His gaze rested somewhere over your shoulder, unfocused, as though whatever occupied his mind was infinitely more interesting than the story you'd been telling for the last ten minutes.

Silence settled, broken only by the quiet scrape of silverware against ceramic as you pretended to enjoy the food.

You weren’t going to make a scene. You weren’t. "...Are you even listening?"

"I am," he said, smiling to himself. He had been doing that often today.

Fucking liar.

You slowed down eating, remembering the hour you’d spent on your make-up, doing it and then taking it off and redoing it. Knowing your high-strung mood was able to ruin the night, you’d begun the night much more casual, but when you realized he wasn’t going to talk, you’d grown nervous and started talking like a blabbermouth. 

Maybe your story didn’t matter anyhow, especially to a man like him, but the fact he couldn’t even scramble up the tiniest bit of interest was killing you here.

If you ranked on his priorities, it must not be very high.

You gave a small laugh, trying to brush it off, still sounding very hurt even to your ears. “You don’t even know what I said.”

A pause.

He blinked innocently, and held steady eye-contact, as if compensating for the rest of dinner where he’d stared everywhere except at you. You even wore a push-up bra tonight and a plunging neckline to avoid having this happen again, but it seemed the days where you could look nice and have his full undivided attention on you were done. 

Now he came home, showered, threw on some fucking graphic tee-shirt- it bothered you greatly- while you were looking overdressed. “You were talking about someone misunderstanding you. Someone from your watercolor class.””

You stared at him.

Watercolor class.

You weren’t deaf. You’d heard the slight derision he’d unintentionally added when saying those words. How lowly you were. Boring him with a story about being slighted at a watercolor class. He didn’t care, he didn’t care, he didn’t care.

You picked up your fork, before immediately placing it back down next to your plate, and realized how this scene looked, how civilian, how boring. He had to be restless out of his fucking mind, sitting here with you. The fact he’d even deigned to show up, to grace you with his time, and here you were, starting a domestic dispute with ravioli in front of you. 

You couldn’t help yourself. “You just guessed.”

He had the gall to sigh. “I didn’t.”

“You did.” 

"I didn't guess." Chrollo’s voice was patient. Similar to the way someone speaks to a child throwing a tantrum over nothing. He’d been doing that often lately, and it only made a shiver run down your spine. "You mentioned it three times this week. The instructor who kept correcting your brushwork in front of everyone."

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Had you? You couldn't remember. The online watercolor class was something you'd taken up back then to fill the hours when he was gone, which was often, which was most of the time, and when Chrollo came back smelling like places you'd never see and people you'd never meet, you talked. Filled the silence. Apparently about your brushwork and the people who couldn’t appreciate it.

"You think it's stupid," you said flatly.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." You said, feeling the edges of your mouth pulled down. “It’s not hard to figure out. Your face practically screams it.”

Chrollo set down his wine glass with a soft clink. The candlelight caught the cross on his forehead, made it look almost holy, which was laughable, which was insane, but here you were, upset that your boyfriend (was he your boyfriend? He'd never used the word) wasn't paying enough attention to your cleavage at dinner.

"You're being difficult," 

"I'm not trying to be.” You said, looking in a different direction just so he wouldn’t notice the twitching of your lips. If you cried, this night truly couldn’t be saved anymore. He wouldn’t touch you when you cried, and it wasn’t like he fucked you as often as he used to. “I’m just a bit upset.”

"Is there any need to be?"

God, you hated when he did that. 

Made you feel like you were the one being unreasonable when he was the one who'd disappeared for two weeks without so much as a text. Last time he hadn’t even woken you up to say goodbye.

"Forget it." You reached for your wine and took a longer sip than was probably advisable. "Tell me about your trip."

He mirrored taking the wine glass, but took a much more modest sip. "You wouldn't find it interesting."

"Try me."

"No."

Just like that. No. Like the conversation was a door he could simply close, and you didn't have the key, had never had the key, would never be given the key because you weren't good enough, weren’t smart enough, weren’t in-group enough, weren’t-

You weren't enough. 

That was the thing, wasn't it? You saw it in the way he looked at you sometimes, when he thought you weren't paying attention. Like he was constantly calculating your value and finding the sum wanting. You tried to meet his standards every day, but like your adoptive mother back in Meteor City had repeated to you daily ‘the stench of a gutter rat would always follow you’. 

Chrollo had managed to prove otherwise for himself, but he was an exception.

You weren’t.

Just a gutter rat wearing perfume. 

"You know what?" Your laugh came out brittle, sharp-edged. "Fine. No problem."

You turned away, fingers trembling as you fixed your hair. 

"I have someone anyway," you said, the words arriving fully formed, if a bit higher than your normal pitch. "Someone who actually wants to listen to me."

When he didn't respond you added more bullshit.

"He's in love with me, fully. I didn't think you'd mind, since you're gona most of the time anyway." You weren't sure if you were going too far, but your mouth kept spouting out words. "We've... had sex. Here."

That got his attention. For a second you wondered if he’d get mad, furious, even. He’d demand to know who, and you’d hold onto the lie for as long as it took for him to realize how much he treasured you. Or even if he’d just touch you and say kind things to you out of jealousy and greed, that was fine too. Just anything.

You heard the shift in his breathing.

And then he laughed out loud, a full-on enthusiastic noise you'd not heard come from Chrollo ever before.

"Who would your lover even be?" Chrollo said after a while, leaning forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Can’t believe it. A sordid affair in my own house.”

You didn't turn around. Couldn't. "Does it matter? The point is, I don't need your approval. Not anymore."

It was theatrical, ridiculous. As if it was even possible for you to ever love someone other than Chrollo, but as it seemed Chrollo had forgotten about how important he was to you, or at least about how important you were supposed to be to him, you didn’t care. Sometimes you had to be the gutter rat wearing perfume and own it, rather than apologize for the scent underneath.

Chrollo suddenly stood up and walked over.

"You know," he said, pulling out his necklace from underneath his shirt, "for someone claiming she doesn't need my approval, you spend a remarkable amount of time arguing with me."

