heli

You stare at the man shrouded in soft robes, sitting on a stool not too far from your bedside, with an exhausted expression. There were dark circles under your eyes—no doubt from the nights you’d spent awake toiling away—yet it was impossible to keep them shut for long periods of time despite how much you ached for them too. Each night was spent drudging for even a second of sleep, and the moment you thought you could achieve some form of a deep slumber, you would be rudely awakened in the middle of the night. What's worse? You couldn't pinpoint what could possibly be causing it. Stress, probably, but what can you do when you're hanging out in a bus filled with lunatics constantly having to make sure no one blew up another person's head? How long has it been now? 6, maybe 7 days? Maybe even the whole month? You weren’t sure. Even if you tried, your mind couldn't remember that far back, but even so, it’s not like that was what was truly plaguing you.

No, instead, your biggest problem is this annoying little brat who keeps following you everywhere, even into your quarters.

“Fuhu~ is that so?” Hong Lu casually responded, idly fidgeting with a small bundle your blankets. “I don’t recall you having trouble before.”

Tsk. Typical answer.

“Are you here just to make fun of me or what? If so, the door’s right there.”

“Oh, but I’m not interested in the door. I’m interested in you~”

You shot him a sidelong glance at his flirty response and roll over on the mattress so that you wouldn’t have to look at his stupid face. Of course he’d say something like that. What wouldn't he spout out of nowhere just to get on your nerves? It was laughable, truly, but you also couldn’t deny the dastardly effect those honeyed words had on you.

It was so, so dumb. You didn’t like how your heart raced, or the way your ears burned, or the feeling of your hands suddenly growing clammy. How could you possibly let yourself harbor feelings for someone who was so blatantly… what is it called? Ah, yes, manipulating you! That tall stature, long and flowing hair, gentle voice, paired with soft eyes that could stare not just at you, but also through you…

It was like he was designed just to torment you.

This isn't the first time he'd done something like this, and it definitely isn't the last—he made it a habit to cleverly create little nuisances around the place and have YOU solve them, aware of the fact you were already busy with everything else going on. And it's gotten to a point where you just KNOW they are fueled with the intention of mockery, and that despite his playful and carefree exterior, there must surely be some sort of malicious intent brewing underneath the friendly cover that he wears each day.

Sometimes he'd "accidentally" bump into you while you were carrying a stack of papers or equipment or whatever and make you drop them. Or he'd make one subtly offhanded comment about a topic that was sensitive to you, but then find a way to cleverly brush it off as if it was just another part of daily conversation. Occasionally he would just outright ignore you when you had a genuinely valid statement to make, and although he would not say this as straightforwardly as some other sinners would, he would give you the message that he didn't care for any of your inputs. More so if you were trying to de-escalate a situation. Not to mention, there were those particularly infuriating times he'd fail a particularly vital clash that easily determined the fate of the battle during a Mirror Dungeon or canto boss and ended up getting you—then everyone else too—killed as a result.

Or he'd just straight up break into your room when you were too drained to do anything about it. Like right now, for example.

It was pathetic—in your lethargic state, you definitely do not remember ever reaching this low—but despite your mental protests and self-scolding, it happens anyway. And it all happens fully conscious of the fact that he only wanted to keep you around to toy with you, because he likes seeing you angry. He likes it when you're fuming. Yes, he wants entertainment—YOUR entertainment—and nothing more.

You hate it. You hate the predicament you’re stuck in. You just wished you could say you hated him too.

“Whatever,” you replied, snugly coiling the blanket around you, “I don’t care. Just don’t wake me up.”

A quiet chuckle could be heard from behind you at your seemingly dismissive tone. In his head, he likened you to a grumpy cat who swatted away its owner’s hand every time they’d try to pet it. You kind of looked like one right now, actually, with the way you’d curl up under the sheets on the furthest edge from him. It was cute, and he enjoys the face you make when you’re upset. He really thinks you should do it more!

