CEMILE.
“Right, of course.” She says it without ire despite the deadpan look she throws his way. His worry is transparent and Cemile feels something prickling at the back of her neck – the discomfort of someone caring in a way she doesn’t know how to reciprocate. In a way she won’t. She doesn’t know why…what’s stopping her from opening the door and letting him in. She’d brought him here, but not for that. Rather, she wanted the familiar presence of someone she trusts. There are so few people she can trust these days. That any of them can trust, really and that’s what he is. A steady presence. A pillar within War…a partner she can rely on. And someone she doesn’t want to hurt. So she takes without giving, inviting his presence without returning any overt affection, selfish to her core because that’s how she’s always been with matters of the heart. Not that this is one.
She laughs this time, genuinely, because the notion of sleep is as amusing as it is evasive “I’ve done that all day and if I could be sleeping, I would be. I don’t actually fancy being an insomniac, Dom. Besides, I could say the same thing to you – what’s got you up so late? Or who?” Cemile waggles a brow, knowing it’s unfair but thinks maybe joking about it would make it less…serious. Less important, despite the slight discomfort in her stomach at the thought. “Don’t tell me Sam’s got you up trying to beat a high score on Halo? Is that still a game?” It’s a pivot, trying to backtrack slightly and make it lighthearted even as she hits the punching bag again, Dom’s steady grip keeping it from moving much at all. “Saint and I used to watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians a lot,” she says, shrugging, “so I could be doing that instead and my brain would be rotting away. Think that’s be better for me? ” Despite the vulpine smirk crossing her lips, her tone is teasing and a grin threatens to break across her mouth. She knows he’s only trying to help, knows that she’s probably being stubborn but she can’t help it. The moment someone says she’s doing something wrong, she doubles down. Always has, to the point it’s a force of habit now.
However, once he moves to the bench, she chews the inside of her cheek, debating about continuing with her mulish ways or to give in, just a bit, to reason. “You’re lucky you’re you, Dom.” Cemile relents with a roll of her eyes, moving over to the bench so she’s standing at the top, hovering over him as she prepares to spot. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind,” she offers, shrugging as he begins reps. It’s easy to say as much to him, the two of them working on a balance of trust, regardless of everything else. “And I can’t answer another email without wanting to throw my laptop across the room so…figured I’d try this.” Hands grip the bar as he brings it back up, letting him push the heavy weight up and then down again, releasing as it descends. “Are you worried? About what they might do?” They’d attacked Death’s headquarters over a week ago and there’s been no retribution yet. She thinks it’s only a matter of time before they do something drastic…and the thought worries her, puts her on her guard even more than usual.
Domenico chuckles at her cracks, and the idea of her and Saint watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians, his head canting to the side with a subtle shrug, “I think any relaxing would be better for you.” And any answers he’s about to provide to other questions floats away on the gentle cascade of air that passes over him when she appears. He’s lucky he’s him — and he is, because it affords him Cemile’s company, and somehow, made him the text she’d sent that night.
Sympathy softens his features as he listens to her, a muffled grunt escaping his lips as he lifts the weight above himself, his body shocked by the sudden workout when it knows it should be sleeping. “I’m always worried about what they might do,” he answers plainly, tone void of any betraying emotion, because he has none. It’s the truth. Even before Death reared its head, he was worried about what a mysterious they could do. What they would. It’d been worse than any of them could’ve imagined and now Domenico is more on the defense than he’s ever been. “But I think if we just stick to our guns and trust each other, it’ll work out for us.
“I certainly don’t think skipping sleep is going to do anyone any favors,” he teases, diverted by her presence and drawing a wider smile across the lower half of his face, “But since you’re not, guess we have some time to kill here.”
