You glared at him as he lowered himself beside your chair. 

Had you been moving too much during the conversation?  Vaguely you remembered that he wouldn’t have accepted that at all at the start. He preferred you motionless back then, just in his lap and holding onto him. At least back then he demanded your attention, and you could hardly understand where all that desire had gone.

And then he grabbed the key attached to the necklace and… unlocked the cuffs keeping your legs bound to the chair.

Wait…

“What?” You said as he moved on to your other foot, pulling loose the cuffs, the skin underneath raw and scarred in a way they’d been for years. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

You could hardly believe what he was doing.

“Why.. why would you..”

"I’ve decided that I approve."

The words were so simple that for a second you wondered if you'd heard him correctly.

"What?"

When you didn’t remove your ankles from the cuffs even though he’d unlocked them, he took them both off personally and stood up, placing the iron cuffs on their respective place in the corner of the room. It’d been… what? Six years since you’d ever been as loosely contained as you were now.

Chrollo smiled gently and pet your head for a few moments. "I said I approve."

"You approve," you repeated, staring at him.

"Completely."

His hand slid from your hair to your cheek, cradling your face with a tenderness that didn’t match the humor you could see swirling around in his eyes. Grey eyes crinkled as he stared at you, though you’d never been good at accurately reading exactly what was going on inside him.

For one reckless second, you wanted to close the distance between you. Kiss him. Apologize for whatever invisible line you'd crossed. Fix whatever had gone so catastrophically wrong that he’d release your chains like it was nothing.

“Of… what?”

"Of this affair you've somehow managed to begin," he continued, his tone taking on an almost exaggerated nonchalance. "I must admit, I didn't think you had it in you."

His gaze drifted lower.

"And since you don’t need me anymore, these..." He tilted his head ever so slightly. "Those cuffs are no longer necessary, don't you think?"

It wasn’t difficult to know what you looked like right now. Restless, scared, and utterly lost. Was he cutting you loose?!  

“You're confused.” His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek before he withdrew his hand entirely, as if even that small touch had become unnecessary. “I understand.”

“No.” You stood too quickly, your legs buckling. Your hands caught the edge of the chair before you could fall.

He didn't reach for you.

That, more than anything, made your pulse race.

He simply watched you stumble with an amused glint in his eyes.“Careful.”

You stared at him, waiting for the inevitable. For him to sigh, to pull you back into his lap, to remind you how fragile you were, how it was all just a joke, how he’d cut off your legs if you ever truly cheated on him. Instead he merely walked back to his seat and raised his glass of wine to his lips.When you just looked at him, utterly lost, he chuckled.

“You're free to walk around, you know.” He said. 

You narrowed your eyes. "...You're not going to stop me?"

“Why would I?”

His answer landed with horrifying ease.

“You've been unsatisfied, haven’t you? I wouldn’t want to keep you against your will, now, wouldn’t I..”

"I—"

"So stand."

You did.

Your knees trembled violently.

Without consciously deciding to, your gaze drifted across the apartment until it settled on the front door. 

You hadn't been outside in months –not once—and somewhere along the way you'd stopped thinking about the door altogether. It had become just another piece of furniture, another fixture of the apartment that existed without meaning anything. Now, all at once, it seemed impossibly real. It was only a few meters away, an ordinary wooden door with a polished brass handle, close enough that you could cross the distance in seconds if you wanted to.

If you wanted to.

Your eyes lingered there a heartbeat too long.

Chrollo caught the movement immediately.

"You may leave if you wish."

"..."

"I won't stop you."

Your heart hammered so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

"What game is this?" you whispered. “Are you trying to be funny?”

"There isn't one."

"You've never..." You laughed once, short and breathless. "You've never let me walk anywhere alone."

"And now I am."

"You chained me to a chair."

"I did."

"You told me I'd never survive without you." You cried out. “That I’d be dead before daybreak if I ever left.”

Chrollo shrugged. "I believed that at the time."

"At the time?" you echoed, and you hated how disappointed you sounded.

His expression remained infuriatingly mild.

"People change."

"No," you said immediately.”No!”

"No?"

"You don't."

For the first time, something almost amused crossed his face.

He moved past you toward the bookshelf, selecting a volume with the same casual interest someone might have in deciding what to read before bed.

"If you've grown tired of living here," he said without looking at you, "you're welcome to find somewhere else."

Your stomach twisted, but your disappointment melted into rage when you saw him sit down and open his book. He was so full of shit. SO. FULL. OF. SHIT.

"Well, fine.” You said, seethingly, “I’m done with this.”

You took one step toward the door.

For the first time in years, the door was unlocked and you could walk right out. Right into the real world. It’d be a little breezy, being late into July, and you weren’t exactly dressed for that, so with quivering legs you walked towards your bedroom, got a jacket, and without even looking at Chrollo another time, you left the apartment.

It’d been close to six months since you’d gone outside, and it was years since you’d gone outside unattended. 

There’d been no need to. Your life was good here. There were rules, there was structure, love, central heating, food, and no need to fight.

Considering you’d expected to die long before you’d reach your twenties, every day had been a gift with Chrollo. Every morning, waking up in a warm bed, next to the love of your life, felt like you’d been reborn and given a chance few residents from Meteor City were ever given.

The Chrollo of today was sanctified, in your mind, yet realer than ever, considering you’d lived with him for years and had been allowed to see his more human side more often. Back then, when you were young and starving for anything real, he’d been larger than life. He always stood far away, giving speeches and standing at the forefront of every event that was worth anything in Meteor City. When the Troupe left, and became a point of pride for Meteorites, they were as good as celebrities.

And then he came back. And you met him. Talked to him. He remembered you. Remembered the colour your headband had been, the one you’d worn for years while watching the troupe perform their original plays.Admiration had turned into love, and you remembered the first time you’d made love to him with perfect clarity.

He sought you out whenever he visited.

A lot had happened since then, a turning point was when you’d come back to your small room back in Meteor City and noticed it was completely empty, with Chrollo sitting on your cot, explaining that he was moving you, saying it was something he ‘felt like doing’. 

