Out of My Head

Log Date 53496Willow5

Male subject engaging with female in nonthreatening displays. Aggression no longer detected. Final observations to be recorded before release from containment into habitat.

“I’ve kinda gotten used to it.” You shrug and peer around the corner of the cage to the glass of your enclosure. The curtain finally drawn once again. 

Though you can’t read it, a sign stands in front of your window. Most walk over to examine it and stick around for a minute or two before moving on—as you see an alien doing now. You wave and they startle before returning the gesture. 

Kurt clicks his teeth, leaning in the corner of his box, arms folded tight over his chest. “They’re staring at you. All the time.” 

“Only when it’s open hours,” you say, finger raised in matter-of-fact correction. “And I have my privacy. I can show you once you’re let out of there.” 

You bounce over to the window, the pane of his box frosting over again. Kurt grumbles inside. But you’re focused on the creature outside the window. 

You’ve missed watching your visitors. Each interaction expanding a world wider than your habitat. Curiosity piqued by tentacles, claws, fangs, wings, ears, tails. Speculation and imagination carrying you away with them. With the lack of their presence, it’s all the more apparent how trapped you really are. 

Your legs fold beneath you as you perch on the ledge. A few stragglers wander over. You beam and wave. Your fingers find the glass, pressing to it for those who enjoy comparing their appendages to yours. A towering figure hunches to be the first. 

“You could at least stay close enough so I can get a look,” Kurt calls from his box. 

You turn over your shoulder and back to the window, pushing off from your position. A few steps bring you right to the boundary. 

“You sure you wanna see?” you ask. 

“Better than staring at these four walls,” he sighs on an aggrieved breath. 

You nod to yourself and step forward. The pane clears and Kurt’s eyes catch your own. He stares intently, brow furrowed. A guarded kind of focus refusing to waver until he’s ready. Moments pass as he locks you in his stormy gaze—and you find it hard to look away. Then, he turns to the audience. 

Murmurs rush through the assembled crowd. The first time he’s been viewed by the public. Titters of delight and awe fill the air. More and more bodies press around the glass. 

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself, incredulous. 

The noise and clamour only grows closer. Rising to almost drown out the hiss of the door. But you catch it straight away, head whipping toward the sound. 

Virion enters with another by their side. Without acknowledging you, they gesture to your habitat. Chirps and chitters fall past their lips. Each one a snag, dragging at your breath. 

You rock back on your heels. Why are butterflies dancing through your belly? Why do your feet feel as though they are standing on hot coals in their ache to race to them?

Kurt’s head follows your gaze. His shoulders jump as he startles before they square. “Who the fuck are they?” He steps toward you, too close to the wall of the box. He bumps into it with a thunk. 

You can’t force yourself to break your gaze. Too ensnared by your keeper. The soft nudge against your mind a caress. 

Come here, please?

You start moving before thought can form. They turn to their colleague and continue in their foreign language. A more serious tone rounding out their sounds. The other nods but remains unfazed, energy jolly and eyes alight. 

Virion’s hand raises, offered to you. Their lips form around familiar, cooing syllables. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, fist knocking on the wall. Jolting you out of your eager advance. He nods his chin toward the two visitors. “Tell me who they are.”

“They take care of us,” you reply, drifting away as if on ocean waves. “They run this place—they’re friendly.” The side of the box hazes over. Your feet carrying you too far. 

Kurt clicks his teeth but says nothing more. 

“Hi,” you greet, a nervous lilt shaking your tone as your gaze darts between them. Your hands knead together at your stomach. A crack from your knuckles prompting you to continue, “Long time, no see.”

Virion doesn’t immediately respond to you, but turns to the alien beside them. They make a few chittering sounds, gesture at your body, nod their head—an explanation. 

Closer, please, if you would not mind. 

You follow the silent request. Your hand finds theirs, their fingers wrapping over your own. The smooth, gentle grip enough to quiet the nerves and the butterflies and your brain. 

Good. 

Their lips tilt in that almost smiling way. They’re pleased with you. And you’re just trying to figure out how to breathe with their thumb running across your skin again. 

They produce one of your candies as a treat and offer. Your lips open and close around it. All the while, they carry on their conversation. Exchanges about you, gestures toward you or your space. 

Without warning, the other one reaches out a hand to pat your head and, startled, you shrink toward Virion. Their grip pulses, a comfort. Their free hand gesturing and bidding the other to still—and hopefully keep their hands to themself. 

Forgive him. He’s excited to meet you. 

Your limbs lock. Head fuzzing around the edges. Excited to meet you? Why? Is he-Is he taking you? 

Sweat makes your hands clammy. Your lashes flutter. Your breath bursts heavy but quick even as you try to keep calm. Scenarios play through your head, impossible to tame. He’s taking you away. He’s taking you away!?

Virion’s hand releases yours. Instead, both move to cup your cheeks. Thumbs smoothing and soothing. A comment made to the other as their attention focuses on you. 

Breathe. 

Their eyes search yours, concern shining down on you. You do your best. An ache in your chest from the strain on your lungs. 

He will not take you from here. He is an important benefactor and donor. He wished for an up-close visit.

You nod, peeking around your keeper to the other. A catalog in your mind of the differences between them aiding in tempering your panic. Darker hair—the color of stormclouds. Different eyes—sharp and brilliant turquoise. Bulkier build—thickset and more muscled. A more expressive face—he beams and reaches toward you again as he catches your stare. 

Your eyes skip to Virion. Why do they keep their expressions controlled, composed, unreadable? There’s a twitch of their cheek, a slow blink. 

Should you let the other touch you? Does Virion want that? Would that be good? How are you supposed to know? Can’t they just tell you?

With your teeth worrying over your lower lip, you hesitate but withdraw from the safety of your keeper’s grasp and present yourself. 

The other displays no hint of unease. His eager hands target your head and face. Explorations of your features prod at skin, tug at your ears, skim your throat. Cooing sounds and chitters of delight pass his lips. A twinkle in the clear blue green of his eyes. Face scrunched in question. You nod in return and press a perplexed smile, unable understand him—try as you might to recognize familiar phrases. 

At the pinch of confusion in your expression, he pauses. A comment thrown toward Virion as he grabs your face, his eyes fluttering closed and head leaning down. 

It’s just the same as when Virion created your connection. Their mind attaching to yours. You twitch, but can’t escape the grasp on your cheeks. A noise breaks past your lips. Your mind scrambles. 

He seems friendly, you reason. Surely no issue will arise from another voice in your head. Virion did bring him here. Maybe they want this. It may as well happen, right?

The other is inches away from your face, his lips beaming in a smile. His teeth startling white and pointed. You focus on them as he continues his approach, contact imminent. 

A palm with two fingers and a thumb covers your forehead, slipping over your skin from behind and pulling you a step back into a firm build. Mere moments before the other’s forehead would have touched. 

Your lips purse, looking up at the hand covering your head. It’s a familiar comfort despite its perplexing placement. Confusion creases the other’s face as well. Their eyes open, narrow. He moves away, derision cast toward your keeper. 

Your head tilts against Virion’s side. They don’t look at you. Instead, they’re talking in rapid, hurried clips of sound. But their hand, it lingers. A tender, affectionate stroke against you. 

Irritation carves into the other’s face. His eyes narrowing on your keeper. And then on their hold of you. 

You reach up, feeling the back of Virion’s hand. The smoothness of their skin beneath your fingertips. One of their fingers tangles with yours like a promise. Their grip pulses before their arm drops and they step forward, gesturing at the other and blocking you behind. 

The conversation exchanges between them while you stare and listen. Sounds you don’t understand volley from each.

You slink back toward the box where Kurt waits. His shoulder leans against the wall, his eyes snapping to focus on the intense conversation. 

“What’s that all about?” he asks without looking away. 

Your mind remains empty of explanation as Virion guides the other through the door without a glance back.

“I,” you swallow around your confusion, “I don’t know.”

Next Part

“I know it’s a long trip.” Peter’s assistant says from the other side. You retie the belt on your robe. “I could find a stylist in Venice, I guess. I have a few contacts from my previous job…”

“No, I can find my passport.” You stifle a yawn. “I can’t really turn down the contract. Works been tight.”

“Really? I appreciate. And I think Peter really liked you.” She says. “I don’t know if you can tell but he’s a bit all over the place.”

“Oh, like his hair,” you kid. “Give me the date and time. I’ll be there.”

“Sure. Uh, it’s paid for, of course. I’ll forward the ticket.” She says as you hear something chime. “Sorry, I gotta another call and– shit! Um, thanks again. Bye!”

The line clicks. Well, it sounds like she can use all the help she can get. Besides, you hear Italy is nice. If this goes well, you might get something more steady. You wouldn’t mind that at all. Peter’s young, up-and-coming, this could be your in. And after so many years of hustling from set to set.

Your phone vibrates again. You carry it into the kitchen and start on your daily smoothie. It’s a paltry replacement for your previous morning addiction. You miss your caffeine but you don’t need it. Not at your age.

It’s the plane ticket. Frantic but effective. Well, you guess you’ll be missing girls’ night. This time with a real excuse.

You’re an overpacking. An overpreparer. Your clients wonder why you have twenty different brushes and at least a dozen brands of face wipes. You can never be too ready but you’ll sacrifice some clothing to get your whole kit in the overhead.

You take your cherry smoothie to the table and sit. You scroll until your phone buzzes through the table. You don’t recognise the number.

‘Hi! Are you coming to Venice?’

You frown and flip over to the conversation. There’s no previous dialogue. It’s been ages since you got a new phone or number. You flip through your backlog of contacts.

‘Sorry. Who is this?’

‘Peter. Is this–’ the response blips up.

Peter?

‘Yes. I’m packing. I’ll be there.’ You reply.

‘Sorry. Stole your number from my assistant. She’s so busy all the time.’

‘It’s okay. Excited for the trip.’ You send back.

You put the phone down and slurp the somewhat bland sugarless blend. You’re trying to be healthier without diving into the deep end of ‘cleanses’ and ‘fasts’. You don’t need to be a Victoria Secret’s model, just comfortable.

‘What about today? Will you come by today?’

You chuckle.

‘Is something going on?’

‘I need to pack but I don’t know what to wear 🥺’

You almost laugh at the emoji. You look at the time.

‘Might take me a while.’

‘Awesome! See you soon!’ His response doesn’t show an ounce of disappointment.

You stare at the glass before you muster the energy to get up. You put saran wrap over the top and shove it in the fridge. You’ll try not to forget about it. You probably will though.

💗

You pull up to Peter’s building. You hate LA traffic but you’re grateful for the distraction. When you have travel ahead of you, you tend to fixate and agonise over every little thing that could go wrong. What if you get searched? What if you lose something? What if you miss your flight?

You buzz at the front door. Peter doesn’t answer. You try again. Huh.

You pull out your phone to text him. He could be out on the balcony. Before you can find the chat, your name comes from behind you. It’s Peter.

