until the very end.” She says. Her mind seems a million miles away. “I feel him there. Still. Sometimes. With me in the cafe. The reason I keep the cafe and bookstore open is in his and my husband’s memory. And I want to thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for helping me keep this dream, this place, and their memories alive. So tonight. The night that marks the ten year anniversary. Let’s celebrate life and the family that we’ve made here. No matter where life takes you, you’ll always have a home at our shop.” 

There isn’t a dry eye in the room at this point. You don’t care anymore that you weren’t going to drink tonight. You pick up your glass and clink them all together, “CHEERS!”  Shortly after, the first course of food is brought in. Then the next and the next. Each course is more delicious than the last. The portions were the perfect amount that you feel full and satisfied without feeling like you’re going to go into a food coma as you finish your final dessert course. You pat your stomach pleasantly. Listening to the buzz of conversation around the room. 

The boy who greeted you earlier has pulled up a seat and joined the party. He’s Sana and Nana’s older brother, Soma. He just graduated high school and is working hard to be a chef. Yama, a few drinks deep, pours his heart out about how proud he is of his son. How he’d take over this shop one day. He was all too eager to praise Soma and tell the group that your meals tonight had been prepared by him. Soma shies away from the compliments but smiles nonetheless. 

This segues into Yama whining that he wants his little girls working in the restaurant with him and Soma too. They both said it’s not their vibe and it’s too macho here. They said the cafe and bookstore suited their aesthetic better and you wouldn’t disagree. Yama looked like he could cry again and the trio of siblings took to teasing his father for his weak constitution.

To deflect, Yama turns to teasing Shinji who is beet red and drunk even though his beer has only gone down no more than two fingers in the time since you got here. He must be an uber lightweight to his chagrin and Yama’s delight. The twins and Soma keep trying to sneak more alcohol but Yama catches them. Your boss, Asami, laughs at the interaction and slips them a little bit under the table while Yama is distracted with Shinji; Miki joining in on the teasing. 

You lean back, a smile on your face. This is nice. It does feel like you are a family. You wouldn’t admit it to yourself, but there has been a hole, call it homesickness, in your chest. Tonight was doing wonders to fill it. You have that feeling again. Of overflowing. You’re so blessed and grateful to have such wonderful people in your life.

The party dies down and a taxi is called for Shinji who is falling asleep in the booth. The group of you argue with Yama about payment but he insists everything is on-the-house. Hopefully it’s not just the sake talking. Asami rises, “I hope you all have a lovely night. Stay safe and enjoy your day off tomorrow.” “Asami, won’t you stay here with me and the kids tonight?” Yama offers. “I can’t stand the thought of you being alone in that big house of yours.” “I won’t be alone.” She says gently, hand resting once more on her pendant, warmth in her eyes. He nods, seeming to fight back any further pestering. Miki turns to you and excitedly says, “Shall we?” You nod enthusiastically.

The two of you exit, thanking Yama, Soma, and the other servers for the delicious meal. The venue for the show is only a few blocks away. The two of you make the quick walk, excited for the evening’s festivities. It feels good to have another female friend to go out with. You shove down the images of a certain blonde and pink-haired duo. The streets are busy, crowded with people looking for some fun before the holiday. Most are already three sheets to the wind and the two of you have to avoid guys in the street trying to flirt with anything that moves. Cretins. 

You don’t see in the sea of bodies on the street that you have caught someone’s eye in particular. Is it fate? A curse? Either way, something is set in motion the second those golden eyes lock onto you.

The taxi pulls up to a corner by the lounge. Hopping out, you make your way to the entrance. Emma hasn’t responded to your messages yet and you’re starting to feel a bit nervous about being here alone. You also feel utterly unprepared for the entry process. Would you have to show an ID? Say a password? Tell them you’re with Emma? You consider turning around and waiting by the corner when you see a line of expensive looking bikes parked out front. One bike in particular catches your eye and fills you with hope and dread. 