Considering you’d been close to leaving Meteor City yourself, to try your luck in the outside world and probably die in some gutter after having your organs stolen (the outskirts of Meteor City were always looking for stragglers no one would miss) this wasn’t something that troubled you greatly.

It started to rain, and you pulled up the hood of your jacket.

The rain came down in that miserable, persistent way that never seemed to commit to becoming a storm yet somehow still managed to soak through fabric, collecting on your eyelashes and dripping from the edge of your hood as you wandered without direction.

Your shoes were splashing through shallow puddles that reflected distorted neon signs and apartment windows lit by people who had no idea how extraordinary your afternoon had become, how the entirety of your entire life had shifted because one man had decided that after years of insisting the world would devour you the moment you stepped outside, he suddenly couldn't be bothered to stop you from opening the front door.

Every few steps you glanced over your shoulder, not because you were afraid of the strangers moving around you with umbrellas and shopping bags and phones pressed to their ears, but because surely, surely, eventually you would catch sight of the familiar silhouette that had followed you everywhere your life had ever allowed you to go, the black coat, the measured pace, the neutral expression that would eventually harden into irritation before he took your wrist and informed you that you'd made enough of a scene. 

Every glance was met with disappointment. 

The first ten minutes were infuriating. The next ten became insulting.

By the time you reached a busier district where storefronts crowded against one another and people flowed continuously across crosswalks despite the weather, the anger had settled into something uglier than rage because rage at least implied there was someone standing opposite you to receive it, someone listening, someone reacting, whereas this felt like screaming into a pillow for no one’s entertainment.

You slowed near a crowded intersection and deliberately remained there while the pedestrian light changed twice, refusing to move with the current of people.

Chrollo had hated crowds. Hated strangers touching you. Hated not knowing exactly where your hands were, where your eyes were looking, who had looked at you in return. He would've been beside you already, fingers wrapping around your arm with deceptive gentleness, steering you away while calmly explaining that if you insisted on behaving carelessly he would simply have to make decisions on your behalf.

You needed him to do that!

How dare he make you dependent on him, and then just… lose interest?!

Nothing happened, though you did receive an annoyed shove from a man that was sick of you standing still in the middle of the crowd.

You laughed under your breath, but it came out brittle, almost hysterical, because perhaps he was watching after all, perhaps he was hidden somewhere above the street or across it, comfortably invisible, waiting to see what you would do now that he'd granted you this ridiculous little experiment in independence, and if that were true then you refused to give him the satisfaction of behaving exactly as expected.

And if that were true, then you refused to give him the satisfaction of behaving exactly as expected.

So you did the opposite.

You crossed streets without checking as carefully as you should have, lingered outside bars where loud conversations spilled into the rain, wandered through narrow alleyways that instinct alone insisted were terrible ideas, and every time your pulse lurched with anticipation because surely this would be enough. This would be the moment he'd step out from the shadows with that soft, disappointed sigh that somehow always sounded more frightening than anger.

The longer he didn't show up, the bolder you became.

You started talking.

At first it was harmless. Small conversations with strangers waiting at crosswalks or sitting beside you on a bench, comments that drifted naturally into stories before either of you quite realized it. You spoke about the Phantom Troupe, watching their expressions shift as you calmly insisted they were real and casually revealed some names, some info, some confidential stuff you’d picked up over the years. 

Sometimes the strangers humored you. Sometimes they looked concerned. Most simply excused themselves at the first opportunity.

You told them anyway.

You described their members, their abilities, the crimes everyone knew they'd committed and the ones no one else possibly could have known about, your voice growing steadier every time you repeated the story.

No one believed you. At least not to your face.

Which somehow made it even easier.

In a department store, while pretending to browse kitchen appliances, you noticed an unattended whiteboard set up to advertise some sale. Someone had left a handful of dry-erase markers beside it.

You hesitated for all of three seconds.

Then, with a grin that felt almost delirious, you uncapped one of the markers and began writing.

THE PHANTOM TROUPE IS CLOSE

Beneath it, you listed every member you could remember, adding the spider logo, fragments of information that made perfect sense to you and would look completely unhinged to anyone else who happened to walk by. You even scribbled a warning beneath it all.

IF YOU SEE THEM, RUN.

When you stepped back to admire your work, a woman pushing a shopping cart slowed beside the display, reading the board with growing confusion before glancing suspiciously in your direction.

You smiled at her and walked away.

Your heart hammered so hard it hurt.

By the time you stepped back onto the open street, the rain had dwindled to a light drizzle, and you carried yourself with the strange certainty of someone who had already died.

There was no version of this where Chrollo simply let it go.

He had never tolerated betrayal, unless it served him, and he despised half-assed plans like these. You had spent the afternoon telling strangers about the Phantom Troupe, writing their names where anyone could see them, scattering pieces of their existence into the world with reckless abandon. If he hadn't been watching before, surely he would be now.

Sooner or later, he would find you.

And when he did, there were only two possibilities.

Either he still loved you enough to drag you back home, lock the door behind you, and keep you alive at his side...

Or he'd kill you where you stood.

Oddly enough, you found yourself hoping for one of those outcomes.

Because the only thing you couldn't bear—the only thing that made your chest tighten until you could hardly breathe—was the possibility that none of it had mattered. That he had truly grown indifferent. That you could scream his secrets into crowded streets, carve the Phantom Troupe's name onto every wall in the city, and he still wouldn't think you worth coming after.

Death was terrifying.

But indifference was unbearable. You would not accept becoming forgettable.

The night had grown… cold.

You’d been sitting on a park bench close to your home for a few hours now. 

Waiting.

The realization began creeping in with nauseating slowness that he might actually have meant every word he'd said, because he simply...didn't care enough anymore to interfere, and somehow that possibility hurt infinitely more than the years of chains and locked doors ever had 

Because captivity at least required some sort of attention whereas indifference required absolutely nothing at all.

If he cared even a little , he'd have to come closer now. He'd just have to go outside. He'd have to find you. You weren’t even far. He could probably find you within a few minutes. It wasn’t hard.