“Hey! Great timing!”

He wears a backwards hat, a muscle shirt, and dark shorts. He’s carrying a tray with two big icy drinks, whipped cream and sprinkles on top.

“They’re having a big promotion down at the shake place! Iced coffee.” He beams over the straws. “Like a Simpsons donut, see?”

You stare at the cups. There’s cream and chocolate layered with the coffee. You hold back a sigh. So much for giving up your vices.

“For me?” You ask.

“Sure! I felt selfish just getting one for me. And you drove all the way down here.” He chimes. “Wait– you haven’t been down here long, have you?”

“No, just got here. All good.”

“Great. I’d feel bad if you were waiting.” He says. “Um, ergh… I’ll let you in.”

He gets closer and you fumble to get out of the way. You brush against him and catch a whiff of his fresh deodorant mingling with his sweat. It’s a warm smell, comforting despite the heat. He scans his fob and the door clicks. You grab the handle before he can.

“Oh no! I got it! You’re a lady. I’m supposed to–”

“Your hands are full,” you say softly. “It’s alright.”

“So are yours.” He says.

“Shoulder strap.” You let go of your bag and it hangs on your shoulder. “Come on.”

He goes ahead of you and looks over his shoulder. “You don’t mind if we take the elevator? I’ve been doing these workouts for the shoot. The stunt coordinator has been kicking my– butt.”

“That’s fine with me.” You assure him with a smile.

He stops and waves you into the elevator first. He gets on and you sense him staring at you. You glance over.

“I don’t have something on my face, do I?”

“No! I’m sorry. I just… I like your hair.” He makes a face then looks away.

“Oh, thank you. It’s kind of… stubborn. Hence the scarf.” You reach up to pinch the knot in the bandana tied to keep your hair under control.

“No, it’s cool. It gives you a real chill vibe.” He says.

“Ha, never thought of it that way.”

The elevator stops. You get off and head for his door. He lets you inside and you look around at the tidy space. His assistant has been working hard you see.

“You have to try it! I waited to try it with you.” He insists as he puts the tray down and grabs the cups out of the cardboard.

“Oh, uh… sure.” You try not to show your dread at the sheer amount of cream. “Thanks again. It was sweet of you to think of me.”

“No, it’s cool.” He holds out a cup.

You take it and eye it. “Wow, that’s a lot…”

“Cheers!” He knocks his cup against yours. He spills cream through the top hole and it drips on his fingers. He prompts sucks on his knuckles as he angles the cup around, dripping even more.

“Alright, hold on.” You look around and quickly find the roll of paper towels in the kitchen. “Let me help.”

You hand him the paper towel and he accepts it with a goofy look. He wipes his hands then picks up his cup again. He looks at you and delicately sips through the straw. You taste the sugary concoction. Oof. You are not twenty anymore.

“Mmm,” you hum.

“Yummy.” He licks his lips. “Oh! Ha.”

He reaches for you and you wince. He runs his thumb over your lip. “That cream gets everywhere.” He looks at his thumb then twitches, turning to wipe it on the crumpled paper towel. “Anyway…” He coughs. “I was hoping you could help me with my press outfits. I have a bunch of interviews. And… Bucky Barnes is gonna be at some. He always looks so cool.”

“Oh, I’ve worked with him before. Briefly.” You say. “At some show. He wouldn’t remember me.”

“Really? You don’t think?”

“Nah, he probably deals with a dozen stylists all the time.” You shrug.

“That’s so weird. My assistant used to work for him too.”

“Oh really? That must be why she’s so good at her job.”

“Right? I really am a mess.” He frowns.

“No, I don’t think so.” You assure him softly. “Here, I’m going to put this down.” You set the cup on a table nearby. “Don’t wanna get it on your clothes. We’ll go pick some stuff for the trip. Do you have an itinerary?”

“Yes, my assistant sent it. Somewhere…” He fishes his phone out of his pocket. He opens his messages, all you see is the contact name. “Dream Girl🥰” before he swipes back. You turn your eyes away. That’s cute. “Alright, I’ll just find it…”

He turns and walks into the back of the couch as he searches his phone. You catch his arm and pull him around it. 

“Oops.” He gives a sheepish smile. “I just… got a million things on my mind.”

Log Date 53496Willow5

Male subject engaging with female in nonthreatening displays. Aggression no longer detected. Final observations to be recorded before release from containment into habitat.

“I’ve kinda gotten used to it.” You shrug and peer around the corner of the cage to the glass of your enclosure. The curtain finally drawn once again. 

Though you can’t read it, a sign stands in front of your window. Most walk over to examine it and stick around for a minute or two before moving on—as you see an alien doing now. You wave and they startle before returning the gesture. 

Kurt clicks his teeth, leaning in the corner of his box, arms folded tight over his chest. “They’re staring at you. All the time.” 

“Only when it’s open hours,” you say, finger raised in matter-of-fact correction. “And I have my privacy. I can show you once you’re let out of there.” 

You bounce over to the window, the pane of his box frosting over again. Kurt grumbles inside. But you’re focused on the creature outside the window. 

You’ve missed watching your visitors. Each interaction expanding a world wider than your habitat. Curiosity piqued by tentacles, claws, fangs, wings, ears, tails. Speculation and imagination carrying you away with them. With the lack of their presence, it’s all the more apparent how trapped you really are. 

Your legs fold beneath you as you perch on the ledge. A few stragglers wander over. You beam and wave. Your fingers find the glass, pressing to it for those who enjoy comparing their appendages to yours. A towering figure hunches to be the first. 

“You could at least stay close enough so I can get a look,” Kurt calls from his box. 

You turn over your shoulder and back to the window, pushing off from your position. A few steps bring you right to the boundary. 

“You sure you wanna see?” you ask. 

“Better than staring at these four walls,” he sighs on an aggrieved breath. 

You nod to yourself and step forward. The pane clears and Kurt’s eyes catch your own. He stares intently, brow furrowed. A guarded kind of focus refusing to waver until he’s ready. Moments pass as he locks you in his stormy gaze—and you find it hard to look away. Then, he turns to the audience. 

Murmurs rush through the assembled crowd. The first time he’s been viewed by the public. Titters of delight and awe fill the air. More and more bodies press around the glass. 

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself, incredulous. 

The noise and clamour only grows closer. Rising to almost drown out the hiss of the door. But you catch it straight away, head whipping toward the sound. 

Virion enters with another by their side. Without acknowledging you, they gesture to your habitat. Chirps and chitters fall past their lips. Each one a snag, dragging at your breath. 

You rock back on your heels. Why are butterflies dancing through your belly? Why do your feet feel as though they are standing on hot coals in their ache to race to them?

Kurt’s head follows your gaze. His shoulders jump as he startles before they square. “Who the fuck are they?” He steps toward you, too close to the wall of the box. He bumps into it with a thunk. 

You can’t force yourself to break your gaze. Too ensnared by your keeper. The soft nudge against your mind a caress. 

Come here, please?

You start moving before thought can form. They turn to their colleague and continue in their foreign language. A more serious tone rounding out their sounds. The other nods but remains unfazed, energy jolly and eyes alight. 

Virion’s hand raises, offered to you. Their lips form around familiar, cooing syllables. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, fist knocking on the wall. Jolting you out of your eager advance. He nods his chin toward the two visitors. “Tell me who they are.”

“They take care of us,” you reply, drifting away as if on ocean waves. “They run this place—they’re friendly.” The side of the box hazes over. Your feet carrying you too far. 

Kurt clicks his teeth but says nothing more. 

“Hi,” you greet, a nervous lilt shaking your tone as your gaze darts between them. Your hands knead together at your stomach. A crack from your knuckles prompting you to continue, “Long time, no see.”

Virion doesn’t immediately respond to you, but turns to the alien beside them. They make a few chittering sounds, gesture at your body, nod their head—an explanation. 

Closer, please, if you would not mind. 

You follow the silent request. Your hand finds theirs, their fingers wrapping over your own. The smooth, gentle grip enough to quiet the nerves and the butterflies and your brain. 

Good. 

Their lips tilt in that almost smiling way. They’re pleased with you. And you’re just trying to figure out how to breathe with their thumb running across your skin again. 

They produce one of your candies as a treat and offer. Your lips open and close around it. All the while, they carry on their conversation. Exchanges about you, gestures toward you or your space. 

Without warning, the other one reaches out a hand to pat your head and, startled, you shrink toward Virion. Their grip pulses, a comfort. Their free hand gesturing and bidding the other to still—and hopefully keep their hands to themself. 

Forgive him. He’s excited to meet you. 

Your limbs lock. Head fuzzing around the edges. Excited to meet you? Why? Is he-Is he taking you? 

Sweat makes your hands clammy. Your lashes flutter. Your breath bursts heavy but quick even as you try to keep calm. Scenarios play through your head, impossible to tame. He’s taking you away. He’s taking you away!?

Virion’s hand releases yours. Instead, both move to cup your cheeks. Thumbs smoothing and soothing. A comment made to the other as their attention focuses on you. 

Breathe. 

Their eyes search yours, concern shining down on you. You do your best. An ache in your chest from the strain on your lungs. 

He will not take you from here. He is an important benefactor and donor. He wished for an up-close visit.

You nod, peeking around your keeper to the other. A catalog in your mind of the differences between them aiding in tempering your panic. Darker hair—the color of stormclouds. Different eyes—sharp and brilliant turquoise. Bulkier build—thickset and more muscled. A more expressive face—he beams and reaches toward you again as he catches your stare. 

Your eyes skip to Virion. Why do they keep their expressions controlled, composed, unreadable? There’s a twitch of their cheek, a slow blink. 

Should you let the other touch you? Does Virion want that? Would that be good? How are you supposed to know? Can’t they just tell you?

With your teeth worrying over your lower lip, you hesitate but withdraw from the safety of your keeper’s grasp and present yourself. 

The other displays no hint of unease. His eager hands target your head and face. Explorations of your features prod at skin, tug at your ears, skim your throat. Cooing sounds and chitters of delight pass his lips. A twinkle in the clear blue green of his eyes. Face scrunched in question. You nod in return and press a perplexed smile, unable understand him—try as you might to recognize familiar phrases. 

At the pinch of confusion in your expression, he pauses. A comment thrown toward Virion as he grabs your face, his eyes fluttering closed and head leaning down. 

It’s just the same as when Virion created your connection. Their mind attaching to yours. You twitch, but can’t escape the grasp on your cheeks. A noise breaks past your lips. Your mind scrambles. 

He seems friendly, you reason. Surely no issue will arise from another voice in your head. Virion did bring him here. Maybe they want this. It may as well happen, right?

The other is inches away from your face, his lips beaming in a smile. His teeth startling white and pointed. You focus on them as he continues his approach, contact imminent. 

A palm with two fingers and a thumb covers your forehead, slipping over your skin from behind and pulling you a step back into a firm build. Mere moments before the other’s forehead would have touched. 