You make your way to the door, unsure if being on time meant you were actually late or early. You say a prayer, an affirmation, and a few curse words for good measure. Making your way to the security or valet, you’re not sure. A particularly serious looking man looks you up and down before nodding and moving to hold the door for you. Well that was easier than expected. You step into the lounge. It is the image of elegance. Dark marble floors. Deep velvet curtains that tuck away pockets of lounge seating. Low lighting and a well stocked bar. A champagne tower is the only thing that’s actually illuminated in a warm spotlight in the center of the room. Low, sensual music plays on an expensive-sounding, bassy speaker system. 

It felt like old Hollywood here in the heart of Tokyo. Thank god you looked the part because you felt anything but. You discreetly take out your phone to send Emma yet another message. You walk along the wall, trying not to draw attention to yourself. Deciding to people-watch in an effort to redirect the hyper focused lens of your mind onto other people. 

The men and women are stunning. Dressed head to toe in black as far as the eye could see. The twinkling of massive crystals hanging heavy from ears and decolletages. They glint dramatically in the low light. As you admire the room, your gaze drifts to a group standing near the bar. The light catches an unmistakable head of golden hair. The one haunting your waking and sleeping mind.

He’s mingling with the group. You recognize Baji and Kazutora but there are a few new faces. One man has an undercut with satiny black hair. From one ear hangs a silver cuff that reflects the light of the bar. You’re too far to make out any more details, but if he’s anything like the others, he’s probably a total hunk. The one standing next to him has black hair that is slightly curly and slicked back. You can only see his profile, but he looks like he has a kind, handsome face. 

As he shifts his weight on his feet, your eyes catch something a little lower. You see this man is absolutely cheeked up. His tight dress pants leave very little to the imagination. You have to force yourself to look away. Surely, your staring would be obvious to anyone who saw you. Your mind trails back to an off-handed comment that Emma made and, in your heart, you sense this man with the peach must be Takemitchy.

You look back at the blonde. He’s as handsome as ever in an all-black suit. You can see from the looks and not-so-subtle whispers that many of the other women and even some men share your sentiment. As you continue admiring you feel someone slide up beside you. Given their proximity, you do your best to shift your gaze to make your staring at Mikey less obvious. You hear a soft snicker and turn your eyes to the source. Your heart leaps to your throat as you see a very beautiful, very brunette woman and her blue-haired partner standing next to you.

Seeing you look, the brunette woman faces you. You can’t help but feel like a gazelle before a lioness; you’re ready to bolt out of there. To be fair, you’d like to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s not as bad as Emma’s made her out to be. What little hope you have for her character quickly evaporates when she asks you, “Are you here all by yourself?” There’s a fake concern bordering on teasing dripping from her voice. She speaks slightly louder than you’d like her to. Feeling like the attention of some of the nearby couples has been drawn to this conversation. So she’s one of those…

“Waiting for a friend.” You say. Short and sweet, hopefully she gets the hint. You turn your head back to the center of the room. She steps directly into your eyeline and says dramatically, “Oh my god! You’re the girl from the video! You know, actually, Kokonoi was going to have me do it but I was busy that night. I’m glad he got a replacement.” Video? Kokonoi? Replacement? What the fuck is she talking about? 

You do your best to mask your cluelessness. But, as has been pointed out before, this is not your strong suit. Unfortunately, she’s keyed into this as well, her eyes narrow on you in a predatory way. “You look so good ! Have you seen it yet?” You don’t answer, hoping if you ignore her, she’ll go away. “Oh, come on, don’t be shy. Here, take a look.” She whips out a phone and holds it to you, a video loading. As it starts to play you see the logo of Koko’s club. It appears to be some kind of promo or advertisement. There are splices of moving bodies, pouring drinks. It cuts to Emma and Yuzuha posing in the VIP. A few more shots of the bar and DJ and then. It’s you. Up in the front of the club on the stage. To yours and the editor’s credit you look amazing. But your stomach drops nonetheless. 

You feel anxiety prickle on your skin and an emotion like betrayal and embarrassment twists in your chest. You’re grateful the dark light of the lounge hides the shade you’ve turned. You blink away tears, pretending you have something in your eye. “Oh yeah.” Is all you can comment. Hakkai leans in to say something to the brunette but she brushes him off. Complicated feeling swirl in your stomach. 

Here you are, in what will surely be a five star lounge, dressed head to toe in designer clothes that probably cost more than your annual salary, all paid for and provided by Koko. If you think about it that way you feel less gross about the situation. You still wish he or Emma had run it by you before using you in the promo.