“Poor thing,” he cooed, continuing to slowly pull at your comforter from behind you, “having to dream all alone, without anyone to keep you warm…”

“Can you shut up?!”

It soon occurred to him that there were other things more accurate to describe you, however. When taking in your miserable state of living, and the horrible condition you were in while having to appease people you didn’t care one bit for… hah. He noticed the way you would have to bite your tongue, avert your hateful gaze, painfully ball your fists so that you wouldn't swing them… just how many invisible shackles do you have clipped onto your body, and how heavy are the weights which drag you down, and how long are the chains that keep you pinned in a gridlock despite your seemingly free movements? How much free will do you delude yourself into thinking you have, just to be met with the many burdens of the reality that you currently exist in? The rules you are forced to abide by, ones so inherently unjust and absurd, yet holds an irrefutably defining power throughout all of civilization.

You're just like a pitiful bird with clipped wings.

He couldn’t help but find that deeply amusing.

“…Mm… my beautiful little dove in a cage, forced to live only for the pleasures of everybody but yourself.”

…But it was definitely not in the script for him to say something like that out loud.

What. The hell.

You hurriedly snatched the blanket from him when you felt it progressively slip away from you, not just because you were beginning to feel the coldness of the room biting your skin, but also because you needed to do something to relieve your momentary bout of fluster. How dare he! How dare he say these demeaning words to you, mock you for being alone, then follow it up with calling you some shitty pet name like beautiful dove?! His beautiful dove! The audacity this man has, leisurely throwing such words about the place, conscious that it’ll do nothing but give you the wrong idea…!

“I’m not your fucking bird! Get out of my goddamn room if you’re just gonna—!”

“How about I give you a new partner to play with?”

Just as you were going to turn around and lash out at him with some snide comeback that you'd use the rest of your mental capacity for, you were met with the sight of him towering over your trembling form, still wearing that stupid grin that's always plastered on him, with one knee on perched on the edge of the bed and both arms out in front of him to support his weight.

NO.

And to your horror, without any further explanation, crawls onto the mattress with you and tightly wraps an arm around your waist from behind. He does it with such grace and deftness, it was as if this is routine—nothing more than a couple cuddling on a regular Saturday night. You weren't sure if his familiarity with blatantly disrespecting other people's boundaries is something you should seriously freak out over. The touch is tender, as expected from an individual who presents themselves with much serenity mellowness like him, yet also paradoxically invasive. It is not unlike the prickly brambles that come attached to roses, or the distinct bitterness that travels down your esophagus following a piece of dark chocolate, and upon such your whole body froze in response.

This is NOT how you want to be lulled to sleep. And this is certainly NOT the person you want to be lulled to sleep by.

“…Get out,” you sternly repeated, with your hands firmly tugging at his own, prying them away like you're helpless prey ensnared in a deadly bear trap, in order to let go.

“But should I? You look like you’re just begging to be held! And how could I deny such a lovely request?"

God, he really shouldn't say things like that…!

"If you want to mess around, you can do it tomorrow. Just let me fucking lie down in peace!"

Despite your insistent refusal, he remains in place, this time nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck like a parasite leeching off of its host for nutrients it knows it doesn't need, but craves anyway. It tickled you, and his warm breath fanned over your neck in such uncomfortable ways, you had to really stop yourself from doing something reckless, like hitting him for example.

…Oh, wait… on second thought, hitting him… doesn't actually sound like a bad idea here.

He's done worse things to you. Just how many deaths—painful ones, you knew, because not even the battlefield kept you safe from your coworker—was he responsible for in this company just because he's some aggravating bitch who is petty enough to pull off random stunts like this? Surely he can't complain after constantly pushing you to your limit each time—oftentimes—you had to unfortunately be stuck with him. And after everything, you deserve to release your pent-up emotions SOMEWHERE. He should be grateful that you're not opting to more extreme measures, actually!