You waited.

Nothing.

NOTHING.

The absurdity of it ignited another flash of fury so hot that your vision blurred, and before you could stop yourself you began entertaining another set of increasingly childish, increasingly desperate ideas solely because they all shared one purpose: making him react. 

You could walk into the nearest police station and tell them your ‘boyfriend’ had kept you imprisoned for years. You could flirt openly with some stranger, kiss the first attractive person who smiled at you, sit in their lap if necessary, just to see if he’d hear and care about it. You could disappear entirely, board the first train leaving the city without checking the destination, and wait to see whether he'd appear in the carriage before the doors closed.

Every fantasy ended exactly the same way.

With him not coming.

With him remaining exactly where you'd left him, comfortably seated with his book, turning another page while the apartment gradually cooled around him and the side of the bed where you slept remained empty for the first night in years.

You stood up from the park bench.

"...Come on," you muttered beneath your breath, staring at the wet pavement as tears fell down your face. "Come get me."

You lasted another hour before you decided to walk up to your own doom.

The freedom that had felt so impossibly vast when you first stepped through the apartment door had quietly collapsed into an exhausting absence of direction, every street asking you to decide where to go next when for years those decisions had simply... never been yours, and somewhere beneath the anger you found yourself wondering whether Chrollo had known that would happen, whether this entire miserable afternoon had been another one of his carefully arranged lessons whose purpose you wouldn't understand until long after it was over.

Having returned home, you stared up at the familiar windows for several long moments.

The front door opened exactly as it always had, and the dinner table welcomed you, the food still plated and cold. The candles were still burning, so you walked towards them and blew them out.

The apartment was silent.

The bedroom door stood open.

Chrollo was already in bed.

One lamp burned softly on the nightstand, casting warm amber light across the room, and Chrollo looked up only briefly as you appeared in the doorway. He was sitting upright, a book in his hands, his black hair loosely framing his face. You’d feel better knowing he’d not just gone to sleep during your entire ordeal, but you could tell by how far he was in the book that he’d truly just sat down here and read.

"Welcome back," he said, with no real emotion behind it.

You pushed some wet hair back and walked towards your closet, grabbing some dry clothes. Better to act like nothing was wrong and postpone your own death. You'd rather be throttled in your sleep. "I came back."

The silence stretched.

You hated it, and silently took off your wet clothing, the cold having seeped through to your bones. It didn’t matter. After you’d taken your pants off, you swallowed down some feelings as you placed the garment on the floor, not caring to walk towards the hamper. You were exhausted, cold, but still felt more awake than ever.  Another deep breath, and you broke the silence. "You really weren't going to come after me."

His voice drifted through the darkness, and you could hear the cold amusement layered underneath his voice."You came home, didn’t you?"

You didn’t have to think about your response. "I wanted you to."

The words escaped before you had the chance to reconsider them.

You hated how small they sounded.

"I know," he said quietly. “But I can tell you had fun, didn’t you?”

Your chest tightened so sharply it almost hurt. God, he had to know what you’d done. And if he didn't yet, he would know soon enough.

Something inside your chest twisted painfully.

You fidgeted with the dry shirt you’d grabbed, putting it on so you could avoid looking at him. “I’m not cheating on you.” 

He huffed out a laugh at your attempt to change the subject, closing his book and placing it on the nightstand. “I know.”

Taking a deep breath, you suddenly decided that this was another hell in itself. You’d returned, he probably knew about your misdeeds, there’d be punishment (or not, you still couldn’t figure out how he felt), but this half-and-half treatment walking on eggshells was horrifying. 

You crossed the room before you could think better of it, climbing onto the mattress with movements that felt strangely unfamiliar after spending the entire day convincing yourself you wouldn't return, and for a moment you simply looked at him.

As you climbed on top of him, feeling yourself wear a determined expression, he merely met your gaze with impassive gray eyes.

At least he didn’t push you away.

You leaned forward first.

The kiss was tentative at first, more a question on whether or not he was okay with this, your lips barely brushing his as though expecting him to turn away at the last second simply to prove that he could, but he didn't.

His hand rose slowly to cradle the side of your face, familiar enough to make your throat tighten, and he returned the kiss without any passion from his side, leaving you with the unsettling feeling that he was allowing you to choose every inch of the distance between you.

You kissed him again before the first one had truly ended, harder this time, closing the space between you until your bodies were nearly pressed together. Your fingers slid into his hair almost desperately, curling through the dark strands as you tugged him closer—not enough to hurt, only enough to erase the last few inches separating you, enough that you could convince yourself he was real, that he was here, that he was still yours. 

When you finally drew back, neither of you spoke.

His thumb brushed once across your cheek before his hand fell away again.

You let yourself fall down beside him almost automatically, facing him, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing in the darkness while the events of the day refused to settle into anything that resembled understanding. 

The room was warm, you were holding onto him, he wasn't leaving you or killing you, yet.

It’d have to be enough, for now.

Follo's back barely hit the mattress when you crawled between his legs, eyes focused on his cock as if it was the only thing that mattered in this moment. He barely had time to catch his breath before your mouth was on him already - hot, wet and greedy as you kissed and licked up his thigh until your tongue finally arrived at the base of his cock where you licked a broad stripe all the way to his tip. Your lips wrapped around his pretty cock, and you wasted no time to take him all the way, a low satisfied hum vibrating through your chest.

"Shit—slow down...please," His voice cracked as he pleaded, fingers threading through your hair. You ignored him however, suckling on his tip as you swirled your tongue around it eagerly while saliva dripped down his shaft and onto his balls. Every time you pulled away you left a string of spit connecting your lips to his flushed tip, then dove right back down to feel the weight on him against your tongue.

"You really like having your mouth full, huh?" Follo's hips jerked when his voice turned into a breathless moan. You answered by relaxing your throat and taking him even deeper, nose brushing against the neatly trimmed hair at the base. The obscenely wet sounds filled the room—slick suction, soft gagging and the occasional lewd Pop when you pulled away to breathe.

