can you hear this? We dedicate this requiem to you

“Enjin, you're suffocating me. Get up already!”

It’s just morning. Therefore, you shouldn’t have to make your first complaint about your boyfriend already, only feeling as though many more await you in the day’s wake.

“I don't need your slobber all over me either,” you add grumpily, pushing at his shoulder.

But you only receive a groaned-out response, flippant to your current discomfort. “Mhm… five more minutes…”

The same old excuse.

Waking up Enjin is always a drag.

To make matters worse, it has become a norm that you serve as his pillow—girlfriend duties, he’d call it. Which unfortunately comes with an excessiveness of an overgrown cat with no sense of personal space—his leg hooked over your hip, him squeezing your head close to his chest in the image of a balloon that will fly away if he doesn’t commit to it.

Since you’ve tried to wake him up properly multiple times, only for you to fail, you decide you have to reach for unpleasant measures: you poke at his side, digging your finger right between his ribs. A spot not necessarily painful like it is invasive, evoking an intrusive sensation.

That much finally works, as the man in question suddenly jolts and moves away from you, arms loosening around you, and he nearly falls off the side of the bed in impact.

He also shrieks like a banshee, making you laugh.

Serves him right.

Enjin makes sure to turn his head around and glare at you with offense, right as he scrambles himself and his pride up. “Ugh… Mornin’… you beast with no heart…” he grumbles groggily as he sits down on the bed slowly, still barely coherent.

“Morning, Enjin,” you greet back, awfully chirpy.

His expression turns sullen. Not only are you laughing at him, lying in bed comfortably, there is no way in hell this is a humanly hour to get at up.

Mind you, it’s 9 in the morning.

“What?” Witnessing his slovenly appearance, you cannot help but chuckle again. “Don’t look at me like that. Work calls.”

“I am not getting up this early.” And just like that, he plops himself on your bed again.

You gasp at his audacity, especially that your victory seemingly was cut short. “That’s not up to you. It’s not even early.”

“What are they going to do? Fire me?” He snickers to himself as he draws you close once more. “They need us Cleaners. And I’m sure I can get ready in time anyway.”

You would like to disagree; you digress, seeing he’s adamant to get the extra sleep he wants.

It’s already a questionable idea, dating another Cleaner. But Corvus has never been about enforcing stricter rules, letting people follow him willingly. So long the headquarters are not set on fire, the boss supposes many things are fair.

As Enjin said, it's not as if they’d fire him. The most he’ll hear is his team’s critique.

Yes, you are dating this annoying chain smoker now. Surprisingly, it was his idea—whether because that one sex you had was an excuse to finally reach you without any attached oversentimentality or whatever else. Generally speaking, it’s extremely hard to tell what Enjin thinks beyond simple needs like cigarettes, music, and you. Which tends to be frustrating, terribly so, but you’re trying to steel yourself in patience—very little relationships are perfect from the scratch, right?

“Hm, no. But I will kick you out of my room with a smile on my face,” you threaten, pushing your foot at his calf.

Only for him to yank you to himself impossibly closer, his grip on your waist remorseless. “Yeah? And lose on the best heater?” he mocks, opening one golden eye at you.

You frown, trying to regulate your breath under the pressure of a corset. “I've been the one keeping you warm, you mean. It's not you who’s been held in clutch all night.”

“True that. But it’s a mutual benefit.” And so his eyes close fully for one more moment. “Ever considered that?” he adds just to be annoying, but it’s half-spoken by sleep that overtakes him.

Frustratingly so, yet with him gone for a moment, you are given the chance to gawk at his most peaceful state freely. Long diaphanous lashes brushing his cheeks and filtering morning light, calm breathing working on relaxing you in a way a cat’s purring would, his hair resting down before he’d slap some gel on it, small twitches in his hands… He’s awfully comfortable for someone creaking your poor bones. Cute, you’d dare to say.

He even mumbles something in his inertia state. “…Always the menthol ones left… rotten luck…”

You snicker. He's always such a messy sleeper. Although, there’s one positive side to him sleeping next to you.

Those softer moments, where he doesn't feel like being loud and obnoxious, or even pretending to be bulletproof. Perhaps he simply has no energy for that, his brain not yet charged to be on stand for. In any case, these extra morning-soaked minutes (or hours…) are the most enjoyable.

However, watching the process repeated over the year, something like this is bound to become stagnant—making your heart ache for more. You realize it’s been four months maybe, since your relationship started.

You cannot say this is the most noble relationship, but you assume he’s trying for you.

Right?

Your bubble of squealing is burst when he notices you staring, also proving he's been mostly resting than actually sleeping. His eyes open drowsily, yet you can feel him tense up a little against you.

“What are you staring at me for?” he asks with suspicion. “You tend to do that like crazy.”

You let out a dry throat sound, unsure as to why it would be a problem. You play with a strand of his blonde hair as you answer, “Am I not allowed to look at my own boyfriend?” His nose scrunches at the word boyfriend. You wonder what’s this about. It’s as if, half of the time, Enjin acts like a stranger. “But I’m doing it for no particular reason. Just waiting for you to get up,” you clarify, letting your hand fall with something wistful.

You sense that he dislikes being perceived like that, from a closer perspective, inspected—even if your intentions are entirely innocent.

It's still a mystery to you who exactly Enjin is, and you only can be hopeful he opens up to you eventually. Even if your patience starts to run dry. You don’t expect everything to be laid out on the table in one day; although, your man barely talking about yourself is food for thought.

Even making you wonder if you’re doing something wrong.

He hums. Stares at you for a longer second, and when you stare back at him softly as if to further sell your point, he seemingly accepts your answer.

Then that teasing mouth opens.

“Just that? Not thinkin’ how handsome your…” The word comes with slight difficulty but it does. “Boyfriend is?”

His face leans in close, with a small grin painting itself already. So you try to get away, feeling hot in your face. You only end up tangled in your own covers, as he does not let you go.

“No, come here. No being shy now. Dear Enjin will help your ass wake up properly.”

He’s suddenly all over you, rendering you ignorant about any vulnerability—or lack thereof. Just his mouth over your throat and him already grinding his morning wood into you removes a proportionate amount of inhibitions.

Even if you suspect he’s being defensive, you let him indulge, momentarily forgetting your concerns.

Searching for your boyfriend sometimes is like searching for a needle in a haystack, considering he can disappear all of the sudden. The enigma of Enjin trails him everywhere like a ghost, it would seem. The only comfort lies in the fact you never catch a whiff of another woman’s perfume on him, feeling safer to assume he likes his personal space that much.

Especially considering the location he was at when he has found Rudo.

Today is easier to manage, thankfully.

With job well done, coming back safe and all, it’s natural he’d want to relax afterwards. He has seen you already, and so you would have leave him alone for the rest of the afternoon, if it weren’t for one crucial thing.

He’s drinking, someone has told you. And drinking Enjin almost never sounds like a good idea. He can hold his liquor to some extent, but once a certain percentage hits his body? It’s over for everyone—or their ears. So you stalk his whereabouts, at least wanting to check on him and see whether he’s making a fool of himself or already snoring.

From a distance, you can hear a conversation slowly percolating into the corridor. The door to the Cleaners common room is in a poor state, that by this point, it tends to open itself slightly ajar. Many comprising things have been accidentally revealed due to no one bothering to fix it. Maybe they leave it like that on purpose.

Information does not come for cheap on the Ground, after all.

“Shut up finally, will you?” Enjin sounds exasperated, as if long exhausted by some bickering. Funny, that once the tables are turned, he’s suddenly against any idea of provoking people.

“Don't get your panties in a bunch. It’s a good thing to see you prosper!” Gris’s voice audibly teases.

Whatever Enjin and Gris are talking about must be stupid. You can already hear a bit of tipsy to your boyfriend’s voice.

It’s a certain line that Enjin produces that stops you from entering the common room last moment. You freeze right outside the door, not even in front of it yet.

“It’s not that serious anyway.”

Wondering about the context behind these words, you suddenly have a bad feeling. It wouldn’t be a surprise if they were referring to your relationship, considering it’s been a big deal to others for some reason.

“No?” Even Gris sounds surprised. “I thought you and her were dating. You’re her boyfriend, no?”

Oh. So they are indeed talking about it.

You hear that as if a sentence was placed on you. Your heart stammers, not sure what to do with those first heavy words, but knowing well they sting.

Not that serious, Enjin says, this confession being about you and him. After everything… it might not be that serious to the guy.

You still hope you simply took it out of context, so you prick up your ears for more.

In hindsight, you didn’t ask how serious you two are supposed to be, but if he asked you to be his girlfriend and didn’t clarify anything else, isn’t that serious on its own? He didn't even ask you to take it slow. No talk about casualty whatsoever.

Your belief must be vindicated especially after you gave yourself to him. That felt like a pivotal moment of your relationship being born.

Unless the truth is far worse and far less romantic than you thought.

“Yeah, but… we’re not about to get married or anything,” Enjin scoffs, adding fuel to the fire. “It’s complicated. We might get bored of each other tomorrow. She can be quite the pain in the ass too.” He clanks his glass against the table, as if speaking of irritation.

Now he’s straight up insulting you. You barely curb a gasping sound from coming out of your mouth, but your stomach drops in exchange.

And if your boyfriend is, first and foremost, not sure what to exactly make of your relationship, then you suppose it really is not that serious to him.

You place your forehead against the wall next to the entrance, trying not to get emotion overwhelm you, even if your blood suddenly runs cold.

Is that it? The end? You’ve been played, and used, and to be discarded once you served your purpose? Is Enjin seriously so cruel?

You don’t want to believe he could ever be like that, trying to stop your thoughts from spiraling. There's been some trust built between you and him before your relationship even started; some sense of rapport.

Then again, it was mostly just you and him as coworkers fighting next to each other, with catching a drink after. Personal relationships fall under completely different umbrella, and some men can be simultaneously helpful to the society and terrible in person.

His reluctance to commit fully suddenly explains many things, in fact.

Unfortunately, Enjin hears that forehead thump on the wall.

“Is that…?” Gris asks with shushed breath, the party suddenly pausing as he places his beer down on the coffee table.

Their eyes fly at the door immediately.

The moment you realize they must have heard you, you march away.

“Hey, wait!” Enjin exclaims as he sees the blur of your shadow passing by the door through its crack.

Getting up on his feet expeditiously, he crosses the room quickly before he swings the door fully and peaks out to the side.

Whatever came over you, he decides to go after you immediately.

“Were you eavesdropping on us?” he asks with a frown, getting mad at the possibility despite everything.

You don’t respond.

His long and lean legs unfortunately give him advantage.

The moment he catches up with you and places a stopping hand on your shoulder, you shrug it off.

“What’s wrong?” he throws another question at you, his tone growing impatient. Gris’s sudden waterfall of inquires about your relationship already made him irritated.

He really dares to ask what’s wrong. Perhaps he truly has considered it nothing important from the beginning, if the problem isn't glaringly obvious to him.

You speed up your movements, covering half of your face with the hand in disbelief.

But he catches up with you again as quickly, grabbing your forearm before you could hide in your room. Still trying not to bruise you, he turns you around by your shoulder.

“Girl, I asked you something. Look at me,” Enjin says sharply, holding you in place.

“Leave me alone—”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong,” he butts in, ignoring your squirms dancing under his palms.

You face him with disappointment written all over your eyes, as your lip trembles. “Not that serious, huh?” You throw his own words back at him.

He therefore has an inkling of what troubles you. All the more when he sees tears welling up in your eyes still attempting to glare at him.

His stomach threatens to flip upside down; mostly from the fact he’s not greatest at comforting crying women. He is capable of comforting others, but doubtfully in a way you’d like it—devoid of something that isn’t a practical or metaphorical advice.

“Listen—” he starts, removing his grip in hope you won’t get away.

“Am I just a body to you, Enjin? Was that it?” you ask painfully.

His brows narrow down in something flummoxed. The accusation comes so suddenly, he has no clue what to do with it. “What do you mean?”

“Perfect timing, to start dating me right after taking my virginity!”

Digging into your memory, you’ve been more physical than you were genuine. At least, he was responsible for maintaining this imbalance. You’ve been pouring out your heart, wearing it on a sleeve, only for him to be no more than listener and receiver for the majority of time. He’d hear you out, he’d advise, he’d even compliment, praise, hype up, and have fun with you… but when it comes to genuine kind of reciprocating, or showing affection…

Well, it took you enough time to comprehend he wasn’t a good exemplar of a boyfriend—a stark contrast of what you were giving, and you’re not even perfect yourself.

Not exactly neglectful, but also… not exactly committed. Just occupying a vacant spot so someone else doesn’t. And while some avoidance does not have to be proof on its own, calling your relationship not that serious ties it for you nicely.

“What are you talking about?” Enjin rubs his face, trying not to get aggravated with the fact that you're on verge of crying looming above him. “Some conspiracy theory now? Are you bored and trying to pick up some drama?”

Your mouth opens with disbelief. His eyes close with small regret. Calling any woman dramatic is the worst way to talk to her, he does know—he’s been slapped for that by them many times.

“No, wait, I… I can tell this bugs you,” he claims, placing a hand on your shoulder in some poor gesture of assurance. “But I’m not so sure if you’re not exaggerating either—”

And this attitude, shifting blame on you… your tears finally flow down, a sob coming down like a thunder.

“You said I can be a pain in the ass,” you bring up with a hiccup. Why be with someone you dislike?

Enjin tenses up visibly, seeing your wet eyes. Oh no no no—

“Yeah, but… I didn’t mean anything bad by that,” he mumbles, massaging your shoulder stiffly. “Everyone can be annoying. Nothing personal. No need to be crying over something so dumb.”

“That’s not even the main issue here!” you exclaim, clenching your fists. “You said our relationship is not that serious!”

“Yeah, maybe I did. I said it’s not that serious. A dumb mistake.” He pats your shoulder, as if saying ‘there’. “You’re going to hold it over my head now?” he asks dryly.

“A mistake?” you whisper back, looking for any humor in his eyes. There’s none. “How do you say it’s not that serious by a simple blunder, as well the rest of the stuff?”

If anything, the alcohol is likely to get him more honest. It’s as if he can’t make up his mind, fluctuating between what you want to hear and what he wants to say. Rather telling on its own.

Unfortunately, you're unable to handle the pressure and yank yourself free.

And he lets you go, perhaps relieved he doesn’t need to deal with your tears.

There’s no follow-up. Even if that’s what you wanted, it still crushes you.

Six months ago

The atmosphere after the fact is weird. Well, on a side note, what you did together is no small thing, something you are meant to think about and analyze constantly.

Losing your virginity to your coworker and somewhat-friend, who also has hots for you? Write that down in a calendar.

Enjin doesn’t avoid you per se—a huge relief—yet he’s certainly acting awkward around you. Not meeting your gaze properly, unable to form a sensible sentence, and getting all stiff just by standing near you—while simultaneously trying to play it cool.

And here you thought you’re the one who lost their virginity.

So much it bothers you, that, unable to handle the pressure, you corner him in a laundry room one day.

Which he doesn’t expect that at all, to be pinned in the middle of the drying clothes. While you can be passionate, this must the most straightforward you have been with him. If anything, he suspected you to be afraid to face him after what you two have done a few nights ago.

Unfortunately for you, it only gets him hot, enough to cover a small discomfort that comes from being pressured in such an intimate manner.

“Enjin. Can we finally acknowledge the elephant in the room.” You take on a cringed expression.

Deciding to be adults in the name of you two, you have to finally figure it out.

“And mind giving me some space first?” He cocks his brow, seeing your hands on the wall behind him, effectively trapping him on his sides.

“And what if you flee the moment I let you go? I’m tired of running in circles. You and I— we need to talk,” you say sternly. “You’ve been driving me up the wall. No pun intended.”

He could just push you away and tell you to leave. But it’s getting weird for him as well.

“Okay. Let’s talk,” he replies nonchalantly, even as his heart skips a bit.

Only then do you let him go.

But as another person joins the room with a basket full of clothes, you two separate even further, jumping away from each other in a blink of an eye, trying to act casual.

Enjin nods with his head at the entrance, abandoning his laundry. You follow a good minute after for the effect.

He then takes you outside, to the basketball court where no one currently resides to bother you.

Sitting down on the bench, you anticipate his presence next to you. Instead, that buffoon grabs the ball he bounces off the ground a few times—safely away from you.

“Are you kidding me.” You deadpan.

“What?” he asks right as he dunks the ball, his height giving him advantage.

If you squint, you can see him looking back for your approval.

You don’t praise him, having a bigger fish to fry.

“Are we seriously going to talk like this?”

“Well, how do I know you won’t bite my head off if I come close?” he mocks.

“Just come here. Stop the childishness.” You sigh with exasperation.

Reluctantly, he drops the ball before approaching you. He throws himself on the bench, taking up a big spot with his broad shoulders, but his gaze doesn’t turn to you. He only stares ahead, his legs spread wide.

“Spill it out,” he encourages casually.

“Don’t you wanna say something yourself first?” You turn to him, crossing your legs and draping your arm over the back of the bench.

“Like what?” he scoffs.

“Anything?” you accentuate with annoyance. “Look, I’m not asking you to date me after what we did. But we can’t act like it didn’t happen either. I just want to know if…” you tap your fingers, “…you feel any different about me now.”

Hearing that question, only then does he look at you, taking his time to answer with mouth hanging open.

You don’t think you’ve seen such expression on him before. You’ve seen Enjin distressed when something didn’t go his way during a mission, but him appearing as though he’s almost tormented—by what you said or perhaps even you—is unheard of.

It stops you in tracks of urging him to finally say something.

“I don’t know if I feel any different about you,” he eventually speaks, shoving his hands into his pockets, “but I know I still want you. And this crap been messing with my head like hell,” he delivers rather frankly despite that struggle.

You gulp, feeling a lump in your throat. The truth is, your body naturally started to anticipate even more sex, and since he made the first one remarkably good, of course your thoughts go straight to Enjin.

“I… I think I feel the same,” you blurt out. No reason to beat around the bush, if the feeling flows both ways.

His eyes open wider in surprise. You’re not sure why, considering it’s been made abundantly clear that you two have a thing for each other.

What seems accurate is him having been waiting for this opportunity, seeing how fast he springs into action.

“Then…”

His face leans closer to yours.

“Do you want to keep going?”

You feel your guts churn at the thought.

“Say no and I’ll drop the topic,” he says nonchalantly. “Won’t complain and whine, even it’ll be damn difficult to forget you.” The offer comes rather easily to him.

“Okay.” You agree as easily.

“Okay?” He blinks rapidly.

Just like that? He’s either lucky or in big, big trouble.

“Yes. I have my needs. You have yours. It’s only beneficial, no?” You try to be casual on your own, leaning back, even if your heart races just as fast as his.

Or so you two agreed.

Therefore, the next weeks are spent in no less than debauchery after you two reach that agreement. As fuck friends. Friends with benefits. Whatever you might call it, you two don’t stop after that one night.

And he’s gotten comfortable. Sex is sex. No commitment, no ties, but it’s enough to keep you in his orbit, that he supposes you won’t get anywhere else for at least some amount of time. As selfish as it might sound, he’s glad it’s only he you come to. He keeps trying to make it worth your while so you don’t feel the need to look elsewhere.

Until one fateful day.

Near death experience meets you. Of course, Eishia manages to repair you in no time. However, a certain thought keeps haunting Enjin’s mind, not even entirely incorrect: what if next time it’s too late for you to be saved? There’s crucial only few minutes between being saved and dying from a grave injury. You’re one thin line from death.

Life. It’s so ephemeral. Enjin hates the constant reminder of it, even if he values his own life less than the ones of others.

That day he hears about you getting hurt, he nearly loses his mind and vomits from panic. The feeling of raw fear, while no foreign to him, still was long forgotten until then. It envelopes him out of nowhere, spinning his anxiety further when he realizes just how attached he’s becoming.

He’s seen a handful of people die in the recent years, and it might be a pill hard to swallow, but you’ve got to learn how to live with it. He’s seen children of his age die prior to that. He learned how to tune out the feeling, even if guilt tries to scratch with its claws at the surface.

But a lady he’s a bit crazy about? Apparently, suddenly his thoughts go haywire, evoking a nasty encumbrance on his nervous system.

It’s scary, realizing how much he started to care about your presence in your life, way beyond simple lust.

This is why he doesn’t do shit like this. This why he shouldn’t.

And yet, his feet drag him to the infirmary like a lunatic, each step faster and faster. He can hear that damn clock clicking in the background.

When he sees you, you’re lying in bed, letting your body heal up the rest on its own when he finally visits you.

There’s no pool of blood below you. Your tongue isn’t sticking out, your eyes aren’t busted open, and your body isn’t frozen in an unnatural, rigid formation. Your limb isn’t lying somewhere far off from you.

Much to his relief.

“Hey,” he greets quietly.

“Hi, Enjin,” you greet back nicely, even if you’re still aching.

He drags the chair right next to your bed, and assesses you with something serious for a moment.

You can only offer him a small smile, not wanting him to worry about you like you know he must.

“How are you feeling? Did they feed you glop and goo again?” he asks dryly as he throws his leg over another.

You snicker at his words. A good sign, seeing you have enough energy to laugh.

You’re not dead. Not dead. Not dead.

Just alive.

“No. Rudo was really sweet and sneaked in something for me.”

“Yeah? That’s good. Smart boy.” His shoulder relax a little.

You’re back. But what if one day you’re not?

For a few minutes, he distracts you with endless talk—himself as well—taking every comfort in the fact you're still there, physical and speaking.

His heart skips a beat a bit too much every time he makes you laugh.

Eventually, he can't keep it in himself any longer.

“Listen...” Enjin stares awkwardly, adjusting the pillow behind your back.

“Yes?” You lean back comfortably.

“Do you wanna…” he trails off as he sits down again.

“Hm?”

He draws out his cigarette packet. Plays with it around his hand, rotating it until the blur of colors gets him dizzy. How he itches for a smoke. But he can’t. You wouldn’t like it—

You make an assumption.

“No, Enjin, I don’t wanna smoke.”

“That’s not even it, woman,” he says rapidly.

“Oh.”

You can tell something is troubling him.

“Then what is it? You can tell me, I won’t judge you.”

“Oh, you just might,” he laughs self-deprecatingly, looking up at you hesitantly.

“How bad can it be?” you ask wryly.

“You might hate me for this. Or decide you don’t want to see me outside of the missions again.”

“Hit me with it,” you challenge him.

He’s wondering if you are being foolhardy, or if you genuinely are willing to hear something potentially burdening. But seeing that familiar look of conviction, he decides to indulge you.

In the worst case scenario, you hate him and cut off any ties with him.

“Do you…

wanna be my girlfriend?”

As soon as he says this, he immediately regrets asking. Even more when he sees your astounded look.

“Your girlfriend? I thought you…”

“Don’t do relationships? Yeah, I don’t. But…” He nearly crushes the box in his hand. His eyes dart between it and you. He lets the talk continue, needing it off his chest. “Maybe you’re worth trying. At least, I don't think I can keep it strictly casual between us anymore. So we’ve got to make a decision.”

You get what he means. Either stop fucking each other before real feelings can develop or… take it further, properly.

“I…”

Seeing your moment of hesitation, Enjin decides to evacuate.

“Sleep on it,” he throws back at you.

But you stop him in motion the moment he touches the door handle.

“Hold on for a moment. You can’t say something like this and just leave,” you scold with indignation.

Enjin turns around with a sigh. To his surprise, the answer is given to him immediately.

Did you think about it yourself already?

“But I’m gonna take you up on that offer.”

The thing about Chokers is that they have this one annoying quality: anyone blood-bonded with can hit you up any moment.

So does Enjin.

Therefore, you had to reach for extreme measures: yelling into the equipment every time he tries to communicate, making his ear hurt, effectively stopping him in bothering you after he finally made an attempt to communicate with you.

What sort of conversation it is anyway, talking to you from afar?

Or so you thought you’re free from him. His legs and pride still work, after all.

It’s the third time that Enjin comes to your door. It takes you that third time to finally open said door, but the consequences that open along like a Pandora box are far less pleasant than he imagined.

At first, he had left you to your own devices for days, thinking that whatever it is that you’re mad at him for will pass. Or, nearly cockily so, that you will come back to him on your own—unable to stay away from your beloved boyfriend for too long.

Alas, you didn’t. You have only spent your time in hurt and anger, trying to rationalize what you heard with your own ears.

Whether you are by part playing stubborn, or are genuinely hurt in entirety, your distance and silence have left him with a feeling of uncertainty he dreads more and more with every breathing moment.

He doesn’t like when things fluctuate too much, go outside of linear, shaking the foundations he worked hard in order to keep steady.

He is a strong tree, but a tree still can be set on fire like any wood.

Enjin might like people who stay themselves—unapologetically, no matter how far they might be bent out of norm. Flamboyant ones are welcome especially. Yet he still hates them unpredictable situations, now more than ever.

You, his girl, is currently fighting him. Not a title of self-made claim. Actual girlfriend. He would have laughed at the thought of entering any relationship months ago. Now he’s deep in the mess he has dug himself.

Feelings are messy—as to be expected. Expectations are messy. Boundaries are messy. But it’s all worse when it’s him who caused some type of mess, as it is he who has to take the responsibility.

It’s only sex that doesn’t demand too much when you get lost in the heat of it easily. It’s no feat to get lustful and show desire.

It’s unshackling, to be able to forget unpleasant truths and feelings of the world, every darkness and greed waiting around the corner to have you in their clutches.

And you’ve been fucking everyday. Honeymoon phase and all, you yourself catching up with sex life too. If he’s tired, you get on top of him while he’s smoking. If it’s you who’s tired, he prone bones you into a nice and deep sleep. If you both are, you cuddle- or shower-fuck. You make his head spin, you rock his world, and he’s constantly reminded how good this slice of heaven can get.

“What do you want from me?” you ask impatiently, bringing him down to earth.

When he told Rudo he likes women with a stupid capacity to forgive him, this is not what he meant. Expressions of regret so he’s not deemed as cold, apologies even are acceptable, but hopefully without bigger dwelling over the issue from the other side.

But simple sorry won’t do it for you. Apparently, he screwed up—big time.

The guy you lost your virginity to! The guy you’ve been taking seriously, personally, trying to be accommodating.

The guy who you now suspect has been here only for sex.

This room of yours, even if his favorite space, is now smaller than ever, every corner of it swallowing him with your anger hanging in the air.

“I’m sorry. Really am,” he says with some regret, even if he doesn’t have enough confidence to prop it.

Enjin scratches the side of his tattooed neck, leaning against your windowsill. It’s getting increasingly difficult to look at you—standing in front of him with your arms crossed, glaring at him, looking for something specific and certainly humble.

“It is serious, I guess,” he acquiesces.

To you, he’s more sorry about being caught. You're in disbelief, hearing nearly verbatim words from the days before.

“You guess?” you ask incredulously.

His hesitation easily leads you on to believe it is actually not that serious, him warranting you the right to read his own claim as such. He didn’t change his perspective much.

“No, it is serious, okay?” he blurts out quickly, trying to minimize the fallout. “If that’s what you want to hear.”

If that’s what you want to hear. Like those people who say “you can come if you want” instead of being eager to have you.

You should just kill him.

“Okay,” you acknowledge suddenly, exaggerating your understanding. “Sure.” You smile mockingly.

He blinks twice in surprise, but he takes you up on that. “Okay, and…?”

“Well, what do you expect to hear from me?” You cross your arms, taking in his pathetic cowardice with disapproving eyes.

“I don’t know… that you’re not pissed off at me?” he asks hopefully, placing his hands against the windowsill for some stability.

You look at him with all the more disbelief.

“I don’t forgive you. You think sorry is enough to cut it? You have me questioning everything about our relationship! You insulted me! You’ve said all of this so casually and now you almost repeated yourself! You’re not even trying to explain what you apparently saw differently. I don’t think you are taking us seriously at all.”

Maybe if he apologized to you properly instead of acting like you're holding him at gunpoint, talked to you about his issue with you, that you would then consider making amends. Instead, you get some excuse of apology, and relatively little acknowledgment of how hurt you felt by him.

“Well…”

“Go on. Tell me. If you didn’t mean it when you said our relationship isn’t serious, then tell me what else you meant.”

And yet, you don’t hear any answer.

“Come on, it’s water under the bridge, babe—” he tries to pull you into a hug. You like his hugs, he knows that much, especially that the fully affectionate ones come rarely. Not to say he’s entirely cold to you, but Enjin enjoys independent women over needy ones for a reason.

You only push him away.

“I’ll shove your cigarettes up your ass!” you yell. “You said our relationship is not that serious, you act like it, and yet you expect me to simply move on? I had to nearly beg you to say it, like you’re not sure yourself at all!” You move further away, sitting down on the edge of your bed, tugging on your hair. “Do you even like me? Maybe I should just break up with you instead of having you waste my time?” you ask hysterically, feeling that chest pain again.

It’s a nightmare. Four months or even more was enough to have your heart that stupid for him.

Enjin recoils, a bit scared of you. He’d tell you how good you look when you’re angry any other time, but now obviously is not the time.

He’d also laugh at the irony of how Gris seems to be the center of his issues if it weren’t for the scary notion he’s hearing. At first, you willing to offer your virginity to him. Now, you hearing him talk to Gris about your relationship.

But now he has a steeper cliffs to climb— you’re damn right to think about breakup. Many women hearing his words straight after getting attached would feel taken granted of and lead on. Except, that’s not how things are for him in reality—and yet… saying this with his chest feels impossible somehow.

“I swear, Enjin…” You tear up.

You like to think communication in relationship is the key to success. That fighting won’t resolve anything. But when a man in front of you has so much audacity, and when he doesn’t seem desperate to redeem himself, what do you even do? You can acknowledge the fact that, sometimes, Enjin says some dumb stuff without necessarily meaning to, because that’s just how he is. However, hearing your boyfriend might not be that serious about you, or that you’re some sort of hindrance is plainly hurtful.

A bomb of this indifference was dropped on you so suddenly, yet you ought to be grateful you heard it now instead of wasting even more months with him.

Enjin sighs, concluding he should have thought so, as he stands under that window uselessly, not sure whether he should try to pull you close again or just let you be—the light outside tracing his body shies no clarity at him. He stupidly assumed that you having feelings for him would make you softer—enough to be forgiving. In reality, it seems he crossed a line no love can defend, or simply put you’re that tough, going against his usual type.

“Then what do you want me to do?” he asks quietly. He rubs his face, looking at you through his tattooed fingers with some type of ache of his own.

If you break up with him… maybe that’d make his life easier.

Not really.

He’s used to being with you by now. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to romance; or rather, many parts of it are difficult to work with. Especially the part about being vulnerable. Therefore, there being someone willing to have him back at the end of the day is much more beneficial than someone testing him or having bigger expectations. But he’s not sure if he’s capable of staying away, now that you’ve made yourself a guest in his heart. Take that part out, and it might crumble entirely.

“I don’t care. Figure it out! I’m not your mommy, and if you can figure out anything else, that should be easy too!” you say harshly right before you start crying.

It should be easy… in theory. If he can go on all these missions and think fast during them, how hard is it to properly apologize and make it up to you? To prove he does care?

In practice, that’s when feelings make it impossibly difficult. Letting their roots take somewhere is dangerous, for variety of reasons, and now he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place.

You then point at the door. Great, you’re even kicking him out.

He moves like you wanted, giving you a longer look before he’d get out.

And now… he can either let you go or seriously go figure out something.

Although, he takes you not breaking up with him immediately as some sort of sign, worth clinging to.

Enjin wakes up to a nightmare. With a trembling hand, he goes for a smoke.

It’s been a while since he slept alone. Without you around, he keeps dreaming about bad things happening to you. Reminding himself of that time you got scratched badly; the catalyst comes with yesterday, as you went on a mission you came slightly bruised and exhausted from.

Slightly, yet enough to provoke. He hates this irregularity you keep imposing in him without even trying.

He wipes a single tear before throwing the covers off, all clammy and buzzed with negative energy he considers taking off with a cold shower.

The water here is cold half of the time anyway. You make it a bit warmer, and you two have a habit of showering together to save water. The empty space beside him in the bathroom makes him feel even worse, filling itself with droning noise he cannot escape.

At the very least, those sort of emotions he’s been storing only fuel him further to keep approaching you. And at this point, he’s stubborn himself, unable to leave this situation as it is. Two can play this game.

Still in the morning—and he woke up remarkably early for himself on a morning off—he waits under your door until you’ll crawl out of it. Since knocking on your door became useless, so did trying to reach you through his Choker, he prefers to catch you surprised.

“Hey—” He even smiles, seeing you again.

Alive. Lively.

Your eyes narrow when you spot him. The moment he comes closer, arms open, you dodge him with a finesse of a fly avoiding being hit by a swatter, walking past him.

“Where are you going?” Enjin asks with a sulk to his voice.

“Away from you.” You’re short with him.

“You should eat first. Come on, let’s...” He trails you like a shadow.

“I will eat on my own.”

Great. And yet, he tries again.

“That mission yesterday was tough on you, wasn’t it? Glad to see you in one piece,” he manages to say, except it comes out awkward.

That stops you for a moment. You even catch something hopeful appearing in his eyes.

But suddenly remembering his last words, you worry about honesty of the new ones. Maybe it’s just him being ingenious. Evolving, adapting to your needs only because he was caught lacking.

“Get out of my hair,” you say brusquely. With that said, after few more steps, you disappear around the corner to face the world without him.

They were right about rose-tinted glasses. Things are far worse without them on.

As he watches you go with a weird, hollow feeling creeping up his chest, he suspects you’re not so mad as him, as much as you are hurt. He can act difficult, deflect, but he’s still quite observant, noting each of your dislikes.

Part of him enjoys the fact you’re this rough on him. There wasn’t anyone to coddle him when growing up and he had to constantly self-evaluate in order to grow as a person. But this still is a true push comes to shove type of situation, an obstacle difficult to bypass.

“Trouble in paradise?” Enjin turns out to the source of the voice, drawing him back from the haze of yearning for you.

It’s Semiu, who leaves her own room, already pretty and prepared for the day.

“No. She’s just… having a bad day,” he says dismissively, trying to shake off the unpleasant feeling.

He was doing much better harboring emptiness. You just had to crack the walls and let mythological to the Ground sunlight shine through.

“She must have had many bad days lately then,” Semiu deadpans. “And a bad day right from the beginning of the day… what could have happened already? She stubbed her toe?”

“Very funny, Semiu.” Enjin crosses his arms, looking genuinely offended. “What are you getting at anyway?”

“People talk.” She leans against her door, unbothered by his attitude.

“That’s what they do.”

“They talk about you, dumbass,” she says dryly.

“Don’t tell me you people are shittalking behind our backs.” Enjin heaves a sigh. “Nosy freaks.”

Of course, no one in the headquarters can ever mind their business. Perks of living in a community.

“The word spreads quickly. Of course if a known couple suddenly avoids each other…” she gestures to the corridor. “Not that anyone was giving you two much faith.”

“Mean,” he mumbles.

“Is it?” She laughs dryly.

Maybe he did jump into this relationship out of panic for losing you, arbitrarily. For once, didn’t think things through and rationalized them before asking you to be his, ten times to be extra sure. The idea would probably dissolve. But now…

Seeing Enjin struggling with proper response, she adds her own two cents with exasperation, “You two should have a proper talk. How hard is it to lay it out.”

“I tried talking to her though,” he says absentmindedly.

“And what did you tell her? How did it go?”

“That I suppose it is serious,” he blurts out honestly. “It went as terribly as you might imagine.”

Looking back at things, he does realize how it must have sounded to you. He’s not an idiot, he reflects a lot, and if he were in your shoes, he would probably be disappointed if you said that about him himself.

And still, he’s hoping for some magical solution.

“You suppose,” she repeats. “It’s as if you can’t make up your mind. You two need to be on the same side or it simply will not work out for you. How hard is it to tell her you’re not ready? Don’t waste each other’s time.” She’s deadly serious about this.

There is no other golden medium.

“But—” Enjin peeks at Semiu again, torn.

Their conversations usually don’t go there, so she can tell it matters to him.

“But what.”

He doesn’t want to—

“I don’t… want to let her go,” he says reluctantly, looking to the side. He moves a bit closer to your door.

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too.”

“I know, Semiu.” He nods his head. “I know that annoyingly well.”

“Then act like it. No one will keep that spot warm for you all their life. It’s not fair to expect them to do that either.”

Enjin laughs wistfully. “Then what I do?”

“Figure it out. I’m not your counselor. Hardly anyone gets answers served on a silver platter.”

With that said, Semiu walks away, forcing him to focus on his thoughts.

He stares at the floor blankly.

He remembers the childhood hunger pangs that would wretch his bones and cause pain; pain that ended one day. The first taste of happiness and hope. Only to be halted shortly in, as the price caught up with him and other kids in the orphanage quickly.

He’s been used in the past. A big mistake that follows him till this day. And while he doesn’t believe you to be as evil as that man and other were, his body remembers the feeling and anticipates it.