Your lips purse, looking up at the hand covering your head. It’s a familiar comfort despite its perplexing placement. Confusion creases the other’s face as well. Their eyes open, narrow. He moves away, derision cast toward your keeper. 

Your head tilts against Virion’s side. They don’t look at you. Instead, they’re talking in rapid, hurried clips of sound. But their hand, it lingers. A tender, affectionate stroke against you. 

Irritation carves into the other’s face. His eyes narrowing on your keeper. And then on their hold of you. 

You reach up, feeling the back of Virion’s hand. The smoothness of their skin beneath your fingertips. One of their fingers tangles with yours like a promise. Their grip pulses before their arm drops and they step forward, gesturing at the other and blocking you behind. 

The conversation exchanges between them while you stare and listen. Sounds you don’t understand volley from each.

You slink back toward the box where Kurt waits. His shoulder leans against the wall, his eyes snapping to focus on the intense conversation. 

“What’s that all about?” he asks without looking away. 

Your mind remains empty of explanation as Virion guides the other through the door without a glance back.

“I,” you swallow around your confusion, “I don’t know.”

Next Part

Log Date 53496Willow5

Male subject engaging with female in nonthreatening displays. Aggression no longer detected. Final observations to be recorded before release from containment into habitat.

“I’ve kinda gotten used to it.” You shrug and peer around the corner of the cage to the glass of your enclosure. The curtain finally drawn once again. 

Though you can’t read it, a sign stands in front of your window. Most walk over to examine it and stick around for a minute or two before moving on—as you see an alien doing now. You wave and they startle before returning the gesture. 

Kurt clicks his teeth, leaning in the corner of his box, arms folded tight over his chest. “They’re staring at you. All the time.” 

“Only when it’s open hours,” you say, finger raised in matter-of-fact correction. “And I have my privacy. I can show you once you’re let out of there.” 

You bounce over to the window, the pane of his box frosting over again. Kurt grumbles inside. But you’re focused on the creature outside the window. 

You’ve missed watching your visitors. Each interaction expanding a world wider than your habitat. Curiosity piqued by tentacles, claws, fangs, wings, ears, tails. Speculation and imagination carrying you away with them. With the lack of their presence, it’s all the more apparent how trapped you really are. 

Your legs fold beneath you as you perch on the ledge. A few stragglers wander over. You beam and wave. Your fingers find the glass, pressing to it for those who enjoy comparing their appendages to yours. A towering figure hunches to be the first. 

“You could at least stay close enough so I can get a look,” Kurt calls from his box. 

You turn over your shoulder and back to the window, pushing off from your position. A few steps bring you right to the boundary. 

“You sure you wanna see?” you ask. 

“Better than staring at these four walls,” he sighs on an aggrieved breath. 

You nod to yourself and step forward. The pane clears and Kurt’s eyes catch your own. He stares intently, brow furrowed. A guarded kind of focus refusing to waver until he’s ready. Moments pass as he locks you in his stormy gaze—and you find it hard to look away. Then, he turns to the audience. 

Murmurs rush through the assembled crowd. The first time he’s been viewed by the public. Titters of delight and awe fill the air. More and more bodies press around the glass. 

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself, incredulous. 

The noise and clamour only grows closer. Rising to almost drown out the hiss of the door. But you catch it straight away, head whipping toward the sound. 

Virion enters with another by their side. Without acknowledging you, they gesture to your habitat. Chirps and chitters fall past their lips. Each one a snag, dragging at your breath. 

You rock back on your heels. Why are butterflies dancing through your belly? Why do your feet feel as though they are standing on hot coals in their ache to race to them?

Kurt’s head follows your gaze. His shoulders jump as he startles before they square. “Who the fuck are they?” He steps toward you, too close to the wall of the box. He bumps into it with a thunk. 

You can’t force yourself to break your gaze. Too ensnared by your keeper. The soft nudge against your mind a caress. 

Come here, please?

You start moving before thought can form. They turn to their colleague and continue in their foreign language. A more serious tone rounding out their sounds. The other nods but remains unfazed, energy jolly and eyes alight. 

Virion’s hand raises, offered to you. Their lips form around familiar, cooing syllables. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, fist knocking on the wall. Jolting you out of your eager advance. He nods his chin toward the two visitors. “Tell me who they are.”

“They take care of us,” you reply, drifting away as if on ocean waves. “They run this place—they’re friendly.” The side of the box hazes over. Your feet carrying you too far. 

Kurt clicks his teeth but says nothing more. 

“Hi,” you greet, a nervous lilt shaking your tone as your gaze darts between them. Your hands knead together at your stomach. A crack from your knuckles prompting you to continue, “Long time, no see.”

Virion doesn’t immediately respond to you, but turns to the alien beside them. They make a few chittering sounds, gesture at your body, nod their head—an explanation. 

Closer, please, if you would not mind. 

You follow the silent request. Your hand finds theirs, their fingers wrapping over your own. The smooth, gentle grip enough to quiet the nerves and the butterflies and your brain. 

Good. 

Their lips tilt in that almost smiling way. They’re pleased with you. And you’re just trying to figure out how to breathe with their thumb running across your skin again. 

They produce one of your candies as a treat and offer. Your lips open and close around it. All the while, they carry on their conversation. Exchanges about you, gestures toward you or your space. 

Without warning, the other one reaches out a hand to pat your head and, startled, you shrink toward Virion. Their grip pulses, a comfort. Their free hand gesturing and bidding the other to still—and hopefully keep their hands to themself. 

Forgive him. He’s excited to meet you. 

Your limbs lock. Head fuzzing around the edges. Excited to meet you? Why? Is he-Is he taking you? 

Sweat makes your hands clammy. Your lashes flutter. Your breath bursts heavy but quick even as you try to keep calm. Scenarios play through your head, impossible to tame. He’s taking you away. He’s taking you away!?

Virion’s hand releases yours. Instead, both move to cup your cheeks. Thumbs smoothing and soothing. A comment made to the other as their attention focuses on you. 

Breathe. 

Their eyes search yours, concern shining down on you. You do your best. An ache in your chest from the strain on your lungs. 

He will not take you from here. He is an important benefactor and donor. He wished for an up-close visit.

You nod, peeking around your keeper to the other. A catalog in your mind of the differences between them aiding in tempering your panic. Darker hair—the color of stormclouds. Different eyes—sharp and brilliant turquoise. Bulkier build—thickset and more muscled. A more expressive face—he beams and reaches toward you again as he catches your stare. 

Your eyes skip to Virion. Why do they keep their expressions controlled, composed, unreadable? There’s a twitch of their cheek, a slow blink. 

Should you let the other touch you? Does Virion want that? Would that be good? How are you supposed to know? Can’t they just tell you?

With your teeth worrying over your lower lip, you hesitate but withdraw from the safety of your keeper’s grasp and present yourself. 

The other displays no hint of unease. His eager hands target your head and face. Explorations of your features prod at skin, tug at your ears, skim your throat. Cooing sounds and chitters of delight pass his lips. A twinkle in the clear blue green of his eyes. Face scrunched in question. You nod in return and press a perplexed smile, unable understand him—try as you might to recognize familiar phrases. 

At the pinch of confusion in your expression, he pauses. A comment thrown toward Virion as he grabs your face, his eyes fluttering closed and head leaning down. 

It’s just the same as when Virion created your connection. Their mind attaching to yours. You twitch, but can’t escape the grasp on your cheeks. A noise breaks past your lips. Your mind scrambles. 

He seems friendly, you reason. Surely no issue will arise from another voice in your head. Virion did bring him here. Maybe they want this. It may as well happen, right?

The other is inches away from your face, his lips beaming in a smile. His teeth startling white and pointed. You focus on them as he continues his approach, contact imminent. 

A palm with two fingers and a thumb covers your forehead, slipping over your skin from behind and pulling you a step back into a firm build. Mere moments before the other’s forehead would have touched. 

Your lips purse, looking up at the hand covering your head. It’s a familiar comfort despite its perplexing placement. Confusion creases the other’s face as well. Their eyes open, narrow. He moves away, derision cast toward your keeper. 

Your head tilts against Virion’s side. They don’t look at you. Instead, they’re talking in rapid, hurried clips of sound. But their hand, it lingers. A tender, affectionate stroke against you. 

Irritation carves into the other’s face. His eyes narrowing on your keeper. And then on their hold of you. 

You reach up, feeling the back of Virion’s hand. The smoothness of their skin beneath your fingertips. One of their fingers tangles with yours like a promise. Their grip pulses before their arm drops and they step forward, gesturing at the other and blocking you behind. 

The conversation exchanges between them while you stare and listen. Sounds you don’t understand volley from each.

You slink back toward the box where Kurt waits. His shoulder leans against the wall, his eyes snapping to focus on the intense conversation. 

“What’s that all about?” he asks without looking away. 

Your mind remains empty of explanation as Virion guides the other through the door without a glance back.

“I,” you swallow around your confusion, “I don’t know.”

Next Part

Log Date 53496Willow5

Male subject engaging with female in nonthreatening displays. Aggression no longer detected. Final observations to be recorded before release from containment into habitat.

“I’ve kinda gotten used to it.” You shrug and peer around the corner of the cage to the glass of your enclosure. The curtain finally drawn once again. 

Though you can’t read it, a sign stands in front of your window. Most walk over to examine it and stick around for a minute or two before moving on—as you see an alien doing now. You wave and they startle before returning the gesture. 

Kurt clicks his teeth, leaning in the corner of his box, arms folded tight over his chest. “They’re staring at you. All the time.” 

“Only when it’s open hours,” you say, finger raised in matter-of-fact correction. “And I have my privacy. I can show you once you’re let out of there.” 

You bounce over to the window, the pane of his box frosting over again. Kurt grumbles inside. But you’re focused on the creature outside the window. 

You’ve missed watching your visitors. Each interaction expanding a world wider than your habitat. Curiosity piqued by tentacles, claws, fangs, wings, ears, tails. Speculation and imagination carrying you away with them. With the lack of their presence, it’s all the more apparent how trapped you really are. 

Your legs fold beneath you as you perch on the ledge. A few stragglers wander over. You beam and wave. Your fingers find the glass, pressing to it for those who enjoy comparing their appendages to yours. A towering figure hunches to be the first. 

“You could at least stay close enough so I can get a look,” Kurt calls from his box. 

You turn over your shoulder and back to the window, pushing off from your position. A few steps bring you right to the boundary. 

“You sure you wanna see?” you ask. 

“Better than staring at these four walls,” he sighs on an aggrieved breath. 

You nod to yourself and step forward. The pane clears and Kurt’s eyes catch your own. He stares intently, brow furrowed. A guarded kind of focus refusing to waver until he’s ready. Moments pass as he locks you in his stormy gaze—and you find it hard to look away. Then, he turns to the audience. 

Murmurs rush through the assembled crowd. The first time he’s been viewed by the public. Titters of delight and awe fill the air. More and more bodies press around the glass. 