You couldn't stop. You lapped broad stripes up his length, sucked on the head like candy, and let drool run freely down your chin. You could feel the way your own thighs pressed together, but you didn't think about touching yourself; this was enough. The stretch, the slightly bitter taste of his precum melting on your tongue—every part of it fed the itch under your skin.

"F-fuck you're too good to me," Follo's grip tightened in your hair to anchor himself as he watched your spit slick lips wrap around his cock again.

You moaned around him in response, not planning to go anywhere, perfectly content between his legs—mouth stuffed and mind blissfully empty.

Maybe you flirt back a little with that beat cop who stops into the coffee shop you work every morning, who throws you a wink and says he's keeping the city safe for you, even though you know you shouldn't. Maybe you even agree to go out with him for a drink and let him take you on a ride to the docks on his bike afterward. Maybe even more than once. He's handsome, charismatic. Probably would make a good boyfriend. It's a shame you have a roster of other men in your phone who would too.

But dick is sweet, and hot, and you don't have it in you to let him go, or maybe you just don't want to give up the attention he gives you. So when he sends you "good morning, beautiful ;)" texts, you leave a couple extra heart emojis at the end of your reply.

The texts get more frequent, a touch more invasive. He asks you where you're going whenever you tell him you can't hang out, and if it's anywhere farther than the corner store at the end of your block (and even then sometimes) he'll pester you to let him walk you there because "he doesn't know what he'd do with himself if you got hurt."

You always politely decline, of course, because nine times out of ten you're actually going to see another man, and he's never pressed you more than a couple of times. Still, you keep getting this creepy feeling that keeps you looking over your shoulder as you walk, keep catching flashes of blue in your periphery that make you think it's time for another eye exam.

Things get weirder still when you find out a week later that a few of the guys you had been seeing were actually in cahoots with one another in a drug-selling scheme. That nightwing guy had caught them selling to a group of teens and dutifully turned them in, answering questions on the news with that award winning smile of his.

His smile is kind of familiar, though you can't place from where.

None of it makes much sense, and frankly, it's all kind of upsetting. Dick contacts you a few times, but you ignore him. Not because he did anything wrong per se, but because you don't want to talk to any men right now, really. You ask your manager to be switched to the day shift at work so you won't have to explain yourself to him and assume that will be that.

Unfortunately, it is not the last you hear from him, because a few days later you get a knock on your door, and it's him in uniform. You freeze at the deadpanned way he looks at you. You try to explain yourself to him after a beat of silence, stumbling over words as you try to apologize, but after about a minute of painful dialogue, he cracks a smile and tells you not to worry about it. He's just here to get testimony from you since you were recently in contact with the subjects of the recent arrest.

You ask if you have to, he says that you do.

So you let him in, get him a glass of water and squirm as he asks you questions about the men you were seeing, the types of relationships you had with them, how long you'd been seeing them, if there were any others.

Dick, for the most part, is professional. Keeps that golden boy smile plastered on his face the whole time, though you see it waver for just a second when you explain that you'd been seeing more men. The interview is over in about thirty minutes, and he asks to use the bathroom before he leaves. Soon enough, he's walking out your door and you pray to every god you can think of that you never see him again.

A few days later, while you're taking a shower, you think about texting him. Not to start anything up again, but maybe to clear up any negative feelings. The last thing you wanted was for any bad blood between you to lead to you getting more roped into this legal mess. You move to grab your razor but catch something in your periphery as you do. A little black dot in the corner across the room. At first you shudder, thinking maybe the roach problem you had a few months ago was coming back, but the more you look at it, the clearer it becomes that it's not a roach. In fact it's not a bug at all, because bugs aren't reflective.

It's a camera.

Panic sets in immediately. You throw a towel over yourself and run into your room, locking the door behind you before rifling through your closet to find the baggiest clothes you own and putting them on. You search the bedroom top to bottom for any cameras. Pulling out drawers, ripping off covers, knocking trinkets off shelves. Only once you’ve absolutely wrecked the room do you calm down, panting on the floor, more confident - but not certain - you aren’t being watched.

You think back to who could have planted it there. Obviously it was Dick. Probably for the investigation. But why would he put it in your bathroom? Why not your bedroom or kitchen? Wouldn’t that make more sense for a crime investigation?

Suddenly, a deep wave of unease washes over you. This wasn’t for the crime investigation. Dick had been way too nice to you when you talked, you should have known there was an ulterior motive. You weren’t sure if this was a sick joke or if Dick had actual problems, all you knew was that having a stalker was one thing, but having a stalker who's a cop is another. 

You wrack your brain for what to do. It’s not like you could turn him in to the police. You could move, maybe, but with what money? Dick knows where you work, where you live, and now after that interview, copious amounts of other personal information on the people you care about. You need a neutral party, someone who isn’t connected to the justice system but still has some kind of authority. 

And in Bludhaven, there's only one person who comes to mind.

You read on an internet forum that people often spot him getting food at a shop on the north side of town when he’s working, so you hunker down there. You bring a book to read while you wait, but can’t focus enough to absorb any of it, so you pass the time watching the dim, flickering tv at the corner of the store playing local news and worrying yourself sick.

At around 1 AM, the door chimes and there he is. Nightwing. He laughs at a joke the shop owner makes to him and you try and fail again to place his smile. For some reason, it makes your stomach roll.

Just as he’s about to walk out the door, you finally muster your courage and tap him on the shoulder.

“Nightwing, sir, I um... I'm sorry, I just-” You stumble on your words.

He smiles warmly at you, “You want an autograph? I’d be happy too,” he looks down, searching the pant legs of his suit, “I just don’t have a pen on me-” 

“No!” you interrupt, blushing at your own rudeness as he glances back up at you “I’m sorry, I just… I need your help. I don’t know who else to go to.” 

You tell him about Dick, about his interview and about the camera you found in your bathroom, how it made you scared. He listens with a frown until you’re finished before speaking. “That does sound scary. But don’t worry, I think I can help you.”