He’s not sure how much he was lying when he said you might get bored of each other any day either. What if he’s a passing fancy to you? Or what if he’s not enough. What worth does he have to you, other than a pretty face? Maybe you’re nice for the sake of maintaining appearances.

Above all, he's worried about having to leave you one day. If he dies, it’s the type of pain he wishes to spare you from, even if he would believe his role was fulfilled. Worse to him, what if it’s you who dies.

And yet, there’s moments you simply hold his hand, and you giggle, and your breathing slows down as if you feel safe with him. Your body rests on top of his and he can tell you’re here willingly, spreading tickling kisses over his throat like you are sharing a piece of yourself with him, hopelessly waiting for a piece back.

You’re so good to him he often doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s an unusual feeling, though not entirely unwelcome. Warm, both intrusive and both seeping through him like rain.

Freedom can also feel like a burden, after all. Every choice becomes your own responsibility, along with its consequences. You have the power to shape your own path, yet it also means carrying the weight of uncertainty, mistakes, and accountability. It’s a neverending challenge.

Then he realizes something, looking back at your door with a frown.

It’s been probably a long time since you two have spent time alone outside that room. Mostly tired after work, you didn’t really bother to do much else than be lazy.

Just lying and talking next to you was enough for him, but hopefully you want a bit more for once.

Enjin’s head hurts so much. August yelled at him plenty—his own almost-cousin, mind you. Everyone just yells at him these days, the headquarters being mad.

Hopefully, what he managed to negotiate was worth his eardrums bleeding.

“Heeeyyy… look what I got ya.”

Enjin crosses your route in the middle of your walk to the reception, all grinning like his old version.

There’s a pile of clothes in his hand you eye suspiciously. A skirt and a shirt, in two matching colors—something he believes you’d like. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do with them and no actual apology. The last one he gave you was rather halfhearted.

“What is that?” you ask with almost revulsion. By this time, you cannot tell what he’s trying to accomplish or what point to drive home.

A bit disappointed by your reaction but nonetheless still eager, he explains:

“August’s work. He doesn’t like to be rushed but I managed to convince him to whip it up in time when I told him what’s the occasion.”

“I don’t need clothes made only for you to ogle me,” you say sharply, that Enjin winces.

It’s as though majority of your relationship was sex and fooling around. You didn’t expect Enjin to immediately open up to you, but still… it begins to look suspicious. Because why else would he stay with someone he doesn’t take seriously?

If he didn’t want more, he should have been more transparent. You honestly have no clue why you're still entertaining him.

As for him, he believes you’re jumping to conclusions again.

That angry, huh.

“… It’s not for me. It’s for you. I want to take you out,” he says less confidently, still showing you his gift.

“Where? Somewhere you can show me off?” you scoff. Now he wants to be a good boyfriend?

“No...” he disagrees with slight annoyance. Even he’s not that dumb. You’re not something to flaunt either. Not an item, not a property, not a product. “Only somewhere where I can spend time with you.”

“Now you want to spend time with me,” you say skeptically, crossing your arms.

“Yes. That’s the idea.”

It’s not that Enjin refuses to spend time with you. He likes to group up people so coming up with an idea for a date is not that difficult. He’s not that ignorant to keep you home like a pet either. But… expressing his feelings during those is a more difficult part—going beyond fun conversations to hold.

Perhaps he bit more than he could chew jumping into relationship with you, but something ugly tells him that if he lets you go he’ll come to regret it forever. If he must shove these clothes at you, he will.

“I don’t know why I should go with you.”

He’s right about to say how dumb this question is until he realizes something… You are testing him-since you didn’t say “I’m not going with you”. Assuming he’s just himself, constantly spilling words that are like shooting himself in the foot, is the only reason why you keep giving him the tiniest bits of benefit of the doubt.

Or maybe you are reluctant to let him go, in spite of everything, that it turns you delusional.

Whatever it is, he accept this benevolence.

“Because…” Sweat breaks on his forehead, him trying to say his words. It’s dumb to him—how hard can it be to show one woman that you care without committing mental gymnastics? “I think you deserve it, and… we still didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” you prod further.

“Have our first month anniversary,” he blurts out, feeling embarrassingly hot in his face.

“First month anniversary?” you repeat after him incredulously. You’d never take him for someone who’d care about just one month long duration of relationship. It’s enough to forget about your anger.

“Yes. Isn’t that what couples do?” he asks awkwardly.

“I think mostly teenagers do,” you reply as awkwardly, a bit thrown off.

“Tsk.” He grumbles, shaking his head. “Whatever. We don’t need any occasion,” he says with false bravado.

“That’s rich.”

“Oh, come on,” he nearly whines, needing the end of it, “I’ll make it worth your while…”

His voice turns into a purr, as he takes a step closer to you.

You take one back tentatively.

Realizing you’re about to be trapped against against the wall behind you, you move to the side.

Yet as you do, Enjin dexterously moves to stand behind you. And then that bastard actually hugs you from behind, holding you even as you nearly thrash in his grip. It’s sort of cute to him, and he could admit he enjoys holding you.

“Don’t squirm or you’ll crumple the clothes.”

“What are you—”

“Let’s make a deal,” he says awfully close to your ear, tightening his grip on you.

“Huh?” You manage to turn your head around, even if craning your neck like this nearly hurts, just so you can glare at him.

“You let me take you out,” he begins, looking down at you seriously, “and if you don’t like it, I drive you back right here, right now.”

Or he’ll never hear the end of it. Or worse, he’ll lose you entirely.

You should say no, probably. But that awful man starts tickling you.

Much to his success, as his persuasion has you uttering desperately, “Fine, fine, but let me go now!”

“Hmm…” He acts as if considers. “No. Not yet.” The tickles stop, but he keeps his hold on you, his face buried in your nape he inhales.

You’ll probably disappear until the date and so he gladly takes advantage, even as you foam at your mouth and try to push him away.

Even more when he dares to call you adorable.

Being ruthlessly tickled aside, you are missing a certain reason as to why you have agreed to this date. Perhaps some part of you is still stuck in a reverie of a better relationship. At this point, you don’t have much to lose. It’s bittersweet too, having to reach this point for him to wake up; while hoping you spoke about this issue sooner rather than assuming he needs time to spread his wings open.

Enjin is currently driving you both to the city…. and he’s oddly careful about it. Not perfect though—smooth driving is still beyond his capacity.

Even he got dressed up nicely—no long sleeves or jeans. A nicer sweater and slacks were donned on his body instead.

There’s no music playing either. Just an awkward silence and the rumble of the jeep’s engine.

“Sooo…”

More silence.

Enjin clears his throat, waiting for you to answer. You don’t, staring ahead, in return waiting for him to say what he wants.

“The air is not so bad today. Almost as if…”

“As if…?” you repeat lazily.

“As if it decided to be kind for the sake of our date,” he says optimistically, albeit awkwardly, as if speaking a foreign language.

The results are still not the desired ones.

“Hm. At least one thing is less annoying today,” you reply dryly.

“I’m annoying you?” Now he’s annoyed too.

“You’re sitting there looking all constipated as if I put you on time out.”

His mouth opens in disbelief, though he almost laughs, hating himself for finding your insult funny. “Okay, that’s one way to describe it.” Well, he tried to be nice, but if you think it’s weird—

“I just wish you’d stop trying to butter me up,” you mumble, sinking lower into your passenger seat.

“That is not what I’m doing!” he says defensively, giving you a side eye.

“Yes? I’ve never heard you talk like that before.”

He’s speechless. Here he was trying to be genuine. “Forget it.”

“Yeah, now it’s forget it.” He often does that. “It always is, isn’t it?”

The question leaves him dumbfounded for a moment. He looks stupid, furrowing his brows in contemplation. “What do you mean?” He grumbles dramatically.

“You try something. I don’t fawn over it in a span of few seconds and so you decide it’s not worth trying further,” you say with a frown. And that’s not how you make a habit. “You don’t even give it a chance. You don’t let me give it a chance.”

And then your lip trembles and he’s about to panic.

“Hey, don’t cry again—”

“Then stop being a coward!”

He nearly smashes his head against the steering wheel from frustration.

“You’re so confusing. You say I’m doing this to manipulate you and then you get mad at me for stopping. What do you even want from me?”

“That’s apples and oranges. I mean those times before!” you argue with a shaky voice. “Not when you feel like you have no choice but to. When I was hoping for you to…”

He waits, trying to understand you, and beginning to even.

All in vain.

“Forget it,” you use his line against him like a devil you are.

He finally slaps some music on. For the sake of you two’s sanity. The meal at the restaurant better be good or this date is ruined entirely.

Occasionally, his gaze still wanders to you, as if his nose is lead by your perfume permeating the car. You do look pretty in your outfit, which normally would be substantially distracting, but now the sight of you fills him with a different type of yearning:

For you to turn your head and say that you’re not done with him.

But it seeing it happen not, he gazes back at the road. Not killing you in a car accident is the least he can do.

“So… do you come here often?” Enjin asks you, drumming his fingers against the table as he waits for your orders to come.

You're hosted at a nicer place, that serves actual food Vianders create, rather than whatever trash beast was killed that day. The walls around are bare brick, yet decorated with black frames in a way that makes it seem as if it was a deliberate style decision. The dark floors below your shoes at the very least appear to be regularly mopped, safe from the dust constantly entering with people passing through the door.

With you seated across from him, for once he can take in your face and remind himself you are still here.

“You brought me here because I wasn’t here before?” you bring up with confusion.

He’s really nervous. Saying anything, fumbling over his words. Is this what love is supposed to do to a man, knock out any brains and rationality?

“Right…” he trails off, wiping off some salt leftovers by sliding it off the burgundy table. “You know. You look really nice.”

“I know.”

Enjin presses his lips tight at your frank response. “Good…” he nods, “but I’m not saying this to flatter you. I’m being genuine here.” He thinks you’re about to say it’s probably just lust, and so he nips that possibility in the bud. “And no, it’s not about me being a horndog… You’re just so…” His heart races in a familiar way.

Unless he’s become delusional, he believes he catches your eyes suddenly lighting up for a moment—a horribly good sign.

“Yes?” You raise your brows in anticipation, even leaning a bit closer towards him which only leaves him more discomposed.

Come on, he can do better than this. Yet he suddenly finds himself speechless. Is there a single word to describe you that would be strong enough? Are there sentences that convey your nuance to no fail?

“You look amazing,” he says awkwardly.

“You kinda said it already,” you bring up.

You, his girlfriend, are carry an astounding and astonishing skill for making him lose his temper and getting under his skin, and he’s not even an aggressive guy. Still, for your sake, he tries to reach for another plausible explanation:

Maybe you don’t want him hiding behind flattering words.

He’s hopefully well-read in your language.

“Right.”

And so…

While it comes with some hesitation, him grappling with his own limits, Enjin grabs your hand across the table and staples his fingers with yours. He starts rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

Something they would do in a romantic movie, he supposes.

You blink in surprise.

To his own surprise, as well delight, you don’t push it away. Very promising.

He looks down at your joined hands, a smaller palm disappearing in a bigger one like they're meant to be. He then looks up at you hesitantly.

“I know I’m an idiot,” he says tiredly.

“Say something I don’t know,” you mumble under your breath.

“I’m a huge idiot?”

He manages to make you laugh. The sound of your laughter stirs his guts with warmth. It also finally eases your guard down a notch.

You two look at each other communicatively.

“Enjin…” Maybe it’s high time you give it bluntly to him. You’re tired of waiting and only getting disappointed.

You look around, having enough dignity to lower your voice and avoid making a scene. Thankfully the table is placed closer to the back as well.

Not letting go of your hand, only squeezing it harder, Enjin straightens his posture, being all ears.

You take a deep breath, finding it difficult to speak about your pain.

“I want to know if you're actually serious about this relationship,” you speak solemnly. “Unless you’ve been treating our relationship as nothing more but a companionship and free sex. Have you even been taking me seriously?”

You’re not sure yourself anymore. He keeps sending you mixed signals which throws you off a lot.

“Of course I was!” rips off from his mouth, visceral. While it feels uncanny to say, he decides to push through. “That was a misunderstanding,” he says rather seriously. “I meant it when I said that.”

He just didn’t show it properly.

“Those who it may concern seems to have been told otherwise. Aka me; and Gris.” You sigh. “I mean, it's just hard not to take your words at face value, and…” you stumble over your own words, “I tried to imagine any other context and couldn't find it.”

“That’s…” You make a good point. He regrets not being upfront about it from the start.

“Enjin, I am honest when I say this:”

He prepares himself mentally for this decisive moment.

“I don’t want to waste my time with someone who doesn’t feel the same about this relationship. I don’t expect you to be the best boyfriend in one day, but… if we’re not on the same page, what is even this relationship? Maybe we didn’t discuss our exact expectations… but I am telling you at least now. I don’t want a half-assed relationship.” You feel that sting again. “If you’re not ready, then just tell me,” you add shakily.

You’re not forcing anything. You’re giving him a choice, which he finds relieving; it’s just a difficult one to make. He can’t make it in a haste, but letting you wait much longer feels unfair as well.

“I really didn’t mean it like that,” he admits. “That it’s a joke of some kind. Or that I actually find you the pain in the ass.”

“Then what did you mean?” You press on with confusion. “Do you even understand how hurtful it was to hear?” You sniffle. So much for this date.

And he’s not sure if he can handle you crying again. Not just because he’s not best at this sort of comfort.

He doesn’t want you to be sad again. So he makes another confession. You can hate him all you want for the truth, just don’t cry because of him.

“I was… downplaying it on purpose. Without actually meaning it,” he says honest enough.

That surprises you. A possibility you didn’t anticipate. And yet befitting him.

“On purpose? So you’re ashamed of me or something?”

“No!” He disagrees instantly, shaking his head. “I… suck at this. Genuinely. Nor do I know how to be good to you…” He looks away, slight flush on his cheeks. He got away with this for twenty eight years. Until now. “Oh man…” he mumbles under his breath, feeling like a teenager again.

His day of reckoning is here. He has to explain himself and stop hiding. That’s just annoying.

“What are you trying to say? Please, look at me, Enjin,” you plea with him.

He finally faces you. A bit softer on his wrinkles. “I was scared to admit it might be serious serious.”

“Might be again?”

“No, it is serious. That’s the problem.”

“How is this a problem?”

You seem genuinely confused. If he wanted to date you, is this not the desired outcome?

“Because…” He’s not exactly sure himself. There’s many things he has rationalized and reflected on over the years, but pinpointing exactly why it’s hard to be in love is difficult. Because of betrayal? Losing control? Losing you? You losing him one day? “I’ve never been in a situation like this before.”

You begin to have a hunch that, whatever is making him so avoidant, is likely not connected to him being a stubborn mule alone. For someone who hides his past, his real name, while also knowing many people on the Ground get hurt regularly, you wouldn’t be shocked if something had happened to your boyfriend as well.

It’s not an excuse, but it is some explanation, and something incredibly human.

Something to give you relief about whether he truly doesn’t care about you.

You decide to tackle the issue from another perspective. Something more meaningful.

“Then why did you want to be my boyfriend?” You interlock your fingers tighter. He squeezes your hand with one pulse.

His next answer is surprising as well, even if it shouldn’t have to be.

“Because I like you. More than I’d like to admit,” those words are said with the most earnestness he can muster.

This is probably the most straightforward he’s been with you so far. It’s not the other four letter word yet, but you wouldn’t want it thrown carelessly either.

You try not to smile, even if somewhere you still feel mad at him. Hard not to, considering the anxiety he put you through.

“I like you too. Obviously.”

“O-obviously?” he repeats with small disbelief, gulping down at how effortlessly the confession leaves your lips. He doesn’t know what to do with it, looking at you like a startled deer.

He supposes that in hindsight, it is indeed obvious, yet hearing it aloud is different.

You actually like him. You’re not sticking with him out of any other unpleasant reason.

“Yes. And I think I like you this way more.”

“You do?” He’s surprised that’s all it took to make you feel better, nearly beaming as he adjusts his hand in yours. Maybe it’s exactly what you needed. “I mean, what way exactly?”

“Yes. What do I care for a macho behavior? I don’t need a boyfriend to have that. I want… a partner, not a performer,” you say warmly.

A partner, not a performer. The words ring in his head. It’s not that Enjin thinks he was performing an act in any way or shape; perhaps you mean the whole way of being untouchable.

He’s not. Certainly not by you.

“And what if… he must perform for a reason. What if the truth is uglier than you’d like?” he asks what he dreads, with difficulty tightening his throat.

“It’s not up for you to decide,” you utter in a scolding manner. “And it probably wouldn’t be anything I haven’t heard before. People do what they must do here.”

Some kind of relief fills his chest, heave boulders being lifted off. Being all stern, you still provided more understanding than you could imagine.

Soon, the meal finally comes—your favorite.

“You remembered.” Your eyes light up.

Enjin reluctantly lets your hand go so you could eat.

“Well, yes. It’d be hard not to, considering how much you blabber about it,” he mumbles sarcastically, handing you a cloth.

In other words, he’s been paying attention.

Since you can’t afford ruining this date fully, you two decide to set the main conversation aside.

You eat with more freedom than before, so does he. The meal doesn’t feel like something he has to force himself to consume.

After the food, you don’t leave the restaurant immediately. There’s simply no rush.

Enjin tackles the last topic immediately, wanting it off his chest.

“You don’t have to… forgive me immediately.”

“Really?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Really,” he confirms seriously.

“Like really really?” You place your hands on the table and lean forward, as if trying to read honesty in his eyes.

“Yes, really really,” he says until his tongue almost tangles itself and he laughs.

“That’s…” you lean back, “so you expect me to give you another chance?”

While he hasn’t vocalized that, he believes it’s the most important thing to him at the moment.

He nods his head solidly. “Just one more time. One. If I screw up, I let you go.” His hand raises…

You know that tic of his. Placing it behind his head. You grab it instead, nearly starling him.

But he doesn't yank it away, curious (and suspicious) of what you’re doing.

You bury your face in his hand, looking at him with a small pout, while sneaking in some touch you’ve been missing. “I’ll hunt you down if you mess up again.”

He scoffs with disbelief and shakes his head, yet ultimately smiles.

“Wow. Scary. I should probably listen, hm?”

You nod.

And your cheek feels nice in his palm. Warm, coming from another person he sometimes thinks he doesn't deserve, who stayed despite.

Yet it is so overwhelming, especially when you turn his hand to the side and kiss it, to which he wrestles your flat down.

So after a longer minute of you trying to one up each other in teasing, he has to quickly get up.

“Hey, where are you going?” you complain.

“I’m gonna hit the head.”

You see him walk fast toward the restroom’s direction.

You’re too cute, he thinks as he stares in the bathroom mirror and wipes his face. Not even sexy—even if you are. It’s just… you getting all passionate, enjoying your food and all somehow working its way through his heart. This must be that cuteness aggression.

When he leaves, he comes out to something, or rather, someone trying to disturb your peace.

“Buy more or get out.” The older man, gray-haired already, a supposed owner nearly shouts at you. “This isn’t a place for lounging.”

“Lounging is part of eating experience.” You argue with your arms crossed.

“Not for this long! I have to make money somehow. Make space for other guests!”

“Fine, get us a dessert, old man.” Enjin interferes as he joins you again. “Stop yelling like an idiot.”

He thankfully saved up a bit. Cleaner work tends to pay a tad bit more than an average, so he can spoil you today.

Leaving the restaurant, upon the gush of wind that blows, you huddle closer to your boyfriend.

“We’re going back already?” You sound and look disappointed.

That pretty much was the original plan, with Enjin assuming one meal is a good starting point to get back in your good graces. But seeing you like that, about to give him some puppy eyes that might the most cunning tactic ever, he decides to extend the outing.

“No,” he lies. “I still wanna show you something. We just gotta have a walk first. Come on.”

The smile given in response is worth it.

The route you take through the city is more difficult to approach at this hour, with the crowd growing denser, walking all helter-skelter as if it’s their first day on earth.

“Suddenly everyone is social,” Enjin complain quietly.

All the more when, once again, you bump into another person who he glares at, even if he’s not sure whose fault it really was. To him, only you and he exist in this city at the moment. Even those murky walls and dying neons appear more bright.

“Careful. It seems to be a hot spot today.”

His arm goes around you therefore—well excused, and definitely well played out as you lean into it.

Feeling natural.

It’s nice. Safe. Grounding. Definitely relieving after you avoiding him for days, feeling your physical form and knowing that you’re safe.

Passing by a mirror hanging at one of the stalls outside, he fixes his hair, making sure he still looks good for you.

But you only pout at him.

“What?”

“I like it when it’s down. It makes you look cute.”

“Cute? I’m not supposed to be cute. I’m supposed to be handsome.” He flicks your forehead and snickers at your resulted expression.

You massage it while scowling. “You can be both.”

He acts like he has to consider it for a while, ultimately agreeing before you make more fuss. It’s your day, after all.

“Fine.”

He doesn’t like the look of hair after the rain, though if you like it… he can make some sacrifice.

As you pass by different businesses of the rundown city, you occasionally window shop different items. With work keeping you busy— the Raiders especially—you didn’t have much time for fun purchases.

He stops you by the one you stare at particularly intensely. Some type of keychain, with a big plush hanging off it.

“You want this?” he asks.

“No.”

“You were eyeing it.”

“Yes, but…”

“I’ll take it, boss,” he says to the seller anyway. “Be grateful,” he says to you with a grin.

You have no choice but to accept his gift.

Thinking it’s the least you can do, you stand up on your tip toes and kiss his cheek.

Enjin’s eyes open wide in surprise, especially considering that you did this in public, a hot feeling overcoming him.

“Thank you,” you offer softly.

“Yeah. Don’t mention it,” he mutters, scratching the shaved back of his head.

You smile, observing a slight flush as you come down. You spare him from at least the tease about it.

Getting back in motion, only growing excited about what he wants to show you, you try to clip your kitchen to your bag.

“Nah.” He stops you, zipping the bag for you. “Keep it safe. Someone will steal it and I’m not gonna chase half of the town for it.”

He probably would.

Eventually, you reach the designated destination. The wornout building appears unassuming at first, so you imagine the best part of it awaits you at the top of it.

Enjin helps you climb the rooftop, not asking you if you need help—hoisting you up by your waist so you can grab the edge and climb up.

You still offer him a hand from above.

The sights somehow nearly stunts him. You’ve been in similar position during missions, extending your hand to help him get up from a cloud of dust. Yet now, it’s just you smiling, as if willing to take him back, looking all radiant to him.

His own angel.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he grabs it and uses his legs to climb himself up.

As you two settle down, you finally allow yourself to look ahead carefully. This rooftop shows the rest of the agglomeration, illuminated brightly by all kinds of lights, with tiny ant-like people moving along their given currents, searching for more as well for nothing but noise. Enjin picked the perfect hour, as it’s past dawn by now.

It must be like those Christmas trees you’ve read about in some older books. Spectacular.

You could feel like a queen and king on top of the world here.

“So, you like it?” Enjin asks excitedly, all boyish.

He comes here often. He doesn’t tell you that, but maybe, you’ll try looking for him one day, remembering this Enjin-spot. Hopefully he’s tucked cozily in your head.

“I do,” you say in awe, then turn to him with a huge smile.

He smiles back at you, all content you’re happy, gazing at your lips…

Only to notice your teeth chatter.

“You cold?”

“It’s a bit chilly, yes.”

It gets hot during day, but nights can be ruthless. And none of you bothered to remember to bring a jacket—it was supposed to be a shorter date anyway.

“Come here, then.”

You end up sitting between his legs after he gently brings you down, your back to his chest. Closer to the edge of the building but safely so.

“The view is much nicer here than on any other building. Even if it’s a terrible view anyway, in comparison to some better-doing settlements.” Well, the view beside the one of you—this one is plenty enjoyable—and seeing your face upclose is distracting. Especially when you’re glowing from happiness he wishes to freeze in time forever.

“Hm. I still like it.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I literally said that.” You chuckle.

“I guess you’d find beauty in every dirt.”

You would probably find beauty in him too; or rather, you do so already. He doesn’t dare to ask about it yet—not today.

“We don’t exactly live in a palace,” you argue, lolling your head back to look at him. The city lights up his honeyed eyes nicely, and for a moment, you get lost in them.

“This place might not exist tomorrow,” he starts quietly, as if ensuring only you can hear him. Those eyes watch you all relaxed. “Some trash beast manages to sneak inside— and then everyone has to evacuate.”

“Wow. You know how to doom,” you mock.

“You think I can’t appreciate nice things too?”

“If the shoe fits.”

He shuts his eyelids, trying not to laugh at another repartee between you.

“I’ll be straight with you. I can appreciate many things,” he claims proudly.

“Like what?” you tease, earning a squeeze to your check.

“Like my penny-ante umbrella. Ugly or not, it is my umbrella. No one else’s. No one can take it away from me,” he says ardently, making your smile wider.

He hopes for you to be his too one day. Not as some cheap show of an ownership, dehumanizing to you. He wishes for you to be someone he can have without having to tear himself apart in the process. No coveting can make up for you being by his side willingly.

“Vital Instruments don’t count.” You roll your eyes. “But, if we’re at the topic: how did you get it anyway?”

Enjin hesitates with answering. But seeing your genuine eagerness, sparkling your eyes more prettily than the city does, he decides to answer.

“Someone special gave it to me… to keep me dry from rain on a day it when it was most unbearable.”

Finally something, shared between you two.

Perhaps he’ll tell you a full story one day. The idea scares him the most. Maybe the contents will scare you too.

People being exploited on the Ground is no news. It happens all the time. Some people do it because they have no other choice. Some do it because they see the opportunity. It’s not an unknown topic to you, but he doesn’t want you pitying him or treating him like he’s a wrack.

Yet what’s most important currently is: if rain was imminent, for once, he wouldn’t feel the need to hide. He would let it soak you both and remove all the dirt of this world.

“Special person? An old lover perhaps?” you banter again.

“No. Geez.” You get to see that flush again. It’s precious. “Unless you’re jealous.” He sounds kind of hopeful.

“I’m not jealous,” you reply defensively, looking straight ahead again.

“Are you sure.”

“Says mister jealousy who took my virginity because he was so jealous—”

His cheeks turns even more crimson and he scowls, moving his hand to muffle your mouth.

“Nuh uh. Not jealous. I was just making sure it’s a good time.” He squeezes your waist harder. “Now, repeat it after me—”

You lick his palm until he wriggles and lets your mouth go.

“Cheater.”

You just smile again, settling your head against his chest again. Then you say, “It was a good time though,” staring ahead as if you could see some bright future.

“Yes?” Enjin adjusts his grip on you, ensuring you’re still warm.

“Mhm. Even if I couldn’t walk straight for a week,” you remark lightly.

He grins. Then it falls. “But… you weren’t hurt too badly, right?”

He didn’t ask back then, assuming you don’t want him to baby you. Now the question leaves effortlessly.

“Nothing I couldn't have walked off,” you reassure.

“Hm. Good.”

“So you were worried for me?” you still ask smugly, never letting him rest.

He’s about to say he no, yet realizing that if he does you might think he’s uncaring again, he decides against it. He can’t throw everything repaired away for a little joke, believing the crisis in your relationship is yet to be surmounted.

“Just a bit.” You weren’t a couple back then, so the amount is reasonable.

“Just a bit, he says. How disappointing.”

For a moment, he thinks you’re genuinely mad at him again. But when you see his face, you dare to laugh in it.

“Wow. Fuck you,” he says all bark no bite—mostly embarrassed.

A comfortable silence falls soon. Not a one leaving him full to the brim of anxiety, whispering tauntingly, “she’s gone, Enjin.”

You go back to watching the city, ignoring the cold biting at your ankles.

“I like this,” you mention dreamily.

“What exactly?” His head falls onto your shoulder.

“Me. You. Just the two of us. No one to bother us.”

And with those words, your shoulders start shaking before you sob hard.

It takes him by surprise, but considering all you went through, the dam must have finally cracked open.

Without a word, Enjin slowly turns you around and brings your head to his chest, feeling bitter taste in his mouth.

His hand goes to stroke your back as you clutch his sweater.

For once, he knows how to comfort you, letting you cry your heart out without any complain—it’s the least he can do.

And the most you’re grateful for.

On your way back, Enjin can’t keep his hands off you, some older desire being reignited. With his hand creeping up your thigh, your skirt moves along, but every time he wishes to take it higher, frustratingly to him, you grab it and place it back onto his own leg.

“Not so quick, Enjin.” You tut.

“Huh?”

“You think I’ll suddenly give myself up just because you seemed apologetic?” You smirk.

“No.” He rolls his eyes as if he was obviously joking. “No at all.” So he grips the steering wheel properly again, nearly breaking the thing in two pieces.

But he glances at you every so often. Nearly like a sad puppy. He’s prone to some occasional fit of dramatics, after all… and it’s just now how he’s realizing how much he missed being near you, as much as it’s difficult to admit.

And it’s not even about your body.

“Stop staring at me,” you scold playfully.

“I’m not staring.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you aren’t.”

“No, I am—”

He looks at you with offense. “Not fair.”

“Life isn't fair. Eyes on the road.”

The dirt road outside is dark indeed, the path illuminated only by the car. Even if it’s a part of safe zone, you never know. It takes a few years to get used to the sight, trying to hack your brain into knowing that all these shadows are no more than phantasmagoria of the mind.

You get sleepy eventually, not just from the late hour, if mostly committed to the relief that at least some part of your relationship crisis is over. Even with your seatbelt on, your body awkwardly bends and your head directs itself onto his shoulder.

Enjin frowns, looking quickly down at you. “Wake up. You’ll get a neck pain and then complain to me about it.”

Nothing.

“Hey, I said wake up.”

You only nuzzle more closely.

“Wake up.” He pokes at your cheek. You only scrunch your nose.

He gives up. He can admit to himself it’s at least nice. Warm. Not burdening kind of warm.

He supposedly dislikes clingy women. But he also dislikes needy children, and yet, he then takes care of them.

Once you reach the base, he allows himself one more closer look at you, as well your cheek squished against his shoulder. This fuzzy feeling you give him, it nearly drives him insane sometimes, and yet he dares not to look away.

Only then does he attempt to wake you up.

“Wake up. We’re here.”

Seeing that doesn’t work, he leans close to your ear and whispers into it.

“If you don’t wake up right now, I’ll tickle you until you do.”

That does it. However, woken up so suddenly, your hand flies as if to remove the source of disturbance.

Enjin quickly moves back, squeezing himself against the car window and avoiding getting accidentally slapped just last second. It seems you’re yourself even in your sleep.

“Whoa. Easy here. ’m not your enemy.” He laughs at your groggy look, trying not to wheeze too.

“Yeah, I’m up…” you mutter as you open your eyes drowsily.

“There you are. Thought I lost you to a sleep coma,” he says as he undoes your seatbelts for you.

“I’m not you.”

“First of all, rude. Second of all, it’s time to get your sweet ass up if you don’t wanna be crying about sleeping here all night.”

You only groan.

“Come on. I’m not carrying you.”

He probably would.

Getting out so sleepily, you don’t notice your skirt bunching up. He fixes it for you, smoothing it down.

“Perv,” you mumble.

“It’s the way I didn’t even look, you know,” he answers with offense.

“Did you?” You find enough energy to be mouthful with him again.

So he leans over you and presses you against the car. “Duh. But still…” he smirks handsomely, his dimples popping out, “can you say you don’t miss it?”

“Enjin!”

“Just teasin’ ya.”

Slapping his back just lightly, you start walking out of the parking lot all quick-paced.

He catches up with you in no time, falling into step behind you.

“So, we’re going to sleep already, or you wanna do something else first?” he asks curiously.

“We?” you return with surprise.

Right. He might have not earned this privilege back yet. So he asks you nicely, “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

You feel inclined to say no. But if you’re supposed to give him another chance, and you did miss him…

“You may,” you permit with a soft sigh.

“Great,” he clasps his hands together, “let’s get to your room—”

“Oh no no, not my room. Your room.”

“Huh?” He halts his steps.

“I wanna sleep in your room,” you say casually, not willing to negotiate. “Mine isn’t a hotel.”

His room is a sensitive topic; it's the room where you lost your virginity at with him, and for some reason, it’s been hard to have you here after—despite the event occurring months ago.

The reason being he considers the moment very special and doesn’t want anyone interfering with your essence from that night, as stupid as it might sound. He’s oddly protective about it. Perhaps because you gave him a big part of himself he doesn’t want to tarnish with anything else, precious.

But it’s whatever his girlfriend wants, at least for this one night.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he acquiesces, knowing well the mock nickname will rub you the wrong way.

Enjin is glad that you went ahead to take a shower first. It gives him time to quickly clean up the depressed mess he’s left after moping around for days, and then hop into the shower with you to wash off the trash dust from his body. Saving water and all.

Even then, it’s difficult to ignore the press of your body against his. He does anyway; for the sake of keeping this night cozy, helping you wash your back and hair, and in return, you do the same for him.

Naturally, as part as of a girlfriend tax, you take his t-shirt and boxers for sleeping. Which tends to be dangerous on its own, having him see you parade around in his stuff, or even just the sliver of your skin. It oftentimes got you bent over.

Now he’s mostly happy to see you content.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” he mutters grumpily.

“I’m not. Besides, you sleep shirtless.” Uncaring, you go as far as stick out your tongue at him.

He snickers.

Before you could leave the bathroom, he yanks you close and starts rubbing your hair with a towel.

“Dry your hair properly. Or you’ll get sick,” he scolds.

“That’s not how this works.”

“It does because Enjin said so.”

He yawns profusely as you step out of the joint bathroom. It’s infectious, making you yawn too.

He lifts the covers of his bed for you and you crawl onto the mattress. He joins you right after, groaning tiredly like an old man with severe back pain.

You realize just how much you have missed this place, sinking into the familiar surface, one smelling like Enjin’s musk perfume and tobacco.

“Nice,” you mumble faintly,

Before you could sleep, you place your head on his chest. His arm goes around you, while the other one hovers over his nightstand.

Ultimately, he decides to give up on the prospect of smoking for tonight.

“Now, go to sleep,” he murmurs sleepily on his own. He usually waits for you to. “Must be tired.”

“I will. Soon.”

Because you decide to trace his ribs slightly poking through the skin, as if counting them, finding comfort and anchoring yourself in his presence. Sometimes you wish you could just bury yourself underneath, and explore every wire of his heart.

Enjin squirms at first, ticklish, but sensing you mean no harm, he settles down.

You can hear his heart beating steadily. You usually sleep on the right side; tonight, you purposely picked the left one for this specific reason.

You could close your eyes and simply fall asleep like this, needing nothing else to be wrapped in the cocoon of his person; especially when he starts smoothing down your hair on top of it with his palm going down. But your cheek touching his chest, you find yourself wishing for more.

To reconcile.

With one more shaky breath spent in exhaling the leftovers of love agony, you raise your head and look at him. His eyes follow the same path, and he utters no words.

Your lips connect naturally.

It’s slow at first. Hesitant, as if you two are kissing are kissing for the first time. In a way, it is like that, for your kisses are usually far more heated.

Your shoulder slowly climbs up his chest as you sit up slightly, and you place your hand on his chest. His hand in return goes to the back of your head, keeping you close yet still with a bit of that circumspect distance.

Succumbing to his softness, you sigh sweetly, taking great delight in what you’ve been most starved of. He does not the same, having taken ages to realize how nice can it be.

Enjin withdraws for a moment. He looks at you, strokes your cheek, and then dives for one more kiss. It’s stronger, though charged with a different energy still.

It’s still no simple lust. It’s him begging you, to take him back and live in permanence with him.

It is only after a few minutes of nonstop mouth-on-mouth that he can tell you’re getting eager for more, leaning harder into his lips. So he goes down your throat, lifting your head by your hair for himself, and encouraged by the fact you don’t push away if only give in, he suckles a small hickey here.

You gasp, the small sting making you feel more alive. Sleep slowly becomes forgotten, and you replace an idea of bad pain with a good one. You don’t even question how this will be visible to others tomorrow—at least they’ll figure out you two made up and maybe shut up at last.

“So sweet you are,” he mumbles into your skin before kissing. “I,” a kiss, “am,” a kiss, “sorry,” another one.

You know he is now.

You sigh shakily, so pent up. Your hands trail his chest, checking on his heart again, and finding joy in how erratic it is for you.

“Let me make it up to you. However long it takes,” he half-whispers, glancing at you needingly.

“O-okay…” you reply with a tremor going over your body as he hits your sensitive spot in response.

Enjin is less controlled about kissing your neck tonight, desperate even. He doesn’t know where to start and where to end, so long every direction leads back to you.

“But,” a kiss, “at the very least,” a kiss, “stop being,” a kiss, mad at me.” He makes such ultimatum.

“I’m not mad at you—” you whine out, digging your nails into his skin.

“Just disappointed,” you both say at the same time.

You give him a pouty look, not appreciating the fact he’s learned how to read you already.

He withdraws from your neck to speak below you.

“I got that much a long time ago. And you are mad at me, like it or not.” Enjin grins.

“Like it wasn’t well deserved.” You huff.