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself, incredulous. 

The noise and clamour only grows closer. Rising to almost drown out the hiss of the door. But you catch it straight away, head whipping toward the sound. 

Virion enters with another by their side. Without acknowledging you, they gesture to your habitat. Chirps and chitters fall past their lips. Each one a snag, dragging at your breath. 

You rock back on your heels. Why are butterflies dancing through your belly? Why do your feet feel as though they are standing on hot coals in their ache to race to them?

Kurt’s head follows your gaze. His shoulders jump as he startles before they square. “Who the fuck are they?” He steps toward you, too close to the wall of the box. He bumps into it with a thunk. 

You can’t force yourself to break your gaze. Too ensnared by your keeper. The soft nudge against your mind a caress. 

Come here, please?

You start moving before thought can form. They turn to their colleague and continue in their foreign language. A more serious tone rounding out their sounds. The other nods but remains unfazed, energy jolly and eyes alight. 

Virion’s hand raises, offered to you. Their lips form around familiar, cooing syllables. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, fist knocking on the wall. Jolting you out of your eager advance. He nods his chin toward the two visitors. “Tell me who they are.”

“They take care of us,” you reply, drifting away as if on ocean waves. “They run this place—they’re friendly.” The side of the box hazes over. Your feet carrying you too far. 

Kurt clicks his teeth but says nothing more. 

“Hi,” you greet, a nervous lilt shaking your tone as your gaze darts between them. Your hands knead together at your stomach. A crack from your knuckles prompting you to continue, “Long time, no see.”

Virion doesn’t immediately respond to you, but turns to the alien beside them. They make a few chittering sounds, gesture at your body, nod their head—an explanation. 

Closer, please, if you would not mind. 

You follow the silent request. Your hand finds theirs, their fingers wrapping over your own. The smooth, gentle grip enough to quiet the nerves and the butterflies and your brain. 

Good. 

Their lips tilt in that almost smiling way. They’re pleased with you. And you’re just trying to figure out how to breathe with their thumb running across your skin again. 

They produce one of your candies as a treat and offer. Your lips open and close around it. All the while, they carry on their conversation. Exchanges about you, gestures toward you or your space. 

Without warning, the other one reaches out a hand to pat your head and, startled, you shrink toward Virion. Their grip pulses, a comfort. Their free hand gesturing and bidding the other to still—and hopefully keep their hands to themself. 

Forgive him. He’s excited to meet you. 

Your limbs lock. Head fuzzing around the edges. Excited to meet you? Why? Is he-Is he taking you? 

Sweat makes your hands clammy. Your lashes flutter. Your breath bursts heavy but quick even as you try to keep calm. Scenarios play through your head, impossible to tame. He’s taking you away. He’s taking you away!?

Virion’s hand releases yours. Instead, both move to cup your cheeks. Thumbs smoothing and soothing. A comment made to the other as their attention focuses on you. 

Breathe. 

Their eyes search yours, concern shining down on you. You do your best. An ache in your chest from the strain on your lungs. 

He will not take you from here. He is an important benefactor and donor. He wished for an up-close visit.

You nod, peeking around your keeper to the other. A catalog in your mind of the differences between them aiding in tempering your panic. Darker hair—the color of stormclouds. Different eyes—sharp and brilliant turquoise. Bulkier build—thickset and more muscled. A more expressive face—he beams and reaches toward you again as he catches your stare. 

Your eyes skip to Virion. Why do they keep their expressions controlled, composed, unreadable? There’s a twitch of their cheek, a slow blink. 

Should you let the other touch you? Does Virion want that? Would that be good? How are you supposed to know? Can’t they just tell you?

With your teeth worrying over your lower lip, you hesitate but withdraw from the safety of your keeper’s grasp and present yourself. 

The other displays no hint of unease. His eager hands target your head and face. Explorations of your features prod at skin, tug at your ears, skim your throat. Cooing sounds and chitters of delight pass his lips. A twinkle in the clear blue green of his eyes. Face scrunched in question. You nod in return and press a perplexed smile, unable understand him—try as you might to recognize familiar phrases. 

At the pinch of confusion in your expression, he pauses. A comment thrown toward Virion as he grabs your face, his eyes fluttering closed and head leaning down. 

It’s just the same as when Virion created your connection. Their mind attaching to yours. You twitch, but can’t escape the grasp on your cheeks. A noise breaks past your lips. Your mind scrambles. 

He seems friendly, you reason. Surely no issue will arise from another voice in your head. Virion did bring him here. Maybe they want this. It may as well happen, right?

The other is inches away from your face, his lips beaming in a smile. His teeth startling white and pointed. You focus on them as he continues his approach, contact imminent. 

A palm with two fingers and a thumb covers your forehead, slipping over your skin from behind and pulling you a step back into a firm build. Mere moments before the other’s forehead would have touched. 

Your lips purse, looking up at the hand covering your head. It’s a familiar comfort despite its perplexing placement. Confusion creases the other’s face as well. Their eyes open, narrow. He moves away, derision cast toward your keeper. 

Your head tilts against Virion’s side. They don’t look at you. Instead, they’re talking in rapid, hurried clips of sound. But their hand, it lingers. A tender, affectionate stroke against you. 

Irritation carves into the other’s face. His eyes narrowing on your keeper. And then on their hold of you. 

You reach up, feeling the back of Virion’s hand. The smoothness of their skin beneath your fingertips. One of their fingers tangles with yours like a promise. Their grip pulses before their arm drops and they step forward, gesturing at the other and blocking you behind. 

The conversation exchanges between them while you stare and listen. Sounds you don’t understand volley from each.

You slink back toward the box where Kurt waits. His shoulder leans against the wall, his eyes snapping to focus on the intense conversation. 

“What’s that all about?” he asks without looking away. 

Your mind remains empty of explanation as Virion guides the other through the door without a glance back.

“I,” you swallow around your confusion, “I don’t know.”

Next Part

Log Date 53496Willow5

Male subject engaging with female in nonthreatening displays. Aggression no longer detected. Final observations to be recorded before release from containment into habitat.

“I’ve kinda gotten used to it.” You shrug and peer around the corner of the cage to the glass of your enclosure. The curtain finally drawn once again. 

Though you can’t read it, a sign stands in front of your window. Most walk over to examine it and stick around for a minute or two before moving on—as you see an alien doing now. You wave and they startle before returning the gesture. 

Kurt clicks his teeth, leaning in the corner of his box, arms folded tight over his chest. “They’re staring at you. All the time.” 

“Only when it’s open hours,” you say, finger raised in matter-of-fact correction. “And I have my privacy. I can show you once you’re let out of there.” 

You bounce over to the window, the pane of his box frosting over again. Kurt grumbles inside. But you’re focused on the creature outside the window. 

You’ve missed watching your visitors. Each interaction expanding a world wider than your habitat. Curiosity piqued by tentacles, claws, fangs, wings, ears, tails. Speculation and imagination carrying you away with them. With the lack of their presence, it’s all the more apparent how trapped you really are. 

Your legs fold beneath you as you perch on the ledge. A few stragglers wander over. You beam and wave. Your fingers find the glass, pressing to it for those who enjoy comparing their appendages to yours. A towering figure hunches to be the first. 

“You could at least stay close enough so I can get a look,” Kurt calls from his box. 

You turn over your shoulder and back to the window, pushing off from your position. A few steps bring you right to the boundary. 

“You sure you wanna see?” you ask. 

“Better than staring at these four walls,” he sighs on an aggrieved breath. 

You nod to yourself and step forward. The pane clears and Kurt’s eyes catch your own. He stares intently, brow furrowed. A guarded kind of focus refusing to waver until he’s ready. Moments pass as he locks you in his stormy gaze—and you find it hard to look away. Then, he turns to the audience. 

Murmurs rush through the assembled crowd. The first time he’s been viewed by the public. Titters of delight and awe fill the air. More and more bodies press around the glass. 

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself, incredulous. 

The noise and clamour only grows closer. Rising to almost drown out the hiss of the door. But you catch it straight away, head whipping toward the sound. 

Virion enters with another by their side. Without acknowledging you, they gesture to your habitat. Chirps and chitters fall past their lips. Each one a snag, dragging at your breath. 

You rock back on your heels. Why are butterflies dancing through your belly? Why do your feet feel as though they are standing on hot coals in their ache to race to them?

Kurt’s head follows your gaze. His shoulders jump as he startles before they square. “Who the fuck are they?” He steps toward you, too close to the wall of the box. He bumps into it with a thunk. 

You can’t force yourself to break your gaze. Too ensnared by your keeper. The soft nudge against your mind a caress. 

Come here, please?

You start moving before thought can form. They turn to their colleague and continue in their foreign language. A more serious tone rounding out their sounds. The other nods but remains unfazed, energy jolly and eyes alight. 

Virion’s hand raises, offered to you. Their lips form around familiar, cooing syllables. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, fist knocking on the wall. Jolting you out of your eager advance. He nods his chin toward the two visitors. “Tell me who they are.”

“They take care of us,” you reply, drifting away as if on ocean waves. “They run this place—they’re friendly.” The side of the box hazes over. Your feet carrying you too far. 

Kurt clicks his teeth but says nothing more. 

“Hi,” you greet, a nervous lilt shaking your tone as your gaze darts between them. Your hands knead together at your stomach. A crack from your knuckles prompting you to continue, “Long time, no see.”

Virion doesn’t immediately respond to you, but turns to the alien beside them. They make a few chittering sounds, gesture at your body, nod their head—an explanation. 

Closer, please, if you would not mind. 

You follow the silent request. Your hand finds theirs, their fingers wrapping over your own. The smooth, gentle grip enough to quiet the nerves and the butterflies and your brain. 

Good. 

Their lips tilt in that almost smiling way. They’re pleased with you. And you’re just trying to figure out how to breathe with their thumb running across your skin again. 

They produce one of your candies as a treat and offer. Your lips open and close around it. All the while, they carry on their conversation. Exchanges about you, gestures toward you or your space. 

Without warning, the other one reaches out a hand to pat your head and, startled, you shrink toward Virion. Their grip pulses, a comfort. Their free hand gesturing and bidding the other to still—and hopefully keep their hands to themself. 

Forgive him. He’s excited to meet you. 

Your limbs lock. Head fuzzing around the edges. Excited to meet you? Why? Is he-Is he taking you? 

Sweat makes your hands clammy. Your lashes flutter. Your breath bursts heavy but quick even as you try to keep calm. Scenarios play through your head, impossible to tame. He’s taking you away. He’s taking you away!?

Virion’s hand releases yours. Instead, both move to cup your cheeks. Thumbs smoothing and soothing. A comment made to the other as their attention focuses on you. 

Breathe. 

Their eyes search yours, concern shining down on you. You do your best. An ache in your chest from the strain on your lungs. 

He will not take you from here. He is an important benefactor and donor. He wished for an up-close visit.