And so, you worm around in his grasp so that you were face-to-face with him. He had released himself from your neck, loosened his hug a bit to allow your movement, and looked a bit surprised at your sudden display of receptiveness, but did not pass up the opportunity to make another cheeky comment on it.

"Oh, hello~ I was beginning to miss your pretty eyes too. I was wondering when you'd lay them on me again."

You will not be swayed by his charm. You will NOT be swayed.

"Shut up," you spat through gritted teeth. "Genuinely. Shut up."

"If you think it's such an issue, why don't you do something to fix it?"

Oh, you ARE gonna fix him. Both ways. A light giggle rises from his chest, and you do not miss the way his gaze briefly flickers down to your lips as he does so. What a goddamn creep!

"…Yeah, actually. I will."

He seems to take your words as an invitation to advance forward, and so he leans in closer, much closer, distressingly so. By now, his hands were off of your waist—one cupping your cheek with such benignity that you nearly forgot what kind of man he was, the other languidly grabbing onto the front of your shirt as a reminder to keep you from wriggling further from him. Just as his eyelids fell and he was about to land a kiss on you with those grubby lips of his, you use his lack of hold on your waist as a chance to push him by the shoulder onto his back.

Now you're the one on top!

In a moment of shock, he instinctively let go of your shirt and let out a gasp at the sudden movement, but he doesn't seem to be particularly against it. This is the first time you'd physically snapped at him—how exciting it is! Even if it was all so unexpected for him, he could not find it in him to resist the appeal of seeing you with such a domineering stance above him, your legs on either side of his hips, hands tightly gripping either side of his collar, with that familiar look of fury that he found so alluring deep down.

His little dove is beginning to flap its wings, and rather violently, within its cell. What an endearing sight.

It takes a bit for him to register in his mind what's going on, but when he does, a wide grin spreads on his face now that you were finally starting to become more and more open to his antics. It did cross his mind that you must surely hate him for all of the things he's done to you—he wouldn't doubt it if he found out that you did—but you're just so cute when you pout and whine and shout! Perhaps he didn't make his intentions clear enough to you? He knows you like him—he's not blind to the way you'd sometimes sneak glances his way when he wasn't looking—it was just a bit of a bolt out of the blue to see you finally respond the way he wants you to.

Is doing THAT what you wanted…? Well, if you were going to take the initiative, he wouldn't stop you. With much happiness, he reached out to place his hands on your thighs, only to be interrupted by your harsh warning.

"Hong Lu, if you touch me, I will beat you."

Huh.

…Would you? And would he like to find out if you will make true of your words?

Yes, he figured. Yes he does. Because he's an intolerable dirtbag who wants to see just how far you would put up with him before you—or even he—breaks.

"Okay. Whichever way is fine with me~"

Tentatively, but also with clear want in his actions, he rested his palms onto the supple flesh of your body, before slightly digging them into your hips. And as you expressly said, if he went too far—which he did—you ARE going to smack him around. Oh, did Hong Lu know? Actions have consequences! If he forgot that, then you wouldn't mind being the one to give him a reminder.

Like you've always been wanting to, you let go of his collar on one end and quickly slam a curled-up fist on the side of that infuriatingly gorgeous visage, right where his cheekbone is. God, how long have you dreamed of being able to do something like this? How long did you fancy seeing him under you, hair all messy, soon to be all battered and bloody, and whimpering in pain? How about you make him use that pretty voice to beg for mercy too? You think you're being a bit generous with your punishment, actually—what he truly deserves is to be tied up to a pole with gasoline soaking through his clothes and burned alive! And you'll have Dante bring him back, just so that you can drag him away elsewhere and… hm. Butcher him, perhaps? He can't touch you if you slice each of his individual fingers off. He can't break into your room if you rip out his Achilles tendon. And he can't say all of these teasing, overpraised, and downright dangerous words that he'd pull out if you tore apart his windpipe! Yes, that sounds like a great idea. You will definitely save this for later. How clever of you! He's already very good-looking on his own, but this? Maybe, just maybe, if you held this obedient, pliant version of him within your hands each night, you'd just fall for him even more!