“Wasn’t? So we’re finally past that issue?”

You stammer as you try to clarify, “No, don’t twist my words!”

“Yeah, I know,” he confirms gently.

He pushes you onto the bed, careful with you. With him on top of you, he stops any other foolish talk to look at you properly. Earnestly.

It has you flustered. “What? Why are you staring?”

For many reasons, he’d like to say.

Instead of answering, he lets the way he kisses you speak for him.

Madly. It’s not just him missing your body after you stayed away from him, even if you can feel his hardness pressing into your crotch; he’s really keen to make amends with you and show you he cares.

You can hear him sighing into your lips as if tasting the greatest thing he’s been deprived on, as his hands gently stroke your sides. And it’s hard not to give in, seeing his efforts.

Your hand goes to the back of his head, rubbing at his undercut until he sighs with another tiny pleasure to the one of his tongue rolling around yours.

His kisses go lower, down to your neck again, then across your collarbones. “Let me have you,” he implores like a madman. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

You find it increasingly harder to deny him. Especially that it feels different tonight.

So, so good. You find yourself nodding with glossy eyes.

He tugs up your t-shirt until your chest pops out. Wasting no time, he attaches himself right here.

You whimper as he kisses between your breasts and starts getting closer to the center of one of them.

“I know you’ve missed me too,” he presses these sure words into your skin, keeping his voice intimate.

“You missed me?” you ask gently.

“Yes,” he replies eventually, looking up at you for a moment. His eyes brim with something delicate and trembling, like a pool that is finally stirred. “I thought you were going to leave for good.”

Before you could reply, once again, he knocks out words from your mouth by wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking hard.

You mewl, weaving your fingers into his blond hair. You can feel the pleasure spreading down to your feet. “E-Enjin…” Your legs tremble at his side, especially feeling him pulse against your clothed cunt.

That’s more like it. He likes it when you say his name—this given one. This one he wants to earn fully by proving his worth and fulfilling his mission.

Then he gets all messy about working on your breasts, oscillating between both sides as he buries his face into there.

“Fuck…" he groans into your flesh, soon rolling his hips into the mattress to grind away his own tension for the sake of pleasing you.

You tug at his hair, sending more shivers down to his cock. He likes that slight pain, so long it comes from you. He pulls on your nipple harder, grazes it with his teeth, and sucks until the poor thing aches.

He goes even lower with his mouth, stroking your sides, immediately attacking your stomach with kisses. Your t-shirt falls over his head, hiding him where he feels the safest.

Right as you think he’s about to dive in between your thighs, he suddenly grabs you by your elbows and pulls you upright onto your knees. Then, lying down, he taps at his shoulders as if summoning you, his chest falling down in an irregular interval.

“What is it?” you ask with confusion. Whatever he wants from you, the wildness in his eyes is clear—so is the tent in his sweatpants.

“Come here,” he urges raspily.

“For what?”

“You’re gonna sit on my face.”

It’s quite funny, the dichotomy—Enjin sucks at describing his feelings easily but does not hesitate to deliver foul stuff like this with straight face.

“H-huh?” You haven’t reached that stage of relationship. He thinks it’s the perfect time. “I don’t wanna hurt you—”

“Don’t care. Sit on my face,” he says as if you have offended him somehow, throbbing in his sweatpants at the thought of tasting you from this angle.

Despite your small anxiety, needing him so boldly, you move. If you wouldn’t, he’d probably make sure you do anyway—knowing you’d be begging for more soon anyway.

You grab the headboard hesitantly, slowly moving on your knees until you get near his face. You throw one leg onto another side, over him. Enjin pushes you closer, gripping your thighs tightly until they rest at the sides of his head in their meant position.

He exhales shakily, feeling lightheaded at your compliance.

Before you could even start anything, he licks at your pussy through your borrower underwear, gathering the material with his tongue to stick to your outline.

You gasp and jolt, nearly falling forward but he keeps you locked in place. The fabric only adds friction.

He mouths at them too, enjoying your taste that’s been building up here for the last couple of minutes.

“W-wait—”

“Easy,” he murmurs in a pacifying way.

He pushes your boxers aside, finally sticking his tongue at your pussy that’s been soaking directly.

You mewl, your legs quaking around his head. Just a few days of being apart had you so wound up, it’s as though your nerves are being burned.

“E-Enjin...”

And then you hear a tear. He has no patience to remove these nicely, all the more hearing your call. He throws the shredded piece aside.

“Hey—”

“I’ll buy you prettier ones.” Despite the fact they belonged to his. What’s his is yours, apparently, and he seemed to finally make peace with it.

Your stomach clenches as he licks a stripe across your slit, ending it with his lips wrapped around your clit like a vacuum. He slurps on it gently before getting down again and licking around your hole where your nerve endings are fragile too.

“Fuck… you’re soaking for me…” He groans at the image above him.

You moan as his pretty nose bumps your clit.

“You’re enjoying yourself on top of me that much?”

You moan again, in agreement.

“Naughty girl,” he murmurs lowly, staring up at you with hooded eyes from where his head is protruding under your body.

“You—”

“Come on,” he chases you to it eagerly, words coming out muffled. “Sit. Take what you need.”

You could break his nose and he probably wouldn’t stop. Limited supply of oxygen is no deterrent either. Seeing that tiny hesitation linger, he grabs the front of your ass and pulls you closer—down. In return, your hands clutch onto the headboard with more grip, holding for stability.

It’s even better like this. His tongue’s structure scrapes at you more roughly, his mouth sucks harder, and Enjin’s noise of phantom pleasure vibrates all over your loins.

You finally ride his face, with more confidence, rolling your hips forward and back. Enjin grunts, his hold on your thighs tightening so much you’re sure there will be bruises. He even humps the air for nothing. Perhaps he has lied about this being about you only, an end to make up with you—as he cannot help but enjoy eating you out like this, his cock leaking pearls through his pants.

You can hear his ragged breath. You worry you’re hurting him, but before you could ease up, he pulls you down again. Enjin keeps fucking you with his tongue.

He eventually takes only one break before diving in again—passing out right now is something he’d come to regret.

You soon forget any inhibitions, chasing selfishly what you need, making sure your clit comes across his nose especially.

“Pleasepleaseplease—”

“Mhm. Do it,” he mumbles into your cunt, plunging his tongue into your trembling hole again.

You come hard on his face, crying out his name, nearly falling off with how hard the orgasm hits you. Your hole contracts around the tip of his tongue, and he recognizes what else you must be missing.

He licks everything your body produces in result, groaning at your taste, helping you come down until you gently swat at his shoulder, feeling overstimulation stinging you like a bee.

The moment he eases himself off you, you maneuver your hips lower.

Enjin gasps, inhaling fresh portion of air, smacking his lips clean.

Before you could ask him how he’s doing, seeing his disheveled state, you find yourself being hauled by him, then pushed down. Just one gasp from you and he’s already above you.

“I just have to feel you… or I might die…” Enjin speaks desperately as he fumbles with his sweatpants, wasting no time about getting rid of them. “You’ll let me, yeah?”

You nod, needing him to fill you up well. You’ve never seen him like this before, all feverish to fuck you.

Once you do, uttering a thank you, he sits up naked on his knees between your legs and draws you closer by your sore thighs.

His cockhead taps at your clit, and he sighs heavily from the wetness that reverberates; he then coats himself in you, quickly pumping himself. Even carrying that part of you somehow sets him frenzy.

You jolt at the sensation, feeling electrified. Wrapping your legs around his hips, afraid to let him go, you bunch up the sheets below your hands.

Enjin sighs deeply the moment he starts pushing in, parting your tight walls, even more loudly when he sinks into you fully rather quickly after. “Fuck, how I have missed this… missed you…” He gasps as you twitch around him, quickly grabbing onto your waist.

His head collapses on your shoulder as he slowly stretches you out, wide girth putting slight pressure on your abdomen. It feels so much different—not because it’s been a while—but because you are still here with him. And yet, it’s a torment all over—your pussy squeezing him so tight, swallowing his sensitive tip.

“So good…” he raps out.

“Y-yes…” you moan out.

“Can you feel it how I’m taking you deep?”

You nod your head rapidly. His tip constantly brushes against your cervix, just not enough to actually hurt you. You don’t even care about the slight sting that comes from the fact it’s been some a while and Enjin is naturally big. You stare at him with all your being, unable to get enough of his presence.

In return, he fucks you a bit harder—though he maintains a relatively slow pace, mostly getting himself balls-deep, deriving moans from both of you back n forth.

Your hands move to claw at his back, feeling as if you are being tortured on your own—in a good way, being rebuilt to handle him preferringly forever.

His head moves higher until his forehead can rest against yours as he keeps sliding out of you in and out, huffing and nearly hyperventilating from the sheer pleasure—never looking away from you, not beyond closing his eyes when you squeeze too hard and he can’t contain himself.

Enjin just can’t get enough of you. As if to make sure you don’t leave, his forearms go under your knees as he brings them closer to your head. His hands trail upward to rest at the sides of your head as he lets his hips do the work, keeping you in check that you don’t look away and hide any of your reactions.

“Fuck, baby… it’s like you came here to ruin me…” he says deliriously, eyelids hanging heavy from the bliss. You’re so good to him. He wants to cry from it.

“M-maybe I did… but… I can’t regret it…”

“Oh?” His pace stutters as he hears that, so does his voice. Won’t you just stop saying stuff that can easily kill him?

“Cause I don’t wanna let you go—” you heave, confessing these words, looking at him like a beggar.

He dreams of many things. To not be just the first but your last as well. To see your face not just like this but any other time as well. No frown, no anger, no disgust twisting your features.

Happy to see him and nothing else, be it through smile or teasing words.

Hearing your line, he feels a rush some crazy endorphins, driving him flustered. It’s been a while since he experienced something like that, if ever at all.

Not knowing what to do with himself, trying not to smile like an absolute idiot, he takes you onto your side. He spoons you, thrusting his length into you with his balls hitting your ass from behind, getting as deep as possible, his arm hugging you across your front.

You claw at the sheets underneath you. It’s dark outside already, but with a small lamp on, you can see your reflection in the window. He’s kissing at your neck, but you have a hunch that his eyes are glistening—if yours aren’t deceive you in this sorry lighting.

With that, you cannot stay like this for too long, no matter how good he makes you feel, pushing you closer to the edge and keeping you nice and full.

“Enjin…” you whine eventually, discontent with this position.

“Yeah?” he asks shakily, barely catching up with your question.

“Let me see you.”

Before he could even think of trying to refuse you, you push your hips to the front until his cock slips out, regardless of the hollow emptiness that suddenly bothers you and him. You turn the other way around, draping your leg over his.

“You can fuck me like this only,” you say petulantly.

His eyes go wide for a moment, but when he sees your needy expression, he can’t find it in himself to deny you.

His own surprises you a little, though it works on breaking the remaining hard shell of you. It’s as though he’s on verge of crying, yet his lipline is frozen in something like a smile of appreciation.

Getting out of his momentary stupor, for a moment disbelieving once more that you are here with him, he laughs it off dryly, dragging you closer by your ass as he slips into you again.

You moan, then kiss him, not wanting him sad—tasting yourself on his tongue again.

The slower pace of his long cock from before increases just slightly, leaving most space for the impact as he brackets your hips with his harder.

Withdrawing from your lips, he grabs you by your waist closer, until your head is tucked under his chin.

You feel that pleasant coil tightening in you, but you don’t want to finish yet. No matter how good it might be, you want to preserve and prolong this moment. The next one might not be as special.

“Wait for a moment…” you mumble.

Despite it being difficult, he stops moving, looking at you with an inquiry. You smile reassuringly and gently push him onto his back, still warming him.

While his eyes open wider tentatively, he keeps his arms around you; lets you be with less tension a moment after. “Little vixen,” he mumbles, with little to none spite to it.

Therefore you bounce yourself on his cock, filling yourself with him slowly—feeling his pubic hair rub at your swollen clit. Still with your torso against his, your naked chests sticking with sweat, never to be separated again, you only bother to move your hips up and down, unable to let him go.

Enjin groans, feeling your wet and hot heat swallowing him so sensitively. The weight of your body on his gets him dizzy too, grounding him in the holiness of your sanctuary.

Your hand grabs his throat, gently above his Choker, not squeezing if only caressing his pulse for the sake of engraving his presence into your head forever.

He tilts his head back for you, a show of vulnerability.

You prop your head up before you kiss him again.

Enjin sighs into your mouth—when did kissing get this amazing?

Then you do that thing he usually was the one responsible for, in a different manner too: you let a globe of saliva build up on your tongue before you let it drop on his.

He moans, swallowing it down, connecting you two; he grips you by your hair to seal it further. He’s so close, gasping for air.

He slowly sits up but he doesn’t let you go, still kissing you, as if he needs you impossibly closer, even if it becomes difficult with your moans taking up the space between your lips. He bounces you on his lap by your ass.

You withdraw only to make a plea.

“Enjin, I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby,” he coos, letting one hand go so it can get between your thighs.

As he rubs his finger once and twice and trice more time, you crash for the second time, still so hard if not harder. Tears spill freely down your face in ecstasy, and your scream never vocalizes.

He’s not that far behind you. It’s been a while for you, and he really wants to be easy on your body, but he forces you to ride it out so he can give you another thing he knows you need so badly.

“Baby—” he calls you that again, feeling his balls twitch. With a high moan, he feels himself erupt, as fills you up to the brim, his warm load thicker than ever.

Your back arches, twisting in his arms as he forces you down onto his dick one more time for good measure.

You both collapse onto the bed, facing each other on your sides—with him still inside of you, just softening. You make a whiny complain when he tries to pull out, so he doesn’t, allowing you to keep him warm.

Your eyes tear up for one more time today.

His do too—mostly spent on relief.

None of you tease each other about it.

“You okay?” he asks breathlessly, gathering you in his arms until your head goes under his chin again.

“Yeah, you?” you reciprocate softly, out of breath yourself. You find yourself indulgent in listening to his heart rate.

“Yeah.”

“That’s good. I’m happy.”

Enjin squeezes you even closer at that, still coming down. You are right here as you should and he wonders if he’s dreaming.

He still likes your room much better; in general, he doesn’t like sleeping alone. However, your room is simply yours and that’s another factor why he likes it so much. However, having you in his is not so bad.

Suddenly, you surface your head up, and move your hand to you fondle his face between your fingers.

“Bastard,” you mutter grumpily.

For a moment, he thinks you’re about to slap him perhaps—to get that last word, even it’d be too cruel of what he believes you to be. But instead, you lean in to kiss his cheek.

“Now, what was that for?” he asks as if he didn’t enjoy it all.

“For everything,” you announce proudly.

“Very specific,” he scoffs, pursing his lips. “Also, I didn’t know kisses are a form of punishment now.”

“It’s because make a funny face when I kiss you.”

“I literally don’t,” he says as he literally frowns.

“Yes, you do.” And so you kiss his cheek again. And again. And again.

And he lets you, even if it feels foreign for a moment, even when his hand considers pushing you away, even if his heart might escape his chest and fly out of the window—

Until you two get sleepy. He seems to be the one losing to that battle first.

“Hey…” he mumbles, his face now buried in your breasts.

“What?” you ask quietly.

“Can you scratch my back?”

You have created a monster perhaps.

But you oblige, raking your nails gently and avoiding crossing the zones you created yourself.

He’s the first to sleep indeed. Like he was first to gain feelings for you. Thinking that, while maybe you won’t forgive him outright tonight… The day you do, he’ll be a content man.

You fall asleep soon after, one last bit of your consciousness thinking that you just might let him fall down as many times as it takes. So long he stays right here tomorrow, and then after tomorrow, and…

a/n: finito! thank you for reading, especially if you perhaps sticked with me for two parts!! in any case, i hope you enjoyed the story ❤️❤️ comments and reblogs are appreciated

btw, i was listening to umbrella by rihanna while writing this. i know this song is often treated as a joke when it comes to enjin, but i genuinely think it fits him well if you focus on the lyrics and their ongoing theme — like sticking together through thick and thin and having each other’s backs hehe

+ he’s so cute when grumpy. just wanted to say that ^^ i imagine he gives reader this face quite often

BYE!!!

“You should save it for someone special.” — is the sentence that makes you realize you are being friend-zoned.

Friend-zoned by Gris, who, in your humble opinion, sometimes worries too much about being chivalrous. Friendly rejected in a narrow space of a work truck you have dragged him into for privacy, with you and him currently hiding in the underground garage.

Expected in hindsight, unexpected in impact.

You exhale deeply, receiving little relief when the car still stinks like the brand of cigarettes devotedly smoked by a certain individual. The plea in your eyes is tainted with a speck of annoyance. “I don't care about someone special. I might as well never find them,” you reply with exasperation, rubbing your face. Most are asleep at this hour, yet you are here, almost begging to be ruined by a handsome man.

Gris frowns, as if he believes you are undervaluing yourself. “How come? You are a lovely woman, and…”

You admire him for his reverence, but honestly, his romantics have you nearly cringing when you're on hunt to be fucked…

… For the very first time in your life, in fact—if not including the way he’s fucking up with your ambitions.

You think his reasoning is something a teenage girl would love to hear, and while she deserves the best, it’s not something an adult woman who has made up her mind — mind you, with maturity and hours of pondering — would now want to hear.

“Look, I won’t pressure you — it’s all your choice. But I want you to know we don’t have to be in love for this. That’s totally fine by me. No grudges will be held,” you try to bargain with the most cordial tone you can muster, even if your fingers nervously drum against the armrest. You want to respect his feelings no matter how eager and frustrated you may be.

Gris laughs nervously; you for sure are one of an attractive lady in his eyes, yet he’s not sure if he’s willing to complicate the teamwork friendship built between you two in exchange for few moments of relief. Being so close to you has him flustered already — your top lingers low on your chest today, as if you deliberately chose to use a bait on him.

“I appreciate that. I really do. You could say I’m flattered it’s me who you chose to entrust yourself with… Regardless, I still don’t want getting any weird ideas about you after the fact.”

He pats your shoulder, and as soon as he escapes you and your alluring perfume, you’re left alone with your own thoughts.

You’re in quite a pickle.

Remaining as a virgin at your grown age has became dull, like having a layer you are unable to shed off. It’s not that you’re saving yourself for marriage or are necessarily afraid of intimacy… It is instead fate who has funny ways of cockblocking you from gracing some dude’s bed.

You’re desperate to know what sex is like, not to mention, frankly said, you are pent up, horny, and agitated with no man to take the edge off till this day — and your job certainly leaves you stressed out. No boyfriend whatsoever, because how do you handle one, being a Cleaner and living in HQs? The idea is too exhausting just as a sound of it.

It’s not that finding a man to sleep with is difficult — you’re sure there’s many who would have jumped at the opportunity of popping your cherry. No, you’d have preferred for it to be with a man you think you can trust, like other Cleaners that would try to protect your life should there be a need to. And while maybe the idea of screwing your own teammate doesn’t sound most professional, you assume many here have done worse things, even between each other, not exactly always following strict work ethics… As long as you bother to distance yourself emotionally after, why would it ruin your relationships? It’s all fun.

With Gris crossed out on the list of candidates, you don’t think there’s really anyone else around to ask. Boss obviously is not an option, you have a bad feeling about Tamsy, Delmon still mourns his deceased wife (and who can take that size anyway…?), Bro Santa feels more paternal to you, August would tell everyone in a feat of excitement, Follo is probably a virgin himself…

Then there’s Enjin. And maybe with him you could have a good time, you’re about ninety percent sure he’s into you, and perhaps you do reciprocate that attraction, but it’s just…. no. You’re worried he’d brag about being your first, or even hold it over your head for a while after. Or he would laugh at you for being a virgin despite your age. Besides, hearing about his escapades to town, you don’t want to become just another woman on his to-do-list. He’s your friend you like to drink beer and play games with, not sleep with, unless you want to catch feelings for a man who also happens to be not most open emotionally or capable of handling a woman’s feelings for that matter.

Sleep hardly comes to you that night.

“Good mornin’.”

It is Enjin’s raspy morning voice that pauses the train of your thoughts that unfortunately have crossed the side into another day with you.

He shuffles into the grayish, slightly worn out communal kitchen of the headquarters, scratching his hip under his long sleeve, all exhausted and with swollen eyelids. The metal chair screeches as he throws himself on it. Yawns. Then coughs up the morning phlegm like an old man, grossing you out.

“Good to who?” you grumble from above the stone counter, fumbling with the dilapidated coffee machine mocking you, providing little cooperation today. “Especially when you’re making ruckus at seven in the morning.”

“Huh,” he mumbles to himself, trying to remember if he’s done anything appalling towards you yesterday. It’s difficult to brainstorm with a sleep fog in linger, but he can’t really recall anything too bad in the end... “Your coffee’s brewing, isn’t it? You’ll soon get your caffeine shot,” he says bluntly. “Don’t take it out on me.”

Dangerous move, assuming your emotions are fickle from something as simple as caffeine withdrawal… although he does find you being a bit angry kinda hot. A smidgen of passion never hurt nobody if only enticed a simple guy like him.

He steals a glance at you right after “insulting” you. The worn out t-shirt you slept in but no bra under is a deadly combination that reveals the outline of your breasts, your shorts are barely peaking under the length of your tee as if you might as well have none on… The intrusive thought comes, as he half a mind considers dropping something just to see you bend down, but he chases it away — you’d probably kill him once you catch up to his scheme anyway, and his murder is not as hot. He burns the image in his head for a later reference instead.

As for you, you don’t say anything in response — you only send him a glare before turning your head around as to not let yourself be provoked further. You don’t need more of headache. Any other day, you would catch up with him by blabbering about your latest mission and injuries you suffered, complain about your own team, brag about a cool trick done with your Jinki — he’d too in return — but nothing hearty is initiated this time.

He’s not deterred by it, standing up and coming closer to you, with the saunter drowsiness brings. Up close, he eyes your face intensely, as if it will give him an answer to your moodiness, so long as he bothers you long enough.

And you hate how observant he can be, quite often at that. Always investigating someone’s personal interests, yet revealing so little in return.

He looks ridiculous to you, squinting his bleary eyes. “What?” you bark out, reaching out for your favorite mug you then slam down next to your prepared breakfast, unable to handle the odd suspense he’s creating.

“You’re pissed off about something,” he voices the obvious like it’s a conspiracy theory.

“Yeah, you,” you mutter, finally pouring your coffee in.

He rolls his eyes and yawns again, this time at least bothering to cover his mouth. “Figures. And besides me?”

You scoff. “Like I’m telling you anything.” He’d probably laugh at you — both for your failure with Gris, and as well the one to be laid for so long. Or even worse — he’d tell you you lacking sex is where your attitude comes for.

“Why not? Come on, don’t you want to give your best buddy Enjin some juicy gossip?” he says with a subtle taunt in his rasp, leaning in closer to you until you feel a bit hotter in your face.

You can’t be that desperate, that just a bit of male attention works on you! Although, with his morning hair still falling down, or his sweatpants hanging low on his hip, it’s reasonable that you are distracted.

This is how male birds flaunt their appeal to a female, or so you have heard somewhere. Knowledge on animal species is still being gleaned on the Ground, yet you have a feeling that, ironically, their mating rituals are not so different from the women and men’s one.

“No,” you say eventually, all stern, remembering the question still stands. You elbow his stomach to dominate your personal space again.

“Ouch!” he hisses, stepping away from you as if you just burned him. “I’m a victim of violence over an innocent question?”

A bit smugger, you rest your back against the counter. “I don’t need your cigarette breath on me. Who smokes before eating anything?” you mock.

“Fine, have it your way,” he says reluctantly— and dramatically — before leaning against the same surface, almost knocking the cupboards with his head due to his height. Damn him being tall too... The worst men receive the best gifts. “I’ll find out… one way or another anyway.”

“No, you will not!” you say, affronted, and take a loud, aggressive sip. Even if you make an educated guess he’s deliberately inciting your mood to be worse.

“Yes, I will,” he mocks in return, mimicking your appalled tone, then laughs at the unimpressed look you give. “Okay, I won’t pry, just cause I don’t want you retaliating.” He sighs woefully as if he let go of a good deal — just for you. “But I’ve got a hunch you’ll tell me on your own terms anyway,” is added cockily.

You shake your head, tired of his assertiveness. You’d rather not have a big mouth around him, but Enjin happens to have a talent for opening up people… or sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong in general. You only hope Gris will keep his shut. “Anyway. Are you going to just stand there, or…?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry yet,” he throws nonchalantly. To be expected when he smokes first thing in the morning. Although, he still might be hungry for something else.

“Then why are you even here?” you ask with confusion, wondering if he made his trip here only to annoy you.

“Well…” he drawls, thinking of a quick excuse. Saying he's there to charge his energy for the day by ogling and teasing you isn’t the best clincher. “Coffee.”

“You don’t drink coffee,” you point out bluntly. “Thankfully.”

“Maybe I want to try one made by you,” he musters something beguiling, if not straightup flirtatious, smirking as if he considers himself so witty.

“Yeah, right.”

Dammit.

You don’t believe him and that sucks for Enjin, because lately, he’s been making many useless routes around you just to “run into you.” One too many of the unexplainable events and you’ll know he’s been following you, as a result of something about himself making him want to see you often, admittedly very pesky to him — and it’s not just your delicious body.

“Yeah, no, I was just…” he circles around the cupboards, pulling out a few snacks. “…getting those for Rudo before others can get their hands on those later. But don't tell anyone.” He winks at you, internally believing he made a smooth exit out of before he could be caught in a lie.

Except, you think you can’t be that stupid. You can tell there’s something up, the unnatural nervous energy about him, even if his explanation is plausible; however, you plan to ignore the conundrum until you’re done with your rejection-woes.

“Huh. Yeah. My mouth's sealed. Anyway. I’ve gotta get ready for a mission, so…” You hastily grab your plate and mug, suddenly feeling exposed in your pajama you were too lazy to change from yet.

“Alright.” He doesn’t tell you what a bummer it is you’re leaving so soon.

“And, Enjin…” You stop two steps after trailing off. “Sorry for snapping at you for no reason,” you say reluctantly. Looking back, you snapping at him over your personal affairs, maybe you were too rough on him…

He doesn’t gloat at your admission, nodding once, as if appreciating you taking responsibility. “Good call. Thanks,” he acknowledges calmly.

But when you pass him on your way out the kitchen, right as he’s lighting up another cigarette of this morning, he gives your ass a good look.

And you can feel that gaze.

“I saw that!” you scold from behind your shoulder and move faster to scurry away from him and the kitchen he’s occupying with his annoying presence. “I’m taking that apology back, you don’t deserve my kindness!”

“Right, my bad,” he replies unabashedly, “Just don’t forget about the upcoming grouping.”

When you’re gone, he cusses under his breath, letting out an exhale so dense it ricochets across the empty room. You’re entering his head like an uninvited, nagging, and pushy guest far too often. One time even, as he was helping you fix cupboard door with loose bolts, he let it fall on his head instead of holding it properly for you because he got distracted by the sight of your top riding up from your arms reaching high.

“She’s a trouble,” he complains aloud to no one.

Most of the Cleaners tend to spend their free time on their own. It’s really Enjin who organizes any outings between you all; drags others along to settlements with him if he has to.

Tonight, it’s the kind no kids are allowed to — his own team stays behind, while it’s you, him, Semiu, Gris, as well other willing adults that tag along.

The air in this club is steamy from the heat dancing bodies create, shoving each other at the brick walls covered in old alcohol advertisements, especially that the spacial capacity of this popular spot must have been exceeded a long time ago.

Youth gathers here the most, looking for escape from shitty jobs. They occasionally bump into your black table that’s as rocky as they are, worn down after the years of overuse.

The tiled floors are sticky under your shoes and have turned gray years ago, their pollution being in remembrance of debauchery that constantly happens here.

But Enjin finds it particularly difficult to concentrate on having fun for once.

He’s not adjusted to seeing you in anything else than your uniform or clothes to lounge around the base. That shorter dress of yours, tight and off shoulders, woven in your favorite color, is certainly a conspicuous man lure. It might be dark here — even for a glam scene moderate light is supposed to create — as the old bulbs still wait to be replaced, yet he’d recognize the shape of your body everywhere. Then there’s your makeup, lips plumpened with gloss, and whatever magic Riyo did with your hair for her amusement.

To his dismay, this outfit works out for you well. You’ve been gaining attention and traction ever since you walked into the place, and to add fuel to the fire, you’ve been sending mutual looks to some of the men around. He can’t tell if you’ve always been the flirty type and you hid it well from him, or is it something about today’s weather.

The place is stuffy, smells like vodka and vomit, which only irritates him further. The air is trash inside, the literal trash air is trashy outside too, when do you even catch a break?

It’s only some guys that give up when they see his glare, Enjin’s bull eyes peaking through his smoke like the red dot of his cigarette, a warning road sign hanging next to you. Givers generally don’t have the best reputation among normies, as they’re seen as materialistic and overly attached to their possessions. But it’s also their gaze, that is oftentimes dull and razor in comparison to those of other people; it’s the cockier ones that remain dauntless in face of Enjin.

“Someone catching your eye?” Semiu teases you, her arm draped over the back of your chair. “You've been eying quite many men lately, I noticed.”

Enjin looks at you both with suspicion — smartly seated across you for a better view. It’s clear you and Semiu know something he doesn’t.

“On a hunt today?” he butts in scornfully, and you don’t like his attitude that’s been throwing you off from the start of this evening. He's been killing the mood since you stepped inside, doing so in a way far worse than usual. No yapping about his team’s achievements today, that Rudo this, Zanka that, and all that jazz. No teasing or hollering or cackling or dumb games.

You tense up defensively — no, seriously, what is his problem? “Something like that. I must have fun once in a while, right? It's the least I deserve for putting my life on the line all the time…” you speak with sarcasm.

“Guess so… though you immediately running after some douchebag kinda beats the purpose of coming to the bar with your friends,” he’s really bitter, brows pinched together in judgement. “Just don't ditch us too soon.”

You can’t believe his sudden aggressiveness — who does he think he is to dictate your behavior, out of all people too?

“You’ve got plenty of people to talk to. Other tables with our guys to join. And don’t act as if you wouldn’t be doing the same,” you glare at him. You’ve been sipping on a tawdry cocktail as to prevent yourself from getting wasted and ruining your plan to conquer some guy, but in the end, you might need something stronger to be able to deal with Enjin’s brattiness.

“Touché,” he mutters and takes a cigarette drag a bit viciously. “But the difference between you and me is that I at least organized the fun for everyone.”

“Yet it’s not like I’d have any fun with you when you have a stick up your ass today anyway,” you grumble, entertaining the idea of stabbing him with a tiny drink umbrella in your hand. It’s a grueling labor, avoiding his moodiness as to not shatter your excitement for tonight.

“Oh yeah?” he mocks and points a dramatic finger at you, like there’s some kind of accusation brewing. “You sure gonna have a lot of fun looking like that,” he drops this bomb on you.

He realizes what he said when your mouth falls open and the table turns silent; or rather, he realizes what it sounded like. While he was just a projecting and jealous idiot, he ended up sounding like a chauvinistic pig without meaning to. If anything, he tends to say awful things half the time, but this time, he catches himself in this act right after.

“Looking like what?” you and Semiu synchronize angrily, daring him to finish his nasty thought. Gris knocks his ankle under the table, scolding.

Enjin raises his hands (and cigarette) in a placating gesture. “Wait, you got it all wrong, silly,” he laughs off, simultaneously getting rid of the stress the idea of losing your approval brings. Or how scary Semiu can get. “I mean to say: looking gorgeous. But yeah. Who am I to stop you? Go ahead and have your fun.” He shrugs.

“Hmph. Thought so,” you say with head high, eyeing his simple pants and t-shirt up and down. He can't say anything on your spotless look when he barely put any effort into his!

And soon, ironically, and very unfortunately for Enjin, the fun does end up coming to you.

The man who approaches your table is immediately stared down by him, but this one doesn't relent, leaning down to whisper something close to your ear that almost makes you giggle. A type of guy to wear a polo shirt with a fit too tight to accentuate the muscles he pumped to catch attention of women and all.

And so Enjin is forced to watch you being stolen from him in front of his very eyes. You and your pretty dress walking off with that beau, heading to the dance floor.

He doesn’t know who is he more mad at. At this point, he for sure regrets taking you here.

“Why you’re giving her a stink eye all evening? She's looking pretty, she should be getting it all out,” Semiu says dryly, disrupting Enjin’s war of thoughts.

“Not that I care,” he scoffs and crushes his cig butt into the ashtray. That’s the thing about Enjin — he can be quite dramatic, and when he does, he looks absolutely childish. “I’m doing just peachy,” he sighs, trying to not sulk over the loss of your presence.

“Easy now with that attitude,” she teases. “You’ve had a long day of doing absolutely nothing. Must be exhausting!”

Gris has been watching the bickering all this time in contemplation. He has a pretty good idea of what you’re attempting to obtain from these men, and he’s unsure how Enjin would react if he were to know — only that it wouldn’t be a pretty sight. He stays silent about that truth, choosing to distract his friend.

“Hey, Enjin, how about we play pool—”

“No,” Enjin shuts his offer immediately.

He huffs in disbelief. “So you’re going to stare at her like a murderer all night?”

“Not staring. Watching. Look at these guys, they’re just… shady,” Enjin says grumpily. He slumps himself in his chair, crossing his tattooed arms before he turns into something akin to a guard dog.

Semiu and Gris send each other exasperated looks. Their colleague is not someone they want to nanny tonight.

“Well, it’s not like she can’t help herself in case she needs to. She’s not defenseless, so why won’t you just mind your business?” Semiu scowls and stands up. She’d much rather find a nice girl to talk to than witness Enjin’s whining all night. “I have to get away from this party pooper,” she mumbles to herself.

“Just making sure nothing bad happens,” Enjin replies nonchalantly, not even looking at her, as he locks into monitoring you, playing with his umbrella he picks up from his thighs.

It's hard to locate you amid the flutter of dancing people and kaleidoscope of colorful lights, but when he does… You’re apparently having a lots, lots, and lots of fun.

When he previously thought of you dancing, he didn't expect it to be… this sort of exhibitionistic display. You backed up against a male body, it not even belonging to your previous catch anymore, but to a new one as if you are passing men around. And his hands all over your body… as you move to the rhythm of music, grinding together. He’s seen you flirt with men occasionally before, yet it has never quite reached this level.

This is perhaps a price Enjin has to pay for not making moves on you much earlier. It is definitely a nightmare played out in reality to him. How do you cope with multiple men touching the woman you’re into, all transpiring in the momentum of one night?

There’s adrenaline coursing through his veins, and it’s a miracle he’s still sitting in that chair. His hand flexes its fingers, and some kind of anxiety lingers in his stomach.

He tries to look away. He really does, remembering Semiu’s wise words. He tries to concentrate his gaze on another appealing woman he’d normally love to chat with. Who is he to stipulate what you do and with whom?

Yet there's this ugly feeling brewing in him, a foreign concept to him, and Enjin is incapable to accept the notion you're into someone else and that you’d dare to let them touch you so easily — unused to such a vision. Every heart brutality sent his way is on top of you ignoring his flirts for the past months, like he’s lesser than strangers.

He barely hears Gris trying to talk sense into him, busy watching your dress’s skirt ride up your bare thighs with every sway of your hips he thinks he’d treat better than any of those horny leeches. Then buy you a drink (and maybe some other stuff on different occasions if you smile at him like that often enough.) The only positive outcome is that you look absolutely gorgeous while you’re at your ritual.

He didn't feel this envious even the day someone else won a ticket lottery for Too Lily’s concert.

Enjin’s not the one to loose his cool easily, nor is he the one to react with aggression on a regular basis — even during fights. But he might as well go to hell for his transgressions tonight, as this much — you being entertained by some other asshole — he can’t let go of.

He stands up straight, hastily inhaling the leftovers of his drink for a confidence boost.

“And where do you think you’re going, Enjin?” Gris asks sternly, having enough of his infantile games. He’d prefer to stop any fight from escalating out.

“That guy over there with her looks like trouble. Don’t trust him one bit. I’ll keep an eye on her from up close,” he makes an excuse, not caring whether it’s believable or not. In a way, he does find many guys here shady, because… well, he’s a guy himself, surrounded by many other guys, and so he knows what his kind can be like. There is actually some protective urge gnawing at him. “Watch after my Umbreaker!”

“Enjin!” Gris calls him from behind but has to give up when he notices his friend has already disappeared into the crowd. Going after him would only create more commotion, so he counts on you putting him in his place and Enjin normally straying from whittling people down. He shakes his head with annoyance and chugs down his beer.

Hopefully no teeth will be smashed into smithereens tonight.

You’ve gotten really invested in the process of suitor- chasing, alcohol in your bloodstream aiding you in your hunt.

You’re circling yourself between different men, making assessments of their likeability before you can choose the winner of the night. You’re no longer looking at their face, but only judge how good you feel in their arms from behind you. The fact you’re doing this around strangers is as marginal, considering they’re busy with their own affairs.