You nod, peeking around your keeper to the other. A catalog in your mind of the differences between them aiding in tempering your panic. Darker hair—the color of stormclouds. Different eyes—sharp and brilliant turquoise. Bulkier build—thickset and more muscled. A more expressive face—he beams and reaches toward you again as he catches your stare. 

Your eyes skip to Virion. Why do they keep their expressions controlled, composed, unreadable? There’s a twitch of their cheek, a slow blink. 

Should you let the other touch you? Does Virion want that? Would that be good? How are you supposed to know? Can’t they just tell you?

With your teeth worrying over your lower lip, you hesitate but withdraw from the safety of your keeper’s grasp and present yourself. 

The other displays no hint of unease. His eager hands target your head and face. Explorations of your features prod at skin, tug at your ears, skim your throat. Cooing sounds and chitters of delight pass his lips. A twinkle in the clear blue green of his eyes. Face scrunched in question. You nod in return and press a perplexed smile, unable understand him—try as you might to recognize familiar phrases. 

At the pinch of confusion in your expression, he pauses. A comment thrown toward Virion as he grabs your face, his eyes fluttering closed and head leaning down. 

It’s just the same as when Virion created your connection. Their mind attaching to yours. You twitch, but can’t escape the grasp on your cheeks. A noise breaks past your lips. Your mind scrambles. 

He seems friendly, you reason. Surely no issue will arise from another voice in your head. Virion did bring him here. Maybe they want this. It may as well happen, right?

The other is inches away from your face, his lips beaming in a smile. His teeth startling white and pointed. You focus on them as he continues his approach, contact imminent. 

A palm with two fingers and a thumb covers your forehead, slipping over your skin from behind and pulling you a step back into a firm build. Mere moments before the other’s forehead would have touched. 

Your lips purse, looking up at the hand covering your head. It’s a familiar comfort despite its perplexing placement. Confusion creases the other’s face as well. Their eyes open, narrow. He moves away, derision cast toward your keeper. 

Your head tilts against Virion’s side. They don’t look at you. Instead, they’re talking in rapid, hurried clips of sound. But their hand, it lingers. A tender, affectionate stroke against you. 

Irritation carves into the other’s face. His eyes narrowing on your keeper. And then on their hold of you. 

You reach up, feeling the back of Virion’s hand. The smoothness of their skin beneath your fingertips. One of their fingers tangles with yours like a promise. Their grip pulses before their arm drops and they step forward, gesturing at the other and blocking you behind. 

The conversation exchanges between them while you stare and listen. Sounds you don’t understand volley from each.

You slink back toward the box where Kurt waits. His shoulder leans against the wall, his eyes snapping to focus on the intense conversation. 

“What’s that all about?” he asks without looking away. 

Your mind remains empty of explanation as Virion guides the other through the door without a glance back.

“I,” you swallow around your confusion, “I don’t know.”

Next Part

Log Date 53496Willow5

Male subject engaging with female in nonthreatening displays. Aggression no longer detected. Final observations to be recorded before release from containment into habitat.

“I’ve kinda gotten used to it.” You shrug and peer around the corner of the cage to the glass of your enclosure. The curtain finally drawn once again. 

Though you can’t read it, a sign stands in front of your window. Most walk over to examine it and stick around for a minute or two before moving on—as you see an alien doing now. You wave and they startle before returning the gesture. 

Kurt clicks his teeth, leaning in the corner of his box, arms folded tight over his chest. “They’re staring at you. All the time.” 

“Only when it’s open hours,” you say, finger raised in matter-of-fact correction. “And I have my privacy. I can show you once you’re let out of there.” 

You bounce over to the window, the pane of his box frosting over again. Kurt grumbles inside. But you’re focused on the creature outside the window. 

You’ve missed watching your visitors. Each interaction expanding a world wider than your habitat. Curiosity piqued by tentacles, claws, fangs, wings, ears, tails. Speculation and imagination carrying you away with them. With the lack of their presence, it’s all the more apparent how trapped you really are. 

Your legs fold beneath you as you perch on the ledge. A few stragglers wander over. You beam and wave. Your fingers find the glass, pressing to it for those who enjoy comparing their appendages to yours. A towering figure hunches to be the first. 

“You could at least stay close enough so I can get a look,” Kurt calls from his box. 

You turn over your shoulder and back to the window, pushing off from your position. A few steps bring you right to the boundary. 

“You sure you wanna see?” you ask. 

“Better than staring at these four walls,” he sighs on an aggrieved breath. 

You nod to yourself and step forward. The pane clears and Kurt’s eyes catch your own. He stares intently, brow furrowed. A guarded kind of focus refusing to waver until he’s ready. Moments pass as he locks you in his stormy gaze—and you find it hard to look away. Then, he turns to the audience. 

Murmurs rush through the assembled crowd. The first time he’s been viewed by the public. Titters of delight and awe fill the air. More and more bodies press around the glass. 

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself, incredulous. 

The noise and clamour only grows closer. Rising to almost drown out the hiss of the door. But you catch it straight away, head whipping toward the sound. 

Virion enters with another by their side. Without acknowledging you, they gesture to your habitat. Chirps and chitters fall past their lips. Each one a snag, dragging at your breath. 

You rock back on your heels. Why are butterflies dancing through your belly? Why do your feet feel as though they are standing on hot coals in their ache to race to them?

Kurt’s head follows your gaze. His shoulders jump as he startles before they square. “Who the fuck are they?” He steps toward you, too close to the wall of the box. He bumps into it with a thunk. 

You can’t force yourself to break your gaze. Too ensnared by your keeper. The soft nudge against your mind a caress. 

Come here, please?

You start moving before thought can form. They turn to their colleague and continue in their foreign language. A more serious tone rounding out their sounds. The other nods but remains unfazed, energy jolly and eyes alight. 

Virion’s hand raises, offered to you. Their lips form around familiar, cooing syllables. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, fist knocking on the wall. Jolting you out of your eager advance. He nods his chin toward the two visitors. “Tell me who they are.”

“They take care of us,” you reply, drifting away as if on ocean waves. “They run this place—they’re friendly.” The side of the box hazes over. Your feet carrying you too far. 

Kurt clicks his teeth but says nothing more. 

“Hi,” you greet, a nervous lilt shaking your tone as your gaze darts between them. Your hands knead together at your stomach. A crack from your knuckles prompting you to continue, “Long time, no see.”

Virion doesn’t immediately respond to you, but turns to the alien beside them. They make a few chittering sounds, gesture at your body, nod their head—an explanation. 

Closer, please, if you would not mind. 

You follow the silent request. Your hand finds theirs, their fingers wrapping over your own. The smooth, gentle grip enough to quiet the nerves and the butterflies and your brain. 

Good. 

Their lips tilt in that almost smiling way. They’re pleased with you. And you’re just trying to figure out how to breathe with their thumb running across your skin again. 

They produce one of your candies as a treat and offer. Your lips open and close around it. All the while, they carry on their conversation. Exchanges about you, gestures toward you or your space. 

Without warning, the other one reaches out a hand to pat your head and, startled, you shrink toward Virion. Their grip pulses, a comfort. Their free hand gesturing and bidding the other to still—and hopefully keep their hands to themself. 

Forgive him. He’s excited to meet you. 

Your limbs lock. Head fuzzing around the edges. Excited to meet you? Why? Is he-Is he taking you? 

Sweat makes your hands clammy. Your lashes flutter. Your breath bursts heavy but quick even as you try to keep calm. Scenarios play through your head, impossible to tame. He’s taking you away. He’s taking you away!?

Virion’s hand releases yours. Instead, both move to cup your cheeks. Thumbs smoothing and soothing. A comment made to the other as their attention focuses on you. 

Breathe. 

Their eyes search yours, concern shining down on you. You do your best. An ache in your chest from the strain on your lungs. 

He will not take you from here. He is an important benefactor and donor. He wished for an up-close visit.

You nod, peeking around your keeper to the other. A catalog in your mind of the differences between them aiding in tempering your panic. Darker hair—the color of stormclouds. Different eyes—sharp and brilliant turquoise. Bulkier build—thickset and more muscled. A more expressive face—he beams and reaches toward you again as he catches your stare. 

Your eyes skip to Virion. Why do they keep their expressions controlled, composed, unreadable? There’s a twitch of their cheek, a slow blink. 

Should you let the other touch you? Does Virion want that? Would that be good? How are you supposed to know? Can’t they just tell you?

With your teeth worrying over your lower lip, you hesitate but withdraw from the safety of your keeper’s grasp and present yourself. 

The other displays no hint of unease. His eager hands target your head and face. Explorations of your features prod at skin, tug at your ears, skim your throat. Cooing sounds and chitters of delight pass his lips. A twinkle in the clear blue green of his eyes. Face scrunched in question. You nod in return and press a perplexed smile, unable understand him—try as you might to recognize familiar phrases. 

At the pinch of confusion in your expression, he pauses. A comment thrown toward Virion as he grabs your face, his eyes fluttering closed and head leaning down. 

It’s just the same as when Virion created your connection. Their mind attaching to yours. You twitch, but can’t escape the grasp on your cheeks. A noise breaks past your lips. Your mind scrambles. 

He seems friendly, you reason. Surely no issue will arise from another voice in your head. Virion did bring him here. Maybe they want this. It may as well happen, right?

The other is inches away from your face, his lips beaming in a smile. His teeth startling white and pointed. You focus on them as he continues his approach, contact imminent. 

A palm with two fingers and a thumb covers your forehead, slipping over your skin from behind and pulling you a step back into a firm build. Mere moments before the other’s forehead would have touched. 

Your lips purse, looking up at the hand covering your head. It’s a familiar comfort despite its perplexing placement. Confusion creases the other’s face as well. Their eyes open, narrow. He moves away, derision cast toward your keeper. 

Your head tilts against Virion’s side. They don’t look at you. Instead, they’re talking in rapid, hurried clips of sound. But their hand, it lingers. A tender, affectionate stroke against you. 

Irritation carves into the other’s face. His eyes narrowing on your keeper. And then on their hold of you. 

You reach up, feeling the back of Virion’s hand. The smoothness of their skin beneath your fingertips. One of their fingers tangles with yours like a promise. Their grip pulses before their arm drops and they step forward, gesturing at the other and blocking you behind. 

The conversation exchanges between them while you stare and listen. Sounds you don’t understand volley from each.

You slink back toward the box where Kurt waits. His shoulder leans against the wall, his eyes snapping to focus on the intense conversation. 

“What’s that all about?” he asks without looking away. 

Your mind remains empty of explanation as Virion guides the other through the door without a glance back.

“I,” you swallow around your confusion, “I don’t know.”

Next Part

He brings you past to wide pools of crystal water alongside trimmed hedges and greenery. He approaches a set of arched double doors and grabs the lock box hooked around the handles. He punches in a code to open it and a key falls out. He catches it in his palm and turns to jingle it at you.