His head flails off to the side of your pillow, and upon your hard strike, a pained groan escapes him. He was aware that you were full of feelings you couldn't express elsewhere, and that when you were given the room to, you would take it out on him… he just didn't think you would hit with such vigor. But there's this odd part of him that can't seem to be upset at this. In fact, there was something strangely pleasant about the startling nature—it was a rather interesting outcome, he'd say. Like biting into a loaf of bread to then encounter the flavor of cream secretly hiding inside, or walking in to the bookstore to see that there is one last available copy of a text he needed.

Once the initial pain fades away, he lets out a broken noise—not exactly a moan, nor a sob, just the ugly head of desire wrangling itself out of his throat.

…Ew. Fucking freak.

In the middle of raising your fist once more, you paused in your assault, and a ubiquitous wave of disgust washes over you. So he's one of THOSE kinds of people, you now noticed. Well, one way to completely throw off all of your plans! What do you do now?! You definitely weren't going to give into the perverted fantasies of a guy that you hate, but you also still need to do something about his increasingly maddening presence. Unfortunately, it's not like he'll just leave on his own if you ask him nicely or whatever. He wouldn't even keep his mouth closed for two seconds if his life depended on it. Then… you drag him out by the foot! But he'll just re-enter your room again. Hah… what a pesky rat he is.

Oh, but he can't walk if he's unconscious, right? Yes, that makes a lot of sense. There were good things all around the world that just simply demanded sacrifices, and if his silence is one of them, then you figured that this is the most necessary course of action to take.

You look down again, and you're met with the sight of him staring up at you pleadingly, wordlessly begging for more. Like violence is the only form of affection his brain understood, and abuse is the direct translation of just another twisted sense of love. And if it's you doing it, he couldn't see any reason to oppose you.

"So gross," you sneered. "I can't believe I work with you every day."

"Aahah… and I can't believe I get to work with you every day too~"

Before he could spout out any more dumb shit, you punch him. Again. And again. And again. It felt like the sweetest taste of victory. How deeply energizing, and how deeply liberating! With each bang, you felt as though you were slowly regaining control of your life, like you were finding a way—small, but valuable nonetheless—to get back at the oppressors that you were trapped with all throughout your existence! It was slowly starting to become addicting, the intense feeling of euphoria you got each time his hands would begin to tighten on your body from the agony you'd force onto him. Now you understood why some people were just so obsessed with starting fights around the place! This power, this authority, coming back to you after you've been stripped of it for what felt like an eternity…

If Hong Lu let you do this to him—and he is—you'd surely look away from all of his failures and misdeeds and welcome him into your thorny embrace with open arms.

After an unknown duration for which you were carried away by your immense joy, you finally wore yourself out even further, and your knuckles began to ache, dripping with blood from the repeated impact they endured. Although you couldn't tell if the shining red liquid is from you or him—probably the latter, more likely a mix of both. Does it matter? No. His arms now lie limply on either side of his body, his hair is tangled upon itself and matted with saliva and the same crimson that covered that side of the wall, and under the stillness of the situation you then noticed that his chest is no longer heaving the same way it did earlier.

…Did you kill him on accident? Well, at the very least, he's unconscious now. That's a problem for tomorrow. At least he can't bother you if he's passed out!

You roll to the side, kick his body off of the bed, and watch him flail off with a satisfying thud! before comfortably tucking yourself back in.

Ah, finally. Some peace and quiet around the bus.

…Until you heard the familiar yelling of the other sinners through your walls and down the hallway, and your headache returns once more at full force.

Admittedly, I love to draw Choi looking way older than he seems (I just like drawing wrinkles shhh) and looking kinda sleazy, so thinner and shorter hair, under eye, cheeks more pronounced since he smiles a lot, thin lips, asymmetric grin/facial expressions, sharper face lines. Dresses not as formally or neatly because he can get away with it due to seniority.