Your favorite song is playing. The smoke machine is filtering through and adding to the sultry atmosphere. Blinking lights have turned you dizzy, going with the rhythm of your body so well that you have to turn up your workout. Nothing can go wrong when you’re having this much fun.

Eventually, the one you end up with has really handsome hands, that stay steady and rhythmic on your hips. Big, calloused, with a strong grip on your hips. Nice.

You lean back against his toned chest more comfortably, smelling cigarettes through the crowd of different colognes and perfumes. The mysterious stranger has to be tall too, and as his hands don’t wander around too fast and desperate — not out of modesty if still he moves skillfully and sensually, awaking your nerves — you think that maybe he is be the one. You don’t need to turn around to see his face to know he’s got a nice body on him, or that he’s especially capable of paying attention to your needs rather than solely grabbing curves for himself.

He’s only awfully quiet, which you absolve him of by assuming he wants your focus on his touch first and foremost.

Him presumably about to grind against you like with those men before, you think the least getting-to-know-him thing to do is to look down at his hands over your hips, feasting on the sight; but when you do, different swirls and lines mix into your blurry vision.

Maybe the lighting here isn’t the best, you’re tipsy too, but a bad feeling starts gnawing at you the more you concentrate on his arms, your mind churning a familiar photographic memory. Dark, intricate patches and lines contrasting the lighter skin, condensed the most across the bottom of his hand and forearm. Black nails, except for the pinky fingers. There’s many people here whose skin is adorned by tattoos, but this is too specific.

“Enjin?” you ask, astonished by your realization.

What. The. Fuck.

You're too scared to whip your head around, refusing to confirm this mindfuck-worthy discovery. Your body is rigid.

The suspect tenses up behind you, although, doesn't stop moving you two.

You almost trip over your own feet, moving along only out of shock — and it’s not as if there’s much space to get away within the first place.

Finally, he allows himself to speak and reveal his identity.

“Yes?”

He has shoved himself between other men in order to retrieve you from them — smarter than fighting, but astounding in audacity nevertheless.

“What are you—” words barely leave your mouth, as you’re still dumbfounded. What’s gotten into his rotten mind to decide to do this? He’s never come this close to you before.

“So what if it’s me? You’ve been dancing with many men tonight, I shouldn’t be any different?” he speaks with some irritation lingering in his voice, close to your ear, in result teasing it with shivers.

You can't tell if his he’s shaming you for your indulgence, or is simply making a counterargument, though it’s difficult to deny his body has been feeling nice on yours. You’ve been thinking about him a lot lately yourself, that now, you haven’t acted with rejection yet.

“None of them are my teammates…” you argue weakly. “You fucker…”

“Hm, fair point, but are they this nice?”

His fingers stroke your hips, rubbing faint circles, before squeezing on them and tugging you even closer — and your stomach rushes with butterflies, against your good conscience. Are you this sensitive from alcohol, or is he that good with his hands?

“Enjin…” you murmur shakily, sensing that your defenses are falling apart under just a little of dexterous stroking.

“Yeah?” he drawls, leaning down to rest his face in your nape, and his light hair grazes your nerves even more.

You feel his heart thrumming against your back. He’s not immune to you either… though that much you could predict from his boner starting a formation poking at your ass. “What prompted this?”

His hands tighten on you, previous anger making its presence for one more moment. “You can’t trust these guys,” he abuses that excuse again.

“And I can trust you?” you’re confused about his hypocrisy, as you are offended by it. You finally turn your head to face him, even if sideways. You blow air at the sweaty strand of hair coming across your face, frustrated.

Enjin is always so keen on staying secretive about his past; he might as well be another stranger to you. How do you trust someone you know relatively little about?

He doesn’t reply immediately, forgetting anything perceivable when your eyes lock with his; both pairs buzzing with lustful energy, electrifying.

When he remembers to speak, with him amused by a cute puckering of your lips from indignation, suddenly his anger begins to disperse: if it weren’t for these dudes before, he wouldn’t be there with you, so maybe he ought to be grateful. “That’s for you to judge. However…”

His hands wander up to your waist, slow, as he observes the way your lacquered mouth parts open in response, and he rubs at your side.

“You said you wanna have some fun, didn't you? Don’t think I didn't notice the way you look at me sometimes. Even just this morning, for example…”

The fact he has caught you staring fills you with embarrassment; although, the traces of arousal between your thighs make it harder to care about being exposed.

Two can play that game, apparently. He’s pulled to you, you push, until he pulls you close himself. Repeated daily.

“I…”

“It doesn’t matter. Just focus on me,” he assures lowly.

You shouldn’t be doing that, but you end up relenting to his whims, alcohol and feelings winning over.

You close your eyes, letting your ass roll with his crotch, side to side, until you fall to the rhythm of slutty remix playing. It’s still all new for you to feel a man’s bulge pressing into you. You shiver from the sensitivity it brings, and while you might have not done this before, you can tell he’s packing a nice size in his pants.

As for Enjin, he’s losing his mind, having you this close — his dick has never been more painful in its hardness, your perfume taunts his nose, and it’s a blessing you haven’t pushed him away. The weight of your body against him will ghost him for a while. And then goes that dress again…

Soon, you get lost in him and the music. Your body is all hot, your blood pumping everywhere, and it’s not alcohol — even more so when you hear his sighs near your ear. Your tension is growing quickly, especially when at some moment Enjin bends you over a little…

Too quickly — because he brushes against your panty-clad outline after your dress finally reveals it, bringing a foreign sensation to those regions, and you refuse to make a fool of yourself in front of everyone, as the contact this direct almost allowed for a shameful sound to leave. So much for drunk and horny confidence, when you get scared by a bit of petting and actual grinding, having not anticipated it. With other guys before, you’d leave before anything too serious could develop, not finding them that interesting.

You’re suddenly pushing yourself away from him. But he keeps you close, thinking you’ve simply come up with the maddening idea of being a tease.

“Let me go, Enjin,” there's clear fluster in your voice, as there is some forcefulness behind it to assert yourself in your decision enough.

You yank again and again and it’s only then when he finally lets you go, worried about making a scene that could cause misunderstanding, as well your reaction.

“What’s gotten into you so suddenly?” he asks with confusion.

You don't answer, quickly making your exit without looking back, on chase to separate yourself from the embarrassing encounter.

“Hey, wait, I'm sorry if I get ahead of myself, but you were—” he tries to summon you back, going after you through the tight corridor of other people you butt into and simultaneously irritate this way. His heart is pounding, as he wonders if he has just ruined any chance with you, even if you clearly were into him here for a sec.

He grabs your wrist only after you escaped the crowd, stopping you shortly before you could get away further.

“You're seriously going to ignore me after this?” his tone turns grave from the thought at your cowardly audacity.

“It was a mistake,” you say roughly, trying to remove his grip.

To your relief, Enjin does let you go, not wanting you to bruise yourself from the struggle; however, he’s on guard, ready to stop you again in case you think of running without some explanation.

Remaining silent for few seconds, he tries to gauge your feelings. You’re moody, appearing a bit troubled and tired by something, all that excitement from before gone like a poof.

“Mistake how? I would have thought it’s because of me, but, uh, you looked oddly shy all of a sudden…” he sounds openly suspicious. Oddly, as coming from someone who was ready to conquer the male cluster tonight.

He’s really too smart for his own good. Words get stuck in your throat, and you have to sit down from the alcohol blues coming in, choosing a spot at the empty booth behind you. You only perch yourself on the edge of the leather red seat, ready to flee the hell away from him should the conversation progress in a wrong direction.

“Well?” he prods further. “You're gonna tell me what’s going on, or does the little escapee feel like avoiding me for the rest of the night?”

You pick on your dry cuticle, shuffling your feet from restlessness too. “That’s… none of your business. I really don't want you laughing at me,” you finally reply, words coming out clumsily.

You’re acting really weird to him. “And how would you know I'd laugh at you, whatever this is about?” he’s affronted, as if you have no faith in him.

Your face deadpans — it’s obvious.

“Fine, maybe I laugh at others sometimes—” you raise your brow, “half of the time,” he corrects himself dramatically, “but what if I promise I won't laugh at you? I can tell whatever this is, that it matters to you,” he grins like a seller, thinking he’s so nice to you.

“I don’t believe you,” you say outright.

Enjin scowls and ruffles his hair, offended you can’t appreciate his kind offer. “You’re being difficult.”

As if he isn’t just nosy. As if you didn’t hug his boner few minutes ago.

“Whatever,” he acquiesces with a heavy sigh. “Let’s make a deal, so you can stop second-guessing me. If I laugh at you, you’re allowed to ask Gris about one very embarrassing for me moment. Eye for an eye. You can have all the giggling fit shit that you want if I ever laugh at you first.”

When you think about it, that’s rather honorable of Enjin. Nonetheless…

“But why do you even care.” You stand up, approaching him more closely again, as if you’re gearing up to squeeze something honest out of him.

He eyes you warily, while his heart picks up a familiar pace of excitement he can’t accept till this day. As for your question, he thinks you don’t need to know the real reason, nor is he good at vocalizing those type of feelings.

“Well…” he scratches the back of his head and looks around — anything to avoid seeing your cleavage and becoming your fool again — everyone seems to have great fun, except for you two huddling this corner of the club. “I'd much rather know why, than stay thinking I came out as a creep to you. Set things straight between us...”

As well know your secret goes unsaid. It’s some weird type of responsibility sense, watching after other’s troubles inadvertently. He’s taking on that role with his “kids” all the time, for example. But above all, with you, he needs to know it all with even more urgency.

For you, you suppose that’s fair — not wanting any loose ends. You have to reap what you sow because you didn’t stop the dance on the spot and now you owe him an explanation for the sudden rejection.

But being mature enough and communicating is so much trouble if you’re not even able to at least reward yourself by bringing any man to some love hotel with you.

“If we must have this conversation, let’s have it tomorrow when we have sobered up. I’m suddenly feeling exhausted,” you say listlessly.

He lights up a bit, as weird as it is to you. “So it’s a deal?”

You hold him in suspense, staring at him with some type of theatrical disdain. “Yeah, it’s a deal.”

You spit at your palms before connecting them for a handshake.

With the next day’s arrival, you begin to think you don’t remember the last time you were this nervous; not even the usual missions have you this apprehensive like one conversation to have does.

Telling Gris about your sex life, or lack thereof, was quite easy in comparison to telling Enjin, as you find the first rather comforting when he’s not exercising his inhumane strength on trash beats.

Resided in your room and warming your bed for the sake of stability the familiar space brings, your nerves are still wracked when your space is being disturbed by the possible end of your reputation breathing down your neck.

Meanwhile, Enjin has been forced to sit on a tiny stool of your vanity table, as if going through some punishment, picking up every of your possessions he has no clue what they’re for.

However, it’s a tiny discomfort to the reveal you make at last.

“You’re a what?”

His jaw is hanging low in shock, and your powder brush falls on the wooden surface. He felt your secret is something big in his bones, but you still being a virgin, that’s unprecedented to the idea of you he has had in his head all this time. He’s known you for quite a while, and yet, somehow something so significant has slipped his way.

You anticipate his laughter, or at least a snicker to make it in character. You’re pretty sure if it was anyone else confessing, he'd be laughing in a robust way you old virgin, before eventually choosing to give some backhanded yet useful and almost life-changing advice and assurance.

But nothing comes to violate your ears.

He himself has no idea what to do with this confession.

“Don’t make me say it again,” you mumble, picking at the threads of your blanket. It’s the worst moment, anticipating what kind of opinion he’ll express.

“But…” he trails off as he stands up, not knowing what to do with himself either. He takes a few steps back and forth across your limited space floor before looking at you with confusion again, trying to crack the code like a man who was suddenly deprived of any brain cells.

Math isn’t mathing here. He literally remembers — vividly at that — what you were doing last night.

Unless… it was a ploy to find your first guy. Just a rather bold and straightforward one.

“How is that possible?” he exclaims with frustration, his hands on the hips. “I mean… it’s not that you’re bad-looking,” he gulps at the thought of you when you— “Besides, some men will get their hands on everything. How come you are still one?”

“It was more of my decision…” you admit awkwardly. You’re a tiny bit relieved he’s not turning his lung upside down from laughter, although you were not prepared to be bombarded with questions.

“So you’re a prude?” he asks bluntly, sitting down again.

You forgot that lack of laughter still doesn't contradict the existence of a foul mouth.

You shut your eyes, exhale deeply as to not let yourself be provoked, and open them with scornfulness etched over your face. “Not necessarily,” you say in a brusque tone.

He weighs your answer, wondering how much he can get away with fooling around before you’d turn too defensive and kick him out; you’ve got to have your blood boiling from embarrassment already. That's why he takes on a route of being a better listener.

“Then what is it?” Resting his elbows on his knees, he leans forward.

He's overly curious to your liking. You could have just finished the conversation here, as soon as you gave him the evidence it wasn’t him but your fears that you underestimated that had you running away last night. However, you’d rather shut this chapter close. And maybe, just maybe, you want him to know for the liberty of your soul. The worst part of this avowal is behind you, right?

“Well… you know how it is,” you start, speaking with more evenness. “Growing up as a Cleaner, I never had a chance to settle down with anyone. And while men in the nearest settlements exist, I was too invested in fighting to even bother with finding anyone… not to mention, I didn’t want it to be a bad experience...”

Well, those arguments personally have never stopped Enjin from pursuing other people — what else can you do between the missions and not go crazy? Nonetheless, yours are still sound. Everything makes more sense now, too — flaunting yourself to these guys yesterday was about finding the perfect one to lose your virginity to.

“Until now,” he finishes the conclusion for you with a hum of annotation. “So you’re finally tired of waiting?”

You nod. Suddenly, your body feels much lighter, cathartic after making all that admission. Now you can move on, and—

“Does that mean I ruined your hunt?” he cups his chin in thought, as he tries to not sound satisfied. That idea shouldn't make him so happy.

Forget it. You grow irked again, your eyelid twitching as you’re brought to remember the failure Enjin enforced on you. “You did, now when I look back at yesterday,” you huff out with anger, crossing your legs and resting your face against your hand in sulk. “Why did you get in my way anyway again?!”

You even throw a pillow at him he catches anyway.

Upon your question, he looks to the side to be avoidant, he himself turning fairly grumpy. It’s not as if he could admit he felt unreasonably jealous. “Told you these guys seemed shady.” Same old excuses.

“And I’m not a child. I can take care of myself,” you declare sternly.

“You were also drunk,” he points out stubbornly.

“Not the first time, not the last time. And even if you were to be right, you couldn’t simply pull me away from them?”

You suddenly recall the way he danced with you. It makes your body throb with heat, you have to adjust your position. Wrangling with him is getting tiring, but there’s also something very hot about it, the chemistry you can’t deny.

Right. Chemistry.

It finally hits you, and you feel so dumb for not realizing that earlier. It’s just that you never imagined Enjin to be the type, and that theory escaped your mind when you were busy stressing out about what you did with him.

“Wait… Were you jealous or something?”

That’s got to be it. The only plausible explanation for him being overprotective out of the blue.

His eyes widen and a lump gets stuck in his throat. “Fuck no,” he replies viscerally, sitting up straight as if he was burned. His thoughts are racing, as you battle each other with eye contact meanwhile. Your steel gaze covers him with cold sweat, and his mouth opens up to form another curse that never leaves from how speechless you’ve rendered him. Accusation like this shouldn't be giving him plethora of heart jumpscares, he shouldn't be so defensive, but you’ve been having funny ways of messing with his brain.

In conclusion, you knowing the truth about the extent of his possessiveness would be his pride taking a hit.

“I’m not,” he eventually puts the pressure on his words.

At this point, he’s dragging on the inevitable.

You frown, standing up from your bed. “Then what would even be your problem, huh? And no, I don’t believe you for a second it’s about being protective.”

“Tsk. Don’t act like our attraction isn't mutual,” he mutters quietly.

“What was that?”

“I’m telling you, I’m not jealous!” he leans forward and ruffles his hair out of frustration. This is really hitting his ego. His heart. Whatever that is making him so susceptible to you.

You realize the tiny power that gives you. It’s not often you see him like this, stumbling over his words, a telltale of some sort of vulnerability.

You turn this discovery into teasing him, getting back at him spoiling your fun, as you inch closer. “You were jealous, yes, you were!”

He tends to admire you in secret, for your wrong and right, but your jokester move is too much at the moment. Enjin grits his teeth, raising his head up to look at you with almost a plea to stop. Let him have this one. “Stop, I don't know even know what’s jealousy—”

But you’re relentless, smirking as if you won. “It’s okay to admit that you are. Maybe I’ll make it better for you after.”

Until he can’t take it anymore.

He makes a space for you between his legs, then is drawing you close by your waist before tugging down on your hair so your lips can meet his.

He was indeed jealous.

He’s kissing you. He’s actually kissing you. To shut you up, although, if you desperately seek your truth, this is the only way he’ll let you on the window of his heart.

You stand frozen in stupor at first, while his mouth is moving already. Your rationality tells you to push him away, to not make things even more complicated between each other; your body says fuck you. You dig your palms into his thighs and kiss him back with twice fervor, pulling out a gasp from him.

At least this one is something you have experience in.

Your own emotions erupt, catalyzed by the shocking gesture. All that tension that's been hanging over you like a cloud that could never rain until a thunder struck it; your dissatisfaction with him; your attraction for him.

You bite at his lip with anger that he groans, and he pulls on your hair harder, deepening the kiss. His other hand wanders up to your face, tilting your face so he can lick across your lips before pushing his tongue in.

You moan at the sensation enhanced by keeping your eyes closed, rolling your tongue with his. Tasting tobacco, smelling that tobacco shooting straight through his cologne, experiencing his strong grip on you, you feel yourself getting heated up. There’s nothing on your mind other than him, your hate too, and if someone were to interrupt you two now, you’d probably want to kill them.

Enjin shares your sentiment especially, humming deep in pleasure, as if he’s having the time of his life. Both of your chests are going at the crazy rate. He’d rather regret some things later than now let you go. Maybe he would have never gathered enough confidence in any other circumstances, so if it’s possibly his only kiss with you, so be it.

You eventually end up on his thigh, drawn down by him, as his hands begin a tantalizing route over your body. Then they go down to your hips and ass that he squeezes handsomely until you whimper, and now it’s you tugging on his hair, his Choker, then brushing his chest with an angry growl, until you both start a game of trying to one up another.

Your results are messy, with teeth clinking, but you can’t stay away as if every brush of lips is not hard enough.

It’s only when your oxygen is sparse that you forcefully pull away from Enjin who would gladly go longer, even at the expense of his breath.

You take a step back and stumble on your feet, breathless and dazed, as you fix your hair. You stare at each other: Enjin’s honey eyes are hooded with desire, while yours are no better. There's even some flush decorating his face.

You plop yourself back on your bed, slowly coming back to reality.

“What… what was that…” you ask quietly, trying to shake yourself awake. Your heart goes for your throat, and your nerves are still pretty much awake, as if awaiting more touch.

“You wouldn’t have shut up otherwise,” he scoffs, although his features have softened. It’s not affection, it’s not tiredness, it’s some you-torment taking over he for once capitulates to.

You linger in silence, none of you winding up to properly comment on what has happened.

You think you should kick him out at this point. You really should. You can’t start something that has no guarantee or even any steady foundation. You should be mad he’s meddling with your sex life too. However…

He can tell what kind of troubled thoughts you’re experiencing, and since he’s not done getting to the bottom of your virgin issue, he decides to overstay his welcome.

“… Soooo,” he clears his thought, changing the subject for the sake of you two, as if the kiss didn't happen.

You think that’s maybe for the better, even if a switch up leaves a bitter taste in your mouth — on top of you still feeling him on you. “What is it?” you mutter, limply pressing your head against the wall behind your bed.

“Do you plan on going back there again?”

“I guess so,” you say nearly bitterly, your mood turning sour after an awkward confrontation. It’s as though he’s messing with you and you’re letting him. Playing push and pull. “Unfortunately, I have exhausted my other safe options?” You sigh.

“What other options?” he narrows his eyes, jealousy striking again.

Uh oh. You implied that without thinking. “Well… I might have asked… Gris… to help me. He refused,” you say hesitantly, anticipating the worst reaction.

Enjin’s jaw drops for the second time today. He thinks that’s even worse. You fucking his own friend. It’s personal as hell. Clenches his jaw, he glares at you. Seriously, it's betrayal after betrayal.

“Let me get this straight. So you thought of asking my own friend you’re not even that into. Yet you didn’t think of asking me?!” he almost yells, all dramatic.

That’s his problem?

“I mean—” you stutter, not wanting to give him the real reason as to why he was excluded in case he becomes even more offended, even if you’re right to worry he might take you for granted. “Well, would you even do it?” You smooth out your covers, not wanting to look at Enjin.

“No way,” he snickers. He wants you — badly — yet, he doesn’t want the consequences of getting that close with you. Regardless of whether he’s offended you didn’t include him in or not.

Which also makes him a huge hypocrite because how do you refuse to sleep with a woman but also not want her to sleep with other men?

You glance at him, raising your brow. “Why not? Don’t you find me attractive?” now it's you being nosy. And maybe a bit offended yourself.

Seriously. What type of question it is. Of course he does. Just the imagination of having you, taking your virginity especially, as he teaches you to take him and subsequently ruins you for others, makes him insanely hard at the thought. As much as the thought is not the healthiest kind.

“Don’t let me make yourself question your looks, idiot.” Even he wouldn’t go that far. “I simply don't want to look weirdly at you after the fact,” he says bluntly and stretches his arms above his head, aching from sitting in that tiny chair.

“How so?” You're confused, considering the previous events.

“Well… we work together, don’t we? Don’t wanna start being distracted mid job because I remembered.”

“Yet you danced with me. And now you kissed me?” you point out with exasperation. Your hands flail while you gesticulate, as if you were painting that image.

“Yeah… low effort, low risk. We’d probably not remember it a day after. As for the kiss… well… consider it blowing some steam off,” he says dismissively, hiding behind nonchalance.

That's just cold. You’d wince if you didn’t know he’s playing down the kiss, for some complex reason. He’s been more easy to read lately, whether he realizes that or not. You’re only feeling disrespected by that.

“It’s not like I would ask you anyway... I guess I’m back to bothering some guy in town. You can leave now,” you say, exhausted by that back and forth.

“… What?” he splutters from disbelief.

He forgot that just because he ruined your plans to lose virginity last night, doesn't entail you have given up on them entirely.

Seriously.

Enjin wants to believe the sudden distraught misplacement he experiences is coming from the raw need to protect you — against men willing to prey on your inexperience only — but he’d be lying if he said he didn't hate the thought of another man touching you just as much.

He used to think you're no virgin, yet finding out he could theoretically be your first, he is now aware of what is there to be taken granted for… or to never gain another chance for. Or what is out there for you to be hurt in a way different than coming from a nonhuman monster.

There’s many things and people to lose on the Ground in general, in this forsaken trash land, and so he’d like to keep you close to him. For some reason.

“You said you wanted a good experience,” his voice cracks from the slight panic. It’s so comical, you want to laugh a little.

You shrug your shoulders. “I also want to get done with it. I don't expect sparks.”

“No, no, listen—” he hesitates when you lower your brows over your eyes in suspicion. “I… I didn't know it’s that important to you. I can do it.” Those words leave his mouth instinctively. He almost regrets them when he catches up with reality, but he’s more set in stone about being your first than against it.

You look at him with surprise, taken aback about his sudden change of mind.

He immediately makes an excuse, logical. “You can’t trust those guys, strangers, yeah? Too rough, not clean enough, boring — and you’ll remember that for a while, if not forever. You don't want to let them hurt you either.” He leans back against your vanity more confidently, trying to sell you that opinion.

You know he’s not wrong about anything that can go wrong; it’s really the matter of sleeping with Enjin out of all people that boggles your mind.

While you like to believe you know better and can at least put effort into finding a right man to hook up with, a guy you’re into and guy you know suddenly feels safer after his suggestions and persuasions… after the kiss and the dance that both still have you with heads in the clouds also.

He at least has proven he's good at those things.

You both must be insane to be entertaining that, but you have been dead set on losing your virginity for a while now. It’s a matter of getting over it, so you can know it’s like, as well start your sex adventure.

You stand up, crossing your arms. “Are you sure? Because I don’t want you chickening out in the middle just cause you changed your mind, wasting my time,” you're adamant about him being serious with you. No games for once.

“Yes…” he responds shakily, quite in disbelief you’re actually permitting that heaven for him. “As clear as day.” He stands up too.

Truly insane. And yet…

“Alright then… but we’re doing this based on my rules. And we're still just friends after, right?”

The place you and Enjin end up settling on is his room. Or rather, you insisted that it’s his, refusing to associate the upcoming memories with your own room.

You meet him close to midnight next Friday, knowing most people around will be busy in the common hall or out, reducing the likelihood of someone finding out what the duo of you is up to.

You’ve been here in the past, although back then it was only for an inquiry about something. You thought he’s messy, as he is wild, exactly replicated in his room: from the cigarette maker spilling scobs on the tiny TV stand, through the bottles clinking over the collapsing dresser, to the laundry on his chair still waiting to be folded. You noticed some porn magazine you’d tease him about, and then the wallpaper peeling off at some corners. He was in need to clean that nasty dust from his dark furniture. Worse, the hefty smoke produced repeatedly had jaundiced some things yellow — the transparent curtains especially. And then, under the terrible light of rusting desk lamp barely scratching the gloaming atmosphere, Too Lily’s poster was beamed at. It was only his precious Vital Instrument that received a reverent spot on a special hook specifically mount for it on the wall.

As for today, everything seems clean. The metal bed has fresh black sheets, the floors are swiped, distracting items other than the picture of his team are hidden, and his blond hair is seemingly still damp from showering. Enjin put in some effort into making sure you’re comfortable, or that he doesn’t embarrasses himself.

And coming inside his bedroom, Enjin didn’t immediately push you on bed or whatever you might have imagined about this setup with him. He was only back to his cocky self, eager to impress you.

He’s currently taking it slowly with you, getting you into mood, as well working against your nervous tension. His experience coming in handy.

“Feel me first.”

“H-huh?”

Enjin’s crotch is flush with your ass, taunting you with his bulge. It’s too much already for your untouched body, and your head spins at the friction. It’s like it was back at the club, except you’re now fully sober, taut as a bowstring. Not to mention, you barely lasted waiting those few days preluding to seeing him — and he was doing no better.

“See what’s it like. Small steps. Get used to feeling me,” his teasing is tinged with tiny breathlessness on his own.

“I don’t need you to coddle me—”

He presses his hips closer in response, having you whimper. “Not coddling. It’s called foreplay, stubborn woman,” he chides lowly. “Unless you want it painful.”

“I know what that is!” you exclaim. But when his hands get all over your torso, groping every curve and plush through your clothes, you start craving more of that foreplay. “I’m a virgin, but I’m not clueless…”

“No complaining,” he feigns a tut. “I’m being nice to you, little overthinker.”

He cups your breasts, fondling them through your tee — you dressed simply to not be conspicuous to others you pass on your way to this room, but (un)fortunately forgot to put on a bra after showering due to your stress having you all over the place, giving him this advantage by an accident. He is indulging himself with your chest already, straight out of his wet dreams.

“And I know it feels good. Aren’t I so caring, taking it slow with you?” he taunts additionally.

You give him payback, pushing your hips harder at him that he grunts, even if it drives you mad as well.

“You can’t just—”

“Then don't provoke me, asshole,” you bite.

He snorts, a bit charmed by your spirit. “Even now, you have a spunk in you…

So do I.”

His hands finally slip under your shirt, roaming across your front. You get goosebumps immediately, your body absorbing a new touch on your skin.

Enjin groans at the direct weight of your breasts resting in his palms; your nipples are hardened already, forming nicely between his fingers. His cock twitches against your ass.

You chew on your lip, biting down any louder noises out of the need to preserve your image; though, you can feel aches growing between your legs.

“All nice and sweet… how dare you keep this body covered for so long, huh?” His voice is a never ending reminder of his presence all over you, drawled and intimate.

“S-shut up…” you stammer, getting shamelessly hot amid the fluster his words bring. He’s always so damn talkative, uttering things with every fiber of his being, and you suspect he’s about to become ten times worse.

“I could shut up… but then how else I’ll keep you on your toes? I’m building up the tension.”

His hands never stop fondling and you inhale sharply when he tweaks your bud.

You lean more against his chest, needing something to hold onto — and glad that you can’t see him just yet. “Can’t you just fuck me already? I can take it…” you whine.

“Trust me, you can’t. Not yet.”

That claim only adds to the buildup of your anxiety, as well to the excitement, heat building up in your belly. Some guys overestimate their size, but you can literally feel that he’s not lying, his bulge growing with every of your noises.

Enjin kisses at your nape, above your Choker, while his hands keep playing with your chest, mostly squeezing gently.

It's all nice. Fuzzy. His hair tickles your skin, his lips spread warmth everywhere, and then he’s rubbing your nipples again.

“E-enjin…” you say shakily. No longer able to maintain composure, a moan slips out from your lips.

His name fallen from your lips is a sinful dessert, and he wonders just how many repetitions he can pull from you. Something tells him you indeed can take more, as you fit in his arms and are succumbing to their magic rather quickly. Not to mention, you do seem kind of desperate like he has read from your actions towards finding the right guy.

“Shh. I've got you,” is pressed into your neck with another wet kiss, his lower lip dragging it.

Eventually, not many sounds can be kept with the mouth barrier. And they sound better than they did inside his head during imagination hours.

There’s plenty of fish in the sea, but he wants a siren like you.

It’s becoming increasingly hard for him to keep his ministrations strictly about you; to abstain from taking more immediate action.

“Ah, whatever, come here.”

He guides you onto his bed, pushing you down so your back lands on it.

You feel more vulnerable than you did before, lying with your chest heaving in anticipation. The suddenness in which he did further sends a dizzy spell through you.

He’s soon crawling to be above you, his hair framing his forehead — he didn’t bother to style his hair up after washing, capable of looking even more handsome this way.

Your breath hitches when he moves between your legs he spreads using his knee and presses his hardness into your clothed cunt.

“You’re still doing fine?” he asks intensely, as he allows himself to take in you sprawled underneath him.

“Yeah…” you nod. Everything is a lot as ever, but you are not ready to give up on making this milestone.

“Good. Arms up.”

Following his words, your shirt is taken off, ensuring your chest is exposed and his for the taking. His goes off too, Enjin feeling hot and needing to feel your skin on his through no barrier. His tattoos come into your vision fully, as your mouth waters at his torso; their unique and repeated design forms a question too, but you leave that for another time.

One hungry look is served at the sight of your tits and hips — ingraining his belief he’s never been more obsessed with a woman before. Then, without a word, his mouth is all over your neckline, as his hand caresses your waist. Enjin doesn’t bother to explain this process to you when he rolls his hips forward to grind into you, though proper words are knocked out of your mouth too.

His greedy kisses are wet and messy, you find yourself tilting your head for him when he launches an attack on your neck. “Enjin…” you call out quietly with a whimper.

“Mhm. Keep saying my name. It sounds nice when you’re not pissed off at me once in a while…” he says with a low murmur, a few words every kiss.

He sucks on your skin around your Choker before lying down a tiny bite, as if to judge just how sensitive you are. He just can’t get enough of you once you let him on top of you, trailing saliva all over you, with his brain forming a disarray of emotions about how much your presence in his life constantly pushes him to be a man reduced to the one resting at your feet.

You grab his forearm from a surprise, feeling him hit a neuralgic spot.

“Gonna make you feel so good… just you wait…” he purrs into your throat, his cock throbbing at the thought of making you cry for him.

His mouth goes lower, giving your breasts proper attention — grazing his teeth across the top of them before soothing the nerves here with a quick kiss.

You can tell you’re getting nasty wet underneath your bottoms, your clit pulsing when he occasionally puts more pressure with his groin there. You're dizzy, overwhelmed from him targeting your body from both sides.

“S-slow down…” you mumble weakly, even if your hand goes to the back of his head to keep him close.

He makes a quiet growling protest, looking up at you from underneath his lashes. “No,” he licks at your nipple, watching you wriggle in reaction, “don’t act like you don't need me.”

Because he for sure needs you.

Before you could tell him you would never need a man like him, he’s already shutting it down with a suck on your bud. Meanwhile, his hands holds your hips down, using them as a leverage to slowly keep thrusting forward.

You're losing your mind, digging your fingers into his nape. While your anxiety surrounding your first time still rules your mind, you start fantasizing about being fucked by him, spilling tiny moans from the stimulation he’s providing, as your body arches from the pressure of his mouth a little.

Enjin alternates between both sides, groaning every so often from the friction on his clothed dick miserably trapped in his pants. He himself wonders just how much he can even afford, being with a woman he’s been dreaming about for months like a sore loser. Just your chest in his face is his undoing.

Tiny beads of tears gather across your lash line, and that motivates him to go further.

“You’re crying already?” he teases, though his eyes soften the tiniest bit from the way your lips tremble, proving you’re untouched.

“I’m not crying… I’m just sensitive…” you say petulantly, shyness tightening your chest.

“Right. It’s still a long way ahead for me to really mess with you,” he grins a little, adding to your fluster.

Just what exactly will he do with you? You wonder.

He’s soon kissing down your stomach, coming dangerously low towards your abdomen, his hand playing and slightly slapping at the band of your pants as some kind of forewarning.

Your muscles tense up underneath his mouth and messy hair, skin prickling with tingles, as you circulate your breathing with ragged pace increasing itself. Your legs clench around his sides.

He’s growing brisk in his movements, needing to get into your pants asap. He’s about to see the pussy he’s been thinking of, imagining how you’d squeeze him when fisting his cock. Not to mention the few bonds destroyed because he thought of you when fucking another woman.

You can’t even care you’re exposed to your fricking coworker and a friend anymore; every kiss is one more to the excitement and nervousness of what he might do next.

And he doesn't plan on making it easy. Biding his time, counting his blessings to ensure he’s taken every part of you for his mind to rage about later. If you weren’t inexperienced, he’d love to keep you here all night.

“You’re gonna let me eat that pussy, yeah?” It’s not a question, if only the only most rational outcome for him, spoken deeply. Enjin looks up at you intensely, expectantly.

“You don't have to…” you trail off.

Him fucking you is one thing, him shoving his face into your loins is another, demanding more closeness… In hindsight, you expected a bit of stretching before being filled, in almost unceremonious fashion, sufficient enough to step away from the virgin title; Enjin seems keen on making your first impression much better. Whether it’s care, his fetish, or perfectionism.

“But I want to. Be grateful for full service. It doesn't come cheap,” he teases, all arrogant. He could say it's just to get you more ready, but munchies also come to him in different forms.

Your pants are therefore stolen from you, slid down carefully down your trembling legs.

Enjin doesn't immediately get you buck naked, staring at you with a starving gaze, as he sits up to be on his knees for a second. Irresistible is little to call you, for lack of a better word.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he asks lowly, tugging at the apex of your thigh and hip while his finger hooks itself around your panties. If you weren’t a nervous wreck, he’d just bruise your body by fondling it for hours, inspecting every part for enough material to be a content man.

You wriggle your hips, restless under his scrutiny, and he bites his lip with appreciation. Reality truly is much better than daydreamed visions.

“You better don’t hide anything from me tonight, you hear me?” is what he highlights before your panties are made to fly across the room, leaving you with nothing and all vulnerable.

“Just be quick with it…” you demand shakily, your tone anticipatory. It’s odd to let him see this part of your body.

But his mouth slacks at the sight of your untouched cunt, glistening from your wetness. He spreads your folds apart, imagining his cock between those. You jolt at the foreign touch. “Would you look at that…” he mocks, embarrassing you. “I’m glad at least she’s been agreeing with me.”

“Why won’t you just—” you try to make him shut up, unused to hearing those things, but he's already lying down and spreading your legs to be between them. It happens so fast, you worry if you can even handle his enthusiasm.

He blows hot air onto your pussy, interrupting your argumentative talk that tries to arise again. “Yeah?” He rolls your clit with his thumb, up and down, eliciting more for him to eat from; your legs try to clamp on him immediately, taken aback by sudden force of tiny pleasure.

“E-Enjin…!”

“Uh huh. You weren’t lying…” he remarks — too cheerfully, glad that your body is agreeing with him.

The fact he’s about to your first is really something difficult not to be smug about when he’s been eying you for months, and while he’s aware it’s a mean move to brag about that as if that’s all that matters, he believes it’s more elaborate than using you — especially that he strives to make you feel good.

It took him long enough to make a real move on you, after he almost has lost you to some dude that who knows if he wouldn’t become your boyfriend after.

So he wastes no time gluing his mouth to your slit, manhandling your thighs in effort of keeping his source open. He’s rolling around your clit with the tip of his tongue, licking a stripe downward, before slurping begins. His nose knocks at you as he goes down on you.