At this point you’re ready to go home. Sera has a satisfied smirk on her face and you hate that you let her get under your skin. Fuck it, “It’s too bad you were busy.” You say flatly. “I guess I just got lucky then.” You can’t miss that her eye twitched. Bingo. “If I can be honest with you, I just wasn’t comfortable shaking my ass like a little slut up on stage. Like seriously, how embarrassing. But I mean, you had to do as you’re told though, right? That’s how it is for us models.” 

You were gonna take half of what she says as a compliment if she thinks you're a model and ignore the rest. “Like you said.” You reply dismissively, hoping she’ll finally back off. She huffs, clearly frustrated you’re not giving her the reaction she wants. She looks like she’s about to string together another thinly veiled insult when you turn to her fully and say, “So, if I can be completely honest, this is really embarrassing. This whole mean girl act.” 

That seems to have struck a chord, you can practically see the vein pop in her head. Hakkai must see it too as he steps in, nodding a farewell to you as he sweeps her away to the bar. You can see at a distance the two are arguing. She’s waving her hands and even stomps her feet a few times. How off-putting. You lean back to the wall. The nerves from the unintended confrontation start to dissipate. 

You’d been distracted by the brunette and completely missed Emma and Draken slipping into the lounge. They catch your eye as you see them walking over to join the group. You hesitate. You were still hopped up on nerves and the closer you got to the group, and the champagne tower, the more obvious your flush and watery eyes will be. You make the executive decision to hang back a bit longer to calm down more. You won’t admit it, but you may be further postponing the inevitable confrontation of you and Mikey. 

You continue to watch the group as Emma throws her arms around Mikey’s neck. The way his features soften even at this distance. You can’t miss the nasty side eyes thrown Emma’s way by some of those party guests who had been eying him earlier. You suppose they don’t know or realize they’re brother and sister. It must be hard when you’re as pretty as Emma. 

You finally feel ready,  pushing off the wall to make your way to the group. Doing your best to ignore the eyes trailing you as you do. You’re closest to Kazutora and Baji who part to make space for you in the small circle. Emma lights up and wraps you in a big hug. “Ooohhh! You look even better than you did at the store!” She admires you from head to toe. “You’re… More sparkly than usual,” Baji compliments, fully not looking at you. Kazutora eyes you and some of the other ladies in the room with a low whistle, “I could get used to this.” He adds. “Don’t be gross,” You hear a gentle voice say. 

You look to see the source of the voice. A petite woman appears, standing next to the man you assume is Takemitchy. She has soft features, big doe eyes, and a pretty mole next to her perfectly-lined lips. It’s hard to see in this light, but her hair looks to be a strawberry blonde. It’s styled in pretty beach waves with half of it pinned up. “Apologies Hina, not all of us are married yet.” Kazutora says back, his tone lacking his regular bite. 

“Hina? It’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” “Nice to meet you too. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She has a kind smile, you feel a bit like you’re melting. “Nice to meet you, I’m Hina’s husband, Takemitchy.” You have to bite back an ‘I know’ as you would rather walk into the ocean than explain how you came to that conclusion on your own. You turn to the final new face, “I’m Chifuyu.” He says with a boyish sparkle in his eyes. He’s cuter than you expected. He seems earnest and sweet. He turns and has an aside with Baji as you direct your attention back to the bigger group. “It’s good to see you, Draken.” “Same to you, Y/N. Glad to see you’re in good health.” 

You blush, almost forgetting or willingly repressing that he had seen you in a state last weekend. The memory brings you to the last figure, “Hi Mikey.” You say tentatively. When he doesn’t respond you say, “Uh, I wanted to say thanks for last weekend.” You’re not the only one who notices a shift in the group; as if everyone is listening for Mikey’s response. You feel like you said something you shouldn't have. This is confirmed when Mikey merely nods, not making eye contact with you. 

You could curl up and die. He hates you. You want to climb under a rock and never show your face again. As if sensing your spiral, Emma links arms with you and proposes, “How about us ladies go find a booth?” You nod, ready to escape. Hina smiles and links arms with you too as your trio make your way to one of the alcove seating areas.