“Benvenuta,” he purrs in Italian.

“Is this… a hotel?” You wonder.

“It’ll be our hideout for the next little while.” He opens your hand and presses the key into your palm. “Go on.”

“I…” you look down at the key. “No, no. It’s yours. I couldn’t.”

“Ours!” He corrects as he runs his hand up your forearm to just above your elbow. He turns you to face the doors and sidles behind you. He puts his hands on your shoulders and crowds you. “Come on. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“Sure, very. It’s just… I don’t know. You do it.” You turn to him and his hands barely miss your chest as they fall. He inhales and his brows twitch. “Please,” you shove the keys against his chest. “Just… it doesn’t feel right if I do it.”

“Alright, sweetheart, no problem.” He wraps his hand around yours and slides the keys free. “Don’t wanna do anything that doesn’t feel right.”

His eyes flick down then up and his jaw squares. He takes another deep breath. He moves around you subtly and unlocks the door with a single hand. His other hovers by your lower back.

“Come on, you gotta at least be curious.” He pulls the key free and gestures you inside.

“It’s… okay! Okay! I just… I don’t want to overstep.” You clasp your hands together.

“Never,” his fingertips graze your shorts as he drops his hand completely to his side.

You poke your head in as he stays close. He reaches over casually to flip on the light switch; the sort you have to twist. Above, a chandelier of tear drop bulbs bloom to light. You bat your lashes as you look around. 

A marble staircase trimmed in iron railings winds up to another level in the foyer and a rounded archway looks into a sunny front room, pulsing with the refracted light from the ripples outside the wall of glass panes. You look to the other side, another archway, a dining area with wooden chairs and a clear glass table.

“Which way to our room?” You ask.

Nick chuckles.

“This is it.”

“What?”

“All of this. This is where we’re staying.”

“Huh?” You sway. “But this is like a whole house.”

“All ours.” He assures.

“Hmm,” you hum and lean forward, too wary to take a step.

“You don’t like it?” He wonders.

“I love it but… I don’t want to break anything or… I don’t know. It’s so much! This is bigger than my apartment. Bigger than the house I grew up in.”

“Really, you haven’t even seen the whole thing.” He chides.

“This alone,” you peer between the archways.

He grins. “There’s a real pool in the back…”

“Oh, shut up!” You smack his arm playfully. “You’re not serious.”

He laughs again. “I am,” he looks down at his bicep where you hit him.

You gulp. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to– I was only joking–”

“Sweetheart, you do whatever you want to me.” He looks up at you. “I don’t mind.”

“Err, you’re too nice, Nick.” You sigh. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t stay too long. I’m sure you have lots of work to do… when am I going back?”

“Trying to get away already?” His voice sinks.

“No, no. I just… I keep seeing all this stuff about the movie. I saw a whole ET thing on the new actor they hired.”

“Young kid. He’s got a good reference,” Nick’s tone goes dull. “I don’t want think about work right now.”

“I’m sorry,” you tug on your ear lobes nervously. He narrows his eyes and touches your elbows.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not upset.” He brushes along your forearms. “Do I really scare you that much?”

“Scare me? Not exactly. It’s just… this is the furthest I ever went from home and you’re like famous and I’m… no one.” You giggle meekly. “Oh, I didn’t mean to say all that out loud.”

“No, I like your honestly.” He insists. “Sweetheart, people lie to me every day. They say what they think I want to hear. They pretend to be who they think I want to know. Thing is, I don’t want to know anyone but you.”

“You’re too sweet.” You rock and fold your hands in front of your stomach. “Well… is Leon here? Maybe I could help out while you’re working–”

“What’d I say about work talk?” He grits.

You make an O with your lips. His eyes dart down to your mouth. “Oops! I’m not meaning to… I guess… I don’t know what to do or say!”

“Well, I mentioned the pool…” He suggests.

You smile but it falls just as quickly. You slap your forehead. “Gee, I think I forgot a suit.”

“Forgot your bikini?” He tuts.

“Bikini? No…” you blush hotly. “I… I had a whole list and I forgot to put that on it.”

“That’s alright. I’m down for skinny dipping if you are.” Your eyes go wide. He tilts his head then snickers. “Kidding… obviously.”

“Oh. Hahaha. Of course. That would be… ha.” You cough. “Well, I could put on shorts and I think I have like a tee shirt–”

“On it, sweetheart,” he pulls out his phone. “The girls are coming with our luggage. I’m sure they can find you something on the way.”

“No, I couldn’t–”

“You can. It’s done.” He taps the screen with his thumb and lowers the phone. “It’s too hot in this city not to swim.” He leans on one foot as he watches you. “And you’re not gonna let me hang out all by myself, are you?”

You stare at him and chew your cheek. You came this far and he’s done so much. You can’t be ungrateful. Besides, it’s just a swimsuit. It’s all your fault for being so dang forgetful.

“Of course not.” You relent. “I… thank you, Nick. You’re so…” you search for the end of the sentence as his brows tweak. “Nice to me. Really. You’re like the nicest person I’ve met in LA.”

It was one of your favorite rooms in the manor, and not just because you spent so much time here with Andy. The decor was traditional–and expensive–a myriad of dark woods and butter-smooth leather. The walls were lined with built-in shelves, stacked with books and dotted with expensive pieces of decor, and even some antiques that probably cost more money than your brain could comprehend. 

But your favorite personal touch were the two pieces of framed artwork hanging behind Andy’s desk. They were abstract and colorful, and each time you got swept away staring at them, you swore your eyes gleaned a completely new shape or scene or meaning behind them. 

Andy once told you the story of how he had won them in a bidding war at an antique auction after months of tracking down any artwork he could find by his late mother’s favorite artist. 

It seemed like such a small thing about himself that he had shared with you–but it showed the kind of man that Andy Barber was. 

Devoted. Determined. Strategic. Patient when it counted most.

And never willing to give up. 

You smiled as you slowly made your way to where he sat hunched over his executive desk, still deep in his own work despite the approach of early evening. 

It was traits like his devotion and patience that had finally won you over completely–despite how gun-shy you had been at the mere idea of anything more with Andy. 

With anyone, really, given your history.

But even you couldn’t deny that the more you got to know Andy, the more time you had spent with him, the more the thought of something more had taken root in your brain and began to flourish.

And now here you were. 

Clocking your proximity, Andy finally pulled his eyes from his computer screen, straightening in his leather-back chair. His gaze softened as it landed on you, his lips tilting up at the corners into your favorite smile. 

“All done for the day?” he asked, pushing his seat back and making room for you, because he knew you well. 

So Andy didn’t bat an eye when you nodded in response to his question before slowly sinking to the floor, until you were sat between his feet and resting your cheek against his knee with a soft sound of contentment.

“I rescheduled your meetings for tomorrow to next week, like you asked,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering as Andy reached out and began to gently pet your head. “And I ordered flowers for Ari’s mother for her birthday next week, too.” 

“Thank you, honey,” Andy murmured, his fingers teasing along the shell of your ear and making you shiver. “You take such good care of me, of all of us. I bet you even reminded Ari of his mother’s birthday, just to be safe.”

Your cheeks warmed, because Andy was right, and his tone was so fond colored with the kind of tenderness–just for you–that made your insides swoop and flutter. You hid your face against his leg, your insides fluttering some more at the sound of Andy’s quiet, husky laugh. 

But speaking of Ari, something tickled your brain, something that made you frown as you tilted your face up and opened your eyes, your gaze shining with worry. 

“How are things with the art gallery?” you asked. “Is the business owner next door still causing you trouble?”

Andy’s eyes danced at the mention of the woman who owned the tea and bookshop next door to his new business. “She’s nothing to fret over, honey. Ari’s taking care of her.”

At that, you nervously gnawed on your lower lip. As much as you had come to accept the fact that Andy was a mob boss–and sometimes had to do ruthless, unsavory things–he treated you so well, and was so loving, that it wasn’t an issue for you. 

In fact, it provided a sense of security that you had never known until Andy–the fact that you now had such a powerful and competent protector.

But still… you didn’t like the idea of Ari hurting anyone, of the things you were sure he had done and was capable of doing. No matter how respectful and protective he was of you. 

You didn’t wish his dark intentions on anyone, even someone who had proven to be a thorn in Andy’s side from day one. 

But then again, given the rivals and competition he usually dealt with, this woman’s antics were almost… charming. 

“Don’t look so worried,” Andy hummed, gently caressing your cheek. “He’s dealing with her in a way I’m quite certain she enjoys.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Oh.” Your eyes widened enough to make Andy laugh. “Well… good. I know the gallery is your pet project and the first business that you’re genuinely excited for.”

“And it’s the perfect front for arms dealing, which drives the most revenue, so really it’s a win win.”

You hummed in agreement, once again sinking against Andy as he continued his light touches and caresses. His fingers danced along the tension in your shoulders, moving slower and pressing firmly, until you were making a quiet sound of relief as the knots of tension seemed to melt away into nothing.

“You slept fitfully last night,” Andy said. 

You nodded, leaning into the cradle of Andy’s palm that now rested against your cheek. He tilted your face up so he could get a better look at you, observing the shadows beneath your eyes with a small frown and furrowed brow. 

“More nightmares?” he asked.

This time you hesitated, but only briefly, before nodding again.

You didn’t hesitate because you wanted to hide your struggles from Andy, or because you were embarrassed he had of course noticed the state of you, but more so just because you hated to think about your nightmares, and the things from your past that caused them. 

At your admission, and the way your shoulders hunched and curled just a little, Andy’s touch instantly became more intentional. His hand moved to grip the back of your neck, squeezing in that way he knew melted your brain and made all of your anxiety dissipate. 

Of their own accord, your hands lifted so you could cling to Andy’s thighs, pressing your forehead against his knee and nearly curling around his leg like a koala–greedy for his touch. 

Even after all this time, you still couldn’t believe it, the way Andy’s touch affected you–in a good way. That you loved it and often needed it now. 

Because there had been a time when you thought that you would never enjoy the touch of another again…

18 Months Ago

“Another month in the green,” Andy said, sounding pleased as he scrolled through the financial slides on the tablet he held. 

“Bet you’re fucking tickled that you went all in on the club with me,” Lloyd Hansen preened, sinking back in his desk chair and giving Andy a shit-eating grin. “I told you this would be a money maker. There’s nothing like it for miles and miles.”

Andy hummed, setting the tablet on Lloyd’s desk, his face serious as he eyed the other man. “And I bet you’re fucking tickled that I gave you permission to set up shop in my territory.”

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you made me work for it and go in halfsies with you, so.”

“You’re welcome,” Andy smirked. 

Lloyd scoffed, opening his mouth to likely fire back something Andy would make him regret, but before he could speak a word, his office door flung open and you were forcefully shoved inside. 

You squealed as Lloyd’s head of club security–the brute–gave you another shove that had you nearly face planting into the thick, expensive carpet. 

“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t to be interrupted?” Lloyd snarled at said brute. 