You tug on his hay blond strands with a moan, finding the sensation of his tongue lapping at everything your body produces with no gradual takeoff out of this world — as much as a new experience in this place is weird to come touch with. You wonder if he's been thinking about doing this to you before, for him to have no qualms about driving you crazy from his mouth alone. Maybe he imagined the more graceful way he’d do it, only for all plans go to ruin because his only goal in actuality is to be voracious.

“So good…” he groans between the smacks of his lips, getting his face wet as he messily spreads ecstasy everywhere across your pussy. “You're gonna have to let me do this more often, hm?”

It feels good for you to, especially when his tongue gives your bud more attention or shallow dives inside, stretching you gently before something else will.

You’re quickly getting greedy, trying to hump his face, moaning higher and higher.

To your delight, he doesn’t stop you, only growing harder at the sight of your enjoyment and you taking what you need. The slight ache on his scalp makes him grind into the mattress, as he leaks pre-cum sopping his boxers.

If he ever decides to be boring and stop smoking, he suspects this is how he’s gonna deal with the mouth tics.

“Enjin… I’m…” you heave, whining from what he’s doing to you, suffocating his sides with your legs too.

“Mhm. That’s right. Make a mess on me. Show me what you crave,” he says hastily into you, spreading vibrations down your legs.

A tension is building up in your hips, needing desperately to be released. Your hole twitches, still waiting to be filled, as your clit throbs madly, pent up and about to snap. The temperature of your moist body feels as if doubled, sending more shivers into your system.

“Pleasepleasepleasegiveittome—” you sob as you finish, almost ripping his hair off, your feet kicking up.

Even after, Enjin, satisfied by your body indulged, doesn’t stop going, licking you clean.

You have to forcefully pull him away.

He gasps, inhaling air as if he just ran marathon, stuck in a pussy-drunk state. All dazed by you staring back at him with teary and heated eyes, he has to shake himself off to remember his ongoing objective.

“Yeah, you’re fine, you’re fine. Come here, pretty girl,” he says gently.

He maneuvers you to rest against his chest, between his legs, as he props himself against a pillow.

You let him handle you, still coming down from some type of dumbness. “Why are you holding me like that?” you gulp, overwhelmed by the warmth and sturdiness against your back.

“You’re asking a lot of questions for an amateur today. Stop fussing, dummy…” he says lazily, brushing the inside of your thigh.

It’s not like he can tell you he wants you close, for some reason.

You exhale irregularly, titling your head towards his shoulder for more steadiness. “But I want to know.”

“Let’s just say, it’s more comfortable this way.”

He looks down at you, you chewing on your lip as you observe his hand getting closer and closer to your wet heat again. You’re no longer as nervous, too lustful to care about complications.

“You’re going to do something or not?” You’re growing impatient, needing yourself one step closer to him fucking you even if you just came.

He finally taps his fingers at your slit, as if scolding you for your hastiness. “You’ve gotta trust the process,” he murmurs into your ear, circling around your hole without pushing in yet. “No attitude.”

His index and middle finger prod at your mouth. “Get them extra wet.”

With a bit of hesitation, you suck on his digits, trying to coat them in much as saliva as possible. To him, the sight stirs his guts, another thing to remember for a while — your glazed over eyes, your mouth working hard on his hand as if it was his cock instead. He has imagined you sucking him off many times.

When he finally pushes in one finger into your tight hole, his arms embracing you from the front, even just that feels plenty. Because one is thick and long, pulling apart at your virgin walls, and when his fingertip curls inside your hole, it grazes something good too.

You huff out air, as he slowly thrusts it in and out, slowly building up the depth to the bottom line tattoo on his finger. You’re still wet from previous affair, so the combo of that and saliva has him gliding in enough to push another in soon.

“So much complaining before but look at ya… sucking in my fingers in like your body can't get enough…” he says unabashedly, chuckling slightly.

You’re almost scared from how easily this type of talk comes to him. But when he speeds up his actions, it’s not like you can give a damn about anything other than the friction and stretch turning your insides even warmer so nicely, sting or not.

“Ugh… it feels so weird…”

“You’ll get used to it.”

You jerk your hips along his movements, and soon, he starts hitting your clit with the ball of his hand while he keeps going in and out.

His other hand cups your chin and turns your head to the side for a kiss. Any distraction from his balls almost turning blue with no attention yet proves useful — he still pulses against your ass. The kiss is clumsy both from his and your fault, accompanied by hums and greed exchanged.

Enjin pulls out his fingers somewhere half into your another orgasm, concerned you might get too sensitive before he can even make you cream on his cock; he doubts a third finger would fit in anyway. Though your sultry whine almost has him giving in.

“Alright. Time for a real fun.”

Those words are a trigger for your heart to start pounding all over. You’re also made to ache terribly as he licks his fingers clean, staring you dead in the eye.

He pushes you onto your back again, but before he could get on top of you, he decides to make an offer first.

There's a good reason for why he kept his pants on the entire time — otherwise, you’d have been stressing out about his size, trying to flee before you could even be split apart.

“Wanna take a good look at it first?”

You bit your lip and nod, inviting him to lie down next to you. You already have a vague idea of what it’s like, however…

You’re screwed is what you realize when he pulls his sweatpants and boxers down and his cock springs free against his abdomen, beige tip turned almost red and leaking. Big is a connotation for scary, especially when it’s meant to be weaponized for the first time, and you think you have made a worst gamble choosing Enjin out of all people.

And yet… you really want to challenge yourself to take it. Why not go all out if you’re finally getting this stuff done? Make this event really remarkable.

“I wanna touch you too,” you demand all of the sudden.

“Yeah?” His eyes light up in something like positive surprise. It’s rather hot you’re eager to please him too.

“Yes,” you admit, squeezing your thighs at the thought. It might be your first time, but after how long you were deprived of good fuck, you don’t want anything taken for granted. Not to mention, you’re obsessed with the idea of controlling Enjin’s reactions, knowing at least a quarter of your effect on him. “Just tell me what to do,” you give him a look under your lashes, your hand coming across his happy trail.

He sighs with a tremor, laughing self-deprecatingly at how foolish you’re getting him. He quickly removes his clothes, throwing them on the floor.

“Spit on it first. Add some glide,” he instructs with anticipation painted in his voice.

You do as he said, letting a globe of saliva fall on top of his cockhead. Enjin shivers as it hits his weakest spot. Then even more as your fingers tentatively envelop him, before they start to spread your spit across his length.

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, and you carefully watch for his reaction, while getting used to handling a man.

He moans quietly, looking at you with tiny desperation, and this micropower you carry over him has you even hornier.

You’re stroking him while looking him in the eye, a bit faster than before, your thumb playing with his sensitive tip that only makes him more squirmy in his legs. There’s his palm eventually having to hold onto your waist.

It’s almost funny to you, that even clumsy work like yours can rattle him this much; although, it motivates you to do even better, as if you have discovered your favorite new hobby.

Though, when you tug on his skin a little too hard, his hand falls over yours. “Easy there. It’s not going anywhere…” he chuckles.

“Sorry…” you wet your lips, not that sorry.

His hand doesn’t let go of yours. Enjin moves it so you know the right pace — way too close to one he picks when thinking about you — his own flexing from the pleasure you’re giving him.

He’s also way too close in general, thanks to you. Which is crazy, considering he’s usually more durable — as if he’s that addicted to you.

“E-enough. Don’t forget what you’re here for.” He doesn’t want to finish before he's even inside of you.

Eventually, he pulls you away, slowly sitting up. He’s looking for something on his bedside table, while you give yourself prep talk inside.

“Will it hurt?” you ask the most dreaded question.

“Despite what they might be telling ya, it’s not supposed to hurt if done right. Uncomfortable at most. And I plan to do a good job with you…” he throws over his shoulder.

Something about the way he says his last words has you feeling restless. Like he’s implying you really are in for a lot.

You finally get to see what he’s been looking for.

“Are these necessary?” You’re somehow feeling annoyed.

“Huh? You’ll get knocked up otherwise,” he points out brusquely, as if he can't believe you’d not know at least that much.

“Enjin, I’m not stupid,” you deadpan. “I’m on a pill. Got ready ahead… just in case.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I… unless you care, I wanna feel it all clearly… no barriers,” you explain with your cheeks turning hot.

Enjin gulps, his Adam’s apple moving, and wipes his face. He's got to he too lucky. You, him, raw as his kryptonite… it’s too good to be true, and he’s already been granted a lot.

“So?” you bring up again.

The box he prepared is thrown back to its place. He’s climbing up the space above you with more vigor in the movement, not going to waste such offer. “Do you ask a starving man if he needs to eat too?” he grins.

One of the pillows is shoved under your hips, elevating them higher for his access. Another goes behind the headboard.

It’s still unbelievable you’re letting him do this to you.

Enjin wordlessly pats his shoulder, and you drape your legs over them.

He takes a one more good look at you, witnessing your needy state, eyes directed at him for help and no one else, as it always should have been. Your body he’d die for. Your vulnerability he feels scared taking advantage of.

“Dammit…” he mutters under his nose, wondering if or how will he survive you.

“I need you,” slips out from your lips without a shame, and he questions his sanity when something twists in his stomach from this line.

“Yes, I know. I’ve got you.”

He doesn’t fuck you with his cock immediately. With his hands on your waist, he’s moving his hips and gliding it across your slit instead, holding the tip against your clit for a bit longer, relieved to finally make a more direct contact… If anything, you somehow managed to got him nervous as well, and he doesn’t want to push it in just yet, breathing deeply only from the brushes against you.

You crane your head back on the pillow, taking in the foreign sensation with goosebumps rising on your skin, still so sensitive from the previous joys.

“Just put it in already…” you say impatiently, squirming under him. He didn’t even take you yet but you’re already feeling Enjin-deficient.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself like that—”

“I’m not that weak,” you insist, curling your tone with a whine that does not lie.

And he could wait, and maybe he should… except, none of you can really do that, or you two might end up going on a rampage.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you…” he acquiesces. It’s funny how often he tries to deny you, only to fail at that by permitting leeway.

He rubs himself twice before he’s pushing in, just a head in at first, followed by his grunt.

Your breath stutters; your hole wants to push him out, unused to any bigger deal inside, but at the same time, he’s rubbing your nerves that were screaming to be scraped against nicely. There is some discomfort, naturally, but you don’t move to reject him away.

“Ah… Enjin…” you wince. You grab to hold onto his forearms before subconsciously tracing his tattoos with your fingers for comfort.

The tense look on your face threatens to make him nut on his spot — you barely able to take his thick size shouldn't excite him, but the fact it’s his you’re struggling with, adjusting to being filled, that much fucks up with his brain.

There’s some concern too. “Gentle. Steady. No need to rush,” he comforts quietly. He kisses at your calf, going up to your ankle, teasing the skin to relax you.

You nod, biting your lip as some sweat breaks on your forehead. You think that the stretch cannot be only about your walls unadjusted to penetration, but stemming from Enjin simply being huge.

He thrusts in shallowly, still staying just head inside and grinding to get you more wet and used to him staying inside. Every brush against your entrance prods your muscles to part for him.

He rolls your clit with his index finger, another pleasure aiding you in relaxing, that he can fit it another inch soon.

You gasp, digging your nails into his skin.

“Easy, easy… Nice and slow…” he groans out, feeling tortured by the pressure on his cock. “You’re doing well.”

He commands himself for his restrain — with how hot and tight you are, it’s a challenge to not just push in at once. He’s not that mean, thankfully, rubbing himself inside of you instead.

“N-not fair,” you mumble.

“What again?” He wouldn’t know anything in this state.

“You don’t deserve that size,” you say randomly, glaring at him through the blur of your tears.

He laughs, rather softly. “A way to insult a man. Yet here I am, opening you.”

Convo is good, distracting you as he pushes in another inch in; in tune with your reactions. And he’s even not halfway through.

What happens next is therefore sudden.

He bottoms out — or rather — you decide to push yourself onto him with the slide of your body down, too keyed up and wanting this stressful moment gone, on a shortcut to the best part.

You both gasp loudly, he from the surprise, and you from the angry sting the stretch brings. Nonetheless, you’re proud of yourself, even as your chest rises quickly from the intense pressure.

“You're ridiculous, I’m trying to be gentle and you—” And you’re smiling at him, cheeky from your “achievement”, regardless of your tears. “You’re insane,” he says with exaggerated disbelief.

With your clear demand to not beat around the bush further, he starts moving in your pussy, almost fully in, mesmerized by your eagerness to be taken by him enough to take him in one fell swoop.

“Good fucking girl. Taking me so nicely. You would have thought this isn’t her first time—”

He’s moving a bit faster, even if your squeezing barely loosens.

“Or that she’s made for me.”

And faster.

“Might make her run back to me...” he rambles heatedly.

That sounds humiliating — to be wrapped around Enjin’s finger — but it’s not as if he’s any less addicted to you. You try to remember the exact moment you two started clicking, the first time you got to know him, and just when did you start getting close enough, but it’s difficult to come up with in this state.

It’s also irrelevant at this moment.

He as well may be deemed as barely holding up above you, his hands suffocating your hips, emulating the grip of your virgin pussy on him. Big teary eyes looking up at him will stay in his head for a while. You moan so nicely for him, as if you really were his girl.

And it’s becoming increasingly impossible for you to deny how much you want him on your own. Your body is thankfully adjusting fast enough, whether it’s your stamina from fighting trash beasts or eagerness, but you never stop feeling full and stretched.

“Fuck, don't stop…” you plead, digging your nails into his back when you draw him closer. “I can take it.”

Enjin growls at your words; it’s undeniable he is one hell of a lucky man, and you being this wanton for him barely allows him to maintain any self-restraint.

So much for being gentle with you because it’s your first time.

“Yeah? Want me to make a mess of you? Want me to make you come so hard you won’t be walking after?”

You nod your head fervently. “Y-yes. Need it so badly!” you babble, scratching at him.

You now regret you didn't have him like this earlier. Enjin is many things, but he's also attentive and intuitive enough to give you the best of the first times; if not also ensure you want no one else after as an extra side effect.

His dick twitches at your words. Enjin grabs you by the underside of your knees and pushes your legs to your chest before sinking deeper into you, right as he sets on a faster pace, each of the thrusts coming with a harder pressure and depth than before. His tall body pushes and crushes you into the mattress with expertise, handling your with ease the same way he handles his umbrella.

He kisses you madly, accepting your whines like they’re medicine. Your hand trails upward and brushes his undercut, making him hum. His mouth sucks on the tip of your tongue before biting it gently and kissing you deeper.

Withdrawing, he bends you further as to stay close to your messy face.

“O-oh, you are such a lucky woman…” he laughs breathlessly, squeezing your poor legs. “Getting so spoiled on your first, it’s got to be a relief you picked me for this, huh?”

You mewl. He talks awful much, you can feel the heat in your belly mix with shame and excitement. You don't want to make him too cocky neither, but you’d be lying saying he's not giving you the best time of your life at the moment. Fills you to your limits.

“Say it. Not Gris, not any guy in some town, but Enjin,” he demands roughly.

“Can’t, won’t—” you protest, your guts churning.

“Come on. Don’t be so mean to me, darling,” he drawls. “I’m working reeeaaalll hard for you.”

“E-Enjin—” you’re actually parroting him out of desperation, your horny brain susceptible to his wishes; except, it’s so hard to to form a coherent sentence on your own at this stage of being ruined.

He grins, rewarding you with a deeper thrust. “Just like that. Full sentence: Enjin’s the best first guy to have,” he coos.

“Enjin’s the best…” you moan, clenching around him when he hits that spongy spot inside you and keeps going at it, “first guy to have!”

He’s never forgetting these words.

“Good girl.”

And it also seems that his girl — his, as he cannot comprehend the idea of letting you go after this — needs a little more than tenderness, have been going on without a proper lay for so long.

Your face is in the pillows next, while he’s pulling your hips for you to stay on your knees, your ass in the air to never neglect his eyes.

The position makes you feel him even better as he slides in again, grabbing your hips. You bunch up the sheets of his bed into your hands, as you can feel his vein scraping your walls perfectly.

“Oh, please…” you cry out into the plush.

“I didn't even ask you to beg and look at you doing that on your own…” he marvels greedily. He wastes no time, resuming pounding into you with his balls hitting you, and your hole thanks him with more juices.

“So good…” you moan out, your eyes rolling back when he keeps hitting your spot back and forth. Muting any bed sounds was redundant when the skin, wetness and your own screams make enough noise for any theoretical passerby. Nonetheless, the frames of his furniture are still jeopardized and screech when they’re getting loosened with every thrust.

His hands take on massaging your ass, spreading it to see how well you’re taking his size, appreciating your curves, with many curses accentuating his satisfaction.

“Throw yourself back on me. I wanna see how badly you need it…”

You whine when he stills his hips in place, but you start doing as you’re told, waving your body to start using his cock to the hilt.

“I can’t…” you warble, yet you can’t stop either. You’re taking slower but deeper than he did, your toes curling against the bed sheets when you point his tip to curve into you. He only helps you by grinding, spilling occasional praise too. You can tell you’re getting closer, your abdomen tightening. “I’m so full…”

All that precaution to be gentle, only for you to be so slutty in a stark contrast. And he does like women who are a little naughty.

Enjin throws his head back a little, getting off to the slow friction forcing him feel to every thrust dragged along his length, your little show, even if he gets a bit impatient to not rut into you again.

“You could kill a man this way, you know…” he groans, slapping your flesh once to see it jiggle.

You’re not any better, no matter how frenzy your shoves are, or the sting of his hand that amplifies your pleasure. Showing your enthusiasm, you still think your work is not as good — not as fast and impactful enough as when he was doing it. “Not enough…” you mumble. “Please, I wanna cum!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” You’re back at his dick with a hand on your waist shoving you down to his balls.

He’s worse than before, now focused only on making you finish, he not so far behind.

You almost fall down when he begins rubbing your clit, your hole tightening and tightening— until the coil snaps and you come, with the pulsing that begins right after, that his hips stutter. It’s so intense you can’t tell whether you get loud or nothing is vocalized from how speechless he rendered you. Blinding hot, searing pool, covering any nearly painful soreness that’s been growing.

You’ve had some orgasms before, pleasuring yourself; but it’s different this time, you coming on something real.

And you discover that you absolutely love to cum. Your first on him.

The tight space your pussy creates almost pushes Enjin to the edge, that he turns up on his motions, forcing you to ride out your orgasm as you lie under him all useless and fucked dumb. Your head is pushed down by his solid palm.

“Take it… take it deep in…!” he yelps through the constraint of his throat. “You’re gonna remember this like no other day…”

Until he finally spurts inside you, filling you with warm sticky, moreso ecstatic from not having to pull out. His hand threatens to crush your bones, and he bites his tongue as it all ends with a rough call of your name. He collapses on top of you and takes you down with him, sweaty and hyperventilating, still sheathed deep in you so nothing can spill.

“Geez… you…” he heaves, “You really are insane…”

“You okay?” he eventually asks, lifting his body so he’d stop crushing you, checking for any regrets.

“Yes…. But… more…” you whine into the pillow.

He has to make sure he heard you right; you turn your head to the side when he brushes your hair off your face, your expression still delirious.

“Ugh… I have created a devil…” he says dryly, then laughs.

Onto your fours you go. Your hair is grabbed by him to give you even more of pleasure by inducing aches before he shoves you onto his sloppy dick again. The squelch is worse than it was before; sheets stick to your damp body as well.

Your legs, lingering as a jittering mass, have their knees almost give up. Yet Enjin doesn’t let you get away from it, even as you get overwhelmed, using your hair like an impromptu leash and keeping your back arched for him. His other hand fondles your moving breast from below, reminding himself of how much he loves them.

The headboard of his bed that walks around is really lucky to have that pillow, otherwise the wall behind would be almost as ruined as you are.

He curses when you are adamant on tightening near your another orgasm. “You’re a trouble… fucking insatiable doll…”

He feeds you with his decent amount of cum again soon enough. Tucks it in right after, making you gush when you peak again.

You can feel it everywhere over your body you’re at the brink of exhaustion, but before you’d let his dick and your sore pussy rest, there’s one more thing you need to consider yourself fulfilled.

Riding him, watching Enjin downplayed to an upmost mess on his own.

“Whoa!” he makes a sound of surprise, finding himself being pushed down onto his bed right in the middle of trying to get up.

You straddle him, on your way to get what you want as if all these previous orgasms put you in a succubus alike trance — with an objective to suck Enjin dry.

“You’re still not done?” he asks with incredulity. Although, you putting your body on display hardly makes your choice rejectable. You shouldn’t even be able to move around; still, judging by your legs playing their own plea at his sides, catching a break would be smart.

However…

“Just once more, please…” you plead with big eyes — deliberate move — and he’s a terrible sucker for that. You’re already grabbing his cock popping hard again, raising yourself to be above it.

Enjin gulps. Then he snorts, astonished by the fact this is what you’ve been hiding in yourself all this time. “Are you sure you’re even a newbie? Maybe this is how you lure men in…”

He only can get himself comfortable, watching you stretch yourself with obsession. Eager to sit on it is a huge compliment. On his.

“No, this is how I lure men in—” you snap your hips down, taking him all in that way. A tiny pain shoots through you when you knock your own cervix, but you soothe that by planting your hand against his stomach to start chasing another ecstasy, thrusts made to be desperate.

His legs tremble and he gasps. They were already screwed, wrung out by all the magic of your hole, but now he’s entirely about to lose any weight in them.

“You little…!” he holds onto you from surprise, warbling sound escaping his throat.

You have to be natural. You're having too much fun for the first time, crazy and over the moon, making a toy of his cock and moving fast like there’s no tomorrow. If the world was ending, you’d probably want to fuck him, then cry about it not being enough because he’s too tired to go forward.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…” your delirious voice jumps as you do. “So relieved to know what it’s like…”

He can't really deny you, even if he’s worried his cock might fall off soon. You're just there, riding him like there’s no tomorrow, whipping previous cum into cream with the thrusts. And yet his body decides there’s still more he should give you, as every slap of skin of skin brings him closer to another load to gift your wet walls with.

Maybe he should become your fuck friend. It's good for a spirit. It’s good for team merits. He empties your balls in you, you get your itches scratched, you two make wonderful fighting duo in result.

Except, then he’d hate the idea of you not being attached, you making his heart terribly unhealthy without ever coming close enough.

Maybe he should become your—

“Seriously, girl, where did all this energy come from…” he whines, clenching his jaw from how impossibly sensitive you’re getting his cock. Still, seeing your own legs shake and fumble your pleasure, he helps you, pulling you up and down with the leftover of strong hands. You really make a great team — cause you grind onto his blond pubes when he takes you down, pleasing your swollen clit.

He’d think you were training for that stuff with how easily you swallow him.

“Don’t care, I wanna cum—” you cry, fussy on top of him, raking his stomach that his breath hitches from the sting you bring. “I’m so close—”

Enjin obliges, manipulating with your clit sticky with your and his liquids, that annoyingly managed to drip out of you.

He has to fix that.

“That’s right. Come on me again,” he demands, needing to see you unravel for the last time this night, his dark gaze not straying away from any jiggle or facial contortion.

Your feet dig into his mattress as you finish, crying out his name. You collapse on top of him, your breath exhorted to treacherous levels, and you are a sweaty and lightheaded mess.

Still not done, he thrusts clumsily into you from below, letting you cling to him in that oddly intimate position.

A few more chases later, he empties himself into your hole, adding to the blend of fluids staining yours and his thighs in between; some has dried a long time ago. His voice is stuck in his throat, scraped, he can only choke on his moan.

You both take few seconds to catch up with any sense in the cottons of your brains fucked out. For a blink, he thinks you weigh him nicely, as he rubs your back and soothes your whimpers mindlessly.

It’s by miracle that he succeeds in unpeeling your shaky form from him before setting the breathless you next to him comfortably, even if at the expense of awakening some tenderness in his hips. “Careful there…” he mutters gently, straightening your poor limbs.

Your mess spills all over under you as you shiver from the sensitivity, and he watches his dark sheets become clearly stained, mesmerized from how much you took from him.

The realization of what you did together slowly starts settling in, seeping in quietness from you and him if not to include the labored breathing; albeit, among the aches and hormones lingering, giving fucks brings more thrill than regret.

Enjin’s still dutiful, that despite his exhaustion, he remembers to look clearly at you and make sure you’re not broken.

You’re as tired as he is, if not more — nothing above the norm. As he cleans you with the towel he had prepared earlier and drops it to the floor before beginning to massage your tense legs, you stare back at him with a bleary smile.

Something about that tiny curve makes his stomach clench with something plummeting in it. This is why it’s dangerous to stay around after sex… however, he doesn’t have it in himself to make you leave. Besides, that would be a really foul behavior towards someone who was made to have her first time with him.

He’s ready to ask if you’re alright to be on the safe side, but you’re already getting back to yourself, making a first complaint:

“You’re just so adamant on yapping your mouth. Your mouth doesn’t shut even as you’re guts deep in me.”

He raises a brow before snickering, even if you somehow manage to make him embarrassed. He stretches his arm to the side of the bed before offering you water.

“All that moonshine? I was saying whatever,” he says nonchalantly.

You desperately chug on the liquid, fed by him. He drinks after you.

“Oddly specific moonshine,” you rebuke bluntly after.

“Yeah. Performance nervousness.” He shakes his head as if you’re dramatic, pretending it’s not a weird feeling to have you naked and spent in his bed. All because of some jealousy and messed up sense of responsibility…

Among other feelings he still finds difficult to voice out openly.

“Anyway. Let’s go take a shower.” He pats your ass, for once not reaching for a cigarette immediately after a fuck.

“Us?” you question through your yawn.

He gives you unimpressed look — didn’t he just take your virginity? “Duh. We've got to save water. Unless you want to take an icy shower after me?”

“You’re saying you’d go first? Ladies first, don’t you know!” You slap his shoulder in offense — barely, not having it in you to actually hurt him.

Enjin scoffs with amusement. “No less. But I doubt you’d be able to walk on your own, so I might as well be done before you even get your ass up.”

He’s got a point.

But as soon as he tries to stand up so he can carry you to bathroom, enacting some Prince Charming, he is forced to have a painful realization his legs refuse to cooperate, and falls back onto the bed.

You laugh shamelessly at him, watching him turn into a plank. “Wow. That was embarrassing.”

He scowls, pinching your hip. As you squeak in surprise, he draws you close, then pulls covers over you. It’s nice, if he ignores the sticky quality of your bodies.

“Okay. Maybe a nap first…” he mutters tiredly, resting his head on your shoulder — unapologetically claiming it as his warm pillow.

Unexpected to you.

“… Enjin?” you ask hesitantly.

You’re not immune to the effects this type of closeness brings either. Except, you at least know how you may feel about him — so it’s still a food for thought about why he’s doing that personally, especially since he does not talk about himself often.

Sure, it might as well be him only giving you aftercare after squeezing all the life force out of your body, but if you were consider everything else that happened between you in the last couple of months, or even just that night at the club…

One of his honey eyes open. He speaks quietly, cozy and relaxed; he’s usually calm and nostalgic after sex, now he’s even peaceful.

“You’re just warm,” he brushes off your subtle implication for now. Sappy and clingy is not his style, nor his type, yet here he is, taking care of you like of his vital instrument; he probably fell a victim to this gooey and greasy heart feeling first too, knowing his luck with you. “Go to sleep. Then we’ll talk.” He pushes you closer to his chest.

You suppose it’s alright, for at least tonight.

“Talk about what?” you ask with curiosity, your own eyelids hanging lower and lower as pleasant drowsiness overtakes you.

That’s a good question. The problem is, Enjin is not exactly sure himself yet. He could talk about…

The fact that you’ve got him messed up? That there’s a real crisis of his person, to the point you make him reevaluate himself, stuck as a focal point in his mind? That he wants to both fuck you so hard you think about him and him and him only, but also desires to make you happy and content like this on a daily basis? Or is it about the whole truth that anything nowadays is somehow connected to you, him wondering if you’d like or hate those things? Or is it that he’d like to know what makes you tick? And, can you please keep getting along with the kids he cares about?

All those things said aloud, or even a modicum of them since he’s still afraid, might turn your relationship beyond salvaging. Yet life is all about taking risks — he might die any day anyway. He’s come so far with you tonight, too; he’d be a fool not to attempt an effort to keep you close afterward.

“… You’ll see,” he mutters comfortably before finally falling asleep.

Nevertheless, it’s a promise.

Whether Chrollo is deliberately provoking you or he’s simply irritating on his own, it’s usually irrelevant to the bad habit you’ve been fostering ever since he started dragging you along his criminal journey as his own pocket lover. It’s quite often that you find yourself reacting with a violent tone, that is flinging the nearest item at him once he provoked you enough.

Your little baseball game isn’t actual violence — it’s more about relieving built-up tension or proving a point for your pride when you fling things at him, as you’re fully aware that Chrollo will dodge every attack. The action is cathartic… until the frustration of missing hits right after, along with the relief.

He memorizes each item that would be capable of causing harm should he actually allow them to hit his body… but you throwing a hot liquid at him is new in your usual repertoire. A shoe in the head would hurt but give no more than a bruise, a pillow is nothing, while a freshly brewed coffee is on another level of artillery to be weaponized, ought to give anyone a nasty burn. Quite ungrateful too, considering he made the brew for you.

Although, liquids are still nothing that he cannot dodge; however, this morning, for some odd reason, the black caffeine ends up coating his skin, burning it through his shirt.

A few words too many, of the category he could choose from worse than usual, and you were boiling hot from anger, choosing to skip the morning drink supposed to wake you up for the sake of expressing yourself — and that bastard let you hit him, moving rapidly out of his seat only once it happened, not before like you anticipated.

It’s been heavy seconds of you staring at each other in shock. You’re frozen in the spot after you stood up from the kitchen chair to hurl your mug’s coffee towards him, now terrified by the implications of him not moving away, as if one wrong twitch could set him off. You have for once managed to hurt him, and it’s not empathy that forces gnawing fear of consequence into your entire nervous system, but the idea of his retaliation. You doubt Chrollo would benefit from killing the one he’s obsessed with, which is no relief if there’s many ways for him to make living for you as dreadful.

“Why… why did you just stand there?” you ask with panic, across the kitchen table. Your hand holding the mug slowly falls down back onto the flat surface, in hopes you can somehow restart this 8am of some cheap motel room you’re staying at as a pit stop.

It has to be a game of sorts — why would he not get out of the way for once? Why would he let him himself hurt?

Chrollo winces in pain and you wonder if it’s performative. Out of all injuries he has suffered in the past, combining the endurance of them with his prowess, surely some burn is like a scratch to him. “You threw a hot liquid at me and you’re mad at me for getting burn?” his tone actually sounds tormented, and then he looks up at you with a gaze full of unusual for him fragility.

“That’s not—” you try to argue he must know what you mean, but he’s just standing there, out of his own chair, clutching his front. Your terror grows, seeing the soiled black material of his shirt clinging to his upper abdomen, surely where the burn is. Oh no, once the blisters form and their liquid dries, the fabric will stick to the skin.

You shouldn’t care about his wellbeing. You don’t. It’s the dread that has you moving around the table and towards him. You are worried about some hypothetical punishment you’re not even sure he’ll deliver; and maybe you do feel some sympathy, because unlike him, you’re not a heartless being.

“Fucking hell, Chrollo, you need to remove that shirt - immediately,” you urge him, pulling at his sleeve nervously. The smell of coffee is overwhelming your nose, reminding you of what you’ve done, supposedly not deliberately. Closer to him, you notice there’s actually a lighter splatter all over the rest of his clothes, matching the one on your pajama you still didn’t change after waking up.

The tilt of his lips in response is either a reflection of his amusement or another wince — your wide eyes of something different from anger surely must be a spectacle to him. “It’s alright, I can take care of myself…” he says humbly, looking at you wistfully. “Also, I feel compelled to ask if you got hurt in the process too?”

“No, and don’t play games with me right now, and take it off, now!” with more assertiveness, you scold him and tug at the hems of his long sleeve.

You imagine him saying something almost flirty at your insistence of undressing him in any other situation. As of right now, he obediently lifts his arms for you; not without another tiny, pained breath that your hammering heart takes with even more frighten.

You’re met with the sight of his chest, and while it’d typically be an uncomfortable confrontation, all you can concentrate on is the red and shiny blotch that has formed already, right below his sternum, a size of an average hand. The contrast of it against his pallor makes you nauseous.

“Does it hurt much?” you ask tentatively. If Machi was there, she could easily take care of the scald; if anything, Chrollo should be able to handle this injury relatively easily. And yet, you’re fussing over him, trying to make it up to him before he could decide you need to be punished even if you both know you have never meant to actually achieve harming him; at least, you think you know that.

Right as his mouth opens, you shut it with an urgent-sounding demand. “Nevermind. Let’s get this cleaned up!”

He’s got to be messing around; as you lead him by his arm to the bathroom, his steps are not hurried enough, he focused mostly on vocalizing his pain. There’s simply no way for Chrollo to be suddenly so sensitive! Your own stroll is with you dizzy, sweating from the nerves. You suspect it’s not even the fact that you hurt him but the visceral reaction to hurting someone this badly in general — very human.

“Chrollo. Please, move faster. We need to cool down your wound!” you beseech with anxiety, imagining the nasty blistering and whatnot should you not make it in time. And then, when his members come here later they will be mad at you, and Chrollo will tell you that you intentionally harmed him—

“I’m trying, best believe. It’s not easy to walk when every move makes it worse…” he sighs pathetically.

Incorrigible. You are now absolutely certain he’s being dramatic on purpose. Not that a burn is something to walk off for a regular folk, yet a man of his caliber should be able to take it well — what’s coffee in comparison to some toxic chemicals he for sure felt on his skin during fighting some enemies?

And yet, you feel like you have no choice but to be nice — at least to show some regret, easing the impact of your transgression.

Finally stepping into the bathroom, your sanity is fraying at the seams already, your brain overworked from him making things unnecessarily difficult. Still, you try to figure out the logistics — the sink is awkward to work at with the burn, so you think a shower will be more comfortable for spraying cold water at it.

Watching him stand in the narrow space of the yellow-tiled bathroom, he hunched over like some victim, you decide, “Okay, Chrollo, take off your clothes and step into the shower. We need to rinse you with cold water. Please hurry!”

Here he goes being himself, at last, as if he’s trying to lighten up the mood even if you know it’s not quite that. “You seem quite desperate to witness me naked today,” he chuckles, glancing at you with mirth despite his supposed suffering. “It shouldn’t require scalding my skin for you to get this chance — you only need to ask.”

The fluster he still manages to provoke in you despite your ongoing panic is revolting; you almost drop the idea of helping him.

“For someone so hurt, you’re doing little to be treated,” you mock scornfully and narrow your eyes in suspicion. “Get naked or I’ll assume that you’re fine!”

Chrollo sighs again, before moving onto grabbing his pants — slow and struggling. As you hear the familiar clinking of his belt, you’re suddenly reminded of what you asked in actuality, turning your gaze away. Seeing him bare usually happens in less comfortable positions for you. You’ve seen him in his most natural state many times, yet each time, you want to bleach your eyes; he’s surely with an attractive physique, but it’s the gentle manipulation, intrusive, that you usually face his body with.

He breaks the trail of your thoughts with another offensive line. “You’re not undressing as well?”

You whip up your head towards him, eyes bulging from the worry. “Huh? Why would I do that?”

“I thought you were eager to lend me a helping hand,” he says with interest.

You gulp. On one hand, you don’t want to be naked next to him, in the cramped space of shower especially. On the other hand, you feel it’s your duty to tend to his wound, you desperately trying to minimize the damage you appearing to want to hurt him was. Except—

“Chrollo, all you need to do is stand under a cold water for a few minutes. I’d only get in your way. Meanwhile, I’ll prepare something to patch you up,” you manage to talk strictly enough, for once in this situation not yielding to your desire to please him. A cold shower is the least he can do on his own, you decide with more logic, if only to avoid him taking advantage of your kindness.

A short look of satisfaction passes over his face, as if he’s proud of you setting your foot solidly for at least one matter. “Very well. I’ll stand there, hoping that this excruciating pain will be rinsed off along with the water,” he says rather dramatically, and removing his clothes entirely, he finally steps inside the shower cabin.

You release the breath you’ve been holding. “Excruciating pain my ass,” you mumble under your nose, opening the cabinet above the simple mirror of the sink.

There’s something you can work with, you realize as the water droplets drone against the tiles in the background. The first aid kit this motel is providing, albeit not full, has some sachets of gauze and medical tape remaining. You find a bottle of aloe vera gel Chrollo bought for you when you one day burned yourself on the porch’s sun, too stubborn to go back inside into the same space with him, as well some painkillers for when living as his reluctant lover serves you a headache. Gathering all, you leave the bathroom, making sure you don’t look towards the clear glass Chrollo is behind of — there’s not even any heat fog to cover his nudity.

On your way to your shared room, you think about how idiotic the notion that you’re babying him is, considering he has to be pretending about the extent of his harm the coffee caused, and you anticipated him moving out of your way when throwing coffee at him as usual. But he has you operating based on your deepest fears, skillfully, leaving you in uncertainty about how mad he might be at you, never making it clear if you taking care of him will actually help your case and ease his disappointment or is merely you taking responsibility and some discipline still awaits you. He’s not hiding the fact he’s acting, and yet, you still are serving him on auto-mode.