You crawl in, resting your head in your hands on the lacquered oak tables dramatically. “Oh my god he HATES me.” “What are you talking about?” Emma asks, surprised at your reaction. “Did you miss the part where he totally ignored me?” “He’s probably just on edge being here at the party.” Hina slides in from the other side of the booth and scoots in to sit next to you. She pats your back and says, “There, there.” She’s an angel. She continues in her soft voice, “I’m sure it’s not like that, he definitely doesn’t hate you. Even Takemitchy noticed Mikey’s reaction when you came in.” 

The seed of hope planted by Hina is just enough to pull you out of your doom spiral. “Yeah, and Takemitchy is almost as thick as his dumpy so it means something if he noticed.” Emma tacks on, making you laugh and Hina giggle. “He’s probably on guard because he wasn’t expecting to see so many people here. Takemitchy was also surprised by who came out of the woodwork for the event tonight.” Hina continued. 

At that moment, Yuzuha and Senju slide into the booth next to Emma. “Hey girlies~” Senju says excitedly, a glass of something in her hand. “Emma, Hina, Y/N. Good to see you all here tonight.” Yuzuha says with a winning smile. “YUZU! SENJU!!!” Emma exclaims, wrapping both of them in a hug. Hina simply smiles brightly and waves to them. “So, what’d we miss?” Senju asks, taking a sip of her mystery liquid. 

Not wanting to show your hand and talk about Mikey with them, you change the subject with a dramatic, “OH!” You sit up straight in the booth. “Guess who tried to cat fight me by the bar earlier…” This catches the group’s attention. “Ayo, I’m already swinging” Senju says, rotating her arm. “ Sera ” This sends a wave of reaction through the group. Hina has a discontented look on her face. Senju is practicing her punches. Emma has dropped her jaw in faux drama and Yuzuha is scanning the crowd, you assume, for a brunette head. “When? Why? What happened?” Emma asks. 

“It was a little bit before you arrived. She and her boyfriend, Hakkai, right? They came up and she started like trying to beef with me? OH! Did you know Koko made a video of us the other night?” “Uhg, he always does sneaky shit like that. One of the many reasons I don’t feel bad about swiping that black card of his.” Senju says. “Oh, yeah, he had to okay it with my agent and, Emma, I think you heard about it then, right?” Yuzuha adds. “Yeah, but he didn’t mention anything about you or Senju being in the video…” Emma says knitting her brow in concern. She pulls out her phone, searching for the video. The familiar song of the ad starts playing. 

You feel like you’re all dolled up in clown makeup. The group leans in to see the screen, Hina slides over your lap to join the group watching the video. You continue as they do, “Well Sera knew. She was really pleased to show me.” You don’t need to see Emma’s screen to know when your ‘debut’ in the video occurs. Their eyes go wide and Senju chokes on her drink. “Oh shit.” Emma says. Through her coughing fit Senju manages, “Fuck you look HOT!” Hina nods in agreement, a blush dusting her cheeks. Yuzuha seems utterly unimpressed that Koko would do something like this but still gives you a thumbs up. 

“Wait, you didn’t know he was filming you?” Hina asks gently. Your silence is answer enough. “I mean you look amazing, but I can’t believe he didn’t ask…” Senju adds. “You know him, he’ll do anything if he thinks it’s best for business…” Yuzuha adds, getting lost in thought. You feel validated by their support.

“Anyways,” You continue with a clap. A quirk you seem to be picking up from the bubbly blonde of your group. “Long story short, I guess she was supposed to shoot the video and she said she was glad he found a replacement and that she actually didn’t want to do it. I think she also called me a slut at one point??? And then when I wouldn’t argue with her, Hakkai dragged her off to the bar.” It was a lot for the group to process. Hell, it was a lot for you to live through. “So we don’t have time to unpack all of that.” Senju starts. “What the fuck is she even doing here anyways?” Emma asks, clearly frustrated. “Come on, play nice.” Yuzuha says, playing the mediator. 