“Sorry, boss,” he grunted, giving you a lethal glare, “but she caused a scene out on the floor.”

Lloyd’s eyes snapped to you so quickly that you flinched. 

“Did she?” The chill in his voice had you cowering in dread as the security guy quickly ducked out of the office, pulling the door closed as he went and shutting you away with your prickly boss.

You were too terrified of Lloyd, and too distressed after what had happened out on the night club floor, to notice the stranger sitting across from Lloyd’s desk. 

“This is the thanks I get for hiring your cry baby ass?” Lloyd hissed as he rose from his seat.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hansen,” you quavered as he rounded his desk and stalked closer. “But… I, I told you, I don’t like to be touched and one of the men out there, he grabbed me and–”

Lloyd didn’t stop his approach until he stood toe-to-toe with you, causing you to visibly tremble as you hugged yourself tightly and kept your head ducked low, your eyes fixed on your feet. 

“You’re in a fucking night club, toots, dressed like that, might I add–“ Lloyd scoffed.

“You made me–“ you countered weakly.

“It’s called a work uniform.”

You thought that was a stretch as you eyed your outfit which wasn’t much more than a pair of metallic booty shorts and a sorry excuse for a shirt that nearly had your breasts spilling out the top. 

And you weren’t even one of the cage dancers, you were just a server. 

“You told me you needed this job, that you were desperate for work,” Lloyd growled.

At that, your head lifted, your gaze frantic as it met Lloyd’s. “I am, I do! Please, I’m sorry–“

Lloyd shook his head. “I can’t have you out there causing a scene anytime the clientele gets a little handsy. That’s part of the job. I mean, what the fuck did you think you were getting into working here?”

“Please, sir, I need this job. I don’t have anything else or anyone or–”

“Oh boo fucking hoo,” Lloyd sneered, dipping his head close and making you recoil. “I gave you a chance. I was more than generous. You get paid well. You get benefits. And this is how you thank me?”

Your chest hitched, a sob working its way up to your throat, because he was right. You had been so obviously out of your depth when you had shown up here for your interview, but you had also been beyond desperate for the gig, for a steady income, to survive. 

And now you had gone and fucked it all up because you couldn’t just do what all the other servers did and acclimate to your environment. 

“Get out,” Lloyd enunciated slowly before straightening. “And don’t come back.”

“No! Please!” Your voice was pitched with hysteria as panic flared within you. 

Because you couldn’t lose this job.  

“I can… I can do something else! Anything else!” you cried, trailing behind Lloyd as he turned his back on you and sauntered toward his desk. “I can tend bar or or do inventory or–”

He whirled on you suddenly, making you squeak as you walked right into him and then sharply drew back as if you’d been burnt. 

There was a mean glint in Lloyd’s eyes as they slowly trailed over you, in a familiar way that had your belly sinking and your skin crawling. 

“The only other use I have for you wouldn’t be ideal since you don’t like being touched, cupcake.” Lloyd made a lewd gesture with his fingers and tongue to get his point across, giving a mean laugh as you hugged yourself tightly and stumbled away from him. “That’s what I thought. I have no use for you. You’re useless. So get fucking gone.”

He turned away, clearly dismissing you, his words reverberating in your head loud enough to drown out all of your panicked thoughts. 

Because you were useless.  

Your tears finally fell as your devastation consumed you. You would be out of your shitty apartment within weeks if you couldn’t make rent. You’d be back on the streets, needing to do whatever it took just to get by. 

You shuddered with dread just thinking about it. Especially in this city. 

But you had nowhere else to go. No one to turn to. 

You had nothing. 

You were nothing. 

“GET OUT!” Lloyd’s holler made you snap back to the present moment.

You physically jumped at his raised voice, whimpering before turning on your heel to scurry out of his office, but a quiet, unfamiliar baritone made you freeze in place. 

“Wait.”

Lloyd huffed. “Really, Barber? You’re undermining me in my own club?”

“Our club. And I’m not undermining you. Just because you don’t have a use for her, Hansen, doesn’t mean I don’t.”

The tiniest, weakest flare of hope flickered within you as you turned and looked at the man who spoke, not nearly as bold in your gaze as he was. 

Even though he was seated, you could tell that he was tall, his posture straight and confident, his shoulders broad beneath the dark suit jacket he wore. His skin was fair and flawless, his face shadowed with a dark, meticulously kept beard that matched the floofy swoop of his brown hair. 

But it was his dark blue eyes that made your own gaze linger, and widen.

Because you realized that the stranger wasn’t watching you with a lecherous look like most men you’d come into contact with. His gaze was shining with something new and unfamiliar–sympathy, and calculation. 

“Take her out to the car,” he nodded, and another man you didn’t even notice until now materialized from the dark corner of the office. 

He was the biggest, broadest man in the room. His hair dark and long enough to curl around his blue, denim shirt collar. He was so big, in fact, that when he stepped toward you, you whimpered again, cowering at the sheer size of him.  

“He won’t hurt you,” the stranger with the pretty blue eyes promised. “Go on. We’ll speak once I’m done here.”

You swallowed hard–nervously–but you were nodding before you even realized it, your body picking up on the softness in his tone and gaze before your brain did. 

It made zero sense, especially given your history, but you trusted him, instinctively. 

So you turned, grateful when the man you assumed was his bodyguard didn’t touch you as he corralled you out of the office and down the back hallway of the club. 

Once you were tucked away in the dark, luxurious SUV parked out back, your mind started to spiral again, all the frantic noise inside your head blaring on a loop.

What were you doing? 

You didn’t even know this man. 

If he was in business with Lloyd, you couldn’t imagine he was much better. 

But then you remembered the softness in his voice when he spoke to you. In his gaze when he looked at you. 

He saw your fear and desperation and it seemed like maybe he actually wanted to help you.

Lord knew you could use that right about now. 

You were startled from your thoughts as the back door opened and the stranger appeared, climbing in beside you. You noticed how he seemed intentional in keeping some distance between you–in respecting your personal space. 

It was such a far cry from Lloyd and pretty much every other man you had ever met, that you felt a lump swell in your throat, and you had to look away from his intent gaze to blink the tears from your own. 

“What’s your name?” he asked gently. 

You took a breath, peeking over at him as you murmured your name. 

He gave you a small smile, introducing himself in return. “I’m Andy Barber, it’s a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances.”

Your lips trembled into an almost hopeful smile.

“You need work?”

You nodded fervently, so much so that you made yourself dizzy as you breathed, “Yes, sir.”

“Do you have any skills or notable experience?” Andy asked.

And just like that–you wilted. 

Because you didn’t. You barely had an education, and your resume was laughable–just a string of odd jobs that never lasted long, and the kind of years-long gap that would make any eyebrow raise. 

The only thing you had to offer was what Lloyd alluded to back in his office. 

Yourself. Your body. 

But you couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t. Not again. Not even if it was your choice this time. 

You wouldn’t, you wouldn’t, you wouldn’t.

Andy’s quiet voice broke through your internal spiral–your mindless mental chant–as he told you, “You know, I didn’t start out at the top. I came from nothing. But someone with means saw potential in me. They gave me a chance. So I’m willing to do the same for you.”

And there it was again, that tiny flicker of hope sparking to life in the deep recesses of your tarnished soul. 

“Why?” you couldn’t help but ask. “You don’t even know me.”

“I’m very good at reading people, and I think you’re someone capable of loyalty, and that I prize most above all. Skills can be taught, knowledge can be gleaned, but loyalty? Trust? Those are innate and of the utmost value, especially in my world.”

You looked at Andy again and couldn't help but shiver. His poise, his confidence, his direct gaze. 

You weren’t quite sure who he was, but you knew that you had somehow stumbled your way into the path of someone important. Someone powerful. 

Someone who maybe, if you earned his trust, if you made him proud, he would keep you safe. 

And that, to you, was of the utmost value.

So you took a deep, shaky breath before whispering, “I can be loyal.” You swallowed before continuing, “And I can work real hard, no matter what you ask of me,” your voice faltered. “Except… I don’t… please, I’m not–“

Despite your fumbling, Andy seemed to understand where your mind had gone. What fear overtook you now. 

You saw him reach for you–perhaps his intention was a comforting touch–but he must have remembered you didn’t like to be touched, because he pulled up short and his hand retreated, resting on his thigh instead. 

“That isn’t what this is,” he said gently. 

“Okay,” you squeaked, sinking beneath the weight of your relief. “Good. T-thank you.”

You peeked over at him again, feeling unsure but also a little mesmerized. Because Andy Barber was beyond handsome. In fact, he was beautiful, but his eyes… your gaze couldn’t stop returning to his and the softness that resided there. 

No one had ever looked at you that way before. 

Without vile or cruel intentions aimed your way. Without malice or greed. Without the promise of pain, or worse. So much worse.

“Well, this seems pretty cut and dry to me, and genuinely the most pleasant interview process I’ve ever experienced,” Andy said. “So, you’re hired.” He winked, looking delighted when that got a quiet giggle out of you. 

But the sound of your amusement cut off abruptly as the car began to move, and you jolted upright, panicked. 

“Relax,” Andy soothed, his fingers twitching against his thigh like he was once again resisting the urge to reach out with a comforting touch. “We’re just driving you home, and then you can come to my place tomorrow and we can discuss how you can best support me,” Andy explained. “Where do you live?” 

You didn’t respond for a moment, not so much because you didn’t trust him–didn’t know him–but because you were embarrassed by the answer. But after a beat, you gave it to him anyway. 

Andy didn’t wrinkle his nose in disgust or make a judgmental remark like Lloyd had when he read your address on your new hire paperwork. He just relayed the address to his bodyguard, who was driving, before sitting back in his seat. 

“Would you be open to relocating?” Andy asked, clearly taking you by surprise. “If I have you assisting me daily, it makes the most sense for you to live on my property.”

“I…” you hesitated, not wanting to spoil this gift so soon after receiving it. 

Especially since you had no other prospects. 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you said carefully. 

Andy’s eyes sparkled at your diplomatic answer. “You wouldn’t be. Most of my staff have quarters at my manor. Like Ari,” he nodded toward the beefy man in the driver’s seat. “Same with my personal chef and butler.”

“Oh,” you murmured, nervously wringing your hands together in your lap. 

Because it seemed like Andy had a whole staff under his employ. Not to mention a manor.

Again, you couldn’t help but wonder who he was, whose orbit you had been drawn into. 

“Can I think about it, please?” You asked, not wanting to give up all of your minimal autonomy at once. 

Not wanting to make what could be a very life-changing decision before you knew Andy better.

“Of course,” he replied easily. “I can show you around tomorrow to help inform your decision. How does that sound?”

“Very generous.”

Andy shot you a small smile, and your belly swooped at the sight before you quickly looked away, your leg jiggling with nerves as Ari steered the SUV onto your street. 