You didn’t even mean to hurt him and you’re sure he knows about that. You threw the liquid at him assuming nothing bad will happen and he’ll dodge as always. Can you even be at fault if he didn’t dodge in clearly a deliberate way, considering his agility? Is he not making a ploy to paint you as an assaulter and leave you squirming from the price of being one? It’s unfair, really — you can’t even defend yourself, if the harm was done anyway.

Still, you suppose it’s better to be safe than sorry — showing lack of consideration would only make you look malicious as intended.

You plop yourself on the creaky bed laid out with a brown blanket and throw your items at it, awaiting his return. The room smells musty, the wallpaper is peeling off, the wooden furniture is scratched everywhere, but you don’t bother to close the curtains and let the sunlight in. Closing your eyes for a few moments, you’re measuring every sound he makes through the thin walls, then the step towards you that start few minutes later, as you attempt to take deep breaths…

You open your eyes only when the door does, freezing upon the sight. Chrollo’s body is dripping with water droplets, and he has only a white towel wrapped around his hips. Sitting up on bed immediately, you start expressing your disgruntled mind. “Couldn’t you get dressed?!”

“The clothes were stained in your coffee. They have to be washed,” he informs you calmly.

“Then…” you sputter in anger, though you quickly assess his wound while you’re already staring at him. The redness has barely decreased on his pale skin, and some blisters are forming already. “Something from the closet.”

“Sure. Eventually. I want to lie down for a moment. Surely you don’t mind, if I’m still in pain?” he asks innocently, and not so innocently, he moves to put his body next to yours on bed. The bed was never that big, so the space between you two is rather suffocating; you already are forced to sleep next to him at nights.

You’ll have to dress his wound when he’s like that — is your dreadful realization. “Great..” you mutter.

Chrollo crosses his arms under his head, sprawled across the mattress. He looks at you expectantly, curious of your next move. “You really don't need to do this, if you don't want to. I’m sure I can handle myself,” he assures nonchalantly.

His words are chosen to give you the illusion of free choice, which to you only reads like a trap — one you’re scared to leave.

At this point, Chrollo’s not even hiding the fact he’s taunting you. Gone is the painful expressions that were meant to push you into the belief that you've hurt him; no need to keep the act if he knows where you’re headed already.

You probe previously gathered items under your hands, grinding them into the blanket, as your mind is addled by the weight of one stupid sentence.

You don’t have to — technically — but what will happen if you don't do the thing? Would he actually punish you for burning him? He has not yet lashed out on you in the span of the last months you lived with him, only was incredibly intrusive in different ways, yet it is also the first time you've managed to land your attack on him…

“Let me take care of your wound. We wouldn't want you to think I threw my coffee at you with premeditation,” you say sardonically, despite the worry that you can’t hide is written all over your body language. You shift your body weight onto resting on your knees in front of him for easy access.

“You didn’t?”

Here comes another question, one that makes you question yourself all over again. You tense up even more. Every time you’ve thrown something at him, you told yourself it was safe — he would always dodge, and so you could act without consequence. But now, confronted with his words, you can’t tell: have you been throwing things because you trusted he would always avoid them, or because you hoped he might finally get hurt?

You can tell it was at least in the beginning of your forced relationship that you were aiming to serve him real harm. Nowadays, adjusted to the brutal truth you can’t land even a scratch on him unless he decides so, it’s hard to tell what your intentions were.

“N-no. Why would I be fussing over you if I were to intend to hurt you?” you ask defensively.

“Because rage lends people a certain bravery. And once that rage subsides, they scramble to undo what they’ve done. Your tending to me now doesn’t have to imply you never meant to hurt me — it might only mean you lost your nerve and confidence afterward.”

He’s got you good. You stare him, and he stares back at you without any specific emotion for you read from, apathetic and relaxed. So you deflect, bringing up his own crime, as you rip open the gauze sachet, so hard your knuckles bracket each other. “And why didn’t you dodge, like you always do?! It’s as if you wanted to make me look malicious!”

“Dodging would’ve changed nothing,” he argues with infuriating calm. His body is below yours but it’s him controlling the flow here. “You already threw it. I simply let the truth land where it was headed. Seeing the wound… makes it harder for you to pretend you weren’t aiming to hurt me. It’s eye-opening about how vicious your intentions seem to be. Consider it a lesson from me.”

The audacity to go this far to prove some point — who normal hurts themselves for the sake of proving a point? Teaching you a lesson about what?! Showing you how you’re stressed out by him, especially when constantly provoked by him?

“I told you, I didn’t want to hurt you!” you snap. “I threw it expecting you’d dodge, like you always do!”

He tilts his head, studying your face as if he can see the argument cracking under you.

“You’re used to me dodging,” he agrees softly, as if he’s suddenly understanding how hard it must be for you to admit something your pride wouldn’t want you to — he’s patronizing you this way. “But did you actually hope I would?

When you’re angry enough to throw something at me… can you truly swear it’s harmless? A performance to make yourself look scary? Or were you finally hoping I wouldn’t move out of the way, when choosing to grab a hot liquid for the first time?”

The room rises up by a few degrees, and you try to finally attempt to treat his wound before your nerves would eat you alive and you’d start believing him. Opening the bottle of the aloe gel with a loud pop of the plastic, you use one more argument. Your eyes are darting between your shaky hands and his upper abdomen, while avoiding the risqué sight of his hips in towel. “Chrollo… I don’t deny that you are an artisan when it comes to provoking my anger, but I mean it when I tell you I’m not a violent person. I have never attacked anyone before meeting you, let alone gave them a burn on purpose,” for once, you use a tone closer to being civilized that you usually stray from when interacting with him.

He places his hand on your thigh and you think that maybe he’s reconsidering things; only for him to speak another conjecture, while his hand is trailing too high, as a reminder of his possession over you… and your mind. “But have you ever resented someone the way you resent me?” he poses the question lowly.

You know the answer is no; or that at least, it’s been a while since there was an individual as blood-thirsty as he is when it comes to controlling your life. That alone could potentially turn anyone aggressive, even if out of need for protection.

You inhale deeply, trying to squirm away from his hold; he keeps you in your place on his bed that now feels even smaller, and you can’t avoid neither his touch nor his accusations. By this time, the wound should have been taken care of, yet you’re staring at the awful blisters spread across the breadth of his burn, thinking that maybe you should pop them open and let him feel pain all over again — chain him to a rock and do it over and over—

—And then you remember that showcasing this desire would only prove him right.

Trying to dim your wick, you redirect your rage onto the task at hand, squeezing out a lot of clear gel onto your fingers. “Both versions can be true, can they be not? I could have been hoping to hurt you, as I could have been hoping that you step away from the trajectory of my throw as usual. I could have forgotten there’s coffee inside, intending to throw a mug at you only. What matters now is that your burn did happen,” you force every words with enough pressure, making sure you’re heard.

His mouth opens to argue immediately. You don’t give him a chance, “It might hurt,” shoving your fingers into his burn, and this time, unlike when he was freshly burned, you hear a noise you suspect is of a genuine pain. The coldness of the gel doesn’t help either.

But Chrollo is relentless; he says something else in the brief break of you grabbing the gauze, “You’ve changed.”

Your hands freeze above his stomach. “I changed how?” you scowl. He’s throwing more and more curveballs at you, and you are still taking the bait.

“You’ve become more circumspect when it comes to speaking to me. Choosing your words carefully, but also trying to not let your anger ingulf you,” he remarks with a small smile, while inching his body closer to you. The towel loosens and you gulp.

You’re confused, glaring holes into his burn as if it might open and speak for him — really, there’s so much mental trouble in one morning over one wound, who knows what else will happen tomorrow. “Then what’s all this deal with me throwing things at you is supposed to be?” you point out.

“I reckon your anger at my words still tips the scales towards you doing that. A bad habit, perhaps. Outside of that, you search for more logical and sound arguments. I like that about you,” his smile widens, and his dark eyes sparkle prettily when he’s honest for once, veiled by thick lashes.

You think he’s actually praising you. Noticing something positive about you than twisting some aspect of your person to his benefit. You don’t know how to feel about that. “Well, I have not intended to have debates with you for sport or fun, if only to make you listen to me. I still don’t enjoy the thought of being here with you,” you grumble.

“I know your disdain is strong, but who can say what rules time might rewrite?”

The idea of you transforming into someone who actually wants to be with him is both ridiculous and laughable. You would have launched another round of anger if it weren't for the exhaustion that has only just made itself felt; morning or not, Chrollo drained your mood for the rest of the day like an energy vampire.

Spreading the gauze over his stomach, you force yourself to ask one last thing, desperate to know your fate after your hypothetical assault.

“Anyway... I just want to know if you're going to punish me for throwing that coffee at you.”

“Do you want to be punished?” he doesn’t answer immediately, rubbing your leg instead. That question posed with his touch on you send chills into your spine — not the pleasant kind, if you’re hoping his groping doesn’t evolve into more.

Of course, you shake your head. You haven't even had the (dis)pleasure of knowing what being punished by him is like yet, which isn't exactly the relief it should be — it only leaves you hanging in anticipation and uncertainty, as you await the first time he’ll get back at you properly, in way another than being petty, annoying, or intrusive. Up till this day, you’re not sure what exactly he wants from you, other than breaking you into pieces to analyze and own.

“I'd much rather make it up to you... if you're holding a grudge or something,” you admit quietly.

You press a piece of tape onto his skin, no longer caring that he's nude in front of you, and almost laugh when he shivers at your touch, suddenly soft under your fingers. Even now, he's not immune to you.

“I don’t hold grudges. But, I do earn favors that might come in handy when needed… or those that simply bring pleasure.”

It is now that you put on the alarmed suit once more this morning, your mind wrapping the word pleasure into the worst hypothetical scenario.

Chrollo chuckles, slowing down his strokes on your thigh into something soothing; you don’t believe him to be that caring, not with his smirk and his eyelids resting low from the desire your defiance brings him. “Not of that kind. Merely a kiss to make amends… and to make it feel better. My burn is still deriving a lot of pain, you know?”

A kiss is surely easier to take than being manhandled by him — it’s definitely lighter in comparison to a painful punishment — but still is something you’d love to avoid. “There’s a painkiller, so…” you mumble awkwardly, patting down the finished dressing under his sternum. Out of sight, out of mind. “There. You should avoid sleeping on stomach or wearing tight clothes, though I’m sure you know that…” you ramble from another tension growing in you.

He peers down at his body below. “Mhm. It’s neat enough. Back at our topic…

Pain management of chemical kind is rather dull, and if a kiss is meant to make it up to me just like you wish to make it up to me…” a dramatic sigh follows after, as if he really needs your lips to kiss it better, and then he dares to look at you from under his lashes, holding some command in it to make it worse. Your stomach twists.

“I-is there no other way?” you stammer, eying his mouth with a clear reluctance.

“We could bargain, I suppose. I wonder what else do you think would be equivalent to one kiss for me to forgo it?” he asks humorously, eager what other price your mind could come up with that wouldn’t be only worse than a kiss he’s well-aware you don’t want to share with him.

Your brain errors, and you don’t need time to ponder to know a single kiss is a short annoyance and bruised dignity in comparison to what else Chrollo’s whims could steal from you; the deal of only a saliva exchange is really accommodating and lenient of him. At the same time, it’s extremely suspicious, and you doubt he’ll make the makeout easy.

You decide to get done with it, enticed by the idea of being able to move on for the rest of your day. You're pushing your head down with a hand carefully placed on his chest, right before your lips envelop his with a rather angry energy resurfacing again.

Then a certain itch that appears. Desperate to control something in your dynamic with him for once, your movements are firm and messy, as you’re craving to assert yourself, to show that you’re not entirely under his sway. For a moment, it feels like you’re finally in charge; be it brief, fleeting satisfaction, it’s still intoxicating and both comforting.

You hear him gasp in surprise and your head swims in ecstasy.

Unfortunately for you, Chrollo doesn’t stay passive. His hands wrap themselves around your midriff, strong and steady, and he’s drawing you even closer, pushing your upper body to rest directly on his, desire making him forget any burns or pains your weight is provoking. You yelp into his mouth, as your pajama is the only layer between you and his toned chest, and you can feel the growing bulge under his towel. It’s all as if he's been finally called to grab what he’s owed. It’s not enough to break your defiant stance but still enough to make it clear that he’s in control regardless of you kissing him first.

If you have thought it was your kiss that was heated, he proves you wrong, moving his lips with a provocative pressure, keeping his eyes shut to enjoy the feeling of you properly. There’s a roughness behind the kiss that renders your nerves raging the same way it ignites the desire you can never quite accept, and it makes your chest flutter in a way you don’t entirely understand, not that you want to. His pepper perfume and the closeness of his handsome features is already too overwhelming — now it’s hard to focus on what’s happening exactly when your faces are so close and he’s like mad, everything being blurred in your vision.

Still resting your hips on your knees and bent in this uncomfortable position, you press back your palms against his chest to withdraw for least the second, wanting your breath and comfort back, also fueled by the resistance long engraved in you. But he brings your head with one hand leaving your body ending up on the back of your skull, and so he’s catching your lips again.

The kiss worsens; with disgusting precision, controlled intensity, as if he’s trying to swallow you whole, releasing the tension that's been brewing between you two for the past hour, as well is testing the limits of your restraint. Your heart hammers in your chest, both the familiar bitterness and flush churning up your stomach. His skin is hot under your defensive palms, for once not cold like he is; he’s really not hiding his desire for you. You’re worried about the towel on his hips moving below you.

As you struggle to slow him down and watch clear pleasure in his knitted brows, you think you’ve never tasted him to be so impatient before, and you wonder if he's that starving for you, if he wants to make it dreadfully memorable for you, or all the above. Each press of his lips go deeper until he’s shoving his tongue into your mouth, grunting as if he cannot get enough of your taste, while still keeping your head close. When his hand pushes at your waist with even more insistence, you can’t breathe at all, and the friction between you two builds up too much sensitivity that you can’t stop any noises coming from your throat.

Every few rolls of his tongue is with you trying to push away, only for him to push you close, reminding you that you want to pay him back for hurting him. Until you finally relent, returning the favor with even more anger, giving your own punishment for being a bastard ever since the first day you have met him, indulging yourself in the ephemeral sense of being his equal. You press your body at him with more force, kissing him back instead of trying to shut your lips like before, growling as he only laughs into your tongue.

He murmurs something against your lips — low, soft, almost a taunt about you being aggressive again — and so you bite his lips and grab his biceps to scratch at them, drawing out a weak mewl. Your skin prickles and flushes with lust when he takes that as an invitation for lowering his hand from your waist to the apex of your ass. You close your widened eyes to focus on physical sensations, even if you know he occasionally opens his to watch the myriads of emotions passing over your face and enjoy them.

Initially thinking you’re reclaiming your control over your body if you can’t take control over your life, he still twists things other way around, at last shifting his weight to press you down onto the bed and under him. The kiss continues as more teasing now, suddenly slow, and you gasp between the short withdrawals, catching your oxygen. He doesn’t let you forget who really is in charge, pinning your wrists above your head; right as that damn towel finally slips off his hips.

It's becoming dangerous, the vile in your stomach turning into almost butterflies, overwhelmed by the heady softness behind the kiss as well noses brushing each other, even if you recognize the affection in it is faux. Chrollo is clearly trying to fluster you, going further than the kiss you owed him, and you are stuck in limbo of knowing better and not wanting to get away.

And so when he finally pushes his head up from you, letting you inhale properly and witnessing you in your must vulnerable state, he naturally says:

“Thank you for tending to my burn, darling. It’s reassuring to see you don’t despise me enough to leave me in discomfort. How unexpectedly tender you can be… It makes me wonder what the future holds, with all the trepidation of a lover waiting to be surprised,” he throws the words at you with a tone deceitfully gentle — meant to burn your cheeks and cause indignation at the very idea you might start wanting him, and succeeding.

Pulling the cup away from his lips, Uvogin watched you closely from where you stood in the living room. You were standing next to the woman that he knew to be your roommate, and the two of you were having a conversation with some guy who appeared to be dressed like a zombie. Who the guy was and what he was saying to you, Uvogin didn't know. But he watched the way you smiled politely at whatever was being said while you sipped at your drink.

In the meantime you remained completely oblivious to his attention on you, the same way you normally did whenever he would watch you outside of school hours.

And he'd been watching you for a while now.

Uvogin wasn't keen on college. He didn't feel that getting a degree would be anything other than a waste of time and money. But seeing as it was Chrollo who was insisting, telling him that it was a necessary in some future scheme, Uvo ultimately conceded to the demands of his boss.

Not that it didn't come with conditions, with the main one being that he didn't need to spend his nights in the stuffy, cramped rooms of the student dorms.

Thus, Uvo ended up moving into an off-campus house that gave him a lot more breathing room. Nobunaga had joined him, citing that he also hated the idea of the dorms. While that was probably true, Uvo was also pretty sure Chrollo wanted someone to keep an eye on him while living in a house full of what was, at the time, strangers.

They were still strangers for the most part. While he wasn't as bad as some of the others in his group, Uvogin could admit that he didn't tend to accept new people in his life very easily, and he honestly didn't see the point in getting close to any of the guys he lived with. After his four years was up, he didn't plan on seeing any of them again. So as long as they all left him alone, it was fine. Anything else was inconsequential.

And yet, despite his aversion to new people, you had somehow managed to catch his attention the day you moved in.

Not in the place he was living, of course, but you moved into a different off-campus house meant for female college students, and it just so happened to stand across from where he lived as the backs of the houses faced one another with a single strip of forest separating the two. On the day you moved in at the beginning of the new semester, Uvogin happened to be sitting at the desk that sat in front of the window that looked out into the backyard, and when he saw movement across the way in the other home, he glanced up and caught sight of you as you were carrying moving boxes into your new room.

With nothing better to do in that moment, Uvogin sat there watching you for the remainder of that afternoon while you and your roommate went back and forth between your room and the downstairs part of the house that he couldn't see, bringing up more boxes until the two of you began to unpack and set everything up.

You had caught his eye. Not for any real reason; you weren't very different from anyone else he'd seen on or off campus. He was just bored with his classes and wanted something as a distraction.

He decided there that you were just the distraction he needed.

When he wasn't finishing up assignments, Uvogin was watching you whenever he was able to, even going as far as buying a pair of binoculars so he could look at you in greater detail whenever you were in your room. When Nobunaga questioned him on it, Uvo claimed he had gotten into bird watching out of boredom. Whether or not Uvo's roommate bought the excuse, he didn't know, but Nobu hadn't said anything or brought it up since, so either he was oblivious or he didn't care.

As long as Uvogin wasn't creating the sort of problems that would land either of them in hot water, he was free to do as he pleased.

He'd learned a lot about you since this habit had started up. Your full name, your birthday, your interests, what you were studying, what you planned to do once you graduated – all of it, either by learning the information he wanted through his observations or by enlisting Shalnark's help to find it out for him. There was a lot that he considered to be useless information and he honestly wouldn't have normally cared to know about. Did your preferences in music and books matter to him? No. He couldn't give less of a shit. Did he gain anything by watching how, whenever you were stumped on an assignment, you ended up playing with your hair while you thought over whatever the solution to your problem might be? Not at all.

But it was you and he was determined to make note of all of it, even when it meant nothing.

Watching you sitting on your bed with your laptop in front of you as you typed out your assignments was a common past time for him now, and you didn't notice at all, too wrapped up in whatever you were doing to even glance across the way to where he sat. Maybe you thought the woods that separated the two houses were a good enough cover to not need to worry over prying eyes, if you even worried about that at all.

The first half of the semester passed like that with no real end in sight. Uvogin wasn't even sure what his end goal was with this, if he even had one. All he wanted from you was for you to keep him distracted and entertained. Maybe when he got bored with you, he'd find something else to keep his attention. But seeing as that hadn't happened yet, his focus was still on you.

Even more so tonight, and for a multitude of reasons.

For starters, it was the first time he had ever been so close to you, because up until this point he had only ever watched you from a distance. To see you so close and without a few layers of glass and tree branches in between the both of you felt odd. Not bad, but certainly not what he was used to.

He also hadn't realized you were going to be dressing up for this party, and you appeared to be in a good mood that had only been bolstered as you had gotten several compliments on your costume – Uvogin wouldn't have thought Sherlock Holmes would have been your first choice, honestly, but when he saw you dolled up in your swooshing cape and the skirt you had used to replace the pants in an effort to make the outfit cuter, he felt that you were pulling it off well.

Everyone else who spoke to you certainly thought so, and that had you feeling good as chatted with the other guests alongside your roommate and sipped at the drink that you held in your hand alongside your plastic magnifying glass.

But the longer he watched you it continued to get later and later, a third thing about you caught his attention, that being the gradual shift in your mood, starting from obviously feeling good about yourself until that sense had faded away almost entirely.

You weren't being obvious about it. In fact, Uvogin would say that you were making an effort to hide it. But it was obvious to him that you were starting to get antsy as time went on, like how you would pull out the magnifying glass that came with your costume and twirl it about in your free hand, or when the magnifying glass would reenter your pocket and you would start fidgeting with the edge of the cape, all the while you kept a smile on your face that, the longer he looked at it, he found to appear more and more forced.

What was going on with you?

As much as Uvo wanted to ask, he knew it'd be weird of him to approach you to ask what was wrong. Even if he knew you, you didn't know him, and you wouldn't be inclined to answer that question if he came up out of nowhere, especially not when you were trying your hardest to hide how you were feeling. The fact that he was pretty intimidating also didn't work in Uvo's favor here, either. If anything, him approaching you right now would only leave you feeling worse.

Plus, even if you didn't make a big deal out of it, Uvogin wasn't so sure that your roommate wouldn't, either by swinging her ice wand in his direction or even taking out the fake icicles sticking nearly upright in her hair and trying to stab him with them if she viewed him to be some sort of a creep. That, combined with all of the people who were currently hanging around, would spell trouble that would follow him for the rest of his years spent on campus if he wasn't careful.

So while the way you were acting was bothering him, he kept his distance. For the moment, at least. After all the time he'd spent watching you, it felt slightly surreal to see you up close like this, and he wanted to keep an eye over you for a little bit longer.

Uvogin lifted the cup in his hand up once more, still feeling bothered by the way you were acting and the fact that your roommate didn't appear to be leaving you, but his thoughts were interrupted when he was hit with the fact that he had already drained the contents of the cup without even realizing it, as the inside was completely empty save for a few drops at the bottom.

He hadn't even realized he'd been getting so close to finishing it off.

Uvogin stepped away, walking the short distance through the hallway that lead to the kitchen to toss the cup into the trash, not bothering to give the people who happened to be in his way any room and forcing them to sidestep around him. Despite the clear rudeness of his action and the hour that was growing later, there was no one around who was drunk enough to attempt to call him out on it.

Though he quietly found himself hoping that someone would. Might make the evening a bit more interesting.

“Hey.”

Uvogin was still in the doorway of the kitchen, his attention now drawn away as he heard a familiar voice call out to him. Unsurprisingly, it turned out to be Nobunaga, who was holding a full cup of cider as he made his way over to the kitchen's entrance.

“Hey,” Uvo said in reply before he turned and made his way out of the kitchen, once more bullying his way past the few people who were still lingering in the small hallway. Nobunaga followed, sipping at his drink and saying nothing as Uvo returned to his spot next to the banister. The black haired man settled next to him, leaning against the wood as well and causing it to creak slightly against their combined weight as they both looked out to the room full of people, with Uvogin's attention on you while Nobu's was on seemingly nothing or nobody in particular.

“Didn't think you'd be down here this long,” Nobu commented, “or that you'd be down here at all, honestly. You usually hate these sort of things.”

“I don't hate parties,” Uvogin replied, “I just hate the parties that these assholes throw.”

“You hate their parties, but you clearly don't have any issue drinking the alcohol they provide,” said Nobu, taking a swig of his drink after.

“It's compensation for throwing a shitty party and making me listen to all this noise,” Uvo answered.

“Plus I'll never say no to free drinks when they're offered,” he added.

“What do you mean when they're offered? You always get free drinks because you always take them without asking,” Nobu teased.

Uvogin shrugged, not saying anything in response as he turned his attention back to where you were standing. You and your roommate were still talking with that zombie guy, and there wasn't any sign that the conversation was dying down, much less any sort of hint that you and your roommate would be separating for any reason.

He let out a quiet sigh.

There probably wasn't much point in continuing to keep an eye on you tonight. While being in the same room as you was nice, there was something a little frustrating that he couldn't do anything at that moment. But then, what did he expect? There were too many people around and no chance at getting you alone with the house being as crowded as it was.

Had he really deluded himself into thinking that anything significant would have been able to happen at an event like this?

Shaking his head, Uvogin doubted that he'd stay down here much longer. With no desire to attempt small talk with you while your roommate was hanging around you and not wanting to continue to be tantalized by your presence, he was inclined to leave the party that he didn't even want to be at in the first place.

Although seeing as Nobunaga had now joined him, Uvo figured he'd stick around for a little while more.

Nobu took another sip of his drink before he looked back up at Uvo.

“Did you hear the rumor someone spread about Chrollo and Kortopi?” Nobu asked suddenly.

Uvo's eyebrows furrowed as he looked to Nobunaga, asking back “what kind of rumor could spread involving Chrollo and Kortopi of all people?”

“The kind where people are claiming that Kortopi is not only a child, but that he's actually Chrollo's son,” Nobunaga answered, a grin on his face as he added “the only question people still have is: which one of the three ladies Chrollo hangs out with most is the mother?”

A beat of silence passed as Uvo stared at Nobunaga.

And then he couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter. Most rumors about his group didn't tend to include the boss, but when they did, they were usually pretty funny.

Nobu was laughing as well as he asked “What are the chances Shalnark started it?”

Uvogin shook his head.

“Shal wouldn't do that. Not to Chrollo,” he answered, a chuckle in his voice as he said “unlike you or Phinks, Shal actually respects Chrollo.”

“Unlike me? What does that mean?” Nobunaga asked, his question accusatory but his tone joking.

“You know what I mean,” said Uvo, “there's only a short list of people that Shalnark likes, and an even shorter list of people that he likes and respects. You're only on one of those lists.”

“And what, you're among the few he respects?”

“When was the last time you heard Shal shit-talking me?”

Nobunaga scoffed, but seemed to concede.

The conversation was cut short when the front door opened, and a whole slew of new, costumed party guests made their way inside the house. Uvogin grimaced at the sight, and even Nobu seemed put off by the sight of all the incoming people.

Nudging his roommate with his elbow, Nobu asked “wanna head back up to our room? I think I'm finished with this party, honestly.”

Uvogin began to nod, prepared for the rest of his evening to consist of him and Nobu watching a movie on a laptop with their headphones in so they could at least drown out some of the party noise and then not coming back out until the next morning, at which neither man would bother helping their housemates clean up the mess from the night before.

But before he made his way up the stairs, Uvo's eyes went to you, wanting to see you one last time before he headed away for the night.

And then he stopped.

Not only was the zombie dude you had been talking to gone, but you had stepped away from your roommate, indicating towards the kitchen as you said something to her that he couldn't hear.

It looked like you were about to head off.

On your own.

He was proven right as you took another step away, smiling at your roommate before you turned and headed out of the living room and towards the kitchen, keeping your head low as you navigated your way past the many people, including Uvo and Nobu as you needed to walk close to them in order to access the small hallway.

A smirk found its way to Uvogin's lips.

He'd figured tonight was a bust – and it still could be. But now that you were away from your roommate, and after all of the time he'd spent merely watching you, it'd be a waste not even try to talk to you. And he figured he had a pretty good way to make sure your roommate would be preoccupied.

With a new goal in mind, Uvogin looked to Nobunaga, indicating towards your roommate with a nod of his head.

“Actually, I noticed that chick dressed as the ice witch has been looking at you. You should go talk to her,” Uvo told him.

Nobunaga blinked, not looking to where Uvogin had wanted him to as he repeated “ice witch?”

“Yeah, from that one movie. The one with the talking lion and the kids going through a closet to another world. The lion, the witch and the whatever.”

“Ohhh, that one. I never actually saw that movie. But I did watch the TV version at one point,” Nobunaga said, taking another swig of his drink before he added “the people in the fursuits looked weird.”

A tinge of irritation began to form in Uvo, and he was halfway tempted to smack Nobu over the head for whatever inane bullshit he was spouting instead of actually listening to what was being said to him. But instead of causing a scuffle, Uvogin forced himself to maintain his composure and keep from putting hands on his roommate.

“Yeah? Well, that's something you should say to the ice witch, because she's looking right at you,” Uvogin reiterated.

“She is?”

That time, Nobunaga turned his head, and it seemed as though the universe was on Uvogin's side because your friend turned her head over in his direction at that very moment, looking straight at where Uvogin and Nobu were standing. Upon making that eye contact, your friend grinned at the two of them and waved with an unsteady hand.

She was very drunk. Hopefully drunk enough to forget about you for a little bit if Nobunaga was able to distract her.

“What'd I tell you,” Uvogin said before giving Nobu a slight shove forward while he added “go talk to her.”

Surprisingly, Nobunaga didn't seem overly excited, and Uvogin noticed the way the black haired man's head turn towards the kitchen, where you had just disappeared into. But whatever reservations Nobu may or may not have had, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly before he ultimately chose to go to where your roommate was standing in the middle of the living room.

With the mood your friend appeared to be in, Uvogin was hopeful that Nobu would be able to keep her busy long enough for him to be able to get to you without anyone noticing.

And as for you…..

Uvogin pushed off the banister again, this time in pursuit of you.

Once again returning to the kitchen, Uvo stopped just inside the doorway as he scanned over the room, expecting to see you in there.

Except you weren't.

Uvo's eyebrows furrowed as he looked over the people standing within the area of the relatively small kitchen and didn't see you anywhere. But this was definitely where you'd gone, and there wasn't any way that you could have already returned to the living room; Uvo would have run into you on your way back. So if you weren't in here and you hadn't left the kitchen by way of the hallway entrance….

His gaze went towards the door at the other side of the room, one that lead to the outside deck at the back of the home.

He stepped forward and once again made his way through a large group of people in order to reach his destination, his eyebrows still furrowed as he wondered what had brought you out there. Maybe you needed to make a phone call or something.

In a matter of moments he was turning the knob and pushing the door open as he stepped outside into the cool night air.

His question as to what you were doing was answered quickly as Uvogin was surprised when he immediately caught sight of you at one end of the deck.

Oddly, you were on the floor, sitting in a fetal position while your back was resting against the wall. There was a shudder that ran through you while you sat there, noticeable due to how you were holding your hat in one hand as the fabric was shaking in your grip while the other was holding your head. Your eyes were squeezed shut as he saw you breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth, the kind of breaths people took when they were trying to calm themselves down.

Uvogin was surprised and found himself wondering if he was the cause of this; he'd thought he was being subtle, but had you caught onto him?

Just as quickly as the thought came to him, he pushed it aside. If he was being so obvious as to make you uncomfortable, you would have told your roommate and the two of you would have left the party entirely. Something was bothering you, that was for sure, but whatever it was, it wasn't serious enough to make you leave the premises completely.

And while you appearing to be emotionally vulnerable was unexpected, Uvo did get something he'd been wanting:

You alone with him.

You finally noticed him when he let the door swing shut behind him, forcing your eyes open and turning your head to look at him with mild surprise. Like you hadn't expected anyone else to come out here.

It didn't seem like you knew what to say because you just stared at him for a good few moments.

One of Uvogin's eyebrows arching up in question as he asked “you okay?”

Hearing his voice snapped you out of it.

“Ah – yeah, I'm fine. Or I'll be fine,” you quickly said, trying to compose yourself as you reached up to brush some of your hair behind your ear while you gave him a half hearted smile. Despite that, you chose to remain sitting on the floor of the deck.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stepped closer to you.

“You sure?” Uvogin asked.

You nodded, but you didn't seem as certain that time.

“I was feeling overheated,” you mumbled, and now your words were slightly slurred as you added “it's a little too much in there and I needed quiet. That's it.”

“You sure?” he asked again. By now he had reached where you were sitting, and had chosen to kneel down next to you. Not that it helped much with the height difference as he still towered over you, but at least you weren't straining your neck as much just to look up at him.

“If you're having some kind of issue, I'm happy to help out, if I can,” Uvo said.

You shook your head.

“I'm fine. Don't wanna bother you,” you answered.

His eyebrow raised once again as he stared at you.

“You're not bothering me. I just want to make sure you're okay,” Uvogin said as he reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder that he then squeezed reassuringly.

You didn't react to his touch other than to glance over at where his hand was holding you, but as he looked at you, he noticed a certain vulnerability that was present in your gaze, mixed with uncertainty.

“Did something happen in there?” Uvo asked.

You shook your head quickly, looking away from him after. Of course, he didn't believe you.“

Is it something you can't talk to me about?” he then asked. You shook your head again.

“So something did happen?”

“N-no, it's just…”

You trailed off as you hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hat that was still in your hands as you gathered up the courage to speak again.

“I don't feel good,” you told him, “it's warm and loud inside and I felt like I was gonna faint.”

Uvogin's eyebrows furrowed on hearing that.

“Why are you still here then?” he asked, “if you feel bad you should go home.”

“But I've been looking forward to this,” you softly protested, “same with my roommate. Especially since she made her costume. If I left, she'd want to come with me and I don't wanna to ruin her night.”

“…… I see,” was all he said to that.

Even though he didn't say it out loud, what he thought about your reasoning was made loud and clear through his tone, and that made you hang your head slightly, like you were worried he thought you were being stupid. And in Uvo's opinion, it was pretty stupid. A college party wasn't worth this kind of distress, no matter how much you might have been looking forward to it. The thing that you should be doing was obvious; go find your roommate, tell her that you didn't feel good and either she would stay while you would leave or the both of you would head back. Regardless of what she would do, it was in your best interests to go back to the safety of your room.

But instead of encouraging you to do the sensible thing of going back, Uvogin saw an opportunity in the unexpected situation, and decided that he would act on it.

He got your attention when he spoke to you again.

“Tell you what,” Uvo began, “if you want to see if the feeling of being overwhelmed passes with a little bit of time, then why don't you come to my room upstairs?”

“Your room?”

There was a look of hesitance in your eyes when you said that, but you also didn't seem completely against the idea.

Uvo smiled warmly as he continued “yeah. I live here. I can't guarantee that my room is the nicest or the cleanest, but no one else will be in it and the noise from inside won't be as bad in there. You can even lay down for a bit and see if you feel any better. It'll be more comfortable than staying out here, anyway.”

You were quiet after he said that, which prompted Uvogin to add “no pressure, though. But if you're really feeling bad, I do think it'd be best for you to find some place where you can relax a little, y'know?”

“Can I not stay out here for that?” you asked.

“Not really. There's going to be people coming out in a bit,” Uvo lied, “I think they were going to carve pumpkins or something.”

“Oh…..”

That was all you said before you went quiet, staring down at your hat while you seemed to be weighing your options. Since you were insisting on making stupid choices, maybe he would luck out in you picking the choice that would be the most beneficial for him.

And after a few more moments, you relented as you told him “I think…… I think going upstairs should be fine."

You looked back over to him and asked “it won't be much trouble?”

“It won't,” he answered.

Your fingers were tugging at your hat again before you responded again.

“Okay.”

The new urge he needed to fight was an urge to grin ear to ear as held out his hand for you to take. You did so somewhat hesitantly, letting him wrap his fingers around your palm before he helped you stand to your feet. He wasn't going to scare you away, not when you were trusting him like this.

Entering the house once again caused a surge of noise to surround the both of you, as the laughter, music and incomprehensible chatter was all mixed together while Uvogin led you through the kitchen. He made an effort to walk forward quickly, noticing how being back inside was already affecting you negatively as you squeezed his hand that you were still holding onto like it was a lifeline, and it was visible as you winced when the music was clearly too loud for you.

You were more than eager to follow him up to his bedroom.

As he stepped out of the kitchen with you trailing behind, Uvogin noted that he no longer saw either Nobunaga or your friend in the living room.

Did they go up to his and Nobu's shared room before he could get you up there?

Evidently not, as when Uvogin took a glance out of a window which looked out onto the porch at the front of the home, he saw that the two of them were seated on a bench that had set out there and in the middle of a passionate make out session. Whatever mood Nobu had been in when he initially approached her, he had clearly gotten over it as his hands were all over your roommate while she was practically sitting in his lap.

Uvo grinned to himself again as he made his way up the stairs, with you seeming to not have noticed what your roommate was up to as your head was still hanging downwards while you relied on him to lead you away from the noise.

If things went well, Nobunaga might not be the only one getting lucky tonight.

Some party this was turning out to be, you thought to yourself bitterly as you followed behind the large man who had invited you to his room.

You really had been looking forward to this; after the weeks of studying and tests and getting used to the new environment, you were excited for a night where you would be able to relax a little bit, get a bit more of the college life experience that wasn't focused on the classrooms and was instead more about having fun. Because one could only take so much never ending working before cracking under the weight of it all, and you definitely felt yourself buckling under the pressure of your first semester.