Your face lights up as a wave of relief floods over you. “Really?” you ask. 

The mattress dipped next to your head. A cool, scarred palm pressed against your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back with a click of the tongue. Suguru. He’d started his mother-hen routine as soon as you’d admitted (stupidly, in hindsight) to feeling a little sick and had yet to give it up. Part of it must’ve been nostalgia. His daughters were in their late teens. It’d been years since he’d had anything soft and vulnerable to dote on. But, as you glared at him through watery eyes, you would’ve sworn there was something else there. An edge. A shadow. The slightest, barest hint of anger that there was anything on this planet that could hurt you other than him.

But then you blinked at it was gone, replaced by stoic neutrality as he snatched a bottle off the bedside table and twisted off the childproof cap. You felt something pressed being pressed against your lips and pursed them tighter, in response. Suguru sighed.

“It’s just medicine, sweetheart.”

 Yeah, right. You’d heard that one before.

Your voice was all grit. Driveway gravel lubricated with battery acid and strained through a sandpaper funnel. “…label.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, but handed the bottle over anyway. You forced yourself to sit up, lasting just long enough to scan over the bold-font logo and excessive use warnings that you would be gleeful ignoring before collapsing back onto your pillow and letting Suguru place the pill on your tongue. It tasted like chalk and misery, which was somehow still better than the god-awful herbal tea he gave you to help swallow.

Meanwhile, Satoru watched it all, unmoving and unblinking. He tended to do that whenever Suguru was pampering you – forget he was part of scene and relegate himself a silent, observant feature of the background. He only came back to himself when you sniffled, ducking your head to sneeze into your comforter. A smile pulled at the edges of his lips, one of his hands reaching up to ghost over the curve of your jaw. “You’re kind of hot like this. All helpless and whiney, I mean.”

He moved to cup your chin. Suguru caught his wrist. “Don’t even think about it.”

“That’s not fair,” he pouted. “How come som virus gets to be inside of her and I can’t?”

This question was swiftly and mercifully deemed too stupid to answer. Suguru pushed himself to his feet and Satoru sighed languidly, flopping onto the bed next to you. “It’s not like I’ll catch anything. World’s Strongest Sorcerer, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t get sick, idiot.”

“But what if it doe—”

You cut him off with a conveniently timed coughing fit. The ugly type – prolonged and hacking, forceful enough to leave you panting while your throat burnt. Satoru grinned. Before Suguru could stop him, he threw himself into you and licked a long stripe over your open mouth, then laughed as you groaned and swatted him away.

“See?” he asked, smirking at Suguru. “Nobody died.”

Suguru responded by pitching the bottle of pills at his co-kidnapper, nailing Satoru in the head with enough force to crack the plastic.

anyhow, you greeted loki, charles, and the new member hugo when they arrived. you flowed into an easy conversation with charles, who was as excitable as always, but you couldn't shake the feeling of hugo's eyes piercing into your back, and for some reason it put your body into some form of fight-or-flight. maybe his tall and intimidating stature and blank face had something to do with it…

you could only smile with a slightly strained look as you showed them to one of the training grounds, already set with water bottles and towels for their use. you were more than eager to run away as soon as you could, lest you melt into a puddle of nerves thanks to hugo.

but before you could leave, a hand grabbed your wrist, cornering you, and you knew for a fact that neither loki nor charles was to blame. so, with a bated breath and a short prayer, you turned around to meet hugo's face, that was scarily close to yours.

"you didn't give me your name." his eyes, the pair of black holes that they are, threatened to swallow you whole. you can only hope that your gulp wasn't audible or noticeable.

stuttering out your name, you shook your hand free and effectively ran away with a flimsy excuse that ego had some work for you to finish. were all the new gens this intimidatingly weird?!

vivian hugo didn't expect to fall in love in japan, let alone in the blue lock facility.

he had seen some clips of the neo egoist league, mostly the pxg matches, but he swears you were never in them. because if you were, he would've gone to japan much, much earlier. hell, he might've even asked to transfer to pxg temporarily just to see you!

but destiny has a funny way of working, so hugo supposes there's no point lamenting something out of his control. it's more important that he gets to meet you now, isn't it?

everything about you has enraptured him at just the first glance. the way you smiled, the glimmer in your eyes, the tone of your voice… hugo knew in an instant that you were his other half, just as he is yours.

while you entertained charles in the front, hugo walked behind you next to loki. his eyes couldn't leave your figure even if he wanted to, not that he ever would. loki, seemingly noticing this laser focus, leaned over to him.

"what's with you?" loki asks him, low enough that charles's yapping could cover it perfectly.

"she's my soulmate." hugo replies with complete seriousness, that even loki stares at him with disbelief.

"sometimes i worry about you, hugo…"

when you later tried to run away like a skittish kitten, hugo couldn't let you go without at least knowing your name. he could ask loki or charles, but if he wanted to properly court you, he needs to hear it from you! besides, it's more attractive if a man is assertive, if his sister's favourite romance novels are anything to go by.

that's why hugo took your arm and cornered just like he's seen in all those popular movies, because this is the move that girls usually swoon over, right?

seeing you look up at him, wide-eyed and stuttering out your name, hugo felt like he could already hear the chiming of bells and a scenic place — maybe somewhere in france or japan, wherever you liked — decorated in white. his own heart stuttered, warmth blooming in his chest as he watched you run away. damn, he already hates to see you go, but he might just be in love with watching you leave.

"hugo, what was that?!" charles gawks, eyes as wide as saucers and jaw hanging open. said man was still staring at where you were just a minute ago, soaking in the feeling of being in such close proximity to you, before blinking and snapping himself out of the trance you had him in.

charles's question goes unanswered as hugo sets his bag down and slips off his jacket, preparing his warm-ups, now with a new dream in his mind.

anyhow, you greeted loki, charles, and the new member hugo when they arrived. you flowed into an easy conversation with charles, who was as excitable as always, but you couldn't shake the feeling of hugo's eyes piercing into your back, and for some reason it put your body into some form of fight-or-flight. maybe his tall and intimidating stature and blank face had something to do with it…

you could only smile with a slightly strained look as you showed them to one of the training grounds, already set with water bottles and towels for their use. you were more than eager to run away as soon as you could, lest you melt into a puddle of nerves thanks to hugo.

but before you could leave, a hand grabbed your wrist, cornering you, and you knew for a fact that neither loki nor charles was to blame. so, with a bated breath and a short prayer, you turned around to meet hugo's face, that was scarily close to yours.