The vehicle eased to a stop at the curb just outside of your dingy apartment building, and you found yourself unable to look at Andy–to risk seeing the pity in his eyes.  

“Here, why don’t we exchange numbers?” Andy suggested, fishing his cell phone from his inner jacket pocket. 

You pulled your own dated device from your back pocket, quickly fulfilling his request before clutching your phone between your sweaty palms. 

“I’ll send a driver to pick you up tomorrow at eight thirty, does that work for you?” Andy asked.

“Yes, but you don’t need to,“ you objected. “I can take the bus, or–”

“It’s a safety precaution on my end,” Andy assured you. “I don’t give out my home address to many. Not in my line of work.” 

He winked to make light of something serious, and you once again found yourself wondering what–exactly–was Andy’s line of work? 

What were you getting yourself into?

But you just as quickly shook that thought away, because this opportunity–Andy’s kindness–it was all you had, and it was truly a gift. 

No one had ever done something like this for you before, had given you a chance, a helping hand in a moment when you needed it most. 

And you wouldn’t waste it. 

So you nodded, mustering a smile despite your anxiety as you told Andy, “I’ll be ready tomorrow at eight thirty.”

“Perfect,” he smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

He watched as you opened the car door and slipped outside, hesitating before you turned back to him. Because a new feeling was overriding your nerves now.

Gratitude. 

You felt so very thankful for this unexpected opportunity. For Andy’s empathy and belief in you.  

You weren’t used to getting help or lucky breaks. 

You weren’t used to anyone caring about you in any way at all. 

It must have been written all over your face too, all these thoughts swirling inside of you, because Andy’s features softened as he watched you, another one of those small smiles cursing his lips. 

“Go get some rest, honey, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Your belly swooped at the term of endearment, and you lingered for a moment, wishing you were good with words, that you could articulate how grateful you were, how much this meant to you. But you finally settled on a very earnest, “Thank you, Mr. Barber.”

“No need to thank me. And call me ‘Andy.’”

Your insides fluttered at his request, and you nodded. “Goodnight, Andy.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching your retreat.

Despite the way you hurried up the front steps and into the entryway, the SUV seemed in no rush to depart, instead idling at the curb until you were safely inside.

You scurried up the four flights of stairs to your unit in a daze, your brain trying to process everything that happened tonight. You were out of your new job at the club, but it seemed like something better could be awaiting you. 

Thanks to Andy. 

You were terrified to really get your hopes up, because so rarely did things go your way, but this time, weirdly, the excitement–and anticipation to see Andy again–was something you just couldn’t shake… 

“Come here, honey.”

The sound of Andy’s voice brought you back to the present moment, your hazy mind surfacing from one of the few pleasant memories you had. 

Blinking owlishly, you glanced up to find Andy watching you in soft amusement, his big hand held out toward you. 

You slipped your hand into his, allowing Andy to pull you first to your feet, then into his lap. 

His arms circled you in an instant, tugging you close as his lips pressed a kiss to your forehead. As you went pliant against him, resting your cheek on his shoulder, he murmured, “We’re going away for a long weekend.”

Your head snapped up in surprise. “We are?” 

Andy smiled as he caressed your cheek. “Well, as long as you want to, but it’s why I had you clear my calendar tomorrow. I think some peace, quiet, and nature will do you good.”

You couldn’t suppress your giddy smile if you tried. “We’re going to the lake house then?”

Andy’s smile was more of a grin as he nodded, “I know it’s your favorite.”

“Thank you, Andy!” you squealed, nearly bouncing in his lap as you hugged him and pressed a kiss to his beardy cheek. 

Andy’s eyes twinkled at your sweet excitement. As you went to pull away, his fingers caught your chin, staying your retreat as his eyes ignited in a way that had a surge of warmth pooling low in your belly.

Slowly, his gaze meeting yours and not shying away, Andy pulled you in for a real kiss. The kind of kiss that made it impossible to catch your breath because you could feel with each and every press of Andy’s lips against yours how much he loved you, cherished you, wanted you. 

You were nearly panting once he pulled away, your eyes dazed enough to make him smile. 

“You never need to thank me for taking care of you,” Andy hummed, touching his lips to your forehead. “For treating you the way you deserve.” His next kiss warmed your cheek, then he placed a final kiss on the other before pulling away at last. “Why don’t you go pack?”

“I will, in a little while, but first, can we just…” You sank against him, loosely clinging to him as you nuzzled your cheek against his chest. “Stay like this for a little while?” 

“We can stay this way for as long as you want,” Andy promised, his big hand touching your back before settling into a slow, soothing rhythm–up and down, up and down–making you go even more pliant against him.

Humming your content, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut, truly feeling your exhaustion for the first time all day. 

But you felt something else alongside it, something that–once upon a time, but not so long ago–you never would have thought you would ever feel… 

As Andy’s soft, musky scent filled your nose, as his warm, reassuring touch smoothed up and down your back, as you tucked your face against the crook of his neck and breathed in as deep, you felt truly and unequivocally safe.

🥹 You guysss. I love them SO hard. I would be so beyond grateful and delighted if you took a moment to drop me a comment or reblog with your thoughts. Pretty please! With a naked Andy and Ari on top?! 😘

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You just had to suffer a few months slaving in the kitchen of a popular restaurant, redoing dishes for snobbish trust fund narcissists and influencers who tended to send something back for merely not matching the color scheme they wanted.

But the money was really worth it, so you gritted your teeth and perfected each dish.

The other upside of burning your fingers for bored elites was the beach and the sea.

It took you two weeks to find a perfect spot for yourself. Not anywhere on the public beach that was overcrowded and noisy. It was a very long walk, all past the private beaches with their big signs announcing no one was welcomed there, but you finally found your little heaven.

A beach with no people, as well no warning signs telling you to fuck off before a bitchy lady of the house throws your poor ass off and threatens you with firing from your job for lingering on her pristine, rich sand.

Your tranquil spot was all sea, beach and a wide span of forest. A wild road led through the grasses and trees deep into the woods, probably made by the locals from a nearby village, who might come to this part of the beach, avoiding the town itself.

With a happy sigh, you spread out your blanket and tossed down your bag. You shimmied out of your dress and stretched happily. A few breaths of the warm, salty breeze and you ran for the water with a giggle.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Steve paused mid-step, taking a deep breath and filling his lungs with the familiar scent of pine mixed with sea salt.

He used to run across these woods as a kid, picking pine cones to later throw into the bonfire, or taking them straight to the beach and using them to adorn the sandcastles that he built.

These lands belonged to his family for decades. His grandfather built and rented the first houses along the coast, later developing them into a business that secured the family name for years to come.

It loaded the second branch of the family business, too. On the other side of the sea - darker than the deep waters, with income as golden as the sand.

Focusing on managing the business and politics of certain organizations forced Steve to stay in the city most of the time, or to travel across the continents.

It's been over a year since he took a few days to come here.

Barely after arriving, he changed his clothes and took his two dogs to once again find his peace and quiet. Baron and King ran between the trees like wild pups, losing their usual lethal intensity that matched Steve's persona in the city.

But suddenly they paused.

Steve noticed how both dogs' heads titled slightly, then they were off running down the sandy path toward the beach.

They didn't barge onto the beach barking, but they went straight for a splash of color that was someone's blanket and belongings on it. Baron snatched something into his mouth and turned back towards Steve.

King remained in place, taking watch.

Delicate, yellow fabric that Steve picked from between Baron's teeth turned out to be a short dress. Delicate, with a faint scent of sweet, juicy perfume.

Then a loud screech followed by a burst of laughter snatched his attention.

Steve already figured out someone was chilling on his beach, but he didn't expect the sight to entertain him as much.

You were coming out of the sea, wet and radiating happiness. The screeching and laughter surely came from you, and it took Steve a second to realize what caused it.

Your bikini top was untied; bubble pink triangles barely covering your breasts now that the string was loose.

When a wave hit and ruined your top, that's when you squeaked in surprise. Then you simply laughed at the situation.

You didn't bother to cover yourself with your arms. You were still convinced there was no one here, that you were all alone on this wonderful beach and thus losing your bikini top was rather hilarious, not embarrassing.

It took you a few steps onto the warm sand to notice a presence near your blanket. Two dogs that looked massive and potentially able to maul you, though they stood in place, just watching you like you were a silly spectacle.

And a man.

Taller than you, with an impressive body clad in simple sweats and a t-shirt. A change from all the pressed linen and old money aesthetic most men in the seaside town presented.

He was holding your dress in one hand, his other hand tucked into his pocket. His eyes twinkled in amusement as he looked directly at you. Not even bothering to hide the fact he checked out your boobs.

"Not only it's not a nudist beach," his voice was pleasantly masculine - deep, yet velvety, "it's also a private one. So it's a double misdemeanor."

For a few seconds you just stared at him, before your brain caught up with the situation.

With a squeak (which Steve found most cute), you crossed your arms over your chest to cover yourself.

You made a step forward, but paused when you remembered about the dogs. They still didn't move from their spots. Not a single growl came.

"It's okay, they won't harm you." Steve assured you. "Not until they're ordered to. And I don't think your little crime deserves a punishment so gruesome, pretty mermaid."

He handed you your dress without any disgusting bargaining, or lewd comments. But he did keep his eyes on you when you turned your back to him and slid it on, covering yourself.

"I didn't know it's a private beach. There's no sign." You blurted out, facing him again.

"Ah." He nodded, calm and friendly. "Rarely anyone comes so far out here. They stick to their tiny slabs of ownership. Others simply know not to go beyond the red pine."

He motioned at the characteristic tree in the forest line along the beach. Not only it was somehow a rusty red color, but also the pine was curved forward at the bottom, as if the tree was kneeling.

"You a tourist?" Steve asked, scratching Baron on the head when the dog nudged his leg.

"Not exactly." You rubbed your hands over your thighs nervously, feeling uncertain, as well realizing your dress was starting to soak up all the water from your body.

Covered or not, your nipples were going to be visible any second now.

"I work in one of the restaurants for the summer," you admitted.

"A cook?" At your nod Steve smiled. "How about you tell me which restaurant you work at, so I can come for a meal and you serve it to me yourself. As penance for trespassing."

You hesitated. The man didn't appear bothered by your presence on the beach, turning it into a harmless situation. But what if he was a vindictive asshole, who would come to your workplace and get you fired?

Studying him for a moment, you couldn't find it in yourself to be that suspicious of him. Perhaps, you were a little blinded by his stupidly handsome face, those blue eyes you could get mesmerised by, the smile that threatened to melt away your bikini bottom.

You told him where you worked, as well the fact you had a day off, but would be back there tomorrow.

Steve was going to be there, just like he said. And you would prepare his meal and bring it to his table with a shy smile. The main chef, as well as the restaurant's owner, would hear high praises about your skills.

Steve would be coming to that place every day for a whole week, asking for you specifically to make his meals and serve them. Each chunk of interaction and conversation at a time, he would be preparing a detailed plan regarding your future.