So why did that pressure become too much when you were at the party? The thing that you were hoping would relax you at least a little?

It wasn't fair.

That was the thought you had running through your mind as you found yourself standing in the middle of a bedroom – the bedroom of the guy who had so nicely invited you up so you could take some time to calm down and breathe. Even though the party could still be heard through the door that had been shut behind you, it felt a lot more tolerable now that it was more of a distant murmur as opposed to the overwhelming racket of voices and music that it had been while you had been downstairs.

You were able to let out a sigh of relief on hearing that, and you felt the tension in your shoulders lessening ever so slightly.

You'd be okay. Just take a little time up here and everything would be fine.

The man's voice suddenly cut through your thoughts as you heard him say “you can sit down there, if you want.”

Looking up at him, you saw that he was pointing a finger in the direction of a bed. Presumably his own, and one that was slightly messy as the covers had been pulled over rather haphazardly. You nodded and took a few steps forward before you took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you,” you mumbled aloud.

“No problem,” was all he said in response.

He seemed to be keeping his distance as he took a seat at the desk, turning the chair around so he could face you fully. Not that you were fully paying attention to him at that moment since you were still focusing on calming yourself down. But you could see out of your peripheral vision that he was turned in your direction. He was keeping an eye on you. That was nice.

Then again, what else was he going to do after inviting a random person up into his bedroom?

After a few moments where you forced your breathing to become a bit more normal, you looked back over to him, and you realized something then that felt embarrassing.

“We didn't introduce ourselves, did we?” you asked quietly.

“Hm. Nah, I don't think we did,” he agreed, leaning back as he said “I'm Uvogin, but you can call me Uvo. You?”

You answered with your name, adding a small “nice to meet you,” after the fact.

Uvogin nodded.

A silence followed after that, broken only by the sounds of the party below your feet. It had you feeling awkward; going up to a guy's room and then not saying anything? Especially when he was going out of his way to put up with you. You needed to say something, make some sort of conversation if just so you wouldn't feel so weird.

With your hat still in your hands, you murmured “Sorry that this is how you're spending Halloween.”

Was it bad that was the only thing you could think of to say?

“Don't worry about it. It's not a big deal to me,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders after.

“Not big on Halloween?” you asked.

“Nah, it's not for me.”

“Oh.”

The awkward silence took you over again before you said “sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Uvogin asked.

“You must not be happy having a party like this in your house,” you said.

Uvogin shrugged again at that.

“It was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not. No sense in getting angry or anything,” he said.

“And besides,” he added as he leaned in, “I'm pretty happy the party happened since I was able to meet you.”

You couldn't help but let out a weak laugh. He was just being nice. Even if he didn't care about the party, there couldn't have been any upside to dealing with a stranger who had been on the edge of a meltdown. But at least he wanted to be nice about it.

“I wish I was better company right now. It can't be much fun looking after a girl who's having a freak out over her first college party,” you told him.

“You're plenty good company. And I don't mind looking after you. Just keep relaxing there, and if you need anything, let me know,” Uvogin told you.

You nodded again before your gaze went back down to your hat that was still being held tightly in your hands. You were going to destroy the thing if you didn't stop pulling at it the way you were, and this costume hadn't been cheap. Not that you were likely to wear it again after tonight, but still.

And speaking of your costume, it was starting to feel stifling.

Of course it did. There were too many layers to it; first the cape, then the vest, then the long-sleeved shirt beneath that. You hadn't been thinking of what the conditions inside the home would be when you bought the thing, or how having so many layers would affect you. Why hadn't that thought occurred to you before this?

Since you didn't care for the thought of sweating all over Uvogin's bed, you placed your hat to the side before your hands went up to the tie that held your cape together, and though your fingers were somewhat fumbling with it, you managed to untie it before pulling your cape off with a large sigh of relief.

“You doing alright?” you heard Uvogin ask.

“It's warm,” you mumbled while you set your cape to the side, placing it on top of where you had set down the hat. Your hands then went back up to the area beneath your throat as you began to undo the buttons of your vest.

Uvogin stayed quiet during that.

You weren't really paying attention to him as you removed the vest, putting it in the same spot as the other pieces of your costume you had removed, folding and setting it on top of your cape. After taking off the heaviest parts of your costume, you felt better. It was still warm, but not to the almost unpleasant degree it had been moments ago.

Maybe when you felt like you could rejoin the party, you wouldn't bother putting the costume back on.

You were also thirsty, you noted. Maybe some water would do you good, both in calming you down and also cooling you off further. Turning your attention back to Uvogin, you began to ask “um, would it be okay if….”

You stopped yourself in the middle of your sentence once you looked at him, as you found him to be staring at you with an intensity that you weren't expecting, his eyes zeroed in on you while his form was stiff in the chair. Maybe like you had made him uncomfortable or upset.

That thought immediately had you worried as you asked “um, is everything alright?”

Uvogin blinked like he'd been lost in thought, and then his expression changed again as he grinned at you.

“Yeah, everything's great,” he answered. He then used his thumb to point to a mini fridge that sat next to the desk as he asked “you want a water or something?”

“Sure. Thank you,” you quietly answered.

It's fine, you told yourself as he got up from the chair and bent down to retrieve the water out of the fridge. He was acting normally, and things probably only felt weird to you because of how out of sorts you were feeling in that moment. You couldn't have done anything to upset him.

Soon enough, he was standing in front of you, holding out the bottled water for you to take, which you accepted with more words of thanks.

Yet you had barely began screwing the cap off, and Uvogin sat down next to you on the bed, with him sitting so close to you that his large thigh was brushing against yours.

You looked up at him, feeling your eyes widen slightly in confusion. Uvogin in turn seemed confused by your reaction, tilting his head as he asked “something wrong?”

“…. N-no. I'm good. Thank you,” you mumbled as you finished opening the bottled water.

It's fine, you told yourself. Sure, it felt a little strange that he would suddenly get this close to you, but it was his bed, after all. And maybe… Maybe he was just trying to be nice again by sitting next to you, or maybe he was just trying to be friendly. With that thought in mind, you brought the bottle to your lips and drank while Uvogin remained seated on the bed with you.

He spoke again while he leaned back on the mattress in a casual manner, asking “so this is your first year?”

“Yeah,” you answered quietly before you took another sip of the water.

“What are you studying?” he asked.

“Right now it's just required classes,” you said, “I'm not sure what I wanna to do yet.”

“Well, it's your first year, so you've got some time to figure it out.”

“Yeah.”

It's fine. It's just small talk, conversations being made to break the ice, to make you relax a bit more. Even though you would have rather Uvogin had stayed where he was sitting, you told yourself that you didn't get to dictate that since you were sitting on his bed in his room. And again, he was just trying to be friendly. Overall he seemed like a nice guy who only wanted to look someone who was clearly overwhelmed.

It's fine.

You kept telling yourself that, even as you were screwing the cap back onto the bottle as you waited for him to say something else, or if you were the one who was meant to lead the conversation now. A question about what he was in college for was a good place to start, and you opened your mouth to voice that.

But the instant you did that, you suddenly felt his hand on your thigh, his fingers dangerously close to slipping beneath the fabric of your skirt.

And then the thoughts in your head went blank.

You froze the second Uvo put his hand on you, but the truth was that he barely noticed your reaction at first.

Because all he was focused on was how he could finally do to you what he had fantasized about for a while now.

Uvogin had watched you for quite a time, but the one thing you were careful on was closing the blinds of your room whenever you changed your clothes, something he had often tsked at when his view into your room would be cut off by the hanging strips of plastic. There were even times he'd been tempted to ask Shalnark to put a camera in your bedroom, but ultimately chose not to as it would cause issues if something like that was discovered by you or anyone you lived with. A discovery like that could be bad enough to make you leave the home you were occupying, so he'd held off on risky moves like that, not wanting to lose the access he had to you.

Now you were here, not just in his room but also going as far as to undress yourself in front of him, taking off the heavier layers of your clothing and letting him see your bra through the white fabric of your shirt. You were provoking him by doing that, and he was only a man, after all.

To not take what he wanted when it had been so blatantly presented to him would be a crime.

His rough hands began to caress the smooth skin of your thigh, his fingers slipping beneath your skirt. That finally made you speak as he heard you ask “wh-what are you doing?”

Uvo looked over to your face to find wide eyes looked up at him again, now with far more shock swirling in their depths as you sat stiffly on his bed.

He smirked to himself. Of course you would be like this.

“Something wrong?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“Y-you…. Why are you-?”

Your words were cut off with a yelp as he pushed his hand fully underneath your skirt, his fingers now traveling up the skin of your thigh and getting dangerously close to the apex of your thighs.

“Don't worry so much,” Uvo told you, “it'll help you relax.”

“Huh? This doesn't-”

“Just go with it. You won't have a good time if you stop to question every little thing, you know?”

“B-but-!”

Again he cut you off, this time with his fingers easily making contact with your clothed pussy and beginning to rub against your folds through your underwear. You dropped the water bottle he had given you, both of your hands going down to grab at his arm as you tried to stop him. Not that it did any good; even with you using both hands to pull at his sleeve in an effort to take his hand away, you couldn't get him to budge.

Your attempt at scooting away from him was similarly met with failure, because when you tried to get off of the bed, he moved with you, reaching up with his other hand to hold you by your shoulder, pressing you into place against the wall while he moved to straddle you.

In moments, Uvogin was hunched over you, keeping you pinned in place on the bed while his hand was still cupping your clothed pussy. Once he had gotten you into a place where you couldn't move any further, his touch grew bolder, rougher, all the while you looked up at him in fear and betrayal.

“Wait. P-please, don't do this,” you whispered.

Uvogin laughed.

“That's it? For someone who says she doesn't want this, you aren't trying very hard to get away from me,” he teased. Uvogin then leaned in closer, his breath hitting the shell of your ear as he murmured “you're lying, aren't you? The truth is that you actually want this.”

“I-I didn't-”

“If you didn't, then why did you take off your clothes?” he asked.

“It was hot….”

“Sure it was.”

His fingers continued to travel up and down the length of your folds through the thin fabric of your panties, intent on memorizing the feel and committing that to memory. And, while it was maybe half as a result of the alcohol you had drank before you came up here with him, Uvo felt a growing wetness coming from your pussy the longer he toyed with your folds through your underwear.

“There, see? You want this,” he told you when he knew you wouldn't be able to deny it. Uvo moved back slightly in order to see your face, and he found that your eyes were still just as wide and shocked as they had been when he'd crowded you against the wall, like you couldn't believe your body was responding in the way it was.

“It's okay,” Uvogin told you, “there's nothing wrong in having a good time and enjoying yourself. It's a party – you're allowed to let loose. And I'm happy to help you do that.”

“Th-that isn't-”

Once again he cut you off, using his free hand to tangle in your hair and force your head to tilt upwards so he could lean in and capture your lips in a rough kiss that silenced you.

Maybe you actually bought the explanation he had provided for you, your mind gone enough that you were willing to let go of your concerns and hold onto his every word as fact. Maybe you were more affected by the alcohol and couldn't bring yourself to fight what he was doing.

Maybe you were just too scared of what might happen if you were to struggle too much and upset him.

Regardless of what it was, be it one of those options or a combination of them, you remained still and stiff beneath him, the tension that had been in your body when he found you outside, that had previously left you, now having returned due to his invasive touch. You were shaking and your lip was trembling as Uvogin pushed your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to his gaze, and the only attempt you made at covering yourself was to try and close your legs.

Uvogin shoved your thighs back open with little effort before plunging his fingers into you.

The yelp that you made when he did that held notes of both pleasure and pain, and that cry of yours went straight to his hardening cock while the thrusts of his fingers grew rougher as he finally got to feel your soft, inner walls for the first time.

“You feel good,” Uvo stated, “you're a little tight, but we can fix that.”

The muscles of his forearm flexed as he fingered you, spreading his digits wide in an effort to stretch you out so he could fuck you comfortably. When he felt that spongy spot inside of you, he focused on that, placing the pads of his fingers on that area and watching with satisfaction as you seized up, biting down on your lip in shame.

“There we go, just like that,” he said with a grin.

You were already crying, the tears leaving streaks in your makeup as they ran down your cheeks.

And somehow, the sight of you in tears only had his dick growing harder.

Uvogin kept you like that, pressed against the hard surface of the wall and his own unyielding figure as he forced his fingers into you, eventually adding a third in his effort to stretch you out for him. You cried the entire time, your hands still uselessly trying to push his arm away while he forced noises of pleasure to leave your lips. You were fighting him on that, too, trying to keep the sound of your voice contained as you kept biting down on your lower lip.

That just made him more determined to touch you, to make you cry out while you came on his fingers. Which was why his thumb ended up on your clit, rubbing at it harshly while continuing to thrust his fingers into your walls. You jolted at that, your body tensing up while a whimpered moan left your lips as you felt the nail of his thumb scrape against the sensitive skin.

He continued just like that, watching in satisfaction as your face scrunched up as you tried to fight the pleasure that he knew was building inside of you. If your reactions weren't enough, then the wet squelching that could be heard in the bedroom that came from your pussy as he shoved his fingers in and out were more than enough evidence for that fact.

When you did eventually cum, you did so with more tears while your cunt clenched down on his digits, squeezing them as your fluids came gushing out and utterly soaked his hand.

Uvogin grinned as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“See? That wasn't so bad, was it?”

You only answered in the form of a choked out sob, your head bent downwards as if you were trying to hide from him.

You didn't stay that way for long.

As soon as he had pulled his fingers out of your spasming cunt, you were pulled away from the wall and forced to lay down on the bed beneath him. The same hands that had treated you so roughly were now on your shirt, forcing the buttons through the holes and showcasing more of your sweat-slicked skin for his viewing pleasure, though he still maintained a semblance of control as he told himself not to tear your clothing apart.

Your tears could be concealed; a wrecked, torn outfit, even with the layers being put back on, wouldn't be as easy to hide to anyone who was paying attention.

With your shirt now open and the cups of your bra pulled down, Uvogin paused as he drank in the sight of you. Your breasts exposed and your nipples seeming to ache for touch, while your wet, swollen pussy lips remained slightly parted, and all the while you stared up at him, tears still in your eyes while you breathed out through your mouth, little gasps filling the sudden silence in the room.

Despite the way you'd made it clear that you hadn't wanted this, your body was responding to what he had done, whether you liked it or not.

Uvogin grinned again, unable to help how pleased he was with himself, and with your reactions to his ministrations.

It wouldn't take long after that for him to free his erection that had been straining against his pants and force it into your cunt with the same ruthlessness as he had done with his fingers.

The strained cry that came from your lips when he did that was loud enough to make him cover your mouth with his hand.

The bed creaked in time with Uvo's thrusts, the sound of the springs easily being heard despite the party still going on downstairs. He held you down, one hand staying on your mouth while the other had grabbed ahold of your hip, using that to keep you steady as he pushed in and out of your cunt with his cock, the action growing easier as time went on due to your walls slowly started to part more easily and accommodate to his thick length.

Your muffled cries also took on a different tone as he continued, sounding less pained and more pleasurable.

Uvogin took a chance then. He removed his hand, eager to see what you would do.

Much to his delight, you didn't cry out for help.

“I was right, wasn't I?” Uvogin asked, his breath hitching slightly as he kept up his pace. “You wanted this, but you're too embarrassed to admit it.”

Instead of responding, you turned your head to the side, your eyes squeezed shut once more.

Uvo simply took advantage of your open neck that you had offered to him and began to mark it up with bites.

Later on he would need to figure out how to hide the state you were in. Excuses could be made, sure, but most people would at least raise their eyebrows if they saw a woman coming down from a guy's room crying and looking like a mess. But later. Even though later wasn't too far away from the current moment and the potential mess he found himself in would need to be dealt with tonight so no one outside of the two of you would be aware.

Actually, the three of you, as Nobunaga must have had some inkling as to what was going on since there hadn't been so much as a knock on the door since Uvo brought you up here. There was some security in that, because in a worst-case scenario Uvo knew he could count on Nobu to help him out should things escalate in a bad way.

But he didn't think they would.

Uvogin leaned down, his hand once again maneuvering your head so he could force you into another kiss. You whined, though the sound was muffled due to how his lips had overtaken yours. But when he pushed his tongue into your mouth, he was pleased when he felt your own tongue reluctantly moving against his.

He grinned. There may have been a part of you that was still resistant, but you were reacting positively now, lost enough in the pleasure that your reservations were being overtaken by your urges.

Uvo couldn't help but be pleased that he had driven you to this state.

Eventually, this would end, and he'd need to deal with the reality of cleaning you up so you were presentable to the guests of the party downstairs. He'd convince you to keep quiet, tell you like he had at the beginning that you had wanted this, and point out to the things you had done to prove that to be fact.

But if you were coherent enough not to be convinced, then he'd find another way to shut you up.

Getting photos of you in a vulnerable, half-naked state would be a good way of ensuring your silence, he thought to himself, and he was certain you would fold instantly if you tried to make a fuss and he produced those.

Holding those over your head would also be a good way of making you do what he wanted in the future.

….. The future, huh?

Uvogin pulled away from the kiss, now watching your facial expressions as he slowed his pace, his cock gliding in and out of your cunt while his hand went down to your clit. You whimpered again when you felt his thumb caressing it in tandem with his cock, and he watched as small beads of blood could be seen forming on your lower lip as you bit it again.

You were responsive in a way he enjoyed. In a way he wanted to see again but in a different setting. Like one where he would be able to have you all night.

At first, he hadn't been sure if he wanted you again after the first time; you were just a distraction, after all. Something to keep his mind off of the boring college life that he wasn't interested in. While he had watched you intently, at the back of his mind he was aware it was partially because you were easy to access. Once he finally had you, he didn't know if that interest would stay.

But Uvo was pretty sure it would now.

Because he liked you a lot, and he wanted to see you again after this.

Whether or not you would accept him or need to be forced into it again, only time would tell.

But for now, he would simply enjoy having you like this, and as his thrusts grew faster as he felt his peak approaching, he felt his infatuation with you take hold completely.

CHROLLO

You have a tendency to defensively close your eyes during sex, refusing to see Chrollo’s inspecting gaze, or show the way he taking you is affecting you.

Unfortunately for you, his brain never stops working in terms of how to keep you in check, doing what he wants when he does want something from you; he offers some liberty in regular circumstances, but anything that has to do with intimacy has to go according to his will.

So there you are, lying sideways on the friction-burning carpet of some cheap hotel room, right in front of the wardrobe’s mirror. Chrollo is right behind you with his head coming out above the line of yours, keeping one of your legs bent up in the air so he can fuck into you, while also offering you the view of his cock disappearing inside your cunt.

You’re not allowed to look away as punishment for avoiding his gaze the night yesterday when he was filling you up with his cum, and should you do anyway, he threatened to deny you for hours on end.

And you don’t take his ultimatums lightly; so you can only scratch at the carpet, burning with mortification at the view you’re being forced to see. Worst type of exposure therapy after your mind tried to protect itself against his scrutinizing; even if you can’t see his face right in your nose, the mirror reflection is far scarier.

Reminding you of how he always will have you against your tears; even with his own grunts and quiet moans, feeling good and not caring about anything else in the world for once. “Sucking me in like you’ve been thinking about this too…” he whispers, sending humiliating heat to your stomach.

You feel your mind try to slip into some blurry state, unable to watch as his length keeps sinking into you almost entirely, or his balls slapping you with shame, but every thrust knocks you out of that state. “Chrollo…” you say through the cadence growing higher, begging him to at least slow down and not have the rough fabric scratch at your sides. Your wet eyes meet his eager ones in the mirror.

“Shh… you’re doing so well for me, love. You can last a bit more. Don’t make me repeat my warning…” if you weren’t focusing on his words, he would have sounded soft to you. He definitely isn’t, picking up the pace, getting off to your vulnerability. Chrollo chokes a little when you squirm around him. “Stay still or I will…” he doesn’t finish his thought, keeping his glory.

The other hand that’s under your head like a pillow slips to the front of your face, gnawing at your mouth.

You open it, mindlessly sucking on his fingers to have at least one thing to soothe yourself with, whilst trying to ignore the fact same hand has killed thousands. You catch a gentle chuckle near your ear, something about you being restless.

“That’s it… keep looking at yourself, at me… I’m sure you can at least admit you make a good view, no? Better than some art pieces I have stolen…” The mention of thievery has you sucking on his fingers harder — not from the flattery of his praise. You’re drooling all over them, eyes glued to the reflection.

The orgasm he’s sending you close to has your head spinning, creating the image of your two forms blurring into one. Your hips have been aching too, bursting from the pressure of his cock pulling at your walls that always remain tight from the stress of being fucked by him.

The fact the door to the room is located so close to the wardrobe is as nerve-wracking, creating the worry guests passing by your door will hear your wanton moans. You’re glad that mouth plug is keeping them quiet, especially as your submission must have spun something inside Chrollo suddenly bringing your hips even closer to his pelvis, stealing breath from your lungs. “What a good girl… taking what’s given to her…”

Your sound-safety doesn’t last long, however; he realizes how quiet you’ve turned, for once again denying him of your vulnerability. He removes his fingers out of his mouth, you ending it with a pop sound as your lips try to lock them in place, until you’re crying to the walls again. Although, it’s not as if the sound of skin reverberating against another, or the slick being sloshes has been keeping the room quiet anyway.

“No need to be shy,” he teases, and you know he wouldn’t care about anyone hearing you two — it’s not as if you wouldn’t sound like a typical couple. “No need to deny your own needs.”

Instead, his fingers reach lower down your body, ending up on one supple flesh of your breasts, soon fondling it and rolling your nipple between his digits.

You’re flailing your legs, unable to even protest fully at this point; he tuts you. “No, keep looking ahead.”

Despite the need to run away from it all — him, his thrusts, his life — your mind still clings to his prior warning. You force yourself to keep staring into the mirror, watching your pathetic misery, your tit being pulled on, and his girth stretching your folds.

You know the night ahead of you will be long, judged by his jubilant expression when he lifts his head to kiss you. And when you moan into his lips and tighten around him from what’s coming, his hand almost crushes your leg and Chrollo sighs with bliss.

ILLUMI

You can’t move. The needle stuck to the side of your neck has turned you into a limp doll to be fucked by Illumi, yet also the one who also is made to feel everything happening in her body. You’re frozen in motion of your hands staying on the sides of the mirror on the wall, with your ass and hips arched towards him for both easy access and coveted view.

You’re not sure if you’ve done anything wrong to earn this, but it feels like a punishment regardless. Typically, you would have been doing anything in your power to get away from him, or at least to release your accumulated tension on something; now, you are forced to feel anything he’s putting in your body:

He’s reckless, throwing his cock into you with inhumane speed and hitting your womb painfully. Your legs threaten to cramp from standing still in this position and there’s no way to work it out. The ugly pleasure growing in you has no place to go. But worst amid all, is your head unable to turn away from the reflection he placed you in front of — your wide eyes dumbly watching your terror stuck since the moment his needle pierced you, as well your body still being pushed back and forth by his hips slapping your ass. He only allowed your throat to still work, so you can keep wailing and moaning for his sake.

Regardless of your state, you being able to move or not, the shame and sense of being humiliated, fed to a monster, is always present as well.

He put you in front of the mirror so you can’t miss out anything; however, you’re not any grateful to be exposed to yourself, and reminded of the place you never wanted to be in.

And yet, Illumi has been behaving closer to a shy virgin. Trying to stay quiet, muffling his groans, as if finding this sort of intemperance shameful in himself. Perhaps that the reason he has you immobilized — just so you can’t make things worse for him by squirming and being enticing. You do doubt he is experienced.

Still, he’s vigorous as ever, as if trying to drill additional depth in your pussy stretched to its limits already.

“Y-you’re squeezing me so tightly even in this state, if not more like this…” he curses through his teeth, his hips momentarily faltering when he cannot take it much longer.

Your eyes strain to look away, but to no avail; you watch his flushed cheeks and hands trying to slip off your hips, only to grip them more tightly when he remembers to stay in control. “I-Illumi…” you can barely speak, feeling as if you could pass out from his brutality.

He bites his lip hard until it covers in crimson when he hears yours name, and slaps your ass once. “Don’t say my name,” he scolds, then adds with quietness and fragility, “Not like this…”

He even looks away from your face in the mirror, concentrating on your ass jiggling under thrusts instead. You’re not sure if you have ever witnessed him so shaken up by your body, wondering what the hell has happened to turn him into a guy averting his gaze at a sight of a woman; although, the strength he uses on you during sex had not disappeared at all, engraved in his muscles forever.

Illumi then suddenly speeds up his pace, grabbing your forearms and bending them behind your back, now using them as handles to guide your body.

The stretch of his cock on your taut muscles becomes so unbearable you’re barely breathing, and still all you can do is watch your breasts shake back and forth in the glass of the mansion’s bedroom, begging for him to stop playing those frames back and forth. “Illumi… what’s wrong…” you whine out from desperation.

Somehow, the question works on him, to your surprise. He stops, and while not entirely, he brings your body to his back, now supporting you with both arms around your waist, with aiming into your pussy with a slower space. Your body, still motionless, bends to his will.

You’re confused, especially when he speaks more softly out of nowhere,

“Ah… I just…” he tries to gather his thoughts, his mind clouded by your wetness coating him, “saw you working in the kitchen… the dress you wore, it exposed a lot when you bent down for something… I had to have you after…” he admits with light humor in his usually apathetic tone.

You wouldn’t know that, but you asking him about what’s wrong with him filled him with some desperate sense of warmth; he’s unused to people worrying about him, and if the apple of his eye does that…

even if you asked that out of confusion only.

Your mind works hard to understand what he means; although, you’re grateful he’s switched to being more gentle. You didn’t suspect he’d be so prone to losing himself to lust, just because his forced fiance looked pretty and home-like.

Being rocked and forth onto his cock, you realize Illumi who’s always been on his own must have been dreaming of some sick domesticity, playing house with you in his own way. Was just oddly shy about it.

You now feel even more repulsed.

HISOKA

“Been racking my brain over what would have you stay in place… thought that maybe, watching yourself in the mirror will remind you of how your body betrays you.”

It’s disgusting; Hisoka is seated on a chair in front of the hotel mirror, and you are seated on his lap, both legs spread wide open with his hands on your thighs. He’s using your body like a toy, thrusting you up and down his cock with no mercy. And you’re forced to watch it all — any attempt to look away is met with him speeding up until you’re squealing in pain. He’s huge, and working only with spit and your arousal that barely started building up makes him fucking you agonizing.

It’s not because you tried to run away. It’s not because you said you hate him. It’s after you tried to sell info about him to other hunters when on the run — that’s what rattled his cage.

“There’s no way I will ever want you…!” you exclaim to your own reflection, as if trying to prove it to yourself who looks utterly lost. You even want to accuse him of using some sort of trick on you — anything to deny how your own body still succumbs to his and not your will, curling your toes from small sparks of something amplified with every thrust.

“I don't give a crap if you want me or not. You’ll be mine anyway,” he laughs, biting so fiercely at your ear, he actually draws blood — then licks it off. This closeness allows him to keep spilling wanton moans into it too — with no filter or being bashful.

You squirm with your calves flailing, tightening your grip on his hands — the only thing you’re able to hold onto in this precarious position. The fact the chair under him rasps with every lift of his hips under the strong force he’s creating, adds a worry it’ll break under you two.

You shake your head, living in denial. He might have kidnapped you, he might have been dragging you to every unsafe zone of the world, he might have turned you into some sort of housepet, but… “N-no, I won’t be yours,” you try to proclaim, staring with your teary eyes at your expression attempting to suggest otherwise.

Hisoka laughs again, this time digging his sharp claws into you they also bring blood to the surface of your thighs. As you wail in pain, he says, “No, you won’t be indeed — because I forgot you’re mine already. And you’re so tight, trying to milk me dry…”

The words spin the carousel of you disagreeing, muttering “no,no” with every bounce of your body; unfortunately, your misery only excites him.

“No, no!” he mocks, meeting your pitiful eyes in the mirror; you see his cock going into you, you see how your flesh there has swelled, and you see the wickedness in the yellow gaze eating it all up. “But take a good look at yourself. That’s closer to a whore enjoying herself being used, than her being hurt and split open.”

You suddenly close your eyes, unable to take the degradation of your person anymore. Naturally, Hisoka doesn’t like it.

“Open your eyes,” he says with forced calmness, digging his nails harder, as well picking up on his pace.

You feel the pleasure and pain fighting against each other, now the latter winning again, but you don’t give in, shaking your head with fat tears rolling down your cheek.

“I said: open your eyes, darling,” he hisses, then sinks his teeth into your nap, willing to shake you off your stubbornness.

Your eyes open, but they close as quickly, too scared to see your unbecoming in the mirror again. So he has enough.

Still holding your body by your thighs, he stands up from the chair, before beginning to fuck you in the air. His grip is unrelenting, yet you are put through a torture.

Your eyes snap wide open, feeling as the gravity keeps aiding him on shoving you down on his length, beating your cervix with every fall. You can spot your terror and his satisfaction.

“Won’t look away now?” he asks.

You nod your head rapidly, unable to speak as what he’s doing to your body has you suffocating.

“Good. Remember about this the next time you think of betraying me,” he taunts, aiming his hips more to the front so you think he’ll have you drop on the floor.

You’re totally defenseless in his arm, dependent on him for stability. Your body is tense, with your heart pounding in panic. And yet, you feel an eruptive orgasm approaching you, eager and grateful to dehumanize you the same way he’s been doing. Your mouth hangs open, singing for him the way he pleased it to be, even if most noises are coming from a dry and irritated throat — the scream you let out is light and coarse.

But Hisoka doesn’t stop fucking you, even if you’re growing dizzy and sob — he lets out a highest moan at the way you suddenly squeeze on his cock. “Mmm… don’t give up on me now… there’s still a lot ahead of us…” he purrs.

PARISTON

When you passed a word to Pariston about wanting to be more than a one-stared hunter, the excitement you felt about him inviting you to his place was never about what’s currently happening.

Barely standing on your feet, his hand over the front of your neck and hip, not even fucking into you but pushing you onto his cock as hard as possible with a bruising squeeze on both sides — all happening in front of the mirror of his penthouse. There’s nothing you can hold onto, every thrust having you feel as if he’ll have you fall on the floor, your hands flailing in the air.

No clothes on you while he keeps his trashy suit on, adding to your sense of vulnerability — with the glitter fabric scratching your skin too.

“Look at yourself,” an entertained voice taunts from behind you. The hand on your neck travels up and grips your cheeks, forcing you to witness your own reflection; showing your body jiggling and being hit back and forth with a rapid speed. He’s been cruel with you, and while you can’t see much from the front, the disgusting sight of his balls slapping your skin still hangs brow below the gap between your shaky legs.

“You’re fucking disgusting… you sleazy bastard...” you insult despite the fact you’re sobbing like a baby. The tears are so thick they're coming down your throat too, turning into phlegm you can’t spit out. You were so stupid, thinking he’s inviting you for a talk about your future; yet he also was so nice to you all these months prior, you’ve been fooled by Pariston.

His hand, in response, not only grips your hips, but actually pulls on and fondle the flesh here as if trying to skin it from your bone, sending more pain to you.

“I promised you that you will be a star, didn’t I? I think this is a very small price to pay…” he chides playfully, not thinking of any guilt.

He offers you a deep thrust, hitting your cervix just to hear you cry in aches again, so violently you think it’ll be maimed forever. The fact he’s truly girthy is adding to your agony, you’re assuming he might give you a tear soon — it’s not as if he prepped you much in the first place either.

“And if you believe not, then I think it’s just you being too prideful. Some sacrifices must be made!” the sadistic lilt in his voice burns both anger and the sense of your humanity being crushed like a bug into you.

You cannot believe your ears, him calling the violation he's doing just a small favor. He set up that mirror on purpose, that much is obvious to you — he knew you'd hate yourself for letting him do this, and forcing you to witness with your own eyes was to add to his cruelty. Was all about “oh, no, no, we wouldn’t want you to miss your own show!”

“Don’t think this is over… I’ll let other know… I…” you try to threaten, despite the fact your voice is breaking and you’re heaving.

Another deep and painful thrust; you think you really will collapse this time, but he holds you snugly to his back, squeezing your face harder. He looks at you in the mirror, smiling knowingly, curled with a mocking pity too, “Tell them what? That you came over to the Vice Chairman’s place? For what, some tea? As if people wouldn’t make their own assumptions…”

You hate how he can speak all collected even as he’s being suffocated by your hole; there’s only some breathlessness, outside of occasional muffled grunts. Your body is working against you, instilling unwanted pleasure at some point, but Pariston is still far behind you.

When you don’t answer, he pouts with disappointment, right as he adjusts your slouching form and doesn’t allow you to escape from harming thrusts. “Come on, I have been observing you for so long, thinking about you like some infatuated idiot…” He taps his fingers against your tears. “Don’t turn boring now.”

He then grabs some necklace from the tray on his commode close by, and drapes it over your neck with a condescending noise coming from his lips, “This is what you wanted? Being lavished in riches?”

Right as you’re about to curse him again, his hand tightens the grip of the choker on your neck, cutting off your air. Your hands fly at his, trying to remove the surprisingly strong chain from your throat.

“Little lamb,” he mocks, suddenly pushing your body flat to the mirror; you’re grateful it doesn't break from the place. He does so he can keep fucking you handless, just so the hand on your hip can move up to shove its fingers down your throat.

You can’t breathe, only gag on his fingers and try to not puke. You can watch yourself panic and growing red, eyes bulging from the pressure as you are coughing. And yet, him continuously fucking you while your body runs an adrenaline course has you coming fast on him, with your head hitting the mirror. Your mouth opens but you don't know if you’re screaming or staying silent, teetering on the edge of passing out.

Your head bursts with pain, yet it feels so dull at the same time. You barely hear him laughing from behind, but it works its way in shaming you for being such a slut — and maybe he says that himself.

KINKTOBER TAGLIST:

You’re bound chest to chest, as he keeps you on top of him with strong and vicious arms keeping you close by your waist. The hand that strokes your hair makes you flinch every few slides, naturally. Your cold skin in collision with his soaks in all of his warmth but wants to repel all ensuing intimacy.

“Are you comfortable?” what’s smoothly spoken is not a question about your emotional comfort, considering there’s always something about you that’s haunted by him. He’s merely acknowledging your physical easement. You don’t dare to lift your head away from your vision field gathered on the wall, worried you’d see content, or worse, a satisfied look on his face; so you nod.

“Good,” he murmurs. “It’s quite the weather today, isn’t it? You know what they say about circulating warmth, it works best skin to skin, so I hope you’re not holding a grudge against me.”

Of course you do. It’s an unfortunate situation of using an old blimp with a barely working heater, leaving you no choice but to cling to him for heat. If you don’t crash in that old aircraft, that will feel like a miracle. The microscopic and ugly bedroom inside the transport isn’t most welcoming either.  “Isn’t that a solution for the case of hypothermia? Cause I’m not hypothermic.”

“You’re not hypothermic because I’m preventing that state from developing,” he says bluntly. There’s no mocking you: it’s him pointing out the fact.

“Are you sure hogging the blanket all for myself wouldn’t have worked on its own? You clearly are a case-hardened man, you could manage sleeping without a blanket,” you go as far as pinch his bicep your hand is rested on to accentuate your dissatisfaction. He returns the gesture by gently pulling on your scalp and making you wince.

What comes next you might not see, but you do hear and feel it — he must be smiling at your cheekiness, because his chest rumbles with a quiet laugh. You almost pout. He finds you to be at your fullest potential, or endearing for that matter, when you try to annoy him. Defiance speaks of your fortitude and is a sign he hasn’t eradicated your personality that has drawn him in many months ago.

This is the only reason he hasn’t hurt you too badly in the past: any traumatic experience is a risk of him ruining your true essence. You’d have to do something truly egregious for him to consider punishing you severely. Besides, it’s much more fun — unpredictable and honest — when your dynamic isn’t constantly of a thief and his property. Fear instilled in you would mean limiting your behavior he enjoys to observe.

“Keep talking to me like that and I’ll manage to distract you from freezing.”

When you sigh at his equanimity, he adjusts you in his arms, as if to remind you of your position. He pulls your body even more upward, until the top of your head is a rest for his chin. Your ear is now closer to his heart that’s running sturdy; if you didn’t know it’s an indication of how easily he can commit violence, you’d have found it relaxing. Your chest against his, your legs tangled together, his arms now dragging their hands up and down your back under the covers… there is definitely too much skin connected together, yet it all brings warm relief you’ve been missing after getting caught in the pouring attack at the airport.

A short silence follows, with as much silent implication that he’s giving you time to get used to this obscene closeness. He speaks only when you’re no longer squirming around. “But your observation indeed is astute. Lack of warmth is a small issue for my trained body, making its presence a mere, secondary comfort. In fact, I’m used to sleeping in freezing temperatures. Which doesn’t mean I don’t have to ask, do you truly hate being this close to me?” he asks, steady-voiced. When you freeze up at his question and squeeze his arm — you’ve been taught admitting your vulnerabilities is selling some part of yourself to him — he soothes you with fingers gently digging into your shoulder. “Relax. It’s an innocent question.”