“Why should she, Sera isn’t.” Senju says, coming to Emma’s defense. “She’s seriously the lowest common denominator. Not even our resident saint, Hina, likes her.” Emma adds, exasperated. You turn your eyes to Hina in curiosity. Seeing your questioning look, Hina supplies, “When she wouldn’t take ‘No, I’m married and not interested’ from Takemitchy and kept trying to force herself on him, that sealed the deal for me pretty fast. It didn’t help that I was right there .” There’s a wrath hiding under her angelic tone. Scary.

“Just because your brother has bad taste doesn’t mean we all deserve to suffer.” Senju says with a bit of bite. “Brother?” You tilt your head, looking around the group. Yuzuha sighs, “Hakkai is my little brother.” she says in the voice of a tired older sister. Now that you think about it, they both have those pretty, thick lower lashes and sleepy eyes. The resemblance isn’t striking but you can definitely see it. 

“I’m sure you all have valid reasons to not like her, but I don't. And Hakkai really likes her... I mean she’s always been sweet to me. She even asks me about modeling.” “Yeah, probably ‘cause she wants to snipe your jobs.” Senju fires back. “Speaking of, rewind, what the fuck was she talking about? Replacement? Okay, for one, upgrade . But also, Koko fucking hates her, he would never ask her to model for him.” Emma says. 

“Well…” Yuzuha starts. All eyes turn to her. “Come on, don’t be like that. She was asking about modeling and getting gigs and I might’ve mentioned something about Koko’s event. But Hakkai was the one who tried to arrange it.” She says, palms up and facing the group. “Clearly, Koko didn’t go for it and, like you said, upgraded.” She deflects, gesturing to you. Her compliment softened the blow, but the other ladies didn’t seem thrilled by this admission at all. You feel your throat getting dry. 

“Anyways, that's how my night’s going. I need a drink.” Senju looks excited. “Not that kind of drink.” She pouts as you rise from the booth, “Can you grab me a tonic soda while you’re up there?” Hina asks. You can’t say no to those eyes. “Oh! An Old Fashion for me!” Senju tacks on. “Jesus, I clocked out from the cafe last night.” You joke. Ensuring your humor lands, you ask over your shoulder, “On the rocks or neat.” “Rocks please~” You turn towards the bar only to be faced with the group of men you’d split from not too long ago blocking your path. 

Deciding it’s worth it to not have to brave a second confrontation alone, you take the loop around to avoid them. You move discreetly, circling the curve of the room. Sticking close to the velvet curtains. From your periphery you see a woman approach Mikey. You feel a twinge in your chest.  Maybe it’s the masochistic  part of you, but you can’t help yourself. You slip into the shadow of a curtain to watch the scene play out. 

She’s tall, lean, and proportioned like a goddess in a pantsuit. Her hair cut neatly below her chin in a chic black bob. She makes her move, placing a hand on Mikey’s shoulder, angling her body towards him. The rest of the men in the group naturally shift their stance to separate their conversation from the pair’s. She bats long, heavy lashes, toying with the lapel of his suit. Her bedroom eyes smolder even from this distance. Her body language reads like an open book and she flaunts herself confidently. You feel that twinge again. She appears to make some invitation to him, bringing the rim of her glass to her lips, playing with its edge there seductively. 

Mikey stands, unmoving for a moment. He simply nods his head and raises his glass to her in a polite dismissal. The woman seems as shocked as you are. She backs off maintaining her composure, a forced smile plastered on her deep plum lips. Mikey returns to his group who seem to poke fun at him about the interaction that just played out. Why did you feel… Relieved? In your heart, you feel better that it wasn’t just you who had been rejected tonight.

Your relief is short lived as you are struck with the most bizarre deja reve. An arm snakes around your waist from the booth behind you. Swiftly pulling you in from your spot by the curtains.  You’re pulled into the lap of a man you don’t recognize. That is, until you see the tattoos that inked into the back of his hands. You twist in his grip, trying to wriggle away from him. You manage to push around, facing him. Fuck, he’s tall, even sitting like this.  More than that, he’s strong. You finally lock eyes, seeing the man for the first time. His hair is dyed in highlights of bleach-blonde. It’s wavy and combed over to one side. He’s sporting some gold-framed glasses that match a shimmering gold earring dangling from his right side. Both accessories bring out his golden eyes that glow almost unnaturally in the lounge light. He has a wicked but handsome smile plastered on his face. 