"you didn't give me your name." his eyes, the pair of black holes that they are, threatened to swallow you whole. you can only hope that your gulp wasn't audible or noticeable.

stuttering out your name, you shook your hand free and effectively ran away with a flimsy excuse that ego had some work for you to finish. were all the new gens this intimidatingly weird?!

vivian hugo didn't expect to fall in love in japan, let alone in the blue lock facility.

he had seen some clips of the neo egoist league, mostly the pxg matches, but he swears you were never in them. because if you were, he would've gone to japan much, much earlier. hell, he might've even asked to transfer to pxg temporarily just to see you!

but destiny has a funny way of working, so hugo supposes there's no point lamenting something out of his control. it's more important that he gets to meet you now, isn't it?

everything about you has enraptured him at just the first glance. the way you smiled, the glimmer in your eyes, the tone of your voice… hugo knew in an instant that you were his other half, just as he is yours.

while you entertained charles in the front, hugo walked behind you next to loki. his eyes couldn't leave your figure even if he wanted to, not that he ever would. loki, seemingly noticing this laser focus, leaned over to him.

"what's with you?" loki asks him, low enough that charles's yapping could cover it perfectly.

"she's my soulmate." hugo replies with complete seriousness, that even loki stares at him with disbelief.

"sometimes i worry about you, hugo…"

when you later tried to run away like a skittish kitten, hugo couldn't let you go without at least knowing your name. he could ask loki or charles, but if he wanted to properly court you, he needs to hear it from you! besides, it's more attractive if a man is assertive, if his sister's favourite romance novels are anything to go by.

that's why hugo took your arm and cornered just like he's seen in all those popular movies, because this is the move that girls usually swoon over, right?

seeing you look up at him, wide-eyed and stuttering out your name, hugo felt like he could already hear the chiming of bells and a scenic place — maybe somewhere in france or japan, wherever you liked — decorated in white. his own heart stuttered, warmth blooming in his chest as he watched you run away. damn, he already hates to see you go, but he might just be in love with watching you leave.

"hugo, what was that?!" charles gawks, eyes as wide as saucers and jaw hanging open. said man was still staring at where you were just a minute ago, soaking in the feeling of being in such close proximity to you, before blinking and snapping himself out of the trance you had him in.

charles's question goes unanswered as hugo sets his bag down and slips off his jacket, preparing his warm-ups, now with a new dream in his mind.

You gulp and back away from the door, heart pounding in your ears.

“Who said you could leave?” Jerry asks, closing the door behind her back. She fetches her gun on the drawer beside her. 

“Jerry, I—I”

“I'm going to ask you questions and you answer yes or no. If you lie I'm tying you to the fridge. Did you try to escape?”

You gulp and nod.

“Did you think you were going to succeed?”

You don't answer.

“Hey”, Jerry warns.

“Yes, I thought I'd get away with it. Happy?”

“I said no lying.”

“Geez, you're so full of yourself.”

“Yes, because I am right.”

You remain quiet, biting back whatever you’ll regret if you let it out. 

“Okay”, she says, final and decisive. “How about we do something? Let's see if you like the outside as much as you think you do.”

It's dark outside the car window. You’ve watched streetlights flash by with no knowledge of where you’re going. Jerry parks her car by a bushy parking lot, right next to the forest.

“Jump out, princess, let's go”, she says.

You bite back your insult and follow her. A cold wind hits your face, causing a shiver to run right through you. The forest around you is pitch black and you hope, for the love of everything, that you're not going into it.

Jerry's smiling. A bad sign.

“What are you waiting for?” she asks. “Move those little legs. We have a long night in front of us.”

“What are we doing?” you ask.

“Going for a night's stroll.”

A small, nervous laugh leaves your lips, but Jerry doesn't join you.

“No, Y/N, I'm serious”, she says, nodding at the black forest. “We're actually going on a walk.”

“In there?”

“Yes, in there.”

Jerry has shown you enough videos “top 10 scariest things found in forests” to scare you enough to never want to enter a forest again—day or night.

“Are you just going to stand there all night?” Jerry mutters. 

“Preferably”, you bite back.

Jerry rolls her eyes and grabs your arm, dragging you with her.

“I'm armed”, she tells you. “I can defend us.”

The forest is darker than you thought, but your eyes adjust to the lack of light, enough to outline dark shapes against even darker backgrounds. Every little sound makes you jump, skittish and terrified.

“Imagine if there was someone waiting for us”, Jerry whispers, smirk tugging at her lips. “With a knife, ready to slaughter us.”

“Stop.”

“We wouldn't know where to run. It's so dark. We wouldn't be able to run away.”

“Jerry. Stop. Please.”

She chuckles. A loud, blood curling scream in the distance makes you jump out of your skin. You grab Jerry’s hand before you can stop yourself.

“What was that?” you gasp.

“Probably some poor soul getting the taste of death”, Jerry replies casually. “There are a lot of things in these kinds of woods. You know the videos I showed you?”

“Yes? They were fake, though … right?”

“Not all of them.”

You swallow. She continues to walk, letting you squeeze her hand. Every sound makes your heart beat quicker.

“Jerry, please”, you plead. “Can't we just leave? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it—”

“You ‘didn't mean to do it’?” she echoes. “Then why did you reply that you thought you'd get away with it when I asked you? Sounds to me that you meant it a lot. Do you mean that you regret what you did?”

“Yes, yes, I do. I regret it. Terribly. Please, can we go back—?”

“No. You are going to learn. You think the outside is so safe. You are dumb. The outside isn't safe. You are going to see what I see, and learn that your view on the world is way too trusting. When you understand how dangerous it is, you'll never want to leave my apartment ever again.” She takes a harder grip on your hand. “Come now.”