This time, Chrollo seems to mean his clean hands. He hasn't done anything unusual all night; you didn't notice any strange tone, and he appears comfortable by himself. Chrollo often carries a sense of tension within him, even if it isn’t visible; it’s a preparedness for any situation that may arise, knowing he will handle it eventually, regardless of the outcome. Maybe everything has been going well today. 

Or maybe, he’s hiding something beneficial for him, from you. None of which is good. You don’t like changes as they bring unanswered questions and unanticipated problems.

When you don’t satiate his curiosity, he doesn’t force you to. He continues speaking for you. “You have been under a lot of pressure lately. At some point, I thought you’d bite my head off,” he chuckles.

“… Are you saying I made you scared for once?” you mutter dryly into his chest, albeit hopeful even if doubtful. A treasure can only wish.

“Hmm, no. But it’s certainly an appealing sight when you express your anger. It’s a sign of you caring there, somewhere,” he notes teasingly. He lowers his gaze to be at your shoulders, eager to see whatever skin is still peeking out of the blanket.

“Not in a positive way, so that’s no compliment for you!” you huff. He chuckles again, “I’ll take any attention, as long as it’s coming from you.”

The way he says it, all nice and gentle, it stirs something within you; unwanted sensation, too ignited to be from his touch. “Shut up, Chrollo,” you say with fluster. That’s not how things are meant to be. You don’t want to like his presence.

“If that will finally put you to sleep.” He cups your nape and massages it. It feels too good to be an involuntary pleasure.

“I’m not sleeping because you’re talking to me,” you talk back with annoyance. You even dig your nails into his skin, and he doesn’t even budge.

“You didn’t tell me to shut up until just now. I couldn’t have known,” he feigns innocence, using your words against you.

“I’m telling you that now.”

“Are you sure you want me to stop talking?” he teases again.

“Yes, I’m sure!” you finally gather courage to lift your head up and look at him, trying to prove your conviction about your call for him to glue his lips shut. It is just now you are able to see his relaxed face, with slightly droopy eyes; he truly is snug tonight, suspiciously. Your change in position was a mistake if you’re forced to lock in an intense eye contact exchange; his darkness is as disturbing as ever, and an abstruse glance at your lips lowers your confidence.

His hand disconnects from your nape and moves to caress your cheek, observing how quickly your eyes begin to flutter with vulnerability upon his affectionate touch — shifting between a slight fear and subversion. Your hesitance hasn't been eliminated yet, and he can feel you tremble under his hand on your waist.

“You’ve been unusually well-behaved tonight though,” he observes, taking delight in your lips parting in immediate protest. “You didn’t really attempt to get away from me.”

“That’s…” you stumble on your words, “I’m cold. You said it. Not to mention, I’m tired.”

His face leans in to meet yours crumbling properly. “Are you sure? You could have still tried to put us in another position. Instead, I see you lie on me quite like a lazy cat in my arms,” he draped your hair behind your ear as he states the humbling of your person.

“Because this mattress is uncomfortable–” When your eyes widen further, your mind whirling to desperately look for an excuse, he lifts your hand adjacent to the elbow resting on his chest. He presses the first kiss of today into the inner part of your wrist. 

Your chest flutters and you gasp slightly. You feel flush everywhere. “Chrollo, you—”

“Yes?” he says low-toned. The next kiss lands on the top of your hand. 

“Stop teasing me,” you beg, uncaring about how pathetic you may sound.

“I’m not teasing you,” he says with a wicked glimmer in his grey eyes. “Because if I wanted to tease you, I’d do this…” he flips your hand around and kisses your palm. When you try to withdraw your hand instinctively, viscerally as it happens, the tip of his tongue licks against your skin, spreading tingles down your arm.

When you yelp from the tickle and yank your hand away, he allows you to take it back with a soft laugh. He’s quite merciful tonight; where is that good mood coming from?

“That was disgusting.” It is now when you try to finally untangle your body from his, even if you’re not warm enough yet. That one, he doesn’t permit. He lets you move to be on your side, but he stops you from moving further: he seizes you by your hips and turns around to end up on his own side, before pushing your chest against his once more. His leg ends up between yours as a precaution in case of your escape.

“Don’t run. You’ll get cold again,” he orders, although patiently. “You need to rest. You’ve been through quite a lot of stressful ordeals lately.”

“And whose fault is that?” your anger is muffled into the old pillow yet still palpable.Touching him with your own skin becomes unpleasant for another second. 

“We went through this discussion on several occasions in the past already.” He doesn’t acknowledge your complaint further. Instead, his palm travels to rest between your shoulder blades. You received a whole view of his face once more and it’s making you nervous. “Go to sleep. You’ll have your clothes to put on in the morning.”

You know it’s non-negotiable. Not only you won’t be able to skip this revolting domesticity any other way than through sleeping, you also are exhausted. However, a certain question lingers on your mind at the end of this day. “Chrollo, before I do that, can you please tell me where we are going tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” he repeats, deciding whether he should tell you that and risk your whines before sleep or wait until morning where you can’t avoid his plans from happening. “We’re landing in Meteor City.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t make a comment when your eyes bulge from shock. You’ve heard him mention it a few times in the past; you’ve been with him long enough to know he’s from there or about the existence of this place. “Why are we going there all of a sudden?” The wasteland doesn’t seem most promising. He’s donated some of his steals in the past but usually through someone.

“I don’t think it’s all of a sudden— it’s time you get to know me a bit more and I show you around,” Chrollo informs, curious of your judgment.

Hearing revelations about his past is not something you have ever agreed to. Nonetheless, if it might make you help understand the mystery this man is… “That’s why you’re so nice to me tonight. Going back to old roots makes you giddy,” you at last get your chance to tease him in return.

“I’m always nice to you,” it’s all he says in response to your taunt. “As I said, go to sleep. Or should I read you to sleep?” he threatens, well-aware he can bore you into sleep with his books.

“Fine,” you acquiesce. You can always bother him about his nostalgia tomorrow. “Goodnight, Chrollo.” You yawn and close your eyes. Your head falls to rest your face in the hook of his neck, your cold cheeks needing some warmth also.

“Goodnight, darling.” He begins to stroke your hair, having noticed it worked wonders on you a few minutes ago. He’s enjoying a rare moment where you’re not trying to scratch his eyes out. 

You were finally discovered. You were finally within his grasp, fingers itching, warm satisfaction blooming through his skin. How often had he ruminated over the fact that you had yet to belong to him? How often had he wondered what you would look like, how you would feel under his touch? And what you might do to him when he had you in person? Would he find himself changed, however slightly, as the others in the Troupe had been? Or would he mold you with his own presence, looming over you like a shadow?

The mere thought of you is enough to get his heart racing, bring a bead of sweat to his neck. It was so unlike him, and wasn’t that a thrill? 

And then, just like that, the moment is over. He recollects himself and his mouth closes and his mind whirs back into focused gear. 

He needed to find you, first thing. The rest of the logistics could come later. 

His eyes track the movements of the thread, and without missing a beat, he turns on his heels to follow the direction of the movement. It was possible--no, highly probable--that you were close enough to reach on foot. Within the city, certainly, and he didn’t mind the exercise. 

As he continues to walk, the cold gleam of the business district turning into rows of glitzy restaurants and downtown attractions, he’s glad that you weren’t too close. It gives him more time to think about what he wants to do with you. 

The Troupe members that had already found their soulmates--and Chrollo feels a surge of pride in his chest, counting himself among them now, fulfilled in that goal--had taken on different approaches. 

Some merely kidnapped their soulmates and kept them in secure locations. Simple, effective in terms of security, but that would ensure it would take him a long time to win you over. And he knows that he will do just that, eventually, no matter how he decides to keep you. Others took their time, attempting to strike up something of an ordinary relationship before revealing their knowledge of the red thread, and persuading their soul mates to come with them for safety (and romance)’s sake. Surely the more appealing of the two options, but it did come with the downside of expended time and energy. 

What he would do with you depended on so many factors. Did you live in some stationary location, or were you prone to travel? What did you do for a living? Were you already in a relationship, some inferior partnership with someone who could never appreciate you the way that he could, as your only soulmate? 

All of these questions circle heavily in his mind as he walks, following the thread that was becoming tighter and tighter between the pair of you. The ritzy downtown buildings were now gone, replaced by rows of old buildings that had seen better days. In place of fine dining were small cafes and diners that practically exuded grease, laundromats with blinking signs, and the occasional busted out window. The scores of people walking, gabbing, waving around fancy handbags were replaced by only the occasional person walking with clear destinations in mind, eyes in front. 

As the thread becomes even tighter, it leads him down an alley that most people would have surely avoided. But he doesn’t worry about the glances of the people leaning up against heavy exit doors, or the people crouching on the ground with needles against their arms. He thinks about you. Will he find you here, perhaps, curled up in the arms of a drug dealer pumping you full of toxic chemicals that flushed you with endorphins and heat? Or you might be on the other side of the needle, pocketing cash and going on your merry way? 

But, no. Perhaps not. Instead of leading him further into the den of seedy dealings, the thread brings him away, feet crunching on broken bottles, towards some type of fenced-in parking lot. Or it had been a parking lot, once

From a short distance through the metal fence, he can see burning barrels, tents, carts. The smells of cooking grills waft over, greasy foods, easy to cook outdoors. It wasn’t a new sight, in this city or otherwise. Chrollo had seen worse. Had lived worse.

And then, there--at the end of the red thread that weaved in between one of the fence’s metal honeycombs: you.

He sees you for the first time and knows, with a burning intensity that threatens to knock him over, that he needs you. He needs you now. He needs you always. You have something that he lacks and perhaps possessing you will give it to him. 

Is this what the others felt, when they first saw their soulmates? Or is it something unique to you and him? Some unfathomable bond that has shaken him to his core? Not for long, of course, never for long. He regains his senses within moments and catalogs the feeling away for later analysis. 

It’s you that he focuses on, now.  And the fact he will have you, as soon as he decides on the where, when, and how. He wouldn’t be the leader of the Phantom Troupe if he wasn’t skilled at taking what he wanted. 

Today what he wants is not a gallery of paintings or a rare gruesome artifact, but a person. 

You.

What to make of you? 

You’re standing in front of one of the burning barrels, rubbing your hands together. They look red and chapped, even from his vintage point. Behind you is a shopping cart filled with odds and ends. On the side nearest the fire, you had clearly laid out clothes over the edge of the cart--wet ones, from rain or maybe you’d had the opportunity to wash them. Your current ensemble is a simple hodgepodge. Clearly, you wore whatever was cleanest, whatever was warmest, whatever you could find. 

He remembers such a living. 

You appear to be on the outskirts, avoiding the groups scattered around the encampment. No one approaches you and you don’t approach them. A loner… by choice, or not? You wouldn’t be alone for long, if it wasn’t by choice, and in time you might be grateful for it. If it was by choice, well, there were ways to tame feral cats. 

It doesn’t take much analysis to decide what to do with you, to decide how best to approach things. He’s glad that he wore something casual today. Just some simple slacks and a nice sweater. If he was overdressed, it might be more difficult. Not that he couldn’t manage it, but he enjoys advantages when he can get them. 

With no hesitation, he walks through one of the ragged gaps in the metal fence and begins to approach you. 

Your head jerks towards him the moment that his steps become even remotely close. He doesn’t mind. It’s only natural, especially for someone who has been living the way you surely have. There’s a tugging somewhere inside him--memory of himself and connection with you.

He smiles, not broadly, but in a way meant to disarm. 

“Hello,” he says, stopping a few feet away from you. 

You stiffen. 

“I’m Chrollo,” he continues. His voice is undisturbed and calm. As if he was meeting you on a sunny afternoon in the park while you were both buying ice cream from the same cart. That might have been a more charming meeting, he muses, but this one can work to his advantage just as easily. “Won’t you tell me your name?”

You snatch your hands back from the barrel and step, refusing to turn your back to him, behind your cart.

“None of your business,” you say. 

And oh, he thinks, it would be heaven if he could somehow bottle the first time he hears your voice and listen to it on demand. But he supposes, he has the rest of his life--and yours--to hear you speak.

“That’s all right.”  He gestures towards you, the cart, your life. “I see you are in need.” You frown at him, but he continues. “How would you like to go somewhere warm?”

Your lip pulls back in a sneer and you move yourself on the other side of the cart.

“I don’t do that. Fuck off.”

Ah. You thought he wanted you to--well. It wouldn’t be the first time people took advantage of others in less fortunate situations. There had been enough of that in Meteor City. 

“No, nothing like that,” he says, voice going soft. “I should have clarified. I’m a… missionary of sorts. I look for people in need and offer what help I can give. I’d like to buy you a hotel room for the week.” He notices your wary expression. “Or even the day, if that would be more comfortable for you. Somewhere you can get some safe sleep, a shower, something to eat. I wouldn’t even be there.” 

He recognizes the look on your face all too well. Wariness. Suspicion. The face of someone who knows that people are tricky and greedy and cruel. That people will take things that they haven’t earned. Oh, yes-- he knows all of that so well, from both sides.

And he also knows how to get your guard to drop enough for him to accomplish his goal. Sure, mistrust is essential in an environment like this. But mistrust can always be overpowered when there’s something essential within reach. Like comfort. Or food. A warm place to stay, even if it’s just for a few hours. A private bathroom, a toilet, a tub.

“I don’t know,” you say, finally, having given him the appropriate stare down.

He nods his head.

“I understand. I would feel wary myself, in your position. It’s perfectly reasonable.” It is more than reasonable, he thinks, but you don’t need to know that. You just need to believe that coming with him will be worth your while, worth ignoring what he’s sure is a growing pit in your stomach. 

“What I would like to do is accompany you to a hotel where I often book rooms for those in need. It’s a private room, of course. And I will pay for your meals.” He sees the gears turning in your mind at the promise of a bed. The promise of food. “I have my own room in the hotel, but it’s on a different floor, and I won’t have to see you at all,” he adds, and this is how he will make you step over that cautionary line. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everything is pre-paid on my card, of course, and you’re free to order whatever you’d like. What do you say?”

He lets his words hang in the air, wafting like smoke from the nearby barrels. 

You wet your lips. You glance around at the people around you. A few of them have taken notice of Chrollo, perhaps as a mark, perhaps more; but he pays them no mind. He could kill them in a fraction of a second and whisk you out of here just as easily, if he needs to… But he hopes it will not come to that. 

“All right,” you say suddenly, softly. “If… you’re just going to give me a room and feed me, then all right.”

Chrollo smiles. It is, he thinks, perhaps close to a genuine one.

“Wonderful. Follow me, if you please.”

--

The hotel is expensive, but thankfully not terribly ostentatious. Chrollo would hate to put you off by throwing you into some gilded lion’s den. But the hotel is more reserved, classy. Comfort and luxury without any of the ridiculous trappings that often come with them. 

Chrollo does bring you with him to the front desk, if only to reduce the chances that the security will kick you out for looking out of place. And you do look out of place, but perhaps that’s for the better. It will make you appreciate what he’s going to do for you more, won’t it? 

You’re quiet all the while, but that’s to be expected. You only hold tight to your backpack, where everything you hold dear has been crammed, and let him do the talking. A reservation is easily made under the guise that only you are to know the room number--you certainly don’t need to know that he’ll swing back and reserve the connected room next door--and the key is given without fanfare from the polite desk clerk who gives you curious glances but nothing more. 

Chrollo walks you to the elevator, ever the gentleman, and hands you the key. You stare at it. The uncertain expression on your face is unbelievably precious, he thinks. He hopes he can see more of it before it inevitably morphs into shock and anger and fear. 

“Would you like some new clothing?” Chrollo asks, after he pushes the button on the elevator for you. “I can have some sent up from the hotel’s boutique. I’ll tell the front desk, so they can give the concierge the room number. Ah, and I’ll need to know your size, if you’re willing to give it.” 

“You want to buy me clothes?”

You almost splutter out the words, and he has to restrain himself from kissing you right then and there. You are terribly cute, and there’s a slight disturbing tinge to how much he finds everything about you enticing so quickly. The way you furrow your eyebrows at his question. The slight look of embarrassment, the twitch of your lips. 

He needs you so much, and he’s only known you for a few moments.

You tell him your size, then glance at him before staring at the glossy metallic doors. “Um, I need something warm. No useless stuff.” Your head gestures back towards the hotel lobby, where a few women are walking on the arm of male companions, dressed in sleeveless dresses and likely heading for the restaurant. 

“Of course.” Chrollo does not tell you that he can envision you wearing all sorts of useless things in the future his mind is creating, brick by brick. You would look heavenly in something strapless, something slinky. Something that hangs off your shoulders. He would drape a fine wrap over them, were you behaving enough to go out with him--no one else but him will be privy to such delicacies. 

For now, though, he resolves to send you the clothes he knows you want. Things will be a little more seamless if your guard isn’t entirely raised. 

The elevator doors open.

Chrollo steps aside, and gestures for you to enter. 

“This is where I take my leave. I will let the restaurant host know your name, and you can order whatever you’d like. It’s on my card. Please, don’t feel the need to hold back.”

You take a step inside the elevator and ah, there it is. Just the slightest hesitation. The slightest jerk of your head as you look back at him. Do you feel bad, leaving him in a lurch when he’s giving you charity? Do you feel beholden to him in some way?

“I guess it’s okay if we share a meal. You’re paying for it, anyway. It’d be awkward otherwise.” You stare down at the elevator carpet as you say the words, and Chrollo realizes that he’s perhaps misjudged the gesture. Your sense of shame, maybe, outweighs your desire to be rid of him and his potential alternative motives for assisting you.

That might come in handy.

He nods, as you turn around and make brief eye contact with him. 

“Well, then. How about we meet here in 5 hours for dinner? I can send something dressy to your room, if you’d like.” 

You shrug your shoulders as the doors close, which is as good as assent in his view. The string on his finger rises with the elevator, but now there is no fear that he’ll lose you. The string, something which had been maddening in its slackness for so long, is now something of a treasure itself. A little leash, keeping you to him, wherever you go.

Which, for now, is your hotel room--meaning he needs to get moving. He won’t pick anything too flashy out from the boutique; something modest, something simple. There are delicate steps to take to avoid making you feel ashamed without offending your sense of dignity all in one go.

Thankfully--for you and himself--he’s attuned to such needs. 

5 hours. That would give you enough time to take a shower or bath, to change into the fresh clothing he’ll send up, to take a nap. Perhaps you’ll stare out the hotel window at the view or curl up in the bed, rolling on the fresh sheets. 

Five hours would give you time to freshen up and relax, yes. And it would give him enough time to get hold of Shalnark and procure anything he needs to make your removal from the hotel as smooth as possible.

--

The shower is running again. He doesn’t blame you. He remembers days where a hot shower was a luxury beyond imagining. 

He keeps his side pressed against the door connecting your rooms--not that you know he is on the other side with a key to yours, of course--and holds back a contended sigh as he watches the red string on his finger twirl and shift with your every movement. 

What are you thinking about? He wonders. Are you thinking about how long it’s been since you had a hot shower? Are you thinking about slipping the shampoo bottles into your backpack?

Perhaps more inviting… are you thinking about him?

He knows what’s on his mind, and has been for the last few hours now. You. 

What were you like, deep down, underneath your layers and justifiably guarded stance? Maybe you liked to read, maybe you once had a dream of being a dancer before life went to hell, maybe you were shy, maybe you liked to get drunk and sing your favorite songs at full volume. 

What would  you be like, once you were fully his? 

What do you look like, underneath all of your clothing? What has nature and nurture shown fit to bestow upon you, your skin, all those secret places you keep hidden? 

The thread bobbles again. Are you stepping out of the shower soon, or still scrubbing yourself? You’re so vulnerable, naked and unawares, just a few feet away from him. The water running is a delicious sound to his ears, because he knows that you’re underneath it. 

He imagines what you might look like naked. He imagines what sounds you might make, underneath him, gasping and--

Oh, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He smiles and shakes his head at the rush. He should slow down, yes. Slow down and savor it all.

He clenches both of his hands. In one is the duplicate key, in the other is a syringe. Both go into opposite pockets, awaiting their respective time to shine.

--

The dress that arrives at your door with a prim knock from a porter is not quite what you expected--which is a relief. You expected the stranger to send up something ridiculous. Something slinky and glittering, maybe with only a half shoulder. 

But instead it’s a simple dress with a flared skirt, all made from dark blue fabric. The sleeves are elbow length, the neckline isn’t too low, and there’s a matching black belt to go with it. He’s even sent up a pair of nylons, which are something you haven’t worn since you were a little kid, desperately trying to mimic your mother’s fancy outfits. 

He also--and maybe this is overkill--sent up a few pairs of shoes in different sizes, along with a transcribed note instructing you to call the front desk if none of them fit, or simply wear your own shoes if you are uncomfortable with it. 

This stranger--Chrollo--is awfully accommodating. And kind. And considerate. 

Which is exactly why, when the dress is on and your nylon-clad feet are resting in the shoes easiest to run in, you tuck your switchblade into one of the dress pockets for safekeeping. 

Maybe he is just kind. Or he’s one of those people that makes themselves feel better by occasionally being charitable; he’s harboring some sort of guilt that can be alleviated, however temporarily, by buying a person a sandwich or two. 

But maybe he’s not. You’ve known people who have been hurt or killed or sometimes worse by so-called charitable people. People that lure you in with showers and hotels, meals and clothing. People that slit your throat before or after they have their way with you.

Life was dark and life was shit, and you weren’t born yesterday. If this stranger had any nefarious intentions, you certainly weren’t going to walk into them like a bleating lamb. 

And yet, and yet… some part of you wanted to believe he had good intentions. You’re not sure why, exactly. You weren’t the type to look on the bright side or always see the good in people--or at least,  you hadn’t been that way since childhood. Yet something about this Chrollo made you hope that he was a good person. That you’d have a nice conversation and he wouldn’t do anything more than give you a nice afternoon and a place to sleep comfortably for a bit. 

It was an almost primal feeling, which made it all the more stranger. Your gut feelings usually told you something like: this place is dangerous, this guy’s probably got a gun, that alley’s too notorious to use as a shortcut. 

Your gut didn’t give you silly notions, like wanting to trust someone, hoping they would talk to you during dinner, wondering if they’d be pleasant to be around for longer. 

--

At least, not before today.

“And the lady will have the cailles aux raisins.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Quail,” Chrollo says, allowing the waiter to take the leather-bound menu from his hands. As if your issue was with the choice of food--okay, you didn’t know what it meant, but still--and not that he ordered for you. “Stuffed with shallots, grapes, liver, and ah, I believe, some cognac, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s correct, sir,” the waiter says, not giving you a second glance--you didn’t even get a menu, which irked you, but considering you had nothing to pay with and perhaps the hotel staff knew it, it was a practical snub.

Your lips twist into a frown, although you suppose you can’t complain. The dish does sound good.  Not that you’ve ever had quail. But it can’t be that different from chicken. Or duck. You had duck, once, as a kid. Your mother brought you to a hotel just like this for a Mother’s Day brunch and you sat at a table with an embroidered cloth and wore a pair of your mother’s white gloves, so that you would look extra fancy.

“I apologize,” Chrollo tells you. “I should have asked your preference first.” The strangest part is how sincere he sounds, like he really didn’t want to offend you. Like he actually might be interested in what you want to eat. Part of you can appreciate that, and part of you wants to finger the handle of your knife inside your pocket.

“It’s fine.” You shrug it all off. Because you can, and you choose to--but also because you’re famished and the smells wafting from the other tables is enough to make your stomach growl. “People usually don’t order things like this for me, anyway. If they do give me anything.”

Chrollo tilts his head slightly, looking at you like a particularly interesting painting on a wall. “No?” 

You smile thinly. “Nope. I’m lucky if I get someone’s leftover fries from a fast food shop.” 

“What a shame.” He places both hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. His gaze bores into yours. You look away, briefly, but find yourself wanting to look back. How odd. “I’m sure,” he begins, talking slowly, measuring out his words, “that must be demoralizing--to be treated as lesser-than.”

You can’t help the snort that comes out your nose, or the quick words that follow. “Yeah? And what would you know about that?” Your eyes rake over his outfit, your mind whirls over how much money he’s spent on you alone, as if it was nothing. A drop in the bucket. Some rich man playing with his money. Or daddy’s money, depending on the circumstance.

Of course, you expect him to get offended. You expect him to call you ungrateful and cancel the order and ship you out of here like yesterday’s trash. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has gotten angry that you didn’t play into their savior fantasies. Your muscles even prep to stand, your face goes stony, ready to block the anger that he’ll throw your way.

Only... none of that happens.

His face looks--it’s hard to describe, really. It’s almost like it glitches for a moment, and you see something you weren’t meant to see. You’re not even sure if he realizes it. And then his expression gets so remote and so quiet. He looks away from you for perhaps the first time, looking instead, at his hands.

“I know a lot about that, actually.”

It’s not offense in his expression but… sympathy? No, that’s not it either. You know “sympathy face” like the back of your hand, for all the good it does you. 

It’s empathy. Trace, but there. A shared experience between you. Maybe that’s why you’ve felt inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt all day. Why you went with him in the first place, hunger pangs aside. 

“So you’ve been…” You begin, but is there a need to finish. He’s been homeless, or something like it. Downtrodden. On the bottom. 

He nods.

“Sorry.” The word comes out blurted but soft. Well, I’m an asshole, you think. 

He smiles at you, a soft, thin thing--almost like a gloss that covers up his previous expression. “No, don’t be. You had no way of knowing, dear.” 

Dear.

The word hangs between you silently, as if it’s being dangled on some sort of invisible string. He opens his mouth slightly--maybe to apologize--but shuts it when you don’t say anything. Instead, he simply blinks, and watches you.

Perhaps a minute ago you might have bristled at the nickname, might have sought to cut it right down, in fact. But for now, you brush it aside. He’s being nice--he knows what you’re going through. And sure, there’s some sort of guilt relief in his actions, but it’s not coming from the place of a rich man making himself feel better. It’s coming, you think, from a place of not just knowing where you’ve been but having been there himself. 

Before either of you can speak, the waiter returns with your appetizer and despite the guilt in your gut, your hunger practically sings at the sight of the plate of bread and butter. It’s fancy bread, already cut, gleaming with what smells like garlic butter spread over the top. 

The flavored butter is shaped like a rose and it’s only after you childishly dip your bread right into it and take a loud, chewy bite of the delicious goodness that you realize you’ve committed a faux-pas. There’s a tiny butter knife on the plate, obviously meant to delicately smear the butter onto your bread. And here you are, gnawing on the piece like some sort of medieval peasant during a bad harvest. 

A pang of shame tingles over you. It’s a silly kind of shame--inconsequential, really. Who cares how you eat bread at some hotel you’ll never step foot in again in your life? But it lingers terribly. Until Chrollo picks up a piece of brand and dips it right into the butter, too, taking a chewy bite with far less graciousness than you imagined with his sophisticated appearance.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks, not even bothering to cover his mouth.

You smile. You almost-snort. And the shame dissipates like ice crystals on a sunny day, as you and Chrollo both finish off the appetizer. He lets you eat more without saying a word, which you appreciate.

There’s a lot to appreciate about him, really. He’s been kind. He hasn’t been terribly condescending, dinner order notwithstanding. And he seems to know how to approach you with actual empathy and not just the sticky, coddling sympathy that most people do.

And you won’t lie--he is nice to look at. He even smells nice, but with the amount of money he had to spend on the clothing he sent up to your room, he can likely afford to buy expensive cologne.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing. Instead, he half-closes his eyes and appears to be deep in thought. Over… you? Or dinner? 

He hums a bit under his breath, and you realize: it’s the music. It’s a delicate song being played by a small group of musicians set up on a stage in the corner. It’s familiar… your brain strives to catch up with your ears. 

“You like this song?” You ask, because the silence has stretched too long, and the bread is now gone.

Chrollo opens his eyes and regards you with a sober smile. “Yes.” He pauses, then. “It’s--”

“Elgar's Chanson de matin,” you blurt, before he can. “I know it.”

His eyes widen, just a tad. Enough to show that he’s curious. A funny bit of pride thrums through you. It can be retribution for the quail earlier, you decide.

“You’re familiar with his work?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, even though you don’t get the sense that he asked to be cruel. He seems actually interested. Like he wants to know you. It’s nice, and confusing, and a little startling. 

You nod, wishing there was more bread to break up the conversation. “What, you think someone like me can’t be interested in classical music?

“Of course not.” He answers swiftly, resolutely.

 He reaches his hand towards yours and grasps it before you can think to pull away. It seems silly to yank your hand out of his, so you don’t. Even if the way he looks down at your interlocked fingers makes goosebumps dance up your arm. 

His expression is so strange. He looks… lonely. And desperate. And relieved. But why? 

Both of your gazes meet for one electric moment and for that moment, you feel like he sees you. And you see him. Not as clearly. But you see something inside him that is not quite on the surface. Something which does make you pull away, but not with distaste. You withdraw your hand from his slowly, like he’s a wild animal that you don’t want to startle.

The waiter, impeccable timing as ever, arrives with the main courses just as your hand makes its way into your lap. 

And just like that, the spell is broken. Ripples of water dash whatever it was between you, and he’s speaking charmingly to the waiter, who appears swiftly again with a glass of champagne for each of you. You weren’t intending to drink, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It could calm your nerves.

Neither of you talk much for the rest of dinner. It’s not tense, exactly, but you can tell there’s something in the air. Questions unspoken, maybe, or just an awkwardness between two strangers who seem to both understand and misunderstand each other in equal measure.

The hotel’s restaurant begins to thin out after your main courses are taken away. A dessert menu is brought, and Chrollo orders a simple slice of cake for both of you. 

Real vanilla bean frosting is on your lips when you ask your question. Quiet, but with most of the other guests gone, he has no trouble hearing it.

“So you were… homeless, before?”

You’re not sure why you need to know this. To confirm that he’s not some rich boy playing with his father’s money? To see how much he can really understand you? Maybe the champagne went to your head. You don’t normally drink, it wouldn’t be impossible.

His fork stalls as the question comes out. He glances up at you and there’s nothing offended or hurt in his eyes. He seems to weigh his answer before he gives it. It doesn’t really surprise you; he could be just as mistrustful of you as you are of him, couldn’t he?

“Something like that.” He rests his fork on his plate. “I suppose you are trying to decide just how much I can sympathize with your… situation.”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re grateful the water brought another glass of champagne that you can sip from to loosen the tightness in your chest.

If he notices your flushed countenance, he doesn’t remark on it. You like him better for it. He continues speaking, looking at you with a measured expression. Like before, his words come slowly and carefully, given to you with something akin to grace.

“Our situations were not exactly similar. I don’t find it terribly useful to compare them. Better in some ways, worse in others. Like anything.”

“Better?” You dab at your mouth with a napkin. 

“Ah.” He seems to weigh his next words with even more scrutiny before he decides on them. “I had something you didn’t, which surely benefited me.”

“Which was?”

There’s something wistful in his voice now. It makes you lean forward over the table. With most of the other guests gone, it feels strange to talk so openly about clearly delicate matters. Chrollo mimics your lean, and while he doesn’t take your hands across the table into his, you get the feeling he’d like to, if you let him.

“Companionship,” he says simply. The word settles in the air like a brick that seems to land right on your chest. You blink and feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes. You really did have too much champagne, and this is all getting to be a lot. You start to lean backward when he speaks again.

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“No,” you lie. The shock of the question does make you lean back fully. Then, to be spiteful. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer. He only looks down at his hands and the empty spot where yours used to be, and then back at you. 

Nothing more is said on the matter. He pays for the meal and leaves a nice fat tip for the waiter--who has, you think, been lurking nearby either to witness your drama or to make sure no one swipes his tip from the table--before escorting you back to the elevators.

Shame slams back into you while you’re standing in front of the elevator doors.

“I’m sorry.” Sure, he asked it first, but fuck--you hate being rude. If you were rude. It was hard to tell how Chrollo felt about anything. The champagne making your head fuzzy doesn’t help. Not at all.  

He tilts his head a little. “What for?”

Your eyebrows furrow together. “You know, for asking… for being…” You wave your hands around a little. It’s too hard to put into words. You’re tired, you feel out of sorts, and you’re tipsy bordering on drunk. You can give yourself some forgiveness in a lack of coherency in this matter, at least.

Chrollo regards you for a moment before he shakes his head, scoffing a little as he smiles.

“For being yourself? Or at least showing some small part of it to me? I don’t mind.” He holds out his arm and you, unsteady champagne fuzz in your head, take it. “I’ll escort you to your room, if that’s all right. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go there alone.”

You should tell him that you’ll be fine. You should. But the champagne in your brain and the way you feel drawn to him--however slightly--makes “should” fly out the window. So you nod and let him lead you into the elevator, where the ride up makes you dizzy enough that Chrollo has to steady you carefully, and you mumble out another apology. 

He only chuckles a little and helps you walk out of the elevator without stumbling over the threshold. Your room is just down the hall and he keeps a steady grip on you the whole way, even though you’ve told yourself that you won’t stumble anymore. It feels weird, to have someone so close to you; to smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin.

It feels weird, yes, but giddy too. He is handsome. And he did buy you dinner. And clothes. And he’s not as shitty as you thought he might be at first. The way he ate the bread in solidarity with you earlier--you can’t forget that, can you? It was… cute, even. If someone like Chrollo could be called cute.

Is it the champagne, the newness of this stranger-but-not-entirely, the rich disarmament that comes with a full stomach and freshly washed face? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s got you thinking too much about Chrollo as he gently takes the key from your hand and opens your hotel room door.

A gentleman, he only sees you just inside before taking his leave, promising to meet you for breakfast in the morning--if you’d like.

You would like, you tell him, and the door shuts and locks swiftly afterwards. Chrollo’s cologne lingers in the air, or maybe it rubbed off on you from all the steadying he had to do. 

The hotel room is just as you left it. Clean and pristine, smelling vaguely of lemon. Your duffel bags and personal belongings are shoved in the corner. Maybe you’ll try to read one of your books tonight, before you sleep? It would be the first time you read on an actual bed in ages. Maybe you could even call for room service? A little midnight snack? It’s not like Chrollo would mind, or at least, he probably wouldn’t. It’d be something small anyway, nothing wild. 

Unless you wanted a bubbly nightcap. 

Full of ideas, you take your giddy champagne self back to the bathroom to change into pajamas that he sent up earlier, humming Elgar’s Chanson, thinking about bread and quail and… Chrollo. The knife in your dress pocket gets left on the bathroom counter. It was silly to bring it, now that you think about it. 

Still humming, you flop on the bed and grab the menu for room service. It wouldn’t hurt to order some extra dessert. And another glass of champagne. Maybe two… 

You’re so out of sorts that at no point for the rest of the night, before your weary head hits the soft pillow, do you stop to wonder how Chrollo knew your room number.

--

There are few things Chrollo truly regrets in his life. One of them, he knows, will be that he couldn’t plant himself in this town for a few months in order to properly court you; to introduce you, gradually, to the concept of nen. To the knowledge that you were his soul mate.

But it can’t be helped. He has to leave tomorrow night, come hell or high water. And he certainly won’t let you drown here a moment longer. It’s for your sake. You’ll come to realize that eventually, just as you will--in time--come to forgive him for what he must do.

You’ll no doubt regret letting down your barriers in the morning. But if you hadn’t been so keen to trust in someone, to trust in him, then he wouldn’t have gotten to see something of the real you underneath all of that built-up survival instinct. And didn’t you see something of him, too? He thinks you did. Just a moment, a spark, but it was there. 

You sweet thing. He could hear you humming through the door earlier; heard you order room service (champagne and desserts) and he regretted not having Shalnark swoop in during dinner to set up some security cameras. 

The key to your room feels heavy in his hand. On this side, he is simply himself, staring ahead as the red thread of his soulmate leads away from him. But once he turns it into the lock and quietly opens the door, there will be nothing between you but sleep.

He opens the door and relishes in the way the thread sags even further downward. If only you could have seen how beautiful the thread looked during dinner, all tangled up as he clasped your hand in his. That’s how the thread was meant to look. Not tight and taut and unforgiving.

You’re fast asleep when he silently enters the room and unlocks the deadbolt so that Shalnark can help him remove you from the premises. Curled up underneath the covers, you look like you’re in bliss. It’s likely the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time. Months? Years? 

How awful for you, to wake up tomorrow and realize that you’re no longer in the hotel bed. And that he’s the one to blame for it. How awful for him, too, to lose his grasp on the tentatively pleasant and revealing evening you had together. But he doesn’t think you’ll be empathetic on that matter. Not for a while, anyway.

He sits down on the bed next to you and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to curl up against you. It’s not worth the risk of you waking, although the tranquilizer in his pocket could be jabbed into your thigh early, if need be. 

Besides… you’ll have a lifetime of nights together after this.