He looks like a bad boy through and through. He is definitely bad news. He leans into you, your back pressing into the hard edge of the table. “My my what do we have here. You look stunning, darling. An absolute knockout.” He has a deep sultry voice. It felt like the air rippled when he spoke. Hell, under any other circumstance, if an 11/10 tattooed bad boy literally fell into your lap, or you into his,  you wouldn’t hesitate to snatch him up. 

But something wasn’t right. Alarm bells were going off. Something in your gut was telling you to run away. His eyes were blazing, burning into you. Those eyes. Everything was happening so fast. “What the fuck! Let go-” You start to say, your voice raising in panic while you push hard on his chest. His very toned, broad chest. You curse yourself for noticing. He covers your mouth quickly and leaned in to further invade your bubble. “Now, now, don’t go cutting our fun short again.” He wraps his other hand around one of your wrists. His smile stretches wider. You’re scared.

“Enough, Hanma.” A voice slices through your panicked thoughts.  Mikey stands at the end of the table. Face stone cold but death in his eyes. “Mikey~” Hanma says in a sing-songy voice that makes your skin crawl. Hanma looks from Mikey to you, a dark look flashing in his eyes. 

“My my, Hanma. Typical of you to cause a scene, despite this being my grand opening.” Koko says, in a sarcastic but icy tone. Seeming to appear out of nowhere. “Ah~ Koko, the man of the hour. Just who I wanted to see. Do you have a moment?” He punctuates the question by removing his hand from your mouth and withdrawing a fat stack of cash from his suit pocket. His arm cages you in as he slides the stack across the table between him and the white-haired man. Koko looks absolutely serpentine, you hear the click of his lips as a smile spreads across his face. He lazily picks up the money, fanning through it dramatically. “I suppose I can make time for an old friend. Join me.” 

Hanma releases you. You jump off of his lap in an instant. He stands to full height, towering over you. He stoops as he passes you, just inches from your face. “Until next time, sweetheart~” He turns, following Koko to god knows where, Mikey shooting daggers at the pair the entire way. You feel like the spotlight is on you. You want to sink into the lush velvet curtains and disappear. 

Emma, Senju, Yuzuha, and Hina notice the commotion and pop their heads out of their booth. When they see it’s you at the source, they’re around you in seconds. Each asking variations of the question, “Holy shit, are you okay?” in hushed voices. They tuck you into the booth, drawing the curtains slightly. You lie. Saying whatever you need to to give yourself an out. You want to go home. You definitely don’t want to be here when Hanma and Koko come back from their “meeting.” 

It seems like others in the group are on the same page. You see Mikey, Draken, and Takemitchy discreetly move, milling about the room. While their move may seem innocuous, in the short time you’ve spent with them you can sense their body language is off. You aren’t the only one to notice, as Emma stands to join her brother. A serious look on her face, Yuzuha follows after her, leaving you, Senju and Hina seated in the booth. You turn to look at the other men, Chifuyu, Baji, and Kazutora who have positioned themselves casually at the end of your table. 

To an untrained eye, they’re relaxing and talking, but you notice they’re using their bodies to obscure the view of the booth. Their eyes are also scanning the room like hawks. It is very much giving the sense that they are bodyguards. Senju kills the last of her drink and in a deathly serious tone you’ve never heard from her before, she asks the trio, “Does this mean what I think it means?” There’s a beat of silence before Kazutora answers. “It seems like they’re making their move. That’s not the kind of money you bring to have a “chat” even if it is with Koko.” He’s uncharacteristically serious. 

Senju has a thousand yard stare as she sighs. “This could get messy really quick.” “We should save this. There are too many ears here.” Chifuyu says in a low voice, not looking at the pink-haired woman. She leans her head against the booth as Emma and Yuzuha return. You catch the end of their sentence, “-there’s a door there. Try to be cool, if it’s too obvious they might rush you… But Toman should get out of here as soon as they can. This could turn into another incident if we don’t play it smart.” Yuzuha says firmly. “Be careful.” With that she slips into the crowd. 