She pulls you deeper into the forest. In the distance, you see the light of a flashlight searching through the trees. 

“Do you want to know what'll happen if that light sees us?” Jerry asks and you shake your head, but she answers anyway. “He'll probably chase us down. He's probably armed.”

“So are you", you remind her, gulping.

“Yes. If you walked into the forest, naively, I would be one of the things you'd have to fear. I'm not nice.” She leans closer to whisper in your ear. “You should consider yourself lucky you're my boyfriend/girlfriend, because otherwise you'd be dead right now.”

You gulp. You often take Jerry’s — rather violent — care for granted. Like a dog you forget scare people off. Only remembering when you're without it.

“Come on”, Jerry says and tugs your hand. “Hold my hand.”

Normally you'd have ignored her, but now you're more than happy to oblige. You glance at her as you continue to walk. She doesn't seem to be the slightest scared—opposite, actually. She seems to enjoy this.

You're well aware of her urban exploring hobby, but surely there has to be some kind of limit? 

A sound reaches your ears again. Closer, duller. You glance around in the darkness. Something a few feet from you moves on the ground. You flinch and stumble into Jerry.

“Scaredy cat”, she scoffs. 

Your eyes have adjusted well enough to the darkness to tell apart the outline of a human in the grass.

“Help … me …”, he moans painfully. Voice too quiet to be fully alive.

“Jerry”, you breathe, turning to her to let her know, but she's already looking.

“If you're dumb enough to go into a forest at night by yourself, this is what happens”, she says, as if it's clear as day—which, you figure, it should be, but humans morbid curiosity will always exist. “What do you think, Y/N? Should we put him out of his misery? He won't survive long enough to get help. You'd just delay the inevitable.”

“Don't give me that decision!”

“Why not? You're empathic. Empathic enough to think the world is better than this.”

“Jerry, it's not funny.”

“Eeny-meeny-miny-moe?”

“Stop, Jerry!”

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Boring.”

You swallow. She pulls out her gun and shoots. You scream and hide in Jerry’s shoulder.

“Now, those with the flashlight will know we're here”, Jerry says and you hear her reload the gun. “Your scream might have tricked them that you were the one getting shot but they know the one with the gun is here.”

You gulp. “So what do we do?”

She holds up the gun. “We talk.” 

The flashlights beam turn towards the two of you. 

“Behind me”, Jerry says quietly. “Don't move until I say so.”

You, once again, are happy to oblige.

“Who are you?” a deep voice asks, clearly drunk.

“Taking a romantic walk, what else?” Jerry scoffs, turning the gun slightly to get a better grip. “Got anything against young love?”

“Put down the gun.”

“No.”

“What? You're scared that I'll beat up a small girl like yourself?”

“No, I can fight, I'm making sure your buddy won't try to hurt my partner while you try—and fail, if I might add—to beat me up.”

“You have a lot of attitude, don't you?”

Jerry smirks and shrugs. The man with the flashlight takes a step forward. You don't see what's happening because of the pitch black darkness, but you hear how the bullet leaves Jerry’s gun. You're not sure where it hits, but you can tell that his voice falls forward. His groan is choked. The other man gasps and stumbles backwards.

“Run now and I might not see you well enough to hit you”, she tells the other man.

The other man drops his flashlight and runs. Jerry calmly walks over to the shot one. Now you can see that he's still alive, lying on all fours trying to breathe.

“I suppose the one near death here somewhere was your doing?” she asks. “Let me give you a tip, when you start something, finish it.”

With that said, she kicks him. Hard. The sound of boots against skeleton cracks the eerie night air.

“Jerry!” you gasp. “What did you do? Where the fuck did you kick him?”

“Do you really want to know?” she pants. “Come now, let's go back to the car. I'm just pissed now.”

She grabs your hand and drags you, muttering about ‘hating people like him’.

“Well, I hope you learned something”, she sighs as you get into the car. “Fun fact, I had not planned that. Honestly. I was just thinking that I'd show you the darkness of the forest and let you listen to sounds and make yourself paranoid. Don't know if this was worse or better.”

“Well, I'm terrified …”, you mumble into your lap.

“Yeah? Good. Now imagine if I hadn't been there. Not so fun, huh? There are psychos everywhere, but no I'm keeping you in my apartment because ‘it's fun’—and yeah, sure I do like having you there, but come on. If I could decide, I'd have you glued to me. We'd share one of those hideous big shirts meant for two … but it's not safe. I can't always keep an eye on you while doing my job. Hell, I can barely keep track of myself.” Her voice deepens to a shameful mutter. “But knowing you're home safe and sound gives me a reason to make sure I don't die.”

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing. Put on your seatbelt, I'm hungry, let's go home.”

You do as she says, again. If only you could be this obedient normally, Jerry thinks and shakes her head, no, that'd be too boring. She likes that you push back, that you try to fight. She loves herself a little game of cat and mouse. 

“Jerry, can I ask you something?” you ask as she drives down the road in silence. 

“What?” 

“Why is the world so dark? That is a dumb question, I know, I just … why do people seem to have such an easy way to resort to violence?”

The question is stupid, but Jerry’s heart softens a bit at it. Poor you, wanting the world to be better than what it is. She sighs heavily, resting one arm on the car’s window. 

“Becuase the world isn’t a good place”, she says slowly, “and people aren’t good. There are a few angels but unfortunately it’s better to not expect everyone to be happy rays of sunshine. I keep you in my apartment because I’m so fucking scared you’ll be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Or that my enemies will get to you because I—” SHe cuts herself off, jaw tightening. “I can’t do that again, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You can whine and cry and scream and wah-wah-wah, I don’t care. I am not losing you to idiots that can’t keep their emotion in check. You are my responsibility because I fucking love you. Got that? ”

You nod. 

“Now stop asking questions, my head is hurting”, Jerry sighs. “I need a hamburger and a shower and then a nap. Maybe a beer if I’m lucky.”