It all goes over your head. Emma smiles and says to Senju and the trio of men, “Mikey says usual spot.” and holds up three fingers on her right hand and a zero with her left. They all nod subtly.  She slides back into the booth and says in a low whisper, “A car is on its way, we’re going to head out, but we need to keep it lowkey.” You feel like your head is spinning, all you can do is nod. “Ok, good. Hina, you, me, and Y/N are gonna head out first. There’s a door near the bathrooms we can slip out from. Let’s just play it off like a girl’s bathroom break.” “I hate this.” Hina says, her eyes glossy. “I’m sorry.” Emma says softly, unable to meet her eyes. 

She peeks over her shoulder for something or someone that you can’t see. “Let’s go now.” She says. The three of you rise. She puts on an act, “Baji, Chifuyu, Kazu, can you watch our booth please? We’re gonna run to the restroom.” “Come on, boys. I barely bite anymore.” Senju plays along, patting the seat next to her. They slide in as you slip past them. You try to act natural as you look for the restrooms, but you feel your vision narrowing. Thank god Emma links arms with you, directing you to a hidden hallway that’s obscured by a partition. You move there only to bump into an entirely different, troubling scene. 

A couple is taking advantage of the secluded space. Good for them, but the woman was being pressed into what appears to be your exit door. The man is nearly as tall as the door frame. He’s built like a quarterback with broad shoulders and a buzz cut. What short hair he did have seems to be bleached. Even from the back, you can see he has a tattoo that snakes up his neck and onto the side of his head. You feel a flush of white hot. Wait… Is he? The woman’s pleasured sounds ease your concern in that regard.

The woman lets out another low, wanton moan, head bumping back into the metal of the door with a thud. Her hands grip at the satiny material of the man’s jacket. Her leg hiked up high around his waist. His hands disappear out of sight. But the movement of his arms, shoulders, and back leave little mystery as to what he’s doing. The woman moans out again, “Oooh baby, it’s so gooo-Oood.”

Fuck. How were you going to get out of here? You practically feel an icy, black vortex next to you where Emma is standing. “No. Fucking . Way. Jesus Christ! Classy as ever, Sera.” The woman yelps in surprise, “Oh! Fuck! Oh my god! Stop stop!” She’s beating on his chest in a panicked rhythm. He lets out a low frustrated noise but stops moving. You hear the unmistakable sound of a zipper as he pulls back from her and turns his attention to you.  As he turns, the woman behind him is revealed. She is adjusting herself, her chocolate brown hair mussed and lipstick smeared. It was Sera. She was somehow redder than you were. 

Sera is pretty tall and even she is dwarfed by this man. He says something deep and low in a foreign language. There’s a harshness and growl to the rolled R’s that gives you the impression he’s swearing. You can't make out if it’s Spanish or Portuguese. 

The man says something else, parting the three of you as he leaves the hallway, returning to the party. Sera looks like she wants to call after him but holds back. She’s left there, red from the neck up, sputtering. She tries to form an excuse, or a comeback but Emma cuts her off in a voice that betrays that she’s holding back, “This is low, even for you. Get out of here.” Sera pauses, closing her mouth. If looks could kill, the three of you would be lovely corpses.  Adjusting her hair and dress one more time, she glides past you and into the bathroom. 

“Jesus.” Hina says under her breath. “What the fuck. If she’s going to cheat she should at least be a little sneakier about it.” You say gobsmacked. There’s no time to discuss as Emma swings the door open to a back alley. Emma looks to the left and the right and quickly turns left. You and Hina follow in stride. As you near the street, a paneled black van screeches to a halt. Your heart sinks. This is the end, you’re about to be snatched up.

An impenetrable black window is rolled down and you’re met with a familiar face brow creased in worry. “Hurry, get in.” Yuuki urges. Behind him, at the wheel, you see another man. All you can make out is his icy-white hair. The door slides open and the three of you pile in. Before the door finishes closing the van is peeling out. You brace yourself against Yuuki’s seat in front of you. “Yuuki, what are you doing here?” He doesn’t respond and instead turns to look at the man in the driver’s seat. The driver responds for him, “He was with me, I got the call.” He concludes. “Okay… That’s nice, but what the hell is going on?” 

Emma interjects with, “You were gone for a while… What happened in the booth?“ You feel a bit of conversational whiplash. “That guy, Hanma, grabbed me out of nowhere and pulled me in there.” “Why? Did he say anything?” “Fuck if I know why he did it?! He’s been weird and… Touchy… Ever since that night at the club… He was just saying some cryptic weird shit.” Why do you feel embarrassed? Like you’re on trial for something. You desperately want to change the subject.

“What the hell was up with all that cash? And why did everyone start acting so weird after that…” Silence. “Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” You feel the frustration bubbling in your chest. “Emma? Hina? That debrief would be much appreciated right about now…” You search for their eyes, hoping they’ll explain, but they avoid your gaze. “Yuuki?” The white-haired man in the driver’s seat starts to respond for him once again, but you cut him off, “I didn’t ask you. While we’re on it, who even are you” Emma places a hand on your knee, sensing you’re getting worked up. You flinch. A move that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Mitsuya.” The driver says. “I’m sorry, I assumed Yuuki would’ve told you about me, given I’ve heard so much about you.” “Mitsuya.” You say back, the name not ringing any bells. You look at Yuuki who’s turned around in his seat. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, Y/N. But it’s probably better to save them for later.” Yuuki looks to the other women in the backseat to back him up. Hina steps in, “They’ll tell us when it’s safe. The best thing we can do is remove ourselves so they don’t have to worry.” You can tell she’s choosing her words carefully. 

It feels bad. To have the answers you want be tiptoed around. You feel emotion building up. “Fuck that! Sorry Hina, but what the fuck does that even mean? What is going ON?! And why are you guys being so fucking shady all of a sudden?” They sit there in silence. You feel it swell again. Anger. It takes over as you continue, “Okay, so, just to clarify since nobody else wants to, I woke up today and thought I was going to have fun at a  lounge party but instead I’m getting groped in a booth and hustled out of a back door a minute later and now here I am in the back of a fucking murder van with my friends who are LYING to me.” You’re lashing out. You realize that, but you can’t hold back. All of the feelings from today are clawing their way to the surface. Sadness sinks her claws in, shoving anger down.

The car cruises in silence. “Emma. Please.” You plead. Emma keeps her eyes glued to the road. “Yuuki?” He doesn’t move from his place in the front seat. You feel the tears building up. “Let me out.” You say quietly. “What? No, it’s not safe here!” Emma says in an exasperated tone. “I don’t feel safe here . Let. Me. OUT.” You say trying the door. “Come on, Y/N, please be reasonable.” “Fuck you. Fuck you, Yuuki.“ you choke out. You can’t hold back as the tears start to flow. Pulling hard on the door again, palming the dark surface to find the lock. 

“Please.” Emma says, just above a whisper. “I’m sorry. Please.” She isn’t looking at you but she puts a hand towards you on the van seat. The word sparks something in you. You’re back in the alley, begging anything, anyone. Your grip on the door slackens. “Take me home.” You say, defeated. Mitsuya nods as Yuuki scrolls through his contacts for your address, punching it into the GPS once he finds it. 

You rest your head against the glass of the window, looking at anything but the others in the car, doing your best to hide your watery eyes. Emma tries, “Once I touch base with Mikey, I’ll tell you what I can…” she offers. “I just don’t want to get you tied up in things that… I don’t want…” “Forget it.” You say, cutting her off. You feel hollow, focusing on the sound of the engine. 

The van creeps up to your apartment and the door automatically slides open. You step  out, ignoring the voices calling after you from the car. You move quickly to your building’s entrance. Once you’re out of their eye-line you slow down. You trudge up the stairs to your room. It’s all blurring together again. That familiar feeling you’ve avoided for a couple of weeks until now. You couldn’t run from it forever, you suppose. 

It takes all of your willpower to not slide down your door as it clicks behind you. You slip out of your heels and move into your home, peeling off the expensive clothes and letting them pool on the floor where they fall. You methodically remove your accessories. Depositing them on the counter. 

What the fuck had you seen tonight. What had you been close to? Brushing shoulders with something dark. Something entirely new to you. There’s something in the pile of mail clutter that catches your eye. It’s crisp, white, peeking out from under your electric bill. You slide it out from the pile. A business card? You can’t quite place where or when you got it. You flip it around in your hand, reading ‘the violent crimes unit’ among the print. You read the name, “Naoto Tachibana.”